The late afternoon sun slanted through the dusty windows of the Curtis house, illuminating dancing dust motes and the absolute chaos that was Keith Two-Bit Matthews. He was, to put it mildly, three sheets to the wind and working on a fourth. An empty six-pack of beer bottles lay toppled by the couch, and the half-empty one in his hand was sloshing onto the floor as he attempted, for the fifth time in ten minutes, to do a handstand on the recliner.

"Lookit!" he slurred, his face flushed a deep red, his legs wobbling precariously. "I'm a tree! A big, strong oak! Gonna grow acorns n' everythin'!"

From the kitchen doorway, you exchanged a long, weary look with Darry. Your boyfriend had his massive arms crossed over his chest, his expression a thundercloud of strained patience. Two-Bit had been like this for hours—loud, clumsy, and desperately, pathetically attention-seeking. He’d tried to start a wrestling match with Soda, who’d wisely escaped to the DX, then attempted to teach Ponyboy the "fine art of advanced shoplifting," which had ended with Pony hiding in his room with a book. Now, it was just the three of you, and Darry’s famously short fuse was burning down to the powder keg.

"Keith," Darry's voice was low, a warning rumble. "Get down from there before you brain yourself. Now."

"But Darryyyyy," Two-Bit whined, collapsing in a heap on the recliner, which groaned in protest. "Ain't got nothin' to dooo. I'm bored! Entertain me! c'mon, mommy, daddy, entertain me!" He blinked his glassy, unfocused eyes between the two of you, the honorifics slipping out with the same drunken ease as his burps.

You felt a familiar, warm thrill at the name, but kept your face neutral. Darry, however, didn't even flinch. He just stared, his blue eyes like chips of ice.

"You've had enough 'entertainment' for one day," Darry stated, striding into the room. He plucked the beer bottle from Two-Bit's lax fingers. "You're cut off. In fact, you're done. You're going to get a lesson in why you don't drink a brewery's worth of beer on a Tuesday afternoon and then terrorize my house."

Two-Bit pouted, a spectacular, lip-trembling display of faux hurt. "A lesson? What, like... math? I ain't good at math, Darry, you know that. She knows that." he added, clumsily pointing at you.

"Oh, it's math," Darry said, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone that made your stomach clench with a mix of fear and desire. It was the same one he got whenever it had been you the one acting like a brat, back at the start of your relationship with him, way before Two got mixed up in the bowl. "But it's a very simple kind. Counting. You think you can handle counting, baby?"

The pet name, laced with condescension, went straight to Two-Bit's head—and elsewhere. He squirmed, a slow, dawning understanding breaking through the alcoholic haze. "Countin'? What for?"

“You’re getting a spanking.”

A whine, high and reedy, escaped Two-Bit’s throat. It was less a protest and more a plea for the very thing he was about to receive. “Daddy, no… ‘m too big for that…”

“You’re acting like a brat, so you’ll get treated like one.”

In one fluid, powerful motion, Darry hooked his hands under Two-Bit's arms and lifted him an inche clear above the floor. Two-Bit yelped, his limbs flailing, as Darry sat down heavily on the now-vacant recliner and dragged the drunken man face-down across his solid thighs. The position was effortlessly dominant, Two-Bit's long legs kicking out uselessly, his ass presented perfectly in his tight jeans.

"Mommy," he slurred, his breath hot against your palm. "Tell 'im, tell Daddy 'm a good boy, please…"

"You can be a very good boy," you cooed from the near distance. "But good boys don't break lamps and try to do dangerous hand stands with their bellies full of beer, do they?"

He shook his head, his lower lip jutting out in a magnificent pout. "M'silly. Just… had too many beers. Got all… fizzly."

"We'll get the fizz out."

"No! Darry, c'mon, daddy, noooo!" Two-Bit babbled, trying to twist his head to look back. "I'll be good! I promise! I'll clean the bottles! I'll—I'll scrub the floor with my tongue!"

"I think it's a little late for that," You said, walking over to smooth your hand smoothing over the denim-clad curve of Two-Bit's backside. "You've been a brat all day. A loud, messy, cute little brat." You punctuated each adjective with a squeeze to the meat there. "but a brat nonetheless."

Your fingers made quick work of Two-Bit’s belt buckle, the clink of it loud in the quiet room. Then came the rasp of the zipper. His jeans and boxers down to his ankles in one swift, humiliating motion, baring his pale skin to the cool air and both of your gazes.

Two-Bit gasped, a shiver wracking his frame. “Cold…”

“Shhh, baby,” you cooed, your voice a soft counterpoint to Darry’s stern tone. “You can take it. You’re our good boy, aren’t you?”

He nuzzled into your hand, his lips seeking your fingers. “Mommy…” he whimpered, the word a drunken, worshipful sigh. Don't let him, please. I'll be so good for you, I swear." He took two of your fingers into his mouth, sucking on them needily, his tongue swirling around the tips. The action was so lewd it made your breath catch.

“None of that,” Darry chided, though there was no real heat in it. “You need to focus. Ready to count?”

Two-Bit released your fingers with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lip to your hand. “Do I hafta?”

The first spank landed, crisp and loud. It wasn’t full force, but it was a solid, stinging warning.

“YOW! One!” Two-Bit yelped, his body jolting. “Shit, Darry, that stings!”

“Language.” You warned sweetly, hand giving his auburn locks a ruffle, just as Darry delivered the second, a little harder, on the other cheek.

“T-two!” Two-Bit cried, his voice already taking on a whiny pitch. He was squirming, his hips making little aborted thrusts against Darry’s solid thigh. You could see the damp spot where his cock, hard and leaking, was pressed against the fabric of Darry’s work pants.

The third spank made him yelp. “Three! Fuck, okay, three!”

The fourth was a sharp crack that had him burying his face in the cushion for a second before he remembered. “F-four! Daddy, ‘s too ha-ah-rd…”

“It’s supposed to be hard, baby,” you murmured, hand dipping low to stroke along his jaw. “It’s supposed to remind you who’s in charge. Be good for us. Count for Daddy.”

He looked up at you, his bottom lip trembling in a magnificent pout, his eyes begging you for mercy or maybe for more. The fifth spank landed, and he gasped, his eyes squeezing shut.

“F-five… I think? Was that five? It was five, right, Mommy? Right?”

Darry’s hand stilled, resting heavy and warm on his now-pinkening skin. “We’re starting over. You lost count.”

“No!” Two-Bit wailed, the sound genuinely distressed. “Daddy, no, please! It was five, I know it was!”

“You think it was five,” Darry corrected, his voice a low, degrading purr. “You don’t know. That empty head of yours is too full of beer and silly thoughts to keep a simple count. We start from the beginning. Zero.”

A tear, real and shiny, tracked down Two-Bit’s cheek. He was so deep in the headspace, so drunk and turned on and desperate to please. He looked at you, utterly lost.

“Baby,” you said, your voice gentle but firm, leaning close so he could focus on your face. “Remember, we left it at four. You just had four. What comes after four, hmn?”

His brow furrowed in intense, drunken concentration. His mouth opened and closed a few times. “Uhhh… five! five!” he finally blurted out, hope blooming in his wet eyes.

“That’s right, sweet boy,” you praised, and the way he preened under the words was palpable.

You looked back at Darry over Two-Bit, pleading with him without words and only with a sweet smile on your lips. You had always been much more of a softie than him.

Darry just sighed, smoothing his hand over Two's burning skin as if in some kind of 'consolation' gesture. "Alright."

SMACK

“SIX!” Two-Bit shouted, a mix of pain and triumph in his voice. He was panting now, little puffs of air against your knee. A thin line of drool escaped his lips and soaked into the leg of Darry’s pants.

SMACK!

“Seven!” he cried, his voice cracking. “Seven, Daddy, I rem'mber!”

“Do you?” Darry mused, rubbing the sore spot. “Or is Mommy doing all the remembering for you? Are you just her pretty, dumb little boy?”

The degradation went straight to Two-Bit’s core. He moaned, long and low, pushing his reddening ass back into Darry’s hand. “Yours,” he slurred. “I’m yours and Mommy’s. Your dumb boy.”

SMACK! The eighth landed, lower, right on the sensitive sit-spots. Two-Bit howled, his body bucking.

“E-eight! Oh, God, eight!”

He was a wreck. Tears and drool mingled on his face. His cock was a furious red, pressed against Darry’s thigh, leaking copiously. The room smelled of sweat, beer, and sex. You tangled your fingers in his hair, not quite pulling, just holding, grounding him.

"You're being so good, Keith," Darry murmured, his hand rubbing slow, painful circles on the heated skin. "Taking your punishment like the dumb, drunk whore you are. You love this, don't you? Love being put in your place by your Daddy."

Two-Bit could only nod, a broken moan escaping him.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as Darry's hand lifted for the seventh blow. You poured every ounce of sweet, commanding praise into your whisper. "That's it, baby. Just a few more. You're being such a good boy for us."

That was it. The final straw.

The word "good boy," whispered with such tender ownership right as Darry's palm connected with a final, resounding SMACK!, shattered whatever remained of Two-Bit's control.

His body went rigid, then bowed like a string. His back arched violently, his hips rutted against Darry’s leg in a frantic, helpless rhythm, and he came, untouched, in hot, pulsing stripes across Darry’s work pants and the couch cushion below. His cries were incoherent, a sobbing, babbling mess of “Daddy!” and “Mommy!” and “I’m sorry, ‘s so good, please…” as he rode out his orgasm.

Darry let out a soft, satisfied sigh, his large hand gentling, rubbing slow, soothing circles on the well-spanked flesh. "Look at that," he said, his voice now thick with a rough affection. "Couldn't even make it to ten. Came apart like a cheap watch just from being called a good boy. You're a mess, baby."

"but ain't he the prettiest one?"

"that he is, hun"