orgasms and cheap thrills (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sunday_porch) wrote,@ 2008-02-25 02:15:00 |
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Rose Is a Four-Letter Word
Title: Rose Is a Four-Letter Word
Author:jzbell
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan (Ryan/Brent, Ryan/Spencer, Ryan/Pete, Ryan/Jon, Ryan/Jon/Spencer, Jon/Spencer)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan's allergic to roses. Well, maybe "allergic" is the wrong word for it.
Disclaimer: This is not true; I'm not implying that it is. For entertainment purposes only. Not intended for individual resale. Et cetera.
Notes: Fordisarm_d's sex pollen pornomeme. I figured someone had to take the opportunity to write slutty!Ryan. Title via Googlism. ♥s to acroamatica, once again, for the beta (and the superhuman turnaround time).
Spencer first starts to suspect something when Ryan wears a rose boutonniere to his senior prom, and ends up having sex with Brent in his car. It's Brent who tells him about it, after.
"Dude, Ryan attacked me," he says into the phone, sounding honestly shaken. Spencer thinks the idea of Ryan attacking Brent is kind of absurd, but he manages to pass his initial snort of laughter off as a cough. He hopes.
"Ryan did what now?" Spencer asks after inhaling properly.
"He--we were in his car, and we just dropped the girls off, and he just, like. Pulled over in this parking lot and climbed on top of me."
It's pretty much at this point that Spencer stops wanting to laugh.
"Spence, I. Dude, I think I fucked him, like maybe by accident. I don't. I don't even know."
After a moment of stunned silence, Spencer and Brent decide that someone probably spiked the punch at the dance. They don't talk about it again.
*
Spencer does, however, bring it up to Ryan. Ryan, as Spencer kind of figured, says he didn't even drink the punch, because he was worried someone might have spiked it. And he remembers the whole thing.
"I don't know what happened, Spence. I just--I needed it. All night, it kept getting worse, I just felt wrong, like, hollow, so empty that it just ached, and somehow I knew that was the only thing that would make it better."
Spencer knows Ryan well enough not to actually exclaim "a dick in your ass would make it better?!" He definitely thinks it, first, but then forces himself to ask, "did it work?" instead.
Ryan shrugs. "A little. I really wanted more, but Brent was so freaked out."
"Are you better now?" Spencer asks, and really, the irritated look Ryan cuts him is pretty much answer enough.
"Yes, Spencer, I am over the urge to have my friends fuck me in the front seat of my car, thank you."
"Okay, God. I was just checking."
*
"Spencer, I think you need to fuck me," Ryan says, and his voice is low and flat and it takes Spencer a moment to even register the actual words.
"You. What?" he asks, pausing their video game and shifting on his bed so he can look at Ryan. Ryan's staring at him with a sharp, predatory glint in his eyes, breathing shallow. Spencer thinks he can see Ryan pushing his hips harder into the mattress.
"I need it, Spence. I need you," he says, almost entirely devoid of inflection. "Inside, all the way. I want--it's like before, with Brent, fuck. I can't stand this, please."
Spencer blinks at him. Ryan squirms.
"Please."
*
Really, it's not much different than the time they tried kissing each other to see what it was like, or when they gave each other hand jobs so they could see how it felt different when someone else got you off. It's kind of just like that, really, except that Spencer's propped against his headboard, a pillow barely cushioning his shoulderblades, and Ryan is bouncing in his lap.
"You sure you don't want to lay down?" Spencer pants.
Ryan grunts, circling his hips, and if Spencer's honest, it does feel pretty awesome, Ryan all hot and tight around him, muscles clenching as he works his hips. "Maybe, in a minute," Ryan manages to answer. He reaches down, fists his cock, and comes all over Spencer's chest. He does slow down, then, but doesn't stop moving, grinding into Spencer's lap. Spencer pushes up to meet him.
"Jesus, Ryan, you just came, don't you want--"
"No, feels so good, don't stop, please, please."
It's only when Spencer walks Ryan to the door, three hours later, that he notices the fresh bouquet of flowers his mother left on the kitchen table.
*
His suspicions are confirmed when one of his sisters brings home a miniature rosebush in a pot as a school project and sets it on the windowsill.
He's just glad he and Ryan are good enough friends that one day he can fuck Ryan on his hands and knees on his bed while Ryan leans back into it and begs for more, and then they can play Mario Kart together the next day like nothing's weird at all.
"I think it's roses," Spencer tells him when they've stopped for breath between rounds. "You must be allergic, or something."
Ryan looks thoughtful as he swipes his come off Spencer's stomach and licks it off his fingers. "That makes sense, I suppose."
Spencer throws the rosebush away. He tells his sister the dogs got to it, and buys her African violets instead.
*
Spencer can actually smell them when they get to the condo Pete's renting in L.A. A wrecked bouquet of roses, decaying in the kitchen trash can.
Oh, shit, he thinks. "Pete, what's with the roses?" he asks.
"Dude, don't even ask."
Ryan's hovering around Pete's elbow, and Pete grins at him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Spencer actually sees Ryan shiver at the contact, eyes slipping closed for a bare second.
Spencer wonders if it's mean to leave the nymphomaniac alone with the object of his more coherent masturbatory fantasies, but. Pete's a big boy, he can fend Ryan off. And if he doesn't want to, well, Spencer's not going to build a reputation as a cockblocker.
He just hadn't planned on Brendon hearing them.
*
"What?!" Brendon asks Spencer, eyes and mouth round and open.
"Yeah, okay. Maybe 'allergy' isn't quite the right word for it."
*
Brendon starts staying late at work and after a couple weeks, he buys Ryan a dozen roses.
*
Brendon shows up to practice the next day looking absolutely wrecked, and absolutely ecstatic.
Spencer wonders if Brendon was a virgin. He glances at Ryan, moving slow and liquid, almost like some of the rose dust is still in his system, except instead of hunger in his eyes, it's just a satisfied smile across his face.
Brendon's definitely not a virgin anymore.
Spencer also wonders if this means he can call Brendon next time someone leaves roses lying around his house when he and Ryan are supposed to hang out and Ryan's acting all slutty and needy. It's annoying but it's bound to happen again; living with girls sucks.
*
Sometimes, when Brendon and Ryan get in screaming arguments in Maryland, Brendon sneaks out and buys a single, long-stemmed rose to give to Ryan.
Spencer finds the situation to be kind of fascinating. The gesture would be a little sweet and, you know, romantic, if it weren't for the fact that it guaranteed that Ryan would be in the mood for sex afterward. The one time Spencer's actually in the room when Brendon hands the flower over, Ryan looks conflicted, simultaneously irritated and touched. He fingers the dark red petals gently, and if that isn't enough to melt his heart, the puppy eyes Brendon turns on him usually do the trick.
Besides, Spencer figures, putting in his earphones, don't most guys buy their girlfriends roses with the ulterior motive of trying to get laid?
*
It's not so bad when they start touring. Brendon's too exhausted from setting up, performing, packing up, and driving to even think about surprising Ryan with roses.
Of course, there is the time that Dan picks a bedraggled rose up in the parking lot and sticks it in the van's cup holder, completely oblivious.
The vent blows air right across the bloom toward the boys in the back of the van, and within minutes, Ryan's rocking in his seat, heel of his hand pressed to his groin, whining so low and steady that it sounds like a drone. Brendon chews on his lip and stares at him, looking almost as eager and twitchy as Ryan, and Spencer fakes a bout of diarrhea so they can stop at the next gas station. Ryan spends the rest of the night mumbling that one quickie in the bathroom just isn't enough, but Spencer knows it had taken the edge off, at least. He pats Ryan's arm and turns his iPod up.
*
Brendon can't stop laughing when he sees the samples of their costumes for the headlining tour.
Ryan's glaring. "It's really not funny, whose idea was this?" Brendon holds up his hands and shakes his head, grinning.
Jon looks a little lost but he's smiling too, because really, a vest covered with roses is funny enough by itself. Ryan in a vest covered with roses, though? The irony makes it fucking priceless. Spencer feels kind of bad, and wonders if he should let Jon in on the joke. But then Brendon's playing with his suspenders, and Spencer has to watch to see if he manages to injure himself.
*
It really doesn't bother Spencer that Ryan keeps going to Brendon instead of him. It's actually convenient, because now that they're headlining, fans, by some strange fan-logic, seem to think it's a good idea to bring them flowers on a regular basis, and Spencer knows he doesn't have Brendon's unstoppable energy. Plus, Spencer has to admit Ryan's more pleasant when Brendon's done with him; Spencer enjoys not having to deal with him when he's all wound up and wanting.
Spencer's not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth or whatever.
Besides, his and Ryan's friendship was never meant to be the fucking kind, anyway. Not that he wouldn't do it again if the situation called for it, but it really is more of a hassle than anything. Brendon does a truly admirable job keeping up, all on his own.
*
"What's the deal with them?" Jon finally asks one night after watching Ryan lead Brendon straight to the bunks, fingers clenched in his pink hood. "I mean, well, obviously," and from his vague hand gesture, Spencer figures he's referring to the time or two that he's gone looking for something in the back lounge to find Brendon and Ryan in some sort of complicated tangle of limbs, with Ryan moaning "deeper, Brendon, come on, that's so good, fuck," and Brendon answering with grunted "fuck, yeah" and a particularly forceful thrust.
"It's just that some nights it seems way worse," Jon finishes.
He closes the fridge with his hip and Spencer glances at the pile of carnations and roses on the counter; tonight had been way worse. He hears a thump and a curse come from the bunks. "It's the roses," Spencer says finally. "They kind of seriously make Ryan crazy."
"Like catnip?" Jon asks.
"Yeah, sure, if catnip makes cats roll over and yowl until something comes along and fucks them. Hard."
"Oh," Jon says. "Like sex kitten catnip. Okay." He twists the cap off his bottle of beer.
Jon sips while Spencer flips through his magazine, companionably quiet, listening to Ryan begging in the bunks.
*
At the last show in Chicago, Brendon hides an actual rose blossom among the silk and lace flowers on Ryan's vest. By the time they get to Lying, Spencer is honestly worried Ryan's going to cream his pants right on stage.
When they finally get done, Ryan tucks his face into Brendon's neck, smearing his makeup on Brendon's damp skin. "You asshole," he mumbles, "you better be planning on fucking me right the fuck now, oh my God."
Spencer catches Brendon's eye. "Don't do that again," he warns.
Brendon gives him a wide-eyed, innocent look. Ryan thrusts against Brendon's hip.
"Don't worry about it," Jon says, slinging a sweaty arm around Spencer's shoulders. "I'm sure no one noticed."
*
In Europe, a photographer makes the mistake of handing Brendon a rose to pose with. Brendon quirks an eyebrow, deliberately raising the rose to his shoulder as Ryan steps up close behind him. "Brendon," Ryan hisses as soon as he notices the flower. "Goddammit."
Spencer sighs.
By the time the photographer moves them to another part of the set, Ryan's licking his lips, eyes dark and hooded as he watches Brendon, only looking up when the photographer calls his name. He leans his shoulders back against the wall and takes a shaky breath, body rolling and hips jutting out, head turned toward the camera, tension visible in all his limbs.
"Those are going to be some good pictures," Brendon says, after, smirking. Ryan lunges for him and Spencer barely manages to grab him by the arm, glaring at Brendon until he trots on ahead toward the dressing room.
"He enjoys torturing me," Ryan whines, leaning into Spencer's shoulder and breathing.
"He's Brendon, I don't think he knows any better," Spencer says, and he means it. He's absolutely certain that somewhere in there, Brendon's intentions are pure; it's written all over his face every time he looks at Ryan that he's completely infatuated. Spencer suspects Brendon can't believe Ryan would actually want to be with him when he wasn't all horned up and needing. Spencer has the advantage of knowing Ryan, and knowing that Brendon's wrong.
Spencer gets them to the door and pulls it open so Ryan can rush inside.
*
Spencer notices fewer and fewer roses lying around as Nothing Rhymes With Circus wears on. He doesn't want to bring it up, but it is kind of worrisome.
Turns out that Ryan brings it up for him. Spencer's kind of relieved that they're going to get it out of the way; he's also relieved Ryan still wants to talk to him about things at all, although "having sex with Brendon" wouldn't have been at the top of his list of "best friend in the whole world type of talk" topics.
"Has Brendon always been this fucking incompetent?"
"Define 'always,'" Spencer replies, and Ryan snorts enough that Spencer gives himself a point for it.
"He's just so fucking dense. It almost feels like he's taking advantage of me, Spence, and the worst part is he wouldn't even have to. He doesn't have to trick me into sleeping with him, why hasn't he realized that? I can't control it when it's like that, and I can't stand that, but he keeps fucking doing it anyway."
Spencer hmms, and Ryan sighs.
"The answer to your question is yes," Spencer says, after a minute. "Brendon's always been this incompetent." Ryan leans into him, surprisingly solid against his shoulder. "But I think he'll figure it out sooner or later."
*
Things are pretty tense between Brendon and Ryan when they head up to the cabin, and it makes working stupidly difficult. The music definitely isn't flowing like it should, and they spend most of their time bickering about the most useless shit.
One day, Spencer sends Brendon on a food run, because Brendon is starting to exhibit clear signs of going stir crazy. Just when Spencer's settling down with his documentary, though, the doorbell rings. It's a delivery guy from a florist.
Pete sent them a gigantic bouquet of roses. Pete is either a genius, or a complete asshole.
It's not long at all before Ryan's sprawled across the couch, writhing and whining. He crawls closer to Spencer. "Spence, Spence," he says, voice still deceptively low and even. "Fuck me? I want you inside me."
From the chair, Jon raises an eyebrow at Spencer.
"Ryan, what about Brendon?"
Ryan makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "Brendon's not here, and I need him--it, so bad."
"Jon?" Spencer asks, and Ryan turns to him.
"What?" Jon asks.
"You want to fuck him? He's not going to shut up until someone does."
"I don't. Um." He blinks, but then shrugs. "Brendon?"
Spencer sighs, and pulls out his phone. "Hey, yeah, how much longer are you going to be? Pete sent us roses and Ryan's about ready to start prowling the cabin for phallic objects, I swear. I think his tolerance has gone down or something. What, why? Because Pete's a douche, I don't know. Look, can we just. Can Jon fuck him until you get back?"
Ryan swings a leg across Spencer's lap and Spencer grunts. "Because I'm busy," Spencer tells Brendon, craning his neck to see the TV around Ryan. He hates having to stop movies fifteen minutes in, especially his documentaries; you forget all the important stuff.
"You don't have to do anything," Ryan murmurs, leaning close and grinding down. "I'll do all the hard work, I promise."
"Okay, yeah. See you." Spencer thumbs his phone off, grabs Ryan by the waist and pushes him toward Jon. "He's all yours."
"Here?" Jon asks. Ryan climbs on top of him.
"Guess so," Spencer says.
*
Jon has Ryan on his knees with his arms braced on the chair, and he's thrusting in hard enough that the wooden feet are scooting along the carpeting. Spencer's just paused his movie, planning to head to the kitchen for soda, but Ryan grabs his thigh, stopping him in his tracks.
"You too," he pants, "please, my mouth."
"Are you serious?" Spencer can't help asking.
"Yes, want to taste you," Ryan grunts. Spencer checks his phone for the time and then sighs, going for his belt.
Jon wrestles Ryan away from the chair and Spencer kneels in front of him. Ryan goes for his cock immediately, balancing on one hand while he grips the base with the other, angling Spencer's cock between his lips, the force of Jon's thrusts moving his mouth farther and farther down.
Ryan's sucking hard, cheeks caved in, tongue curling around Spencer's cock, and Spencer can feel it already, prickling up his spine, throbbing warmly low in his belly. Ryan hadn't actually done this for him before, he was too busy whining to be fucked; if Spencer's to judge from how good this feels, Ryan's been getting plenty of practice with Brendon, though.
Spencer grunts, feeling himself getting close, and he hears Jon's breathing start to get shallower, too.
It would figure that that's when the door opens.
*
Ryan drops Spencer's cock so fast you'd think it was burning his tongue. "Brendon," he says, immediately pulling off Jon's cock and stumbling to his feet, rushing for the entryway.
"Ow, my ego," Jon says.
"Ow, my blueballs," Spencer says.
Jon turns back to him. "Well, I can help you with that one," he offers, reaching down, and his fingers are big and warm and his grip is solid, and so Spencer just edges closer, close enough that he can reach Jon's dick, too.
It feels an awful lot like the times he and Ryan jerked each other off, the newness of someone else's hand but the casual sense of doing a favor for a friend. That's cool, Spencer can handle that.
They both turn to look at Brendon fucking Ryan against the wall, clothes still on but pants open as he pushes in, kissing the back of his neck and repeating, "Ryan, Ryan."
"Brendon," Ryan gasps in response, "Brendon, thank you, oh, God."
Jon twists his wrist and Spencer comes, hips jerking; he keeps moving his own hand until Jon follows suit.
"For what it's worth, I'm sure you're an awesome fuck," Spencer murmurs, and then grins. "There. Does your ego feel better now?"
*
"Dude, I thought you got rid of the flowers," Jon asks.
"I did," Spencer replies. "I threw them off the cliff myself, two days ago."
"Then why are Brendon and Ryan still locked in their room?"
Spencer smiles, a little, despite himself. "Guess Brendon figured it out."
Title: Rose Is a Four-Letter Word
Author:
jzbellPairing: Brendon/Ryan (Ryan/Brent, Ryan/Spencer, Ryan/Pete, Ryan/Jon, Ryan/Jon/Spencer, Jon/Spencer)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ryan's allergic to roses. Well, maybe "allergic" is the wrong word for it.
Disclaimer: This is not true; I'm not implying that it is. For entertainment purposes only. Not intended for individual resale. Et cetera.
Notes: For
disarm_d's sex pollen pornomeme. I figured someone had to take the opportunity to write slutty!Ryan. Title via Googlism. ♥s to acroamatica, once again, for the beta (and the superhuman turnaround time).Spencer first starts to suspect something when Ryan wears a rose boutonniere to his senior prom, and ends up having sex with Brent in his car. It's Brent who tells him about it, after.
"Dude, Ryan attacked me," he says into the phone, sounding honestly shaken. Spencer thinks the idea of Ryan attacking Brent is kind of absurd, but he manages to pass his initial snort of laughter off as a cough. He hopes.
"Ryan did what now?" Spencer asks after inhaling properly.
"He--we were in his car, and we just dropped the girls off, and he just, like. Pulled over in this parking lot and climbed on top of me."
It's pretty much at this point that Spencer stops wanting to laugh.
"Spence, I. Dude, I think I fucked him, like maybe by accident. I don't. I don't even know."
After a moment of stunned silence, Spencer and Brent decide that someone probably spiked the punch at the dance. They don't talk about it again.
*
Spencer does, however, bring it up to Ryan. Ryan, as Spencer kind of figured, says he didn't even drink the punch, because he was worried someone might have spiked it. And he remembers the whole thing.
"I don't know what happened, Spence. I just--I needed it. All night, it kept getting worse, I just felt wrong, like, hollow, so empty that it just ached, and somehow I knew that was the only thing that would make it better."
Spencer knows Ryan well enough not to actually exclaim "a dick in your ass would make it better?!" He definitely thinks it, first, but then forces himself to ask, "did it work?" instead.
Ryan shrugs. "A little. I really wanted more, but Brent was so freaked out."
"Are you better now?" Spencer asks, and really, the irritated look Ryan cuts him is pretty much answer enough.
"Yes, Spencer, I am over the urge to have my friends fuck me in the front seat of my car, thank you."
"Okay, God. I was just checking."
*
"Spencer, I think you need to fuck me," Ryan says, and his voice is low and flat and it takes Spencer a moment to even register the actual words.
"You. What?" he asks, pausing their video game and shifting on his bed so he can look at Ryan. Ryan's staring at him with a sharp, predatory glint in his eyes, breathing shallow. Spencer thinks he can see Ryan pushing his hips harder into the mattress.
"I need it, Spence. I need you," he says, almost entirely devoid of inflection. "Inside, all the way. I want--it's like before, with Brent, fuck. I can't stand this, please."
Spencer blinks at him. Ryan squirms.
"Please."
*
Really, it's not much different than the time they tried kissing each other to see what it was like, or when they gave each other hand jobs so they could see how it felt different when someone else got you off. It's kind of just like that, really, except that Spencer's propped against his headboard, a pillow barely cushioning his shoulderblades, and Ryan is bouncing in his lap.
"You sure you don't want to lay down?" Spencer pants.
Ryan grunts, circling his hips, and if Spencer's honest, it does feel pretty awesome, Ryan all hot and tight around him, muscles clenching as he works his hips. "Maybe, in a minute," Ryan manages to answer. He reaches down, fists his cock, and comes all over Spencer's chest. He does slow down, then, but doesn't stop moving, grinding into Spencer's lap. Spencer pushes up to meet him.
"Jesus, Ryan, you just came, don't you want--"
"No, feels so good, don't stop, please, please."
It's only when Spencer walks Ryan to the door, three hours later, that he notices the fresh bouquet of flowers his mother left on the kitchen table.
*
His suspicions are confirmed when one of his sisters brings home a miniature rosebush in a pot as a school project and sets it on the windowsill.
He's just glad he and Ryan are good enough friends that one day he can fuck Ryan on his hands and knees on his bed while Ryan leans back into it and begs for more, and then they can play Mario Kart together the next day like nothing's weird at all.
"I think it's roses," Spencer tells him when they've stopped for breath between rounds. "You must be allergic, or something."
Ryan looks thoughtful as he swipes his come off Spencer's stomach and licks it off his fingers. "That makes sense, I suppose."
Spencer throws the rosebush away. He tells his sister the dogs got to it, and buys her African violets instead.
*
Spencer can actually smell them when they get to the condo Pete's renting in L.A. A wrecked bouquet of roses, decaying in the kitchen trash can.
Oh, shit, he thinks. "Pete, what's with the roses?" he asks.
"Dude, don't even ask."
Ryan's hovering around Pete's elbow, and Pete grins at him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Spencer actually sees Ryan shiver at the contact, eyes slipping closed for a bare second.
Spencer wonders if it's mean to leave the nymphomaniac alone with the object of his more coherent masturbatory fantasies, but. Pete's a big boy, he can fend Ryan off. And if he doesn't want to, well, Spencer's not going to build a reputation as a cockblocker.
He just hadn't planned on Brendon hearing them.
*
"What?!" Brendon asks Spencer, eyes and mouth round and open.
"Yeah, okay. Maybe 'allergy' isn't quite the right word for it."
*
Brendon starts staying late at work and after a couple weeks, he buys Ryan a dozen roses.
*
Brendon shows up to practice the next day looking absolutely wrecked, and absolutely ecstatic.
Spencer wonders if Brendon was a virgin. He glances at Ryan, moving slow and liquid, almost like some of the rose dust is still in his system, except instead of hunger in his eyes, it's just a satisfied smile across his face.
Brendon's definitely not a virgin anymore.
Spencer also wonders if this means he can call Brendon next time someone leaves roses lying around his house when he and Ryan are supposed to hang out and Ryan's acting all slutty and needy. It's annoying but it's bound to happen again; living with girls sucks.
*
Sometimes, when Brendon and Ryan get in screaming arguments in Maryland, Brendon sneaks out and buys a single, long-stemmed rose to give to Ryan.
Spencer finds the situation to be kind of fascinating. The gesture would be a little sweet and, you know, romantic, if it weren't for the fact that it guaranteed that Ryan would be in the mood for sex afterward. The one time Spencer's actually in the room when Brendon hands the flower over, Ryan looks conflicted, simultaneously irritated and touched. He fingers the dark red petals gently, and if that isn't enough to melt his heart, the puppy eyes Brendon turns on him usually do the trick.
Besides, Spencer figures, putting in his earphones, don't most guys buy their girlfriends roses with the ulterior motive of trying to get laid?
*
It's not so bad when they start touring. Brendon's too exhausted from setting up, performing, packing up, and driving to even think about surprising Ryan with roses.
Of course, there is the time that Dan picks a bedraggled rose up in the parking lot and sticks it in the van's cup holder, completely oblivious.
The vent blows air right across the bloom toward the boys in the back of the van, and within minutes, Ryan's rocking in his seat, heel of his hand pressed to his groin, whining so low and steady that it sounds like a drone. Brendon chews on his lip and stares at him, looking almost as eager and twitchy as Ryan, and Spencer fakes a bout of diarrhea so they can stop at the next gas station. Ryan spends the rest of the night mumbling that one quickie in the bathroom just isn't enough, but Spencer knows it had taken the edge off, at least. He pats Ryan's arm and turns his iPod up.
*
Brendon can't stop laughing when he sees the samples of their costumes for the headlining tour.
Ryan's glaring. "It's really not funny, whose idea was this?" Brendon holds up his hands and shakes his head, grinning.
Jon looks a little lost but he's smiling too, because really, a vest covered with roses is funny enough by itself. Ryan in a vest covered with roses, though? The irony makes it fucking priceless. Spencer feels kind of bad, and wonders if he should let Jon in on the joke. But then Brendon's playing with his suspenders, and Spencer has to watch to see if he manages to injure himself.
*
It really doesn't bother Spencer that Ryan keeps going to Brendon instead of him. It's actually convenient, because now that they're headlining, fans, by some strange fan-logic, seem to think it's a good idea to bring them flowers on a regular basis, and Spencer knows he doesn't have Brendon's unstoppable energy. Plus, Spencer has to admit Ryan's more pleasant when Brendon's done with him; Spencer enjoys not having to deal with him when he's all wound up and wanting.
Spencer's not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth or whatever.
Besides, his and Ryan's friendship was never meant to be the fucking kind, anyway. Not that he wouldn't do it again if the situation called for it, but it really is more of a hassle than anything. Brendon does a truly admirable job keeping up, all on his own.
*
"What's the deal with them?" Jon finally asks one night after watching Ryan lead Brendon straight to the bunks, fingers clenched in his pink hood. "I mean, well, obviously," and from his vague hand gesture, Spencer figures he's referring to the time or two that he's gone looking for something in the back lounge to find Brendon and Ryan in some sort of complicated tangle of limbs, with Ryan moaning "deeper, Brendon, come on, that's so good, fuck," and Brendon answering with grunted "fuck, yeah" and a particularly forceful thrust.
"It's just that some nights it seems way worse," Jon finishes.
He closes the fridge with his hip and Spencer glances at the pile of carnations and roses on the counter; tonight had been way worse. He hears a thump and a curse come from the bunks. "It's the roses," Spencer says finally. "They kind of seriously make Ryan crazy."
"Like catnip?" Jon asks.
"Yeah, sure, if catnip makes cats roll over and yowl until something comes along and fucks them. Hard."
"Oh," Jon says. "Like sex kitten catnip. Okay." He twists the cap off his bottle of beer.
Jon sips while Spencer flips through his magazine, companionably quiet, listening to Ryan begging in the bunks.
*
At the last show in Chicago, Brendon hides an actual rose blossom among the silk and lace flowers on Ryan's vest. By the time they get to Lying, Spencer is honestly worried Ryan's going to cream his pants right on stage.
When they finally get done, Ryan tucks his face into Brendon's neck, smearing his makeup on Brendon's damp skin. "You asshole," he mumbles, "you better be planning on fucking me right the fuck now, oh my God."
Spencer catches Brendon's eye. "Don't do that again," he warns.
Brendon gives him a wide-eyed, innocent look. Ryan thrusts against Brendon's hip.
"Don't worry about it," Jon says, slinging a sweaty arm around Spencer's shoulders. "I'm sure no one noticed."
*
In Europe, a photographer makes the mistake of handing Brendon a rose to pose with. Brendon quirks an eyebrow, deliberately raising the rose to his shoulder as Ryan steps up close behind him. "Brendon," Ryan hisses as soon as he notices the flower. "Goddammit."
Spencer sighs.
By the time the photographer moves them to another part of the set, Ryan's licking his lips, eyes dark and hooded as he watches Brendon, only looking up when the photographer calls his name. He leans his shoulders back against the wall and takes a shaky breath, body rolling and hips jutting out, head turned toward the camera, tension visible in all his limbs.
"Those are going to be some good pictures," Brendon says, after, smirking. Ryan lunges for him and Spencer barely manages to grab him by the arm, glaring at Brendon until he trots on ahead toward the dressing room.
"He enjoys torturing me," Ryan whines, leaning into Spencer's shoulder and breathing.
"He's Brendon, I don't think he knows any better," Spencer says, and he means it. He's absolutely certain that somewhere in there, Brendon's intentions are pure; it's written all over his face every time he looks at Ryan that he's completely infatuated. Spencer suspects Brendon can't believe Ryan would actually want to be with him when he wasn't all horned up and needing. Spencer has the advantage of knowing Ryan, and knowing that Brendon's wrong.
Spencer gets them to the door and pulls it open so Ryan can rush inside.
*
Spencer notices fewer and fewer roses lying around as Nothing Rhymes With Circus wears on. He doesn't want to bring it up, but it is kind of worrisome.
Turns out that Ryan brings it up for him. Spencer's kind of relieved that they're going to get it out of the way; he's also relieved Ryan still wants to talk to him about things at all, although "having sex with Brendon" wouldn't have been at the top of his list of "best friend in the whole world type of talk" topics.
"Has Brendon always been this fucking incompetent?"
"Define 'always,'" Spencer replies, and Ryan snorts enough that Spencer gives himself a point for it.
"He's just so fucking dense. It almost feels like he's taking advantage of me, Spence, and the worst part is he wouldn't even have to. He doesn't have to trick me into sleeping with him, why hasn't he realized that? I can't control it when it's like that, and I can't stand that, but he keeps fucking doing it anyway."
Spencer hmms, and Ryan sighs.
"The answer to your question is yes," Spencer says, after a minute. "Brendon's always been this incompetent." Ryan leans into him, surprisingly solid against his shoulder. "But I think he'll figure it out sooner or later."
*
Things are pretty tense between Brendon and Ryan when they head up to the cabin, and it makes working stupidly difficult. The music definitely isn't flowing like it should, and they spend most of their time bickering about the most useless shit.
One day, Spencer sends Brendon on a food run, because Brendon is starting to exhibit clear signs of going stir crazy. Just when Spencer's settling down with his documentary, though, the doorbell rings. It's a delivery guy from a florist.
Pete sent them a gigantic bouquet of roses. Pete is either a genius, or a complete asshole.
It's not long at all before Ryan's sprawled across the couch, writhing and whining. He crawls closer to Spencer. "Spence, Spence," he says, voice still deceptively low and even. "Fuck me? I want you inside me."
From the chair, Jon raises an eyebrow at Spencer.
"Ryan, what about Brendon?"
Ryan makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "Brendon's not here, and I need him--it, so bad."
"Jon?" Spencer asks, and Ryan turns to him.
"What?" Jon asks.
"You want to fuck him? He's not going to shut up until someone does."
"I don't. Um." He blinks, but then shrugs. "Brendon?"
Spencer sighs, and pulls out his phone. "Hey, yeah, how much longer are you going to be? Pete sent us roses and Ryan's about ready to start prowling the cabin for phallic objects, I swear. I think his tolerance has gone down or something. What, why? Because Pete's a douche, I don't know. Look, can we just. Can Jon fuck him until you get back?"
Ryan swings a leg across Spencer's lap and Spencer grunts. "Because I'm busy," Spencer tells Brendon, craning his neck to see the TV around Ryan. He hates having to stop movies fifteen minutes in, especially his documentaries; you forget all the important stuff.
"You don't have to do anything," Ryan murmurs, leaning close and grinding down. "I'll do all the hard work, I promise."
"Okay, yeah. See you." Spencer thumbs his phone off, grabs Ryan by the waist and pushes him toward Jon. "He's all yours."
"Here?" Jon asks. Ryan climbs on top of him.
"Guess so," Spencer says.
*
Jon has Ryan on his knees with his arms braced on the chair, and he's thrusting in hard enough that the wooden feet are scooting along the carpeting. Spencer's just paused his movie, planning to head to the kitchen for soda, but Ryan grabs his thigh, stopping him in his tracks.
"You too," he pants, "please, my mouth."
"Are you serious?" Spencer can't help asking.
"Yes, want to taste you," Ryan grunts. Spencer checks his phone for the time and then sighs, going for his belt.
Jon wrestles Ryan away from the chair and Spencer kneels in front of him. Ryan goes for his cock immediately, balancing on one hand while he grips the base with the other, angling Spencer's cock between his lips, the force of Jon's thrusts moving his mouth farther and farther down.
Ryan's sucking hard, cheeks caved in, tongue curling around Spencer's cock, and Spencer can feel it already, prickling up his spine, throbbing warmly low in his belly. Ryan hadn't actually done this for him before, he was too busy whining to be fucked; if Spencer's to judge from how good this feels, Ryan's been getting plenty of practice with Brendon, though.
Spencer grunts, feeling himself getting close, and he hears Jon's breathing start to get shallower, too.
It would figure that that's when the door opens.
*
Ryan drops Spencer's cock so fast you'd think it was burning his tongue. "Brendon," he says, immediately pulling off Jon's cock and stumbling to his feet, rushing for the entryway.
"Ow, my ego," Jon says.
"Ow, my blueballs," Spencer says.
Jon turns back to him. "Well, I can help you with that one," he offers, reaching down, and his fingers are big and warm and his grip is solid, and so Spencer just edges closer, close enough that he can reach Jon's dick, too.
It feels an awful lot like the times he and Ryan jerked each other off, the newness of someone else's hand but the casual sense of doing a favor for a friend. That's cool, Spencer can handle that.
They both turn to look at Brendon fucking Ryan against the wall, clothes still on but pants open as he pushes in, kissing the back of his neck and repeating, "Ryan, Ryan."
"Brendon," Ryan gasps in response, "Brendon, thank you, oh, God."
Jon twists his wrist and Spencer comes, hips jerking; he keeps moving his own hand until Jon follows suit.
"For what it's worth, I'm sure you're an awesome fuck," Spencer murmurs, and then grins. "There. Does your ego feel better now?"
*
"Dude, I thought you got rid of the flowers," Jon asks.
"I did," Spencer replies. "I threw them off the cliff myself, two days ago."
"Then why are Brendon and Ryan still locked in their room?"
Spencer smiles, a little, despite himself. "Guess Brendon figured it out."
