A Bandom Gets Spanked Meme
Mar. 22nd, 2008 01:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lairSo, I’ve been whinging about this to a couple people (pushkin666 and sateenmusta have been most sympathetic), but there really should be more spanking fic in Bandom. I have the craving, okay? And sometimes you just have to be proactive about these things. So with that flimsy excuse, I present…
pushkin666 and sateenmusta have been most sympathetic), but there really should be more spanking fic in Bandom. I have the craving, okay? And sometimes you just have to be proactive about these things. So with that flimsy excuse, I present…Smack Your Bitch Up – A Bandom Gets Spanked Meme
Comment-fic, speculation, random perving and photo essays about the most spankable ass in Bandom all welcome. Anon-commenting is enabled and IP tracking off, in case someone wants to letch anonymously. All pairings and all ratings, just please provide both in the subject line. Also, feel free to pimp widely.
Get to it. Over my knee, bitch. Now.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2008-03-22 01:32 pm (UTC)*runs over to journal to pimp this*
*then runs to open a text doc to see who gets spanked* ;)
no subject
on 2008-03-22 01:53 pm (UTC)yay for pimping!
I may have almost 2000 words of Brendon/Ryan spanking fic ready to go soon. Um.
no subject
on 2008-03-22 01:59 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:01 pm (UTC)spank the pale people!! ;)
no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:08 pm (UTC)But, still. Give me examples. Which pale people? Who would spank them? How many times?
no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:15 pm (UTC)lol jk.
no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:42 pm (UTC)(Oh, and I'm looking forward to following this one for a while. ;) )
no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:43 pm (UTC)RAWR. GIMME.
Aftermath 1/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 02:52 pm (UTC)***
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.”
Aftermath 2/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 02:53 pm (UTC)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.
Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 02:55 pm (UTC)“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.
no subject
on 2008-03-22 02:55 pm (UTC)...
on 2008-03-22 03:01 pm (UTC)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.
Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 03:16 pm (UTC)Damn, woman. That was so NNNGGHHHH HOT that my brain is malfunctioning pretty badly now. o_o
aokakfjlkfjakdjlsjnnghhhh. Just. Whoa.
Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 03:17 pm (UTC)<3
Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-22 03:33 pm (UTC)And do stick around. Write some porn. Provide some pics. Spank some assess.
Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-22 03:57 pm (UTC)*wants Frank to get spanked by Ray SO BAD*
Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 03:58 pm (UTC)*melts from hotness* <3
Re: Aftermath 3/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 04:03 pm (UTC)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
no subject
on 2008-03-22 04:08 pm (UTC)me too, so so bad. LIKE NOW PLEASE.
'Lock on the Door and a Mirror on the Wall' 1/3 - Spencer/Jon - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 04:24 pm (UTC)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.