orgasms and cheap thrills (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sunday_porch) wrote,@ 2007-08-03 23:52:00 |
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Hidden In Plain View
Title: Hidden In Plain View
Author:jzbell
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan wonders if it's obvious or if it looks perfectly platonic, a group of friends hanging out, no one suspecting that two of them are something more.
Disclaimer: Not real.
Warnings: Fluff. Rimming. (What?)
Notes: Endless thanks toacroamatica and kkpixie for being awesome and doing the most ridiculously last minute beta work ever. <333
DYW Live Free or Die exchange fic forwayfairing, and also a late birthday present. :D
The bus lumbers around toward the back of the venue, providing ample time for everyone inside it to observe the parking lot of the mall across the street.
"It's--oh my god, it's a carnival!" Brendon's kneeling up on the seat in an instant, leaning toward the window as he grins. "They're totally having a carnival, with rides and everything. Oh, man, we have to check it out."
"It's just a shitty little one," Spencer remarks, craning his neck to see better.
Jon nods his agreement. "Like, the kind of stuff they unfold off trailers. Totally unsafe."
Brendon spins around and drops back to his seat. "Whatever, I don't care, I'm going anyway. You guys can sit around and bitch and not come, but I'm fucking going. And Ryan's coming with me, because Ryan loves me."
Spencer raises an eyebrow at Ryan, smug, and Ryan can practically hear it: he is your responsibility, you know. He almost protests aloud, he's not Brendon's keeper (if anything, that would be Zack's job), just because now he's... he and Brendon are. Something. The something trips him up, though, and before can actually argue everyone's moved on to bickering about the day's schedule and whether funnel cakes are better with powdered sugar or fruit.
*
The schedule, it turns out, works in Brendon's favor and they've got a good couple hours before soundcheck with nothing at all to do in the meantime. There's another fight about whether there will be too many fans there, but it's decided that anyone who might cause trouble will probably be in line on the other side of the venue, and so Zack ushers them all into a van and they stealthily make their way across to the lot.
Zack does some quick reconnaissance and finds that their theories were mostly correct; this early in the afternoon, the carnival is nothing more than family day, parents with young children whose fingers are sticky from cotton candy as they clutch the handholds of the rickety airplanes and motorcycles chasing each other around in perpetual circles.
"Don't even think about it, Brendon," Spencer says, following Brendon's eyes.
Brendon protests loudly, "Fuck you, I'm not seven, I'm not gonna go on a fucking merry-go-round, okay? God."
"I don't know," Jon says with an easy smile. "Those little racecars look like your kind of thing, maybe."
Brendon flips him off. "Are we going to find a Tilt-A-Whirl or what?"
They pick a direction and start off that way together, Brendon tapping Ryan's waist to make sure he comes along. Brendon scuffs his shoes on the thick black cables as they step over and Ryan lets his own heels scrape across them, too, feeling the grit of dust.
They pass along the row of carnival games and some of the workers holler at them, practiced carnie banter, "three tries for a dollar!" One of the guys winks at Brendon and asks if he wants to win something for his friend, the word tainted with meaning. "Which one?" Brendon shoots back, grinning as he throws an arm around Jon's waist. Ryan feels his cheeks flush though, realizing that he and Brendon had been walking awfully close, knuckles brushing with each stride. He feels weird and wonders if it's obvious or if it looks perfectly platonic, a group of five friends hanging out, no one suspecting that two of them are something more.
And that's basically it, that's the something that's still catching Ryan, making him pause and think, wonder. Everyone who knows has got a different way of thinking about it, a different name for that something more. Spencer, when he has to mention Brendon and Ryan's relationship, he says they're fucking. "No, no, we definitely got that controller before then, we got it way before you and Brendon were fucking." Like that's the only thing that changed, just sex. Ryan thinks it's kind of reductive. Not that there isn't sex or something, because there definitely, definitely is, but there's also definitely more to it than that. Still, he supposes it makes sense that Spencer would see it that way. Whatever Ryan does with Brendon now, whatever they are, whatever it is that makes Brendon walk closer to Ryan than anyone else, that won't erase the years that belonged to Spencer, what they have. They're still Ryan and Spencer, even though there's also a Ryan and Brendon now.
Spencer can get snarky about it, snipping at Brendon if he's being too demonstrative and Ryan's too caught up to pay attention. They bicker a hell of a lot, too, and Ryan knows Spencer still doesn't quite approve, but he doesn't disapprove, either. Spencer's dealing with it. So is Ryan.
Jon says they're together. It sounds so simple when he puts it like that, maybe even simpler than fucking. They're just... together. Ryan kind of likes it, but there's something there that tastes bittersweet, too, and it's not just that it doesn't really feel that simple. It's that saying Brendon and Ryan are together implies there are people who aren't with them, people left out. People like Spencer, and Jon.
Maybe Spencer can deal, but Ryan hates that Jon still feels left out of anything related to the band. It's not that he wants to include him in the fucking (or whatever), but he wishes he could rid Jon of the inclination to exclude himself by definition. Sometimes he thinks Brendon has taken that as personal mission. Ryan's kind of thankful for it.
Brendon has no one word for what they are; he has a ton of them. One minute he'll be singing "You're My Best Friend" into Ryan's neck, like that's it, like that makes perfect sense to him, and the next he'll be quiet, serious, studying Ryan's face and telling him, "I'm glad you let me in."
When Brendon said that, Ryan's first impulse had been to say something ridiculous about how Brendon was already in, he just hadn't known it. But Ryan hadn't said anything, just nodded hotly, glancing up at Jon and Spencer who were sitting on the other side of the lounge, feeling Brendon's fingers trace patterns on the small of his back, hidden from view.
Ryan never really says anything, because he doesn't know what to say. For a lyricist, it seems like he has an awful lot of trouble finding words for things sometimes. Especially Brendon.
It's okay, though. Sometimes Ryan thinks Brendon communicates better with nonverbals anyway, smiling eyes and sure fingers, music. Their little group has to break apart to let a triple-sized stroller pass through, and even though it would have made more sense for Brendon to sidestep to the right, he darts to the left with Ryan, keeping their arms pressed together as if their fingers were intertwined. Brendon grins at him, eyes light, and Ryan swears his palm tickles, phantom fingertips.
The carnival is not that big and it's really only a moment before they get to the big-kid rides.
"Tickets!" Brendon says, pointing to the little booth, breaking the invisible tie with Ryan's hand. "How many should we get?"
Ryan shrugs as Brendon hurries forward; they all know he's not big on rides, and he and Spencer hang back while Jon, Brendon and Zack go buy a string of tickets.
"They're going to go on that upside-down Ferris wheel thing, aren't they?" Spencer asks.
"Probably," Ryan replies. "Hey, didn't we pass a skee-ball thing just over there? You were pretty good at that."
"I always kicked your ass," Spencer says with a big smile.
"Like hell you did."
They're about to turn around but Brendon comes rushing back to them, grabbing Ryan by the wrist and looping his other arm around Spencer's waist. "Tilt-A-Whirl, come on. Don't be fucking pussies."
"Brendon," Spencer protests, looking pointedly at Ryan, as if he expects Ryan to be able to do something. Ryan rolls his eyes.
"Not everyone cares about Tilt-A-Whirls as much as you," Ryan tries, but Brendon, of course, refuses to listen to reason, and herds them both up the stairs, in line right behind two kindergartners. Spencer sighs at Ryan, resigned.
"Two in one, three in the other," the guy taking their tickets grunts at them.
Brendon grabs hold of Zack's shoulders. "Me and Ryan get Zack!" he says, bouncing a little.
Spencer gives them a mournful look. "That's cheating."
Zack nods. "I feel so used."
Jon leads Spencer to a car and Zack and Spencer stretch their hands toward each other, tragic.
Brendon unforgivingly pushes Zack into another car and then slithers into the seat beside him. He beckons for Ryan, grabbing him when he gets close enough and pulling him down on his other side, and Ryan has just a moment to wonder how the weight distribution is going to effect the spin before the ride groans to life.
"Don't lose your hat," Brendon tells him, taking hold of the thin metal loop in their laps.
The track starts to move, causing their cart to sway heavily, then swing back in the other direction. Ryan feels himself pressed against the back of the cart and he watches the others spin on their grooves. They start moving faster and faster, spinning erratically, definitely quicker than any of the other cars, and Ryan feels a rush of nostalgia and something else he can't quite name; he can't help grinning, laughing as the force grips his stomach and pulls him in tight against Brendon, shoulder to knee. Brendon hoots and flings his arms up, nearly dislodging Ryan's cap. Ryan keeps on smiling.
After, as they're climbing unsteadily off, Brendon tries to insist that they have to go again, and then go on the giant slide, and then the spinny thing "with the arms, you know which one" but Zack says they have to prioritize.
Brendon can't decide whether he'd rather go on the Rock-O-Plane or the Gravitron to get his anti-gravity fix, and Ryan starts to wonder if he could slip away unnoticed when Brendon suddenly cuts off. "No, no, wait. Dude, Ferris wheel. Ryan, hey, come on, Ferris wheel."
Spencer raises an eyebrow at them. "Aw," he says dryly, and Brendon flips him off again.
"Fuck you, where's your romantic side?"
"Shut up," Ryan says, but doesn't struggle when Brendon pulls him into a tight, one-armed hug.
"I think--I think I need cotton candy," Brendon decides, "then definitely the Ferris wheel," and Ryan can't help but smile some more, just a little. Brendon turns around, spinning Ryan with him, looking for the trailer selling it. Ryan catches Spencer touching Zack's elbow.
"Hey, is that a dunk tank?" he asks.
"Oh, shit," Jon says, "There's a clown in it. I bet he's heckling people. Come on, Zack, we have to!"
Zack glances at Brendon and Ryan and pauses to consider, always on the job, security guard first, friend an increasingly close second, but then shrugs.
"Keep an eye on him, dude," Zack says to Ryan, "and call me if anything--"
"Oh!" Brendon exclaims, interrupting, finally spotting the stand he'd been looking for. He smiles at Zack. "Yeah, yeah, we know. We'll be fine. Go dunk a mime or whatever."
"Check back here in twenty minutes!" Zack calls, but Brendon's already weaving his way back through the crowd, dragging Ryan with him.
They pass a couple carnival games again and Brendon completely ignores them this time. Some people might assume Brendon doesn't have the patience for them, but Ryan knows that's not entirely true, it's more like the wisdom not to throw effort after foolishness. Brendon only pushes when he knows it'll be worth it in the end.
Brendon gets his cotton candy, immediately digging into the bag and ripping off a big, fluffy strip to press into his mouth, jaw working as the sugar melts on his tongue. He offers some to Ryan, expression serious, and Ryan's pretty sure Brendon would be insulted if he refused; he doesn't really want to anyway. He licks his tongue out, drawing some of the sugar back into his mouth and Brendon grins at him, obviously quite content with the world at the moment.
The Ferris wheel is easy to find. It's not really huge but it still towers over most everything else at the carnival, and Brendon spins his bag of cotton candy closed as they approach.
"Hey, how much do you think I'd have to pay to get him to stop it when we're at the top?" Brendon asks Ryan lightly. "You think he gets that a lot? People asking him to do that? So they can have a perfect moment, to like, propose or some shit?" Brendon's eyes are softer than his words, and Ryan shrugs, feeling warm on the back of his neck and in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't know," he says carefully. "Maybe he's not allowed. Like, maybe they've got a policy or something. They can't have everyone wanting it stopped at the top."
"Yeah, but everyone's got a price. And if you wanted it bad enough, I think you'd be willing to pay his."
"Pay an ungodly amount of money just so you can have sixty seconds to pop the question a hundred feet up above a mall parking lot?" Ryan's smiling, though, even as he argues, and he knows Brendon knows his heart isn't in the protestations. They both know Ryan appreciates a big gesture.
"Well, I mean, obviously it would be better if it was dark," Brendon's saying, smirking, and they're already climbing the stairs and Brendon has to dig in his pockets for more tickets.
The seat's wide enough to hold maybe three or four people their size, but Brendon presses close to him anyway, hips flush as the worker swings the bar closed. Ryan feels the heat from Brendon's body bleed into his own, all the way across his groin, sparklingly pleasant.
Watching the guy work the grease-caked levers, Ryan feels himself lifted upward, the motion swift, and he looks down, watching the platform and the people sink away from them. Ryan's not sure what to focus on: the long spokes of the Ferris wheel in front of him, the small spread below, the venue across the street... maybe Brendon as he cranes his neck to look over the side.
When they reach the top and everything in front of them disappears, Ryan feels a strange, simple thrill in his stomach, and closes his eyes on the expanse in front of him, feeling the rush as they drop down. He opens them again just a second later and everything seems to be moving faster at ground level, and they sail past with startling ease.
The second time as they go up, the wheel slows, stopping when their car is right at the top. Brendon laughs with delight and Ryan gives him an accusing look. "Brendon," he says.
"Oh my god, I swear I didn't! How could I, you were right beside me the whole time!" He's still grinning, though, eyes dancing as he turns to look at Ryan. "So how about it, Ross?" He leans closer, and Ryan can see blue from the cotton candy in the lines of his lips. "Marry me?"
"Shut the fuck up," Ryan tells him, blushing despite himself.
"Ryan, I'm serious!" Brendon says, pulling his face into a disturbingly convincing pout. "We could do it at home, one of those places on the Strip--"
"I don't think, like. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's not even legal--"
"--with an Elvis impersonator. What do you think, you want Elvis?" Brendon tilts his head, humming a bar, then starts singing, "wise men say 'only fools rush in'--"
"God, Brendon," Ryan says weakly, but he doesn't have the strength nor heart to struggle when Brendon slides his hand across his shoulders.
"But I can't help--"
Brendon reaches up with his other hand, fingers to Ryan's jaw, eyes intent as he turns Ryan's face in closer, close enough for their lips to brush.
"Brendon," Ryan mumbles, "don't, someone--"
Smiling against Ryan's mouth, Brendon whispers, "Ryan, look. No one can see us. We're at the very top."
Ryan turns his head, almost catching Brendon with the brim of his cap, Brendon's fingers sliding along his neck. He tries to see behind their seat and realizes that Brendon was right, there's nothing but open air in back of them; the same in the front, when Ryan shifts his gaze to check. Off to the sides, back on the ground someone might be able to see, but they'd have to know what to look for--
Brendon kisses him again and it's gentle, especially by Brendon's standards, and Ryan parts his lips and kisses back harder, like he has to compensate. Brendon's fingers tighten slightly on his neck, pleased, holding him still, and Ryan feels the wind in his hair and the angle of Brendon's mouth, cotton candy sweet, and it's so perfect that for a second he forgets everything else entirely.
He isn't expecting it when the ride lurches to motion. He draws back sharply, even more surprised when he doesn't get very far, held fast in Brendon's grip, and he curses into Brendon's mouth. Brendon chuckles and drops his hand, allowing Ryan to settle back against the rest, blinking, flushed.
He bites his lip and watches the ground surge closer and then race by.
"Hey," Brendon says, speaking right in his ear so his voice doesn't get lost in the wind, "hey, is that a fun house? That black thing--oh, shit, it is. We should... dude, I could jerk you off in there, you know those things are like a wannabe tunnel of love anyway, for like, making out and handjobs."
"Fucking creepy tunnel of love maybe."
"So you want to?" He pulls his hand off Ryan's shoulder and slides it over his thigh, up.
Ryan squirms, trying to ignore the heat that settles between his legs, and pokes at Brendon's wrist. "The fun house? No fucking way." Brendon pouts at him but his eyes are dark, serious, and Ryan feels his stomach clench and tries to blame it on the rush of gravity from the ride. Without meaning to, he adds, "Later, okay?"
Brendon smiles and lets Ryan brush his hand away, fingertips lingering just a little. Ryan blames the prickle at the nape of his neck on the ride.
*
It's still strange, Ryan thinks, his throat going a little dry as Brendon slinks closer on the stage. It's strange because he knows what it looks like: scripted, fake, predictable. Brendon doesn't really act any different from how he always acted, on stage and off. The heated looks, the touches, the lips on Ryan's cheek. The elements were all there before, they had been for a long time, even before they pulled them together with the running narrative of the stage show.
Brendon steps so close that Ryan's knuckles brush the buttons on his costume. Brendon's switched on, in character, reciting the words Ryan fed him with perfect practiced flamboyance and Ryan angles toward him, bracing.
He knows what it looks like, but it feels so different now, feels like something else entirely. That something again. Brendon's looking at him, eyes dark and intent, fingers slipping around his neck, and for a split second Ryan can almost feel the wind at his hairline, nothing but Brendon, exactly the same. He breathes, parting his lips, inviting, daring, and Brendon almost doesn't hesitate before turning Ryan away, hand twitching on his jaw.
Ryan feels warm, hot lights and poor ventilation; he raises his chin, tamping down the flare of arousal in his stomach.
Later, Brendon clings to Ryan's knees, looking up at him with shining eyes as he wails something about marriage. Ryan leans down and pets Brendon's head, and they share a smirk, cotton candy and secrets in the wide-open, before Brendon bobs back to his feet.
*
Instead of showering at the venue, they pile into the van and head straight to the hotel. The trip is only a few blocks and they mostly sit in sticky silence, Brendon occasionally humming strains of something that might be "Viva Las Vegas" or Hanson, Ryan can't quite tell. His mind is racing and his body's thrumming, overheated, a little, and Brendon's practically steaming, sitting with his thigh flush against Ryan's despite the heat, bobbing in time with the rhythms echoing in his head.
Everyone exchanges grins and goodnights in the hallway, and when they're in their room, Ryan lets Brendon have the bathroom first without question. He drops his bag and flips open his Sidekick, checking to see if Pete replied to his last text.
The curtain's open and even if Ryan hadn't been paying attention to the numbers in the elevator he'd know they were pretty high up from the way most of the buildings look on the horizon, small and shorter than they should, thrown off by the perspective of the hotel. Ryan steps closer, and then realizes he can make out the carnival, diagonally below. It's glowing like a Christmas tree, bright colors and blinking lights, and Ryan stands and watches the Ferris wheel turning, thinking of the people on it, momentarily invisible to the crowd below.
He's still standing in front of the window when Brendon comes out of the bathroom, smelling of High Endurance and folding a towel around his waist.
"Hey," Brendon says, giving his head a shake and splattering the television and mirror with droplets of water.
"The maid's gonna love you," Ryan drawls.
"I'll tip her," Brendon says. "What's out there?" He steps up behind Ryan, damp hands resting on his hips as he peers over his shoulder. "Oh."
"You can see the carnival from here," Ryan says anyway.
"Yeah, that's awesome. It looks like a model or something, like a--a flea circus or whatever."
Ryan's smile breaks out and he shakes his head. He takes a breath, feeling Brendon's hands heating up his hipbones, clammy.
As they're watching, the lights on the Ferris wheel suddenly stop, and Ryan can feel Brendon grin.
"Fifty bucks," Brendon says, and Ryan twists a little, looking down at his shoulder, trying to see Brendon's face.
"What?"
"I bet the guy'd stop it for fifty bucks. I mean."
"What?" Ryan repeats.
"I'm just saying! He probably doesn't make much being a carnie, so you know, open to persuasion. But there are rules, and. Twenty wouldn't do it, that's kind of an insult, and a hundred's too much--unless maybe you really, really wanted that moment and were super paranoid or something."
"You've thought this through." Clearly he had. If Ryan hadn't been standing side-by-side with Brendon the entire time, he would have thought Brendon had slipped the guy a fifty. Hell, maybe he had anyway. Sleight of hand, something. Ryan feels his neck flush a little.
"Mm." Brendon shrugs, hand teasing lower, and yeah, that's it, that's part of it, the low thrill in Ryan's stomach, everything lurking just below the surface. Nothing had changed and everything had changed and this, this is the something, the everything.
Brendon smashes his nose against Ryan's shoulder. "You feel hot. Sweaty?"
"Mm, kinda."
"Dirty boy. Go shower."
Obedient, Ryan shrugs out of Brendon's grip. "You going to sleep?" he asks, and Brendon leers at him in reply.
Biting his lip, Ryan heads to the bathroom. Once under the spray, he feels kind of obligated to take his time; he doesn't know when he'll see another real shower. Then he thinks of Brendon, half-naked and casting him that look, a day spent on edge, partially obscured promises, the real bed, and hell, he doesn't know when he'll see another one of those, either. They spend so much time hiding in bunks, squeezed in tight, lying together in the bus lounge, Brendon pressed hard against his back, Ryan wondering if Jon and Spencer can tell.
He turns the water off and climbs out, toweling off quickly and opening the door. It's kind of exciting, still, not having to bother with clothes at times like this, walking out of the bathroom holding a towel around his waist, expectant. It's almost awkward; it probably would be if it were anyone but Brendon. But it's Brendon, and it's okay. They both expect the same thing.
Brendon's sitting on the bed by the window, hunched over his phone, his own towel still tucked around his lap.
"Hey," Ryan says, and Brendon looks up, frown of concentration melting away. "Hey," he answers, smile bright and sudden, setting the Sidekick on the nightstand. "You all clean now?"
"Mm-hm." Ryan crosses over and kneels on the bed, on the side closest to Brendon, and Brendon tugs on the towel, pulling it from Ryan's grip and throwing it away like it's offensive. He skirts his hand around Ryan's hip to the small of his back. He clambers up onto his knees, too, reeling Ryan in and angling his head up for a kiss. Ryan slips an arm around his shoulders; Brendon's skin is cool from the fan but Ryan knows it won't take much to warm him up, hot blood rushing to the surface. Brendon's body runs a couple degrees hotter than everyone else's, it sometimes seems.
"I don't know," Brendon murmurs. "I don't--I think maybe I'd better check, just to make sure."
Ryan almost asks, "check what?" but then Brendon's mouth is dragging down the side of his neck, open and wet, tongue flicking out to taste his shoulder, and Ryan shivers a little, "Oh."
Brendon hums his response against Ryan's collarbone.
From there, he works his way slowly down, lips parted, pressing moist kisses to Ryan's skin, sucking gently, then harder, nosing down his sternum and scraping his teeth over a nipple. Ryan catches his breath, whimpering slightly, unable to help it. Brendon turns his head, licking the other nipple with a smile, and Ryan arches into it, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.
Carefully, not wanting to interrupt Brendon's work, he shifts, moving to stretch out on the bed, and Brendon purrs his assent, keeping one hand on his hip and then following him down.
Brendon dips down and nuzzles at Ryan's cock, tongue barely licking out, and Ryan tilts his hips up just a little, trying to swallow the sounds Brendon's causing him to make. Brendon bites at the inside of his thigh and when Ryan jerks against him, he pulls back and smirks. He slips his fingers under Ryan's thighs, pushing them up, pressing them to his chest, folding him right in half. He noses underneath Ryan's balls and drops his hands, trusting Ryan to hold the position. Ryan hooks his fingers behind his knees and tries to keep breathing.
Brendon spreads him apart with his hands and Ryan can feel a hot puff of air before Brendon's tongue is there, lapping flat against his hole. Brendon keeps licking, just on the outside, and Ryan squirms on the bed, toes curling with want. When Brendon pulls back, he's breathing hard, panting a little before darting down to lick again, quick.
"God," Ryan grunts, "I--"
But his thought's interrupted when Brendon's tongue finally pushes through the tight ring, inside. Ryan twitches under him and Brendon hums, low, a warning. Ryan bites his lip, whining. Brendon's mouth is on him, kissing him, tongue stroking in and out, and just when Ryan thinks he can't take anymore, Brendon moves his hand and presses the tip of his finger into his ass.
"Brendon," Ryan gasps, arching. He drops a hand from his own leg, straining to keep it raised as he pushes his fingers into Brendon's hair, gripping tightly. Brendon lifts his head, pulls his hand away, and grabs Ryan's wrist. Ryan freezes for a second and then cranes his neck, trying to see as Brendon brings Ryan's hand to his lips, sucks two fingers into his hot mouth. Ryan feels Brendon's tongue rough against them and he shudders hard. Brendon draws them out with a wet smack and then guides them down, lower, setting one fingertip against Ryan's own entrance.
"Here," Brendon says, voice husky. He applies a little more pressure and Ryan relaxes, lets Brendon ease his finger in. Ryan leaves it in place, flexing a little, as Brendon wraps his fingers around his cock, pointing it down and flicking his tongue under the head, sucking around it. Ryan groans. He twists his wrist, working a second finger inside himself with the first, and Brendon raises his head when he notices, grinning. He squeezes the base of Ryan's cock and Ryan's breath hitches.
"You want to come?" Brendon asks him, voice rough like it never is on stage, hot and smoky just for Ryan, and Ryan can't even decide whether to shake his head or nod, just knows he wants Brendon, more, all of him.
"Fuck--" he tries, "fuck me."
"Yeah," Brendon says, sitting up a little. Ryan lets his leg drop some but doesn't pull his fingers out, pushing into himself in earnest now, in preparation. "Okay."
Brendon sits up, reaching past Ryan's body to grab the lotion from the nightstand, squeezing some into his hand. Ryan watches him slick up his cock, a practiced gesture, intimate, and when Brendon catches him watching he grins. He leans down and kisses him, deep, and Ryan can taste himself heavy on Brendon's tongue. "God," he whispers, and then chokes a little when he feels Brendon's grip his wrist, tugging his hand from between his legs, fingers sliding out.
Brendon lines himself up, fitting his cock carefully against Ryan's entrance before rocking forward, sinking himself inside.
Ryan rolls up to meet him, wrapping his legs around Brendon's waist, tight. Brendon grinds forward, barely pulling out at all before thrusting back in.
Leaning his weight on one hand, Brendon twists the other into Ryan's hair, tugging, baring Ryan's throat. Ryan tips his head back for him, arching, groaning when he feels Brendon's teeth on his neck.
"Shit, don't--"
"No one'll know," Brendon mutters, biting harder, closing his lips and sucking. Ryan moans.
He knows, somewhere, deep down that Brendon's right, it doesn't matter, people see what they want and believe what they want. It sure as hell doesn't matter how other people think of it, either, what they call it. Not now, not with Brendon so close, dragging so perfectly inside him.
Ryan slips his hand down his body, clutching at his dick, but Brendon lets go of his hair all of a sudden and shoves his hand away. "Let me," he says, breathless. "I owe you a handjob, remember?"
Ryan's can barely recall Brendon's earlier suggestion and his own promise of "later," but he's not about to protest when Brendon's hand closes around him, stroking firm, hot, still pumping inside, so thick--
He comes, hard, clenching tight around Brendon and gasping, twisting in his grip. Brendon strokes him through it until he loses his grasp, letting go with a shudder, jerking up inside Ryan. He waits a beat, several, before pulling out, groaning, "Fuck."
*
They lie side by side in bed, panting until their breaths slow. Brendon shifts closer, twining their fingers together, lifting their hands as if he's examining them, squinting a little bit.
"Oh!" he says suddenly, dropping Ryan's hand. "Shit, I almost forgot, I got something for you!"
"For me?" Ryan asks, sluggish, too satisfied to think very hard.
But Brendon's up out of bed in a flash, scrambling to his bag and then back, presenting Ryan with... something. Ryan takes it carefully; it appears to be a violent pink raccoon. It's small and firm under Ryan's fingers, cheap fabric and bad stuffing, and he asks, "Did you--?"
Brendon ducks his head, laughing. "Nah. I mean, I wish, but. Zack won it, and Spence didn't want it, and so he gave it to me." He twists himself back under the covers, snuggling up next to Ryan. "You can tell everyone I won it for you, if you want. Zack won't mind." He reaches across Ryan to turn off the lamp, leaving his hand on Ryan's hip.
"Ah, okay," Ryan says, too tired for the sarcasm to have quite its usual bite. He pulls the raccoon close to himself. It's prickly against his skin and it smells like dust and funnel cake grease, and he feels really silly holding it, but he doesn't know what else to do so he keeps it.
"What are you going to call it?" Brendon asks him fuzzily. "You should name it something."
"I don't know," Ryan says, pressing his cheek to the pillow, thoughtful, content. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" He squeezes the raccoon a little, and feels Brendon press tighter against his back, huffing his agreement like a breeze against Ryan's neck.
Title: Hidden In Plain View
Author:
jzbellPairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan wonders if it's obvious or if it looks perfectly platonic, a group of friends hanging out, no one suspecting that two of them are something more.
Disclaimer: Not real.
Warnings: Fluff. Rimming. (What?)
Notes: Endless thanks to
acroamatica and kkpixie for being awesome and doing the most ridiculously last minute beta work ever. <333 DYW Live Free or Die exchange fic for
wayfairing, and also a late birthday present. :DThe bus lumbers around toward the back of the venue, providing ample time for everyone inside it to observe the parking lot of the mall across the street.
"It's--oh my god, it's a carnival!" Brendon's kneeling up on the seat in an instant, leaning toward the window as he grins. "They're totally having a carnival, with rides and everything. Oh, man, we have to check it out."
"It's just a shitty little one," Spencer remarks, craning his neck to see better.
Jon nods his agreement. "Like, the kind of stuff they unfold off trailers. Totally unsafe."
Brendon spins around and drops back to his seat. "Whatever, I don't care, I'm going anyway. You guys can sit around and bitch and not come, but I'm fucking going. And Ryan's coming with me, because Ryan loves me."
Spencer raises an eyebrow at Ryan, smug, and Ryan can practically hear it: he is your responsibility, you know. He almost protests aloud, he's not Brendon's keeper (if anything, that would be Zack's job), just because now he's... he and Brendon are. Something. The something trips him up, though, and before can actually argue everyone's moved on to bickering about the day's schedule and whether funnel cakes are better with powdered sugar or fruit.
The schedule, it turns out, works in Brendon's favor and they've got a good couple hours before soundcheck with nothing at all to do in the meantime. There's another fight about whether there will be too many fans there, but it's decided that anyone who might cause trouble will probably be in line on the other side of the venue, and so Zack ushers them all into a van and they stealthily make their way across to the lot.
Zack does some quick reconnaissance and finds that their theories were mostly correct; this early in the afternoon, the carnival is nothing more than family day, parents with young children whose fingers are sticky from cotton candy as they clutch the handholds of the rickety airplanes and motorcycles chasing each other around in perpetual circles.
"Don't even think about it, Brendon," Spencer says, following Brendon's eyes.
Brendon protests loudly, "Fuck you, I'm not seven, I'm not gonna go on a fucking merry-go-round, okay? God."
"I don't know," Jon says with an easy smile. "Those little racecars look like your kind of thing, maybe."
Brendon flips him off. "Are we going to find a Tilt-A-Whirl or what?"
They pick a direction and start off that way together, Brendon tapping Ryan's waist to make sure he comes along. Brendon scuffs his shoes on the thick black cables as they step over and Ryan lets his own heels scrape across them, too, feeling the grit of dust.
They pass along the row of carnival games and some of the workers holler at them, practiced carnie banter, "three tries for a dollar!" One of the guys winks at Brendon and asks if he wants to win something for his friend, the word tainted with meaning. "Which one?" Brendon shoots back, grinning as he throws an arm around Jon's waist. Ryan feels his cheeks flush though, realizing that he and Brendon had been walking awfully close, knuckles brushing with each stride. He feels weird and wonders if it's obvious or if it looks perfectly platonic, a group of five friends hanging out, no one suspecting that two of them are something more.
And that's basically it, that's the something that's still catching Ryan, making him pause and think, wonder. Everyone who knows has got a different way of thinking about it, a different name for that something more. Spencer, when he has to mention Brendon and Ryan's relationship, he says they're fucking. "No, no, we definitely got that controller before then, we got it way before you and Brendon were fucking." Like that's the only thing that changed, just sex. Ryan thinks it's kind of reductive. Not that there isn't sex or something, because there definitely, definitely is, but there's also definitely more to it than that. Still, he supposes it makes sense that Spencer would see it that way. Whatever Ryan does with Brendon now, whatever they are, whatever it is that makes Brendon walk closer to Ryan than anyone else, that won't erase the years that belonged to Spencer, what they have. They're still Ryan and Spencer, even though there's also a Ryan and Brendon now.
Spencer can get snarky about it, snipping at Brendon if he's being too demonstrative and Ryan's too caught up to pay attention. They bicker a hell of a lot, too, and Ryan knows Spencer still doesn't quite approve, but he doesn't disapprove, either. Spencer's dealing with it. So is Ryan.
Jon says they're together. It sounds so simple when he puts it like that, maybe even simpler than fucking. They're just... together. Ryan kind of likes it, but there's something there that tastes bittersweet, too, and it's not just that it doesn't really feel that simple. It's that saying Brendon and Ryan are together implies there are people who aren't with them, people left out. People like Spencer, and Jon.
Maybe Spencer can deal, but Ryan hates that Jon still feels left out of anything related to the band. It's not that he wants to include him in the fucking (or whatever), but he wishes he could rid Jon of the inclination to exclude himself by definition. Sometimes he thinks Brendon has taken that as personal mission. Ryan's kind of thankful for it.
Brendon has no one word for what they are; he has a ton of them. One minute he'll be singing "You're My Best Friend" into Ryan's neck, like that's it, like that makes perfect sense to him, and the next he'll be quiet, serious, studying Ryan's face and telling him, "I'm glad you let me in."
When Brendon said that, Ryan's first impulse had been to say something ridiculous about how Brendon was already in, he just hadn't known it. But Ryan hadn't said anything, just nodded hotly, glancing up at Jon and Spencer who were sitting on the other side of the lounge, feeling Brendon's fingers trace patterns on the small of his back, hidden from view.
Ryan never really says anything, because he doesn't know what to say. For a lyricist, it seems like he has an awful lot of trouble finding words for things sometimes. Especially Brendon.
It's okay, though. Sometimes Ryan thinks Brendon communicates better with nonverbals anyway, smiling eyes and sure fingers, music. Their little group has to break apart to let a triple-sized stroller pass through, and even though it would have made more sense for Brendon to sidestep to the right, he darts to the left with Ryan, keeping their arms pressed together as if their fingers were intertwined. Brendon grins at him, eyes light, and Ryan swears his palm tickles, phantom fingertips.
The carnival is not that big and it's really only a moment before they get to the big-kid rides.
"Tickets!" Brendon says, pointing to the little booth, breaking the invisible tie with Ryan's hand. "How many should we get?"
Ryan shrugs as Brendon hurries forward; they all know he's not big on rides, and he and Spencer hang back while Jon, Brendon and Zack go buy a string of tickets.
"They're going to go on that upside-down Ferris wheel thing, aren't they?" Spencer asks.
"Probably," Ryan replies. "Hey, didn't we pass a skee-ball thing just over there? You were pretty good at that."
"I always kicked your ass," Spencer says with a big smile.
"Like hell you did."
They're about to turn around but Brendon comes rushing back to them, grabbing Ryan by the wrist and looping his other arm around Spencer's waist. "Tilt-A-Whirl, come on. Don't be fucking pussies."
"Brendon," Spencer protests, looking pointedly at Ryan, as if he expects Ryan to be able to do something. Ryan rolls his eyes.
"Not everyone cares about Tilt-A-Whirls as much as you," Ryan tries, but Brendon, of course, refuses to listen to reason, and herds them both up the stairs, in line right behind two kindergartners. Spencer sighs at Ryan, resigned.
"Two in one, three in the other," the guy taking their tickets grunts at them.
Brendon grabs hold of Zack's shoulders. "Me and Ryan get Zack!" he says, bouncing a little.
Spencer gives them a mournful look. "That's cheating."
Zack nods. "I feel so used."
Jon leads Spencer to a car and Zack and Spencer stretch their hands toward each other, tragic.
Brendon unforgivingly pushes Zack into another car and then slithers into the seat beside him. He beckons for Ryan, grabbing him when he gets close enough and pulling him down on his other side, and Ryan has just a moment to wonder how the weight distribution is going to effect the spin before the ride groans to life.
"Don't lose your hat," Brendon tells him, taking hold of the thin metal loop in their laps.
The track starts to move, causing their cart to sway heavily, then swing back in the other direction. Ryan feels himself pressed against the back of the cart and he watches the others spin on their grooves. They start moving faster and faster, spinning erratically, definitely quicker than any of the other cars, and Ryan feels a rush of nostalgia and something else he can't quite name; he can't help grinning, laughing as the force grips his stomach and pulls him in tight against Brendon, shoulder to knee. Brendon hoots and flings his arms up, nearly dislodging Ryan's cap. Ryan keeps on smiling.
After, as they're climbing unsteadily off, Brendon tries to insist that they have to go again, and then go on the giant slide, and then the spinny thing "with the arms, you know which one" but Zack says they have to prioritize.
Brendon can't decide whether he'd rather go on the Rock-O-Plane or the Gravitron to get his anti-gravity fix, and Ryan starts to wonder if he could slip away unnoticed when Brendon suddenly cuts off. "No, no, wait. Dude, Ferris wheel. Ryan, hey, come on, Ferris wheel."
Spencer raises an eyebrow at them. "Aw," he says dryly, and Brendon flips him off again.
"Fuck you, where's your romantic side?"
"Shut up," Ryan says, but doesn't struggle when Brendon pulls him into a tight, one-armed hug.
"I think--I think I need cotton candy," Brendon decides, "then definitely the Ferris wheel," and Ryan can't help but smile some more, just a little. Brendon turns around, spinning Ryan with him, looking for the trailer selling it. Ryan catches Spencer touching Zack's elbow.
"Hey, is that a dunk tank?" he asks.
"Oh, shit," Jon says, "There's a clown in it. I bet he's heckling people. Come on, Zack, we have to!"
Zack glances at Brendon and Ryan and pauses to consider, always on the job, security guard first, friend an increasingly close second, but then shrugs.
"Keep an eye on him, dude," Zack says to Ryan, "and call me if anything--"
"Oh!" Brendon exclaims, interrupting, finally spotting the stand he'd been looking for. He smiles at Zack. "Yeah, yeah, we know. We'll be fine. Go dunk a mime or whatever."
"Check back here in twenty minutes!" Zack calls, but Brendon's already weaving his way back through the crowd, dragging Ryan with him.
They pass a couple carnival games again and Brendon completely ignores them this time. Some people might assume Brendon doesn't have the patience for them, but Ryan knows that's not entirely true, it's more like the wisdom not to throw effort after foolishness. Brendon only pushes when he knows it'll be worth it in the end.
Brendon gets his cotton candy, immediately digging into the bag and ripping off a big, fluffy strip to press into his mouth, jaw working as the sugar melts on his tongue. He offers some to Ryan, expression serious, and Ryan's pretty sure Brendon would be insulted if he refused; he doesn't really want to anyway. He licks his tongue out, drawing some of the sugar back into his mouth and Brendon grins at him, obviously quite content with the world at the moment.
The Ferris wheel is easy to find. It's not really huge but it still towers over most everything else at the carnival, and Brendon spins his bag of cotton candy closed as they approach.
"Hey, how much do you think I'd have to pay to get him to stop it when we're at the top?" Brendon asks Ryan lightly. "You think he gets that a lot? People asking him to do that? So they can have a perfect moment, to like, propose or some shit?" Brendon's eyes are softer than his words, and Ryan shrugs, feeling warm on the back of his neck and in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't know," he says carefully. "Maybe he's not allowed. Like, maybe they've got a policy or something. They can't have everyone wanting it stopped at the top."
"Yeah, but everyone's got a price. And if you wanted it bad enough, I think you'd be willing to pay his."
"Pay an ungodly amount of money just so you can have sixty seconds to pop the question a hundred feet up above a mall parking lot?" Ryan's smiling, though, even as he argues, and he knows Brendon knows his heart isn't in the protestations. They both know Ryan appreciates a big gesture.
"Well, I mean, obviously it would be better if it was dark," Brendon's saying, smirking, and they're already climbing the stairs and Brendon has to dig in his pockets for more tickets.
The seat's wide enough to hold maybe three or four people their size, but Brendon presses close to him anyway, hips flush as the worker swings the bar closed. Ryan feels the heat from Brendon's body bleed into his own, all the way across his groin, sparklingly pleasant.
Watching the guy work the grease-caked levers, Ryan feels himself lifted upward, the motion swift, and he looks down, watching the platform and the people sink away from them. Ryan's not sure what to focus on: the long spokes of the Ferris wheel in front of him, the small spread below, the venue across the street... maybe Brendon as he cranes his neck to look over the side.
When they reach the top and everything in front of them disappears, Ryan feels a strange, simple thrill in his stomach, and closes his eyes on the expanse in front of him, feeling the rush as they drop down. He opens them again just a second later and everything seems to be moving faster at ground level, and they sail past with startling ease.
The second time as they go up, the wheel slows, stopping when their car is right at the top. Brendon laughs with delight and Ryan gives him an accusing look. "Brendon," he says.
"Oh my god, I swear I didn't! How could I, you were right beside me the whole time!" He's still grinning, though, eyes dancing as he turns to look at Ryan. "So how about it, Ross?" He leans closer, and Ryan can see blue from the cotton candy in the lines of his lips. "Marry me?"
"Shut the fuck up," Ryan tells him, blushing despite himself.
"Ryan, I'm serious!" Brendon says, pulling his face into a disturbingly convincing pout. "We could do it at home, one of those places on the Strip--"
"I don't think, like. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's not even legal--"
"--with an Elvis impersonator. What do you think, you want Elvis?" Brendon tilts his head, humming a bar, then starts singing, "wise men say 'only fools rush in'--"
"God, Brendon," Ryan says weakly, but he doesn't have the strength nor heart to struggle when Brendon slides his hand across his shoulders.
"But I can't help--"
Brendon reaches up with his other hand, fingers to Ryan's jaw, eyes intent as he turns Ryan's face in closer, close enough for their lips to brush.
"Brendon," Ryan mumbles, "don't, someone--"
Smiling against Ryan's mouth, Brendon whispers, "Ryan, look. No one can see us. We're at the very top."
Ryan turns his head, almost catching Brendon with the brim of his cap, Brendon's fingers sliding along his neck. He tries to see behind their seat and realizes that Brendon was right, there's nothing but open air in back of them; the same in the front, when Ryan shifts his gaze to check. Off to the sides, back on the ground someone might be able to see, but they'd have to know what to look for--
Brendon kisses him again and it's gentle, especially by Brendon's standards, and Ryan parts his lips and kisses back harder, like he has to compensate. Brendon's fingers tighten slightly on his neck, pleased, holding him still, and Ryan feels the wind in his hair and the angle of Brendon's mouth, cotton candy sweet, and it's so perfect that for a second he forgets everything else entirely.
He isn't expecting it when the ride lurches to motion. He draws back sharply, even more surprised when he doesn't get very far, held fast in Brendon's grip, and he curses into Brendon's mouth. Brendon chuckles and drops his hand, allowing Ryan to settle back against the rest, blinking, flushed.
He bites his lip and watches the ground surge closer and then race by.
"Hey," Brendon says, speaking right in his ear so his voice doesn't get lost in the wind, "hey, is that a fun house? That black thing--oh, shit, it is. We should... dude, I could jerk you off in there, you know those things are like a wannabe tunnel of love anyway, for like, making out and handjobs."
"Fucking creepy tunnel of love maybe."
"So you want to?" He pulls his hand off Ryan's shoulder and slides it over his thigh, up.
Ryan squirms, trying to ignore the heat that settles between his legs, and pokes at Brendon's wrist. "The fun house? No fucking way." Brendon pouts at him but his eyes are dark, serious, and Ryan feels his stomach clench and tries to blame it on the rush of gravity from the ride. Without meaning to, he adds, "Later, okay?"
Brendon smiles and lets Ryan brush his hand away, fingertips lingering just a little. Ryan blames the prickle at the nape of his neck on the ride.
It's still strange, Ryan thinks, his throat going a little dry as Brendon slinks closer on the stage. It's strange because he knows what it looks like: scripted, fake, predictable. Brendon doesn't really act any different from how he always acted, on stage and off. The heated looks, the touches, the lips on Ryan's cheek. The elements were all there before, they had been for a long time, even before they pulled them together with the running narrative of the stage show.
Brendon steps so close that Ryan's knuckles brush the buttons on his costume. Brendon's switched on, in character, reciting the words Ryan fed him with perfect practiced flamboyance and Ryan angles toward him, bracing.
He knows what it looks like, but it feels so different now, feels like something else entirely. That something again. Brendon's looking at him, eyes dark and intent, fingers slipping around his neck, and for a split second Ryan can almost feel the wind at his hairline, nothing but Brendon, exactly the same. He breathes, parting his lips, inviting, daring, and Brendon almost doesn't hesitate before turning Ryan away, hand twitching on his jaw.
Ryan feels warm, hot lights and poor ventilation; he raises his chin, tamping down the flare of arousal in his stomach.
Later, Brendon clings to Ryan's knees, looking up at him with shining eyes as he wails something about marriage. Ryan leans down and pets Brendon's head, and they share a smirk, cotton candy and secrets in the wide-open, before Brendon bobs back to his feet.
Instead of showering at the venue, they pile into the van and head straight to the hotel. The trip is only a few blocks and they mostly sit in sticky silence, Brendon occasionally humming strains of something that might be "Viva Las Vegas" or Hanson, Ryan can't quite tell. His mind is racing and his body's thrumming, overheated, a little, and Brendon's practically steaming, sitting with his thigh flush against Ryan's despite the heat, bobbing in time with the rhythms echoing in his head.
Everyone exchanges grins and goodnights in the hallway, and when they're in their room, Ryan lets Brendon have the bathroom first without question. He drops his bag and flips open his Sidekick, checking to see if Pete replied to his last text.
The curtain's open and even if Ryan hadn't been paying attention to the numbers in the elevator he'd know they were pretty high up from the way most of the buildings look on the horizon, small and shorter than they should, thrown off by the perspective of the hotel. Ryan steps closer, and then realizes he can make out the carnival, diagonally below. It's glowing like a Christmas tree, bright colors and blinking lights, and Ryan stands and watches the Ferris wheel turning, thinking of the people on it, momentarily invisible to the crowd below.
He's still standing in front of the window when Brendon comes out of the bathroom, smelling of High Endurance and folding a towel around his waist.
"Hey," Brendon says, giving his head a shake and splattering the television and mirror with droplets of water.
"The maid's gonna love you," Ryan drawls.
"I'll tip her," Brendon says. "What's out there?" He steps up behind Ryan, damp hands resting on his hips as he peers over his shoulder. "Oh."
"You can see the carnival from here," Ryan says anyway.
"Yeah, that's awesome. It looks like a model or something, like a--a flea circus or whatever."
Ryan's smile breaks out and he shakes his head. He takes a breath, feeling Brendon's hands heating up his hipbones, clammy.
As they're watching, the lights on the Ferris wheel suddenly stop, and Ryan can feel Brendon grin.
"Fifty bucks," Brendon says, and Ryan twists a little, looking down at his shoulder, trying to see Brendon's face.
"What?"
"I bet the guy'd stop it for fifty bucks. I mean."
"What?" Ryan repeats.
"I'm just saying! He probably doesn't make much being a carnie, so you know, open to persuasion. But there are rules, and. Twenty wouldn't do it, that's kind of an insult, and a hundred's too much--unless maybe you really, really wanted that moment and were super paranoid or something."
"You've thought this through." Clearly he had. If Ryan hadn't been standing side-by-side with Brendon the entire time, he would have thought Brendon had slipped the guy a fifty. Hell, maybe he had anyway. Sleight of hand, something. Ryan feels his neck flush a little.
"Mm." Brendon shrugs, hand teasing lower, and yeah, that's it, that's part of it, the low thrill in Ryan's stomach, everything lurking just below the surface. Nothing had changed and everything had changed and this, this is the something, the everything.
Brendon smashes his nose against Ryan's shoulder. "You feel hot. Sweaty?"
"Mm, kinda."
"Dirty boy. Go shower."
Obedient, Ryan shrugs out of Brendon's grip. "You going to sleep?" he asks, and Brendon leers at him in reply.
Biting his lip, Ryan heads to the bathroom. Once under the spray, he feels kind of obligated to take his time; he doesn't know when he'll see another real shower. Then he thinks of Brendon, half-naked and casting him that look, a day spent on edge, partially obscured promises, the real bed, and hell, he doesn't know when he'll see another one of those, either. They spend so much time hiding in bunks, squeezed in tight, lying together in the bus lounge, Brendon pressed hard against his back, Ryan wondering if Jon and Spencer can tell.
He turns the water off and climbs out, toweling off quickly and opening the door. It's kind of exciting, still, not having to bother with clothes at times like this, walking out of the bathroom holding a towel around his waist, expectant. It's almost awkward; it probably would be if it were anyone but Brendon. But it's Brendon, and it's okay. They both expect the same thing.
Brendon's sitting on the bed by the window, hunched over his phone, his own towel still tucked around his lap.
"Hey," Ryan says, and Brendon looks up, frown of concentration melting away. "Hey," he answers, smile bright and sudden, setting the Sidekick on the nightstand. "You all clean now?"
"Mm-hm." Ryan crosses over and kneels on the bed, on the side closest to Brendon, and Brendon tugs on the towel, pulling it from Ryan's grip and throwing it away like it's offensive. He skirts his hand around Ryan's hip to the small of his back. He clambers up onto his knees, too, reeling Ryan in and angling his head up for a kiss. Ryan slips an arm around his shoulders; Brendon's skin is cool from the fan but Ryan knows it won't take much to warm him up, hot blood rushing to the surface. Brendon's body runs a couple degrees hotter than everyone else's, it sometimes seems.
"I don't know," Brendon murmurs. "I don't--I think maybe I'd better check, just to make sure."
Ryan almost asks, "check what?" but then Brendon's mouth is dragging down the side of his neck, open and wet, tongue flicking out to taste his shoulder, and Ryan shivers a little, "Oh."
Brendon hums his response against Ryan's collarbone.
From there, he works his way slowly down, lips parted, pressing moist kisses to Ryan's skin, sucking gently, then harder, nosing down his sternum and scraping his teeth over a nipple. Ryan catches his breath, whimpering slightly, unable to help it. Brendon turns his head, licking the other nipple with a smile, and Ryan arches into it, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.
Carefully, not wanting to interrupt Brendon's work, he shifts, moving to stretch out on the bed, and Brendon purrs his assent, keeping one hand on his hip and then following him down.
Brendon dips down and nuzzles at Ryan's cock, tongue barely licking out, and Ryan tilts his hips up just a little, trying to swallow the sounds Brendon's causing him to make. Brendon bites at the inside of his thigh and when Ryan jerks against him, he pulls back and smirks. He slips his fingers under Ryan's thighs, pushing them up, pressing them to his chest, folding him right in half. He noses underneath Ryan's balls and drops his hands, trusting Ryan to hold the position. Ryan hooks his fingers behind his knees and tries to keep breathing.
Brendon spreads him apart with his hands and Ryan can feel a hot puff of air before Brendon's tongue is there, lapping flat against his hole. Brendon keeps licking, just on the outside, and Ryan squirms on the bed, toes curling with want. When Brendon pulls back, he's breathing hard, panting a little before darting down to lick again, quick.
"God," Ryan grunts, "I--"
But his thought's interrupted when Brendon's tongue finally pushes through the tight ring, inside. Ryan twitches under him and Brendon hums, low, a warning. Ryan bites his lip, whining. Brendon's mouth is on him, kissing him, tongue stroking in and out, and just when Ryan thinks he can't take anymore, Brendon moves his hand and presses the tip of his finger into his ass.
"Brendon," Ryan gasps, arching. He drops a hand from his own leg, straining to keep it raised as he pushes his fingers into Brendon's hair, gripping tightly. Brendon lifts his head, pulls his hand away, and grabs Ryan's wrist. Ryan freezes for a second and then cranes his neck, trying to see as Brendon brings Ryan's hand to his lips, sucks two fingers into his hot mouth. Ryan feels Brendon's tongue rough against them and he shudders hard. Brendon draws them out with a wet smack and then guides them down, lower, setting one fingertip against Ryan's own entrance.
"Here," Brendon says, voice husky. He applies a little more pressure and Ryan relaxes, lets Brendon ease his finger in. Ryan leaves it in place, flexing a little, as Brendon wraps his fingers around his cock, pointing it down and flicking his tongue under the head, sucking around it. Ryan groans. He twists his wrist, working a second finger inside himself with the first, and Brendon raises his head when he notices, grinning. He squeezes the base of Ryan's cock and Ryan's breath hitches.
"You want to come?" Brendon asks him, voice rough like it never is on stage, hot and smoky just for Ryan, and Ryan can't even decide whether to shake his head or nod, just knows he wants Brendon, more, all of him.
"Fuck--" he tries, "fuck me."
"Yeah," Brendon says, sitting up a little. Ryan lets his leg drop some but doesn't pull his fingers out, pushing into himself in earnest now, in preparation. "Okay."
Brendon sits up, reaching past Ryan's body to grab the lotion from the nightstand, squeezing some into his hand. Ryan watches him slick up his cock, a practiced gesture, intimate, and when Brendon catches him watching he grins. He leans down and kisses him, deep, and Ryan can taste himself heavy on Brendon's tongue. "God," he whispers, and then chokes a little when he feels Brendon's grip his wrist, tugging his hand from between his legs, fingers sliding out.
Brendon lines himself up, fitting his cock carefully against Ryan's entrance before rocking forward, sinking himself inside.
Ryan rolls up to meet him, wrapping his legs around Brendon's waist, tight. Brendon grinds forward, barely pulling out at all before thrusting back in.
Leaning his weight on one hand, Brendon twists the other into Ryan's hair, tugging, baring Ryan's throat. Ryan tips his head back for him, arching, groaning when he feels Brendon's teeth on his neck.
"Shit, don't--"
"No one'll know," Brendon mutters, biting harder, closing his lips and sucking. Ryan moans.
He knows, somewhere, deep down that Brendon's right, it doesn't matter, people see what they want and believe what they want. It sure as hell doesn't matter how other people think of it, either, what they call it. Not now, not with Brendon so close, dragging so perfectly inside him.
Ryan slips his hand down his body, clutching at his dick, but Brendon lets go of his hair all of a sudden and shoves his hand away. "Let me," he says, breathless. "I owe you a handjob, remember?"
Ryan's can barely recall Brendon's earlier suggestion and his own promise of "later," but he's not about to protest when Brendon's hand closes around him, stroking firm, hot, still pumping inside, so thick--
He comes, hard, clenching tight around Brendon and gasping, twisting in his grip. Brendon strokes him through it until he loses his grasp, letting go with a shudder, jerking up inside Ryan. He waits a beat, several, before pulling out, groaning, "Fuck."
They lie side by side in bed, panting until their breaths slow. Brendon shifts closer, twining their fingers together, lifting their hands as if he's examining them, squinting a little bit.
"Oh!" he says suddenly, dropping Ryan's hand. "Shit, I almost forgot, I got something for you!"
"For me?" Ryan asks, sluggish, too satisfied to think very hard.
But Brendon's up out of bed in a flash, scrambling to his bag and then back, presenting Ryan with... something. Ryan takes it carefully; it appears to be a violent pink raccoon. It's small and firm under Ryan's fingers, cheap fabric and bad stuffing, and he asks, "Did you--?"
Brendon ducks his head, laughing. "Nah. I mean, I wish, but. Zack won it, and Spence didn't want it, and so he gave it to me." He twists himself back under the covers, snuggling up next to Ryan. "You can tell everyone I won it for you, if you want. Zack won't mind." He reaches across Ryan to turn off the lamp, leaving his hand on Ryan's hip.
"Ah, okay," Ryan says, too tired for the sarcasm to have quite its usual bite. He pulls the raccoon close to himself. It's prickly against his skin and it smells like dust and funnel cake grease, and he feels really silly holding it, but he doesn't know what else to do so he keeps it.
"What are you going to call it?" Brendon asks him fuzzily. "You should name it something."
"I don't know," Ryan says, pressing his cheek to the pillow, thoughtful, content. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" He squeezes the raccoon a little, and feels Brendon press tighter against his back, huffing his agreement like a breeze against Ryan's neck.
