FIC: Kinks, Comedic And Otherwise
Title: Kinks, Comedic And Otherwise
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brian Williams/Jon
Summary: Maybe it’s not just a comedy kink after all.
Warning: Spanking.
Word Count: 903
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: I don’t know why I ever doubted my brain would have me write something like this. I mean, really. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.
The paddle was sitting on their bed, almost as if it was trying to look innocuous.
Jon knew Brian had been up to something, what with his curiosity about the Oscars segment and then his thoughtfulness after Jon had answered his questions. He’d tried to get Brian to tell him what he was thinking, but the man could remain impossibly enigmatic when he wanted to, and his efforts had been useless. So while Jon had known to expect something, this still managed to surprise him.
It was, after all, a paddle. He picked it up, turning it over and inspecting it. A rounded, leather paddle, in fact, with holes in it, and something inside Jon made him shudder as he imagined what Brian had in mind.
“Good,” said Brian from the doorway, suddenly, almost making Jon jump. “You found it.”
“Is this what you’ve been planning?” Jon asked him, raising an eyebrow.
“I thought it might be interesting.” Brian smirked. “You’re obviously a glutton for punishment.”
Jon licked his lips. “That’s...the show,” he protested weakly. “Comedy. Nothing else.”
“Ah, so you don’t want to try it, then?”
Brian knew him too damn well. “Er, well...” he started, and didn’t have to finish, because Brian smirked at him again and moved closer, taking the paddle from his hands. He walked to the bed, sitting down with his feet still touching the floor.
“Pants down, and over my lap,” he said.
Jon swallowed and nodded, doing as Brian told him, shivering just slightly when he felt Brian run the edge of the paddle along the curve of his ass. He let out a surprised cry at the first smack, muttering, “Couldn’t have warned me?”
“What fun would that be?” Brian asked, voice absurdly calm for what they were doing. He smacked his ass again with the paddle, and again, and again, settling into a nice rhythm, and-Jesus Christ. Jon felt his face heat up at the realization that, fuck, this was turning him on something fierce, and he was almost surprised he had the blood to spare.
“Christ, Brian,” he moaned, rubbing his cock against the other man’s thigh. When Brian stopped paddling, letting it rest on his ass, he whimpered, involuntarily pressing back up against it.
“I take it that means you don’t want me to stop,” Brian said, and Jon could hear his smirk.
“No need to sound so-so fucking smug,” Jon managed, gasping when Brian gave a more forceful smack. “Fuck, yes, more.”
“What did I tell you?” Brian continued, delivering another deliberate, forceful spank. “Glutton for punishment.” There was another slow, powerful smack-a pause-then another.
“More,” Jon groaned, the time between the individual spanks driving him crazy. His ass stung, his cock was aching, and all he could do was beg for Brian to speed it up. “Faster.”
Brian teased him a little longer, lengthening the pauses between blows as Jon squirmed and groaned in frustration. After what felt like forever, he finally complied, settling back into his earlier rhythm and paddling Jon’s ass solidly, non-stop. Jon savored the smack! of leather against skin as tears pricked at the back of his eyes, and he let out a half-whimper, half-moan every time the paddle connected.
“You’re going to come like this, aren’t you, Jon?” Brian asked, tone even, and not breaking his rhythm. “Just like this. Bent over my lap, ass red, begging for more.”
“Yes,” Jon choked out, because it was all he could manage by this point, knowing he was close, so close to the edge. “Don’t stop. Please, I-” He cut off, moaning loudly as Brian sped up the rhythm, spanking him even harder.
“That’s just what you want, right?” he continued, almost conversationally, and Jon would’ve marveled at Brian’s ability to do so if he’d be able to focus on anything other than how it felt every time he spanked him.
“Yes,” Jon said again, unable to vocalize anything else. “God, yes.”
He could feel it, his climax approaching, balancing precariously on the edge as he now was, and then Brian said it: “Come on, Jon,” he punctuated this with an especially hard smack, “come for me.”
One more sharp blow with that paddle was all it took, and Jon cried out, orgasm charging through him as he came hard-harder than he had in awhile-vision tunneling slightly as he panted, trying to breathe, to catch his breath, and slowly he floated back to Earth, realizing with some chagrin that he’d just come all over Brian’s lap. They were both a mess now, and he really ought to care more than he did. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed, getting up on his knees and reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand in order to clean himself up.
Brian just smirked, standing and slipping out of his pants far more nonchalantly than Jon thought should be possible. “And you said it was only about comedy.”
Jon managed a weak, “Settle down,” wincing slightly as he sat on the bed. The sting was nothing compared to the shudder of arousal that ran through him, even though he was too spent to do anything about it. He caught Brian’s knowing look, and muttered, “Smug bastard.”
“Careful, Jon,” Brian said with a laugh. “You know what that kind of backtalk can lead to.”
He did, didn’t he?
Somehow, he was perfectly okay with that.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brian Williams/Jon
Summary: Maybe it’s not just a comedy kink after all.
Warning: Spanking.
Word Count: 903
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: I don’t know why I ever doubted my brain would have me write something like this. I mean, really. Thanks for the beta, Kelly.
The paddle was sitting on their bed, almost as if it was trying to look innocuous.
Jon knew Brian had been up to something, what with his curiosity about the Oscars segment and then his thoughtfulness after Jon had answered his questions. He’d tried to get Brian to tell him what he was thinking, but the man could remain impossibly enigmatic when he wanted to, and his efforts had been useless. So while Jon had known to expect something, this still managed to surprise him.
It was, after all, a paddle. He picked it up, turning it over and inspecting it. A rounded, leather paddle, in fact, with holes in it, and something inside Jon made him shudder as he imagined what Brian had in mind.
“Good,” said Brian from the doorway, suddenly, almost making Jon jump. “You found it.”
“Is this what you’ve been planning?” Jon asked him, raising an eyebrow.
“I thought it might be interesting.” Brian smirked. “You’re obviously a glutton for punishment.”
Jon licked his lips. “That’s...the show,” he protested weakly. “Comedy. Nothing else.”
“Ah, so you don’t want to try it, then?”
Brian knew him too damn well. “Er, well...” he started, and didn’t have to finish, because Brian smirked at him again and moved closer, taking the paddle from his hands. He walked to the bed, sitting down with his feet still touching the floor.
“Pants down, and over my lap,” he said.
Jon swallowed and nodded, doing as Brian told him, shivering just slightly when he felt Brian run the edge of the paddle along the curve of his ass. He let out a surprised cry at the first smack, muttering, “Couldn’t have warned me?”
“What fun would that be?” Brian asked, voice absurdly calm for what they were doing. He smacked his ass again with the paddle, and again, and again, settling into a nice rhythm, and-Jesus Christ. Jon felt his face heat up at the realization that, fuck, this was turning him on something fierce, and he was almost surprised he had the blood to spare.
“Christ, Brian,” he moaned, rubbing his cock against the other man’s thigh. When Brian stopped paddling, letting it rest on his ass, he whimpered, involuntarily pressing back up against it.
“I take it that means you don’t want me to stop,” Brian said, and Jon could hear his smirk.
“No need to sound so-so fucking smug,” Jon managed, gasping when Brian gave a more forceful smack. “Fuck, yes, more.”
“What did I tell you?” Brian continued, delivering another deliberate, forceful spank. “Glutton for punishment.” There was another slow, powerful smack-a pause-then another.
“More,” Jon groaned, the time between the individual spanks driving him crazy. His ass stung, his cock was aching, and all he could do was beg for Brian to speed it up. “Faster.”
Brian teased him a little longer, lengthening the pauses between blows as Jon squirmed and groaned in frustration. After what felt like forever, he finally complied, settling back into his earlier rhythm and paddling Jon’s ass solidly, non-stop. Jon savored the smack! of leather against skin as tears pricked at the back of his eyes, and he let out a half-whimper, half-moan every time the paddle connected.
“You’re going to come like this, aren’t you, Jon?” Brian asked, tone even, and not breaking his rhythm. “Just like this. Bent over my lap, ass red, begging for more.”
“Yes,” Jon choked out, because it was all he could manage by this point, knowing he was close, so close to the edge. “Don’t stop. Please, I-” He cut off, moaning loudly as Brian sped up the rhythm, spanking him even harder.
“That’s just what you want, right?” he continued, almost conversationally, and Jon would’ve marveled at Brian’s ability to do so if he’d be able to focus on anything other than how it felt every time he spanked him.
“Yes,” Jon said again, unable to vocalize anything else. “God, yes.”
He could feel it, his climax approaching, balancing precariously on the edge as he now was, and then Brian said it: “Come on, Jon,” he punctuated this with an especially hard smack, “come for me.”
One more sharp blow with that paddle was all it took, and Jon cried out, orgasm charging through him as he came hard-harder than he had in awhile-vision tunneling slightly as he panted, trying to breathe, to catch his breath, and slowly he floated back to Earth, realizing with some chagrin that he’d just come all over Brian’s lap. They were both a mess now, and he really ought to care more than he did. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed, getting up on his knees and reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand in order to clean himself up.
Brian just smirked, standing and slipping out of his pants far more nonchalantly than Jon thought should be possible. “And you said it was only about comedy.”
Jon managed a weak, “Settle down,” wincing slightly as he sat on the bed. The sting was nothing compared to the shudder of arousal that ran through him, even though he was too spent to do anything about it. He caught Brian’s knowing look, and muttered, “Smug bastard.”
“Careful, Jon,” Brian said with a laugh. “You know what that kind of backtalk can lead to.”
He did, didn’t he?
Somehow, he was perfectly okay with that.