This is a continuation of the story Forgive me Father. I thought
Andrew would have a hard time giving up his guns.
Pairing: Andrew/Rick
Implement: Paddle
Warning: none

Forgive me Father
The Sin of Pride

"This is bullshit!" Andrew muttered under his breath. Well, maybe
not quite under his breath, judging by the way Rick's dark eyes were
narrowing in annoyance. Wrenching the key to the gun cabinet from
his key ring he placed it on the table in front of the other man
with a loud click.

"What if there's a coyote?" he demanded, knowing full well that the
dogs would put the run on anything that came near the livestock.
Flushed with anger he watched as Rick attached the small key to his
own set and slipped them into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Then I guess it's his lucky day," Rick said evenly, refusing to be
drawn into Andrew's efforts to argue about this part of his
punishment. While he'd taken the previous night's paddling with no
more than a token protest, Rick wasn't surprised by his resistance
in giving up his shotguns, even temporarily.

"I might need those guns!" he warned.

Rick leaned back in his chair to look curiously at his agitated
partner. "For what, exactly?" he asked. Except for the occasional
sighting of a predator, their farm was certainly a peaceful enough
place.

Andrew had to grudgingly admit, "I don't know. But I might."

"Well you'd better hurry up and study that book then. The sooner you
finish, the sooner we can discuss gun safety and I can return your
key," Rick replied and went back to filling out the grain permit
forms that were spread out in front of him.

Andrew picked up the small book and leafed through it impatiently.
The though of reading a novice book, on a subject he considered
himself an expert, only added to his indignation. "I've got things
to do, you know!" he huffed and threw the book down, a lot harder
than he intended and he watched in dismay as it skidded across the
table to collide with the mug of coffee in front of Rick. The cup
wobbled for a moment before tipping onto its side and spilling its
contents over the tabletop, drenching the important papers. Leaping
up fron his chair with a bellowed curse, Rick reached for a
dishtowel to soak up the spreading coffee.

Too shocked at what he'd done to even offer his help, Andrew watched
in uneasy silence as Rick salvaged what he could of his forms. When
Rick leaned on the table pinning him with an exasperated stare, he
stammered, "Th..that was an accident." His own temper evaporating
in the face of Rick's justified anger.

Rick nodded in agreement, but his voice was stern, "I'm sure you
didn't mean to ruin the permits but I"ve had enough of this
attitude. We discussed this last night, didn't we?"

"Yes," Andrew answered miserably. "But my GUNS, Rick.

"Andy, everyone makes mistakes. It's easy to get over-confident
when you've had a lot of experience. I just want you to be more
careful, so you won't get hurt. That book has all the important
safety information, it will be a good review for you." It worried
Rick that despite Andrew's skill with firearms, he had allowed
himself to use a gun impulsively. Even if it stung his partner's
stubborn pride, he needed to see this punishment through.

"I know," he conceded, unexpectedly close to tears. "I'm really
sorry, about the forms."

"Come here," Rick said, opening his arms.

Andrew went, somewhat reluctantly, half-expecting to be swatted, but
Rick simply pulled him into an embrace. He felt his partner's hand
move between them and gasped at the warmth of it as it encased his
groin. "Maybe you're confusing your guns with something else." Rick
teased, his thumb tracing the shaft of Andrew's cock through the
faded denim of his Wranglers. "What's this?"

"Rick!" Andrew protested, laughing even as he started to squirm with
pleasure. The stroking became more insistent until Andrew felt
himself harden from the sensation and joining in the game, he
moaned, "My dick."

"That's right," Rick praised him. "And what are these?" he asked as
his hand moved lower to cup his lover, gently squeezing so that
Andrew rose up slightly onto his toes.

"My balls." Andrew leaned his forehead against Rick's solid
shoulder and gripped his biceps hard.

"Well, everything seems to be here," Rick assured him solemnly,
continuing his careful manipulation. "I guess you're still a man,
even without those guns."

Andrew gave a choked laugh. "Okay, I get the message, Rick."

The other man's deep chuckle answered him as his hands moved to
Andrew's hips, pressing him forward so their groins ground together.

Trying to think, despite Rick's attention, Andrew panted, "The
forms...should I pick some more up in town?"

"Later," growled Rick, as he bent to kiss his partner.

**************

Several days passed with neither of the men commenting on the
punishment, Rick having squarely placed the responsibility of
clearing the slate on Andrew's shoulders. Not that he didn't try,
but every time he started to read the book the slight, niggling
resentment he still felt boiled up and he never made it past the
introduction. Something he regretted when he answered the phone one
morning.

"Hey, Andy, it's Sean," his friend greeted him cheerfully. "Let's
take the afternoon off and go shooting." Both men were skilled
marksmen and they shared a passion for trap shooting.

Cursing his own stubborness in not fulfilling the required penance,
Andrew lied, "I can't. I haven't had time to clean my guns."

"Clean your guns?" echoed Sean. "Damn, talk about lazy. That won't
take long."

Andrew hesitated, trying to come up with a plausible reason for not
having access to his own guns. No way was he admitting, even to his
old friend, that Rick was holding his key to the cabinet. Unable to
think of a believable excuse, he asked, "Why don't we do something
else, Sean? Go golfing, maybe?"

Sean gave a snort of disbelief, "Golfing? Don't you remember what
happened last time? Besides, I bought a brand new shotgun and you
and I are going to try it out."

"What kind?" Andrew couldn't resist asking.

Sean smiled, knowing the bait would be taken. "Remington 230
Express," he said smugly.

"Lucky bastard. I've been wanting one of those."

Sean laughed out loud. "I know and I'll let you use it, if you come
shooting with me," he coaxed. "You won't even have to clean your
guns."

The temptation was too strong for Andrew and he told himself that
while Rick had forbidden him the use of his own guns, 'technically'
he hadn't said anything about using someone else's. And any
remaining misgivings were swept away in a surge of resentment at
Rick for confiscating his guns. More to the point, his
overprotective lover would be gone all afternoon, moving cattle to
new pasture, and he wouldn't have to explain his absence.

Sean picked him up at the farm and the two young men spent several
pleasant hours good-naturedly competing against each other. While
he was fully occupied with shooting, Andrew had been able to push
the thought of his defiance firmly fron his mind. Once they were
finished, he found his reasoning for going with Sean a lot more
questionable.

"Let's go to the bar," suggested Andrew, intent on quieting his
guilty conscience a bit.

"Okay," agreed Sean, "But just for one, I'm driving."

Once in the bar they each ordered a beer and sat down at a table to
rehash their afternoon of shooting. Switching to Coke after his
first drink, Sean watched with concern as his friend downed several
more beer as the afternoon stretched into evening.

"Hey, Andy, you'd better slow down," he cautioned lightly. "You
don't want to have to explain to Rick why you're stinking drunk on a
Tuesday night."

With his disobedience already weighing heavily on him, Andrew said
irritably, "I don't have to explain anything to him."

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Sean said, "Sure, Andy."
But from what he knew of Rick, he seriously doubted that
statement. "But I do have to go soon, I have work to do at the
ranch."

Even with the numbing effect of the alcohol, reality had set in and
whatever hopes of hiding his afternoon of shooting Andrew had
previously harbored, were long gone. Why he could never remember,
before he got himself in these situations, that he was a hopelessly
inept liar, was a mystery to him. Confession and the consequences
that would surely follow were forgone conclusions; he was in no rush
to go home to his inevitable fate. "So go. I'll just stay here for
a bit."

"Forget it, Andy. You don't have any way to get home and I'm not
leaving you here alone." To get into trouble, Sean added to
himself. When he'd had a few, Andrew could easily involve himself
in one of the frequent fights that broke out in the rough bar.

"Christ! You're no fun. You've got all those men working for you.
Stay and drink with me," Andrew urged.

Sean laughed, not taking offence. "Those men don't work for me,
Andy. They work for the ranch; I've got plenty of my own work to do
too."

As did Andrew, and there was no hired men at their farm to take up
the slack. His stomach twisted with fresh guilt at the thought of
the chores undone at their farm and he gave in, "Okay. Let's go."
He finished his beer with one long pull, needing the courage and got
up to leave.

The drive from town was quiet, Sean, noting Andrw's unease, didn't
try to draw him into conversation. Arriving at the farm, Andrew's
heart jumped unpleasantly when their headlights illuminated Rick's
truck already parked in the yard. His liquid supper churning,
Andrew opened the dooor and slid slowly from the cab of the truck.
He could see the outline of his partner's broad-shouldered frame,
barely visible in the dusk, unloading bales of hay in the corral.

Sean swung down from the driver's side and joined Andrew, who was
watching with trepidation his parner now crossing the yard towards
them. "Lie down," Rick commanded the dogs, who were still barking
excitedly from the two young men's arrival. They instantly dropped
to their bellies on the ground and were quiet. "Where have you
been?" he asked Andrew, his annoyance obvious in his curt tone.

Andrew stood apparently mesmerized by the sight of his lover; he
looked tired, worried and extremely pissed off. Fidgeting with his
belt buckle, Andrew looked at his boots and muttered a few
unintelligible words.

"We went shooting this afternoon, I had a new gun to try out," Sean
nodded towards the gun rack in the truck. "Then to the bar for a
couple," he explained awkwardly when it became clear his friend
wasn't about to give an answer, at least one with any degree of
coherency.

"You're not driving after you've been drinking, Sean?" Rick's voice
was sharp with concern.

"No way, I only had one beer. I don't want to lose my license." Sean
shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension between the other two
men. "I'll just be going home now."

Andrew managed to thank Sean for the ride and say good night.

"Sure," answered Sean, as he got into his truck. "I'll call you
tomorrow."

 

Once the truck pulled out onto the gravel road, Rick took Andrew
into his arms, crushing him against his wide chest, "Jesus, you
scared me, Andy. I came home and you weren't here. You didn't even
leave a note. I thought maybe you were hurt out in one of the
fields." Having no answer at all to that, Andrew burrowed further
into his lover's arms. He could smell the distinctive odor of
horses and sweat, Rick having spent the day in the saddle, and
trying desperately to deflect the conversation, he said, "You stink."

"I've been working all day," Rick replied pointedly. "And you smell
worse than I do." Eager to escape from those accusing eyes and
knowing he reeked of cigarettes from sitting in the smoky bar,
Andrew quickly offered, "I'll go shower."

"In a minute. We need to talk." Taking his hand, he led the
anxious young man into the house to the kitchen table where he
ordered him to take a seat.

Rather than sit, Andrew drifted casually back towards the door and
away from his angry partner, "I need to check the cattle, a few of
the
heifers are due to calf soon."


"I've already done that, along with everything else you were
supposed to do today," said Rick. Even though he hadn't raised his
voice, Andrew could hear the rebuke in his tone and he flushed
guiltily.

But the beer dampened his inhibitions and his guilt shifted to
belligerence in a heartbeat. "What? I can't have one day off? Am I
chained to this place every day of my fucking life?"

"Yes!" Rick snapped. "Just like I am! It's just the two of us,
Andy. Those animals depend on us to take care of them and I depend
on you to do your job." There was a pause before he continued more
softly, "You let me down."

Still hovering by the door, his handsome face set in a scowl, Andrew
stubbornly denied any wrongdoing, "I would have done the work when I
got home."

Rick let his breath out in a frustrated sigh, "Andrew, that work
needed to be done before dark, you know it's impossible to unload
those bales at night." Pulling out a chair from the table, he sat
down, his fatique obvious in his movements and again ordered Andrew
to sit down.

Groaning inwardly, Andrew slid into his seat without enthusiam. He
loathed these discussions; introspection was not his strong point,
and he was often more mystified by his behavior than Rick.

Leaning forward in his chair, Rick started without any
preamble, "Why did you go shooting today?"

"Sean had a new gun he wanted to show me," he mumbled, his face
flushed red at the childishness of the excuse, he felt like a kid
who couldn't resist the lure of a friend's new toy. "And well, I
thought, you know....if I didn't use MY guns, it might be all right?"

The hesitancy of the excuse made it clear that Andrew really hadn't
thought that at all.

"Andrew," Rick said simply, the reproach in his tone enough to make
Andrew reconsider his answer.

"All right, I knew you might not see it that way," Andrew admitted
nervously, running his damp hands over his jean-covered
thighs. "But I wanted to go and I didn't see why I shouldn't."

"So you only obey me when it's convenient, Andrew?" Rick demanded.

"No," he answered, but then added defiantly. "But I'm careful with
my guns, I am, Rick. Nothing happened."

"Why did I take away your guns?" Obviously Andrew was conveniently
forgetting some of the events that led to his punishment, something
he was very good at. If Rick let him he could completely rewrite
the truth in his mind, telling himself a much more pleasant story.

With his face impassive, Andrew sat quietly for a few moments,
struggling not to remember why he had earned this particular
punishment. Finally he said tightly, "You took them away because I
shot a chicken."

"That's right. I took your guns and told you to read that book so
you'd slow down and be more careful. Because I love you and I
don't want you hurt."

Andrew lowered his head to hide the tears that filled his eyes, "I
know," he whispered.

"So why didn't you just come home after shooting? Why dig yourself
in deeper by going to the bar and blowing off your chores?" Rick
hitched his chair closer to search the other man's eyes.

Restlessly he picked up a glass from the table and turned it over in
his hands, "I don't know," he said helplessly.

"Well, think about it," Rick growled. When his partner kept his
head down, his lips pressed together in defiant silennce, Rick asked
him, "Do you want some time to think about it?" Andrew looked up in
apprehension, knowing that question led straight to the corner, he
shook his head and hastily admitted, "I felt bad... about disobeying
you."

"And is drinking a healthy way to make yourself feel better?" Rick
asked sternly.

Andrew shook his head hard, "No, sir." They had this particular
conversation before.

"Look at me," Rick insisted, waiting until Andrew dragged his eyes up
to meet his. "That bar is now off limits to you, until I say
otherwise. Is that understoood?"

Staring open-mouthed at the other man, Andrew said, "No, Rick! You
can't mean it." The bar was the sole social outlet in their area,
for him to be banned from it was a harsh penalty.

"I DO mean it, exactly what I said," he assured him grimly. "And I
don't think I need to tell you how disappointed I am in you not
coming home to take care of the stock."

"No, sir," Andrew answered, miserably aware of how exhausted Rick
had to have been tonight when he came home, that he had to go
Andrew's share of the work too, made him burn with shame.

Nodding towards the dining room, Rick said, "Go get the paddle."

"No, Rick," he begged, not getting up from his chair. "It was just
a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" Rick shook his head in amazement. "It was
deliberate disobedience," he said emphatically.

Andrew let his eyes widen and fill with tears, beseeching Rick to
agree with him, "But I didn't mean to, really," he said
appealingly. While Andrew had often used his innocent appearnce to
his advantage, it had been a long time since he'd been brave enough
to use it to try to influence his partner.

Rick's tone hardened at the deliberate attempt to manipulate
him, "I'm not asking you, I"m TELLING you, Andrew, go get that
paddle. Right now."

Recognizing that he'd pushed far enough, Andrew unwillingly got up
and started towards the dining room, his boots scuffing the floor.
He jerked open the desk drawer where the small paddle was kept and
snatched it from its resting place. For a moment he simply stood,
holding the thin piece of wood, his heart thumping as he thought of
what use it would soon be put to, before he took a shaky breath and
headed back to his waiting lover.

"I AM sorry," he said as he tossed the paddle onto the table, where
it landed with a loud clatter.

Noting there was more defiance than contrition in Andrew's attitude,
Rick picked up the paddle and took the other man's hand
determindedly. It had been quite awhile since he had spanked Andrew
twice in one week. Rick could understand why he was having such a
hard time. But intentional disobedience was not something that
could be overlooked and despite his attitude at the moment, Andrew
knew that too.

Together the two men walked to their living room to the well worn
couch, Rick keeping a firm grip on his unhappy lover's hand. He sat
down, the cushions sinking under his muscular frame, and pulled
Andrew to stand between his thighs. Not wanting to give Andrew
another opportunity to defy him he simply undid his jeans for him
and brusquely tugged them, along with his short, down. One pull
from his powerful arm and Andrew was over Rick's lap, bottom bare
and positioned for punishment. When he fought to right himself,
Rick placed one of his large hands on the back of Andrew's neck and
brought the other down hard on his backside. "That's enough," he
hold the struggling man in no uncertain terms. He spanked hard,
landing swats on his frantically squirming bottom, until the
resistance stopped and Andrew lay submissive over his lap.

Both men were breathing hard from their exertion and Rick stroked
his partner's sweat soaked back, soothing him until they had both
regained their composure. Repositioning Andrew, he brought him
close against his hard stomach and wrapped a strong arm around his
waist. He picked up the paddle from the cushion beside him and
brought it down with an authoritative crack on Andrew's right cheek.
Alternating sides, he covered the entire bottom in front of him with
solid swats until it was a uniform red in color. Andrew, while he
couldn't prevent the small reflexive movements to try to remove his
backside from harm's way, had remained locked in obstinate silence.

"You don't disobey me because your pride is hurt," Rick told his
firmly. "And you don't make up stories for yourself when you don't
like the truth. You take responsibility for your mistakes."

"Yes, sir," Andrew answered, hos voice tight with unshed tears.
Assuming the punishment was over, he tried pushing himself up off
the couch but he was held steadfastly in place. "Rick," he wailed
anxiously.

"We're not done, sweetheart," his tone gentler, he nevertheless held
him tightly. "I expect you to be more responsible, this farm is as
much yours as mine. You need to act like it. You're my partner, in
every way."

"Yes, sir, I will. I swear," he promised. When he again felt the
paddle resting on his already sore bottom, he said in
desperation, "All right, I"m sorry. Really"

But finishing the punishment, Rick delivered another set of equally
hard swats that left the skin of Andrew's backside scarlet and
burning. Lying back on the couch, Rick pulled the now sobbing
Andrew on top of him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he wept, his words
sincere this time as he clung to Rick for comfort.

When Andrew's cries had subsided to the occasional quiet sob, Rick
carefully helped him to his feet. "Let's go to bed," he said
sympathetically to his forlorn partner, supporting him as he toed
off his boots and kicked off his jeans.

Taking Andrew's hand, Rick led him to the narrow staircase.
Feeeling the slight pull on his hand, Rick turned to look at the
resisting man with concern. "What's wrong?"

Hesitating a moment before replying, Andrew said plaintively, "I'm
starving, Rick. I didn't have supper."

Rick resisted rolling his eyes; even a sound paddling had only a
temporary effect on Andrew's insatiable appetite. "What do you feel
like, Andy?" he asked kindly. "I'm cooking."

His sad eyes brightened instantly at the prospect and Andrew eagerly
began to list his order, "A steak,...."

The End.