Rough housing in D minor
So...people on twitter kept talking about how everyone should just come on Ian's face. Frankly it was the perfect way to procrastinate and avoid starting my BBB. :D
I love how blissed out Ian gets when he's just really into playing, and it wasn't too much of a jump to translate this to a scene.
Title: Rough housing in D minor
Author: bebunny
Notes: Ian/Spencer/Brendon Puppyplay, BDSM, Spanking. I see how you're all surprised by that.
I don't own these guys, as evidenced by me not owning them.
Thanks to sunsetmog violet_doll and ladyfoxxx for being enablers, and my awesome beta.
On AO3
The click of the heating firing up makes Brendon admit how hungry he really is. The tell-tail rumble of his belly is a traitorous giveaway too. Spencer nudges his side roughly with a foot and Brendon bats it away.
“It’s like what…4…5?” Spencer says.
Brendon would prefer to go on ignoring the dull, niggling ache of hunger in favour of staying curled up in the stuffy heat of the livingroom with Spencer and Ian if he’s honest. “Something like that, yeah,” he sighs.
He rolls his shoulders and pushes himself a little more upright. The Xbox controller drops from his lap to the floor and bounces off one of the abandoned, mismatched cushions at an impressive angle, landing just out of reach. Ian’s warm weight against his thigh shifts position slightly but doesn’t emerge from under the blanket.
“Damn it.” Brendon says, without conviction. “I just got warm.”
“You’re in sweatpants and snow socks,” Spencer points out through a yawn, “I don’t think warm’s the issue.”
“Fine, comfortable, whatever.” Brendon says, tugging the blanket over his knees and stretching his foot out to reach the controller. “Can we order in Spence?”
“You don’t want to cook?”
“Fuck no!”
“Fine, chinese?”
Brendon pokes gently at the lump beside him. “Ian likes pizza,” he says.
Spencer pauses for a second before replying. “Is pizza what you want B?”
It’s hard to miss the subtle flick of his eyes towards the blanket and a moment’s hesitation before Brendon nods with a grin. Spencer frowns and thinks that maybe one day Brendon might answer a question like that honestly. He shrugs and grabs his cell from the kitchen counter, struggles to make himself understood by the guy on the other end. His accent is thick, but he’s flirtatious and that’s enough to stop Spencer getting irritated.
Brendon waits until Spencer’s at least halfway through placing the order before calling out to add chicken bites with fries and tub of ice-cream to it. Spencer doesn’t so much as flinch, just slots it into the conversation and moves on. There’s a reason Brendon doesn’t order food, it would take an hour and they’d end up with enough to feed the whole building. Impromptu pizza parties with strangers are hardly what Zack would call ‘responsible distance.’
~*~
The little lego Han Solo takes his third dive off the awkwardly placed ledge in a shower of gold and silver studs and Spencer sighs. He spins the controller back in Brendon’s direction and hauls himself upright to answer the door when it buzzes a moment later. The pizza place is only down the street so when Spencer dumps the contents of the tacky, gossamer thin bag on the coffee table and slumps back down in the chair Brendon makes an appreciative noise at the steam rising from the assorted cardboard boxes.
“I don’t know why we don’t just play co-op.” Brendon says, sorting the order out into piles and nudging the pepperoni in Spencer’s direction.
“Because you always shoot me in the back with a blaster,” Spencer replies, “every mission, that shit gets old.”
Brendon lifts the edge of the blanket and rubs Ian’s shoulder. “Hey” he says, “pizza’s here.”
Ian unfolds and rolls slowly onto his back, taking most of the blanket with him. The resulting fuzzy caterpillar smiles muzzily at Brendon and yawns.
“Pizza?” Brendon says, holding out a slice for Ian to take. He looks a little confused when Ian just takes a bite, leaving Brendon holding most of the slice. When Ian does it a second time he smiles, and holds it closer with one hand while picking at fries with the other.
“You’re getting your ass kicked.” Brendon says helpfully and Spencer shoots him a withering look; “You’re not much better at this than me.” He says, “and Ian’s finished.”
Brendon glances down and Ian wriggles upright, pressed into the space between Brendon and the back of the couch, still wrapped in the blanket. He nods when Brendon offered another slice, but makes no move to take it. Brendon shrugs and holds it close enough for Ian to take bites. “Anyone would think you were sick.” He says, “what’s with you?”
Spencer pauses the game and scoots over to the couch on Ian’s other side. He brushes Ian’s tangled hair from his face and smiles. “Lost your words?”
Ian drops his head onto Spencer’s shoulder in response and sighs contentedly. “Yeah, thought so.” Spencer says.
“Oh is that it?” Brendon laughs as Spencer presses a kiss to Ian’s temple and retreats back to his chair. “At least you’re not sick.” He tucks one arm around Ian and dips a chicken bite into sour cream sauce for him, grinning when he chases the last remnants enthusiastically with his tongue. “Don’t bite.” He warns.
Ian presses his face hard into the hollow of Brendon’s collar bone, and nuzzles the smooth skin exposed by the cut of his tshirt. His breath is hot and ticklish and without meaning to Brendon pulls away a little making them both topple back onto the couch. “Hey you little shit!” Brendon laughs, shoving at Ian’s weight. Rather than moving however Ian makes a grab for Brendon’s wrist with his teeth and leans hard on Brendon’s chest. “Hey!” Brendon says, flapping a hand at the coffee table, “Want more chicken? Do you?”
Ian stops still and cocks his head to one side making Brendon laugh again. He feels vindicated somehow, for not going out to get food or for feeling like they had to move or do anything but play Xbox and watch reruns of Knightrider. It was worth it if Ian was feeling chilled out enough to lose his words, sink down to where he needed them to take care of him.
Brendon wriggles beneath Ian’s weight enough that he can free his hand. He reaches up and threads his fingers into Ian’s tangled hair, massaging the scalp behind his ear with his fingertips. Briefly Ian’s eyes slip shut, but when Brendon reaches for a chicken bite they snap open again to follow Brendon’s every move.
“Want this boy?” Brendon teases, keeping the treat just out of reach. Ian whines softly and strains forwards as far as he can given his position perched on Brendon’s chest. “Stay.” Brendon warns and then “Good boy.” When Ian stills entirely. He brings the chicken closer, intending to tease Ian more, but their precarious balance is compromised when Ian leans too far, too eager. He takes his opportunity and lunges for the chicken, snatching it deftly from between Brendon’s fingers as he flails to protect himself. He has a moment of indecision, a second of hesitation where he considers how far Ian has gone. When he sees Ian is fidgeting restlessly, waiting for him to react he calls it, figuring if it’s enough it’ll send Ian all the way down.
“Oh bad dog!” he says playfully and twists himself upright onto all fours to face Ian. “You stole that!” He knows he made the right call when Ian wriggles gleefully and yips. Spencer lifts up the cable for the controller as Brendon scoots underneath it to approach Ian from the other side. “You’re a bad boy…” Brendon warns again and makes a lunge, hooking his leg around Ian’s calf and slinging his arm’s around Ian’s chest. They wrestle for a while, neither having any considerable advantage, until Ian finds purchase and bites down hard on the soft, exposed skin of Brendon’s bicep.
“Motherfucker!” Brendon squeaks, and redoubles his efforts, grabbing at Ian’s limbs and trying to stay out of the way of his teeth. Without the confines of underwear he can feel the swelling weight of his erection filling out in response to the pain. Already he can see the marks blooming pink across the skin, he hopes the bite’ll bruise.
Bracing his palm against Ian’s breastbone to keep him at bay, Brendon swings his legs up to grip Ian around the waist and twists, it’s a dirty move, one his brother taught him, but he knows it’ll work. He gets Ian in a headlock as they turn over and Ian shudders and whines softly when he realises he can’t move. But Brendon has committed both arms to the hold, he’s draped along Ian’s back like a cape. He swears softly in frustration when he realises his mistake, if he eases off either of his arms Ian will break free.
In some sort of Jedi master training mode Spencer leaves them like that for a few moments before pausing the game again and looking them over appraisingly. “Alright break it up.” He says eventually and just to drive his point home he delivers a stinging slap to Brendon’s backside and one to Ian’s thigh. They both yelp and spring apart looking sheepish.
“You,” Spencer says, pointing at Brendon, then the couch, “over there.” He shakes his head at Ian who is yipping excitedly the way Bogart does when someone’s teasing him with a ball. “No,” he says, “no you sit.” Ian yips again and wiggles his backside in a fair approximation of a wag. It makes the curls bounce in front of his face and Spencer laughs.
“No.” He says, a little firmer. He reaches out a hand for Ian to snuffle against and lick. He grasps Ian’s jaw and tips his face up to look him in the eye. “Sit boy.” He repeats and Ian sinks down into a crouch. He tilts his head waiting for the next instruction and Spencer takes a deep breath. “That’s better.” He says.
“You teased him.” Spencer says, turning to Brendon. “What did you think the result was going to be? Did you get bit bad?”
Brendon shakes his head and shows Spencer. They haven’t come up too red, but Spencer can make out a couple of individual teeth marks. “Huh.” He says, and runs the pad of his thumb over it, sending a spike of pain up Brendon’s bicep. He doesn’t miss Brendon’s shiver. “Are you sorry for teasing, B?” He asks, his voice low and gravelly. Brendon looks at him levelly and shakes his head, very very slowly.
Spencer catches the way Brendon won’t quite look him in the eye and swallows. He shoots a look at Ian before gesturing for Brendon to stand up. “Pants off.” He says simply. “Socks too.” He adds as an afterthought.
Brendon stands slowly, and shucks off the loose sweatpants, taking the socks with them, dropping them in a bundle next to the sofa. He’s fully hard now, but not desperately so, it’s a pleasant tightness that fuels his actions. He pouts a little, knowing what’s coming.
“You shouldn’t tease dogs Brendon, it’s not fair, you could get hurt.” Spencer says. He cracks his knuckles and sits down on the couch, then pats his knees. “This will hopefully make that message stick.” Brendon kneels beside him first, then turns to lay himself over Spencer’s lap, bracing himself by placing his hands flat on the carpet. Ian is with him in an instant, pressing up into his face and licking at his lips. He giggles and shoves at Ian’s shoulders. “Down boy!” He huffs, and Ian backs off a little, looking restless.
“Don’t worry boy, sit still and you can have a proper treat,” Spencer says and Ian seems to relax, watching the two of them intently. Spencer runs his palm over the smooth skin of Brendon’s ass, following the grain of hair, then brushing against it. He pinches the fleshy part of Brendon’s ass, at the top of his legs and watches a brief bloom of pink rise to the surface. “You’re so damn pale.” He observes. He drums out a rhythm gently on Brendon’s buttocks, and ends the phrase with a smack, making Brendon jump and puff out a hard exhale. Ian whines, maybe in sympathy, maybe impatience and Brendon pats his hair awkwardly, unable to see him fully from his position. Ian still leans into the touch though and licks clumsily between Brendon’s fingers.
Spencer doesn’t go easy, but he certainly doesn’t push Brendon, it’s almost as if he’s echoing the lazy day they’ve had. Brendon tries to relax, he won’t go under from this, but he tries to focus on each smack, tries to abate the stinging that makes him want to curl up in defense. He’s kind of in love with the way he can feel that Spencer pulls his arm all the way back before bringing his palm back down. It pulls the muscles in his belly taught against Brendon’s side. He always prefers it when Spencer uses his bare skin, loves the way it connects them. He writhes under the stinging slaps until he knows he’ll break.
He only has to wait a minute or two, Spencer picks up his pace and suddenly the adrenaline is flooding Brendon’s system. It’s easy now to translate the pain into something else, into the electricity that has him fidgeting, grinding his dick against Spencer’s thigh.
“Stop that.” Spencer says, slapping the back of Brendon’s leg. It makes Brendon grit his teeth, he’s getting desperate now, wants to get off. “I should make you wait.”
Brendon whines, and Ian echoes him. “Don’t set him off.” Spencer warns, “Or you won’t get to come at all.”
Brendon’s tempted, waiting could mean an interesting few days, but he knows that’s not what today is about. He tries to still himself, whimpering a little.
“He’s a good boy huh?” Spencer says to Ian, who cocks his head. “Just like you.”
Spencer shoves at Brendon’s weight until he gets the message and pushes himself upright. He looks a little dazed and tries to see over his shoulder, spot how red Spencer has made him. There’s a mirror in the bedroom, and Brendon always takes pride in checking out the damage, so to speak.
“It’s not too bad,” Spencer observes, “well, not as bad as it could be, or has been.” He adds. “Lay down.”
Brendon sits on the couch and lets his head fall back against the crook of the armrest. His legs dangle over the edge of the seat and he feels better for being able to find purchase with his feet on the floor. He’s actually pretty grateful to Spencer for not pushing, he can sit fine, although his ass is pleasantly warm.
“Your turn.” Spencer says, turning to Ian. “You’re such a good boy for waiting aren't you?” He ruffles Ian’s hair, something Ian’d never stand for out of this context, and strokes his thumb over Ian’s lip, brushing it down to expose the tattoo there. Ian takes his thumb gently in his teeth, pulling slightly.
Spencer sits next to Brendon’s thighs and pats them gently. “Ok boy come on, up you get.” He says.
Ian shuffles forward on all fours and Spencer shoves the coffee table out of the way entirely, dislodging a couple of napkins and the chicken bites box onto the floor. Ian pauses to investigate it for leftovers until Spencer picks it up and perches it back on to top of the pizza boxes.
Ian sniffs around Brendon’s foot and up the inside of his calf. It’s all Brendon can do not to giggle but when Ian licks gently at the inside of his thigh with tiny tentative laps his cock twitches in response.
“Good boy,” Spencer says, watching, “make him feel good.”
Brendon’s eyes slip shut as Ian begins to drag his tongue over everything, his legs, his balls, his cock. It feel like Ian’s everywhere, can’t get enough. When he opens his eyes he realises Spencer’s nowhere to be seen.
Spencer returns a few moments later to find Brendon bucking his his up towards Ian’s mouth, hands grasping at the edges of the couch. It’s unlikely Brendon will come from this, but Spencer can tell Ian’s unfocused if relentless attention is driving him wild.
Spencer drops the condom and lube on the couch beside Brendon and kneels behind Ian. “Shh, shh.” He says when Ian jumps at his touch. “Good boy, keep going, you’re doing so well!” Spencer says.
He begins to rub Ian down, long rough strokes down his back while Ian focuses on Brendon. He murmurs praise all the while, only pausing to reach for the lube when Brendon is a quivering wreck beneath them.
Squeezing a little onto his hand he strokes across Ian’s ass, making him shiver when his slick finger brushes over his opening. Ian is warm and the lube is still cold. He stokes gently for a few moments, like he does sometimes with his tongue when he has Ian tied up, spread out and gagged beneath him. It makes Ian shudder and whine. Only when he’s ready does he dribble a little more lube over his fingers and push one in, achingly slowly. It stills Ian, almost completely and Brendon is panting, trying to catch his breath, his cock hard and flushed dark against the pale skin of his belly.
“B,” Spencer says, “B, I want to see you come on his face.” He strokes the back of Ian’s head, “Would you like that boy? Want to taste Brendon?”
Ian’s panting now too, and Brendon reaching down to circle his cock. He fists himself slowly. He speeds up a little when Ian’s mouth drops open, a sure sign that Spencer’s upped his game. Ian’s whimpering now, a constant soft sound that Brendon can’t help but echo as he approaches his climax.
His release hits him as a surprise, he angles his hips upward and stripes white across Ian’s cheek and lips. It’s debauched and messy and fucking awesome. He reaches up to smear it into Ian’s mouth and groans when Ian laps at him enthusiastically. Spencer grins at him and he feels a warm flush of pride. He pushes his fingers between Ian’s lips and lets him clean them while Spencer unrolls the condom onto himself.
“That’s it,” Spencer says. He’s low and gravelly now, and Brendon can see how into this he is, how turned on he is. He scrambles to sit more upright, out from under where Ian is kneeling over him and sucks his fingers into his mouth, tasting himself where Ian has missed spots.
Spencer reaches between Ian’s thighs and parts them a little more, he knows Ian’s ready, they’ve done this so many times, but it’s always a little different when Ian’s like this. He can’t say, can’t tell them, so Spencer has to be careful, has to be gentle at first. He lines himself up and goes back to stroking Ian, the back of his neck, scritching behind his ear, down his back, then slowly, carefully he pushes home. “Good boy,” he murmurs, “good boy, present for me, ass up.”
Ian growls, low and guttural as Spencer bottoms out and Spencer holds it there for a second, twitching, feeling Ian settle himself, tensing and relaxing around his cock. It feels kind of amazing, more relaxed than when they just fuck, or when Spencer holds him down while he sucks Brendon off. This is Ian submitting on a whole different level and it always, always feels incredible.
He starts to thrust, building rhythm, until he can feel the heat rise through him. He can feel Ian shaking beneath him, scrabbling at the couch where he’s balled his hands into fists, wordless grunts and whines escaping on every thrust. Spencer slows again, and comes to a stop and lets Ian pant it out, his head hanging between his arms. There’s a thin sheen of sweat gathering on Ian’s back and Spencer distracts himself by running a finger down his spine.
“You’re such a pretty boy, huh?” He whispers, massaging over his shoulders where the ink between them is stark on his skin. “Such a good dog, good boy.”
He begins again, a slow, steady pace that rocks them back and forth, strong form thrusts pushing the air from Spencer’s lungs as his hips rise. He can feel the need again, the animal desire to slam forwards, strain until he comes. He tangles a hand in Ian’s hair and pulls his head back, watching a droplet of sweat run down his temple, onto his neck.
He slows again and has to pause. He holds himself still, forces Ian’s thighs up against the edge of the couch to pin him and stays there. He can feel Ian tense again, he’s so fucking hot, like he’s burning up.
“Fuck.” Brendon breathes. He’s looking at Ian’s dick, straining and hard. Spencer twitches at the thought of what they must look like and Ian whimpers. He thinks maybe he should teach Brendon this, watch them as Brendon takes Ian to where he can let go completely, see it for himself.
He lets go of Ian’s hair and drapes himself along his back, picking out a rhythm that builds slowly into ruthless staccato and under him Ian is fighting to catch his breath, every muscle tensed. He’s not whining any more, his breath is coming in ragged gasps and when Spencer feels himself approaching the edge again he slows, dragging himself full length in and out, holding Ian completely still by the hips. He rides the peak for a while, revelling in the luxury of sensation until he thinks he might explode. He presses home, lets his orgasm hit him, and suddenly he’s coming, biting down on Ian’s shoulder, pulsing inside him for what feel like an age.
He stays there, letting Ian adjust until he motions for Brendon to finish what they started. Brendon’s eyes are wide and he approaches Ian with caution, holding out his hand. Ian rolls his head and flops into the touch, so far gone. His eyes are glazed and Brendon waits for Spencer to gather him up, holding him close against his chest, more upright than he’s been all afternoon.
Brendon licks his palm, slicking it up. He reaches down tentatively to Ian’s cock and when he touches it he can feel how much cooler his hand is. Ian drops his head back onto Spencer’s chest and groans. Spencer pins Ian’s arms to his side to hold him upright and Brendon ghosts his palm against the red tip of Ian’s cock. He’s leaking pre-come, so close to the edge and Brendon uses it to make sure his touch doesn’t get dry. His strokes are minimal, only a whisper, and Ian is soon rolling his head against Spencer, eyes screwed shut.
It’s always Spencer who decides to end it, he can feel how Ian’s stopped tensing against Brendon’s touch, stopped fighting to approach his climax, he’s blissed out and doped on endorphins and his breath is slow and even. He nods at Brendon and smiles.
Brendon dips his head and falls into a crouch, taking Ian into his mouth and sucking gently, it takes only moments before Ian’s crying out and biting his lip. Spencer’s “fuck!” as Ian comes is bitten off, it’s almost too much for his oversensitive, softening cock to take. He slides out and sinks down with Ian as Brendon pulls off, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
They stay like that for a while, in a messy puddle on the couch. Limbs intertwined and going numb, skin rapidly cooling. Spencer is the first to move, brushing the hair from Ian’s face to check in.
“Hi.” He says gently when Ian’s eyes focus on him.
“Hi.” Ian replies, his voice is fucked out and breathy.
“Hi.” Brendon says, because it seems like the thing to do. His heart melts a little when Ian looks up and smiles at him.
“So,” Spencer says, “we should shower.”
Brendon slides his arm out from beneath them and stands up, wobbling slightly as he straightens. He holds out a hand to Ian and pulls him into a hug as he gets up. He loves the way Ian’s head tucks into the side of his neck, he can feel the way his heart is still hammering in his chest when he wraps his arms around him.
“I fucking love Sundays.” Is all he really has to add.
I love how blissed out Ian gets when he's just really into playing, and it wasn't too much of a jump to translate this to a scene.
Title: Rough housing in D minor
Author: bebunny
Notes: Ian/Spencer/Brendon Puppyplay, BDSM, Spanking. I see how you're all surprised by that.
I don't own these guys, as evidenced by me not owning them.
Thanks to sunsetmog violet_doll and ladyfoxxx for being enablers, and my awesome beta.
On AO3
The click of the heating firing up makes Brendon admit how hungry he really is. The tell-tail rumble of his belly is a traitorous giveaway too. Spencer nudges his side roughly with a foot and Brendon bats it away.
“It’s like what…4…5?” Spencer says.
Brendon would prefer to go on ignoring the dull, niggling ache of hunger in favour of staying curled up in the stuffy heat of the livingroom with Spencer and Ian if he’s honest. “Something like that, yeah,” he sighs.
He rolls his shoulders and pushes himself a little more upright. The Xbox controller drops from his lap to the floor and bounces off one of the abandoned, mismatched cushions at an impressive angle, landing just out of reach. Ian’s warm weight against his thigh shifts position slightly but doesn’t emerge from under the blanket.
“Damn it.” Brendon says, without conviction. “I just got warm.”
“You’re in sweatpants and snow socks,” Spencer points out through a yawn, “I don’t think warm’s the issue.”
“Fine, comfortable, whatever.” Brendon says, tugging the blanket over his knees and stretching his foot out to reach the controller. “Can we order in Spence?”
“You don’t want to cook?”
“Fuck no!”
“Fine, chinese?”
Brendon pokes gently at the lump beside him. “Ian likes pizza,” he says.
Spencer pauses for a second before replying. “Is pizza what you want B?”
It’s hard to miss the subtle flick of his eyes towards the blanket and a moment’s hesitation before Brendon nods with a grin. Spencer frowns and thinks that maybe one day Brendon might answer a question like that honestly. He shrugs and grabs his cell from the kitchen counter, struggles to make himself understood by the guy on the other end. His accent is thick, but he’s flirtatious and that’s enough to stop Spencer getting irritated.
Brendon waits until Spencer’s at least halfway through placing the order before calling out to add chicken bites with fries and tub of ice-cream to it. Spencer doesn’t so much as flinch, just slots it into the conversation and moves on. There’s a reason Brendon doesn’t order food, it would take an hour and they’d end up with enough to feed the whole building. Impromptu pizza parties with strangers are hardly what Zack would call ‘responsible distance.’
~*~
The little lego Han Solo takes his third dive off the awkwardly placed ledge in a shower of gold and silver studs and Spencer sighs. He spins the controller back in Brendon’s direction and hauls himself upright to answer the door when it buzzes a moment later. The pizza place is only down the street so when Spencer dumps the contents of the tacky, gossamer thin bag on the coffee table and slumps back down in the chair Brendon makes an appreciative noise at the steam rising from the assorted cardboard boxes.
“I don’t know why we don’t just play co-op.” Brendon says, sorting the order out into piles and nudging the pepperoni in Spencer’s direction.
“Because you always shoot me in the back with a blaster,” Spencer replies, “every mission, that shit gets old.”
Brendon lifts the edge of the blanket and rubs Ian’s shoulder. “Hey” he says, “pizza’s here.”
Ian unfolds and rolls slowly onto his back, taking most of the blanket with him. The resulting fuzzy caterpillar smiles muzzily at Brendon and yawns.
“Pizza?” Brendon says, holding out a slice for Ian to take. He looks a little confused when Ian just takes a bite, leaving Brendon holding most of the slice. When Ian does it a second time he smiles, and holds it closer with one hand while picking at fries with the other.
“You’re getting your ass kicked.” Brendon says helpfully and Spencer shoots him a withering look; “You’re not much better at this than me.” He says, “and Ian’s finished.”
Brendon glances down and Ian wriggles upright, pressed into the space between Brendon and the back of the couch, still wrapped in the blanket. He nods when Brendon offered another slice, but makes no move to take it. Brendon shrugs and holds it close enough for Ian to take bites. “Anyone would think you were sick.” He says, “what’s with you?”
Spencer pauses the game and scoots over to the couch on Ian’s other side. He brushes Ian’s tangled hair from his face and smiles. “Lost your words?”
Ian drops his head onto Spencer’s shoulder in response and sighs contentedly. “Yeah, thought so.” Spencer says.
“Oh is that it?” Brendon laughs as Spencer presses a kiss to Ian’s temple and retreats back to his chair. “At least you’re not sick.” He tucks one arm around Ian and dips a chicken bite into sour cream sauce for him, grinning when he chases the last remnants enthusiastically with his tongue. “Don’t bite.” He warns.
Ian presses his face hard into the hollow of Brendon’s collar bone, and nuzzles the smooth skin exposed by the cut of his tshirt. His breath is hot and ticklish and without meaning to Brendon pulls away a little making them both topple back onto the couch. “Hey you little shit!” Brendon laughs, shoving at Ian’s weight. Rather than moving however Ian makes a grab for Brendon’s wrist with his teeth and leans hard on Brendon’s chest. “Hey!” Brendon says, flapping a hand at the coffee table, “Want more chicken? Do you?”
Ian stops still and cocks his head to one side making Brendon laugh again. He feels vindicated somehow, for not going out to get food or for feeling like they had to move or do anything but play Xbox and watch reruns of Knightrider. It was worth it if Ian was feeling chilled out enough to lose his words, sink down to where he needed them to take care of him.
Brendon wriggles beneath Ian’s weight enough that he can free his hand. He reaches up and threads his fingers into Ian’s tangled hair, massaging the scalp behind his ear with his fingertips. Briefly Ian’s eyes slip shut, but when Brendon reaches for a chicken bite they snap open again to follow Brendon’s every move.
“Want this boy?” Brendon teases, keeping the treat just out of reach. Ian whines softly and strains forwards as far as he can given his position perched on Brendon’s chest. “Stay.” Brendon warns and then “Good boy.” When Ian stills entirely. He brings the chicken closer, intending to tease Ian more, but their precarious balance is compromised when Ian leans too far, too eager. He takes his opportunity and lunges for the chicken, snatching it deftly from between Brendon’s fingers as he flails to protect himself. He has a moment of indecision, a second of hesitation where he considers how far Ian has gone. When he sees Ian is fidgeting restlessly, waiting for him to react he calls it, figuring if it’s enough it’ll send Ian all the way down.
“Oh bad dog!” he says playfully and twists himself upright onto all fours to face Ian. “You stole that!” He knows he made the right call when Ian wriggles gleefully and yips. Spencer lifts up the cable for the controller as Brendon scoots underneath it to approach Ian from the other side. “You’re a bad boy…” Brendon warns again and makes a lunge, hooking his leg around Ian’s calf and slinging his arm’s around Ian’s chest. They wrestle for a while, neither having any considerable advantage, until Ian finds purchase and bites down hard on the soft, exposed skin of Brendon’s bicep.
“Motherfucker!” Brendon squeaks, and redoubles his efforts, grabbing at Ian’s limbs and trying to stay out of the way of his teeth. Without the confines of underwear he can feel the swelling weight of his erection filling out in response to the pain. Already he can see the marks blooming pink across the skin, he hopes the bite’ll bruise.
Bracing his palm against Ian’s breastbone to keep him at bay, Brendon swings his legs up to grip Ian around the waist and twists, it’s a dirty move, one his brother taught him, but he knows it’ll work. He gets Ian in a headlock as they turn over and Ian shudders and whines softly when he realises he can’t move. But Brendon has committed both arms to the hold, he’s draped along Ian’s back like a cape. He swears softly in frustration when he realises his mistake, if he eases off either of his arms Ian will break free.
In some sort of Jedi master training mode Spencer leaves them like that for a few moments before pausing the game again and looking them over appraisingly. “Alright break it up.” He says eventually and just to drive his point home he delivers a stinging slap to Brendon’s backside and one to Ian’s thigh. They both yelp and spring apart looking sheepish.
“You,” Spencer says, pointing at Brendon, then the couch, “over there.” He shakes his head at Ian who is yipping excitedly the way Bogart does when someone’s teasing him with a ball. “No,” he says, “no you sit.” Ian yips again and wiggles his backside in a fair approximation of a wag. It makes the curls bounce in front of his face and Spencer laughs.
“No.” He says, a little firmer. He reaches out a hand for Ian to snuffle against and lick. He grasps Ian’s jaw and tips his face up to look him in the eye. “Sit boy.” He repeats and Ian sinks down into a crouch. He tilts his head waiting for the next instruction and Spencer takes a deep breath. “That’s better.” He says.
“You teased him.” Spencer says, turning to Brendon. “What did you think the result was going to be? Did you get bit bad?”
Brendon shakes his head and shows Spencer. They haven’t come up too red, but Spencer can make out a couple of individual teeth marks. “Huh.” He says, and runs the pad of his thumb over it, sending a spike of pain up Brendon’s bicep. He doesn’t miss Brendon’s shiver. “Are you sorry for teasing, B?” He asks, his voice low and gravelly. Brendon looks at him levelly and shakes his head, very very slowly.
Spencer catches the way Brendon won’t quite look him in the eye and swallows. He shoots a look at Ian before gesturing for Brendon to stand up. “Pants off.” He says simply. “Socks too.” He adds as an afterthought.
Brendon stands slowly, and shucks off the loose sweatpants, taking the socks with them, dropping them in a bundle next to the sofa. He’s fully hard now, but not desperately so, it’s a pleasant tightness that fuels his actions. He pouts a little, knowing what’s coming.
“You shouldn’t tease dogs Brendon, it’s not fair, you could get hurt.” Spencer says. He cracks his knuckles and sits down on the couch, then pats his knees. “This will hopefully make that message stick.” Brendon kneels beside him first, then turns to lay himself over Spencer’s lap, bracing himself by placing his hands flat on the carpet. Ian is with him in an instant, pressing up into his face and licking at his lips. He giggles and shoves at Ian’s shoulders. “Down boy!” He huffs, and Ian backs off a little, looking restless.
“Don’t worry boy, sit still and you can have a proper treat,” Spencer says and Ian seems to relax, watching the two of them intently. Spencer runs his palm over the smooth skin of Brendon’s ass, following the grain of hair, then brushing against it. He pinches the fleshy part of Brendon’s ass, at the top of his legs and watches a brief bloom of pink rise to the surface. “You’re so damn pale.” He observes. He drums out a rhythm gently on Brendon’s buttocks, and ends the phrase with a smack, making Brendon jump and puff out a hard exhale. Ian whines, maybe in sympathy, maybe impatience and Brendon pats his hair awkwardly, unable to see him fully from his position. Ian still leans into the touch though and licks clumsily between Brendon’s fingers.
Spencer doesn’t go easy, but he certainly doesn’t push Brendon, it’s almost as if he’s echoing the lazy day they’ve had. Brendon tries to relax, he won’t go under from this, but he tries to focus on each smack, tries to abate the stinging that makes him want to curl up in defense. He’s kind of in love with the way he can feel that Spencer pulls his arm all the way back before bringing his palm back down. It pulls the muscles in his belly taught against Brendon’s side. He always prefers it when Spencer uses his bare skin, loves the way it connects them. He writhes under the stinging slaps until he knows he’ll break.
He only has to wait a minute or two, Spencer picks up his pace and suddenly the adrenaline is flooding Brendon’s system. It’s easy now to translate the pain into something else, into the electricity that has him fidgeting, grinding his dick against Spencer’s thigh.
“Stop that.” Spencer says, slapping the back of Brendon’s leg. It makes Brendon grit his teeth, he’s getting desperate now, wants to get off. “I should make you wait.”
Brendon whines, and Ian echoes him. “Don’t set him off.” Spencer warns, “Or you won’t get to come at all.”
Brendon’s tempted, waiting could mean an interesting few days, but he knows that’s not what today is about. He tries to still himself, whimpering a little.
“He’s a good boy huh?” Spencer says to Ian, who cocks his head. “Just like you.”
Spencer shoves at Brendon’s weight until he gets the message and pushes himself upright. He looks a little dazed and tries to see over his shoulder, spot how red Spencer has made him. There’s a mirror in the bedroom, and Brendon always takes pride in checking out the damage, so to speak.
“It’s not too bad,” Spencer observes, “well, not as bad as it could be, or has been.” He adds. “Lay down.”
Brendon sits on the couch and lets his head fall back against the crook of the armrest. His legs dangle over the edge of the seat and he feels better for being able to find purchase with his feet on the floor. He’s actually pretty grateful to Spencer for not pushing, he can sit fine, although his ass is pleasantly warm.
“Your turn.” Spencer says, turning to Ian. “You’re such a good boy for waiting aren't you?” He ruffles Ian’s hair, something Ian’d never stand for out of this context, and strokes his thumb over Ian’s lip, brushing it down to expose the tattoo there. Ian takes his thumb gently in his teeth, pulling slightly.
Spencer sits next to Brendon’s thighs and pats them gently. “Ok boy come on, up you get.” He says.
Ian shuffles forward on all fours and Spencer shoves the coffee table out of the way entirely, dislodging a couple of napkins and the chicken bites box onto the floor. Ian pauses to investigate it for leftovers until Spencer picks it up and perches it back on to top of the pizza boxes.
Ian sniffs around Brendon’s foot and up the inside of his calf. It’s all Brendon can do not to giggle but when Ian licks gently at the inside of his thigh with tiny tentative laps his cock twitches in response.
“Good boy,” Spencer says, watching, “make him feel good.”
Brendon’s eyes slip shut as Ian begins to drag his tongue over everything, his legs, his balls, his cock. It feel like Ian’s everywhere, can’t get enough. When he opens his eyes he realises Spencer’s nowhere to be seen.
Spencer returns a few moments later to find Brendon bucking his his up towards Ian’s mouth, hands grasping at the edges of the couch. It’s unlikely Brendon will come from this, but Spencer can tell Ian’s unfocused if relentless attention is driving him wild.
Spencer drops the condom and lube on the couch beside Brendon and kneels behind Ian. “Shh, shh.” He says when Ian jumps at his touch. “Good boy, keep going, you’re doing so well!” Spencer says.
He begins to rub Ian down, long rough strokes down his back while Ian focuses on Brendon. He murmurs praise all the while, only pausing to reach for the lube when Brendon is a quivering wreck beneath them.
Squeezing a little onto his hand he strokes across Ian’s ass, making him shiver when his slick finger brushes over his opening. Ian is warm and the lube is still cold. He stokes gently for a few moments, like he does sometimes with his tongue when he has Ian tied up, spread out and gagged beneath him. It makes Ian shudder and whine. Only when he’s ready does he dribble a little more lube over his fingers and push one in, achingly slowly. It stills Ian, almost completely and Brendon is panting, trying to catch his breath, his cock hard and flushed dark against the pale skin of his belly.
“B,” Spencer says, “B, I want to see you come on his face.” He strokes the back of Ian’s head, “Would you like that boy? Want to taste Brendon?”
Ian’s panting now too, and Brendon reaching down to circle his cock. He fists himself slowly. He speeds up a little when Ian’s mouth drops open, a sure sign that Spencer’s upped his game. Ian’s whimpering now, a constant soft sound that Brendon can’t help but echo as he approaches his climax.
His release hits him as a surprise, he angles his hips upward and stripes white across Ian’s cheek and lips. It’s debauched and messy and fucking awesome. He reaches up to smear it into Ian’s mouth and groans when Ian laps at him enthusiastically. Spencer grins at him and he feels a warm flush of pride. He pushes his fingers between Ian’s lips and lets him clean them while Spencer unrolls the condom onto himself.
“That’s it,” Spencer says. He’s low and gravelly now, and Brendon can see how into this he is, how turned on he is. He scrambles to sit more upright, out from under where Ian is kneeling over him and sucks his fingers into his mouth, tasting himself where Ian has missed spots.
Spencer reaches between Ian’s thighs and parts them a little more, he knows Ian’s ready, they’ve done this so many times, but it’s always a little different when Ian’s like this. He can’t say, can’t tell them, so Spencer has to be careful, has to be gentle at first. He lines himself up and goes back to stroking Ian, the back of his neck, scritching behind his ear, down his back, then slowly, carefully he pushes home. “Good boy,” he murmurs, “good boy, present for me, ass up.”
Ian growls, low and guttural as Spencer bottoms out and Spencer holds it there for a second, twitching, feeling Ian settle himself, tensing and relaxing around his cock. It feels kind of amazing, more relaxed than when they just fuck, or when Spencer holds him down while he sucks Brendon off. This is Ian submitting on a whole different level and it always, always feels incredible.
He starts to thrust, building rhythm, until he can feel the heat rise through him. He can feel Ian shaking beneath him, scrabbling at the couch where he’s balled his hands into fists, wordless grunts and whines escaping on every thrust. Spencer slows again, and comes to a stop and lets Ian pant it out, his head hanging between his arms. There’s a thin sheen of sweat gathering on Ian’s back and Spencer distracts himself by running a finger down his spine.
“You’re such a pretty boy, huh?” He whispers, massaging over his shoulders where the ink between them is stark on his skin. “Such a good dog, good boy.”
He begins again, a slow, steady pace that rocks them back and forth, strong form thrusts pushing the air from Spencer’s lungs as his hips rise. He can feel the need again, the animal desire to slam forwards, strain until he comes. He tangles a hand in Ian’s hair and pulls his head back, watching a droplet of sweat run down his temple, onto his neck.
He slows again and has to pause. He holds himself still, forces Ian’s thighs up against the edge of the couch to pin him and stays there. He can feel Ian tense again, he’s so fucking hot, like he’s burning up.
“Fuck.” Brendon breathes. He’s looking at Ian’s dick, straining and hard. Spencer twitches at the thought of what they must look like and Ian whimpers. He thinks maybe he should teach Brendon this, watch them as Brendon takes Ian to where he can let go completely, see it for himself.
He lets go of Ian’s hair and drapes himself along his back, picking out a rhythm that builds slowly into ruthless staccato and under him Ian is fighting to catch his breath, every muscle tensed. He’s not whining any more, his breath is coming in ragged gasps and when Spencer feels himself approaching the edge again he slows, dragging himself full length in and out, holding Ian completely still by the hips. He rides the peak for a while, revelling in the luxury of sensation until he thinks he might explode. He presses home, lets his orgasm hit him, and suddenly he’s coming, biting down on Ian’s shoulder, pulsing inside him for what feel like an age.
He stays there, letting Ian adjust until he motions for Brendon to finish what they started. Brendon’s eyes are wide and he approaches Ian with caution, holding out his hand. Ian rolls his head and flops into the touch, so far gone. His eyes are glazed and Brendon waits for Spencer to gather him up, holding him close against his chest, more upright than he’s been all afternoon.
Brendon licks his palm, slicking it up. He reaches down tentatively to Ian’s cock and when he touches it he can feel how much cooler his hand is. Ian drops his head back onto Spencer’s chest and groans. Spencer pins Ian’s arms to his side to hold him upright and Brendon ghosts his palm against the red tip of Ian’s cock. He’s leaking pre-come, so close to the edge and Brendon uses it to make sure his touch doesn’t get dry. His strokes are minimal, only a whisper, and Ian is soon rolling his head against Spencer, eyes screwed shut.
It’s always Spencer who decides to end it, he can feel how Ian’s stopped tensing against Brendon’s touch, stopped fighting to approach his climax, he’s blissed out and doped on endorphins and his breath is slow and even. He nods at Brendon and smiles.
Brendon dips his head and falls into a crouch, taking Ian into his mouth and sucking gently, it takes only moments before Ian’s crying out and biting his lip. Spencer’s “fuck!” as Ian comes is bitten off, it’s almost too much for his oversensitive, softening cock to take. He slides out and sinks down with Ian as Brendon pulls off, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
They stay like that for a while, in a messy puddle on the couch. Limbs intertwined and going numb, skin rapidly cooling. Spencer is the first to move, brushing the hair from Ian’s face to check in.
“Hi.” He says gently when Ian’s eyes focus on him.
“Hi.” Ian replies, his voice is fucked out and breathy.
“Hi.” Brendon says, because it seems like the thing to do. His heart melts a little when Ian looks up and smiles at him.
“So,” Spencer says, “we should shower.”
Brendon slides his arm out from beneath them and stands up, wobbling slightly as he straightens. He holds out a hand to Ian and pulls him into a hug as he gets up. He loves the way Ian’s head tucks into the side of his neck, he can feel the way his heart is still hammering in his chest when he wraps his arms around him.
“I fucking love Sundays.” Is all he really has to add.