Work Text:
This is it, your breaking point with Brahms. There’s a lot of shit you could take from him, but you are at your limit, and if you didn’t have a stronger resolve you’d walk out of the house right this instant.
Your cellphone, smashed to bits. Years and years of emotional turmoil written down into a journal, gone for a week only to show up in the foyer ripped to little pieces and scattered like snow. And the icing on the cake was your all the pills, from your previously full bottle, floating in the toilet.
And Brahms just stands there in the middle of his bedroom, arms behind his back, and looking at the floor. Fully prepared for a scolding and a slap on the wrist. You always did, so matter how badly he acted, so why would that change now?
But your voice isn’t hot and seething like it normally is, it’s cold and level, and it makes his guts twists with guilt worse than anything he’s felt before.
“Do you know how bad what you did was, Brahms?” you ask him, arms crossed. When he doesn’t say anything, but shifts between his feet, you speak up, louder. “Well?”
“I took your stuff without asking,” he says. “And I wasn’t happy with it and destroyed it. But it was your stuff, and I shouldn’t have.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Venom drips from your voice. There’s no way in hell you’re letting him off easy for this, not in the slightest. He’s trying to be cutesy, but you have other ideas in mind.
“I was very bad, even though I promised I would be good. Those things were very personal and I shouldn’t have gotten mad and destroyed them. I’m sorry.“ He twirls from side to side, trying to sway you in his favor.
"Yes, you were very bad. But do you know why I’m so mad about the pills in particular?”
Brahms finally looks you in the eyes, head tilted to the side. “Why?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
“Because I need those pills to function, and I can’t just stop taking them all of sudden. Did you know if I didn’t have an extra bottle hidden, I could’ve been hurt badly? I could’ve gotten very sick, and I would have died a very painful and slow death, Brahms.”
Even though he still has his mask on, you know his eyebrows shoot up underneath. He rushes forward and grips your shoulders tightly. “I didn’t know,” he says frantically, eyes wet. “I just didn’t like how they make your head fuzzy. Please, I’m sorry.”
You pull back from him, and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I need to punish you, you know that right? Now, you’re going to be a good boy and take off your trousers and pants, lay across my lap, and take everything I give you. If you don’t, I’ll be very cross, and I’m going to leave for and stay with Malcolm for a few months until I’m not.”
His eyes bug out at the mere mention of Malcolm, and you think he’s going to get angry again, but he doesn’t. He obediently gets out of the required clothes, hurriedly, and climbs into your lap. His ass is hairy just like the rest of him, and normally you’d think it gross, but on Brahms, it’s sort of fitting.
You take a moment to grip his ass cheeks, nice and firm, which make a whine form in his throat. “I want you to count out each spank you get. I’m going to start with 20, and each time you mess up, I’m starting over. Understood?”
His hair bounces as he nods. “One.” You start off easy on him at first, as if you were swatting at a bug, but slowly ramp up the intensity.
Brahms squirms in your lap, and you can feel his cock twitching and slowly hardening against your thigh after each spank. He desperately tries to keep his moans and whines quiet, but he can’t and each high pitched noise he makes it utterly endearing. “N-nine, ten- ah!” He jolts and gasp as you hit him with a particularly hard strike. And then another. “Twel- no eleven! I meant eleven!”
You shake your head when he looks back at you with big eyes. “You know the rules, now I have to start over.”
“No, please! I didn’t mean to!” he goes to gets up, but must have remembered what you said you would do if he didn’t take the punishment.
You wait no time in hitting him hard and relentlessly. He wails out each number, sobbing out the last few until you’re back up to ten. You stop for a good few minutes to rub at the rosy skin, soothing away the red marks. “Do you like this Brahmsy?” you ask him in a low voice, hitting him again.
His erection is incessant poking your thigh, and you can feel him leaking pre-cum all over your trousers. “Eleven.” He shakes his head, entire body trembling, and at that, you bring your hand down full force in three rapid successions. “Twelve, thirteen, four-teen!” he manages out in sobs. Tears were rolling down his mask and dripping down onto the blankets.
“Good boys don’t lie. If you lie to me again, I’ll add on 10 more spanks on top of everything else. Now, do you like this Brahms?” You rub his ass again, waiting for him to respond.
He clutches the blankets, trying to hide his already masked face. He mutters out something, but you can’t quite make it out. You don’t need to say anything, only press your hand firmly to his bruised ass. “Y-yes,” he manages. “It hurts so much, but I like it… I don’t know why.” The tears don’t stop pouring down his face.
And fuck, that’s hot. The anger in you has melted away slightly, and now you just want this over with. The last six aren’t as hard as some of the others, sans the last one. And thankfully, Brahms doesn’t mess them up.
By the last spank, he’s fully crying again, face completely hidden in the blanket. He sucks in shuddering breaths trying to gain control of himself, but he can’t stop the sobs.
You slip a hand underneath his shirt and rub his making, making soothing noises at him. “You took that so well Brahmsy. Such a good boy, a good, handsome boy,” you assure him in a low voice.
Brahms sniffles, and lifts his face from the bed. “Really? You’re not mad anymore?”
Oh, you’re still pissed at him for that, but you smile, and run your fingers through his hair. “No. You did so well that you deserve a treat.” You get the little bottle of lube from your trouser pockets, and trickle it between Brahms’ cheeks.
He hisses out at the sting, but that quickly turns into a shaky moan when you slip a finger, and then two, into his entrance. You seek out and fuck his prostate relentlessly, leaving him shaking and mewling.
He curls his toes, and tries to hide his face again in the bed. “Ah ah ah, I want to hear you Brahmsy,” you tease, fucking him harder. He lifts his face up, letting out a loud, uncontrolled moan. You only wish he would take the mask off so you could see how red his cheeks are.
He cums not long after that, spending all over your lap as he tenses up and chokes on a silent moan. Under any normal circumstance you would’ve asked for at least a blowjob in return, but Brahms is dead weight on top of your lap right now.
You get out from under him, change into clean trousers, and grab the arnica ointment from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. When you get back to his room, he’s clutching his pillow and hiding his face in it. You sit down on the bed next to him, and gingerly rub the ointment all over the red and bruised skin on his ass.
Brahms hisses and groans at it, but stops when you remove his mask and press a kiss to his lips. “You take a nap, Brahmsy. I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready, alright? I’ll make whatever you want. Does that sound good?”
He nods shyly. “Homemade tomato soup and rarebit, please?” he asks.
You nod in return, and give him another kiss before leaving. You pause to turn off the lights, leave the bedroom door slightly ajar, and turn on the hallway lamps.