Bandslash: Brendon/Spencer
Title: Ownership
Fandom: Bandslash
Paring: Brendon/Spencer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,177
Summary: Has everyone forgotten who Brendon belongs to?
Notes: For Prompt #10 at disarm_d's Pornothon. Thanks to chopsticknoodle for the awesome beta.
Spencer is completely used to Ryan being a slut. Lord knows they’ve been friends for ages, and ever since Ryan hit puberty he developed this huge need to be as appealing and flirty and downright slutty as possible.
Brendon on the other hand? Spencer can’t even fathom Brendon being anything but a spaz. His spaz, but a spaz nonetheless.
So when Brendon spends the night bouncing from table to table, smiling at people and touching - fucking touching - them, it takes Spencer a few hours to get used to it. At first he watches like a casual observer, trying not to stomp across the room and announce very loudly and publicly that Brendon’s ass is in fact his and he’d like everyone to remember it.
By the time the party is really underway - some record label thing that should be fun but reminds Spencer of every awkward party he attended during middle school - Spencer can hardly stand it. He leaves Ryan mid-sentence, well aware that he’ll hear about it for days afterwards, and clomps over to the table where Brendon’s sitting on Pete’s right leg, laughing at some stupid joke that’s no doubt about penises or pussies.
“Bren,” Spencer says, calmly and coolly. Pete grins up at him like he doesn’t have Spencer’s boyfriend in his lap and it’s all Spencer can do not to shout. Has everyone forgotten who Brendon belongs to?
“Oh, hey Spencer! Pete’s gonna take us out later,” Brendon says. And his eyes are so big and bright that Spencer nearly leaves him there and walks away. Then he realizes that Pete totally isn’t above macking on someone’s significant other and reaches out to grab Brendon by the wrist. He pushes down on the pulse point, effectively cutting off whatever Brendon was going to follow up with.
“No, we have to go,” Spencer tells him. Pete just laughs and shoves Brendon out of his lap. At least Pete knows when he’s crossing boundaries; hell if Brendon does. Spencer drags Brendon across the room and into the hallway of the hotel. They have rooms upstairs - four though only two will be used - and he clutches his keycard harshly in the other hand.
The elevator ride is silent, because Brendon might act like a child half the time, but he knows enough to know when to be seen and not heard. Spencer’s shaking by the time they reach his door, and he shoves the keycard into the slot. He has no idea where this newfound jealousy - because yeah, he’ll admit that much - has come from, but it’s racing through his veins, throbbing inside him with every beat of his heart.
“Spence, I didn’t-”
“No, you didn’t. I know mostly everyone there knows we’re together, but a hell of a lot of them don’t. And seeing you draped all over record execs and other artists? Kind of not cool. Strip,” Spencer says, cutting Brendon off. Both their eyes widen a bit at his last word, and even though Spencer knows he’s making this up as he goes, he’s pretty sure Brendon doesn’t. He clears his throat and looks expectedly at Brendon who’s staring at him with puppy dog like eyes.
But then he nods sharply and brings his hands up to his collar. He slowly unbuttons it, working his fingers over each black button and not taking his eyes off of Spencer. Spencer sits down on the edge of the bed and just watches him. By the time Brendon’s tugging his arms out of his sleeves, Spencer’s half hard.
“Good enough,” Spencer says after Brendon unzips his fly. Brendon nods again and lets his hands fall. “Come here,” Spencer orders, his voice surprisingly rough. It hangs in the air for a moment before Brendon takes a tentative step forward. Then all of a sudden he’s standing in front of Spencer and awaiting his next command.
Spencer doesn’t say anything, just grips Brendon by the waist and manhandles him across his lap. He snakes a hand between them and lowers Brendon’s pants, slipping them over his hips just far enough to expose his ass. Spencer strokes a palm over Brendon’s cheeks, cupping gently before brining his hand up and slapping hard. Brendon cries out and wiggles in Spencer’s lap but makes no move to escape.
Spencer bites down on his lower lip and concentrates, studying the pale white of Brendon’s flesh before raising his hand again. The second slap is louder and echoes in the hotel room. “Don’t move,” Spencer says, his voice more of a whisper than actual words. But Brendon understands and his body stills, tensing in Spencer’s lap.
Spencer can feel the hard press of Brendon’s cock against his thigh, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that he’s just as turned on. He rubs Brendon’s cheek again, trailing his fingers over the reddening skin before smacking him again, twice in a row. Brendon lets out a choked cry with each spank, but he doesn’t wiggle. His cock is digging into Spencer’s thigh, and Spencer knows he’s going to have stains on his dress pants.
He really doesn’t care at the moment. Not when he has a lapful of Brendon.
“Please,” Brendon whispers, trailing off into a moan. Spencer blinks slowly and brings his hand down one more time. The smack fills the room, as does Brendon’s whimper. Then Spencer rolls Brendon off of his lap and meets his eyes. They’re dark - so dark - and Spencer can’t help leaning down and crushing their lips together.
Then it’s all hands, Brendon’s and his, moving over their bodies, tugging at material and baring skin. Brendon’s teeth dig into Spencer’s shoulder, and he groans before biting back. Somehow they end up in the middle of the bed, Brendon straddling Spencer’s hips.
“You liked it,” Spencer says, smiling stupidly up at Brendon. His hands are still stinging from the blows and he knows Brendon has to be feeling worse.
“So did you,” Brendon says with a laugh.
And then he grinds down, brushing their cocks together. Everything else is lost in a moan. Spencer digs his nails into Brendon’s shoulders, tugging him down as he thrust up. Pre-come eases the slide as they rock their hips, moving together. Spencer wraps a leg around Brendon’s hips and bucks up, arching his back as he tries to feel more heat, more Brendon, just more.
“Fuck,” Brendon grunts into Spencer’s ear. It’s the same voice that always gets Spencer hard on stage, and he loses it. His hips stutter and all of a sudden he’s coming, splashing between their bodies as he shouts Brendon’s name. He can feel Brendon explode against his thigh, hissing sharply as he comes.
It takes Spencer awhile to remember how to breathe again. He feels like he just shot his brain out of his dick, and he tells Brendon that, laughing when Brendon erupts in a fit of giggles against his neck.
“You’re mine,” Spencer tells him softly, just to make sure Brendon realizes it.
“Yours,” Brendon says back, just as easily as anything.
Fandom: Bandslash
Paring: Brendon/Spencer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,177
Summary: Has everyone forgotten who Brendon belongs to?
Notes: For Prompt #10 at disarm_d's Pornothon. Thanks to chopsticknoodle for the awesome beta.
Spencer is completely used to Ryan being a slut. Lord knows they’ve been friends for ages, and ever since Ryan hit puberty he developed this huge need to be as appealing and flirty and downright slutty as possible.
Brendon on the other hand? Spencer can’t even fathom Brendon being anything but a spaz. His spaz, but a spaz nonetheless.
So when Brendon spends the night bouncing from table to table, smiling at people and touching - fucking touching - them, it takes Spencer a few hours to get used to it. At first he watches like a casual observer, trying not to stomp across the room and announce very loudly and publicly that Brendon’s ass is in fact his and he’d like everyone to remember it.
By the time the party is really underway - some record label thing that should be fun but reminds Spencer of every awkward party he attended during middle school - Spencer can hardly stand it. He leaves Ryan mid-sentence, well aware that he’ll hear about it for days afterwards, and clomps over to the table where Brendon’s sitting on Pete’s right leg, laughing at some stupid joke that’s no doubt about penises or pussies.
“Bren,” Spencer says, calmly and coolly. Pete grins up at him like he doesn’t have Spencer’s boyfriend in his lap and it’s all Spencer can do not to shout. Has everyone forgotten who Brendon belongs to?
“Oh, hey Spencer! Pete’s gonna take us out later,” Brendon says. And his eyes are so big and bright that Spencer nearly leaves him there and walks away. Then he realizes that Pete totally isn’t above macking on someone’s significant other and reaches out to grab Brendon by the wrist. He pushes down on the pulse point, effectively cutting off whatever Brendon was going to follow up with.
“No, we have to go,” Spencer tells him. Pete just laughs and shoves Brendon out of his lap. At least Pete knows when he’s crossing boundaries; hell if Brendon does. Spencer drags Brendon across the room and into the hallway of the hotel. They have rooms upstairs - four though only two will be used - and he clutches his keycard harshly in the other hand.
The elevator ride is silent, because Brendon might act like a child half the time, but he knows enough to know when to be seen and not heard. Spencer’s shaking by the time they reach his door, and he shoves the keycard into the slot. He has no idea where this newfound jealousy - because yeah, he’ll admit that much - has come from, but it’s racing through his veins, throbbing inside him with every beat of his heart.
“Spence, I didn’t-”
“No, you didn’t. I know mostly everyone there knows we’re together, but a hell of a lot of them don’t. And seeing you draped all over record execs and other artists? Kind of not cool. Strip,” Spencer says, cutting Brendon off. Both their eyes widen a bit at his last word, and even though Spencer knows he’s making this up as he goes, he’s pretty sure Brendon doesn’t. He clears his throat and looks expectedly at Brendon who’s staring at him with puppy dog like eyes.
But then he nods sharply and brings his hands up to his collar. He slowly unbuttons it, working his fingers over each black button and not taking his eyes off of Spencer. Spencer sits down on the edge of the bed and just watches him. By the time Brendon’s tugging his arms out of his sleeves, Spencer’s half hard.
“Good enough,” Spencer says after Brendon unzips his fly. Brendon nods again and lets his hands fall. “Come here,” Spencer orders, his voice surprisingly rough. It hangs in the air for a moment before Brendon takes a tentative step forward. Then all of a sudden he’s standing in front of Spencer and awaiting his next command.
Spencer doesn’t say anything, just grips Brendon by the waist and manhandles him across his lap. He snakes a hand between them and lowers Brendon’s pants, slipping them over his hips just far enough to expose his ass. Spencer strokes a palm over Brendon’s cheeks, cupping gently before brining his hand up and slapping hard. Brendon cries out and wiggles in Spencer’s lap but makes no move to escape.
Spencer bites down on his lower lip and concentrates, studying the pale white of Brendon’s flesh before raising his hand again. The second slap is louder and echoes in the hotel room. “Don’t move,” Spencer says, his voice more of a whisper than actual words. But Brendon understands and his body stills, tensing in Spencer’s lap.
Spencer can feel the hard press of Brendon’s cock against his thigh, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that he’s just as turned on. He rubs Brendon’s cheek again, trailing his fingers over the reddening skin before smacking him again, twice in a row. Brendon lets out a choked cry with each spank, but he doesn’t wiggle. His cock is digging into Spencer’s thigh, and Spencer knows he’s going to have stains on his dress pants.
He really doesn’t care at the moment. Not when he has a lapful of Brendon.
“Please,” Brendon whispers, trailing off into a moan. Spencer blinks slowly and brings his hand down one more time. The smack fills the room, as does Brendon’s whimper. Then Spencer rolls Brendon off of his lap and meets his eyes. They’re dark - so dark - and Spencer can’t help leaning down and crushing their lips together.
Then it’s all hands, Brendon’s and his, moving over their bodies, tugging at material and baring skin. Brendon’s teeth dig into Spencer’s shoulder, and he groans before biting back. Somehow they end up in the middle of the bed, Brendon straddling Spencer’s hips.
“You liked it,” Spencer says, smiling stupidly up at Brendon. His hands are still stinging from the blows and he knows Brendon has to be feeling worse.
“So did you,” Brendon says with a laugh.
And then he grinds down, brushing their cocks together. Everything else is lost in a moan. Spencer digs his nails into Brendon’s shoulders, tugging him down as he thrust up. Pre-come eases the slide as they rock their hips, moving together. Spencer wraps a leg around Brendon’s hips and bucks up, arching his back as he tries to feel more heat, more Brendon, just more.
“Fuck,” Brendon grunts into Spencer’s ear. It’s the same voice that always gets Spencer hard on stage, and he loses it. His hips stutter and all of a sudden he’s coming, splashing between their bodies as he shouts Brendon’s name. He can feel Brendon explode against his thigh, hissing sharply as he comes.
It takes Spencer awhile to remember how to breathe again. He feels like he just shot his brain out of his dick, and he tells Brendon that, laughing when Brendon erupts in a fit of giggles against his neck.
“You’re mine,” Spencer tells him softly, just to make sure Brendon realizes it.
“Yours,” Brendon says back, just as easily as anything.