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The first time, it hits him almost softly, and he keeps his head held high and his shoulders stiff as rocks.
Bracing.
The second one hits his cheek hard, making his skin tingle and he bites down a pained hiss.
The third one is always the worst, it is almost like it's how many it takes for his father to warm up, and his palm hits Valarr's cheek hard, harder than before, and he grits his teeth and keeps his head in the exact position Baelor had put it in.
By the fourth slap, Valarr gets used to the feeling, his cheek turning almost numb, that burning sensation still there, but he manages to bear through it easier.
He feels his teeth cutting the inside of his cheek with the force behind the fifth slap, and he swallows down blood and bitterness.
Father's ring catches on his lip with the next one, and it tears so very easily, and this time Valarr can't stop himself from hissing, his eyes closing from the sudden pain.
His stomach recoils with disgust as he does, and he curses himself.
Useless!
Useless!
Useless!
Useless!
Gentle fingers grab his chin, and Valarr keeps his eyes closed, ashamed.
He cannot even take a couple of soft slaps. Useless.
"Let me see," Baelor whispers, pulling his face close, and Valarr moves forward with his hand easily, letting father guide him however he sees fit.
"It's bleeding," he notes, touching Valarr's lip to inspect the damage.
Valarr's breath catches in his throat from the feeling of his father's warm hand on his mouth, overcome with the urge to get his tongue out, to lick at his fingers, to let Baelor push his fingers inside his mouth and down his throat.
"Does it hurt?"
Valarr blinks slowly, opening his eyes to look at his father. Baelor stands close to him, nearly embracing Valarr, his hand still on his face.
"Yes," he whispers the truth, knowing it is what father wants to hear from him.
Father's enchanting eyes watch him, going down to his mouth and back up to Valarr's eyes.
"How much?" He asks after a moment, his thumb slowly pressing over where his ring had cut Valarr's lip.
Valarr swallows thickly, the feeling of Baelor's thumb pressing over his burning and bleeding lip overwhelming.
"It hurts a lot," he admits.
And father presses on the cut harder, making Valarr hiss again. His brown and violet eyes shine with hunger as he watches Valarr's reaction.
"You managed six slaps this time," he notes, still pressing on Valarr's lip, his nail digging into Valarr's skin above his lips. "I'm proud of you, my sweet boy."
Useless. You should've been able to handle more. Father would want you to handle more.
Useless, useless, useless.
"My good boy," father continues, and Valarr burns from within at the praise.
He wants to get on his knees, he wants to kneel at his father's feet, he wants to worship this man who raised him, who loves him, who takes care of him.
Who makes him bow and bleed at his own gracious hand.
He wants father to always think of him as a good boy, his good boy.
His good boy who would do anything for him, anything he wants, anything he asks, anything Valarr can do for him.
Sometimes he looks at his father, so big and large and greater than anything that has ever existed, and he wants to carve his own heart out and lay it at his father's feet.
You can step on it, you can take it, you can hold it, you can break it, he wants to tell him.
You can do whatever you want with it.
But father already knows.
He knows Valarr would do anything for him, he knows without a doubt that Valarr would cut himself open and give him all of his blood and all of his love if he needed, if he asked.
He rubs his thumb over Valarr's bleeding lip, smearing the blood around on his mouth and down his chin, his hungry eyes devouring the sight before him.
"Open your mouth," he commands.
And Valarr obeys, opening his mouth.
Father pushes his bloody thumb inside his mouth, rubbing it over his tongue, on his teeth, on the inside of his cheeks.
He frowns slightly as he rubs a certain part inside of Valarr's mouth.
"Is that a cut?"
Valarr cannot speak with his father's finger inside his mouth, so he nods slightly, moving his head up and down, and Baelor presses on that part of his cheek, pressing on the cut inside his mouth.
"You bleed for me so beautifully, my darling little boy." He smiles as he pulls his finger out of Valarr's mouth, cupping Valarr's face with his wet and bloody hand.
Valarr leans into his palm, sighing happily.
Father rubs his stinging cheek softly, smiling at Valarr with pride.
"My good boy."