Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/274738.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Panic_At_The_Disco
  Character:
      Brendon_Urie
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Painplay, Masochism, Sexual_Fantasy
  Series:
      Part 4 of Hold_This_Rope
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-11-09 Words: 1969
****** Painplay jerkoff ficlet ******
by Sena
Summary
     Brendon was always a prodigy when it came to getting himself off.
     When Brendon's parents leave him alone for the night, the clothespins
     and other household pervertables come out.
Brendon sits at the kitchen table doing his homework even after his parents
leave. He's jittery and he can't keep from bouncing his leg up and down in the
way that annoys the shit out of his father, especially when he does it at the
table, but he doesn't even try to stop it. His parents are gone, will be gone
for twenty-four hours, and Brendon's got the whole house to himself.
They hadn't said anything about him not being allowed to have a party because
it was kind of a moot point. Brendon doesn't know enough people to have a
decent party, and even if he did, the neighbors are all nosey gossips and would
tell his parents as soon as they got home.
Brendon doesn't care. Brendon's got twenty-four hours of complete and total
freedom, and he intends to use them all.
He keeps working on his homework, waiting for them to come back because they
forgot something. He finishes his German and reads his stupid US History
textbook even though he totally doesn't remember what he read as soon as he
closes it.
After half an hour, which is totally restraint in his book, Brendon rushes
upstairs and locks himself in his room and he's twitchy and turned on and he
strips and throws his clothes on the floor and kneels in the middle of his room
and jerks off with all the lights on. He comes quickly, and he licks his
fingers clean and groans at how dirty and fucking hot it makes him feel, and he
grins in anticipation.
He's got the best fucking secret stash ever, hidden all over his room. He
strips the top sheet off his bed and lays it on the carpet, then starts digging
in all his hiding places. He's got a tube of Bengay in his sock drawer. He's
got a plastic bag full of wooden and plastic clothespins stuffed in the far
corner of the shelf in his closet. He's got rubber bands and a jar of Vaseline
in his desk, a lighter hidden behind his books, a flat wooden paddle hairbrush
at the bottom of his hamper, and seven white candles bundled up and taped to
the underside of his box spring.
He lays everything out on the floor within easy reach and sits cross legged on
the sheet. He opens up the bag of clothespins and pulls out a handful,
spreading them across the sheet. The plastic ones have a fierce bite, so the
wooden ones are better to start out with. He pinches a tiny little bit of skin
on the inside of his right thigh and secures a clothespin there. He takes a
deep breath and breathes through the ache, then places another one, then
another. His cock isn't hard again, yet, but he knows it will be soon.
He lines the insides of his thighs with clothespins, then lies back as he moves
up his torso. The sides of his stomach are more sensitive than the center, so
he clips the pins there. The ache is starting to build in him and his breath is
coming quick. He runs a line of clothespins up both sides of his body, then
wiggles and feels them move and tug and he presses his head back into the floor
and closes his eyes and enjoys it. He pinches his nipples, pinches and twists
and rubs until they're hard and dark and he puts one of the dark green plastic
clothespins on his left nipple and can't stop the soft groan. It bites it hard
and sends sparks right to his cock. He does it again with his right nipple,
repositions it when he doesn't get a great bite the first time.
He lies on the floor, arms and legs spread, eyes closed, breathing. He wiggles
his hips, then his shoulders, bites his lip as the dull ache builds into
something well-defined. Brendon licks his lips and waits for the pain to peak,
to start flooding him with pleasure. It always feels good, but he's found that
if he waits and lets it continue, it can go from good to completely amazing.
He thinks about somebody watching him. Not anybody in particular, just a man.
Just a guy watching him do this to himself, getting off watching Brendon hurt
himself. He doesn't have anyone in particular to think about because he's never
actually fooled around with a guy, not even in a totally vanilla way.
He's kissed guys, sure. His friends kiss each other all the time, make out
even, but it's just for show. It's just a thing they do, and then they laugh
about it like it's funny. At first Brendon had worried that they'd laugh at
him, but they don't. They think he's one of them, think he's just making out
with guys for the same reasons they do, whatever those reasons are.
Brendon likes kissing his friends. Brent never really kisses, but sometimes he
bites Brendon's lower lip and Brendon acts like it's funny even while the sharp
sting of teeth burns hot in his gut. Ryan kisses more freely if there are hot
girls around. Girls love to watch guys make out at parties, and Ryan's always
scoring girls that way. And Spencer? Spencer kisses Brendon whenever he's
bored.
It's cool that Spencer's into making out whenever he's bored, because he
doesn't just kiss Brendon at parties for show. He'll also kiss Brendon when
they're just hanging out watching a movie or playing video games or sitting in
the car two blocks from Brendon's house because he doesn't want to go home.
Brendon thinks it's kind of lame that the most erotic experience of his entire
life happened in Spencer's mom's station wagon while Matchbox 20 played on the
radio. They'd just been killing time because Brendon's curfew on Friday nights
was ten, and it was only nine-thirty, and Brendon didn't want to go home.
They'd been sitting there listening to the radio and talking about music and
Spencer had tipped his head towards Brendon and said, "So, hey," which meant he
was bored and wanted to make out.
So they'd been kissing, nothing else. They'd just been kissing, and Spencer
kissed slow and deliberate and sometimes reached up to touch Brendon's face to
get him to slow down. They'd been kissing, Spencer's hand on the side of
Brendon's face, Brendon's cock so fucking hard in his jeans from the taste of
Spencer's mouth and the sounds of their tongues and lips meeting and coming
apart. He'd leaned back to take a breath, and Spencer had leaned forward like
he didn't want to stop for even that little minute, leaned forward and kissed
Brendon hard and wound his fingers in Brendon's hair like he was trying to keep
him from pulling away again and it was the hottest moment in Brendon's entire
life.
It's kind of sad because Brendon's actually had sex. Sort of. He almost put it
inside this girl Misty from church camp but she'd said she didn't want to get
pregnant so instead he'd rubbed it against her and came on her thigh. And he's
gotten actual blowjobs. Two of them! One from Misty and one from this girl
Kenzie he'd hung out with for a while sophomore year. So Brendon's had actual
sex with girls that wasn't half as hot as the way Spencer had leaned in and
kissed him and grabbed his hair.
Brendon thinks about the guy watching him kissing him that way, gripping his
hair tight and kissing him and growling dirty things in his ear.
The things Brendon thinks of while he's getting off are so stupid. He feels
guilty and weird afterwards, but while he's turned on it's fucking hot to think
about the guy calling him a fuckslut. He'd heard that in a movie, once, had
heard some guy call a sex phone operator a fuckslut, tell her he was going to
put a plastic bag over her head and fuck her while she suffocated.
Brendon thinks he probably should have been disturbed instead of really fucking
turned on. He thinks he probably shouldn't have come away from that scene with
the desire for some guy to suffocate him and call him a fuckslut.
He runs his fingers over his skin, just to the inside of the row of
clothespins. He strokes his cock, squeezes it, pulls on his balls just a little
too hard, just until he whimpers and his hips roll of their own volition. Then
he starts pulling the clothespins off. It aches, the initial snap as he yanks
them off, then the burn as his blood rushes back. It aches and he moans and his
eyes fill with tears but he keeps going, and his cock is still hard.
He gasps as he pulls the final two clothespins off his nipples. He gasps and
he's crying a little bit from the pain and he rubs his fingers over his nipples
roughly, then pinches them, pulls at them until they're hot again.
He snaps the first rubber right below his belly button. He spreads the band
wide with the fingers of one hand, pulls up with the other and lets go and it
stings and jolts him and he does it again and again. He leaves welts on his
inner thighs and his chest and over his nipples. He pinches and twists them
over and over again, wants them so sore that they ache for days.
He lines the thick rubber band up over his cock and he's scared of how much
it's going to hurt. He's scared, but it's like it's not even in his control
anymore. He's so turned on and he has to hurt himself, has to make it bad,
because he's a fuckslut, because he's a dirty little pervert, because he needs
it more than he needs to breathe.
He lines the thick rubber band up over his cock and pulls up and lets it go and
it snaps hard against the underside of his cockhead and hurts so bad that he
cries out and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself, hands held
protectively over his dick.
Then he rolls onto his belly, one hands still on his cock, and he fucks his
hips into his fist. It still hurts, but it's so good. He grabs one of the
candles and the Vaseline and slicks it up and slides it into his ass. It
doesn't hurt much, is a little uncomfortable but in a way that makes his cock
harder. He fucks himself with the candle and jerks himself off and arches his
chest so he can get his sore nipples to drag over the sheet and he thinks of
the guy watching him, getting ready to fuck him, getting ready to make Brendon
his little fuckslut, and he comes hard, gasping, collapsing onto his belly and
rutting against his hand and the sheets.
He shakes for a while after he comes, then shifts uncomfortably, shoulder
pulled too tight beneath him, candle pressing at a sharp angle. He shifts and
makes himself lick all his come off his hand even though he doesn't want it. He
does it because it feels dirty and he likes feeling dirty. He eases the candle
out and then stretches back out on his stomach, sweaty and breathing too hard.
The guilt rises after a while. He feels so stupid, ridiculous, ashamed of
himself and the fucked up ways he gets off. He thinks about throwing everything
away, the clothespins and the candles and the Bengay, all of it. He thinks
about throwing it away but he doesn't because even beneath the guilt, he knows
it'll only be an hour or two before he does it again.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!