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“You do not speak to your mother like that, Ace. Ever. Do you understand me?” Roger’s stern voice yelled, drowning out the den-den television.
Ace’s glare from the floor where he sat was sharp, cutting into the more delicate parts of Roger. He couldn't lie — he wasn't as stern as he should be with his youngest son. That responsibility was always passed onto Rouge, or even Rayleigh. His work trips clearly provided that he was gone too often to know what was too much, and gone too much to know what was too little.
Still, Roger knew how to command respect. He was burning, bright like the sun and constantly striving to be as kind as one could. It was like day and night. The that same lightness that followed him, made so that when he needed to, he could be dark, stubborn and unforgiving.
His son reflected that. So much so, that when they’d butt heads, which was often, it would end up in a draw. Essentially, Roger knew that he needed to be better at winning. Rouge told him such, so he took it as a goal. He wasn’t looking to be cruel, or even contrarian. He just needed to put his foot down. This was his house, under his ruling, and a petulant child could not command it.
Ace’s lip snarled, his pout deepening, “Why do you care? You're never around anyway! You don't get to tell me what to do!”
Before Roger could even respond to the disrespect, Ace’s hand was flying towards him, aiming to smack him in the chest.
He caught his wrist before it could make contact.
It wouldn't have done much damage — any damage, really, but Roger just couldn't let it slide. Ace let out a quiet whelp when his hand was frozen midair. Immediately recognizing his mistake, the boy quickly wriggled out of Roger’s unsuspecting loose grasp, before making a break for it.
“That’s it!” Roger bellowed.
He didn't get far before his father was behind him, wrangling him. He hadn't even crossed the threshold of the living room before Roger grabbed Ace by the arm roughly, his hand engulfing the scrawny boy’s thin bicep completely. Roger hoisted him into the air by his arm, his feet dangling in the air, dragging him away kicking and screaming.
It was a hell of a tantrum, and one of his own making. Rouge looked over from the couch, a curious glint in her eyes, but said nothing. Perhaps she should've been the one to punish him, since it was a slight against her, but Roger was fed up. This was a test, for all three of them, and if she wasn't going to participate, he would take the mantle.
“You're gonna learn a lesson today, boy.”
“Let go of me!” Ace screeched, his legs desperately scrambling to touch the ground.
When they passed by Ace’s room, he tried to grab onto the door hanger, but Roger was faster. He pulled him away easily, the childish “do not disturb” sign tearing off of the wood as Ace was ripped away, continuing the trek to he and Rouge’s bedroom. When he entered, he dropped Ace onto the ground like he was a sack, but did not release his hold.
The door slammed behind them, rattling the walls.
Roger jerked Ace towards the bed, but he quickly scrambled away from it. He darted behind Roger’s towering form, jiggling the dor handle. Locked.
“Ah-at, don't run now,” Roger scolded, and pried his hands away. He grabbed Ace by the back of his loose t-shirt, like a mother cat carrying it’s young, and threw him back towards the spot by the edge of the bed.
“You dug your grave, now you get to lay in it. You’ll learn some respect one way or another.”
Ace was crying now, full waterworks on display. It hurt Roger to see the tear tracks on his usually gentle face, but he needed to overcome that. The back of his knees hit the mattress, and he sat into the comforter.
“Stand up,” Roger commanded. His voice left little room for discussion. Still, Ace didn’t budge. “Don't make me tell you again, ‘else it's gonna be a lot worse for you. Stand. Up.”
“Please,” Ace begged, his voice breaking with his cries. “I’m sorry!”
Roger never spanked him. Rouge either, as far as he was aware, but still, Ace must've known what was coming. He hiccuped, his arms coming to protect his chest in surrender, as Roger walked towards him.
“It’s too damn late for that. You should've been sorry a long time ago.” Heaving him upwards by the arm again, Roger forced Ace to stand. He looked pathetic the way he cowered, sniveling and all, but it wasn't enough to deter the frustration that swelled inside of Roger.
“Wait, wait,” Ace tried, rubbing his arms, “I-I’m sorry, I really am. I’ll apologize to Mama, I promise.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Roger exasperated. He motioned for Ace to step a little closer with his hand, a final peace offering. Whether or not Ace didn't understand the gesture, or was still trying to be rebellious, Roger wasn't sure. Regardless, it didn’t matter.
Grabbing Ace, he leaned over his small body, his hands hooking into Ace’s dark denim shorts. They wilted away from him easily, as he tugged them to the ground. Ace’s hands held onto his forearms, his nails clawing into the skin. He was still blubbering apologies and offerings, but Roger tuned them out.
Ace’s underwear came next. His small, weakly looking flaccid cock fell from his briefs as Roger bent down to pull them off. Roger picked up his leg, forcing the boy to step from the discarded clothing, one after the other. It felt like stitching an wound. His cries shook his chest, rumbling, as he wiped around his eyes in an effort to hide his tears.
Stepping away, Roger pointed to the bed. This time, Ace seemingly knew better, and followed his instruction. Roger waited for him to crawl onto the duvet and sit on his knees, before he sat next to him. Grabbing Ace harshly, he pulled him into his lap, stomach to legs, and used one hand to restrain his arms.
“Listen to me, Ace. Stop crying.”
Ace was practically choking on his sobs. He made a noncommittal noise, every breath wavering, and his tears burning as they continued their steady stream down his cheeks.
“You’ve been way out of line. There is no reason to even think that the way you're acting is okay. Do you understand me?”
Only sobs came from the boy. Not a yes, not even a no, just more crying. Every time Roger opened his mouth, Ace bawled harder.
Roger inhaled deeply, and stared at the boy in his lap. His ass was elevated, even squirming a bit with discomfort. Maybe a shade lighter than the rest of his tan chestnut skin. Roger didn't need to ghost his hand over the curve to know that he could easily engulf them. Ace’s cock laid against his legs, wedged between them.
Rearing back, he slapped Ace’s ass cheek with a fury, finally releasing some of his bottled up anger towards the boy. The skin to skin impact stung the flesh of his palm, and a red hand immediately formed, splayed on the soft surface of his ass. The shape of his rings was indented into the skin.
Painfully, Ace whined piercingly with the force that rained down on him, trying to worm away, as if he could escape the burning sensation.
“I asked you a question, Ace. Do you understand me? I will not continue to repeat myself. This is your last fuckin’ warning.”
“Y-yes!” Ace wept.
“Yes?” Roger parroted. It sounded like Ace still hadn’t grasped the weight of the situation. “Yes what?”
“Yes, sir!”
There it was.
It would do Ace some good to address Roger correctly. He might not have agreed with his old friend Garp on everything, but Roger could now see the importance of discipline and correction. Roger thought that Shanks and Buggy never had these issues; they were rambunctious, sure, but commendable and open hearted. Maybe it was his old age beginning to show, and the fuse to his temper had shortened across the years.
The addressment of ‘sir’ settled in his groin inappropriately. It was a restless vibrating; the humming in his veins, his heart pounding against his ribcage, and his cock stiffening in his briefs. Ace’s undignified sobbing was only igniting the heat under his skin further, and his writhing exciting him.
A rush flowed through him as he ghosted his hand over the spot he’d spanked. The imprint he left was perfect, but it was beginning to fade.
He reared his hand back again, this time aiming for both ass cheeks at once. Ace preemptively flinched, preparing for the harsh blow. Roger’s cock twitched, he was learning fast. The slap was just as sharp as the previous, and the sound rung gleefully in his ears.
“Ow!” Ace cried, his legs kicking, and wrists straining against Roger’s hold. “No more! I’m sorry!”
“Quiet!” Roger scolded. His hand kneaded the bruising skin, “I ain’t even being that mean. You’re going to count, you hear me?”
Ace sniffled, but nodded, before scrambling to correct his error, “Yes, sir.”
Roger’s hand lingered on his ass, but soon enough, he was going back for more, “Start from the beginning. And I know your ass can count, so don’t be stupid.”
“One!” His small body shuddered. His voice was wavering, though Roger could tell he was trying to be strong.
After every slap, Roger pressed a silent ‘sorry’ into his skin. He couldn’t say it, he knew that much, but if he could pretend that Ace knew, it would be for the better.
“Two!”
Another one.
Albeit accidentally, Ace was nudging his cock, his hips grinding against the hardness. Roger had to push down the urge to meet his wild bucking with his own hips.
“T-Three!”
Again. His wedding ring cut into Ace’s skin, blood bubbling to the surface. His ass was already terribly bruised, and Roger could see how sore he was already. It'd be a struggle to sit down the next day.
“I can't! Dad, it hurts!” His squirming had reached an all time high. If Roger wasn't so large, and his grip so commanding, Ace might've escaped from his lap. That was likely his intention, and Roger wasn't as dumb to believe otherwise.
He sighed, disappointed. The stiffness in his pants was almost unavoidable. When he pulled Ace’s slipping form back to him, he was dragged across the tent in his shorts, until it was back to poking his belly.
“You don’t know what comes after three?” Roger mocked.
Although he let go of Ace’s wrists, he quickly grabbed his hips. He pushed him off of the bed, his grip on his waist so tight he thought bruises could form from that alone. Ace braced himself on the ground, laying on his elbows in a half-hand stand, as his ass was pistioned into the air.
On either side of him, Roger positioned his legs. Looking down, he had a perfect aerial view of his ass, the marks he’d left, and his tight hole. Using one hand, he spread his ass cheek, reveling in how his hole twitched as it was revealed to the cool bedroom air.
His thumb ghosted over the ring of muscles, fighting the urge to press inside. Ace’s cock was still soft, hanging limply alongside gravity, but Roger didn't expect much else. He lightly grazed Ace’s entrance, who jerked like it was an electric shock at the new feeling.
Roger had to bite back the smile. A devious thought popped into his mind; if he were to take Ace here, on the floor, would Rouge know the difference in his cries? In the slaps?
He swallowed roughly, imagining that he was taking the idea with it. No, he couldn't. The risk was too great. What he was doing now was already exceeding the limits, and God forbid if Ace ever blabbed.
Steeling himself, “You don't listen, do you? I’ll give you five more, then you’re off to bed for the night. If you fuck up the count, you get more, understood?”
Sniffling, trying to control how the awkward angle caused his sinuses to flood, Ace coughed, “…Yes, sir.”
Roger still took some pity on his son, evidenced by the way he spat at his entrance, attempting providing Ace some sort of barrier before he was to continue his punishment.
Raising his hand above his hole, Roger pulled back, before raining down on the boy again. It was a whole new experience, for the both of them.
Ace violently jerked, throwing himself forward, and he whined so high pitched, Roger thought his ears would start to ring.
“Count,” he not so gently reminded.
“One!” Roger could hear the wetness in his voice, so thick from all his wailing that it was almost inaudible.
The second time around, Roger tried spanking his entrance from a different angle. The smack was just as loud as the last, and Ace flinched all the same.
“Two!”
Roger was in awe of his work. All of his placating was more for him, than Ace, as his thumb pressed against his hole, threatening to plunge in.
He had to think about it.
“Three!”
Spanking him again, biting down on his lip, his hips thrusting forward, Roger paid attention to how his hole clenched around nothing after each hit. Ace’s ass jiggled too, and his body shook, quivering from the pain and the uncomfortable position.
“Four!” Roger hoped the neighbors couldn't hear, though really, it was none of their business.
His cock was straining against the fabric of his clothes so tightly, the built up pressure was going to kill him. Quickly, he fished himself out of his shorts, letting his large, hard cock leak into the air. He squeezed the base, and tugged his cock a few times in rapid succession, just to get some relief.
Back to the weeping boy below him, Roger couldn't help but want to get his fingers inside of him. He could be kind, and dive his index finger inside, and resort to smacking his flank. Or, he could shove his thumb in, and leave his gaping hole with a smack.
“When you act out, you have to learn, Ace. I know it’s not an easy lesson, but it’s a necessary one. I’ll never do this again if you just behave. It takes all of us to make this work.”
“M-Mhm,” Ace wept. Roger was trying to find it in him to scold the poor boy further, when he spoke again, “I’m sorry sir.”
Hm, well that was something.
“Good. I’m sorry too, Ace.”
Roger’s thumb steeped into Ace’s entrance. His hole stretched around him, morphing to fit his large finger. Ace choked, his cries turning more into yelps, his mouth filled with spit and gibberish.
Ace was incredibly hot inside. The warmth enveloped him, inviting him to push further, until he was down at the last knuckle, bottoming out. He drove his thumb slowly, fingering Ace, relishing in his wobbly voice.
“Daaad,” he whined.
Roger’s balls drew, and he removed his other hand from steadying Ace’s ass, swiftly grabbing a hold of his cock. He jerked himself, squeezing the shaft and tapping the tip, getting off to the way Ace writhed just from his thumb.
He panted, brokenly groaning as he sped up the pace, the finger that was fucking Ace matching it. He couldn’t bring himself to avert his eyes, not even to imagine that it was Ace around him, and not his hand — not when the sight below him was so glorious.
When his orgasm was close, Roger ripped his thumb out of Ace’s entrance. He clenched around nothing, his body still trembling. Roger braced Ace’s waist, biting back the loud moan that almost erupted from him, as he came onto the open hole.
His breaths were uneven, Ace’s too, as he looked down at the mess he’d made. Painted with come, Ace’s ass was filthy. Bordering on purple bruised, clots of red from where he’d been cut, and streaks of cum all adorned his soft skin.
Once he caught his breath, Roger hoisted Ace up, and laid him onto the bed, head resting on the pillows. He fetched some tissues, and rolled him over.
“In the morning, I'll come to your room and we can talk about tonight more. Okay?”
Still coming down, trying to steady his weeping, Ace mumbled into the pillows, “Okay, Dad.”
“You can use our shower to clean up. I’ll see you tomorrow, little prince.”