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Ford just never seemed to understand what Stan was thinking.
When they were younger, he’d never had this problem. From their birth onward it had seemed that Stanford and Stanley had a tap on the other’s very pulse, finishing each other’s sentences and pinpointing where the other was with absurd accuracy. Even after their estrangement, Ford had thought he had his brother’s brain— or rather, his frustrating lack of one, down to a unique science. His brother was selfish, his brother was careless, his brother was reckless, and above all else his brother would never understand the concept of the greater good.
Ford had spent a lot of time discovering just how wrong he could be lately.
Pulling the trigger on that memory gun had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, because there was no doubt in his mind that he’d effectively killed his brother. While words could not express how relieved he was to find this wasn’t the case, it had been foolish to claim Stan’s memory was fine after everything that had happened. Logically, Stan should have been a shell, and even the sheer illogic that seemed to follow their family wherever it went could only take him so far. While the power of Mabel (which Ford was actually starting to believe may have been a law of the universe worth further study, but that was besides the point) had pulled his brother back together with scrapbook glue and stickers, there was no denying the cracks remained.
Stan seemed to largely remember who he was, but there were holes in his memory, spaces to be filled by triggers and time. This was fine, of course, and Ford was more than willing to help Stan fill any gaps that he could fill, gently returning childhood memories to the shelf piece by piece. He weathered the storms of darker memories, eased Stan through flashbacks of claustrophobic car trunks and weeks spent starving with hugs and promises. The most fascinating thing about it was Stan’s actions, the way the ghosts of memories would surface. Like the phantom pains of a lost limb, Stan would occasionally do and say things with seemingly no sense or purpose, his brow furrowing with confusion before eventually settling into recognition or familiarity. Healing was taking time but by the third flashback to columbian prison, Ford knew he owed Stan nothing but time.
It was going to be okay, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t occasionally frustrating in the interim.
Of particular concern as of late had been Stan’s recklessness. It started off small, little things that Ford hardly noticed. A small comment here and there, a casual indifference to their lone stove burner being left on, broad shoulders coming between Ford and the sharp teeth of their latest assailant one too many times. Then it began to build. Safety precautions went completely ignored, night watches that went on far longer than they were supposed to. Entire conversations became tense and argumentative, layered with Stan’s harsh language and agitated motions.
This song and dance was familiar, incredibly so. Ford had witnessed this sort of behavior in Stan since they’d been teenagers, knew it spoke to a child whose primary interaction with love came with firm words and a firmer hand. Years ago the solution would have been simple, a quick trip over Ford’s knee had always been a surefire cure for this sort of behavior… but well, things were different now, weren’t they?
Things were different because in spite of his actions, Stan couldn’t remember.
Ford had broached the subject somewhat cautiously when he’d started seeing the signs, carefully treading the eggshells between them. The subject of their father came first on a gray afternoon on the seas, the first hints of drizzled mist hazing the air as Ford spoke. Stan had stiffened, adam’s apple bobbing before averting his gaze to the waves beneath them.
“I don’t… there’s not much there now, y’know? Just his face and he never seems happy,” His gaze darkened. “I remember bein’ scared and a belt and I figure—“
Ford cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Stanley We don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to.”
Stan had simply nodded, and that had been the end of it.
So Ford had opted to drop it, because in spite of his brother’s broad shoulders and gruff demeanor, the summer had taught him there was something fragile inside Stanley Pines and he dared not break it a second time (or third, or fourth, but he tries not to think about that because his own guilt does not matter out here). Besides, he was well aware the thing between them had never been what one would call entirely healthy or normal— brothers weren’t supposed to be the ones essentially raising each other and they certainly weren’t supposed to spank each other. Especially not at their age. Perhaps without the memories in place to set Stan on that path, they could finally have a more… conventional relationship.
Except Stanley was still acting out like a goddamn child and Ford had no idea what to do.
He tried talking it out, of course, but his brother had never been one for discussing his own feelings if he could avoid them. He’d tried addressing the individual concerns, reminding Stan about precautions, gently insisting that there were two of them there so they could take turns at taking watch. He tried to remain calm, refusing to rise to the bait every time Stan poked and prodded, all but begging for a fight.
The only semblance of relief came one day when the two of them had been at a port gathering supplies. Stan had wandered off on his own, promising that he’d return with supplies in hand at six sharp. Five hours of panic and imagined doomsday scenarios later had Ford finding Stan holed up in a bar somewhere, laughing amongst foreign cigar smoke and heavily accented grumblings as he threw down yet another perfect hand of poker.
Ford had been livid and Stan’s admittedly impressive pile of winnings was doing little to console him. The two packed up and were out the door quickly, foreign jeers painting the picture as a lover’s spat only adding to Ford’s ire. The ensuing lecture had been harsh, making short work of Stan’s grumbled excuses and indignance as Ford laid out every possible danger. It finally ended in Ford jabbing a finger into Stan’s chest, growling out “I swear, if we were still kids—“
He stopped. There was a tense, heavy silence.
“What?” Stan finally broke it with a growl. “You gonna finish your sentence, tough guy?”
Ford swallowed. He took a deep breath, shaking his head, then fixed Stan with a glare. “Be more careful, Stanley, or so help me you will regret it.”
The response was a confusing mixture, his brother abruptly going ramrod straight, his breath catching… then he shook his head as well, hands clenching into fists. “You’re not the goddamn captain, asshole. You ain’t the boss of me.”
Ford had simply glared at him in such a way that Stan’s voice actually faltered a bit at the end. Then the author scowled, turning and stomping toward the deck. “I suppose you’re right,” He muttered.
The door slamming behind him did little for the cabin pressure in his wake.
Time moved slowly after that, and the silence stretching between them did little to help. Eventually Stan broke the ice of course, flopping down beside his brother topside that evening with an apology beer and a laugh. Ford had taken it and the two had fallen back into their rhythm soon enough, but there was something off, like the missed step in a routine. Conversations came somewhat forced and of course that restlessness was still in Stanley’s every movement, an unconscious kneejerk reaction every time Ford tried to pull him back.
It would be fine, Ford had told himself. Stan was just experiencing a bit of cabin fever. It was fine. One day they’d be able to discuss it properly and it would be okay. There were boundaries and Ford had to respect them, had to remember how things were supposed to be.
Then came the storm.
It blew up suddenly, a burst of howling winds and violent shoves to the ship tied to some vile, many eyed monstrosity. The thing had bore down on the ship, howling and screaming and grasping at them, and it was all Ford could do to hold the helm against the onslaught. He’d called out plans against the wind and waves, impotent words that seemed nothing against the force of the sea, but he had not worried, because what was the sea to him and his brother working together?
But they weren’t working together.
He’d called out something about the laser gun, told Stan to wait for his signal, then let out a shout as his brother pointedly looked him in the eye and proceeded to tackle the thing over the side of the railing.
The ensuing fight had been a mess of thrashing limbs and tentacles like waves, many mouths threatening to swallow Stanley whole as Ford cried out in horror. There had been splashes of frigid southern waters as Stanley plunged into the depths, flashes of yellow blood and so many angry, angry eyes, and for a moment Ford wasn’t sure if it was the thunder or himself that was crying so damn loudly.
Then it was over and the two of them lay on the deck, panting for breath under sheets of frigid rain and gaping out at the now empty seas.
“…What the fuck, Stanley!?” Ford finally found his voice and rounded on his brother, twelve fingers clenched into fists. ‘Why didn’t you wait for my signal!?”
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Stanley grunted as he sat up and began futilely wiping icy water from his glasses.
“Stanley, that creature had a very specific weak point, if you’d just listened to me—“
“Hey, I found it’s weak point eventually, I dunno what you’re complaining about!” Stan snapped. “What, d’ya think I’m not perfectly capable on my own!?”
“We’re supposed to be a team!” Ford snarled. Forget the cold winds, forget the rain, he felt certain he would catch fire he was so angry.
“It ain’t a goddamn team if you’re bossin’ me around!” Stan snarled right back as he jabbed a finger into Ford’s chest.
Ford felt his anger deflate slightly at the tremble he caught even from this brief contact. The ship swayed in the winds. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then got to his feet. “Get below deck and get a shower.”
“Excuse me!?” Stan was definitely louder than the storm now.
“You need to warm up after falling in, I can see you shivering from here. We’ll discuss this once we get out of this storm,” Ford said as he walked to the helm, grasping for the wheel. He heard Stan’s dentures click together, caught the growl under his breath before turning back and fixing his brother with a look.
“Now, Stanley.”
Stan was all but shaking, and whether that was more from a desire to continue their argument or cold, Ford couldn’t say. Finally, he turned and stomped down the stairs, slamming the cabin door behind him.
Ford sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose before focusing on the task at hand. Even with the wheel fighting slightly under his grip and the final grumblings of the waves to contend with, his thoughts remained below deck. There came the slight jerk and hum of the water pump being activated, and the author felt a stab of relief. At least his brother wasn’t stubborn enough to avoid the much needed hot shower in favor of defiance.
And oh, what defiance it was. Ford had not witnessed this level of defiance since they’d been teenagers, after a particularly rough stint with their father that had Stanley avoiding the house at every opportunity and bar-hopping like some kind of vagerant. He’d only gotten it under control after he’d caught Stanley in the middle of a knife fight and had all but dragged him home by the ear, snapping promises of a punishment that would keep Stanley from sitting on a bar stool for weeks.
“I know you’re upset Stanley, I get that, but getting yourself stabbed in an alleyway is not the way to deal with it!” A teenage Ford had insisted over Stan’s broken sobs and reddened bottom.
Ford’s tongue ran across his chapped lips as he twisted the wheel against a particularly hard swell. In retrospect, after all he knew (and didn’t entirely know, but suspected) about Stanley’s life, pulling him from a knife fight seemed absurd. The idea of it hung heavy in his gut with forty years of silence, culiminating in his brother knelt before him in an offering while he leveled the gun.
He had already nearly lost his brother more times than he cared to count. They had too few years left for him to allow that risk anymore.
His mind made up, Ford let out a breath as the drizzle finally settled and the skies calmed to a blanket of gray. Still not great weather, but it should have been safe enough to anchor and deal with this problem at least. It took minutes for him to toss the anchor aside and set up the necessary precautions, all of his alarms well in place should another squall or some other problem crop up in the interim.
The last of the storm’s pressure followed him down the stairs.
The sight that greeted him downstairs was his brother seated on his lower bunk, gray hair tossled and still drying from his shower. A comforter was pulled around his thick shoulders, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea that, judging from the no longer steaming kettle across from him in the kitchenette, was probably lukewarm. His oversized sweater was at odds with the boxers he wore beneath them and it almost made Ford smile— Stan had never been one for wearing pants if he could avoid it.
It would almost have been cute if Stan hadn’t fixed his eyes on him the second he entered and instantly gone rigid. “Well, look who’s finally come down from their power trip,” Stan growled, eyes narrowing.
Ford gave a sigh. “I suppose there’s no point in reasoning out to you that it was for your own good, is there?”
Stan rolled his eyes. “Oh no, Captain Smartass, please, feel free to enlighten me. After all, you’re soooo much smarter than me, heaven forbid I have any goddamn ideas of my own!”
“I’m perfectly fine with your input, Stanley, that is not the issue here,” Ford growled right back, his tone the first warning rumblings of thunder. “I’m well aware you have plenty of wonderful ideas and there are plenty of times when I think too much, I’ll acknowledge that. But I draw the line at you recklessly endangering your life.”
His brother gave a snort of laughter at that. “Reckless endangerment? We’re on the goddamn high seas, genius, danger’s half the fun!”
“There is a difference and you know it, Stanley,” Ford murmured. “Have you considered how you’d feel if Dipper or Mabel had acted how you’ve been acting lately?”
Stan visibly stiffened at this. “That’s different. They’re kids. I’m an adult, I know what I’m doing.”
“You certainly aren’t acting like it,” Ford hissed.
That was it, the flash of lightening that tore their sky open. In a snarl Stan leaped to his feet, burly hands clenched into fists as he made short work of the tiny floorspace of their cabin.
Unfortunately for him, Ford had been prepared. He deftly avoided Stan’s wild swing, caught his brother’s wrist and twisted around him in something almost like a dance. Then he was seated and he was jerking his brother across his lap, listening for the displacement of air from his brother’s lungs as his weight settled.
For a moment, Stan was still. His entire body went rigid with shock, empty lungs frozen, fingers catching at the mattress beneath him in something like familiarity. Ford gauged his reaction, heard the way his breath caught, hoped just for a moment perhaps this was it.
Then it was over and Stan was fighting to rise. “What the fuck, Ford?!” His brother snarled as he thrashed, pushing against the mattress in an effort to rise and then gasping as Ford’s hand on his back shoved him back down. He jerked side to side like a fish caught on a line, legs kicking out, arms gasping for purchase as if he were fighting for his life. “Let me up, you piece of shit!”
“Language, Stanley,” Was all Ford said as he patiently hooked one leg over Stanley’s and pinned him, his own muscles straining as he pushed back against his brother’s strength.
“I’ll language your face with my fist!” Stan roared as he continued to thrash. “You wanna act like you’re boss of me, you’ll have to fuckin’ prove it! Fight me like a man, asshole!”
“No, I don’t think I will,” Ford’s voice remained calm in sharp contrast with the explosive rage in his lap. He caught his brother’s flailing fist and tugged it back, ignored Stanley’s howl as the other joined it. “As much as I enjoy your idiotic shows of masculinity from time to time, Stanley, this is not the place for that. Rather, I think it’s about time we have ourselves a nice talk.”
With these words he pulled a length of rope from a nearby hook, something they’d always kept around in case of emergencies. It was quick work to tie his brother’s wrists together, the knots second nature to his six fingers. “You’re tying me up!?” Stan’s tone took on a note of panic that sent a stab of guilt through Ford’s stomach.
“I’m sorry, Stanley, but the cabin is a small space. I can’t have you thrashing around and hurting yourself,” Ford explained calmly as he jerked at the bonds. Satisfied that they were tight enough, he carefully adjusted his brother in his lap. “If you behave, perhaps I’ll untie you later. I imagine this will take some time.”
“If I behave!?” Stan parroted back incrediously. “I’m a goddamn child, Ford!”
“I beg to differ,” Ford murmured as he raised a six fingered hand, then brought it down on Stan’s boxer-clad bottom with a sharp ‘slap’!
Stan let out a shout that was a mixture of surprise and pain. “Augh! Ford, what the fu—“
“Language, Stanley,” Ford reminded as he swatted again, this time on the opposite cheek. “I know you’re a sailor now, but that’s no reason to speak like one. I’d recommend being a bit more respectful in this position, unless you want your mouth washed out with soap next.”
“Damnit Ford!” Stan snarled as three more swats were applied to his backside. “You can’t spank me, I’m— Augh! I’m not— stop it, we’re too old for this!”
“Mmm, again, I beg to differ,” Ford said as he continued. “As do you, for that matter. For someone who claims he’s too old for this, you’ve been asking for a firmer hand for weeks now.”
“WHAT!?” Stan sputtered, thrashing against a blow. “The hell are you talking about!? I didn’t ask you to act on your sick fetishes!”
Ford actually laughed at that, a humorless thing that echoed deep in his chest. “While I won’t deny there’s a bit of pleasure to taking you in hand, Stanley, I can assure you this is nothing of that nature.”
“Yeah right!” His victim spat back, trying desperately to squirm in Ford’s lap so as to properly glare at him. “I swear as soon as I’m out of this, I’m gonna punch your perfect sick freak teeth out!”
Ford raised a brow at this. “I suppose that’s enough of a warm up then.” With those words he reached down and in a swift motion tugged Stan’s boxers down, revealing the slightly pink flesh of his target.
“H-hey, hey, that wasn’t an invitation for you to— AaaaOOOWWW!” Stan’s voice was all vowels and pain as the first swat to his bare cheeks landed, the sound in a thunderclap in the space of the cabin.
“Hurts quite a bit, doesn’t it Stanley? Does it feel familiar?” Ford asked grimly as he rained smacks down on his brother’s bared bottom. “I know it’s hard, but try to remember.”
“Ah! What are you talking about?!” Stan cried as he continued to thrash, shoulders jerking against his restraints in time with each blow.
Ford let out a sigh. “Allow me to remind you, then.” He began to spank at a steady pace now, each blow jerking his brother’s girth against his lap as he swatted. “Our childhood was… not the best. You and I were in a dangerous situation and our parents weren’t the safe haven they should have been. As such, you and I took it upon ourselves to take care of each other. We looked after each other, we had each others backs against the odds… and sometimes, when one of us did something foolish,” He punctuated this with a particularly hard swat that had Stan gasping in pain. “We opted to deal with it ourselves.”
“Y-ya don’t mean— AUGH!” Stanley jerked in his lap, back arcing as he let out a pained cry.
“Oh yes, Stanley, you’ve been here before,” Ford said as he laid down another swat, taking note of the reddened, six fingered mark it left behind. His extra fingers had always given him a bit of an edge in this situation, made his palms just a bit wider, his strikes heavy enough to cover a decent part of his brother’s cheeks even with the added girth. “Maybe you don’t remember it entirely, but I do. I remember the time in seventh grade where you procrastinated on a book report until the night it was due. I helped, but only after I hauled you over my knee and spanked you for it.” He began to lay several smaller, lighter swats down, taking note of each breathy gasp that followed.
“T-that’s ridiculous,” Stan grunted, breath hitching as he clearly fought against the cries bubbling in his throat.
“I agree, it was ridiculous,” Ford said as he brought another hard smack down across the smaller ones he’d just laid down, listening to the howl Stan barely held at bay with clenched teeth. “Granted, not as ridiculous as that time I caught you getting in a fight over a clown painting in high school.” He punctuated this with several more hard smacks that had Stan rolling in his lap in an effort to get away. Ford reached out and quickly jerked Stan back into position, shaking his head. “Hold still, Stanley.”
“N-no!” Stan gasped out, legs kicking out the best they could in their trapped state. “It hurts!”
“I do believe that’s the point, Stanley.” Ford said as the spanking continued. “As I’m sure you’ll recall.”
“I don’t remember anything!” Stan barked back, but his voice was growing thinner, waning like his strength against the blows. “I don’t— this isn’t fair! Just cause you’re the older brother doesn’t mean you can- augh, AH, Ford, stop, I don’t remember, okay!?”
“That’s a shame,” Ford said as he tipped Stan forward, bent him nearly double across one knee so the tender place where his ass met his thighs was well exposed.
He felt Stan stiffen. “H-hey, hey, wait, WAIT—“
“Let me endeavor to jog your memory then,” Ford’s tone was cool before landing the first sharp smack across the tender flesh.
Stan’s howl was borderline comical as his brother began to rain down a flurry of blows. He jerked and cried out with each swat, legs kicking out behind him like a child, hands clenching and unclenching at his back. He thrashed and jerked and his sweater rode up with the motion, revealing a back growing slick with sweat even in the cool air of the room..“AAAAAAH! Ahah-AAH, Ford, no, AUGH, F-Ford, AH, FORD PLEASE, please, I- ah, ah, AH, that huuuuurts!”
“Mmmhmm,” Was his only response.
“AAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHH!” Stan threw his head back and cried out as the spanking continued, his voice finally hitting a high pitched, borderline sob.
“I know you don’t remember Stanley, but that doesn’t change the rules,” Ford finally began to speak over him. “While I understand our way of life calls for some measure of risk, there is a difference between that and foolishness and you know it. What if you had died today, hm?”
“What do you care!?” Stan finally snapped. The demand was so sharp it actually gave Ford a moment’s pause. Stan took advantage of it, his hard panting filling the cabin, his voice thick as he fought past tears. “I may not remember anything but I know enough! Forty years I was out there, forty years and you’re nowhere in my head, nowhere at all! Y-you never… no one ever…” He swallowed, shoulders going rigid against the tremors rocking through his body. “What do you care if something happens t’ me? I don’t matter, I’ve never mattered, th’ only good thing I ever did was let you blow my useless brains out to get rid of that stupid triangle, so why… so who cares? If I gotta throw myself between you and some dumb monster, at least I’m finally good for something…”
There was silence in the cabin for a moment, the only sounds their breathing. Finally, Ford moved and Stan flinched… only to gasp when instead of a swat, Ford’s six fingers found Stan’s locks and coiled through them.
“Stanley, you are everything,” Ford murmured and Stan’s breath caught in his throat.
“I know I haven’t been the best at proving it, I know the world has been hard to you, I know you’re carrying all this hurt and you don’t even remember half of it… but you’ve always been everything to me, more than you’d ever know. You’re right, I wasn’t there. I turned my back on you and I spent forty years looking at paintings of ships and trying to pretend they didn’t mean anything. I spent forty years accidentally talking to my reflection, thinking you’d know just how to make me laugh. I spent a summer trying to pretend you were nothing while those kids knew better, and then you…” Ford’s own voice caught in his throat and he shook his head, fighting back tears. Now was not the time. “I know you don’t remember, Stanley, but you are worth so much more than the man who saved the world. You’re… you’re a successful business man. You have more street smarts than anyone I’ve ever met. You—“
“Sixer, stop,” Stan groaned. “Stop, I know I was whining but this is cheesy, I don’t need this, do— ah!” His grumblings were halted by a sharp swat to his reddened bottom.
“You are a terrible listener,” Ford continued, undeterred as a small smile came to his face. “But you’re an amazing talker. You could sell ice to penguins, Stanley! You’re an amazing boss and father to a boy who desperately needed one. You have a niece and nephew who adore you, you—“
“Ford, Ford, stop,” Stan’s voice came out in a muffled whine as he shoved his face into the mattress.
“You have a brother who loves you more than anything, Stanley, and I am never going to let you forget it ever again.” As Ford spoke, he reached down and undid the knots around Stan’s wrists. He ran soothing fingers over the red marks that remained, took note of the way Stan’s shoulders sagged but otherwise he did not move.
“Stanley, you mean the world to me. I refuse to lose you, not like this, not ever again. So I’m going to spank you, because there are consequences to your actions.”
His brother let out a cry at that. “N-no! C-c’mon Ford, I’ve had enough, d—“
“I’m going to spank you because you need this, Stanley,” Ford cut him off calmly as he continued to stroke his brother’s hair. “I’m going to spank you because you’ve been looking for my attention and I intend to give it. You want my proof that I care, my proof that I’ll keep you by my side, and I’m going to deliver it, because I’d rather have you crying over my lap than lost forever at sea. Do you understand?”
Stan was silent for a moment. Then he took a deep, shaky breath, reaching forward and grasping at fistfuls of the covers. “It’s okay t’ admit you just like spanking my fat ass, you sick freak,” He grumbled, but there was no bite to it.
“Only when you admit you like the attention,” Ford murmured back affectionately before raising his other hand in the air.
The first smack seemed so much louder after the break, and if his brother’s strangled gasp was any indication, it hurt considerably more. The second seemed even worse, and the rain of blows after that only seemed to build the reddening fire across his brother’s undoubtedly sore bottom. Stan wiggled and gasped with each blow, clearly struggling to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was a losing battle for sure.
“A-ah!” Five swats in, Stan gave a jolt. “F-Ford, y-you can s-stop, I remember now!”
“Oh?” Ford asked conversationally, though he did not let up.
“I remember! I remember— w-we were thirteen, I— ow! I snuck some cigarettes, y-you smelled it on my clothes, so you— AH!” He jolted again, hissed in pain through his teeth. “Y-you helped wash out the smell so dad wouldn’t find out, spanked me with Ma’s hairbrush!”
“That’s right, Stanley!” Ford exclaimed, even as he planted a particularly hard swat on Stan’s behind. “Anything else?”
“I-I remember getting in fights— lotsa fights, and you— ah, AH, OW! How am I supposed to talk with you wailing on me like this!?” Stan howled.
“You’d be amazed how much practice you’ve had,” Ford said dryly. “What else?”
“I-I remember stealin’ cookies and shit, that time I pick-pocketed Stevie, that time— christ!” Stan’s voice came out in a gasp of breath and pain, shoulders shaking, back nearly bent double and voice choked as he fought back tears. “F-Ford, please, I remember, you can stop!”
“Do you remember why I spanked you, Stanley?” The gentleness of Ford’s tone did not match the fury of his swats, but it seemed to anchor Stan none-the-less.
“‘Cause… I…. goddamnit, I don’t know, you— ah, ah, AH, Ford, stoooooooop! His brother’s words were finally devolving into whines, hitching closer and closer into proper tears.
“Not until you answer me.”
“‘Cause you care about me, okay!?” Stan snapped. “You care, you don’t wanna lose me, you l—“ He choked on the words, seemingly unable to get them out. “I’m sorry, okaaaaay!?”
Ford let out a sigh. “Good enough. Let’s finish this.” With those words he began to rain down the final set, blows so hard he could feel the force traveling up his arm. Stan responded with the most unhinged cries his brother had ever heard, kicking and thrashing more on reflex than anything.
“Why am I spanking you, Stanley?” Ford asked after about ten swats.
“B-because— aaaaah! Because I was reckless and stupid and I k-kept putting myself in danger!” Stan’s voice came out in a rush as he grasped at Ford’s leg, clearly looking for anything of his brother to hold onto.
“That’s right, Stanley,” Ford murmured. “You’ve been very reckless and I’m not standing for it anymore. Granted, that’s always been a part of your nature, that hasn’t changed. But this hasn’t changed either— you can be reckless as much as you want, but every time you do, you’ll find yourself over my knee just like you always have. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes sir, yes sir! Aaaah, yes, and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, so please— aaaaaaaaahhhh! I’m SOOOOORRY!” Stan’s voice finally broke into a series of cries and sobs, his screams choked by tears as he threw back his head and simply let it all out.
Ford swatted him for another full set, simply letting Stan sob. Finally, however, his brother’s thrashings ceased and he simply collapsed, his body a boneless heap of apologies and pained whimpers as the final couple of swats came.
At last Ford rested his warmed palm on his brother’s bottom, feeling the throbbing heat and giving a drained but contented sigh over his brother’s broken crying. Finally.
“S-sorry Ford… so sorry…” Stan whimpered, voice muffled by the comforter below him. “Shouldn’t have done that, shoulda listened to you, shoulda…”
“I know Lee, I know,” Ford said gently, running his fingers through his brother’s hair. “It’s okay, it’s over now, shhh…”
He simply waited for awhile, running his fingers through his brother’s hair and rubbing soothing circles across Stanley’s back until his brother’s sobs quieted. Finally after a few minutes he carefully detangled Stan from his lap, helping slip his boxer’s off all the way before helping him lay down stomach first on the bed.
“Oof, you really did a number on me…” Stan groaned as he glanced back at his bright red bottom.
“Stop whining, you won’t even bruise,” Ford rolled his eyes as he stepped across the cabin and flicked on the tap. The room shuddered as the water pump worked, and seconds later he pressed a glass of water into his brother’s waiting hand. “Drink,” He ordered. “Crying dehydrates you.”
“And whose fault is that?” Stan hiccupped but he did as he was told.
With this task done, Ford took the glass away, then pulled the covers over Stan’s back. “You should rest, I’m sure you’re exhausted,” The older brother murmured.
“Mmm…” Stan laid his head on the pillow for a moment, then looked up to his brother. “Stay ‘wit me?”
Ford gave a chuckle, but kicked off his shoes and quickly slid under the covers. “You’ll have to move over, it’s a small bunk.”
As a testament to his current state, Stan did as he was told with little complaint, shifting so as to settle into Ford’s arms as if he were meant to be there. “You know,” Stan said after a moment of silence, pressing his face into Ford’s chest as his brother continued to run his fingers though his hair. “This feels… weirdly normal. Which is probably not somethin’ I should be saying after my brother tans my ass.”
Ford snorted at this. “Well, I’m already a freak anyway, as you pointed out. Maybe it runs in the family.”
“Does that mean you’re not denying you have some kind of weird fetish?” Stan asked dryly.
“I can still spank you again,” Ford warned. “We’re siblings. This is abnormal, certainly, but it’s nothing like that.”
“Uh huh. So when do I get t’ return the favor, huh?”
Ford did not reply to that.
The two laid there in silence for awhile as Stan’s breathing slowed to normal, the final hiccuping gasps of his crying fit quelling in his brother’s arms. For awhile Ford thought he’d fallen asleep and he contented himself simply listening to Stan’s breathing (breathing, always breathing, because the idea of anything else was unthinkable) and the sound of the waves slapping against the hull of ship. But then came Stan’s voice, quiet, tentative, small and almost scared.
“Did you really mean what you said before? About me being…” The words caught in Stan’s throat, as if the very idea of uttering that he was worth anything was too painful to bear, and abruptly Ford was brought back to that gut-dropping moment of Stan falling overboard.
Ford gently pulled back so as to give himself a bit of room, reached out to push Stan’s bangs back, then kissed him on the forehead. He then looked his brother dead in the eyes, face dead serious. “You are everything, Stanley. Don’t ever forget that.”
Stan smiled and finally relaxed against the pillow, eyes falling shut. Within minutes he was out, snoring softly against his brother’s chest, rocked gently by the waves. Ford let out a breath into the newfound lightness of the cabin, closed his eyes to the calm. He knew he could never know what was on his brother’s mind, not entirely. They were separate people, in the end, and that was something he had to account for. But here in this moment he felt like he had a pretty good idea, because he had the same thought.
It was good to be home.