word count; ~1500.
warnings; public sex, humiliation, name-calling, fisting, mentions of other BDSM activities.
summary; Ryan is in the middle of the room, on his knees, for everyone to see. It shouldn't make him moan, but it does.
Ryan moaned, pressing back against the fingers in his ass. He didn't care, didn't care that they were watching. Couldn't care. It was just him, on his knees, Brendon kneeling behind him. As long as those fingers kept moving he'd agree to anything. That should have worried him; it didn't.
When had they gotten to the party? He didn't remember. Brendon had driven after they'd smoked. Four bowls between them and Ryan had taken a couple shots, too. He'd been bent over in the seat of the car, Brendon's cock in his mouth, moaning like he was getting paid for it. The younger boy had reached down, slapped his ass a few times. When they'd gotten there, he hadn't let Ryan fix his hair or wipe away the spit from the corners of his mouth.
"You want to be a whore?" Brendon had asked when Ryan started to protest. The older boy had made a noise between a moan and a whimper. "So let everyone see that you're a fucking whore." And then he'd pushed Ryan inside.
Somehow that had all spun out of control, with Brendon joking about how Ryan would blow him in the middle of the kitchen if he'd asked and Ryan not denying it; with Ryan dry-humping the fuck out of Brendon's leg when a certain song came on the stereo system; with Brendon finally having a couple of drinks and pulling Ryan over his lap when he got too flirty to give him a spanking that the older boy moaned and shook during.
There was really no way the night wasn't going to end in some type of voyeuristic sexual activity, though Brendon had sort of assumed it would only be a couple guys and not the majority of the party. As long as no cell phones were out taking pictures, though, he wasn't about to complain.
"More," Ryan choked out. His face was toward the ground. Brendon knew his eyes were closed.
"You want more, slut?" he asked, the three fingers already in Ryan's ass sliding in deeper. He heard another moan and smirked. "You want more, you get that head up, keep those eyes open."
Ryan whimpered and hesitated. But then Brendon's fingers were gone and that seemed to make up his mind for him. His head jerked up, eyes flying open. He couldn't see faces, but he didn't need to. That wasn't the point. They could see him, see how much he needed it, how he'd completely come apart in front of them if Brendon told him to.
Someone, Brendon wasn't sure who, pressed a bottle of lubricant into his hand. He considered it for a moment, before deciding that, yes, Ryan deserved lube if he was going to take Brendon's entire fist up his ass in front of all these people. "Someone get me a glove," he said quietly, turning his head to the side, not wanting Ryan to hear.
And then three fingers were in Ryan's ass, a fourth pressing in. The boy was moaning, biting his bottom lip, hips rocking back again. "Brenny?"
"Such a . . . fucking dirty . . . slut." He punctuated each pause with a sharp tug of Ryan's hair.
The older boy wasn't sure he could ever get enough of hearing those words. All he really wanted at that moment was to slide down to his stomach and hump the floor until he came. But he knew Brendon would beat his ass if he even attempted. The bruises would be beautiful, but the denial of his orgasm wouldn't be.
"Bren, please," Ryan choked.
Brendon felt something nudge his arm and turned his head. He recognized the tattoos on the arm of the hand giving him the latex glove he'd requested. But he didn't look up. He didn't want to see their faces either. From his position, all the control was his. If he saw their faces, how much they just wanted to rip into Ryan at that moment, he'd lose it.
The fingers were removed and Ryan whimpered, his hips jerking back on their own, as if that would return the full feeling to his body. Brendon slapped his ass--hard--and the boy stopped moving, biting his bottom lip to keep the tears in. The drops of moisture stinging the corners of his eyes weren't from the pain, just from his absolute need to come.
Brendon pulled the glove on over his hand before liberally applying the lubricant. He returned, immediately, to four fingers, not bothering to tease. There was no point. Ryan would just start screaming like a wild animal and Brendon would have to hold him down. It would be entirely too much and everyone would get out of hand. Besides, Ryan would be coming undone soon enough.
Ryan rocked his hips back, taking them in as deep as he could, moaning. "Harder, harder, fuck me, harder."
Brendon smirked and then hooked his thumb in along his fingers, sliding the tip in. Ryan seemed to stop breathing for a moment. He always did when he realized how impossibly he was going to be stretched, how good it was going to feel when he had all of Brendon inside, completely up to the wrist.
The hand suddenly sunk in about an inch deeper, most of Brendon's thumb now inside Ryan. The older boy was stretched to his limit, across the knuckles of his boyfriend's hand. He was whimpering and tears were leaking out of his eyes, down his cheeks. But he didn't ask for reprieve, didn't want a reprieve. He wanted it, more, inside, taking it. He knew he could take it. He wanted them to see him take it.
"You're such a good whore," Brendon breathed, leaning in, letting his lips press against Ryan's bare shoulder blade for a moment. "You just take it so, so well. Like you were fucking made for it."
Ryan whimpered, tilting his head back further, comforted by the rare compliment. "Please," he whispered. "Tear me apart."
Brendon didn't, but he did press his hand in the rest of the way, Ryan's entrance tightening on his wrist like a fucking bracelet. He could feel himself, completely inside, filling the boy entirely. He could hear gasps, faint murmurs, someone whispering to someone else if Ryan was okay.
Ryan was. He was still crying, sobbing almost, not moving. But he was okay. He was taking the few moments Brendon was letting him have, just getting used to it, knowing that in a minute he'd be pushed again and again, over and over, until he came on the floor with everyone staring at him.
Ryan wasn't sure how something couldn't happen too soon and not soon enough, but that's exactly what it was when Brendon's hand started to twist, pulling out slightly, stretching Ryan open again. The older was moaning, trying so hard to keep his elbows from giving out. Nothing would have made him happier than to lie on the floor, drooling, while Brendon fisted him. But it wasn't what Brendon wanted.
"You want to suck some cock while you're down there, bitch?" the younger growled, fingers still twisting inside.
Before Ryan even had a chance to moan, the head of someone's dick was pressing into his mouth. He choked on the dryness until he gagged and the drool slipped down his chin. He had no idea who was fucking his face with such brutal precision. He didn't want to know. As long as he knew it was Brendon behind, Brendon's hand, he didn't care who else was in the room.
Ryan was closer than he thought he would be without a hand having touched his cock since the fingers pushed in. He didn't even want to think about what horrible thing Brendon would make him do if he came without permission. "Need to," he choked out, pulling off the cock in his mouth for a moment. "Bren?"
The younger smirked. "Yeah? You want to come? With my hand in your ass and everyone know how much you love it?"
Ryan would have whimpered but he was being choked again, fucking impaled on both sides. He had to come. He had to.
Brendon pulled his hand out to the widest point again, admiring the beautiful stretch. "Come," he breathed after a painful moment where the only sounds in the room were Ryan gagging. He shoved back in as he said it and the older boy lost it. He collapsed to the floor as the cock slid out of his mouth, clenching around Brendon's wrist, screaming through the pain as he spilled against his stomach and the floor. He could hardly breathe and then he was done, dry sobbing, clenching his teeth as Brendon pulled out.
Ryan felt the come hit his cheek, sticky and indistinct. And then there were footsteps as Brendon scooped Ryan up into his arms. They were going downstairs and outside, Ryan's clothes in his hands. Into the car and Brendon was so gentle, putting him down, taking off his own shirt to wipe off the wetness on Ryan's face.
"Home?" Ryan asked hopefully, eyes already closing.
"Home," Brendon agreed, smiling softly as he put the car into drive.