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"Brendon, you know you can’t fucking tease me on stage like that,” Ryan said, closing the door to the hotel room behind him.
“Oh, what are you gonna do?” Brendon asked, sarcastically. “Punish me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking.
“You know it,” Ryan replied, hands finding their way to Brendon’s hips.
Without much force, due to Brendon being so pliant, Ryan pushed Brendon to the bed. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, Ryan stopped them with his fingers tight in the belt loops of Brendon’s pants. “You’re getting a spanking, that’s what you get,” Ryan announced, shoving Brendon’s pants down roughly.
“Good,” Brendon defied, just to rile Ryan up, make him angrier.
“You know what to do, slut, hands and knees.”
When Brendon followed the order, Ryan didn’t waste any time to get on with it. He spanked Brendon’s bare ass with only his palm, hard enough to leave a bright imprint of his hand on the very first hit.
At the silence that followed that hit, Ryan was displeased. He reached up to tug Brendon’s hair, pulling his head back. “Count it. I know you fucking love it.”
“One.”
Ryan smacked his cheeks again.
“Two.”
“Louder.” Ryan’s hand came down against his left cheek, with more force than the first two.
“Three,” Brendon moaned.
“Better. Show me what a pain slut you are.”
“Four, Ryan, fucking hit me.”
And Ryan did, Ryan spanked him.
“Five, six, s-seven—” He gasped—"eight, nine, oh, ten, shit, elev-ven, fuck, fuck.“ He was whining now with every breath, and his words were all pants.
"Is that hard enough for you?” Ryan teased. Brendon’s ass was bright red and bruising. “You look like such a slut right now. Desperate and begging for the pain.”
“Nineteen, tw-twenty, don’t stop,” Brendon managed.
Ryan backhanded the skin with a flick of his wrist, knuckles hitting Brendon’s ass.
“Twenty-fucking-one, harder, harder, please.”
By thirty, Brendon’s words were barely coherent, and by thirty five, Brendon couldn’t stop moaning. Ryan pulled away then, and Brendon was a wreck.
Ryan watched as Brendon collapsed onto his front, face pressed into the pillow of the bed. Brendon’s groans were muffled, but still apparent, and he rolled his hips frantically into the comforter. He clutched the sheets, knuckles white.
Finding it difficult to resist, Ryan reached out to only lightly smack Brendon’s beaten ass, seeing him so desperately trying to get off. At the added touch, the added pain, Brendon came with a sob, hips stilling.
Panting, Brendon laid there. He didn’t move, not when Ryan stroked his hair, not when Ryan kissed the back of his neck, and not when Ryan gently cleaned him up. He only moved to kiss Ryan’s lips and thank him before falling asleep, but that was okay. That was good enough for Ryan.