Prompt #3 - Part 1 - Also known as "Mandi can't write a healthy threesome"adellynaAugust 16 2007, 21:50:48 UTC
Ryan gets like this sometimes, when the days are too long and the shows are too hard and the reporters ask too many pushy questions and the fans come at them like a wall of hands. Maybe a hundred kids but easily a thousand grabby hands, reaching for clothes or shoving their own CD at them. Spencer is so sick of the cover art. The next time they put out a CD, Spencer swears, it’s going to be blank. White cover with black font that reads Panic! at the Disco, and then whatever the title is. At the moment, he’s leaning toward Fuck, I’m Tired.
They spend easily an hour and a half standing outside signing shit. Spencer would have taken Ryan and made a run for it, but it’s a hotel night and they have to van over and if they went and sat in the van for the last half of it while Jon and Brendon laughed with fans and signed things, they’d never hear the end of it. Ryan would get a call from Pete, laughing about how they made some fansite for being assholes. Again. And there’d just be people shouting their name from beyond the barricades anyway. Well, mostly Ryan’s, to be fair, with increasing desperation. Ryan. Ryan. Ryanryanryanryanryanryan. And then maybe a Spencer!!.
“I miss Vegas,” Ryan says when they finally do make the van. He curls in the back with Spencer, where neither the dome light nor the streetlights can make a dent in the shadows. He puts his hand on Spencer’s leg and rubs his nose into Spencer’s neck and Spencer thinks oh shit. Jon climbs into the front seat and turns, grinning, high on adoration, just in time to catch Ryan’s hand sliding under Spencer’s hoodie; he falters for a second, the smile slides down his face, but he nods at Spencer and turns back to Brendon, bubbling over again. It’s going to be one of those nights.
They get back to the hotel and park. Spencer climbs out from under Ryan’s leg, double checks his zipper just in case Ryan got to it without him noticing, and tries to wipe the condensation off his neck from where Ryan’s been mumbling ‘remember whens’ for the last half hour. He might have a hickey, he’s not absolutely sure. Brendon conveniently leaves, cheerfully claiming that some of the crew invited him out for shenanigans, which is either true or a shade of true that actually involves Brendon inviting himself out for shenanigans. Either way, it works.
“Let’s room together,” Ryan says. All of their bags are already in the hotel rooms, half unpacked. Upstairs, Spencer’s gel is out on the counter, his hair dryer is plugged in. Brendon always lets him have the better side of the sink, the one further from the toilet, he doesn’t have to worry about his cord knocking shit into the water or onto the floor.
Jon’s there suddenly, sandwiching Ryan between them, he gets his arm around Ryan’s waist and tugs them across the parking lot. Ryan, clinging to Spencer, his arms heavy around Spencer’s neck, starts walking. Spencer doesn’t really have a choice, he walks too. “Spencer’s rooming with Brendon,” Jon says.
Spencer nods in agreement, “I’m rooming with Brendon.”
“We’re already unpacked,” Jon adds.
“Yeah,” Spencer says, “I finished before the show.” He smiles at Ryan and tucks his hair behind his ears, gentle. “I hate packing.”
“Fine.” Ryan tucks his hand in Spencer’s back pocket and angles forward like he’s going to lick under Spencer’s jaw, but the hotel door opens then and the sudden light is like the flash of the camera, jolting Ryan back to himself like a snapshot.
They make it to the elevator and up to the room and through the door before Ryan turns again. He’s fast and strong, all muscle and bone and determination; he shoves Spencer’s hoodie down off his shoulders and pushes him back. Spencer would hit the door if Jon weren’t behind him, but he finds himself pinned between Ryan and Jon, his hands still wrapped up in his hoodie and trapped. Like bondage, but with more ruffles.
Prompt #3 - Part 2 - Also known as "Mandi can't write a healthy threesome"adellynaAugust 16 2007, 21:51:45 UTC
Ryan bites at his lip and Spencer lets his mouth fall open, tries to lean into Ryan to kiss him back. He’s still tangled though, his arms at a weird angle, his balance off, trying not to let his full weight and Ryan’s crush Jon, so it’s sloppy and he has no recourse when Ryan’s mouth shifts and goes to his neck, wet, teeth scraping. Spencer says, “Jon,” and Jon’s hands slide around his waist, push up his t-shirt and palm his stomach. He nuzzles his face into Spencer’s back and bites his shoulder, high on the slope where it’s more muscle than anything.
Spencer says, “Nngh,” and lets his head fall back on Jon’s shoulder. He tries to get his wrists somewhere where he can snag his hoodie and tug it off, get his hands free, but they’re on either side of Jon’s hips and he can’t, just can’t reach. He’s a conduit between them anyway. Jon shoves his hands up, high, palms rough and callused against Spencer’s skin. His shirt puddles above them and his chest is bare. Ryan bends and bites his way down to Spencer’s nipples, sucks roughly; Jon rotates his palms to cup over Spencer’s shoulders and bites the back of his neck.
“Bed,” Spencer says, loud and harsh. He can do this, he can play his part in all of this, but if it goes too far he’ll start wanting, and that’s a bad thing. That’s a very bad thing.
Ryan moans his agreement and shoves his hands into Spencer’s pocket- one at his hip, the other on his ass. He tugs them forward, Jon stumbling behind, but Spencer finally has enough room to wrench his sleeves off, get free of the fabric, and then he’s tumbling onto the bed after Ryan. Across the width of it, which is unfortunate. He has to crawl up and straddle Ryan, bend his head down to kiss him. He rolls them, straining with effort because Ryan is a dead-weight heavy motherfucker. Also, he smells like sweat and powder, a little like rain, and a whole lot like home; it’s nothing that adds up to Spencer wanting to fuck him. What Spencer wants to fuck is over Ryan’s shoulder, sliding blunt fingers under Ryan’s shirt and watching Spencer with dark, solemn eyes. They used to, they used to do this without Spencer’s past between them, but now. Well. Now is now.
As soon as Ryan’s head and hands are free of his shirt he’s bending down again, biting sloppily up Spencer’s neck and licking into his mouth. Spencer kisses him back. He closes his eyes and tries to feel it, licks the roof of Ryan’s mouth and writhes into the friction of their tongues, but he’s trying to kiss his way through Ryan and into the guy behind him and he knows it. Jon’s hands are there somewhere, Spencer can hear the little noises Ryan’s making. He feels Ryan shift his hips up when his pants come off and he swallows the sounds Ryan makes when Jon’s hands hit some magical spot. Spencer squints his eyes shut and focuses. He draws a map of Las Vegas on Ryan’s tongue, six miles and three turns between their houses. Another four and they’re to Brendon’s. He’d lick the 1700 miles between his house and Jon’s into Ryan’s mouth, but he doesn’t really want to be here that long.
Ryan makes a low, keening noise. Spencer’s eyes fly open; Ryan is naked, Jon’s stripped him at some point. All he can see are Jon’s fingers wrapped around Ryan’s hips, but he doesn’t have to see to know what’s happening, he can hear the wet sound of Jon’s tongue working Ryan open anyway. Ryan jerks in time with every pass, whimpering, pressing backward. For one sharp moment, Spencer hates him.
Prompt #3 - Part 3 - Also known as "Mandi can't write a healthy threesome"adellynaAugust 16 2007, 21:52:42 UTC
It passes quickly. Too quickly, Spencer wants to hold on to it, he wants to blame Ryan for stealing Jon. It’s easier, hurts less than realizing he handed Jon over, loaned him out like a hat and then, just. Couldn’t. Take him back.
But Ryan is open eyed again, leaning down to kiss Spencer, saying “Please, please,” into his mouth. Please into his mouth and please with his fingers on Spencer’s jeans and no. “No,” Spencer says. He tugs Ryan’s hands away from his pants and braces them up by his head, either side, pulling Ryan down for one last kiss.
Ryan won’t let anyone but Spencer fuck him. Spencer won’t let anyone but Jon fuck him. Brendon won’t fuck anything without tits. Jon, Jon insists, is just fucked.
“Stay,” Ryan pleads, “stay.”
He looks over Ryan’s head to Jon, whose fingers are sliding over Ryan’s ribs in smooth, tidal sweeps, closer and closer to his cock. He looks miserable.
“Jon?” Spencer asks. He just. Can’t help himself.
Jon’s only answer is to surge forward, trapping Ryan between them, and crush his lips against Spencer’s. He licks into Spencer’s mouth desperately, and it’s familiar in a way that Ryan isn’t. It’s the place Spencer wants to go instead of everywhere he’s been. “Don’t,” Jon says.
Ryan repeats, “Stay,” at the same time.
Their whole problem is summed up most succinctly in the fact that Spencer stays.
He scrambles backwards and braces his back against the headboard. Ryan tries to crawl after him; Jon gets his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and holds tight, keeping him in place. “Ryan,” he says, and Ryan glares heatedly toward the fingers overlapping his collarbones but nods.
They trade places. Jon falls on his back, his head between Spencer’s legs, Ryan kneeling down the bed, fingers busy on Jon’s jeans. Jon tilts his head back up and tries to meet Spencer’s eyes. Spencer refuses. He watches Ryan’s hands on Jon’s cock instead. He watches Ryan suck his fingers into his mouth and twist them into Jon. He watches Jon’s hips buck up. He watches Ryan suck the head of Jon’s cock into his mouth and take him in, impressively far in, his nose brushing the dark hair at the base.
He watches Jon’s hands fist in the comforter; sounds hiss out, he risks a glance at Jon’s face and sees him biting down on his lip. His eyes are heavy and honey, watching Spencer. It’s not Ryan’s name in his eyes, and Spencer understands that he’s muffling the name on his tongue. Whichever it is, Spencer doesn’t want to hear it.
“Over,” Ryan mutters. “flip. Jon, Over.”
There’s the shuffle, more awkward than sexy, and then. Well. Then they’re both facing Spencer. Jon’s on his knees, his eyes glued to the comforter. Ryan on his knees, pushing in but staring at Spencer. He feels the weight of Ryan looking at him as intensely as that of Jon not.
Ryan says (moans), “Spence,” and he reaches for Spencer’s hand. Their linked hands fall on Jon’s shoulder- a bridge right over what Spencer wants to what he doesn’t. He closes his eyes while Ryan ruts behind Jon, closes his eyes to the top of Jon’s dark head, and when Ryan comes he thinks, fiercely, I miss Vegas.
Re: Prompt #3 - Part 3 - Also known as "Mandi can't write a healthy threesome"flimsyAugust 16 2007, 23:15:28 UTC
I keep re-reading this, and god, seriously, GOOSEBUMPS! I love this dark and twisted tension between them, and Spencer's jealousy makes my heart hurt. He's so - agh, desperate and needy and ashdjka. I love this. Seriously, I do. I like porny fun threesomes, but dark/angsty are my favorite kind. ♥!!!
Re: Prompt #3 - Part 3 - Also known as "Mandi can't write a healthy threesome"airgiodslvAugust 17 2007, 02:10:12 UTC
Oh honey. So messed up. But I love the way you illustrated this, how clear a sense you gave of how everyone feels and why and what has gone wrong along the way. Absolutely gorgeous.
They spend easily an hour and a half standing outside signing shit. Spencer would have taken Ryan and made a run for it, but it’s a hotel night and they have to van over and if they went and sat in the van for the last half of it while Jon and Brendon laughed with fans and signed things, they’d never hear the end of it. Ryan would get a call from Pete, laughing about how they made some fansite for being assholes. Again. And there’d just be people shouting their name from beyond the barricades anyway. Well, mostly Ryan’s, to be fair, with increasing desperation. Ryan. Ryan. Ryanryanryanryanryanryan. And then maybe a Spencer!!.
“I miss Vegas,” Ryan says when they finally do make the van. He curls in the back with Spencer, where neither the dome light nor the streetlights can make a dent in the shadows. He puts his hand on Spencer’s leg and rubs his nose into Spencer’s neck and Spencer thinks oh shit. Jon climbs into the front seat and turns, grinning, high on adoration, just in time to catch Ryan’s hand sliding under Spencer’s hoodie; he falters for a second, the smile slides down his face, but he nods at Spencer and turns back to Brendon, bubbling over again. It’s going to be one of those nights.
They get back to the hotel and park. Spencer climbs out from under Ryan’s leg, double checks his zipper just in case Ryan got to it without him noticing, and tries to wipe the condensation off his neck from where Ryan’s been mumbling ‘remember whens’ for the last half hour. He might have a hickey, he’s not absolutely sure. Brendon conveniently leaves, cheerfully claiming that some of the crew invited him out for shenanigans, which is either true or a shade of true that actually involves Brendon inviting himself out for shenanigans. Either way, it works.
“Let’s room together,” Ryan says. All of their bags are already in the hotel rooms, half unpacked. Upstairs, Spencer’s gel is out on the counter, his hair dryer is plugged in. Brendon always lets him have the better side of the sink, the one further from the toilet, he doesn’t have to worry about his cord knocking shit into the water or onto the floor.
Jon’s there suddenly, sandwiching Ryan between them, he gets his arm around Ryan’s waist and tugs them across the parking lot. Ryan, clinging to Spencer, his arms heavy around Spencer’s neck, starts walking. Spencer doesn’t really have a choice, he walks too. “Spencer’s rooming with Brendon,” Jon says.
Spencer nods in agreement, “I’m rooming with Brendon.”
“We’re already unpacked,” Jon adds.
“Yeah,” Spencer says, “I finished before the show.” He smiles at Ryan and tucks his hair behind his ears, gentle. “I hate packing.”
“Fine.” Ryan tucks his hand in Spencer’s back pocket and angles forward like he’s going to lick under Spencer’s jaw, but the hotel door opens then and the sudden light is like the flash of the camera, jolting Ryan back to himself like a snapshot.
They make it to the elevator and up to the room and through the door before Ryan turns again. He’s fast and strong, all muscle and bone and determination; he shoves Spencer’s hoodie down off his shoulders and pushes him back. Spencer would hit the door if Jon weren’t behind him, but he finds himself pinned between Ryan and Jon, his hands still wrapped up in his hoodie and trapped. Like bondage, but with more ruffles.
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Spencer says, “Nngh,” and lets his head fall back on Jon’s shoulder. He tries to get his wrists somewhere where he can snag his hoodie and tug it off, get his hands free, but they’re on either side of Jon’s hips and he can’t, just can’t reach. He’s a conduit between them anyway. Jon shoves his hands up, high, palms rough and callused against Spencer’s skin. His shirt puddles above them and his chest is bare. Ryan bends and bites his way down to Spencer’s nipples, sucks roughly; Jon rotates his palms to cup over Spencer’s shoulders and bites the back of his neck.
“Bed,” Spencer says, loud and harsh. He can do this, he can play his part in all of this, but if it goes too far he’ll start wanting, and that’s a bad thing. That’s a very bad thing.
Ryan moans his agreement and shoves his hands into Spencer’s pocket- one at his hip, the other on his ass. He tugs them forward, Jon stumbling behind, but Spencer finally has enough room to wrench his sleeves off, get free of the fabric, and then he’s tumbling onto the bed after Ryan. Across the width of it, which is unfortunate. He has to crawl up and straddle Ryan, bend his head down to kiss him. He rolls them, straining with effort because Ryan is a dead-weight heavy motherfucker. Also, he smells like sweat and powder, a little like rain, and a whole lot like home; it’s nothing that adds up to Spencer wanting to fuck him. What Spencer wants to fuck is over Ryan’s shoulder, sliding blunt fingers under Ryan’s shirt and watching Spencer with dark, solemn eyes. They used to, they used to do this without Spencer’s past between them, but now. Well. Now is now.
As soon as Ryan’s head and hands are free of his shirt he’s bending down again, biting sloppily up Spencer’s neck and licking into his mouth. Spencer kisses him back. He closes his eyes and tries to feel it, licks the roof of Ryan’s mouth and writhes into the friction of their tongues, but he’s trying to kiss his way through Ryan and into the guy behind him and he knows it. Jon’s hands are there somewhere, Spencer can hear the little noises Ryan’s making. He feels Ryan shift his hips up when his pants come off and he swallows the sounds Ryan makes when Jon’s hands hit some magical spot. Spencer squints his eyes shut and focuses. He draws a map of Las Vegas on Ryan’s tongue, six miles and three turns between their houses. Another four and they’re to Brendon’s. He’d lick the 1700 miles between his house and Jon’s into Ryan’s mouth, but he doesn’t really want to be here that long.
Ryan makes a low, keening noise. Spencer’s eyes fly open; Ryan is naked, Jon’s stripped him at some point. All he can see are Jon’s fingers wrapped around Ryan’s hips, but he doesn’t have to see to know what’s happening, he can hear the wet sound of Jon’s tongue working Ryan open anyway. Ryan jerks in time with every pass, whimpering, pressing backward. For one sharp moment, Spencer hates him.
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But Ryan is open eyed again, leaning down to kiss Spencer, saying “Please, please,” into his mouth. Please into his mouth and please with his fingers on Spencer’s jeans and no. “No,” Spencer says. He tugs Ryan’s hands away from his pants and braces them up by his head, either side, pulling Ryan down for one last kiss.
Ryan won’t let anyone but Spencer fuck him. Spencer won’t let anyone but Jon fuck him. Brendon won’t fuck anything without tits. Jon, Jon insists, is just fucked.
“Stay,” Ryan pleads, “stay.”
He looks over Ryan’s head to Jon, whose fingers are sliding over Ryan’s ribs in smooth, tidal sweeps, closer and closer to his cock. He looks miserable.
“Jon?” Spencer asks. He just. Can’t help himself.
Jon’s only answer is to surge forward, trapping Ryan between them, and crush his lips against Spencer’s. He licks into Spencer’s mouth desperately, and it’s familiar in a way that Ryan isn’t. It’s the place Spencer wants to go instead of everywhere he’s been. “Don’t,” Jon says.
Ryan repeats, “Stay,” at the same time.
Their whole problem is summed up most succinctly in the fact that Spencer stays.
He scrambles backwards and braces his back against the headboard. Ryan tries to crawl after him; Jon gets his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and holds tight, keeping him in place. “Ryan,” he says, and Ryan glares heatedly toward the fingers overlapping his collarbones but nods.
They trade places. Jon falls on his back, his head between Spencer’s legs, Ryan kneeling down the bed, fingers busy on Jon’s jeans. Jon tilts his head back up and tries to meet Spencer’s eyes. Spencer refuses. He watches Ryan’s hands on Jon’s cock instead. He watches Ryan suck his fingers into his mouth and twist them into Jon. He watches Jon’s hips buck up. He watches Ryan suck the head of Jon’s cock into his mouth and take him in, impressively far in, his nose brushing the dark hair at the base.
He watches Jon’s hands fist in the comforter; sounds hiss out, he risks a glance at Jon’s face and sees him biting down on his lip. His eyes are heavy and honey, watching Spencer. It’s not Ryan’s name in his eyes, and Spencer understands that he’s muffling the name on his tongue. Whichever it is, Spencer doesn’t want to hear it.
“Over,” Ryan mutters. “flip. Jon, Over.”
There’s the shuffle, more awkward than sexy, and then. Well. Then they’re both facing Spencer. Jon’s on his knees, his eyes glued to the comforter. Ryan on his knees, pushing in but staring at Spencer. He feels the weight of Ryan looking at him as intensely as that of Jon not.
Ryan says (moans), “Spence,” and he reaches for Spencer’s hand. Their linked hands fall on Jon’s shoulder- a bridge right over what Spencer wants to what he doesn’t. He closes his eyes while Ryan ruts behind Jon, closes his eyes to the top of Jon’s dark head, and when Ryan comes he thinks, fiercely, I miss Vegas.
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♥!!!
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Clearly you are to blame for my twistydarkfic proclivities.
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