And, here we have the continuation of the previous chapter! This is what happens to Brendon...

Brendon looked at Ryan and Pete with scared eyes. This is all your fault, he thought, glaring at Mikey, who was being dragged away by Gerard.

"Brendon Boyd Urie," Pete said through gritted teeth, snapping the younger man out of his thoughts. "What the fuck was that?"

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuh…"

Pete rolled his eyes, looking at Ryan with his eyebrows raised. They seemed to have a silent conversation. You spank first, or me?

Ryan pointed at himself, then Pete. Me first, then you.

Pete nodded. Okay. Then he grabbed Brendon by the arm, causing him to wince, and basically dragged him off to a spare bedroom. Spencer watched the whole scene unfold, feeling kind of bad for his band member and friend. Ryan was bad enough by himself, as was Pete, but the two of them together? Brendon wouldn't be sitting for aeons.

…

"Brendon," Pete said, pulling him into the bedroom and setting him down on a chair, Ryan following closely. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Um… it was Mikey's fault?"

Ryan snorted a laugh, while Pete just rolled his eyes, turning to the man beside him. "I'm gonna go, okay? I'll be back in, like… half an hour."

Brendon watched with wide eyes as the older man left, before looking at Ryan, who was glaring at him. "Brendon," he said, "Up and over the bed."

"W-What?" he asked. That meant he was going to get the belt. "No warm-up?"

His band member shook his head, tapping his foot impatiently. Brendon stayed seated, too scared to move, before Ryan grabbed his ear and practically threw him down onto the bed, unbuckling his belt while pulling the other man's pants and underwear down.

WHAP.

Brendon yelped loudly, throwing his hand back. Ryan smacked down on his hand, instead, though, causing him to scream.

"Ry-an! Owwwwww!"

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven — Brendon started to lose track of the licks. He began to cry, tears streaming down his face and legs kicking. "Ryan, stop!" he cried. "Stopstopstopstopstop!"

But the older man powered on, and soon Brendon's bottom was covered in dark welts. He was sobbing, wails muffled by the duvet, and finally - finally - Ryan stopped.

He threw down the belt, sitting down on the bed and bringing Brendon over his lap. Expecting some sort of comfort, the younger man relaxed, before — SMACK.

"OOOOOOWWW!" Brendon screeched. "Ryaaaaaaaan!"

"Brendon," he said finally, smacking down on his bottom after, "You have been a very naughty boy, you know? You got into a fight with Mikey! Also, do you think I didn't realise the beers you'd been chugging earlier? You're nineteen, Brendon! And do you know what that means?"

"…"

"Well, do you?" he rained down five excruciatingly hard smacks.

"I-It means that what I did was… was… illegal."

"Mmhmm. Illegal. That means that you could have been arrested. How would you like to be in a jail cell right now?"
"…"

"Well?"

"I-I wouldn't like it, Ryan!"

"Damn right you wouldn't!" he exclaimed, smacking him. "Now, what are you not going to do again?"

"I-I—"

Smack. "Yes?"

"I-I'm not g-going to get into any more fights!" he cried. "And I'm not g-gonna drink underage a-again!"

"Good," the older man said, satisfied, smacking his bottom ten last times, causing the other one to break down and just start crying hysterically. He flipped him over and began to cradle him. "Shh, shh, Brendon, shh… it's okay, Bren. Shh."

"R-Ryan, i-it hurts!" he cried.

"I know, Bren, I know," he soothed. "This isn't over, though."

His red eyes widened. "W-What?"

"There's still Pete," he said, rubbing circles onto his back.

"B-B-But! That's not fair, Ryan! I can't take anymore!"

He smacked his bottom. "That's a lie and you know it — you have a limit, Bren, and it hasn't been reached yet. I'm gonna go, now, though. Pete'll be here in—" he looked at his phone. "Five minutes. Relax, okay? I'll put some cream on your bottom when you come back to my place."

And then he was gone. Brendon whimpered, massaging his bottom with his hand. It hurt. How could he deal with more? Oh, right. He couldn't.

Pulling up his boxers gently and throwing his pants onto the floor, he laid down on the bed, stomach down and face buried in the pillow. He heard the door open and turned his head, watching as Pete entered. The older man smiled slightly, sitting next to Brendon and rubbing his back with his palm.

"Brendon," he said. "I need you to get up, okay? Bend over the chair."

Sniffling, he slowly rose and bent over the chair, ass in the air. "Bren, this is going to be harsh," Pete said. "Like, really harsh. And I know you've already gotten spanked by Ryan, but I need you to be strong for this. Okay?"

"O-Okay…" How harsh was harsh?

Brendon heard some commotion behind him and wondered what Pete was doing. When he felt a hard tap on his bottom, though, he knew.

The cane.

"P-Pete?" he asked, scared. He'd only gotten the cane once, and that was when he'd gotten arrested for stealing CDs… he'd never intended to repeat that experience.

"Brendon, fights are unacceptable," he said. "So is underaged drinking. And you need to understand that."

"I-I already understand that!"

"No, I don't think you do," Pete said. "Now, I'm going to start. Deep breaths, okay?"

"O-Oka—OOOOOW!"

The first lick came barrelling down, leaving a long stripe over his bruises. Another one came down almost instantly after, and another, and another.

Brendon had soon started sobbing again, his tears soaking the carpet below him. Pete was careful, though. He didn't overlap strikes — that would make Brendon's skin break and start bleeding. That's not what he wanted.

Wailing, the younger man didn't even try to stop the caning anymore. It hurt too much. He'd never sit again (well, that was an exaggeration).

Even when it was over, he continued to sob, face hidden in his hands. He was vaguely aware that Pete had lifted him up and onto the bed and was whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but focused mostly on the pain.

"Brendon, shh," he hushed. "It's okay — shh, shh, shh. Calm down, Brendon. Shh…"

"P-Pete," he whimpered. "It hurts."

"It's supposed to hurt, Bren," he replied. "Now, I'm gonna get your pants, okay? Then I'm gonna drive you back to Ryan's."

Hiccupping, Brendon nodded as Pete gently put him down and went to retrieve his pants. He lifted the other man's legs up, sliding his pants onto him and wincing at the cry of pain he let out.

"It's okay," he murmured comfortingly, picking him up before going out the backdoor of the room and finding his car in the mass of vehicles in Gerard's driveway.

Ten minutes later, Brendon was almost in tears again due to his bottom rubbing against the seat. Once they were out of the car, Pete patted his back sympathetically before going to knock on Ryan's door.

He opened the door a few moments later, hair ruffled. "Oh, hey, Pete," he said, looking at the man who had signed their band before looking at the pouting boy next to him.

"Be easy on him, okay?" Pete asked. "I don't think he'll be sitting comfortably for at least two weeks."

Ryan nodded, waving goodbye and watching as the older man got into his car. After, he beckoned Brendon in, watching as his bandmate shuffled inside, rubbing his bottom dolefully. He chuckled, guiding him up to the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, he bent Brendon over his lap.

"R-Ryan?" Brendon asked, scared. "Are you going to sp… sp… spank me again?"

"No," Ryan said. "And don't make it so I have to, either. I'm just gonna rub some cream onto your bottom, okay?"

The younger man nodded, hissing as his pants and underwear were pulled down. Ryan whistled. "Damn, Pete really went to town," he said. "I'll be careful while applying the cream, okay?"

"Okay," Brendon sniffled, whimpering as Ryan put the cool lotion onto his bottom.

Soon, though, his bottom started to feel a tiny, tiny bit better. He relaxed, Ryan pulling up his boxers but leaving his pants off.

"Time for bed, now," Ryan said, patting his backside. "It's pretty late, and you could use a lot of sleep."

Brendon nodded, sniffling, following his older bandmate into his bedroom and letting himself be put to bed. Ryan pulled the blankets up before patting his shoulder and saying, "Goodnight, Brendon."

"Goodnight, Ryan," he replied sleepily, flipping over onto his stomach and soon falling asleep.

…

Brendon woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. A smile graced his lips as he climbed out of bed, wincing as his bottom scraped against his boxers. He rubbed it dolefully before stumbling down the stairs, entering the kitchen with a grin.

"Breakfaaast!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down around Ryan, who chuckled in return.

"Go wait at the table," the older man told him. He pouted.

"But I want to help!"

"Bren, I don't think you can help — just go wait, okay? The pancakes are almost ready, and the bacon's just cooling down."

Still sulking, he went to the table and sat down, before crying out loudly and jumping back up, rubbing his bottom. "There's a pillow over on the sofa," Ryan said without turning around. Brendon went to get it, but stopped when he saw something that caught his interest.

A pie.

"Ooh, pie!" he exclaimed, running toward it, but was stopped by Ryan grabbing his shirt collar and yanking him backward.

"That's not for you," he scolded. "That's for Spence - his sister's having a baby, remember? He's gonna give it to her as a congratulatory pie."

"B-But! Spencer's sister doesn't need a pie!"

"And you do?"

"… Yes?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, smacking his bottom once. "Brendon, just go sit down. Breakfast'll be ready soon, okay?"

"Okay," he pouted, snatching the pillow and going to sit at the table.

Chuckling, his older bandmate went to finish the pancakes. A couple minutes later, Ryan was stacking the pancakes onto a plate. He turned around, looking up from putting the whipped cream onto them and saying, "Who wants panc— Brendon!"

Brendon blinked, looking at Ryan with his mouth open and a half-eaten slice of pie in his hand. "Oh my god," the older man groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What the hell, Brendon?"

"Oh, how did that get there?" he laughed nervously, looking at the pie and setting it down.

"It's ruined," he moaned, looking at the pie longingly. "I spent all morning on that, Bren!"

"Only one piece is missing," Brendon said, scared of the angry look in Ryan's eyes.

"One piece my ass!" Ryan retorted. "You took like half the pie in one piece!"

"It's still one piece," he said weakly.

The older man rolled his eyes, grabbing him by the forearm and dragging him to the sofa. He pulled him over his lap, and Brendon immediately started to beg, "Ryan, please, plea— OW!"

Smacks raining down, Ryan began to lecture, "Brendon, I know it's just a pie, and that's not really what I'm angry about. I'm angry about the fact that you directly disobeyed me! And that's unacceptable!"

"I-I know it's unacceptable and I-I'm sorrrrrry!"

"I don't think you are." Ten more smacks.

"Ry-aaaaan!" He began to sob. Normally he wouldn't be crying this hard yet — but with all the welts, stripes, and bruises on his bottom from the previous day it hurt like hell.

The spanking went on for another five minutes before Ryan stopped. Brendon was wailing, tears falling freely from his eyes and legs kicking.

"Hush," he said, lifting the younger man up from his lap. "Shh, Bren. Now go upstairs and get dressed. You have to go apologise to Mikey."

Brendon sniffled, looking at Ryan with wide eyes. "No hug?"

"No hug," Ryan confirmed, patting his bottom. "Now go get dressed."

…

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Ryan went to answer it and was surprised to find it was Frank and Mikey. He let them inside, calling for Brendon.

As the day progressed, Ryan became more and more unhappy with Brendon's behaviour. Hadn't that reminder that morning been enough? Apparently not.

Once the two of them were gone, Ryan sent Brendon upstairs and sat on the couch.

What to do, what to do… he wondered, before calling up Pete.

The phone rang for a few seconds before the older man picked up. "Hello?"
"Oh, hey, Pete… um, I kind of need help with Brendon."
Pete sighed. "What did he do this time?"

"He was really, really obnoxious and rude while Mikey and Frank were over today," Ryan explained. "And his ass… it's so… bruised. I don't want to worsen it."

"Yeah, I get what you mean… how 'bout you just make, like, a mental mark? Like, one mark is just one normal, not-that-harsh spanking. Throughout the week see how many marks he gets. By the end, if he has, like, five, then give him a pretty hard spanking. If he gets, like, eight - as Brendon will probably somehow do - then give him a really harsh spanking. The welts will have disappeared mostly by the end of the week, so it won't be that bad. Well, I mean, it'll be bad, but it won't just be bad because of the welts."

"Hmm," Ryan said thoughtfully. "That's a pretty good idea, Pete. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Have a good night, Ry. Tell Bren I said hi."

"I will. Bye!"

"Bye."

And that was that.

Ryan went upstairs, finding Brendon stuffed underneath his blankets with a pillow over his head. "Please don't spank me," he mumbled into the mattress. "Pleeaase."

"I'm not going to spank you, Bren," he said, taking the pillow off his head and turning him around. "I just came up here to say that Pete says hi."

Brendon looked at him with wide eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"So, you're not going to spank me?"

"The only reason I'm not spanking you is because your bottom's so bad," Ryan explained. "Although that doesn't mean you're off the hook. I'm gonna give you a strike, okay?"

"A strike? This isn't baseball, Ryan."

He laughed. "That's not what I meant. I mean a strike as in you've got a mark on your otherwise clean slate. Throughout the rest of the week, we'll see how many more strikes end up on your chart. If it's a lot then I'm sorry, Brendon—" he patted his shoulder. "You're in for a rough time."

"B-But!" Brendon spluttered. "That's not fair!"

Ryan scrunched his eyebrows. "I think it's more fair than giving you a spanking straight on that bottom. Unless that's what you'd prefer?"

"N-No… that's not what I meant."

"Okay. Then, have we come to an agreement?"

"… Yes."

Smiling, Ryan said, "Good. Now, get some sleep, Bren. We have to go visit Spencer. His sister's having the baby, remember? And because you ate the pie, we have to go buy a new one at the bakery tomorrow. And you're paying."

Brendon groaned, hiding his face behind the duvet. Ryan chuckled. "G'night, Bren."

"Night, Ryan."

…

The next days flew by, and Ryan watched as his mental tallies grew and grew. Brendon sure knew how to get in trouble. Every day, he'd do at least two misdeeds, if not more. By the end of the week, Ryan was twitching with irritation. The other man had almost been too much of a nuisance. He couldn't deal with it any longer.

On Saturday, Ryan sat in his room, counting up how many strikes Brendon had made in total — eleven. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking up at the ceiling. What am I going to do with him?

Pushing himself up, he walked down the hall to Brendon's room, knocking on the door lightly.

"Yeah?" a voice groaned from within and he opened the door, stepping in.

"Brendon?" he asked, and the younger man looked up from where he was practicing piano.

"Oh, hey, Ryan."

He sat down on the bed, motioning him over. "Bren, do you know why I'm here?"

"Uh… because I should be going to bed soon?"

"No, B. Remember our deal?"

"Our… de— oh." He looked up at Ryan with pleading eyes. "Can we please not do that? Please?"

"No, we can't," he said firmly. "You've been a complete nuisance this whole week. And guess how many strikes you've acquired."

"… Like, three?"

"Eleven, Brendon. Eleven."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He grabbed the younger man by the arm and pushed him over his lap. "Now, c'mon. I didn't even think you could possibly go over eight, but no. You've gotten eleven."

"Ryan, please," Brendon pleaded. "Please don't spank me. I'll behave, I promise!"

"We both know that isn't true, Bren," Ryan said, before pulling down his sweatpants and boxers and smacking down.

They continued raining down, and soon Brendon started to cry. "Ry-an! St-stop!"

That never worked, of course, and after a couple more minutes Ryan reached for the hairbrush in the drawer of his night desk. He smacked it down hard, and Brendon yowled, reaching his hand back (which Ryan stopped with a tap).

The swats continued coming, and soon the younger man was kicking his legs, begging him to stop. But Ryan continued — he wouldn't stop until he was absolutely sure that Brendon had learned his lesson.

Ten minutes later, and the brush still hadn't relented. Finally, five minutes after that, it did, and Ryan picked him up, cradling him in his arms.

"Shh, Bren," he murmured. "Shh. It's okay. Shh…"

"It hurts, Ryaaan," he whined.

"That's the point, Bren," Ryan said, rubbing circles onto his back. "Now c'mon, let's get you to bed."

He tucked him in, watching as the other man fidgeted before flipping over onto his stomach. He chuckled, rubbing circles onto his back before he was sure he'd fallen asleep.

"G'night, Bren," he whispered, shutting off the lights and leaving.

Yes, Brendon did get spanked over a pie. I couldn't think of anything else, alright?