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Four active sons and a construction business was a lot to handle. You couldn't fault the man for losing track of one kid. In fact, he'd probably intended to swat Rex lots of times and had just gotten him mixed up with one his brothers. It didn't mean Dad didn't love him. All it meant was that, up to now, the second youngest boy in the family had just been really, really, really lucky.\n\nOver the next several weeks, Rex didn't feel that lucky. With each passing day, the more closely he compared Malcolm Barrett's relationship with him versus his brothers, D's words began ring a little less hollow, and fearing the truth, Rex had brooded about it for almost a month and a half before a solution had struck him. Once it had, he could have kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Hell, D himself had pretty much blurted out the answer.\n\nIt would be easy, too.\n\nAll Rex had to do was to fuck up so badly and in such a way that there was no possibility of Dad substituting one kid for another. If Rex did it right, by the time the dust had settled there'd be no guessing around who the guilty party was, and long before bedtime, he would be the one jumping around, rubbing a bright red behind, and after that happened, D could spy on him all he fucking liked. If earning the first belting of Rex's life was the price to pay to shut his older brother up then he would do it with a smile, knowing that Mr. Big Mouth across the hall was eating every stinking, lying word he'd said.\n\nHuh. As far as Rex could tell, his plan was working just fine.\n\nHe'd been ordered to his room more sternly than he'd ever been before so the whole thing had obviously been a no-brainer. Their old man was definitely planning to strap him, and once he did, everyone would know that Reckless was just as worthy of the Barrett name as his brothers and that he was loved. A lot. That was the plan, and it was working. It had to.\n\nAnd so he waited.\n\nAt exactly 6:10, Malcolm Barrett's blue Jeep Liberty pulled up and parked beside his son's second-hand Honda. By sheer coincidence, Reckless had been looking out the window when it turned the corner down the street and he watched his father step down and slam the door, soaking up his every gesture and expression. Dad still looked ticked off, and as Rex considered what that signified for the future of his backside, his pole sprung to attention inside his Puma pants, straining to break free of the fabric. Whether it was from fright or excitement, Rex didn't know. He gripped it absently while he watched Dad fish around in the trunk for something, imagining that this tension must be what his brothers always felt when they were the ones in trouble.\n\nHeartbeat racing.\n\nSpit gone dry.\n\nClammy hands clamped over a pulsating erection, one half of him afraid to piss himself, the other half dying to cum in his boxers.\n\nHe squeezed the front of his pants and hoped he wouldn't disgrace himself too badly. Dad seemed to spank hard when he got mad enough to do it, but that wasn't a license to scream like a little girl and make a fool out of himself. He was sixteen, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.\n\nAs he listened for his father's determined footsteps coming up the stairs Rex thought about his brothers.\n\nAt eleven years old and the runt of the litter, no one expected Kurt to suck it up, and he didn't. He didn't give a rat's ass about impressing anyone or putting on a brave front, and when Dad was spanking his butt, he bawled without reservation until he alone felt that he was done crying. Dalton and Sonny were the opposite, but that never really made a difference from what Reckless had seen. Even if they never bellowed loudly enough to frighten demons the way Kurt did, their jigging and red-faced sniffling said it all and proved that Dad had succeeded once again in making his point.\n\nPicturing all three of his brothers, Rex wondered after whom he would take. Obviously, he wouldn't know until their dad started laying into him but he hoped he could come out of his first session with his dignity halfway intact. Crying softly like Dalton or Sonny would be okay but not flat-out blubbering like Kurt. God help him if he shamed himself by doing that.\n\nWhere was Dad, anyway? Christ, the suspense was killing him.\n\nWith still no sign of the man thirty minutes after he'd driven up to the house, Reckless grew impatient. He padded to his bedroom door, opened it then snuck down the hall, straining at the top of the stairs for an indication as to what was taking so long. The only sounds that drifted up to him came from the kitchen so he crept down to the ground floor then tiptoed his way over, cautiously keeping out of sight. What he found was simple enough and a scene that pretty much played itself out every night: Dad ordering his brothers to set the table for supper. From his hiding place, Rex hitched in a breath as his lower lip began to pooch out.\n\nDad couldn't have forgotten about him and what he'd done....could he?\n\nNo, that was stupid. He'd gotten caught by Security jumping parked cars in Sutton's Mall with Keith's Kawasaki, stripping one bumper right the hell off with the back tire. Compounding his crime was the fact that he'd been wearing absolutely no protective gear at the time: not gloves, not leather pants, not even a basic helmet. Even if he had been, he'd been riding a friggin' motorcycle for god's sake, the one mode of transportation that Dad feared and detested more than any other for his sons. It was the one thing guaranteed to earn you a trip across Dad's knee, never mind that you were using it to damage other peoples' property. Sonny had gotten his butt scorched only four months ago for cruising around the neighbourhood on his buddy's Harley and Dalton had received at least a dozen open-handed swats himself just for getting caught straddling the bike when it was parked. Shit, there was just no way in hell that Dad could've forgotten what Rex had done. It simply wasn't possible.\n\nNo, something else had to be afoot. Maybe the endless waiting was all part of Rex's punishment...to let him go hungry and make him stew and freak out alone in his room for a few more hours until Dad decided he felt like coming up.\n\nTo deal with him.\n\nWith a belt across his ass.\n\nGrinning with anticipation, Rex withdrew and took the stairs back up to his room to lay down on his bed, leaving the door open so he wouldn't miss his father's approach. A lonely ache settled in his stomach as he listened to the sounds of supper filtering up to the second floor, but he ignored them. It would be too easy to imagine that there really was no punishment coming his way and that they'd just forgotten to call him down, that his absence from the table wasn't calculated at all, but just another example of parental neglect. He'd rather get shot in the nuts than think Dalton was right, so he gripped his pillow and thought about how much his first spanking was going to hurt...\n\nA little after eleven, his patience ran out again. He padded across the hall, crossed the threshold into Dad's bedroom and headed for the man's armoire. Even though he'd never been made to fetch one himself, he knew that on the inner left hand door hung his father's belts: the half-dozen regulars that Malcolm wore daily plus a wide leather one, more like a strap, which he favoured for discipline. Grandpa Leif had given it to him when Sonny had started high school, and since then, all the boys except Reckless had felt it bite their backsides, even Kurt – although the kid had only tasted three licks before getting the rest of his punishment by hand.\n\nWell, tonight, was Rex's turn.\n\nTaking it down, he closed the cabinet door and headed downstairs to find his father. On the way, as he clutched the belt and gauged its thickness, Rex buried any regrets about the shower that he'd taken an hour before and about the cotton pajama shorts that he'd chosen to change into afterwards. Dad rarely stripped his brothers for a licking, so he could have gotten away with keeping his Puma pants on, but he wanted his punishment to mean something. He wanted to make sure he felt it. Well, there wouldn't be any doubts about that now. He wasn't even wearing any briefs.\n\nAt the entrance to the rec room, he spotted his dad and swallowed hard. Malcolm Barrett was right where he expected him to be, sitting in his favorite recliner in front of the tv and nursing a beer, but unfortunately, he wasn't alone. Kurt was slumped in his lap, sound asleep, and though Rex couldn't see Sonny and Dalton from where he stood, the cue balls were clinking and dropping so he knew both his older brothers must be there, too, just off to the right.\n\nShit.\n\nGetting the strap across the seat of his pjs for the first time was one thing. Getting it in front of an audience – even just his siblings – where everyone could see him crying and doing that stupid jig was something else entirely. He hadn't counted on that.\n\nShielding the belt behind his back, Rex loitered outside the room, stumped, wondering where he could shove it momentarily. He couldn't just walk up to his dad with his brothers in the room and the family spanking belt dangling from his hand. He'd never hear the end of it.\n\nGrowing more antsy and desperate by the second, Rex gnawed his lip and looked around. As he spotted a box of outdated construction magazines dumped right outside the door, his brow cleared and he smiled. This would be perfect. He must've seen his dad roll up Equipment World at least a thousand times over the years, whacking his brothers on the ass with it whenever they were pestering him and being a nuisance. It was certainly apt to hide the belt in there.\n\nAs soon as Rex had tucked it behind the box, he squared his shoulders and walked straight to his father. His palms were sweating again, so he hid them by folding his arms across his chest. Wearing jeans would've helped by giving him somewhere to stuff his hands, and once again, he cursed himself for changing. There was nothing he could do about it now.\n\n\"Hey, uh, Dad? Can I talk to you?\"\n\nHe braced himself for an outburst as soon as his father recognized his voice but Malcolm Barrett merely gestured with his beer and kept his eyes on the tv, indicating that he should go right ahead. His expression was so maddeningly placid that Rex was furious. If Kurt or Sonny or Dalton were due for a trip to the woodshed and had exited his room prematurely, their father's face would have been fearful to say the least and the yelling would've been instantaneous. This wasn't fair.\n\nRex gave his dad a full thirty seconds to notice this discrepancy on his own but the man was clearly too engrossed in the news. Rex clenched his fists.\n\n\"Dad, I need to talk to you in private.\"\n\nFinally looking his way, Dad peered at him strangely, not yet moving from where he sat. Rex could see the man was about to ask him if it could wait so he pre-empted him.\n\n\"Please.\"\n\nThe edge in his voice must have carried, because Rex felt two additional pairs of eyes boring curiously his way from over by the pool table, but the sixteen-year-old stood his ground. He didn't care what Sonny and Dalton were thinking right now. His focus was on their dad, and if he had to block the television screen next to convince the old man to follow him, he had no qualms about doing it. Luckily for him, the family patriarch didn't test him. He just sighed.\n\n\"All right, Reckless. You can tell me whatever's on your mind while I take your brother up to bed.\"\n\nHe placed his beer on a side table and stood up, lifting Kurt with him and settling him against his shoulder as he walked out. He wasn't overly gentle, but Kurt was mostly immune. The kid only woke up long enough to sling an arm around his neck and mutter something incoherent before passing right back out.\n\nAs Rex followed – surreptitiously scooping up his cowhide prize along the way – a stab of jealousy pierced through him and he had to stifle the urge to flick his little brother in the forehead or yank a handful of his hair. Dad had never hauled him up to bed at that age, no matter how whipped he was or how much he whined and begged. From as far back as he could remember, he was always the one brother who was woken up and made to walk even when the older boys were still getting the occasional lift. For god's sake, D still got carried upstairs whenever Dad got fed up of his drooling on the couch and he was nineteen! How fair was that?\n\n\"So what's so important you got to tell me?\"\n\n\"Huh?\"\n\nRex snapped back to the present at the sound of his father's voice and saw they'd reached Kurt's room two flights up. This was good. It was bad enough he had to watch Kurt getting babied right in front of his face, he didn't need Dalton eavesdropping when he talked to Dad, then razzing him later about having to beg for a spanking. Still, he glanced toward the hallway to confirm his older brothers weren't peering in then cleared his throat.\n\n\"Oh. I, uh, wanted to tell you —\"\n\nAbruptly, Rex quit talking, and instead, looked down at the belt in his hand, clutching it tighter to try and gather courage from the supple leather band. Dad wasn't looking at him – he was too busy tucking his baby boy in bed – so it wasn't like the man was staring him down and applying pressure. Determined not to act like such a coward, Rex took a breath and started again, speaking with a clarity that belied his anxiety.\n\n\"Dad, I don't think you should ground me for what I did today.\"\n\nAs he waited for the sky to fall, Rex cringed inwardly. Dad was bound to grab him, slap his butt, then pull him to his room for the rest of his punishment now that he'd been reminded so bluntly of the day's events. He couldn't possibly just stand by and do nothing.\n\n...but that's precisely what Malcolm Barrett did.\n\nAs Rex took in the man's silence and the fact that he didn't look even remotely inclined to start whaling away on his son's ass, Rex knew he'd been dreaming. His father had never had any intention of whipping his butt after work, despite all the hints he might have dropped that afternoon. Insulted, scared, hurt, and confused, Rex felt his world boxing in and he exploded. He didn't notice his little brother slumbering less than six feet away any more. All he could see was himself and his father as he yelled the man's name.\n\n\"DAD!\"\n\nIrritated, Malcolm straightened up immediately and whirled to face his third son.\n\n\"What are you yelling for?\" he whispered angrily. \"Kurt's sleeping —\"\n\nRex dropped his voice, but his anger was still bubbling inside him.\n\n\"I don't care, Dad! Didn't you hear what I said? Weren't you listening to me? I said I don't want you to ground me!\"\n\n\"I heard you!\" Malcolm snapped. \"But you can't just destroy people's property and not expect to get punished —\"\n\n\"I know!\" Rex retorted. \"Here!\"\n\nHe shoved the belt at his father and shook it, urging the man to take it. Malcolm would not. The room was dark, but Kurt's nightlight was still bright enough for him to see, and though he recognized the object his son was proffering, it made no sense to him what Rex was doing with it.\n\n\"What's this?\"\n\nGrowing more infuriated by the second, Rex clenched his jaw.\n\n\"It's your belt, Dad.\"\n\n\"I know what it is,\" Malcolm shot back. \"What are you doing with it?\" Before Reckless could reply, Malcolm gave him an order. \"Put it back and go to bed. It's late.\"\n\nRex didn't move. If Sonny or Dalton or even Kurt had messed up as badly as he had this afternoon, there was no way Dad would let something as simple as the time of day intrude on the need to deliver a spanking. No way.\n\n\"It's not that late, Dad. You can still —\"\n\n\"Put it back and go to bed.\"\n\n\"Take it! Take it!\"\n\nIncensed now, Rex grabbed his father's hand and pressed the belt into his palm, trying to force his fingers around it. Malcolm refused to cooperate and took his hand back before pushing Rex toward the door.\n\n\"You're not getting strapped over this, Reckless. Just go to bed.\"\n\nWhirling back to face his father, Rex boxed his hands away.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"GO TO BED, RECKLESS!\"\n\nWhen Malcolm roared like that, the boys typically knew to drop the subject, but Rex would not. Not tonight and not this time.\n\n\"Why not?\" he pressed. \"Why won't you strap me?! You'd do it to Kurt! You'd do it to Sonny! You'd to it to all your kids except me! Why, Dad?! Am I adopted? Just tell me 'cause I don't get what makes me so different!\"\n\n\"You're not adopted, for god's sake,\" Malcolm said wearily. \"Just go to bed.\"\n\nHardly comforted by the terseness of his dad's reply, Rex threw the belt down in a fury and confronted his father.\n\n\"Well, what is it then? 'Cause you sure as hell don't treat me the same!\"\n\n\"That's not true —\", Malcolm tried to interject.\n\n\"YES, IT IS!\" Rex shouted. \"I rode a motorbike today, Dad! A motorbike! I wasn't wearing a helmet and I used the freakin' thing to trash the neighbours' cars! You know why?\" he raged. \"'Cause I wanted to! I wanted to...PISS...YOU...OFF!\"\n\nRex glared at his father accusingly and kicked the belt into a corner.\n\n\"If you got pulled off a job because Sonny or Dalton did that, this strap would come out faster than...than —\"\n\nFed up of this nonsense, Malcolm felt his own temper starting to boil as he faced down his steaming son.\n\n\"What're you complaining about?\" he demanded. \"You're damn lucky I don't turn you over my knee —\"\n\nRex threw up his arms in frustration.\n\n\"Well, why the hell don't you?\"\n\n\" — as it is you're gonna be grounded long into the summer for this —\"\n\n\"Bullshit!\"\n\nAs Malcolm digested the fact that one of his own sons had just spat a swear word at him, Rex fumed and struggled to suppress the sting that was building behind his eyes. Finally, Malcolm spoke, the muscle on the left side of his jaw twitching in his outrage.\n\n\"What did you just say to me?\"\n\nRex didn't hesitate. His voice cracked as he berated his father, but he didn't hear himself. Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.\n\n\"I said BULLSHIT, Dad! Your groundings are pathetic! You don't make me stick to any of them! In two days I'll be going out and doing whatever I want and you're not gonna say jack about it! You never do!\n\nStunned at the vehemence of the boy's claims, Malcolm defended himself. \"That's not true —\"\n\n\"Yes, it is!\" Rex insisted. His voice caught but he kept going. \"You don't give a shit about anything I do! You don't care!\"\n\n\"I don't know where you're getting this from —\", Malcolm began but, again, Rex cut him off.\n\n\"You don't?\" The teen barked a short laugh at his father's ignorance. \"Of course, you don't! Why would you? You don't notice anything about me!\"\n\nWondering just what the hell could have come over his normally easygoing son, Malcolm shook his head and sighed with exasperation. He was tired. He'd had an exhausting day on site and he wasn't in the mood to fight with his children. Whatever teenaged angst Rex was going through, for god's sakes, couldn't it wait for another day? He looked down at the apoplectic features of his third born and tried to placate him, but just as he finished telling Rex that he was his son just the same as his brothers, the boy interrupted.\n\n\"Am I?\" Rex blurted. \"Prove it!\"\n\nThe teen gave his father fifteen seconds to slap him or take him into his arms and give him a kiss or hug him or just something, and when the man didn't lift a finger, Rex snorted dismissively.\n\n\"I don't know why I expected you to. You don't love me. You never have.\"\n\nMalcolm opened his mouth to issue a rebuttal, but Reckless didn't want to hear it. From the weary look on his dad's face, it was clear that whatever the man said would be perfunctory and most likely a lie just to shut him up. He felt a tear escape his right eye and swiped at it impatiently.\n\n\"Dalton's r-right. I didn't want to believe him, but it's true. You don't g-give a shit how I turn out 'cause i-if you did, you'd actually whip my ass for nearly killing myself today instead of ignoring my fuck-ups like you always d-do. Well, you know what? I don't care and I'm not gonna give a shit about you any more either. I h-hate you.\"\n\n\"Son, just calm d —\"\n\n\"Don't call me that! Don't ever call me that again! You're a liar and a fake and you're not MY FUCKING FATHER!\"\n\nWith his throat constricting and his eyeballs burning worse than ever, Rex spun around and ran to his room.\n\nMalcolm did not call him back.", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Dad was just a hard-working single father who forgot about him once in a while. Four active sons and a construction business was a lot to handle. You couldn't fault the man for losing track of one kid. In fact, he'd probably intended to swat Rex lots of times and had just gotten him mixed up with one his brothers. It didn't mean Dad didn't love him. All it meant was that, up to now, the second youngest boy in the family had just been really, really, really lucky.

Over the next several weeks, Rex didn't feel that lucky. With each passing day, the more closely he compared Malcolm Barrett's relationship with him versus his brothers, D's words began ring a little less hollow, and fearing the truth, Rex had brooded about it for almost a month and a half before a solution had struck him. Once it had, he could have kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Hell, D himself had pretty much blurted out the answer.

It would be easy, too.

All Rex had to do was to fuck up so badly and in such a way that there was no possibility of Dad substituting one kid for another. If Rex did it right, by the time the dust had settled there'd be no guessing around who the guilty party was, and long before bedtime, he would be the one jumping around, rubbing a bright red behind, and after that happened, D could spy on him all he fucking liked. If earning the first belting of Rex's life was the price to pay to shut his older brother up then he would do it with a smile, knowing that Mr. Big Mouth across the hall was eating every stinking, lying word he'd said.

Huh. As far as Rex could tell, his plan was working just fine.

He'd been ordered to his room more sternly than he'd ever been before so the whole thing had obviously been a no-brainer. Their old man was definitely planning to strap him, and once he did, everyone would know that Reckless was just as worthy of the Barrett name as his brothers and that he was loved. A lot. That was the plan, and it was working. It had to.

And so he waited.

At exactly 6:10, Malcolm Barrett's blue Jeep Liberty pulled up and parked beside his son's second-hand Honda. By sheer coincidence, Reckless had been looking out the window when it turned the corner down the street and he watched his father step down and slam the door, soaking up his every gesture and expression. Dad still looked ticked off, and as Rex considered what that signified for the future of his backside, his pole sprung to attention inside his Puma pants, straining to break free of the fabric. Whether it was from fright or excitement, Rex didn't know. He gripped it absently while he watched Dad fish around in the trunk for something, imagining that this tension must be what his brothers always felt when they were the ones in trouble.

Heartbeat racing.

Spit gone dry.

Clammy hands clamped over a pulsating erection, one half of him afraid to piss himself, the other half dying to cum in his boxers.

He squeezed the front of his pants and hoped he wouldn't disgrace himself too badly. Dad seemed to spank hard when he got mad enough to do it, but that wasn't a license to scream like a little girl and make a fool out of himself. He was sixteen, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.

As he listened for his father's determined footsteps coming up the stairs Rex thought about his brothers.

At eleven years old and the runt of the litter, no one expected Kurt to suck it up, and he didn't. He didn't give a rat's ass about impressing anyone or putting on a brave front, and when Dad was spanking his butt, he bawled without reservation until he alone felt that he was done crying. Dalton and Sonny were the opposite, but that never really made a difference from what Reckless had seen. Even if they never bellowed loudly enough to frighten demons the way Kurt did, their jigging and red-faced sniffling said it all and proved that Dad had succeeded once again in making his point.

Picturing all three of his brothers, Rex wondered after whom he would take. Obviously, he wouldn't know until their dad started laying into him but he hoped he could come out of his first session with his dignity halfway intact. Crying softly like Dalton or Sonny would be okay but not flat-out blubbering like Kurt. God help him if he shamed himself by doing that.

Where was Dad, anyway? Christ, the suspense was killing him.

With still no sign of the man thirty minutes after he'd driven up to the house, Reckless grew impatient. He padded to his bedroom door, opened it then snuck down the hall, straining at the top of the stairs for an indication as to what was taking so long. The only sounds that drifted up to him came from the kitchen so he crept down to the ground floor then tiptoed his way over, cautiously keeping out of sight. What he found was simple enough and a scene that pretty much played itself out every night: Dad ordering his brothers to set the table for supper. From his hiding place, Rex hitched in a breath as his lower lip began to pooch out.

Dad couldn't have forgotten about him and what he'd done....could he?

No, that was stupid. He'd gotten caught by Security jumping parked cars in Sutton's Mall with Keith's Kawasaki, stripping one bumper right the hell off with the back tire. Compounding his crime was the fact that he'd been wearing absolutely no protective gear at the time: not gloves, not leather pants, not even a basic helmet. Even if he had been, he'd been riding a friggin' motorcycle for god's sake, the one mode of transportation that Dad feared and detested more than any other for his sons. It was the one thing guaranteed to earn you a trip across Dad's knee, never mind that you were using it to damage other peoples' property. Sonny had gotten his butt scorched only four months ago for cruising around the neighbourhood on his buddy's Harley and Dalton had received at least a dozen open-handed swats himself just for getting caught straddling the bike when it was parked. Shit, there was just no way in hell that Dad could've forgotten what Rex had done. It simply wasn't possible.

No, something else had to be afoot. Maybe the endless waiting was all part of Rex's punishment...to let him go hungry and make him stew and freak out alone in his room for a few more hours until Dad decided he felt like coming up.

To deal with him.

With a belt across his ass.

Grinning with anticipation, Rex withdrew and took the stairs back up to his room to lay down on his bed, leaving the door open so he wouldn't miss his father's approach. A lonely ache settled in his stomach as he listened to the sounds of supper filtering up to the second floor, but he ignored them. It would be too easy to imagine that there really was no punishment coming his way and that they'd just forgotten to call him down, that his absence from the table wasn't calculated at all, but just another example of parental neglect. He'd rather get shot in the nuts than think Dalton was right, so he gripped his pillow and thought about how much his first spanking was going to hurt...

A little after eleven, his patience ran out again. He padded across the hall, crossed the threshold into Dad's bedroom and headed for the man's armoire. Even though he'd never been made to fetch one himself, he knew that on the inner left hand door hung his father's belts: the half-dozen regulars that Malcolm wore daily plus a wide leather one, more like a strap, which he favoured for discipline. Grandpa Leif had given it to him when Sonny had started high school, and since then, all the boys except Reckless had felt it bite their backsides, even Kurt – although the kid had only tasted three licks before getting the rest of his punishment by hand.

Well, tonight, was Rex's turn.

Taking it down, he closed the cabinet door and headed downstairs to find his father. On the way, as he clutched the belt and gauged its thickness, Rex buried any regrets about the shower that he'd taken an hour before and about the cotton pajama shorts that he'd chosen to change into afterwards. Dad rarely stripped his brothers for a licking, so he could have gotten away with keeping his Puma pants on, but he wanted his punishment to mean something. He wanted to make sure he felt it. Well, there wouldn't be any doubts about that now. He wasn't even wearing any briefs.

At the entrance to the rec room, he spotted his dad and swallowed hard. Malcolm Barrett was right where he expected him to be, sitting in his favorite recliner in front of the tv and nursing a beer, but unfortunately, he wasn't alone. Kurt was slumped in his lap, sound asleep, and though Rex couldn't see Sonny and Dalton from where he stood, the cue balls were clinking and dropping so he knew both his older brothers must be there, too, just off to the right.

Shit.

Getting the strap across the seat of his pjs for the first time was one thing. Getting it in front of an audience – even just his siblings – where everyone could see him crying and doing that stupid jig was something else entirely. He hadn't counted on that.

Shielding the belt behind his back, Rex loitered outside the room, stumped, wondering where he could shove it momentarily. He couldn't just walk up to his dad with his brothers in the room and the family spanking belt dangling from his hand. He'd never hear the end of it.

Growing more antsy and desperate by the second, Rex gnawed his lip and looked around. As he spotted a box of outdated construction magazines dumped right outside the door, his brow cleared and he smiled. This would be perfect. He must've seen his dad roll up Equipment World at least a thousand times over the years, whacking his brothers on the ass with it whenever they were pestering him and being a nuisance. It was certainly apt to hide the belt in there.

As soon as Rex had tucked it behind the box, he squared his shoulders and walked straight to his father. His palms were sweating again, so he hid them by folding his arms across his chest. Wearing jeans would've helped by giving him somewhere to stuff his hands, and once again, he cursed himself for changing. There was nothing he could do about it now.

"Hey, uh, Dad? Can I talk to you?"

He braced himself for an outburst as soon as his father recognized his voice but Malcolm Barrett merely gestured with his beer and kept his eyes on the tv, indicating that he should go right ahead. His expression was so maddeningly placid that Rex was furious. If Kurt or Sonny or Dalton were due for a trip to the woodshed and had exited his room prematurely, their father's face would have been fearful to say the least and the yelling would've been instantaneous. This wasn't fair.

Rex gave his dad a full thirty seconds to notice this discrepancy on his own but the man was clearly too engrossed in the news. Rex clenched his fists.

"Dad, I need to talk to you in private."

Finally looking his way, Dad peered at him strangely, not yet moving from where he sat. Rex could see the man was about to ask him if it could wait so he pre-empted him.

"Please."

The edge in his voice must have carried, because Rex felt two additional pairs of eyes boring curiously his way from over by the pool table, but the sixteen-year-old stood his ground. He didn't care what Sonny and Dalton were thinking right now. His focus was on their dad, and if he had to block the television screen next to convince the old man to follow him, he had no qualms about doing it. Luckily for him, the family patriarch didn't test him. He just sighed.

"All right, Reckless. You can tell me whatever's on your mind while I take your brother up to bed."

He placed his beer on a side table and stood up, lifting Kurt with him and settling him against his shoulder as he walked out. He wasn't overly gentle, but Kurt was mostly immune. The kid only woke up long enough to sling an arm around his neck and mutter something incoherent before passing right back out.

As Rex followed – surreptitiously scooping up his cowhide prize along the way – a stab of jealousy pierced through him and he had to stifle the urge to flick his little brother in the forehead or yank a handful of his hair. Dad had never hauled him up to bed at that age, no matter how whipped he was or how much he whined and begged. From as far back as he could remember, he was always the one brother who was woken up and made to walk even when the older boys were still getting the occasional lift. For god's sake, D still got carried upstairs whenever Dad got fed up of his drooling on the couch and he was nineteen! How fair was that?

"So what's so important you got to tell me?"

"Huh?"

Rex snapped back to the present at the sound of his father's voice and saw they'd reached Kurt's room two flights up. This was good. It was bad enough he had to watch Kurt getting babied right in front of his face, he didn't need Dalton eavesdropping when he talked to Dad, then razzing him later about having to beg for a spanking. Still, he glanced toward the hallway to confirm his older brothers weren't peering in then cleared his throat.

"Oh. I, uh, wanted to tell you —"

Abruptly, Rex quit talking, and instead, looked down at the belt in his hand, clutching it tighter to try and gather courage from the supple leather band. Dad wasn't looking at him – he was too busy tucking his baby boy in bed – so it wasn't like the man was staring him down and applying pressure. Determined not to act like such a coward, Rex took a breath and started again, speaking with a clarity that belied his anxiety.

"Dad, I don't think you should ground me for what I did today."

As he waited for the sky to fall, Rex cringed inwardly. Dad was bound to grab him, slap his butt, then pull him to his room for the rest of his punishment now that he'd been reminded so bluntly of the day's events. He couldn't possibly just stand by and do nothing.

...but that's precisely what Malcolm Barrett did.

As Rex took in the man's silence and the fact that he didn't look even remotely inclined to start whaling away on his son's ass, Rex knew he'd been dreaming. His father had never had any intention of whipping his butt after work, despite all the hints he might have dropped that afternoon. Insulted, scared, hurt, and confused, Rex felt his world boxing in and he exploded. He didn't notice his little brother slumbering less than six feet away any more. All he could see was himself and his father as he yelled the man's name.

"DAD!"

Irritated, Malcolm straightened up immediately and whirled to face his third son.

"What are you yelling for?" he whispered angrily. "Kurt's sleeping —"

Rex dropped his voice, but his anger was still bubbling inside him.

"I don't care, Dad! Didn't you hear what I said? Weren't you listening to me? I said I don't want you to ground me!"

"I heard you!" Malcolm snapped. "But you can't just destroy people's property and not expect to get punished —"

"I know!" Rex retorted. "Here!"

He shoved the belt at his father and shook it, urging the man to take it. Malcolm would not. The room was dark, but Kurt's nightlight was still bright enough for him to see, and though he recognized the object his son was proffering, it made no sense to him what Rex was doing with it.

"What's this?"

Growing more infuriated by the second, Rex clenched his jaw.

"It's your belt, Dad."

"I know what it is," Malcolm shot back. "What are you doing with it?" Before Reckless could reply, Malcolm gave him an order. "Put it back and go to bed. It's late."

Rex didn't move. If Sonny or Dalton or even Kurt had messed up as badly as he had this afternoon, there was no way Dad would let something as simple as the time of day intrude on the need to deliver a spanking. No way.

"It's not that late, Dad. You can still —"

"Put it back and go to bed."

"Take it! Take it!"

Incensed now, Rex grabbed his father's hand and pressed the belt into his palm, trying to force his fingers around it. Malcolm refused to cooperate and took his hand back before pushing Rex toward the door.

"You're not getting strapped over this, Reckless. Just go to bed."

Whirling back to face his father, Rex boxed his hands away.

"Why not?"

"GO TO BED, RECKLESS!"

When Malcolm roared like that, the boys typically knew to drop the subject, but Rex would not. Not tonight and not this time.

"Why not?" he pressed. "Why won't you strap me?! You'd do it to Kurt! You'd do it to Sonny! You'd to it to all your kids except me! Why, Dad?! Am I adopted? Just tell me 'cause I don't get what makes me so different!"

"You're not adopted, for god's sake," Malcolm said wearily. "Just go to bed."

Hardly comforted by the terseness of his dad's reply, Rex threw the belt down in a fury and confronted his father.

"Well, what is it then? 'Cause you sure as hell don't treat me the same!"

"That's not true —", Malcolm tried to interject.

"YES, IT IS!" Rex shouted. "I rode a motorbike today, Dad! A motorbike! I wasn't wearing a helmet and I used the freakin' thing to trash the neighbours' cars! You know why?" he raged. "'Cause I wanted to! I wanted to...PISS...YOU...OFF!"

Rex glared at his father accusingly and kicked the belt into a corner.

"If you got pulled off a job because Sonny or Dalton did that, this strap would come out faster than...than —"

Fed up of this nonsense, Malcolm felt his own temper starting to boil as he faced down his steaming son.

"What're you complaining about?" he demanded. "You're damn lucky I don't turn you over my knee —"

Rex threw up his arms in frustration.

"Well, why the hell don't you?"

" — as it is you're gonna be grounded long into the summer for this —"

"Bullshit!"

As Malcolm digested the fact that one of his own sons had just spat a swear word at him, Rex fumed and struggled to suppress the sting that was building behind his eyes. Finally, Malcolm spoke, the muscle on the left side of his jaw twitching in his outrage.

"What did you just say to me?"

Rex didn't hesitate. His voice cracked as he berated his father, but he didn't hear himself. Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

"I said BULLSHIT, Dad! Your groundings are pathetic! You don't make me stick to any of them! In two days I'll be going out and doing whatever I want and you're not gonna say jack about it! You never do!

Stunned at the vehemence of the boy's claims, Malcolm defended himself. "That's not true —"

"Yes, it is!" Rex insisted. His voice caught but he kept going. "You don't give a shit about anything I do! You don't care!"

"I don't know where you're getting this from —", Malcolm began but, again, Rex cut him off.

"You don't?" The teen barked a short laugh at his father's ignorance. "Of course, you don't! Why would you? You don't notice anything about me!"

Wondering just what the hell could have come over his normally easygoing son, Malcolm shook his head and sighed with exasperation. He was tired. He'd had an exhausting day on site and he wasn't in the mood to fight with his children. Whatever teenaged angst Rex was going through, for god's sakes, couldn't it wait for another day? He looked down at the apoplectic features of his third born and tried to placate him, but just as he finished telling Rex that he was his son just the same as his brothers, the boy interrupted.

"Am I?" Rex blurted. "Prove it!"

The teen gave his father fifteen seconds to slap him or take him into his arms and give him a kiss or hug him or just something, and when the man didn't lift a finger, Rex snorted dismissively.

"I don't know why I expected you to. You don't love me. You never have."

Malcolm opened his mouth to issue a rebuttal, but Reckless didn't want to hear it. From the weary look on his dad's face, it was clear that whatever the man said would be perfunctory and most likely a lie just to shut him up. He felt a tear escape his right eye and swiped at it impatiently.

"Dalton's r-right. I didn't want to believe him, but it's true. You don't g-give a shit how I turn out 'cause i-if you did, you'd actually whip my ass for nearly killing myself today instead of ignoring my fuck-ups like you always d-do. Well, you know what? I don't care and I'm not gonna give a shit about you any more either. I h-hate you."

"Son, just calm d —"

"Don't call me that! Don't ever call me that again! You're a liar and a fake and you're not MY FUCKING FATHER!"

With his throat constricting and his eyeballs burning worse than ever, Rex spun around and ran to his room.

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