Fic: Frame (and Fic: Bismarck.)
audreysrev is running a Bandom Kink Meme, wherein you're invited to write kinky porn about bandom members in her comments. I'm reposting one of mine here, because I liked how it turned out. (I've been thinking about bottom-POV a lot lately, and this called on some of that.) You should really go and read everyone's work, though, for the record; it's amazing stuff.
Frame
NC-17, warning for fisting. (I know!) P!ATD, Brendon Spencer.
It's not easy. Brendon didn't think it would be easy -- it's Spencer's whole hand, of course it's not easy -- but he didn’t know it was going to be this hard.
"Fuck," he says, or tries to say, but his voice cracks and it comes out a stuttered, sharp sound. Spencer puts his hand -- his other hand -- on Brendon's lower back.
"I'm not making you," Spencer says. He could have said you don't have to do this, or we can stop if you want to, but he doesn't. He says, "it's your choice, Brendon."
"I want," Brendon says, his voice still skating over the words, barely making the right sounds, "I want it." This is the third time Spencer's stretched him, the third time he's laid Brendon out on a bed and stroked his skin, spread lube over his hands and slowly worked his fingers into Brendon's ass. Brendon asked for this, he wants to know how it feels, and if he doesn't try now he might lose his nerve. He can do it. "Please," he says, and pushes his hips back.
"Okay," Spencer says, pulls out his hand, and slides back in with four fingers.
Brendon has always thought about his cock during sex. Even when he's being fucked, he's thinking about coming, about his cock. It's not like he's not conscious of it right now; he knows on some level that he's half-hard, that at some point in the night he'll have to come. But all he can really focus on is the feeling of Spencer's fingers moving lube-slick into him. He can feel his asshole pressing open around the bottom of Spencer's fingers, and how it slowly tightens again around his fingertips.
Spencer slides his other hand up over Brendon's back, smearing the sweat on his skin, and Brendon keens, scraping at the top of his register. "Can you?" Spencer says, so quiet, and Brendon thinks of saying no, never mind. He thinks of soaking in the bath with his feet up, Spencer making him shitty tea with the hotel room coffeepot.
"Yes," he says instead, and Spencer pulls back enough to fold his thumb in with his fingers -- not really a fist, more like a lily before it blooms -- and pushes in again. Brendon holds his breath for the slide past the second knuckle, exhales shakily and says, "please, please" when Spencer hesitates.
He thinks maybe he was wrong when Spencer presses forward again. He can't handle it, he thinks, he won't be able to. But he can. Brendon can feel himself opening, the unbelievable stretch of skin and muscle to swallow Spencer's hand whole. "Holy fuck," Spencer breathes, and they both laugh, soft and disbelieving. Spencer curls his fingers inside of Brendon and rocks his fist gently, back and forth. Brendon's skin breaks out in goosebumps, and he shudders, bowing his head to ride out the waves of sensation that radiate out, up his spine and over his skin, electrical and awful and wonderful all at once.
Brendon opens his mouth to try to tell Spencer what it feels like, but all that comes out is a long, broken groan, like a strange song. He can feel Spencer's knuckles inside; he can feel his ass clutching tight around the folded fist, he can feel the way his hips cradle and frame Spencer inside of him.
Spencer takes his other hand off of Brendon's back. His fist shifts inside, and Brendon gasps. Spencer scratches his fingernails over Brendon's skin, still rocking his fist. Brendon throws his head back and thinks of nothing but feeling.
I wrote another one with spanking and teacher/student kink (again: I KNOW), but it's abbreviated (since it was late and I realized that it was a story unto itself). I may write a longer piece, by which I mean I scribbled down notes for it last night and will probably keep working on it after I go to the grocery store.
[edit: added italicization where necessary. whoops!]
Frame
NC-17, warning for fisting. (I know!) P!ATD, Brendon Spencer.
It's not easy. Brendon didn't think it would be easy -- it's Spencer's whole hand, of course it's not easy -- but he didn’t know it was going to be this hard.
"Fuck," he says, or tries to say, but his voice cracks and it comes out a stuttered, sharp sound. Spencer puts his hand -- his other hand -- on Brendon's lower back.
"I'm not making you," Spencer says. He could have said you don't have to do this, or we can stop if you want to, but he doesn't. He says, "it's your choice, Brendon."
"I want," Brendon says, his voice still skating over the words, barely making the right sounds, "I want it." This is the third time Spencer's stretched him, the third time he's laid Brendon out on a bed and stroked his skin, spread lube over his hands and slowly worked his fingers into Brendon's ass. Brendon asked for this, he wants to know how it feels, and if he doesn't try now he might lose his nerve. He can do it. "Please," he says, and pushes his hips back.
"Okay," Spencer says, pulls out his hand, and slides back in with four fingers.
Brendon has always thought about his cock during sex. Even when he's being fucked, he's thinking about coming, about his cock. It's not like he's not conscious of it right now; he knows on some level that he's half-hard, that at some point in the night he'll have to come. But all he can really focus on is the feeling of Spencer's fingers moving lube-slick into him. He can feel his asshole pressing open around the bottom of Spencer's fingers, and how it slowly tightens again around his fingertips.
Spencer slides his other hand up over Brendon's back, smearing the sweat on his skin, and Brendon keens, scraping at the top of his register. "Can you?" Spencer says, so quiet, and Brendon thinks of saying no, never mind. He thinks of soaking in the bath with his feet up, Spencer making him shitty tea with the hotel room coffeepot.
"Yes," he says instead, and Spencer pulls back enough to fold his thumb in with his fingers -- not really a fist, more like a lily before it blooms -- and pushes in again. Brendon holds his breath for the slide past the second knuckle, exhales shakily and says, "please, please" when Spencer hesitates.
He thinks maybe he was wrong when Spencer presses forward again. He can't handle it, he thinks, he won't be able to. But he can. Brendon can feel himself opening, the unbelievable stretch of skin and muscle to swallow Spencer's hand whole. "Holy fuck," Spencer breathes, and they both laugh, soft and disbelieving. Spencer curls his fingers inside of Brendon and rocks his fist gently, back and forth. Brendon's skin breaks out in goosebumps, and he shudders, bowing his head to ride out the waves of sensation that radiate out, up his spine and over his skin, electrical and awful and wonderful all at once.
Brendon opens his mouth to try to tell Spencer what it feels like, but all that comes out is a long, broken groan, like a strange song. He can feel Spencer's knuckles inside; he can feel his ass clutching tight around the folded fist, he can feel the way his hips cradle and frame Spencer inside of him.
Spencer takes his other hand off of Brendon's back. His fist shifts inside, and Brendon gasps. Spencer scratches his fingernails over Brendon's skin, still rocking his fist. Brendon throws his head back and thinks of nothing but feeling.
I wrote another one with spanking and teacher/student kink (again: I KNOW), but it's abbreviated (since it was late and I realized that it was a story unto itself). I may write a longer piece, by which I mean I scribbled down notes for it last night and will probably keep working on it after I go to the grocery store.
[edit: added italicization where necessary. whoops!]