Panic fic: the best mirror is an old friend (Ryan/Spencer, nc-17)
the best mirror is an old friend
ryan/spencer
nc-17; 2300 words
circa 'nothing rhymes with circus' tour
contains: voyeurism and what might be considered momentary dubious consent by those very sensitive to that issue
the title is a quote from george herbert (english clergyman and metaphysical poet, 1593-1633)
the best mirror is an old friend
Ryan is all knees and elbows, but Spencer kind of likes that. It makes for a nice contrast with his murmuring monotone and soft skin. Ryan in general makes for nice contrasts, not least of all with Spencer.
Ryan's straddling his lap, his thinner thighs braced over Spencer's thicker ones, and he's holding his face in his hands, those hands with the amazing long bony fingers that for no good reason drive him out of his goddamn mind, and kissing him in a way that makes Spencer lose all track of time. Or place. A backstage dressing room is not a particularly good location for making out - not like this, anyway - but this thing with them is still new, and they kind of want to be doing this all the time.
Their hair keeps getting in the way, but Spencer doesn't mind too much, especially when Ryan pushes Spencer's long sweep of bangs back off his face and keeps his hands tangled in his hair as he starts sucking at a hollow of Spencer's throat. Ryan's so good at this. It's not about experience, either, Spencer thinks. He's had his fair share lately, enough to feel like he's caught up to Ryan, at least as much as that elusive always-a-year-behind will allow. Maybe it's just that Ryan is so much better suited for this than he is.
Spencer still thinks too much, still feels awkward, but Ryan seems to get all the moves just right, and better still, he knows how to just let go and do what feels good. That had been the really surprising thing about making this transition in their relationship, that his usually self-contained best friend could also be his very affectionate boyfriend. Quite frankly, it freaks Spencer out a little, like one of the Ryans he knew - he knows - is somehow not quite real. But the contradiction and confusion is kind of hot, too, so Spencer doesn't mind, no more than he minds kissing Ryan's jawline and tasting pancake makeup: Ryan looks super fucking hot in eyeliner.
Of course, Ryan looks super fucking hot in general, especially with his eyes half closed as he stops and looks for a second at Spencer's face before he kisses him again. He's always doing that, pausing when their mouths are almost touching, and right now his eyes are always so narrowed and dark Spencer wonders how it took them this fucking long to start doing this. Usually, when Ryan finally closes his eyes and leans in, Spencer forgets to wonder what he's doing. A lot gets lost when Ryan's heavy in his lap and his hands are everywhere and he bites Spencer's lip just a little. Today, though, when Ryan leans in to kiss him he pauses a little too long. And he smiles. That's another awesome disconcerting thing about dating his best friend, who has always, in fact, smiled at him, but never quite like this.
"What?" Spencer mutters, ducking his head a little to get out of Ryan's gaze.
"What what?" Ryan replies, ducking his head, too, so he can kiss him.
But Spencer pulls back. "Why do you always…look at me?"
"Kind of hard not to see you," he says with an adorably confused raise of his eyebrows. "Your face is pretty close to my face."
"No, I mean-- Like, you do this…pausing thing. You stop and look at me before you…you know…"
Ryan shrugs. "I guess I like looking at you?" he says, and his smile wavers toward something goofy.
"Ryan."
At the whiny, admittedly kind of helpless tone in Spencer's voice, Ryan's eyes narrow, but not in a sexy way.
Then they go wide again, and Ryan says, "Seriously?"
"What?"
"Really, are you a complete dumbass?"
Because he's not going to flail his arms and yell, What?, Spencer just frowns. But, really, What?.
Ryan adds, "You're, like, catastrophically stupid."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. Why am I always looking at you? Do you have any idea how hot you are?"
Spencer's face immediately flushes, and since he can't very well pull away, untangle himself from Ryan's arms, he buries his face against Ryan's shoulder.
"Apparently not," Spencer mutters, because seriously. Really.
Ryan doesn't try to lift Spencer's head up, but his fingers brush the hair back off his cheek and stay there, just at his temple. For a second, Spencer thinks this is about to be one of those moments they're having more and more often, mostly at night in their bunk but sometimes other places, too, where they get quiet and stop kissing but keep touching, where Ryan's warm and solid on top of him and they decide for a while that they're not going to let go.
But this is apparently not one of those times. Ryan's suddenly standing up, grabbing his hand, and pulling him toward the bathroom.
It's not that they haven't messed around in bathrooms before -- this bathroom, in fact, just a couple of hours ago -- but this is clearly something different. Ryan pushes him into place into front of the sink, and when he slips up behind him, Spencer knows he was actually putting him in front of the mirror.
Spencer scowls, and the mirror reflects it back to him. It's an impressive scowl, not that Ryan's deterred at all. Catching their bodies from the waist up, the mirror captures Ryan's knowing grin as well as all the million evidences that Ryan really is better suited for this life than he is.
Ryan's hair falls just right over his kohl-lined eyes. Spencer's not stupid; he's seen Ryan's hair when it's just washed, frizzy and curling before it's attacked with the flatiron. But looking at him now, it seems so natural. Looking at Spencer's hair, it looks… Well, it looks like it's been flatironed. And it also looks like his best friend coaxed him into putting makeup on and he's still getting used to it. The sad thing is, he's been wearing it in performance for weeks, but it still doesn't look like him. It looks like a guy desperately trying to be cool. Ryan looks like a guy who actually is.
Not that being cool is Spencer's highest ambition in life. He's not the one with the myspace and livejournal, posting pictures of himself to get people's attention. Normally, he's grateful for that side of Ryan - after all, it got them where they are today - but when he's making him stand in front of a mirror just to prove some bullshit point… It would be sort of hot if it wasn't kind of infuriating.
Luckily, Ryan reads him pretty well, so he knows exactly how pissed and uncomfortable he is. Unfortunately, he also knows exactly how to distract him from that, at least enough to get him to calm down and stay where he wants him. Ryan doesn't say a word, doesn't bother to underline his bullshit point by explaining what they're doing here. He just starts sucking on Spencer's neck again.
Spencer would love to be indignant and prove some kind of point of his own, but, fuck, this is Ryan looking at him in that curious, seductive way through long lashes as he pushes his shirt out of the way so he can nip at his collarbone. Without much effort, he's bringing them back to the place they were before, turned on and happily making out and contemplating groping each other, but Spencer's still pretty annoyed, and having a mirror in front of him, highlighting all his flaws -- the cowlick he can never quite get rid of, his round face, the way his shirt stretches over his belly - isn't helping. Not at all.
"Ryan," he huffs, jerking his shoulders away, "can we just-"
Quickly, Ryan's arms circle his waist and hold him fast. Standing with his forehead pressed to Spencer's back, he's clearly kind of desperate to get him to stay, to just give in and let him take care of him, or at least to not be mad. The tension in his arms is as convincing as the fact that he's not talking, just breathing and waiting patiently. Still, Spencer feels like he needs to assert himself somehow, even if it starts a fight, because this isn't okay, this pushy fucking bullshit, this-
Hand on his stomach, sliding under his shirt? As a shiver rattles down his spine, Spencer's gaze is riveted to the mirror, to the ripple of Ryan's fingers moving under his thin t-shirt, first on his belly and then inching upward, stopping right under his ribs. It's stupidly hot. Really. And totally distracting.
Of course, he's not going to let little things like Ryan's hand and the imminent return of his boner keep him from being pissed off. He thinks he can get away with that moment of being mesmerized, too, what with Ryan's face pressed against the back of his neck and all, but Ryan must've felt something because Spencer's feeling something now, too - that tension in Ryan's muscles that tells him Ryan's confident and stubborn and he's not going anywhere or stopping anything anytime soon.
When Ryan goes back to kissing his neck, he's doing it in a way that only seems casual. It's the same with his hand. For a minute or two, it just sweeps back and forth against his belly as he mouths the hollow behind Spencer's ear, but soon his hand is creeping southward. First, it's simply brushing his waistband, but then it moves lower, below the frame of the mirror. As hot as it was watching Ryan's hand, it's even more impossibly hot not being able to see what he can still feel: Ryan palming his dick through his jeans.
"Fuck," Spencer gasps, still trying to sound indignant, "if you're going to-"
He cuts himself off with a shallow breath because Ryan's already popping the button on his pants and working his hand down into the opening zipper.
Things speed up from there because Ryan's a fantastic tease, but only up to a certain point, and judging from how hard Ryan feels against Spencer's lower back, right above his ass, they're well past that. As he pulls Spencer's dick out of his briefs and gives it a long stroke, Spencer finally lets out a groan. In the mirror, he sees Ryan's cocky smile.
"Smug fucker," Spencer murmurs, but that's all the invective he manages before Ryan starts jerking him off.
At first it's too much, the way it's always too much until he figures out how to breathe and slow down and enjoy this and not come just from that little twisting motion Ryan uses over the head. Once they settle into a rhythm - a desperate one, but one they can keep up - he has a whole new problem: where to look. His eyes have been trained on the mirror, but he can't see what Ryan's doing, just his own reactions, and he doesn't particularly need to see his clenching stomach muscles or the flush that's spreading over his neck and face. So he glances down in front of him and watches his dick slip up through Ryan's grasp. It makes him want to thrust his hips, so he does, fucks himself on Ryan's hand, but so soon he finds his gaze wandering back to the mirror. He trains his eyes on the jerking muscles in Ryan's forearm and bicep.
"So hot," Ryan suddenly murmurs in his ear, breaking up the wet, rhythmic sound of his hand sliding over Spencer's dick. This feels even dirtier now, but not necessarily in a good way. He wonders if maybe Ryan's just doing this to watch himself do it, to see himself in the mirror as he makes Spencer come undone. A flare of anger blends right into the arousal until he's thrusting harder into Ryan's fist, determined to take what he wants, make Ryan give it to him on his own terms.
Then Ryan murmurs, "God, Spencer, fuck," and Spencer's eyes finally snap up again. When they do, they find Ryan's, and he's not watching himself or his own hand at all. He's watching Spencer's face.
Ryan looks a little wrecked. His mouth is open against Spencer's shoulder, and when he sees that Spencer's looking at him finally, he closes his eyes, bites Spencer's shoulder through his t-shirt, and jerks him a little harder. His other hand is working down between their bodies to his own fly.
Ryan's keeping a sloppy hold and rhythm now, but it's okay. It's more than okay. About the time Ryan gets his hand around his own dick, Spencer feels his orgasm coming, so close, and he closes his hand over Ryan's to set the pace to make himself come. It's so fucking good, especially because he's also listening to Ryan grunt and swear and fist his own dick. When Ryan comes, he probably gets it all over the back of Spencer's pants, but Spencer can't be too pissed about that, not with Ryan shaking a little and breathing hard as he calms down.
As they tuck themselves back into their pants, Ryan is still a little dazed but more than a little pleased with himself.
"You let me know if you feel a bout of stupid self-esteem coming on," he says, "and we'll do that again." Then he grins and adds, "As many times as it takes."
Spencer's about to retort with a snarky comeback, but he's overcome with some emotion he can't make sense of except to know it's putting him in danger of blushing.
So he murmurs, "Okay," then grabs Ryan and kisses him hard on the mouth like a fuck you and a thank you all at once.
~
ryan/spencer
nc-17; 2300 words
circa 'nothing rhymes with circus' tour
contains: voyeurism and what might be considered momentary dubious consent by those very sensitive to that issue
the title is a quote from george herbert (english clergyman and metaphysical poet, 1593-1633)
the best mirror is an old friend
Ryan is all knees and elbows, but Spencer kind of likes that. It makes for a nice contrast with his murmuring monotone and soft skin. Ryan in general makes for nice contrasts, not least of all with Spencer.
Ryan's straddling his lap, his thinner thighs braced over Spencer's thicker ones, and he's holding his face in his hands, those hands with the amazing long bony fingers that for no good reason drive him out of his goddamn mind, and kissing him in a way that makes Spencer lose all track of time. Or place. A backstage dressing room is not a particularly good location for making out - not like this, anyway - but this thing with them is still new, and they kind of want to be doing this all the time.
Their hair keeps getting in the way, but Spencer doesn't mind too much, especially when Ryan pushes Spencer's long sweep of bangs back off his face and keeps his hands tangled in his hair as he starts sucking at a hollow of Spencer's throat. Ryan's so good at this. It's not about experience, either, Spencer thinks. He's had his fair share lately, enough to feel like he's caught up to Ryan, at least as much as that elusive always-a-year-behind will allow. Maybe it's just that Ryan is so much better suited for this than he is.
Spencer still thinks too much, still feels awkward, but Ryan seems to get all the moves just right, and better still, he knows how to just let go and do what feels good. That had been the really surprising thing about making this transition in their relationship, that his usually self-contained best friend could also be his very affectionate boyfriend. Quite frankly, it freaks Spencer out a little, like one of the Ryans he knew - he knows - is somehow not quite real. But the contradiction and confusion is kind of hot, too, so Spencer doesn't mind, no more than he minds kissing Ryan's jawline and tasting pancake makeup: Ryan looks super fucking hot in eyeliner.
Of course, Ryan looks super fucking hot in general, especially with his eyes half closed as he stops and looks for a second at Spencer's face before he kisses him again. He's always doing that, pausing when their mouths are almost touching, and right now his eyes are always so narrowed and dark Spencer wonders how it took them this fucking long to start doing this. Usually, when Ryan finally closes his eyes and leans in, Spencer forgets to wonder what he's doing. A lot gets lost when Ryan's heavy in his lap and his hands are everywhere and he bites Spencer's lip just a little. Today, though, when Ryan leans in to kiss him he pauses a little too long. And he smiles. That's another awesome disconcerting thing about dating his best friend, who has always, in fact, smiled at him, but never quite like this.
"What?" Spencer mutters, ducking his head a little to get out of Ryan's gaze.
"What what?" Ryan replies, ducking his head, too, so he can kiss him.
But Spencer pulls back. "Why do you always…look at me?"
"Kind of hard not to see you," he says with an adorably confused raise of his eyebrows. "Your face is pretty close to my face."
"No, I mean-- Like, you do this…pausing thing. You stop and look at me before you…you know…"
Ryan shrugs. "I guess I like looking at you?" he says, and his smile wavers toward something goofy.
"Ryan."
At the whiny, admittedly kind of helpless tone in Spencer's voice, Ryan's eyes narrow, but not in a sexy way.
Then they go wide again, and Ryan says, "Seriously?"
"What?"
"Really, are you a complete dumbass?"
Because he's not going to flail his arms and yell, What?, Spencer just frowns. But, really, What?.
Ryan adds, "You're, like, catastrophically stupid."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. Why am I always looking at you? Do you have any idea how hot you are?"
Spencer's face immediately flushes, and since he can't very well pull away, untangle himself from Ryan's arms, he buries his face against Ryan's shoulder.
"Apparently not," Spencer mutters, because seriously. Really.
Ryan doesn't try to lift Spencer's head up, but his fingers brush the hair back off his cheek and stay there, just at his temple. For a second, Spencer thinks this is about to be one of those moments they're having more and more often, mostly at night in their bunk but sometimes other places, too, where they get quiet and stop kissing but keep touching, where Ryan's warm and solid on top of him and they decide for a while that they're not going to let go.
But this is apparently not one of those times. Ryan's suddenly standing up, grabbing his hand, and pulling him toward the bathroom.
It's not that they haven't messed around in bathrooms before -- this bathroom, in fact, just a couple of hours ago -- but this is clearly something different. Ryan pushes him into place into front of the sink, and when he slips up behind him, Spencer knows he was actually putting him in front of the mirror.
Spencer scowls, and the mirror reflects it back to him. It's an impressive scowl, not that Ryan's deterred at all. Catching their bodies from the waist up, the mirror captures Ryan's knowing grin as well as all the million evidences that Ryan really is better suited for this life than he is.
Ryan's hair falls just right over his kohl-lined eyes. Spencer's not stupid; he's seen Ryan's hair when it's just washed, frizzy and curling before it's attacked with the flatiron. But looking at him now, it seems so natural. Looking at Spencer's hair, it looks… Well, it looks like it's been flatironed. And it also looks like his best friend coaxed him into putting makeup on and he's still getting used to it. The sad thing is, he's been wearing it in performance for weeks, but it still doesn't look like him. It looks like a guy desperately trying to be cool. Ryan looks like a guy who actually is.
Not that being cool is Spencer's highest ambition in life. He's not the one with the myspace and livejournal, posting pictures of himself to get people's attention. Normally, he's grateful for that side of Ryan - after all, it got them where they are today - but when he's making him stand in front of a mirror just to prove some bullshit point… It would be sort of hot if it wasn't kind of infuriating.
Luckily, Ryan reads him pretty well, so he knows exactly how pissed and uncomfortable he is. Unfortunately, he also knows exactly how to distract him from that, at least enough to get him to calm down and stay where he wants him. Ryan doesn't say a word, doesn't bother to underline his bullshit point by explaining what they're doing here. He just starts sucking on Spencer's neck again.
Spencer would love to be indignant and prove some kind of point of his own, but, fuck, this is Ryan looking at him in that curious, seductive way through long lashes as he pushes his shirt out of the way so he can nip at his collarbone. Without much effort, he's bringing them back to the place they were before, turned on and happily making out and contemplating groping each other, but Spencer's still pretty annoyed, and having a mirror in front of him, highlighting all his flaws -- the cowlick he can never quite get rid of, his round face, the way his shirt stretches over his belly - isn't helping. Not at all.
"Ryan," he huffs, jerking his shoulders away, "can we just-"
Quickly, Ryan's arms circle his waist and hold him fast. Standing with his forehead pressed to Spencer's back, he's clearly kind of desperate to get him to stay, to just give in and let him take care of him, or at least to not be mad. The tension in his arms is as convincing as the fact that he's not talking, just breathing and waiting patiently. Still, Spencer feels like he needs to assert himself somehow, even if it starts a fight, because this isn't okay, this pushy fucking bullshit, this-
Hand on his stomach, sliding under his shirt? As a shiver rattles down his spine, Spencer's gaze is riveted to the mirror, to the ripple of Ryan's fingers moving under his thin t-shirt, first on his belly and then inching upward, stopping right under his ribs. It's stupidly hot. Really. And totally distracting.
Of course, he's not going to let little things like Ryan's hand and the imminent return of his boner keep him from being pissed off. He thinks he can get away with that moment of being mesmerized, too, what with Ryan's face pressed against the back of his neck and all, but Ryan must've felt something because Spencer's feeling something now, too - that tension in Ryan's muscles that tells him Ryan's confident and stubborn and he's not going anywhere or stopping anything anytime soon.
When Ryan goes back to kissing his neck, he's doing it in a way that only seems casual. It's the same with his hand. For a minute or two, it just sweeps back and forth against his belly as he mouths the hollow behind Spencer's ear, but soon his hand is creeping southward. First, it's simply brushing his waistband, but then it moves lower, below the frame of the mirror. As hot as it was watching Ryan's hand, it's even more impossibly hot not being able to see what he can still feel: Ryan palming his dick through his jeans.
"Fuck," Spencer gasps, still trying to sound indignant, "if you're going to-"
He cuts himself off with a shallow breath because Ryan's already popping the button on his pants and working his hand down into the opening zipper.
Things speed up from there because Ryan's a fantastic tease, but only up to a certain point, and judging from how hard Ryan feels against Spencer's lower back, right above his ass, they're well past that. As he pulls Spencer's dick out of his briefs and gives it a long stroke, Spencer finally lets out a groan. In the mirror, he sees Ryan's cocky smile.
"Smug fucker," Spencer murmurs, but that's all the invective he manages before Ryan starts jerking him off.
At first it's too much, the way it's always too much until he figures out how to breathe and slow down and enjoy this and not come just from that little twisting motion Ryan uses over the head. Once they settle into a rhythm - a desperate one, but one they can keep up - he has a whole new problem: where to look. His eyes have been trained on the mirror, but he can't see what Ryan's doing, just his own reactions, and he doesn't particularly need to see his clenching stomach muscles or the flush that's spreading over his neck and face. So he glances down in front of him and watches his dick slip up through Ryan's grasp. It makes him want to thrust his hips, so he does, fucks himself on Ryan's hand, but so soon he finds his gaze wandering back to the mirror. He trains his eyes on the jerking muscles in Ryan's forearm and bicep.
"So hot," Ryan suddenly murmurs in his ear, breaking up the wet, rhythmic sound of his hand sliding over Spencer's dick. This feels even dirtier now, but not necessarily in a good way. He wonders if maybe Ryan's just doing this to watch himself do it, to see himself in the mirror as he makes Spencer come undone. A flare of anger blends right into the arousal until he's thrusting harder into Ryan's fist, determined to take what he wants, make Ryan give it to him on his own terms.
Then Ryan murmurs, "God, Spencer, fuck," and Spencer's eyes finally snap up again. When they do, they find Ryan's, and he's not watching himself or his own hand at all. He's watching Spencer's face.
Ryan looks a little wrecked. His mouth is open against Spencer's shoulder, and when he sees that Spencer's looking at him finally, he closes his eyes, bites Spencer's shoulder through his t-shirt, and jerks him a little harder. His other hand is working down between their bodies to his own fly.
Ryan's keeping a sloppy hold and rhythm now, but it's okay. It's more than okay. About the time Ryan gets his hand around his own dick, Spencer feels his orgasm coming, so close, and he closes his hand over Ryan's to set the pace to make himself come. It's so fucking good, especially because he's also listening to Ryan grunt and swear and fist his own dick. When Ryan comes, he probably gets it all over the back of Spencer's pants, but Spencer can't be too pissed about that, not with Ryan shaking a little and breathing hard as he calms down.
As they tuck themselves back into their pants, Ryan is still a little dazed but more than a little pleased with himself.
"You let me know if you feel a bout of stupid self-esteem coming on," he says, "and we'll do that again." Then he grins and adds, "As many times as it takes."
Spencer's about to retort with a snarky comeback, but he's overcome with some emotion he can't make sense of except to know it's putting him in danger of blushing.
So he murmurs, "Okay," then grabs Ryan and kisses him hard on the mouth like a fuck you and a thank you all at once.
~