strictly speaking, the tomato is not a vegetable

epic last song

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 05:46:17 GMT

I just spent hours posting all my abandoned works in progress. Go here:

unfetished

And there they will be. Comments welcome, some of them are pretty long, many of them are pretty porny.

It's probably fairly obvious that I'm kinda done with this fandom. I don't care much for the Brendon&Spencer band, and there hasn't been anything else that's struck my fannish interest (aside from Ryan Ross's continued existence). Bandom pretty much burned me out on fandom entirely, which wasn't something I thought could ever happen. Here's hoping for a more positive experience and less anonymous gossip if there is a next time around for me.

If you've been cool, thank you, you've made this worth it for me, both the first time around and when I came back to this LJ. :) I'll be in touch, and still around to answer comments here, though I don't foresee another return - I'm done being AK, whoever you think that is. Think I'd rather just be Sara for awhile and see how that goes.

It's been real, guys.

<3,
Sara

ETA: And though I've locked most of the non-fic entries of this LJ, I will not be deleting it, at least not for a long damn time. The fic will remain unlocked and exactly where it is, and if I ever do delete, I'll put every story up on my website first, I hate losing stories as much as anyone.

lol ak

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 01:01:41 GMT

After posting that last entry I realized that it's sort of indicative of where I am with LJ that my first entry in weeks was just reposting a Twitpic...which was in fact the same thing I did in the last entry before that. As much as I still enjoy Ryan Ross's existence, I think the brief post-Panic-split high of OTP inspiration has passed. I haven't written anything in what feels like a long while and I'm not really inspired to. At this point posting fic feels more like shouting into a void than it ever has, and that's a bummer way to feel. It reminds me of how I felt before I gave up on popslash, except this time there's not anything amazing for me to jump into. Though considering how shitty the last three and a half years have been, maybe that's a fucking blessing.

This week should be okay, I'm going to LA and going to see Cobra when they do whatever TV show they're doing this week (Kimmel I think?), then TAI on Wednesday, followed by Cobra and Fall Out Boy at Los Premios, which is an award show thing, so that should be a cool few songs to break up like seven hours of standing around. After that, who the fuck knows.

Anyway, over the last few years I've amassed a ridiculous amount of works in progress, some of them with thousands of words. I've been toying with the idea of making another LJ and posting them all, so people could read the porn at least, and because it seems like even more of a waste of time to have all those words written and never let anyone read them. So basically it would just be like an entire LJ of WiP Amnesty, probably with notes on where each one would have ended up or whatever. Any interest?

Fic: Carving Out Our Names. Brendon/Ryan. NC-17.

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 19:33:52 GMT

popoffacork writers have been revealed! Of course the awesome fic I received was by softlyforgotten, and I in turn wrote pining early years Brendon/Ryan for her. <3

( Carving Out Our Names. Brendon/Ryan. NC-17. )

Fic: Dance With A Ghost. Brendon/Ryan. PG.

Thu, 06 Aug 2009 02:19:45 GMT

Last night I was sad and couldn't sleep so I told myself a story. When I woke up it I thought other people would like to hear it, so I wrote it down. This is super heavily inspired by imagery from Baz Luhrmann's version of Romeo + Juliet. My beta suggested that listening to this song as you read might assist with the mood. (For what it's worth, I mostly wrote it with this in mind, and the title comes from there as well.) Hope you enjoy. :)

Title: Dance With A Ghost
Author: Sara
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: 2009 future canon. Kiss me and tell me it's not broken.
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Beta: Thank you Jessa!
Word Count: 2215

After a few glasses of champagne the party doesn't seem so bad, the bright lights softened by Brendon's fizzy vision and the mask starting to feel like part of his skin. He's not quite intoxicated enough to press his cheek to the glass of the fish tank, but he's warm enough to want to, and alone enough to grasp for companionship with the brightly-colored tropical fish in the probably very expensive tank. Brendon looks through blue water and thinks about comfortable couches and snuggling with long-limbed boys while watching the Red Curtain Trilogy on rainy days, and he smiles, he has enough distance to smile at the memory.

A tiny grey shark swims by and pair of eyes meet Brendon's in the wake of it; Brendon startles up, the action mirrored by a mask contrasting with his own, cheap glittering gold to his curlicued black. He stares through the water and coral and swaying seaweed and the boy on the other side blinks back at him, light brown eyes and a familiar curve of lips, a face he'd know anywhere even at a masquerade. He wonders if he's dreaming, if he's dreamed this Halloween masquerade in this almost too-beautiful hotel, if he'll wake up and he won't be alone in bed, Ryan will be beside him instead of on the opposite side of the glass.

He parts his lips to speak and then there's a hand on his shoulder, Spencer wheeling him around and pushing another glass of champagne into his hand. "Hey," Spencer says, "you're not bored are you?"

It takes Brendon a second to come back to Earth, and when he does look back Ryan's vanished like he was never there at all. "Not bored," Brendon manages. He takes a swill of champagne to cool his throat, and Spencer claps him on the shoulder and clinks their glasses together.

"Had any mysterious strangers sweep you off your feet yet?" Spencer asks. He takes a look around the room, the light catching on the white curves of his mask, accented with funny little cherubs Spencer had taken a shine to.

"Nope," Brendon says, and finishes his glass in one long swallow. "You'll have to do," he tells Spencer, and circles Spencer's wrist with his fingers, pulling him toward the dance floor.

Spencer laughs but takes to it easily enough, letting Brendon twirl him in the crush, then taking the lead when Brendon grins and bats his eyelashes.

"There's no one else we know here, is there?" Brendon asks, eyes on the edges of the crowd and looking out for a head full of curls, a gold glitter mask. A pretty girl catches his eye, but she's looking at Spencer, coming toward them, and beyond her Brendon sees a flash of gold, follows a familiar form stalking along the room's edge.

He releases Spencer into the girl's attention as Spencer answers, "Only friends we haven't met yet," and greets the girl, and Brendon waves over his shoulder as he goes after the guy he's sometimes wished he never met at all.

Ryan must have crashed the party, meaning Jon's probably around here somewhere too, and maybe Eric or Alex. Brendon thinks he should have said something to Spencer, warned him, but there's a tiny part of him that thinks, wants to think that it's just a strange resemblance, that he's imagined it all. It's been a few months since Brendon's seen them, him; this could just be some random boy he's chasing, maybe even someone he could have for the night through a fog of champagne, through half-closed eyes.

Brendon pushes through the crowd of masked faces and warm bodies, and the music swells above the sounds of revelry and spreads to the gilded ceilings, shakes the flowers clustered in bouquets. Brendon brushes shoulders and murmurs apologies and focuses on the boy in front of him who's walking away until he isn't anymore, and Brendon's fingers curl in Ryan's jacket sleeve, and Ryan turns to face him.

Brendon's warm, too warm in his suit in this Beverly Hills ballroom. He licks his lips so the words will slide out more easily but they stay stuck in his throat. Ryan takes his elbow, and Brendon spares a glance back to the crowd, to Spencer laughing and dancing, then turns back to see Ryan hold a finger to his lips. His fingertips are shimmering, and gold glitter has flaked off onto his cheeks, flushed a warm red; Brendon wonders if he'll ever not notice how beautiful Ryan is.

He lets himself be guided through the crowd, lets Ryan carry him through the blurring sea of people until they reach an empty alcove with ornate curling moldings and angels painted on the ceiling. Champagne swims through Brendon's veins, and he lets the momentum get them to the wall, Ryan backed up against it, a spill of leaves brushing his shoulder from a potted plant on a high shelf.

In slow motion and shining half gold Ryan seems to be made of light, glitter melting into smears of brightness then catching each tiny point and flashing. Brendon reaches up to touch the mask, feel the sharp scratch of cheap glitter and let it remind him that Ryan's made of nothing but skin and bone and ornament, but his thumb lands on Ryan's soft cheek instead. This close to Ryan he feels weightless, like he's watching himself from a distance in a dream, but touching Ryan serves to ground him between sky and earth, painted ceiling and parquet floor. Brendon leans in close and Ryan catches his hand, drawing Brendon's focus away as Ryan's fingers push between his, shimmering fingertips stroking through the tender spaces between his knuckles until their palms meet, hands twisting close so their wrists touch too. Brendon breathes in deep and thinks of nothing but the next touch.

Brendon feels dizzy, dry-mouthed and like he might fade in and out of focus as Ryan stares at him, and he wonders if Ryan's intoxication matches his own, if he thinks Brendon's gone mad or if he's as caught up in it as Brendon is. He wants to ask, but he doesn't want to speak. Ryan blinks at him behind the mask and Brendon squeezes his hand, rubbing his thumb over Ryan's knuckles, sliding the base of his palm against Ryan's wrist as if sheer will would let their skin blend together so they could never let go.

Ryan cups Brendon's cheek, fingertips grazing the mask. Brendon wants to look away, escape the sadness he can see in Ryan's eye, but he'd rather look at Ryan hurting than not look at him at all, and that's the difference between them.

Brendon exhales, inaudible in the swell of violins and voices, and tilts his head up just a fraction, waiting for the world to fall down around him.

Ryan kisses him instead.

Automatically Brendon's eyes slip shut, and losing that sense brings the others intensely into focus. Ryan smells like he always does, like cloves and warm smoke, and tastes like the same champagne Brendon's been drinking. The air is made of music and Brendon feels, he feels everything, the hot press of Ryan's mouth against his, lips firm but soft, the tease of his tongue against Brendon's. Brendon opens and lets him lead, slipping his hand into Ryan's open collar to get to skin, then circling his thumb over the top of Ryan's spine like he knows Ryan's always liked. He stands his ground when Ryan gets closer and their bodies press together, chest to chest, Brendon's leg pushing between Ryan's, the pressure hot but not demanding.

They've kissed before, but somehow this still feels new. Brendon's fallen in love with Ryan hundreds of times, felt it crest and settle and rise again and again, but he's never loved this Ryan, never had the chance to fall in love with the Ryan in front of him, and he is.

The moments between kisses get briefer, gasps of air taken and stolen away until Brendon's light-headed, grounded only by the press of Ryan's mouth to his, the offer and demand of it, blending until it feels like this is all they've ever done, that they've only ever kissed this way, in this house, on this night, surrounded by music and strangers and each other. Ryan's teeth catch and release Brendon's lower lip, soothing the sting with a slow lick, and Brendon kisses fiercely back until he's not sure which of them is holding the other up.

Through the din of the crowd and the rushing in Brendon's ears he hears his name, called over the room, feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Ryan pulls back at the feel of it, his eyes glazed as he stares at Brendon, and Brendon's sure he must look just as wrecked, mouth kiss-swollen and skin flushed. Brendon can't go yet, he can't walk away from this, and he keeps his hand tightly linked with Ryan's as he looks away from the source of the voice calling him and seeks an escape. Ryan touches his chest and points up, and Brendon follows his eyes to see an elevator door open, spilling out a few drunken revelers.

Brendon pulls, Ryan pushes, and they stumble in, Ryan crowding Brendon to the wall and stabbing the second floor button before pressing his mouth to Brendon's again. Brendon reaches blindly for the door close button and brushes it, and the doors slip shut, cutting off the sound of his name from outside.

This, now, this, this, is all Brendon can think, all he wants to think with Ryan's body against his, Ryan's hand pressed to the small of his back and pulling him in like they were made to do this, like their mouths were made to kiss only each other. His lips are tingling, sore almost, like they're rubbing each other raw, kissing down to the bone. Brendon would let it happen, he'd kiss Ryan until they both disappeared, until the elevator doors parted and revealed nothing but gilded panels and mirrors and the ghosts of two boys holding each other like they were dancing.

He kisses Ryan harder, fierce and eager, and he feels Ryan give it all back until the upward motion halts and a bell dings and music rushes in with air and light and they break apart, split down the middle like a lightning-struck tree and stumbling back from each other. The haze clears and Brendon blinks and blinks and outside the elevator doors he sees Spencer, arms folded, and Jon and Alex - probably Alex, though Brendon's not sure with the mask - all standing there staring at them. Brendon swallows.

"Hey," Spencer says flatly.

"Hey Brendon," Jon says. Brendon tries to summon up a smile. It doesn't work. He nods instead, and Jon tilts his head at Ryan. "Ry, it's time to go. I think they figured out we crashed."

"Okay," Ryan says, his voice soft. "Hi Spence," he adds. Brendon determinedly does not look at him, but he doesn't have to in order to know that Ryan's looking down, his hands in his pockets. He always did that to hide when they shook.

"Ryan," Spencer says shortly, inclining his head in Ryan's direction. "Brendon, I think it's probably time to go. The driver's waiting."

Brendon nods and steps out of the elevator, stopping it from closing with his hand. He thinks of Spencer's arm around him all those months, Spencer being there after Ryan left, Spencer being there after Ryan left again, picking up the pieces without Brendon ever asking him to. Spencer saying that he loved Ryan, they all did, but he didn't deserve Brendon. That Ryan needed to figure his shit out, and even if he did, it probably still wouldn't be a good idea to go there again. Brendon wonders if Ryan figured his shit out. Brendon, apparently, hasn't.

Spencer puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder and guides him toward the stairs. As Brendon takes the banister, he hears Ryan and Jon start to argue behind him. Ryan sounds as miserable as Brendon feels. "You feeling okay?" Spencer asks. Brendon is not. He takes the stairs slowly, feeling alcohol-slow and kiss-stupid and like he left something of himself behind. Like he tried to leave the house without wearing any shoes, except this time he tried to leave Ryan without taking back his heart. "Too much to drink?" Spencer asks, his voice softer.

Brendon nods, taking the easy out and leaning gratefully into Spencer. "It was stupid of me," he says. Spencer squeezes his shoulder as they step out into the dark night, the lights and sounds of the party dimming behind them. Somehow the temperate night makes the mask feel stifling, and Brendon reaches up to take it off, struggling with the knot. Spencer stills his hands and helps, carefully untangling the knot. The mask slips down Brendon's face and tumbles to the ground, ribbons fluttering and landing in a heap. Brendon's fingers and suit are dusted with gold glitter. When he tries to brush it away, it clings.

"Do you still want it?" Spencer asks, gesturing to the fallen mask.

"Leave it," Brendon says, and lets Spencer guide him into the car, and into the night.

stuff! things! kitties!

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 20:53:30 GMT

The "You Should Write..." Meme!
my thread here

Do this! I have a lot of things I want to write but it's hard to choose sometimes.

Fic: Give Me Empathy. Brendon/Ryan, Spencer/Jon. PG.

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 01:25:23 GMT

On another note entirely, here is a fic about boys with superpowers.

Title: Give Me Empathy
Author: Sara
Rating: PG
Pairings: Brendon/Ryan, Spencer/Jon
Summary: Everyone has adorably useless superpowers. Otherwise, everything is pretty similar.
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Notes: Thank you for the inspiration, softlyforgotten!

1992

Spencer was a sad child born under a little grey cloud. He didn't always understand what grown-ups talked about when they looked at him with curious eyes and knotted hands. When they asked why he was sad he didn't know what to say. He just was. His mama was nice and his dad was nice and his little sisters were nice (but loud), but no matter what they did, most of the time Spencer was just sad. Spencer's mama thought that maybe if they moved somewhere else he might be more cheerful - maybe if they moved to another part of town, where the skies weren't always so strangely grey all the time, but Spencer didn't mind the clouds.

One day he met a boy with skinny arms and big sad eyes. Ryan dressed funny, in a shirt that hung off his thin frame with three scarves around his neck. Spencer looked up at him curiously, his hands still on the storybook in his lap. "How come you're wearing those?" Spencer asked. Behind Ryan, the sky turned a little bit greyer.

"They're my mom's," Ryan said, winding thin fingers through the ends of a flowered scarf made of shiny material.

"She lets you wear her clothes?" Spencer asked.

"No," Ryan said. "She left them at our house."

Spencer took that in. Sometimes his mom left the house, but she always came back. It had never occurred to Spencer to dress up in her clothes when she was gone. "They look nice," Spencer decided. He patted the grass beside him. "Do you want to sit down and read with me?"

"Okay," Ryan said. He smiled, and Spencer smiled back. Spencer couldn't help it. He was happy.

Above them, the sun came out.

2006

Spencer first realized something was amiss when Brendon spilled a cup of water on Spencer's lap and Spencer just found his clumsiness charming.

"Are you serious?" Spencer demanded of Ryan, as soon as Brendon stopped squawking apologies and went to go get some paper towels.

"What?" Ryan asked, automatically on the defensive.

"You have a crush on him," Spencer hissed. "He's your lead singer, do you know what a bad idea that is?"

"You don't know that," Ryan said, but it would have been obvious that he was lying even if Spencer hadn't been fucking cursed with Ryan-specific empathy. Goddamn Ryan got to practically be badass Storm from X-Men, and Spencer and his stupid luck got stuck with all of Ryan's emo. "I just like him as a friend. And he looks really nice with his new haircut."

Spencer shook his head. "Uh huh. Try that again on someone who can't read your stupid mind. Is that why this has been the sunniest February tour ever?"

"It has been sunny," Brendon commented as he came back into the lounge with a roll of paper towels. "It's been nice. I guess we can thank you for that, Ryan." Brendon shot a grin in Ryan's direction, and Spencer felt an overwhelming surge of unbrotherly affection for Brendon.

Fucking Ryan.

-

"Fucking Ryan," Spencer bitched to Jon. "He won't just say something to Brendon. It's been months. You know what the worst part is? Ryan's actually better at hiding crushes than me. This is humiliating."

"Brendon did tell me he thought you had the hots for him," Jon said thoughtfully. He had his arm slung over the back of the couch. Spencer sidled closer until Jon grinned and put his hand on Spencer's shoulder, pulling him in. Spencer settled in, already feeling a little less mad. Jon smelled nice.

"What'd you say?" Spencer asked.

"I told him I had the hots for him." Jon sighed. "Then he started flirting with me. I think it helped distract him. He seemed a little freaked out."

"How come you get the useful power?" Spencer said. Jon rubbed his thumb over the join between Spencer's neck and shoulder, soothing an ache he hadn't known was there. "I wish I could calm people down. Being tied to Ryan sucks."

"Could be worse," Jon pointed out. "Like with Pete and Jeanae. Or William."

Spencer winced at the mention of William. It wasn't that bad of a power, having boys fall in love with you all the time. Except that William was straight. And Spencer had been one of the boys. That had been an awkward week on tour. "Yeah," Spencer sighed. He snuggled further into Jon. "I guess it could be worse."

-

Spencer woke up happy. He walked into the kitchen area of the bus, whistling a jaunty tune. He was deciding between strawberry or s'mores Pop-Tarts when the bus door popped open and Jon peered in.

"Good, you're awake," Jon said. "Come out here. Brendon found a farm. There are kittens."

Spencer nodded, accepting that. He blindly chose a silver package of Pop-Tarts and followed Jon out.

There was, indeed, a farm. The venue was a small amphitheatre adjacent to a larger town, and there wasn't much around this early except for a few beleagured venue staff members and the occasional car or two. Spencer followed Jon toward a barn not too far away. From a distance he could see the lavendar beacon of Brendon's hoodie.

When they reached Brendon and Ryan, Spencer was almost surprised to see them not making out or something. He had rarely felt this content.

"Spencer, you have Pop-Tarts!" Brendon said joyfully. Spencer beamed back and gave him one without a second thought. He wanted very much to give him both, but resisted the urge; he was his own man, dammit, no matter if Ryan wanted to give Brendon all the Pop-Tarts in the world. Ryan smiled at Spencer, looking up from the daisy chain he was making from the pile of plucked daisies on the grass next to him. The sun shone brightly down on them all.

"You have kittens," Spencer noted. Jon was already crouched down next to Brendon, cooing at the pair of wee stripey orange kittens in Brendon's lap. Spencer settled down onto the grass next to Ryan, watching as the mama cat returned from the barn, another kitten in her jaws. She came up to Brendon and dropped the kitten next to the other two, causing a chorus of tiny meows. As Spencer watched, the mama cat head-butted Brendon's thigh, purring loudly. Brendon scratched her behind the ears and grinned.

"Yeah!" Brendon said. One of the kittens was kneading his thigh, teeny tiny claws catching in his jeans, still not even long enough to reach his skin. "Isn't it awesome?"

Despite having lived his whole life with the ability to make animals feel what he felt, Brendon never seemed to lose his excitement for it. True, he felt horribly bad when his emo moods bummed out puppies and made birds stop singing, but those moods were few and far between. Mostly he just made dogs run in happy circles and cats purr when he walked into a room. Spencer had always been a little jealous of his power, but not as jealous as Jon.

Spencer grinned goofily back at Brendon, not aware he was doing it until Ryan poked him in the side. "It's totally awesome," Spencer said to Brendon, trying to look at him like a normal person. The mama cat returned and dropped another kitten into the growing pile on Brendon's lap.

"Brendon," Ryan said loudly. "I finished your crown." He held up a circlet of daisies, and then smiled, soft and sweet, when Brendon ducked his head to let Ryan put it on him. Brendon beamed at Ryan and then gave him a kiss on the cheek. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and Spencer couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm the prince of kittens," Brendon proclaimed.

"I wish I could be the prince of kittens," Jon said sadly. The mama cat was stretched out on her back on the grass between Jon and Brendon, purring as they both rubbed her tummy.

"I'll make a crown for you too," Ryan said. "I'll make crowns for all of us."

Spencer smiled at Ryan, and was happy.

-

Spencer had been edgy all day. When Brendon and Ryan didn't get along, it rained and even the squirrels in the trees seemed depressed, their tails unfluffy. Jon tried so hard to calm everybody down that he accidentally made himself go to sleep. Spencer tried to reason with Ryan, but mostly he just wanted to curl up somewhere and cry. Instead, he curled up next to Jon's snoozing form on the couch and laid his head on Jon's shoulder and tried to absorb any calm Jon had left.

Eventually Jon woke up and kissed Spencer on the forehead, grounding him in the midst of the whirl of emotions he felt when Ryan got worked up like this, rare but always scary. It was horrible and confusing, trying to find himself under the weight of what Ryan felt, and when he texted Ryan under Jon's advice, all he could manage was you're in love with him and it hurts, fix it. He didn't even know where Ryan was; it was their day off, and Brendon and Ryan had gone somewhere and apparently not had a good time doing whatever it was they had done. They were fighting, Spencer could tell, but he didn't know about what. He just knew that Ryan was hurting.

"If they just resolve this it'll go away," Spencer whispered, pressing his forehead to Jon's shoulder. "It's only bad like this when he feels really strongly about something, it drives me nuts. I just wish he'd get it together."

"They will," Jon murmured. Spencer wrapped his arms around Jon's waist and let himself believe that.

-

"They got it together," Spencer said, sitting up bolt upright and startling Jon out of his dozing.

"Yeah?" Jon yawned. "Good, that's good."

Spencer shifted next to Jon, trying hard not to press himself against Jon's body. It wasn't like Spencer hadn't gotten used to pretty much jerking off in tandem with Ryan every time Ryan got horny, but this, this was fucking awkward. Jon looked sleepily over at Spencer, his eyes straying down to Spencer's lap, and then he startled the rest of the way awake.

"Oh, hey," Jon said.

"Yeah," Spencer said through gritted teeth. "My power sucks. But on the bright side, Ryan's getting laid." He tried to sit up, but Jon kept a hand on his shoulder, and he pulled Spencer back down to the couch. "Jon, seriously, unless you want me to jerk off right here you should probably let me go."

Jon tilted his head, and as he ran his hand down Spencer's arm, Spencer started to feel less frantic, and much, much more aware of the warmth of Jon's body against his, and how nice it felt, and how he didn't really want to go anywhere. "You seem tense," Jon said softly. His hand inched down Spencer's waist, and then settled at the waist of his jeans, thumb toying with the button. Jon didn't need to nuzzle anyone else to make them relax, Spencer thought to himself. Actually, he'd only ever seen Jon get that cuddly with him. In fact, Jon was the only one who had ever calmed down Spencer with cuddles; usually just conversation worked fine.

"Jon," Spencer said, forgetting Ryan entirely and spreading his legs, making Jon smile. "Help me relax."

2009

"Dude," Spencer said. "It's time for an intervention."

"I don't know what you mean," Brendon said, from a pile of tangled blankets and sad puppies. "I'm perfectly fine."

Bogart looked up at Spencer, not even lifting his head all the way, and then closed his eyes again. Spencer hadn't even known dogs were able to sigh. Dylan didn't even bother to look up from where she was sprawled discontentedly across Brendon's legs.

"Dude, even Shane's goldfish are depressed," Spencer said. "They're losing their color. They're like, beigefish."

Bogart whined. Brendon closed his eyes tight, then opened them again. "How's Ryan?" he asked quietly.

"He's fine," Spencer said. He went over and sat on the bed, scratching behind Dylan's ears. Dylan weakly kicked a leg in acknowledgement.

"Does he miss us?" Brendon whispered.

Spencer ruffled Brendon's hair, deciding he needed the affection more. "You know I don't like to tell all his secrets, man."

"I know," Brendon said, leaning into Spencer's touch anyway. "It's just gonna be weird, going on tour without him and Jon. I mean, who's gonna make the sun come out? What if I have too much caffeine?"

"We'll carry umbrellas and juiceboxes so you're not tempted," Spencer said. "We'll be fine. Now come on, get up and come help me try to cheer up the fish."

-

By the time the Blink 182 tour was about to begin, Brendon had cheered up enough that oceanographers were starting to question why pods of dolphins were coming unusually close to their stretch of beach, and especially why they kept trying to nuzzle surfers. The dogs were happy again, and Shane's fish had brightened up. Spencer was a little creeped out by the number of lizards that liked to sun themselves on the rocks closest to the house, but at least they didn't run over his flip-flopped feet like they sometimes did to Brendon. Brendon, fortunately, just thought it was cute.

Spencer tried not to think about Ryan too much, but it was hard with Ryan occupying the same corner of his mind that he always had. Ryan had settled, at least, and seemed more cheerful, if not necessarily happy. Growing up had made it easier to avoid getting bogged down by Ryan's bad moods, but Spencer could never completely ignore him, especially not when Ryan thought about Brendon. He'd been doing that more often lately. Spencer was determined not to say anything; if Ryan wanted Brendon to know how he felt, it was his own damn responsibililty to tell Brendon himself.

Spencer looked up from his cup of coffee when Shane sat down at the table across from him and slid a Polaroid across the wood surface. "Oh hey," Spencer said. "Is it something cool?" Shane could take pictures of things that hadn't happened yet. In theory it was awesome, but mostly it meant that sometimes he would take a picture of Spencer that ended up being a shot of Spencer's lunch that day, or take a shot of Regan in an outfit she hadn't bought yet.

"I just took this of Brendon," Shane said. "He was playing guitar in the backyard."

Spencer looked at it. The picture was of Ryan and Brendon, kissing.

The shock of it sent all of Spencer's defenses down, and he suddenly felt fiercely determined, and ready. Ready for what, he wasn't sure, but it was something big, and he couldn't believe he'd managed to repress that for so long, given the strength with which Ryan felt it.

"Fuck," Spencer said. "Did you show Brendon this?"

"I wasn't sure if I should," Shane said, and then Spencer stood up abruptly.

"I have to warn him," Spencer said, "Ryan's coming here."

He wasn't halfway to the door, though, before he heard a car pull up outside, followed by the swing of the backyard gate. As he paused in the hallway he felt afraid, unbearably vulnerable and afraid, and most of all headily, intensely in love.

"Shit," Spencer said, and ran outside.

"What do you mean, you want to try again?" Brendon shouted, his hands on his hips as Ryan stood there, surrounded by overjoyed dogs that apparently didn't get the memo that were supposed to not seem happy to see Ryan. Spencer watched as a bluejay flew in and landed on Ryan's shoulder, cheeping at him. A chipmunk scampered out from the backyard and started to nibble at Ryan's pant leg. Storm clouds roiled overhead, but no rain fell.

"Brendon," Ryan pleaded, "I know you want to, come on, you can't hide from me."

Brendon gave the menagerie at Ryan's feet an aggrieved look, but he'd never been able to be mean to any animal, and they all knew it. Brendon's eyes flicked to Spencer, and Spencer took a step back. "Spencer," Brendon asked, his arms folded. "Does he mean it?"

Ryan turned to look at Spencer. "Spence, you can tell him, it's okay."

"He does," Spencer said, barely able to get the words out under the weight of it. Ryan had never meant anything more in his life.

Brendon swallowed. "Does he love me?" he asked Spencer.

Spencer said, "He should tell you that himself."

"Tell me, Ryan," Brendon said, and Spencer turned around and walked back inside, already knowing that Ryan would say it, and that he meant it.

"Do you think they'll want the picture?" Shane asked, looking through the open door at Brendon and Ryan embracing outside.

"I think they'll want a few hours alone," Spencer said. He went to his room and looked for his cell phone, listening to the clatter of Brendon and Ryan coming down the hallway, followed by the slam of Brendon's bedroom door. Spencer adjusted himself in his jeans. His skin tingled.

Spencer found his phone, scrolled through the address book, and then hit send call, heading back out of his room.

"Brendon and Ryan are working out their problems," Spencer announced to Jon when Jon picked up. "Naked."

"Oh," Jon said. "That's good." He paused. "You wanna come over?"

"See you in ten," Spencer said, and walked out into the sunshine beneath a rainbow.

we just wanna be home again

Wed, 22 Jul 2009 18:54:10 GMT

Brendon/Ryan Revival Meme!

Come hang out, you guys. I think all the Australians went to bed.

Fic: Today's The Day I Go Up In Flames. Brendon/Ryan. NC-17.

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 07:32:25 GMT

More fanfiction, less with the cocaine, more with the fixing things and making them better! \o/ Told you this split would make me more prolific.

Title: Today's The Day I Go Up In Flames
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 5872
Summary: July 2009 canon and beyond. Brendon and Ryan try to stay away from each other and really, really fail at it.
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Beta: Thank you again, Jessa! <3
Note: Title from Epic Last Song.

A guy walks into a bar. Halfway through the door he almost loses his nerve, but he wants a drink. That's what he tells himself as he walks down the long flight of stairs, into the underground speakeasy throwback gimmicky Los Angeles whatever-it-is, lounge, club, glimmering dark and pretty excuse to take money from the pockets of well-dressed west-siders. It's ironic, Ryan thinks, that just being in a bar makes him need a drink.

Ryan bellies up to the bar, and Brendon turns to look at him. "Of all the gin joints in all the world," Brendon starts, but tapers off with a half-smile as Ryan looks back. He reaches for Ryan, fingertips skimming his cheek and then tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The touch lingers. "You need a haircut," he says.

"You need a -" Ryan starts, but actually Brendon looks pretty great. "You look fine," he allows.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Brendon says, and bumps his knee against Ryan's when Ryan takes the barstool next to him. When the bartender gets to them, she pushes over a beer and a French martini and Brendon hands her a few bills.

Ryan wants to get on his case about it, but Brendon is just a beer guy, it's fine, and anyway it was nice of him to order them both drinks. A few months ago it was a formality; even before that, a necessity. But now they don't need to be drunk to fuck, and they're getting to a dangerous point where they almost don't need to get together beforehand, the time an excuse for either of them to change their minds, to say no.

Ryan's not going to say no.

-

To be fair, he hadn't said no the first time either. Well, that particular first time. It wasn't makeup sex or breakup sex or post-breakup sex, although they'd had any and all variations on those themes. But Ryan thought it would be a little unwieldy, calling it post-breakup-so-bad-that-it-ruined-our-band sex, and anyway afterwards he tried to get so wasted that he couldn't remember what they'd done. It didn't work. It rarely did.

Pretending civility meant accepting Brendon's invitation to stop by at his 4th of July cookout, and Ryan's attempt to tell Spencer that he and Jon would be spending the day at Vicky T's was met with a glare so stony it was practically "rocks fall, everyone dies," in the form of a facial expression. So he said yes, they'd stop by, and no, he wouldn't be weird, and yes, Jon would bring the potato salad he made that Spencer loved. Appeased, Spencer let him get away with the promise of a cameo appearance.

He nearly lost his nerve when he and Jon got out of the car and Brendon was right there, laughing at something Shane said like there was nothing going on, like they weren't a few days away from officially announcing the end of their fucking band. It didn't help that Brendon saw them and then promptly pretended not to see them and headed back inside. Shane waved hello, wincing apologetically, and Ryan steeled himself. A cameo, that was it. He'd say hi to Spencer and maybe nod at Brendon across the room if Brendon deigned to acknowledge him, and chat with a few of their other mutual friends and then get the fuck out. It was a plan.

It was a plan that got derailed after twenty minutes of making the world's smallest talk with Shane. After the conversation descended to a fervent discussion on the weather in the Valley versus near the ocean, Shane went to go find Regan, and Ryan walked outside into the backyard and directly into Brendon and Brendon's plastic cup of beer that spilled all over his jacket.

"Fuck," Brendon said, wide-eyed. "Fuck, fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to - sorry." His hands hovered between them like he wanted to brush the beer off of Ryan while both realizing the futility of such a gesture and actually not wanting to touch Ryan at all. "Here, let me go rinse that off." He reached for Ryan again, but then thought better of it. Ryan rolled his eyes, but took his jacket off and handed it over.

Not really knowing why, he followed Brendon into the house, back into Brendon's room. "You can borrow one of my jackets, if you need to," Brendon said, taking Ryan's jacket into the master bathroom and rinsing the front of it. "Hopefully this won't stain." He patted at the jacket ineffectually. Ryan leaned in the doorway and watched him, arms folded. When Brendon looked up at him, he looked startled, like he'd just realized it was Ryan standing there.

"Hi," Ryan said.

"Uh, hey," said Brendon. He grabbed a stray hanger from near the clothes hamper and hung Ryan's jacket up on the shower curtain rod. "Sorry about your jacket."

Ryan shrugged. "It's fine."

"So." Brendon nodded. "How've you been?"

"Good," Ryan said.

"Oh." Brendon deflated a little. He came toward Ryan, expecting Ryan to back up and out of the doorway, but Ryan stayed where he was. "Really?"

"Yep," Ryan said.

Brendon's face darkened, and he pushed past Ryan, his shoulder brushing against Ryan's body. "Whatever," he muttered, and Ryan grabbed his arm. "What? What the fuck do you want?"

"How come you've been avoiding me?" Ryan asked.

"Are you fucking joking? Why do you think? You broke up with me after following me to LA, went on a two month long bender, and then resurfaced only to fight with me on every single thing to the point of breaking up our goddamn band," Brendon said, his voice rising. He jerked his arm out of Ryan's grip, but moved back into his space, crowded him in the doorway.

"Well, we were never really dating," said Ryan.

Brendon stared at him in disbelief. "Okay. Okay, fine. You're right. We weren't dating, you just cheated on your girlfriend with me for the entire two years you were together. How are you even such a dick? Do you know?"

Ryan hunched down into the doorway. "I'm telling the fans it was creative differences."

"Right. Well, creatively, you're a dick. I don't even know why I let Spencer convince me to invite you here, what a fucking mistake. Just go back to Jon and do whatever the hell is so important that it means we can't even work together anymore." He pushed against Ryan's chest, and Ryan forced himself forward into it, getting in Brendon's face, grabbing Brendon's wrists and pushing them against Brendon's own chest, meeting his glare. He hadn't expected Brendon to get it, but this was really something else; it was almost impressive how dense Brendon was, how little he understood Ryan even after all this time.

"We want different things," Ryan said. "We don't want to make the same music, we won't work. And I'm a fucking shitty boyfriend, Brendon, you know that. Fuck."

"I'd say you're just a shitty person at this point and call it even," Brendon said, but there was no joy in it or triumph. There was just a flush high in his cheeks and a trembling in his hands as Ryan cupped them in his own, remembering the times that he'd touched Brendon like this before, only softly, for the pleasure of it.

Even after everything, he still wanted Brendon, seeing Brendon like this still made his cock stir in his pants, made him think of Brendon under him, over him, next to him. Brendon struggled against him, and Ryan held on until Brendon swore at him and pushed him roughly away, hard enough that the back of his head hit the door frame, dizzying him for only a moment before he reached for Brendon again, getting a handful of his shirt and dragging him back.

Brendon stumbled into him, caught off balance, crying out as Ryan dug his fingers hard into Brendon's upper arms. "Why can't you just understand," Ryan ground out, and he knew he'd gone too far when Brendon shoved away from him but didn't try to leave again, ready to fight. Fine, Ryan would give him a fight.

"I understand that you don't fucking know a good thing when you have it, Ross," Brendon snarled, and pushed Ryan again. Ryan blindly pushed back, and then that was it, they were shoving each other, pushing hard enough to make Ryan's chestbones ache, hard enough to throw them both off balance. Brendon got two furious fistfuls of Ryan's shirt, getting up in Ryan's face as Ryan stumbled backward and got a good enough grip on Brendon's arm to drag them both down, colliding with the carpeted floor roughly enough to scrape Ryan's hip where his shirt had rucked up.

Barely a breath passed and Ryan was pitching himself on top of Brendon, getting Brendon's wrists in his hands and rolling them, trying to get Brendon on his back, trying to get him to concede. Ryan didn't really have time to think of exactly what he expected Brendon to concede to, though, before Brendon bucked his hips up and startled Ryan enough to get the upper hand.

Brendon rolled Ryan over onto his back, pinning Ryan's wrists to the floor and straddling Ryan's legs, knocking the breath right out of him. He stared down at Ryan, frozen there, panting and red-faced and still more angry than Ryan had seen him in a long time.

"Brendon," Ryan gasped, and leaned up; Brendon choked out a breath and met him halfway in a kiss.

Ryan got hard so fast it actually hurt a little, pushing up desperately against Brendon's weight as Brendon kissed him, hard and needy, his hands tensing around Ryan's wrists like he still needed to hold Ryan down, like Ryan was going anywhere. Ryan didn't want to go anywhere except for the bed, but the floor was fine too, anywhere with Brendon on top of him, kissing him fiercely until they both had to gasp for breath. Brendon ground down against him, as hard as Ryan in his jeans, and Ryan gasped and arched up and gave back as good as he got, panting against Brendon's mouth and moaning as Brendon pressed kisses to his jaw, full lips soft and warm and dragging over the flushed skin of his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

His fingers flexed, and Brendon released him, letting Ryan touch Brendon like he needed, getting handfuls of his shirt before he pushed lower, seeking the warm promise of Brendon's skin. Brendon was still sensitive in the same places, still shuddered when Ryan ran his thumbs over Brendon's hipbones, and jerked against him when Ryan pushed his fingers down the back of Brendon's jeans.

Brendon pulled back a little, and Ryan made an embarrassingly needy noise, grabbing back for him, but it wasn't a long absence; in a second, Brendon was wrapping his arms around Ryan's waist, hiking him up close so they could better thrust against each other. The friction was almost painful, rough with both of them still wearing pants, but it was perfect even like this. Somehow Brendon was always just what he wanted, just what he needed - but no, Ryan didn't want to think about that, not when Brendon's mouth was back on his, Brendon's tongue pushing in, not when he could scrape his teeth over Brendon's lower lip and hear him make that soft, wanting noise Ryan had always liked so much.

Ryan pressed his thumbs into the dimples above Brendon's ass, dragging his cock against Brendon's through their pants. Brendon gasped against his mouth and gracelessly shoved his hand down the back of Ryan's pants, sliding two fingers down the crack of Ryan's ass as Ryan surged up against him and spread as wide as could, his head thunking back against the floor as Brendon pressed his fingertips right up against Ryan's hole and rubbed there, one fingertip barely slipping in. Ryan cried out and came, cock jerking in his pants as Brendon huffed out a breath and took his hand away, only to scrabble at his own zipper.

Ryan was out of it in a post-orgasm haze long enough to miss Brendon getting his pants undone. He looked up at Brendon when he felt his shirt get pushed up, and had just long enough to see Brendon stroking himself hard and fast twice, thrice before he groaned and came hot and wet over his own fist and Ryan's bare stomach.

That wasn't very polite, Ryan thought absurdly. He rubbed his fingertips over the come on his stomach, smearing it in and looking at Brendon, who flushed and looked away. It occurred to Ryan that he had another party to get to, and that Jon was probably wondering where he was.

"Sorry," Brendon said. He ran a hand over Ryan's stomach, trying half-heartedly to clean up the mess but mostly just smearing it further.

"No you're not," Ryan said. He made to sit up, and Brendon moved back quickly enough that he overbalanced and landed on his ass. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, you're not either," Brendon muttered.

Ryan carefully adjusted himself in his pants, making a face at the stickiness. "What do I have to be sorry for?" he asked, and knew not even a second later that it was the dumbest thing he possibly could have said.

"Get out," Brendon said flatly.

"Fine!" Ryan said, much louder than was necessary or than he'd even meant to. So much for the fucking afterglow.

He slammed the door to Brendon's bathroom, because god knew he wasn't leaving without at least cleaning up kind of. After he'd done what he could about the come smeared on him, he abandoned his jacket as a lost, Heineken-scented cause. The bedroom was empty when he came out, and he stalked out into the backyard, where judging by the expression on Spencer's face he'd gotten some info from Brendon. Jon stood next to him, looking like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"You dumbfuck," Spencer started.

"No," Ryan said. "Jon, let's go."

"Okay," said Jon, "let me just get the rest of my potato salad."

"Leave it," Spencer snarled.

"Okay!" Jon said again, holding up his hands in surrender. "Enjoy the rest of it!"

"Answer your fucking phone when I call you, Ryan!" Spencer shouted after them as Ryan strode away, Jon at his heels.

"Fine!" Ryan yelled back. He didn't turn around to look at Spencer. He didn't think he could stand it.

-

Ryan's man enough to drink a pink martini, which is good because French martinis are raspberry based. His other choice would have been absinthe shots, but he's not about to turn away a free pretty drink, especially not when the buyer is playing a mild game of footsie with him.

"So how'd the tour go?" Brendon asks, taking a swallow of his beer. Ryan watches his throat work. There's a spot on Brendon's neck, just beneath his jaw, that Ryan most likes to lick. Although maybe it's not the action Ryan likes so much as the way it makes Brendon go lax and pliant beneath him, soft all over except where it counts. Ryan likes to lick where it counts, too.

"Good," Ryan says, dragging his eyes away from the lickable parts of Brendon. He takes a sip of his martini, appreciating the cold sweetness. It's been warm out, for October. "We mostly did small clubs, got some good crowds. Older people, even, we played a few 21+ shows and actually had an audience. Although most of them still didn't recognize the Doors cover. How about yours?"

"Pretty well. Ian's really settling in, and it was nice to go out with Jack's Mannequin again. Familiar." Brendon fiddles with his beer bottle, twirling it on the bar. He doesn't look at Ryan. "It's still weird. You know."

"I know," Ryan says softly. "But the record's been selling pretty steadily, right? I bet Pete's happy."

"He is," Brendon says, just as quiet. "You should call him. He'd probably tell you himself."

"Yeah." Ryan sighs. He finishes his drink in two swallows, relishing the sweet burn as it goes down. "You wanna get out of here?"

"You don't want another drink?" Brendon asks, surprised.

"Nah," Ryan says. He looks at Brendon, head on. "Your place?"

"Yeah." Brendon nods, slowly like he expects Ryan to change his mind. "Yeah, my place is good."

-

The second time, it was at Ryan's house.

It should have been better, comforting to be in his own house, but instead he felt just as off-kilter as he had when Brendon told him to get out. He hadn't expected to see Brendon at his front door, and Brendon apparently hadn't expected to see him there either.

"Jon said you weren't here," Brendon said. He stood on Ryan's doorstep, and Ryan wanted desperately to be thinking anything other than fuck, he looks good, but he was drawing a blank. Fuck, Brendon looked good. He held up Ryan's jacket on a dry cleaner's hanger. "I got your jacket cleaned, I just wanted to drop it by." Brendon shifted back and forth. "Jon said you wouldn't be here."

"Yeah, you're avoiding me, I got that," Ryan snapped. He grabbed for his jacket, and Brendon drew back automatically, a glare sliding into place before it faded away. With a grudging expression, Brendon handed it over. "So, thanks."

"You're welcome." Brendon sighed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Come on, Ryan."

"You come on," Ryan shot back. He inhaled, then exhaled heavily. "Do you want to come in?"

"Um, sure," Brendon said. He didn't sound like he meant it. Ryan stood aside anyway, and Brendon came in. "Is Jon here?"

"No, he and Eric are out somewhere, he probably forgot you were coming. I don't know where they are, they were gone when I got up."

"Oh." Brendon got to Ryan's living room and paused.

"Do you want tea or something?"

"No, I'm good," Brendon said. He still didn't sit down. Ryan looked at his back and thought about how Brendon looked naked, pale and lean, the long line of his spine and his round ass. Probably that wasn't the best line of thinking. Ryan thought about it anyway.

Brendon cleared his throat. "So how have you been?"

Ryan walked around him and sat on the couch. After a second, Brendon sat down at the other end. "Not great," Ryan said honestly.

"Yeah, the coke picture was awkwardly timed," Brendon said sympathetically; Ryan thought it might have been the first real emotion he'd seen from Brendon since he showed up.

"At least the naked photos of us never got out," Ryan said, then, "Oh god wow, I really didn't mean to bring those up, shit -"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go," Brendon said, standing back up. "I shouldn't have come over, next time I find something of yours I'll just mail it to you." He headed for the door, and Ryan sprang up after him.

"No, wait," Ryan insisted, following him.

Brendon whirled around and Ryan nearly ran into him, only stopped by Brendon's hands on his chest. "Don't, okay? This was a bad idea. We can't just be friends like nothing happened, it's stupid to act like we can. It's better if we just don't see each other, that's what you wanted, right?"

"No!" Ryan said. "Just - seeing each other less, it was just too much, Brendon, you know we can't -"

"Can't be together?" Brendon suggested. "Right, because you don't want to be. Can't be in a band, because you don't want to be. Can't be friends, because that's too much for you. Or we can only be friends how it makes sense in your fucked up head, right. Whatever."

"You can't just get rid of me because I wouldn't give you what you wanted!" Ryan shouted, finally losing it. How the fuck could Brendon still get to him like this, when the whole point in getting away from him had been to stop this shit from happening? It wasn't fucking fair, how much control Brendon still had over him, it really wasn't.

"Maybe it's not fucking up to you, Ryan!" Brendon shouted back. "Maybe you can decide what you do, but you can't make me decide what I do, alright! If I want to say fuck this, I can! So fuck you, Ryan! Okay! Fuck! You!"

Ryan saw red, and before he really knew what he was doing his hands were clutching the lapels of Brendon's jacket. He manhandled Brendon backwards until he had Brendon shoved up against the wall, out of breath and glaring at him, practically daring him to do something. "You'll never understand what it's like," Ryan bit off.

"You're right," Brendon said. "I'll never understand what it's like to be functionally psychotic. Get your hands off me."

"That's not what you want," Ryan said, only half sure of that. Brendon bit his lip, and Ryan wanted to do it for him. Ryan wanted to do a lot of things for him. "Stay still," he said.

"What?" Brendon asked.

"Just fucking do what I ask you to for once," Ryan said, and slid down to his knees.

Brendon was only half hard when Ryan got his jeans undone, but at least it was something, at least Ryan knew Brendon wasn't entirely unaffected. Brendon stared down at him like he couldn't quite believe Ryan had the nerve, and Ryan stared back up, getting his hand around Brendon's dick and stroking him. With their eyes locked, Ryan could only feel Brendon grow to full hardness in his hand. He parted his lips, darting his tongue out to wet them and brushing over the head of Brendon's cock in the process, and felt a victorious thrill as Brendon's hips jerked helplessly forward.

"This isn't going to fix anything," Brendon said, but he didn't stop Ryan from licking up the length of his cock, slow and wet. Ryan fit Brendon's cock into his mouth, as much as he could, and slid down the length of it, getting it wet.

Ryan pulled off, curling his fist around Brendon's cock and stroking, easier with it slick in his hand. "It's not supposed to," he said. "I just want to do it."

Brendon looked down at him like he didn't get that either, and Ryan thought he probably didn't; Brendon, who never had sex without a reason for it, whether it was because he wanted to try something, or because he wanted to prove something, or because he was in love. Brendon's wild rockstar phase had lasted approximately three groupies before he started to complain that sex was becoming meaningless. That had never bothered Ryan, in particular; all sex had to mean was that he got off and had a good time.

He'd teased Brendon about his preference for making love over fucking, but even right now, as he wished that he'd been able to make Brendon understand it wasn't always about something, he was secretly grateful he'd never manage to ruin that part of Brendon. He hoped no one ever did.

It startled Ryan a little when Brendon pushed forward into his fist with a thrust hard enough to bump the head of his cock against Ryan's mouth. "So do it," Brendon said. He smoothed his thumb over Ryan's forehead, then ran his fingers through Ryan's hair, the tender gesture at odds with his blunt words.

Ryan obeyed, taking Brendon's dick back into his mouth and sucking like he knew Brendon liked, tightly fisting the base of his cock while fitting the rest into his mouth and sucking hard. It was easier to do with his eyes closed, to just focus on the action of it, on doing what he needed to do to get Brendon off, but he wanted to look at Brendon, so he tilted his head back and kept his eyes open. He knew Brendon liked it like that, liked seeing Ryan on his knees, liked the way Ryan's eyes would water when he took a little too much. He couldn't blame Brendon, really; anytime he let Brendon have control it probably felt like a welcome change. It was so much easier for Brendon, giving it up like that, Ryan could never understand how it was so easy for him.

As Brendon watched, Ryan let his hands slide down Brendon's thighs, down and down until they were at his sides. Ryan tilted his head back just another fraction of an inch, the perfect angle to let Brendon fuck his mouth.

Then he put his hands behind his back, wrists together, and let Brendon have him.

"God, fuck, Ryan," Brendon said, and it sounded broken, his breath coming in pants as his thrusts got faster, not hard enough to choke Ryan but rough enough that Ryan was glad they'd done this before, so he could handle it. He kept his eyes on Brendon, curling his fingers into fists and doing his best to focus on breathing, on accepting each thrust and swallowing around it. He could feel his cheeks start to redden from the lack of oxygen, but he knew he could take this, goddammit, if Brendon wanted to give it to him he could fucking take it.

Ryan made a choked, helpless noise around Brendon's cock, and Brendon thrust forward, groaned and came down his throat.

Brendon's hands loosened in his hair, and Ryan pulled back enough to get in more air, swallowing around Brendon's dick, swallowing it all. He couldn't help but cough a little, greedily taking in oxygen until Brendon pulled back, his cock slipping from Ryan's mouth and letting Ryan breathe in.

"Fuck, fuck," Brendon whispered, his voice sounding as raw as Ryan's throat felt. Brendon dropped to his knees beside Ryan, and the suddenness of it made Ryan startle back, catching himself on his hands as Brendon moved into his space and kissed him hard, going immediately for Ryan's pants. Ryan kissed back, pushing his tongue into Brendon's mouth as Brendon got Ryan's dick out and curled his hand around it, stroking Ryan rough and fast, just how Ryan needed it as he grabbed Brendon's shoulders and hauled him close, as close as he could get.

Brendon bit Ryan's bottom lip, and Ryan gasped and came over Brendon's fist, hips jerking up as he dug his fingers into Brendon's shoulder blades. They were both panting by the time Brendon pulled back, on their knees on Ryan's hardwood floor, still mostly dressed except for undone trousers.

They stared at each other.

"God," Brendon said.

"Yeah," Ryan said.

-

When they get to Brendon's place, it's dark inside. Brendon doesn't turn on the lights, and they go straight to Brendon's bedroom, holding hands like foreplay, stroking each other's thumbs and threading their fingers together, tangled up like their bodies will be. Brendon pulls Ryan down onto the bed, and they land awkwardly, too many knees and elbows. Ryan accidentally jabs Brendon in the thigh, and they're not tipsy enough, he thinks, to be giggling like they are, but giggle they do, a giddiness almost foreign after all these years, after they've had each other like this so many times.

They kiss, short, glancing kisses, Brendon chasing Ryan's mouth as Ryan moves up the bed, trying to undress but failing under the dedicated onslaught of Brendon's hands. Each time is more comfortable than the last, and this time maybe even more than before they started meeting like this. Things have steadied, mellowed out, and that's translated to the way they are with each other. Spencer knows, and Jon knows, and it's been long enough that none of them expect a nuclear event if Brendon and Ryan stop again.

Mostly Ryan doesn't think they'll stop again, and that seems like an event in itself. Maybe next time he'll ask Brendon to just come over; it wouldn't hurt him to cut down on the drinking anyway.

If it was just fucking, Ryan thinks, there'd probably be less kissing involved. But instead every time they make out like teenagers - like they did back when they were teenagers, in fact. Brendon's got Ryan down on his back, and they've both stopped struggling with each other's clothes in favor of just kissing, long slow kisses now like they don't have anywhere to be. There's nowhere Ryan really wants to be but here, and that thought should frighten him. It doesn't. It just feels good.

Ryan sneaks a hand down Brendon's back and squeezes his ass, and Brendon makes a pleased noise against his mouth and rolls them over, Ryan letting the easy momentum carry him over top of Brendon. Once he's there, he smiles down at Brendon. "Hi," Ryan says.

"Hi," says Brendon. "Fuck me."

Ryan doesn't need much more encouragement than that, and apparently Brendon's just as eager. They fumble out of their clothes with varying degrees of finesse (Ryan would count his as greater, but he's biased), and then Ryan gets the lube and condoms and promptly drops them when he turns back to see Brendon naked and spread-eagled on the bed like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Which he no longer is - Ryan took care of that years ago - but it's a look that suits him, even when he bats his eyelashes coquettishly at Ryan and lifts his hips.

Ryan's still watching, so Brendon makes it a show, lifting his eyebrows and leering at Ryan as he touches himself. Ryan would laugh and play along, but it's actually really fucking hot, so he just appreciates the show as Brendon strokes himself, throwing his head back and moaning, exposing his pale throat and thrusting his hips up.

That's enough, then, Ryan needs to fuck him pretty much right now. Brendon wiggles his ass and gives Ryan a filthy look, and Ryan can't get between his legs fast enough. He smacks Brendon's thigh just to see the red mark it leaves, and Brendon moans extravagantly and reaches down to spread the cheeks of his ass.

"I'm going to come before I even get inside you if you keep doing that," Ryan warns him, voice low as he slicks his fingers up. Ryan knows it's no exaggeration, though, when Brendon groans at the feel of Ryan's fingers pushing at his hole, rubbing in slow circles before pushing in. Brendon can't help the noises he makes as Ryan's fingers slide up inside him, and it takes a lot for Ryan not to moan just as loud at the sight of Brendon's ass stretching around them, taking them in.

"Now, come on," Brendon pesters him. Ryan rolls his eyes and gives him a third finger anyway, thrusting them all in and out to stretch Brendon just a little better, because even if the hitch in Brendon's step the next day gives him a thrill, he still doesn't like hurting Brendon.

"Now please," Brendon says, like it was the lack of politeness slowing Ryan down, and Ryan grins and takes his fingers out, getting the condom on as Brendon squirms. He stills immediately when Ryan gets the head of his dick up against Brendon's hole, but starts pushing against him when Ryan takes a second too long to get inside.

"Eager," Ryan says, in no way complaining. Brendon nods, and Ryan pushes forward, giving him what he wants, thrusting in by inches as Brendon moans and settles, letting Ryan in.

Brendon's tight, he's always fucking tight no matter what, and it feels spectacular. Ryan could do this all the time, every day - but god, not today, not quite, he's not quite there yet. He wants to be, each time he's with Brendon he's a little more convinced that he can handle this, handle them. Not quite there yet, but almost. Almost.

"Yes," Brendon affirms. He curls his hand around Ryan's wrist, tugging him forward, and Ryan goes, kneeling between Brendon's spread legs and lifting Brendon enough for Brendon's legs to go around his waist. It's all him, then, all on him to make this good for Brendon. It's already good for him, the tight clench of Brendon's body around him as perfect as ever, something that's becoming dangerously necessary (again, again), and he thinks it never stopped being good for him, even when he couldn't acknowledge it.

Brendon takes each thrust, slow and deep like Ryan knows he likes it, and Ryan likes it that way too, likes watching Brendon writhe beneath him. Brendon's about as shameless as anyone he's fucked, moreso even, and Ryan loves that he has nothing to hide. Not like this, at least, and that's all Ryan can ask. Ryan speeds up, fucking Brendon faster and harder, and Brendon goes with it, arching up into each thrust and gasping in tandem with the slap of their skin, steady and hot and good.

It gets harder for Ryan to stay in control the closer he gets to coming, his thrusts growing rough and sloppy. He takes Brendon's cock in hand and starts to stroke him, and Brendon gasps out his name, his body tense and gorgeous under Ryan, face open and needy and beautiful and happy, and Ryan comes before he even knew he was about to get there. He keeps thrusting through it, determined to bring Brendon with him. When he bends Brendon in half and gets in close enough for a kiss, Brendon leans up to capture his mouth and comes, shaking.

It feels good.

It feels like something Ryan can't give up again.

-

The third time, they agreed to meet at a neutral place, somewhere that they couldn't argue too loudly, and definitely somewhere that they couldn't yell at each other until they got mad enough to fuck.

They got kicked out of California Pizza Kitchen after Ryan loudly accused Brendon of being an insensitive dickface and Brendon threatened to throw their plate of white bean hummus at Ryan's head.

In the parking lot, they fucked in Brendon's car.

-

It didn't fix anything then and it doesn't fix anything now.

Because there's nothing to fix. What's done is done, they can't go back and change it.

In the afterglow Ryan thinks to himself, though, that even though they can't change the past, at least they can move forward. They can have something new, something better. Maybe even something that has the good parts, without at least most of the bad.

Brendon slips his arm around Ryan's waist, nuzzling against the back of his neck. Ryan will stay the night; he's been staying the night the last few times. Brendon asked, and so he did, and now he does. Moving forward, new but still familiar.

"I've got," Ryan says, and swallows, pitches his voice lower. "I've got these lyrics."

"Yeah?" Brendon murmurs. His lips brush against the top of Ryan's spine, and Ryan shivers.

"I wrote them, but they don't work for me." Ryan closes his eyes, even though he and Brendon aren't facing each other. "I was thinking though. They might work for you. For your voice. If you want them."

Behind him, he hears Brendon's sharp inhale.

"If you want," Ryan says.

"Ryan," Brendon says, and Ryan holds his breath. "I'll want them," Brendon says, and Ryan exhales.

Fic: With All Your Heart. Brendon/Ryan. NC-17.

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 01:41:13 GMT

Can I interest you in some current canon angst? Good! Here's some!

Title: With All Your Heart
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: March 2009. Brendon and Ryan try to fix each other.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction.
Beta: Thanks Jessa!
Warning: Off-screen drug use.

Brendon decides it's time to sleep after he meets the business end of his third bottle of Coors Light. It helps that VH1 ceased the I Love The 70s marathon he'd been mainlining to switch over to Behind The Music. Not that Brendon's taking it as a sign, by any means. Plenty of bands have trouble figuring out a direction for a new album; it doesn't mean that they're going to break up, even if two of them want to go one way and the other two want to go another way. It doesn't mean anything, Brendon thinks, and stabs at the remote's power button with a little more vehemence than is strictly necessary.

It's when the TV goes dark and silence sets in that he hears the tapping start. He looks around his bedroom, but there's no obvious source of the sound. The tapping gets louder. Brendon turns to look at the window, and shouts in surprise.

On the other side of the window, Ryan screams, trips backward, and falls down.

Brendon blinks.

After a second of shuffling around outside, Ryan's face reappears through the window. He starts dusting himself off as Brendon watches. When Ryan's jacket is apparently adequately clean, he looks back at Brendon. Then he waves.

"Really?" Brendon asks his bedroom. It doesn't respond, so he accepts it as fact that Ryan is standing outside his fucking window, and gets up.

When Brendon opens the window, Ryan says, "Hi." He's standing half on one of Brendon's rosebushes, which didn't used to be broken. "I got bit by some thorns." He blinks down at his hands, and when he holds them up, Brendon sees dirt and streaks of blood.

"Shit," Brendon says, surprised, "Come in, come in."

Brendon had meant through the door, maybe, like normal people, but Ryan just puts his hands on the windowframe and hauls himself up like it doesn't even hurt. Brendon has to catch him when he stumbles, and Ryan leaves handprints on Brendon's t-shirt, dirty and red. He quivers as he tries to right himself, and Brendon has to hold him up.

"Jesus, how much blood did you lose?" Brendon asks, trying to keep Ryan steady as he guides him to the bathroom. Ryan doesn't answer, doesn't say anything until Brendon's got him in the bathroom, pushed up against the sink, hands braced on the counter. "Ross, you're shaking," Brendon says, pausing to look at him. He smooths his hands over Ryan's shoulders, ducks his head so Ryan will look at him.

When Ryan finally does, Brendon could kill himself for being so oblivious. Ryan's glassy-eyed, his pupils blown, and this is familiar, Brendon knows this, he's been there. There's a smudge of blood under his nose, and Brendon doesn't know if it's from a nosebleed or from touching his face with bloody hands. Brendon bites his lip, and Ryan doesn't say anything at all, so at least he knows Brendon isn't stupid. Brendon looks at him until he can't anymore, and then he busies himself searching for peroxide under the counter.

"Tell me you were at least at a party," Brendon says to his cabinet as Ryan taps his fingertips against the ledge of the counter. He finally finds the peroxide in the back, along with some cotton balls. It'll have to do.

"I was at least at a party," Ryan says obediently. He blinks up at Brendon through his eyelashes when Brendon stands.

"Why'd you leave?" Brendon asks. Ryan holds out his hands, palms up like he's showing he's unarmed. Brendon wets a cotton ball and carefully drags it over one of Ryan's palms. He can't even take any pleasure in it when Ryan hisses at the sting.

"I got bored. I wanted to see you." Ryan bites his lip, squirming a little when Brendon presses a little harder than necessary. The cuts aren't awfully deep, but there are a lot of them; Ryan must have tried to grab onto the rosebush to keep from falling.

"And the front door didn't seem like the way to go?"

"Oh." Ryan swallows and licks his lips. "I didn't think about that."

"Yeah, you don't think about much lately, do you?" Brendon can't help asking.

"I thought about you, didn't I?" Ryan says, sounding hurt. "Come on, Brendon, please."

Brendon stares at Ryan's hands, swiping cotton over each cut, again and again until the peroxide stops bubbling and the bleeding's mostly stopped. Ryan's palms are streaked with cuts, and they'll hurt like a bitch tomorrow, Brendon can tell. But he's guessing that Ryan's not feeling too much right now.

Ryan's chewing on his lip when Brendon looks him in the face, teeth digging into his lower lip over and over. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, biting his lip until it swells, and before Brendon really realizes he's doing it he's got his hand on Ryan's face, thumb on Ryan's mouth, stopping him. Ryan's hand on his stops him from jerking away, Ryan's fingertips dragging over his knuckles, pulling him closer until he's cupping Ryan's cheek, watching as Ryan turns his head and drags his lips over Brendon's wrist, his palm, the bases of his fingers. Ryan flicks his tongue over the silver ring Brendon's wearing, and his eyes slip shut like he likes the taste of metal.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Brendon asks, but his voice is lower than he'd like it to be, hushed, and he doesn't take his hand away.

"I'm sorry," Ryan murmurs, his lips brushing Brendon's hand, warm and soft, penitent. "I'm sorry everything's so weird lately, I'm sorry I'm." He swallows, but doesn't finish, just turns his cheek further into Brendon's touch, nuzzling in, threading his fingers with Brendon's and holding him there.

"I don't know how to fix this," Brendon says, hating the desperation in his voice, hating the truth of it, hating how good it still feels, Ryan touching him like this, anything Ryan gives him.

"Don't worry about the band," Ryan says, slipping off the counter into Brendon's space. He releases Brendon's hand, and Brendon lets it slide around the back of Ryan's neck like it belongs there, so familiar. Always so fucking familiar, always them, in the beginning and the middle and now, and even though Brendon knows what follows the beginning and middle he refuses to let himself think about what this is for them. He refuses. It can't be. They've survived breakups and girlfriends and stopping and starting again and they'll survive this, whatever this is. They have to.

"I'm not worried about the," Brendon starts, but he's cut off by Ryan's mouth on his, hot and soft and sudden, Ryan's hands on his face, Ryan's body against his. Ryan backs him up against the bathroom door and Brendon can't help but moan, pulling Ryan closer, pulling him in.

Ryan crowds him toward the bedroom and it's like a thousand times before all at once. They've done this angry, done it hurt and sad, done it desperately and done it high god knows how many times. The first time they did coke together it was fucking transcendent, even if Brendon couldn't quite handle the comedown. The comedown clearly isn't something Ryan's worried about anymore; that makes one of them not worried about Ryan.

When they get to the bed Ryan pulls him down on top, trying to shrug off his clothes on his back and mostly failing. He makes a small pained noise when he tries the buttons of his shirt, clearly having already forgotten he fucked his hands, and Brendon bats them away, working at Ryan's clothes and then guiding him up so he can get out of them. Once Ryan's gotten his shirt he settles back down, and even through the thin moonlight coming through the window it's obvious he's lost weight, his waist thinner than usual, ribs standing out more starkly. Brendon stares down at him, knowing the horror is showing on his face but unable to stop it.

"What?" Ryan says, a trifle defensively. He keeps his hands on Brendon's pants, tugging at the waist of his jeans now that Brendon's stopped helping.

"You look sick, you know that right?" Brendon says. He presses his thumbs to Ryan's ribs, the spaces between them, slipping over each painful line of bone.

"So fuck me on my hands and knees then, if you don't want to look at me," Ryan snaps, flushing a dull red and struggling with Brendon's zipper.

Brendon tenses with the sudden need to hit him, anything just to make Ryan pay fucking attention and understand what he's saying. The first touch of Ryan's hand to his cock brings him out of it, and instead he grabs Ryan's wrists and pins him to the bed. Ryan bucks up mutinously beneath him, glaring, and Brendon tightens his grip until Ryan goes limp under him.

"Please, Brendon," Ryan says, his voice soft, quiescent. He shifts his hips up, letting Brendon feel the press of his cock, still hard, bumping against Brendon's. "I'm okay, I promise."

"You're not," Brendon says, "you're not okay, this isn't okay."

"It is." Ryan arches up under him, rubbing against Brendon slow and hot, and it's not fair, it isn't, it isn't right that Ryan knows exactly how to turn him on, that Ryan can always turn him on, no matter what's going on between them, no matter how fucked up things are. Brendon fucking hates that Ryan still has this power over him; the only thing that makes it better is knowing that Ryan feels it too, in at least some small way. He keeps coming back. He will keep coming back, and Brendon never lets himself think otherwise. "It will be. Just kiss me. Please, will you kiss me?"

Brendon will. He always fucking will.

Ryan sighs when Brendon leans in and presses their mouths together, letting himself rest most of his body weight against Ryan. Ryan opens for him so easily, and Brendon loves him like this, loves him any way at all. Brendon feels Ryan start to shake again and he knows that Ryan was holding it back, trying to hold himself together to convince Brendon he was alright. Ryan's fingers tremble when Brendon releases his wrists, and he touches Brendon like he can't get enough, like he wants to map every inch of Brendon's skin with his fingertips. When he pushes at Brendon's clothes, Brendon leans back and takes them off, rolling onto his side as they both push their pants down and off. It hasn't been all that long since Brendon's last seen Ryan naked, but it always feels like it's been too long.

Ryan reaches greedily for him once they're both completely bared, and Brendon slips his arms around Ryan's waist and kisses him hard, tangling their legs together and gasping against Ryan's mouth when their cocks bump. Ryan licks into his mouth and arches in close like he can't feel enough of Brendon at once, and Brendon knows what he wants, what he always needs when he gets like this.

When it's weed Ryan likes a lazy fuck, likes Brendon on top of him riding his cock, when they're rolling they mostly just rub against each other. When he's drunk Ryan likes to suck cock and when he's sober Ryan likes fucking Brendon against walls and in the shower and wherever else it strikes his fancy to get his dick out. But when he's coked up Ryan likes to get fucked fast and hard, which coincides pleasantly with Brendon's usual urge to fuck Ryan until he can't see straight.

It's been a long fucking time since they did it like this together but Brendon doubts much has changed. When Ryan tugs at him, pulling Brendon on top and spreading his legs, Brendon knows for sure it hasn't. Brendon slides his hands down Ryan's back to his ass, and Ryan squirms under him like he wants it right then and there, his hands tensing on Brendon's upper arms.

"Hey," Brendon says. He leans down and kisses Ryan again, and Ryan gasps against his mouth when he slips his fingertips between Ryan's cheeks, stroking up and down as Ryan trembles and rubs against him, Ryan's cock hard and thick between their stomachs.

"Please, I need," Ryan whispers, and the desperation in his voice stings Brendon. Ryan reaches up, cupping Brendon's face, stroking his cheekbones, kissing the corners of his mouth, and Brendon needs this too, oh god, he needs Ryan more than he's ever needed anything. Brendon swallows and pulls back, hating the broken noise Ryan makes when he does.

Brendon reaches for his night table, taking lube and condoms out of the drawer and trying to think through the fog that touching Ryan always puts him in. When he takes the lube in hand, Ryan looks to the side and grabs his wrist.

"No condoms, please?" Ryan asks.

And yeah, okay, they don't always use them, because Brendon's never had unprotected sex with anyone but Ryan and Ryan's always said the same, but now. Fuck, Brendon hates that he's not sure he can trust Ryan now. God knows Brendon's made some stupid decisions when he was drunk or high, and Ryan's obviously not been in the best of shape lately. He looks from the condoms to Ryan's pleading face and doesn't know what to say.

"I'm clean, I swear," Ryan says, "I've been safe, you know I'm always safe."

"Ryan, I barely even know you anymore," Brendon says, and Ryan's face falls. "I don't even know what you're doing lately."

"I know what I'm doing," Ryan says, sitting up. "Fuck, Brendon, why can't you just trust me?"

"You had to be fucking high just to come over here!" Brendon says, and he's startled to hear that he's almost shouting. "You barely show up for practice, we can't figure out anything for the next record! You spend all your time drunk or high out of your mind! You hardly even talk to me anymore, I don't know what the fuck your problem is!"

"My problem is you!" Ryan yells back. "Fucking christ, Brendon, I love you! Isn't that enough?"

Brendon stares at him, at Ryan's flushed cheeks, his heaving chest, his body still naked, cock still hard as he glares at Brendon. His hands tremble on the sheets, and Brendon has no fucking clue what to say, because he loves Ryan too. And it isn't enough.

Ryan's face crumples, and Brendon kisses him before he can see Ryan cry. It's the only answer he can give.

Ryan kisses back like he's drowning, plastering himself to Brendon's body and holding on tight, and Brendon lets the momentum take him down, Ryan's hand curling around his cock as his back hits the bed. Ryan strokes him, grabbing a condom and fumbling to open it, and Brendon closes his eyes as Ryan slips the condom down his cock, fingers returning a second later wet with lube. Brendon wants to be inside Ryan so badly he's aching, and the slick slide of Ryan's hand on his dick is almost too much, almost.

"Ryan," Brendon gasps, and Ryan just stares down at him, taking in a shaky breath as he moves to straddle Brendon. Ryan's always liked it a little bit rough, liked giving pain and getting it, but he's not even stretched at all, and Brendon's fingers dig into Ryan's sharp hipbones as Ryan lifts himself up, poised over the head of Brendon's dick and then lowering himself until Brendon can feel the press of Ryan's hole, small and tight and just barely wet, rubbing back and forth until Ryan swallows and bears down and takes Brendon's cock inside.

"Fuck, fuck," Ryan whispers, an edge of pain there that Brendon knows isn't just because it's hurting him. He keeps his eyes on Brendon's as he slips downward, taking more and more of Brendon inside, until he's fully seated on Brendon's cock.

It's hard to think, let alone speak with that tightness around him, almost painful as Ryan starts to move, raising himself up and down by inches. Still, Brendon grits his teeth and manages, "I don't want to hurt you."

Ryan's hands tense on Brendon's chest, and he bites his lip, clenching down on Brendon's cock as he rides him, slow and intense. "Maybe I want it to hurt," Ryan says, and Brendon stares back at him and knows that Ryan will only ever take it how he thinks he deserves it, and he hates Ryan and loves him and wants him so much that he almost understands.

"It doesn't have to," Brendon says anyway, and curls a hand around Ryan's cock, loosening his grip enough to let Ryan fuck his fist.

"Yes," Ryan says, "it does." He tightens his thighs around Brendon's waist, leaning back and fucking himself on Brendon's cock exactly like he wants, and Brendon looks up at him, hurting and still so gorgeous like this, and lets Ryan have what he needs, knowing that he always will.

Ryan likes it fast and hard like this, when he's in control. He works himself on Brendon's dick, moving his hands over Brendon's chest like he can't help but touch him, and Brendon thrusts up as best he can to meet him, keeping his hand on Ryan's cock and trying to help him find his release. Ryan leans down to kiss Brendon and Brendon kisses back, moaning as Ryan clenches around him, then hissing in pain as Ryan bites his lip and comes over Brendon's fist.

He's so close, almost there, and Ryan pulls back enough to get a good look at him, grinding down on Brendon's cock and staring like he wants to be sure he never forgets how Brendon looked like this, right here and now. It's Ryan's stare that pulls Brendon over the edge just as much as it's Ryan's body, and Brendon holds Ryan's hips down as he thrusts up one last time and finishes, finally going still.

Ryan pulls off of him, valiantly trying and failing to hide his wince, and Brendon looks away so he won't have to see the hurt on Ryan's face. He attends to the condom, taking a little longer than necessary to throw it away. When he looks at Ryan again, Ryan's looking at his hands.

"How do they feel?" Brendon asks, trying to force some lightness into his tone. It almost works.

"They sting," Ryan says.

"Maybe next time try the door," Brendon ventures. "At least then you'd only fall back onto the grass."

"Or the concrete." Ryan shrugs. When he looks at Brendon, Brendon can't meet his eye.

"So," Brendon says, because probably they need to talk. Even though Brendon's not entirely sure what he wants to say.

Instead, Ryan's phone rings. He looks at Brendon again and then gets up to answer it, shamelessly naked as he pulls it from his pants pocket. "Hey," Ryan says into the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just went for a walk. What? It's a nice time for a walk. Yeah, I'll be back soon. Don't leave without me." He hangs up. "I'm gonna go, that was Alex," he tells Brendon.

"Oh." Brendon tugs the sheets up around his waist. "You know, you could stay here. Or I could drop you off at home, or whatever."

"No," Ryan says. He turns his back to Brendon and starts to dress. Brendon watches his naked back, the too-prominent line of his spine. He wonders if Ryan's just going to go back to the party like nothing happened. "Look, I'll let myself out, okay? Through the front door this time."

"Okay," Brendon says, even though it's not.

When Ryan's fully dressed, he turns back to Brendon, his face blank. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah." Brendon stays where he is as Ryan leaves the room. A few seconds later, his front door slams. Through the still-open window, he can hear Ryan walking away.

Brendon stands, feeling strangely numb. In the moonlight he can see Ryan's handprints on the windowsill, and smudges of red on his own chest from where Ryan touched him.

He closes the window, and the sound of footsteps fades.

Brendon's alone.

they say the captain goes down with the ship

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 08:12:11 GMT

Goooood evening! This the third day in a row that I've voluntarily woken up around nine a.m. and it is weird. On the one hand, it's nice to have more daylight to work in! On the other, it's dispiriting to wake up to literally no emails because so little time has passed. ;_; Also, friends, update more. ALSO, blogs I follow on Google Reader, update more! >:(

The five things you associate with me meme is still hanging around like a summer cold, so here are even more answers from me!

From softlyforgotten, these:

1. The Obamas
Aw, I love them! The happy hangover still hasn't worn off on these two. Like a lot of people, I fervently followed the election, and President Obama had me feeling more excited and hopeful about the state of our country than any candidate ever had. I didn't have any icons on my hiatus LJ for the longest time, but after November 4th I decided that America was my fandom and Barack/Michelle my OTP. And that still holds true. :)

2. Crossdressing
Crossdressing is hot! That was an opinion I didn't have until Ryan Ross. Many of my kinks in this fandom started off as sort of Ryan Ross specific, this most of all. Turns out in order for me to want to see a guy dressed like a lady the guy has to actually look kind of like one already. What I wish the world had more of was AUs with unexplained crossdressing; say, a boarding school AU where the boys are boys and Ryan just wears skirts and thigh highs. While I do find the secretly-wearing-lingerie trope very hot, I am an even bigger fan of just going all the way with it.

Anyway, all that said I have swung over to the Brendon crossdressing side of things, mostly because oh damn, that ass in girly underwear. Also, I have an eternal WIP that I think needs some retooling, which is Brendon/Greta where BOTH of them crossdress, an idea that is clearly so hot that it scorches my ability to write a decent story about it. So yes, there's that WIP and the Western AU with Ryan passing as a lady.

WAIT A MINUTE. I think the first paragraph was a lie. Baaaaaaack in the day there was a tiny movement toward William Beckett crossdressing (in AUs and things) and I remember being very okay with that. Although I think that still falls under the lady-man-lady umbrella. Relatedly, needs moar transfic, world. *_*

3. The nature of RPS
My talking about this tends to bite me in the ass more often than not, unfortunately, which makes me feel reluctant to do it much. I try very hard these days to make it ABUNDANTLY clear that I'm not married to any one point of view and very willing to listen to other people's ideas and talk with them about it and very often even change my mind, which has always been true of me but in the past perhaps not as obvious as I'd hoped. As my Ryan/Keltie breakup rambling showed, I do still have a damnable urge to share my own jumbled thoughts about my feelings and angst and blah blah blah.

I think RPS is interesting in a way that media fandom can't hope to be, if only for the fact of our ongoing canon, but it also has its own unique set of unfortunate pitfalls. It's a drag that a lot of the time you can't have an RPF OTP without being accused of being a tinhat or crazy somehow. I tend to assume that any RPF discussion is automatically couched in terms of us all being aware that yes, in fact, the things we are talking about are fictional, so there's no need to disclaim a hundred times that omg it's just fiction and you don't think it really happened etc. because - duh, we all know that, right? Like, we all have the mutual respect for each other to assume that no one is a crazy tinhat until they actually state that they factually believe something happened between whoever, right?

Well, apparently not. *throws up hands* Whatever, guys.

4. Fiona Apple
Ahaha, this one had me confused at first until softlyforgotten told me it was in relation to that Panic recasting I did awhile ago, with the boys in the Criminal video. That entry is locked now, but I still find the concept super hot and wish the boys would do sexier videos. Come on, Brendon Urie! You know you've been a bad, bad girl! *____*

5. Pete/Ryan
My secondary OTP! Man, I still adore their friendship. For some reason when I write them it's all very ~*~angsty~*~ in a way that I don't see Brendon/Ryan as being - even though I do actually see Brendon/Ryan as being potentially very angsty! I don't know! I guess I don't see Pete/Ryan as being happy at all, is the thing, which is why I default to trying to understand their relationship in fic form. But like with any pairing, my thoughts have evolved a lot over time. 2004-2006 Pete was a pretty fucked up dude (from what he showed us, from what we saw of him, blah blah disclaimer none of us know the guy blah), and 2004-2006 Ryan was also kind of a fucked up kid to a lesser/different extent (see above re: blah); given the sort of mutual worship between them and the record label boss/signed kid in a band factor, I think any sort of romantic relationship would be pretty fucked.

That said, my viewpoint on them has changed as canon has changed, and I'd certainly write different stories about them now (as I would say about pretty much any of my older stories - another thing about RPF, god bless it, is that you're Jossed and retconned so often that stories that stand the test of time are the exception rather than the rule). Actually, I wouldn't write Pete/Ryan stories now, haha, as I don't really feel the pairing anymore. I'm most interested in them as just really good friends. I wish people would write more of their friendship, though, because I do think it's evolved in a pretty fascinating way.

And from hypomnema, these:

→ proper, long-winded, handwritten letters
I used to really love writing letters! I got really into it when I lived in NY, because I was on the train all the damn time (man I don't miss those craptastic commutes) so I got into the habit of snail mail corresponding with tons of people while I was on the subway. Man, I used to send the most epic letters, too. The entire chronicle of my college years is probably spread out among about a dozen people. I'm not so good at writing anymore, but I generally manage to get letters off to some family members because I mail out copies to them of the magazine I write for. I should get into it more, I have ridiculous amounts of stationery still!

→ mystery shopping
Ahhh, work. Mystery shopping is a funny side job, and only occasionally a really interesting one. It's made me better at really noting what's going on around me, and I've gotten bolder about talking to salespeople and making special requests at restaurants and stuff like that. Still though, it's work, and no matter how easy the assignment is or how tasty the meal is, there's still a long report I have to fill out when I get home from doing it. Whiiiine.

→ underwear-tastic photos
I used to take a lot more of these! I had a special filter for it and everything. Oh man. I feel like I photograph kind of weird these days, and like there are fewer people interested in seeing me half-naked than there used to be. I kind of miss it, now that I think about it. Huh.

→ the pressure of fandom / fandom bitches
Oh geez. That is a fair thing to associate with me, and a bumout thing. I've been trying to formulate a way to respond to this all day, and I think I'm going to just take it to mean how I handle that pressure - which, in the past, has been generally some combination of getting really mad, feeling attacked, getting upset, getting sad, and, ultimately, going into a sort of hiding.

When I put this LJ on hiatus, it was due to something of a perfect storm of bad situations:
a. Jessa and I finally decided to close a community we ran together that had made a whole hell of a lot of people really mad, and we had to deal with the fallout/shadenfreude from that.
b. My ex had behaved pretty poorly toward me and my girlfriend at the time, and I was pretty destroyed by the end of our friendship and the circumstances behind it.
c. It was becoming clear that an entire group of people who had at one point been my friends were trashing me to just about anyone who would listen. All of these people, including my ex, were in fandom and therefore pretty much everywhere I turned.
d. I found out about an anon community where people talked shit about me, spread gossip about me, made up rumors, speculated about my sex life, called me a slut for having a sex life (what's up, feminism!), reposted my pictures to call me a whore, and mocked the fact that I was struggling with an eating disorder, among many, many other things.

I realize I'm going to sound like Pollyanna or something when I say the following, so go ahead and marvel at my former naivety. In seven or so years of being in fandom, I'd always felt a certain sense of belonging. As fandomers, I feel like we understand each other in a way that other people don't - we love things in the same way, not exactly the same of course, but there is a commonality there. It takes a certain kind of person to look at something you love and want to become a part of it by writing about it or reading about it beyond the source material.

In other words, I felt that as a member of fandom, I was part of an Us, with the people that were not like us - the ones that would make fun of someone for writing fic, or not get why you were online all the time, or why you would go to a midnight showing for a movie, or see the same concert twice, whatever - as Them. I felt that as part of that Us, I was in a community where I could be myself, because if you're in the community, you understand. As part of that Us, there's a certain respect for each other, a knowledge that no matter what someone does, there is an implicit knowledge that in a very, very important way, we are the same. We may disagree with each other, we may piss each other off, but we all share something that They don't. And that means something. Or it meant something, to me.

Seeing people having a mean-spirited conversation about who they thought I was fucking was a shock. It was a shock because it felt like, in that respect, I had been made into an Other - I may as well have not been a person at all. They talked about me like I was someone completely separate from them who did not deserve respect, who wasn't part of a community, who wasn't part of anything at all.

It made me realize that the idea of there even being a fannish community is a total joke; there is no Us. What makes us the same means absolutely nothing. Like I said, shake your head at the total naivety I once lived in in even thinking that what united us mattered. It doesn't. And it was a shitty thing to realize, especially under those circumstances.

Under that pressure, I pretty much folded like a house of cards. Fandom, the place where I'd once gone to escape the shitty things, had become in most respects pretty fucking awful. Moving to a different journal was a really hard decision for me, because I'd always had a very open sort of personality and never been the type to feel ashamed of who I am or hide anything. I hated friends locking things, but didn't want to deal with the scrutiny and the people reading solely so they could go mock me publicly with their friends. So yeah, I went and hid for the better part of a year.

I feel like/hope to god it's been long enough at this point that most peoples' grudges have died down; I know mine have. A lot of what people had to say I took into consideration, and I think I have changed a lot as a result of those criticisms. I'm a hell of a lot more aware of how I come off these days, and I've learned to tone it down because some people take me wayyyy more seriously than I take myself. I disclaim things rather than figuring people will avoid assuming the worst of me. I try to make it clear that just because I say something today it doesn't mean I'll feel the exact same thing tomorrow, and that I've got a ridiculously changeable mind and am like to talk myself into enjoying things I disliked only moments ago. (Apparently I'm also still pretty honest about things, despite the shit that's gotten me in the past. Oh well.)

In any event, I like fandom, despite everything. I like reading fanfiction about people and characters I'm already familiar with. I like porn. I like many of the people I've met through this fandom and others, and I look forward to meeting more people and making new friends, which I missed having the chance to do in a locked journal.

So hopefully next time this meme comes around, you'll associate me with bravely rising from the ashes and being happy in fandom again. \o/

→ KITTENS ♥
I BET THIS IS JUST BECAUSE OF MY LJ NAME. But I am super happy to be associated with kittens, because they are small and soft and cuddlesome. Sometimes I wish I had a cat, but I do not like taking on responsibility. So I pet other people's cats and it's okay.

Today I trekked up to Summerlin to interview the heads of a design firm there for a feature I'm writing. I like that I've slipped into the Vegas mentality where a half hour drive is a trek, when my past commutes have been like, 45 minutes in the dark in the rain in Washington, or an hour and two transfers on a crowded train in New York. Tomorrow I plan to write the actual article, turn it in a week and a half early, and modestly accept the effusive praise my editor will heap upon me for my promptness. \o/

After the interview I took a turn around Summerlin since I'm not usually up that far north and I was near Boca Park, which is a pretty nice shopping area. I bought this in fluorescent pink. Awhile ago an old friend far more adept at stalking than I located the Tropical Smoothie Cafe where Brendon used to work, and as it was on the way today, I stopped there and got a cookie. It's next door to a Port of Subs. Ever since I found that out I've entertained the following thought: Ryan coming to pick Brendon up from work, and ending up hanging out at the Port of Subs next door and doing his homework while Brendon finished up his shift.

Then he'd head over and Brendon would make him a smoothie and Ryan would give Brendon half his sandwich (even though Brendon always tries to refuse it, because it's Ryan's food! Brendon can make his own food! But every time Ryan just insists he thought he could eat the foot long, and now he's full and he doesn't want to let the sandwich go to waste, and every time it just so happens to be Brendon's favorite kind of sandwich) and then Ryan would give Brendon a ride home and then - anyway, it's this big domestic epic in my head, and I just started actually writing that fic, so. I think I am going to go work on that now. Despite everything, yay fandom. \o/

insert "the cat's out of the bag" joke here

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 04:22:34 GMT

I was debating whether or not to do this, because I liked having a place to post fic without readers potentially getting bogged down by old fandom biases, and it was nice to be able to have fic judged solely on its merits as fic, and not seen through a lens of whatever I'd written before or outright avoided because of my previous work or me in general. I had vague ideas of writing both here and there, but it turns out some folks at an anon community have outed me as writing under that name (having found out through one of my friends, or a friend of a friend who talked about it, so, bummer), and now here we are.

cloviswest is me, I am cloviswest. (Clovis West is the name of my dad's high school, and auberryroad - also a journal I've used in the last several months, also anonymously said to be me a few times - is the street I grew up on, in case you were wondering.) I've posted three stories over there, and I participated in the popoffacork exchange that jae_w put together recently. The stories are as follows, and I'm going to talk a bit about each one because I haven't had the chance to, really.

Dear Catastrophe Waiter (Brendon/Ryan, NC-17): In which Brendon is a virgin, vegan donuts are tools of seduction, and Ryan is the prettiest waiter in all of San Francisco. After something like ten years in fandom total, and now three years in this one, I'm pretty sure this is the first AU fic I've ever posted. [EDIT: ahaha way to forget the first fic I ever wrote in this fandom. Just kidding!] I have a hard time getting around the girlfriends, which is an unfortunate flaw of mine as a fanfic writer, and my recipient specified that she really loves them. Luckily she also mentioned liking AUs, so I dove in and decided to see what I could come up with.

My recipient lives in the San Francisco area, and I leapt upon that as a setting for a normal-boys AU (fact: I saw Milk not long before this as well and had that in mind, but hoo boy a holiday exchange is not the time and place for a political activists AU), and did the best I could with my limited SF knowledge, coincidentally gleaned while in town for the first shows of the 2008 HCT. Herbivore is in fact a delicious vegan restaurant with really tasty donuts; Ryan is in theory someone who would look REALLY cute in an apron. And thus the story begins.

Writing the porn was one of the most interesting things. Since it was an AU, it was a whole different challenge to make it hot and interesting and meaningful (i.e. something I would want to read myself). One of the things I like best about writing Panic is the length of time they've all known each other, and how that plays into stories - why two people are getting together now is always one of the most fascinating questions a story can answer for me, as opposed to when they met in high school, or when they were recording, or when they were at the cabin, or on HCT, whatever. That history also gives the story an automatic buildup to the sex, and a nice tension that's harder to replicate when you're writing people who have just met.

Not having that automatic buildup made it more of a struggle for me to find an angle, especially since I didn't quite have it in me to write the whole story as an epic (although let me tell you, internets, it's going to be a sweet time when Ryan introduces Brendon to his pot dealer Marie and Marie's boyfriend Joe, and when Brendon's next door neighbor Keltie teaches him to dance before Brendon takes Ryan out to a fancy anniversary dinner, and when Pete meets Patrick and a few years down the line they ask their friend Ashlee to be a surrogate for them - oh in my mind this story is a sweet, sweet epic story of goodness and love), and since it was a story about beginnings and reinventions, I thought virgin Brendon would suit the story quite well. Also, it is hot.

Ryan tops in this story (!!!!111!!!~) because it made sense for the story and again, is hot. Brendon and Ryan having sex in any permutation: pretty hot, guys. I think Ryan topping in the Brendon/Ryan dynamic has been the dominant thing in the fandom for awhile now. I remember feeling very! strongly!! about this in the past (oh the emotional overinvestment I had in fandom back when I lived with my parents and hated my job and kind of hated my life - glad to be past that time, wow), but now, eh, it can be hot either way. I think Ryan bottoming still edges out Brendon bottoming in my personal scale of hotness, but hey man, it's porn, and people will write the dynamics that they find hot. Word to that.

In conclusion, I would like a vegan donut.

21 (Panic GSF, Brendon/Ryan, NC-17): Speaking of writing things I find hot, gangbangs are still something I find way hot. I like writing people who like sex, and I like then giving those characters a lot of sex. So here we have cockslut Brendon getting a birthday present from his bandmates. This was originally inspired by a conversation with gigantic way back in the day where we talked about how Brendon's bandmates most definitely should have spanked him on his birthday. And I figured if you have Brendon Urie turned over your knee, then why not follow that up with fucking? Lots and lots of fucking? So then I wrote this fic. I got some really interesting criticism on it which made me think (it also really made me complain drunkenly, ahahaha oh self), and which I've kept in mind since.

Speaking of cocksluts, anyway, it was kinda cool to see that people still like them and want to read about them, because I still do too. \o/ No matter who it is. (Although I think the term cockslut might carry a bit too much baggage in this fandom at this point, especially in reference to Ryan and thus cobbled together from a bunch of 2006-era characterizations written by a few people. Too bad folks still get down on the idea, because I yearn for more gangbangs. ;_;) [EDIT: Hmm, gangbang is included here under the heading of General Psychological Roleplay, so perhaps that's a loaded term as well? Damn you, semantics! How about cockstuffing? Very focused groupsex? Character-centric porn? Although I am down with the psychological aspects of it. Bring on the blindfolds!] [Wait, bring on the blindfolds again, I guess. Whoops.]

Looks Okay On You (Brendon/Ryan, NC-17): What's really funny about it just coming out now that I'm cloviswest is that I posted this story there not long after putting this LJ on hiatus, and I had in fact excerpted this story here at least twice. Good god was I ever paranoid about being found out. Rereading it now feels sort of like the last attempt at writing a story like this (if that makes any sense? I mean a story more like my old work, as opposed to 21 or Dear Catastrophe Waiter), and I feel like I can see a pretty clear evolution between these three stories. It may just be me though, given that Dear Catastrophe Waiter still pinged people as being written in my style. Oh well, I gotta be me.

Some folks got a dubcon vibe off of it, which was a major bumout because Brendon wasn't meant to be taking advantage of Ryan in any way. That did make me more aware of the need to sell a reader on a pairing, which wasn't something I'd paid attention to before. It was an interesting learning experience, anyway. I want more concrit (or any, actually, as what I saw wasn't meant to be constructive or for me at all, presumably - unless del.icio.us bookmarks are the new venue for criticism), I like discussing things with people when they find something they don't like.

I also wrote a wee short Chris/Darren pornlet called You've Really Got A Hold On Me, which is kind of depressing now. Oh Chris. ;_; I would still love above all else a real Chris/Darren epic tracking them from high school and Until Sundown to the last tour and Chris leaving the band. Man that would be awesome as anything.

The moral of the story is: porn. The second moral is, if you've written a lot of fic, try posting under a sock or writing for an anonymous exchange someday. It's kinda cool the reactions you get when people go in blind. Oh, and try new things, you might like them! But don't give up on the old things just because people don't like them, because chances are some people still do like them, they are just quieter about it. Finally, please give me a donut.

Twilight RPF! /o\ \o/?

Mon, 05 Jan 2009 05:29:37 GMT

Happy birthday, hypomnema! Here is a fic for you!! ♥ (And here is a short primer for those who may be interested but don't know much about these two.)

Title: Exit 30, Kalama
Author: addictedkitten
Fandom: Twilight RPF
Pairing: Kristen Stewart/Robert Pattinson
Rating: PG
Summary: Rob and Kristen spend a night in during filming in Kalama, Washington.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction.
Note: The high school scenes were filmed in Kalama, which is very small and very boring-looking when one passes it on Interstate 5. There is indeed a Burger Bar, an Antique Mall & Deli, and a tiny roadside motel.
Beta: Thank you wovenindelibly for putting up with my arguing!

Rob stands at Kristen's motel door for almost an entire minute before he knocks. It's nearly ten o'clock and they shot all day. Probably Kristen's in bed already. Maybe.

Rob knocks on the door.

"What's the password?" Kristen asks from inside.

Rob pauses, then says, "I've got whiskey."

There's a sound of shuffling inside. When Kristen opens the door, she's wearing a tank top and pajama pants. "How'd you know the password?" she asks, taking the bottle.

Rob searches for a clever answer. He comes up with, "Lucky guess."

"You know the way to my heart," Kristen says. "Diet Coke okay?"

"Sure," Rob says. The door swings shut behind him. He stands there. There's one chair at a cheap, fake wood table topped with the remains of a takeaway dinner, and there's the bed. Rob continues to stand there.

Kristen's at the bathroom counter making them drinks. Rob watches her shoulders move as she pours them and then drops a handful of half-melted ice cubes into their glasses. "You can sit," she says, looking at him in the mirror over the counter.

"I know," Rob mutters. Fine, if she wants him to sit, he'll sit. He'll sit right there on the bed. See how she likes it.

He sits on the chair.

"You can't see the TV from there," she points out, handing him his drink and sitting on the bed.

"Were you going to order porn or something?" he asks, just to be a dick.

"No, but that's not a bad idea." She raises an eyebrow at him. He meets her stare.

"We probably have different tastes anyway," he says, backing down.

The surrender, of course, only seems to amuse her. "Yeah, what's your taste then?"

"Nothing," Robert says, "let's watch cable or something." He moves to the bed, hoping to appease her. It works. She clinks their glasses together and takes a long drink. "You're eighteen, right?"

"Sure." Kristen grins at him.

"Sure," he parrots, but for all he can act, he's a bad mimic, and it comes out fonder than he intended anyway. He bites his lip, then feels self-conscious about it, obvious and nervous. Oh, for god's sake.

He looks over at Kristen and she's biting her lip too, which makes him feel a little better at least. But now he's just looking at her mouth for longer than is probably socially acceptable.

"Another?" Kristen asks, holding up her empty glass and breaking his gaze.

"Sure," he says again, and passes his over.

"You can get comfortable, you know," Kristen says over her shoulder.

Rob's perched on the edge of the bed. His jacket's still on. "Okay," he says, and shrugs out of his jacket, then after some consideration, his shoes. He gets comfortable. She returns with another glass; he didn't see the first poured but judging by the slight buzz he's feeling, she's a generous pour. "Where'd you get dinner?"

"The antique-mall-slash-deli on the corner," Kristen says wryly. "Quite a town they've put us up in."

"I went to the Burger Bar," Rob admits. "Then the liquor store."

Kristen raises her glass, then clinks it against his. "Good choice."

He stares at her. He never means to do that, but it keeps happening. She looks back at him, cracking a half-smile. Somehow their silences always feel less awkward than their actual conversations.

"Did you want to rehearse, or are you just giving me the creepy Edward stare out of habit?" she asks.

Okay, maybe the silences are awkward too. Well, this one is. "Uh," Rob says, after a beat too long. "Habit." He doesn't stop staring.

"I've got weed," Kristen says, finally.

"Alright," says Rob.

Somehow it's much easier to feel relaxed around Kristen when they've smoked a joint and a half and knocked back three drinks a piece. In fact, after all that Rob could probably be relaxed around pretty much anyone.

They're lying head to toe on the bed, sprawled out. Rob's looking for shapes on the ceiling, and pointing them out when he finds them. Kristen is a little chattier than usual, although not with any particular focus. She mentions books she's read that Rob hasn't and bands that Rob's never heard of. Her toenail polish is some sparkly beige color, and it's all chipped.

"I can't even feel my pulse," Kristen says. "Or it's like. All I can feel. Weird."

"I think that's a sun," Rob says, pointing upward at a particularly sunny-looking section of stucco. He lets his hand drop after a second, then gropes for hers. He touches her fingers first, then her knuckles, the top of her hand, and finally her wrist. He grasps it lightly, edging his fingertips around. "There's your pulse, I found it," he says gravely. "You're alive."

Her hand moves beneath his, and he lightens his grip enough for her fingers to edge down as well, feeling around for his own pulse. It speeds up. "You too," she says.

"That's good." She doesn't let go of his wrist, so he doesn't let go of hers either. Rob's throat hurts a little. He sits up just enough to grab his drink and finish it off. Kristen's started squeezing his wrist, not hard, but like it's something to do. She grips it tightly, then less tight, then tight again. She scrapes her short nails over the tendons there, then rubs over the bones with flat fingertips. It's casual, curious, and a bit strange. It's kind of like wrist foreplay, or something.

And, as things go with Kristen, Rob finds the strange things about her kind of hot.

"I like wrists," Kristen says, like it isn't obvious from the way she's molesting Rob's at the moment. She grips around the base of his hand, then strokes over the knobs of bone where his wrist starts, then moves further up.

"I have two," Rob says. He's stoned and buzzed and he forgives himself the stupidity of what he just said. There are worse things he could have done, like invite her to touch them.

Kristen sits up and looks down at him. He blinks back. After a second, as if through a haze, he offers his other wrist. (Now that is an invitation. There, he's done worse.) She sways slightly, and it occurs to Rob that she's matched him drink for drink and hit for hit, and she's littler than he is, she's actress-sized.

She releases his wrist, and his lips are parted for apologetic goodbyes when she takes his wrists in her hands, gets a tight grip on both of them, and leans down, pinning him to the bed.

Rob's mouth stays open. No words issue forth.

She's close enough to kiss him, but she doesn't. Her long hair brushes against his shirt. She tightens her grip on his wrists until it almost hurts, then until it does. He doesn't wince. He doesn't even move. Kristen has a boyfriend, as far as Rob knows, and he shouldn't even be here right now, but here he is. Here she is. Here they are. It feels like they've been here ever since they met at the audition and were on the bed kissing for Catherine within the hour. During rehearsals they've been here; during filming they've been here.

It's Kristen's move. Rob wonders if she's going to make it.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Kristen asks.

"Yes," Rob says quietly. She doesn't ease up her grip. His hands are starting to tingle.

She tilts her head. "Do you like it?"

Rob says, "Yes." He's not lying. He likes it the way he likes playing someone tortured. He likes it the way he likes falling for unattainable co-stars.

Kristen squeezes his wrists again, hard enough that it feels like he might be bruised there tomorrow. "You should probably go."

"Are you going to let me?" He stares straight up at her.

"Yeah," she says, her voice hoarse, lower even than usual. She lets him go just enough that he can lean up, but she doesn't move back, not really.

He stays where he is.

She pushes him back down.

Kristen kisses him.

She tastes like whiskey and smoke and kisses slow, like now that she's here she's going to take her time. Rob lifts up a bit and opens his mouth for her, letting her control the kiss. His hands go to her waist, skin warm and soft where her shirt's rucked up. She lays herself atop him, barely any weight to take. Even though he wants to roll them over, press down against her, he doesn't. He shouldn't. He won't.

He kisses her.

It feels like it goes on for awhile, but it can't have been more than ten seconds when she pulls back. "You should go," Kristen says again. She swallows, blinking down at him. "Yeah," she says, and moves back enough to let him up.

Rob sits up, cautiously. "Yeah?" he says, not quite meaning it to be a question, but it can't be helped.

"I shouldn't," Kristen says. "We shouldn't."

"Yeah," Rob says. "Yeah, because," he continues, but doesn't finish. Honestly, the list of Why Nots would be demoralizing.

"Yeah." Kristen stares at him. "So."

"I'll leave." Rob stands abruptly, at which point the whiskey and weed catches up to him in the form of an undignified sway.

"Okay," Kristen says, nodding. She reaches out and catches his wrist, steadying him.

Rob stares down at her.

She lets go.

-

The next day Kristen avoids him when they're not in scenes together.

He wears long sleeves to cover his bruised wrists, and lets her.

promptly and with no reserve

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 21:36:07 GMT

I was writing a story last night for a friend's upcoming birthday, and it reminded me that I like writing stories for people within their guidelines. Knowing there's a specific recipient that wants it pushes me in ways I appreciate, even if there's not necessarily a deadline. Some of my favorite stories I've written have been for other people.

To that end, prompt me! I'm modeling this after the template from popoffacork (which you should check out if you haven't - story pairings are all listed here) and other exchanges, so if you want me to write you something, fill out this right here:

Name:
Birthday:
Pairing I Want:
Other Pairings I Could Go For:
Stuff I Like:
Cracky Things I Like (optional):
Kinks (optional):

Here is an example of me doing it -

Name: AK
Birthday: 5/18
Pairing I Want: Brendon/Ryan
Other Pairings I Could Go For: GSF with a Brendon/Ryan focus, Chris/Darren, Ryan/Chris
Stuff I Like: I love epic romances that span band histories, early band fic, porn, Brendon topping, first times, and banter. I'd rather girlfriends weren't ignored entirely, but involvement should be limited, not the focus, and as drama-free as possible. I like current canon and near future fic that talks about why this is happening now. I'm more interested in relationship stories than character studies - actually a sort of relationship study would be really cool.
Cracky Things I Like: I like AUs; historical AUs with a power imbalance or class difference (master/servant, lord/peasant, rich kid/poor kid, etc.) are my very favorite. I dig wingfic, vampires, and mpreg.
Kinks: People who are really eager for sex, comeshots, barebacking, gangbangs, non-hardcore BDSM.

So yeah, like that! No pairing is off-limits, I'm a changeable creature and might like something today that I didn't like yesterday, or might like something tomorrow that I don't like today, even. *leaf on the wind* I might write Panic plus Shane (though I'd need some canon outside of that he lives with Brendon and is their friend/film guy - if you ask for Shane, link me to a primer), The Cab maybe, FOB plus Ashlee, Kristen Stewart/Robert Pattinson, The Jonas Brothers (what!), and I don't know, whatever else you think I might write. I make no promises, I might write all of these or none of them, I might write them tomorrow or next year. I put in a thing for you to put your birthday because why not? But again, no promises. Doesn't matter if you know me or not, everyone is welcome to request. Anonymous comments are on, even, so if there's something you're shy about requesting just honor system promise me that you'll come back to comment if I write it. :)

Anyway I'm nosy and want to see what people are into reading these days. I won't close off the number of replies so if you come to this post awhile from now feel free to request anyway. I might put it in the sidebar, hmm.

Okay. Prompt me!

Fic: Like A Game (sequel to That First Inconceivable Touch)

Thu, 07 Aug 2008 20:28:37 GMT

Title: Like A Game (sequel to That First Inconceivable Touch)
Author: addictedkitten
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: Boys are only after one thing, Ryan is. Ryan doesn't know what he's after, but he hopes to find that only one thing one of these days so he can stop looking.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Note: I wrote That First Inconceivable Touch just over two years ago. Consider this one possible future for the story, rather than a definitive sequel. Thanks to callsigns for the beta.

So he and Keltie are on the outs again (on, off, long distance is hard, it's worth it, it isn't, is it?) and last time it was two weeks before they got back together, last time he slept with someone else and she slept with someone else and this is how it goes, sex with other people, no longer something new and important. Ryan's count of people he's slept with is approaching the twenties the way he used to be and it's always the same, girls are always the same. Guys are, too, that mystery gone. Boys are only after one thing, Ryan is. Ryan doesn't know what he's after, but he hopes to find that only one thing one of these days so he can stop looking.

He doesn't let himself think about it too much, the timing, the destination. The windows are still down and he still drives too fast, the Mercedes is new and Ryan isn't. Older, wiser, happier (happier? It's easier now to try, at least), better dressed maybe, but that's it. More interestingly dressed, though not tonight. Tonight he fits in, jeans as tight as he wore them four years ago, the worn pair of girl jeans from AE that he never managed to get rid of, a battered pair of Converse, black deep V with the black Ray-bans he just might be enough of an asshole to wear into the venue. Whatever. If he's recognized he's recognized, he's had worse fucking problems in his life than taking a few pictures with fans and he can always hide by the bar. He's had worse problems than being in a band he loves and having an on/off girlfriend who doesn't fuck with his head as much as Tarah did in high school, as much as Jac did after, as much as Pete, as much as fucking anyone, whatever. On a relative scale of one to fucked up he's done worse.

Four years and a few albums later and this band is still playing the same size venues and still drawing the same crowds, the scene kids a little older, some younger to replace ones lost. Ryan's there again anyway, still there. He doesn't have to reach so far back to remember listening to these records in his room and wanting to take those rhythms, construct furious songs that sounded like sex out of keyboards and drum machines, songs that would get in people's heads and stay there. He just wanted to make people dance, and they did, and now he looks beyond this for inspiration, finds new words and new sounds to backdrop them, but this. He still loves this. The latest record's been on his iPod for weeks and he knows it'll be just as good like this, surrounded by bodies, anonymous, feeling it like everyone else here, feeling it like he used to, like he wants to again. He wants to again.

He doesn't think about it, he's not thinking about down the Boulevard, he's not thinking about it as he shows his ticket to get into the venue, he's not thinking about it through the last opener. He's not thinking about anything but how much he needs this, now. He's not thinking about what this means.

He's not thinking. He closes his eyes and stands in the back and sips from his drink and slips his sunglasses off, but not to see. Just not to hide.

He's different now, this is all different, but he's still drawn helplessly into the crowd when the lights go down and the band comes on stage, he still feels the pull, the need to be close, closer, in it. He hasn't seen The Faint since, since he was edging up on eighteen but not quite there yet. They've toured through Vegas but never when Panic was on a break, and anyway if they had he still might not have gone. He's not even sure why he's here now. (He knows exactly why he's here now. Exactly.)

It's cooler on the fringes of the crowd but he can feel the humidity, sweat and bodies pressed together, the helpless movement of the crowd, the sway and twitch and burn of masses of kids, people his age, all together on the edge of something moving inward. The band opens with a newer track, one he doesn't know the name of, just the number on the record, and a few people sing it back. Ryan feels the bass pounding up through the floor, the press and brush of skin and fabric around him, his fingers soft but insistent on strangers' hips, working his way through the crowd towards the middle. Under the stage lights everyone glitters red and orange, a crowd full of fireworks and motion, oh god, Ryan's heart is pounding so fast, his fingers tingling, his whole body oversensitive to every touch, the sensory overload of being surrounded, pinned in, trapped, held in place, pushed against a cold bathroom wall and pounded into, fucked, taken, fucked, oh god, he wasn't going to let himself think about this, he wasn't. He needs air, he needs not this, he thought this was right but it's wrong, it's breaking up the memory he wants to keep close and that can't happen.

"Fuck," he says, breathless and shaking, and turns in the crowd, letting himself drift out of it, casually pushed, the crowd parting in slim spaces he can slip through, but nowhere he can disappear. His hands clench into fists and his legs feel insufficient to the job of holding him up. The music is so loud he can't think, almost loud enough to lose himself in, but he can't, he can't fucking let himself again, things are different now. The music follows him out to the crowd's edge and he's so busy trying to tread water that he almost misses it, the familiarity of the touch on his shoulder, not guiding him out, not a casual brush. He looks up from the floor, from navigating the sea of Chuck Taylors and skinny jeans, and stops short of running into Brendon.

Brendon. Brendon's hand squeezes his shoulder, Brendon doesn't smile, Brendon doesn't say a word, Brendon. Now that he's here and in front of Ryan he's all Ryan can think about, the name spilling from every corner of his mind, the million ways he thought the two of them could end up here, back here. Brendon, Brendon, Brendon talking to him this week about his plans for their time off, going to the mall, buying a new couch, going to his favorite donut shop, spending time with his nieces and nephews, and he never once said this, never even mentioned that he knew this show was happening, that he'd be here. He never mentioned it, and Ryan never said anything, and Ryan knew. He fucking knew. He should have known.

Brendon licks his lips, and Ryan fits his fingers to Brendon's hips, guides Brendon back and further out of the crowd, a thousand words dying before they even make it to his throat. Brendon swallows, and Ryan's trembling, his thumb twitching against the waist of Brendon's jeans as Brendon turns and leads him there. There, where they both want to go, need to go, back to the bathrooms. It's been four years, and Ryan's fucking trembling.

Brendon leads him and Ryan lets his eyes slip shut, lets himself pretend this is then but he can't, it's now, he knows every inch of Brendon and Brendon knows every inch of him, even knows what he's thinking, and it's been so long. His breath is trapped in his chest like his hand is trapped in Brendon's grip, like they're both trapped in this memory and reliving it, reshaping it. The scene is the same, the bathroom's the same, the graffiti in the stall is the same and Brendon's mouth under his tastes the same when Brendon shoves him against the wall and kisses him hard.

Brendon's not the same; he knows how to kiss now, he gives as good as Ryan gives it to him, his hands rough on Ryan's waist as he digs his fingers into Ryan's sides and urges his arms up, peeling the t-shirt from his body, only giving up possession of Ryan's mouth to get it all the way off of him as Ryan bumps his hips up against Brendon's, rubbing hot and needy against him when he can't touch with his hands. Brendon's mouth is back on his and Ryan's hands are back at Brendon's belt as soon as Ryan's chest is bared. Out of the crowd, the light sheen of sweat on his chest cools enough to get his nipples hard, and Brendon pinches one as he pushes his tongue into Ryan's mouth, his other hand at Ryan's ass, squeezing him through his jeans until Ryan manages to get Brendon's own jeans undone.

Ryan drops to his knees, landing harder than he meant to, clumsier, and the forward motion has him nuzzling against Brendon's cock through his boxers even as he reaches greedily inside, finally getting what he wants, what he needs, Brendon's dick hard and thick and hot in his grip, the taste so familiar on his tongue as he takes it in his mouth, skipping the pleasantries and just swallowing it down, stretching his mouth around the thickness of it, getting it good and wet as Brendon gasps and thrusts forward gracelessly. It catches Ryan by surprise and he chokes a bit, making Brendon moan above him, but Brendon doesn't stop or even slow down and Ryan welcomes it, fuck, he wants this so much, he can feel his eyes wet at the corners from gagging, the lack of air, he can feel so much and he wants so much more already. It's been so long, it's been so fucking long. He wants Brendon to come down his throat but he wants Brendon to fuck him even more than that. He tries to pull back and Brendon just thrusts deeper, Ryan's head bumping against the stall wall.

It takes his fingers clenching on Brendon's hip to make Brendon let him pull off, gasping for air and looking up at Brendon, blinking back helpless tears, touching one hand to his flushed cheek. Brendon's eyes are dark, his cock shining wet and hard, an angry red that makes Ryan's mouth water, makes him feel empty and needy and so fucking desperate, god, "Fuck me," Ryan begs, his voice hoarse, and Brendon takes his hand, guides him up and pulls him close, kissing him fiercely as Ryan tangles his hands in Brendon's hair and returns the kiss just as hard, aching for this, aching to feel Brendon's touch wherever he can.

He whimpers when Brendon pulls away, the color high on Brendon's cheeks and his lips parted, his eyes wild. "Ryan," he whispers, and Ryan swallows, his hands going to his own jeans, thumbs sliding against his hips as he pushes them down, baring his cock. "Fuck, Ryan," Brendon says, and leans in close, circling Ryan's cock in his fist, a few dry strokes that leave Ryan on the edge of pleading. Brendon's mouth moves over Ryan's neck, sucking a mark there, tongue and teeth wet and tender on Ryan's sweaty skin, and Ryan's fingertips dig into Brendon's shoulders, helpless sounds spilling from his throat, so desperate out loud as Brendon touches him, marks him. "Turn around," Brendon murmurs, and Ryan's so grateful he could cry, turning clumsily in the cage of Brendon's arms, leaning his forehead against the wall, seventeen and twenty-one, about to let this stranger fuck him, about to let Brendon fuck him, everything unfamiliar and familiar. Ryan would crack his ribcage open and let Brendon see and steal his heart if he could, but instead he takes a deep shuddering breath and spreads his legs and says, "Please."

Brendon's breath hitches, Ryan can feel it when Brendon presses their bodies together, Ryan's spine long and bare against Brendon's clothed chest, Brendon's cock hard and slick between his cheeks, sliding down until he can feel the head prodding between his cheeks. When Brendon pushes forward, it feels like the first time, like Ryan's being split apart all over again, forced open, and he can't help but moan, trying to relax into it, trying to open up for Brendon. He'd tried so hard to be strong the first time, telling Brendon what he needed without being afraid, but never breaking for him, not even a little. Ryan lets himself break now, lets himself go slack in Brendon's arms, lets Brendon hold him up, impaled on his cock, Brendon taking control without being asked, without being goaded into it. He lets Brendon give him what he needs and take the same in turn and Brendon accepts it like he was meant to all along. He fucks Ryan slow and deep, Ryan trembling at each thrust, breathing unevenly and forgetting to breathe altogether. Brendon's hand is loosely cupped around his cock, just holding him, but Ryan doesn't thrust into it, just closes his eyes and feels the music and lets it drown out everything but the sound of Brendon panting in his ear, trusting Brendon to take care of him.

"Say my name, Ryan," Brendon breathes, hot and harsh as he works his cock in and out of Ryan's body, and Ryan nods, pushing his hips back into it.

"Brendon," he says obediently, "Brendon, Brendon," and now he's started it's hard to stop, each utterance punctuated by another insistent thrust, "Brendon, please," he gasps, relishing the snap of Brendon's hips forward, driving his cock in deeper, his grip tightening on Ryan, keeping him from coming but not from feeling, denying him for now but Ryan knows it's for his own good, that this has to last him for now and for who knows how long after. But he can't think about that now, doesn't want to, just wants this, fucking needs it, needs fucking, needs Brendon, "Brendon, Brendon," he pants, his spine tensing up when Brendon braces his one hand against the wall, wrapping it around Ryan's wrist, and really starts to pound him. The head of Ryan's cock peeks through Brendon's fist as he moves and smears the wall with pre-come, dirty, inelegant, nothing like what they've been for each other. It's been years, and Ryan's needed this so fucking badly. "Brendon," he sighs, and Brendon buries his teeth in Ryan's shoulder as he buries his cock in Ryan's ass.

Brendon's grip loosens fractionally, just enough for Ryan to thrust into it, just enough for him to come gasping over Brendon's fingers, his whole body shaking from it as Brendon's thrusts speed up, battering into Ryan's sore ass until he chokes out Ryan's name and goes still against him, inside him. Ryan closes his eyes and lets himself feel it, lets Brendon fill him up with it. He feels the ghost of an instinct to flee but ignores it, settling back into Brendon's arms as Brendon kisses lazily over the bite marks he's left. Brendon's cock softens inside him, and Ryan wants to stay.

Brendon breathes soft and warm against the back of his neck, settled there. Neither of them move. The band plays on, and Ryan still likes this song.

"Ryan," Brendon whispers, "Ryan." His arms curve around Ryan's bare waist, and he holds on tight. Ryan lets him. "Was this what you wanted?"

"You know it was," Ryan says, his voice just as quiet. He feels Brendon nod against the back of his neck, right before Brendon carefully pulls out. Ryan winces but tries to hide it, and pulls up his pants as he hears Brendon doing the same. When he turns to face Brendon, Brendon looks sixteen again. He looks scared.

Brendon swallows. "Was it all you wanted?"

Ryan says, "Not this time."

-

"I can't believe you guys broke up," Spencer says. "I'm sorry dude, that sucks. Are you alright? Do you need ice cream? Hookers?"

"I'm good," Ryan says, balancing his phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he picks his wrinkled shirt up off the floor and goes to fold it. "We were more off than on these last few months, anyway."

"Sorry though," Spencer tells him. "I liked Keltie."

"We'll still be friends." Ryan frowns at his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, that hickey's not going away anytime soon. Luckily, he has a few scarves in his wardrobe. Although he could probably stand to buy a few more. His scarf drawer isn't quite full. "Anyway, I've been keeping myself busy."

"Right, you went to the Faint show, didn't you? You hadn't seen them in awhile."

Ryan smiles. "I hadn't." He climbs back onto the bed, and pokes Brendon in his side. The sheet's slipped down enough to bare half of Brendon's naked ass. Ryan's fingers wiggle with the urge to smack.

"Good show?" Spencer asks.

Brendon rolls over and tugs at Ryan's wrist until Ryan straddles him. "Spencer," Ryan mouths, and Brendon opens his mouth as if to shout a hello. Ryan clamps a hand over his mouth. Now is not quite yet the time. This one's going to take some explaining, and right now Ryan has different priorities.

"Hello?" Spencer says.

"Yeah," Ryan says. He bounces a little on Brendon's lap, and Brendon leers at him. "Yeah, it was a really good show. I had a good time."

"Cool," Spencer says.

"Yep." Brendon grabs for his dick. "I'm gonna go, I'll talk to you later, okay?" he says, and when Spencer offers a goodbye, he hangs up.

"Good show, huh?" Brendon says.

Ryan smiles.

<3333333333333333333

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 02:49:17 GMT

Nine In The Afternoon video: BEST THING EVER OR BEST THING EVER?!

A short list of amazing things about this video:

1.
THE FIRST FUCKING FRAME - OH MY GOD

2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.

THANK YOU FOR EXISTING PANIC AT THE DISCO

take you to the midnight show tonight

Fri, 28 Dec 2007 10:42:36 GMT

I wrote fic!

Title: Drive Faster, Boy
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Ryan, Brendon, backseats, secrets.
Disclaimer: Not true at all.
Word Count: 3678

It's not like Ryan's car is anything to write home about, it's not special or new or even really that nice. It's a Pontiac Grand Am, it's the same blue as Brendon's grandmother's old couch, the seats are this weird slightly fuzzy upholstery that Brendon can't stop rubbing his fingertips against, and there are enough CDs cluttered around the front seats that Ryan could probably get half the car's resale value if he sold all of them.

Still, it's a hell of a lot nicer than Brendon's purple minivan. Of course, Spencer's battered skateboard is also nicer than Brendon's purple minivan.

These thoughts keep Brendon company as he exits the school grounds to walk home for the third day this week because his minivan is in the shop. There's a car approaching that looks an awful lot like Ryan's car, with a driver that looks an awful lot like Ryan himself. The car slows and pulls to the side of the road in front of Brendon.

"Hey," Ryan says, ducking down so Brendon can see him through the rolled-down window. "Want a ride? I've got candy."

"What kind of candy?" Brendon asks, grinning hello, and gets in.

It turns out that Ryan was lying about the candy; luckily, Brendon has half a pack of gummy bears from the school vending machine in his backpack. He pops one into his mouth, and throws another at Ryan, who has a freakish ability to catch things in his mouth. The red gummy bear lands on Ryan's tongue, and his teeth snap closed.

"You have a talented mouth," Brendon says, and then his brain catches up to him and he feels a blush ready to stain his cheeks. He wills it back. Ryan doesn't leer at him, and he doesn't volley back a lewd comment. Brendon contemplates Ryan's talented mouth in silence until Ryan cracks a smile, and then Brendon exhales. "So what are you doing here? Trying to pick up high school kids again?"

"Yes," Ryan says. "Brent wanted me to pick him up from school, but then he called ten minutes ago and said his brother was going to get him. I was already in the neighborhood."

"So you came to pick me up, how sweet," Brendon says. He bats his eyelashes at Ryan, but Ryan is unmoved. "Are you taking me home?"

"No."

Brendon waits for him to follow that up with something further, like maybe where they're actually going, but he's slowly learning that sometimes Ryan likes to play enigmatic. Or maybe he really is enigmatic, and isn't playing at all; Brendon's not sure. "Are you kidnapping me to go with you and live in the desert?"

"We do live in the desert," Ryan points out.

"We live in the suburbs," Brendon says. "The desert is that big thing with all the sand and cacti."

"I could take you to the desert and leave you there with the cacti," Ryan says. He sounds like he's considering it.

Brendon slumps down in his seat and tosses another gummy bear at Ryan. Ryan catches it between his teeth, then flicks his tongue out and curls it back into his mouth. "You're kind of weird," Brendon says.

"I think," Ryan says, as if Brendon hadn't spoken at all, "that it's time we bond."

It occurs to Brendon, as the suburbs fade out to sparser housing developments, then eventually to hardly anything at all, just miles of sand and mountains in the distance, that maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to slip into the car with this boy he's only known for a month. It's been long enough for them to practice together, for Ryan to declare them a band and Brendon to take over vocals, but Ryan's right, they haven't really bonded. They've spent a few evenings together hunched over Ryan's laptop fiddling with GarageBand after Spencer and Brent cut out for the night, but never discussed much of anything other than music. For all he knows, Ryan could be a serial killer. A really, really scene serial killer.

Ryan pulls off to the side of the road, then continues a little bit onto the entire lack of road that is the sandscape. He parks next to a cactus.

"Are you going to kill me?" Brendon asks.

Ryan looks at him. "I hadn't planned on it."

Brendon has heard more reassuring things than that in his life. "Just kidding," he says, injecting as much bravado as he can into his voice. Mostly he sounds kind of loud. "So, bonding?"

"Bonding," Ryan says decisively.

Bonding, as it turns out, is Ryan-speak for the Spanish Inquisition. He asks about Brendon's family, his childhood, his future goals, his favorite foods. Brendon tells him everything; it's not difficult for Brendon to talk about himself, as he's something of an expert on the subject. When he asks the same things of Ryan, though, Ryan just shrugs.

"It's not fair if you never say anything," Brendon complains. The sky is just beginning to dim, he's out of gummy bears, and Ryan now knows everything that Brendon has ever thought on every subject in the known universe. "You have to tell me something about you."

Ryan looks at him. Finally, he says, "I think I'm gay."

Brendon doesn't ask him anything else.

-

Brendon doesn't mention it again; Ryan doesn't mention it again. Brendon's minivan gets fixed, Ryan finally breaks up with his on/off girlfriend, they write a song, and Brendon has a sexual identity crisis. It's a quiet crisis that mostly consists of him thinking about Ryan a lot, then thinking about girls, then thinking about Ryan some more and finding those thoughts appealing. He flirts briefly with religious angst, but he's already got an addiction to Red Bull that he hides like a popstar on coke, and it's tough to get too worked up about God striking him down for gayness when his parents kicking him out for it would be the more immediate problem. Ryan acts like nothing ever happened, and Brendon's ready to convince himself that it didn't, at least until Ryan shows up at his house on a Friday night and calls Brendon from the curb to tell him to come down.

"Some people make plans before they just show up," Brendon informs him as he gets in the car. "You're my study group for Spanish, by the way, and I'll be at your house all night watching Almodovar films."

"Si," Ryan says. "Let's get milkshakes."

"And then what?"

"The night is young, Brendon. Live in the moment. We might go to the movies."

They don't go to the movies. Brendon sucks down the remainder of his strawberry milkshake and looks expectantly at Ryan, who seems to be driving nowhere in particular. Brendon's never actually seen this part of Henderson. He thinks he wasn't missing much. "So," he says.

Ryan looks straight ahead. They're about to pass a park; at the last moment, Ryan signals and turns into the lot, driving up to the edge.

"Why is that every time we go somewhere alone it starts to seem like a horror movie?" Brendon asks.

Ryan ignores him and asks, "Are you a virgin?"

"Wow." Brendon stares at him. "Are you?"

"No."

"Why are you asking me?"

"So you are." Ryan flicks his eyes over at him. "It's not a big deal, I'm just curious." He turns off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition.

"It's not actually any of your business," Brendon says, because it isn't, it really isn't, where Brendon does or doesn't stick his dick is really no concern of Ryan's, even if Brendon's been thinking dirty things about Ryan for the past week and a half.

Ryan exhales. "If I'm wrong about this, you need to tell me."

"Well, you're-" Brendon starts, and then Ryan leans across and kisses him on the mouth. He doesn't touch Brendon otherwise, but instinct has Brendon lifting a hand to cup the back of Ryan's neck, holding him in place as he parts his lips for Ryan. People don't kiss Brendon often enough for him to be well-versed in pushing someone away when kisses are offered, and even though Ryan makes no fucking sense and asks weird questions and still maybe might be ready to kill him and leave his body in the park, it's still Ryan, and Brendon's still been jerking off over him for the last nine days. He kisses back, leaning awkwardly across the center console, feeling the edge of a CD digging into his hip, the seatbelt constraining him. Ryan's mouth is warm on his and Ryan kisses well, bold like he knows what he's doing without being overeager. Brendon breathes through his nose and tangles his fingers in Ryan's hair until they break away for air.

"I think I was wrong," Ryan says breathlessly. "I don't think I'm gay."

"Awesome, okay," Brendon says, and releases Ryan, wishing suddenly and fervently that he were dead.

"No, I mean." Ryan grabs his arm, stilling him. "That came out wrong. I mean, I think I'm bi, maybe."

"Okay," Brendon says again, guardedly. It's not like he's flying the rainbow flag by any means, but he liked kissing Ryan and Ryan is a guy, so. Things seem pretty clear.

"I'm usually a lot better at this," Ryan mutters, and Brendon sees a dull flush creep over his cheeks in the shadowed light coming through the windshield. "I like you, I'm not just curious or whatever."

Brendon stares at him in surprise. "You hide it well," he says honestly.

"I was trying not to be obvious," Ryan tells the steering wheel, and Brendon feels stupidly charmed. Ryan likes him. Ryan likes him, and he likes Ryan, and this is totally amazing.

"You were not in any way obvious or even actually apparent," Brendon reassures him.

"But you're cool with this," Ryan says, looking sideways at Brendon through his bangs.

"I am cool with this." He pauses. "Can we make out some more? Also, was this a date?"

"Yes," Ryan says, and then, quieter, "and yes."

Brendon grins at him. "Cool."

-

To say they're dating would be an exaggeration, so Brendon doesn't, or he wouldn't if he ever spoke about it to anyone. Ryan starts to schedule in more and more band practices as Brendon picks up a few more shifts at the Smoothie Hut, so when they're not writing or practicing with Spencer and Brent, they pretty much just get in Ryan's car and go somewhere and park. The first night Brendon went out of his mind with nerves when they moved to the backseat, but Ryan seemed just as nervous, so all they'd done was make out and fall asleep clutching each other fully-dressed. Each stolen hour in the backseat of Ryan's car feels less and less sufficient, though, until it's been three weeks and Brendon's seriously regretting not giving it up to Ryan that first night and getting it out of the way.

They spend fifteen minutes before Brendon's evening shift with Brendon sprawled in the backseat, legs spread and pants open as Ryan curls his hand around Brendon's cock and jerks him off, ducked down in the seat so it's not completely obvious what they're doing. Even parked at the edge of the lot, Ryan's still cautious. It's broad daylight and Brendon's thrusting his dick into Ryan's hand while staring at the entrance of his workplace fifty feet away, so he's appreciating the circumspection. "When do you get off?" Ryan asks, and Brendon chokes, his head falling back against the seat as he lifts his hips into Ryan's grip.

"Did you want an exact timeframe?" Brendon says through gritted teeth.

"I meant off of work," Ryan says, smiling against Brendon's shoulder as he thrusts a little against Brendon's thigh.

"Nine," Brendon gasps. Just a few more twists of his wrist and Brendon's going to be coming all over Ryan's hand. He's excited about it.

Ryan kisses his neck. "I'll pick you up then."

"Mm," Brendon says.

"Don't get the seat again." Ryan frowns. "Maybe you could come in my mouth."

"Fuck," Brendon says sincerely, and comes on Ryan's fist.

Brendon doesn't want to go to work, he doesn't want to leave this car, he doesn't actually want to move. "My upholstery," Ryan complains, and Brendon cracks one eye open to see a streak of come on the seat.

"Well if you didn't talk dirty," Brendon says, because seriously, Ryan couldn't expect to say shit like that and not have Brendon come all over him. It was just the price he was going to have to pay for saying ridiculously hot things out loud.

"Maybe you could come on my face," Ryan offers. Brendon's dick twitches, and he tries and fails not to picture it vividly.

"Not fair, Ross."

"Maybe I'll blow you." Ryan grins, and Brendon is ready to quit his job and his life and convert to a life of sexual exploration with Ryan. It would be a good life, he thinks. They would be poor, but sated.

Brendon kisses him to forestall any further cock-stirring conversation. "You can blow me after work," he promises.

"You're too kind," Ryan says, but really, Brendon is.

-

Ryan doesn't blow him after work; he picks Brendon up and says that they're heading to Spencer's grandma's house for late-night practice. Even Brendon's wheedling doesn't convince Ryan to just pull over on the side of the road and go down, and it's a long, tense practice where Brendon's voice breaks too much and he fucks up a verse of Time To Dance often enough that Ryan gets actually mad. Ryan in his face does nothing to quell Brendon's half-hard cock in his pants; Ryan's pissiness is something of a boner-killer, but flushed and angry is also a pretty good look for him, so mostly Brendon is just sexually frustrated.

Brendon's hopeful when they get in the car afterwards, but Ryan just takes him home, and Brendon's dick remains tragically unsucked.

-

Not that Brendon spends a lot of time thinking about it, definitely not every time he closes his eyes (even just to blink) or anything, but they haven't really done much outside of kissing, just a few handjobs, frantic and fast in the backseat, groping on top of the clothes. Brendon would in fact like to get his dick sucked, and he wouldn't mind doing it to Ryan, either. There are lots of things he'd like to do to Ryan. Several of these things cross his mind when he gets a text from Ryan as he's loitering outside his locker before his first class. I'm at the gate, skip school w/ me," it reads. Brendon debates sending back a message about how Ryan hasn't called him all weekend, or that Brendon isn't a delinquent like some people, or how he better have some actual fucking candy this time, but all he manages is a quick be right there, followed by skulking off the school grounds with his hood up and his eyes darting around looking for truant officers.

"I could almost hear the Pink Panther theme, man," Ryan says, watching him cross the last few feet to the car. "How do you ever manage to sneak past anyone?"

"I did it, didn't I?" Brendon flings himself into the front seat. "Are we going to your house, or is this another magical mystery tour you're taking me on?"

Ryan says, "I thought we could go out to the desert and fuck."

Brendon blinks at him. He says, "Okay."

-

They don't go as far as usual, just far enough past the city limits that they won't be bothered. Ryan jerks his head toward the backseat, and Brendon meets him back there, taking his shirt off when Ryan does, knocking into Ryan with a little too much force when they kiss, Ryan's hand curling around his bare waist. "I haven't done this before," Brendon blurts out, and Ryan urges him down onto his back.

"If you don't like it, we can stop," Ryan says, but Brendon can see that he's already hard, and anyway he can't really imagine a world in which he doesn't like Ryan touching him. "I'll blow you first."

"Cool," Brendon says faintly, and Ryan leans down to kiss him again, working his jeans open, tugging them down and helping Brendon get them off as Brendon kicks off his shoes. He'd always pictured this being somewhat complicated, too many limbs, two cocks, and that was in a bed; in the backseat of a car, in broad daylight with nowhere to hide, it's complicated without the kindness of candlelight. He wants it, wants Ryan, and it's enough that the acute consciousness of his own naked body passes once Ryan shucks his own jeans. Ryan's small, thin all over, and it means he can fold easily enough down in the seat, hunched over so Brendon can see the long line of his spine as he takes Brendon's cock in his hand, and then into his mouth.

He slides his lips down the length of Brendon's dick, no preamble, just the pink stretch of his lips taking Brendon in, wet heat as Ryan goes down, down, down. He flicks his eyes upwards to look at Brendon, and Brendon whimpers helplessly at the sight, Ryan's big brown eyes, hollowed cheeks, lips meeting his fist curled around Brendon's cock. Ryan pulls up, dragging his tongue along the underside, and Brendon runs through a litany of things he could say to Ryan right now but professing his love when his dick is in Ryan's mouth might seem disingenuous, as much as Brendon would mean it.

Ryan pulls off, one hand tensed on Brendon's thigh, and Brendon blinks up at him. "It's good," he tells Ryan, just in case Ryan needs encouragement, just in case he doesn't understand that this is the best thing Brendon's ever felt. "It's good, I like it."

"Do you want to fuck me?" Ryan asks, and it's the effort of Brendon's life not to come right there, seeing Ryan's lower lip shining with pre-come, seeing his tongue peek out to lick it away as he looks at Brendon as if he thinks Brendon might possibly say no.

"Yeah, yes," Brendon says, barely recognizing his own hoarse voice.

He makes to lean up, but Ryan's already climbing on top of him, wedging his knee into the small space between Brendon's bare waist and the seat back. "I thought I could just -" Ryan gestures to Brendon's cock, to his own, and Brendon nods furiously.

"Yes, please do," he says, and Ryan grins faintly and positions himself right over Brendon's cock, holding it in one hand before carefully lowering himself, his grin vanishing as the head pushes into him, as gravity takes him the rest of the way down.

It's tight, Ryan's so tight inside, clenching around Brendon's dick as Brendon bites his lip, staring Ryan in the face, watching him try to adjust, grimacing at the stretch. He thinks, absurdly, of bonding, Ryan questioning him endlessly like if he knew enough he could understand Brendon better, without giving that same understanding to Brendon in return. Brendon thrusts his hips up a little, getting all the way inside Ryan, and wonders if this is Ryan's repayment of that favor.

Mostly, though, he just wonders if Ryan likes it, if the obvious pain is worth it, if Ryan needs to know he likes this as well. "Feels good," is all he can manage to say, covering one of Ryan's hands with his own, braced against his chest as Ryan throws his head back, lifting off of Brendon's cock before dropping back down. He gropes his other hand down his own body, reaching Ryan's thigh and gripping it softly, moving in to brush Ryan's balls, lower, thumb skimming over where Ryan's stretched around him, taking him in. Ryan groans at the feeling, and Brendon presses harder, rubbing over where their bodies meet, squeezing Ryan's hand before scraping a fingernail over Ryan's inner thigh and then reaching to grasp his cock.

That seems to throw Ryan's concentration off, and he stops moving up and down as much, instead just watching as Brendon strokes his cock, rolling his hips and panting, his knees gripping Brendon's waist as he works himself on Brendon's dick, hips moving in slow, grinding circles that don't so much pull the climax from Brendon as coax it out. Atop him, Ryan trembles, and Brendon tightens his grip, stroking hard and fast to get Ryan off until Ryan gasps his name and comes across Brendon's stomach and chest.

Brendon blinks at him, at the streaks of white on his skin, at the dark place where he can see their bodies still joined. Outside, the sun is shining. The clock reads nine a.m., and Brendon thinks that he never figured he'd lose his virginity this early in the morning.

Ryan doesn't collapse down onto him, even though Brendon wouldn't mind if he did; instead, he pulls off slowly and carefully, wincing a little when Brendon's cock pulls free of his body. Brendon moves backwards, letting Ryan sit with another wince, and for lack of any better ideas, he scoots close to Ryan and pulls him close for a hug. For a brief moment, Brendon fears it was the wrong move, but then Ryan wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and hugs him back. Brendon kisses his forehead, his cheek, his mouth, and Ryan leans against Brendon's shoulder.

"That was nice," Brendon says after awhile, needing to fill the silence. He feels Ryan nod against his collarbone. "Do you want to maybe go back to your house?"

"My dad's home," Ryan says. "He's an alcoholic. I don't like being there."

"Oh," Brendon says faintly. "Then let's just stay here. You know, Ross, I'm really beginning to like your car."

Ryan's hand squeezes Brendon's bare thigh, and when he pulls back to look at Brendon, he's laughing.

the trapeze act was wonderful but never meant to last

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 00:42:55 GMT

Hi! I wrote a story.

Title: Swing as high as any savior
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Pete/Ryan
Summary: Someday we'll be loved the way we want to be loved by the people we want to love us.
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
Thanks: theaerosolkid for the beta.
Notes: Directly inspired by this. This is for callsigns because I love her lots and lots and lots. Jessa, I hope you like it. <3

Ryan bruises easily; from clumsy collisions with tables, from errant knuckles flailed casually around, from the light but still insistent pressure of Pete's mouth - this last most of all.

Pete fits his thumbs against each mark, and if it hurts, Ryan never says so.

-

The theory and practice of Pete's love radically diverge. His desire to have John Hughes movie love usually ends up just being with people who are still in high school. His belief in his own ability to have a functional relationship is constantly proven wrong in a variety of new and exciting ways; he washes the eyeliner off and wears normal boy clothes and he's still the basketcase. "You deserve better," Pete mumbles against Ryan's stomach. Ryan's not the first person he's said that to. He won't be the last.

Ryan won't admit it, but he wants Baz Luhrmann movie love; he wants silk roses and fireworks and blinding sunlight and angel wings and every single time he forgets the misery, the absinthe headache, the end credits.

Ryan doesn't answer, because he's sleeping.

-

Pete fucks Ryan and six months later hears his band for the first time.

Pete's always been good with faces but never with names, so it's not until Ryan sends him pictures of the band that he makes the connection between Panic! At The Disco Ryan and Summer League Ryan he'd let blow him after a show, then fucked in the back of the van the next time they came through town. He remembers Ryan's mouth and the tender hinge of his jaw where Pete had pressed his thumb to get Ryan to open, how after that Ryan had been so eager, had come in Pete's hand barely a stroke after Pete had gotten his knuckles past the waist of Ryan's tight jeans.

In the pictures, Ryan's hair is a little longer, curling around his chin, and everything becomes clearer. Pete doesn't make a habit of sleeping with a kid more than once; Ryan just catches him off guard, a little smarter, a little prettier. Discussion of Kubrick leads, dizzyingly, to Ryan on his knees in the alley behind the venue, thin fingers wrapped around Pete's cock as he sucks the head into his mouth.

The trouble is Pete's never been very good at resisting offers, even though he wants to keep talking to Ryan, wants to know more about him. But Ryan wants kisses, wants his cock; it feels like a trade, Ryan's conversation for sex, a means to an end to reel Pete in so Ryan can get what he wants. Just from talking to him for half an hour, tucked into the back corner of the club, Pete gets the impression that Ryan doesn't often get what he wants.

Pete doesn't kid himself that it was an act of charity, by any means - he gets off, he comes in Ryan's mouth, he likes it. He likes watching Ryan swallow, he likes the look in Ryan's eyes when Ryan stands up, like Pete has just done him a favor.

He likes it when, on the next tour, Ryan comes again to seek him out. They can't go sit in the adjacent bar, but they talk in the corner, heads bent close together to hear each other over the headliners, and even though Pete can see that Ryan's edgy, even though he can see that Ryan's half-hard in his jeans just from talking to Pete, he still makes him wait, he gets as much as he can out of this kid until he feels himself begin to curl at the edges like a book left open too long, and that's when he leans and whispers, "Let's go back to the van," his breath hot on the shell of Ryan's ear. Ryan nods quickly, his fingertips brushing Pete's like he instinctively made to take Pete's hand in his, let himself be led.

It's awkward, it's always awkward trying to do this in the van, which is why Pete usually doesn't, but he somehow doubts Ryan has an apartment to go back to, at least not one where they wouldn't have to be quiet so as not to disturb his parents. Pete leads them to the backseat, and when he sits Ryan's still standing awkwardly over the seats, ducking and biting his lip. When Pete raises an eyebrow at him, Ryan slides to his knees, pulling at Pete's jeans, and Pete spreads his legs and lets him.

He likes it better this time, out of the cold night air, Ryan nuzzling at his lap, bent between Pete's legs, his fingers long and perfect when they wrap around Pete's dick, his lips pink and licked wet when he sucks Pete in, looking up through his eyelashes and leaning into Pete's palm when Pete touches his cheek. Ryan licks him sloppily, less carefully than he did before, from the head down to the base, and when Pete tilts his head curiously Ryan pulls back, face flushed. His voice shakes only a little when he says, "Will you - you can fuck me, if you want."

Pete wants. Pete shouldn't want, but he does, and there's most of his problems in life defined right there. He coaxes Ryan up, and Ryan struggles out of his shoes and tight jeans, revealing thin little red marks from where the girl's size twos have cut too tightly across his hips.

Ryan's favorite author is Chuck Palahniuk; Ryan is his middle name, not his first; he's an okay student, but what he really cares about is music; he's in a band, and they're going to play at his friend's Mormon church next week. Pete repeats these facts in his head: they mean he knows Ryan at least a little, at least enough, almost enough to be doing this to him, to be slipping two fingers into Ryan's willing mouth so Ryan can get them wet, so he can pull Ryan into his lap and spread the cheeks of his ass and push his fingers between, inside.

Pete doesn't ask if he's done this before; he never asks that. It's hard to tell with Ryan, who bites his lip like it feels good but is shaking like a virgin, and Pete doesn't put any great stock in sex and the meaningfulness thereof, but he still hopes Ryan isn't. He doesn't necessarily think loss of virginity should be accompanied by candlelight and roses, but Ryan looks like he might think so.

Pete tries to be gentle.

"Please, now," Ryan says after a moment, after Pete's got two fingers in him, tight and hot and Pete really hopes he's not going to come like some teenager the minute he gets inside Ryan.

He takes his fingers out and slouches down enough that Ryan can straddle him better, can take hold of his still spit-wet cock and get him right there where he needs to be, and Ryan trembles when he first gets it positioned right, but his hesitation doesn't last but a second before he's letting gravity take him down. Pete leans his forehead against Ryan's shoulder, afraid to look at him, biting his own lip against coming right away, because god, Ryan is tight, Ryan is so, so tight around him and he's taking Pete in almost unbearably slowly. Pete's fingers tense on his waist, and Pete needs to drag him down, needs to be buried in Ryan's body, there's only so much he can take before he shifts his hips up and finishes the descent for him.

Ryan lets out a startled little, "Oh," into the air above, and Pete doesn't look, doesn't want to see Ryan wincing through it if he is.

"Come on," Pete grits out, hating the words even as he says them, hating his own inability to resist this, a pretty face, a sincere word or two. Ryan rises up a bit, his thighs trembling as he does, and then slides back down, taking Pete back inside him, his thighs tight around Pete's legs. He raises and lowers himself with painful slowness, his hands clenching on Pete's shoulders, his ass clenching around Pete's dick, and it's all a lot, it's all too much, really, Pete needs to look at him, see his face, see if he's there with Pete, feeling what Pete is feeling, because with Ryan sitting astride him, taking Pete into his body, Pete shouldn't feel this alone.

When Pete pulls back to see, Ryan looks overwhelmed, like it hurts, but not because Pete's fucking him. He wants to say something - good things shouldn't hurt, they don't have to - but instead he just tugs Ryan's head down and kisses him, hand warm on the back of his neck, reaching around to touch the base of his spine, rub the thin flat of bone there and slip downward to feel where he's stretching Ryan wide, opening him, and he wants to reach inside but that won't find him want he wants, he knows that. His tongue slips between Ryan's lips, tasting him, and Ryan holds him in place, hand on his shoulder, the other knuckling clumsily down Pete's stomach until Ryan can grasp his own cock.

Pete's not a teenager, not like Ryan is, and he's lasted this long so far, moments, minutes; when Ryan starts to jerk himself off, his mouth going slack against Pete's, Pete lets himself push up hard, he lets himself fuck Ryan while he can, lets himself take what Ryan's offering and feels like he's stealing it.

He's thrusting roughly but Ryan's taking it, slamming back down into each push, gasping but otherwise quiet. Pete moans enough for the both of them, ducking his head to watch Ryan jerk himself off, hating and loving that Ryan's willing to just take what Pete gives him without asking for more. Pete takes hold of his hips and shoves him down, going deep, and holds him there, grinding up as Ryan squirms, squeezing his own dick; the look of concentration is what does it for Pete, and he comes inside Ryan, digging his nails into Ryan's ass and feeling only a little bad about it.

"Ryan," he says, and rubs his thumb under the head of Ryan's cock. That's all it takes for Ryan to come, thrusting up into his fist, and Pete wonders if it was the touch that did it, or just him saying Ryan's name aloud.

-

Most of Pete's memories of Ryan are manufactured. He constructs them from the ashes of dreams and movies starring upstanding young men who aren't in rock bands, who don't hold record contracts and pens to sign them with, who don't have girlfriends back home.

He jerks off to mental images of Ryan underneath him, and that's real enough, that's happened before and since. He jerks off to the memory of Ryan on top of him, he comes to the remembered echo of Ryan's moans in the L.A. house, the picture of Ryan's face when he heard his voice hit the walls and call back in the high-ceilinged room.

But sometimes, during the day, he'll be IMing Ryan and Ryan will say something offhand, mention something he's done, and Pete slots himself neatly in there. He's with Ryan as Ryan grabs a burger from the cheap diner across the street from the recording studio, he walks with Ryan through the forest outside the cabin and looks up through the trees to the sky, he lays with Ryan on the grass outside the venue in Portland and together they watch the stars. Ryan tells him what the new songs sound like - like Paris, like a Broadway musical, like home, and he fits himself in there too, slipping his hand into Ryan's, tangling their fingers together and letting Ryan lead him.

When he sees Ryan for real, it's vaguely surreal, like he's still dreaming, like he never woke up.

-

He gets inside Ryan but never as deeply as he wants.

-

They stop in October, and then again the October after that. Pete's fingertips play over Ryan's knuckles, skimming the grass where his hands rest, and Ryan threads their fingers together, spreading his own so Pete's push and fall between, naturally. "I don't think we should," Ryan says.

"Just because there's someone else doesn't mean there can't be us," Pete says.

But that's exactly what it means.

-

Pete never knows when it's going to be the last time, but instead of treating every time like the last he just takes it all for granted.

With Ryan in his bed on their first tour together, the possibilities are infinite: it's a slumber party, a sleepover, Ryan thin and long-limbed in Pete's bunk, bent and hunched and twisted and with his forehead pressed to the wall so Pete can fuck him. Between sets, between cities, Pete keeps Ryan with him when he can, taking him in venue bathrooms and closets when he can't, steadfastly not meeting Spencer's eyes or Brent's raised eyebrow or Brendon's glare when they walk out, taking his bandmates' disapproval as a given and grateful they're not louder about it.

He doesn't hold Ryan's hand and later he regrets it.

-

The second October Ryan says no, it's dark outside and warm in Pete's bed and he wishes again that he could sleep alone, that he could stop the invitations before they reach his lips. When Ryan has rough spots with the band or with girls or with his life he seems to end up at Pete's door, older every time, wiser debatable no matter how world-weary he looks. Pete pats the bed next to him and pulls Ryan into his arms and every time Ryan fits against him like he's meant to be there, like he should never be anywhere else and the illusion only lasts until Ryan's gone again.

Pete wouldn't admit it but secretly he's still a little startled that Ryan wants to touch him, that the gloss hasn't worn off, that Ryan still looks at him with the same eyes he did when he was seventeen, please, yes only barely tempered by familiarity: please, yes, I know you will, I know you want to. Ryan doesn't lie to him, he doesn't think Ryan lies to him, and for such a complex kid he can be surprisingly uncomplicated in what he wants. He tugs at Pete's clothes with the same eagerness he always has, and it's never something Pete gets tired of; he's glad to grant it, even, on the rare nights they skip the formalities, when Pete doesn't make Ryan trade secrets for skin. Pete likes to think he won't put out for less than dinner and conversation, but sometimes he catches a flash of Ryan's hip between his shirt and pants and he forgets his own name. The only cure then is kisses in excess and Ryan always grants those, Pete's a makeout king but Ryan could very well be makeout prince with lips like those and what he does with them.

But he always wants more, he always pushes beyond the limits of what Pete usually does, until Pete's promising maps of the Yukon and little red wagons and cheese sandwiches for their grand getaway, satin and brocade clothes for when they become circus performers; until Pete finds himself kissing down Ryan's long, arching spine, licking over each knob of bone before parting his cheeks and pushing his tongue between, touching Ryan wherever and however he wants. He wants. Ryan wants.

Ryan wants tenderness sometimes and roughness others, and Ryan never learns to ask so Pete has to learn to guess. He learns the language of Ryan's arched hips and spread legs, the intricate translations of his quiet moans and the thousand meanings behind an indistinct murmur into the pillow. Ryan parts his thighs and raises his ass and Pete knows to slip down to the bed and take hold of Ryan's cock from underneath, bite one cheek and then mouth at the sting. Being this close to Ryan, this intimate, it dizzies Pete worse than a hunger headache and just as heavy until he licks into Ryan, gives into Ryan, pushes his tongue in and follows with wet fingers until Ryan curls his hand back and brushes Pete's cheek, looks over his shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes and then Pete knows.

Ryan's need is his permission to rise, get Ryan's hips in his hands and slide his cock along the crack of Ryan's ass before pushing right in, and every time Ryan's better than he remembered, hotter inside, tighter. Even though Pete thinks he should have gotten used to it by now, it still makes him catch his breath, he still needs a minute to just be there with Ryan clenching around him, Ryan giving it up, Ryan letting him touch him like this. The better he gets to know Ryan the more he understands that this is a privilege, that this is how Ryan will bare himself to Pete, even if it's still not everything, not even close. Even bent over Ryan, kissing the back of his neck as he fucks into him, it's still not enough, not nearly.

He takes what he can get, he takes what Ryan offers and he gives back what he can and hopes it's what Ryan needs. He holds onto Ryan bruisingly tight and fucks him hard and fast and hopes Ryan will be up for another round because he can't wait, he can't wait. His hips slam into Ryan's ass and mark him up red while Pete fucks him raw, and that draws sounds out of Ryan, like each thrust is a favor that he's lucky to receive, like Pete's the one giving him something here, like this is all he needs. Like Pete's dick and Pete's come inside him is all he needs from Pete and the bruises are just a tithe, the secrets an entrance donation to get past the gates. He means to make Ryan tell him more when they finish; tonight he wants to know about every girl Ryan's ever slept with and why and whether or not they were in love or if he even knows what love is. He'll let Ryan suck him after and Ryan will be grateful.

Ryan comes easily when he's fucked, it barely takes a stroke or two when Pete's near to finishing and Ryan comes in Pete's fist, accepts his hand to lick clean as Pete presses himself to Ryan's back and fucks in deep and comes himself. The few times he tried to fall asleep inside Ryan he got pushed off for his troubles, so he doesn't try anymore, he just pulls Ryan over on top of him and pretends the cuddling is for Ryan's sake.

Ryan says, "Thank you," and Pete wishes he wouldn't.

That night he dreams they're underwater, that Ryan's telling him about a new song they wrote that sounds like The Little Mermaid, but not the Disney version, the scary Brothers Grimm one where each step on land felt like knives stabbing the mermaid's feet, and when Pete speaks he sounds just fine but Ryan's voice is muffled undersea and Pete has to guess what he's saying from context. Pete says that he wanted to be King Triton but Ryan just looks disappointed in him, and when Pete looks down the seabed is lined with sharp serrated blades of metal and shell and their feet are bleeding.

Pete likes sex in the morning but Ryan doesn't, and Pete tries not to look disappointed. Ryan looks hungover, Ryan looks like he didn't get any sleep at all, Ryan looks like he just walked over a bed of knives when he says he's sorry and they shouldn't and then he leaves, and all Pete can do is be grateful he at least stayed the night first.

-

The third of their first times is long after the second, after contracts and manstew and Maryland, and it's maybe too long coming because Ryan finishes in about three minutes and Pete only lasts fifteen seconds longer. Not that he's watching the clock, not that he's watching the door, not that they just rubbed against each other high school-style in the back room of a shitty venue in Vegas. Not that he's apparently useless when it comes to resisting Ryan, who extracts himself from the band group hug to fling himself into Pete's arms, knocking Pete against the wall (love hurts and so does his head), and it's a push-and-pull and keep-on-touching and Pete's not sure who drags who into the backstage bathroom but they end up there just the same.

Pete kisses Ryan first just to make things easier, because Ryan wants it so bad and Pete wants him to have things he wants, nice things, happy things, things like Pete's thigh to rub up against as he shoves their hips together hard and presses Ryan to the wall. So not strictly traditionally happy, that's fine, but Ryan panting against his ear feels pretty damn good and the skin of Ryan's neck is salty-sweet between his teeth as he sucks bruises into it. Ryan's legs part and Ryan's dick is hard against his hip, Ryan's hands fisted in his t-shirt. Pete loves his band but Ryan saying his name through clenched teeth, oh, that's music, the chorus the same but the verses different, and he follows Pete back to his hotel room that night and it's not the last time.

-

It's always the last time and it's never the last time, and even after months of friendly touches and nothing more than chaste hugs Pete still doesn't believe last times exist for them. They've had too many last times to count by now, and even with girls on their arms and others (always others) in their beds there's still more Pete needs to learn about Ryan, still more he means to extract from him with promises of kisses and touches tender or vicious, whatever he needs, whatever Pete guesses that he needs. He wants to call a summit with ex-girlfriends and compare all their notes, fill in the blank spots in Ryan's history; sometimes he even coaxes Brendon to talk to him, tell him about the years before Pete knew them, what Ryan was like, even though Brendon's gaze gets sharp when he talks about people taking advantage of Ryan.

At least Pete knows Ryan better than Brendon does; at least he knows that with Ryan, nobody ever has the advantage.

-

"I didn't know it was you," Pete says after that first meeting, when Brendon, Spencer, and Brent have gotten out of the car and are heading back into the practice space. Ryan stills with his hand on the car door. "I really just liked your music."

After a minute, Ryan says, "Okay."

Pete never figures out for sure if Ryan believes him, and he never stops wondering.

um...wrist porn. \o/

Tue, 29 May 2007 08:30:32 GMT

So, this:

Yeah, I freaked out for like twenty minutes. But then I wrote a fic.

Title: Broken Glass and Rusty Nails
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: When Ryan gets the tattoo, he bears it casually, sprawled out in the chair and smiling at Brendon's chatter as the needle traces over his skin.
Disclaimer: Mostly fictitious.
Thanks: callsigns for the beta, Tom Waits for the title.

At age eleven, Ryan breaks his left wrist.

It hurts - it hurts something awful - and he cries a little, especially when someone walking down the hospital hallway doesn't see him there and jostles his arm, but when the doctor doses him with morphine, for a second, just a second, the pain turns to something else. The ache in his wrist expands, swells outward, warm and delicious, centered at the break. It feels so good he bites his lip against it, overwhelmed. Then he passes out.

It's sore for a week afterward, awkward in the bulky white cast, but Ryan doesn't forget that feeling.

-

Sometimes right before it rains his wrist aches a little where the bone snapped clean through. He tells Spencer about it, and Spencer wrinkles his brow and goes to get Ryan some aspirin, but that's not the point, really. Ryan kind of likes the ache.

He doesn't tell Spencer that. Later, he comes to appreciate rainstorms.

-

When he's sixteen, Ryan learns that if he presses his left wrist to the hard curve of his hip while he's stroking himself, he'll get off faster. The doctor explained that he'd been lucky to break the radius, the wrist bone that heals the easiest. Ryan thinks he's lucky to have broken the bone right beneath his pulse, doubly sensitive there where the blood beats fastest; it feels good to force his wrist down against his hipbone, panting as he slides his hand up and down his cock, his shirt rucked up and jeans unbuttoned.

His wrist aches hotly with every press, skin sliding against skin as he thrusts his hips up, fucking his fist, letting his mind cycle through his trusty rotation of fantasies. He flits by memories of the girls he's touched (they'd never touch him like this, and the ones that would scare him), bites his lip and thinks of strangers, faceless, anonymous, male. It's not that he wants to be tied up to give up control, he can't imagine trusting anybody that much, but the thought of his wrists bound, tight leather cuffs maybe, sends him closer, makes him spread his legs and tilt his hips, grateful for his empty house (not so much his empty bed).

Hands, hands would be good, wrapped around his wrists, brutal pressure of fingertips against his pulse, a grip hard enough to stifle the steady flow of blood, hard enough to pale his fingers and redden his skin, bleed underneath to bruises, hard enough to grind bone.

Ryan comes.

-

He likes long sleeves because he gets cold. He likes gloves because his fingers go numb in the winter when they're touring and far from home. He likes wristwarmers under long sleeves under gloves, because when Brendon grabs his wrist in excitement to take him somewhere, Brendon doesn't see the deep bruises he's gripping, and Ryan's gotten skilled enough at hiding his wince that it goes unnoticed. He lets Brendon drag him as far as he needs to so long as Brendon doesn't let go.

-

Brendon's a grabby drunk, clumsy and cuddly and insistent. Usually it's easy enough to fend him off, or at least coax him to lie down until he passes out, but once again William's dropped him by the door with a grin and a quick, "I think this is yours!" before scampering off, and this time Brent and Spencer are passed out in their bunks, so Ryan's on drunk duty alone and Brendon seems to think that's an invitation. Brendon clings to him, nuzzling his neck, slipping his hand around Ryan's waist to pull him even closer, and Brendon's version of a slow dance sure feels like grinding to Ryan.

"Get off me, you idiot," Ryan hisses, because he'd been near to bed himself, already in his pajamas, even, and now instead of climbing into his bunk, he has to deal with Brendon's sloppy affections.

"I love you, Ryan, you're so pretty," Brendon murmurs, his words muffled in Ryan's neck, and damn stupid Brendon, Ryan would kick him but it would be sort of like knocking around an exceptionally stupid and innocent puppy. "Do you love me?"

"Mm-hmm," Ryan says, trying to guide Brendon backwards, but Brendon seems to take it as some kind of drunken waltz, and he twirls Ryan a little, stumbling back onto the couch and pulling Ryan down with him, the two of them falling in a tangle of limbs.

"Why're you on top?" Brendon asks, frowning, and Ryan huffs down at him, attempting to lift himself off. "No, no," Brendon says, tugging him back down. "No, warm, come back." It's almost easy, Ryan's so close to getting up off of him and leaving his ass there, but then Brendon's hand slides down to his wrist and grips hard, trying to keep him in place.

It's because he's caught off-guard, that's what Ryan tells himself, that's why he gasps in pain. Brendon's brow creases in confusion, but instead of letting go he just tugs Ryan closer to him, leaning up to get a look at Ryan's wrist, so bruised that it's horribly apparent even in the relative darkness of the bus.

"You're hurt," Brendon says, and he looks so upset that Ryan feels awful for even letting him see it, however accidentally. "What'd you do, Ry? Did I do this?"

"No, it's," Ryan squirms, straddling Brendon now, his other hand braced on Brendon's chest to keep his balance. "It's fine, Brendon, I'm okay," he says, but Brendon isn't listening. Brendon pulls him closer, close enough to get his mouth to Ryan's wrist, forcing Ryan down onto him as he presses his lips to the bruise, gently kissing it. Kissing it better, Ryan realizes, and feels his heart pang. Brendon's an idiot, he is, but he's one of the sweetest drunks Ryan's ever met. Brendon's grip on his wrist tightens, his tongue flicking out, wetly kissing right over Ryan's pulse, and Ryan has to fight back the moan; he's shaking, and when he tries to move Brendon just grabs his thigh with his free hand, slides his hand up to Ryan's ass and to his lower back until Ryan has to lie down on top of Brendon, his head right over the steady rapid thump of Brendon's heartbeat. He watches, trying so, so desperately not to get hard, to not let this happen here, with Brendon, but Brendon's so warm, and his mouth feels so good, kissing harder.

Ryan moans.

It seems to stir Brendon. He stops, turning to look muzzily at Ryan, hand groping clumsily up his back to settle in his hair, stroking his thumb over the back of his neck. "Is it better?" he asks, and Ryan nods.

"It's better," Ryan tells him, his voice gone hoarse, and Brendon lets his hand drop, presses a hot kiss to Ryan's forehead.

"You should be more careful," Brendon says, but the sentence is half lost to incoherency and fatigue, and he feels too good, too warm, for Ryan to really want to move, so Ryan doesn't.

When Brent and Spencer find them the next morning, Brent looks at Ryan's wrist, confused, and asks what happened. Ryan snarls at him to leave it alone.

-

Brendon gets him a leather wristcuff for Christmas that year. "It doesn't really go with your look," Spencer says later, frowning at it, and Ryan just shrugs.

It doesn't, not really, but Ryan tells Brendon thank you, and lets Brendon slip it onto his left wrist and lace it up as tight as it will go, and they don't say anything else about it.

-

The only strange thing, really, is that Ryan hasn't been caught at it before; they've all jerked off around each other enough that it wouldn't necessarily be a big deal if someone pulled the bunk curtain back at an inopportune time. Ryan just thought he had the room to himself for a few hours, Brendon gone off shopping with Greta and Chris and leaving their hotel room empty.

"Oh fuck," Brendon says, startled, and Ryan jerks his hand away from his dick, but it's impossible to hide that he's wearing the wristcuff, and Ryan can only be grateful that Brendon's not close enough to see the imprints of the cuff's laces against his hip.

"Um, could you," Ryan says, and Brendon walks in, closing the door behind him, which really wasn't what Ryan was going for but okay.

"Sorry, I - sorry." Brendon turns his back to Ryan, giving Ryan time enough to convince his cock back into his jeans. They're really too tight to support his erection without a really seriously obvious bulge, but maybe this'll be the time that Brendon has a modicum of decorum and just leaves. "The shops were closed, it's Sunday, so we, um, sorry, I didn't know you'd be busy," Brendon says, tripping over his words and really not leaving at all, which isn't surprising, but is sort of unfortunate since Ryan has his jeans uncomfortably done up but the laces of the wristcuff are tangled and he cannot get the fucking thing off. Ryan grunts at it, trying to tug the laces loose, and Brendon says, "Um, did you need help?"

On so many levels did Ryan need help, but none of them were ones he was comfortable letting Brendon assist with. "What, like with jerking off?" Ryan snaps at him.

Brendon turns around, his arms crossed, and Ryan glares up at him from where he's going at the laces with his teeth. "I was just offering - what are you doing?"

Ryan spits out a lace. "This fucking bracelet is stuck on me."

Brendon laughs at him, actually laughs, and maybe Ryan would be able to find the humor in this situation if he didn't have an erection raging at his zipper and an inescapable fucking handcuff murdering his circulation, but as it is, he sort of wants to punch Brendon in the face. "Want me to help?"

"I want you to leave," Ryan tells him, "so I can jerk off in peace for goddamn once."

"Well, we can't always get what we want," Brendon says, looking positively chipper. He tosses his hoodie onto a chair and toes off his shoes, padding over to the bed and climbing on, holding out his hand. "Let me see."

"My dick?" Ryan asks.

Brendon glances down at his crotch. "No, I can see that just fine. I meant your wrist."

Ryan scowls at him, but lets Brendon take his hand and tug at the laces. It comes undone quickly for him, loosening enough for Brendon to slip it off, revealing darkening bruises and lace marks imprinted in his skin.

"Damn, Ross," Brendon says, eyebrows raised, and Ryan doesn't have the patience for this anymore.

"It's not like you didn't know," he says, trying to snatch his wrist back, but Brendon just tightens his grip. "That's why you got me the cuff, isn't it?"

Brendon flushes red, but he doesn't disagree. "So what, you just do this to yourself? Hurt yourself, and it gets you off?"

"Jerking myself off gets me off," Ryan huffs, sinking lower onto the bed from where he'd been propped up against the pillows. "But that helps."

Brendon looks down at his wrist, stroking his thumb contemplatively over the bruise. "Is it just this one, or the other one, too?"

"If you're going to do something about it," Ryan says, voice quiet, "then do it."

Brendon tilts his head, but if there was a line, they crossed it long ago, the first time Brendon said he loved Ryan, needy and just intoxicated enough for Ryan to ignore, forget, let it slide. Brendon places his other hand over Ryan's erection, stroking him through his jeans. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, and Ryan curls a hand in his shirt and pulls him down.

It's easier than Ryan thought it would be, natural somehow past the first few fumbling minutes of them both trying to touch each other before Ryan finally gave in and spread himself out on the bed, letting Brendon touch him. Brendon didn't seem to know where to start, but not out of a lack of knowledge, just a lack of focus, an excess of need that made his hands skip from Ryan's wrists to his neck to his sides, stroking his cock then slipping downwards to touch his thighs so lightly it made Ryan shiver. Brendon's never looked at him like this before, not that Ryan can remember (and he knows he would remember); it's too intense, Brendon's eyes on him, but Brendon stops him when he reaches to switch off the bedside light.

"I wanna look," Brendon says, "let me," and so Ryan does.

When they're naked, bared to each other, Brendon hesitates, one hand curving around Ryan's cock, the other lightly gripping Ryan's wrist. He lets Ryan's dick go, taking Ryan's wrist and pressing him down to the bed, crawling on top of him so their cocks slide against each other. Ryan parts his legs, rubbing his heel against Brendon's calf, and arches up.

Brendon looks down, eyes flitting from Ryan's kiss-swollen mouth to his ribs to where their cocks are aligned, gently thrusting. Ryan tilts his hips enough to let Brendon see the bruising there, too, over the ridge of bone where he pressed his wrist. "It's okay," Ryan tells him, "if you want to do it hard," and then, since Brendon won't say no but he won't ask, either, "You can fuck me."

Brendon's fingers tense on Ryan's wrists, and Ryan gasps, aching already from the bruising, from Brendon's hard grip. Brendon only releases him to fumble for the bottle of lotion Ryan had been using; his hands are shaking, and he looks halfway between elated and terrified as he slicks up his fingers, prodding between Ryan's cheeks. Ryan wouldn't have guessed Brendon had done this before (in fact, he wagers Brendon never has), but Brendon seems to have a reasonable idea of what he's doing. He's a bit rougher than what most people would like, probably, but it's just about right for Ryan, just enough to make him moan when Brendon slips a third finger in, opening him up.

"Yeah?" Brendon asks, pushing his fingers in and out, and Ryan nods, squirming back onto Brendon's hand, twisting his hips as Brendon pulls them out, strokes his own cock and lines up.

"Please," Ryan says, unnecessary as it is with Brendon just about to breach him, Ryan open enough to shift forward and let him inside, legs wrapped high around Brendon's waist. Brendon makes it the rest of the way himself, an effortless slide that sends Ryan's head rolling back onto the pillow, arms up and wrists bared, and only moments pass before Brendon gets the hint and takes hold of his wrists again, gripping them tightly before pulling out almost all the way and then slamming back in.

It feels good, it hurts; Ryan's always liked that it hurt, just a little, and he gasps and twists and moans under Brendon as Brendon gives it to him, holding him down and fucking him like this isn't the first time, like they've been doing this all along, that's how right it feels, deliriously new but deliciously familiar. Ryan grits out, "Fuck," and Brendon leans down to kiss him, stopping Ryan's breath, taking everything away but the cruel, perfectly rough grip of his hands, the dirty thrust of his hips, the hard press of his lips against Ryan's, fucking his tongue into Ryan's mouth like he's fucking his cock into Ryan's ass. Ryan spreads and pushes back and revels in the tingling ache at his wrists as they lose feeling, taking as much as he can, taking everything Brendon's giving him and biting Brendon's lower lip when he doesn't have the words to beg for more.

Brendon jerks away, licking his abused lower lip, and Ryan just stretches up into him, knowing his face has gone slack with pleasure, letting Brendon see so he's knows it's okay, knows he doesn't have to stop. Brendon doesn't stop, he doesn't stop fucking Ryan and he doesn't look away from him, staring into Ryan's eyes, sweating and frantic as he pounds Ryan's ass, pins him to the bed. Ryan thinks of intoxicated I love yous and hopes Brendon takes this as an answer to every one of them.

He's so close, all it'll take is one brush of Brendon's stomach against Ryan's cock, he knows it, and he arches his hips up, needy, until Brendon lowers just enough for a sweet drag of friction. Ryan comes staring into Brendon's eyes, his ass beginning to ache and all circulation gone in his fingers, and he's never felt better than when Brendon shudders and stills, his fingers digging into Ryan's pulse points as he finishes, moaning Ryan's name.

Brendon releases his wrists, but he doesn't seem to have energy for much else than that, slipping out of Ryan's body so Ryan can lower his legs and then lying down on top of him. Ryan rubs his knuckles against the back of Brendon's neck, resisting the urge to examine the aching wrists he can already feel bruising. He nudges Brendon off after a minute, needing air, but Brendon doesn't go far, just rolls onto his side and scoots back into Ryan's space, leaning down to nuzzle his shoulder.

"Was that okay?" Brendon asks, and his hesitance is near to charming Ryan when he adds, "Because I really wanna do it again."

Ryan laughs, and Brendon breaks out into a grin, snagging one of Ryan's wrists and kissing it. "Five minutes," Ryan says.

Brendon asks, "Two?"

-

They try restraints, metal handcuffs, thick leather wristcuffs, rope, but nothing's quite as satisfying as the grip Brendon can get when he holds Ryan down, the push and press of his fingertips to Ryan's pulse points, the cage of Brendon's fingers as he squeezes Ryan's wrists until Ryan cries out in pain and need. Gloves and long sleeves become everyday wear even when it's warmer, and Brendon learns that all he has to do to gain Ryan's attention is just brush his hand lightly over Ryan's wrist, his touch stilling Ryan even through layers of fabric.

Ryan learns to bear it when Brendon wants to touch him there in public, pushing his fingertips into Ryan's sleeves and stroking him fondly as he laughs with Spencer, and Jon teases them about their weird way of holding hands, but Brendon just grins. When Brendon gets the tattoo, Ryan finds that he likes touching that, too, fitting his fingers over the keys, tracing his nails over each line of ink until Brendon raises an eyebrow and asks if he wants one himself. Ryan shrugs, but he thinks about it, and when he's listening to his favorite Tom Waits album, he decides fairly easily what he wants.

Brendon fucks him before, knowing Ryan needs it to take the edge off, but he keeps his hands off Ryan's wrists like he has for the last few days, so they're pale and perfect and ready for ink. Brendon sits next to him in the car on the way to the tattoo parlor, lightly stroking each wrist, still laughing a little at Ryan's insistence that he borrow a pair of Brendon's pants, knowing he'd need the loose fit in case he enjoyed getting the tattoo a little too much.

When it happens, Ryan bears it casually, sprawled out in the chair and smiling at Brendon's chatter as the needle traces over his skin. It hurts, delicious and deep and stinging from the outside in with every letter. When he bites his lip from the pain, Brendon grins at him. The tattoo artist says, "Man, you're stoic, this must hurt like a bitch," but Ryan just shrugs one-shouldered and says it's not so bad.

-

The tattoos ache, sting, and itch for a week; every night, Brendon cleans them and kisses them better.

happy birthday to me

Fri, 18 May 2007 08:36:27 GMT

It's my birthday today! To celebrate, here is some fic.

Title: Reacharound
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, (Pete/Ryan)
Summary: "How are Pete and Ryan fucking if Pete won't touch Ryan's dick?" Brendon asked.
Beta: I heart callsigns.
Disclaimer: Most of this is false.

"Yeah, I'm not really into dick," Pete said. "Gay from the waist up," he continued, and pulled Ryan close on the tour bus couch.

Brendon squinted at them.

-

"How are Pete and Ryan fucking if Pete won't touch Ryan's dick?" Brendon asked Spencer later.

"No," Spencer said.

Brendon frowned. "No, they're not fucking? Because like, they are. Everyone knows."

"No, we're not having this conversation," Spencer said decisively. He got up and walked away.

Brendon huffed.

It was totally a legitimate question.

-

They were fucking all the time, too. Brendon wasn't sure how Pete was scheduling it in, all the Ryan fucking. Fall Out Boy had a fair amount of press to do, and Pete had some sort of complex schedule going on otherwise of tormenting their tourmates and spending hours on his Sidekick. Brendon didn't really get the appeal of the internet. All the hot chicks seemed to be dudes just pretending to be hot chicks, and Livejournal was sort of boring unless you posted pictures of your ass and got a million comments like Ryan did.

Nobody in the press really wanted to talk to Brendon or any of them, anyway. Which was fair, Brendon figured. They were first of five on the bill. He didn't really want to talk to himself either. He just wanted to talk to Ryan, and find out how the sex worked.

"So," he said to Ryan as they got into the van for another night of traveling.

Spencer twisted around in the front seat and stared at him, then shook his head. Brendon swallowed.

"So what?" Ryan asked.

"Sew," Brendon muttered. "A needle pulling thread."

-

Whatever, he was just curious. He had a right to know, even. Not that he even really got much of a chance to ask with all the time Ryan spent with Pete. It wasn't a very healthy relationship anyway, if you asked Brendon. Even if Pete were blowing Ryan every night, which he probably wasn't, it was still a little creepy of Pete to sign a band and then spend all this time fucking one of them. Pete was such a perv, anyway. Not that Brendon didn't like him just fine, because he did, but Pete liked them young, and Ryan was young, and maybe Ryan thought he had to do it, or something, or risk getting fired or whatever. Probably it wasn't called fired. Dropped? Like, dropped from the label? It didn't matter.

They were playing at a venue across the street from a park, and Pete had organized a touch football game. ("That's just an excuse for you to grope dudes," Brendon overheard Joe telling Pete, but they were out there playing anyway, inasmuch as they could play a game when all Pete did was tackle and indeed, grope all the players.) Brendon leaned against a tree and watched Pete run and leap at Ryan, knocking him over into a heap. Brendon winced. Didn't Pete know Ryan was delicate? He couldn't just tackle him like that. If Pete broke Ryan, Brendon was going to be so pissed.

Ryan hobbled off the playing field after, clutching his hip, clearly trying to act like he was not hobbling and clutching his hip. Brendon wandered over.

"Dude, are you okay?" Brendon asked, flicking his eyes down to Ryan's hip. Ryan moved his hand, but he was standing funny.

"I'm fine," Ryan muttered.

"Ryan," Brendon said. "Abusive relationships aren't healthy."

Ryan glared at him, then punched him in the arm and hobbled away.

"That didn't feel healthy!" Brendon yelled after him. "Did that feel healthy to you?"

-

Ryan hurried into the tiny opening act dressing room, looking squirrelly and tugging his cap down. Brendon looked him up and down. The knees of his pinstriped pants were dirty.

Brendon finished straightening his tie. According to the romance novels he used to steal from his sisters, it was fully within his rights to demand that Pete marry Ryan for spoiling his honor. Brendon walked to the couch and sat down next to Ryan, then looked at him.

"Quit looking at me," Ryan muttered, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. His cheeks were flushed, his hair tangled.

Brendon wondered if Pete just held him in place and fucked his mouth. Ryan's voice did sound a little scratchy. Probably Pete wound his fingers through Ryan's hair and forced him to take it all the way in. He wondered if Ryan could deepthroat. He wondered if Ryan was good at it. He chanced a look at Ryan's crotch. It didn't look like his pants had been undone, but how could you tell that, really? He leaned in closer to get a better look.

"What?" Ryan asked. "Do I have something on me?" He lifted his shirt a little, and Brendon caught a pale flash of stomach and the purple edge of the bruise Pete left.

"If Pete isn't treating you right, I'll beat him up for you," Brendon blurted out.

Ryan blinked at him.

"Or something," Brendon amended. He really wasn't the violent type, so.

After a minute, Ryan said, "He treats me fine."

"Okay, well," Brendon muttered. He sank down further into the couch. "Just so you know."

-

Drinking was bad. It was so very, very bad. Spencer had his hand in the back of Brendon's shirt, guiding him back to the van, where Ryan would be waiting, ready to look disapproving, which always made Brendon's headache way worse.

Ryan was already in the backseat, waiting, reading a book. Ryan was so smart. Ryan was pretty and smart and he deserved better than Pete. He deserved someone nice. Someone who would give him blowjobs.

Brendon flung himself back there, tumbling towards Ryan and banging his knee against the seat. "If it was me," Brendon said, stumbling over the words a little, lying half down on the seat and putting his head on Ryan's thigh, "I would touch you."

Brendon felt Ryan's hand on his shoulder, and then he passed out.

-

What was really swell was how Brendon's pathetic drinking binge to forget about Pete and Ryan only succeeded in making Ryan run to Pete so they could discuss Brendon's pathetic drinking binge and how it made Ryan sad.

Equally awesome: Brendon's massive hangover. Brendon was going to die and it was not going to be a noble death.

"Soundcheck's in half an hour," Spencer said, sticking his head through the door and looking at Brendon, who was stretched as far as possible onto the van's middle seat, staring at the ceiling. "Are you...brooding?"

That sounded so much better than just having a hangover. "Yes, I am brooding," Brendon said.

Spencer narrowed his eyes at Brendon. "If this is about Pete and Ryan, you should really move on."

"Why, are they in love?" Whatever, they were so not in love.

"They're in Pete's bunk," Spencer said, "so it doesn't really matter."

Brendon sat up abruptly, and then weaved for a moment until the lights stopped exploding behind his eyes and the hammers calmed down on the inside of his skull. "I bet Pete doesn't even give him handjobs!" he said, his righteous burst of anger only somewhat subdued by the blinding pain.

Spencer sighed.

"Go away," Brendon said, settling back down onto the seat. "I'm brooding."

-

So Brendon was pretty sure you could tell when someone's pants had been undone and hastily pulled back up. He cut his eyes sideways, watching as Ryan attempted to stealth his way into the dressing room, empty except for himself and a few roadies watching TV. Ryan's fly was open, for one, and if that hadn't been obvious enough, Brendon had never seen anyone more clearly just-fucked in his entire life. Flushed skin, clothes in disarray, and he wouldn't look anybody in the eye, which was fine, actually, because that way he couldn't catch Brendon checking out his dick. Which was very obviously hard beneath his pants, and god, what was Pete's problem? Was he insane? Fuck.

The bathroom door closed behind Ryan, and Brendon made a split-second decision, standing and following. Two stalls, and a lock he could snap shut behind him.

Ryan blinked at him, his hand twitching towards his belt, halfway into one of the stalls. "Hey," he said, "did you want something?"

"Do you want something?" Brendon asked, but Ryan just blinked at him. Brendon sucked at being obtuse, anyway, and Ryan backed up enough as Brendon approached that they ended up both in the stall. "Hey," Brendon said, and grabbed for Ryan's dick.

Ryan hissed, jerking away, but there wasn't anywhere he could go, not with the wall behind him. He raised his hands to push Brendon away and Brendon squeezed, gripping harder, holding Ryan in place with one hand on his hip as he undid Ryan's pants with the other.

"You know what sucks?" Brendon said, wrapping his fingers around Ryan's cock, still hard, thank god, because this had sort of been riding on Brendon being able to take action. "What sucks," Brendon continued, getting a feel for it, "is that you're having sex with Pete. Does Pete give you handjobs?"

"Are you giving me a handjob?" Ryan asked, seeming torn between confusion and impatience, thrusting his hips forward into Brendon's grip.

"Yes," Brendon told him. "Because Pete doesn't." The angle gave him minor trouble at first; this wasn't easy, exactly, not with Brendon's inexperience and the small space. But it felt good, Ryan hard in his hand, not trying to get away. His hands had settled on Brendon's chest. Brendon wondered if he was supposed to kiss Ryan, if that was allowed.

"He just says stuff," Ryan muttered, but his face was red and he looked uncomfortable. "It's not like - we do have sex."

"He fucks you," Brendon said. "Do you get off on that? Just that?"

"Fuck, Brendon." Ryan made to push him away, but Brendon refused to let go of him, finally getting the hang of it, finding a rhythm and keeping it as he stroked up and down. "I get off, okay?"

"Every time?" Brendon twisted his wrist, and Ryan made a little noise, curling his fingers into Brendon's shirt.

"Sometimes," Ryan admitted. "He doesn't mind if I." He swallowed, gasping as Brendon stroked him harder, speeding up a bit. "If I touch myself."

"That is so. Fucking. Generous," Brendon murmured, moving closer, as close as he could without losing his grip, until the outline of his own cock pressed against his hand fisted around Ryan. "You deserve better, Ry."

Ryan looked at him, and Brendon leaned in, without thinking, and kissed him.

Ryan came in Brendon's hand.

It took a little while for Ryan to come down from it, long enough for Brendon to wipe his hand off, long enough for Brendon to start to really feel how hard he was. He nudged closer to Ryan again, rubbing against his hip.

"Why'd you do this?" Ryan asked, his voice quiet.

Brendon closed his eyes, moving back a little, and Ryan's hand came up to touch his side and bring him back in closer. "He doesn't treat you right."

"Not everything is about sex," Ryan said, and Brendon bit his lip, because this felt like it was pretty much about sex right now. God, he was so hard.

"Well, you're not in love," Brendon told him. "You should at least be getting handjobs."

"Do you want me to suck you off?" Ryan asked.

And no, that hadn't been Brendon's point at all, Ryan was totally missing it. "That's not why I did this."

Ryan swallowed. "Oh. Well." Brendon opened his mouth to explain further, try and find the words to tell Ryan that he could do better, he was nicer than Pete and he cared about Ryan, but Ryan moved, turning until he faced the wall. A few moments of fumbling (was Ryan trembling?) and then he pushed his pants down, baring his ass and spreading as best he could with his pants around his thighs.

"Oh," Brendon echoed, because he definitely hadn't meant that either, not at all, but oh god, Ryan pressed his forehead to the wall and slid his hands down, parting the cheeks of his ass and pushing back, and Brendon had his own pants unzipped before he even really realized he was doing it.

"It's okay," Ryan said, "I'm still wet," and he was, Brendon could feel it when he rubbed his cock there, just barely slick right over the entrance to Ryan's body. He'd just wanted to touch Ryan, he'd just wanted.

"I, Ryan," Brendon said, his voice cracking just on the edge of it, and Ryan arched back into him.

"Please," he said, "I want you to."

So Brendon did.

When Brendon had thought about having sex with Ryan, his mind had always gone to bedrooms and candles, meaningful teen drama sex that happened after months of buildup, and this was so far removed from that he had no context for it. Ryan was tight and hot and perfect around him, taking him in like he was meant to do that and only that, and it felt so good but Brendon couldn't stop thinking about laying Ryan out on his back and kissing him all over. He gripped Ryan's hip, making Ryan cry out before he realized he was touching the bruise, but Ryan grabbed his hand when he made to move it, mumbling, "Harder, please," and Brendon didn't understand that either.

It had been easy to give up, a stupid thing he'd been ignoring well enough anyway, easy to ignore when Pete came along and took Ryan for himself. Brendon wished he would have known it was on offer the whole time, that Ryan would be so willing.

He didn't want Ryan willing, though. He wanted Ryan his.

Ryan sure felt like his right then, gasping with each deep thrust, leaning his body back into Brendon's, open and taking it, hard again when Brendon brushed his fingertips over Ryan's cock. Brendon pressed himself to Ryan's body, crushing Ryan to the wall, getting a loose grip around Ryan's cock and letting Ryan thrust into his fist. Everything seemed to be in the way, their skin barely touching, Brendon's pants not even fully undone, just his cock out and pushing into Ryan's body, his zipper scraping Ryan's ass each time he slammed his hips forward. "Am I hurting you?" Brendon asked, hot against Ryan's ear, nuzzling the space below. When he kissed there, Ryan's breath stuttered.

"Don't stop, please," Ryan whispered, and even though it was Ryan getting fucked, Brendon still felt so, so full, like his heart might break out of his chest, like he might never be able to let go of Ryan after this, and maybe, maybe that was okay.

Someone rattled the bathroom door and Brendon started thrusting faster, staying pressed to Ryan's back but pounding him with his hips, sweating and overwhelmed and fucking Ryan, not wanting to stop. Ryan pushed back against him, frantic, reaching a hand back to clutch Brendon's ass and bring him in deep, refusing to let go so Brendon had to grind into him, shifting his hips and staying almost all the way inside.

"Fuck, Ryan," Brendon said, startled to hear the desperation in his voice, so raw as he pressed his forehead to Ryan's shoulder and came deep inside him, as Ryan cried out, muffled against the wall, and came thrusting into Brendon's hand.

Ryan stayed against the wall, catching his breath as Brendon pulled out of him, and Brendon hated that they had to leave, play a show, see everybody after this. What was he supposed to even say? Thank you?

"Um," Brendon said, reaching out to touch Ryan's hip just as Ryan hiked his pants up and turned around. He stayed suspended there on the edge of touch for a moment before letting his hand drop.

"We have to go out there," Ryan said, avoiding Brendon's eyes, and no, okay, no, that was not how this was going to go at all. Brendon grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward so he stumbled into Brendon, and Brendon kissed him. Which he probably should have done in the first place, he realized, probably should have done months ago, rather than waiting for Pete to have Ryan first. Ryan kissed him back, his hands coming up to touch Brendon's face, and all Brendon could think, over and over, was yes. When they parted for air, Brendon stayed near, licking at Ryan's lower lip, breathing close, not letting him go.

"So were you just." Ryan swallowed, his forehead pressed to Brendon's. "Was this just a favor or something?"

"No, Ross." Brendon huffed out a laugh. "It wasn't just a favor."

-

"So," Pete said, his arms crossed. He was leaning against Panic's van, eyelinered and probably not really as menacing as he'd hoped. Still, Brendon looked for an escape route.

"Hi," Brendon said, stopping at a safe distance. After a moment, he waved. Pete pushed himself off of the van and approached Brendon.

"So you and Ryan, huh?" Pete asked.

Brendon nodded. "Yes." He didn't entirely understand the question, but Pete seemed to expect an answer.

"I treated him just fine, you know. We connected."

"Except how you never connected with his dick," Brendon pointed out, followed by the immediate urge to cover his mouth as if it might stop further words from escaping. He didn't do it, though. He was a man. A cold man, because he'd been going back to the van for his hoodie, and now Pete was blocking his way and it was like, thirty degrees outside and Ryan's stolen Bright Eyes t-shirt was not doing the job of keeping Brendon warm. But, a man.

Pete glared at him. "Not everything is about sex."

"Um, sex is about sex," Brendon said. "You were having sex. Bad sex. Sex where you didn't get him off. Dude, that is totally stupid sex."

Pete frowned, but he wasn't going to win this one, because Brendon totally had a point. He had a point, the set, and the match. But not a hoodie. Fuck, it was cold. "Sometimes sex is about more than that."

"Stuff in addition to that. Otherwise it's not sex," Brendon said. He hadn't realized he knew so much about sex, but compared to Pete he was practically the guy who had written the Kama Sutra. Well, maybe not that guy. But like, Dr. Drew or someone. Except without all the weird gross questions. "Look, I like Ryan. I like him enough to touch his dick."

Pete coughed. Brent tapped on Brendon's shoulder, nearly making him jump. "Um, can I have the keys? I need a jacket."

"Can you grab my hoodie?" Brendon asked.

"If you promise to stop talking until I'm gone," Brent told him, glancing at Pete. Brendon nodded. Those were fair terms.

"The point is, I'll touch Ryan's dick," Brendon said once Brent had left and he was snuggling into his hoodie.

Footsteps approached from behind. Brendon thought maybe they should be having this discussion elsewhere. Inside, maybe. Or somewhere with fewer people to overhear him talking about touching Ryan's cock.

"Brent said you guys were talking about me," Ryan said. Brendon turned and smiled at him, and Ryan beamed back. Brendon held out his hand without even thinking, and Ryan took it.

"We can still hang out, right?" Pete asked Ryan. He looked kind of sad, and Brendon felt bad for a second. Then he remembered the lack of handjobs. "Be friends or whatever."

"Friends," Brendon said, not liking that 'whatever.'

"Friends," Ryan said, and squeezed Brendon's hand.

Pete rolled his eyes at them. "Don't break up and ruin the band, either, I like you guys."

"We won't," Brendon promised.

Pete made a vague noise, neither negative nor positive, at that, but at least he left.

Brendon pulled Ryan into a spontaneous hug.

-

"How," Brendon asked, trying to catch his breath as Ryan rode him, hands on his chest, bouncing up and down on his cock, "how in the fuck did Pete ever keep up with you?"

"I think," Ryan inhaled, "he didn't touch me to make me want it less. Like it would put me off." He settled a bit, grinding on Brendon's dick, clenching around him until Brendon thought he might actually die. It felt so good it almost hurt. Brendon ran his hand along Ryan's side, still pleased to be able to touch him like this, and Ryan leaned down and kissed him, biting his lower lip gently. "Come on, you be on top, I'm tired."

"You're tired," Brendon huffed, but he rolled over on top when Ryan carefully eased off of him, stroking his hand fondly over Brendon's cock. "I thought he just didn't like dick."

"He doesn't." Ryan shifted, lifting his hips and making a satisfied little 'mmm' noise when Brendon pushed back into him. Brendon didn't think he'd ever get tired of hearing that noise. "I think I actually liked it enough for the both of us."

-

Brendon crouched over his Sidekick in the bathroom, having told Ryan he had to brush his teeth, and also give his dick a break. Ryan seemed unconvinced of the second part, and then he persuaded Brendon that even if Brendon's dick was tired, Ryan's wasn't. So Brendon gave him a blowjob, and that was pretty nice. He liked doing that, it made Ryan happy. He liked making Ryan happy, with his dick and with other stuff.

Not like, other other stuff, toys or whatever. Although that wouldn't be a bad investment, maybe. Brendon patted his dick.

"how did you keep up with him omg," he typed to Pete.

A few minutes later, Pete texted back, "hahahahhahahaha."

got me hooked, it just ain't fair

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 05:50:44 GMT

Today I posted a girlfriends primer in DYW. Go look!

Also, I asked if people wanted fic commentaries a few weeks ago, and gigantic, iridescentglow, and callsigns asked for one on except under the pale light, my Pete/Ryan story from last fall. So here it is!

Full disclosure: this fic was inspired by one thing, in two parts -

1. LoveStoned/I Think She Knows, by Justin Timberlake, and
2. This quote: "Most brilliantly, the tight, clipped disco-funk of "LoveStoned" descends precipitously into the gorgeous melancholy of "I Think That She Knows", all MOR-rock guitar churn and weightless strings, the same chorus ("She's got me love stoned…and I think that she knows") transformed from infatuation to the paranoid and elegiac admission of an addict," from a Pitchfork Media review of FutureSex/LoveSounds, written by Tim Finney.

I love how clearly the song places the girl as an object in the beginning, focused on the physical and the possibility of sex, and it's not 'til the song's two thirds gone that it becomes apparent that there are deeper feelings beyond what was initially assumed, but those feelings are still expressed in the same words. There's so much weight on "I think that she knows," but the impact rests in that it's not a known quantity, he doesn't know for sure, but he's assuming a level of understanding on behalf of the object that might not be there.

All of which is expressed much more clearly and eloquently by Finney, which is why I quoted him for the section breaks. That phrase summarizes the thrust of the fic better than I can.

In conclusion: Justin Timberlake. \o/

the same chorus

"Ryan Ross is coming to stay here for a week," Pete announces, falling grandly onto the couch and startling Patrick out of a GarageBand daze. Patrick blinks at him, then takes his headphones off. "Like a sleepover. Eighties movie marathons. Doing each other's makeup. Talking about boys. It's gonna rule."

That's so Pete's idea of the best night ever.

"I'll sleep with earplugs," Patrick says. "Also, when the eighties ended Ryan was four."

"Why are you assuming I'm going to fuck him?" Pete demands. "And Molly Ringwald is timeless."

"He has some sort of misguided hero-worship thing for you," Patrick says. "You're taking advantage."

"No, no," Pete says, "No, like. It's not like that at all. He's taking advantage of me."

What's weird is that while I was writing the beginning of this, I really had no clear direction in mind for the fic, but in retrospect it's like I was heading the right away all along. I didn't rewrite anything, but I think I already had pretty clear characterizations in my head - I was in a not-liking-Pete phase, or more accurately, not trusting him, insofar as that's possible with someone you don't know. I used to be really into Pete/Patrick, but the more I learned about Pete, the more I stopped liking it and started thinking that Pete should really stay the hell away from anybody he would damage, because he might have good intentions, but he's too wrapped up in the world as he sees it to really be a great partner for anybody. So my original idea of writing a happy sleepover princes fic was derailed by me just not believing that Pete and Ryan could be remotely functional, especially following the timeline the way I intended to.

I generally prefer first times over anything - I always like to see the beginnings of relationships, and it's really difficult for me to jump into the middle without explaining the way they got there in the first place. Anyway, this is about the best I think I've ever written Pete, because it was important to me that he appear sympathetic, so the reader could understand his thought processes while still recognizing the inherent problems that he couldn't. He's my favorite kind of narrator, reliable in the way he remembers events, unreliable in the way he thinks of them to himself.

"You," Patrick says.

"Yeah!" Pete nods, getting into it. "Have you seen his eyes? He blinks at me and I'm like, powerless to resist. They're like death rays. Kryptonite. I'm not even kidding. Sign his band? Sure. Fuck him? Okay!"

"So he's taking advantage of you by being pretty," Patrick says slowly.

"Exactly."

(He's asking for it, isn't he, by looking like that.)

Patrick blinks at him, then puts his headphones back on.

Pete slumps further down onto the couch.

Yes, there really was a point where I thought this could be a light romantic comedy. Hahaha, brain. Because reading this in retrospect, it's fucking creepy. Which is an effect I've always liked in more serious fic - I like things to be funny on the surface, but different, deeper when you read them again with the rest of the fic in mind.

transformed

Ryan rolls up in his Mercedes, and steps out wearing a pair of oversized white sunglasses and head-to-toe black. He looks expensive.

"Jesus," Patrick says to Pete, "you created him out of your mind, didn't you."

Patrick, so observant! Because he did, not just by fucking him up and molding him to become what he wanted, but because the Ryan Ross Pete knows *is* created out of his mind, a disconnect from the real boy, like those ads printed on sheer paper that surimpose something over a glossy image. You can still see what's underneath, but what you're seeing is still very, very different.

"There is a god," Pete says, not taking his eyes off Ryan as he approaches. "He wants me to have gay sex."

Having sex with Ryan is never really Pete's fault.

from infatuation

"Strike a pose, pretty boy," Pete says, and Ryan rolls over onto his stomach on Pete's bed and raises an eyebrow. The camera flash of Pete's Sidekick goes off and Pete clicks save to device album.

I freely admit that I like inserting authentic Sidekick details into fanfic.

"Buzznet?" Ryan asks.

"Private collection," Pete says. "You know what would be super-duper sexy? If you lost all the clothes."

Ryan stretches, fully, irritatingly not naked, and it's a tease, a terrible tease when Ryan says, as if there's never been a less interesting topic, "You can do better than Cruel Intentions."

"You saying I have to work for it?" Pete asks, raising an eyebrow, and god, they're going to fuck, he knows they are, Ryan's given it up for him before and he'll do it again every night this week if it's up to Pete. He will. It's inevitable. Pete resists the urge to spin around in his desk chair; that would be ridiculous, the way this is ridiculous, this dancing around each other like a waltz in Hell, when all Pete wants is for Ryan to slide to his knees easy the way he did three days in, in his bedroom in Las Vegas with schoolbooks on the floor and a Midtown poster right next to the window, right where Pete was looking as Ryan leaned in for the first tentative lick at Pete's cock, and from that stutter of breath on all Pete saw was Ryan.

Oh, that strange time period when you're with someone you've slept with before and will sleep with again, but you haven't seen them in awhile and you're not quite sure how it's going to happen, only that it's going to, and for god's sake, can it just happen now, because you're so antsy, and you know you both want it - oh, I love that time. Antici...pation.

Things Pete would so notice when Ryan blows him - the schoolbooks on the floor (I think Pete's self-aware enough to admit that he likes them young, but not to the point of actively going after younger people. He tells himself it's just something that happens, it's just how things end up), the Midtown poster. I like the idea of Pete seeing Gabe looking at him Ryan goes down on his knees. It's hot, and sort of creepy, both because it's someone Pete knows and it's a reminder that he's in a power-imbalanced situation, because if Ryan has a Midtown poster, you know he has a Fall Out Boy poster too.

Also, three days in - I love it when sex happens way too fast, that accelerated rush of emotion and intimacy that makes things so much more stark and intense. Mmm, such delightful tension.

(And on the seventh day, they - hold it, it's early yet for blasphemy, Pete wishes he could believe but all he has faith in anymore is music, Patrick, one and the same, and if Pete ever had a shot at Heaven he gave it up the day he moved to Los Angeles -

This is one of my favorite lines I've written in fic. The juxtaposition of Patrick/music, how if he didn't have one he couldn't have the other, I like conveying the importance they have to each other without being overbearing about it. And in my head, moving to Los Angeles = giving up on Jeanae, and running away from her is an act of finality, even if it didn't last. But I think, that time at least, it felt like it would.

And seven days later, in the backseat of Ryan's car, Pete held Ryan down and fucked him hard against the worn interior, Ryan all long limbs and need that he tried so hard to hide from Pete, so hot and tight inside that Pete could barely focus on anything but taking Ryan, thrusting deep as Ryan trembled, young and overwhelmed and Pete wanted him so badly, couldn't help wanting him however he could have him.)

I know I say it a lot, but I love what sex can tell you about two people. Ryan trying to hide his need - but it's Pete's POV, so is he really? Or is he trying to hide something else? Taking Ryan - for his, taking something from him, it's not a mutual act. Young and overwhelmed, but Pete doesn't stop, or slow down. He'll take Ryan any way he can, even scared, even if he can tell it's too much for Ryan.

Ryan smiles, just the tiniest quirk of the corner of his mouth, and slides off the bed, looks over his shoulder at Pete and says, "I better get ready," artifice that Pete could crack like glass if he wanted to; for a second Pete imagines a glare sliding off Ryan like sun on a car window, but then Ryan's just a boy again, thin hips and a smile sometimes like he expects to get hit.

"Those flashing lights seem to cause a glare/The way they hit her I just stop and stare" - you thought I was done talking about Justin Timberlake, didn't you? And oh, Ryan's need for love and approval! sniffle.

to the paranoid

Pete didn't sleep with Ashlee and he did sleep with Michelle (twice), but he could take a million pictures with Ryan Ross and write a hundred cryptically suggestive blogs and he'd still only get questioned about the starlet he talked to outside LAX for five minutes about her shoes.

This paragraph is the sole remainder of the fic I was originally going to write. Pete/Michelle! This is comical now, since Pete apparently is sleeping with Ashlee. Or whatever.

"I like your shoes," Pete tells Ryan, and Ryan grins, slumped down in the seat next to him so Pete could fit an arm around his shoulders, talking over the music. "You wanna get out of here?"

I love that Ryan towers over Pete. He has to slump down so Pete can get an arm around him!

"And go where?" Ryan asks, and Pete swears his eyelashes flutter; it's a fucking fortunate turn of circumstance that Ryan ended up here with Pete rather than working the streets, because Pete would seriously pay money right now to fuck Ryan and he knows he's not the only one. Half of babygay Hollywood's already been sniffing around, peeking out of their closets to make pointless small talk with Ryan. Pete would place bets that three-quarters of them don't know anything about Ryan except that he's a pretty demented China doll, but it's not like it matters - Ryan's going home with Pete.

I love this paragraph. Babygay Hollywood! Also, the fact that Panic! is super famous without really being famous at all. Because of course you can even see Panic's videos on TV and like them and still not be able to pick Ryan Ross out of a lineup.

"Back to my place, baby," Pete says, adding a lewd grin as an afterthought, even though he wasn't kidding and Ryan knows it. "Come on, I'll make you pancakes in the morning," he promises.

Ryan says, "Well, if there are going to be pancakes," and with Ryan's voice he could be joking, talking about the weather, or perfecting his monotone, fuck knows.

I love Ryan's monotone, even though it means he can't make a funny joke to save his life.

"And sausage," Pete says.

Ryan raises an eyebrow.

Pete leers.

Hahaha sausage. \o/ What, Pete would go there.

and elegiac

The valet brings around Ryan's Mercedes (Ryan's because he drove, oh yes, and grinned at Patrick and said, "It's okay, I'll have him home by midnight," and Pete could barely hear Patrick's, "Please don't," over the rush-fast beat of his heart) and when Pete slides in he glances at the backseat and smiles at Ryan and Ryan says, "You have a whole house, you know," and Pete thinks about that, a whole house full of beds and tables and couches and other places where he can get Ryan down on his back and he says, "Drive fast."

He taps his fingers on the dashboard and he taps them on the window; when Ryan glances over Pete rubs his knuckles over Ryan's thigh and Ryan accelerates.

admission

In the hundred spaces in between Pete touches Ryan where he can, leaning in and stroking the back of Ryan's neck in the car, Ryan's breath speeding up. Pete doesn't kiss him, not there, not in the too many steps to his doorway. Ryan slips his car keys into his pocket and Pete slides his thumb along the edge of one, dull and serrated through the fine fabric of Ryan's pants. He can't quite hear the echo of Ryan's breath with each step he takes but he imagines he can, stops midstep so Ryan bumps into him, fingers curling around his shoulder, and Pete leans back and grins at Ryan's, "Hey, can we, please," his slight stuttering inhale when Pete laughs, and his heart stops at the flash of fear on Ryan's face, like he might - "No, yeah, let's go," Pete whispers, and it seems important suddenly that he take Ryan's hand and lead him the rest of the way.

Again, those spaces between - you know you're going to sleep with somebody, but you still have to get out of the car, you have to walk to the front door and what are you supposed to do, how are you supposed to behave? And for Pete, it's playful, funny, but Ryan's still all insecurity, even now. Sigh.

The house is quiet when they get in, not quite empty for the week (it never is and Pete hopes it never will be) but it's late and the only light comes from outside, gold and grey and broken on the floor so Ryan's just smudged outlines when he looks back. Pete sees the soft line of his jaw, eyes wide in dark liner, and he touches Ryan's face, reaching for him but Ryan's already there, right where Pete wants him, and Pete's pulling him close before he really processes that he should ask Ryan if this is okay.

Right where Pete wants him, mm-hmm. (And he doesn't ask Ryan if it's okay.)

(Ryan kissed him first. Pete tells himself now that Ryan kissed him first. Pete kissed Ryan, and Ryan kissed back; it was just - something, friendliness, another practice gone by and Pete still couldn't quite believe this bunch of fucking teenagers could be so good at this, could be making this music that was somehow everything he'd ever wanted to hear, he was going to get this record played for everyone so they could feel it too and Ryan was telling him about all the different sounds they wanted to create, the lyrics he was writing, and Pete thought fuck, this kid is amazing, and then he kissed Ryan's cheek. He kissed the corner of Ryan's mouth, he kissed right below his lips, enough to catch Ryan's lower lip between his teeth but not quite, not quite, and Ryan looked startled, so-

Pete can't even reliably narrate his own story to himself.

"Oh," he had said, quiet, looking at his hands, and Pete stumbled over his words and what he meant was sorry, but then Ryan said, tremulous, "Okay," and Pete couldn't help himself, he had to have more, he had to, and Ryan tilted his head, just a little, just enough to let Pete back in again.)

Again, Pete could say something, he almost does. But he doesn't.

But then he's kissing Ryan, and Ryan's kissing him back with a low moan, so eager, so ready for Pete, and Pete wants to push Ryan to his knees, watch him sink gracefully down, but there's time enough for that; he lets himself have a few more moments, just a few, and then he tugs Ryan toward his bedroom and Ryan follows, biting his lip, quiet.

He gets Ryan's clothes off. He gets Ryan under him. Ryan's skinnier than he remembered, and Pete doesn't kiss him on the way to his room, he doesn't kiss him in the doorway or in the middle of the floor or when he's pushing Ryan gently down onto the bed, Ryan's clothes scattered already so he's naked on his back, hands curling restlessly into the sheets like he doesn't know what he's supposed to do with them, what he's allowed to do with them.

I admit that part of the reason I was psyched to be asked for a commentary on this story was that it meant I could talk about the Brendon/Ryan relationship that's implied here. Because in my head, and a little bit in the following paragraphs, it's apparent that Brendon and Ryan are in a relationship, and it's not an especially healthy one. So no, Ryan doesn't know what he's allowed to do with his hands, because Brendon gives Ryan what he needs, but a lot more harshly than even Pete does, because he thinks it's what Ryan wants. They both misunderstand Ryan in really essential ways, but I think with Brendon it comes more from love than objectification. He wants to understand, at least. And he tries to, by tying Ryan up a lot. \o/

Pete will make Ryan a fucking stack of pancakes tomorrow, covered in butter and syrup, but right now he just licks along the lower curve of Ryan's rib, fits his hands around Ryan's waist and rubs his thumbs along Ryan's hipbones, so stark and defined and Ryan squirms toward him, lifting his hips a little, raising a hand to tug at Pete's shirt because Pete's completely forgotten to get naked and his jeans are probably scraping Ryan's thighs. He raises an eyebrow and Ryan says, "Get - that's a fucking awful shirt," and Pete laughs, surprised, gets back on his knees so he can pull the shirt off, saying, "I wouldn't wanna, you know, offend you."

Okay, but you know, even in the midst of some slightly disturbing sex, Pete's wearing a stupid shirt, Ryan notices, and life is funny.

Ryan looks like he's going to come back with something, but then Pete looks at him, taking in the paleness of his skin, the sprawl of his body on the bed, and says, more quietly, "Spread your legs," and Ryan's breath audibly hitches in his chest as he does what Pete tells him to.

(He asked first. Maybe - maybe the question was implied. Pete said, "Let me," his fingers digging into Ryan's thighs as he pushed them to his chest, and Ryan didn't say no, he just bit his lip and turned his head to the side, facing the back of the passenger seat as Pete worked three fingers in and out of him, so unbearably tight that he wasn't even sure if Ryan could take it but Ryan had to take it, he had to. He pushed his fingers in deep and Ryan gasped, clenching around him, hot pressure that Pete needed to feel around his cock, he needed to be inside Ryan, god, "Please," he said, barely recognizing his own voice, gone raw with want.

When Ryan looked at him again Pete curled his fingers up, trying to make it good, and Ryan cried out, squirming back into him, until Pete scrabbled at his jeans, getting them open, saying, "It'll be good, I promise, it," his voice cracked, desperate as he positioned himself, taking his fingers out and pressing the head of his cock up right there, making Ryan moan, and when Ryan said, "Please," all Pete heard was yes, and he pushed forward, pushed his way inside Ryan, pushed in and didn't stop.)

They both say please, but they're asking for different things. Pete wants to be inside Ryan, but I think he also wants that in a more cliched way - like by fucking Ryan, he'll understand him, he'll understand his own fascination and need, which is not inconsiderable here, I think. Ryan, of course, could mean please keep going, please slow down, please stop. But it doesn't matter, because Pete hears what he needs to, what he wants Ryan to mean.

There are bruises on the insides of Ryan's thighs, faded but visible even in the darkened room; Pete can't help but say, "Brendon doesn't go easy on you, does he," and Ryan's face shuts down a little, just enough that Pete touches his side and adds, clumsy, "Hey no, I didn't mean - it's none of my business," stroking his skin, cupping his face and leaning down to kiss him.

Brendon/Ryan! Things with Pete have obviously fucked Ryan up pretty badly in terms of how he views sex/love, and obviously Brendon and Ryan are boyfriends and totally in love - I mean, whatever, ahem. But I think Ryan would ask to be hurt, and Brendon would hurt him too much, trying to be what he needs, and then Ryan wouldn't say anything, afraid to lose what he has with Brendon. So when Ryan goes to see Pete, he'd hoped that Brendon would have asked him not to sleep with Pete while he was there, but of course Brendon didn't, because he just wants Ryan to have what he wants, so Ryan can be happy. Also, Pete lulls Ryan back into complacency with touch - is that how Ryan really is? Well, it's how he is now, isn't it.

AddictedKitten (10:00:47 PM): i'm doing a commentary on except under the pale light
AddictedKitten (10:00:59 PM): and talking about brendon/ryan \o/
deliberatehips (9:59:15 PM): ooh, how is it going?
AddictedKitten (10:01:11 PM): i exulted about justin timberlake
AddictedKitten (10:01:15 PM): this is the best commentary ever

When Pete pulls back for breath Ryan says, "Please, just fuck me."

When Pete hesitates Ryan says, "Please, I need it."

(He tried to hold Ryan close, as close as he could in the confines of the car, Ryan's beat-up old Pontiac parked out in the desert where Ryan liked to go, "To think," Ryan had said, and Pete wanted to know every thought in his head, he wanted Ryan to tell him all his hopes and dreams and everything he wanted, but instead he ended up leaning over him in the backseat, thrusting hard into Ryan's ass as Ryan cried out underneath him, bent nearly in half on the ancient blue upholstery, sweating and gorgeous and clutching at Pete like he thought Pete might leave him at any second. When Pete shoved deep into Ryan and came inside him, stroking Ryan to climax along with him, he knew it hadn't been enough; when Ryan trembled under him, curling up into himself as Pete pulled out, he knew it had been too much.)

That last sentence there is pretty much everything I needed to say about them, I think.

Pete fucks him.

He closes his eyes and kisses Ryan hard, slides wet fingers inside Ryan until he's thrusting back, begging for it, mumbling against Pete's lips, so different than when he needed without wanting; there's no divide there anymore. He holds Ryan's hips down, keeping him in place as he pounds into him, and he's still never felt anything as good as Ryan clenching around him, never heard anything as perfect as Ryan's cries. His fingers curl into Ryan's hair, tugging his head back so he can lick at Ryan's neck, not biting down, not needing to mark him that way, just tasting his skin, salt sweet and good as Ryan moans, takes each thrust like it's just what he's made to do.

Seriously, sex! Tells you everything you need to know about somebody! People should write more sex scenes. Pete's already marked him enough.

Pete fucks him, giving Ryan what he needs, what Ryan asks for, what he's always asked for, and when he comes he pulls out and finishes on Ryan's stomach, Ryan still arching up, pleading for Pete to touch him, and Pete gets him off with one hand loosely gripping his cock and three fingers shoved inside him. Pete looks at Ryan for a long minute after, lying beside him on the bed until Ryan looks down at his body, slides his fingers through the come on his belly and licks it all off, slowly until he's all cleaned off, and only then does Pete tug him close, let Ryan huddle into him awkwardly like he isn't used to being held, and Pete just holds him tighter.

Yeah, this, again, Brendon/Ryan, Ryan used to being held, boys not understanding each other! I weep.

of an addict.

Pete wakes him with a blowjob, and Ryan stretches sleepily, letting him control the pace, sighing when Pete parts his thighs and fucks into him. He thinks of heat through glass windows and the way he would catch Ryan's lower lip trembling, just a bit, when he pulled Ryan close afterwards; he thinks of the first time he saw press shots from the last tour, Brendon's hand on Ryan's face, and he pushes Ryan down further so he can slam in until Ryan moans his name. He thinks of this week's schedule, all the stupid things he'd said they would attend, and a week doesn't seem like enough anymore. He's forgotten a time when it ever did.

Seriously, what did Pete think when he first saw Brendon crawling all over Ryan?

Later, he'll make pancakes. Maybe he'll bring Ryan along to the studio, maybe he'll let Ryan talk him into eyeliner again. He's covering up Ryan's old bruises with new ones, pounding into him, and Ryan just shifts his hips and rocks up into it, willing, desperate, everything Pete ever wanted him to be but his alone.

I kept coming back to that morning after picture of Ryan eating pancakes in Pete's kitchen, and how it's the best picture ever. Ryan's wearing eyeliner in it, and the idea of Ryan being the type of kid to put on eyeliner before he even goes out to the kitchen for breakfast is exactly - yes. It's something he's evolved into. Also, one of Pete's few moments of true awareness of Ryan is that Ryan's not meant to be kept, and he could never have that, because (he thinks) Ryan needs too much, and knows deep-down that they're not meant to be that for each other. But still, he wants.

(Pete didn't mean to do it that way, but Ryan's kisses were so tentative and Pete was so hard, up in Ryan's room with the door shut and Ryan so hot against him; his hand moved from Ryan's neck to his shoulder, the light pressure nothing at all but then Ryan pulled back a little, looked at him and swallowed, and Pete leaned in and kissed his throat and pushed Ryan down to his knees.)

Ryan says, "Please," and all Pete hears is yes.

Here's where I talk about how this is one of my favorite things I've ever written. I think it stands really well on its own as a story, structurally and in terms of having a character arc and definite movement. I think I said everything in it that I wanted to say. This is why I tend to think knowing canon is so, so important when you're writing RPS (or any fic, really), because if you feel you know the characters thoroughly, then the stories write themselves. Which is what this one did, really. When you know the characters and what they're feeling, then the plot will logically follow and become what it needs to be to do justice to the characters and your perception of them. At least I find that's true for me.

9/18/2006 - 2:13 AM EST
as this album unfolds i have begun to realize that it is a nocturnal record. so much different than the way the others gave a windows down summer sun/nostalgia vibe- i guess maybe thats only my own head but this one feels moonlit. the way things are different as they pass in the dark. the way we can be ourselves after dark. love, the stagecoach always turns back into a pumpkin. sometimes love is about getting even. but sometimes it is about how you are the sun and nothing can shine quite as bright as you. nothing is the same at 6 am. somehow the things we say mean more in corners of dancefloors and we focus on love below the waist and outside of the head. "dont you want to get better"- i just dont want you to worry. "dont you want to get better" - tonight i do. the way they say "youre committing slow suicide" when someone lights up or cuts loose. but arent we all. everything we do just shortens our life, every breath is one less. but its what makes everything so treasured. in my head. it aint a funeral babe, i just want the headline to die. recovery is the new drug. in your average week my head lays on so many different pillows. this windowshopped life has me dreaming of a reset button. daylight is your enemy. im in love with lovers who dont love me except under the pale light of the moon. im sleeping in my driveway tonight dreaming of sleeping in snow or gravel or whatever is next to you.... thank god, disappointment has a short shelf life. i want to buy (uni)som(e) sleep but over the counter doesnt cut it whether it be hearts or capsules. i love you in a holding back your hair kind of way. wreck it all, one heart at a time. sleepovers are as good at they were 10 years ago. my dog is proof of puppy love. hollywood is a good story. but best friends are better.

sing into a polygraph. its not all its cracked up to be. talking isnt good for anything ever. lets practice our moves until the sun comes up.
- xo

instead of doing something important like saving the world

Fri, 09 Feb 2007 21:47:33 GMT

Final part as promised. I hope everyone's enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Title: That's What He Said (3/3)
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon/Spencer/Jon, mentions of Ryan/Pete
Summary: Truckstops and Statelines and conflict resolution.
Disclaimer: Probably didn't happen like this.
Beta: gigantic did a lovely beta job on this; CJ, thank you. Thanks also to deliberatehips and callsigns for reading bits and pieces along the way - the encouragement is always appreciated.
Note: Third and final part! If you've been quiet so far, please do speak up now - it'd mean a lot to me to know what you've thought of it. :)

part one
part two

They were curled around each other in bed when Spencer and Jon came back, carrying a few bags and flushed from the cold. Jon raised an eyebrow at the picked-apart room service trays, and Ryan waved a tentative hello at him. Jon smiled back.

"Did you have fun?" Spencer asked, smirking, and Ryan nodded at him, snuggling back into Brendon's grip. Brendon squeezed him and kissed the back of his neck.

"Ryan's a great fuck," Brendon said, Ryan made an annoyed sound, not sure if he wanted to be reduced to that; Brendon rubbed his stomach, conciliatory, as Spencer grinned, stripping off his layers, not stopping at his coat and scarf. "Did you boys have a good time shopping?"

"My feet hurt," Jon complained, "Spencer made me go into every store in the entire Boise metro area." Brendon stretched a plaintive hand toward him, and Jon approached the bed, leaving his shirt on the floor next to Spencer's.

"Well, if you'd let me buy you better shoes," Spencer told him, grabbing Jon around the waist from behind and unbuckling his belt, undoing his pants and pushing them down so Jon could step out of them.

"Have you guys been hanging out when we're not around or something?" Ryan said, eyes narrowed. "You're awfully friendly."

"Brendon just spent all day fucking you," Spencer said, dipping his fingers into Jon's boxers, "I've adopted your idea of friends."

"Hey!" Ryan said, frowning, but then Spencer nuzzled Jon's neck, Jon bringing a hand up to touch Spencer's cheek, and okay, friends like this were just fine in Ryan's book. Spencer pushed Jon forward so he landed on the bed in front of Ryan, close up, and Ryan blinked at him - were they supposed to kiss? They had to kiss at some point, right?

"Don't be impolite, Ross," Brendon said softly, pushing him forward, and then his lips were pressed to Jon's, Jon's cold hand curling around his neck. Jon kissed sweetly, slow like he wanted to take his time with this and everything, and it was nice, Ryan liked it, squirming closer to Jon and pressing up naked against him, warming Jon up.

"You didn't wear him out, did you?" he heard Spencer ask Brendon.

Jon pulled back and told Spencer, "You could just fuck Brendon if he did, you know."

Spencer grunted, reluctant, and Brendon said, outraged, "Hey, my ass is no one's second choice!"

Ryan frowned. This was going in a direction he wasn't liking. "I'm fine," he insisted, but Spencer and Brendon weren't listening. In fact, they appeared to be wrestling, Spencer saying, "Let me under the covers, you ass," and Brendon struggling in his grip, muttering, "No, you can't join, no fucking for you," until Spencer got a decent grip on Brendon's hair and tugged his head back, baring his throat. Then Spencer leaned down and bit him.

Brendon quieted, and Ryan watched with interest, Jon's hand playing over his hip, as Spencer sucked on Brendon's neck. There wasn't much that could make Brendon go still, and Ryan filed this away for future reference. Probably wouldn't work onstage, but Brendon had been knocking into him less lately anyway, so it wasn't too bad.

"Hey," Jon murmured, distracting Ryan from his thoughts, and then he was thrusting gently against Ryan's ass, hard and oh, he'd discarded the boxers. Jon's hand slipped from Ryan's hip and around to his ass, stroking between his cheeks, and yeah, so maybe he and Brendon had fucked again after their bath, maybe he was still a little slick inside from it, enough that Jon's fingers slipped easily in, two at once since Ryan was so stretched. "Yeah?" Jon said, and Ryan nodded, parting his thighs, edging back against Jon until Jon took his fingers away and nudged the head of his cock up against Ryan's ass. Jon kissed the back of his neck and pushed in, hardly any force behind it, just gradually getting closer, further in, until he was inside Ryan completely, letting out a shuddering breath.

Maybe there'd been a truce, a brief cessation of battle, Ryan wasn't sure; either way, Brendon and Spencer had settled, panting, Spencer straddling Brendon on top of the covers. "All day? Really?" Spencer asked Ryan. He still had a grip on Brendon's head, and Ryan recognized the look on Brendon's face as vengeful with intent to tickle, hands moving up Spencer's thighs until Spencer stopped moving and looked closer at Ryan and Jon. "You're fucking," Spencer said. Brendon's hands dropped, and he turned to look, tugging out of Spencer's loosened grip.

"They are not," Brendon said, and looked at Ryan, "I just fucked you, like, twenty minutes ago."

"Still wet," Ryan gasped, arching his hips back. Jon was fucking him so slowly, cock dragging on his insides, so good and raw and fuck, Ryan didn't think he'd be able to move after this, but that was so, so okay. He closed his eyes, pushing his forehead against the pillow, taking it, each slow sweet thrust, Jon kissing his shoulder.

"Let me see," Spencer demanded, edging forward onto Brendon; Brendon actually held onto the covers for a moment, but then he seemed to realize that he wanted to see, too, and he let Spencer get under, right on his other side so Spencer had to drape half across him just to see anything. And then he still couldn't, so he had to crawl over Brendon, lifting the sheets to watch the slide of Jon's cock into Ryan's ass, Jon angling Ryan down a bit as Brendon moved up on his elbows to watch, too.

When someone finally broke the silence, it was Brendon, huffing, "I can't breathe," at Spencer, who rolled his eyes and said, "I'm going to fuck your face, I swear to god."

"Spencer Smith, you dirty bitch," Brendon said, sounding honestly delighted.

Jon laughed against the back of Ryan's neck, reaching down to palm Ryan's dick. "You wanna come?" he asked, breath hot against Ryan's ear, and Ryan shook his head no, not yet, he still wanted Spencer in him, he was hard but not painfully so. He could go for awhile yet, probably. There were still things he needed to see, and, oh - Spencer shifted off of Brendon, sliding up against Ryan by edging Brendon out of the way, ignoring Brendon's disgruntled, "Hey!" and wrapping his fingers around Ryan's neck, sliding up to cup the base of his skull as he kissed Ryan, pressed full up against him, naked and hard. Ryan curled his hands against Spencer's chest, slid his thumbs over Spencer's collarbone and kissed him back.

Spencer worked a hand down between them, meeting Jon's hand on his cock and knuckling a friendly hello over Jon's wrist, then moving downward, prodding behind Ryan's balls until he could touch Jon's cock, thumb stroking the base as Jon fucked Ryan's ass. Spencer's fingers slipped around, rubbing where Ryan was so stretched, filled, and the friction, the feel of it, god, it was too much, too intense - Ryan swallowed, panting against Spencer's mouth, and just then Brendon bent over Spencer and bit Ryan's hip, hard. Ryan tensed, Jon pushed deep, and Ryan came over his own stomach, Jon's fist.

"Hey, Ry," Spencer said softly, running his fingers through Ryan's hair, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek. Jon had stilled behind him, and Spencer said, "C'mon, Jon, finish," sliding his hand down to Jon's hip and finding Brendon already there, licking Ryan's come off Jon's hand; god, Ryan couldn't even watch, they were all there, all touching him, hot skin and Jon picking up the pace again, fucking into him and coming, staying deep.

Jon wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist, holding onto him, kissing the back of Ryan's neck, and Ryan relaxed, let himself breathe, let himself feel Jon inside, Spencer's forehead pressed to his, Brendon running his hand down Ryan's side, petting him.

It was quiet for a moment, all of them breathing, still, and then Ryan reached down and grasped Spencer's dick and Spencer inhaled, startled.

"God, you just don't quit," Brendon murmured, and leaned in, licking at the head of Spencer's cock, lips brushing Ryan's curled fist.

"I want to," Ryan said, insistent, struggling out of Jon's grip to get down to Brendon, but Brendon was nudging Spencer onto his back, already halfway down on his cock, mouth stretched wide around it. "Come on," Ryan said, trying to elbow Brendon out of the way.

"I think he's doing alright," Spencer said. Ryan frowned, felt up the inside of Spencer's thigh and bent low, nosing in, kissing the base of Spencer's cock where Brendon's mouth hadn't quite reached.

Brendon slid off, frowning at him. "Honestly?"

"Come on, guys," Jon said, reaching down to run his knuckles gently over the back of Ryan's neck. Ryan licked at Spencer's cock, eyeing Brendon, and after a second, Brendon moved in, licked up the other side. Teamwork. They could do this.

Spencer made a desperate noise, his head dropping back onto the pillow, and Brendon grinned guiltily up at him and then they were working together, Ryan's tongue brushing Brendon's, kissing wetly around Spencer's cock. They took turns sucking him, Brendon going down as far as he could as Ryan stroked Spencer's thighs how he liked, Spencer's moans muffled by Jon's mouth on his, swallowing each sound. Ryan touched Brendon's cheek, feeling Spencer's cock in his mouth, the smooth slide in and out; he couldn't stop watching, just the fact of it, Brendon sucking Spencer's cock, god, he wanted to see it again.

"God, Brendon," Spencer said, his voice gone just a little frantic, and Jon kissed his cheek, whispered, "It's okay, he'll swallow." When Ryan looked back at Brendon, he was grinning, even with a mouthful of dick, and he took it all when Spencer's hips jerked, thrusting roughly up into his mouth. Spencer moaned, and Ryan bit his lip, watching Brendon's throat work. Ryan barely restrained himself from attacking Brendon when he finally pulled off, licking his lips; instead he just leaned in a little too quickly, teeth colliding with Brendon's, clumsy and needy, desperate.

Brendon moaned into his mouth, grabbing Ryan's head and pulling him close. The kiss was dirty, messy, Ryan licking the taste of Spencer's come out of Brendon's mouth, biting at Brendon's lower lip, and when they parted, it took Brendon a moment to catch his breath, Spencer grabbing for Ryan already, pulling him up the bed until Spencer could kiss him hard.

"Fuck," Brendon gasped, reaching down to touch himself, "me next. Fuck me next," he finished, and Jon grinned, tugging Brendon up until he was half leaning over Ryan, Ryan arching up for a kiss.

"Hands and knees," Jon murmured, spreading Brendon's thighs for him, and when Brendon looked over at him, Jon said, "On top of Ryan, come on."

Ryan glanced over at Jon, nervous, and Spencer touched his shoulder and said, "Just watch, right?" and oh, okay, Ryan could do that, he could watch Brendon get fucked right over him, god, yeah. Yeah. He let Brendon get on top of him, legs spread above him, and it was electrifying, watching the way Brendon's expression shifted as Jon fingered him, watching him bite his lip. Ryan raised a hand to touch Brendon's cheek, and Brendon leaned in, nuzzling him, kissing Ryan's palm as Jon twisted his fingers deep, Brendon's hips twitching as he rubbed his cock against Ryan's stomach.

"Come on, fuck him," Spencer said, eyes dark, and Ryan watched as he reached out, palming Brendon's ass, helping Jon spread him. Brendon looked sideways at Spencer, biting his lip, and Spencer smirked. "Fuck him hard."

Ryan arched up, caged by Brendon's body and needing attention, kisses, something, straining for Brendon's lips until Brendon ducked his head lower, kissing Ryan, still squirming on Jon's fingers, so Ryan felt the way Brendon's mouth slackened against his in a quick little inhale when Jon took his fingers out and replaced them with his cock. Brendon breathed against his mouth, distracted, and Ryan let his head drop back down to the pillow, just watching, thinking back to lying in his bunk and picturing them together. He hadn't thought it would be like this, Brendon given over to complete abandon, taking each thrust so easily.

Spencer tangled a hand in his hair, Ryan turning to look at him, and Spencer leaned in for a kiss, running the pad of his thumb over the rise of Ryan's cheekbone, and Ryan arched his hips up, wanting, but god, he was so sore, aching inside, well-used but Spencer still needed - Ryan bit at Spencer's lower lip, eyes pleading when Spencer pulled back, but Spencer just quirked an eyebrow at him.

Ryan tried to find the words, he did, but then Brendon pressed down into him, taking most of his weight on his elbows and pressing his forehead to Ryan's shoulder, steady little thrusts of his cock against Ryan's stomach. Brendon bit down on his skin, hard enough to draw a gasp from Ryan's throat, and he realized how hard Brendon was taking it, Jon driving into him as Brendon worried his teeth in Ryan's shoulder.

"You're gonna bruise him," Spencer said, digging his nails into Brendon's side in reproach, and Jon bent low, his hips slamming against Brendon's ass, and whispered, "Play nice."

"Sorry," Brendon said, releasing Ryan and kissing him there in apology; Ryan glanced down and yeah, that was a bruise, that was a big beautiful mark on him that he knew he'd be touching for weeks. Jon thrust in hard enough to push Brendon down on Ryan almost entirely, and Brendon tensed over him as Jon came, smiling down at Ryan over Brendon's shoulder.

They took a moment to breathe, Brendon slumping down against Ryan as Jon pulled out, kissed the top of his spine and laid down next to Ryan. Jon gave Ryan a kiss on the cheek, smiling lazily, and Ryan arched up against Brendon, trying to urge him to move, something. He already knew he'd be aching tomorrow, but Spencer was hard again, and Brendon hadn't come, either-

"You okay, Ry?" Spencer asked, curling close and stroking Ryan's shoulder with his knuckles.

Ryan shifted under Brendon, automatically stroking his hand down Brendon's back; Brendon nuzzled him, thrusting his dick against Ryan's stomach a bit. "Sore," Ryan muttered, and he felt Brendon grin.

"I wore you out, huh?" Brendon said, and Spencer reached over and smacked him sharply on the ass.

"Thanks a bunch, jackass." Spencer paused, keeping his hand on Brendon's ass, then stroked him thoughtfully. His fingers crept inward, and Brendon tensed on top of Ryan.

Breathing was becoming an issue. Ryan nudged at Brendon, saying, "Come on, get off me," and Spencer was already tugging at Brendon's arm, muttering, "Yeah, and come here."

"You know, Spence, I could blow you," Jon offered, and Ryan looked at Jon, who was lying with his head propped up on his hand, watching them with some amusement.

"Yeah," Brendon said. Spencer had dragged him on top, and Brendon was shifting a bit with Spencer's cock between the cheeks of his ass. "He could blow you. I'm not really used to, like, a lot of dick, so."

"You'll be fine," Spencer assured him, prodding at Brendon's hip. "Come on, up. You can take it." Brendon frowned down at him, and Jon spooned up behind Ryan, pressing close and petting his hip as they watched. This really wasn't how Ryan had thought it would go. It was so, so much better. Brendon raised up on his knees a little, still hesitant, and then carefully lowered himself back down onto Spencer's cock, biting his lip and shifting a bit until he slid down all the way. Once there, he didn't seem to know what to do. "Moving would be great," Spencer said, sounding a little strained, and Brendon stuck his tongue out at him, then rose up a bit, sliding slowly back down, wriggling a little.

Ryan snickered, both at the look on Brendon's face, petulant and slightly pained but determined to ignore it, and the way Spencer looked like he was about to grab Brendon's hips and force him to speed the fuck up at any given moment. Brendon glared at Ryan. "Oh, uh huh, laugh," he said, brows knitted in concentration as he twisted on Spencer's dick, trying to find the right angle.

"'Kay," Ryan said, perfectly agreeable, and Brendon huffed down at him. It shifted into a moan as Spencer moved under him, thrusting up.

"Ooh, yeah, there," Brendon said, and Spencer gripped Brendon's thighs, saying, "Yeah, thanks, I got it."

"Took you long enough," Brendon muttered.

Spencer dug his fingers into Brendon's thighs until Brendon squeaked, bouncing on Spencer's cock a little harder, and gritted out, "Seriously, do you gag him?" at Jon.

Jon shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Jesus Christ, Walker, shut up," Brendon said, and really, Ryan was trying very very hard not to laugh uncontrollably; he was overstimulated, tired as hell, and honestly, this was the sort of group sex they managed? This was awesome. Ryan snuggled happily back into Jon, watching Spencer fuck Brendon, Brendon's head thrown back as he rode him. Jon reached out a hand and casually grasped Brendon's cock, stroking him steadily, letting Brendon thrust into his hand until he came on Spencer's chest, Spencer sighing at the mess until Brendon rolled his eyes and swiped his fingers through it, cleaning him up, coming down, letting Spencer thrust and just sort of grinding down onto him. He offered his fingers to Ryan, and Ryan looked up at Brendon through his eyelashes (Why did he always get the comeshots? Oh, whatever) and licked them off.

Spencer groaned, and Ryan got the feeling that Brendon was probably clenching down on him or something, judging from the determined look in his eyes; Spencer finally gasped, "Fuck," and pulled Brendon down hard onto his cock, tensing and then releasing his grip on Brendon. Brendon stayed on top of him, grinning, until Spencer bucked his hips and said, "Oh fuck off, Urie."

"Liked my ass, did you?" Brendon said, smug, and Ryan ducked out of the way of Brendon's elbows and knees as Brendon crawled over him to settle between him and Jon.

Spencer grunted, but he certainly looked like he had enjoyed it, all flushed and wrung-out. Ryan reached over and touched Spencer's cheek, smiling at him, and Spencer smiled back, moving close to get his arms around Ryan.

"Hey," Brendon said, kissing at the back of Ryan's neck, and Ryan turned in the circle of Spencer's arms, smiling at Brendon too before kissing him, then getting a kiss from Jon. He ducked as they all exchanged kisses too, and Brendon wrapped his hand around the back of Ryan's neck (Spencer kissed his knuckles). "Pretty good day, huh?"

"Yeah," Ryan said, settling in, warm, comfortable, pleased. "Yeah, pretty good."

-

Waking up surrounded by three other people, Ryan decided, was the sort of thing he could get used to. He'd always been the type to get cold at night, even if he piled his bed with blankets and wore flannel. Apparently the remedy was body heat. Lots of it. He sighed, watching Brendon and Jon sleep, feeling Spencer's breath at the back of his neck. He was almost back to sleep when the bed shifted a little and Jon raised up, waving at Ryan, grinning. Ryan couldn't get an arm free - one was under him, gone a little numb, and Spencer had the other, gripping his wrist, so Ryan settled for wiggling his fingers and grinning back.

Brendon murmured something indistinct, and Jon looked at Ryan, concerned, mouthing, "You okay?"

Ryan nodded, and then Spencer moved against him and Ryan winced. Okay, ow. Jon reached over Brendon and stroked Ryan's shoulder apologetically.

Brendon frowned in his sleep, then his eyes snapped open, startling Ryan and Jon both, and making Ryan twitch back into Spencer.

"Oh my god, I thought I'd dreamed it," Brendon gasped. He stared at Ryan and Spencer, then over his shoulder at Jon, and fluttered his eyelashes. "And you were there, and you were there..."

"Shut up," Spencer muttered, bleary, moving his hand to Brendon's face, apparently trying to close his mouth by hand until Brendon bit his finger. That woke Spencer up just fine. "Fuck, ow, let go!"

Brendon released him, and Ryan took Spencer's hand and touched his lips to Spencer's bitten finger.

"God, you're like an animal," Spencer complained.

Brendon crowed, "Only in the sack, baby. Who's up for a morning round?"

-

In an ideal world, Ryan thought as he hurriedly put on a pair of pants, trying not to bend wrong or move a lot or do anything else that would remind his body how much and how hard he'd been fucked the previous day, in an ideal world they could just magically show up at venues, and they wouldn't have to deal with wake-up calls that came two minutes into Brendon kissing him as Jon and Spencer jerked each other off, and they could maybe just play at one place all the time, and be millionaires so he could buy Spencer lots of shoes, and Brendon, like, a pony, or whatever it was Brendon might want, and also, he could pay somebody to carry him around so he wouldn't have to walk ever again. Also, ow.

"You alright?" Spencer asked, coming up behind Ryan and batting his hands away, doing up his pants for him and then kissing Ryan's cheek.

"Hurts," Ryan said, pathetic, and Brendon waggled his eyebrows at him from across the room.

"I'll kiss it better later," Brendon said.

Spencer murmured, "I'll help him," into Ryan's ear.

In an ideal world, Ryan thought to himself, he could have Spencer pressed up against his back and Brendon in front of him, approaching, yeah, just like he was doing. Ryan grabbed Brendon's tie and pulled him forward for a kiss; the world, for what it was worth, was pretty fucking ideal.

-

"Oh, Brent," Ryan said, coming onto the bus and nearly crashing into him. "Hey."

Brent raised an eyebrow. "Hey. What did you guys do yesterday?"

"Hung out," Ryan said vaguely. "You?"

"Hung out," Brent said, and it may have been mocking or something, Ryan wasn't sure.

"Cool." There'd been a feisty bitchfight in the lobby over Brendon thieving Jon from Academy, which Brendon had thought to solve by explaining to William that they'd needed Jon for sex, was all, and the row that followed regarding Jon's failure to catch the action on videotape was, if possible, even louder. Jon had been claimed that day for the Academy bus, and the instantly-christened Back Lounge of Sexy Storytelling. Ryan, lacking the fortitude to handle William's prying, had snuck off to the bus.

"So what's the deal with you guys? Are you all, like, gay for each other?"

Ryan had to give him credit, at least he wasn't beating around the bush about it. "Yeah," Ryan said, "I guess."

"Well." Brent shifted from foot to foot. "It'd be nice if you could not be naked or making out all the time."

That was reasonable. "Yeah, okay."

"I'll sleep with headphones," Brent muttered. "I mean, from now on."

If the floor opened up and swallowed him whole, it would still only deposit him onto the concrete. Ryan looked at his shoes. "Cool," he said.

A second later, Brendon bounded onto the bus, cheeks flushed from the cold outside. "Hey boys, what are we talking about?"

"Nothing," Brent and Ryan said simultaneously.

-

Brendon had no concept of personal space. This was a fact. He was like one of those little monkeys that wrapped their little monkey arms around you and then blinked up with big eyes and what the hell was Ryan supposed to do, honestly, just push Brendon away? He'd just look at Ryan with his big brown eyes and then probably try and grope Ryan innappropriately, and then there would probably be some sort of altercation involving tickling, and Brendon knew all of Ryan's tender spots, so.

"Christ, are you actually trying to fuse into one being?" Spencer demanded. Rather than sit next to Ryan on the couch like a normal person, Brendon had instead perched behind him, up on the back of the couch, and then slowly slid down until he was wrapped around Ryan, resting his chin on Ryan's shoulder, arms wrapped around Ryan's waist, occasionally and unsubtly thrusting against Ryan's lower back. Ryan had tried to hold still, like you were supposed to do when attacked by a python, or wait - no, that was quicksand. Pythons just squeezed you to death. Ryan frowned. "I think you're suffocating him," Spencer told Brendon.

"Just with love," Brendon said perkily, nipping at Ryan's ear.

Ryan held still. Quicksand. Plus, he secretly thought Spencer was jealous, because Spencer had been a bit clingier than usual all day on the bus, dragging Ryan close to cuddle, and then giving Ryan defensive looks whenever Ryan glanced sideways at him. Sure, Brendon was rather aggressive about taking his turn, but he didn't want to choose sides. They could both have him. His ass twinged a little, and Ryan shifted.

"What's the matter, Spence, you want some?" Brendon asked, pursing his lips. He slid a hand over to Spencer's thigh, and then up. Spencer raised an eyebrow.

There was a sudden vibration against Ryan's ass, making him jump; Brendon laughed and pulled his Sidekick out of his pocket. "Hey Jon, what's going on? Oh, nothing. Trying to give it to Spencer. You know. It. It." Ryan snickered. "My dick. Shut up, I could totally give it to him."

Spencer motioned Ryan over, patting his lap, and Ryan slid easily from between Brendon's legs, Brendon making grabby hands at him that Spencer easily knocked away. "Hey," Ryan said softly, swinging his leg over to straddle Spencer's lap.

Spencer slid his hands up Ryan's sides. "Hey."

"No, they're about to fuck without me," Brendon said to Jon. "Yeah, they suck. Fisting? Sure, Ryan might be down for that."

Ryan looked over at him, skeptical. He opened his mouth to speak, but then Spencer leaned in and licked his throat.

"We could get you wet first," Spencer whispered. "I dunno, it'd be kinda hot, seeing how much you could take." Ryan swallowed. That was a compelling point. "We could fuck you, maybe me and Jon, and then Brendon could finger you. He has nice hands, don't you think?"

"No, yeah, I'm listening," Brendon said, but he was looking at Spencer and Ryan as he said it. "They're talking dirty, it's kind of distracting. Put you on speaker? Okay."

"Hey Jon," Spencer said, and Jon said hey back, his voice tinny and a little distorted. "So you wanted to try fisting Ryan?"

"If he wants to," Jon said.

Spencer pressed a kiss to Ryan's throat, and Ryan ground down into Spencer's lap. "He wants to," Spencer said. Brendon scooted closer, until he was pressed up against Spencer's side, fitting his hand between them, where Ryan had his erection pressed to Spencer's stomach. "He could take it."

"Mmm," Ryan said, agreeing with the sentiment, agreeing with Brendon touching him. Just a friendly grope, nothing too terrible should Brent come into the lounge. Or knock on the door, since it was locked.

"He likes four fingers," Brendon volunteered. "It kinda surprised me. He's so tight."

"Yeah, even after you fucking him all day," Jon agreed. "Hey, hey, goddammit, quit-"

They blinked down at the Sidekick, listening to the scuffle on the other end. After a moment, a voice came back on the line.

"Keep talking!"

"Dude," Brendon said. He kept his hand on Ryan's dick, so Ryan was having trouble being too emotionally invested in Academy-related shenanigans. "William?"

"No," William said, trying to make his voice slow and slightly high and generally more Jon-like. "No, not William," he scoffed. "So, fisting?"

"How fucking long were you listening?" Jon demanded, and the struggling sounds returned. "Oh my god, give me my phone!"

"You can't talk dirty on the bus if you're not cool with eavesdroppping!"

Ryan thrust pitifully forward into Brendon's grip.

"Spencer, make Brendon suck your dick!" William yelled as Jon said, "Jesus fuck, what are you - are you trying to bite me-"

"I already have," Spencer said.

Brendon frowned, taking his hand out of Ryan's half-undone pants. "You know, it's not very gentlemanly to kiss and tell."

"I didn't say anything!" Ryan complained. "Why'd you stop touching me?"

"Shh," Spencer said, finishing getting his pants open and reaching in. "You want fingers, or are you still sore?" Ryan bit his lip, nodding. It wasn't that he didn't want it, but. "It's okay," Spencer said, touching his hip. He turned to Brendon and gave him a smack across the arm. "You didn't have to be so rough with him, jerk."

"He liked it!" Brendon protested, rubbing his arm, offended. "Ryan, tell him you liked it."

"What did Ryan like?" William said, sounding increasingly distant.

"Ignore him!" Jon said loudly, and Ryan did, ducking his head to kiss Spencer's neck.

"I did, I liked it," Ryan whispered, reaching blindly for Brendon and dragging him close by his shirt. When he felt Brendon's hand on the back of his neck, he raised his head and kissed him softly. Brendon wound his fingers through Ryan's hair and held him close, sweet pressure against his lips until Ryan opened, and when Spencer knuckled at his hip, moving inward to touch him, Ryan moaned.

"God," Jon said, William saying something indistinct behind him, voice muffled as if William was behind a door. "Sorry about that."

Spencer murmured, "C'mon, Ry," stroking Ryan slowly as they kissed. Brendon pushed against Ryan's stomach, nudging him backward, then ducked his head to Ryan's lap. He kissed the back of Spencer's fingers, and Ryan sucked in a breath as Brendon's mouth moved over his cock, soft lips and wet tongue as Brendon took him in.

"Fuck, please," Ryan said, letting his hand rest at the base of Brendon's skull, not pushing, just encouraging. Like, encouraging him to never stop, fuck.

On the phone, Jon said, "Guys?"

-

"You guys suck," Jon said, his head thumping back against the wall as Ryan went down on him.

"You think we're nice," Spencer disagreed, guiding Ryan with a hand on the back of his head. He dropped to his knees beside Ryan after a moment, curling his hand around Ryan's neck and thumbing his jaw. "You can take more, Ry."

Ryan swallowed around his mouthful of cock, closing his eyes and taking Jon in deeper. Honestly, he did feel sort of bad about getting distracted that afternoon. At least Jon got to listen.

"More," Brendon said, pushing Ryan to take Jon in further, and Ryan flicked his eyes up at him, annoyed.

"You know, deepthroating's not easy," Jon told Brendon. He ruffled Ryan's hair. "You don't have to – oh fuck, yeah."

Ryan hummed around Jon's cock, smug, and Brendon muttered, "See, I knew he could." Ryan pinched his thigh, and Brendon hissed in pain and drew back. Ryan had strong fingers.

"You're going to get dickslapped," Brendon said, but it was an idle threat, so Ryan just blinked up at him, let Jon pet his hair and Spencer guide him in a steady rhythm, sucking Jon off. He hoped it wouldn't take too much longer, they had to go onstage soon. Above him, Brendon and Jon were kissing, hard the way Ryan knew Brendon liked it. Ryan liked knowing that.

"Want me to?" Spencer asked, fitting his fingers around the base of Jon's dick as Ryan dipped lower. Ryan shook his head as best he could, sucked a bit harder. "Greedy," Spencer said, and Ryan muttered contrarily, making Jon groan. Spencer kissed his hollowed cheek, pressing in to feel the movement of Jon's cock in his mouth, and Jon pushed his hips forward, thrusting deep and coming. "Don't swallow it all," Spencer murmured. Ryan pulled off as soon as he could, kissing Spencer, sharing Jon's come with him.

Spencer and Ryan held hands on the way back to the venue dressing rooms while Brendon hitched a ride on Jon's back and started singing A Whole New World; after a moment, Jon joined him, singing all the boy parts. Ryan ducked his head, kissed Spencer's neck, and laughed.

-

"God, we can't do this forever," Jon gasped, the words staggered, almost disconnected he was so breathless.

"Shh," Spencer said, bracing his hands on Jon's chest as he rode him, fucking himself on Jon's cock. "Brendon, gag him."

"Can't reach." Brendon ducked his head, fucking Ryan hard, Ryan on his hands and knees, moving forward with each rough thrust. "Ryan, kiss him."

Ryan leaned down, trying to angle so Brendon could still get him deep. He pressed his lips to Jon's, and Jon cupped his face, kissing him back. Of course they couldn't do this forever. They'd get tired, and Ryan would get sore, and Brendon would get hungry and start threatening to eat Ryan whole. And tomorrow was a split day, because Brent rightfully demanded that they not always invite Jon over and lock themselves into the back lounge for hours, so Spencer and Ryan would stay on the Panic! bus while Brendon and Jon hung out on the Academy bus, and yeah, it was a fine system, but not one that allowed for forever.

It wasn't until he was sprawled across Brendon's chest, drowsing as Spencer kissed along his spine, that he got it; Jon said, "I mean, the tour's almost over," and even Brendon's fierce, "Shut up," couldn't change that.

-

"Maybe he could come work with us, I don't know, something. He could tech," Ryan said, curled against Spencer on the couch.

"Maybe," Spencer said. "I mean, we can figure something out."

"It's just, this is nice," Ryan said quietly. "Us."

"I know," Spencer said, and kissed Ryan's forehead.

"All of us," Ryan finished, scratching idly at Spencer's thigh, wanting to touch, wanting to keep him there, wanting.

Spencer sighed and said, "Yeah."

-

"Phone sex," Brendon suggested.

"Just come hang with us on tour," Ryan said.

"Merch boy?" Spencer offered.

"Oh fuck off," Jon said, rolling onto his stomach. "Seriously, Academy's doing Warped this summer. And you guys are touring, right? Maybe we'll run into each other. And anyway, I live in Chicago, you know? And I need to finish up this semester, at least."

Brendon crossed his arms. "Are you breaking up with us?"

"Yes," Jon said. "Yes, I am."

"No, you're not," Spencer told him. Ryan looked at Spencer. He seemed pretty certain about it.

"You guys," Jon said, his voice gone soft. "The four of us? Come on."

"It works," Brendon said, "It works, you know it does. We like each other." He wrapped his arms around Jon's waist. "And I'm not letting you go, so."

Ryan didn't say anything, but he shifted closer on the bed until he was resting on Jon's shoulder, and Spencer reached over him, setting his hand on Jon's back, just touching him.

"Three of us, one of you, Walker," Spencer said. "Think you can take us?"

Jon shook his head, but he was laughing a little, and he didn't look so sad anymore. "Guess I'll have to try."

-

Chicago came too soon; Ryan could hardly remember a moment leading up where he didn't have Brendon or Spencer or Jon touching him, leaning against him on the couch, wrapping arms around him from behind, fucking him.

"Just stay with me for a couple of days," Jon said, "before you head back," so they changed their flights and shacked up in Jon's little apartment. Brent flew back alone and Ryan did feel bad about that, but it's not like they'd been hanging out much anyway, and all Brent wanted was to go back to Vegas and be with his friends (not them, Ryan translated).

"It's fine," Spencer said. He was sprawled out on the couch, legs across Brendon's lap, Dylan purring on his chest as he scratched behind the cat's ears. "He was homesick."

Ryan looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, head leaning against Brendon's knee. "It'll get better," Ryan said, hesitant, "with Brent. Right?"

"I don't think Brent likes me," Jon said, coming out of the kitchen with a handful of sodas.

"We like you enough for everybody." Brendon waited until Jon had passed out beverages, then nudged Spencer's legs away and pulled Jon down onto his lap. "Don't worry about him."

-

"I am totally getting a cat," Ryan said. Dylan was fucking awesome. Jon had taught him to fetch.

"He won't be as cool as Dylan," Jon said. Ryan tossed the rubber ball, and Dylan leaped after it, tail fluffy with excitement. A few moments later, Dylan was dropping the ball into Ryan's outstretched hand, tail twitching expectantly. Ryan pitched the ball back down the hallway.

Brendon came out of Jon's bedroom, shirtless and about to speak, and the ball hit his foot and bounced off. He bent and picked it up, blinking at it and completely failing to see Dylan glaring at him from the floor, and then brought it back to Ryan. "What'd you throw that for?"

"No reason," Ryan said. Jon looked at him sideways, grinning, and Ryan tilted his wrist back a bit and let the ball go, bouncing back down the hall. "Whoops."

Brendon rolled his eyes, and went to retrieve it again. "You're so clumsy."

"Hand it to Jon, he'll be able to hold onto it," Spencer suggested. Brendon did, and Jon tossed the ball once, caught it, then did it again and bumped the ball away with his knuckle. Dylan curled into a discontented circle on Spencer's lap as Brendon huffed and walked back down the hallway, accidentally kicking the ball and then having to chase it a little.

When he finally got hold of it, he paused, looking from the ball to them with narrowed eyes. "What were you guys doing in here, anyway?"

"Nothing," Ryan said, reaching up to pet Dylan. "Nothing at all."

-

"Come on, it's the last time for - well, for now," Brendon said, "What do you want?"

"Anything, it doesn't matter," Jon murmured, and Ryan closed his eyes, listening, feeling, saving this so he wouldn't forget the feeling of being surrounded by them, naked skin, warmth, hands on him, all over him. God, he wanted to just climb on, Jon was so hard, wanted to sink right down on his cock and squeeze his thighs around Jon's hips, keep him. Spencer pressed up against him, cock nudging between his cheeks, and Ryan spread for him, just in case he wanted in. "All of you."

"You have all of us," Brendon whispered, kissing behind Jon's ear.

Jon said, "Fuck me."

Brendon scrambled to get on top of Jon so fast he nearly sprained something.

"I meant that metaphorically," Jon said, and Brendon cried out, "What?"

Spencer snickered, and Jon said, "Just kidding, really, fuck me."

"Dude, that is mean." Brendon pushed Jon over onto his stomach and got behind him, hiking his hips up.

Jon grinned at Ryan. He appeared to be at peace with that. Ryan smiled back and Jon murmured, "Hey," reaching out to touch Ryan's hip, "Come here." Ryan quirked an eyebrow at him, but shuffled up the bed, thinking that Jon wanted to kiss him, but Jon just laughed a little and gestured for him to come up further.

"He wants to suck you, Ry," Spencer whispered, patting Ryan's ass and urging him upward, "let him before I go take your place."

Brendon seemed preoccupied with just touching Jon's ass, pushing the tips of his fingers in and out as Ryan crawled up the bed, back against the headboard and Jon leaning down to his lap.

"Did you need some help with that or something?" Spencer asked Brendon.

Brendon said, "Well, you could suck my dick."

"Could I really," Spencer said, and Brendon batted his eyelashes at Spencer, licked his fingers and started working Jon open.

It was interesting, seeing it close up; they all liked getting fucked, but Jon didn't take it much, so it took longer to get him ready, Brendon fingering him slowly, carefully as Spencer sucked Brendon's cock, and Jon flicked his tongue out for the first few tentative licks at Ryan's dick, lapping at the head as Ryan groaned and tried not to thrust forward. Jon watched him, eyes fluttering shut whenever Brendon went deep, three fingers stretching him until Spencer pulled off of Brendon's cock and then Ryan strained up to see Brendon push in, knowing Jon had to be tight, knowing it by the way Brendon looked like he was having a religious experience.

"Fuck," Jon mumbled, mouthing at Ryan's cock, his balls, before taking Ryan back in, each small thrust of Brendon's hips pushing Jon forward to take Ryan in deeper. Spencer moved back up the bed, touching Ryan's hip, and Jon fumbled, eyes closed, to get his hands on Spencer, too, feeling up his thigh before grasping his cock firmly and stroking.

Ryan let a hand rest softly in Jon's hair, not needing to guide him overmuch, he was good, hot wet mouth and god, it was Jon, he'd hardly thought – but it didn't matter now, it wasn't just Jon and Brendon anymore, it was all of them together, Brendon's hand sliding up Jon's back so Ryan could link fingers with him, smiling at each other over Jon, Ryan keeping one hand on Jon's shoulder, helping him balance as he sucked Ryan, jerked Spencer off, took each of Brendon's thrusts. Ryan couldn't help it, the rhythm was too fine, too perfect, Brendon fucking Jon onto Ryan's dick, Spencer's little murmurs as Jon stroked him; he came, biting his lip and thrusting his hips forward, and Jon swallowed around him, only stopping to gasp for air when Ryan pulled out.

Jon tugged at Spencer's cock, and Spencer jostled Ryan over, letting Jon take him in. Jon lost his balance for a moment as Ryan shifted away but Spencer caught him, tangled his fingers in Jon's hair, whispered, "Shh," and oh god, fuck, Ryan was going to miss this so, so much. He laid down next to Jon, watching him suck Spencer, pushed back and forth between Spencer and Brendon until Brendon thrust in hard and came; it was nice to just look at him, look at Brendon's face without the distraction of Brendon's dick in his ass. Brendon smiled down at him, panting a little, hot, and Ryan dragged him down for a long, slow kiss as Jon finished Spencer off.

They all went for Jon's dick simultaneously, gathering around him, heads dipping low when he rolled onto his back, still hard. Ryan won out, taking Jon down his throat and swallowing around him, Brendon and Spencer still leaning in to touch Jon where Ryan wasn't. Spencer licked at the base of Jon's cock while Brendon fingered him, pressing in and up, and it wasn't a minute before Jon came, Ryan moving off so Jon came over his own stomach, and Jon's head dropped back against the bed as Spencer and Brendon licked him clean, kissing when they were finished until Ryan nosed his way in and kissed Spencer. Brendon nuzzled his cheek, and Ryan turned to kiss him, too.

"I think you guys are gonna be okay without me," Jon said, and Ryan knew he was right, they would be, they wouldn't – they wouldn't stop, even without Jon.

Ryan blinked up at Jon. "Better with you, though," he said, and Jon smiled as they all moved up, Ryan sprawling across Jon's stomach and Spencer and Brendon curling around him.

"Yeah," Jon murmured, kissing Spencer's forehead, tangling his fingers in Brendon's hair. "Yeah."

-

As goodbyes, Ryan thought, he'd seen worse. It was sort of hard to sustain any pre-separation angst when Jon kept getting passed back and forth for kisses, even though they were running a little late for their flight already. Probably blowjobs in the car hadn't helped. Ryan had wondered why Brendon made Jon park so far out in the garage - he should have seen that one coming, honestly.

"I'll write you every day," Brendon promised, and Jon rolled his eyes and ruffled Brendon's hair.

"No you won't," he said.

Brendon bit his lip. "I'll jerk off thinking about you every day."

"See, that I believe," Jon said, "but maybe have Ryan help, he's good with his hands."

Ryan beamed.

"You were a great boyfriend," Brendon said, his lower lip starting to wobble, just a bit.

"Well, you still have two others," Jon said. He pressed his thumb to Brendon's mouth, stilling the quiver, and Brendon kissed the tip, closing his mouth around it and sucking a little. "You guys keep each other warm, okay? I'll see you again."

"We'll call and talk dirty to you," Spencer said, and kissed Jon on the cheek. Ryan kissed Jon's other cheek, squishing him between them.

"You better."

Brendon leaned in and stole a quick kiss from Jon, goodbyes were exchanged, and then Ryan and Spencer were tugging Brendon away from Jon (and then they were shouting, "Hey!" and running after Brendon, who'd slipped back for another hug when they weren't looking, and after another round of hugs and promises of contact and flights out and, "Dirty, graphic phonesex and naughty T-Mails," Brendon swore, they finally detached Brendon from Jon and made it to the security line) and trudging through security, with Brendon forlornly clinging to Ryan and then Spencer.

-

"We'll talk to him a lot," Ryan said. They'd pushed up the armrests between them, and Ryan had his hand on Brendon's thigh, reassuring. "It'll be fine."

Brendon slid down in his seat, sending Ryan's hand further up his thigh. "I miss him already," he said.

"It's been twenty minutes," Spencer pointed out. "Here, read Blender." He handed Brendon his copy, and Brendon barely glanced at it before pushing it away, disinterested.

"Jon always liked Rolling Stone better," Brendon said, and Ryan could almost sense it - soon, there would be pouting. Curtail, he thought to himself.

Ryan rubbed at Brendon's thigh, and Brendon arched his hips a little, nuzzling Ryan's shoulder.

"Hey," Brendon said, brightening. "Wanna join the Mile High Club?"

-

Ryan gripped the edge of the counter, head dropped so he wouldn't have to watch, fuck, he hardly had any space to move-

"We are so hot, dude," Brendon murmured, and maybe Ryan would have been able to appreciate the compliment had Brendon not been fucking him in the ass in an airplane bathroom, god. Brendon kissed Ryan's shoulder, fingers edging around Ryan's hip and then grasping his cock, thrusting shallowly in and out of him and it had been way, way too long already, the longest five minutes of Ryan's life, he was totally going to owe Spencer a handjob under the blanket for this because it was probably not fair to be playing without him.

"Conceited," Ryan gasped.

Brendon pushed his hips forward hard, grinding in deep, and muttered, "Hey, I said 'we.'"

Ryan let his eyes flutter open, just enough to see Brendon's face over his shoulder, their bare hips cut off by the mirror so they might have been doing anything, really, except then Brendon struck deep and Ryan moaned, tipping his head back.

"Shh," Brendon said, stroking his cock, his lips moving over Ryan's neck, slow pressure as Brendon worked his hips, slid his other hand down to press at the small of Ryan's back until Ryan bent further over the counter, trying to spread his legs with his pants down around his thighs, trying, god he was trying, he wanted to come, he did, he wanted Brendon to come inside him and then they could go back to their seats and, something. Brendon slammed in, jarring Ryan forward, and the bite of pain against the tops of his thighs was enough to shock Ryan into coming over Brendon's fist.

"Faster," Ryan hissed, and Brendon gave him a dark look in the mirror, lifted his hand to Ryan's mouth so he could clean him off. Ryan glared but took Brendon by the wrist and licked at his fingers; Brendon gasped, tensed, and came.

"You know," Brendon said a few minutes later, zipping up his pants, "You should probably blow Spencer in here. Just to be fair."

"You should blow Spencer," Ryan said moodily. Brendon had been a bit too rough. Sitting would possibly be awkward.

"Maybe I will," Brendon told him, and backed Ryan up against the counter (it didn't take much), threading his fingers through Ryan's hair and then kissing him hard on the mouth, like Ryan was all he wanted right then, all he needed. Ryan forgot why he was mad.

-

"He fucking choked me," Brendon said to Ryan, glaring daggers at Spencer.

"There was turbulence, oh my god, I said I was sorry," Spencer hissed back.

Ryan tried really, really hard not to laugh, biting his lip as if unable to otherwise withhold the outpouring of sympathy.

"You owe me," Brendon said, slumping in his seat.

Spencer put a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing his thumb over the top of Brendon's spine. "I know," he said, and later, when Brendon stole half of Spencer's in-flight snack, Spencer just kept reading his magazine and let him.

-

"Come on, spread," Brendon said, slapping Ryan's thighs apart. Ryan rolled his eyes but complied, and Brendon got up on his knees, aiming his Sidekick for a long shot of Ryan's body with Spencer curled around.

"If Jon ever breaks up with us, we're fucked," Spencer said, looking up just as the camera flashed.

Brendon sent the picture, then slid the phone shut and flopped down next to Spencer. "Then I guess we should probably never break up, and just buy a really big house and live happily ever after forever and ever."

Ryan grabbed at Brendon's hand, tugging at him until he climbed back over and got on Ryan's other side. Ryan liked being in the middle best. "We'll need a really big bed," Ryan said. "And a cook."

"I can cook," Spencer said, which was true. Spencer made really good waffles. That wasn't the point, though. Ryan kind of wanted to have a house with a staff.

"Ryan just wants manservants," Brendon said.

Ryan pinched him. "I already have you, don't I?"

"And how would you like me to service you?" Brendon leered, sliding a bare leg between Ryan's.

Ryan put a hand on Brendon's head and pushed him down the bed.

-

"Dude, Jon's coming out with Academy to that radio show in May!" Brendon said, throwing himself ecstatically onto the couch on top of Ryan and Spencer.

"Fuck, could you guys not - god!" Brent stood up from his seat, throwing his magazine down and stomping back to the bunks.

Ryan looked down at his lapful of Brendon. "You know, that's like one of the only times he's been hanging out with us out here in like the last month."

"Oops," Brendon said. Spencer petted his hair. "So," Brendon continued, in a smaller voice than before, "Jon's coming out with Academy to that radio show in May."

"That's great," Spencer said, sounding genuinely pleased. "I've missed him."

"Yeah, me too." Ryan smiled down at Brendon, curling his hand in the fabric of Brendon's shirt and nudging it up to knuckle at his stomach.

"Me too," Brendon said, a little breathless. "Come here." Ryan leaned down and kissed Brendon lightly.

"Maybe we can get him on the summer tour," Spencer said, "teching or something. Fight William for him. We could take him."

"A light gust of wind could take him," Brendon said, but Ryan could tell he was thinking about it, pulling back from Ryan a bit. "You think? Really?"

"I think," Ryan said, knowing it was true, "that we'll be able to figure something out."

gsf = otp?

Wed, 07 Feb 2007 09:09:08 GMT

Happy Wednesday! Here's more fic.

Title: That's What He Said (2/3)
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon/Spencer/Jon, mentions of Ryan/Pete
Summary: Truckstops and Statelines and boyfriends, etc.
Beta: gigantic did a lovely beta job on this; CJ, thank you. Thanks also to callsigns for reading bits and pieces along the way - the encouragement is always appreciated.
Note: Part two of three, love and thanks again to those of you who commented on part one. Third and final part will be along in a few days, I promise. And feedback is very much appreciated. :)

It wasn't like it had been a particularly long time since Ryan had last been fucked or anything, not like the streak of, "Eighteen years," Brendon used to say in an awed voice after he finally gave it up to his first girlfriend. Sex hadn't actually ever been a very big deal for Ryan, intense but good, certainly not the axis upon which the world turned, like it was for Brendon. Of course, lots of things were a big deal to Brendon, like who got the nicest hotel room, and the DVDs they watched before shows (horror was good because it got adrenaline going, but Brendon always pouted when Ryan tried to put on something depressing, because it messed with Brendon's chi, or his method acting, or whatever excuse Brendon made up that week for why they had to do what he wanted), and who ate the last bowl of Count Chocula. Ryan and Brendon possibly had slightly different approaches to life.

So Ryan had had a fair amount of sex, he thought, enough to be comfortable but not slutty or anything. It was good, meaningful sex that furthered the relationship, and when he broke up with his high school girlfriend, he maybe jerked off a little more than before, but not too much.

Then Ryan got fucked by Pete Wentz.

-

"Please fuck me," Ryan said, pressing his forehead to the shower wall, wet and overheated and ready now, right now. "Please."

"Oh god, Ry," Spencer murmured, and pushed his fingers deeper into Ryan's ass, twisting three in, slipping on Ryan's wet skin and pressing closer, getting them both under the angled hot spray of water.

"Please," Ryan repeated, really not above begging at this point. Or ever. But especially now.

The thing was - the thing was, Ryan had entertained vague thoughts of sex with Spencer, first time sex, because it was a big deal, a huge deal, they'd been best friends since they were five and that wasn't something that could just be thrown away on a cheap fuck. But also, it was him and Spencer, and although Ryan was actually comfortable with cheap sex, he knew that no matter where he and Spencer fucked, it wouldn't be like that, at all.

At all, which was why it was really important that Spencer fuck him right now, in the shower, as Brendon got dressed in the room, or probably jumped up and down on the bed like he did sometimes, thinking that they didn't know about it, probably doing backflips and cracking his idiot head on the ceiling, which was fine so long as he didn't come in and interrupt.

Spencer was still fingering him, thrusting three in and out, which felt fantastic, actually, but it had been approximately three months since Pete decided that he and Ryan should stop fucking and Ryan was really ready for Spencer to fuck him five minutes ago.

"I swear, Spence," Ryan said, "If you don't fuck me I'll," and then Spencer paused, and Ryan could feel Spencer smiling against the back of his neck.

"What?" Spencer asked. "You'll what?"

"Cry," Ryan said definitively, because Spencer hated it when Ryan cried; he couldn't stand the sight of Ryan crying, and usually started himself, and then Brendon would find them clutching each other in tears because Ryan watched The Notebook again.

"You suck," Spencer said, but then he was pulling his fingers out, lining up and pushing forward and oh yeah, emotional manipulation was great fun for Ryan, but still a distant second to the feeling of a dick in his ass. "Oh god," Spencer groaned, leaning in, pressing his forehead to Ryan's wet hair, licking at the wet skin at the back of Ryan's neck and then biting down.

Ryan sagged a bit against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut at the pressure, the intensity. He squirmed back, taking Spencer in deeper, and Spencer clutched at his hips, digging his fingers in, trying to control the pace but Ryan needed him inside now, deep as he could go, filling Ryan completely. Ryan licked his lips, sliding a hand down to his cock, caught up in the feeling of hot water and Spencer, wanting, wanting.

"Can you just-" Spencer started, but Ryan shook his head, grasping Spencer's side and pulling him closer, struggling for words, needing Spencer to understand, but Spencer knew how much he loved it, he'd told Spencer all about Pete fucking him for the first time, the burn of it, the stretch, how Pete hadn't let up and how goddamned good it had felt, he knew Ryan needed it -

"Hard," Ryan gasped, "Fuck, Spencer, I need it hard," and Spencer muttered, "Fuck," and grabbed his wrists, Ryan unable to avoid the whine when Spencer made him release his cock, but then Spencer had him in place, hands to the wall, gripping him, holding him there. Spencer pulled out and slammed back in, and Ryan choked, arching backwards, his spine bowing as Spencer thrust in again, rough, again, hard, again, deep, and Ryan moaned loud before Spencer murmured, "Shh," and bit his earlobe, but he was fucking Ryan perfectly, god, how was Ryan supposed to be quiet?

"You want Brendon to come in?" Spencer asked, and Ryan jerked in Spencer's grip, his hips twitching forward involuntarily. He hadn't been thinking about Brendon, even, and no, that probably wasn't how Spencer meant it, no, definitely not, judging by how Spencer released one of his wrists to flick him in the side, right below his ribs where he was the most ticklish. "Jesus, Ryan, focus," Spencer hissed, and Ryan clenched around him, retaliatory, so the last word trailed off, sibilant, and ended with Spencer licking along the side of his neck and tonguing the sensitive spot behind his ear where Spencer knew he liked to be touched.

Ryan really wasn't getting an adequate amount of friction from the wall, but when he snuck his hand back down to grasp his cock Spencer smacked his hand away, taking Ryan's cock himself and squeezing a little too hard, so Ryan gasped and shifted backwards, away from Spencer's grip and back onto his cock, which was just about perfect, even if he was suddenly sad he couldn't see Spencer's face. They'd make out later, he promised himself, once they had time, when Ryan hadn't just been forced to sit and have a Danish, the lemon one nobody else wanted, and eat for fifteen minutes with a raging hard-on that had then caused him to grab Spencer bodily when Spencer came into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and threaten to drag him into the shower with his clothes on if he didn't strip right then and get in with Ryan.

"Come on, Ry," Spencer said, stroking him a little more softly, and it could have been encouraging, it could have been that he just really wanted to make Ryan come, hell, it could have been that they had to go in ten minutes and Ryan was taking too long to get off; whatever, it was Spencer, and he pushed deep and Ryan came over Spencer's fist, moaning his name, letting Spencer fuck him through it until Spencer thrust in hard and came too.

They stood there for a few minutes, panting, until Spencer pulled out of Ryan with a groan and Ryan shuffled around for a kiss, feeling that pleasant ache and blissfully unconcerned with the fact that he'd probably be hobbling a bit for the next few hours. It hurt, it felt great. He grinned against Spencer's lips and Spencer said, "Seriously, that's all I have to do to keep you happy? You couldn't have told me this before?"

"Come on, we have to get going," Ryan said, still impossibly pleased, and manhandled Spencer around so they could get all cleaned up and get out.

"This is all I'm good for now," Spencer said, mournful, and Ryan murmured, "Mm-hmm," against his cheek, and ran the washcloth down Spencer's stomach, groping his cock companionably and making Spencer grunt and inch backwards, letting Ryan kiss him and get them ready for the day.

-

"Spencer fucked you in the shower, didn't he?" Brendon hissed.

"God, Brendon," Ryan said. Brendon had him cornered, at the venue, completely in Ryan's space, and it was hard to focus on the fact of Brendon being a pushy, nosy jerk when he was two inches away and Ryan couldn't stop thinking about Brendon's mouth on his that morning, Brendon's dick pressed against his hip. "Maybe," Ryan finished lamely.

Brendon crossed his arms. "What are you doing with him? Are you guys together now?"

"I was making out with you this morning, you idiot," Ryan said, "what do you think?"

"I think he fucked you in the shower."

"What, and you and Jon haven't fucked today? Is that what's making you crabby?" Ryan frowned at him, then paused. "Wait, he's not really freaked or anything, is he?"

"Maybe I'm really freaked," Brendon started, but then Spencer came around the corner, stopping when he saw them and raising an eyebrow.

"What's going on?" Spencer asked. His hand slipped around Ryan's waist, coiling around him and pulling him in. Ryan didn't even realize it was happening until Spencer pressed a kiss to his cheek. He grinned at Ryan. "This guy bothering you?"

"Not really anymore than usual," Ryan said.

"If Jon breaks up with me, I'm joining you," Brendon promised, and then huffed off toward the dressing rooms.

"What if he doesn't?" Spencer asked, and Ryan said, "Hmm."

-

Probably, Ryan thought as he listened to Jon sucking Brendon's cock in the bathroom stall, probably they wouldn't be breaking up anytime soon.

All Ryan had wanted was to wash his hands after William spilled a cup of wine on him (and no, William licking his fingers off had not been an acceptable alternative; Ryan licking it off himself, "Slowly," William said, leering, hadn't been acceptable either), but when he'd walked into the bathroom next to the dressing room, he'd been welcomed by the sound of Brendon gasping and the sight of a pair of jean-clad knees between Brendon's spread legs.

"Seriously," Ryan said over the sound of running water, "seriously, the bathroom? It might not have been me, you know."

Brendon moaned. Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Also, we're on in like, half an hour, so if you guys could hurry it up," Ryan continued, well aware he was just being mean now, but come on, a (more or less) public bathroom? Really?

"Well if someone would just finger my ass," Brendon said, and Ryan heard a small slap, like maybe Jon had smacked Brendon on the hip like he deserved.

Jon said, "Well maybe if you could spread your legs a little better in those pants."

"You like my tight pants, shut up," Brendon said. "Oh god yeah, right there."

"Okay, well," Ryan said loudly, shaking the water off his hands and definitely not thinking about sucking Brendon's cock himself. "I'm just gonna go now, so have a nice blowjob and everything."

"It would be faster if, oh god," Brendon said, and Ryan was probably imagining the sound of his balls hitting Jon's chin, god, could Jon deepthroat? "If you helped."

"Hey," Jon said.

"Not that you aren't doing a good job," Brendon added quickly, and Ryan rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying, if you both wanted to suck my dick," he said, raising his voice for Ryan's benefit, "that'd be cool."

Ryan left the bathroom.

-

"We have to do something about Brendon," Ryan said, agitated, taking Spencer's arm and dragging him into the corner of the dressing room.

Spencer nodded. "Fuck him."

"What?"

"You don't think it would work?" Spencer asked.

"Work how?" Ryan blinked. "What do you think we're trying to accomplish?"

"If he was sucking my dick, he wouldn't be able to talk," Spencer said contemplatively.

Ryan wasn't sure when this conversation had gotten away from him.

"Which would be good," Spencer continued, "because then we wouldn't have to listen."

"How are you supposed to fuck me if Brendon's sucking your dick?" Ryan asked, because really, couldn't he have something nice for like a day without Brendon nosing his way into it?

It was around this point that Ryan noticed William insinuating himself closer.

-

"William just asked me if he was invited to the orgy," Jon said, following Brendon onto the bus after the show.

"Huh." Ryan didn't look up from the video game he was playing with Brent, not even when Brendon brushed his knuckles over the back of Ryan's neck. "That is so random."

"Could you guys not have an orgy on the bus?" Brent said, after a minute.

"Where are we supposed to have it?" Brendon asked, honestly perplexed. His hand tightened on Ryan's neck, a warm grip, and it was a serious effort for Ryan to not just drop right there and beg.

"I'm going to go call my girlfriend," Brent announced, and retreated to his bunk.

Ryan paused the game. Brendon was rubbing his neck now, slow and hot. "So," Ryan said.

"I knew you were in love with me," Brendon said, grinning.

"Oh for god's sake." Ryan ducked out of his grip, tossing the controller on the ground and shifting around on the couch so he could lie face down and pretend Brendon didn't exist. Jon came around and sat down on the floor in front of him, patting Ryan on the shoulder. Ryan murmured appreciatively. Jon was nice. Ryan thought about him sucking Brendon's cock again.

"Wait, are you in love with Spencer?" Brendon asked. The trouble with guys like Brendon was that they were skinny little fuckers that could easily fit with you on a couch, even when you were sprawling. Brendon clambered over, lying insistently on Ryan until Ryan grunted and shifted, moving enough to let Brendon slide between his back and the couch cushions. Brendon immediately snuggled in, slinging an arm around Ryan's waist and offering, "You can be in love with Jon, I don't mind. He's a really good fuck."

"I'm not-" Ryan started, but then the door back to the bunks opened and Spencer made it half a step in before stopping and raising an eyebrow.

"Brent said to tell you guys not to have an orgy up here," Spencer said, shutting the door behind him. Brendon made an interested noise, thrusting a little against Ryan's ass, and Ryan's huffed out sigh turned into an embarrassing squeak. "Too late?" Spencer asked.

"We're snuggling," Brendon said, his hand sliding down Ryan's stomach. Ryan cracked one eye open. Jon grinned at him and ruffled his hair.

"Snuggling, right," Spencer said. Ryan understood the basis of his skepticism, as Brendon's fingertips were currently pushing past his waistband. "So what is this, free for all?"

"Please, I don't come cheap," Brendon boasted.

"Wow, that's a lie," Jon said. Gosh, Ryan liked Jon a lot.

Spencer watched, looking torn between joining and telling them to quit. Ryan tried not to squirm too much, but Brendon's hand had slipped lower, mercifully atop his jeans but sliding along the outline of his cock, making Ryan bite his lip and press his face into the couch cushions, Brendon breathing hot at the back of his neck, and this was going to become an issue really quickly if Brendon didn't stop, in that Ryan was going to shove his own pants down and beg Brendon to fuck him. And no one wanted to see that. Except for Brendon, and maybe Spencer. Ryan chanced a look at Jon. Okay, Jon maybe wouldn't mind either.

"I-," Ryan started, but then the door pushed open and Brent knocked into Spencer, still standing there. Brendon yanked his hand away from Ryan's dick so fast he might have gotten friction burn from Ryan's jeans.

"Oh," Brent said, blinking.

"Hey Brent," Jon said. This was probably easy for him because he wasn't all flushed and obviously hard like Ryan was, with Brendon still behind him, squirming a bit.

"Um, hey." Brent looked to Spencer. "I didn't know you guys were actually, like. What's going on?"

Ryan buried his face in the couch cushions, trying to disappear. The last time he'd really discussed sex with Brent they'd been twelve, and Brent had been showing off his dad's stash of old Playboy magazines. All Ryan remembered of them was that the girls' makeup had been awful.

"Snuggling," Brendon said, less confident this time.

"Nothing." Spencer walked over, sitting down next to Jon. "We were just gonna watch a movie."

Brendon nudged at Ryan until Ryan sat up, although not before elbowing Brendon in the gut and making him give a pitiful, "ow."

-

"Hey," Ryan whispered, crawling into Spencer's bunk. "So."

In the bunk above them, Brent shifted. Spencer raised an eyebrow.

"Did you want to, um," Ryan started, settling between Spencer and the wall. It seemed an appropriate moment for a hand gesture but god, no.

"We probably shouldn't," Spencer said. Ryan squirmed, pushing his erection against Spencer's hip, and Spencer wormed his hand down between them, palming Ryan's dick through his boxers and squeezing. "Hey, quit."

Ryan bit his lip, thrusting into Spencer's grip. Sometimes Spencer's ideas weren't so effective. "Brendon and Jon get to," Ryan said, and if it edged dangerously close to a whine, then at least Spencer was kind enough not to comment on it.

"That's because they're in the lounge, and they will never, ever tell us what they did there and exactly where," Spencer said. Ryan bit his lip, thrusting plaintively against Spencer's cupped palm. Spencer gave him a long-suffering look, and Ryan nuzzled his neck. "Christ," Spencer swore, and Ryan grinned, licking at his collarbone and wiggling as Spencer pushed his boxers down, finally getting a good grip on him. "I'm not doing acrobatics in here to fuck you."

"Finger me," Ryan murmured, "and I'll blow you."

"Fine," Spencer said after a moment, a little weakly, and the way his voice hitched when Ryan trailed fingers down his side made Ryan want, suddenly, terribly, to see Spencer come, like he hadn't gotten to in the shower, as good as that had felt. He tugged at Spencer's pajama bottoms, getting them down past his hips, down to his thighs and there was his cock, flushed and hard as Ryan ducked down, folding himself up to fit. He couldn't help but lick his lips, already leaning in so his tongue caught the tip and Spencer moaned aloud, then covered his mouth. Ryan raised an eyebrow, and Spencer mouthed, "Brent."

Brent had been falling asleep with his headphones on for most of the tour, a practice he got into when they were still stuck in a van. He still was, as far as Ryan knew, but Ryan put his finger to his lips anyway, shushing Spencer and making him roll his eyes, until Ryan mouthed at the head of his cock and Spencer's head fell back, his hips arching up, pushing into Ryan's mouth as Ryan sank down, taking him in inch by inch.

He had to look, he couldn't help but look, fingers nudging under Spencer's t-shirt, pushing it up until Spencer squirmed out of it. Ryan grinned as best he could, sucking gratefully at Spencer's cock as he ran his fingertips down Spencer's chest, pale and unexpectedly pretty; Spencer was biting his lip, back arching as Ryan took him deeper, thumbed the soft edge of his ribcage, wanting to set his teeth to the white curve of Spencer's throat and bite down. "Ry," Spencer whispered, fumbling for Ryan's hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing. Ryan closed his eyes and slid down as far as he could go.

Spencer's hips jerked, and Ryan choked a bit, backing off. Spencer tightened his grip on Ryan's hand in apology, and Ryan stroked his thigh, blinking up at Spencer as he watched Spencer watch him, pulling off to lick at the head of Spencer's cock, holding onto the base and letting Spencer thrust up into his grip. His thoughts whirled, tangled up, tripping from memory to memory - Spencer's house, down the street from his, where he'd stayed so many nights 'til late, tripping and skinning his knee in the driveway when he was six, tears welling up and Spencer crying too, wringing his hands as Spencer's mom fussed over them. Spencer kissed Ryan's cheek afterwards, fretful, telling him it'd be okay, and maybe this was a stupid time to think of that, but it was Spencer, and Spencer had been so much to him for so long, and now he was more.

Ryan nuzzled Spencer's thigh, licking at the crease and making Spencer twitch, releasing Ryan's hand to slide it into his hair, holding him there,

and Ryan rubbed his cheek against Spencer's palm, taking Spencer in again, letting Spencer guide him, letting Spencer thrust gently up, sucking hard, working his tongue as best he could with Spencer's cock pushing into his throat, wishing so badly that Spencer was fucking him. Ryan pulled off, licking along the underside and murmuring, "You close?" Spencer nodded, and Ryan lowered his mouth, stroking his tongue over the base of Spencer's cock, slowly fisting his cock until Spencer bit his lip, arched up and came, Ryan letting himself taste just a little, just enough to make his mouth water. The rest he let streak Spencer's hips and stomach, glistening white, and when Spencer settled, shifting in Ryan's grip, Ryan crawled up Spencer's body and kissed him hard.

"I want your fingers," Ryan said, moving his lips over Spencer's neck, aiming for requesting and arriving at demanding.

"Fuck, you're," Spencer started, but then seemed to think better of it, stroking his knuckles over Ryan's stomach until Ryan lifted to let him free, then rubbing his fingers over Ryan's lips. Ryan shook his head. "What?" Spencer asked, and Ryan took his hand, guiding it down Spencer's stomach until Spencer's fingers were wet with his own come. Spencer's eyes narrowed, and Ryan pushed his cock against Spencer's hip as Spencer ran his fingers through the mess until they were wet enough, slick. "Spread your legs," Spencer whispered. Ryan tried not to moan out loud.

Tried, but failed, because Spencer was sliding his hand around, fitting his fingers between Ryan's cheeks and stroking him, getting him wet until Ryan was squirming, rubbing up against Spencer's side, needy, gasping, "Please," against Spencer's neck and biting down vengefully when Spencer didn't immediately push his fingers in.

"Hey!" Spencer whispered, testy, and Ryan raised his ass, trying to get Spencer's fingers in, mouthing at Spencer's throat and going willingly when Spencer dragged him closer, half on top of him, Spencer shoving his thigh between Ryan's and lightly smacking his ass with his other hand, grabbing one cheek and spreading him, then thrusting a finger inside. Ryan twitched, then wriggled backwards, Spencer muttering, "Goddamned greedy," before worming another finger into Ryan's ass, wet, aching faintly when Spencer twisted his fingers deep (it had been so long since he'd had this regularly, god), perfectly, just enough to remind Ryan how much he loved this, needed it, needed Spencer.

"Three," Ryan murmured, "Please, I," but Spencer didn't say anything this time, just worked a third finger in, opening Ryan up, getting inside him as Ryan panted against his collarbone, thrusting his ass back shamelessly onto Spencer's fingers. Spencer slid his other hand back up along Ryan's side, curling into his hair and tugging Ryan's head back so they could kiss, sloppy, Ryan mostly just pressing close and letting Spencer lick into his mouth, letting himself be kissed, fingerfucked, shifting against Spencer as Spencer worked his fingers in and out and Ryan rubbed up against his stomach, warm and still a little slick with come.

It surprised Ryan when he came, Spencer biting his lower lip and pushing his fingers deep, kissing and stroking Ryan through it, close and warm until Ryan eased off of him, sliding down to lick his come off of Spencer's belly, cleaning him up, leaving grateful kisses on the soft skin of waist, his hips. He settled against Spencer, after, rubbing his thumb over Spencer's collarbone, murmuring thanks as Spencer ruffled his hair.

"So, Jon and Brendon," Spencer said, and Ryan was pretty sure he didn't mean the fact of them, that they existed, but it was late and he was sleepy.

"I dunno," Ryan murmured. "Let's sleep, okay?"

"'Kay," Spencer said, and kissed his forehead.

His face pressed to Spencer's shoulder, Ryan smiled.

-

"Me and Jon want to fuck you," Brendon said the next morning.

Ryan blinked, momentarily suspended as Brendon continued to eat his way through a frosted Pop-Tart, then lowered his spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios.

"Actually," Brendon frowned, "I think Jon wants to fuck Spencer."

There was a crumb of Pop-Tart clinging to Brendon's lower lip. Ryan was mildly interested in licking it off, if only because it would make Brendon stop talking.

"Kinda, you know," Brendon squinted, "like a wife swap." He finished his Pop-Tart, munching contentedly on the last few bites, then flicking the crumbs off his fingertips and onto the table. "I think you and I would be the wives. But then we could try it the other way, too."

"You and Spencer?" Ryan said, finally locating his voice.

"Sure." Brendon shrugged.

Spencer wandered out from back, hair mussed and bleary-eyed.

"You wanna make out?" Brendon asked him.

"You wanna suck my dick?" Spencer asked, shuffling through the basketful of Brendon's weird imported teas before pulling out a red packet and flinging it at Brendon's head. Brendon blocked it, barely; it landed on Ryan's side of the table, label side up. Erotic Passion. Ryan hadn't been aware there were teas for things like that. "Where the fuck is my instant coffee?"

"I'm a really good kisser," Brendon told him. "You're missing out."

"I thought you were a really good cocksucker, too," Ryan said, immediately regretting it.

Brendon grinned widely. "Word gets around, huh?"

"No, that's what you told us," Spencer said, "did I mention where the fuck is my coffee?"

"You can have one of my Red Bulls," Brendon said, and Spencer looked at him sideways. Brendon guarded his Red Bulls with more ferocity than some wild animals guarded their children. Maybe Brendon really did want in Spencer's pants.

After a moment, Spencer said, "Okay." Brendon beamed.

-

"I think I'm going to fuck you on your back," Brendon said.

Ryan paused in the middle of tying his shoelaces. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"At least, the first time," Brendon mused. "Because I'll wanna look at you." He looked over at Ryan until Ryan looked back. "I wanna see you come."

"Yeah?" Ryan said. His voice wavered a bit, and he cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Just you and me, you know? Spencer and Jon can go shopping or something. Just give us an afternoon, a hotel room. I want to come on you, would you let me?"

Ryan swallowed, his eyes slipping shut. He nodded.

"Pull out and come on your stomach, maybe your chest." Brendon reached out, stroking Ryan's face. "All over you. Then fuck you again. You'll be so sore, you won't even be able to move without thinking of me inside you. You want that?"

Ryan nodded again, mindless, leaning into Brendon's palm.

Brendon whispered, "Good," and leaned in, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of Ryan's mouth. Ryan shifted, trying to catch his lips, and next to them, someone coughed.

"We need to head into the venue," Brent said, looking awkward. Ryan blinked. He hadn't even noticed the bus stopping.

"Ryan just needs to get his shoes on," Brendon said, and clapped Brent on the shoulder. He grinned at Ryan, said, "Come on," and followed Brent off the bus.

Ryan stared in despair at his erection. "I'll be there in a minute," he said as the door slammed shut behind them.

-

"Brendon is a fucking cocktease," Ryan muttered at Spencer as they dressed for the show.

"Seriously," William groused, and honestly, as soon as humanly possibly Ryan promised himself they'd get their own damn headlining tour and not have to share dressing rooms anymore, please. "And with that ass? He needs it hard, man."

"You need it hard," Spencer told him, ignoring Ryan's wide eyes and frantic 'no, no, don't engage!' hand motions.

"Are you propositioning me?" William demanded. "Because that's fucking hot, come here."

Spencer backed up, realizing his mistake, and if he thought he could hide behind Ryan he was sorely mistaken, and not only because it was like trying to hide behind a flagpole, or a sapling.

"Bill, you're scaring him," Butcher said mildly, looking up from his book. He was already dressed for the show, which meant pink booty shorts and tattoos, and he didn't even have to put those on. Whenever Ryan thought about getting tattooed, he ended up briefly entertaining getting some Fall Out Boy lyrics somewhere, maybe on his hip (but then Pete would probably get embarrassed and try and cover them up whenever they fucked, or worse, get overexcited and try and come on them or something, which actually might be sort of hot - huh), but then he thought about how easily he bruised, and had horrific fantasies of the needle striking bone, cursive through to the marrow, and he loved Pete's words, but maybe not that much.

"I'm not scared," Spencer said, but he was still edging behind Ryan. Ryan patted his hip, going for comfort but getting distracted by how soft Spencer's skin was.

"Why not?" William demanded.

"Seriously?" Spencer asked, looking William up and down, and Ryan said loudly, "Hey, so we're gonna get ready now."

"You guys almost ready?" Brendon said, oblivious as he came toward them, accidentally knocking into Mike and making an apologetic kissy-face at him. Mike rolled his eyes.

"Ryan said you're a cocktease," William told Brendon.

"Really," Brendon said, staring at Ryan, and somehow Spencer curling his hand protectively around Ryan's waist felt more like a cruel tease than anything. "I could fix that right now, if you want."

-

"So Brendon wants to fuck me," Ryan said, hands clenched on the edge of the table he was leaning against as Spencer licked his cock.

"You really wanna talk about this now?" Spencer asked. He pushed another finger into Ryan's ass, and Ryan moaned.

"Well," Ryan said, then lost his train of thought as Spencer stroked his balls with his thumb.

"You want him to fuck you, right?" Spencer leaned in, fisting Ryan's cock a few times, lapping at the head.

Ryan's head lolled back; it was still stupidly surreal that Spencer was doing this, those same blue eyes he'd been looking into most of his life now looking up at him, Spencer's mouth stretched around his cock, god. Ryan forgot the question.

"I don't mind if you do," Spencer said, pulling off to focus on fingering him, three inside, stretching him, pushing him back and holding him up by his thighs as Ryan's knees buckled. "Figure it out, whatever."

"Yeah?" Ryan gasped, throwing in just enough of an interrogative twist at the end to make it a question.

"Yeah," Spencer said, eyes dark, "as long as you let me fuck you after."

Ryan shuddered, pushing back onto Spencer's fingers as Spencer grasped his cock, and Spencer closed his eyes as Ryan came on his face.

Ryan couldn't help it, he slid downwards, tilting forward so he landed on his knees, awkwardly straddling Spencer with his pants still pushed to his thighs. Spencer looked at him, and Ryan leaned in, licking his come off Spencer's cheeks, kissing it wetly off his chin, his lips, biting at Spencer's lower lip and then kissing Spencer hard enough that Spencer had to put his hands behind them on the floor, bracing them up.

"Fuck," Ryan said, when they broke apart, and maybe it was the room's weird acoustics, an unused back room in the venue, but Ryan could have sworn it echoed, like someone else said it too. When he glanced at the door, it was cracked open, just a bit (he knew they'd closed it), and he saw a flash of someone's foot, someone in - oh fuck, flip flops. "What the - was that -"

Spencer's mouth twitched up at the corners, slow, feline. There was still a smear of come on his cheek.

-

"Jon and I are going to wander around Boise on Sunday," Spencer said to Ryan, as they lounged on the couch, reading and occasionally poking each with their socked feet.

"So I can fuck you at the hotel," Brendon finished, not looking up from his fierce one-man battle with Halo 2. Spencer sighed heavily, and Brendon paused and glanced up at him. "What? That's the plan!"

Ryan wanted to be at least mildly offended - what, they were planning his sex life without him now? What was that? - but then Brendon dropped the controller and twisted around, winding himself up Ryan's legs like an affectionate cat until his head was leaning on Ryan's thigh.

"You okay with that plan, Ross?" Brendon asked, mouthing at his inner thigh through his jeans, and Ryan tried to be huffy, but god, Brendon's hot mouth, fuck denim, Ryan hated it, denim and every day between now and Sunday.

"That's fine," Ryan said, resisting the urge to stroke Brendon's face, touch his hair, push fingers into Brendon's mouth and let him suck them wet, then nudge Brendon off, lift his hips and finger his own ass until Brendon told him to roll over, fuck.

"Did you just want me to surprise him with it, or what?" Brendon demanded, turning to Spencer, who rolled his eyes.

"You could at least have had a little class about it," Spencer told him, and Brendon braced himself on Ryan's thighs, crawling up Ryan's body and straddling him for an entirely unnecessary and thrilling moment before climbing onto Spencer. "Hey, hey," Spencer said, trying to bat him away, but Brendon just leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth, nudging him downwards until Spencer was pressed to the arm of the couch, huffing out a sigh but kissing him back, squirming under him, his hands fisting in Brendon's t-shirt.

Ryan watched, mouth dropped open, wanting to lean around and get a better view, but afraid he'd jostle them and they'd stop, and that would suck because god, Spencer was making noises. Ryan craned his neck up, their entangled legs in his lap a wretched hindrance and oh fuck, Brendon was kissing Spencer's throat, wet little kisses that made Ryan bite his lip, jealous.

He must have made a sound, strangled, because Brendon pulled off, panting a little, and lifted himself up off of Spencer, then slithered back to the floor. Spencer swallowed and sat back up, straightening his clothes.

"So, quit bitching," Brendon said, as if concluding a thought, but he was a little breathless about it, cheeks flushed as he started up his game again, and Spencer just mumbled his assent and went back to concentrating very hard on his book. (Ryan paid attention. Spencer didn't turn a page for the next twenty minutes.)

-

"Jon's cool with this, right?" Ryan said, hands slipping against the back of the hotel room door, needing something to hold onto as Brendon licked his throat, bit down, sucked hard; Brendon groped his thigh helpfully, propping him up, whispered, "He's," then tugged Ryan's earlobe between his teeth, "He's fine, it's cool, come to bed," and it would have been easier, maybe, without Brendon pressing him to the door. Ryan just wanted to get his legs around Brendon's waist, flat on his back so Brendon could fuck him hard, so he could see Brendon's face, god, he wanted it so bad.

Brendon pulled him forward, away from the door and to the bed, and Ryan went willingly, falling backwards onto the bed and moving back, kicking his shoes off and shrugging off his jacket, Brendon pulling his own shirt off and going to work on Ryan's pants, fast, overwhelming. Ryan moaned, "God, Brendon, please," slower, he wanted to say, but then Brendon looked up at him, his breath hot against Ryan's stomach, and what Ryan had meant to say crumbled and disappeared. "I need it," he finished, lifting his hips so Brendon could get his pants off.

"Need it, you need me," Brendon said, asked, and Ryan agreed, "You, please, fuck me," twisting his way out of his shirt until he was naked under Brendon, marked here and there by Spencer's need (thin skin, Spencer knew how easily he bruised but he couldn't help but grip Ryan's hips, hold him still, hold him down) and wanting Brendon's, too, needing Brendon's mark on him, something tangible, something he could see, touch. Brendon's eyes fluttered shut, and he closed his teeth over the curve of Ryan's hipbone, groping for Ryan's cock and then curling his fingers around it, and Ryan fought a moan and lost, tilting his head back, on the verge of begging already.

"I'll go slow," Brendon mumbled, nuzzling Ryan's hip, and Ryan's heart skipped, "later."

Ryan nodded, and Brendon pushed his thighs apart, Ryan arching helpfully up, baring himself to Brendon and Brendon leaned in, stroking his tongue behind Ryan's balls, further back.

"Fuck," Ryan whispered, helpless as Brendon parted his cheeks, licked between, sucked his fingers wet and then pushed one inside Ryan, two, thrusting them in and out, wet with spit but nothing else, stretching him, spreading him open.

(Spencer had fucked him that morning, crammed in his bunk, Ryan on his hands and knees as Spencer whispered to him, telling him how good he was, how nicely he took it, how much Spencer loved fucking him and how much Brendon would love fucking him, too. Ryan had whimpered, pushing his ass back, begging for it harder but Spencer just bent him low, said he didn't want to wear Ryan out for Brendon, that wouldn't be nice, and he'd fuck Ryan as hard as he wanted later, until Ryan couldn't think of anything but being fucked, anything but them.)

Brendon worked his fingers in and out of Ryan's ass, licking around them, tongue pushing in a bit, stroking inside, and Ryan swore he would lose his mind from this, just from Brendon, fuck, calling up the faintest ache from Spencer already having him earlier, but all it did was make Ryan need it more. It just reminded Ryan how empty he was with just two fingers, wrong without a cock filling him up, without Brendon inside, "Please," Ryan gasped, so terrifyingly needy but maybe Brendon needed it like this too, maybe he needed to be inside Ryan as badly as Ryan needed him there, hot, hard, everything he'd ever wanted.

Brendon pulled his fingers free, moved up Ryan's body, pushing Ryan's legs to his chest and nudging his cock close, right where Ryan wanted it, and oh fuck, Ryan could hardly believe he was here, Brendon looking down at him, eyes desperate, voice cracking when he said, "Ry," and bent Ryan double so he could kiss him, fierce, sloppy, Ryan wrapping his legs high around Brendon's waist and trying to pull him closer, pull him in.

He stayed there for a second, the head of his cock pressing right up to Ryan's ass, almost there, and Ryan whined, couldn't stop himself, arching up to get just the tip inside; Brendon groaned and pushed forward, burying his face in Ryan's neck and his dick in Ryan's ass.

"God, you," Brendon whispered, "so tight, fuck," and Ryan clenched down on him, tangling his fingers in Brendon's hair, tugging his head back so they could kiss again, and Ryan bit Brendon's lower lip, hard.

Brendon drew back, injured, licking his swollen lip, and Ryan snarled, "Move," thrusting back as best he could with Brendon already so deep in him.

"Needy little bitch," Brendon said, his expression shifting to determination, and he pulled out, shrugging free of Ryan's grip and grabbing his wrists before Ryan could really stop him, and then Ryan was blinking up at Brendon, pinned to the bed now, wrists to the mattress with Brendon on top of him. It occurred to Ryan that he may have made a tactical error.

"Please," Ryan said in a small voice.

Brendon's grip tightened on his wrists, and for a terrible second Ryan thought it might be torturously slow like this, but then Brendon slammed his hips forward, driving his cock into Ryan's ass, and Ryan nearly howled.

It wasn't going to last long, not with Brendon pounding him like that, holding him there, fucking him hard, fucking him open. Brendon watched him, his eyes on Ryan's, staring down like Ryan had a secret Brendon desperately needed to know, like all he could do was fuck it out of him, thrust by thrust, rough and unceasing. Ryan gasped for breath under him, spread wide, taking each thrust, each glancing brush of Brendon's stomach against his hard cock, and god, all he wanted was for Brendon to touch him, just once, just grasp his cock and let him come, and then he'd lie back and let Brendon have him.

Ryan whimpered when Brendon gripped him hard, feeling his bones shift and protest and the feel of it, the pressure, knowing he'd bruise, made Ryan jerk up just as Brendon's cock struck him inside right at that spot; Brendon's stomach rubbed against his cock, hardly any pressure at all and Ryan came, hard, Brendon grinding his cock in deep and staring into Ryan's eyes as Ryan gasped and moaned his name.

"Oh fuck," Ryan said, head lolling to the side, going limp in Brendon's hold. Brendon released his wrists and took hold of his hips, bringing them up at a better angle for him to keep thrusting as Ryan rode out the last of it, trembling a little, overwhelmed by the force of his orgasm, of Brendon. He knew, he knew it would be good like this, him and Brendon, it couldn't have been anything but, and now Brendon was dragging his fingers through Ryan's come, licking it off his fingertips, and Ryan shuddered, wanting Brendon's mouth on him, wanting Brendon to keep fucking him and never stop.

Ryan tightened around him, clenching his ass and making Brendon groan and push deep, stay there, shoulders shaking as he came deep inside of Ryan, and when Ryan felt how Brendon was trembling he opened his arms and let Brendon fall into him, shifting a bit when Brendon pulled out, curled up against Ryan's chest and breathed.

"God," Ryan whispered, finally breaking the silence.

"Fuck," Brendon said, sounding awed. Ryan laughed a little, and Brendon rolled them over, pulling Ryan on top of him. "Let's do that again."

-

Ryan bounced up and down on Brendon's cock, hands braced on his chest as Brendon held onto his hips, thrusting up and pulling him down hard, so fucking good it made Ryan's eyes roll back. Brendon growling, "Yeah, ride me," wasn't doing much to keep Ryan from coming right there, fuck, he was already so deliciously stretched, almost sore, almost, one more round and he'd really be feeling it. He worked his hips, twisting and grinding down, throwing his head back and moaning like a whore for it; he'd hold himself back, but he didn't want to, Brendon didn't want him to, it felt so good, fuck.

"Thought you wanted to come on me," Ryan panted out, sweating, struggling for breath, so fucking hot he could hardly bear it. He squeezed Brendon's hips with his thighs, keeping Brendon trapped deep inside, sliding his hand back to feel it, the base of Brendon's cock disappearing into his ass, and Brendon gasped at the extra stimulation.

"Think you can let go of my dick for a minute?" Brendon asked, fingers digging into Ryan's thighs. Ryan clenched around him, and Brendon let out a strangled moan, fingernails digging in, red marks on his white thighs. "No?" He grabbed at Ryan's cock, getting a good grip and stroking him, clever little twists of his wrist and the fact of it, Brendon smirking at him, jerking him off while Ryan rode him, god, Ryan didn't stand a chance, jerking forward into Brendon's grip and coming all over his fist. "Now," Brendon said, "get off my dick, Ross."

Ryan lifted off, huffy, thought about biting Brendon's thigh but decided against it and just stroked his cock instead, all slick, crouched between his legs. Brendon grinned at him, and Ryan stroked up, hard, just licking at the tip, enough to make Brendon moan and come, striping Ryan's cheeks as he gripped Brendon's cock. He blinked up at Brendon, after, licked an errant streak of come off Brendon's thigh, quietly wiped his face off with the back of his hand, and then slowly cleaned his hand off with his tongue. Brendon let his head drop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, and after a moment, Ryan crawled up and joined him, flat on the bed, his knuckles brushing Brendon's but not touching him otherwise.

"You're fucking dirty," Brendon told him, like he couldn't quit believe it, like he wasn't quite surprised.

"You fucking like it," Ryan said, breathless.

-

"God, I'm starving," Ryan groaned. Lying on his stomach after round three, Ryan was really starting to feel it. He needed food, and a nap. Mostly food, though.

Brendon looked sideways at him.

"Not for cock," Ryan said, rolling his eyes.

Brendon looked down his stomach, petting his cock softly. "Don't listen to him. He doesn't mean it."

"Were you just talking to your dick?" Ryan demanded. Seriously, why did he like this guy?

Brendon frowned at him, then stroked himself once, twice, getting hard again - "Already?" Ryan asked, trying to hide how pleased he was - and then he was up, straddling Ryan, crawling up his chest and rubbing his cock against Ryan's lips.

"Apologize," Brendon demanded.

Ryan opened his mouth.

-

"Maybe Spence and Jon can bring us back some food," Brendon said. He was sprawled out on his back with Ryan draped over his chest, dozing against him. It had been a long afternoon.

Ryan stirred, and muttered, "Fuck you, you're getting us room service."

"Me!" He shifted beneath Ryan, and the movement made Ryan twitch and gasp. Brendon still had two fingers in his ass, keeping him open and stretched, occasionally curling them just to make Ryan squirm.

"I gave you my ass all afternoon," Ryan said peaceably. "You can buy me a damn burger."

"I gave you my dick," Brendon pointed out.

Ryan propped himself up a bit so he could look Brendon in the eye. Surely Brendon was joking. Ryan could get dick easily. He already had Spencer, even. Brendon just wriggled his fingers in Ryan's ass, and Ryan's skeptical look slipped away as he slid his eyes shut, shifting gently back onto Brendon's fingers. Nice. God, that was nice.

Brendon gave him an innocent look, and Ryan sighed, laying back down, defeated.

"I'm hungry," he said, pitiful, mouthing at Brendon's chest.

"Fuck," Brendon sighed. "Fine."

Ryan grinned, and licked Brendon's nipple in appreciation.

-

They were bathing, Ryan between Brendon's legs, leaning against his chest and sinking into in the warm water, eyes closed. Spencer and Jon would be back soon, and the room service veggie burgers had been perfect. Ryan grinned, turning his face up for a kiss, sated, Brendon lazily stroking him under the water, his own erection nudging against Ryan's back, and Brendon obliged, grinning against his lips. It was amazing Brendon was staying still this long, honestly, but Ryan had insisted that after an entire day of sex, they both needed a bath (Brendon liked it, he said, pressing his nose to Ryan's neck, "You smell like me"; "Yeah, and I'm the dirty one?" Ryan said. "Also, you're a caveman."), and why not economize? Save time and all that. Ryan rubbed happily against Brendon, and Brendon stroked a warm wet hand up his arm, cupping his shoulder.

"So you've wanted to do this for awhile, huh?" Brendon said, and maybe it was Ryan's imagination, but he swore he could feel Brendon's heart beat faster. "I mean, me."

"Mmm," Ryan said. It would maybe be more effective, them having a talk, if Brendon would let go of his dick. Ryan thrust his hips gently upward, pushing his cock through Brendon's fist, and Brendon stroked him harder, obliging.

"I mean," Brendon twisted his wrist a bit, and Ryan wondered distantly if Brendon would fuck him right there, just lift Ryan up and set him back down on his cock, "you wanted to? Before this, whatever?"

"Yeah," Ryan murmured. What could it hurt? Brendon knew he liked him, Brendon liked him too, they liked each other. "Since Jon, I didn't know you were, you know." Ryan pushed up into Brendon's grip pointedly. "A little before, you're just." Ryan bit his lip. "You're so annoying."

Brendon stopped stroking. "You're a sweet talker, Ross."

"I don't know," Ryan murmured. "You're annoyingly irresistible."

Brendon started stroking him again. Success. "You managed to resist for awhile, though."

"Well, I got tired of it." He shifted, Brendon's erection pressing insistently against his back. "Besides, it all worked out, didn't it?"

"If by working out, you mean group sex," Brendon said. He pushed Ryan forward a bit, sliding his fingers down Ryan's spine and working one up inside him, wet.

"Yeah," Ryan gasped. Brendon bit his ear as Ryan pushed up into his fist, and Brendon aimed upward so Ryan came mostly over his own wet chest, then sank back down into the water, hot, empty, sated. "You can fuck me, if you want," Ryan said, and let the discussion slip away as Brendon lifted him, cock pressed up against his entrance, and then pulled him down.

more

gsf ftw

Mon, 05 Feb 2007 08:24:43 GMT

I have been working on this story for five months, I'm not even kidding. It is the longest story I've ever written. I hope you like it.

Title: That's What He Said
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon/Spencer/Jon, mention of Ryan/Pete
Summary: Truckstops and Statelines and boyfriends, etc.
Beta: gigantic did a lovely beta job on this; CJ, thank you. Thanks also to deliberatehips and callsigns for reading bits and pieces along the way - the encouragement is always appreciated.
Note: This fic is completely finished. It's also over 24,000 words long, so! I'm posting it in parts. Next part in a few days. Hurray!

"Admit you're in love with me," Brendon demanded.

"I'm not, jesus," Ryan said, squirming out from under him, or trying to, or sort of halfheartedly making a passing attempt to look like he was. "Would you get off of me?" He sent a pleading look up at Spencer, who just rolled his eyes and poked Brendon's side, right where he was the most ticklish, and then Brendon giggled and twitched above him and Ryan pushed up, only Brendon didn't let go so his clever maneuver sent them both tumbling to the floor and, "Ow," Ryan said pitifully.

Spencer stretched back out on the couch and said, "Wrestle on the floor, you morons."

"Oh baby," Brendon said, pulling Ryan's hips closer and grinding a little, jesus, right as Ryan said, "I'm not in love with you, let me go."

"Then stop acting like a jealous little bitch," Brendon said against Ryan's lips, and Ryan pushed him away.

He was not acting like a jealous little bitch.

-

Well, not really.

He actually liked Jon Walker a lot; he was a nice normal guy and not in the way that Ryan liked to say he was normal, or the way that Brendon liked to lie and say he was normal, too. Jon just liked playing music and being on tour. He liked wearing flip-flops and hanging out and reading and eating at diners. He was a normal dude.

He was a normal dude, and for some reason he tolerated Brendon's attentions, even though Brendon's idea of showing interest in somebody seemed to consist of draping himself over them like an overly friendly pussycat. Jon seemed to think it was cute, or something, and let Brendon hold his hand and hang on his shoulders and snuggle up when they all watched DVDs on Academy's bus.

"Are you trying to turn him or something?" Ryan asked. "Is this like, recreational for you?"

"He works with William," Brendon said, waving him off. "He's gay by osmosis."

"You're not gay," Ryan pointed out, because seriously, Brendon liked girls, and he even slept with them sometimes now that his freakishness had translated itself into stage charisma. Now he was quirky, instead of just weird.

"I'm bi-curious," Brendon said, wide-eyed.

"Shut the fuck up," Ryan told him.

-

"Look," William said to Ryan, "I think Brendon's trying to fuck my guitar tech."

Trying was the operative word. Brendon had bitched for a good twenty minutes the night before about Jon ignoring all of his advances. Of course, Brendon's idea of "advances" seemed to involve feeling Jon up whenever he had the chance and possibly also just thinking about it really hard and hoping it would happen. Brendon was used to flat out rejection or girls falling into his lap, and the in-betweens of ordinary human interaction seemed to just confuse him.

"Your life is so hard," Spencer told him, prompting Brendon to climb onto Spencer's lap, shouting, "I'll show you hard, Smith," and Ryan had watched and hoped they would get naked or something, because it was Brendon, and Spence had been all prowly and slinky lately, and there was something stupidly hot about Brendon tickling Spencer until he giggled. Ryan willed himself not to get hard, but then Spencer was gasping and laughing on his back on the floor with Brendon sprawled over him, and mostly Ryan just wanted to be in the middle.

"Brendon is trying to fuck your guitar tech," Ryan told William.

"Oh shit, really?" William said, eyebrows raised. "Hey, Jon!" he yelled, and Jon ambled over, grinning a hello at Ryan. "Brendon's trying to get in your pants."

Jon looked startled. "No kidding? I thought he was just kinda weird."

"He is weird," Ryan said.

"Huh," Jon said.

William slapped Jon on the back and said, "Good luck with that."

-

Ryan tried brooding in his bunk, thinking about Brendon and Jon laughing and being happy together, but then he thought about them doing all those things naked and instead of being emo he was just sexually frustrated. Brendon came tromping down the hallway humming a Hilary Duff song and Ryan got on his stomach, trying to fake sleep, and a second later the curtain ruffled and Brendon peeked in.

"Did you tell Jon I had a crush on him?" Brendon demanded.

Technically, he hadn't used the word 'crush'. "No," Ryan said.

"Because William said you told him that I liked Jon and then he told Jon and now Jon knows," Brendon continued.

Ryan paused. "Yes," he said.

Brendon looked at him.

"Sorry," Ryan added.

"You know, if you want me to fuck you, you can just ask," Brendon said.

"Will you fuck me?" Ryan asked.

Brendon scowled. "Haha. Get off my back about Jon, okay? I like him. Deal with it." He let the curtain swing closed, and walked off.

"Haha," Ryan said weakly to his empty bunk.

-

Brent had gone missing again, like he seemed to be doing more and more lately, fucking off to wherever as soon as their bus stopped and then wandering back when they had to go on. They took turns finding him when he didn't answer his Sidekick, and this time Ryan had to do it, checking Academy's bus and then roaming the venue. He looked out back, just to be sure, but Brent wasn't there, he wasn't anywhere, and jesus, this needed to stop.

He heard giggling around the corner and when he rounded it he saw Brendon and Jon sitting on the grass, Jon grinning as he ruffled Brendon's hair, Brendon ducking his head and laughing. Ryan stared, caught in the unexpected vortex of adorable, as Brendon smiled at Jon and leaned into his space a little. Ryan felt a sick thrill low in his stomach, knowing he was witnessing something important; a moment later Jon was tilting his head to meet Brendon's lips, and it was sweet, Ryan thought dimly, a sweet first kiss between two nice guys and why, why, why wasn't it him.

Brendon was cupping Jon's face, kissing him deeper, and Ryan watched, kept watching, as they both pushed forward, each trying to move the other back but just ending up kissing harder.

Brendon grinned through the whole show after, and ended up staying the night on Academy's bus.

Ryan crawled into Spencer's bunk later, mumbling something about being cold. Spencer didn't ask questions.

-

"It's not like I'm in love with him or anything," Ryan murmured into Spencer's collarbone the next morning. "It's not like that. I mean, it's Brendon. He's like. A dork."

"Mm-hmm," Spencer said. He curled his fingers into the back of Ryan's t-shirt, and Ryan thought distantly that it might be nice to be shirtless with Spencer. Warmer. He snuggled closer, and Spencer's hand slid down his back, holding him there.

"It'd just be nice, you know," Ryan said. "To...have that."

"Nice," Spencer echoed.

There was a distant clatter of the bus door slamming shut and then a minute later the curtain of Spencer's bunk swung open and Brendon said, "Jon and I made out!" ecstatically, and then, "Whoa, hey, are you guys fucking?"

"Go away," Ryan said.

Brendon frowned, perturbed, then grinned again and bounded back out to the lounge, singing, "Everyone is gay and so am I!"

"That?" Spencer asked, after a minute.

"Maybe not that exactly," Ryan said.

-

"And then he touched my dick!" Brendon finished triumphantly.

"Please never, ever talk to me about your sex life again," Ryan said. It was going to be so awesome next time he saw Jon, about whom he now knew everything from his kissing style ("Really tender, like kissing a girl! Only with stubble, so not really like a girl, but nice! I liked it!") to his prior sexual experience ("I'm not the first guy he's kissed! I told you William makes everyone gay! He's even given a guy a blowjob! He wouldn't tell me who, though. I think it was someone on tour, I'm gonna ask around. Like as research.") to the possible size of his dick ("Like seven inches, I swear! I wanted to give him a handjob, because why not just go for it, right, I'm ready for it, I'm ready for dick, but then he got all skittish about other people being on the bus and I was like 'So what, man? Let me jerk you off!' and I think I almost convinced him but then Chad came by and was like 'I'm not listening to the gay sex in JWalk's bunk, please feel free to continue with the assfucking!' and I was like, 'Hey, assfucking,' but I think I sort of made Jon nervous because after that we just kissed a little more. Fucking Chad.").

"I can't wait to blow him," Brendon continued. "I think I'm gonna be good at it. I have the mouth for it, right?" Spencer came by and Brendon grinned at him. "Don't I have a cocksucking mouth?"

"Please let me die," Ryan said to Spencer.

"There there," Spencer said, patting Ryan on the shoulder. Ryan leaned his head into Spencer's hip and did not look at Brendon and his cocksucking mouth.

-

The worst part was that they were actually sort of darling. Jon smiled at Brendon in this really sweet way, and Brendon was always trying to grope him in public, but in a way that was less about Brendon being annoying and more about him finding Jon irresistible, and even when Brendon got all thrusty against Jon in the hallway Ryan couldn't bring himself to be too irritated, except that Jon was all he fucking talked about anymore.

"Brendon is such a pain in the ass," Ryan swore.

"Mmm," Spencer said, not looking up from his book.

Ryan flopped onto the couch next to Spencer, leaning his head on his lap. "He's always talking about Jon. Like, Jon is not the greatest person in the world, okay?"

"I think Jon's nice," Spencer said, turning a page.

"Kittens are nice," Ryan said. "Flowers. Rainbows. Those are nice things. Brendon is weird."

"Kittens are nice," Spencer said thoughtfully.

"It's annoying," Ryan continued, "it's like he never shuts up!"

"Really," Spencer said. "What's that like." Ryan looked up at him, and after a second Spencer rolled his eyes and petted Ryan's hair until Ryan looked down again, mollified. "He's just happy."

"He sucks," Ryan muttered, and Spencer snickered. Ryan rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he said, although in fact Brendon did suck ("I finally blew him last night, it was awesome, he was really slow and nice about it and I was like 'fuck my mouth, come on, I can take it!' but then I actually couldn't because Jon's kind of big, you know," and there Brendon made a hand gesture roughly indicating the approximate length and thickness and thank you but Ryan didn't really need to know that, "but I could take him pretty deep for my first try, even though I couldn't swallow it all, but next time I'm definitely going to, it was just more than I expected, you know?" Brendon had paused, waiting for Ryan, apparently, to chime in that of course he totally knew, but Ryan just let out a strangled, "Hysterical deafness, Brendon," and Brendon waved him aside and just kept talking), so it was, really, sort of funny.

-

It turned out there was actually one thing more annoying than Brendon in general, and that was Brendon in general when he was getting laid.

"Jesus christ," Ryan said when Brendon strolled onto the bus and graced him with a heavy-lidded grin. "Could you look a little less like you just got fucked?"

"Jealous?" Brendon asked, and Ryan assumed it was rhetorical, because god, obviously. Brendon wandered over to the couch, where Spencer was sprawled out as usual, and crawled on top of him, sliding a leg between Spencer's and resting comfortably on his chest. Spencer, who had been drowsing in front of the Food Network, just mumbled something and settled deeper into the cushions, petting the back of Brendon's hair. Ryan hated this fucking band.

-

"Hey, so," Jon said, and Ryan nodded hello. Jon had a hickey on his neck, a really blindingly obvious hickey like purple and black graffiti announcing 'Brendon was here 2006 xoxo' or something. "Um, I just wanted to make sure," Ryan thought about Brendon giving him that hickey, his lips moving over Jon's neck, sucking lightly, then harder, "you know, that everything was cool," Brendon's hand sliding into Jon's jeans, stroking him, how maybe Jon would put a hand on the back of Brendon's neck, encouraging, "what with me and Brendon and all that," and maybe Brendon would thrust against Jon's hip a little, needing the friction, "it's not like a big deal or anything, we're just hanging out," and Jon would moan, he had a pretty nice voice, he'd probably moan low, scratchy, "we're not gonna go all gay scandal or whatever, if you were worried about that," and Brendon would sink to his knees and look up at him, probably grinning that stupid hot grin that made Ryan want to either shoot himself in the head or roll over and beg for it, "so, we're cool, right? Because I like you, I want us to be friends," wow, hey, tight pants really weren't the fabulous idea he'd thought, "so, if you could say something, um, that'd be nice."

Ryan blinked at him. "Yeah, absolutely."

"Okay, great!" Jon grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "I'll see you around!"

Spencer walked over and nudged him, watching Jon appraisingly as he left. "Hey, what was that about?"

"Jon has a hickey," Ryan said.

-

Brendon stopped bragging about his sex life, and it was almost worse. Girly, gossipy Brendon was a handful, but at least he wasn't like this new Brendon who prowled around all sated and pretty and talked to Ryan less because he was spending all his time banging Jon.

"All the blowjobs are fucking up your voice," Ryan said.

"You liar," Brendon said calmly. "Not getting laid is making you kind of mean."

"Actually getting laid for once is making you fucking annoying," Ryan snapped back, knowing he was being a total irrational bitch and yet unable to stop fucking talking. Jesus, not getting laid was making him kind of mean.

"I can take plenty, I have breath control," Brendon told him. "Not that it's any of your business, Ross."

"You're in my band," Ryan said. "Everything you do is my business." Why? Why did he even keep talking?

Brendon gave him a look, and then he was walking toward Ryan, crowding into his space, hips bumping his until Ryan's back hit the wall. "Look," Brendon said, low. "I don't know what your deal is. I don't know if you're stressed, bored, horny, whatever, but it's not my fault, okay?" Ryan closed his eyes, because jesus, this was pathetic, Brendon was inches away from him, bitching him out, and all Ryan could think was closer, please, closer. "Look at me," Brendon said, and Ryan shook his head, hoping Brendon wouldn't close the distance between them and find out how hard he was, almost as much as he hoped he would. "Look," Brendon said softly.

Brendon's fingers were on his jaw, tilting his face down a bit so their eyes met when Ryan opened his, and Brendon's eyes were deep, dark, intent, his mouth inches away. Ryan stared at him, helpless.

"If I've pissed you off or something, you need to tell me," Brendon said. "Did I do something? Seriously, just tell me."

He was so close, so fucking close that Ryan ached to touch him, felt his muscles tense with need, his fingers clench, and he couldn't help but lean into Brendon's touch a little, nuzzling into his hand. He wanted to pull Brendon to him, feel his lips pressing to his, lick at Brendon's lower lip until he opened up and god, fuck, he just wanted, wanted Brendon so badly it hurt.

Brendon blinked at him, startled, and then swept his thumb over Ryan's lower lip, a slow curious touch that made Ryan's breath come faster; Brendon frowned, said, "Hey, is it - you know I'm with Jon, I can't," but his hand was sliding back into Ryan's hair, thumb rubbing at the hinge of his jaw, moving forward without stopping-

Brendon kissed him.

Brendon kissed him, and Ryan felt himself go weak, wanted to lie down, lie down with Brendon on top of him, thrusting against him, wanted to wrap his legs around Brendon's waist and grind up until Brendon stripped him and fucked him.

"Oh god," Ryan gasped against Brendon's lips when they stopped to breathe, and Brendon echoed him a second later, blinking at him slowly and then pushing back, pushing away and, "No, please," Ryan said before he could stop himself, because they'd been so close, another second and Brendon would have been his, he could have had-

"I'm sorry," Brendon said, and when the dressing room door swung shut behind him, Ryan slid down the wall and stayed there.

-

Brendon kissed him, and they didn't mention it again.

Ryan didn't tell Spencer, he sure as fuck didn't tell Brent, and it wasn't like he could talk to Brendon about it, what with Brendon having been there, kissing him. They avoided each other as best they could what with playing shows every night, and Ryan spent the better part of a week hiding in his bunk, being miserable, until Spencer started giving him vaguely injured looks and Brent actually paid enough attention to say, "Dude, your emo is going to kill the band."

"My emo is the band," Ryan had snapped back, and then felt guilty, and then felt justified, and then felt lame because the band was also Brendon's voice and Spencer's drumming and Brent's having happened to grow up with them, Ryan thought uncharitably. He'd tried to sulk off and snuggle with Spencer after that, but Spencer and Brendon were involved in a particularly vicious game of two-player Ms. Pac-Man that culminated with Spencer's wild laughter and Fist of Triumph and Brendon promising to break his face. Ryan waited a while to see if they'd stop wrestling like twelve-year-olds, but it was Brendon and Spencer, and for some reason Brendon always seemed to take Spencer's seriousness as some sort of personal challenge. Brendon eventually started tickling him.

Ryan wanted to sigh and make Brendon give him Spencer back, but Spencer was giggling now, and Ryan hadn't been able to make Spencer giggle like that for years, ever since Spencer learned how and where to tickle him back. "Are you guys finished?" he said instead, once they'd slowed to just panting against each other, which Ryan was determinedly not recontextualizing.

"We are not," Brendon informed him, "Spencer's face is not yet broken, and I always keep my promises."

"No you don't," Ryan said, and it was almost normal, almost like they hadn't kissed, almost like things would be fine. "Can I have Spencer, please?"

"Hey," Spencer said, and Brendon said, "No, sorry, I like him. He's mine now. You'll have to find another one." Spencer struggled up from underneath him, pushing Brendon off.

Brendon scowled. "Are you guys going to go cuddle now? How come you never invite me?"

"You have a boyfriend," Spencer said. "It would be morally wrong. And the bunks aren't big enough."

Ryan almost said, "Mine," and stuck his tongue out at Brendon, but that would have been childish, so he just smirked instead. Brendon's stare dropped to his mouth, and Ryan had been doing fine, he'd gone a number of seconds without thinking about kissing Brendon, but now Brendon was looking at him and it wasn't fair, it wasn't right, Brendon couldn't just do this to him-

"You guys are totally gay, you know," Brendon said, crawling up to the couch and rolling over onto his stomach to sulk.

"Mm-hmm," Spencer said. "Cocksucker."

"I am a fantastic cocksucker!" Brendon shouted after them, and Ryan tugged Spencer's hand, leading him to his bunk.

He thought it'd be difficult to get out, but Spencer pulled him close, his hand sliding to Ryan's back to stroke at the base of his spine, and Ryan said, "We kissed." Spencer drew back a little, and Ryan clutched at the front of Spencer's shirt, murmuring, "Please, don't stop touching me."

"You and Brendon?" Spencer asked, his thumb dipping beneath the waist of Ryan's jeans, and Ryan tried not to squirm, but he could hardly help it, Spencer was so warm, touching him so softly and oh, god.

"Mm-hmm," Ryan managed, inching closer, not even inching, just pressing into Spencer as best he could without being obvious.

"How was it?" Spencer said, his lips against Ryan's forehead. His hand on Ryan's back got a bit more forceful, pulling Ryan against him, and Ryan was trying not to get hard, trying but then he felt Spencer thrust against him, just a little.

"Spence," Ryan gasped. "Fuck, please." Spencer slid a hand into his hair, tilting his face up until he was looking Spencer in the eye, close enough to share breath, and their lips were centimeters away, so close, so goddamn close.

"Did you like it?" Spencer asked. Ryan swallowed, forgetting the question, and Spencer leaned in, brushing their mouths together, soft and tentative for a second and then Ryan moaned, opening for him. Spencer murmured, "Fuck, Ry," all traces of coolness gone from his voice, and rolled them over, getting Ryan beneath him and kissing him hard.

When Ryan reached up to touch Spencer he realized he was trembling; it had been so long that he almost didn't know where to start, he wanted Spencer to keep kissing him, he wanted Spencer's lips on his throat, his stomach, Spencer's mouth on his cock, god. Spencer pressed against him, heavy and warm and perfect on top of him, and Ryan couldn't help but moan a little, needing to feel his skin, needing- "Fuck me," Ryan mumbled, helpless, "Spence, please, I need it, I need it so bad."

Spencer's hand slid down his side, thumbing the lower curve of his ribs before cupping his ass, fitting his leg between Ryan's so Ryan had to spread for him, arching up into the press of Spencer's body, hiking his leg up around Spencer's waist. Spencer worked at Ryan's fly with his other hand, and it took him a minute, struggling. Ryan reached down to help him, and when he touched Spencer's wrist he realized that Spencer was shaking too, his breath a hot shudder against Ryan's collarbone, and Ryan shifted under him, suddenly afraid Spencer was going to back out, and god, Ryan thought he would die if that happened now. He was so hard and Spencer's fingers were inching down his back, rubbing at the base of his spine before slipping lower, past the waistband of Ryan's jeans and stroking down.

Ryan squirmed, trying to push up into Spencer's touch, trying to get him closer, trying not to think at all, he just wanted this, he wanted Spencer-

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck are you guys doing back here- oh my GOD," Brendon said, and Ryan just caught his startled face before the curtain snapped back shut and Spencer sagged against him.

"Um," Spencer said. He carefully drew his hand out of the back of Ryan's pants, and then looked at him, his face bright red.

Ryan was never going to get fucked again in his life.

-

"Hey, have you seen Brendon?" Jon asked, and Ryan looked up from the couch where he'd been sitting in the hotel lobby, avoiding Brendon, Spencer, Brent, and every other person he knew in the world, although apparently not Jon, at least not with any measurable success. "Are you reading Teen Vogue?"

"No," Ryan said, "and no," he added, stuffing the magazine under his thigh with his thumb holding page thirty-eight in place.

"Oh," Jon said. "What are you doing down here?"

There were several levels of truth Ryan could cop to there and none of them seemed particularly appealing, but he sort of had to have a reason to be sitting in a hotel lobby while everyone else was getting ready to go out, or already out, or doing something that wasn't hiding under a pink newsboy cap reading girl magazines. Ryan sighed and flipped open Teen Vogue. "This eyeshadow thing, I think I might try it. It looks cool?"

"Huh," Jon said, sitting down next to Ryan; oh god, were they hanging out now? "Like on yourself?"

"Well, yeah," Ryan mumbled, "Not for- just, nevermind."

"Hey, it's cool, it'd look good on you." Jon smiled. Ryan smiled back, then realized he was smiling and stopped. "Seriously, what are you doing down here? Is everything okay? Are you going out with the others? I think they've mostly left."

"I was just gonna head upstairs, actually," Ryan said. "So."

Jon nodded.

"So, you could come hang out, if you want," Ryan finished, noticing the words as he said them as if they were from an overheard conversation. There they were.

"Sure," Jon said, after a pause. "We could get a movie or something."

"Yeah," Ryan said, having no idea what he was doing.

-

Maybe Jon could fuck me, Ryan thought to himself as they watched a regrettably bad Kate Hudson movie.

Jon laughed at a joke that hadn't been particularly funny. No wonder he got along so well with Brendon.

Of course, fucking Jon would probably get in the way of him figuring this thing out with Spencer.

Jon stretched his legs, smiling at Ryan and sliding a little further down the bed.

Still, Jon was pretty cute now that he didn't have Brendon wrapped around him like some sort of parasitic vine.

Ryan propped the pillow up under his head, settling onto his back and thinking about Jon shifting over a few feet and sliding on top of him. It might be nice, Jon holding him down. No, it would be. Ryan wanted to try it.

"What?" Jon asked, smiling like he wanted to be let in on the joke.

Ryan said, "Nothing."

-

It was innocent, really - the movie was lame, they'd been on the road all day, it was all warm and comfortable in there. Ryan was tired. He needed sleep, dammit, it wasn't his fault.

The light snapped on and, "What the fuck?" Brendon asked, and Ryan realized several things at once: he'd fallen asleep - with Jon - with Jon - Jon who was really, really nice and warm against his back - because they were snuggling, and if Ryan was pressed up close to him, well, Jon's arm was also around his waist - oh god, "Um," Ryan said, and Brendon repeated, "What the fuck?"

Jon nuzzled the back of Ryan's neck, mumbling sleepily, and geez, it was sort of adorable, no wonder Brendon liked him so much. Jon squeezed his waist and said, "Hey," and then, "Oh hey, Brendon," pulling back from Ryan.

Brendon's hands were at his hips, fully indignant, and Ryan wanted to laugh really, really badly, and he wasn't sure if it was because Brendon looked like a really pissed-off puppy dog, or because life was just funny, or because hysterical screaming seemed like an inferior plan. He didn't think Brendon would appreciate any of those explanations.

"We fell asleep," Jon said to Brendon, sitting up. "What time is it?"

"He - you," Brendon started, but he couldn't seem to find the words, and when Ryan looked back Jon was just blinking at him, his hair all mussed and flat on one side, sleepy-eyed, and Ryan stared for a moment, contemplating Jon Walker. When he turned back Brendon was deflated, the rage drained out of him; he just sighed and said, "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"Sure!" Jon said happily, and rolled off of Ryan's bed, shucking his jeans and getting under the covers of the other bed. Ryan shut off the TV, studiously not watching as Brendon stripped down to his boxers and slid into bed with Jon, and Ryan could barely respond to Jon's, "Goodnight Ryan!"

The minutes ticked by in the dark, Jon and Brendon shuffling into place with each other, and Ryan didn't think about how Jon was actually a pretty good guy, or how Brendon was with him, and how good they seemed to be with each other; he didn't keep still to hear each movement, Jon's t-shirt hitting the ground, their soft goodnight kiss.

-

Jon ducked out early, or at least Ryan assumed he had, judging by the fact that Brendon was shaking his shoulder and saying, "Hey, hey, wake the fuck up." Usually Brendon was somewhat less of a jackass with Jon around to temper him. Ryan cracked one eye open. Brendon was leaning over him, backlit by thin streams of daylight coming through the motel curtains, and for a second Ryan let himself drift into thoughts of Brendon on top of him, looking into his eyes while fucking him hard, and then he glanced at the clock, saw that it was nine a.m. and they weren't on call 'til eleven, and his fantasies shifted to grabbing the clock and beating Brendon over the head with it.

"Why," Ryan asked, putting all the emotion he could into that word.

"Are you trying to sleep with everyone on this tour?" Brendon demanded and oh, wonderful, this was absolutely the conversation Ryan wanted to have at nine a.m., or like, ever.

"Don't be stupid," Ryan said, knowing it was a futile request, and rolled over so he wouldn't have to look at Brendon and his tufty hair and unseemly half nakedness and his stupid face.

Brendon paused, then climbed over Ryan and laid down on the bed next to him, pushing his way beneath the covers like a stupid pushy jerk, god, and then he stared at Ryan until Ryan sighed heavily. "I mean, Spencer, okay," Brendon said, "but if you could like, leave Jon out of it, I mean, I know how you are-"

"How I am?" Ryan snapped, and god, Brendon was wearing nothing but his boxers, and he was in bed with Ryan, and Ryan had really thought the two of them in bed together would go differently than this. "You kissed me," Ryan said, because what the fuck, where did Brendon even get off throwing accusations around?

"That was a mistake," Brendon said, "I didn't mean to."

"What, my lips just got in the way?" Ryan scoffed, and this was just impossibly fucking unfair, Brendon was right there in front of him, close enough to touch, so close and Ryan couldn't.

"Look," Brendon started, and then the doorknob rattled and a second later Jon pushed his way in with a small paper bag and a few bottles of juice. Ryan froze.

"Hey, what's going on?" Jon asked, sounding more curious than anything as the door swung shut behind him.

A second passed, and then Brendon said, "Ryan wouldn't talk to me."

"Oh." Jon seemed to consider that one for a moment, then shrugged and said, "I brought Danishes."

"Fuck yes," Brendon said, suddenly enthused. "Cherry?"

"Of course," Jon said, leaving everything on the table and walking over to nudge Brendon over. "Get up."

"You get down," Brendon insisted, and oh boy, now Ryan got to witness Adorable Boyfriend Theater firsthand, fucking joy. Jon smiled at Ryan apologetically and slid into bed next to Brendon, looping an arm around Brendon's waist. "I'm still tired."

"It's nine a.m.," Ryan pointed out, still deeply irked by that fact and rather sleepy, thank you.

"Did you talk to him?" Jon asked Ryan. Brendon was leaning back into Jon's embrace, his eyes slipping shut like he intended to go back to sleep, which Ryan thought sounded like an excellent opportunity to get some cheap snuggling out of the deal, even from stupid bony Brendon. Maybe he could convince Jon into the middle.

"Yes," Ryan said, shuffling a little closer to Brendon. So Jon could hear him, of course. Brendon looked to be already back asleep, just making an annoyed noise when Jon tried to reclaim his arm, and Jon sighed. Ryan quirked his lip up in a half-smile and scooted closer, just enough so that he could feel Brendon's warmth in the space around him.

"Good," Jon said, smiling, but it seemed like an effort for him to keep his head up, and a minute later he relaxed against Brendon's back, settling in.

Jon and Brendon were fast asleep and Ryan was dozing by the time Spencer came in through the connecting door, and by the time he reached the bed he seemed to have assessed the situation, realized there was no explanation that could really make that much sense, and then decided to accept that, because he just whispered to Ryan, "Hey, I couldn't get back to sleep."

There really, Ryan thought to himself, wasn't much he could do aside from scoot closer to Brendon and let Spencer slip into bed beside him, tucking himself against Ryan's back and kissing him hesitantly on the cheek. Spencer's presence was enough to send Ryan comfortably back to sleep, close enough to Brendon that their hands were almost touching, Brendon's palm curled up like he was waiting for Ryan to take his hand and hold on.

-

They woke up in an overheated tangle, Brendon and Ryan smushed together in the middle, one of Brendon's thighs pushed between Ryan's legs and one of Ryan's hands on the hot curve of Brendon's neck, Spencer and Jon near enough to reach out and touch with the minimal space between them that Ryan and Brendon took up.

Ryan blinked awake and Brendon was already looking at him, at his - at his mouth, Ryan realized, flushing. They were close enough that Ryan would only barely have to stretch to kiss him, and he watched as his thumb stroked over Brendon's jaw, almost independently of the rest of him, and then Jon peered sleepily at him, lifting up to look at him from behind Brendon, and Ryan stilled. Jon just smiled, though, and reached out to rub his knuckles over Ryan's stomach, barely edging beneath his t-shirt, light enough to make Ryan shiver and wake up Spencer, who nuzzled against the back of Ryan's neck and murmured something Ryan couldn't quite make out. Spencer wasn't a morning person.

Brendon really wasn't either (although he really wasn't a night person, either, or even an afternoon person - Ryan eventually concluded he just wasn't a person), and so he must have been half-asleep still, Ryan thought, when he nudged further into Ryan's space until their foreheads were pressed together. He must not have been thinking when he leaned in close enough that Ryan could almost feel his lips move, and Brendon's leg was pushed between his, each tiny movement a slow rich drag of friction on his inner thighs. It didn't take much, less than this, even, for Ryan to get hard, and he was, oh, shamefully hard, Brendon in front of him and Spencer behind, Jon watching, brow creased in frustration, confusion, interest, Ryan wasn't sure. Ryan bit his lip - wanted to bite Brendon's lip - and tried not to move, tried not to squirm back against Spencer, tried not to shift closer still to Brendon.

Spencer's hand slid down to his hip, and Ryan was suddenly, deeply aware of the press of Spencer's erection against his ass; he couldn't even make himself look down, if Brendon was hard too he didn't need to know it, Brendon could surely feel him, and the thought barely passed through his mind before Brendon curled his hand over Spencer's and dragged Ryan closer, closing the space between them completely, erasing all doubt.

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and felt every inch of skin pressed against him, so surrounded, and even though his heart was pounding and nerves were making his fingers cold and his breathing quick, he still had never felt safer than he did with them around him, against all reason and rationality. Spencer kissed the back of his neck, a light graze of teeth as Ryan shuddered out a breath against Brendon's lips, and Jon spread his fingertips out along Brendon's stomach, Ryan could feel it, the movement of Jon's hand against his skin, and then he felt Jon draw back.

"You guys?" Jon said, hesitant, and Ryan wanted to cry. Not now, god, not now when it was so, so perfect.

"It's just a kiss good morning," Brendon said, and before Ryan could do much Brendon leaned in that bare millimeter and brushed his lips against Ryan's, warm and soft and startlingly tender, thrusting gently against his stomach until Ryan gasped and opened for him. Brendon stroked his tongue over Ryan's lower lip before licking into his mouth, and this was accelerating past friendly at an alarming speed, way past it; Ryan could feel Spencer raise up a bit behind him to watch, still pressed up to his back as Brendon pulled him closer, and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes for fear that Jon would hate him.

"Jesus," Jon said, "that's how you guys say good morning?"

"We're friendly," Spencer said, squeezing Ryan's hip until he broke away, leaving Brendon watching him dark-eyed, hand still on his side so it wasn't easy to twist around and kiss Spencer too, but Ryan managed. There wasn't much space to work with, but Ryan maneuvered until he was on his back under Spencer, tilting his head up so Spencer could kiss him more deeply, feeling Jon and Brendon's eyes on him, watching them. When he broke away for air it was to Brendon's lips on his cheek, nuzzling his face, and he turned into it, kissing Brendon again, Jon still watching like he didn't know what to think, and Ryan was scared to even move too much in case everything shattered. Spencer shifted on top of him, kissing his throat, and Ryan gasped against Brendon's mouth when Spencer ground down against him.

"I'm just gonna," Jon said, and Ryan could feel him backing away; he grabbed for Jon's hand but Brendon already had it, and then Ryan was watching Brendon kiss Jon, holding him there when Jon tried to back off.

"Good morning," Brendon said, grinning. Jon blinked, and after an unsure moment, sat up, seeming to get distracted by Brendon's half-nakedness but then working past it. Brendon sat up with him, and kissed him again, quick.

Ryan coughed, and Spencer looked down, inhaled like he was going to say something, but then just rolled off of him.

"I brought breakfast," Jon said, after a minute.

"Cherry Danishes?" Spencer asked, his eyes lighting up.

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