Tyler had promised—sworn, even—that he’d be on his best behavior.
“It’s a family dinner,” Logan had reminded him in the car. “No flirting. No innuendo. No bratting.”
Tyler had nodded solemnly, one hand over his heart like he was taking an oath. “Scout’s honor.”
Logan didn’t say it, but he knew better. Because Tyler plus turkey plus a captive audience? A recipe for disaster.
And sure enough, less than an hour into Thanksgiving dinner at Logan’s sister’s house, the unraveling began.
First, Tyler made a too-loud joke about “stuffing” that had Logan nearly choke on his wine. Then he kicked off his shoes and rested his foot on Logan’s lap under the table—bare. When Logan shifted uncomfortably, Tyler just smirked, mouthing you're welcome across the cranberry sauce.
But the final straw?
Tyler leaned over sweet Aunt Marlene to ask for more gravy… and whispered loud enough for the whole table to hear:
“I’m going to need extra. Someone’s planning to roast my ass later.”
The table went silent.
Logan calmly placed his napkin down.
“Excuse me,” he said, standing. “Tyler. Come with me.”
Tyler blinked, suddenly less cocky. “Logan, we’re at your sister’s—”
Logan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t scowl. He simply turned and walked toward the hallway, past the bathroom, and stopped in front of the coat closet.
“Inside. Now.”
Tyler followed, cheeks pinker than the rosé on the table.
Logan closed the door behind them, the faint sound of clinking cutlery still coming from the dining room.
The light was dim, the air warm, the scent of pine and wool in the air. Coats hung on both sides. Logan didn’t bother removing any.
“Bend over.”
Tyler turned, eyes wide. “Logan—your family’s right outside—”
Logan pulled a leather glove from the shelf, folded it in half. “Exactly. So keep your mouth shut for once.”
He guided Tyler over, bending him against the wall of the closet, pressing a hand firmly to his back.
The first smack of the glove was sharp—soft enough not to echo, but firm enough to make Tyler gasp.
“Three warnings in the car,” Logan murmured, delivering a second strike. “And you broke every one.”
Smack.
“You teased. You embarrassed me.”
Smack.
“And now—now—you’re getting exactly what you asked for.”
Each swat landed harder than the last. Tyler bit his lip, stifling moans, gripping the edge of the shelf for balance. His pants were still up, but Logan knew just how to deliver punishment through fabric—and Tyler would feel it all through dessert.
After a dozen solid strikes, Logan paused. Leaned in. “Apologize.”
Tyler whispered, breathless, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being a brat. For teasing. For—oh god, Logan—for doing it on purpose.”
Logan smiled, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.
“We’re not done. Later though,” he said. “But for now—compose yourself. And don’t dare wince when you sit.”
Tyler straightened, cheeks burning—both pairs. Logan adjusted his collar, then opened the door.
They walked back into the dining room like nothing had happened.
Well, Logan did. Tyler moved a little slower.
As they sat, Logan’s sister raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
Logan nodded. “Tyler just needed a… reminder.”
Tyler cleared his throat. “Yeah. Got the message.”
From the other side of the table, Aunt Marlene winked. “You told me he’d roast your ass. I guess it couldn’t wait until you got home.”
Logan chuckled. Tyler turned scarlet.
And as the pumpkin pie was served, Logan leaned in and whispered, “Later, you’re getting seconds.”
Later that night, after the dishes were done and the goodbyes exchanged, Logan drove them home in comfortable silence. Tyler sat with his hands folded, cheeks still pink, stealing glances at Logan now and then. He knew what was coming—and maybe, deep down, he was looking forward to it.
As soon as they were inside the house, Logan hung up their coats and took Tyler gently by the wrist.
“Bedroom. Now.”
Tyler obeyed without a word, the earlier sass long gone. Logan closed the door behind them, then sat on the edge of the bed, patting his lap.
“You know what this is for.”
Tyler swallowed and climbed over Logan’s lap, settling in. Logan pulled down his pants and underwear in one smooth motion, revealing a backside still faintly pink from earlier.
“This time,” Logan said softly, running a warm hand over Tyler’s skin, “this isn’t about punishment. Not really. You’re my boy. You need this—and after tonight, I think we both do.”
Then he began—a slow, steady rhythm of hand to bare skin. Firm enough to sting, but not to bruise. Each smack was followed by a soft rub, grounding and reassuring. Tyler let out soft whimpers, melting under Logan’s touch, tension slipping away with every swat.
“I love you,” Logan murmured between strokes. “Even when you drive me crazy.”
Tyler let out a shuddering breath. “I love you too,” he whispered.
After a good, thorough spanking that left Tyler warm and blissfully sore, Logan helped him up, guided him under the covers, and pulled him close. Tyler curled against his chest, head resting over Logan’s heart.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, in a quiet voice, Tyler said:
“You know what I’m most thankful for?”
Logan smiled, stroking his hair. “What’s that, baby?”
“You,” Tyler whispered. “For loving me. For putting up with me. For always knowing what I need, even when I don’t. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Logan’s arms tightened around him. “I’m thankful for you, too,” he said softly. “For your spirit, your heart, your trust in me. For making my life brighter—every single day.”
Tyler snuggled closer, sighing in contentment. “Happy Thanksgiving, Logan.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, love,” Logan whispered, kissing his temple. “Now get some sleep. You’ve earned it.”
And with that, the two of them drifted off, wrapped in warmth, love, and gratitude.
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