kat_lair | A Bandom Gets Spanked Meme

Yay, it's here! \o/

*runs over to journal to pimp this*

*then runs to open a text doc to see who gets spanked* ;)

\o/

yay for pimping!

I may have almost 2000 words of Brendon/Ryan spanking fic ready to go soon. Um.

Brendon/Ryan spanking fic

RAWR. GIMME.

posted, see below

Yay, spanking! I'm going to pimp this like a mad pimping thing, and then I'm going to try and work out which pairings I want to write for you.

wohoo, pimp this like a crack whore! AND YOU MUST WRITE SOMETHING. Otherwise I may never speak to you again.

Fine. See if I write Jon being spanked for you, then. *turns up nose*

lol jk.

uh, uh, Sophie, DON'T TEASE. Well, you can tease Jon. BUT NOT ME. *grabby hands*

\m/

spank the pale people!! ;)

That's... PRETTY MUCH EVERYONE! \o/ *cracks knuckles*

But, still. Give me examples. Which pale people? Who would spank them? How many times?

patrick should get spanked. i have a weakness for him! and his little butt is so cute.
and gerard! he's pale. allthough it would be pretty hot if gerard spanked patrick! >_<

i never would have thought of that myself, but gerard spanking patrick? OMG I WANT. someone should totally write that.

YES PLEASE!
somebody do it!

Haha! Your weakness for his little butt! And his little panties! IMAGINE IT.

On Warped, while Gerard is going on and on about how brave and strong Patrick is, he starts getting all these mental images of pulling them off slowly and just touching him. Then spank! LOL AGGHH.

ahhhh!
<3333

i want this to happen. i want it i want it i want it! *tantrum*

i bet that when patrick blushes, he blushes down his chest. am i a creeper for thinking about that?

I can't see Patrick as nothing but a top so... Patrick spanking Gerard? Now that would be worth the entrance fee...

i agree, patrick doesn't quite strike me as a bottom either...but i have a thing for his butt!
oh well.
usually, i don't really care about top vs bottom so sure! :)

And then Pete walks in on Patrick spanking Gerard. And at first he thinks he's upset because Patrick and Gerard but then he realises that what he's really upset about is that it's Gerard Patrick's spanking and not him.

priceless!!!

instead of doing the polite, obvious, thing (turning around, walking out, and putting something on the door handle because the dickheads inside forgot to) he utters some loud, surprised, noise. like "gnurnk!" cause he's pete.

and both Patrick and Gerard freeze, Patrick with his hand still raised, Gerard braced over the sofa, red-faced and panting. After a while Patrick lowers his hand, deliberately placing it on Gerard's bare ass, fingers spanning his hip bone.

"Pete," Patrick says, his voice smooth like steel. "Either get in or get out, but close the fucking door."

HAIMORPLZ?

Like, the part where Gerard's whimpering, just a little bit, and his hair is in his eyes, but he can't brush it out.

because Patrick told him to stay still and Gerard knows what happens if he doesn't. So he just grips the frayed sofa cushions harder, even though everything in him wants to cringe away, to cover up. He can feel Pete's eyes on him, wide and shocked, running all over the long naked length of his spine, down the curve of his ass where Patrick's hand is resting.

The shame flushing through him is quick and scalding, and Gerard twitches instinctively, feels Patrick's fingers tighten past the point of pain. There's nowhere to hide and then Pete closes the door and it's too late anyway.

Pete's just, "Patrick?"

Gerard wants to just die, because he's pretty sure it doesn't get much worse than your little brother's ex-whatever walking in on you getting your ass smacked like a little kid. He can't see, well, much of anything, but he knows Pete's going to tease him over this. Pete's just that kind of asshole.

He's really re-considering this whole "don't move" thing in favour of running for what's left of his dignity, when Patrick's hand tightens on his hip, pressing him down and there's a heavy smack to his left thigh.

"Jesus!"

"Don't even think about it," Patrick says and the words are for Gerard but the look in his eyes is all for Pete.

Pete who is hovering in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, like he needs the connection to stay standing. Gerard can sympathise. He's been on the receiving end of that look (dark, dangerous, commanding) more than once himself, though he's intrigued that this is apparently the first time Pete sees it, see Patrick like this. Gerard had thought, had assumed--

"You can watch," Patrick says to Pete, his voice interrupting Gerard's thoughts. "Or you can join in."

Gerard can feel the hesitation in the air, like the uncertain perfume of a girl who isn't supposed to be wearing any. Yet.

Then Pete leaves the door, feet shuffling towards them. The footsteps slow, then stop. He, Gerard chances a glance back over his shoulder, clearly doesn't know what to do now that he's here.

"Gerard."

Gerard flushes and looks back at the ugly sofa cushions. He wonders what would happen if it was a magic sofa-

No. A cursed sofa, one that would swallow them up whole and he'd wind up in a far away land, pants around his ankles, but at least away from this whole situation.

Patrick laid down at least ten hard smacks and Gerard was wrenched back to the present.

"Ow! God!"

"Patrick." Pete sounded a little troubled.

"It's okay." Patrick rubs at the sting and Gerard almost pushes back into it, except no, bad idea. "It's alright, Pete."

"Isn't it, Gerard?" Patrick ghosts a hand over his burning backside. "Tell him."

Gerard pants, open-mouthed and loud, sweat stinging his eyes. This isn't-- Patrick can't be asking him to--

Smack. This one is vicious, catching Gerard across the upper thighs, and he chokes, a broken sob caught somewhere at the back of his throat.

"Tell him, Gerard. Tell Pete how this makes you feel. Tell him what he's missing."

Gerard curves around the sofa, feeling his whole body flush, knows it shows, knows Pete can see it.

"I. I don't." He draws a shaky breath, hears Pete walk around the sofa until there's a dip in the cushions and he's kneeling in front of Gerard.

Gerard doesn't want to look, but Patrick grabs his hair, pulling his head back until he's face to face with Pete.

"Tell. Him."

"G-good." Gerard chokes out, as Patrick's hand pulls away. "Good, I guess."

"Yes?"

"I- I don't know."

There's another smack, this one at the crease between thigh and ass, overlaying earlier blows. Gerard whimpers and shakes his head.

"Like there's someone there, someone stopping me. Pulling me back."

"That's good." Patrick starts rubbing him now, gentle, but even so it stings, just enough to remind him.

"Like there's someone else in charge." He's floating, a little, but he can still see Pete's face from behind his hair. "Someone taking care of me."

Pete makes a sound, high and fragile, his hand coming up to touch Gerard's face hesitantly.

And Gerard, he can feel Pete's fingers trembling as they brush over his jaw, over his lips, and suddenly it's not about him anymore, not entirely.

Pete wants, needs what Gerard has, perhaps more than he does, and Gerard has never been able to give nothing less than his all when it's required.

So he puts it in the language he and Pete understand; verbs and adjectives and half-sobbed pronouns spilling out like ink from a broken bottle. Patrick sets the rhythm, and Gerard and Pete, they bring the words, they are the words.

"It's like falling," he says, and if his voice isn't quite steady it doesn't falter either. Patrick's hand connects with his ass again and Gerard rocks forward from the impact, Pete's palm sliding over his cheek, cupping the back of his neck, clinging on.

"Like jumping from a cliff, someone pushing me--" Patrick hits him again, making both him and Pete gasp. "Patrick, like Patrick is pushing me over it, and I could stop and I could run and I could fight--" His words are stumbling over each other in their haste to get out, matching the increased tempo of blows, coming faster and faster until it's impossible to tell them apart.

"But I won't, I won't, because he's going to make me fly."

Patrick pulls Gerard ruthlessly against him, clothes scraping against flamed skin.

Gerard screams, pouring his surrender into Pete's open mouth like a gift.

The aftermath is wet and sticky, cooling at the edges. Pete pulls at Gerard until he's got him on his lap. His jeans scratch still sensitive skin and Gerard makes little noises, soft and breathy.

"Get up," Patrick pulls at his hair, almost gently. "Up on your knees, Gerard, I need to check on it."

Gerard sighs and leans on Pete, kneeling on either side of his legs, while Patrick runs a hand over his ass. He and Pete take the time to look each other in the eyes, Pete wide-eyed still and he, he knows, with heavy-lids and a glazed-over smile.

"You're alright," Patrick says, lowering himself onto the couch next to them.

"Better than alright," Gerard agrees, slumping against Pete for a moment. "Thanks."

Patrick just nods, running a hand down his back. It occurs to Gerard that he's the one wearing the least amount of clothes here and he reaches down, trying to pull his pants back up.

"I could go-"

Pete pulls him back, hands tight, almost tight enough to leave bruises.

"Stay."

Gerard settles back down, wedged between Pete and the sofa cushions. Pete's eyes are flicking between him and Patrick, and Gerard knows why he doesn't want him to leave.

Pete's scared of being left alone with Patrick. Not because he thinks Patrick will do anything Pete doesn't want, but because he thinks Patrick won't do anything at all, not if it's just him and Pete.
Pete's breath is coming in short shallow bursts, the staccato of his heart visible at the hollow of his throat. Gerard makes himself relax, going soft and pliant, reassuring; his whole body radiating it's okay, it's okay.

Patrick watches them silently, His hand stroking idly up and down Gerard's back, careful not to stray to Pete's skin, not even by accident. Patrick is waiting for Pete to reach out first and Gerard hums in sympathy, pushing his face into the crook of Pete's shoulder. He remembers how hard that is, asking for something that he needs so bad he can actually taste it.

Underneath him Pete is shifting restlessly, tiny distressed movements of a fish caught in a line, tired and close to giving up.

"Pete," Patrick says quietly. "You can leave if you want to. You can just go. I won't--"

Gerard feels Pete's head snap back, everything coming to sharp desperate attention.

"We'll always be good, Pete. This won't change it." Patrick's voice is steady and almost casual, but his fingers are digging into Gerard's side painfully. This matters to Patrick so much more than he's letting on and Gerard wills Pete to see that, to understand.

It's an edge of a different kind of cliff they're teetering on now. Gerard wills Pete to jump.

It takes a minute and a minute more, all of it soft breath and waiting, before Pete reaches out catches Patrick's hand where it's bruising Gerard's waist, wrapping their fingers together.

"I don't want to leave."

Gerard feels Patrick still, then reach out, around him, brushing at Pete's cheek. That voice comes back, the one Gerard knew about when he came and asked Patrick to help him.

"What do you want, Pete?"

// just to let you know, I'm going away for the weekend. I'll be offline until Monday so the next instalment will have to wait until then... Really like what we're writing here and was wondering if it would make sense to move it to email? My address: kat_lair@hotmail.com Have also friended you as I have this policy about awesome co-authors and how they should be on my f-list *nodnod* //

Hmmm... I've never written through e-mail, but I'll toss you a note next chance I get. I have to get some letters written first, but I'll do my best! I really like what we're writing, too.

Hee. I'm friending you back, because it seems we could be mutually beneficial to each other.

I promise, that didn't sound that dirty when I thought it up.

“I don’t—” Pete makes a little frustrated sound, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” Patrick says. “Give me the words, Pete. Just like always. This is no different.”

Gerard feels their hands, entwined and resting on his skin. He would move to the side, but neither Pete nor Patrick seem inclined to let him go and something inside him is whispering not yet, not yet, not yet.

***

_{so, I've just copy-pasted what he have so far into a word file and it's over 1600 words \o/ Definitely worth finishing. The beginning obviously needs some work too, but let's see where it goes first.}

Suddenly, Patrick's hand moves down Gerard back, rubbing gently at his skin.

"Can you tell Gerard? Maybe you could tell him, and he could tell me?"

Gerard just gasps at that. Pete's voice, Pete's words, through him. He looks at Pete, and pleads with his eyes.

Say yes, say yes.
.........................

But no, seriously, life failed this week. Not badly, but in a sort of repetitious wave of mediocre badness. It's good to hear the story's so long, though. I mean, it's kind of the most porn I've ever had a hand in.

Pete goes stock still for a second or two but then he’s moving, fast and jerky, pushing Gerard out of the way as he gets to his feet, breathing hard. Gerard thinks at first that he’s running away, but then Pete’s hand curls around the nape of his neck and he gets it.

Pete is going show what he wants. He’s going to fucking demonstrate it, and he’s going to do it on Gerard.

The fingers around his neck tighten and then Gerard is being wrenched off the sofa and practically thrown onto the floor. It’s not gentle, but it’s not careless or cruel either. Gerard falls in a twist of limbs and clothes, kicking his jeans the rest of the way off. Pete’s hands are helping him along, shifting and pulling until Gerard is where he wants him.

Where Pete wants to be himself.

Gerard understands. “On my knees,” he says. “Put me on my knees.”

***

No worries, RL being hectic for me too atm. Which is partly why I'm having fun with this. I can just write a little bit at the time, not overtly concerned where it's all going... it's kind of the most porn I've ever had a hand in. - when you put it like that it sounds positively filthy *gg* I've written quite a few fics myself (list here if you're interested (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/40765.html)) including porn but for some reason I'm doing a lot of co-authored stuff at the moment...

Pete cocks his head, as though he's Hemmy, trying to figure it all out, then reaches down, wrapping a hand around Gerard's arm. He doesn't pull him up very far, just enough to put him where he wants him, up on his knees on the probably blue carpet.

Gerard thinks about that. It's not like he loves being on his knees. There are other things he likes better, but he's not going to push for them. This isn't about him, it's about Pete, it's about Patrick.

He's saving lives again.

On the sofa Patrick is all steady breaths and quiet attention. He nods at Gerard’s words, but his eyes are on Pete like it was he who said it, who asked to be folded down like dirty sheets.

Pete’s shaking, just a little, when he fists a hand in Gerard’s hair, tilting his head back until the tendons on his neck are burning.

Gerard gasps through the pain, through the sudden pressure of Pete’s hand around his exposed throat. “Please,” he says, and it’s Pete’s words he’s speaking. “Make me yours.”

I commented on this, like, two days ago and it got EATEN. EVIL, LJ, evil.
...................................

Somewhere out of sight, he hears Patrick breathe in, not quite a gasp. Gerard pushes back against Pete's hand, moaning when it presses in.

"Please, please," he whispers, remembering what it was like the first time he knew what he wanted, even though he didn't know how to say it. "I want you."

"What do you want?"

The hand at the back of his neck is sudden, light, but promising. He twists his neck just enough to look over his shoulder where Patrick has pulled himself closer and closer, sliding along the sofa until he's close enough to touch. Gerard sighs and leans into the touch.

"Want you to fuck me," He murmurs, not sure who he's talking to, Patrick or Pete. "Fuck my mouth, bite me, leave marks."

"Yes," It's Pete, hissing low, like a cat. "Yes, Patrick, want you."

_{ugh, omg so late with the reply. life happened *shakes fist*}

“You already have me.” Patrick stands up, stepping around until his leg is pressed firmly against Gerard’s shoulder. He’s still not touching Pete. “I was just waiting for you to see it.”

Pete makes a raw, desperate sound at the back of his throat, swaying. Gerard reaches up automatically to catch him before he falls, gripping Pete’s hips tightly, thumbs catching on warm denim.

Pete shifts closer and Gerard can see that he’s hard, can feel the heat of it against his face. It should be weird, things between always are, at least a little bit, ever since Mikey, but somehow it’s not. Quickly, before he can change his mind, Gerard ducks his head and rubs his check over the hot line of Pete’s cock, nuzzling openly for a few seconds before pulling away.

When he looks up, Pete’s eyes are hooded. His fingers trail from Gerard’s mouth to his shoulder, tangling briefly in his hair. Pete’s wrist brushes over Gerard’s lips on its way past and he tilts his head, sees Pete’s hand cross the distance, slow like in a dream, finally curling around Patrick’s forearm.

The moment resonates like the silence after a shot.

Gerard is stock-still, but inside he’s floundering, caught in the way of the approaching storm-front and knowing he can’t outrun it. This weather change between Pete and Patrick has been long time coming, gathering momentum year by year, day by day, and now it will crash over all their heads.

Gerard’s afraid of drowning.

It's almost a shock, like static in a cold night, when Patrick's hand twines into his hair. It's accompanied by a smooth, almost gentle voice.

"It's okay. We didn't forget you."

Gerard looks up, over his shoulder and sees Patrick smile down at him encouragingly.

"What do you want, Gerard?"

Gerard stares, foolishly, with his mouth open and eyes a little too wide. He waits too long, utterly confused at being here as part of it all, not just as the conduit between the two, that he simply has no answer. Patrick laughs at him, but not unkindly, and it's echoed by Pete, a bridge of sound.

"I know what I want," Pete says, thrusting his cock against Gerard's cheek. Gerard flinches automatically, but it's not quick enough, and he gets a mouthful before he's ready. He gags a little, trying to open his throat for it.

Patrick reaches up and slaps Pete's face, almost gently.

"Be nice."

Pete pouts, but pulls away, against Gerard's protests.

"It's okay," he says, when his breath is back, words tumbling out over each other. "I like it, can I? Patrick, can I suck him?"

Patrick tilts his head enquiringly. “You feel you need permission?”

“Yes.” Gerard doesn’t even need to think about it. “Pete’s yours. I won’t touch him unless you say I can.”

Both Patrick and Pete inhale sharply, in weird echo of their off-key harmony, and Gerard realises he just voiced something neither of them has yet admitted out loud. Beneath his hands he can feel Pete starting to shake, fine tremors running up and down his thighs.

That seems to knock Patrick out of his surprise. “Okay, okay,” he says, wrapping his arms around Pete, leaving Gerard trapped in the maze of their legs. “We’re good here Pete. We’re good. I got you. You’re mine.”

Patrick drops one of his hands back down, cupping the back Gerard’s neck. “You too, there’s a place for you here if you want it. You did well, Gerard.”

Gerard feels a little light-headed. It’s not a casual offer and he can’t think past the haze of swirling emotions. Instead he presses his mouth over the hard ridge of Pete’s erection, feeling the shape of it under the denim. “Please,” he whispers, unable to focus on anything properly, eyes roaming hungrily over the two men standing on either side of him.

Pete is rubbing his face against the crook of Patrick’s shoulder, whining like a wounded animal. “Please,” he says too. “Please Patrick, let him.”

"Calm down, Pete," Patrick's voice is soft, but amused. He reaches up and presses Pete's face further into his shoulder, stilling him. The mood softens, almost imperceptibly and Gerard leans against Patrick, sighing, almost not feeling the hand tangling deeper into his hair.

Almost, that is, until it tightens and tugs, lightly. He's pulled back and away, not unkindly, but he whimpers, anyways and he's rewarded by a gentler touch, petting.

"Look at how pretty he is," Patrick says, and maybe he should feel objectified, dehumanized, or whatever, but instead all he can do is preen, just a little. "Look at those lips."

Pete's breath quickens and he whines.

Gerard looks up at him, the lines the sweat is making in his eyeliner, the fall of his hair over his eyes, the swell of his lips, then lets his eyes fall and nuzzles again at the hard line of his cock through the denim. It's like sandpaper on his cheek and he wants, he want so bad.

"I know," Patrick's voice is rich and soft, like the most expensive silk. "He's just made for this, right? Every time I see him I can't believe he's real." Gerard parts his lips and moans around Patrick's fingers as that hand slides around and presses against his mouth. "He's so good at it, too, Pete. So good."

"Please."

It's running through his head so loud he almost can't believe it's not him speaking and he has to look up to confirm.

"Please," Pete moans, whines. "Please, Patrick, I want his mouth, want it so bad, please."

Patrick cocks his head, keeps petting Gerard, and smiles.

“Yes,” he says finally, and Pete and Gerard both slump in relief, Pete against Patrick’s shoulder, Gerard against his legs.

“But you got to do something for me.” Patrick lifts Pete’s head up, traces a thumb over his cheekbones gently. “Keep your eyes open. The whole time.” Patrick’s fingers tighten suddenly, grasping Pete’s jaw. “I want you to pay attention. There’s a lot you can learn from Gerard.”

The implication is pretty clear and Pete nods, wide-eyed, head jerking awkwardly in Patrick’s grip.

Gerard bites his lips to stop from making noise. He thinks about Pete on his knees in front of Patrick, about his dark eyes and wide, wide smile that invites the whole world to share his secrets and how it will look swallowing down Patrick’s. He feels a brief tap against the side of his neck, recognises it as the permission it is and reaches up to flip open the button of Pete’s jeans.

The zipper opens readily and Gerard hooks his fingers under the waistband and pulls. His hands aren’t shaking at all.

“Pete, Pete. Eyes open,” Patrick says and Gerard looks up to see him holding Pete’s head between both of his hands. When Gerard’s mouth closes around Pete’s cock, Patrick seals his own lips around Pete’s, kissing him for the first time.

Gerard almost pulls off when he sees that, all lips and tongue and sweetness, but Pete's watching him, and pulls him back down. Gerard doesn't protest, but Patrick sees and smacks Pete upside the head.

"He needs to breathe, you dork," he admonishes. "You okay, Gerard?"

"Mm-hm." Gerard nods and goes back to sucking, mouth full, Pete heavy on his tongue. THe room goes quiet again, except for little breaths and moans.

You guys need to put this in story form. And do more of the Pete Patrick thing.

Love ya

*gnurnk*

what an awkwardly hot situatiion.

Oh, is this where I rec this will hurt you more (http://megyal.livejournal.com/63547.html#cutid1), one of my favorite fics ever? It's by

megyal, and it's amazing. Go. Read. Love.

(Oh, and I'm looking forward to following this one for a while. ;) )

\o/ Thanks so much for the rec, I will definitely check it out later!

And do stick around. Write some porn. Provide some pics. Spank some assess.

A possible aftermath of the Manchester gig. (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/112186.html)

***

Ryan rounds on him the moment they get back-stage, face like a storm cloud. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Brendon doesn’t back away. He spreads his arms, effectively blocking the way for Spencer and Jon who were walking behind him and are now forced to stop as the whole band comes to a standstill in the middle of a grimy narrow corridor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ryan. That was an awesome show. What’s your problem?”

“My problem? My problem? ” He’s mad, nothing fake about it, and the change is amazing. Gone is the passive, doll-like façade Ryan has been sporting for most of the tour, unreadable, uninterested, un-fucking-caring.

Inside Brendon is crowing with victory. It feels like the first time in weeks Ryan is really seeing him, really looking. He affects an expression of nonchalance, shrugging casually. “Yeah, Ryan. I don’t understand what’s so—”

“You don’t understand how coming out in front of a several hundred screaming teenagers is maybe something that should have been discussed with the rest of your band beforehand? For fuck’s sake, you know that’s going to be all over the internet within an hour!”

“Sooner, I think,” Jon pipes out from behind Brendon. “Web-enabled cells.” He sounds amused.

Ryan glares. “Stay out of this Jon, you’re already done enough damage tonight, playing straight into—”

“That’s enough.” Spencer’s voice snaps like a whip. He pushes past Brendon, dragging Jon with him by the wrist. “What Brendon did was perhaps a bit… unadvisable, but you have no business taking it out on Jon. He’s got nothing to do with it. This is between you and Brendon, and you know it.”

Ryan exhales sharply, his eyes cutting to Jon in a quick apology.

Spencer nods curtly. “We’re going to clean up. The transport to the hotel leaves in an hour.”

Ryan steps aside, letting Spencer and Jon past, but slapping his palm against the wall when Brendon tries to follow.

“You act stupidly at times, but you’re not actually stupid.” Ryan’s expression shifts from fury to something more… calculating. The anger is still there too, simmering just under the surface.

He takes a step closer and now Brendon backs away, though it’s still mostly for show. He can feel his body thrumming, his breath coming faster just from having Ryan’s whole focus on him. This is what he wants, what he’s been pushing for.

“So what is it, Brendon? You were bored? Not enough under-aged girls throwing themselves at you, so you thought you should add the boys to that as well?” The question is derisive but there’s an edge to it, like Ryan really thinks Brendon might be looking like he said he was.

Brendon feels an ugly spike of satisfaction at that, at making Ryan jealous. It’s underhanded and petty, but he needs Ryan to notice him, to notice other people noticing him, and if this is what it takes, then Brendon is not above doing it. He grins. “Hey you know what they say; all publicity is good publicity.”

Ryan moves fast when he wants to. Brendon finds himself against the wall, shoulder blades curving against the painted concrete.

“Are you trying to piss me off, Brendon? Because it’s working.” He leans closer, their chests pressing together painfully. “Is that what this is about? You want my attention?”

Brendon’s fingers scrabble uselessly over Ryan’s shoulders, his mouth slack and too empty. Yes, he thinks, back arching off the wall, yes.

“You got it.”

Ryan pulls him along the corridor, his grip around Brendon’s bicep iron hard and bruising. The first two doors are locked, but the third opens easily and Ryan shoves him inside, catching the light switch and shutting the door behind them.

They’re in a dressing room. Not theirs, but a smaller, abandoned one; cardboard boxes piled in the corner, a thin layer of dust covering every surface.

Brendon walks backwards until he’s in the middle of the room, keeping his eyes on Ryan’s. This is where it gets good. He has Ryan’s attention and he knows how to keep it, knows what to do now that he has Ryan exactly where he wants him.

“I’m sorry, Ryan.” Brendon drops to his knees, graceful, making sure his head is lowered just right. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” He shuffles forward, still on his knees, leaving uneven tracks on the dirty floor.

“Please, Ryan. I’m so sorry.” But he’s not. Not really. Not when he can hear Ryan inhale, loud and stuttering, and it’s so good, so good to be able to make him do that, to make him give Brendon what he needs.

Brendon is close enough to smell him now; hotel soap and sweat and musk. He nuzzles the front of Ryan’s trousers, shameless, the hot line of his arousal pressing hard against Brendon’s cheek, and god, god, he needs this so much, needs Ryan to hold him down, push his cock inside Brendon’s mouth until he’s raw from it.

Brendon rocks forward, hands snaking up to cup the backs of Ryan’s thighs. He’s hard, can feel himself leaking, damp and desperate inside his own jeans, and when Ryan’s hands drop down to his belt Brendon is whining, mouth already flooding with saliva.

But Ryan isn’t reaching for his buckle. Instead, he grabs Brendon’s face, forcing him to look up, long fingers digging into his jaw. “You manipulative little bitch!”
Ryan’s thumb pushes in, pinning Brendon’s tongue down until he can barely breathe. “You think you can push me into sex? You think you need to? ”

Brendon feels his eyes widen. If Ryan was angry before, he’s livid now, and for the first time ever Brendon is not sure what’s going to happen. For the first time ever, he’s scared.

It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling.

“Not only that, but to do it in public. To drag the band into it. All because you wanted my attention? Because you wanted to get your rocks off?” Ryan pushes more fingers into Brendon’s mouth, making him gag, eyes stinging with tears.

“You think you can play me like that, Brendon? You’re wrong.” Ryan pulls his hand out, twisting it in Brendon’s hair instead and yanking him to his feet.

It hurts like a sonofabitch and Brendon cries out, half-blind and stumbling. Ryan tilts Brendon’s head up and for a moment he thinks Ryan is going to kiss him, but he just looks at him for long silent seconds. Brendon wants to avert his gaze, but finds himself unable to move, trapped by the dark, unwavering heat of Ryan’s eyes.

“You’re not even sorry, are you?” Ryan finally asks. His voice is low, breath ghosting over Brendon’s upturned face.

Brendon doesn’t know what to say. What had been a harmless game suddenly feels wrong. He lied to Ryan, he lied, and the shame of it burns hot and acidic in his gut.

“You will be,” Ryan says and then Brendon is been walked backwards across the room, turned around and thrown over the rickety dressing table, the mirror shuddering from the impact.

It doesn’t even occur to him to resist. The wood under his cheek is rough, the dust clinging to his sweaty skin, the insides of his lips. Ryan’s hands are precise and methodological as he unbuckles Brendon’s belt, pulling down his jeans and underwear, leaving them bunched around his knees.

Ryan pulls Brendon’s head up until he can see himself in the mirror; the long stretch of his neck, eyes wide and black, his mouth an obscene red slit. He looks desperate. Needy. He looks like—

“A slut,” Ryan says. “You look like a slut.” He pulls Brendon flush against him.

The coarse fabric of clothes against his bare skin makes Brendon moan and writhe. Ryan runs his hand over Brendon’s mouth, back and forth, and Brendon licks the palm on instinct.

“Count them out,” Ryan says and Brendon has maybe two seconds to think count what out, before Ryan’s hand comes down hard on his ass, the sound more shocking than the sensation.

Brendon jerks, but there’s nowhere to go, Ryan’s other hand gripping the back of Brendon’s neck, holding him down.

“I said: Count. Them. Out, ” Ryan grits from between clenched teeth, his face twisted with love and hurt and anger, all mixed up and terribly beautiful.

“One,” Brendon gasps. “Two.”

By the fifth he’s choking the words out, fingers fumbling for purchase as each slap pushes him further forward. “Six, seven, eight,” come fast and ruthless, giving Brendon no chance to even draw breath in between.

Number twelve lands across his right thigh, Ryan’s fingers catching the delicate skin on the inside, and Brendon’s spine curves from the pain.

“Tell me,” Ryan demands, hitting him again on the same place.

“Twelve, thirteen, please, please Ryan, I’m sorry.” His skin feels like it’s on fire, and when Ryan rubs hands over his ass, kneading the flesh, Brendon’s entire body feels like he’s being scalded.

By the twentieth Brendon can barely make out the separate slaps, everything melting together into one throbbing hurt that crashes over him in waves, salty and vast like the ocean. By the thirty-sixth he realises he’s crying.

Ryan switches hands somewhere in between, keeping up a steady litany of slut and don’t you ever again and mine. Brendon doesn’t lose the count, but he does lose all sense of time and space, floating in the sensation, weightless and torn open. He’s full of Ryan – yours, yours, I’m sorry – surrounded, submersed, suffocating, everything going grey around the edges. It’s like sliding under the water, except Ryan is right there with him, sliding too.

“I want to fuck you,” Ryan says and Brendon moans, spreading his legs acquiescently, feeling Ryan’s cock slip between his cheeks, his hipbones grinding against the sensitive flesh of Brendon’s ass.

Ryan hauls him closer, hand slipping under Brendon’s shirt, fingers twisting a nipple, making him cry out. “God, Brendon.”

“Please, please, I want you to. I want.” Brendon’s head lolls back and Ryan bites down on the exposed junction of neck and shoulder, right where the skin is stretched tight and thin over the tendons.

“Later. Fuck, later. Don’t have anything with me now.” Ryan tongues the bruise he made and Brendon bucks, a high-pitched whine bleeding out.

Ryan keeps rubbing himself against Brendon, the head of his cock smearing wetly against the overheated skin, their movements jerky and frantic. Brendon is moaning continuously now, tear tracks all over his face. Everything hurts. Everything feels good. He’s never been this turned on in his life.

Ryan’s hand sneaks down, wrapping around Brendon’s cock, and Brendon’s body goes taut like a bow string and then he’s coming, and even that’s not straightforward pleasure, his nerve-endings so tangled and raw it’s impossible to distinguish between one sensation and another. Brendon doesn’t feel good or bad anymore, he just feels.

Ryan chokes out Brendon’s name, face buried between shoulder blades as he shudders through his own orgasm.

They stay like that for a minute, breathing in synch, sweat and come cooling on their skin. Finally Ryan turns him around and it’s only then that Brendon realises he’s shaking. Ryan holds him steady, lets him clutch and cling, plant clumsy, reverent kisses over every available batch of skin. “I’m sorry,” Brendon whispers, and this time he means it. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sor—”

“Ssshhh,” Ryan kisses him, gentle and shallow, until Brendon stills, his mind silent and calm. “I know you are. I know. It’s okay.”

Ryan fixes their clothes, quick and effective, and Brendon is grateful because he can barely stand up, suddenly exhausted. “Let’s go,” Ryan says, taking Brendon’s hand in his, leading him outside.

Brendon follows.

dkghljhgjfhjkfhjkbfgkjhuy34097yfd!!;fk!!!

I have never, never found Ryan hot before this fic, but there is something about him being angry and vicious and Brendon being kind of afraid of him that HITS ALL MY BUTTONS. Also I was totally waiting for somebody to write this idea, and I'm so glad it was you.

Your keyboard smashing is most appreciated *gg*

Seriously, this is more or less where my mind went after the gig, because omg, there had to repercussions. And if those repercussions involved kinky porn... then all the better. And Ryan. Yeah, I know what you mean about him not being the obvious "nnnggghhh, would hit that" person, but I think that boy has some serious power/control issues and you can have him either take control or give it away and both would be equally hot.

OH JESUS FUCK. o_o
Damn, woman. That was so NNNGGHHHH HOT that my brain is malfunctioning pretty badly now. o_o
aokakfjlkfjakdjlsjnnghhhh. Just. Whoa.

\o/ I'm not sorry for your brain malfunction. Not even a little bit. *gg*

Glad you enjoyed that, darling...

Dominant!andSpanking!Ryan is fucking hot.
<3

Agreed! Like I said above, Ryan has some power issues and could go either way with them...

This is delicious! I love it. Thank you.

Mmmm, spanking is pretty delicious. Thank you for commenting, glad you liked!

I feel as though every single one of my kink buttons has been mashed into oblivion. \o/

Excellent! My work here is clearly done then... Thank you!

God. Thank you so much for writhing this...
*melts from hotness* <3

Believe me, the pleasure was at least half mine... Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for commenting!

oh my. ok. i'm more than a little weak at the knees right now. *wobbles*

yeah, maybe is should call my friend and tell that i'm going to miss my bus.

and, um, "count them out" actually made my breathing go all weird. what was that about? o_____O

*solicitously sits you down* There, there. Deep breaths, the feeling will pass...

_{sometimes you don't realise something is a kink or hits a button until it's actually happening...}

yeah, i guess, since i'm still here hitting refresh every other minute.

right. sooo, moar spanking? :P

MOAR SPANKING! Post something! Photos! Meta about who most deserves to be put over someone's knee.

Oh Brendon you pushy pushy sub. Absolutely lovely. That hit all of my kinks *grins* I also like the way that Spencer is protective of Jon and takes hold of his wrist, sighs ...

Ah Brendon thought he was going to play Ryan, to make him do what he wanted, but... And I thought there might be one or two things in this that you'd like... *gg*

And yeah, the Spencer/Jon there was a totally selfish indulgence, glad you caught it :)

_{did you get my text?}

Yeah I liked a lot *grins*

Just reading your text now. Will respond.

Oh sweet merciful crap! That was insanely hot. It's like you managed to take every one of my favorite things and string them together in the most wonderful way possible. Fantastically written. I could really feel the urgency and the maelstrom of sense and emotion.

*brb scrapin myself off the floor*

*gets a spatula to help with the scraping*

\o/ I'm insanely pleased by your reaction, that you felt the emotion came through. This is one of the fastest fics I've ever written, usually I'm a really slow writer but this I did in a few hours over last night and this morning so yay! Thank you!

I normally don't think Ryan is hot at all. But Ryan as you've written him here? SMOKING.

Weirdly enough, it's the power here that makes Ryan hot for me. Otherwise... I'm pretty much with you on that one. Thank you!

Nnnnnngh. Yes fucking please.

How pretty is your please? *gg* Thanks for the comment, this reaction is most gratifying...

Um. I don't even know. I don't. *hands* This was.. just. O_O

*grins wide enough to break something* This is a most acceptable reaction, thank you!

...

I am supposed to clean my room. This is so much better.

spanking fic > cleaning. any time. *gg*

Ryan in control = <3. ^^

*looks out on the mess on the floor*
It looked better before I started to sort it out. *sobs*

Holy crap.

I don't read bandom. No, I really, really don't.

Or I didn't. Until today. Because, sweet Jesus, that was fabulous.

Wow.

Careful there, it's a slippery slope. Just. Let me give you a hand-- *pushes gently*

Ooops. :D

Thank you! Glad you enjoyed the ride!

....

\o/

Pissed Off!Ryan and Genuinely Repentant!Brendon are.... honestly, really really awesome. And hot. Did I mention awesome?

I think you did mention awesome :D Thank you very much, glad to have provided something worthy of victory arms.

This is amazingly hot. I love to see Ryan so strong, possessive here, and Brendon slipping into his subspace is delicious.

Thank you for this and for this meme, which is so very much what I have been needing & wanting; I completely agree that there is not nearly enough spanking fic in bandom! (And I hope to add something tomorrow!)

Thank you very much! I have a thing for possessiveness when writing this sort of dynamic so I'm glad it worked for you.

This meme has completely blown me away! Every time I think things have calmed down, I come back to find several more comments. Bandom is spoiling me with all this delicious spanking fic and conversations of power dynamics... So thank you for participating, looking forward to see what wonderful things you'll be contributing...

Oooh, must camp out here and enjoy the sights.

*wants Frank to get spanked by Ray SO BAD*

*wants Frank to get spanked by Ray SO BAD*

me too, so so bad. LIKE NOW PLEASE.

OH MAN.

I AM NOT ALONE IN THIS LONGING. :D :D :D :D

*sets up tent and camps with you*
*makes a campfire while waiting for all the spanking*

Can I stay in your tent? I've got marshmellows!

Of course you can dear! <3
*makes room for you and your marshmellows*

MARSHMELLOWS!!!

Spank away, boys...spank away.

OH HAI!

So this is officially CampSpank 2008. Kinda like spring break, but with less jell-o shots and more paddles.

*steals some blankets from Random Person #1 and shares them with Sofie &

atomichatred82 =D*

We should totally start a CampSpank for real! :D

CampSpank 2008 - AHAHAHAHA \o/ ilu

*pulls out lawn chair and thermos flask full of tequila*

I am not writing it for you right this moment. At work. I promise. >_> /o\

"Left!" Brendon screams at the television, "go left, go left, go left!".

Ryan shoots him an annoyed look and kept on calmly pressing buttons, his competitive streak in the sharp edge of his shoulders, the way he hunches over the controller, his face set serious and intent. Brendon seems to view video games as a full-contact sport: he shouts, he whoops, he jerks around in time with his character on the screen and, occasionally, he starts flailing one-handed at his opponent in an attempt to sabotage them. It almost always ends in his own character crashing into a wall.

Curled up against the arm of the sofa, Spencer catches Jon's eye. Jon rolls them dramatically and mouths 'crazy', with a matching twirl of his finger against the side of his head. Spencer grins. He's gratified when Jon smiles back.

"Right! Go right, you fucker!" Brendon shouts.

Predictably, the little wheeled figure onscreen hits a wall, spins, and ends up facing the wrong direction.

Brendon howls as Ryan's character steers deftly past him and sails over the finish line.

"You cheated, Ryan Ross," he accuses, with a venomous glare and a point of his finger.

"No, Brendon, you just suck," deadpans Ryan. He reaches out to turn off the console and Spencer wonders briefly when they reached the unspoken decision to stop playing. Or, for that matter, how Brendon can manage to look both sour and heartbroken at the same time.

"Whatever," he says, standing up and with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm going to bed. Some of us--" he glares at Ryan "-- need sleep to be this awesome."

"Face it, Brendon: you lost, fair and square," Spencer says.

Brendon pouts at him, and his eyes are ridiculously shimmery. "Et tu, Spencer. Et tu?"

"Come on, drama queen," Ryan says, as he gets to his feet. He nudges Brendon gently. "We can have a rematch in the morning. I'll even get Jon to make sure I don't cheat". He nudges again, subtly but firmly propelling Brendon towards the bunks. They all know how important it is that Brendon gets at least a few hours of sleep each night. "Are you guys coming?"

"Nah," Jon says. "I'm just going to hang out here for a while. Spence?"

Spencer can feel the molasses-slow pull of drowsiness at the edge of his consciousness, but for some reason, instead of saying 'yeah, wait up', what he actually says is "I'll be there in a minute". He pretends not to notice the way Jon beams at him and tells himself that the flutter in his stomach is just hunger.

Ryan glances between Spencer and Jon with something like suspicion, as if he suspects them of plotting something. Spencer looks back, evenly, and wills Ryan not to say something that'll ruin this. It must work, because eventually Ryan shrugs, wishes them a good night, and continues to shove Brendon out of the lounge. Jon and Spencer are left by themselves, sat on opposite ends of the couch, the murmur of Ryan and Brendon's voices fading to thick, peaceful silence.

"You want a beer?" Jon asks.

Spencer knows that, if he starts drinking now, he probably won't sleep for hours.

"Sure," he says, with deliberate nonchalance.

He listens to the sounds of Jon clattering around the tiny kitchen, as quietly as possible, and resists the urge to turn and watch him. He knows that, if he does, he'll only stare and give himself away. Spencer has a better poker face than anyone else on Decaydance, but not when he's this tired, and especially not where Jon is concerned.

Jon returns, handing Spencer a cold beer, wet with condensation. He takes his place on the couch again; except, if Spencer isn't completely mad, this time he sits a little closer. He watches as Jon crosses his bare feet at the ankle and stretches out with a low, pleased purr, eyes slipping closed and a look of peaceful bliss on his face.

"That good, huh?" Spencer's voice startles even himself.

Jon cracks one eye open to look at him. "You can't tell me this isn't relaxing," he says, with a grin. "I love Brendon, but he's a handful even at the best of times. Besides, it's nice. This."

"Being awake when everyone else is asleep?" Spencer hazards.

"Yeah," Jon says. "'scuse me."

Spencer is about to ask when Jon leans over him, one hand planted on his thigh, to place his beer on the counter. The unexpected touch is a sudden shock to his system, and Spencer hisses in a breath before he can stop himself. He's suddenly very aware of how warm and solid Jon is, the way he smells, and even the way he sways into Spencer with the movements of the bus.

They stay like that for a long moment; longer than necessary, longer than proper, and much longer than they should if they just wanted to laugh it off afterwards.

"Spence," Jon begins, and his voice is low.

The bus swerves suddenly, and Jon loses his footing- his arm gives and he falls into Spencer's lap with a grunt.

He immediately starts squirming and flailing, trying to right himself as Spencer tries to keep his beer from being knocked out of his hands. There's a moment where they're both moving around, Jon apologising and Spencer trying to shut him up so he can tell him to stop moving, before he covers them both in alcohol.

"Jon," Spencer snaps. He slaps his hand down on the top of Jon's thigh to get his attention. "Stop moving".

The fact that Jon responds to that is hardly surprising. What is surprising is the way Jon makes a strangled noise, and goes instantly limp across Spencer's lap.

For a long time, they stay like that; Jon sprawled across Spencer's legs, Spencer's hand still resting on the top of Jon's thigh. Spencer can feel the rapid hammer of Jon's heart, see his rapid little breaths, and feel the heat that radiates from him. The bus sways gently, the hum of it a familiar, meditative sound. Jon may be panicking, but Spencer feels curiously relaxed, like he's detached from his body, like he knows he should be freaking out. In his mind, the memory of Jon freezing beneath his hand plays over and over.

"Spencer--" says Jon, and he sounds like he's flying apart, like that day Brendon got hit in the head with a bottle and Spencer realised that Jon was having a quiet meltdown backstage.

Very slowly, Spencer puts his beer on the counter next to Jon's.

"Spencer, I'm sorry," Jon is saying. "I didn't--"

Spencer's hand curls around the nape of Jon's neck, and he feels Jon tense beneath his fingers- they're cold, he knows, but that probably isn't the reason. Part of him wonders what the hell he thinks he's doing. The other part of him raises his hand and brings it down firmly on Jon's ass.

The reaction is just as good as before: Jon makes this *sound*, a sound like pleasure and surprise, like he's caught off-guard by how good it feels, and jerks forwards against Spencer's legs, his body arching in simple, beautiful ways. His hand curls around Spencer's thigh, as if he needs something to hold onto.

'I did that,' thinks Spencer, dazedly. The emotion floods his veins; want, and power, and fierce possessiveness.

He has to be sure, though. Has to know, because this is *Jon*. He raises his hand, and does it again.

This time, Jon's fingers clench, his whole body shivers, and he moans Spencer's name like a filthy secret.

"You like this," Spencer says, and suddenly it's no longer a question.

Spencer has never understood spanking as a kink. In his head, spanking is something parents do to you when you're bad, a threat, a punishment. The idea of being spanked during sex, and actually enjoying it, always seemed foreign to him.

He thinks he gets it, now.

"Yeah," Jon breathes, his fingers clenching on Spencer's thigh. "Yes. Please, Spence."

Spencer does it again; lets his hand fall where Jon's thigh meets his ass. He considers making Jon count them off, but this is still too new, too strange and fragile, and he doesn't want to break it just yet. Instead, he lets the sting of it, and Jon's whimpers, fade before he does it again, leaving a matching blow to the other leg.

"It's--" Jon sounds pained, "it's not enough. Need-- I need--".

"Shh," Spencer soothes. His hand curls underneath Jon's belly, thumbing open the button on his jeans. "I know what you need."

It's a lie- he doesn't know what Jon needs, not really. He's not even sure what he's doing. Still, Jon doesn't complain when Spencer eases his jeans and boxers down to his thighs, leaving his ass bare and upturned on Spencer's lap. In fact, he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, moaning like it hurts but he can't get enough of it. Spencer cups one perfect, unmarked cheek, fingertips stroking the soft skin, and Jon shivers.

"You're sure," says Spencer.

"Please," Jon says.

Spencer aims the next slap to the fleshiest part of Jon's ass. The snap of skin-on-skin seems loud, startling, but the cry it wrenches from Jon's throat soothes any sudden misgivings Spencer may have had. He can already feel arousal burning low in his veins, can feel himself getting harder. On his next slap, he feels the head of Jon's cock nudging against his leg. He does it again, just to feel it, and to hear the way he's affecting Jon, the tiny whimpers and moans that he's making.

He's not sure how long it goes on; gets lost in the rhythm of it. Sometimes he speeds the blows up, or slows them right down, fingertips brushing against the heated skin, just to feel the way Jon squirms. Every mark his hand leaves on that pale, perfect skin fascinates him, and he doesn't stop until Jon's ass is reddened, until Jon is sobbing, begging, his fingertips clenched so hard around Spencer's thigh that he's sure there will be marks.

Spencer slows right down and stops, hand resting on the warm skin of Jon's backside. His other hand reaches under to grasp Jon's cock, hot and hard in his hand, his thumb pressing against the head and fingers tucked against Jon's balls.

Jon whines and tries to thrust into Spencer's grip, and Spencer slaps him in warning, no less harder than the other times, right on the top of Jon's thigh.

"Stay," he says, firmly.

The whimper-moan of his name that he gets in reply makes Spencer's cock twitch.

Still, it's Jon, and he can't torture or tease him. He curls his hand and begins jerking Jon off; awkwardly, at first, until Jon starts squirming and moaning nonstop, until Spencer gets the right pressure and speed, until he learns to use his thumb on the head and twist on the upstroke. The fingertips of his other hand slide closer and closer to the cleft of Jon's ass, his fingertips dipping inside the crease, making Jon shudder and gasp. When he brushes the skin of Jon's opening, Spencer starts to worry that Jon is about to hyperventilate, the way he begins to pant.

He lets his fingers stroke across the skin for a moment, before he gently presses the tip of one inside.

Just like that, Jon whimpers out his name and comes, his fingers digging into Spencer's thigh and his come painting the side of Spencer's leg.

end.

hothothot. <3
Me loves it ^^

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! Just, you know. Doing my part for the cause!

Hot! <3

OMG OMG OMG LOOK AT JON WALKER'S SWEET LITTLE FACE I TOTALLY CORRUPTED HIM AND I AM SO ASHAMED AND NOW SPENCER IS GOING TO FIND ME AND CHOKE A BITCH /late RPS-writers' guilt.

... I mean, thank you very much! ^_^

Holy. Fuck.
That was hot as hell...

Thank you very much, I'm glad you thought so! (Aw, lookit Jon's little face. How could I corrupt those puppydog eyes?)

How could I corrupt those puppydog eyes?)

Bah! He loves it!

FJMADKHKAE'RIDHNEQHKRGMALGD;

ILU

omg, this was so hot I almost choked on my dinner. ACCIDENTAL SPANKING FTW! Jon's reactions were simply delicious and Spencer getting it, the power of it, and oh holy jesus, you know i'll make you repost and advertise all over later, don't you. So, so awesome.

Typing this one-handed, as am also nomming on some rather delicious cheesy tomato pasta with the other.

Thank you so much! I'm glad this worked for you- it was kind of me working through my personal thoughts about spanking. It's not my kink but, were I to have Jon sprawled over me practically begging for it... yeah, I could understand it.

*KEYSMASH*

*hyperventilates from the hot*

OH NOES.

*finds you a paper bag*

This is one of the hottest spanking fics I have ever read. Seriously. Spanking is not my kink, but after this, it might become it! :D

I loved that this was from Spencer's point of view, too.

Spanking isn't my kink either, so this was kind of my way of working it through: "if I had Jon Walker over my lap, and it became apparant that he had a spanking kink, and that said spanking would cause him to squirm and make delightful noises, would I (a) go "... but that's not my kink" or (b) hit that like a mack truck". When you look at it like that way...

Really, I think I just have a Jon Walker kink.

But anyway, thank you very much! I'm glad I could share the madness, or something.

oh my goodness.

of course spencer would be into the spanking. OF COURSE. drummer, cadence, etc. but still. soo friggin hot.

Holy shit, I never even thought of that! But he would! He so would! Thank you very much! :)

Wow, that was seriously hot! Thank you so much for writing and sharing it :D .

OK, you see that little puddle of goo right there? That's all that's left of me after I exploded from the hotness.

Holy cow, I think you are my new hero! Do you know how rare it is to find anything with bottom!Jon. I so expected it to be Spencer being spanked. It was the best surprise ever to find out different.

Haha. In case you didn't know, I did eventually post a cleaned-up version of this fic here on my journal. Although, if you're fine reading the one with random spelling mistakes and crazy grammar, then be my guest!

kat_lair has this theory that Jon is a total sub, and I've kind of nicked it for my personal canon. Whilst I suppose I could conceivably write both, I think my preferences lie with top!Spencer and bottom!Jon, depending on who they're with.

I'm glad you liked it, though! :D

Spencer watches, expressionless, from behind his kit when Brendon made his public service announcement for the audience. They'd agreed, they'd all agreed, that it was better, easier, if they went with the lie that Brendon was the single bandmember, and he'd known that Ryan and Brendon would make some big deal about it before Lying, so he has no reason to be jealous. There's no reason for the rumbling snarl of possessiveness he feels. He knows whose bed Brendon will be sleeping in tonight, and it isn't some anonymous person from the crowd. He lets Ryan and Jon handle the crowd reaction.

Still.

The publicity requirements and gigs have kept them on the road and busy non-stop for pretty much all of the European tour. After over a dozen shows of increasingly outrageous statements, ending with Brendon's invitation to girls -- and dudes! -- in the audience, he's had enough. And maybe Spencer is also mildly annoyed by the way Brendon had flirted with the interviewer and shaken his ass at the photographer this morning. Brendon needs to be reminded to whom he belongs.

It's a hotel night, and they're all glad when the show's over and they can relax. Spencer is quiet in the elevator, standing near enough that he can feel Brendon's body heat, but not quite touching. When the doors open, he lets Ryan and Jon precede them, and when the other two peel off to go to their rooms, he grips Brendon's wrist firmly, preventing him from doing the same. Usually they'd go their separate ways, and he'd wait for Brendon to come to him. But tonight Spencer doesn't let go until the door to his room is closed behind him, and even then he's tugging Brendon further in, twisting him so that his face is to the wall, his weight is pushing Brendon against it, and leaning down so that his lips are at Brendon's ear.

"You'd do nasty things? To random strangers?" Spencer's voice is low, coming from deep in his chest.

Brendon rolls his shoulders and hips, pushes back against Spencer, turns his head enough that Spencer can see the edge of his smirk. "Maybe. Since I am the only single one in the group, supposedly. People should think that I'm living the rockstar life."

And that -- that was a taunt. Spencer actually growls, and then he's manhandling Brendon across the room to the bed, stripping Brendon's clothes off before pushing him down and crawling after him. Brendon twists beneath him, bucking and rocking against Spencer's weight until Spencer's hands are shackles on Brendon's wrists, and he pushes and pulls and lifts until Brendon is on his belly across his lap, his arms stretched above his head, pinned to the mattress.

"Leave them there." It's not a request. Spencer doesn't know where this dominant streak came from, and he doesn't care, as long as Brendon obeys. When he loosens his grip, Brendon's hands flex, but they stay where he left them. He slides his own down Brendon's arm, lets his hand rest heavily on the back of his neck. When Brendon arches into it, he squeezes until Brendon settles again. He's not expecting it when Brendon's dick, which had been half-hard from their struggle, twitches against his thigh. He tightens his grip again, and Brendon's hips rub against his legs.

He lets his free hand rub firmly down length of Brendon's spine until it rests on the small of his back, then slides it lower to brush the curve of his ass. Seriously. Brendon's ass. Spencer has an entire mental gallery of images of Brendon's ass, in jeans, in boxers, in sweatpants, in dress pants, naked, a towel falling from his hips, and he wanked to them for months before they actually started fucking. The high, round curve tempts him, the pale skin a dare. He lifts his hand, brings it down smartly enough to leave a pink handprint. Brendon's head drops against the covers, and he muffles a groan.

"You want to do nasty things to other people? I think the truth is that you want dirty, nasty things done to you. You want me to remind you who you do nasty things with."

Spencer lifts his hand, brings it down hard enough to make a sharp crack as skin collides with skin, and Brendon hisses, arches into it, his fingers twisting in the blankets above his head. Then Spencer's hand is rising and falling and Brendon's ass is going from creamy pale to pink to red. There's a continuous stream of moaning, and Brendon's hips roll steadily as he rubs his dick against Spencer's thigh. Spencer is almost unbearably aroused -- Brendon's turned on, open to it, begging for Spencer; he's admitting his own possessiveness to both of them without ever saying it, and Brendon's reveling in it.

His hand starts to sting, and he pauses, lets his fingertips brush down the crack of Brendon's ass to press against his entrance, and Brendon pushes back against it.

"Please, Spencer, please."

Reluctantly, Spencer pulls his fingers away and begins spanking Brendon again, interspersing hard blows with light swats. Brendon wiggles on his lap a little, finds an angle he likes, and rubs and arches and jerks, not quite rhythmically, until Spencer squeezes his neck and lands one sharp blow right on the curve where thigh meets ass, then Brendon is groaning and coming, hot and sticky and wet against Spencer's jeans.

When he's done, Brendon is limp in Spencer's lap, but he still turns his head and looks as Spencer, says, "Please," again.

Spencer stretches out, just far enough to get lube and condoms from his bag at the side of the bed. A flick of the cap and squirt of lube into his hand, then a quick press of two fingers inside Brendon, and then Spencer is sliding out from under him, pushing his pants down and rolling on the condom. He slicks it with the remnants of lube on his hand before nudging Brendon's legs wider and crawling between them, pushing in while Brendon's still relaxed and open.

"Nrgh... yeah."

Brendon rocks back into him, clenching around Spencer even though he's already half-softening from his own orgasm, and Spencer can't slow down, can't stop, until his pelvis is pressed against Brendon's ass, hot against his skin. It has to hurt, at least a little, because Spencer wasn't careful about prep and he spanked Brendon hard, but Brendon doesn't object, doesn't try to move away, arches into it, open and accepting and taking it, wanting it, when Spencer fucks him, when Spencer pulls out at the very last minute, stripping the condom off and coming all over his ass, white and sticky against reddened skin.

When he collapses to the mattress next to Brendon, Brendon rolls to his side, a hazy, lazy grin on his face. "That was the dirtiest, nastiest thing ever, Spencer Smith. I think I got exactly what I was asking for."

OH HOW I LOVE KINKY PORN! xD
That was hot! :D

Thanks! I know there's been some fic where Ryan expresses his displeasure w/ Brendon for his outburst, but I like the idea of Spencer sitting back and letting it roll until Brendon takes it too far. :)

Your icon is gorgeous, is it a sketch or just an effect on a photo?

OEH! <3
Normally I'm not really into the Brendon/Spencer thingy, but I really liked this! Hothothot ^^

Hee, i said the same thing about the Ryan/Brendon above! We've all got our kinks, and it's funny how the kink can make a pairing more or less appealing, isn't it?

I love that you took the his flirty concert behaviour and ran with it. So, so hot. Possessive!Spencer might just be my brand new kink! Thanks for participating!

Dominant!Spencer for the win, absolutely. He's so... competent. :)

Plus, Brendon's ass. I just. There aren't enough words.

Dominant Spencer is so hot, and really who could resist Brendon's ass?

when Spencer pulls out at the very last minute, stripping the condom off and coming all over his ass, white and sticky against reddened skin.

That's where I made some type of incoherent noise that I don't even know how to spell. XD Thanks for sharing. ♥

Gabe isn't entirely sure as to how he got in this position. Obviously he knows how he got there- he'd be a bit worried if he didn't know how he ended up naked on the bed in their motel room, sucking Alex's cock whilst Ryland stands somewhere behind him. What he can't quite remember is how they went from shooting the shit in the bar downstairs, to full-out gay sex in the room upstairs. He's fairly sure alcohol was involved. He's also quite sure that, at some point, he may have been flirting with Alex.

He's not complaining, of course. Not when Alex's cock is hot and thick in his mouth, the head nudging at his tongue and Alex clenching his hands in Gabe's hair. The sounds he's making are celestial.

Then Ryland steps up behind him, one hand resting on the curve of Gabe's hip, and he says, in a voice usually reserved for slimy building managers: "you have a thing for Alex, don't you, Gabe?"

Gabe goes to pull off, to say that, no, he really doesn't have a 'thing' for Ryland's best friend and possible casual boyfriend (or so we think, and if so can you keep it on the down low, otherwise I owe Vicky fifty bucks), not at all, no really; but Alex's hand suddenly tightens in his hair, holding him down.

Gabe dimly thinks he hears the 'snap' of a trap closing, but that might just be the sound of Ryland's hand when it lands heavily on his upturned ass.

He jerks, almost bites down before he realises what's in his mouth, and even then he ends up making a startled sound around Alex's cock. Alex doesn't seem to mind very much, though; Gabe can hear him moaning, the double-crossing bastard.

"Don't think we haven't noticed," Ryland continues, smoothly. His hand ghosts along Gabe's skin, deceptively gentle, and Gabe shudders and moans. "The way you flirt with him all the time. It's different than it is with me, right? Because you can't have him. Because he's mine."

One of the hands in Gabe's hair slides down to cup the side of his face; to gently, fondly stroke the arch of a cheekbone. Alex presses his own fingers to where his cock disappears into Gabe's mouth and they come away spit-shiny. He starts to roll his hips in tiny increments, never enough to hurt or choke, but enough that Gabe can feel the pressure of it, enough that the head of his cock rubs against the roof of Gabe's mouth.

Gabe whimpers, his own hand sliding down his stomach, towards his neglected erection.

He's almost ready for the next slap, and this time he arches the sting and moans.

"Really, Gabe," Ryland says, softly, rubbing the abused skin. "You're kind of obvious."

end.

Any fic that starts with Gabe isn't entirely sure as to how he got in this position is an instant winner.

This paragraph:
Then Ryland steps up behind him, one hand resting on the curve of Gabe's hip, and he says, in a voice usually reserved for slimy building managers: "you have a thing for Alex, don't you, Gabe?"
Gabe goes to pull off, to say that, no, he really doesn't have a 'thing' for Ryland's best friend and possible casual boyfriend (or so we think, and if so can you keep it on the down low, otherwise I owe Vicky fifty bucks), not at all, no really; but Alex's hand suddenly tightens in his hair, holding him down.
Gabe dimly thinks he hears the 'snap' of a trap closing, but that might just be the sound of Ryland's hand when it lands heavily on his upturned ass.
has so much awesome characterisation in it that I can barely contain my glee. ... In fact, I can't. MY MASSIVE GLEE, IT IS UNCONTAINABLE.

This is ridiculously hot and amazing and GABE SHOULD ALWAYS BE IN THE MIDDLE, OKAY?

ILU HARDCORE.

I'm sure Gabe gets that feeling a lot. Usually, vast amounts of alcohol are involved.

THIS IS WHAT I THINK OF WHEN I THINK OF RYLAND AND ALEX TEAMING UP AGAINST GABE.

ilu!

I never read a Cobra Starship fic before. Shame on me. This was really good and HOT! :D
<3

Oh, you should. It's usually really quite good, because the band is so awesome. (I may be biased, just a little bit). But thank you! :D

OH MY FUCK HOT

Sub!Gabe is my favorite Gabe, tbh. Thank you for this.

There's something about Gabe's stage prescense that just makes me want to put him on his knees as often as possible, so you're very welcome! Thank you for the comment!

Am I allowed to write het as well as slash? Pretty please?

absolutely you are. Like I said, all pairings are welcome!

Personally, there is nothing Ryan loves more than Brendon writhing and begging beneath his hand, the way the boy flinches at every harsh slap but still stays obediently right where he is, even pushing back a little every time Ryan waits a bit too long in between the slaps. Ryan likes to tease Brendon to tears of frustration, altering the force and rhythm of the slaps - from playful ones to harsh smacks that echo in the room and make Brendon hiss sharply in between gritted teeth. Ryan waits for unpredictable amounts of time in between the hits so that Brendon is nearly driven insane as he doesn't know how forceful the following slap will be; how soon it’s going to land.

Ryan pulls back slightly to examine his handiwork. Brendon is still bent over the backrest of the couch, his breathing ragged and his face flushed, hands trembling slightly as he's holding on to the couch.

"Too harsh?" Ryan asks and leans to kiss the pink skin of Brendon's buttocks softly. Brendon just whimpers, but shakes his head in a way that indicates he's not done with this yet. Ryan smirks and aims a final slap on the boy's ass, leaving a white handprint that slowly fades and merges into the redness of the surrounding skin. Then Ryan turns to look behind him. "Your turn."

Jack, who has been lying sprawled over the armchair, lazily sits up and smirks, sliding his hand over his naked body once more as he stands up. He's been following the events quietly from his position, waiting for Ryan to pass dominance over that firm, round ass that is in front of them like on a silver tray. Ryan and Jack exchange a glance behind Brendon's back, and then Ryan sits down on the couch, right beside Brendon who's still lying over the backrest. Jack measures the distance in between Brendon's ass and his hand for a while, letting anticipation gather thick in the air, and then brings the hand forcefully down on Brendon's right ass cheek. Brendon lets out a strangled groan and his body twitches. Ryan quickly smoothes a hand over Brendon's ass, sliding his fingers over the heated skin, and Brendon moans at the touch. The moan turns to a whimper as Jack slaps him again, but then Ryan ghosts his hand in between the couch and Brendon's body, wrapping his fingers around Brendon's unmistakably hard cock, stroking it lazily, nodding Jack to continue - Brendon is still definitely good to go if he's sprouting such a hard-on. Brendon is torn in between the two sensations, the harsh prickling of his nerve-endings and the lazy jerk of Ryan's wrist as the boy strokes him.

Brendon arches and whimpers, and Ryan's hand stills on his cock. "Don't come." Brendon is groaning and panting and sweaty, but he manages to stop the heat-wave threatening to hit him down, manages to prevent himself from coming. Jack's slaps on his ass are now more playful than anything else as he exchanges glances with Ryan. They reach an agreement silently, Brendon twisting in frustration as Jack's hand is now just sliding over his achy skin, touching the reddened skin merely with his fingertips.

Ryan leans in and licks Brendon's neck, breathing, "I want you to get the hell spanked out of you... while you're fucking me."

Brendon's body twitches at this, and he just nods weakly. Ryan's tongue licks up to his jawline, and Brendon turns hastily, meeting Ryan's mouth with his own. There is a long silent moment as they kiss, but Jack breaks it with a swift slap on Brendon's ass. Brendon gasps into Ryan's mouth, and they break apart, Ryan pulling Brendon up from the couch. Ryan turns the boy around and marches him out of the living room and into the bedroom. Jack sneaks an arm around Ryan's waist as they go, pushing Brendon ahead of them and admiring the view this gives on his ass - now red and raw and clearly aching.

All three of them stop beside the bed, and Jack leans in to kiss Ryan gently on the mouth before pushing him on his back on the bed with a laugh. Ryan allows his body to fall and lies sprawled on his back, watching as Brendon's lips attach to the skin on Jack's neck. Jack groans and pulls Brendon flush against him, gripping his ass so his fingers dig into the flesh. Brendon pants against the boy and grinds their bodies together, and Ryan has to bring his fingers to his cock and stroke it a few times, because god, that is hot.

"Hey, no jerking off there," Jack murmurs and detaches himself from Brendon. Ryan smiles innocently and lets his hand fall. Jack crawls on the bed and kisses Ryan forcefully, while Brendon rummages through the bedside drawer and drops to his knees on the bed with the lube and a condom. He watches Ryan and Jack for a while, their bodies flush against each other, and his breath catches at the sight of their bodies - one a little toned and tattooed, the other lean and less tattooed - squirming together. Then he wakes up from his trance and nudges Jack, offering the lube.

Jack wastes no time in coating his fingers with the lube and moving Ryan's legs apart. Brendon drops down beside Ryan - on his stomach for a reason - and latches his lips to the older boy's neck, moving down to his collarbones. Ryan gasps when Jack's fingers tease his entrance and finally push inside, two at a time. Brendon crawls up to kiss Ryan, and the boy clings to him, moaning into Brendon's mouth as Jack's fingers probe inside him and work him open for Brendon.

"Brendon," Jack breathes from between Ryan's legs. "Come here." Jack kisses Ryan's hipbone and still pushes his fingers inside Ryan's body, but soon his two fingers are joined by Brendon's third one, and Ryan closes his eyes, moaning deep in his throat. Jack and Brendon are kissing each other and pushing their fingers inside Ryan in perfect sync, and one of them has a perfect aim at Ryan's prostate on every in-push, and he's getting harder and harder by the second.

"Brendon, now," Ryan eventually hisses in between gritted teeth, and Brendon stops kissing Jack to smile sheepishly, nodding. He positions himself in between Ryan's legs, rolling the condom on and slicking it, and Jack's hands are on his ass as if to guide him to the right direction. Brendon grimaces as Jack breathes a laugh against his neck from behind and digs his fingers in the flesh of Brendon's prickling buttocks.

Brendon guides himself in and then leans forward, setting his weight on his hands as he sinks into Ryan's tight heat. They both moan in unison, and Jack rasps out a "fuck, that is so. Just, fuck." Brendon can feel Jack's presence, the closeness of another body right behind him, but as he pulls out and pushes back in he still gasps in surprise as the first slap hits him square on his left ass cheek and catches him by surprise. Ryan can feel the force of the slap, can feel Brendon twitching inside him, and he jerks up from the bed as Brendon keeps filling him with somewhat uneven but very deep and harsh thrusts of his hips. Jack is right behind Brendon, occasionally leaning down to kiss or lick his back, but more often just watching with dark eyes at how Ryan's mouth falls open on every thrust, listening to Brendon’s moans and letting his palm collide with Brendon's ass when he the boy thrusts into Ryan's body. Ryan's moans are needy now, louder, and Jack watches as the boy reaches in between his and Brendon's moving bodies and apparently starts jerking himself off, but Jack can't see it because Brendon's body is in the way. He's been lazily stroking himself throughout the whole act, but now as Ryan's expression turns into that of pure pleasure, as Brendon's thrusts become shallower and more rapid, Jack begins jerking himself off more forcefully, moaning at the sight of two gorgeous boys fucking in front of him. He slides his hand softly over Brendon's reddened ass and then slaps the boy harder than before.

Brendon's hips jerk, his skin is feels like it's burning, and Ryan is clenching around his dick, and the odd double sensation curls into a tight ball of painpleasure heat deep in his lower stomach. Ryan's looking up at him, eyes dark and heated, and Brendon leans down to kiss him roughly, moaning a warning into the boy's mouth a moment before the pain and pleasure explode from within and he releases, buried deep inside Ryan and Jack's hand giving his ass one final smack. Brendon's hips jerk through his orgasm, and then he pulls out even though Ryan has yet to come.

"Jack," Brendon pants at the dark boy, and Ryan just lies there, still stroking himself but clearly waiting. Brendon discards the condom on the nightstand and pulls another one out of the drawer, tossing it to Jack, who catches it and rolls it on, slicking himself and pushing into Ryan. Brendon rolls on his stomach on the bed, crawling close to the two entwined bodies, smoothing a hand along Ryan's slender thigh which is wrapped around Jack’s waist, and then Brendon sneaks a hand in between their bodies, knocking Ryan's hand off his dick and replacing it with his own. Ryan lets out a shaky exhale, his hips twisting up from the bed as Jack fucks into him and Brendon's fingers stroke him swiftly. Jack leans down to his hands and pounds into the lean body with full force, and Brendon has seen this so many times he knows Jack is about to come, so he fastens his hand moves on Ryan's dick, and from the way Ryan's muscles in his abdomen clench and unclench he can tell Ryan isn't far from coming either.

Ryan comes first, gasping against Jack's neck, and Jack follows not five seconds later, shuddering and stilling inside Ryan as he does. Jack is always quiet as he comes, just breathing out a soft whimper, and Brendon reaches up to kiss him through his orgasm, whereas Ryan's lips are attached to Jack's shoulder.

They lie on the bed in a heap of limbs and stickiness in between them, and just before Brendon drifts to sleep he can feel Ryan slapping his ass once more, gently. Brendon winces, because his ass is still feeling achy and raw, but then he just snuggles closer to Jack on his other side, reaching out behind him to pull Ryan closer as well. Ryan's free hand that isn't around Brendon sneaks to grip Brendon's ass again, and Brendon can feel the boy grinning against his skin.

"You really do love my ass, don't you?" Brendon mutters through the drowsy haze, earning himself another grip and a nod against his back. Jack hums something and sneaks his hand to accompany Ryan's and Brendon groans out as their fingers dance over the sore skin. "What, again?" He just receives two soft chuckles as a response, and Ryan's erection pressing against the mentioned ass really is answer enough.

~fin~

*hamps you into next year* I love you forever for writing this!
It's got everything I love in it: THREESOME! Ryan, Brendon & Jack and KINK! That totally made my ~~day~~ year.
<3

Awww thank you bb <333
I'm glad I could make your ~~day~~ year :D
Also, icu using appropriate icon *tehe*

Guh. I knew you would write something hot. I KNEW IT!
*hugs you death, because of this <33*

Hahaha, thanks dear <333
*hugs back*

I totally needed to google this third guy, but what the hell, it was a hot threesome with spanking \o/ I've never seen this particular kink/combo done in fic (someone getting spanked while they fuck someone else) but it was most hot.

Thank you for participating!

Yeah, not too many people know who's Jack Marin, but imo this threesome is totally canon. See:

The one on his knees beside Brendon's unbuckled belt is Jack Marin :DDD

ahahaha, it's like Brendon is some sort of delicious cake and Ryan and Jack are all NOMNOMNOM

Well, I would totally be like that, too, if I ever got that close to Brendon~~'s unbuckled belt~~ :D

This is super awesome and very hot. I didn't know who Jack was either, and to be honest I still don't, even though the picture is AMAZING. Is he in a band, too, or...? Plz be educating me. :D

Thanks :)

Jack Marin was the temporary bassist for Cute Is What We Aim For in like 2006. He worked as Panic's tour manager (also took photos of them, there are many old ones that have (c)Jack Marin on them) either before or after playing bass in CIWWAF. After Shaant kicked him out of CIWWAF (apparently they fought, no one knows the real reason but Shaant got all the blame whereas Jack walked out pure as an angel - even though this divides opinions as well), Jack Marin pretty much disappeared from the scene and he hasn't been heard of ever since.

Ridiculously hot and kinky, my dear. Threesomes ftw!

Thank you! :)
This threesome is totally canon, imo :D

"How--" Smack! "--many--" Smack! "--times--" Smack! "--have I--" Smack! "--told you--" Smack! "--not--" Smack! "--to--" Smack! "--climb--" Smack!"--my--" Smack! "--KIT?"

"M'sorry."

"Not--" Smack! "--sorry--" Smack! "--enough!"

"I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!"

Bob's wrists were sore, and now his hand stung also. Frank's ass was red, and so was his face when he wriggled around and propped himself up on his elbows.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock over the kick-drum."

Bob sighed. It wasn't just the drums he worried about, but somehow Frank never understood that.

"I know. It's fixable."

Frank smiled a tentative smile, which turned into a wince when he tried to sit up. Bob tugged him closer and stroked a gentle hand on his hip.

"Here, let me kiss it better."

Awwwwww :D I loved that

Bob/Frank is my secret indulgence. Bob is so patient w/ him, you know?

Bob/Frank = <3
So is this!

They are, and there should be more Bob/Frank, even if it's not overtly porny! :)

OOOOoooooh.....

I wonder what happens afterwards. *licks lips*

Bob... is really good with his hands. And he really does kiss it better. I will leave the details to your imagination. :)

hee! That was awesome. You made my friend giggle and she doesn't even read m/m! Success!

Well, it didn't have to be overtly slashy until the last sentence, so...

Glad it worked, even if Bob/Frank isn't everyone's cup of tea! :)

This is adorable. :D

gerard should spank patrick, y'all.

just saying.

pth. no. Patrick should spank gerard.

see, exactly my thought. Patrick = toppiest top that ever topped.

*seriously* he could break all these skinny little boys in half.
and I'd pay good money to see that man wield a riding crop.

also, in my head, gerard's a huge painslut. i see this as a win-win situation, really.

he could break all these skinny little boys in half - and he wouldn't need a riding crop to do it, just his voice and eyes. Honestly, I see him as pretty... hand-on kind of guy, as in would b=prefer to use his own hands rather than any props. Put pressure at the right angle and painslut!Gerard would certainly get what he needed...

And let's not forget how badly Pete needs to be taken to hand.

Patrick is my favorite in soo many ways for soo many reasons, but mostly because he's the one that get's shit done, ya know? i can see that applying in the bedroom as well.

the crop wouldn't be his preference, just mine *g* because i definitely see him being hands on in his approach there as well. and gerard, he *needs* the contact anyway.

as for Pete, well. really? after the Rollingstone shoot, the boy shoudl jsut wear a collar that says "Proprty of PStump." because even though he was the one all up in the camera and shirtless (unless i'm remembering wrong) patrick was the one that caught the eye because his stance screamed dominance. and maybe a little of "he's only playing the jackass because i want him too."

I think maybe I know which photoshoot you're talking about, BUT I'M NOT SURE.

PROVIDE PICTURES, OKAY!

Also, I sense that you would enjoy these: A while back

pushkin666 and I discussed the pic on my icon and Pete's subby nature in depth. (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/93440.html) Then we wrote some P/P BDSM chat fic. (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/93862.html)

this was the cover photo, but there were others. if i can find them, i will def. send them your way.

also. P/P BDSM? I am keeping you forever and ever. also, friending.

also, to add to toppy!patrick, subby! pete;

Some awesome insight into said rollingstone photos by the fabulous

linzeems (with links i believe to larg scans) and the things i touched on up there. its accurate, in my head anyway

Thanks for the photos and the link. That meta about Pete rings true to me, gonna go and tell

linzeems the same.

will be pimping this over in my LJ. and comming back to write maybe (maybe i'll actually get something finished for one of these things for once, as i flaked on both laura's Sex-pollen and on the bottom!jon meme. we shall see. i have high hopes. because i'm all about spankings.

excellent! Thanks for the pimpage and do come back. If you don't feel like writing something I would totally welcome some photo evidence regarding spank-potential of various bandboys... just saying.

On some level, Gerard knows he's being a bitch. He knows he shouldn't poke at people like that, just because he's bored and restless and jittery. But he just can't help it.

He shifts unhappily in the hard plastic airport chair. Goddamn, what evil genius designed these things, anyway? Checks his watch again. 11:27:30. 31. 32. 33. Christ. It's the waiting that's the worst. Preoccupied with watching the second hand of his watch go around and wishing his iPod battery wasn't being a pissy little bitch that ran out of power at the worst moments, he doesn’t notice her until –

"Boo."

He doesn't jump out of his chair. Barely.

"Hey, rockstar." She drapes her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. "Let's go home, yeah?"

"Mmm." He rests his head back against her. "Hi."

"C'mon; we can snuggle at home."

He makes an unhappy little noise, and bites at his lip, refusing to move. She's warm and comforting and he's been stuck in airports and planes for the last 31 hours straight.

"Gerard." He draws in a sharp breath; he knows that voice, the one that cuts through to the need he pushes down to keep it hidden from the rest of the world. And yes. Yes. He stands, grabs the handle of his suitcase. "Mmm. Good." She trails one fingernail down the veins on the side of his neck. He shivers.

Lindsay grabs his hand and grins. "So tell me the promised epic story of your fucked up plane ride including why you were six hours late. I'm expecting at least one fiery crash."

"Um. So there was a flood in, like, Texas or some shit, and..."

*

By the time they pile through the door into their apartment he's finished with his epic tale and they're brainstorming ways to creatively punish the airline agent who routed him through Toronto instead of Chicago, causing him to miss that connection waiting in the customs line.

He's also spent the half hour drive from the airport trying not to show how jittery he is. His self-control is starting to fray around the edges.

"So, you want to take a shower first or just collapse?"

He’s too needy, strung out from the whole week; he hadn’t come since he left, when she tied him up against the wall and whispered to him that he wasn't allowed, her breath hot in his ear. Please don't be that cruel. I can't, can't..."Lyn, please."

(sorry about my HTML bork in the last one. Not all of that was supposed to be in italics, promise)

She pauses, considers him for a long moment. "Did you do what I asked you? I told you not to come, the whole time. Did you do it?"

"I did, promise. I did."

"Good. Very good." She grabs him, without warning, pushing him forward until he's bent double over the kitchen table, his nose almost slamming against the surface. "I guess you get rewarded, then." Gerard whimpers, not even attempting to fight her as she reaches up with one hand to jerk his hands above his head while she yanks his belt buckle undone and shoves his pants down to his knees.

"Mmmm, such a pretty little slut." She trails her fingers over his bare ass, teasing. Smack. He lets out a choked gasp as she slaps her palm down, jerking his hips against the table. "Oh, you like that, don’t you?" When he doesn't answer, she hits him again, harder, then scrapes one fingernail across the area. "Answer me."

"Y-yes, fuck." He's shaking.

In answer, she hits him again, with some cold plastic thing, not her hand, and again and again, until he’s arching back up into it, begging her for more, please, fuck, oh god in incoherent rasping sobs, his whole ass throbbing, his breathing ragged and stuttered.

When she reaches down with her other hand, curling her fingers around his cock and tugging roughly, he comes in about thirty seconds, shaking and clinging to the table for support. He pulls his upper body off the wooden surface just in time to see Lindsay biting her lip through her own orgasm, one hand buried between her legs, the other one supporting her against the wall.

"You okay?" she asks him, once she’s put herself back together, running one hand carefully over his ass. "I hit you pretty hard."

"Oh, I’m just lovely." He grins up at her, sated and content, sleep already tugging at the edges of his mind, leaning up to press their lips together. He is sore, he knows, and he’s going to be bruised in the morning, but right now, he can’t really bring himself to care.

"Shhhh. Come. Bedtime." She works his pants and shoes off and tugs him into their bedroom, shedding her own clothes as he tugs off his shirt, and crawling under the blankets with him, curling her body around his back.

"Mmmm. 'Night, love," Gerard mumbles as he nestles into the wonderfully clean sheets. The soft press of her lips on his neck is the last thing he registers before he loses consciousness completely.

YES. Dominant Lyn-Z is my favorite thing ever. This is hot as hell.

o_O y hallo thar orgasm-denial, nice to see you around here too.

Mmmm, needy Gerard is my new favourite thing! Awesome, thanks for participating. Feel free to do it again. And again. And...

Gerard gets a little carried away sometimes. He's been told this many times by many different people. Once in a while, though, it works out in his favor.

He and Patrick are taking advantage of one of the rare moments when they've got the bus to themselves. He's sprawled out on the couch with Patrick on top of him, grinding down between his legs, and it's hard not to get just a bit too caught up in the moment. What's unexpected is that when he brings his hand down against Patrick's ass with a hard slap, Patrick groans wantonly into his mouth and presses his hips down harder.

Gerard pulls away, gasping for breath, and asks, "You liked that?"

Patrick nods, biting his lip, and Gerard is hit with a sudden flash of inspiration. He maneuvers them around so that he's sitting up and Patrick is face-down over his lap. Gerard strokes the curve of his ass, unsure of how far to take this, until Patrick speaks up. "Do it."

Gerard slaps him once, and Patrick whimpers; twice, and he moans; a third time, and he's writhing, rubbing his cock against Gerard's thigh. Gerard works his hands under him and unfastens his pants, pulls them down around his knees, and hits him again, deepening the blush that's already starting to form.

Patrick's face is buried in his folded arms, and Gerard hears his breath hitch with every slap. Gerard reaches out and strokes the back of his neck, feeling him relax under his hand before catching him off guard with another blow. Patrick sobs, his entire body seizing up, and Gerard is afraid he might actually come in his pants if this continues.

"Get up," he says, and Patrick crawls off his lap and sits beside him. Gerard kisses him once before placing a hand on his shoulder and forcing him off the couch and down onto his knees. Patrick unbuttons his pants and frees his cock. Gerard traces his fingertips along the side of Patrick's face as he sucks him off, feeling his own hardness straining against the inside of Patrick's cheek. It isn't long before the wet heat brings him to release, and Patrick pulls back and lets it splash onto his face. He reaches down and brings himself off with a few quick strokes, whimpering high in the back of his throat and coming all over his hand.

Gerard pulls him back onto the couch and uses his own discarded shirt to wipe the come from his face. Patrick sighs and leans against him, resting his head on his shoulder, and only then does the full reality of the situation hit him. "Are you--" Gerard swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "Was that okay?"

Patrick snorts. "I wouldn't have let you do it if I hadn't wanted it, ass." Gerard is silent, and Patrick lifts his head to look at him. "Seriously, don't freak out on me now."

"I'm not freaking out, just...." Gerard waves his hand vaguely.

Patrick kisses him, a gentle brush of lips, and says, "You think too much."

Hot! Like I said before, I tend to see Patrick as pretty equivocally as a top, but the mental picture of him face-down over Gerard's lap is certainly very... compelling! Thanks for participating, feel free to write some more.... *ggg*

I'm starting to love this meme A LOT. I've read MCR slash before and FOB slash too, but never a MCR/FOB pairing. That was hot! :D Just the thought of Patrick being in such a position. GAH!
<3

Oh, I love the pairing!
And the story ^_^
Great job! :D

XD Ahahahaha. I love this. Gerard being vague and deep thought-y is adorable!

Frank against the wall, begging for it.

(http://s112.photobucket.com/albums/n163/kat_lair/My%20Chemical%20Romance/?action=view&current=mcr02.jpg)

Discuss.

THIS PICTURE. OMG. ok. discuss? Here goes, but it's not strictly frankie. more the WHOLE DAMN THING. (Hi, BDSM pretty much owns my brain...)

Normaly, i'm all for Toppy!Mikey and Bob as a sub, right? but in this, it's all about symbolism and stance and how they relate.

Gerard is OBVIOUSLY in charge of this scene. I just. I don't even have to explain that. the prissiness of his pose. AND THAT JACKET.

Bob, on his right hand, kneeling, is less so, but the face and the one hand curled, he's got his own toppyness rocking here. He's totally jsut waiting for the order to do as he pleases.

Mikey's posture screams submissive, which to me, is a complete and total ruse because of the "fuck me" eyes he's giving the camera. He may be the sub in this scenario, may be the one on the receiving end of the crop or whathave you, but he's fiesty, going to fight, going to earn it and it's going to be hot as hell.

Ray is a little lost here. this is not normally his bag, but he wants it, and is waiting for his turn. Doesn't care if it's Way or Bryar, just needs the release that subspace gives when you get there and the skin is warmed from the blows.

Frankie. ohhhhhh frankie. THIS frankie lives and breathes by the blows. any and all, Sharp and stinging or full and bruising. he's wants it all and jsut the thought has him slipping into that sub headspace.

I could go on. with kinky GSF-y details, but i'm at work and... yeah. I'll let minds fill in the blanks.

omg, it's like really late where I'm now and I have to go to sleep but tomorrow I will be back to discuss this with you further. I and

pushkin666 have been analysing the body language in this pic with some detail and just... so much yes for everything you've said. I kept it to Frank's "spank me" pose to keep to the kink of the meme, but the power dynamics/bdsm in general are of huge interest to me.

Also, gonna go and friend you now *gg*

DEAR GOD YES. TO EVERYTHING.

Also?

Bob's hand is hiding the remote control to the vibrating plug in Frankie's ass.

"If you can hold off coming until we finish the shoot...."

*whimpers*

O HAI, SO I CAME BACK TO TALK ABOUT POWER DYNAMICS.

GERARD - That man needs to be holding a riding crop in this picture, because he's so obviously in charge of his little harem.

BOB - harem enforcer? The one Gerard will unleash on anyone who isn't toeing the line.

MIKEY - ugh, ugh, ugh, a fucking manipulative little switch.

RAY - like you said, not his scene. But. But. It is his band. And that he wants to be part of so if this is what it takes... Unsure of his position, needs to be drawn out of his shell.

FRANK - I... I don't even have words. He is just so fucking needy. Further evidence:

(http://s112.photobucket.com/albums/n163/kat_lair/My%20Chemical%20Romance/?action=view&current=mmmm_going_downwooo_so_suss_but_i_l.jpg)

Yay power dynamics. they are very happy making, especially with these pictures. rawr.

i want ot macro this with the words *invisible riding crop* over gerard's head now, seriously.

as far as ray goes, i think maybe it's only not his scene because he's never tried before, or hasn't really been exposed to it on a serious level. Its all about posture.

Mikey is just a manipulative little shit allaround *g* he was purposely hiding those razor sharp cheekbones and eyebrows behind those glasses and i'm personaly pouty about it. maybe he ditched them when he went from full on sub to switch?? He's out of his shell now more than ever, onstage and infront of the cameras as well.

i'd say frankie was begging, but he's allready slipped into that subspace where he's just *waiting* patient as you please

Bob is rally really my favorite part about this. someone around here mentioned a remote control vibrator. YES. he's hiding it. jsut waiting for word to flick the switch. showing so much restraint and control and yet doing whats asked. *sigh* i love bob.

erm. i got carried away with the macro. it's not longer really a macro...

AHAHAHAHAHA. BEST THING EVER!! \o/ Repost as a new comment so others can see!

This is so perfect. I mean, seriously, perfect. :D

so this comment is like 2 years late, but this is linked to on anon_lovefest, and it was written for.

http://community.livejournal.com/anon_lovefest/43340.html?thread=7593036#t7593036

just thought you might want to know.

GERARD - That man needs to be holding a riding crop in this picture, because he's so obviously in charge of his little harem.

I didn't read this thread earlier, and you see what happened ;) This must be REALLY obvious or something.

Riding crop porn FTW?

GERARD - That man needs to be holding a riding crop in this picture, because he's so obviously in charge of his little harem.

BOB - harem enforcer? The one Gerard will unleash on anyone who isn't toeing the line.

Nngh, yes, I have a thing for that kind of power dynamic. Where Gerard's not the most physically dominant, but he's very much the one In Charge, and does he really need to be physically dominant when he's got Bob to hold people down for him?

Oh yes, I can see the appeal. Bob seeking Gerard's approval, circling and touching and keeping the rest of them in line... like pack's beta, submitting to no one but the alpha.

I can't discuss. Everytime I looked at this picture I'm like ... OMG. So very very hot and you know I love the way Gerard is holding himself in this.

and now picture him holding a riding crop in his hand.

Oh don't do that to me. I'm trying to sort out my desk in my new office on a bank holiday monday and you put ideas like that in my head ...

Sighs. Such a hot hot image.

Imagine Gerard tapping the crop lightly against his thigh, the steady swish, swish, swish of leather hitting the fabric of his trousers drawing every eye in the room, almost hypnotizing.

*is evil and distracting*

I'm definitely hating you now. That image ...

OMG, the sound and *flails*

Right, is leaving the office now. You are distracting me far too much *grins* And now I need a crop or a whip icon.

Who do you think Gerard would be using the crop on? Frank? ...Mikey?? All of them?

I quite like the idea of Frank and Mikey to be honest, although obviously not at the same time.

I am now picturing Gerard running the crop along Frank's skin while he writhes and moans, helplessly arching up to meet it...

*hangs head* that image is so damned hot, Gerard trailing the leather over Frank's skin

the sharp lick of leather over his ribs, his nipples, the rise of hip bone where the skin is stretched taut and thin, so easy to break.

meep ...

how did i miss all of this?!

oh my god gerard. *whimpers*

i'm really quite inclined to believe brendon's jsut as toppy.

due to this masterpiece of a photo:

narg. brendon, never ever ever take off that bowler hat again.

Seriously, I would go to my knees for any one of them based on that picture alone. *fans self*

dude. me too. and thats just. not th ekind of person i am really. but oh, in a heartbeat.

Well, I *am* that kind of person, but I forget about it sometimes, until something comes along and says 'Oh hi. You're submissive, remember?' And damn, that pic is a good reminder!!

as for being a submissive, i totally am, i'm just not a "drop to my knees and offer my mouth: kind of person. *g* definitely a "drop to my knees and tell them i've been bad" kind of person though.

Oh, no, I wasn't talking about offering my mouth. I was talking about dropping to my knees of a sign of submission!

at this point, i'd do both. they are slowly killing me.

Yeah, I would pretty much do anything they wanted me to do...

I think I just died a little ... Oh god

I hope it was a good way to go...

The best :D ♥

The picture. It kills me. God Gerard ...

so this comment is like 2 years late, but this is linked to on anon_lovefest, and it was written for.

http://community.livejournal.com/anon_lovefest/43340.html?thread=7593036#t7593036

just thought you might want to know.

fdksagkljadfg !!!! fuck yeah I wanted to know, thank you so much for dropping a comment!

Gabe's ass:

(http://s112.photobucket.com/albums/n163/kat_lair/Cobra%20Starship/?action=view&current=l_aa7b53328c471743fa0e7c2cb065615f.jpg)

Would you spank that?
1. Yes.
2. No.
3. Until he cried.

Who should spank that?
1. Me!
2. Alex
3. Ryland
4. Nate
5. Vicky
6. All of the above
7. Someone else, I'll discuss it in the comments with drawings.

3.

As for the second question? Anyone.

anyone? No preferences? I need examples for a complete visual effect...

Well, if I had to pick...VickyT. =D

3. oh so very much three.

7. my answer is EVERYONE. except me because uh. i don't have a toppy bone in my body in the sexual sense. outwardly and in public, yes? in the bedroom. no. but i'd watch ANYONE AND EVERYONE spank that. i have the handcuffs to restrain him if he gets uppity. police issue, baby.

(WHAT? i may or may not have been in a D/s relationship at some point and my roommate may or may not be a dominatrix. Everyone's got a hobby...)

hahaha, that's so interesting... You're not the first person who has remarked that despite being a complete sub IRL, they would happily spank or at least watch several of the bandom boys being spanked.

_{(ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I don't do the wider scene, but... well. Let's just say that I'm not relying on pure theory here either.)}

VickyT (or Maja) definitely

or both? Taking turns? Gabe is a lot of work...

*brain frozen*

TAKING TURNS?

3 and 6. for sure

Ah, good choices! The line starts this way...

Brendon's ass is clearly the most beatable for any number of reasons, here in no particular order:

1) It's high and tight and round, and you could serve tea on it, if you like had a really miniature tea set.

2) Brendon vibrates and quivers in everyday life, bent over someone's lap? His ass would practically leap into your hand, begging to be met with anything, pinch, strokes, slaps or massage, just stimuli.

3) Spankings force you into your body and into the present. Really good ones are mentally and physically engulfing and that's the kind of shit that someone as all over the place as Brendon would quickly become addicted to.

4) The best part of pain as physical stimuli is how it goes hand in hand with pleasure - either directly by the person inflicting, or through the triggering of endorphins. Either way, Brendon appears to me as someone who would embrace the extremes, especially coming on top of one another.

and why Jon or Patrick. Both strike me as easygoing, contained, serene. Definitely good top archetype for Brendon's bottom articulated above. Ryan would be more of a mind f**k top, Pete is clearly a masochist (and since no one has been reigning him in, he sets himself up all over the place) and Spencer would seek out a more challenging bottom. He'd be interesting in enticing Ryan to switch for instance.

Just my thoughts.

i totally have a minature tea set. just sayin'...

WHAT?

All excellent points. Except I kind of see Jon as such a bottom now after that Kerrang picture... But!

1) agreed. And he knows exactly how good his ass looks and flaunts it.

2) ... sorry, can't comment, brain leaking out of my ears atm

3) a thousand times yes. This is what any pain play is about, whether spanking or something else. This and power/control.

4) I think Brendon craves experience, stimulation in whatever form he can get it. It's like he's been forced into a too-small mould for most of his life and now that he can break out of it, he wants it all and he want it right now.

And Pete is a poster boy for an escalating masochist. Someone needs to take control of him for his own fucking safety. Myself and

pushkin666 discussed Pete's subby tendencies at lenght. (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/93440.html) Then we wrote some P/P bdsm chat fic. (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/93862.html) Good times.

Also: would read Spencer topping Ryan. Would read it like woah.

Oh, I think Jon started out a bottom. Took it to like a zen like place. I mean, I've met bottoms like Jon, they started so young, have seen it all, no kink trips them, and very few hard limits, though that doesn't necessarily mean they are fond of some things. Occasionally, though, they switch and take in another sub. Someone who is struggling and frenetic and maybe a little too green to entice a decent top and much too innocent to get wrapped up with someone not so decent. Someone who needs a little patience, polish. Jon-as-public-service top is what I am talking about. yeah.

I feel you on the craving experience, it fits. Also, and I didn't get this into my list, but I can see Brendon not just craving but amplifying his experiences with his willingness to embrace with his entirety whatever is being demanded of him. To wholesale donate his surrender at the first hint that it might be requested. He wants to feel things so fully, won't stand to let any part of himself be kept back.

Oh, I agree with you on Pete, I haven't really gotten into FOB in bandom, relatively new and sort of wrapped up in my chem and panic, so I've read no fic, and only seen them incidentally on tv or whatever, but even a casual observer, I think, would wonder if Pete isn't on a self-destructive path if his masochism isn't channeled productively. He makes me think of people I've know too, and how others in the scene stay the hell away because that is a train wreck if not handled properly, and there are other pursuits aplenty readily available and much more easily had. Still, I read the chat fic you linked, and I think that would be a fantastic piece - because oh, the measure of devotion already earned that would multiply if Patrick took the time to care and persevere through Pete's haphazardly assembled emotional walls. I'd picture lots of sensory deprivation and cocooning to calm him and then introducing acute physical stimuli (oh, sensation cremes, you little minxes you) to get him out of his head and into his body. Pete would be expecting intense pain, long sessions with bullwhips and canes, IDK, maybe knives, and that would work on the physical level, but it wouldn't even touch the mental needs, and Patrick would figure that out pretty quick.

Okay, so Spencer topping Ryan? I think could easily go to a place similar to what you wrote for the meme...which by the way f'in fantastic...except Ryan would be much more subtle and less fumbling than Brendon in his machinations, but oh, our cunning top hero Spencer would be SO on to him.

giggles.

Jon-as-public-service top makes me nod in agreement. It's almost like... he knows all the words to that play even if this isn't exactly his part.

I can see Brendon not just craving but amplifying his experiences with his willingness to embrace with his entirety whatever is being demanded of him. To wholesale donate his surrender at the first hint that it might be requested. - and we can see this in the way he throws himself into his music, performing, interviews etc. E.g. with Ryan you can always see that he's keeping a part of himself back, it's more of a public front he's putting forward on stage or during interviews. With Brendon it's just Brendon. All of him, nothing held back. It's like he wants to throw himself off the cliff just to have someone see him, to have someone care enough to catch him.

And Pete... don't know if you've seen this, but buried in a comment thread somewhere above is a link to an excellent piece of meta about power dynamics between Pete and Patrick. go check it out (http://linzeems.livejournal.com/1252567.html), it rings very true to me.

I completely agree about what you said Pete being a complete train wreck on the scene. Because Pete is not a player, he would only hit the scene because that's the only way he could think to get what he needs. But what he would get is the physical side of things sure, but that's only the surface and he would crave more and more. I can totally see him escalating into some pretty dangerous edge-play looking for something that none of it can actually give him. Because Pete isn't a "weekend sub" in it for the sex and thrills, it's much more fundamental to his personality. What he needs is stability, and none of these casual hook-ups, no matter how intense physically can give him that. Patrick can.

This Spencer/Ryan scenario intrigues me immensely... because yeah, Ryan is smart, he's complex and so fucking devious that he would probably manage to fool even himself about what was really going on... (And thanks, glad you liked my fic!)

almost like... he knows all the words to that play even if this isn't exactly his part. Exactly. It's not his preference. But he's too good of a guy, and way too experienced in the scene to let someone loose to the jackals. He feels too much responsibility to the world he found a home in, so he eschews his preference - and hey if that act of selflessness, of sacrifice attracts the kind of Top who might not look twice in his direction otherwise, all the better.

It's like he wants to throw himself off the cliff just to have someone see him, to have someone care enough to catch him. oh, holy hell you nailed that one. just to have someone see him. The vulnerability, the risk, all worth it to count, to be counted as worthy by someone.

Because Pete is not a player, he would only hit the scene because that's the only way he could think to get what he needs. But what he would get is the physical side of things sure, but that's only the surface and he would crave more and more. I can totally see him escalating into some pretty dangerous edge-play looking for something...it's much more fundamental to his personality. Here is where I do my fair share of nodding. And the reality is with bottoms like him, he doesn't need the intensity of the blows or the risk, he needs respite. To be stripped to his core, past all the posturing and self-consciousness, led out to his emotional edge, experience the purging of his mental demons, and then the careful rebuilding of his center. That takes time and patience and confidence and, well, not a little bit of commitment

Spencer and Ryan intrigue me too. Especially, how I think Ryan would absolutely be terrified of too much pleasure, waiting for the other shoe to drop, so he'd try to (devious is a good word) push Spencer into using him, mistreating him, abusing him and be totally confounded by the gentle strength that withstood his manipulation.

Oh, boys. And can I just say, for the record. Gerard? Totally tops other guys, only bottoms to women or genderqueer folk. On principle.

attracts the kind of Top who might not look twice in his direction otherwise, all the better. - I'm curious; what sort of top do you imagine Jon would want/need? Pairing-wise I'm fond of either Spencer/Jon or just Panic GSF where everyone takes care of Jon, in all meanings of the word. In more general sense I think he would need a top who is... "relaxed" isn't the right word, but someone who doesn't need to control every single aspect of Jon's life, who trusts and respects Jon to do it himself. Someone mature and experienced enough to know when to let go as well as when to reign in (and isn't afraid to do it hard when need be), someone who is secure in him/herself.

The vulnerability, the risk, all worth it to count, to be counted as worthy by someone. - I think more than anything, Brendon just wants to matter. He has this huge need for validation, from the fans, from his band. He soaks up every kind word and casual touch like he's starving for it. And yet he's adrift, aimlessly bouncing from person to person, searching without knowing what he's searching for.

Re Pete: Yes to everything you said. Pete needs the safety of a long-term relationship. He doesn't know how to set limits for himself so he needs someone who can do that for him, someone with whom he can test those limits with confidence, knowing he'll be pulled back when he goes too far.

Ryan... that boy has some serious power/control issues. And I can see it going either way with him, which is why I think he's a switch. But whether or not Ryan takes the control or let's it go, he would be beautiful doing it.

Gerard? Totally tops other guys, only bottoms to women or genderqueer folk. On principle. - I'm inclined to agree. It's like his political stance against institutionalised patriarchy. However, I seem to have been drawn into writing Patrick/Gerard/Pete comment fic (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/113518.html?thread=1913710#t1913710), where Gerard is the one being spanked. *sigh* I'm so easily seduced into these things, it's not even funny.

yeah, that works like woah. I think in particular it works for me because Gerard is all over with the body image issues and his high need to show no skin whatsoever and so i think a domme would get that, would be able to disassemble it in an cathartic way rather than exploitive one. Like where I see Patrick going in this comment fic. The thread makes me rethink my earlier contention, because Patrick is working within the emotional mind field of Gerard's body image issues and it is powerful and cunning and brilliant. So women, and gender queer folk and Patrick. And playing out that logic to other bandom folks that I associate with body image stuff - probably Bob and Spencer.

Jon is tricky in the top department, I'm not gonna lie. Because bottoms like Jon, I mean the one in particular I think of that I associate with Jon's "type" have literally done it all. They've been around so long, have had opportunities to perfect submission in the many and varied manifestations that exist, carefully cultivated a submissive response that is dynamic, changing to suit the course of the current situation. Maybe it's that IDK they have surrendered to the scene itself, and the top is in some way just a conduit of the power exchange. You know?
In thinking about your points, I agree that he isn't a high maintenance bottom, and Spencer is a good fit. One because I adore all things Spencer Smith and his exquisite natural dominance, and two because I like to believe in the canon in my head that Spencer has had a great deal of practice with the skittish genius that is Ryan Ross negotiating when to push and when to pull back.

Ditto on the Brendon mattering piece. It made me think of a drabble - I'm a very inexperienced as a writer of stories, haven't cultivated that skillset at all, but I can see Brendon's defining moment, he's the youngest of a large family and maybe around 5 or 6 he's doing what he always does which is to tag around with the older kids and their friends trying to win some attention, and they are maybe playing wiffleball or kickball or something, it's a fierce game of interfamily/inter neighborhood rivalry per usual, but Brendon has been teasing and nagging mercilessly all day to be able to take his turn at bat. So his oldest sibling says yeah, okay, you're next and when he gets up there all proud and preening and just ready, the pitcher raises an eyebrow at his brother, and Brendon turns and sees him shake his head and say, "don't worry, he doesn't c-o-u-n-t" and the air shifts and changes. Brendon doesn't understand why, he can't spell yet, but the others nod or laugh, and suddenly it doesn't feel the same. There's something empty about this moment. So he takes his turn, but the proud feeling is gone and he doesn't know why. He carefully repeats what was said so he can remember, and goes home and asks his mom what c-o-u-n-t spells and she explains, and he spends the rest of the next few decades trying to recover, reclaim that moment, feel necessary. Like he does matter.

Ryan... that boy has some serious power/control issues. Uh, yeah. The way he dresses? The total production of his outfits scream out to the fetish niche in the scene. They'd welcome him with open arms. Costume does dictate the character in some important ways, and f**k we could do a series of analyses on Ryan's fashion choices. The part that makes me go, hunh, is how he negotiates real life in character, like, asserts his right to choose who he wants to be on any given day, even though it might be taboo, say, or inconsistent with who he was yesterday. I have other theories on this, but woh, I've been going on here and at some point I have to go make dinner.

love this conversation. love it.

I just posted a picsapm that sorta chronicalled Ryan's fashion timeline. And I knew that there had to be a psychological progression in it for him, but an analysis of something like that would be awesome.

Okay, firstly: Gerard and his body image issues. To be honest, that's something I wasn't (at least not consciously) thinking about at all, but fuck if fits really well and I may now introduce some of those elements into it. For me the whole "tell Pete what it feels like" part was about vocalisation. I have a thing about... well, not "dirty talk" per se (although sure, that's definitely part of it) but having people/characters put their feelings and thoughts into words. Doing that makes them real, unavoidable, undeniable. Once you've said something out loud, it's much more difficult to push away after, and I think the emotions evoked during a power exchange such as spanking should be confronted and verbalised in order to accept them. And of course, it's about stripping someone naked in a way that goes beyond clothes and skin and body image... IDK, part of me thinks I've put it better in the comment fic to which I've added more now, a lot of it owing to what we've been talking.

Jon - What you say here is absolutely fascinating. Especially this They've been around so long, have had opportunities to perfect submission in the many and varied manifestations that exist, carefully cultivated a submissive response that is dynamic, changing to suit the course of the current situation. Maybe it's that IDK they have surrendered to the scene itself, and the top is in some way just a conduit of the power exchange. - but at the same time I find it immensely sad, because what is missing here is the personal connection, the intimacy that should exist between the people involved. Intellectually I can see the spirituality of it, surrendering to the scene as you so aptly put it. But emotionally... I can't help but feel that it's also an awfully cold and lonely place to be. It makes me wonder about Jon, how he has managed to separate what he is from who he is to the degree that if the top is nothing more than the conduit, then Jon himself is nothing more than the vessel of the power exchange. It almost makes me weep for him.

I love that snippet of Brendon's childhood and I would totally encourage you to write it up as a ficlet. Or if you really don't want to, maybe you'd let me have a go? I'd give full credit to you for the concept and idea.

Ryan - I would, love love love an analysis of his wardrobe through this prism of power/control/privacy we've discussed here. Will definitely go and look at

magdalyna's picspam... And this he negotiates real life in character, like, asserts his right to choose who he wants to be on any given day, even though it might be taboo, say, or inconsistent with who he was yesterday. is so very spot-on, echoing deeply what I said earlier about how it's obvious that he always holds a part of himself back in the public eye. It's a role he's playing, sure, but that doesn't make it a lie or made-up, just a carefully revealed sliver of his whole self that he allows to be seen when needed. More than anyone else in that band (and the whole FBR/DD group) Ryan knows the value of disguises, of distraction. That boy has layers and to have them peeled back, to watch him either surrender control/power or fucking own it (and I maintain that he would be capable of both), would be something else.

Okay, wow, I seem to have gone on and on again. This meme has completely blown me away. I never imagined such a wonderful response, all this fic, not to mention the conversations I'm having with people... Like this one I'm having with you: full of fascinating insight and omg, so wonderful to talk about these things with someone who knows their shit. Absolutely love it.

It surprises me that you weren't consciously thinking of G's body image stuff, because that is part of the comment fic that sticks out for me, how Gerard just wants to run and hide and the shame. then again, your intent? the whole "tell Pete what it feels like" part was about vocalisation. OF COURSE. I'm vibing so hard on your assertion about making it real, undeniable. God, yes, there is something so intense about being accountable in the moment to the covenant of the exchange. Saying aloud, this isn't being done to me, without my consent, it's what I knowingly and willingly embark upon, not necessarily because I can predict the outcome or the pathway, (that to me is like topping from the bottom, and oh, what a pale imitation that is) but because I have agency and dignity and with those intact I make an informed choice to relinquish myself to another's will. Yielding during sex, that's. that can be about physical release, an escape if you will. it's pleasurable, yes, and necessary and under certain circumstances, great, especially in a cultural context that is fucking uptight about the body. But, surrender is more than just release, more than just succumbing to a primal urge, it can be transcendent, because release/escape isn't the end, it's a path towards a deeper, more thorough connection.

That being said, Jon. And I should back up and say, I'm not sure, maybe I played out too far the similarities I see between Jon being committed to a, idk punk or rock scene and my canon bottom Jon being committed to the bdsm one. Because I look at how Jon immersed himself in the former, not maybe finding the perfect niche, but carving one out nonetheless, through trial and error and it was all necessary, a part of the journey, one that allowed for experimentation and learning and mistakes, but that he didn't have to internalize when a particular band didn't work out or "make it" because who he is, his identity within that context wasn't reliant upon a particular band taking him in and making him complete. Not to say that one (band) didn't surface eventually that could make use of all that he learned and bring him a connection, a relationship, a sense of completion that he doesn't necessarily depend upon, not in the codependent way, but nonetheless, heightens the experience, gives it richness and texture and belonging. Which I feel I could make an argument about, that is what he found in Panic.

IDK, I'm not a romantic maybe in the traditional western european definition, I think, believing there is this one person who will complete you so much as that there are an infinite number of ways to define complete and what is romantic as hell is when you make a decision, a commitment everyday to a particular relationship, opening yourself up to a kind of soul-deep rendering of unity-seeking in concert with an other(s). If that makes any sense.

Dude, I cannot write the Brendon piece, alas, my storytelling skills are firmly esconsed in oral traditions and the transition to writing is WAY awkward, but I am just BEAMING at the thought that you'd consider a stab at it, so feel free. For serious.

And as for the Ryan fashion analysis, I saw the picspam and it's brilliant and I SO want to do that, though I'd think it would be better worked up collaboratively. I do better with prompts - love for instance to kick it around with you if you are interested, when we both have the time to give attention to it, do it up properly, because that would be just. on ten.

And, this meme? and I mean our dialogue is just a small, though awesome, part of it. It's totally bringing me the happy. Thank you.

I have no idea what you mean about not being a writer when you put things so elegantly. being accountable in the moment to the covenant of the exchange - just. Yes. accountable resonates so strongly with me. It's the hardest past of a D/s dynamic, and the most rewarding. To admit that I want this, want to either be stripped bare and taken over, or want to tear someone open, gently but irrevocably, to take everything they give and then take some more.

I'm jumping ahead a bit, but this release/escape isn't the end, it's a path towards a deeper, more thorough connection. to me ties to what I was saying about the importance of the human connection. I agree with you about that the connection doesn't need to be the traditional monogamous two-person pairing. We form different kinds and overlapping connections with people throughout our lives and I don't believe in the kind of sequential monogamy the Western culture presupposes _{(though saying that I also tend to be pretty possessive... *shrugs* mea culpa, I'm working on it)}. So what is important to me is not so much the exact nature of the connection or the number of people you have it with, but that it's there. We, as human beings, are messy and imperfect. We hurt each other, deliberately and without meaning to, we fuck and we love and we laugh and wipe snotty noses on our sleeves. We're gorgeous and disgusting and everything in between, spirit and flesh, and I could never separate one from other, because apart both will wither and die. That's what I meant about the necessity of intimacy and I kind of want to quote your whole paragraph about Jon because Not to say that one (band) didn't surface eventually that could make use of all that he learned and bring him a connection, a relationship, a sense of completion that he doesn't necessarily depend upon, not in the codependent way, but nonetheless, heightens the experience, gives it richness and texture and belonging. Which I feel I could make an argument about, that is what he found in Panic. just a world of yes there.

I would love to have a stab of writing a little kid!Brendon ficlet for you :) I shall play with the concept over the next few days and see what I can come up with.

Ditto to the analysing Ryan's wardrobe; would love to do something lie that with you. The picspam is a good starting point, but there are hundreds of other pictures of Ryan that I thin would work so incredibly well as examples too. The one that comes to mind immediately is his leather-twink pose here:

(http://s112.photobucket.com/albums/n163/kat_lair/Panic%20At%20The%20Disco/?action=view&current=hand_114.jpg)

Seriously, idek where to start with that one *hands* His body language. _{incidentally, sateenmusta wrote some fic loosely based on this picture that you might enjoy. Too Good To Hurt. (http://sateenmusta.livejournal.com/63147.html) Features top!Brendon, which I can also get behind as I basically see both him and Ryan as switches.}

Anyway, I have some panic pics in my photobucket gallery here (http://s112.photobucket.com/albums/n163/kat_lair/Panic%20At%20The%20Disco/) that you might want to browse. Also the recent epic Panic flail post (http://users.livejournal.com/nepenthe_/1107365.html) had a lot of photos I haven't seen before. I think the first stage might be to collect a handful of good examples, quality over quantity is the key here I think if we're going for in-depth analysis rather than yet another picspam.

This is one of the best conversations about BDSM I've ever had with anyone. It's making me think and more than that, it's making me articulate things that are usually only intuitively understood. That's awesome. Thank you, right back :)

Thank you, you make me blush, I'll maintain, though, that I name things better than weave a narrative. It's the hardest past of a D/s dynamic, and the most rewarding. To admit that I want this, want to either be stripped bare and taken over, or want to tear someone open, gently but irrevocably, to take everything they give and then take some more. Guh. One of the ways that I know I'm an irredeemable bottom is that the idea of being stripped bare and taken over is enough to transport me to a state of reverence but, oh, how I live in awe, and not a little worship, of the person who seeks to irrevocably tear me open, gentle or not. With precision or brutishness. Fuck. That is. Fuck.

I love admire adore your point about the messy and imperfect, brutal beauty of spirit and flesh entwined in the vulgar delights of the mundane as well as the more profane ecstasies available to our imaginations. You're right, it's the whole that works. That's why I love the scene, because it doesn't try to purify those pursuits deemed vulgar, doesn't seek to erase what is considered transgressive, knows that there is enlightenment be found where one revels in the full spectrum of what the body is capable of enduring, embracingif the spirit is willing.

oh, and lest I forget, would love to have a stab of writing a little kid!Brendon ficlet for you *pleads prettily*

Oh the picture above, I think I maybe died a little. His fingers. Long and sleek and bent in supplication. I browsed through your pics, and am feeling inspired. I vote that one, and the aubergine suit with the ridiculous oversized satin bowtie and, absolutely the foursplit frame with the half-striped vest and pinstriped pants in the corridor. His pose. Dandy Ryan is one of my favorites, especially the hip tilt, cane-leaning example. I'm traveling for work again in the next two days, but if it's okay I'll start an email thread soon after to discuss a starter set of quality pics.

Ditto on this being one of the best bdsm conversations I've ever been involved in, excavating what is intuitively understood? when it's bleeding hot and profound? THAT'S WHAT'S UP

Yes to pretty much everything.

I was just about to suggest we move this conversation to email, partly because it's getting long and cumbersome on LJ, partly because it's also getting somewhat personal. My address: kat_lair@hotmail.com So yes, feel free to email about the photos etc. there and we'll see what kind of tinhatty analysis of Ryan's wardrobe we can come up with *gg*

I'm going away for a long weekend, so I'll be offline from Fri to late Monday. However, I will hopefully spend the bus journey writing the kid!Brendon ficlet... (and listening to Pretty. Odd. Yep, still haven't gotten to around to it...)

LETS DISCUSS THIS, AND WHY BRENDON AND/OR PATRICK SINGING THIS AND THEN SPANKING SPENCER AND/OR PETE WOULD BE AWESOME.

*quietly circles 'and' for both* I am so totally on board with that, you have no idea.

Okay, so, it would be a duet, right? Brendon and Patrick would be trading off the spotlight all night, just switching between who was working the crowd and who was playing backup. Then they'd hit that song, and it'd stop being one or the other. They'd both start playing off one another equally. At one point, Brendon uses the mic stand to pole dance with. And when Pete comes up to kiss Patrick's cheek, Patrick grabs him by the back of the neck and holds him there for one second, two, before letting him go. Pete scuttles off, thinking what the fuck? while Brendon just smiles at him, all teeth. What Pete doesn't see while he flees back to the other side of the stage is the way Brendon flashes that same smile at Spencer, hidden away behind the drums. Then again, neither does Spencer. Patrick does.

After the show, the bands disperse. Joe and Andy hit the road so fast no one realizes they've left until about an hour after they do. They've been around for long enough to know the warning signs. Jon and Ryan linger for a little longer, but collect Cassie and Keltie fairly quickly and disappear to cuddle and crash (or play a epically huge tournament of Monopoly together in Jon's hotel room, whatever works), slightly unnerved by the way Brendon's acting, all dark eyed and intent. Spencer wanders off to sign for the fans. Patrick and Brendon sprawl in a corner and chat quietly, facing each other, close and only barely not touching. Without a word being said, there's a wide swath of space around them, so no one can overhear them. Pete, of course, is the only one stupid enough to disturb them. He bounds over and flings himself into Patrick's lap, laughing and flailing. He manages to plant a sloppy kiss on Patrick's cheek before he notices Brendon staring, no smile anywhere on his face. Patrick puts a hand on his knee and squeezes once, kissing Pete on the cheek gently. Pete freezes.

He's about done then and there.

A little later, Spencer gets a text message from Brendon. He's been signing for so long his hands hurt, alright? So when Brendon asks him to come up to Patrick's hotel room, he decides to call it a night. He thinks that maybe Brendon's had a little too much to drink, maybe he needs a hand getting back to his own room. Or maybe he just wants a fourth for a tag-team game of Halo or something. Whatever. Spencer honestly doesn't think it'll take more than fifteen minutes, tops, before he's curled up in a blessedly huge bed for a solid twelve hours of sleep. So he stops by reception, picks up the keycard that's there waiting for him (it's Patrick's, but Spencer doesn't know that). Okay, he thinks. Brendon planned ahead. He just wished Brendon would, y'know, tell him beforehand. On the way up in the elevator, Spencer's eyes keep sliding closed. The tiredness kind of hits him all of a sudden, and makes him want to slump over and sleep on the floor. He revises his estimate on how long this is going to take to ten minutes, tops, before he passes out and starts drooling on the carpet.

So, he's not really with it when he swipes the keycard and lets himself into Patrick's hotel room. Which is why he just stops dead in the doorway (instead of slamming the door and running away).

Patrick has Pete curled up between his legs on the bed, oh so clearly sated and buzzed on endorphins but sleepy and worn the fuck out. Patrick has this smug predatory look on his face as he strokes Pete's hair that he turns on Spencer the second he opens the door. Brendon is sitting on the couch that's facing the bed, slumped down low with his legs spread and braced far apart. Spencer can see from the doorway that he's aroused- not just from the bulge in his jeans, but from the slight flush on his face and the way he looks at Spencer. Spencer's brain stutters, falters and fizzes out.

"Uh.... Bad timing?"

Brendon and Patrick just smile.

"Come in, Spencer. Close the door, please."

Patrick's voice can do this thing where it's half growl and half purr, and it makes Pete stir in his lap lethargically. But Patrick just pushes him back down and smiles some more, lifting one hand to beckon Spencer in. So Spencer steps inside and closes the door. Because, well, pictures of this would be bad. Even though Brendon and Patrick are fully clothed and Pete's wearing boxers, there's something sexual about the tableau. Actually, no. Not 'something'. Everything. Spencer doesn't really want to know what he's walked into. But his senses are picking up, sharpening, wariness making him feel awake and shakily alert. He can smell... sex. Oh god, he really doesn't want to know what they were doing before he came in. Except for the part where he does, kind of. Spencer is currently trying very hard to ignore that part.

"C'mere, Spence."

Spencer doesn't move. Brendon smiles a little, and it's not scarily intent Brendon. It's goofy Brendon who decides it's a good idea to Bedazzle Spencer's last pair of clean underwear while on tour. It takes the tension level in the room down a notch, makes Spencer's shoulders unknit from the gigantic knot they're in, makes him step forward a few steps. Brendon smiles wider for a second, bright and overwhelming, and then the moment passes. Brendon goes back to studying Spencer like he's his next meal in a primal and carnivorous kind of way. From the way Spencer's back is prickling, he can tell that Patrick is looking at him the same way. He doesn't know why, but he steps forward again anyway, small dainty baby steps. And he keeps doing it until he's standing in front of Brendon on the couch, in between his knees. Brendon is looking up at him with something that's almost like pride on his face, and god, Spencer doesn't know how to deal with this. Doesn't know what he's dealing with here. But it's interesting and he wants and- fuck. Brendon's tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip as he watches Spencer.

"Interested?"

Spencer knows he should say no. Say no and go to bed and get that sleep he needs.

He nods anyway, his "yes" caught in his throat.

Brendon half smiles and brings up a hand to fiddle with his red framed glasses. His voice, when he speaks, is soft.

"Then kneel."

So Spencer does. His knees hit the floor a little harder than he intended, tiredness and absolute befuddlement making it a clumsy and awkward action. He sways the tiniest bit, bracketed by Brendon's jean covered knees, folding his aching hands and wrists into his lap. He can feel the warmth radiating from Brendon, from his legs and knees and crotch. Christ. Before the exact moment he hit the floor, Spencer may have been in denial about how long he and Brendon have been tiptoeing around each other. Except he can't really pretend anymore, can he? Especially when Brendon lays a hand against his face and tilts his head up, so he can brush their lips together lightly, once, twice, three times in a row and whispers good.

Then Spencer's world tilts as Brendon grabs his wrists and hauls him over his lap. He stiffens and struggles instinctively. The position makes him feel like a child, frightened and ashamed and a little aroused. Brendon matter-of-factly twists his arms so he can hold them behind his back, balancing Spencer across his knee. Spencer pushes backwards.

"Wait, what-"

Patrick's voice is calming and sensible. Spencer stills instantly, breathing rapid and almost panicked.

"This stops the second you say so, Spencer."

Brendon's chuckle vibrates through his legs, through Spencer's chest and stomach.

"But you did say you were interested, gorgeous. And this time, it's our way or the highway."

Spencer blinks once, twice, blood thumping in his wrists and face. Oh god oh god oh god okay, he thinks. He doesn't even articulate it- Brendon rubs a hand up and down his back firmly, murmuring something reassuring the moment he feels Spencer relax slightly against his grip. If Spencer turns his head a little, he can see Patrick and Pete watching avidly, Patrick's hand twisted in Pete's hair. He doesn't really want to see them- they're pretty, more than, fucking beautiful, but Brendon and the way he's peeling off Spencer's jeans and boxers so they hang around his knees is enough to deal with right now. And- Christ, Spencer isn't stupid. He knows what's about to happen. He's never done this before- never been spanked, but he doesn't think he should find it this arousing. He knows he shouldn't-

The impact of Brendon's hand on Spencer's ass makes him flinch and gasp.

"Easy, Spence. This okay?"

Brendon rubs at the spot he hit for a second gently. Spencer breathes in and out for a long moment and then nods.

"Yeah."

Brendon pinches his butt and Spencer flinches again. On the bed, Pete lifts his head from Patrick's thigh as he watches. Patrick's grip on his hair tightens for a moment before he lets go completely, instead massaging small circles over Pete's lower back. Patrick smiles, predatory, as Brendon raises his hand again.

"You know what, Spencer? I think eventually, you'll be able to take as much as Pete can...."

*

And, wow. Apparently, my spanking kink is bigger than I thought.

...

I.

*clears throat*

uh. yeah. I'll have that to go, please.

Seriously, I tend to see Spencer as the toppiest top of the Panic pile, but oh holy baby jesus this was so extraordinarily hot i can't even articulate. And Patrick *shivers*, holding Pete still, twisting his hand in Pete's hair... MY BUTTONS, THANKS FOR PUSHING.

Hehehe. Glad to see someone liked the not-porn-or-fic. I swear, it was only meant to be about three paragraphs long. But it.... grew.

I don't necessarily see Spencer as the toppiest personality out of the Panic boys. I think that he's the one that has a handle on every little detail, all the time, in business areas and such and that he manages to keep them all together and on the same track, which takes a strong personality. But I think he's also used to rolling with whatever comes up, so he'd be hard to startle or scare off. And he'd need the calm, the relaxation part of subbing for someone he really trusted and knew could handle him, no matter what he did. He'd be picky about who he'd let top him. I also think that it'd stay almost completely in the bedroom- if his top tried to extend it outside the bedroom, he'd pretty much be a complete brat. He'd fight it really hard, and he'd see it as overbearing and pushy and his reaction would just be 'how dare you suggest I'm not capable!'. But if he happened to fuck up spectacularly, he'd come looking for the absolution of someone like Brendon or Ryan or Patrick laying into him could give him.

Whereas Brendon or Ryan? Have the whole hidden steel core thing going on. With Brendon, I think the whole toppy intense focus thing could switch on and off really quickly. It'd confuse his sub (*cough*Spencer*cough*) sometimes, because he'd never be sure what he was walking into when Brendon called him. I can very much imagine Brendon liking to surprise his sub. And he'd be a tease. But he'd be in it for fun- he wouldn't like handing out punishment. He'd leave it at 'I'm kinda disappointed in you right now', and then not approach his sub for a while, letting them think it over (and then about a week later, he'd pounce and go 'You're still mine, by the way.'). He wouldn't bring the toppiness out of the bedroom, either. He'd be happy and goofy as normal. But he'd be toppy in the bedroom rather frequently, and he'd be able to summon it up even if he didn't particularly feel like it, but his sub needed it.

Ryan? Has control issues. He'd love being able to keep someone in line and just shower them with love all the time. It'd be very much cerebral, though. He'd be very gentle.

And fandom general consensus has Patrick as a top. Which I agree with wholeheartedly, because yum, right? But I see Patrick as being more likely to be the full time top. He'd be completely into telling Pete (*cough*orSpencer*cough*) that he didn't want them to do something in public ever again, or feeding them by hand on a regular basis, drawing the meal out. He's also a good choice to co-top with Brendon because he's reliable, and less likely to push boundaries. He'd be interested in seeing how far down he could take his subs down, but unlike Brendon, he'd stick almost completely with what he knew his subs were comfortable with. He'd only really persue something if it was something really important to him, something he saw as good for his sub in some way (nothing in the world will convince me that if Patrick was Spencer's top, he wouldn't make Spencer pose for some tasteful erotic photos, to help him with his body issues and make him see that Patrick thinks he's beautiful, goddamit).

And.... Um. Ramble. But sub!Spencer is something very dear to my heart, and there isn't very much of it. :( Your buttons, are there any more that need pushing? Kink is so much more interesting than alumina mining.

This is very, very interesting. Even though my interpretation of the dynamics is somewhat different. To summarise: Jon=sub, Spencer=top, Ryan and Brendon=switches.

Your view of Spencer is fascinating and very convincing. I agree about the "keep it to the bedroom" aspect of it, he does seem like the type that separates private and public life quite strictly.

And Patrick... Here I'm just nodding along. Don't know if you caught it, but someone linked to this very amazing piece of meta about Patrick and Pete's power dynamics (http://linzeems.livejournal.com/1252567.html). I, um, may have been having long involved conversations with

pushkin666 about that very topic, and I completely agree about Patrick being 24/7 top. Which is exactly what Pete would need.

I feel like I'm repeating myself a lot, so I'm gonna cheat and say go to this thread (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/113518.html?thread=1924974#t1924974) you'll see why I think Brendon would be subbing and why Pete needs taken into hand.

*makes shiny eyes at meta* Huh. Wow. A lot of points there I've never thought about in depth before. I am so bookmarking that and coming back to it, once or twice or a dozen times or so. Because the thing about Patrick is that he is surrounded by boys, on a daily basis, that he could bend in half. Tiny boys he could hold down and make beg, keen, moan, come. Because even though he's shorter he's built heavier than them. This line for the win. I am so tempted to fic that, but no. Self control, I has it.

I kind of love hearing different people's interpretations of the dynamics between the FBR/Decaydance bands. Everything you and

sauciloo have said is fascinating, and obviously really well thought out. After all, half the fun is variation and different view points. And- I agree with you totally on Pete. Peeete, seriously. With the acting out and everything. Your view on Brendon is really interesting. Thanks for sharing, and also for the rec. :)

naaaaaarg. my brain, it ceases to function. at somepoint, i shall have commentary for this. but. Brendon spanking Spencer? with a side of toppy!patrick/sub!pete? OH CHRIST.

Glad you enjoyed it. XD I kind of adore toppy!Brendon&Patrick mad amounts. In my mind, after Spencer's spanking, they all fall into bed, Pete and Spencer tucked in between Patrick and Brendon and sleep. And in the morning, Patrick coaxes Spencer through his first blowjob while Brendon ties Pete up and makes him beg. I couldn't actually find a way to fit that into the comment fic, though.

I'm seeing Spencer in a whole new light after this fic.

Patrick coaxes Spencer through his first blowjob while Brendon ties Pete up and makes him beg. I couldn't actually find a way to fit that into the comment fic, though.

You could always write a new one, though? :D Please?

HOT LIKE BURNING. Oh my god. Your Patrick alone is enough to kill me.

XD I love toppy Patrick. I can just see him going, 'huh, so, I'll do this and pull this string and everything I want will come and throw itself into my lap'. And that would be how he would gain his harem.

....YES. Just, just YES. \o/

\o/ Glad you liked it. It branched off a bit from 'Smack That', but there was spanking! Of Pete AND Spencer. Pete's spanking was off camera, but hey.

I WOULD PAY SOME GOOD MONEY TO SEE PATRICK AND BRENDON COVER THIS OMG. SOMEONE SHOULD GET A FUCKING PETITION GOING.

I KNOW RIGHT? SERIOUSLY, IT'S ON MY TO-DO LIST, RIGHT BETWEEN 'start petition for mcr to cover sweet transvestite' AND 'buy milk'.

Pete sighed and leant his head back against the wall.

Bored, he was bored and his whole body ached with standing here like this. It felt like he'd been here
for hours although he knew in reality he hadn't. He shifted slowly easing the ache in his legs before
becoming still again. Moving to stop himself from stiffening up was allowed but nothing more. He
shivered although he wasn't cold even though he was naked; Patrick ensuring the room was warm
before ordering him against the wall. The wall was cool against his ass and he was grateful for that
coolness against the burning skin.

His eyes moved to the room's other occupant. Patrick's head was down, his attention on the laptop
in front of him but Pete knew that Patrick was aware of every move he made and every sigh and it
would all be remembered, stored away. He closed his eyes trying not to think about his actions that
had led to him being stood here, against the wall.

He knew he was buying trouble for himself but sometimes he just couldn't stop himself. Patrick's
attention had been elsewhere this evening; and he'd reverted to being a 12 year old on e-numbers;
bouncing, poking Patrick, and generally annoying him until Patrick's attention was fully on him.

The thing with Patrick was you never knew quite how he was going to react. Oh he'd react eventually,
of that Pete could be assured, but Patrick liked to keep him on edge wondering just what he was
going to do to him. Sometimes he'd just be held down until he calmed, Patrick lying on him; other
times he'd be fucked over one of the couches but tonight well tonight he'd been pulled down over
Patrick's knee and held down by his neck as Patrick's other hand pulled his jeans down, the tight
denim scraping over his cock eliciting an involuntary gasp. Patrick chuckled before bringing his
hand down hard on Pete's bare skin, hitting him at the top of his thighs before starting to spank him in
earnest, making Pete count along with each stroke of his hand. He'd stopped short of one hundred
strokes, Pete now calm beneath his hands, quiet except for the hiccupping brought on by his crying.
Patrick slowly stroked his back, whispering soft words to him, words that Pete couldn't quite hear but
it was the tone more than anything that he was listening to; that soft, loving, and reassuring tone.
After a few moments Patrick pulled him up onto his lap, holding him in place even as Pete tried to
move away, the pain of his raw spanked backside and thighs exacerbated against the rough texture
of Patrick's jeans. Patrick held him still before kissing him forcefully, his teeth biting at Pete's lips,
making him in yet another way. All of Pete's focus was on Patrick; the reassuring feel and smell of
him as he held him. And then, he was making him stand up and pushing him toward the wall where
he could see him; where as he told Pete "his attention would be wholly on him!”

Pete sighed again and this time Patrick looked up, his gaze pulled from his work, toward him. He
set aside his laptop and stood up from the couch, walked over to him his steps slow and easy.
Patrick stopped in front of him and grasped his jaw with his hand, holding him steady. Pete wanted
to close his eyes, to avoid Patrick's knowing, loving look but he couldn't. He swallowed and tried to
duck his head Patrick's grip tightened on his jaw. He hated this, probably more than anything else,
the way Patrick would just stop and look at him. As though he could read everything that Pete was,
ever had been and would be in the future. It made him extremely uncomfortable, made him want to
squirm, to look away from the other man. This was attention that he didn't desire; it scared him how
Patrick would see all the way into his soul and still want him. Being held down by Patrick, feeling
himself lulled under by Patrick's words, being spanked, all of that was easy compared to this.

"Turn around." Pete blinked not immediately realising that he was being spoken to. The fingers on
his jaw tightened. "Turn around, Pete. I want to see the colour of your ass." Patrick's fingers dug
into the soft skin around his jaw before letting go. Pete turned slowly, away from Patrick and toward
the wall. He rested his hands on the wall, automatically moving into presentation position; backside
jutting out, legs spread slightly and head down. His breath began to quicken as Patrick stroked
down his back, the movement calming him. He cried out as Patrick's hand grasped his cheeks, hard
fingers digging into the sensitive flesh.

"Nice," Patrick whispered. "But you seem to be losing the colour and we can't have that now can
we? I think we should keep this red all night long, don't you?" His fingers were now softly trailing over
Pete's ass and Pete shivered.

"Brace yourself," he said. "Don't forget to count for me, Pete." Pete gulped but held himself steady
waiting for the first slap. "Ready?"

Pete whimpered as Patrick's hand comes down forcefully on his backside, trying not to flinch away at
the pain. It's always like this, the first strokes inflaming his skin, jolting from him soft whimpers before
the pain begins to increase and his whimpers become cries of pain, the sounds torn from him.
Patrick knows exactly what he's doing, how much strength to put behind each stroke. Pete cries out
as Patrick's hand comes down again and again. The strokes aren't consistent as though Patrick is
determined that this time Pete won't zone out, won't get to the point where the pain really doesn't
mean anything anymore other. Patrick clearly wants him to be aware for this, to hear what he's
saying and wants to feel him coming apart.

"Such a pretty little slut for me, aren't you?" Patrick tells him. "Can you even imagine how you look
right now, all spread out and shaking under my hand? Can you even hear the noises you make?
Such needy little whimpers and desperate little gasps! You love this, don't you? How long can you
keep this up, hmmm? Because I can do this all night just to watch you shake and tremble, scream
and fall apart underneath my hand"

Low dark words whispered into his ear that turn his legs to jelly and send shivers down his spine,
threatening to take him apart, break his defences down. It's what he wants, what he's been pushing
for all night.

His can hear his own breathing, harsh and ragged through the sound of the slaps and he scrunches
his eyes tight trying without fail to stop the tears from falling, to ensure that he counts each stroke
without missing one. Pete pushes his fingers against the wall as though it's the only thing holding him
up, listening to Patrick's whispered words.

It's only when his cries become full out sobs and he's trembling that hard that he thinks his knees will
collapse under him that Patrick begins to slow the slaps until his hand is just resting on Pete's
backside. Pete gasps in surprise as he's pulled round and into Patrick's arms. He burrows into
Patrick's embrace, his tears soaking into Patrick's t-shirt as he's held tight safe in Patrick's arms.

e-numbers? Like Skittles? Hee!

Okay, I love this a whole lot, but then I suspect you knew that. Especially how it concentrated more on the psychological side of things. Pete's mindset is spot-on I think, him pushing for attention. And this: The thing with Patrick was you never knew quite how he was going to react. Oh he'd react eventually, of that Pete could be assured, but Patrick liked to keep him on edge wondering just what he was going to do to him. is something that rings very true.

The ending was gorgeous. *happy sigh*

Indeed, e-numbers. Can't you just imagine Pete hyped up on them and wanting Patrick's attention and just being so bloody annoying that Patrick has to quieten him down, and what better way than a good spanking.

Yes, I wanted to definitely go more with the psychological side of this. I'm glad you think Pete's mindset is spot on. It took me ages to finish this off as I just wasn't sure if I was getting it quite right.

And you're quoting ... *shuffles*

I couldn't see the ending as being anything else *grins*.

Glad you liked it.

Hi. This is really hot.

Thank you. It was quite difficult to write but I'm glad it's hot.

This was hot. But also strangely sweet, especially at the end. Aw, Pete ♥.

*applauds wildly*

Thanks for the feedback. I do like some of my bandom d/s to be sweet *grins*.

See I just see Pete as a very needy and attention seeking sub *grins* and Patrick will always give Pete what he needs, not necessarily what he wants or thinks he wants.

This is amazingly hot. I love the force of Patrick's gaze and voice in this as much as the force of his hand. Please write more of this anytime. I am not above begging. *g*

Thank you so much. For me the psychological side is as important, if not more important than the physical side.

Begging ... well that always works *grins*

William Beckett needs to be spanked. Someone write it, please

By who?

I don't mind too much as long as it's not Pete. Travis, Gabe, or even Tomrad are my favorites to pair with Beckett though :)

~~Oh Bill, you should just ask them yourself~~

...I'm doing my best to persuade someone to write this for you :D

I would love you forever if you could

No luck huh? :(

Which pairing would you prefer? See, I might be interested in writing something for you but I'd have to know to whom to dedicate it... *gg*

Gabe/William or Travis/William are my favorites so whichever you're more comfortable with. I'm not really picky, as long as it's not Pete Wentz or something I wouldn't complain

And you are evil

*hides*

... okay, yes I am. A little bit. And now that you've bravely stepped into the light, I will give Gabe/William so serious consideration... (let me just double-check, it's Gabe you'd like to see spanked and William doing the spanking, correct?). It may be a while as marking period is upon me and I have a ridiculous pile of student work to assess. Feel free to poke me if nothing happens...

No it's vice versa :)

And I will be sure to do that ♥!

Aha, so Bill getting spanked and Gabe doing the spanking? Seeing your original comment this is obvious, my head is not screwed on right nowadays...

Yes exactly and that's quite alright. I've been extremely sleep deprived lately and making very little sense

*poke*

Mmm Travis, yeah.

It was a mistake. Or at least, it wasn't intentional, not at first. It was just that Mikey was all upset about something--Bob didn't even remember what, later. He thought maybe Gerard had been missing, or his bass had somehow made it to the wrong stage or something else that was enough to justify Mikey being upset but not the edge of hysteria that Bob could see creeping in. And Bob, who hadn't lifted a hand to anyone in years--not since he'd started working the boards and found there were better ways to fuck someone's shit up--grabbed Mikey by the arm and smacked him on the ass twice in quick succession.

If asked, Bob couldn't have said why he chose to go that route. It was the same idea as slapping someone who was mildly hysterical across the face, only the thought of hitting Mikey in that way made Bob feel slightly nauseated. There was nobody but the two of them in the dressing room at that time, and Bob wasn't sure it would have changed things had there been, if he would have let someone else handle Mikey, calm him.

The last smack was still echoing slightly in Bob's ears when he snatched his hands back and said, "Oh shit, Mikey, I'm sorry, I don't know--"

Mikey planted his palm over Bob's mouth. There wasn't anything sexy or even coordinated about it. Mikey was blinking at him somewhat furiously, but Bob noticed that his breathing, which had been a little short before, had normalized. Mikey said, "Oh," short and surprised.

Bob repeated the sentiment into Mikey's palm.

So the first time had just been an instinctive--if odd--reaction to Mikey's distress and Bob made plans to come up with a better way to handle that sort of thing in the future. Plans which summarily went out the window the night Mikey traded Ray to room with Bob. Mikey let Bob take the first shower, which was normal. Bob and Frank cared to have the showers first more than the others, and as such, were obliged. Mikey got in afterward, though, and didn't come out. When Bob finally went to go check on him at the fifteen minute point--Mikey's showers generally took all of three, four minutes if he was luxuriating--the steam was so thick that Mikey was actually coughing on it.

Bob pushed the door to the bathroom further open and flipped on the fan. He reached in to the shower and turned the water off. Mikey looked at him, water dripping in his eyes, down his face and said, "Just trying to unwind."

Bob considered Mikey and his wet-rat chic, the pleading in his eyes, the lack of tone in his voice. He handed him a towel. "Dry yourself thoroughly and meet me out there." He repeated, "Thoroughly. It's Frank's job to have a cold every third day." In truth, Bob was just pretty sure that impact hurt far more on wet skin than dry, but whatever got Mikey to actually listen was what he was going to go with.

When Mikey joined him in the room, even his hair was mostly dry. He stood shivering, naked, out in the middle of the room and said, "You don't have to, if you don't-- I know this isn't really, um, normal."

"You ever let your brother find you striving to be that?" Bob asked softly.

Mikey rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Bob did, he just refused to acknowledge that there was anything wrong with being honest about what a person's needs were. "You have a way you want to do this? Bed? Wall?"

Mikey's gaze darted around the room. It settled on a desk that was in the corner. He walked over and placed his palms on the surface. He planted his feet at about shoulder's-length in distance and said, "This, um, okay?"

Bob came to his side. "Mikey, you have to count. If you stop counting, I stop. If you say no, I stop. If you say stop, I stop. Got it?"

Mikey nodded. Bob didn't give him any more warning before bringing his hand down. Bob had some sense that there was a way to warm Mikey up to this, make it pleasurable, but he also got the sense that that wasn't what Mikey was here for, that if Mikey wanted pleasure, he'd ask for that. Mikey said, "One," voice calm and yet needy and Bob went in for a second. Mikey's breath caught on his two, but he was still clearly waiting. Bob sped up, barely, just barely giving Mikey time to tally up in between. But he waited that long, just long enough to know Mikey was still in this with him. Around twenty, Mikey's voice cracked on a sob. At twenty-three he was crying quietly, but steadily. At twenty-eight, his count took on an ease that hadn't been there, almost like he didn't need to think about it so hard any longer. At thirty-four, he screamed at impact, but still counted off. Bob's hand was sore and the sound of Mikey's broken words was pounding in his head, but he had given Mikey certain parameters and he wasn't going to change them now. At forty, Mikey said, "Stop, stop," the words shaky, but the intent clear. Bob really hadn't needed to be told twice.

Mikey leaned the rest of the way over the desk, touching his forehead to it. He'd kept himself basically upright the entire time. Bob hesitated for a second before soothing his hand down the muscles of Mikey's back. They were trembling beneath Mikey's skin. Bob asked softly, "Too much?" He wondered if he was supposed to know, supposed to understand inimically when Mikey had had enough.

Mikey caught his breath to say, "Just enough." He pushed himself up and looked at Bob for a second, smiling. Bob couldn't help but notice how Mikey's shoulders didn't ride so high, how some of his edges seemed softer.

Bob asked, "Lay down?"

Mikey smiled a little wider, "Yeah," and loped the few steps from where he stood to the bed, spilling down face first and wiggling his way up. Bob laughed a little, low in his chest. He went to the bathroom and wet a couple of face towels with cool water and then sat on the side of Mikey's bed, wiping his face down, then his back, then settling the towels over the worst of the damage. Mikey made a happy sound and sank deeper into the bed.

Bob, not entirely sure how awake Mikey was, whispered, "Mikey?"

Mikey shifted himself enough so that he could look up at Bob assessingly for a moment before saying, "Yeah?"

"What--" Bob wasn't sure he had the right to ask this, but then again, Mikey was the one asking him to participate in some form and not that Bob minded, at all or anything, really, but he thought maybe he should know some things. Things like, "What does it do for you?"

Mikey bit his lip for a second, clearly thinking. "Takes me out of my head. Safely. Not like-- Not like the other stuff. Does it-- Do you not like it?" For the first time since he'd walked in, he looked a little unsure of what he was doing, what he wanted.

"No," Bob was quick to answer. "No. I just--" Bob threw the face towels aside and lay down so that he was lined up against Mikey. Gently, he massaged at the skin of Mikey's ass. Mikey moaned, but it wasn't a displeased sound, not even nearly. Bob said, "There are other ways I could do that." He tried to keep his voice even, not allow any eagerness to show.

Mikey was quiet for a long moment and Bob forced himself not to tense in the expectation of rejection. Bob barely heard him when he asked, "Do I have to choose?"

Bob felt himself blink. "Um. No, I mean, no, no, of course not. No."

Mikey grinned then, and turned slightly to hook one leg over Bob's. "I can have whatever I want?"

"I draw the line at involving your brother."

"Oh, way to kill the mood."

Bob wrapped his arm around Mikey and pulled him in closer. "Bet I can revive it."

oh jesus h. arsenic is writing fic and it's Mikey/Bob and it's perfect. comfort through spanking? oh my stars. Both of my kinks, yo. the last piece, part 4? made me suck in my breath and ache and wait in the most devestatingly delicious way. outstanding.

It's always a bit nervewracking when people who actually KNOW shit read my fic. You are a boon to my soul, not even kidding, gorgeous. *hugs you*

and yet you totally came with game. It's a testimony to your talent, I guess that you come up with this without having lived in the strictest sense. The thing that is so flipping on about it is that you get the part that actions, body movements and choreographed touch can weave together the broken parts of a person's mind and spirit, that pain can be a secondary or jesus even tertiary element to that. Because the energy that is discharged from the bottom, that is held in trust by the top invested in a true exchange and returned, can be sacred, can mend.

I'm pretty enthralled with you, too, m'dear, that? what you can do, that's what's up.

*snuggles down into you* Can I just gaze at you adoringly? I'm too worn out to do anything else at this moment.

*opens arms wide*

But of course. Snuggle on.

loves,

s

I have this spanking thing, yeah, so yeah.

Thanks

*g* It's possible I have the same thing.

Wow. I get this. I know this. This story is beautiful and jagged-edged and true and comforting all at the same time; thank you for writing and sharing this.

What a great meme, too.

*hugs*

*hugs you back* I'm glad it spoke to you, that really means something to me.

hi. i dont' know if we've been over how i'm a sucker for mikey/bob. usually my head makes it Dom!mikey and sub!bob, but oh my god, you just flipped that OTP on its end.

this was a gorgeous little ficlet that was jsut perfect to me. (your stuff almost always is, but ya know) And when mikey explained what it does for him? that *points* is what subspace is. and it's a good place to unwind.

so so much love <3<3<3

I do love me some mikey/bob. Hm, that's an interesting dynamic, I'll have to think about it.

Thank you so much, for true. I'm glad it rang correctly, you know?

Oh, wow. You are so ridiculously amazing at taking kinks and giving them meaning beyond sex. SO GOOD.

And I love that Bob ASKED, wanted to find out what Mikey got out of it. That he knew Mikey needed it and paid attention to his cues and gave him that...Oh, man. Seriously. <3333

Last but not least, I adored this exchange:

Bob said, "There are other ways I could do that." He tried to keep his voice even, not allow any eagerness to show.

Mikey was quiet for a long moment and Bob forced himself not to tense in the expectation of rejection. Bob barely heard him when he asked, "Do I have to choose?"

There is nothing quite like you telling me that you like my stuff. Ever.

I had a really hard time making him ask, so I'm glad I did, glad it was worth it.

COMFORT SPANKING!!!!! \o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/

*g*

Oh, oh, oh. This was just lovely. I don't usually like pure "domestic discipline" kind of spanking fics, but despite the lack of anything overtly sexual, this wasn't that either. Subtle and realistic and organic. Excellent look at the mental side of things, and I especially liked that this was from Bob's pov as he was the one who was more uncertain and inexperienced here. Great fic, thank you very much for participating in the meme :)

Thank you for holding it, this has been lovely! And thanks for these comments, they make me grin.

ooooooh. i've read through this a couple of times now, and it just gets better. i like bob, like this (no surprise there) - maybe not knowing exactly what mikey needs, what is enough, what he wants - but also knowing that mikey will let him know, that he will do what he can, and the rest will follow.

i liked that the pain wasn't about sex, that the pain was more about a headspace, separate from pleasure, something to focus on - it's something you don't see as often, and you wrote it well.

i like the little invocations of gee too - at the concept of 'normality' particularly.

excellent, excellent!

there is no Mikey without Gerard and vice versa, yo.

I'm glad you liked this, your opinion is always of import to me.

I love this. Mikey! BOB!!! ♥ Thank you so much for writing and sharing it :) .

Thanks so much for commenting. *hugs*

I blame Make Me a Supermodel for this. I know, it's mind-killing, soul-sucking trash, but it's kinky mind-killing, soul-sucking trash.

Frank had known this was a bad idea, was certain of it long before his legs began to ache from hours spent kneeling on the concrete floor. Even under the harsh studio lights, the skin of his naked back was cold, frozen except the burning welts where Gerard had gotten too enthusiastic with riding crop, biting the leather into thin skin covering his spine. Frank shivered, clenching his teeth. The next blow fell lower, stinging the tender flesh just above the waist of his pants. It was too much. Dragging the black rubber bit from his mouth, he glared at Gerard.

“Okay, I understand your need for the whole costume thing, but this? Who does equestrian kink, really?”

Gerard sneered, pressing the side of his patent leather boot into Frank’s exposed ribs. “Well, clearly, it’s a metaphor. About dehumanization, and utilitarianism, and those sorts of things. We’re just draft animals, deep down, desirable only as long as we give the masses what they want. What they need.” Pressing the riding crop under his chin, Gerard forced Frank to meet his gaze. “Plus,” he whispered, “the fans will love it. So put the bit back in your mouth and just look good for the camera.”

A quick jerk of the reins brought his eyes in line with the photographer’s lens. He felt Gerard shift above him, drawing the crop back for yet another blow. Dropping his voice still lower, Gerard bent foward, pressing his lips to Frank's ear.

“And, if you behave, we’ll even bring the whip back to our room.” Frank barely heard the click of the shutter over his own gasp.

\o/ Ahahahaha. You wrote equestrian kink! You know I shall never let you forget about this.

This was both funny and hot. The mental image alone is going to make me squirm for hours... Now, where are those photographs?

_{trufax: when I started reading, The Ramones' Cretin Family kicked in on iTunes o_O}

If you find the pics, feel free to send them my way - I'm just having fun with the mental image..

And, yes, I wrote equstrian kink - which I'm sure is not quite what you meant when you specified spanking fic. You should see my browser history from last night (research, of course, don't let them tell you differently!) And I used to be such a nice girl :).

Glad you enjoyed., as always.

Have I mentioned that you are a horrible influence on me?

A Bandom Gets Spanked Meme

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Sorry, meant to email, but life ATE me.

Re: Sorry, meant to email, but life ATE me.

Re: Sorry, meant to email, but life ATE me.

Re: Sorry, meant to email, but life ATE me.

Ever notice how LJ is like Democracy? It sucks, but everything else is worse.

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Re: Ever notice how LJ is like Democracy? It sucks, but everything else is worse.

Ever notice how I'm really slow about responding... sigh.

It's cool. This has been a crazy month, you know?

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Aftermath 1/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Aftermath 2/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

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Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

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Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

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Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

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Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

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Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17

Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17