I'm alright in bed

Rose Is a Four-Letter Word

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 08:18:19 GMT

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: 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."

NaNoRyRo

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 08:24:00 GMT

Hello, friends of jzbell's fic journal!

For the entire month of November, I worked on a writing project which I--completely illogically--dubbed NaNoRyRo (based on National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo). You can read my full explanation here. Basically, I wrote some Brendon/Ryan porn every day for a month. Just to see if I could. I posted it at my regular journal instead of here at my writing journal because they were just standalone drabbles and ficlets and I didn't want to spam this one. Also, they were completely unpolished.

Since the project is done, however, and you all like my fic enough to have my writing journal friended, I figure some of you might be interested in seeing the results... all 30,050 words worth. \o/

You can find a master list of all the pieces here.

Please read the full explanation, and understand this was just a writing exercise. Only read them if you want to. Only read the ones you want to. Mind the warnings. Don't take it too seriously.

♥

Attention to Detail

Mon, 29 Oct 2007 05:42:39 GMT

Title: Attention to Detail
Author: jzbell
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Brendon paid attention to what would make Ryan chuckle, low and breathless, and what would make him shudder and bite his lip.
Disclaimer: I made pretty much all of this up.
Warnings: Toys, double penetration.
Notes: For theaerosolkid's birthday! (Apparently I think nothing says "happy birthday" like baby!Panic porn. Huh.) Huge thanks to acroamatica and kkpixie for beta work.

Brendon had stopped pretending to be surprised when Ryan followed him home a long time ago. He knew his apartment wasn't much--a tv and a futon that he quit bothering to drag back into the bedroom at night after he finally invested in some ten-dollar drapes from Wal-Mart--but it was amazing how attractive things could look when you considered the alternatives: too much silence or not enough, Brendon and Ryan meeting somewhere in the middle.

There was also the sex thing. Which Brendon kind of liked. He wasn't exactly used to getting sex regularly, or like, at all, and he thought it would be pretty cool if it would continue. He was pretty sure Ryan liked it, too. Being in a band with the guy, Brendon had learned right away that Ryan had no problem telling people "no," and "you're supposed to do it this way," and "fuck off, we're not doing that." Brendon pretty much always considered it a good night if he made it through practice without incurring the full force of Ryan's wrath; he had not yet received any such scorn in bed, and he wanted it to stay that way. For his own sake, of course, but also for Ryan's.

Because on the one hand, Brendon figured as long as Ryan was satisfied, he would continue to put out, and if Brendon was being honest, that was a principal motivating factor. But there was also the underlying fact that Brendon just... liked it when Ryan was happy. Pretty much everyone liked Ryan better when he was happy, but sometimes Brendon felt like he did especially. He liked the way it sounded when Ryan would breathe deep, easy, with his whole chest; he liked when his voice brightened with a note of playful sarcasm; he liked when Ryan smiled, wide and relaxed, eyes squinting up into shining crescents; he liked the feel of Ryan's body, warm and comfortable against his.

So Brendon paid attention. He paid attention to what would make Ryan chuckle, low and breathless, and what would make him shudder and bite his lip happily. Years spent catering to a religion he didn't actually have much faith in, Brendon had gotten good at figuring out what he had do to keep other people content. He didn't think it was necessarily a bad quality, when he thought about it. Sometimes it could be pretty rewarding.

And so naturally, Brendon noticed the extra hitch in Ryan's breath every time he added another finger, getting him wet, stretching, twisting in hard, spreading slightly. He noticed the raw edge to Ryan's voice when he choked out, "God, Brendon, you have no idea--feels so--" He noticed the way Ryan squirmed just a little more frantically the first time Brendon had tried pushing a finger in alongside his cock, curious; the way he would lick his lips and smile, after, loose and sated. When Ryan gasped for more, Brendon could tell he meant it.

Ryan meant it, and Brendon really wanted to give it to him, give him as much as he wanted, as much as he needed.

Brendon unlocked his door and held it open so Ryan could follow him in. Ryan didn't bother saying anything, and Brendon didn't comment either. They propped their guitars up side by side and Brendon could feel his heart beating, imagined he could actually feel the throb of it in his pulse points. The first few moments were always tense like that. Brendon, for one, was still trying to learn exactly how to act around Ryan, and when. Lines shifted when the door closed, and it always took a second to figure out where they ended up.

"I got you something," he said into the silence, letting the words out in a rush, desperate to get past the stupid awkwardness, like they weren't going to do exactly what they'd been doing pretty much every night one of them didn't pass out from exhaustion first. As if they hadn't been spending nearly as many hours naked together as they did clothed, the absolute intimacy of it.

"You got me something?" Ryan repeated stupidly, looking at him. Brendon shrugged and turned away, trying to keep the blush from rising up his neck through force of will alone. He walked quickly to his bedroom, knowing Ryan would follow, and grabbed the paper sack from the floor in the corner. Ryan had stopped in the doorway and he was looking at Brendon with big eyes when Brendon turned back, questioning and expectant. Brendon figured there was no proper way to present what he was trying to give to Ryan and so he just kind of handed the bag over. Ryan took it, keeping his eyes on Brendon's face for another second before looking down, unrolling the top and pulling the paper open so he could look inside.

Brendon watched carefully, not even wanting to breathe until he saw Ryan stop, his cheeks going just visibly pink. Brendon pulled his lip between his teeth, then, biting back a smile, and Ryan glanced up at him before reaching all the way into the bag and pulling out the package with the dildo in it.

"You can open it," Brendon said, and Ryan looked at him again, all eyelashes and dark hair brushing his face.

"Can I really?" he said dryly, but Brendon could see that his eyes were going all narrow and slanty with pleasure, and despite his comment, he popped open the plastic, getting his fingers on the actual toy, which was a pretty lurid pink. "Brendon," he said, his voice just a little raspy. "Why--"

"It's not--" Brendon said quickly. "It's. I just thought maybe we could, you know. Together. I thought you might like it."

"You shouldn't have," Ryan replied softly. He dropped the bag and the empty package, gingerly wrapping his fingers around the dildo, testing it. "You can't even afford to eat tomorrow, you shouldn't be buying me--things."

"It didn't cost that much, really. It was on sale, that's why it's, uh, pink."

Ryan chuckled and met Brendon's eyes.

Brendon wasn't lying. It was on sale, and plus it seemed to Brendon that they maybe charged by the inch for those things and it wasn't like he'd gotten a very big one; it might have been a little smaller than his own dick, actually, but that worked out just fine for him. He wasn't looking for competition, for crying out loud. It wasn't like he wanted to give Ryan a reason not to sleep with him, not to stay over, not to need him anymore.

"Where the fuck did you get it?" Ryan asked him, and Brendon shrugged.

"That place, across from--"

"You went in there by yourself?"

Brendon shrugged again. "I couldn't ask Brent. I thought about asking Spence, but he knows I don't have a girlfriend and he'd want to know what it was for, and unless I wanted to tell him I planned on using it on you and have him, you know, hurt me, I'd have to tell him it was for myself, and."

Ryan smiled in earnest. "Not willing to sacrifice yourself, huh?"

Brendon shook his head emphatically but couldn't keep from grinning.

"You're not eighteen," Ryan told him.

"Yeah, I don't think places like that care so much. They didn't exactly check my ID."

Ryan paused, looking at the toy, then just down at his feet. It was obvious he was grasping for things to say, and Brendon wiggled his toes anxiously and waited for him to talk again. "You seriously didn't have to," Ryan muttered eventually.

"Oh, shut up. Do you like it?" Brendon was fairly confident he knew the answer by now, but he wanted to hear Ryan say it, to be sure.

Ryan nodded, ducking his head just a little, and Brendon couldn't help the relief that washed through him, followed quickly by a faint elation.

"Then quit worrying. You can buy me supper tomorrow, okay?"

Ryan opened his mouth but before he could reply--seriously, Brendon wasn't about to wait and see if he would tell Brendon no, he wasn't buying supper, Brendon could just eat more peanut butter--Brendon stepped forward and pressed their lips together. The kiss was a little awkward since Brendon had moved in so fast, but Ryan adjusted, deepening, and Brendon went with it. He slipped his hands over Ryan's shoulders and around his neck, gripping the back of his head hard, holding him close, steady.

Brendon probably would have been happy to just stand there and make out with Ryan for at least a little while, but the location wasn't really ideal, as they were practically tripping over the laundry baskets Brendon was using in lieu of a dresser. Plus Ryan started mumbling against Brendon's mouth, impatient but somehow always waiting for permission, and so Brendon broke away, scratching at the back of Ryan's neck as they breathed. "You want to--" Brendon started.

"Yeah," Ryan replied, fast and breathless, smiling shyly.

They shuffled out of the bedroom and Ryan stepped into the bathroom first. "Are you going to, like, wash it?" Brendon asked from the door. "It might have chemicals from the factory or something on it."

"That's really sexy, Bren," Ryan told him, but before Brendon could protest, he said, "yes, I was planning on it."

They maneuvered around each other in the bathroom, not quite used to the strange intimacy of sharing space, and eventually managed to make it back into the living room. Ryan sat lightly on the edge of the bed and Brendon happily straddled his lap, a knee on either side, leaning down to kiss him again. Ryan was a little tense under his fingers, obviously wanting but wound up so tight, and Brendon knew it was up to him to work him open, loosen him up until he no longer cared he was openly begging for more.

It had been a little weird, figuring out what Ryan really needed from him. The first few times Ryan had taken the lead, strong hands and hot mouth. Brendon hadn't even realized that Ryan was really trying to teach Brendon everything he wanted Brendon to know. He did get the feeling that maybe, maybe Ryan needed something else, something more, but he wasn't sure what until one night, Ryan had looked at him and said, "Brendon, could you, please--" Brendon was a little surprised but he got it, understood the look in Ryan's eyes and the plea in his voice, and Brendon pushed into him as hard and steady as he could, listening as Ryan's breath dissolved into a little moan, "yes."

"Hey," Ryan asked now, hands tight on Brendon's hips with Brendon grinding down against him, "come on." And Brendon understood, slipped from the mattress and started pulling his clothes off, laying them out just enough that he would still be able to wear them the next day. He kept one eye on Ryan while he did it, watching him slither out of his black t-shirt and slim, flared jeans before swinging his legs up onto the bed. Brendon crawled over him, sinking his weight down and feeling Ryan arch up into him, skin on skin.

"Mmm," Ryan said, and Brendon could hear the rest of the word hiding just underneath the sound, more, always more; Brendon always tried to give it to him.

He pulled away with one final peck on Ryan's mouth and sat up on his knees before curling down by Ryan's crotch and grabbing his cock. He kept his grip firm as he stroked, and then bent his head, just licking until he heard Ryan grunt, "Brendon," in a warning tone. Brendon grinned up at him and opened his mouth.

Brendon couldn't take Ryan in all the way, but Ryan's dick was pretty long, and besides, he was getting better. Practice. He kept one hand around the base as he bobbed his head, cheeks hollowed, and then pulled off. He moved, reaching under the bed for the big bottle of lube they'd been using, and when he found it he gave Ryan a little smile, thanking him again for making the investment.

Holding the dildo--Ryan had carried it to the bed with him--Brendon drizzled some lube onto it and then stroked, the same motions he'd used on Ryan. He chanced a look up and caught Ryan spreading his legs farther apart, eager, and he smirked.

His fingers still wet from slicking up the dildo, he reached up under Ryan's balls, rubbing at Ryan's entrance before pushing his finger in. Ryan tilted his hips up and Brendon twisted his wrist, getting him ready.

"Brendon," Ryan said, voice even lower now, going rough, and Brendon paused.

"You want more, or...?"

"Just, the--" Ryan made a vague gesture in the direction of Brendon's left hand, holding the bottom of the slippery dildo.

"Yeah, okay," Brendon said, pulling his finger out. He had an idea that Ryan liked the stretch of it, the surprise and the ache. He usually got antsy when Brendon took too long fingering him; Ryan liked to feel it.

Brendon nudged Ryan's thighs just a little farther apart, settling between his legs and lining up the toy. It was slick and took constant pressure before Brendon got the head to pop in, and then after that he had to work to get the angle right, to get Ryan's body to accept the rest. Ryan moaned when Brendon finally got it, watching the smooth pink shaft as it slid inside.

"Brendon, that's..." Ryan gasped. He sounded more than a little garbled, hands scrabbling over the already rumpled sheets.

"Hey," Brendon said, leaning up to lick over Ryan's cock. "This is pretty handy." Ryan moaned, hips twitching as Brendon sucked him in.

Brendon started pumping the dildo, twisting his wrist and changing the angle, sliding the head of the thing along Ryan's insides as he moved his mouth around Ryan's cock. Ryan kept rocking his hips, pressing his head back into Brendon's pillow, practically tossing his head.

Brendon could feel Ryan's hands grip his head, fingers pushing through his hair, applying pressure but not really forcing him, just holding. He thrust the dildo in deep and slipped his mouth as far down Ryan's cock as he could, lips dragging, pressing his tongue against the underside.

Hunched over on his knees, Brendon used his free hand to grip Ryan's cock, sucking hard on the end and stroking as he angled the dildo up inside, and it was actually easier to match the rhythm of both hands, pushing and pulling. Ryan choked a little, swearing as he started to come.

Brendon kept his mouth on Ryan's cock, letting him ride out, hips rolling, and eventually he pulled off, tugging the dildo out and tossing it aside. Ryan made a low sound in his throat and Brendon crawled up the bed, bending down to kiss him. When Ryan opened his mouth Brendon followed suit, pushing what he hadn't swallowed of Ryan's come into his mouth with his tongue. Ryan huffed, surprised, but Brendon just kissed him harder.

A second later, when he finally backed away, breathing hard, Ryan licked his lips and gave him a look. "Brendon," he said, accusatory but undeniably breathless, "that's--"

"Shut up," Brendon told him, half-smiling, "and turn over."

If Ryan had really been pissed off his eyes wouldn't have been so bright and he wouldn't have scrambled over so fast, cocking a knee and spreading his legs. Brendon leaned over him and said, low into his ear, "hands and knees."

He picked up the lube from where he'd dropped it, squeezing a little more out and slicking up his own cock as he watched Ryan pull himself up; he figured he didn't need much, not now that Ryan was open and ready.

Scooting up close, Brendon took hold of Ryan's hips, hooking his fingers around the bones. He pushed forward, sliding his cock along the crack of Ryan's ass, hot and slick, and Ryan whined, "come on," leaning back into it. Brendon took one hand off Ryan's hip long enough to line head of his cock up at Ryan's hole, just starting to push it in before letting go and gripping both of Ryan's hips again, drawing him back and burying his cock inside.

Brendon held him tightly, pulling him back into each thrust, and Ryan was clenching down on him, breath harsh. He was making sounds again, and Brendon leaned forward, trying to hear.

Because sometimes that would be enough, Brendon knew. Some days Ryan would take his cock and just melt underneath him, arching up like he couldn't want anything more in the world. But some days, other days, he would jerk and whimper and plead; Brendon got the impression that Ryan didn't usually let himself ask, hadn't ever trusted anyone enough to before, and so when he did, Brendon did his best to give him what he wanted.

"I--" Ryan gasped, and Brendon slowed his motions.

"What?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"More," Ryan said, and it sounded like a sigh.

Brendon bit his lip and pulled out, a little grateful for the break. Ryan whined and Brendon shushed him, reaching down and pushing three fingers back inside, all at once. Ryan's whine definitely changed at that, his knees slipping on the sheets a little as he tried to spread his legs even wider, rocking back against the pressure. "Yeah," he said, almost a growl, "come on."

Working his fingers in and out, Brendon leaned over, trying to see Ryan's face. He hadn't yet been able to identify an exact moment when Ryan gave up, when his control slipped and he let go. It was different every night, and all he knew was that some time after he pulled his fingers almost all the way out and pushed the fourth in with them, going all the way to the knuckle, stretching him open like he was preparing to climb right inside and take over... at some point, the roll of Ryan's body started to relax, going from strained to almost graceful. He was breathing easier even as his chest heaved and Brendon loved hearing that, the deep ragged whooshes of air.

"Fuck, yes," Ryan panted, and Brendon turned his wrist. It was kind of amazing, watching his fingers disappearing inside Ryan, the way Ryan stretched around him.

"I'm," Brendon said, kind of surprised at how forced his own voice was sounding. He pulled his hand out and got up on his knees again, pushing his cock back in without hesitation. "Ryan," he gritted out, thrusting in hard and fast, "I can't see you. You're going to have to tell me--" He reached over and grabbed the dildo he'd dropped, "tell me if it's too much."

"If--" Ryan made a small sound, pushing back onto Brendon's cock, and Brendon traced the tip of the dildo across Ryan's ass, stopping when it was at his entrance.

"Ryan," he repeated, feeling Ryan quiver, so eager. "You have to talk to me, okay?"

"Okay, okay," Ryan gasped, "yes, please, just--"

"Okay," Brendon repeated, biting his lip and pressing on the dildo. For a second he was worried it wasn't going to go in at all, that he hadn't actually stretched Ryan enough, that Ryan couldn't take it, but then the head slipped in, just like his fingers had those times before. Ryan made a surprised sound and Brendon paused, waiting for affirmation.

"Oh, fuck," Ryan grunted, "come on, Brendon, do it. Please."

The desperation in his plea was more than enough and Brendon twisted the dildo all the way in, tight alongside his cock. It was actually a little uncomfortable for him, so fucking tight, the dildo unyielding against his cock, and he rocked his hips carefully, asking, "okay?"

But Ryan was gasping, "yes, yes," almost as soon as the word was out, "yes." Brendon could tell from his voice that he meant it; rough and a little wild, Ryan sounded just the way Brendon thought he should when he was finally coming loose at the seams.

As if he could hear Brendon's thoughts, Ryan let his arms buckle, giving in and pressing his forehead to the bed. Brendon looked down, holding the dildo close to his cock and watching them both slide in and out as he rocked his hips. The fit was too tight, he couldn't get any sort of decent friction going, but the steady pressure seemed to be enough for Ryan, making him moan, back stretching. Brendon touched the base of his spine, fingers tracing all the way to his shoulder, palm sliding hot along his skin. Ryan turned his head at the contact, enough that Brendon could see the way he was biting his lip, eyes closed.

Brendon dropped his hand, reaching around Ryan's hip for his cock and finding it unsurprisingly hard. Ryan cried out when Brendon tightened his fingers, squeezing and pulling.

"Ryan," Brendon said, Ryan nodded against the sheets.

"Don't stop, please, want--" he was babbling, low, "--that, yes."

Brendon stroked him steadily, rolling his hips in time as best he could. Ryan squirmed back against him, whimpering and moaning, louder and louder until he gasped and gave a hard shudder, coming apart completely, cock pulsing in Brendon's hand.

Pressing forward to keep himself deep inside, Brendon stroked Ryan through it all. When Ryan finally stopped twitching, started to sag underneath him, Brendon let him go. Carefully, he drew the dildo out, hearing Ryan hiss, and then pulled back himself. Ryan slumped to the bed, like the only thing holding that half of his body up had been Brendon's cock in his ass, and Brendon touched Ryan's side, nudging him to roll over. Ryan did, blinking up at Brendon, eyes narrow and a little glassy, lips dark, cheeks still flushed, and Brendon darted down to kiss him. Ryan brought a lazy hand up to tangle in his hair, shifting his hips to get more comfortable, and Brendon moved a little more on top of him, angling his head in better.

"Thank you," Ryan murmured against Brendon's mouth. Brendon ground down against him, flushed, and Ryan said, "hey, you--" and wriggled a hand between their bodies. He barely got his fingers closed around Brendon's cock before he was coming, jerking and choking on his breath. He'd been so focused on Ryan he was actually a little surprised that he'd been so close, ready to explode in Ryan's grip.

Ryan milked him through it and Brendon thrust shallowly into his fist, against his stomach. When Ryan finally stopped squeezing and pulled his hand away Brendon let himself slip to the side, smearing the mess of come along Ryan's hip. Ryan made a little huffy noise and Brendon reached out, sliding his fingers over Ryan's skin, cleaning him off and then wiping his hand on his sheets.

Ryan smirked at him and Brendon just pressed himself up close, talking against Ryan's shoulder. "I've got to do laundry anyway, there's, like, lube all over the sheets."

The smirk melted into a real smile and Ryan chuckled, eyes narrow and dark as he looked at Brendon. He inhaled, sobering slightly. "Brendon, how..." His voice sounded fuzzy, thick, and he coughed a little to clear his throat. "How'd you know?"

Brendon tugged Ryan closer by the waist, loving the almost slinky way the rest of him followed. He knew that, even though Ryan was hanging around a lot, it was still technically his apartment and probably his job to turn the light off and double-check the deadbolt, but Ryan's breaths were so soothing, he really didn't want to move. He shrugged, as much as he could in his position. "I could just tell," Brendon said, lifting his head and stretching to press a kiss to about half of Ryan's mouth. "I pay attention."

Come Undone

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 08:30:09 GMT

Title: Come Undone
Author: jzbell
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Maybe the scarves aren't so ridiculous after all.
Disclaimer: Fiction means I made it all up. Mostly.
Warnings: Light bondage, blindfolding.
Notes: Off-the-cuff little fic for disarm_d's Bandslash Pornothon (prompt #10: Brendon/Ryan scarf porn).

"Those are fucking ridiculous," Brendon tells Ryan, looking pointedly at the scarves Ryan is still wearing, even though he's been reclined on his hotel bed with his Sidekick for half an hour now.

"Okay," Ryan says, and doesn't even stop typing. Brendon frowns a little as he turns back to the television. He's pretty sure he's seen this episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter already, though; they find her living in her van or something. He looks over at Ryan again, and seriously, this is fucking ridiculous.

"Ryan, hey," Brendon says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. He stretches, kicking Ryan's mattress, but Ryan doesn't react. Leaning forward a little, Brendon says clearly, "you know, they don't even match."

Ryan doesn't even blink. And that, fuck, that's like a fucking challenge. He might as well have slapped Brendon with a glove--preferably a plain one, Brendon doesn't really want a mouthful of rosettes.

"Okay, Ross, seriously," Brendon says, bouncing to his feet and climbing right onto Ryan's bed, onto Ryan. Ryan doesn't stop typing, even as Brendon straddles his hips, wiggling a little for effect. Ryan moves his Sidekick a little closer to his face, out of the way of Brendon. "You fucking suck," Brendon tells him, leaning forward and poking at the scarf tied around Ryan's head. Ryan tries to duck out of the way and the scarf slides a down bit. Brendon pauses, then, biting his lip thoughtfully. He pinches the scarf and tugs, and it slips farther down Ryan's forehead.

"Brendon," Ryan warns, but Brendon's already pulling the scarf all the way down to cover Ryan's eyes. "Hey," Ryan says, swatting at Brendon's hands, but Brendon catches his wrist. With his other hand, he snatches the Sidekick and sets it aside on the nightstand. "Brendon," Ryan repeats, sharper; Brendon just grabs his other wrist.

It's obvious that it hasn't even occurred to Ryan to struggle for real, and Brendon takes the advantage, acting fast, forcing Ryan's wrists together and holding them tight in one hand while he pulls at the scarf still wrapped around Ryan's neck. The knot's loose and it falls off easily. Brendon sticks one end in his mouth, holding it in one place so he can twist the silk into something usable. Ryan squirms, pulling weakly at his hands, but Brendon manages to string together a flowery rope fast enough, and starts looping it around Ryan's wrists in tight eights before Ryan seriously fights back.

"What--" Ryan starts, pulling harder; Brendon watches his mouth fall open when he realizes he really is bound fast. Brendon grins.

He hauls Ryan's arms up over his head, feeding the scarf in between the square wooden bars that make up the decorative headboard. He double-knots the ends and checks his work, yanking hard, and when the knots actually hold, Brendon is kind of delighted.

"Jesus," Ryan says. He pulls down harder and when he realizes his hands are completely fixed in place, he lifts his hips, trying to buck Brendon off. Brendon laughs a little, lower now.

"Ryan," Brendon says, setting a palm high on Ryan's chest. Ryan flinches a little, not expecting the touch since he couldn't see it coming, and he turns his head on the pillow.

"What," Ryan repeats, but Brendon ignores the almost-question, moving his fingers down to the top button on the vest, and popping it open. He repeats the gesture with the next button, and the next, until he can flip the folds of the vest out of the way.

"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan," Brendon says, skittering his fingers back up to start on his shirt.

"Fuck, Brendon," Ryan replies, and wow, Brendon thinks, this certainly is some fascinating conversation. Thank god he has other things on his mind, like the growing sliver of pale skin being revealed as he works Ryan's shirt open. Brendon pulls the cotton apart, tugging it out of his pants where the shirttails had still been buried. He leans down and presses a quick kiss to Ryan's sternum and Ryan gasps, squirming.

Brendon smiles even though Ryan can't see him, grinding his ass against Ryan's crotch and bending down, bowing his back until he can kiss Ryan's chest again. He brings a hand up and pinches one of Ryan's nipples without warning and Ryan bucks under him, cursing.

Brendon pauses where he is, riding out Ryan's protest, and then he swings himself off, flattening a hand on Ryan's bare stomach. Ryan's breath leaves him in a flurry, and then Brendon pulls back.

He waits for a second, watching the way Ryan turns his head, waiting, anticipating, and then reaches forward again, going to work on Ryan's belt.

"Shit," Ryan whispers when Brendon pauses to scrape his knuckles along the fly of Ryan's jeans, denim pulled tight, straining against the hardness underneath. Brendon presses down, "shit, shit, shit." Turning his hand, Brendon opens the button.

Ryan holds his breath, hips shaking slightly, when Brendon scrapes the zipper down, and then Brendon's breaking the denim open, pushing it out of the way and cupping Ryan through the cotton of his underwear. Ryan moans, soft, like he doesn't want to hear himself, and Brendon hooks his fingers in Ryan's pants, pulling the whole mess, jeans and boxers, down off his hips.

"Brendon, don't," Ryan pleads suddenly.

"You shouldn't ignore me, then" Brendon tells him, even though he doesn't really care about that anymore, he's got more important things on his mind. He gets the pants all the way off Ryan's feet and pulls his socks off by the toes, leaving Ryan naked except for the shirt and vest open over his chest, still clinging to his shoulders and arms. Brendon strokes Ryan's cock a few times, touching his thighs, hips, quick, sudden brushes of fingertips that leave Ryan twitching, whimpering and rock hard.

Brendon sits back on his heels and looks at what he's done. He's pretty fucking proud of himself, to be honest. Ryan's still straining against the scarf on his wrists but the knots are holding. Brendon leans down to whisper in Ryan's ear.

"I could leave you like this, you know," he says, and from the way Ryan jerks, he wasn't expecting Brendon's voice so close. "Helpless," he touches Ryan's thigh, pulling, spreading his legs wider, "exposed."

"Brendon, please," Ryan whispers. Brendon kisses him once, firm, slipping his tongue through Ryan's parted lips, but then pulls away quickly.

He curls around, dropping his head to breathe against Ryan's groin, making sure he feels the hot rush of air. Ryan whines and rolls his hips up, right against Brendon's waiting tongue. Ryan gasps and Brendon angles his head, sucking the tip of Ryan's cock into his mouth. He slips a hand between Ryan's thighs as he bobs his head, tracing up, all the way up, to tease at his entrance. Ryan chokes.

Brendon lifts his head and licks his fingers, getting them wet before pressing two up inside. Ryan cries out, twisting, pushing down against him. Brendon scissors his fingers, stroking them inside until Ryan's moaning, going almost incoherent.

And then Brendon pulls back, as suddenly as he can, sitting back once again, breathing heavily now. "No, no," Ryan whimpers, "please."

Brendon moves his fingers to his belt and when he starts to unbuckle it, he lets the metal clank loudly, watching Ryan jerk, startled. He pulls the zipper down slowly, making sure that's audible, too.

"Fuck," Ryan says, arching his hips at nothing and pulling on his restraints.

Brendon watches, kicking his jeans away and quietly taking off his boxers, socks, and then shirt.

"Ryan," Brendon says, and Ryan starts again, swearing.

"What? God, fuck, Brendon, come on."

"Give it up, Ryan, and just tell me," Brendon says, moving between Ryan's legs and stopping. "It's pointless to fight, you're mine right now. I want you to say it, admit it."

"Fuck," Ryan says, struggling feebly to remain in control, failing. "Fuck... fuck me, god, yes, just fuck me, now, please."

Brendon could tease him more, push until Ryan's powerless, broken open beneath him, but the truth is his own patience is wearing out. He can only have Ryan at his mercy, spread out in front of him for so long before he loses it and gives in. Jesus, he's only human; he lines himself up, listening to Ryan moan even as he starts to push in.

"Yes," Ryan cries, and it sounds like a sob, "yes, yes."

"What," Brendon tries, thrusting up hard into the heat, head back. He looks down at Ryan, balancing half his weight on one hand, and leans down to lick his throat. Ryan swears loudly, tipping his head to give him better access. When Brendon pulls away he touches Ryan's stomach with his other hand, and Ryan curves against that. "What's it like," Brendon asks, "can't see, just feeling it, me..." and all Ryan can do in response is moan. Brendon tugs on the collar of Ryan's shirt, still lying against his shoulder, and then slips his hand over his skin, all the way down his side. Ryan arches into every touch, shaking, helpless.

"Oh god, god," Ryan's saying, hips quivering, "please, I need, oh--"

Brendon reaches up, hand sliding along Ryan's arm, stroking over the thick cuff of cotton and then hitting the bare skin of his forearm, still moving as he wraps his fingers around the flesh and bone before feeling silk against his knuckles. Brendon knows what Ryan needs; he can feel Ryan's cock, rigid and brushing Brendon's stomach on the low strokes. Fuck, he's close too, but he knows he can hold out a little longer, long enough.

"What," he pants, "what, Ryan." He leans back, shifting his balance and changing the angle a little.

Ryan's pushing down against him; his hands, wrapped up tight in that silk, are braced against the headboard now, forcing himself down harder onto Brendon's cock, fucking himself as much as Brendon's fucking him.

"I need you," Ryan says, "you, please, god, I need to come, oh my god--"

Brendon can hear the desperation in his voice, "Brendon, please let me come."

"Now?" Brendon asks, voice low as he thrusts deep and stays there.

Ryan nods viciously, "yes, yes, please," and Brendon takes hold of his cock.

Ryan's groan is hoarse, loud and rough and coming from somewhere deeper than his throat, splitting him wide open. Brendon squeezes, pulling, and that's all it takes for Ryan to come apart in his hands, spilling over his fingers in thick spurts, hips rolling frantically.

"Oh, god," Ryan gasps, trembling, and Brendon holds tight, stroking him through the aftershocks.

When Ryan's no longer choking on his own breath, Brendon lets go of his cock and grabs his hip, pressing him down, holding him still and pushing in, hard, quick thrusts, and Ryan mutters, "come on," and that does it, Brendon's done, coming all the way inside.

He slumps a little, gasping for breath, and after a moment he lets himself slip out, trying his best not to smother Ryan when he collapses.

"Brendon," Ryan says, and he sounds completely worn out, voice gravelly, and Brendon smiles a little against his shoulder and presses his mouth to Ryan's skin, stroking a hand down his waist, tender and soothing. "Brendon, will you fucking untie me now?"

Brendon laughs, still a bit breathless, and stretches up to kiss him; Ryan kisses him back, lazy, sated. Brendon reaches up, working the blindfold off Ryan's head, mussing his hair, and Ryan blinks at the light and then focuses on him. Brendon grins widely and Ryan rolls his eyes, obviously fighting his own smile.

"So, fuck," Ryan says, licking his lips with a chuckle.

"Yeah," Brendon agrees, ruffling Ryan's hair, and no matter how Ryan shies away, he really can't go anywhere, can't escape.

"Brendon," Ryan warns, "come on," and Brendon figures it's about time to stop messing with him. He doesn't want to wake up dead or something. He elbows himself up and reaches for the headboard.

"So, like," Brendon says, blunt fingertips going to work at the knots, Ryan watching his face, bemused. "Maybe these things aren't so ridiculous after all."

Hidden In Plain View

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 04:52:32 GMT

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 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. :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.