fic: best laid plans
Mar. 16th, 2008 11:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violaceaTitle: Best Laid Plans
Rating: R
Pairing: Panic GSF! With a particular turn towards Ryan/Brendon, but mostly it's a group effort.
Word Count: 2952
Notes: Blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
harriet_vane, it was her idea. ::grin:: Much love to sparkfrost and ignipes, who helped eradicate some of my particularly bad phrasing!
Summary: Brendon's partying a little hard these days. Spencer has a Plan. Ryan's not entirely on board.
Ryan woke up to the sight of half a Brendon in the narrow hallway outside of his bunk. Luckily, the other half of him was in his bunk – thank god they’d decided to give him the bottom one, otherwise he might have decapitated himself – but his legs sprawled out nearly into Spencer’s bunk.
“I actually had a shoe in my face,” Spencer clarified a few moments later, blinking blearily at the coffee machine in the kitchen, “but I shoved it out.” Brendon didn’t care – in fact, judging from the loud snores, Brendon wouldn’t care about anything for at least another two or three hours.
“Should we move him in?” Jon wondered.
Spencer handed him a coffee mug. “No, leave his sorry ass.”
“What the hell.” Ryan shrugged, and saw his gesture mirrored twice.
He walked back to the lounge, stepping over Brendon on the way. He wondered where Brendon had gone the night before. They’d all gone to an after-party, and it wasn’t like any of the rest of them hadn’t indulged. Spencer’s eyes were rimmed with the tell-tale red of a minor hangover, and Jon’s voice was soft like it always was when he was trying not to give himself a headache. But Brendon, he’d attached himself to a couple of guys who’d been there – one of them worked for the promoter, Ryan had been introduced and forgot his name three seconds later – and they’d disappeared just before the party broke up. Pretty typical of Brendon, these days. If there was a party, he was the life of it. Or something approximating life. Ryan stared at the legs lying askew on the floor, coffee mug held to his lips.
“Seriously,” Jon said, stepping gingerly over Brendon, “I think we should do something. I don’t mind a good party, but …” But, indeed. Brendon had puked in the dressing room three times before their show the night before. His voice had held up, but Ryan could hear the stress under on every note.
Spencer kicked Brendon’s leg as he walked past. Brendon groaned, but didn’t move. “Don’t worry,” Spencer said as he sat down. “I have a plan.”
Ryan looked down the hall as the legs flailed, and pushed so that Brendon’s ass was entirely inside the bunk. His legs remained on the floor. “Oh, do tell.”
***
Ryan was pretty sure Spencer had lost his mind.
“Have you lost your mind, seriously?”
Spencer shrugged. “If he needs to be high on something, why not give him, like, natural endorphins?”
“You’ve been reading scientific magazines at truck stops again, haven’t you?”
Spencer flipped him off. Ryan figured on backup from Jon, but Jon just stared at Spencer for a long moment before saying, “Huh. That could work.”
Ryan considered checking his entire band into the nearest asylum.
***
When they reached their hotel after that night’s show, Brendon turned towards the hotel bar, but Spencer grabbed his arm and dragged him into the elevator. Jon smirked. “I guess you’re rooming with me tonight,” he told Ryan.
“What?” Ryan stared at him. “He wasn’t serious, for real, was he?”
Jon shrugged, his lips twitching. “Good thing for you I have an extra toothbrush in my bag.”
“Jesus. Gross. I can’t even think about it.” Ryan shuddered.
The next morning, Brendon sported swollen lips and a suspicious red mark on the side of his neck, but his eyes were clearer than they had been in a week, so Ryan decided to focus on that and not … well, whatever had caused that mark. Or whoever. Or the fact that Spencer had that look in his eye, the satisfied one that used to accompany a night with his ex-girlfriend, which Ryan usually mocked him mercilessly for. He figured he should just be happy that Brendon dwelled in the land of the living sometime before the dinner hour. He did not think about swollen lips or pale skin or what kind of noise Brendon and Spencer made when they ... And he absolutely did not go into the bathroom at the venue and jerk off before the show started.
Spencer was grinning at him when he walked back into the dressing room. Ryan contemplated beating him over the head with his guitar, but eventually decided that would be a waste of a perfectly good instrument. Besides, Spencer was some kind of ninja with his drumsticks. Ryan had learned that the hard (and painful) way as a teenager. But still, Spencer’s grin stuck around throughout the show. Ryan eventually stopped looking back towards the drums.
He was, however, happy to see Spencer – alone – sitting on the bus after the show, reading a magazine. “Where’s Jon?” he asked.
Spencer looked up at him. His grin widened.
Ryan blinked. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
***
The next day, Brendon walked with the tiniest of limps, and he and Jon broke into giggles every time they looked at each other.
Ryan lasted until after the show. After ninety minutes of looks and giggles and invasion of personal space – Ryan had thought he’d escaped with his own space onstage when Brendon started playing more instruments, but that night he’d spent more time at Jon’s and Ryan’s mics than at his own, it seemed - Ryan felt like he needed to crawl out of his skin. He stalked off stage, ignoring everyone; instead, he made a beeline for the bathroom. He locked himself in and closed his eyes. Bad idea, as he saw Brendon’s wide grin on the backs of his eyelids, first aimed at Jon, then slower, more tentative in Ryan’s direction. He blinked, and the image shifted; he hadn’t seen it, didn’t want to see it, he told himself, but somehow Brendon was splayed underneath Jon, both of them naked and sweating and laughing … Ryan wrapped his hand around his cock. His grip did what it needed to do, but when he was done, he laid his forehead against the cool tile and gulped in air.
Thankfully, Spencer and Jon had both disappeared by the time he came back out. Brendon, however, stood outside of the dressing room, chatting with a girl who wore too much blue eye shadow and stared at Brendon’s hands with something akin to hunger. Ryan felt something clench in his stomach. Just irritation, he told himself, especially when he saw the glass of amber liquid Brendon gestured with.
He didn’t particularly believe himself.
“Ryan? You okay?” Brendon’s expression held nothing but concern. “You kinda ran for the bathroom, there. Sick?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just my stomach.” Ryan wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I’m fine,” he repeated.
Brendon’s eyes were dark, heavy on Ryan’s face, and Ryan nearly stumbled in his haste to walk away. “Gonna go … lay down, or something,” Ryan said. He didn’t look back, didn’t stop until he reached the bus and curled up in his bunk.
Eventually, he heard the tell-tale sounds of Spencer’s shoes in the kitchen, and the softer thump of Jon walking barefoot down the hall. But Ryan didn’t hear Brendon’s overeager footsteps, at least not before he drifted to sleep. His dreams were sensory; hands on his hips, breath on his neck, a wet kiss pressed into his belly. He woke up sometime later – near dawn, a look at his watch told him – rock hard and with an ache in his neck. “Jesus fuck,” he muttered.
“You awake, Ryan?” Brendon’s voice floated softly into Ryan’s bunk, consonants made soft by alcohol. When Ryan turned his head, he could see the outline of Brendon’s torso on the other side of the curtain, and heard the soft shushing noises of clothing being shed and tossed on the floor. Ryan found his hand creeping towards the curtain of his bunk, wishing for warm flesh under his fingertips. He balled his hand into a fist when his brain finally caught up with his reflexes. He shifted against his blanket, and the movement sent a jolt from his cock all the way up to the back of his neck. Ryan jerked and hit his head on the top of his bunk.
“Dude? You alright?” Brendon asked. Ryan could see the shadow of his head moving towards him, to look inside.
“Go away, Bren,” Ryan said quickly, in what was hopefully a suitable woken-up voice. “I’m sleeping, if you’d let me.”
The shadow on the other side of the curtain moved away. “Sorry.”
In the morning, Brendon’s body was entirely inside his bunk, but his clothes were still in piles on the floor. Ryan accidentally stepped on the shirt, and felt a dampness he didn’t want to think of an explanation for.
In the lounge, Spencer glared at Ryan over his coffee. “What?” Ryan muttered, carefully choosing the chair across from Spencer rather than the space on the couch next to him.
“You’re a big pussy.”
“Fuck you. You and Jon seem to have things well in hand, why don’t you just keep doing … whatever it is you’re doing?”
“Fucking pussy. Seriously.”
Ryan did not punch Spencer in his stupid smug face. He admired his own restraint sometimes.
***
Ryan finally broke when he saw Brendon’s bloodshot eyes staring at him during soundcheck. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, too close to the microphone.
“What?” Brendon said. “You say something, Ross?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
After the show, Ryan plucked Jon’s hotel key out of his hand, Jon was juggling the contents of his pocket, looking for his mini-Sharpie while a pair of fans waited patiently next to the bus. He didn’t protest. “Go bother Spencer for the right key,” Ryan tossed over his shoulder as he walked away. He didn’t look back to see the look on Jon’s face, but he heard a small huff of laughter before he got out of earshot.
On the other side of the bus, Brendon laughed loudly at a woman who, underneath approximately seventeen pound of makeup, was probably old enough to have given birth to Brendon. Ryan grabbed his arm. “There’s a taxi waiting for us. Come on.”
“What? Where are we going?” Brendon allowed himself to be dragged away with minimal resistance.
“Back to the hotel. Come on.”
They sat next to each other in silence most of the way back to the hotel. Ryan folded his hands in his lap and kept his legs carefully on his own side of the seat. Brendon’s legs splayed wide and loose, almost into Ryan’s personal space. Not a new phenomenon, but Ryan’s nerves skittered across his skin, and he inched slightly away from Brendon’s suddenly overwhelming presence. At the traffic light a block away from the hotel, however, Brendon spoke up. “Ryan?”
“What?”
“You don’t … I mean, I don’t know … I kinda figured, you know, with Spencer and Jon …”
“Shut up,” Ryan said, more savagely than he intended. “Don’t say another fucking word.”
“I just-“
“Shut up.”
“Ryan-“
“Shut. Up.”
The cab pulled into the hotel drive, and Ryan threw a wad of bills at the driver before escaping the back seat. He looked back only once – Brendon was following him at a semi-safe distance – before marching through the lobby and to the elevator, ignoring the fans making halfhearted attempts to stop them as they walked past. “How do they always find where we’re staying, anyway?” he asked the mirrored ceiling of the elevator as the doors closed behind them.
In the ceiling mirror, Brendon’s shaggy hair swung as he turned around to face the door. Ryan could see Brendon’s reflection vibrating nervously. “I dunno, Ross, you were the teenage stalker. You probably have a better idea than any of us.”
“Fuck off.” For a moment, everything seemed normal, and Ryan allowed himself a deep breath. Then the elevator dinged their arrival at their floor, and he tensed up again. “Come on.”
Brendon spoke again only when the lock clicked behind him. “Ryan, seriously, I figured out there was something going on when Spencer and Jon … whatever it is, and I won’t lie, it’s really awesome, but you’re obviously not … I mean, you don’t want … and it’s okay, you don’t have to …”
Ryan turned around to look at Brendon, who stood just inside the door, staring at Ryan with wide brown eyes. “God. Brendon. How many times have I told you to just shut the fuck up?”
Brendon opened his mouth again – not good at following directions, that one, Ryan knew from hard experience – but Ryan stopped whatever comment he wanted to make by crossing the two steps between them and covering Brendon’s mouth with his.
Ryan shoved them back into the door; Brendon made a noise against Ryan’s mouth as his back impacted with the hard surface. Ryan parted his lips and experimentally licked at Brendon’s bottom lip, and Brendon’s mouth opened, accompanied by a low keening noise that shot straight through Ryan’s mouth and down his spine. Ryan tangled one hand in Brendon’s hair, using the other one to hold Brendon’s hip into place, as Brendon began squirming against him, pushing for movement towards the bed.
“Uh-uh,” Ryan muttered, “stay there.”
“God, anything,” Brendon promised. “Oh god, just don’t stop.”
Ryan felt a laugh bubbling up from his chest. Amusement or hysteria, he couldn’t quite tell. “Whatever happened,” he asked against Brendon’s mouth, “to ‘you don’t have to?’”
Brendon’s groan shook his entire body – and Ryan’s, pressed against him. “Are you a fucking cock tease, Ryan Ross?” But Brendon tipped his head back so that his lips were no longer whispering against Ryan’s. Brendon’s Adam’s apple jerked as he gulped. “I was serious,” Brendon finally said, his voice a strangled whisper. “I don’t want this if you don’t.”
Ryan hesitated a long moment, long enough that he felt Brendon’s chest rise and fall in a deliberately calming breath. Then, slowly, he leaned over and licked a wet stripe up Brendon’s exposed neck. The shiver of pleasure he felt at the noise Brendon made shouldn’t have surprised him. “After the last few days,” he murmured, “nothing should surprise me.”
“Nothing should surprise you?” Brendon let out a shaky breath. “Try being in my shoes.”
Ryan pressed his hips harder into Brendon’s. Brendon’s erection made him feel victorious. His own erection continued to surprise him, but surprise had slowly begun to slowly dissolve into a heady pleasure. “Really, there has to be a way to make you stop talking.”
“You were doing pretty well there for a minute.”
“Nope, not good enough. You’re still forming sentences.” Ryan tilted Brendon’s chin so that their eyes met. “Desperate times, and all that.”
Ryan slid to his knees and proceeded to surprise both himself and Brendon.
***
Brendon fell asleep quickly. Ryan wasn’t quite sure whether he should be flattered or offended. “Not much for post-coital cuddling, are you?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Brendon’s shoulder.
“He’s ridiculously easy to tire,” Spencer said from the doorway. “If I’d known that, I’d have fucked him sooner.”
Ryan jumped, and tugged the blanket over the lower half of his body. Spencer just smirked, while Jon, following him, climbed onto the bed on Brendon’s other side.
“How the hell did you guys get in here?” Ryan asked.
Jon’s eyes widened innocently. “Some bastard stole my room key. I had the front desk make me a new one.” He stretched out on the edge of the bed; in his sleep, Brendon made a low noise and flung his arm over Jon’s chest. Jon grinned and moved an inch closer. “Thank god for king size beds,” he said cheerfully. “And small dudes.”
Ryan looked back at Spencer, who was eyeing the sticky, slippery mess on the bed behind Ryan with distaste. When Spencer’s gaze met his, Ryan felt a knot in his chest dissolve, and he grinned. “If you don’t like it, you can always go back to your own room, you know.”
Spencer scowled at him and looked around the room until he found the small pile of Ryan’s clothes. He deposited them over the wet spot, slid onto the bed and tossed an arm over Ryan’s side. Spencer’s weight against him felt comfortingly familiar, but somehow also new, somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Ryan figured he’d processed enough new shit for one night, so he was allowed to burrow his head farther into the pillow and enjoy the feeling of being trapped between two warm bodies. “You know, he’s figured out that we’re bribing him with sex,” he muttered. “It’s kind of unfair that he gets to get laid every time he threatens to go out and get wasted.”
“Well,” Spencer said reasonably, his words little more than breath against Ryan’s hair, “now we just tell him that he only gets laid when he’s a good boy. Now that he knows what he’d be missing, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem.”
“Because we’re all kind of excellent fucks,” Jon supplied, his eyes already closed.
“You all have remarkably high opinions of yourselves,” Brendon murmured sleepily.
“Are you going to argue?” Spencer said. “Because we can leave, if you want.”
“Don’t you dare.” Brendon tugged at Jon’s waist, and wriggled until his entire body was pressed against the length of Ryan’s. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Spencer’s laugh made Ryan laugh, both of them shaking the bed enough that both Brendon and Jon made displeased noises. “You know,” Ryan said, as Spencer snuggled closer to his back, “I have to admit, your plans don’t always entirely suck.”
“I’m the brains of this operation, Ross. Don’t deny it.”
With warm skin, liquid muscles, and heavy eyelids, Ryan couldn’t find one reason to argue.
Rating: R
Pairing: Panic GSF! With a particular turn towards Ryan/Brendon, but mostly it's a group effort.
Word Count: 2952
Notes: Blame
harriet_vane, it was her idea. ::grin:: Much love to sparkfrost and ignipes, who helped eradicate some of my particularly bad phrasing!Summary: Brendon's partying a little hard these days. Spencer has a Plan. Ryan's not entirely on board.
Ryan woke up to the sight of half a Brendon in the narrow hallway outside of his bunk. Luckily, the other half of him was in his bunk – thank god they’d decided to give him the bottom one, otherwise he might have decapitated himself – but his legs sprawled out nearly into Spencer’s bunk.
“I actually had a shoe in my face,” Spencer clarified a few moments later, blinking blearily at the coffee machine in the kitchen, “but I shoved it out.” Brendon didn’t care – in fact, judging from the loud snores, Brendon wouldn’t care about anything for at least another two or three hours.
“Should we move him in?” Jon wondered.
Spencer handed him a coffee mug. “No, leave his sorry ass.”
“What the hell.” Ryan shrugged, and saw his gesture mirrored twice.
He walked back to the lounge, stepping over Brendon on the way. He wondered where Brendon had gone the night before. They’d all gone to an after-party, and it wasn’t like any of the rest of them hadn’t indulged. Spencer’s eyes were rimmed with the tell-tale red of a minor hangover, and Jon’s voice was soft like it always was when he was trying not to give himself a headache. But Brendon, he’d attached himself to a couple of guys who’d been there – one of them worked for the promoter, Ryan had been introduced and forgot his name three seconds later – and they’d disappeared just before the party broke up. Pretty typical of Brendon, these days. If there was a party, he was the life of it. Or something approximating life. Ryan stared at the legs lying askew on the floor, coffee mug held to his lips.
“Seriously,” Jon said, stepping gingerly over Brendon, “I think we should do something. I don’t mind a good party, but …” But, indeed. Brendon had puked in the dressing room three times before their show the night before. His voice had held up, but Ryan could hear the stress under on every note.
Spencer kicked Brendon’s leg as he walked past. Brendon groaned, but didn’t move. “Don’t worry,” Spencer said as he sat down. “I have a plan.”
Ryan looked down the hall as the legs flailed, and pushed so that Brendon’s ass was entirely inside the bunk. His legs remained on the floor. “Oh, do tell.”
***
Ryan was pretty sure Spencer had lost his mind.
“Have you lost your mind, seriously?”
Spencer shrugged. “If he needs to be high on something, why not give him, like, natural endorphins?”
“You’ve been reading scientific magazines at truck stops again, haven’t you?”
Spencer flipped him off. Ryan figured on backup from Jon, but Jon just stared at Spencer for a long moment before saying, “Huh. That could work.”
Ryan considered checking his entire band into the nearest asylum.
***
When they reached their hotel after that night’s show, Brendon turned towards the hotel bar, but Spencer grabbed his arm and dragged him into the elevator. Jon smirked. “I guess you’re rooming with me tonight,” he told Ryan.
“What?” Ryan stared at him. “He wasn’t serious, for real, was he?”
Jon shrugged, his lips twitching. “Good thing for you I have an extra toothbrush in my bag.”
“Jesus. Gross. I can’t even think about it.” Ryan shuddered.
The next morning, Brendon sported swollen lips and a suspicious red mark on the side of his neck, but his eyes were clearer than they had been in a week, so Ryan decided to focus on that and not … well, whatever had caused that mark. Or whoever. Or the fact that Spencer had that look in his eye, the satisfied one that used to accompany a night with his ex-girlfriend, which Ryan usually mocked him mercilessly for. He figured he should just be happy that Brendon dwelled in the land of the living sometime before the dinner hour. He did not think about swollen lips or pale skin or what kind of noise Brendon and Spencer made when they ... And he absolutely did not go into the bathroom at the venue and jerk off before the show started.
Spencer was grinning at him when he walked back into the dressing room. Ryan contemplated beating him over the head with his guitar, but eventually decided that would be a waste of a perfectly good instrument. Besides, Spencer was some kind of ninja with his drumsticks. Ryan had learned that the hard (and painful) way as a teenager. But still, Spencer’s grin stuck around throughout the show. Ryan eventually stopped looking back towards the drums.
He was, however, happy to see Spencer – alone – sitting on the bus after the show, reading a magazine. “Where’s Jon?” he asked.
Spencer looked up at him. His grin widened.
Ryan blinked. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
***
The next day, Brendon walked with the tiniest of limps, and he and Jon broke into giggles every time they looked at each other.
Ryan lasted until after the show. After ninety minutes of looks and giggles and invasion of personal space – Ryan had thought he’d escaped with his own space onstage when Brendon started playing more instruments, but that night he’d spent more time at Jon’s and Ryan’s mics than at his own, it seemed - Ryan felt like he needed to crawl out of his skin. He stalked off stage, ignoring everyone; instead, he made a beeline for the bathroom. He locked himself in and closed his eyes. Bad idea, as he saw Brendon’s wide grin on the backs of his eyelids, first aimed at Jon, then slower, more tentative in Ryan’s direction. He blinked, and the image shifted; he hadn’t seen it, didn’t want to see it, he told himself, but somehow Brendon was splayed underneath Jon, both of them naked and sweating and laughing … Ryan wrapped his hand around his cock. His grip did what it needed to do, but when he was done, he laid his forehead against the cool tile and gulped in air.
Thankfully, Spencer and Jon had both disappeared by the time he came back out. Brendon, however, stood outside of the dressing room, chatting with a girl who wore too much blue eye shadow and stared at Brendon’s hands with something akin to hunger. Ryan felt something clench in his stomach. Just irritation, he told himself, especially when he saw the glass of amber liquid Brendon gestured with.
He didn’t particularly believe himself.
“Ryan? You okay?” Brendon’s expression held nothing but concern. “You kinda ran for the bathroom, there. Sick?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just my stomach.” Ryan wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I’m fine,” he repeated.
Brendon’s eyes were dark, heavy on Ryan’s face, and Ryan nearly stumbled in his haste to walk away. “Gonna go … lay down, or something,” Ryan said. He didn’t look back, didn’t stop until he reached the bus and curled up in his bunk.
Eventually, he heard the tell-tale sounds of Spencer’s shoes in the kitchen, and the softer thump of Jon walking barefoot down the hall. But Ryan didn’t hear Brendon’s overeager footsteps, at least not before he drifted to sleep. His dreams were sensory; hands on his hips, breath on his neck, a wet kiss pressed into his belly. He woke up sometime later – near dawn, a look at his watch told him – rock hard and with an ache in his neck. “Jesus fuck,” he muttered.
“You awake, Ryan?” Brendon’s voice floated softly into Ryan’s bunk, consonants made soft by alcohol. When Ryan turned his head, he could see the outline of Brendon’s torso on the other side of the curtain, and heard the soft shushing noises of clothing being shed and tossed on the floor. Ryan found his hand creeping towards the curtain of his bunk, wishing for warm flesh under his fingertips. He balled his hand into a fist when his brain finally caught up with his reflexes. He shifted against his blanket, and the movement sent a jolt from his cock all the way up to the back of his neck. Ryan jerked and hit his head on the top of his bunk.
“Dude? You alright?” Brendon asked. Ryan could see the shadow of his head moving towards him, to look inside.
“Go away, Bren,” Ryan said quickly, in what was hopefully a suitable woken-up voice. “I’m sleeping, if you’d let me.”
The shadow on the other side of the curtain moved away. “Sorry.”
In the morning, Brendon’s body was entirely inside his bunk, but his clothes were still in piles on the floor. Ryan accidentally stepped on the shirt, and felt a dampness he didn’t want to think of an explanation for.
In the lounge, Spencer glared at Ryan over his coffee. “What?” Ryan muttered, carefully choosing the chair across from Spencer rather than the space on the couch next to him.
“You’re a big pussy.”
“Fuck you. You and Jon seem to have things well in hand, why don’t you just keep doing … whatever it is you’re doing?”
“Fucking pussy. Seriously.”
Ryan did not punch Spencer in his stupid smug face. He admired his own restraint sometimes.
***
Ryan finally broke when he saw Brendon’s bloodshot eyes staring at him during soundcheck. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, too close to the microphone.
“What?” Brendon said. “You say something, Ross?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
After the show, Ryan plucked Jon’s hotel key out of his hand, Jon was juggling the contents of his pocket, looking for his mini-Sharpie while a pair of fans waited patiently next to the bus. He didn’t protest. “Go bother Spencer for the right key,” Ryan tossed over his shoulder as he walked away. He didn’t look back to see the look on Jon’s face, but he heard a small huff of laughter before he got out of earshot.
On the other side of the bus, Brendon laughed loudly at a woman who, underneath approximately seventeen pound of makeup, was probably old enough to have given birth to Brendon. Ryan grabbed his arm. “There’s a taxi waiting for us. Come on.”
“What? Where are we going?” Brendon allowed himself to be dragged away with minimal resistance.
“Back to the hotel. Come on.”
They sat next to each other in silence most of the way back to the hotel. Ryan folded his hands in his lap and kept his legs carefully on his own side of the seat. Brendon’s legs splayed wide and loose, almost into Ryan’s personal space. Not a new phenomenon, but Ryan’s nerves skittered across his skin, and he inched slightly away from Brendon’s suddenly overwhelming presence. At the traffic light a block away from the hotel, however, Brendon spoke up. “Ryan?”
“What?”
“You don’t … I mean, I don’t know … I kinda figured, you know, with Spencer and Jon …”
“Shut up,” Ryan said, more savagely than he intended. “Don’t say another fucking word.”
“I just-“
“Shut up.”
“Ryan-“
“Shut. Up.”
The cab pulled into the hotel drive, and Ryan threw a wad of bills at the driver before escaping the back seat. He looked back only once – Brendon was following him at a semi-safe distance – before marching through the lobby and to the elevator, ignoring the fans making halfhearted attempts to stop them as they walked past. “How do they always find where we’re staying, anyway?” he asked the mirrored ceiling of the elevator as the doors closed behind them.
In the ceiling mirror, Brendon’s shaggy hair swung as he turned around to face the door. Ryan could see Brendon’s reflection vibrating nervously. “I dunno, Ross, you were the teenage stalker. You probably have a better idea than any of us.”
“Fuck off.” For a moment, everything seemed normal, and Ryan allowed himself a deep breath. Then the elevator dinged their arrival at their floor, and he tensed up again. “Come on.”
Brendon spoke again only when the lock clicked behind him. “Ryan, seriously, I figured out there was something going on when Spencer and Jon … whatever it is, and I won’t lie, it’s really awesome, but you’re obviously not … I mean, you don’t want … and it’s okay, you don’t have to …”
Ryan turned around to look at Brendon, who stood just inside the door, staring at Ryan with wide brown eyes. “God. Brendon. How many times have I told you to just shut the fuck up?”
Brendon opened his mouth again – not good at following directions, that one, Ryan knew from hard experience – but Ryan stopped whatever comment he wanted to make by crossing the two steps between them and covering Brendon’s mouth with his.
Ryan shoved them back into the door; Brendon made a noise against Ryan’s mouth as his back impacted with the hard surface. Ryan parted his lips and experimentally licked at Brendon’s bottom lip, and Brendon’s mouth opened, accompanied by a low keening noise that shot straight through Ryan’s mouth and down his spine. Ryan tangled one hand in Brendon’s hair, using the other one to hold Brendon’s hip into place, as Brendon began squirming against him, pushing for movement towards the bed.
“Uh-uh,” Ryan muttered, “stay there.”
“God, anything,” Brendon promised. “Oh god, just don’t stop.”
Ryan felt a laugh bubbling up from his chest. Amusement or hysteria, he couldn’t quite tell. “Whatever happened,” he asked against Brendon’s mouth, “to ‘you don’t have to?’”
Brendon’s groan shook his entire body – and Ryan’s, pressed against him. “Are you a fucking cock tease, Ryan Ross?” But Brendon tipped his head back so that his lips were no longer whispering against Ryan’s. Brendon’s Adam’s apple jerked as he gulped. “I was serious,” Brendon finally said, his voice a strangled whisper. “I don’t want this if you don’t.”
Ryan hesitated a long moment, long enough that he felt Brendon’s chest rise and fall in a deliberately calming breath. Then, slowly, he leaned over and licked a wet stripe up Brendon’s exposed neck. The shiver of pleasure he felt at the noise Brendon made shouldn’t have surprised him. “After the last few days,” he murmured, “nothing should surprise me.”
“Nothing should surprise you?” Brendon let out a shaky breath. “Try being in my shoes.”
Ryan pressed his hips harder into Brendon’s. Brendon’s erection made him feel victorious. His own erection continued to surprise him, but surprise had slowly begun to slowly dissolve into a heady pleasure. “Really, there has to be a way to make you stop talking.”
“You were doing pretty well there for a minute.”
“Nope, not good enough. You’re still forming sentences.” Ryan tilted Brendon’s chin so that their eyes met. “Desperate times, and all that.”
Ryan slid to his knees and proceeded to surprise both himself and Brendon.
***
Brendon fell asleep quickly. Ryan wasn’t quite sure whether he should be flattered or offended. “Not much for post-coital cuddling, are you?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Brendon’s shoulder.
“He’s ridiculously easy to tire,” Spencer said from the doorway. “If I’d known that, I’d have fucked him sooner.”
Ryan jumped, and tugged the blanket over the lower half of his body. Spencer just smirked, while Jon, following him, climbed onto the bed on Brendon’s other side.
“How the hell did you guys get in here?” Ryan asked.
Jon’s eyes widened innocently. “Some bastard stole my room key. I had the front desk make me a new one.” He stretched out on the edge of the bed; in his sleep, Brendon made a low noise and flung his arm over Jon’s chest. Jon grinned and moved an inch closer. “Thank god for king size beds,” he said cheerfully. “And small dudes.”
Ryan looked back at Spencer, who was eyeing the sticky, slippery mess on the bed behind Ryan with distaste. When Spencer’s gaze met his, Ryan felt a knot in his chest dissolve, and he grinned. “If you don’t like it, you can always go back to your own room, you know.”
Spencer scowled at him and looked around the room until he found the small pile of Ryan’s clothes. He deposited them over the wet spot, slid onto the bed and tossed an arm over Ryan’s side. Spencer’s weight against him felt comfortingly familiar, but somehow also new, somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Ryan figured he’d processed enough new shit for one night, so he was allowed to burrow his head farther into the pillow and enjoy the feeling of being trapped between two warm bodies. “You know, he’s figured out that we’re bribing him with sex,” he muttered. “It’s kind of unfair that he gets to get laid every time he threatens to go out and get wasted.”
“Well,” Spencer said reasonably, his words little more than breath against Ryan’s hair, “now we just tell him that he only gets laid when he’s a good boy. Now that he knows what he’d be missing, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem.”
“Because we’re all kind of excellent fucks,” Jon supplied, his eyes already closed.
“You all have remarkably high opinions of yourselves,” Brendon murmured sleepily.
“Are you going to argue?” Spencer said. “Because we can leave, if you want.”
“Don’t you dare.” Brendon tugged at Jon’s waist, and wriggled until his entire body was pressed against the length of Ryan’s. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Spencer’s laugh made Ryan laugh, both of them shaking the bed enough that both Brendon and Jon made displeased noises. “You know,” Ryan said, as Spencer snuggled closer to his back, “I have to admit, your plans don’t always entirely suck.”
“I’m the brains of this operation, Ross. Don’t deny it.”
With warm skin, liquid muscles, and heavy eyelids, Ryan couldn’t find one reason to argue.
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Date: 2008-06-30 06:47 am (UTC)kerry =)