(no subject)
a bunch of crap i've written for anon_lovefest.
Brendon Urie was known, in certain circles, as a rakish, colorful young man with a voice like the devil, who played piano like an angel. He had no title of his own, that anyone knew of -- it seemed likely he was a younger son of some country lord. He rarely spoke of it, however, and spent all of his time in town, where titles were of little consequence, if you could make an impression upon the right people.
Not everyone liked Brendon. Some disapproved of the company he kept -- indiscriminate between class, gender, or moral character. Some disapproved of his manner -- they found his bright smiles distasteful, his demeanor too much to keep up with. Still more disapproved of his lifestyle -- he was the perfect stereotype of the young, the beautiful, the idle rich. No one could deny, however, that if nothing else, Brendon Urie made an impression.
Young Mr. Urie did not do anything halfway, either. He was having a -- well, the name varied. Some referred to his "episodes," when they wanted to be particularly scandalous. Most simply said he was working for a week or so. Which, to be fair, was true. He was in his rented rooms, in a block of apartments rented by musicians and playwrights and others of the artistic temperament. He had a quill, sheafs of paper, and a piano.
He was unshaved and unwashed, in a fine shirt with the sleeves pushed up and half the fastenings undone, and stockings and breeches with no shoes. He looked wild, perhaps fit only for the asylum (though of course, his family would surely come, finally revealing themselves to spirit their son away to the country where he could be hidden and silenced). He alternated between two states, frantically scribbling and fervently mumbling in one, playing the instrument before him with a wild passion in the other.
The notes were stubborn. They refused to come together the way he knew they could, they were spiting him! Perhaps he hoped to beat the very sound into submission as he struck the keys of the instrument, playing on into the night until he slumped on the bench, exhausted, with a few pages of music, perhaps a minute's worth, for all his effort. And tomorrow again, on he would play.
Ryan kept his promise, calling back a couple of hours later. Brendon nearly dropped his phone, but managed to answer it without any casualties. "Hello?" he said, voice a little lower than usual, breaking slightly.
"You better be hard, like I told you. And you better be fucking grateful I'm doing this." That was IrritatedFriend!Ryan, not HotDom!Ryan.
Still, Brendon couldn't seem to muster anything but SluttySub!Brendon. "I am, sir," he said softly, biting his lip. "To both."
There was a small satisfied sound. "Good. What are the options?"
Brendon told Ryan about the toys he'd found (only two) and the different types of lube (six, which made no sense).
"That's where my strawberry lube went! You motherfucker!"
Brendon winced a little. "Sorry." He was sitting up on his bed, no pants, hard, knees drawn up a little as if to hide it.
"Whatever. Are you naked?"
"Um, I still have my shirt on."
"Why?"
Brendon set down the phone and stripped quickly, picking it back up. "Okay, it's off."
"Who told you to do that?"
Brendon paled, realizing his mistake. "I...I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"Of course you didn't. Put me on speaker and set the phone down next to you."
Brendon swallowed hard and obeyed. "Okay."
"Lay back and touch yourself. One hand on your dick. Slowly."
Brendon took a deep breath and laid back, stroking himself slowly. He could handle this, this wasn't bad. "Feels good," he murmured, knowing Ryan liked to hear him.
"Shut up."
That startled him out of it. "What?"
"I'm not doing this because I want to, I'm doing it because you're going to make everyone's lives miserable until someone makes me, and I don't feel like people knowing about this shit."
Brendon's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Ryan, I..."
"Lay down. Put your fingers in your mouth."
Brendon didn't really have a choice, driven by the needs he'd had as long as he could remember, since he was a toddler (spanking had never been an effective punishment). So he laid back, sucking on his fingers.
"Get them wet. You're going to fuck yourself with them."
Brendon made a little noise around his fingers, those words putting fire in his blood. When they were wet enough, he pulled them out with a wet pop.
"Good boy. Now roll onto your side so you can reach, put them in. Both at once."
It wasn't easy, and it burned, but Brendon managed, giving a whimpery moan as his own fingers finally sank in up to the knuckle.
"Good. Use your other hand to pinch your nipples. Hard. Make it hurt." A little whimper from Brendon and Ryan spoke again. "I want you to move your fingers, stretch yourself. Don't stop on your nipples."
Brendon whimpered softly, toes curling. "Ryan..."
"Are you doing as I asked?" Ryan asked, sounding perhaps the slightest bit annoyed.
Brendon swallowed hard. "Yes, yes, I mean, yes, sir. I am." He made a keening noise as he brushed that spot, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Normally that would have made Ryan lose his cool, but not now. Things had changed. "Good. Why don't you touch yourself. Just a little. Don't jerk off, just touch your cock a little."
Brendon swore softly, just his fingertips stroking over the head of his cock, and he moaned. "Oh god, Ryan, please," he whimpered.
"Stop," Ryan commanded him. "No. Now, take your fingers out. Pick the biggest toy you have there."
Brendon whimpered, but he had to comply. He picked up the larger of the only two he'd found. "Okay," he murmured.
"Now push it into yourself, nice and slow, as far as you can get it."
Brendon panted and whimpered as he did, gripping the pillow hard with his free hand, legs spread like a whore. "Okay," he said, voice coming out in a whimper, forcing himself to lay still.
"Is it all the way in?" Ryan asked. "You better not be moving it."
"It is," Brendon said, needy and flushed. "I'm not."
"You're being a good boy, Brendon," Ryan practically purred. "As a reward for being such a good boy, why don't you move it, just a little tiny bit?"
Brendon moved it, slow and just a little, whimpering desperately. He was halfway on his stomach now, trying not to let himself grind into the bed.
"Are you pinching your nipples?" Ryan asked. "God, Brendon, if I was there I'd have to spank you." He knew exactly what that would do to Brendon and chuckled a little to himself over it. He did still love to torture the younger boy, and he was rewarded with another desperate, half-muffled whimper.
Brendon was biting down on the pillow to muffle himself and moaning desperately, legs spreading more, grinding into the bed. He loved it when Ryan spanked him, abused him until he begged, until the skin was bright red and raw and a wisp of air was enough to make him shiver and whimper, and he'd be so desperately hard, rutting against Ryan's leg, desperate for it, needing nothing more than to get off.
"Brendon," Ryan scolded him. "Did I tell you could do that?" He could hear him moaning even with the pillow. "Stop. Stop moving."
Brendon whimpered desperately and stopped. "Ryan, please," he whimpered.
"Please what?" Ryan asked, twirling his hair idly. He needed a shower. "Please what, Brendon?"
"I wanna come, please, please," he whimpered, pressing his cheek against the pillow. "It hurts, Ryan, please..."
"It hurts?" Ryan perked up. "Why don't you move the toy a little bit more and then I'll see about letting you come."
Brendon was panting, needy, but he obeyed, now fucking himself deep and slow with the toy, shivering with every push in, starting to shake, but not speaking. Any ability to make his own decisions or disobey was gone, pushed back behind a heavy curtain of needs he couldn't control.
Ryan listened to him. "How badly do you want to come?" he asked, at least mildly interested now.
"Oh my god, so bad, I need it, please," he moaned, trailing off into a whimper, grinding into the bed again, an instinctive response from his body.
"Come for me then," Ryan urged him. "Come on. Let go."
A minute later, Brendon was wearing boxers again, still loose and a little weak from coming like a fucking volcano. "So, thanks," he said quietly, holding the phone again.
"Get a pen," Ryan told him.
Brendon was obeying before he had time to question it, writing down a number Ryan gave him. "What's this?" he asked.
"I googled while we were talking. A pro-dom service in your area."
Brendon laughed a little despite himself, nodding. "Thanks, man."
"Yeah."
"Keep in touch, okay?" Brendon licked over his lips, biting them nervously. "Let me know how you're doing."
"I will." Brendon could feel the ice queen chill again.
He sighed. "I guess I'll see you around, then."
"Yeah." There was a click, and Brendon checked his phone. Call ended. He sighed, and programmed the new number into his phone, under Ryan's name.
1. It was a summer night in Las Vegas, and the air conditioning in this club was fucking broken. Everyone was sweating before they even got onstage. Spencer had sweat beading on the crook of his neck, and suddenly there was a tongue, licking a stripe through the sweat, then blowing lightly over it, leaving his skin cool. There was a telltale little giggle and Brendon was gone as if nothing had happened, but Spencer still felt that cool stripe through the whole show.
2. It was Pete's Christmas party. Everyone was there. It was just winding down, and Spencer had found himself either alone or with Brendon all night. Not that he'd done this intentionally, it just seemed that anytime someone showed up to talk to him, Brendon was right behind them. At first he thought Brendon was bringing people over, but then Ryan came over, who Brendon was mad at, and he realized Gabe and Brendon had come from opposite directions. Spencer wondered what weird game Brendon was playing now, then just thanked whoever was listening that he wasn't rubbing soup in his hair or something and decided not to worry about it.
3. Suddenly there was a heavy weight on Spencer's back, and he nearly toppled over backwards, just managing to stay on his feet with the help of Jon, who had seen Brendon coming.
"Hi Bren," he grunted, shifting the younger man into a better position.
"Hi Spencer Smith! I'm keeping you."
"Uh. Okay."
"Good." A wet, smacking kiss on his cheek, and Brendon was gone as quickly as he came.
4. It was pretty simple, really. Spencer was passed out, and when he woke up, someone had written "Property Of Brendon Urie" on the strip of skin on his back that showed where his shirt had ridden up. He didn't wash it off for three days.
5. And then it got seriously out of hand, because a week later, Brendon had gotten hold of a fucking paint pen or something, because "Property of Brendon Urie" was scrawled across the chest of every single shirt he owned, including button-downs and jackets (although mostly those didn't quite match up into one line when buttoned properly). When he shouted Brendon's name and started looking for him, he heard only a manic giggle and the pounding footsteps of Brendon running away from him.
6. Spencer had Brendon squirming and whimpering under him. He'd agreed to stop with the paint pens and the writing on him and all other unnecessarily damaging or over-the-top gestures, but Spencer would get his payback. He bent and, pressing his mouth to Brendon's neck, sucked a fold of skin into his mouth, slow at first, then harder, until Brendon was whimpering and clutching at Spencer's shoulders, pushing to try to make him stop. Spencer did eventually and surveyed his handiwork, head tilted to the side with a little smirk. He bent to bring his mouth to Brendon's again, murmuring one word.
"Mine."
Brendon swallows hard and with shaky fingers he dials the number. He took it out of his contacts in a fit of anger, but he knows the digits by heart, could never forget them.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Ryan!" Brendon grins, but it falters slightly. He can practically feel the cold from Ryan's ice queen act, even over the phone. "It's...it's Brendon. How's it going, dude?"
"Fine..." Ryan's tone says he has no idea why Brendon is calling.
"Good, good! That's good." Brendon's grasping at straws already, trying for small talk. "Listen, uh..." I haven't gotten off in three weeks and i need you to give me permission to jerk off. Yes, that would go well. "I was thinking we could maybe...catch up...?"
"Brendon, why are you calling me?" Ryan asks bluntly. Maybe he's high, he doesn't tend to put up with Brendon's shit (or anyone's) when he's high.
"I uh...well, I was sortof...thinking...reminiscing, if you will, and uh..."
"Oh my god, Brendon, I'm working! Spit it the fuck out!"
Brendon closes his eyes, biting his lip. "Ryan, I uh...I need your help. Like you'd help me before. What Jon and Spencer got mad at us for, that one time? In the bunks?"
Brendon hopes that's enough that Ryan will get it and he won't have to say it. He can hear in Ryan's tone when he speaks again that he gets it, but he's not gonna get away with not saying it anyway.
"Brendon." No one else can pack that much into just saying his name.
"Yes?"
"Tell me what you called for." It's a command.
Brendon has no choice but to obey, and he swallows hard. "I called...I need your permission to touch myself." His voice is soft, a little ashamed, and he feels that delicious burn in his chest, of being humiliated and loving it.
There's a long pause, and Brendon is getting nervous. "Get yourself hard, and gather the supplies. I'll call back in two hours."
"Wait, Ryan--!" He's gone. Brendon just closes his eyes briefly, biting his lip, sets his phone down, and pops the button on his jeans.
A hand on Ryan's face, giving him the absurd and oh-so-mature urge to stick his tongue out and lick, but he kept his cool.
"I don't kiss on the mouth." That dark-chocolate purr the woman had used down on the street.
Ryan didn't like that, but he was not in a state to overthink it. "Fine," he said shortly, moving down her neck. Brendon sighed, tilting her head back and letting her eyes flutter shut, biting her lip when the john's hand slid into her cropped hair. She hooked one leg up over his hip, rubbing at the back of his thigh with her heel, playing it up a little, but he was hot. Shouldn't be too bad.
~
Ryan couldn't seem to get enough of her. He paid for a whole weekend, even though he really could not afford that. He looked like a slick businessman, but he was spending a weekend in the city on mommy and daddy's inheritance, which had some very specific places it needed to go before anything else. But he hadn't planned for her.
He fucked her right there against the wall with her face flushed and the short little dress rucked up around her thighs, one of her shoes falling off with a thump midcoitus. Then he bent her over the bed, staring at that perfect ass the whole time. After that he finally took the time to get her dress off, and spent all of round three licking and sucking at her perfect, hand-sized breasts. Then he ripped off the garter belt and stockings with the seams up the back, and made her suck him off in the shower, finally getting to feel those perfect lips. Three more hours passed after that, every position they could do, every hole Brendon had, every kink Ryan had, all got filled. They were both worked-over and dizzy and shaky by the time they finally collapsed in two sweaty heaps at opposite edges of the king bed.
~
Late in the afternoon, Brendon was still sleeping. Dark eyelashes rested against her cheeks as her eyes twitched a little under the lids. Ryan propped himself up on his elbow, looking her over slowly. She'd shoved the covers off at some point, revealing unfathomable expanses of pale, perfect, creamy skin. Her breasts weren't exceptionally perky, but they were set high up on her chest, exactly the right size for his hand. He could see her ribs pushing up under the skin with how she lay, and he remembered her shivering and mewling when he'd trailed his nails over them last night.
"Like that?" he'd murmured, doing it again, just lightly, just the tips.
Brendon made a noise, shivering, white skin gone pink all over. "Sensitive," she'd whimpered, gasping.
His eyes traveled over her stomach, flat, toned, but soft. Those wide hips, curvy, made for grabbing hold of, redefining "childbearing hips." No hair anywhere, the top of her slit just barely visible from this angle, such a hot spot.
His finger had stroked over it in his explorations, standing behind her in the shower, cock still throbbing from his own orgasm.
Brendon had gasped, sinking a hand into his hair. "Please," she whimpered, biting a lip still slick and swollen and red from the best blowjob Ryan had ever had, without question.
Long, perfectly shaped legs that had spread for him, wrapped around his waist, twitched when he touched them, been so amazing in this bed.
And so many others.
~
Brendon woke then, and smiled a sleepy-sex-goddess smile at him, and he didn't think again until Sunday evening.
"Stay with me."
Brendon raised an eyebrow at him as she tucked the wad of cash into the inner thigh of her stockings, black with a seam up the back again (where had those come from?), and licked over her lips, an unconscious move that had Ryan's eyes darkening.
"Why?"
Ryan blinked. Not what he'd been expecting. "Why?"
"Why should I stay with you?" She faced him, in her garter belt and stockings and heels and bra and absolutely nothing else and wow, that was a distracting image.
Ryan persevered. "Because I want you to. I can make you happy. There's a light in you, and it'll go out if you do this too long. You'll die," he said, voice bottoming out in a whisper.
Brendon rolled her eyes and pulled her dress on, the soft black fabric swishing around her perfect form until settling into place. She picked up the little clutch purse she carried, and pulled something out where Ryan couldn't see.
When she turned around, a pair of glasses with bright red frames rested on her face. "Walk me home?" A crooked half-smile touched her lips, and it was the prettiest thing Ryan had ever seen.
"Ryan, I'm fine, just fuck me already, come on..."
"Brendon, no. You know why I have to do this."
Brendon groaned and let his head drop back against the pillow. He had his knees pulled up, ass exposed to one Ryan Ross, who was carefully working three long, slim fingers in and out of it. Ryan had one of the biggest cocks Brendon had ever seen (not that he's seen a lot). He stopped in the middle of giving Ryan a blowjob (that had gone over well) one time to measure. He measured three times until Ryan's hard-on was starting to go away, and came up with the same number each time: just under eight inches long, just over two inches wide.
They'd been working up to this whole actual gay sexytimes real actual gay anal sexy gay sex thing for months now. And after a couple of false starts, it was all looking like tonight would be the night. Brendon had been thinking about it for a long time, wanting it, the fingers weren't enough.
"Ryan, please," he moaned, shivering, hips bucking against the other's hand. "Please, I'm ready."
Ryan was not at all convinced of that, but he knew Brendon probably was as ready as he was going to get. So he nodded, and slathered some lube over himself, and moved up to hover over Brendon. No condom -- Ryan had been tested and Brendon was a virgin, never past second base before Ryan.
Brendon took deep breaths like the internet had taught him and let Ryan move his legs. He felt Ryan nudging at him, ready to press in, and then...
And then nothing. Ryan pushed, and again, biting his lip, but nothing happened. He sighed, frustrated, and took hold of Brendon's dick, stroking him slowly to get him to relax, pushing a little harder.
Just the feeling of Ryan nudging against him had Brendon panting, but he was seriously going to go out of his mind if he did not get legitimately fucked soon. He could feel the stretch as Ryan used his hand to add some more pressure, and suddenly the head popped in, making Brendon gasp. It hurt, holy fuck did it hurt, but Brendon was pretty sure that he was now officially a full-fledged cockslut. "I'm a cockslut," he said, only it came out in a kind of needy moan.
Ryan blinked and decided to ignore Brendon. He bit his lip and pushed again, and this was easier, he actually overjudged and ended up sliding in all the way, all at once. Brendon cried out, loud, squeezing his eyes shut, legs twitching and tightening at Ryan's hips. He could feel something tearing, something Not Good Not Good Not Good, but he was still moaning, trying not to come immediately.
Ryan was still gasping, trying to stay still, because he knew Brendon would need a minute, but then the cry he'd given registered. "Fuck, Bren are you okay? Oh, shit, I should stop." He was making no actual move to though. He managed to pull out about halfway, then found himself thrusting back in, listening to Brendon's noises. He cried out in pain again, but the moans were just getting louder. "God, Bren, you feel..." Incredible, superb, amazingly I-could-come-right-now tight?
"Don't stop, don't stop, please!" Brendon put a hand on Ryan's wrist, urging him to keep stroking. "Oh my god, fuck, hurts, feels so good, Ryan, Ryan." He was writhing under the older boy, incapable of thought, just loving it. He moaned desperately as Ryan pulled out, reduced to pure instinct and need.
Ryan glanced down and gasped softly for a different reason. There was blood, and not just a thin little streak or two either, significant blood. He bit his lip hard. "Bren, babe, I gotta stop, you're hurt, I can't..."
"No!" Brendon cried, grabbing Ryan's arm. "Ryan, I don't care, just, please, please..." He needed it, needed it like air, like he'd die if he couldn't have it. He was beautiful like that, and Ryan couldn't bring himself to say no, just nodding.
"Okay, okay..." He tried to go slow. Slow slide in, slow slide out, not too far, then back in. "God, so tight..." Ryan had never fucked a virgin before, and he was pretty sure he would not survive ever doing it again. Then he was gasping because Brendon was coming without warning, suddenly so much tighter around him. It was hurting more, there was more tearing happening, but they were both beyond caring. Ryan started pounding away, forgetting entirely about Brendon's comfort and safety anymore, just needing to come.
When he did, it hurt, much worse than before, Ryan's come stinging where Brendon was torn. He looked down as Ryan pulled out, an obscene mixture of blood and come covering his still-hard cock. He was moving before Ryan had a chance to go anywhere, on his hands and knees and cleaning the older boy off with his mouth, moaning a little as he did, loving it. Ryan stared in awe, then stroked Brendon's hair softly. "Good boy. Good boy."
Brendon Urie has a small penis.
Now, he's not tiny. We're not talking like a micropenis or anything (and really, what kind of self-esteem-killing prefix is "micro?"). But if average is 5 to 7 inches, Brendon comes in at around four. On top of that, once he's going, he lasts maybe two or three minutes.
However.
Brendon Urie has been described as having dick-sucking lips, and a great ass. So this leads you to think that maybe he's better off getting fucked. Except that Brendon is actually straight and doesn't really even like having his ass touched all that much (he's tried it. The prostate's nice, but not good enough to make it worth it) despite all the "Ryden exists" pictures out there (plus, really, who the fuck is Ryan Ross going to top, anyway?). So Brendon Urie has gotten very, very good at two things: being arousing, and using that mouth.
Right now, Brendon is with a girl. He knows her at least casually. She's got a sister, he knows, and she sortof hated Nine in the Afternoon but loved Northern Downpour and We're So Starving and She Had the World, and she loves Oh Glory and New Perspective so it's all pretty much okay. She's been a fan since Panic was playing in 200-person clubs (which sounds like a lot but is really fucking tiny), and she always hung around after to meet the band, so when they got bigger and stopped being able to hang to meet people, they didn't forget her.
Her name is Anya, and this is the third time they've fucked.
That's good for Brendon, because it means he didn't have to explain things to her. He just came, so now he's taking a second, catching his breath against her shoulder while she strokes his back, letting him have a minute. She knows she'll get hers, and good.
And indeed, a minute later he's pulling out, tying the condom off and tossing it somewhere to be properly thrown out later. Anya's tensing up in anticipation, knowing what's coming. Brendon kisses his way down her body slowly, paying plenty of attention to her neck, her nipples, and the sensitive spots on her ribs and just inside her hipbones. She's almost shaking by the time he gets all the way down, lifting her head to glance down. Brendon grins a grin that would make the Devil sweat, and leans in, mouth first.
He feels her legs twitch the first time his lips touch her, and again when he draws just the very tip of his tongue over her clit. She's making little needy noises and grabbing at his hair, the other hand grabbing the covers under her. "Mmm...you taste good, baby," he purrs, using that dark-chocolate voice that makes teenage girls swoon, and goes down again. He licks slowly all around that sensitive little nub, then flicks his tongue over it again, making Anya twitch and whimper.
"Be loud, baby," he purrs, grinning again. "I wanna hear you yell and moan my name." Then he finally goes to town for real, sliding two fingers inside and dragging the flat of his tongue, then the tip of it, then that lush lower lip up over her clit, each in quick succession. Apparently she's liking his lips tonight, so he does that again, rubbing the soft flesh slowly over it, then sucking lightly, making sure he's got a good hold and then humming, the hook of that Coke song he did just because that's the first thing in his mind. From the way her hips buck and she moans his name, he can tell that's a good thing. He crooks his fingers up, finding that hard, ridgy spot and he feels her shudder. He can't help smiling a little around the little bud he's got his lips on and reaches up with his other hand, pushing down on her belly.
Now he's got her g-spot trapped between his fingers and his hand, and she's moaning and pushing down, trying to fuck herself on the digits inside her. "Oh god, Brendon, Brendon, don't stop, oh..." She trails off in a whimper, and Brendon knows she's close. He just pulls back to lick his lips, then goes back in, moving the thumb of his hand down to rub her clit while he moves down to lick around where his fingers are pushing in, where it's sensitive. All sound stops, and Brendon knows if he switches up now it's just gonna throw her off so he keeps up everything he's doing, feeling pretty much like a superstud as she comes, entire body shuddering from it, sobbing his name out because it feels so fucking good.
Eventually the shudders stop and she loosens up around his fingers again, and he lifts his head, grinning.
"Want more?" he purrs, eyes flashing. He's on his game tonight.
Anya knows it, cause she nods, sort of desperate. Brendon grins. "That's my good girl," he purrs, then pulls his hands away, putting them high up under her thighs to shift her position, getting her knees up over his shoulders. He feathers a few light kisses over the outside, keeping her sensitive and twitchy, because it'll be easier to get her off again if he does. "So how many times are you gonna come for me tonight?" Brendon asks casually, drawing his tongue up between her lips, from where the swell of her ass starts to where the skin comes together again.
"Oh god," is her only answer, hips rolling at the tongue passing over her.
"I think four," Brendon says conversationally. "Does four sound good to you?"
"Brendonnnn," she moans, because now he's got his tongue inside her. He doesn't bother answering, lips pressed tight to her body as he slides his tongue in as deep as he can, pulling back a little to fuck her with it slowly. She's moaning eagerly at the slow slide in and out, and Brendon is nearly moaning too at the taste. He decides he could officially do this for a really, really long time. If he had two years to do anything he wanted, he'd spend a good bit of it fucking Anya with his tongue.
"Brendon, Brendon, gonna come, Bren!" Brendon just brings his hand up again, rubbing his thumb over her clit. She gives a broken cry as she shudders around his tongue, and Brendon keeps it up, riding her through it again. He's hard again, but he's gotten off once so it's whatever at this point. He doesn't stop even when she's boneless and whimpering because she's so sensitive.
She gasps when she works out what he's doing and starts making whining, needy noises and begging him. "Oh god, oh god, please, pleaseplease..." She doesn't even know what she's begging for, and Brendon cheerfully chirps inside his own head, please keep going? Okay! She comes again with a shout, hips bucking again, nearly dislodging Brendon's tongue from inside her.
Brendon pulls back after this one, grinning and pulling back enough to look up at her. She laughs breathlessly. "You look like a second grader who just got a gold star."
Brendon just cocks his eyebrow and looks down again, but he has to pause slightly. In general, he does not find genitals aesthetically attractive (who does?) but he has to admit there's something nice about this. The skin blood-dark, shiny in the low light from being so slick. He just licks over those full lips, pink from what he's been using them for, and sets about bringing on orgasm number four.
there's a bunch more. but i've finished things like an hour after the new post so then i cant find them again.
Brendon Urie was known, in certain circles, as a rakish, colorful young man with a voice like the devil, who played piano like an angel. He had no title of his own, that anyone knew of -- it seemed likely he was a younger son of some country lord. He rarely spoke of it, however, and spent all of his time in town, where titles were of little consequence, if you could make an impression upon the right people.
Not everyone liked Brendon. Some disapproved of the company he kept -- indiscriminate between class, gender, or moral character. Some disapproved of his manner -- they found his bright smiles distasteful, his demeanor too much to keep up with. Still more disapproved of his lifestyle -- he was the perfect stereotype of the young, the beautiful, the idle rich. No one could deny, however, that if nothing else, Brendon Urie made an impression.
Young Mr. Urie did not do anything halfway, either. He was having a -- well, the name varied. Some referred to his "episodes," when they wanted to be particularly scandalous. Most simply said he was working for a week or so. Which, to be fair, was true. He was in his rented rooms, in a block of apartments rented by musicians and playwrights and others of the artistic temperament. He had a quill, sheafs of paper, and a piano.
He was unshaved and unwashed, in a fine shirt with the sleeves pushed up and half the fastenings undone, and stockings and breeches with no shoes. He looked wild, perhaps fit only for the asylum (though of course, his family would surely come, finally revealing themselves to spirit their son away to the country where he could be hidden and silenced). He alternated between two states, frantically scribbling and fervently mumbling in one, playing the instrument before him with a wild passion in the other.
The notes were stubborn. They refused to come together the way he knew they could, they were spiting him! Perhaps he hoped to beat the very sound into submission as he struck the keys of the instrument, playing on into the night until he slumped on the bench, exhausted, with a few pages of music, perhaps a minute's worth, for all his effort. And tomorrow again, on he would play.
Ryan kept his promise, calling back a couple of hours later. Brendon nearly dropped his phone, but managed to answer it without any casualties. "Hello?" he said, voice a little lower than usual, breaking slightly.
"You better be hard, like I told you. And you better be fucking grateful I'm doing this." That was IrritatedFriend!Ryan, not HotDom!Ryan.
Still, Brendon couldn't seem to muster anything but SluttySub!Brendon. "I am, sir," he said softly, biting his lip. "To both."
There was a small satisfied sound. "Good. What are the options?"
Brendon told Ryan about the toys he'd found (only two) and the different types of lube (six, which made no sense).
"That's where my strawberry lube went! You motherfucker!"
Brendon winced a little. "Sorry." He was sitting up on his bed, no pants, hard, knees drawn up a little as if to hide it.
"Whatever. Are you naked?"
"Um, I still have my shirt on."
"Why?"
Brendon set down the phone and stripped quickly, picking it back up. "Okay, it's off."
"Who told you to do that?"
Brendon paled, realizing his mistake. "I...I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"Of course you didn't. Put me on speaker and set the phone down next to you."
Brendon swallowed hard and obeyed. "Okay."
"Lay back and touch yourself. One hand on your dick. Slowly."
Brendon took a deep breath and laid back, stroking himself slowly. He could handle this, this wasn't bad. "Feels good," he murmured, knowing Ryan liked to hear him.
"Shut up."
That startled him out of it. "What?"
"I'm not doing this because I want to, I'm doing it because you're going to make everyone's lives miserable until someone makes me, and I don't feel like people knowing about this shit."
Brendon's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Ryan, I..."
"Lay down. Put your fingers in your mouth."
Brendon didn't really have a choice, driven by the needs he'd had as long as he could remember, since he was a toddler (spanking had never been an effective punishment). So he laid back, sucking on his fingers.
"Get them wet. You're going to fuck yourself with them."
Brendon made a little noise around his fingers, those words putting fire in his blood. When they were wet enough, he pulled them out with a wet pop.
"Good boy. Now roll onto your side so you can reach, put them in. Both at once."
It wasn't easy, and it burned, but Brendon managed, giving a whimpery moan as his own fingers finally sank in up to the knuckle.
"Good. Use your other hand to pinch your nipples. Hard. Make it hurt." A little whimper from Brendon and Ryan spoke again. "I want you to move your fingers, stretch yourself. Don't stop on your nipples."
Brendon whimpered softly, toes curling. "Ryan..."
"Are you doing as I asked?" Ryan asked, sounding perhaps the slightest bit annoyed.
Brendon swallowed hard. "Yes, yes, I mean, yes, sir. I am." He made a keening noise as he brushed that spot, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Normally that would have made Ryan lose his cool, but not now. Things had changed. "Good. Why don't you touch yourself. Just a little. Don't jerk off, just touch your cock a little."
Brendon swore softly, just his fingertips stroking over the head of his cock, and he moaned. "Oh god, Ryan, please," he whimpered.
"Stop," Ryan commanded him. "No. Now, take your fingers out. Pick the biggest toy you have there."
Brendon whimpered, but he had to comply. He picked up the larger of the only two he'd found. "Okay," he murmured.
"Now push it into yourself, nice and slow, as far as you can get it."
Brendon panted and whimpered as he did, gripping the pillow hard with his free hand, legs spread like a whore. "Okay," he said, voice coming out in a whimper, forcing himself to lay still.
"Is it all the way in?" Ryan asked. "You better not be moving it."
"It is," Brendon said, needy and flushed. "I'm not."
"You're being a good boy, Brendon," Ryan practically purred. "As a reward for being such a good boy, why don't you move it, just a little tiny bit?"
Brendon moved it, slow and just a little, whimpering desperately. He was halfway on his stomach now, trying not to let himself grind into the bed.
"Are you pinching your nipples?" Ryan asked. "God, Brendon, if I was there I'd have to spank you." He knew exactly what that would do to Brendon and chuckled a little to himself over it. He did still love to torture the younger boy, and he was rewarded with another desperate, half-muffled whimper.
Brendon was biting down on the pillow to muffle himself and moaning desperately, legs spreading more, grinding into the bed. He loved it when Ryan spanked him, abused him until he begged, until the skin was bright red and raw and a wisp of air was enough to make him shiver and whimper, and he'd be so desperately hard, rutting against Ryan's leg, desperate for it, needing nothing more than to get off.
"Brendon," Ryan scolded him. "Did I tell you could do that?" He could hear him moaning even with the pillow. "Stop. Stop moving."
Brendon whimpered desperately and stopped. "Ryan, please," he whimpered.
"Please what?" Ryan asked, twirling his hair idly. He needed a shower. "Please what, Brendon?"
"I wanna come, please, please," he whimpered, pressing his cheek against the pillow. "It hurts, Ryan, please..."
"It hurts?" Ryan perked up. "Why don't you move the toy a little bit more and then I'll see about letting you come."
Brendon was panting, needy, but he obeyed, now fucking himself deep and slow with the toy, shivering with every push in, starting to shake, but not speaking. Any ability to make his own decisions or disobey was gone, pushed back behind a heavy curtain of needs he couldn't control.
Ryan listened to him. "How badly do you want to come?" he asked, at least mildly interested now.
"Oh my god, so bad, I need it, please," he moaned, trailing off into a whimper, grinding into the bed again, an instinctive response from his body.
"Come for me then," Ryan urged him. "Come on. Let go."
A minute later, Brendon was wearing boxers again, still loose and a little weak from coming like a fucking volcano. "So, thanks," he said quietly, holding the phone again.
"Get a pen," Ryan told him.
Brendon was obeying before he had time to question it, writing down a number Ryan gave him. "What's this?" he asked.
"I googled while we were talking. A pro-dom service in your area."
Brendon laughed a little despite himself, nodding. "Thanks, man."
"Yeah."
"Keep in touch, okay?" Brendon licked over his lips, biting them nervously. "Let me know how you're doing."
"I will." Brendon could feel the ice queen chill again.
He sighed. "I guess I'll see you around, then."
"Yeah." There was a click, and Brendon checked his phone. Call ended. He sighed, and programmed the new number into his phone, under Ryan's name.
1. It was a summer night in Las Vegas, and the air conditioning in this club was fucking broken. Everyone was sweating before they even got onstage. Spencer had sweat beading on the crook of his neck, and suddenly there was a tongue, licking a stripe through the sweat, then blowing lightly over it, leaving his skin cool. There was a telltale little giggle and Brendon was gone as if nothing had happened, but Spencer still felt that cool stripe through the whole show.
2. It was Pete's Christmas party. Everyone was there. It was just winding down, and Spencer had found himself either alone or with Brendon all night. Not that he'd done this intentionally, it just seemed that anytime someone showed up to talk to him, Brendon was right behind them. At first he thought Brendon was bringing people over, but then Ryan came over, who Brendon was mad at, and he realized Gabe and Brendon had come from opposite directions. Spencer wondered what weird game Brendon was playing now, then just thanked whoever was listening that he wasn't rubbing soup in his hair or something and decided not to worry about it.
3. Suddenly there was a heavy weight on Spencer's back, and he nearly toppled over backwards, just managing to stay on his feet with the help of Jon, who had seen Brendon coming.
"Hi Bren," he grunted, shifting the younger man into a better position.
"Hi Spencer Smith! I'm keeping you."
"Uh. Okay."
"Good." A wet, smacking kiss on his cheek, and Brendon was gone as quickly as he came.
4. It was pretty simple, really. Spencer was passed out, and when he woke up, someone had written "Property Of Brendon Urie" on the strip of skin on his back that showed where his shirt had ridden up. He didn't wash it off for three days.
5. And then it got seriously out of hand, because a week later, Brendon had gotten hold of a fucking paint pen or something, because "Property of Brendon Urie" was scrawled across the chest of every single shirt he owned, including button-downs and jackets (although mostly those didn't quite match up into one line when buttoned properly). When he shouted Brendon's name and started looking for him, he heard only a manic giggle and the pounding footsteps of Brendon running away from him.
6. Spencer had Brendon squirming and whimpering under him. He'd agreed to stop with the paint pens and the writing on him and all other unnecessarily damaging or over-the-top gestures, but Spencer would get his payback. He bent and, pressing his mouth to Brendon's neck, sucked a fold of skin into his mouth, slow at first, then harder, until Brendon was whimpering and clutching at Spencer's shoulders, pushing to try to make him stop. Spencer did eventually and surveyed his handiwork, head tilted to the side with a little smirk. He bent to bring his mouth to Brendon's again, murmuring one word.
"Mine."
Brendon swallows hard and with shaky fingers he dials the number. He took it out of his contacts in a fit of anger, but he knows the digits by heart, could never forget them.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Ryan!" Brendon grins, but it falters slightly. He can practically feel the cold from Ryan's ice queen act, even over the phone. "It's...it's Brendon. How's it going, dude?"
"Fine..." Ryan's tone says he has no idea why Brendon is calling.
"Good, good! That's good." Brendon's grasping at straws already, trying for small talk. "Listen, uh..." I haven't gotten off in three weeks and i need you to give me permission to jerk off. Yes, that would go well. "I was thinking we could maybe...catch up...?"
"Brendon, why are you calling me?" Ryan asks bluntly. Maybe he's high, he doesn't tend to put up with Brendon's shit (or anyone's) when he's high.
"I uh...well, I was sortof...thinking...reminiscing, if you will, and uh..."
"Oh my god, Brendon, I'm working! Spit it the fuck out!"
Brendon closes his eyes, biting his lip. "Ryan, I uh...I need your help. Like you'd help me before. What Jon and Spencer got mad at us for, that one time? In the bunks?"
Brendon hopes that's enough that Ryan will get it and he won't have to say it. He can hear in Ryan's tone when he speaks again that he gets it, but he's not gonna get away with not saying it anyway.
"Brendon." No one else can pack that much into just saying his name.
"Yes?"
"Tell me what you called for." It's a command.
Brendon has no choice but to obey, and he swallows hard. "I called...I need your permission to touch myself." His voice is soft, a little ashamed, and he feels that delicious burn in his chest, of being humiliated and loving it.
There's a long pause, and Brendon is getting nervous. "Get yourself hard, and gather the supplies. I'll call back in two hours."
"Wait, Ryan--!" He's gone. Brendon just closes his eyes briefly, biting his lip, sets his phone down, and pops the button on his jeans.
A hand on Ryan's face, giving him the absurd and oh-so-mature urge to stick his tongue out and lick, but he kept his cool.
"I don't kiss on the mouth." That dark-chocolate purr the woman had used down on the street.
Ryan didn't like that, but he was not in a state to overthink it. "Fine," he said shortly, moving down her neck. Brendon sighed, tilting her head back and letting her eyes flutter shut, biting her lip when the john's hand slid into her cropped hair. She hooked one leg up over his hip, rubbing at the back of his thigh with her heel, playing it up a little, but he was hot. Shouldn't be too bad.
~
Ryan couldn't seem to get enough of her. He paid for a whole weekend, even though he really could not afford that. He looked like a slick businessman, but he was spending a weekend in the city on mommy and daddy's inheritance, which had some very specific places it needed to go before anything else. But he hadn't planned for her.
He fucked her right there against the wall with her face flushed and the short little dress rucked up around her thighs, one of her shoes falling off with a thump midcoitus. Then he bent her over the bed, staring at that perfect ass the whole time. After that he finally took the time to get her dress off, and spent all of round three licking and sucking at her perfect, hand-sized breasts. Then he ripped off the garter belt and stockings with the seams up the back, and made her suck him off in the shower, finally getting to feel those perfect lips. Three more hours passed after that, every position they could do, every hole Brendon had, every kink Ryan had, all got filled. They were both worked-over and dizzy and shaky by the time they finally collapsed in two sweaty heaps at opposite edges of the king bed.
~
Late in the afternoon, Brendon was still sleeping. Dark eyelashes rested against her cheeks as her eyes twitched a little under the lids. Ryan propped himself up on his elbow, looking her over slowly. She'd shoved the covers off at some point, revealing unfathomable expanses of pale, perfect, creamy skin. Her breasts weren't exceptionally perky, but they were set high up on her chest, exactly the right size for his hand. He could see her ribs pushing up under the skin with how she lay, and he remembered her shivering and mewling when he'd trailed his nails over them last night.
"Like that?" he'd murmured, doing it again, just lightly, just the tips.
Brendon made a noise, shivering, white skin gone pink all over. "Sensitive," she'd whimpered, gasping.
His eyes traveled over her stomach, flat, toned, but soft. Those wide hips, curvy, made for grabbing hold of, redefining "childbearing hips." No hair anywhere, the top of her slit just barely visible from this angle, such a hot spot.
His finger had stroked over it in his explorations, standing behind her in the shower, cock still throbbing from his own orgasm.
Brendon had gasped, sinking a hand into his hair. "Please," she whimpered, biting a lip still slick and swollen and red from the best blowjob Ryan had ever had, without question.
Long, perfectly shaped legs that had spread for him, wrapped around his waist, twitched when he touched them, been so amazing in this bed.
And so many others.
~
Brendon woke then, and smiled a sleepy-sex-goddess smile at him, and he didn't think again until Sunday evening.
"Stay with me."
Brendon raised an eyebrow at him as she tucked the wad of cash into the inner thigh of her stockings, black with a seam up the back again (where had those come from?), and licked over her lips, an unconscious move that had Ryan's eyes darkening.
"Why?"
Ryan blinked. Not what he'd been expecting. "Why?"
"Why should I stay with you?" She faced him, in her garter belt and stockings and heels and bra and absolutely nothing else and wow, that was a distracting image.
Ryan persevered. "Because I want you to. I can make you happy. There's a light in you, and it'll go out if you do this too long. You'll die," he said, voice bottoming out in a whisper.
Brendon rolled her eyes and pulled her dress on, the soft black fabric swishing around her perfect form until settling into place. She picked up the little clutch purse she carried, and pulled something out where Ryan couldn't see.
When she turned around, a pair of glasses with bright red frames rested on her face. "Walk me home?" A crooked half-smile touched her lips, and it was the prettiest thing Ryan had ever seen.
"Ryan, I'm fine, just fuck me already, come on..."
"Brendon, no. You know why I have to do this."
Brendon groaned and let his head drop back against the pillow. He had his knees pulled up, ass exposed to one Ryan Ross, who was carefully working three long, slim fingers in and out of it. Ryan had one of the biggest cocks Brendon had ever seen (not that he's seen a lot). He stopped in the middle of giving Ryan a blowjob (that had gone over well) one time to measure. He measured three times until Ryan's hard-on was starting to go away, and came up with the same number each time: just under eight inches long, just over two inches wide.
They'd been working up to this whole actual gay sexytimes real actual gay anal sexy gay sex thing for months now. And after a couple of false starts, it was all looking like tonight would be the night. Brendon had been thinking about it for a long time, wanting it, the fingers weren't enough.
"Ryan, please," he moaned, shivering, hips bucking against the other's hand. "Please, I'm ready."
Ryan was not at all convinced of that, but he knew Brendon probably was as ready as he was going to get. So he nodded, and slathered some lube over himself, and moved up to hover over Brendon. No condom -- Ryan had been tested and Brendon was a virgin, never past second base before Ryan.
Brendon took deep breaths like the internet had taught him and let Ryan move his legs. He felt Ryan nudging at him, ready to press in, and then...
And then nothing. Ryan pushed, and again, biting his lip, but nothing happened. He sighed, frustrated, and took hold of Brendon's dick, stroking him slowly to get him to relax, pushing a little harder.
Just the feeling of Ryan nudging against him had Brendon panting, but he was seriously going to go out of his mind if he did not get legitimately fucked soon. He could feel the stretch as Ryan used his hand to add some more pressure, and suddenly the head popped in, making Brendon gasp. It hurt, holy fuck did it hurt, but Brendon was pretty sure that he was now officially a full-fledged cockslut. "I'm a cockslut," he said, only it came out in a kind of needy moan.
Ryan blinked and decided to ignore Brendon. He bit his lip and pushed again, and this was easier, he actually overjudged and ended up sliding in all the way, all at once. Brendon cried out, loud, squeezing his eyes shut, legs twitching and tightening at Ryan's hips. He could feel something tearing, something Not Good Not Good Not Good, but he was still moaning, trying not to come immediately.
Ryan was still gasping, trying to stay still, because he knew Brendon would need a minute, but then the cry he'd given registered. "Fuck, Bren are you okay? Oh, shit, I should stop." He was making no actual move to though. He managed to pull out about halfway, then found himself thrusting back in, listening to Brendon's noises. He cried out in pain again, but the moans were just getting louder. "God, Bren, you feel..." Incredible, superb, amazingly I-could-come-right-now tight?
"Don't stop, don't stop, please!" Brendon put a hand on Ryan's wrist, urging him to keep stroking. "Oh my god, fuck, hurts, feels so good, Ryan, Ryan." He was writhing under the older boy, incapable of thought, just loving it. He moaned desperately as Ryan pulled out, reduced to pure instinct and need.
Ryan glanced down and gasped softly for a different reason. There was blood, and not just a thin little streak or two either, significant blood. He bit his lip hard. "Bren, babe, I gotta stop, you're hurt, I can't..."
"No!" Brendon cried, grabbing Ryan's arm. "Ryan, I don't care, just, please, please..." He needed it, needed it like air, like he'd die if he couldn't have it. He was beautiful like that, and Ryan couldn't bring himself to say no, just nodding.
"Okay, okay..." He tried to go slow. Slow slide in, slow slide out, not too far, then back in. "God, so tight..." Ryan had never fucked a virgin before, and he was pretty sure he would not survive ever doing it again. Then he was gasping because Brendon was coming without warning, suddenly so much tighter around him. It was hurting more, there was more tearing happening, but they were both beyond caring. Ryan started pounding away, forgetting entirely about Brendon's comfort and safety anymore, just needing to come.
When he did, it hurt, much worse than before, Ryan's come stinging where Brendon was torn. He looked down as Ryan pulled out, an obscene mixture of blood and come covering his still-hard cock. He was moving before Ryan had a chance to go anywhere, on his hands and knees and cleaning the older boy off with his mouth, moaning a little as he did, loving it. Ryan stared in awe, then stroked Brendon's hair softly. "Good boy. Good boy."
Brendon Urie has a small penis.
Now, he's not tiny. We're not talking like a micropenis or anything (and really, what kind of self-esteem-killing prefix is "micro?"). But if average is 5 to 7 inches, Brendon comes in at around four. On top of that, once he's going, he lasts maybe two or three minutes.
However.
Brendon Urie has been described as having dick-sucking lips, and a great ass. So this leads you to think that maybe he's better off getting fucked. Except that Brendon is actually straight and doesn't really even like having his ass touched all that much (he's tried it. The prostate's nice, but not good enough to make it worth it) despite all the "Ryden exists" pictures out there (plus, really, who the fuck is Ryan Ross going to top, anyway?). So Brendon Urie has gotten very, very good at two things: being arousing, and using that mouth.
Right now, Brendon is with a girl. He knows her at least casually. She's got a sister, he knows, and she sortof hated Nine in the Afternoon but loved Northern Downpour and We're So Starving and She Had the World, and she loves Oh Glory and New Perspective so it's all pretty much okay. She's been a fan since Panic was playing in 200-person clubs (which sounds like a lot but is really fucking tiny), and she always hung around after to meet the band, so when they got bigger and stopped being able to hang to meet people, they didn't forget her.
Her name is Anya, and this is the third time they've fucked.
That's good for Brendon, because it means he didn't have to explain things to her. He just came, so now he's taking a second, catching his breath against her shoulder while she strokes his back, letting him have a minute. She knows she'll get hers, and good.
And indeed, a minute later he's pulling out, tying the condom off and tossing it somewhere to be properly thrown out later. Anya's tensing up in anticipation, knowing what's coming. Brendon kisses his way down her body slowly, paying plenty of attention to her neck, her nipples, and the sensitive spots on her ribs and just inside her hipbones. She's almost shaking by the time he gets all the way down, lifting her head to glance down. Brendon grins a grin that would make the Devil sweat, and leans in, mouth first.
He feels her legs twitch the first time his lips touch her, and again when he draws just the very tip of his tongue over her clit. She's making little needy noises and grabbing at his hair, the other hand grabbing the covers under her. "Mmm...you taste good, baby," he purrs, using that dark-chocolate voice that makes teenage girls swoon, and goes down again. He licks slowly all around that sensitive little nub, then flicks his tongue over it again, making Anya twitch and whimper.
"Be loud, baby," he purrs, grinning again. "I wanna hear you yell and moan my name." Then he finally goes to town for real, sliding two fingers inside and dragging the flat of his tongue, then the tip of it, then that lush lower lip up over her clit, each in quick succession. Apparently she's liking his lips tonight, so he does that again, rubbing the soft flesh slowly over it, then sucking lightly, making sure he's got a good hold and then humming, the hook of that Coke song he did just because that's the first thing in his mind. From the way her hips buck and she moans his name, he can tell that's a good thing. He crooks his fingers up, finding that hard, ridgy spot and he feels her shudder. He can't help smiling a little around the little bud he's got his lips on and reaches up with his other hand, pushing down on her belly.
Now he's got her g-spot trapped between his fingers and his hand, and she's moaning and pushing down, trying to fuck herself on the digits inside her. "Oh god, Brendon, Brendon, don't stop, oh..." She trails off in a whimper, and Brendon knows she's close. He just pulls back to lick his lips, then goes back in, moving the thumb of his hand down to rub her clit while he moves down to lick around where his fingers are pushing in, where it's sensitive. All sound stops, and Brendon knows if he switches up now it's just gonna throw her off so he keeps up everything he's doing, feeling pretty much like a superstud as she comes, entire body shuddering from it, sobbing his name out because it feels so fucking good.
Eventually the shudders stop and she loosens up around his fingers again, and he lifts his head, grinning.
"Want more?" he purrs, eyes flashing. He's on his game tonight.
Anya knows it, cause she nods, sort of desperate. Brendon grins. "That's my good girl," he purrs, then pulls his hands away, putting them high up under her thighs to shift her position, getting her knees up over his shoulders. He feathers a few light kisses over the outside, keeping her sensitive and twitchy, because it'll be easier to get her off again if he does. "So how many times are you gonna come for me tonight?" Brendon asks casually, drawing his tongue up between her lips, from where the swell of her ass starts to where the skin comes together again.
"Oh god," is her only answer, hips rolling at the tongue passing over her.
"I think four," Brendon says conversationally. "Does four sound good to you?"
"Brendonnnn," she moans, because now he's got his tongue inside her. He doesn't bother answering, lips pressed tight to her body as he slides his tongue in as deep as he can, pulling back a little to fuck her with it slowly. She's moaning eagerly at the slow slide in and out, and Brendon is nearly moaning too at the taste. He decides he could officially do this for a really, really long time. If he had two years to do anything he wanted, he'd spend a good bit of it fucking Anya with his tongue.
"Brendon, Brendon, gonna come, Bren!" Brendon just brings his hand up again, rubbing his thumb over her clit. She gives a broken cry as she shudders around his tongue, and Brendon keeps it up, riding her through it again. He's hard again, but he's gotten off once so it's whatever at this point. He doesn't stop even when she's boneless and whimpering because she's so sensitive.
She gasps when she works out what he's doing and starts making whining, needy noises and begging him. "Oh god, oh god, please, pleaseplease..." She doesn't even know what she's begging for, and Brendon cheerfully chirps inside his own head, please keep going? Okay! She comes again with a shout, hips bucking again, nearly dislodging Brendon's tongue from inside her.
Brendon pulls back after this one, grinning and pulling back enough to look up at her. She laughs breathlessly. "You look like a second grader who just got a gold star."
Brendon just cocks his eyebrow and looks down again, but he has to pause slightly. In general, he does not find genitals aesthetically attractive (who does?) but he has to admit there's something nice about this. The skin blood-dark, shiny in the low light from being so slick. He just licks over those full lips, pink from what he's been using them for, and sets about bringing on orgasm number four.
there's a bunch more. but i've finished things like an hour after the new post so then i cant find them again.