The trail was quiet.
Dry leaves crunched underfoot, the sun slanting gold through a canopy of fire-red and amber. Tyler walked ahead, fleece tied around his waist, cheeks pink from the brisk air and the climb—not that he was ever just walking. He was skipping stones, tossing acorns, occasionally picking up sticks and pretending they were swords. Logan had been patient.
Mostly.
“Are we almost there?” Tyler called over his shoulder for the third time.
“You said you wanted to see the overlook,” Logan replied, calmly. “It’s a mile past the birch grove.”
“Everything is a mile past something on this trail.”
“Maybe if you walked in a straight line for five minutes—”
But Tyler was already veering off the trail.
Logan sighed. “Tyler.”
“Just want to see what’s over here!” he called, voice disappearing into the trees.
Logan followed. Slowly. Steadily.
When he reached the clearing, he found Tyler standing on a mossy log, arms out like wings, smirking like a boy who knew exactly what he was doing.
“I am the king of fall,” Tyler declared. “The crisp-air prince. The leaf lord.”
“You’re about to be the brat with a sore ass.”
Tyler grinned. “Promises, promises.”
Logan stepped closer. “You wandered off the trail after I asked you not to.”
Tyler shrugged. “Didn’t wander. I frolicked. There's a difference.”
Logan reached forward, caught him by the wrist, and gently pulled him down off the log.
“Alright,” Logan said. “Pants down. Right here.”
Tyler blinked. “Wait—here?”
They were surrounded by trees. Leaves scattered in gold and crimson at their feet. The only sounds were the breeze and a distant woodpecker.
“No one’s coming,” Logan said. “And you’ve earned this.”
“But—but this is nature.”
“Exactly. Let the forest witness your reformation.”
Tyler hesitated for half a second, then tugged down his hiking pants and underwear, blushing more from the chill than modesty.
Logan sat down on a fallen log, patted his lap.
Tyler draped himself across, the rough texture of wool against his stomach, the cool air brushing his bare backside.
Logan raised his hand—and began.
The first few swats were firm but measured, the sound of each slap echoing through the crisp woods. Tyler gasped, then whined, then kicked his boots against the forest floor.
“Logan,” he groaned. “It’s cold.”
“Then this will warm you up.”
Smack.
“You don’t wander off.”
Smack.
“You don’t sass on sacred hiking ground.”
Smack.
“And you don’t test me when I’ve brought snacks.”
Tyler giggled through a groan. “Okay—ow—that last one’s fair.”
The spanking continued until his cheeks were glowing, red as the maples above. Logan slowed, rubbed soothing circles into the sore flesh, then leaned in close.
“Apologize to the forest.”
Tyler turned his face to the moss. “I’m sorry, forest.”
“And to your very patient boyfriend.”
“I’m sorry, Logan.”
“For what?”
“For being a brat. For frolicking without permission. For mocking your snacks.”
Logan smiled, kissed the small of his back. “You’re forgiven.”
They stayed like that a moment longer, the sounds of autumn all around them—wind, birdsong, the crackle of leaves underfoot.
Then Logan helped him up, pulled his pants back up, and zipped his coat.
“Come on,” he said. “There’s a view ahead, and I brought cider.”
“Do I get to sit?”
“Only if you want to reignite those cheeks.”
Tyler grinned, falling into step beside him, one hand sneaking into Logan’s pocket, the other resting lightly on his sore backside.
They walked on together, deeper into the woods, the maples overhead burning bright as flame.
No comments:
Post a Comment