Word count: ~4500 words.
Author's Note: Written for a contest; had to include sloth as a vice and perfection as a virtue.
Warning: Spanking, dubious consent, and BDSM themes.
Summary: Ryan's been sitting around, not doing anything, not wasting the breath. Brendon finally shows up and takes matters into his own hands, literally.
Ryan was on the couch again, sighing heavily, the ember on the joint in his hand almost having flickered completely out. It was day six of sitting around and doing nothing, day six of not writing and not showering and not charging his cell phone. He wished he had the drive to at least feel bad about it, but it was all nothing. He ate. He smoked. He pissed. He slept. He watched movies. He smoked some more.
The circle kept going and going and who was he to throw off the perfect rhythm of it?
Ryan reached out and picked up his cigarette from the coffee table, lighting the joint again and cocking his head to the side as he heard a noise. Knocking? Someone was knocking on the door. He wished he could have yelled that it was open, but it wasn't. He swore mentally because it took too much effort to swear out loud and pushed himself up from the couch, looking through the peephole before opening the front door.
Brendon did not look happy to see him.
"You're ignoring my texts," he said, pushing past Ryan and walking into the house, making a face at the dirty clothes and papers all over the floor. He was messy, but Ryan was pushing it.
"I'm not," Ryan said distantly, slowly shutting the door and locking it. "I'm ignoring everyone's." His words were so mumbled that Brendon could hardly understand him. "Phone's dead."
"Ever heard of charging it?" the boy snapped with an eye roll. "And when was the last time you showered?"
Ryan shrugged, taking another drag. He knew the answer, of course, he just didn't want to waste the breath to give it.
Brendon moved toward him, pulling the joint out of his hand and taking a drag, then moving to put it in the ashtray on the table, arms crossed as he turned back to Ryan again. "Come here," he said, eyes serious, voice stern.
Ryan shuffled forward, somewhat confused. Was he about to get scolded?
The younger boy brought a hand up, slipping it under Ryan's chin, his eyes staring into his, peering, narrowing. Then his hand dropped and he sat down on the couch, grabbing Ryan by the arm and pulling the boy over his lap, face down on the cushion, ass up. His hand came down without any warning and Ryan cried out, for once not caring about the amount of energy it took to make the noise.
He squirmed, trying to get away, but Brendon's other hand came up around the back his neck, pushing his face into the couch, holding him there. "Count them," he said sternly. "Do it perfectly or we're starting over."
Ryan was still squirming when Brendon's hand came down again. He didn't say a number so Brendon tugged the plaid pajama pants the boy had been wearing for the past week down his legs, along with his boxers, completely baring his backside. His hand came down again and Ryan almost screamed. "Count them or we'll be here all day," he repeated, voice dark.
Ryan whimpered, but when Brendon's hand came down again, he heard the boy mumble 'one'. "Say the next one loud enough for me to actually hear you," he said.
The older boy pushed himself up somewhat on his elbows so that his mouth wasn't pressed against the cushion, able to make himself audible. He wasn't sure why he was going along with it, except that seemed to be no alternative. When he felt Brendon's palm again, he tried to say 'two' as clearly as he could. Perfectly, Brendon had said. 'Do it perfectly.'
Ryan couldn't figure out why he was starting to get hard. He knew Brendon could feel it and he was flushing, his face almost as pink as the skin on his ass where his boyfriend's hand was still coming down, alternating between either cheek. There were up to eighteen now, plus the ones Ryan hadn't counted before. "Getting excited?" Brendon asked dryly, his hand coming down again.
"Nineteen," Ryan choked out, refusing to answer the question. He hadn't even masturbated in six days. It was too much effort to lie there and watch porn, idly twisting his wrists and cleaning up after. He wasn't even sure what had started the laziness, just that it had taken hold of him like he was possessed. Brendon's hand come down one more time, harder than before. "Twenty!" Ryan screeched, wincing.
Brendon pulled his boyfriend's pants up and lightly patted his ass through the material. "Now go shower," he said. "Wash your hair, condition it, wash yourself. Shave that fucking . . . carpet off your face. Do it perfectly or you're getting more."
Ryan slowly pushed himself up, finding himself looking directly into Brendon's face as he moved back over his lap top get up. He leaned forward, wanting to kiss him, but Brendon turned his head. "I don't want to know how long it's been since you brushed your teeth."
Ryan blushed, mumbling something and walking to the bathroom, somewhat stiffly. When he closed the door behind him, he slowly slipped his pants and boxers down, looking over his shoulder to see his reflection in the mirror. He could almost make Brendon's hand prints out, his cheeks pink. Still warm to the touch. He pressed his hand down on one of the red spots and moaned, his cock twitching as the sound escaped his mouth.
A knock sounded on the door and Ryan jumped, his hand flying to his mouth. "I'm pretty sure I didn't tell you to jerk off in there," Brendon said angrily. "Now are you going to do it perfectly or do I need to come in there and do it for you?"
"S-Sorry," Ryan apologized, voice muffled behind his hand. He let it fall to his side. "Sorry," he repeated, voice clearer.
"Get your ass in the shower. I'm timing you. And brush your teeth, too."
Ryan tugged his shirt over his head, practically tripping over himself to turn on the water. He had a fleeting thought of whether or not his muscles would be sore from so much movement after nearly a week of nothing. He wanted so badly just to slide his hand between his legs as he stepped into the warm jet of water, but he knew that--somehow--Brendon would know. And he really didn't want to count anymore.
It was almost surreal. Part of him wondered if he was dreaming or if he was hallucinating. Had Brendon really just bent him over the couch and spanked him? The water was making his ass burn even more and that was his answer. He ran his hands through his hair, getting it wet, letting the water saturate before reaching for his shampoo bottle. Shampoo, condition, wash, shave, brush teeth. That's what Brendon had said.
Ryan felt so tired, massaging the shampoo into his scalp. He wasn't used to moving so much and he'd been catching a nap every few hours for the past week. He felt so heavy, so tired, like he just wanted to collapse right there and cry, then fall asleep. His erection was dying.
After he got out of the shower, he dried off, tentatively opening the door when he heard a knock on it. Brendon was standing there, holding out a pair of jeans, a shirt, and clean underwear. "Clean clothes," he explained unnecessarily.
Ryan took them, hands shaking. "I'm so tired, Bren," he said, eyes heavy even as he spoke.
"That's because you're a lazy fuck," Brendon said without sympathy. "Now shave and brush your teeth. Do it perfectly or you know what's going to happen." He turned on his heel and walked back to the living room, where he'd already begun picking up clothes and trash. And then he sat, waiting. He turned the television on low volume, smiling to himself when he heard the sound of the electric razor.
Ryan emerged about fifteen minutes later, clean shaven and teeth brushed, weights on his eyelids, trying to drag them down to close. "You're not taking a nap," Brendon told him, voice still stern, but softer.
"But I'm tired," Ryan whined, too tired to appreciate how much like a child he sounded.
Brendon raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to argue with me?"
"Just, like, fifteen minutes," the older boy asked, almost screaming in frustration when he was pulled over Brendon's lap again. "Please, Bren," he was begging as the younger boy's hand was flying through the air. He screamed at the impact before pitifully whimpering. "One."
Brendon did five with Ryan's jeans up, then made him stand up and pull them down himself, along with his underwear. When the boy laid across his lap again, he seemed more alert, if his growing erection was any indication. He brought his hand down ten more times, alternating between cheeks and where he landed his hand, trying to make sure all the skin was pink before he let his boyfriend stand up and pull his jeans back up.
"If you're going to do that, you could at least let me come," Ryan muttered angrily as he buttoned the fly.
"You can do something productive before you jack off," Brendon retorted, standing up. "There's laundry to do. And dishes. After you do that, maybe I'll think about letting you come." He took a step toward the boy, kissing him hard enough to bruise. "And do it perfectly," he growled as their mouths broke apart.
Ryan didn't like it at all, especially when Brendon picked up a laundry basket he'd filled with dirty clothes and shoved it in his boyfriend's hands. The washer and dryer are in the garage and Ryan hadn't done laundry for about six weeks even before he started lying around and doing nothing. He had enough clothes in his closet that he could afford to do such things. And sometimes he even went out and bought new clothes instead of washing the dirty ones. Laundry was not enjoyable.
He groaned, dragging his feet as he walked down the handful of stairs on the landing and pushed open the door that connected his two-car garage with the house. He didn't even know if he still had laundry detergent. He opened the lid of the washer, dumping the clothes in without a second thought and fumbling for the bottle, not measuring it in the lid, just opening it and pouring some of the blue liquid on top of the clothing.
"I thought I said to do it perfectly," came a low voice from the doorway.
Ryan turned, startled, almost dropping the bottle. "I . . . this is how I always do my . . . you don't sort your clothes either!" he snapped defensively.
Brendon glowered, eyes narrowed, walking around Ryan's car to stand behind the older boy, taking the bottle and capping it, putting it back on the shelf. He fiddled with the settings on the washer before slamming the lid down and turning it on. "I didn't tell you to do your laundry like me, did I?" he asked, leaning in, voice hot against the shell of Ryan's ear. "I told you to do it perfectly. Now pull your pants down and put your arms on the washer."
"Fuck you," Ryan spat, hot tears of humiliation threatening to leak down his cheeks. He moved to push past his boyfriend, go upstairs and take a nap. This had gone far enough. It wasn't a game anymore.
Brendon grabbed Ryan's arm, forcing him back, twisting the boy's body until he had pushed his face against the lid of the washer. "Behave yourself," he hissed. "This is only going to last as long as you make it." There was a lint brush on top of the dryer. Not the kind that rolled, but the kind with the curved front and flat back, like the back of a hairbrush. He slowly reached out and picked it up, careful not to make any noise.
The tears were on Ryan's cheeks now, hot and stinging. He could feel Brendon's knee pressing between his legs, forcing them apart somewhat. "I'll fix it," he whispered.
Brendon ignored it. "If I let go of you, are you going to take your pants off like I asked or are you going to try something stupid again?"
"I'll take them off," Ryan mumbled, numb. He supposed this was his fault. He'd mentioned it once, how he liked Brendon holding him down by the wrists when they fucked, how sometimes he liked to be made to do things he wanted to do but wouldn't admitted to. But this was more. And he had a feeling it was more than just sex to Brendon, which terrified him.
The younger boy let go of him and Ryan stood up just enough to undo the fly on his slacks, pressing them down along with his boxers. He leaned forward on his elbows, squeezing his eyes shut. He screamed outright at the first impact, trying to stand up, horrified. He turned his head, trying to see what Brendon was using, but his boyfriend put a hand on his neck, forcing him to face forward again.
"One," Ryan whimpered, voice cracking, more tears rolling down his cheeks. The lines between whether he wanted it or not were being blurred. He was both humiliated and enthralled. He could hear the wind humming as Brendon brought it down again and he fought the scream, nearly choking when he did. "Two."
Brendon was smiling, a small smile that no one could see. And it wasn't just for the sick sexual satisfaction, though he couldn't deny how much it turned him on to see Ryan's ass winking up at him, turning pink and now beginning to show a mark that wouldn't fade for a few days. He knew how Ryan got when he didn't do anything for too long, how depressed he would end up getting, the horrible out of control things he would do to overcompensate when he finally got off his ass.
He only gave Ryan ten smacks, the last two of which were done with his hand. The boy was practically collapsed over the washing machine when Brendon set the lint brush down. Ryan was trembling, precome leaking from the tip of his cock. The tears on his cheeks weren't dried and he looked up at Brendon, so desperate, falling apart at the seams.
So Brendon took pity on him, though not in the way Ryan would have hoped. "There's still dishes," he said softly, fingertips trying to wipe away the tears. "I'll help you load the dishwasher."
Ryan desperately needed to come but he'd realized by this point that there was no point in asking for it. "I just . . . need a sec," he choked out, hoping Brendon would at least give him that. He didn't feel like he could even move; his legs and ass felt like there were on fire.
Brendon nodded, his eyes looking softer, his fingers moving up to stroke Ryan's hair that was still damp from the shower and, after that ordeal, probably perspiration. They stayed there like that for a moment until Ryan started to notice the pain in his elbows from leaning against the washer, straightening up slowly, pulling his pants back up. His breathing was ragged, but he followed Brendon complacently to the kitchen without a word.
There weren't a lot of dishes, mainly owing to the fact that Ryan had been too lazy to cook anything or eat anything that wasn't already in a bag or premade. He'd been leaving off stale tortilla chips and microwaveable pizzas for the past six days. Brendon steered him to the position in front of the sink, opening the dishwasher that was next to it. "You rinse," he said gently, "I'll load."
It seemed like it took every ounce of Ryan's strength just to lift the bowls and plates that he was certain didn't feel that heavy when he bought them. He turned on the tap, automatically adjusting the water to a warm flow, running the dishes underneath the stream and handing them to Brendon, who would wordlessly place them in the dishwasher, handing back one bowl that needed to be soaked.
Ryan tensed, expecting Brendon to pin him against the sink, his hand coming down again, but it didn't happen. He was trying and he wasn't arguing and that was all his boyfriend really cared about at this point. When the dishes were rinsed and loaded, except for the obstinate bowl that may have had macaroni and cheese in at one point, Brendon made Ryan put soap in the dishwasher and run in, before leaning in and kissing him softly.
Ryan pressed against him, still hard, desperate for the physical contact. But Brendon broke the kiss prematurely, smiling in a way that the older boy didn't really like, resting their foreheads against each other. "One more thing," he whispered, voice thick and throaty, "since you didn't do the laundry right."
The boy wanted to cry, wanted to scream and throw his arms up and kick Brendon out of his house so he could jerk off and then fall asleep for ten hours straight. But he didn't. He bit his bottom lip and stood there, glowering somewhat, but waiting.
"Good boy," Brendon murmured, kissing his forehead, chuckling when Ryan scowled at the sentiment. "It's not a chore," he told him and Ryan's expression brightened slightly. One of his hand's slipped down, squeezing Ryan's ass roughly and the older boy gasped, burying his face in Brendon's shoulder. It stung, but he couldn't say he didn't like it.
"Ten more," the young breathed in Ryan's ear. "Ten more and I'll fuck you so hard you barely be able to walk tomorrow. But you'll have to," he added, teeth nipping at the boy's lobe.
Ryan whimpered, but his head nodded before he could full comprehend the question. He would have done practically anything at that moment just to be able to release and then fall into the bed sheets and close his eyes.
Brendon smiled against his ear. "Good boy. I want you to put your arms out on the counter, flat. And lay your face down, turned to the side. Understand?"
"Perfectly," Ryan whispered, straightening up slowly, letting Brendon move him to exactly where he wanted him and then assuming the position he'd been told. He let his eyes closed, too content to not be moving to pay attention to the sounds behind him.
Brendon undid his belt buckle and slipped it quickly through each loop. He set it on top of the microwave before he reached forward and undid Ryan's pants for the final time, letting them fall to his ankles, but leaving the boxers up. "Step out of them," he told his boyfriend, picking up the discarded article of clothing when the boy obeyed, folding the pants and putting them on the counter, just stretching out the time to make Ryan squirm. He picked up the belt, feeling the leather against his hand and smiling.
He leaned down, his mouth against Ryan's ear again. "This is going to hurt, baby," he murmured. "I want you to remember this the next time you're laying around and refusing to live, you understand? And count perfectly so I don't have to start over."
Ryan thought his voice was going to give out as he screamed again at the first impact, his head momentarily lifting from the counter as he struggled to choke out the word 'one'. He had heard Brendon's belt whistling through the air, but hadn't been able to place the sound. He could have protested and he knew his boyfriend would have listened if he'd gotten vocal enough, but he need to come so badly. He laid his head back down and waiting, wincing in anticipation.
Brendon laid the next seven strokes in different places, some on Ryan's thighs, but most across his ass. When the leather impacted exposed skin, Ryan choked on his breaths. "Last two bare," he said out loud, fingers hooking in the waistband of Ryan's underwear to pull them down to his ankles.
Ryan wasn't sure if he was crying from pain or fear or humiliation, but the tears were leaking from his eyes, dripping onto the counter. He let out a sob as he stepped out of his boxers. Brendon was momentarily stunned by the sight of his boyfriend's ass, painted with pinks and reds, beautiful welts that were already starting to raise against the skin. He rubbed the palm of hand against the crotch of his jeans for a moment, just appreciating the beauty of that canvas before he brought his hand up without warning and down again.
Ryan's voice gave out a few seconds into his scream and Brendon was convinced he was going to have to start over at one until the broken 'nine' tumbled from the boy's lips, hardly audible, but he wasn't going to fault him for trying. He landed the final blow just where Ryan's thighs met the curve of his cheeks. The final count was soaked in tears and Ryan would have crumpled to the floor immediately after if Brendon's arm hadn't come up around his waist.
He was crying in earnest now, unable to stop it, fingernails desperately trying to dig into the counter as he slipped back. His bare skin was against the denim of Brendon's jeans and it burned. Ryan wasn't so sure he hadn't started bleeding by this point. He tried to turn around, tripping over his own feet, but managing eventually, falling into Brendon, clinging to him. His amber eyes were dark with need.
"Please," he choked out through the tears. "Please."
Brendon nodded, kissing the boy's forehead softly. "Bedroom," he said quietly, turning. He kept an arm around the boy's waist, letting Ryan put all his weight on him. Ryan's bedroom was surprisingly neat compared to the rest of the house, but only because he'd been too lazy to leave the couch. He gently helped the boy down on the comforter.
Ryan hissed at the initial burn from the pressure on the delicate skin, but the burn was pushed aside by the feeling of coolness from the sheets, almost soothing. Brendon was stripping and Ryan could see it, blurry, through the last of his tears. He heard a drawer opening and closing and then Brendon was between the boy's legs, pushing them up at the knee and spreading them, slick fingers pressing against Ryan's entrance.
The boy cried out, another broken noise, pushing himself down against the intrusion, over-eager. Brendon let him, a finger from his other hand trailing along one of the welts on the back of Ryan's thigh. "I know you don't notice it," the younger boy said quietly, not even sure Ryan could hear him over his moaning, "but you get really fucked up after you do this to yourself." He added a third finger, twisting them lazily for a few seconds before pulling out.
He knew he couldn't take too long. Ryan had been hard for too long. It was probably getting unhealthy by this point. Brendon knelt between his boyfriend's legs, slowly guiding himself in. The older boy moaned louder, trying to press down and take it in quicker, but this time Brendon kept a hand on his hip, anchoring him in place to the mattress. It had been over a week since he'd last felt this and he moaned.
"So fucking tight," he hissed, letting go of his reserve and shoving the last few inches in hard. "Jesus, Ry. Like fucking a god damn virgin."
Ryan whimpered. He hadn't had anything inside him since Brendon a week and a half before. He could feel the stretch and the burn, but it was such a soft pain compared to what he'd experienced in the kitchen, almost a teasing sort of hurt. He brought his arms up, loosely draping them around his boyfriend's neck. "P-Please don't do this again," he whispered, not sure if he meant it.
Brendon kissed him hard enough to bruise as he pulled out almost completely and shoved back in. "Don't be a lazy fuck then." He set a pace that was impossible to keep a rhythm with, so fast that Ryan could hardly catch his breath between thrusts, so hard that Ryan could feel it almost in his stomach every time. Neither of them was going to last. Not with how long Ryan had been hard and not with how tight the boy was around Brendon's cock.
Ryan could feel things starting to blur around the edges. He was so close already. Brendon hadn't even touched his erection yet. Maybe his boyfriend wasn't planning to. He slipped his hand down slowly, tentatively, almost afraid that he wasn't supposed to, that it didn't fit in with the plan of 'perfection'. But Brendon said nothing and so Ryan ended up wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking it clumsily as his boyfriend continued his relentless thrusts.
Brendon could feel Ryan's hurried strokes, the boy's knuckles brushing against his stomach as his hand moved rapidly. Ryan was going to have so much come after a week without orgasms. Brendon briefly considered pulling out to be able to wrap his lips around the tip and taste all of it, but realized there was no way he could give up that tight heat. He angled up, aiming for Ryan's prostate that he hadn't really been searching for during the interlude.
Ryan swore, his toes curling as brought his legs around Brendon, trying to pull his boyfriend closer, force him in deeper--if that were possible. He came without warning, thinking he had at least a minute left before he'd start to. He could feel the thick liquid flowing over, hitting both his and Brendon's stomachs, slick between them. He couldn't form words as it ripped through him, just half screams and whimpers. He couldn't think, hardly registering the feeling of Brendon filling him, his name tumbling from the younger boy's lips as he came, Ryan's cock clenching around him.
Brendon waited until Ryan stilled. There were still aftershocks reverberating through his muscles, but he smiled up at his boyfriend tiredly. "Please tell me I'm allowed to sleep now."
The younger nodded, slowly pulling out, kissing Ryan on the forehead. "Perfect, baby," he murmured. "I'm going to lock up now." He ran his fingers down Ryan's cheek. "We're both getting up tomorrow before eleven, okay?"
Ryan nodded as his eyes closed. He couldn't even bother to crawl under the blanket. But this time it wasn't laziness, just pure exhaustion. When Brendon came back from locking the doors, he simply stood there for a moment, admiring the bits of red he could see against Ryan's pale skin. He had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time he'd employ such tactics, though he had a sneaking suspicion they might be openly requested next time.
Smiling, he tugged the comforter out from under Ryan and covered the sleeping boy with it, slipping under it next to him and kissing his cheek. "Love you, baby."