Stained glass eyes
Muahaha, for more insane fun. Picspams of Panic at the Disco are dangerous, children. So is the combination of chemical substances and kink, don’t mix the two, seriously. I have realized that there are about 200 Elliott Smith songs on my computer, which made me gleeful in scary ways.
Title: Stained glass eyes
Author: Raven
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Spencer/Ryan, sorta GSF with a dash of Shane
Warnings: D/s, bondage, CP, cuteness and sappy aftercare
Disclaimer: never happened
A/N: sequel to Brand New Game, Easy Way Out and Taking A Fall and as such part four of The Smith Chronicles (Do I rock the pretentious titles or what?). If you’re here for just pretty and porn, you may proceed without backup reading:
They’d only been at the cabin for three days when Spencer decided to go through with the plan. Ryan practically hadn’t slept, except for occasionally passing out on the couch. He only really talked to Jon, guitars on their laps and joints in hand. Everyone else wasn’t invited to Ryan’s little one-man-party. For the first time ever, everyone seemed to include Spencer.
Shane had offered to take care of Brendon and Jon, take them for a drive somewhere and maybe also explain what the fuck was going on. It seemed odd to take precautions for Ryan screaming his head off when he was more quiet then he’d ever been. Spencer couldn’t imagine the sound. He also really didn’t want to.
That morning (well, four in the afternoon, but who was counting), Spencer asked Ryan to stay off the pot. “I’d like to try something,” was the only explanation he offered. Ryan didn’t ask questions or argue and smoked about twenty cigarettes until Shane, Brendon and Jon eventually took off around nine.
Ryan wasn’t looking at him when they closed the door, didn’t make a move to do anything, just stood there in the middle of the living-room with a blank expression.
He followed Spencer upstairs, undressed and lay face down on the bed without speaking, not struggling as Spencer carefully tied his wrists and ankles to the bed-posts with silk scarves.
“You comfortable?” Ryan would probably have shrugged if he hadn’t been spread-eagled on the bed, as it was; he huffed out some sound that could have been agreement. Spencer sighed and started massaging his back and shoulders, gently at first, but soon increasing the pressure, trying to get at least some of the tension out. Ryan was still silent and motionless, but gradually, the muscles began to loosen and Spencer felt him melting into the touch. Great. Now what?
“Ry?” “Hrmpf?” Spencer couldn’t help smiling at how relaxed and far away the reply sounded. “I’m worried about you, Ry,” he said softly. Then, he started rambling, explaining, trying to make Ryan understand. Ryan listened, took a shuddering breath and nodded. “Okay. Yeah.” There was a long pause, but Spencer knew Ryan was just trying to organize the shit in his head into something resembling the English language, so he waited quietly, his hands still rubbing small soothing circles over Ryan’s back.
“I. I need you to hurt me, Spence.” It broke his fucking heart to hear Ryan say that, Spencer can’t, won’t pretend otherwise. He also won’t pretend he didn’t see it coming.
He pressed a kiss to the nape of Ryan’s neck. “You remember your word?” he whispered, his breath ghosting over Ryan’s ear. “Haunted,” Ryan confirmed, shivering. Spencer closed his eyes briefly and moved away, getting the cane from one of the half-packed bags in a corner. It felt fucking wrong in his hand, bendy and vicious and cruel. He took a deep breath and turned around.
“I need you to be one hundred per cent on this, Ryan. I also need you to tell me when you can’t take anymore. You have to promise you’ll tell me.” “I promise.” Spencer grabbed two pillows from the armchair and told Ryan to lift his hips up, pushing his ass into the air, his spine curved perfectly, his skin pale and luminous and taut over his slender body.
Perfection, Spencer thought, just before he brought the cane down for the first time. The sound of it whistling through the air, the sharp crack as it bit into the soft skin, the way the mark flushed deep red after a slow-motion white hot flash and the strangled noise ripping from Ryan’s throat as his body jerked forward was too fucking much to take. Spencer wanted nothing more to just walk out on this, right here and now. The sensations rushing through his body scared the fuck out of him.
“Please,” Ryan choked out, still writhing from the pain. Spencer complied. He’d probably go to hell for this at the very least, but not only did he continue, he also, somewhere beneath the pain he felt for Ryan and the disgust he felt with himself, got off on the power he had over Ryan right now. Which brought him back to the part of being disgusted with himself.
Ryan didn’t ask him to stop nearly as soon as Spencer would have liked, the choked moans giving way to screams giving way to sobs before finally, Ryan gasped out his safe-word and Spencer stopped instantly, dropping the cane like it had burned him and getting down on the bed next to Ryan, burying one hand in Ryan’s hair and resting the other on the small of his back while Ryan just cried, hard enough to make his whole body shake under Spencer’s hands. Not that those were overly steady either.
Spencer had no idea how long he just sat there next to Ryan, staring down at his boy, at the deep, searing red welts the cane had left on his skin. That Spencer had left on Ryan’s skin. He couldn’t speak.
He wasn’t surprised at the soft knock on the bedroom door and squeezed Ryan’s shoulder reassuringly before getting up and opening it a fraction to find Jon looking at him, wide-eyed and worried. “Ry? It’s Jon.” Ryan lifted his head. “Please.” His voice was ragged and broken from the screaming. Spencer stepped aside and Jon moved over to the bed, quick but not panicked, carefully untying the scarves still holding Ryan down, kissing his wrists and searching his eyes.
“Ryan”, he mumbled over and over before carefully wrapping his arms around Ryan’s torso and holding onto him.
Spencer wanted to marry Jon Walker there and then and he’s also never gonna deny that, cause Jon is in his own stratosphere in the league of Very Special People.
Brendon doesn’t knock on the door when he comes in, he looks terrified and defiant and pissed off and Shane follows after him with the complementary mix of exasperated and worried. Brendon’s the one who applies lotion to the welts carefully while Ryan winces and Jon tightens his arms around him, quietly talking about God knows what.
Shane’s holding Spencer, which is also insane amounts of nice right now, he won’t lie. He still feels like an asshole, he doesn’t really know what’s gonna happen, if this has turned out right. Somehow, he refuses to think of anything that includes Ryan getting hurt as having turned out right.
Shane doesn’t let go though, steadying Spencer and reassuring him without needing to say a word. They’re watching the three on the bed, arms around each other, and it’s hard to explain. Cause Spencer loves Ryan more then anything or anyone in the world. Spencer also loves Jon and Brendon and Shane more then anything or anyone in the world, in a way that he can’t put a name to and that hangs in the air between them like a melody.
He’s also apparently one sappy motherfucker.
Brendon is the one who words it, quietly, earnestly, a far cry from his usual loud, cheerful self. “I love you, Ry,” he whispers, bending down for only Ryan to hear him, but everyone else does, it’s too quiet for secret messages to be passed around and their thoughts are too loud. Jon smiles at Brendon, their eyes meeting over the nape of Ryan’s neck. “I love you, Ry.” Jon mumbles. Shane and Spencer don’t hesitate to follow suit, moving closer and echoing the words.
Also, Spencer doesn’t sound choked, fuck you very much.
Ryan turns his head when he hears Spencer’s voice and stares straight into him with those stained glass eyes, tears glistening on the long lashes, light breaking in soft brown and golden hues. Ryan’s eyes that aren’t terrifyingly vacant anymore. He doesn’t need to hear the soft “I love you” that falls from Ryan’s lips to know it’s true.
They kiss and Ryan moans against his lips, something that sounds like mh and Spence and want vaguely. “What do you want?” Spencer asks, though it probably doesn’t quite come out that way. “Fuck me.” That, on the other hand, was pretty clear. Also Ryan’s pretty hurt. Brendon casts Spencer a glance, bites his lip and looks over at Shane, who nods. Those two are too fucking good at this. Brendon settles himself between Ryan’s legs and ghosts fluttering little kisses over the marks on his ass, running his tongue across them softly until Ryan gasps and whimpers. Jon’s holding his hand and stroking his hair while Spencer watches, transfixed, eventually scrambling around for condoms and lube and just. Fuck.
He manages, somehow, to get his cock out and slick it up without coming, but it’s not easy. Ryan’s completely falling to pieces at the teasing of Brendon’s tongue and he whines when Shane gently pulls his boy back to make room for Spencer, Jon still sitting next to him caressing his hair. Spencer fucks Ryan, slow and deep, while Jon comforts Ryan and leans down to kiss him. Judging by the noises Ryan makes, Spencer’s thrusts don’t hurt him in any way that doesn’t feel pretty fucking good.
Spencer can sense Shane and Brendon watching, can hear Brendon breathing raggedly. When Brendon gasps softly from some unknown sensation, Ryan comes, with a small startled cry, clenching around Spencer and Spencer needs a moment, thank you.
Because this. Is not even real. Except that Ryan is his now. That in a way, they’re all each other’s. He won’t try to explain this to anyone, cause. Well, fuck. He just knows this is it, this is right, for the first time he feels like Ryan and him are complete.
Later that night, they send Gabe Saporta a photograph of all five of them huddled up on the couch in pyjamas with Disney prints (which do not belong to Spencer), clutching mugs of hot chocolate. His reply in its entirety reads: Fck y. Which could translate into a variety of things, really, but Gabe probably meant it the nicest way possible.
Title: Stained glass eyes
Author: Raven
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Spencer/Ryan, sorta GSF with a dash of Shane
Warnings: D/s, bondage, CP, cuteness and sappy aftercare
Disclaimer: never happened
A/N: sequel to Brand New Game, Easy Way Out and Taking A Fall and as such part four of The Smith Chronicles (Do I rock the pretentious titles or what?). If you’re here for just pretty and porn, you may proceed without backup reading:
They’d only been at the cabin for three days when Spencer decided to go through with the plan. Ryan practically hadn’t slept, except for occasionally passing out on the couch. He only really talked to Jon, guitars on their laps and joints in hand. Everyone else wasn’t invited to Ryan’s little one-man-party. For the first time ever, everyone seemed to include Spencer.
Shane had offered to take care of Brendon and Jon, take them for a drive somewhere and maybe also explain what the fuck was going on. It seemed odd to take precautions for Ryan screaming his head off when he was more quiet then he’d ever been. Spencer couldn’t imagine the sound. He also really didn’t want to.
That morning (well, four in the afternoon, but who was counting), Spencer asked Ryan to stay off the pot. “I’d like to try something,” was the only explanation he offered. Ryan didn’t ask questions or argue and smoked about twenty cigarettes until Shane, Brendon and Jon eventually took off around nine.
Ryan wasn’t looking at him when they closed the door, didn’t make a move to do anything, just stood there in the middle of the living-room with a blank expression.
He followed Spencer upstairs, undressed and lay face down on the bed without speaking, not struggling as Spencer carefully tied his wrists and ankles to the bed-posts with silk scarves.
“You comfortable?” Ryan would probably have shrugged if he hadn’t been spread-eagled on the bed, as it was; he huffed out some sound that could have been agreement. Spencer sighed and started massaging his back and shoulders, gently at first, but soon increasing the pressure, trying to get at least some of the tension out. Ryan was still silent and motionless, but gradually, the muscles began to loosen and Spencer felt him melting into the touch. Great. Now what?
“Ry?” “Hrmpf?” Spencer couldn’t help smiling at how relaxed and far away the reply sounded. “I’m worried about you, Ry,” he said softly. Then, he started rambling, explaining, trying to make Ryan understand. Ryan listened, took a shuddering breath and nodded. “Okay. Yeah.” There was a long pause, but Spencer knew Ryan was just trying to organize the shit in his head into something resembling the English language, so he waited quietly, his hands still rubbing small soothing circles over Ryan’s back.
“I. I need you to hurt me, Spence.” It broke his fucking heart to hear Ryan say that, Spencer can’t, won’t pretend otherwise. He also won’t pretend he didn’t see it coming.
He pressed a kiss to the nape of Ryan’s neck. “You remember your word?” he whispered, his breath ghosting over Ryan’s ear. “Haunted,” Ryan confirmed, shivering. Spencer closed his eyes briefly and moved away, getting the cane from one of the half-packed bags in a corner. It felt fucking wrong in his hand, bendy and vicious and cruel. He took a deep breath and turned around.
“I need you to be one hundred per cent on this, Ryan. I also need you to tell me when you can’t take anymore. You have to promise you’ll tell me.” “I promise.” Spencer grabbed two pillows from the armchair and told Ryan to lift his hips up, pushing his ass into the air, his spine curved perfectly, his skin pale and luminous and taut over his slender body.
Perfection, Spencer thought, just before he brought the cane down for the first time. The sound of it whistling through the air, the sharp crack as it bit into the soft skin, the way the mark flushed deep red after a slow-motion white hot flash and the strangled noise ripping from Ryan’s throat as his body jerked forward was too fucking much to take. Spencer wanted nothing more to just walk out on this, right here and now. The sensations rushing through his body scared the fuck out of him.
“Please,” Ryan choked out, still writhing from the pain. Spencer complied. He’d probably go to hell for this at the very least, but not only did he continue, he also, somewhere beneath the pain he felt for Ryan and the disgust he felt with himself, got off on the power he had over Ryan right now. Which brought him back to the part of being disgusted with himself.
Ryan didn’t ask him to stop nearly as soon as Spencer would have liked, the choked moans giving way to screams giving way to sobs before finally, Ryan gasped out his safe-word and Spencer stopped instantly, dropping the cane like it had burned him and getting down on the bed next to Ryan, burying one hand in Ryan’s hair and resting the other on the small of his back while Ryan just cried, hard enough to make his whole body shake under Spencer’s hands. Not that those were overly steady either.
Spencer had no idea how long he just sat there next to Ryan, staring down at his boy, at the deep, searing red welts the cane had left on his skin. That Spencer had left on Ryan’s skin. He couldn’t speak.
He wasn’t surprised at the soft knock on the bedroom door and squeezed Ryan’s shoulder reassuringly before getting up and opening it a fraction to find Jon looking at him, wide-eyed and worried. “Ry? It’s Jon.” Ryan lifted his head. “Please.” His voice was ragged and broken from the screaming. Spencer stepped aside and Jon moved over to the bed, quick but not panicked, carefully untying the scarves still holding Ryan down, kissing his wrists and searching his eyes.
“Ryan”, he mumbled over and over before carefully wrapping his arms around Ryan’s torso and holding onto him.
Spencer wanted to marry Jon Walker there and then and he’s also never gonna deny that, cause Jon is in his own stratosphere in the league of Very Special People.
Brendon doesn’t knock on the door when he comes in, he looks terrified and defiant and pissed off and Shane follows after him with the complementary mix of exasperated and worried. Brendon’s the one who applies lotion to the welts carefully while Ryan winces and Jon tightens his arms around him, quietly talking about God knows what.
Shane’s holding Spencer, which is also insane amounts of nice right now, he won’t lie. He still feels like an asshole, he doesn’t really know what’s gonna happen, if this has turned out right. Somehow, he refuses to think of anything that includes Ryan getting hurt as having turned out right.
Shane doesn’t let go though, steadying Spencer and reassuring him without needing to say a word. They’re watching the three on the bed, arms around each other, and it’s hard to explain. Cause Spencer loves Ryan more then anything or anyone in the world. Spencer also loves Jon and Brendon and Shane more then anything or anyone in the world, in a way that he can’t put a name to and that hangs in the air between them like a melody.
He’s also apparently one sappy motherfucker.
Brendon is the one who words it, quietly, earnestly, a far cry from his usual loud, cheerful self. “I love you, Ry,” he whispers, bending down for only Ryan to hear him, but everyone else does, it’s too quiet for secret messages to be passed around and their thoughts are too loud. Jon smiles at Brendon, their eyes meeting over the nape of Ryan’s neck. “I love you, Ry.” Jon mumbles. Shane and Spencer don’t hesitate to follow suit, moving closer and echoing the words.
Also, Spencer doesn’t sound choked, fuck you very much.
Ryan turns his head when he hears Spencer’s voice and stares straight into him with those stained glass eyes, tears glistening on the long lashes, light breaking in soft brown and golden hues. Ryan’s eyes that aren’t terrifyingly vacant anymore. He doesn’t need to hear the soft “I love you” that falls from Ryan’s lips to know it’s true.
They kiss and Ryan moans against his lips, something that sounds like mh and Spence and want vaguely. “What do you want?” Spencer asks, though it probably doesn’t quite come out that way. “Fuck me.” That, on the other hand, was pretty clear. Also Ryan’s pretty hurt. Brendon casts Spencer a glance, bites his lip and looks over at Shane, who nods. Those two are too fucking good at this. Brendon settles himself between Ryan’s legs and ghosts fluttering little kisses over the marks on his ass, running his tongue across them softly until Ryan gasps and whimpers. Jon’s holding his hand and stroking his hair while Spencer watches, transfixed, eventually scrambling around for condoms and lube and just. Fuck.
He manages, somehow, to get his cock out and slick it up without coming, but it’s not easy. Ryan’s completely falling to pieces at the teasing of Brendon’s tongue and he whines when Shane gently pulls his boy back to make room for Spencer, Jon still sitting next to him caressing his hair. Spencer fucks Ryan, slow and deep, while Jon comforts Ryan and leans down to kiss him. Judging by the noises Ryan makes, Spencer’s thrusts don’t hurt him in any way that doesn’t feel pretty fucking good.
Spencer can sense Shane and Brendon watching, can hear Brendon breathing raggedly. When Brendon gasps softly from some unknown sensation, Ryan comes, with a small startled cry, clenching around Spencer and Spencer needs a moment, thank you.
Because this. Is not even real. Except that Ryan is his now. That in a way, they’re all each other’s. He won’t try to explain this to anyone, cause. Well, fuck. He just knows this is it, this is right, for the first time he feels like Ryan and him are complete.
Later that night, they send Gabe Saporta a photograph of all five of them huddled up on the couch in pyjamas with Disney prints (which do not belong to Spencer), clutching mugs of hot chocolate. His reply in its entirety reads: Fck y. Which could translate into a variety of things, really, but Gabe probably meant it the nicest way possible.