Title: What Doesn't Hurt
Author: Mrpointyhorns aka Blemery
Status: WIP
Part: 1/7
Pairings: Troy/Ryan (hopefully)
Warnings: Child Abuse, Slash, Second Person
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Jack has strict rules in his house and Troy gets punished if he disobeys.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
First Rule.
If you don't want to get punished then you shouldn't break the rules. That's what you learn when you live under his roof. You've lived under his rules for fifteen years. You know them all, but not every rule is easy to obey. Like one rule, you can't be home late, even if you call and tell your mom that you're going to be home late you will still be licked. For every minute you're late, you get one lick. Even if you have a ride with Chad's Mom and she has to drop off six other kids, if you're late, you get licked. You always try to stop whatever you're doing in order to get home on time, but it doesn't always work.
It makes it harder now that you're fifteen, before in grade school you were never far away from home, a block maybe two. You came home on your own two feet or on your bike. At fifteen you have friends that live on the other side of town and you need a ride in order to get home. Sometimes they don't always listen when you say that you need to be home by nine on weeknights and ten on Fridays and Saturdays. No one believes you that you need to be home that early, that you can't call and say you'll be home late. You still call, because otherwise your mom will worry too and then you'll get even more licks for worrying her.
Jason is sixteen before you are fifteen and he is even worse. If he is driving you home he will take his time. He will make you wait until everyone else is home before dropping you off, because he knows that it bothers you. If Chad's in the car he makes sure you get home first, but he isn't always in the car and that's when Jason is extra slow. You wouldn't say anything to make him go faster because that makes it even worse. You know that if he realized the consequences of being home late he would never torture you like this. You've never told anyone. You don't even know how to. He's your dad and he's just expects star quality from you. He only licks you when you break the rules. You always know how many are coming. It's not abuse. It's just discipline. If you really didn't want to break the rules you'd find different friends. You're willing to take licks in order to keep them.
You're late again tonight. Chad's in the car but the waiter at the restaurant brought out the check thirty minutes late. So you had to catch a later movie and now you're forty minutes late, forty one. Your fingers are curled into your pant legs. You've never had forty licks before. You don't even know how their will be enough area on your body for forty two licks. It's all you can think about. Zeke is singing in the front seat, and Chad is eating the rest of the popcorn. He sits at your side and has offered you popcorn every few minutes since getting into the car. He knows you're terrified, he may even know why. He's just trying to help you. The dread of knowing what's waiting for you at home may be worse than actually being licked, maybe. You've never been licked forty seven times before.
"Troy, Troy!" Chad shouts until he gets your attention. "We're here."
"You have five seconds." Jason lets his foot off the break, the car rolling forward not even a one mile per hour, but it still causes your stomach to lurch. You throw the door open and it would have hit the driver's door if it was capable. You barely remember to slam the door shut as you sprint into the house.
"53 minutes Troy." He's sitting in the den. He calls it his office, but he works at school. He doesn't use the room for anything but licking you.
You turn slowly to the den. He's never licked you for stalling, but the longer it takes the longer he drags out the punishment. You don't want this to take longer than it has to. "I called."
"And your mother didn't worry. She's upstairs in bed, but you know curfew is ten. It's that time for a reason. Remember?" He stands from the chair moving around you to shut the door. That means he's going to use his belt. He leaves it open if he makes you go outside and get a switch.
You feel his hands on your shoulders then you answer, "After 10 pm nearly 60 percent of the people on the road are drunk and violent crimes reach their peak at eleven. You don't want anything to happen to me."
He nods, you can't see it but you can feel the wisps of your hair move with it. "I'm helping your friends too Troy. They go home when you do. They're not going to get in an accident or being murdered because they're at home safe."
You look up at your Dad. The stubble on his chin is rough, and visible even in the light from the street. "Why don't you hit them?"
"I love you not them." He places your hands on the desk. You're arms shake a little and he rubs them in a soothing manor, like he used to when you were a kid. "A lot this time," He says because he knows that's why you're afraid.
"I'm sorry." It's a whisper. So quiet but he hears you.
"I'm not." He continues to rub your arms. "Being able to discipline you, it means you're safe this time. Next time I might not be so lucky."
Your eyes fill with tears. You know he's a monster but you can't be angry when he means things like that. He shushed you and kisses the back of your head. Then he steps away. You hear the sound of his belt as he takes it off the whisper it makes against his pants. He's usually dress for bed at this time, but he's waited up for you.
He sets the belt down on the desk next to you. It's a temptation but you never take it. You feel his hands rub against your sides as he pushes your shirt up bringing the hem around your shoulders. Then he unfastens your belt, and your jeans are at your ankles before you remember to breath. Its best by this time to start concentrated on breathing, like a yoga expert you know that the body can endure more if relaxed; breathing is the best way to do this. You take deep breaths in, the longer the better, hold them and then release slow and even between your lips. You close your eyes because it's too dark and nothing you can see is really a distraction. Even your thoughts aren't a distraction, because your only focus is your breath and the number of licks. He counts them but you always do silently, just in case, but he never goes over. Instead, when you close your eyes you get a visual of colors. Like reds and oranges and yellows when the pain is fresh and stringing, and then there are blues and purples as they fade, never black though. He never lets that happen. He's even stopped before because he realized how close you were. He's always careful. He wants discipline he doesn't want to put you in danger.
Then your boxers go. They're at your knees. You shiver, you're legs trembling and he rubs your lower back. You know you've broken the rules, and you've apologized. He knows that. He still has to discipline you, but he's sympathetic because he's already forgiven you. When you relax they come, three or four at a time, then you're tense and shivering again and he's stopped. He rubs your sides or your stomach, it's dark and he doesn't want to rub a cut or welt. You cry, but he doesn't care if you cry. Sometimes like tonight he even encourages it. "You can't learn your lesson if you don't feel pain." Far less than being dead he reminds.
It's a slow process because he can only get a few licks in before you are tense again, and as the number progresses you take longer to relax, but you are even quicker to tense. He doesn't take pleasure in your pain. You know this because when it's over he sits in his chair, an elbow on the arm rest his chin in his hand. His hands are shaking you can see it in the belt of the other hand and the fingers of that one. He watches you as you pull your shirt down, that doesn't hurt he doesn't lick your back, never not even on accident. Then you pull on your boxers with a loud gasp. You leave your pants on the floor. You already know they're too tight and it would be too painful to even attempt to put them on. You fold them even though you hiss when you have to reach down to pick them up.
He holds out a hand to you when you set them on the desk. You don't hesitate to take it. He's still your dad. He pulls you into his arms and wipes your cheeks and your eyes. You're surprised that his hands are still shaking, but he's never licked you this much. He won't apologize. He never will because he wasn't hurting you. He was protecting you.
"I don't like doing that Troy." He rubs your back and lets you straddle his legs in a way that puts all the pressure on your mid thighs as any pressure on your upper thighs and butt causes tears to slide down your cheeks.
"Don't." You rest in his arms even though you realized that you'll never find the comfort from them that you need.
"That's not a choice," he says softly. He's told you before, but you always hope just a little that he'll stop.
"I won't do it again," You promise even though one day probably sooner than you like it will happen again, but you never mean for it to happen and he knows that.
He kisses your cheek and then pats your back. You climb off of him and lead the way up the stairs. You separate in the hall going into your room. It's passed 12:57 and you have to sleep, it makes it better in the morning if you do. It's difficult. You can never sleep well on your stomach but laying any other way is not an option.