Kinky Ryden Smut Oneshots

In My Mouth

Warnings - Name-calling, humiliation, BDSM themes.

Ryan made an excuse about a headache after lunch, giving Brendon a meaningful look as he slipped out of the dressing room, heading for the bus. Nobody really gave a second look when the singer got up to follow Ryan. The game of excuses and pretending you didn't know when everyone was having sex was laughable in itself. The actual details, fortunately, were still mostly a mystery.

Ryan didn't know how he'd be able to look Spencer in the face if he knew what Ryan begged Brendon to do to him. That was why threatening to have the drummer watch was one of Brendon's favorite threats. As soon as they unlocked the bus and slipped inside, Ryan slid to his knees. "You didn't come in my mouth yesterday," he whispered as Brendon waited expectantly. "Can you please fuck me and come in my mouth?"

Brendon thought for a moment. Ryan must have still been clean or he wouldn't have asked. "I don't know that you deserve it," he said after a moment. "Can you give me a reason you deserve it?"

Ryan flushed, fumbling in his head for the words. He hadn't expected that response at all. He searched in his mind for the right answer. He'd been good that morning, but good wasn't generally reason enough for a reward. "I brought you coffee at the shoot?" he asked tentatively.

The younger boy considered the answer for a moment before giving a quick nod. "The lounge, slut." His voice was casual, soft.

Ryan gave a small smile at the pet name, turning--still on his knees--and proceeding to crawl back toward the lounge. He moved quickly, not wanting Brendon to step on his heels and find a reason to deny him. When they slipped into the backroom, Brendon sat down on the couch, leaving the flimsy door open and Ryan still kneeling like a puppy. Brendon didn't say a word, just glanced down at the crotch of his jeans and then waved his wrist in an almost dismissive gesture. His eyes moved around the room, skimming titles of books and movies, making sure not to focus on Ryan.

The older boy moved forward on the floor, placing himself between Brendon's knees and reaching up to undo his fly, his fingers moving quickly, but sure, steady. His fingers hooked in the waistband and Brendon lazily lifted his hips without a word or a glance so Ryan could pull his jeans down along with his underwear. The boy clasped his hands behind his back the way he knew Brendon liked, nosing along the younger boy's thigh until the tip pressed against his lips. He opened his mouth, taking the head in, moaning as he licked the drop of precome from the slit.

Brendon fisted a hand in Ryan's hair, pushing him steadily, forcing the boy to take more. When Ryan finally gagged, choking as Brendon's cock tried to make its way past the opening of his throat, the younger boy held him there for a few seconds before releasing him so he could catch his breath. "Good slut," he murmured appreciatively.

Ryan gave a noise almost like a mew before wrapping his lips around Brendon's erection and taking it into his mouth again, bobbing his head wildly, quickly, like he had no other desire in the world than to worship his boyfriend's dick. Fellatio as Communion. He moaned at the thought, the way it made him feel--dirty, borderline disgusting.

"Enough," Brendon said as Ryan's tongue traced along the edge of the head. He didn't want to come before he'd fucked the boy senseless. "Stand," he said after Ryan had pulled off, looking up at him expectantly. "First, you're going to prep yourself," Brendon continued. "I want you to turn around and bend over so I can watch. You can get lubricant."

Ryan flushed at the idea of bending over, exposing himself so wantonly as he pressed fingers inside. But he didn't argue, just moved quickly to the bunks to fetch the bottle from under his pillow. 

"No clothes when you come back!" Brendon called, idly stroking his cock as he waited.

The door of the bus wasn't locked, Ryan remembered as he pulled his shirt over his head, hands hesitating before he began to take off his jeans. And Brendon was leaving the lounge door open. He knew there was no way he could mention it without giving up what he'd asked for. His stomach had a knot in it as he returned to the lounge, wearing nothing but a worried expression and the faint bruises, bottle of lubricant in his hand.