Blood is dripping thick from Jesse’s mouth. He’s on his best way to biting through his tongue and doesn’t even feel it. There’s another slap and he jerks, hands sliding in the mess of drool and blood on the table, arms nearly giving way.

The smack of the belt is loud and meaty, resounding across the yard. There are people watching, he knows dimly, but nobody is making a sound. Everybody is eager to hear the next smack – the next impact of his own belt across his ass and the spread of his thighs.

His ass feels raw and Reyes’ hand on the small of his back is like a branding iron. Warm and grounding and so gentle for once. Like he’s almost sorry Jesse is a stupid son of a bitch and how he knows he can’t help his smart mouth.

The next slap has Jesse feel the brunt of the thick metal buckle and for the first time he screams – a spray of blood spewing from his mouth, one hand sliding away for good and chin connecting hard with the wood.

He passes out from the impact or something because everything is fuzzy for a while and needs time to drift back into focus. He feels Reyes palming the ruin of his ass and hears the jangling of his belt when he lets it idly swing in his big fist.

“You know to behave yourself next time, don’t you, McCree?”

“S…. Suh….” 

He doesn’t know if it’s enough – but he feels weight slowly lowering onto his back and hears the heavy foot steps of the Commander walking away; letting McCree stand with his pants down and his ass out, his belt lying on his back coiled like a sleeping snake.