(DCU) Spank Your Monkey
Title: Spank Your Monkey
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Knockout/Kon
Rating: R
Words: 1524
Timeline: Superboy V3 (i.e. Kon's first solo run)
Notes: Spanking. For dcu_freeforall, prompt "spank your monkey".
A/N: This is set ....some time around Superboy working with Knockout as part of the Suicide Squad. Yeah, somewhere around there. Oh, it's spanking fic, it doesn't need to fit into continuity! But it does mean Kon's name is simply 'Superboy'. Which loses all meaning when you write it too often. I'll shut up now.
Summary: Fights against supervillains aren't actually supposed to go down like this.
“C’mon, pup. Aren’t you at least gonna try to fight me?”
Which is pretty damn annoying, because Superboy is trying. It’s just that Knockout is ridiculously strong and kind of crazy and has this habit of throwing herself right into Superboy’s punches. Like it’s more fun for her that way or something. Except maybe ‘fun’ isn’t the right word for it, because her lips are pulled into that smirk that looks like she doesn’t know whether to ruffle Superboy’s hair or feel him up.
Fighting somebody with her strength is a challenge at the best of times. The fact that Superboy’s kind of distracted by how much he wants to rub up against her makes things that little bit harder.
Harder, heh. He should probably be focusing, but he can’t help that he cracks himself up.
Except that crack was Knockout’s fist connecting solidly with Superboy’s jaw. He’s hitting the wall the other side of the room before his teeth have stopped rattling, and Knockout watches him slump to the floor, her hands on her hips.
“You’re not going soft on me, are you?” she purrs, and if Superboy didn’t currently feel like his jaw might shatter with any attempt to open to his mouth, he might have something really filthy to say about that.
She drags him up by the collar of his jacket, his boots skidding on the floor for a moment before leaving it all together. Dangling from her grip, and she pulls him close, real close, noses almost touching. Her perfume and the faint scent of fresh sweat makes his mouth want to water.
“Can’t have that,” she murmurs, and so close her lips are a blur of red. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”
Superboy swallows a mouthful of saliva and, yeah, he’s not going soft any time soon.
But this is a fight, or supposed to be, and he has a reputation to think about. Can’t let her toss him around like a rag doll and then run off into the night. She’s done that way too many times before, his ego helpfully informs him.
Flexes with the TTK, knocks her back, and he pointedly hovers in midair exactly where she leaves him. Like it wasn’t her strength holding him up, even if it totally was.
Blocks her next strike with his bicep, which isn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world, then goes in quick, aiming for her eye. She twists out of range like it’s nothing, one strong hand wrapping around his wrist before he can pull his arm back.
Sharp shock of his arm being yanked forward, hard enough that it would probably dislocate his shoulder if he was a normal human, and the walls blur around him, the floor rushes up to meet him, and Superboy can’t throw his hand out quick enough. Has just enough time to think oh shit and then he’s blinking at the ground, stopped dead maybe less than an inch before his nose can get really acquainted with the metal panels that line every surface.
Knockout drops the grip on his wrist, her now freed arm joining the other that’s wrapped around his waist. Holding him practically upside down, Superboy’s hip resting against her shoulder. Awkward angle that’s probably easy as anything to her, even with the way she’s leaning to the side, legs bent low.
He totally means to object, opens his mouth and everything, but she drops down to her knees and knocks Superboy’s forehead against the floor in the process. Not really trying to hurt him, not enough weight behind the movement for that. More like she’s toying with him, making a cute little plaything out of him. And he really, definitely means to object to that, because he’s a superhero, and a kick-ass one at that, but he ends up kind of yelping instead.
Probably something to do with the way she drops him on to her lap, because there’s that whole not-soft issue and it’s suddenly pressed perfectly against the firm flesh of her thighs. Which she has to be doing on purpose, because driving Superboy that particularly brand of crazy is apparently her favourite hobby.
“Now, why do I get the feeling you want to be punished?” she laughs, and it’s dirty and sexy as hell and Superboy can feel it vibrate through her.
He snorts, and perfectly manicured fingernails begin a spider-walk up the back of one of his thighs.
And it clicks.
She must feel the way he flinches with the realisation of it because she laughs again, and pinches his thigh, just under his ass.
“Oh shit.” At least he managed to say it out loud that time.
“That’s right, pup,” she murmurs. “Take it like a man.”
And he could totally blast her away from him now, reach out with the TTK, send her sliding across the floor. Except he needs to concentrate to be able to do that, and his brain has currently shut down around the epiphany that he’s just let Knockout bend him over her fucking knee.
Her hand is braced on his back, behind his ribs. Keeping him down.
Concentrate, damn it.
He hears the shift of air as her other hand rises up behind him.
Concentrate, Kid. Oh God, concentrate…
Whoosh of movement, then the solid slap of her hand landing firmly across his ass, and the noise it makes is obscene. Fleshy crack of sound that bounces off the metal walls but doesn’t quite hide the startled grunt Superboy can’t hold back. It stings, completely different from a punch to the face and yet somehow worse because, weird as his life is, he’s used to people punching him in the face. But nobody’s ever hit him there before, not like this, and he can’t even catch his thoughts before her hand lands again. Directly over the same spot, and this time Superboy manages to bite back the sound in his throat, swallows it down and then gasps raggedly.
Another slap and, fuck, she’s not going to stop.
She’s using enough force to make him feel it, really feel it. Open-handed slaps that are probably leaving red handprints even through the protective layer of the TTK. The next blow lands hard and quickly followed by another, purposely mixed-up, arrhythmic, and Superboy’s sweating, panting, toes of his boots squeaking over the floor where he’s trying to find purchase, only to be knocked forward every time by the next smack. She’s rocking him into her lap with every blow, and that just means there’s no way to hide the fact that he’s so fucking hard he can’t see straight, or maybe that’s the stars dancing behind his eyes with every slap.
Rubbing against the valley of her thighs, and he’s making noise now, he can hear himself between the sound of her palm connecting. Shocked, high-pitched little whimpers, noises he’s never heard himself make before. Didn’t know he could sound so fucking helpless, and Knockout’s laughing, lower than before, throaty and pleased with the way he’s basically writhing over her lap. Rutting mindlessly against her, and when she slaps him high across the back of his thighs, he practically wails and manages to knock his forehead against the floor, and she just laughs even more. He feels it, feels the laughter as much as hears it, and he doesn’t want to come like this but his body is making it pretty clear he doesn’t have a choice.
Barrage of slaps not letting up, and Superboy moans and whimpers and works his hips against her lap, fingers of one hand clawing against the metal floor. So hot, feeling like he’s on fire with it, and when he loses it, all that pain-pleasure sending him sprawling over the edge and crying out his release, she just keeps spanking him through it. Quick but hard little slaps, jerking him against her thighs, and he can feel the way he’s making them both sticky and so, so wet. Yet every time he thinks it’s over, that he can’t actually come any more, that it isn’t possible, the next smack shocks a little more out of him.
By the time she relents, he’s pretty sure his entire brain has leaked out through his dick, which hopefully excuses the way he doesn’t make any attempt to move. Just lays there, panting, eyes squeezed shut, making these little mewling noises as her hand roughly massages over his ass. Strong fingers dancing over the throbbing sensation, pressing into the flesh, making it hurt in a way that makes him feel even more like liquid warmth than he currently does.
“Mmm, was it as good for you as it was for me?” she murmurs, and she sounds husky and sated.
“Hate you,” Superboy grumbles sullenly into the metal floor.
Another laugh, and it’s probably the most relaxed he’s ever heard her. “No, you don’t.”
Her fingers pinch him and he groans and twitches against her, and she’s so totally right. Fuck.
“I’m gonna beat the crap out of you for this,” he mutters half-heartedly.
Her fingernails rake over his ass.
“Looking forward to it, pup.”
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Knockout/Kon
Rating: R
Words: 1524
Timeline: Superboy V3 (i.e. Kon's first solo run)
Notes: Spanking. For dcu_freeforall, prompt "spank your monkey".
A/N: This is set ....some time around Superboy working with Knockout as part of the Suicide Squad. Yeah, somewhere around there. Oh, it's spanking fic, it doesn't need to fit into continuity! But it does mean Kon's name is simply 'Superboy'. Which loses all meaning when you write it too often. I'll shut up now.
Summary: Fights against supervillains aren't actually supposed to go down like this.
“C’mon, pup. Aren’t you at least gonna try to fight me?”
Which is pretty damn annoying, because Superboy is trying. It’s just that Knockout is ridiculously strong and kind of crazy and has this habit of throwing herself right into Superboy’s punches. Like it’s more fun for her that way or something. Except maybe ‘fun’ isn’t the right word for it, because her lips are pulled into that smirk that looks like she doesn’t know whether to ruffle Superboy’s hair or feel him up.
Fighting somebody with her strength is a challenge at the best of times. The fact that Superboy’s kind of distracted by how much he wants to rub up against her makes things that little bit harder.
Harder, heh. He should probably be focusing, but he can’t help that he cracks himself up.
Except that crack was Knockout’s fist connecting solidly with Superboy’s jaw. He’s hitting the wall the other side of the room before his teeth have stopped rattling, and Knockout watches him slump to the floor, her hands on her hips.
“You’re not going soft on me, are you?” she purrs, and if Superboy didn’t currently feel like his jaw might shatter with any attempt to open to his mouth, he might have something really filthy to say about that.
She drags him up by the collar of his jacket, his boots skidding on the floor for a moment before leaving it all together. Dangling from her grip, and she pulls him close, real close, noses almost touching. Her perfume and the faint scent of fresh sweat makes his mouth want to water.
“Can’t have that,” she murmurs, and so close her lips are a blur of red. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”
Superboy swallows a mouthful of saliva and, yeah, he’s not going soft any time soon.
But this is a fight, or supposed to be, and he has a reputation to think about. Can’t let her toss him around like a rag doll and then run off into the night. She’s done that way too many times before, his ego helpfully informs him.
Flexes with the TTK, knocks her back, and he pointedly hovers in midair exactly where she leaves him. Like it wasn’t her strength holding him up, even if it totally was.
Blocks her next strike with his bicep, which isn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world, then goes in quick, aiming for her eye. She twists out of range like it’s nothing, one strong hand wrapping around his wrist before he can pull his arm back.
Sharp shock of his arm being yanked forward, hard enough that it would probably dislocate his shoulder if he was a normal human, and the walls blur around him, the floor rushes up to meet him, and Superboy can’t throw his hand out quick enough. Has just enough time to think oh shit and then he’s blinking at the ground, stopped dead maybe less than an inch before his nose can get really acquainted with the metal panels that line every surface.
Knockout drops the grip on his wrist, her now freed arm joining the other that’s wrapped around his waist. Holding him practically upside down, Superboy’s hip resting against her shoulder. Awkward angle that’s probably easy as anything to her, even with the way she’s leaning to the side, legs bent low.
He totally means to object, opens his mouth and everything, but she drops down to her knees and knocks Superboy’s forehead against the floor in the process. Not really trying to hurt him, not enough weight behind the movement for that. More like she’s toying with him, making a cute little plaything out of him. And he really, definitely means to object to that, because he’s a superhero, and a kick-ass one at that, but he ends up kind of yelping instead.
Probably something to do with the way she drops him on to her lap, because there’s that whole not-soft issue and it’s suddenly pressed perfectly against the firm flesh of her thighs. Which she has to be doing on purpose, because driving Superboy that particularly brand of crazy is apparently her favourite hobby.
“Now, why do I get the feeling you want to be punished?” she laughs, and it’s dirty and sexy as hell and Superboy can feel it vibrate through her.
He snorts, and perfectly manicured fingernails begin a spider-walk up the back of one of his thighs.
And it clicks.
She must feel the way he flinches with the realisation of it because she laughs again, and pinches his thigh, just under his ass.
“Oh shit.” At least he managed to say it out loud that time.
“That’s right, pup,” she murmurs. “Take it like a man.”
And he could totally blast her away from him now, reach out with the TTK, send her sliding across the floor. Except he needs to concentrate to be able to do that, and his brain has currently shut down around the epiphany that he’s just let Knockout bend him over her fucking knee.
Her hand is braced on his back, behind his ribs. Keeping him down.
Concentrate, damn it.
He hears the shift of air as her other hand rises up behind him.
Concentrate, Kid. Oh God, concentrate…
Whoosh of movement, then the solid slap of her hand landing firmly across his ass, and the noise it makes is obscene. Fleshy crack of sound that bounces off the metal walls but doesn’t quite hide the startled grunt Superboy can’t hold back. It stings, completely different from a punch to the face and yet somehow worse because, weird as his life is, he’s used to people punching him in the face. But nobody’s ever hit him there before, not like this, and he can’t even catch his thoughts before her hand lands again. Directly over the same spot, and this time Superboy manages to bite back the sound in his throat, swallows it down and then gasps raggedly.
Another slap and, fuck, she’s not going to stop.
She’s using enough force to make him feel it, really feel it. Open-handed slaps that are probably leaving red handprints even through the protective layer of the TTK. The next blow lands hard and quickly followed by another, purposely mixed-up, arrhythmic, and Superboy’s sweating, panting, toes of his boots squeaking over the floor where he’s trying to find purchase, only to be knocked forward every time by the next smack. She’s rocking him into her lap with every blow, and that just means there’s no way to hide the fact that he’s so fucking hard he can’t see straight, or maybe that’s the stars dancing behind his eyes with every slap.
Rubbing against the valley of her thighs, and he’s making noise now, he can hear himself between the sound of her palm connecting. Shocked, high-pitched little whimpers, noises he’s never heard himself make before. Didn’t know he could sound so fucking helpless, and Knockout’s laughing, lower than before, throaty and pleased with the way he’s basically writhing over her lap. Rutting mindlessly against her, and when she slaps him high across the back of his thighs, he practically wails and manages to knock his forehead against the floor, and she just laughs even more. He feels it, feels the laughter as much as hears it, and he doesn’t want to come like this but his body is making it pretty clear he doesn’t have a choice.
Barrage of slaps not letting up, and Superboy moans and whimpers and works his hips against her lap, fingers of one hand clawing against the metal floor. So hot, feeling like he’s on fire with it, and when he loses it, all that pain-pleasure sending him sprawling over the edge and crying out his release, she just keeps spanking him through it. Quick but hard little slaps, jerking him against her thighs, and he can feel the way he’s making them both sticky and so, so wet. Yet every time he thinks it’s over, that he can’t actually come any more, that it isn’t possible, the next smack shocks a little more out of him.
By the time she relents, he’s pretty sure his entire brain has leaked out through his dick, which hopefully excuses the way he doesn’t make any attempt to move. Just lays there, panting, eyes squeezed shut, making these little mewling noises as her hand roughly massages over his ass. Strong fingers dancing over the throbbing sensation, pressing into the flesh, making it hurt in a way that makes him feel even more like liquid warmth than he currently does.
“Mmm, was it as good for you as it was for me?” she murmurs, and she sounds husky and sated.
“Hate you,” Superboy grumbles sullenly into the metal floor.
Another laugh, and it’s probably the most relaxed he’s ever heard her. “No, you don’t.”
Her fingers pinch him and he groans and twitches against her, and she’s so totally right. Fuck.
“I’m gonna beat the crap out of you for this,” he mutters half-heartedly.
Her fingernails rake over his ass.
“Looking forward to it, pup.”