another nonsmut ask sorry you can shoot me in the head sorry
basically Spencer gets really jealous of how close brendon and Ryan are getting and he kills brendon.
I really like the way you write.
what do you mean this isnt smut. this is so smut. what’s more sexual and hot than killing someone? wouldnt you get off to murder too??
brendon waking up in spencer’s dirty bedroom, tied to the leg of the bed, a muzzle on his mouth like a bad dog. he can barely recognize the room for a moment in the complete darkness, thrashing around in the ropes like he’s being electrocuted. then the bedside lamp clicks on, dimly illuminating the room, and brendon seems to quickly calm down; it’s just spencer’s bedroom, he thinks. he’s pranking me: of course he is.
so brendon laughs, nervous and pathetic, his legs squirming in tight ropes that leave red marks on his pale little ankles. then his eyes land on his friend, spencer, who’s in the midst of sliding black disposable gloves onto his hands. he’s in a cheap and dirty black hoodie that seems as disposable as the gloves, and behind him, on his nightstand, is cleaning supplies. again brendon laughs; he’ll have to admit that spencer’s little ‘prank’ is good enough to get him a little paranoid. he’d sure ryan and jon are peeking around from a closet, or maybe outside the room giggling and waiting for him to scream like a total pussy.
in attempt to ask spencer what’s going on, brendon hums in question, tilting his head. spencer makes eye contact with him dead-on, and he stares for a moment, like he’s taking in the gorgeous life in those confused puppy eyes one last time. then spencer smiles, short and sweet, and he slips a sharp knife from his dollar tree bag of supplies. “hey, brendon,” he greets, giving his friend a wave, the plastic glove crinking uncomfortably at the movement.
brendon isn’t laughing anymore; he wriggles in utter discomfort, his knees cowering closer to his body, nearly instinctually. “don’t do that, b,” spencer says with a frown, his voice high like he’s cooing a baby. finally, with a flashy click, he heats up the knife’s blade with a long lighter. he sighs softly, stepping forward until he drops to his knees in front of brendon. “now, brendon,” he starts, his face again deadpan, a far contrast to the growing fear in his friend’s gaze. “have you noticed anything lately? about ryan?” and when brendon shakes his head, a little too quick to seem he still believes this is a prank, spencer adds: “because i have.”
gently, spencer’s hands reach out, slicing brendon’s shirt down the middle. brendon squirms, more and more rapidly, until the blade, still warm from the fire, presses against his neck. “don’t move, do you understand? i swear to god, brendon, i’ll slice your neck just like this.”
brendon nods, every movement of his body stilling. he whimpers stupidly, completely tense as spencer discards his shirt. “thank you, brendon. where was i? oh, yes. ryan’s really been on you lately, brendon, and i just… god, sometimes i get a little jealous, you know? it’s like i could…”
spencer stops, as if lost in thought, and he shoves the knife into brendon’s stomach. the muzzle does little to muffle brendon’s scream, but at least it keeps his mouth closed; that satisfies spencer enough, even if the screaming continues and grows as he twists the knife, ninety degrees, another ninety, then the rest of the way. the blood that gushes from the wound makes him cringe as much as brendon’s cries do. “would you cut that out? god, you can’t-“ between words, he yanks the knife out, watching blankly at the bloody mess coming from brendon’s wound. “-do anything right. this is ugly, brendon, really ugly. how could ryan ever love you with this mess?”
he takes a moment to bring his eyes back to brendon’s face, and he just can’t help how hard it gets him watching the other man sob in pain. it’s died down to hurt whimpers and heavy breaths, but the clumped lashes, the drool dripping from under the muzzle, is a sight enough to make spencer’s cock twitch in his pants. he almost wants to give ryan some understanding; watching brendon usually isn’t all that, but the boy sure is beautiful bleeding out at the hands of spencer.
so he does it again, in a new spot, pushing deeper and deeper into brendon’s flesh, and the screaming comes back, although he starts to learn how to block that out. he even changes is up, dragging the blade against brendon’s chest, watching the pretty gash form and drip like a pretty painting. it’s almost hard to stay focused; he’s killing brendon to have ryan, not to get off to the bloody mess he’s made.
one more disgusting stab of his knife, and brendon’s cries fall down to silence, his head falling limp. “oh, poor thing,” spencer whispers, a frown forming on his lip. he was almost hoping he’d stay alive a little bit longer. what a shame, and what a waste; he died too soon. spencer didn’t get his time to really soak it all in!!!!:( of course, maybe he’ll make use of the body: fuck a wound or two, learn how ryan felt when he was actually able to lie a hand on brendon.
