Dealing With Bullets | Ryan/Brendon | NC-17
Title: Dealing With Bullets
Author: fatal_overdose
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (of course.) Ryan!fic.
Summary:“You know these words, though.” Brendon points out. Ryan just shrugs and says, “Yes, my mind does, but do my fingers?” Brendon thinks about the question for a long, long time. Three days later, Spencer is already asking about how Ryan got Brendon to be this quiet and would he mind sharing the secret?
Disclaimer: Never happened, don't own. The End.
Notes: I'd tell you that this is confusing, but you already knew that because I wrote it, and everything I write is confusing.
Ryan Ross is twenty-one years old, therefore, he is not a child. He is not a child, and yet, he can act like a child right now if he wants to, damnit, because Brendon just dropped the e-chord and when his finger strummed over the f-string, even Spencer cringed. Which is why Ryan Ross is currently acting like a child and hiding in his bunk with his iPod, Sidekick, and his mental list of Reasons Not To Kill Brendon.
-
The first time Ryan was pushed against the wall was when he and Brendon were just fifteen, wearing Third Eye Blind t-shirts and skinny jeans and converse. Ryan’s ear was pierced because it was cool and no one cared to stop him when he said he was going to have it done. The breath is knocked out of him at first, and a bruise immediately forms on his shoulder blade, but he doesn’t pay attention to that. What he pays attention to is the glint in Brendon’s eye and the smirk on his face and maintaining his own smirk.
He laughs and growls and pushes Brendon away and they both fallstumbleroll to the floor. Their argument is loud and Ryan’s window is open, but the neighbors keep their windows tightly shut because in this neighborhood, if you gossip, you will be gossiped about.
Their fun is cut short when the front door slams open and Ryan’s dad stumbles drunkenly up the stairs, slurring Ryan’s name and yelling about the fact that there’s no food in the kitchen on the table (Ryan doesn’t cook. he never has, but his dad is drunk, so nothing matters, anyway).
Brendon quickly climbs out of the window and shoots down the ladder that no one seems to have noticed is there yet, and is gone before Ryan can blink.
The next day at practice, neither mentions the bruise high on Ryan’s cheek bone or the way Ryan seems a little quieter than usual.
-
The second time Ryan is pushed against the wall is when he’s nineteen and Brendon is pissed off, obviously, about the way Ryan wants everything done perfectly, how everything has to be just the way he wants it, how Ryan is alwaysalwaysalways in charge and no one ever says anything about it. So, Brendon says something. It’s not much, just a normal fight between the two, and Spencer and Brent sigh and tilt their heads and look away and later, when everything’s over, Brendon and Ryan curl up together on Spencer’s grandmother’s couch and talk about things in quiet whispers.
-
The third time Ryan gets pushed against the wall is five days after his twentieth birthday. That day, Brendon kisses him for the first time.
-
The fourth time he gets pushed against the wall is the third time Ryan has cried since he’s turned twelve.
-
“You shouldn’t have fucking done that!” Spencer yells, and he’s pissed off for the first time in. Years. Ryan doesn’t flinch because he deserves it (deserves the shame of letting Spencer see the tears drip from his eyes), he really does, even though in some small, tiny, miniscule way, Spencer should be thanking him - maybe. He isn’t even sure.
“I did what I had to,” Ryan says in a small voice.
“You gave Pete fucking Wentz a blowjob, Ryan.”
“It got us the deal, didn’t it?” Ryan shoots back, glaring. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, just remembering.
“Ryan, you didn’t. I would’ve preferred getting the deal because we were good. Ryan, you’re not even gay.” Ryan looks at him and Spencer says, “Oh.”
-
Ryan doesn’t cry the day he finds out his dad died. He doesn’t cry the day after (even though he’s pretty fucking pissed about having his Sidekick taken away. he was on the phone with his fucking cousin, trying to figure out plans for the funeral) or the day after that, either. It’s two weeks later, three days after the flight back from the funeral, when he finally breaks down in Spencer’s arms.
Brendon and Jon watch from across the room and if Jon notices how jealousy mixes with sorrow in Brendon’s eyes, he doesn’t say anything about it.
-
“What the fuck did you do?” Spencer asks, astonished as much as he is pissed. Ryan is sitting across the room on the hotel bed with his face buried in his hands. His shoulders are shaking and the room echoes his gasps and choked sobs.
“I don’t.” Brendon looks across the room at Ryan and flinches.
“You had to do something,” Jon says, head poking in around the door. He’s the smart one - keeping his distance in the hall. Jon takes a good look at Ryan. “Maybe he’s just. Happy or something and you freaked out over his crying for nothing.”
“Brendon Urie, get the fuck over here,” Ryan suddenly says, glaring over at them. Brendon scampers across the room and kneels beside the bed, peeking over the edge at Ryan and wondering how he’s going to get punished. “Spencer, get the fuck out.” Spencer and Jon waste no time in leaving.
Brendon swallows and carefully says, “Uhm. What did I do?”
Ryan says, “You’re an idiot.” and kisses him.
-
Ryan Ross is twenty-one years old and can act like a child if he wants and drink alcohol if he chooses. Only, Ryan doesn’t drink alcohol. The one and only time he had vodka was when he was thirteen at Mark Silverstein’s birthday party. Someone had filled a Sprite bottle and had given him a glass. When he felt the burn of acid down his throat, he demanded to know what it was he’d just consumed.
When Mark told him it was vodka and to, “chill, man. no one will find out” he’d gone off on Mark and stormed from the house.
He went to Spencer’s house because, chances were, he wouldn’t get away from vodka by going home.
He didn’t talk to Mark ever again.
-
“How much should I put in?” William asked happily, holding a bottle of Smirnoff over the mixing bowl.
“You can’t put vodka in Ryan’s birthday cake!” Brendon yelped, grabbing William’s wrist and forcing the bottle away from the bowl.
“Oh,” William said, looking thoroughly surprised. “I have rum, too. Would that be better?”
Brendon sighed, exasperated, and Jon said, “You shouldn’t put any alcohol in the cake. It might not bake well.”
“Ryan doesn’t drink,” Brendon points out then.
Spencer walks in and everyone goes silent, all of them leaning towards the doorway to see if Ryan is there, too. “Alcohol bakes out when you cook it. It would just be for flavor.” Then, “Bill, put down the glass. You might hurt yourself. Or Brendon.” William frowned and did not put any vodka in Ryan’s cake.
-
Jon is a drinker. Ryan doesn’t approve, but Jon was drinking before he met Panic! (and probably, Ryan guesses, before he was in High School, even) so he can’t really say anything. Jon doesn’t get drunk, though, so the drinking is pretty much okay, as long as it’s not right in front of Ryan and not in horrendous amounts.
Brendon is also a drinker. Not like Jon - not nearly - but he does get drunk and Ryan doesn’t like it at all. Brendon isn’t a violent drunk like Ryan’s dad, just a sweet, clumsy drunk that says sweet things and gets terrible hangovers.
Ryan sometimes blames Jon for Brendon’s drinking, but mostly just William (and sometimes Pete when he wasn’t fucking some girl - or Patrick - against the wall) because that’s who started Brendon on his drinking in the first place. At first, it was just, “here, have a beer” but then there were drinking games and Ryan hated those nights because no matter how loud he turned up his iPod or how hard he pushed the ear buds into his ears, he still heard the strangled sounds from the bathroom the morning after.
He hates hearing the “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry”s the most.
-
“Careful,” Spencer says and then there’s a quiet clunk where Brendon’s head met the doorframe. They’re both being quiet - Brendon whispering even in his drunken state, aware of Ryan’s blazing eyes even though they’re hidden behind the curtain of his bunk. Brendon climbs helplessly into the bunk across from Ryan and Ryan pulls back the curtain a little to watch him wriggle around.
Brendon has fallen from his bunk too many times to count after a drunken night, and Ryan’s tired of listening to his complaints.
“Hi,” Brendon whispers sleepily when he realizes Ryan is watching. Ryan narrows his eyes and snaps the curtain shut. In the morning, Brendon doesn’t remember much, just knows that he has a horrible headache and that Jon’s video game is too fucking loud.
When everything is finally silent and Brendon is resting soundlessly, only occasionally murmuring appreciatively to the silence, Ryan puts in Papa Roach - Getting Away With Murder - and plays it loudly while Brendon squirms and tries not to complain. When the song Scars comes on, Ryan turns the music up even louder.
After that, Brendon doesn’t drink for two and a half weeks.
-
Ryan gives his first blowjob at a Third Eye Blind concert when he’s sixteen. It’s to a guy with dyed red hair who wears eyeliner and has a tattoo of a skull with a snake on his wrist. The guy doesn’t return the favor (or jerk Ryan off or fuck him or even give a name) and Ryan jerks off late that night in his bedroom with the lights turned off and his wrist pressed hard against his hip.
He presses too hard and it hurts like a bitch later, but he comes hard and it feels great. He looks down at his wrist and thinks about getting a tattoo there when he’s older, maybe some lyrics, but not a skull and a snake. That’s just not his thing.
-
The first time Ryan gets a blowjob he’s nineteen and it’s Jac that goes to her knees for him. He hasn’t been very lucky with getting guys to suck his cock, so when Jac goes down on him, he isn’t going to complain. So, he also lost his virginity to Jac, and that’s okay, he thinks, even though she’s more of a whore than he is.
Keltie never goes to her knees for him, and that’s perfectly fine. Brendon’s mouth is better than hers, anyway.
-
“Oh god,” Ryan whimpers and Brendon grins up at him, his bangs in his eyes and his fingers on Ryan’s cock. They aren’t in the best place for this (a back room in the venue, two rooms down from the lounge with the snack machines and the oddly placed pinball game) but, really. Neither of them cares.
“Can I?” Brendon asks. Brendon asks and Ryan’s been begging since before Brendon even kissed him, so Ryan knows he’s just teasing. Ryan knows he’s just teasing - or, he would, if he could maybe think straight, but if he wanted to think straight then Brendon would have to drop his dick and he’s not willing to make that sacrifice.
“Yes, god, please,” Ryan chokes out, panting hard and leaning against the wall. The paint is light blue and Brendon points out what a nice shade it is. “Shut the fuck up,” Ryan pants, “and suck my dick.”
Brendon smirks, lips inches from Ryan’s cock, his hand stroking slowly, steadily. “You’re such a whore,” Brendon says.
“Yes.” Ryan says through gritted teeth. “Yes, fuck, yes, I’m a whore, please. I’m a whore so pleasepleaseplease just suck my dick as punishment.”
Brendon grins. “Oh, but why would I want to punish you for that? You’re such a pretty whore.” Ryan has nothing else to say; he just pitifully thrusts his hips and pushes his dick through Brendon’s fist and whimpers. Brendon wraps his lips around Ryan’s cock and Ryan chokes on the air around them.
After that, Ryan doesn’t count those blowjobs he got from Jac and various other girls (whores; nameless faces in fucked up places) as actual blowjobs he received. Because, compared to Brendon, those girls are nothing to him.
-
“What are you doing?” Brendon asks, sitting down beside Ryan on the sofa in the back lounge. Ryan just hums in reply and when Brendon throws an arm around his shoulders, he merely shifts closer and shares Brendon’s warmth. Brendon frowns and says, “Ry?”
Ryan tilts his head and looks up at him. “Hmm, yeah?”
“What are you doing?” Brendon leans some of his weight onto Ryan and Ryan grins.
“Learning,” Ryan says simply. Brendon leans in closer and looks at the notebook spread across Ryan’s folded legs. The page is half-filled with his messy handwriting and sitting in Ryan’s hands is a dictionary.
“What? Seriously?” Brendon squints his eyes and wrinkles his nose until he can make out the words Ryan has sprawled across the lines.
“Yeah, seriously,” Ryan says. The first word on the page is ‘hourglass’. The second is ‘recapitulate’.
“You know these words, though.” Brendon points out. Ryan just shrugs and says, “Yes, my mind does, but do my fingers?” Brendon thinks about the question for a long, long time. Three days later, Spencer is already asking about how Ryan got Brendon to be this quiet and would he mind sharing the secret?
-
Ryan moans, fingers around his cock, stroking. He tilts his head back against the pillow and gasps for breath, doesn’t want to stop - can’t. His eyes flutter open and he spots the bottle of lotion next to him on the bed. It’s a split second decision and, really, it was bound to happen eventually.
His fingers uncurl from about his dick and he grabs the lotion, slicks up his fingers and doesn’t think about it. His brain isn’t working, anyway, not like it should be - not like it should be on any normal day. Really, this amount of brainpower is normal, given the situation.
He hasn’t done this before - ever - and so he automatically pauses and listens, ears straining, mind spinning, for any sounds coming from downstairs. Wouldn’t this just be a great time for his dad to walk in? He breaths slowly, relieved and then nervous, excited, waiting. He slips his fingers back, sliding over his cock for half a second, then back behind his balls and he hesitates, thinks things over, then realizes what he’s doing and stops thinking.
He pushes in.
It’s - weird. It’s weird and it’s different and he isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad different, but either way, he slips in another finger and that’s a tight fit, nearly, but he only pauses slightly before swallowing hard and scissoring.
The angle is bad and his wrist hurts and his back is arching in a way he isn’t sure he ever wants to deal with again, but his fingers brush over a certain spot and he comes right there.
-
“Oh,” Brendon breathes, leaning against Ryan and panting, his hand fisted around Ryan’s cock, stroking. His teeth fit over Ryan’s collarbone, biting down and scraping over skin, careful and slow, Ryan writhing beneath him. There’s a bottle of lube on the table between the hotel beds and Ryan grabs for it, presses it into Brendon’s palm. Brendon says, “Huh.”
Ryan rolls his eyes (as best as he can with Brendon’s fingers around his dick) and opens the bottle, takes Brendon’s hand and slicks his fingers. Brendon says, “What?”
“Finger me,” Ryan murmurs, lips presses under Brendon’s chin. “Please.”
Brendon’s eyes go wide.
“What? Ryan - ”
“Please.” Ryan pushes his dick against Brendon’s hip. “Bren, please, just. I need it.”
“Won’t it hurt?” Brendon asks against Ryan’s neck.
“No, I’m - please.” Brendon looks scared, almost, but he slips his fingers back and up and in and Ryan moans, arches towards him. Brendon’s never made Ryan come so fast.
-
Ryan blows Pete Wentz in Spencer’s grandmother’s basement, but after that, Pete keeps his distance. Ryan isn’t sure if it’s because Spencer keeps glaring at Pete every time they’re in the same room or if it’s because he just wasn’t any good, if Pete maybe just didn’t think he was good enough. Ryan isn’t sure, but he doesn’t really care, because Pete was just another first.
-
“Have you ever,” Brendon gasps out, on his knees over Ryan and Ryan shakes his head, can’t manage words. He pulls Brendon close and whispers, “Please.” Brendon really can’t say no.
He already has three fingers in Ryan’s ass so he spreads lube over his dick, maybe a little too much, always worrying that it’s not enough, and when Ryan says, “Please,” again, Brendon replaces his fingers with his dick.
It hurts, Brendon can tell, just watching Ryan’s face. It hurts a lot and he wants to stop, wants to pull out, but Ryan’s fingers are digging into the skin of his hip and Ryan whispers, “If you stop, I’ll kill you.” so Brendon just stays as still as he possibly can until Ryan tells him to move.
Ryan’s tight and Brendon’s sure he just saw a spot of blood and he’s freaking out but Ryan seems fine, arching his hips and meeting Brendon’s thrusts. “You’re thinking too much,” Ryan gasps out. Brendon says, “Sorry,” and stops paying attention, just goes with instinct and thrusts (“faster, please, oh god, Bren, more.”) until Ryan tightens around him (“oh god,” Ryan gasps and Brendon echoes him) and comes.
They wake up the next morning curled around each other and when Brendon looks thoroughly surprised that it wasn’t a dream, Ryan laughs at him.
-
“So, are you guys, like,” Spencer asks the first time he catches them - nineteen days after Ryan’s twentieth birthday, fourteen days after their first kiss.
Ryan shrugs and won’t meet Spencer’s eyes.
Spencer looks at Brendon and Brendon says, “I guess, maybe.” Ryan snaps around and looks at him and Brendon says, “I mean - ”
“No,” Ryan says quietly, “That’s fine. Close enough. I think.”
Jon walks in and says. “Aww, aren’t they so cute together?” Ryan flushes and Brendon grins.
-
“Hmm,” Brendon says, sitting down next to Ryan. Ryan is balancing a bowl of cereal on his open palm, munching noisily on the Froot Loops inside. The bowl is heavy, porcelain, one from a set of eight given to them by Spencer’s mother when they moved into the cabin. His milk is turning colors, mostly red and green and maybe purple, and Brendon is leaning over, trying to steal his spoon.
“Fuck, go away,” Ryan says. There’s a smile pulling at his lips.
“Ryan,” Brendon moans, drawling out his name and leaning heavily against his shoulder. “Share.” He pouts pitifully and Ryan frowns.
“I share enough with you, go away.” Ryan crunches extra hard on the next bite as if making a point.
“Yes, you share your dick, but you like it. Now, come on, share.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Spencer says, looking a little more than disgusted. “If you keep talking like that I’ll send you to your room and take back what I said about allowing you guys to - ” Spencer pauses and wrinkles his nose.
“If you keep talking like that you can’t have sex anymore,” Jon supplies.
Spencer frowns.
“Here,” Ryan says, shoving the bowl at Brendon. Brendon frowns at the milk that is occupying the bowl. There’s no cereal in sight. Brendon says, “I hate you!” Ryan just grins, “I love you, too.”
Author: fatal_overdose
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (of course.) Ryan!fic.
Summary:“You know these words, though.” Brendon points out. Ryan just shrugs and says, “Yes, my mind does, but do my fingers?” Brendon thinks about the question for a long, long time. Three days later, Spencer is already asking about how Ryan got Brendon to be this quiet and would he mind sharing the secret?
Disclaimer: Never happened, don't own. The End.
Notes: I'd tell you that this is confusing, but you already knew that because I wrote it, and everything I write is confusing.
Ryan Ross is twenty-one years old, therefore, he is not a child. He is not a child, and yet, he can act like a child right now if he wants to, damnit, because Brendon just dropped the e-chord and when his finger strummed over the f-string, even Spencer cringed. Which is why Ryan Ross is currently acting like a child and hiding in his bunk with his iPod, Sidekick, and his mental list of Reasons Not To Kill Brendon.
-
The first time Ryan was pushed against the wall was when he and Brendon were just fifteen, wearing Third Eye Blind t-shirts and skinny jeans and converse. Ryan’s ear was pierced because it was cool and no one cared to stop him when he said he was going to have it done. The breath is knocked out of him at first, and a bruise immediately forms on his shoulder blade, but he doesn’t pay attention to that. What he pays attention to is the glint in Brendon’s eye and the smirk on his face and maintaining his own smirk.
He laughs and growls and pushes Brendon away and they both fallstumbleroll to the floor. Their argument is loud and Ryan’s window is open, but the neighbors keep their windows tightly shut because in this neighborhood, if you gossip, you will be gossiped about.
Their fun is cut short when the front door slams open and Ryan’s dad stumbles drunkenly up the stairs, slurring Ryan’s name and yelling about the fact that there’s no food in the kitchen on the table (Ryan doesn’t cook. he never has, but his dad is drunk, so nothing matters, anyway).
Brendon quickly climbs out of the window and shoots down the ladder that no one seems to have noticed is there yet, and is gone before Ryan can blink.
The next day at practice, neither mentions the bruise high on Ryan’s cheek bone or the way Ryan seems a little quieter than usual.
-
The second time Ryan is pushed against the wall is when he’s nineteen and Brendon is pissed off, obviously, about the way Ryan wants everything done perfectly, how everything has to be just the way he wants it, how Ryan is alwaysalwaysalways in charge and no one ever says anything about it. So, Brendon says something. It’s not much, just a normal fight between the two, and Spencer and Brent sigh and tilt their heads and look away and later, when everything’s over, Brendon and Ryan curl up together on Spencer’s grandmother’s couch and talk about things in quiet whispers.
-
The third time Ryan gets pushed against the wall is five days after his twentieth birthday. That day, Brendon kisses him for the first time.
-
The fourth time he gets pushed against the wall is the third time Ryan has cried since he’s turned twelve.
-
“You shouldn’t have fucking done that!” Spencer yells, and he’s pissed off for the first time in. Years. Ryan doesn’t flinch because he deserves it (deserves the shame of letting Spencer see the tears drip from his eyes), he really does, even though in some small, tiny, miniscule way, Spencer should be thanking him - maybe. He isn’t even sure.
“I did what I had to,” Ryan says in a small voice.
“You gave Pete fucking Wentz a blowjob, Ryan.”
“It got us the deal, didn’t it?” Ryan shoots back, glaring. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, just remembering.
“Ryan, you didn’t. I would’ve preferred getting the deal because we were good. Ryan, you’re not even gay.” Ryan looks at him and Spencer says, “Oh.”
-
Ryan doesn’t cry the day he finds out his dad died. He doesn’t cry the day after (even though he’s pretty fucking pissed about having his Sidekick taken away. he was on the phone with his fucking cousin, trying to figure out plans for the funeral) or the day after that, either. It’s two weeks later, three days after the flight back from the funeral, when he finally breaks down in Spencer’s arms.
Brendon and Jon watch from across the room and if Jon notices how jealousy mixes with sorrow in Brendon’s eyes, he doesn’t say anything about it.
-
“What the fuck did you do?” Spencer asks, astonished as much as he is pissed. Ryan is sitting across the room on the hotel bed with his face buried in his hands. His shoulders are shaking and the room echoes his gasps and choked sobs.
“I don’t.” Brendon looks across the room at Ryan and flinches.
“You had to do something,” Jon says, head poking in around the door. He’s the smart one - keeping his distance in the hall. Jon takes a good look at Ryan. “Maybe he’s just. Happy or something and you freaked out over his crying for nothing.”
“Brendon Urie, get the fuck over here,” Ryan suddenly says, glaring over at them. Brendon scampers across the room and kneels beside the bed, peeking over the edge at Ryan and wondering how he’s going to get punished. “Spencer, get the fuck out.” Spencer and Jon waste no time in leaving.
Brendon swallows and carefully says, “Uhm. What did I do?”
Ryan says, “You’re an idiot.” and kisses him.
-
Ryan Ross is twenty-one years old and can act like a child if he wants and drink alcohol if he chooses. Only, Ryan doesn’t drink alcohol. The one and only time he had vodka was when he was thirteen at Mark Silverstein’s birthday party. Someone had filled a Sprite bottle and had given him a glass. When he felt the burn of acid down his throat, he demanded to know what it was he’d just consumed.
When Mark told him it was vodka and to, “chill, man. no one will find out” he’d gone off on Mark and stormed from the house.
He went to Spencer’s house because, chances were, he wouldn’t get away from vodka by going home.
He didn’t talk to Mark ever again.
-
“How much should I put in?” William asked happily, holding a bottle of Smirnoff over the mixing bowl.
“You can’t put vodka in Ryan’s birthday cake!” Brendon yelped, grabbing William’s wrist and forcing the bottle away from the bowl.
“Oh,” William said, looking thoroughly surprised. “I have rum, too. Would that be better?”
Brendon sighed, exasperated, and Jon said, “You shouldn’t put any alcohol in the cake. It might not bake well.”
“Ryan doesn’t drink,” Brendon points out then.
Spencer walks in and everyone goes silent, all of them leaning towards the doorway to see if Ryan is there, too. “Alcohol bakes out when you cook it. It would just be for flavor.” Then, “Bill, put down the glass. You might hurt yourself. Or Brendon.” William frowned and did not put any vodka in Ryan’s cake.
-
Jon is a drinker. Ryan doesn’t approve, but Jon was drinking before he met Panic! (and probably, Ryan guesses, before he was in High School, even) so he can’t really say anything. Jon doesn’t get drunk, though, so the drinking is pretty much okay, as long as it’s not right in front of Ryan and not in horrendous amounts.
Brendon is also a drinker. Not like Jon - not nearly - but he does get drunk and Ryan doesn’t like it at all. Brendon isn’t a violent drunk like Ryan’s dad, just a sweet, clumsy drunk that says sweet things and gets terrible hangovers.
Ryan sometimes blames Jon for Brendon’s drinking, but mostly just William (and sometimes Pete when he wasn’t fucking some girl - or Patrick - against the wall) because that’s who started Brendon on his drinking in the first place. At first, it was just, “here, have a beer” but then there were drinking games and Ryan hated those nights because no matter how loud he turned up his iPod or how hard he pushed the ear buds into his ears, he still heard the strangled sounds from the bathroom the morning after.
He hates hearing the “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry”s the most.
-
“Careful,” Spencer says and then there’s a quiet clunk where Brendon’s head met the doorframe. They’re both being quiet - Brendon whispering even in his drunken state, aware of Ryan’s blazing eyes even though they’re hidden behind the curtain of his bunk. Brendon climbs helplessly into the bunk across from Ryan and Ryan pulls back the curtain a little to watch him wriggle around.
Brendon has fallen from his bunk too many times to count after a drunken night, and Ryan’s tired of listening to his complaints.
“Hi,” Brendon whispers sleepily when he realizes Ryan is watching. Ryan narrows his eyes and snaps the curtain shut. In the morning, Brendon doesn’t remember much, just knows that he has a horrible headache and that Jon’s video game is too fucking loud.
When everything is finally silent and Brendon is resting soundlessly, only occasionally murmuring appreciatively to the silence, Ryan puts in Papa Roach - Getting Away With Murder - and plays it loudly while Brendon squirms and tries not to complain. When the song Scars comes on, Ryan turns the music up even louder.
After that, Brendon doesn’t drink for two and a half weeks.
-
Ryan gives his first blowjob at a Third Eye Blind concert when he’s sixteen. It’s to a guy with dyed red hair who wears eyeliner and has a tattoo of a skull with a snake on his wrist. The guy doesn’t return the favor (or jerk Ryan off or fuck him or even give a name) and Ryan jerks off late that night in his bedroom with the lights turned off and his wrist pressed hard against his hip.
He presses too hard and it hurts like a bitch later, but he comes hard and it feels great. He looks down at his wrist and thinks about getting a tattoo there when he’s older, maybe some lyrics, but not a skull and a snake. That’s just not his thing.
-
The first time Ryan gets a blowjob he’s nineteen and it’s Jac that goes to her knees for him. He hasn’t been very lucky with getting guys to suck his cock, so when Jac goes down on him, he isn’t going to complain. So, he also lost his virginity to Jac, and that’s okay, he thinks, even though she’s more of a whore than he is.
Keltie never goes to her knees for him, and that’s perfectly fine. Brendon’s mouth is better than hers, anyway.
-
“Oh god,” Ryan whimpers and Brendon grins up at him, his bangs in his eyes and his fingers on Ryan’s cock. They aren’t in the best place for this (a back room in the venue, two rooms down from the lounge with the snack machines and the oddly placed pinball game) but, really. Neither of them cares.
“Can I?” Brendon asks. Brendon asks and Ryan’s been begging since before Brendon even kissed him, so Ryan knows he’s just teasing. Ryan knows he’s just teasing - or, he would, if he could maybe think straight, but if he wanted to think straight then Brendon would have to drop his dick and he’s not willing to make that sacrifice.
“Yes, god, please,” Ryan chokes out, panting hard and leaning against the wall. The paint is light blue and Brendon points out what a nice shade it is. “Shut the fuck up,” Ryan pants, “and suck my dick.”
Brendon smirks, lips inches from Ryan’s cock, his hand stroking slowly, steadily. “You’re such a whore,” Brendon says.
“Yes.” Ryan says through gritted teeth. “Yes, fuck, yes, I’m a whore, please. I’m a whore so pleasepleaseplease just suck my dick as punishment.”
Brendon grins. “Oh, but why would I want to punish you for that? You’re such a pretty whore.” Ryan has nothing else to say; he just pitifully thrusts his hips and pushes his dick through Brendon’s fist and whimpers. Brendon wraps his lips around Ryan’s cock and Ryan chokes on the air around them.
After that, Ryan doesn’t count those blowjobs he got from Jac and various other girls (whores; nameless faces in fucked up places) as actual blowjobs he received. Because, compared to Brendon, those girls are nothing to him.
-
“What are you doing?” Brendon asks, sitting down beside Ryan on the sofa in the back lounge. Ryan just hums in reply and when Brendon throws an arm around his shoulders, he merely shifts closer and shares Brendon’s warmth. Brendon frowns and says, “Ry?”
Ryan tilts his head and looks up at him. “Hmm, yeah?”
“What are you doing?” Brendon leans some of his weight onto Ryan and Ryan grins.
“Learning,” Ryan says simply. Brendon leans in closer and looks at the notebook spread across Ryan’s folded legs. The page is half-filled with his messy handwriting and sitting in Ryan’s hands is a dictionary.
“What? Seriously?” Brendon squints his eyes and wrinkles his nose until he can make out the words Ryan has sprawled across the lines.
“Yeah, seriously,” Ryan says. The first word on the page is ‘hourglass’. The second is ‘recapitulate’.
“You know these words, though.” Brendon points out. Ryan just shrugs and says, “Yes, my mind does, but do my fingers?” Brendon thinks about the question for a long, long time. Three days later, Spencer is already asking about how Ryan got Brendon to be this quiet and would he mind sharing the secret?
-
Ryan moans, fingers around his cock, stroking. He tilts his head back against the pillow and gasps for breath, doesn’t want to stop - can’t. His eyes flutter open and he spots the bottle of lotion next to him on the bed. It’s a split second decision and, really, it was bound to happen eventually.
His fingers uncurl from about his dick and he grabs the lotion, slicks up his fingers and doesn’t think about it. His brain isn’t working, anyway, not like it should be - not like it should be on any normal day. Really, this amount of brainpower is normal, given the situation.
He hasn’t done this before - ever - and so he automatically pauses and listens, ears straining, mind spinning, for any sounds coming from downstairs. Wouldn’t this just be a great time for his dad to walk in? He breaths slowly, relieved and then nervous, excited, waiting. He slips his fingers back, sliding over his cock for half a second, then back behind his balls and he hesitates, thinks things over, then realizes what he’s doing and stops thinking.
He pushes in.
It’s - weird. It’s weird and it’s different and he isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad different, but either way, he slips in another finger and that’s a tight fit, nearly, but he only pauses slightly before swallowing hard and scissoring.
The angle is bad and his wrist hurts and his back is arching in a way he isn’t sure he ever wants to deal with again, but his fingers brush over a certain spot and he comes right there.
-
“Oh,” Brendon breathes, leaning against Ryan and panting, his hand fisted around Ryan’s cock, stroking. His teeth fit over Ryan’s collarbone, biting down and scraping over skin, careful and slow, Ryan writhing beneath him. There’s a bottle of lube on the table between the hotel beds and Ryan grabs for it, presses it into Brendon’s palm. Brendon says, “Huh.”
Ryan rolls his eyes (as best as he can with Brendon’s fingers around his dick) and opens the bottle, takes Brendon’s hand and slicks his fingers. Brendon says, “What?”
“Finger me,” Ryan murmurs, lips presses under Brendon’s chin. “Please.”
Brendon’s eyes go wide.
“What? Ryan - ”
“Please.” Ryan pushes his dick against Brendon’s hip. “Bren, please, just. I need it.”
“Won’t it hurt?” Brendon asks against Ryan’s neck.
“No, I’m - please.” Brendon looks scared, almost, but he slips his fingers back and up and in and Ryan moans, arches towards him. Brendon’s never made Ryan come so fast.
-
Ryan blows Pete Wentz in Spencer’s grandmother’s basement, but after that, Pete keeps his distance. Ryan isn’t sure if it’s because Spencer keeps glaring at Pete every time they’re in the same room or if it’s because he just wasn’t any good, if Pete maybe just didn’t think he was good enough. Ryan isn’t sure, but he doesn’t really care, because Pete was just another first.
-
“Have you ever,” Brendon gasps out, on his knees over Ryan and Ryan shakes his head, can’t manage words. He pulls Brendon close and whispers, “Please.” Brendon really can’t say no.
He already has three fingers in Ryan’s ass so he spreads lube over his dick, maybe a little too much, always worrying that it’s not enough, and when Ryan says, “Please,” again, Brendon replaces his fingers with his dick.
It hurts, Brendon can tell, just watching Ryan’s face. It hurts a lot and he wants to stop, wants to pull out, but Ryan’s fingers are digging into the skin of his hip and Ryan whispers, “If you stop, I’ll kill you.” so Brendon just stays as still as he possibly can until Ryan tells him to move.
Ryan’s tight and Brendon’s sure he just saw a spot of blood and he’s freaking out but Ryan seems fine, arching his hips and meeting Brendon’s thrusts. “You’re thinking too much,” Ryan gasps out. Brendon says, “Sorry,” and stops paying attention, just goes with instinct and thrusts (“faster, please, oh god, Bren, more.”) until Ryan tightens around him (“oh god,” Ryan gasps and Brendon echoes him) and comes.
They wake up the next morning curled around each other and when Brendon looks thoroughly surprised that it wasn’t a dream, Ryan laughs at him.
-
“So, are you guys, like,” Spencer asks the first time he catches them - nineteen days after Ryan’s twentieth birthday, fourteen days after their first kiss.
Ryan shrugs and won’t meet Spencer’s eyes.
Spencer looks at Brendon and Brendon says, “I guess, maybe.” Ryan snaps around and looks at him and Brendon says, “I mean - ”
“No,” Ryan says quietly, “That’s fine. Close enough. I think.”
Jon walks in and says. “Aww, aren’t they so cute together?” Ryan flushes and Brendon grins.
-
“Hmm,” Brendon says, sitting down next to Ryan. Ryan is balancing a bowl of cereal on his open palm, munching noisily on the Froot Loops inside. The bowl is heavy, porcelain, one from a set of eight given to them by Spencer’s mother when they moved into the cabin. His milk is turning colors, mostly red and green and maybe purple, and Brendon is leaning over, trying to steal his spoon.
“Fuck, go away,” Ryan says. There’s a smile pulling at his lips.
“Ryan,” Brendon moans, drawling out his name and leaning heavily against his shoulder. “Share.” He pouts pitifully and Ryan frowns.
“I share enough with you, go away.” Ryan crunches extra hard on the next bite as if making a point.
“Yes, you share your dick, but you like it. Now, come on, share.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Spencer says, looking a little more than disgusted. “If you keep talking like that I’ll send you to your room and take back what I said about allowing you guys to - ” Spencer pauses and wrinkles his nose.
“If you keep talking like that you can’t have sex anymore,” Jon supplies.
Spencer frowns.
“Here,” Ryan says, shoving the bowl at Brendon. Brendon frowns at the milk that is occupying the bowl. There’s no cereal in sight. Brendon says, “I hate you!” Ryan just grins, “I love you, too.”