Fic: Let's Go, Don't Wait (FBI AU)
Let's Go, Don't Wait
Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer | 6400 words | NC-17
It's like a really cheesy horror movie, only no one is going to hack Brendon to pieces with a chainsaw. But being locked in an office building during a storm with his boss who happens to hate him might be just as bad.
Sequel to If It Kills Me, aka the FBI AU where Jon and Spencer are agents and Ryan is their boss. Oh, and Brendon's the brilliant tech guy who didn't get any screen time the first go around. He's getting his due this time. :D
Written exclusively for my amazing, awesome, wonderful siryn99's super special birthday. I LOVE YOU, BB. ♥♥ I have been promising her Ryan/Brendon fic for AGES, including this very fic. LOL BLINK LYRICS.
Thank you to the ever-faithful themoononastick for talking me through things, and to universeunfold for the last-minute beta!
"Suspended from field work indefinitely" has a very negative connotation. Brendon's never been suspended from anything in his life, except for that one time in tenth grade when he got caught with weed in the parking lot. But that had been an obvious violation of laws and rules, and he'd understood the consequences and why he was being punished.
This? This was just Ross being unfair and not listening to reason or understanding that people are human, and humans make mistakes sometimes. Yes, fine, mistakes that almost got him and his co-workers killed, but still. Nobody's perfect.
Brendon's done the desk thing. For a long, long time. He knows all the in and outs of every computer in the building, every wire, every firewall password. He's cracked codes for some of the hardest encrypted files in existence, and if he were a totally immoral person, he'd be one hell of a hacker. He's even joked with Spencer about opening his own personal account in the Caymans, just in case he ever needed a back-up plan for retirement.
In short, Brendon is a genius. And geniuses, from time to time, need some fresh fucking air.
He sighs as he slouches down in his chair, poking as his keyboard. "Suspended from field work indefinitely" translates to Brendon being buried under a mountain of paperwork consisting of enough jumbled code to keep him busy into the next millennium. It's punishment, plain and simple, although according to Ross, it's "necessary for our caseloads."
Brendon rolls his eyes. Ross might as well have just said, "No really, you're grounded until you're forty, mister."
It's close to five, and everyone is heading out for the weekend. Over the top of his computer screen, he spots Jon and Spencer shrugging back into their suit jackets, heads bent close together as Jon says something into Spencer's ear. Spencer promptly rolls his eyes, but then he laughs, bright and open, as he shoves playfully at Jon's shoulder. Jon blinks at him in fake innocence, which only makes Spencer shake his head and lean in to kiss him quickly on the mouth.
It's nothing new; Jon and Spencer have been together for the past three months, much to the surprise of everyone else in the office--except Ross. Brendon remembers the slightly smug look on his face when Brendon had gaped at the two of them and Ross had replied, "Trust me, this is so not a shock. Those two are cursed to be in love, swear to God."
Brendon had laughed, even though he really just wanted to frown at him. "You make it sound like being in love's a bad thing."
And that had made Ross laugh. "Spoken like someone who's never been there."
Sometimes Brendon doesn't know what's worse: watching Jon and Spencer together and thinking he'll probably never have anything close to it, or knowing that Ryan Ross doesn't believe in love at all. Not that Brendon cares about the latter. He doesn't. Really. It's just...
...He kind of cares a lot. And it's totally Ross's fault for being drunk at the Bureau Christmas party and thinking it was okay to kiss Brendon like he meant it.
Brendon looks away from Jon and Spencer and glares harder at the computer screen. He really wishes he could stop thinking about any and everything having to do with Ross's stupid fucking face and stupid fucking hatred of love and stupid fucking insistence on making Brendon's life miserable and boring.
"Bren, you should come out with us," Jon calls, pulling him out his sulk.
"Um?" Brendon blinks and shakes his head. "Naw, I gotta finish this code or Ross'll chain me to the desk for the rest of the weekend." If only he were kidding.
Spencer laughs as he leans against the wall of Brendon's cube. "Don't tell me you're seriously letting him get away with making you do all this." He waves his hand at the piles of paper scattered across Brendon's desk. "That code is bullshit."
"Thanks, I pretty much figured that out a million years ago." He pushes at his glasses, squinting over the edge of his cube in the direction of Ross's office. Maybe if he tries hard enough he can kill him with his mind.
Jon pats his shoulder. "It can wait for happy hour, right?"
"My life is not worth two dollar drafts."
Spencer snorts. "You know he's just overreacting. He does that when he gets...y'know, scared. You and I almost got blown up, and you know what he did the last time I almost died on the job."
"Yeah, he fired your partner." To be honest, Brendon has no idea why he still has a job.
"He's not about to fire you, dude. If anything, he's keeping you safe." Jon nudges Spencer in the side, clearing his throat loudly, and Spencer glares at him and says, "What?"
"Keeping me safe implies that he cares, which he doesn't. I know when I'm being punished, Spence, and I love this job too much to piss him off anymore."
"You're not being punished, trust me." Spencer smirks knowingly. Brendon doesn't like that smirk, especially from a guy who knows how to handle many different types of handguns.
Jon shakes his head. "If you want to catch up with us, we'll be at McCoy's. Just text me, or whatever. See you on Monday." He tugs on Spencer's hand, mumbling something that sounds very much like, "C'mon, Cupid, shit," laughing under his breath.
"This is hilarious, Jon, and you know it," Spencer replies as they head down the hall. "I mean, not the part where we nearly died, but the other part, the part where Ryan..." Their voices fade out as the door to the office closes behind them. Brendon absolutely doesn't strain to catch the rest of that sentence.
Through the windows across from his desk, he can see dark storm clouds gathering outside. The lights flicker for a second as he hears the wind pick up. Of course there's going to be a storm, and of course, Brendon's umbrella is tucked neatly into his umbrella stand at home. Perfect.
Another half hour goes by of mindless tapping on his keyboard, then his phone buzzes with a text from Jon: still got time, sneak out when ross isn't looking. :)
Brendon laughs as he leans back in his chair and starts to text back i'll blame the storm? i'm scared of thunder, when he hears a familiar bored monotone say, "Still hard at it, I see."
He nearly falls out of his chair. "I'm still here, aren't I?" he says, regaining his balance and shoving his phone back in his pocket, text unsent. "I figure if I stay for a few more hours, I can bang this out by tonight." Brendon doesn't look over at Ross, but he can see him leaning against his cube wall, skinny arms crossed over his chest. His sleeves are rolled up, which means his suit jacket's probably back in his office, but Brendon's definitely not looking at him to notice that.
"Good, I was just about to ask if you had plans for the weekend."
This would be one of those comic moments Brendon would refer to as "swallowing one's tongue." He flushes bright pink all the way to his hairline, his heart suddenly racing. "Um. Plans? No, I don't have any of those. Plans, I mean." He makes sure his back is to Ross as he taps blindly at his keyboard.
"Perfect, then I can get you started on that hard drive Asher recovered from her sting operation last night."
Brendon's heart stops racing and falls into his feet. "But...didn't that drive belong to the Chinese mob?"
"Yeah, the whole thing's in Mandarin, not to mention riddled with viruses. I'd say it'll take a good two to three weeks for even you to crack it."
Three weeks of decoding virus-infested Chinese. He's no longer being punished, he's being tortured.
Brendon huffs loudly and spins around in his chair, giving Ross his fiercest glare. The downside is that looking straight at him confirms that yes, Ross is no longer wearing his suit jacket, and yes, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows sort of haphazardly, and oh hey, his tie's kind of loose and crooked. Dammit.
"Look," he says, pointing a determined finger at Ross. "I get it, okay? You're pissed at me from the whole...y'know, gettingSpencerandJonalmostkilledthing." He bites his lip when Ross raises an eyebrow. "I already apologized profusely for that, and even brought you bagels. With lox. You love lox."
Ross doesn't even blink.
"But the thing is, I know I fucked up, and I want to make up for it. Sticking me back behind a desk isn't gonna help me with that."
"How did you even know I like lox?"
Brendon sighs. "Spencer told me."
Again with the no blinking. Sometimes, Brendon honestly believes Ross is a robot with human skin.
"Please, Ross? I learned my lesson, I swear."
"So what you're saying is, you want me to put you back out in the field with my agents, where you specifically ignored all procedure and protocol and put lives in danger, including your own? Not to mention ruining a city block? Which, by the way, is being paid for out of the Bureau's budget."
Ross is making it sound ten times worse than it really was. "It was half a block," Brendon mutters, digging the toe of his Chucks into the carpet.
"The answer's no, Brendon. I shouldn't have even let you go the first time, I just--" Ross actually winces, just barely. "Bad call on my part, and I'm not going to let it happen again."
"It wasn't a bad call, you just need to give me a second chance!"
"Second chances can get people killed. No."
Brendon feels an angry flush explode over the back of his neck, and he's about to open his mouth and tell Ross off, his chances be damned, when the lights flicker again.
Then, everything goes dark.
"Shit," Ross mutters. There's enough light from the outside windows that Brendon can see him look up at the ceiling. "The emergency breakers should be kicking in any second now..."
Five minutes go by, and nothing happens.
"What the hell." Ross digs his phone out. Brendon assumes he's calling the regional director. After a few moments, Ross frowns and says, "Fuck, I'm only getting voicemail." He leaves a message about the power, and just as he flips the phone shut, Brendon has a sudden and very unpleasant realization.
"Nononono," he says under his breath as he scrambles up from his desk and races down the hall to the front door. He remembers glancing over the building's blueprints with the alarm company, how the installation guy had said that in emergencies, the doors would lock from the inside...but on rare occasions--like electrical storms--the system could short out and lock from the outside. The guy had insisted that such instances were extremely rare.
But apparently not rare enough, since none of the doors are opening. Brendon kicks at the glass, swearing a blue streak, before he grabs his phone and texts both Jon and Spencer with locked in building w/ ross sos. He hits send, but promptly gets a messaging stating there's "no service."
"Fuck," he moans. Like this day could get any worse.
He wanders back to his cube, but Ross is gone. Out of the corner of his eye, Brendon sees a flash of light coming from Ross's office.
"Ross?" he calls.
"Arfgkdskfs," is all Brendon hears. He gets to the office doorway and just make out that Ross has a flashlight in his mouth, and he's digging through his desk with both hands.
"We're locked in," Brendon says dejectedly.
Ross takes the flashlight out of his mouth. "I figured, that's why I'm trying to find the goddamned number for the alarm company, I know it's here somewhere..."
"D'you call Spencer?"
"I lost all my bars. The tower's probably out. Not to mention the switchboard doesn't seem to be working, either--all the network phones are blank."
God, it's like a really cheesy horror movie, only no one is going to hack Brendon to pieces with a chainsaw. But being locked in an office building during a storm with his boss who happens to hate him might be just as bad.
Brendon sighs and hugs his arms around his chest. "So...what should we do?"
"I don't know, start a fire?" Brendon blinks before Ross glances up from his desk. The weird part is that Ross actually smiles at him, albeit a teeny, tiny one. "I'm kidding,Urie, don't hyperventilate just yet. I'm sure the cleaning crew will show up and let us--"
"The cleaning crew doesn't come on Friday nights." Brendon has stayed last enough to know this. He thought Ross did, too.
"Oh." Ross straightens, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Then we wait it out, I guess. The storm can't last forever."
"Yeah."
The very definition of an awkward pause occurs, with Brendon shifting from foot to foot and Ross fidgeting with a stack of memos. Not to mention it's getting pretty dark in the office, a steady dull roar of rain pounding against the windows, with intermittent rumbles of thunder.
Brendon's stomach growls, but it's drowned out by the rain.
Still, it's like Ross has supersonic hearing or something. "You hungry?" he asks.
A part of him wants to be contrary, but Brendon hasn't eaten since noon. "Sort of," he replies. "I think I've got some Pop Tarts in my desk..."
"Here." There's a rustling sound as Ross digs around in his desk again, and a minute later he tosses Brendon a brand new bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos.
"Oh, wow." Brendon's stomach all but reaches out and tears into the bag itself. "I mean, uh--wanna share?"
Ross waves him off. "I'm a Cool Ranch guy, myself. Those are actually for Spencer, I owed him a bag."
Brendon has manners and was brought up to be polite and considerate when eating in front of other people, but fuck it, he's starving. He tears into the bag as he slides down the wall, his legs splayed out across Ross's doorway. They're possibly the best Doritos he's ever had in his life.
There's a soft clink of glass against wood. "Want a drink?" Ross asks, and his voice sounds a little off for some reason.
"Like, as in happy hour-type drink?"
"As in ten-year-old scotch that's been sitting in my desk for over a year. I never have time to drink it, so I might as well start now."
Brendon stops his demolition of the Dorito bag long enough to lick the nacho cheese off his fingers, trying not to feel like everything is taking a very surreal turn. Drinking expensive whiskey in Ross's office in the dark is weird enough, he's not about to do it covered in orange cheese dust. "Um, okay. If you're sure."
"You got any place else to be?" Ross says with a small laugh. It's a genuine sound, and it makes Brendon try to figure out just how many times he's seen Ross laugh. He knows he could count them on one hand.
"Well, I have dinner with the Queen in ten, but other than that I'm free," Brendon says without thinking, then promptly winces. Smooth, really smooth.
But he hears another soft little laugh as Ross says, "Sorry to keep you from the Queen." He pours two glasses and brings one over to Brendon; the light from the flashlight is dim and barely casts enough glow to see his silhouette. Their hands brush as Brendon takes the glass from him.
"I'll manage," Brendon says, hating the small warm shiver that runs just below his skin.
They're both quiet for a few minutes, until Brendon goes back to his chips, the crackle of the bag the only real sound in the room besides the pounding of the rain. He's not completely sure where Ross is, but he doesn't care, he doesn't--he's just hanging out until the power comes back on and he can hopefully go home, play with his dog, and maybe watch some old episodes of Family Guy on his DVR. It all sounds way more fun than sitting here in the dark sipping scotch and trying to ignore his boss.
That is, until he sees Ross's shadow sit down the floor across from him, legs stretched out enough so that the tips of his polished shoes brush the edge of Brendon's jeans. All the air in the room becomes really stuffy suddenly, and all Brendon can think is that, if he wanted to, he could so reach out and curl his hand around Ross's ankle, under his pant leg.
Maybe being stuck in a dark room with Ross isn't so bad after all. Maybe. Brendon takes a long drink, which probably isn't the best idea, given the lack of food in his stomach.
"Were you serious about not having any plans this weekend?"
It startles him a bit, hearing Ross suddenly breaking the silence in a voice that actually sounds interested in what Brendon does with his free time. He takes another drink, swallowing hard. The alcohol slides smooth and warm into his stomach, making him sigh. "Yeah," he finally says. "That's pretty much every weekend, unless I fly out to Cali to see Shane."
"You fly out to California just for a weekend?"
"Sometimes I just get the itch to see the ocean." Brendon shrugs, already feeling a little more loose. "I get free room and board, so why not?"
Ross doesn't say anything, but Brendon think he hears him take a long drink as well. The chips are almost gone, so he shoves the bag aside.
"What about you?" he says. "Are you doing anything special? Or were you just thinking of sitting in your office all day tomorrow planning ways to torture me?" The whiskey is totally taking advantage of Brendon's empty stomach, which means he's not at all embarrassed at the way he punctuates that sentence with a smirk and a giggle.
But, oddly enough, Ross replies softly, "No, that wasn't my plan."
Brendon sits up a little straighter at the weird tone in his voice. "Hey, I was kidding, I didn't mean--"
"No, you weren't. You completely meant that, and I get it." Ross takes another drink, setting the empty glass on the carpet.
"It's just...everyone screws up," Brendon says carefully, knocking his knee into Ross's foot, because it was right there.
A huge, booming clap of thunder follows a flash of lighting, making Brendon jump and nearly drop his glass. He wasn't kidding when he texted Jon about being afraid of thunder, but he isn't about to tell Ross that.
Ross, however, can sense fear. "I'm sure that wasn't as close as it sounded," he says, and there's a note of something like concern in his voice, which...what? Brendon might be a little more tipsy than he realized.
"Whatever, I'm fine." The slight shudder in his shoulders is nothing.
For some reason, that makes Ross sigh. "Being afraid of thunder's not that big a deal. Trust me, I could tell you about the time Spencer woke up with a spider on his cheek and screamed like a girl." He laughs to himself, a quiet, almost private sound; Brendon imagines that not many people have heard it.
It's not that he's jealous of Spencer. Unlike the rest of the office, Brendon's known from the first day he started with Bureau that Ross and Spencer's relationship was purely platonic, if a little co-dependent for a subordinate and his superior. And anyone with a pair of eyes could see that Walker and Spencer are utterly stupid for each other, and had been for months and months before a freak kidnapping made them admit their feelings for each other. It was all very romance novel-ish and cliche'd, but Brendon envies them; he envies the idea of having someone suddenly realize they were in love with you. And when it comes to Spencer and Ross, Brendon mostly just envies the fact that Ross loves Spencer as a friend. At least he loves someone, even if it's not Brendon.
...And okay, whoa, where did that thought even come from? What the hell did Ross put in this scotch, anyway?
"Can I, um." Brendon holds his glass up. Fuck it, he doesn't care anymore.
"Oh." Ross gets to his feet and grabs the bottle off his desk. He pours a good three fingers into Brendon's glass, then tops his own off.
"So did you and Spencer always plan on being FBI agents together?" Brendon says, tipping his head back against the wall. His cheeks feel really warm.
In the glow of the flashlight, he thinks he sees Ross's shoulder lift in a shrug. "Not really. I was going to be an English professor, but Spence talked me into joining the Academy instead."
"Seriously?" Brendon can't help giggling, because...well, seriously. "Yeah, I can totally see you in a cardigan, hauling your leather messenger bag around with your Starbucks cup."
"I really love books!" Ross replies with a hint of indignation. "I got into grad school and everything. But...I don't know, Spence filled my head with ideas about being super heroes and shit."
Now Brendon's really giggling. "You became an agent to be a super hero?"
Ross swats his leg really hard. "Shut the fuck up, nerd boy, I have a gun." He sounds really pouty suddenly. Maybe Ross is tipsy, too.
Which makes Brendon think back to the damn Christmas party, and of Ross grinning secretively at him as he backed Brendon up against the wall beside the mistletoe to kiss him all slow and deep. He'd tasted like eggnog and snicker doodles, and Brendon had all but melted into him, his hands curling into the front of Ross's shirt. He might have even called him Ryan.
They'd made out for the rest of the party, but after that, Ross pretty much had acted like nothing had ever happened, excluding the handful of guilty, embarrassed glances he'd thrown Brendon's way for a couple weeks.
Those glances had really fucking pissed Brendon off. They still fucking piss him off.
He wants to ask Ross why he even bothered to kiss him that night if he was only going to ignore Brendon afterward and then make him feel like shit for screwing up a mission. He wants to say a lot of things to Ross, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, "You have a gun, but I can make every single one of your bookmarks go straight to porn."
Brendon says it with a straight face, but Ross doesn't just laugh, he snorts. It's a really loud, indignant sound, totally un-Ross-like in every way, and yet it's kind of perfect.
"You wouldn't, no way."
"I have! Ask Jon about the time he fucked me over on a round of Halo--let's just say he's super paranoid about his Firefox browser at work." Brendon waggles his eyebrows, even though he's pretty sure Ross can't even see him.
"You are fucking ridiculous," Ross says, still laughing, his voice soft and...affectionate? "I bet you'd probably kick my ass at Halo, anyway. I suck at that stuff."
"We could play Grand Theft Auto sometime, all you do is blow shit up and run from cops." Brendon promptly bites his lip, because what? Why is he suddenly inviting Ross to play video games? Like he's almost, sort of, asking him on a date?
He should really consider not finishing the whiskey in his glass.
What's worse, there's this long, awkward pause where Ross doesn't reply, confirming Brendon's fears that Ross is just a little drunk and definitely isn't really interested in...whatever it is they're doing here.
Brendon's heart starts pound all the way into his fingertips, and suddenly his brain completely disconnects from all rational thought.
"Look, I know you hate me," Brendon blurts out, the words really loud and sharp in the dark. "So you don't have to sit here with me and, like, fucking entertain me so I won't be the poor lonely tech guy with no social life on a Friday night. I don't need your pity, or your stupid expensive scotch." He has every intention of getting up and storming away, only it's still really dark and he's pretty sure he'd trip over something if he tried to leave Ross's office. Brendon opts to shove the almost-empty glass at Ross and hug his knees to his chest like a lame little kid. At least Ross can't see the embarrassed flush in his cheeks.
A full thirty seconds tick by without a word from either of them. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Brendon thinks, wishing he'd just taken Jon and Spencer up on their offer to meet up for happy hour. Now he'll never be unchained from his desk, or the mountain of code, or the fucking virus-filled Chinese hard drive--
"I don't hate you." Ross's voice is very quiet, tentative, almost shy-sounding.
Brendon laughs bitterly. "You sure have a weird fucking way of showing it," he mumbles into his knees.
"I've never hated you, I think you're..." Ross huffs as he trails off. Brendon can kind of see the way he scrubs a hand over his mouth.
And then he scoots across the carpet toward Brendon, who barely manages to keep from gasping and pressing back into the doorway. He can make out the dark shape of Ross's tie against his light blue shirt, the way his hair sort of curls over his forehead. He can't see his eyes very well, but he can see how Ross chews his lower lip for a second.
"I don't really handle stuff like this very well," Ross whispers before he leans in even closer and kisses him.
Brendon, for all intents and purposes, forgets how to breathe.
It's nothing like the kiss from the Christmas party; this one is careful, soft, lips barely parted until Ross slowly swipes the tip of his tongue over the seam of Brendon's mouth.
Don't let him in, don't you dare let him in, Brendon tells himself frantically as his mouth totally disobeys him and parts easily, letting Ross lick slowly past his teeth. He can taste the whiskey, with a hint of mint gum underneath.
He doesn't mean to reach out and splay his hand over Ross's jaw, but he needs to hold onto something to keep his balance, even though he's sitting pressed against a wall. Ross's knees are digging into his thigh at an awkward angle, but it doesn't matter, Ross is kissing him, and Brendon's not really sure why, but it's good, it's awesome, even if they are a little drunk.
"Ross," Brendon gasps as he pulls back for air.
"Jesus, at least call me Ryan when I'm kissing you." But he's grinning at Brendon, and even in the almost-dark Brendon can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks kind of young and more than a little gorgeous, and god, Brendon's heart is set to light speed at this point.
"Okay. Ryan." It feels odd on his tongue, but something tells him this means something, although what, he doesn't know. He'd really just like to keep kissing his boss in the dark.
"I'm cool with that," Ryan says, nudging his nose against Brendon's, and Brendon realizes he's just said that last thought out loud, whoops.
"Shut up, Ryan," Brendon replies, drawing him back in to nip gently at his bottom lip. At least Ryan can't see the dopey grin on his face.
"You're impossible sometimes," Ryan breathes as he opens his mouth wider to let Brendon's tongue slide against his. Now it's getting a little dirty, a little deeper; Brendon flashes back to Christmas, how Ryan had him pinned to the wall by his wrist. Without thinking, Brendon shifts around on carpet so his back is flat against the wall. Ryan automatically moves with him, straddling Brendon's thighs as he leans close, nearly chest to chest. He still doesn't touch Brendon, but Brendon's hand is still cupped around Ryan's cheek.
He doesn't even know what he really wants until Ryan spreads his legs a bit more and their hips line up perfectly. Brendon should really be a little embarrassed to discover he's already this hard, but it's not like Ryan isn't totally sporting wood, either, and wow, okay, he made Ryan go hard from nothing but kissing. This night isn't ruined after all.
Especially when Brendon arches his hips up, testing the angle, and Ryan makes this soft, high-pitched moan that's possibly the hottest fucking thing Brendon's ever heard in his life.
"I-I don't know if you--I didn't intend to--" Ryan Ross is stuttering while grinding into Brendon's lap. Fuck yes.
"Intend to what?" Brendon asks, kissing his way up Ryan's jaw to his ear. "Make out with me?"
"Well...yeah, kind of, but--" He hisses sharply when Brendon sucks gently at the soft skin below his earlobe. "I don't have any, like--stuff with me."
Brendon's snort is decidedly louder and ten times dorkier than Ryan's. "Oh my god, Ross, you're honestly thinking about fucking me in your office?" He presses his face into Ryan's neck and laughs and laughs, his chest feeling very light suddenly. Light and warm.
He can feel Ryan's shoulders go stiff as he slides his free hand up Ryan's arm. "I'm just saying that if we actually decide to, you know, do...things...I don't think we can. Unless--"
"Fuck, please don't ask if I have lube and shit in my desk. It's bad enough I have the computer nerd rep." Funny how he's hard and throbbing in his jeans, and yet all he wants to do in this moment is wrap his arms around Ryan. Weird. "I'm perfectly happy to jerk you off, though."
"Oh god," Ryan moans, shoving a hand into Brendon's hair and kissing him roughly. Brendon's glasses go askew and end up getting tossed somewhere around Ryan's desk.
"Is that a yes?" Brendon gasps. He'd kind of like for their shirts to be gone right now.
"As long as you promise to get that mouth of yours on me sometime when I can see it." Ryan says the words between gasps as he thrusts against Brendon's crotch, which shouldn't be this hot, seriously. Also, he shouldn't be this fucking close from just dry humping and kissing, but then, it's been a billion years since he got laid, so. A dry spell plus whiskey and a willing Ryan in his lap mean zero endurance.
But if he's going to come like he's fifteen again, he's gonna fucking have some skin to touch, by god.
He tugs at Ryan's tie, growls, "Off." In the dim light he can see Ryan's freakishly long, weirdly elegant fingers fumble with the silk. He jerks it off and throws it over his shoulder before attacking the buttons of his dress shirt. Brendon wants to help, but he also just wants to watch those fingers at work. It's hypnotic, and he's fairly certain he'll never be able to watch Ryan sign documents without getting hard.
Once the last button is free, Ryan shrugs the shirt off, but Brendon stops him once the material catches at his elbows. "No, leave it," he whispers.
Ryan licks his lips as he pushes his hands under Brendon's thin t-shirt. "You next."
Brendon has never been so thankful that the tech department doesn't have to follow the Bureau dress code. His shirt is gone in two seconds flat, and then, then, finally, he's got skin on skin and Ryan's arms wrapping around his neck and his hands splaying over Ryan's back.
"Yes," he breathes, wishing he had more light to see Ryan--he knows there are tattoos somewhere along his shoulders, shadows of ink he's caught through Ryan's shirt now and then. The part of his brain that wants to believe this more than just the situation and their inhibitions being lowered thinks spreading Ryan out on white sheets and making out every design would be so perfect.
Suddenly he's lost in the image of having Ryan in his bed, naked and flushed, his cock hard and leaking against his belly as his hand twitches to touch himself. He's watching Brendon with dark, heavy eyes, and his mouth is wet and red. Slowly, he bends his knee, spreading himself even more, and slides his hand down past his balls. He moans, bucking against his hand, and it's--it's--
"Shit, Brendon," Ryan gasps. The fantasy fades back into the present, and Brendon is sucking sharply at Ryan's collarbone, leaving angry dark circles on his skin. He's also grinding up into Ryan furiously, hips pushing off the floor haphazardly.
"Let me get--we should--maybe--" Ryan pants into Brendon's mouth, his hands fumbling between them, but Brendon can't stop for stupid things like jeans and buttons and zippers. He needs to come and make Ryan come with him, that's all that matters to him. The complicated stuff can come later. So to speak.
"Just--just--" He slides his hands down Ryan's chest, nails scratching lightly at his nipples. Ryan moans and meets his thrusts, the rhythm getting more and more frantic. It's almost a relief to know Ryan's just as desperate for it as Brendon, and probably just as close.
Brendon knows they should slow down, because coming in your jeans is disgusting and so high school. He'll have to eventually drive home that way, since he doesn't keep a change of clothes in his desk. But this is the hottest thing that's happened to him in a long, long time, and he figures it's worth a little discomfort in the end. Making Ryan shudder and groan, "Fuck," like he's dying is so worth it.
"Next time," Brendon says, feeling the familiar tightening in his stomach. "Next time I'll totally suck you any way you want, promise--"
Ryan's hands dig into Brendon's shoulders painfully as he jerks and throws his head back, moaning something that sounds a lot like Brendon's name, but he's trying to bite back the sounds, like he's afraid someone in the dark with hear. He shoves up hard one last time and goes still, drops his forehead down onto Brendon's as he gasps for breath.
"C'mon, don't leave me hanging," Ryan whispers, laughing breathlessly. He reaches down between them and cups Brendon through his jeans, squeezing as he rubs the heel of his hand against the head as much as he can through thick denim. Really thick, stupid denim Brendon wishes he wasn't wearing at the moment.
But then he's coming, so fast it shocks him, and he doesn't give a flying fuck if anyone's still left in the building--he moans until he's hoarse, teeth clenched tight enough to make his jaw ache.
They stay slumped against one another, their ragged breathing mingling with the quiet roar of the storm outside. Eventually Ryan leans back and sighs, but not before he kisses the corner of Brendon's mouth, soft and chaste-like.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Gimme another few minutes and I'll let you know." It's been a long, long time since he had an orgasm like that. A long time. He may never recover.
Ryan chuckles quietly as he carefully climbs off of Brendon and slides to the side, pressing beside Brendon along the wall. Brendon's still out of it enough to let his head drop onto Ryan's shoulder.
"There'll be a next time, right?" Brendon whispers, wincing at how small his voice sounds. But he has to ask, he can't go back to being ignored, not now.
He feels a hand take his own and thread their fingers together. "A billion more times," Ryan says, kissing Brendon's hairline.
Brendon beams sleepily. "Am I still stuck on desk duty?"
"As inappropriate as it is for us to be having this conversation right now, I...will be willing to reconsider." He sighs, shifting against Brendon's side. "I mean...you know why I did all that, right? Why I buried you in busy work?"
"Because you're slightly insane and a little mean?"
"Because you scared the living shit out of me when you nearly died. I know you're only human, Bren, and I know it wasn't entirely all your fault. But--but I wasn't prepared to deal with how I felt when you--when I almost--"
"Wait." Brendon lifted his head to smirk at him. "Ryan fucking Ross, are you saying you're in love with me?"
Ryan huffs. "Love's a really strong word--"
"You fucking are, you giant hypocrite!" He laughs and smacks a loud, sloppy kiss on Ryan's cheek, feeling happier than he has in weeks.
"Let's not get carried away or anything here--"
"S'okay, I've kinda been in love with you since Christmas."
Ryan blinks at him. "...Really?" The slow, completely open smile that spreads across his face is the best thing Brendon's seen all day.
"Yeah, really. But I was a little distracted with the whole thinking you hated my guts thing." He kisses him again, more serious this time, and Ryan gradually turns his head into the kiss, making it real, making it count.
Brendon's phone buzzes in his pocket. The pocket of his now-sticky jeans. He scrinches his nose as he gingerly pulls it out.
It's a text from Jon. everything ok?? u still locked in with ross?
Apparently he's got a signal back.
He holds the phone up for Ryan to read. "What should I tell him?"
Ryan squints at the screen, then grins deviously. "Tell him Spencer was right. He'll know what that means."
Two minutes after Brendon sends the text, another one comes back. spence says he wants the movie rights to ur love story. also that he is a genuis.
When Brendon shows him the message, Ryan laughs his ass off for nearly five minutes straight.
Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer | 6400 words | NC-17
It's like a really cheesy horror movie, only no one is going to hack Brendon to pieces with a chainsaw. But being locked in an office building during a storm with his boss who happens to hate him might be just as bad.
Sequel to If It Kills Me, aka the FBI AU where Jon and Spencer are agents and Ryan is their boss. Oh, and Brendon's the brilliant tech guy who didn't get any screen time the first go around. He's getting his due this time. :D
Written exclusively for my amazing, awesome, wonderful siryn99's super special birthday. I LOVE YOU, BB. ♥♥ I have been promising her Ryan/Brendon fic for AGES, including this very fic. LOL BLINK LYRICS.
Thank you to the ever-faithful themoononastick for talking me through things, and to universeunfold for the last-minute beta!
"Suspended from field work indefinitely" has a very negative connotation. Brendon's never been suspended from anything in his life, except for that one time in tenth grade when he got caught with weed in the parking lot. But that had been an obvious violation of laws and rules, and he'd understood the consequences and why he was being punished.
This? This was just Ross being unfair and not listening to reason or understanding that people are human, and humans make mistakes sometimes. Yes, fine, mistakes that almost got him and his co-workers killed, but still. Nobody's perfect.
Brendon's done the desk thing. For a long, long time. He knows all the in and outs of every computer in the building, every wire, every firewall password. He's cracked codes for some of the hardest encrypted files in existence, and if he were a totally immoral person, he'd be one hell of a hacker. He's even joked with Spencer about opening his own personal account in the Caymans, just in case he ever needed a back-up plan for retirement.
In short, Brendon is a genius. And geniuses, from time to time, need some fresh fucking air.
He sighs as he slouches down in his chair, poking as his keyboard. "Suspended from field work indefinitely" translates to Brendon being buried under a mountain of paperwork consisting of enough jumbled code to keep him busy into the next millennium. It's punishment, plain and simple, although according to Ross, it's "necessary for our caseloads."
Brendon rolls his eyes. Ross might as well have just said, "No really, you're grounded until you're forty, mister."
It's close to five, and everyone is heading out for the weekend. Over the top of his computer screen, he spots Jon and Spencer shrugging back into their suit jackets, heads bent close together as Jon says something into Spencer's ear. Spencer promptly rolls his eyes, but then he laughs, bright and open, as he shoves playfully at Jon's shoulder. Jon blinks at him in fake innocence, which only makes Spencer shake his head and lean in to kiss him quickly on the mouth.
It's nothing new; Jon and Spencer have been together for the past three months, much to the surprise of everyone else in the office--except Ross. Brendon remembers the slightly smug look on his face when Brendon had gaped at the two of them and Ross had replied, "Trust me, this is so not a shock. Those two are cursed to be in love, swear to God."
Brendon had laughed, even though he really just wanted to frown at him. "You make it sound like being in love's a bad thing."
And that had made Ross laugh. "Spoken like someone who's never been there."
Sometimes Brendon doesn't know what's worse: watching Jon and Spencer together and thinking he'll probably never have anything close to it, or knowing that Ryan Ross doesn't believe in love at all. Not that Brendon cares about the latter. He doesn't. Really. It's just...
...He kind of cares a lot. And it's totally Ross's fault for being drunk at the Bureau Christmas party and thinking it was okay to kiss Brendon like he meant it.
Brendon looks away from Jon and Spencer and glares harder at the computer screen. He really wishes he could stop thinking about any and everything having to do with Ross's stupid fucking face and stupid fucking hatred of love and stupid fucking insistence on making Brendon's life miserable and boring.
"Bren, you should come out with us," Jon calls, pulling him out his sulk.
"Um?" Brendon blinks and shakes his head. "Naw, I gotta finish this code or Ross'll chain me to the desk for the rest of the weekend." If only he were kidding.
Spencer laughs as he leans against the wall of Brendon's cube. "Don't tell me you're seriously letting him get away with making you do all this." He waves his hand at the piles of paper scattered across Brendon's desk. "That code is bullshit."
"Thanks, I pretty much figured that out a million years ago." He pushes at his glasses, squinting over the edge of his cube in the direction of Ross's office. Maybe if he tries hard enough he can kill him with his mind.
Jon pats his shoulder. "It can wait for happy hour, right?"
"My life is not worth two dollar drafts."
Spencer snorts. "You know he's just overreacting. He does that when he gets...y'know, scared. You and I almost got blown up, and you know what he did the last time I almost died on the job."
"Yeah, he fired your partner." To be honest, Brendon has no idea why he still has a job.
"He's not about to fire you, dude. If anything, he's keeping you safe." Jon nudges Spencer in the side, clearing his throat loudly, and Spencer glares at him and says, "What?"
"Keeping me safe implies that he cares, which he doesn't. I know when I'm being punished, Spence, and I love this job too much to piss him off anymore."
"You're not being punished, trust me." Spencer smirks knowingly. Brendon doesn't like that smirk, especially from a guy who knows how to handle many different types of handguns.
Jon shakes his head. "If you want to catch up with us, we'll be at McCoy's. Just text me, or whatever. See you on Monday." He tugs on Spencer's hand, mumbling something that sounds very much like, "C'mon, Cupid, shit," laughing under his breath.
"This is hilarious, Jon, and you know it," Spencer replies as they head down the hall. "I mean, not the part where we nearly died, but the other part, the part where Ryan..." Their voices fade out as the door to the office closes behind them. Brendon absolutely doesn't strain to catch the rest of that sentence.
Through the windows across from his desk, he can see dark storm clouds gathering outside. The lights flicker for a second as he hears the wind pick up. Of course there's going to be a storm, and of course, Brendon's umbrella is tucked neatly into his umbrella stand at home. Perfect.
Another half hour goes by of mindless tapping on his keyboard, then his phone buzzes with a text from Jon: still got time, sneak out when ross isn't looking. :)
Brendon laughs as he leans back in his chair and starts to text back i'll blame the storm? i'm scared of thunder, when he hears a familiar bored monotone say, "Still hard at it, I see."
He nearly falls out of his chair. "I'm still here, aren't I?" he says, regaining his balance and shoving his phone back in his pocket, text unsent. "I figure if I stay for a few more hours, I can bang this out by tonight." Brendon doesn't look over at Ross, but he can see him leaning against his cube wall, skinny arms crossed over his chest. His sleeves are rolled up, which means his suit jacket's probably back in his office, but Brendon's definitely not looking at him to notice that.
"Good, I was just about to ask if you had plans for the weekend."
This would be one of those comic moments Brendon would refer to as "swallowing one's tongue." He flushes bright pink all the way to his hairline, his heart suddenly racing. "Um. Plans? No, I don't have any of those. Plans, I mean." He makes sure his back is to Ross as he taps blindly at his keyboard.
"Perfect, then I can get you started on that hard drive Asher recovered from her sting operation last night."
Brendon's heart stops racing and falls into his feet. "But...didn't that drive belong to the Chinese mob?"
"Yeah, the whole thing's in Mandarin, not to mention riddled with viruses. I'd say it'll take a good two to three weeks for even you to crack it."
Three weeks of decoding virus-infested Chinese. He's no longer being punished, he's being tortured.
Brendon huffs loudly and spins around in his chair, giving Ross his fiercest glare. The downside is that looking straight at him confirms that yes, Ross is no longer wearing his suit jacket, and yes, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows sort of haphazardly, and oh hey, his tie's kind of loose and crooked. Dammit.
"Look," he says, pointing a determined finger at Ross. "I get it, okay? You're pissed at me from the whole...y'know, gettingSpencerandJonalmostkilledthing." He bites his lip when Ross raises an eyebrow. "I already apologized profusely for that, and even brought you bagels. With lox. You love lox."
Ross doesn't even blink.
"But the thing is, I know I fucked up, and I want to make up for it. Sticking me back behind a desk isn't gonna help me with that."
"How did you even know I like lox?"
Brendon sighs. "Spencer told me."
Again with the no blinking. Sometimes, Brendon honestly believes Ross is a robot with human skin.
"Please, Ross? I learned my lesson, I swear."
"So what you're saying is, you want me to put you back out in the field with my agents, where you specifically ignored all procedure and protocol and put lives in danger, including your own? Not to mention ruining a city block? Which, by the way, is being paid for out of the Bureau's budget."
Ross is making it sound ten times worse than it really was. "It was half a block," Brendon mutters, digging the toe of his Chucks into the carpet.
"The answer's no, Brendon. I shouldn't have even let you go the first time, I just--" Ross actually winces, just barely. "Bad call on my part, and I'm not going to let it happen again."
"It wasn't a bad call, you just need to give me a second chance!"
"Second chances can get people killed. No."
Brendon feels an angry flush explode over the back of his neck, and he's about to open his mouth and tell Ross off, his chances be damned, when the lights flicker again.
Then, everything goes dark.
"Shit," Ross mutters. There's enough light from the outside windows that Brendon can see him look up at the ceiling. "The emergency breakers should be kicking in any second now..."
Five minutes go by, and nothing happens.
"What the hell." Ross digs his phone out. Brendon assumes he's calling the regional director. After a few moments, Ross frowns and says, "Fuck, I'm only getting voicemail." He leaves a message about the power, and just as he flips the phone shut, Brendon has a sudden and very unpleasant realization.
"Nononono," he says under his breath as he scrambles up from his desk and races down the hall to the front door. He remembers glancing over the building's blueprints with the alarm company, how the installation guy had said that in emergencies, the doors would lock from the inside...but on rare occasions--like electrical storms--the system could short out and lock from the outside. The guy had insisted that such instances were extremely rare.
But apparently not rare enough, since none of the doors are opening. Brendon kicks at the glass, swearing a blue streak, before he grabs his phone and texts both Jon and Spencer with locked in building w/ ross sos. He hits send, but promptly gets a messaging stating there's "no service."
"Fuck," he moans. Like this day could get any worse.
He wanders back to his cube, but Ross is gone. Out of the corner of his eye, Brendon sees a flash of light coming from Ross's office.
"Ross?" he calls.
"Arfgkdskfs," is all Brendon hears. He gets to the office doorway and just make out that Ross has a flashlight in his mouth, and he's digging through his desk with both hands.
"We're locked in," Brendon says dejectedly.
Ross takes the flashlight out of his mouth. "I figured, that's why I'm trying to find the goddamned number for the alarm company, I know it's here somewhere..."
"D'you call Spencer?"
"I lost all my bars. The tower's probably out. Not to mention the switchboard doesn't seem to be working, either--all the network phones are blank."
God, it's like a really cheesy horror movie, only no one is going to hack Brendon to pieces with a chainsaw. But being locked in an office building during a storm with his boss who happens to hate him might be just as bad.
Brendon sighs and hugs his arms around his chest. "So...what should we do?"
"I don't know, start a fire?" Brendon blinks before Ross glances up from his desk. The weird part is that Ross actually smiles at him, albeit a teeny, tiny one. "I'm kidding,Urie, don't hyperventilate just yet. I'm sure the cleaning crew will show up and let us--"
"The cleaning crew doesn't come on Friday nights." Brendon has stayed last enough to know this. He thought Ross did, too.
"Oh." Ross straightens, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Then we wait it out, I guess. The storm can't last forever."
"Yeah."
The very definition of an awkward pause occurs, with Brendon shifting from foot to foot and Ross fidgeting with a stack of memos. Not to mention it's getting pretty dark in the office, a steady dull roar of rain pounding against the windows, with intermittent rumbles of thunder.
Brendon's stomach growls, but it's drowned out by the rain.
Still, it's like Ross has supersonic hearing or something. "You hungry?" he asks.
A part of him wants to be contrary, but Brendon hasn't eaten since noon. "Sort of," he replies. "I think I've got some Pop Tarts in my desk..."
"Here." There's a rustling sound as Ross digs around in his desk again, and a minute later he tosses Brendon a brand new bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos.
"Oh, wow." Brendon's stomach all but reaches out and tears into the bag itself. "I mean, uh--wanna share?"
Ross waves him off. "I'm a Cool Ranch guy, myself. Those are actually for Spencer, I owed him a bag."
Brendon has manners and was brought up to be polite and considerate when eating in front of other people, but fuck it, he's starving. He tears into the bag as he slides down the wall, his legs splayed out across Ross's doorway. They're possibly the best Doritos he's ever had in his life.
There's a soft clink of glass against wood. "Want a drink?" Ross asks, and his voice sounds a little off for some reason.
"Like, as in happy hour-type drink?"
"As in ten-year-old scotch that's been sitting in my desk for over a year. I never have time to drink it, so I might as well start now."
Brendon stops his demolition of the Dorito bag long enough to lick the nacho cheese off his fingers, trying not to feel like everything is taking a very surreal turn. Drinking expensive whiskey in Ross's office in the dark is weird enough, he's not about to do it covered in orange cheese dust. "Um, okay. If you're sure."
"You got any place else to be?" Ross says with a small laugh. It's a genuine sound, and it makes Brendon try to figure out just how many times he's seen Ross laugh. He knows he could count them on one hand.
"Well, I have dinner with the Queen in ten, but other than that I'm free," Brendon says without thinking, then promptly winces. Smooth, really smooth.
But he hears another soft little laugh as Ross says, "Sorry to keep you from the Queen." He pours two glasses and brings one over to Brendon; the light from the flashlight is dim and barely casts enough glow to see his silhouette. Their hands brush as Brendon takes the glass from him.
"I'll manage," Brendon says, hating the small warm shiver that runs just below his skin.
They're both quiet for a few minutes, until Brendon goes back to his chips, the crackle of the bag the only real sound in the room besides the pounding of the rain. He's not completely sure where Ross is, but he doesn't care, he doesn't--he's just hanging out until the power comes back on and he can hopefully go home, play with his dog, and maybe watch some old episodes of Family Guy on his DVR. It all sounds way more fun than sitting here in the dark sipping scotch and trying to ignore his boss.
That is, until he sees Ross's shadow sit down the floor across from him, legs stretched out enough so that the tips of his polished shoes brush the edge of Brendon's jeans. All the air in the room becomes really stuffy suddenly, and all Brendon can think is that, if he wanted to, he could so reach out and curl his hand around Ross's ankle, under his pant leg.
Maybe being stuck in a dark room with Ross isn't so bad after all. Maybe. Brendon takes a long drink, which probably isn't the best idea, given the lack of food in his stomach.
"Were you serious about not having any plans this weekend?"
It startles him a bit, hearing Ross suddenly breaking the silence in a voice that actually sounds interested in what Brendon does with his free time. He takes another drink, swallowing hard. The alcohol slides smooth and warm into his stomach, making him sigh. "Yeah," he finally says. "That's pretty much every weekend, unless I fly out to Cali to see Shane."
"You fly out to California just for a weekend?"
"Sometimes I just get the itch to see the ocean." Brendon shrugs, already feeling a little more loose. "I get free room and board, so why not?"
Ross doesn't say anything, but Brendon think he hears him take a long drink as well. The chips are almost gone, so he shoves the bag aside.
"What about you?" he says. "Are you doing anything special? Or were you just thinking of sitting in your office all day tomorrow planning ways to torture me?" The whiskey is totally taking advantage of Brendon's empty stomach, which means he's not at all embarrassed at the way he punctuates that sentence with a smirk and a giggle.
But, oddly enough, Ross replies softly, "No, that wasn't my plan."
Brendon sits up a little straighter at the weird tone in his voice. "Hey, I was kidding, I didn't mean--"
"No, you weren't. You completely meant that, and I get it." Ross takes another drink, setting the empty glass on the carpet.
"It's just...everyone screws up," Brendon says carefully, knocking his knee into Ross's foot, because it was right there.
A huge, booming clap of thunder follows a flash of lighting, making Brendon jump and nearly drop his glass. He wasn't kidding when he texted Jon about being afraid of thunder, but he isn't about to tell Ross that.
Ross, however, can sense fear. "I'm sure that wasn't as close as it sounded," he says, and there's a note of something like concern in his voice, which...what? Brendon might be a little more tipsy than he realized.
"Whatever, I'm fine." The slight shudder in his shoulders is nothing.
For some reason, that makes Ross sigh. "Being afraid of thunder's not that big a deal. Trust me, I could tell you about the time Spencer woke up with a spider on his cheek and screamed like a girl." He laughs to himself, a quiet, almost private sound; Brendon imagines that not many people have heard it.
It's not that he's jealous of Spencer. Unlike the rest of the office, Brendon's known from the first day he started with Bureau that Ross and Spencer's relationship was purely platonic, if a little co-dependent for a subordinate and his superior. And anyone with a pair of eyes could see that Walker and Spencer are utterly stupid for each other, and had been for months and months before a freak kidnapping made them admit their feelings for each other. It was all very romance novel-ish and cliche'd, but Brendon envies them; he envies the idea of having someone suddenly realize they were in love with you. And when it comes to Spencer and Ross, Brendon mostly just envies the fact that Ross loves Spencer as a friend. At least he loves someone, even if it's not Brendon.
...And okay, whoa, where did that thought even come from? What the hell did Ross put in this scotch, anyway?
"Can I, um." Brendon holds his glass up. Fuck it, he doesn't care anymore.
"Oh." Ross gets to his feet and grabs the bottle off his desk. He pours a good three fingers into Brendon's glass, then tops his own off.
"So did you and Spencer always plan on being FBI agents together?" Brendon says, tipping his head back against the wall. His cheeks feel really warm.
In the glow of the flashlight, he thinks he sees Ross's shoulder lift in a shrug. "Not really. I was going to be an English professor, but Spence talked me into joining the Academy instead."
"Seriously?" Brendon can't help giggling, because...well, seriously. "Yeah, I can totally see you in a cardigan, hauling your leather messenger bag around with your Starbucks cup."
"I really love books!" Ross replies with a hint of indignation. "I got into grad school and everything. But...I don't know, Spence filled my head with ideas about being super heroes and shit."
Now Brendon's really giggling. "You became an agent to be a super hero?"
Ross swats his leg really hard. "Shut the fuck up, nerd boy, I have a gun." He sounds really pouty suddenly. Maybe Ross is tipsy, too.
Which makes Brendon think back to the damn Christmas party, and of Ross grinning secretively at him as he backed Brendon up against the wall beside the mistletoe to kiss him all slow and deep. He'd tasted like eggnog and snicker doodles, and Brendon had all but melted into him, his hands curling into the front of Ross's shirt. He might have even called him Ryan.
They'd made out for the rest of the party, but after that, Ross pretty much had acted like nothing had ever happened, excluding the handful of guilty, embarrassed glances he'd thrown Brendon's way for a couple weeks.
Those glances had really fucking pissed Brendon off. They still fucking piss him off.
He wants to ask Ross why he even bothered to kiss him that night if he was only going to ignore Brendon afterward and then make him feel like shit for screwing up a mission. He wants to say a lot of things to Ross, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, "You have a gun, but I can make every single one of your bookmarks go straight to porn."
Brendon says it with a straight face, but Ross doesn't just laugh, he snorts. It's a really loud, indignant sound, totally un-Ross-like in every way, and yet it's kind of perfect.
"You wouldn't, no way."
"I have! Ask Jon about the time he fucked me over on a round of Halo--let's just say he's super paranoid about his Firefox browser at work." Brendon waggles his eyebrows, even though he's pretty sure Ross can't even see him.
"You are fucking ridiculous," Ross says, still laughing, his voice soft and...affectionate? "I bet you'd probably kick my ass at Halo, anyway. I suck at that stuff."
"We could play Grand Theft Auto sometime, all you do is blow shit up and run from cops." Brendon promptly bites his lip, because what? Why is he suddenly inviting Ross to play video games? Like he's almost, sort of, asking him on a date?
He should really consider not finishing the whiskey in his glass.
What's worse, there's this long, awkward pause where Ross doesn't reply, confirming Brendon's fears that Ross is just a little drunk and definitely isn't really interested in...whatever it is they're doing here.
Brendon's heart starts pound all the way into his fingertips, and suddenly his brain completely disconnects from all rational thought.
"Look, I know you hate me," Brendon blurts out, the words really loud and sharp in the dark. "So you don't have to sit here with me and, like, fucking entertain me so I won't be the poor lonely tech guy with no social life on a Friday night. I don't need your pity, or your stupid expensive scotch." He has every intention of getting up and storming away, only it's still really dark and he's pretty sure he'd trip over something if he tried to leave Ross's office. Brendon opts to shove the almost-empty glass at Ross and hug his knees to his chest like a lame little kid. At least Ross can't see the embarrassed flush in his cheeks.
A full thirty seconds tick by without a word from either of them. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Brendon thinks, wishing he'd just taken Jon and Spencer up on their offer to meet up for happy hour. Now he'll never be unchained from his desk, or the mountain of code, or the fucking virus-filled Chinese hard drive--
"I don't hate you." Ross's voice is very quiet, tentative, almost shy-sounding.
Brendon laughs bitterly. "You sure have a weird fucking way of showing it," he mumbles into his knees.
"I've never hated you, I think you're..." Ross huffs as he trails off. Brendon can kind of see the way he scrubs a hand over his mouth.
And then he scoots across the carpet toward Brendon, who barely manages to keep from gasping and pressing back into the doorway. He can make out the dark shape of Ross's tie against his light blue shirt, the way his hair sort of curls over his forehead. He can't see his eyes very well, but he can see how Ross chews his lower lip for a second.
"I don't really handle stuff like this very well," Ross whispers before he leans in even closer and kisses him.
Brendon, for all intents and purposes, forgets how to breathe.
It's nothing like the kiss from the Christmas party; this one is careful, soft, lips barely parted until Ross slowly swipes the tip of his tongue over the seam of Brendon's mouth.
Don't let him in, don't you dare let him in, Brendon tells himself frantically as his mouth totally disobeys him and parts easily, letting Ross lick slowly past his teeth. He can taste the whiskey, with a hint of mint gum underneath.
He doesn't mean to reach out and splay his hand over Ross's jaw, but he needs to hold onto something to keep his balance, even though he's sitting pressed against a wall. Ross's knees are digging into his thigh at an awkward angle, but it doesn't matter, Ross is kissing him, and Brendon's not really sure why, but it's good, it's awesome, even if they are a little drunk.
"Ross," Brendon gasps as he pulls back for air.
"Jesus, at least call me Ryan when I'm kissing you." But he's grinning at Brendon, and even in the almost-dark Brendon can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks kind of young and more than a little gorgeous, and god, Brendon's heart is set to light speed at this point.
"Okay. Ryan." It feels odd on his tongue, but something tells him this means something, although what, he doesn't know. He'd really just like to keep kissing his boss in the dark.
"I'm cool with that," Ryan says, nudging his nose against Brendon's, and Brendon realizes he's just said that last thought out loud, whoops.
"Shut up, Ryan," Brendon replies, drawing him back in to nip gently at his bottom lip. At least Ryan can't see the dopey grin on his face.
"You're impossible sometimes," Ryan breathes as he opens his mouth wider to let Brendon's tongue slide against his. Now it's getting a little dirty, a little deeper; Brendon flashes back to Christmas, how Ryan had him pinned to the wall by his wrist. Without thinking, Brendon shifts around on carpet so his back is flat against the wall. Ryan automatically moves with him, straddling Brendon's thighs as he leans close, nearly chest to chest. He still doesn't touch Brendon, but Brendon's hand is still cupped around Ryan's cheek.
He doesn't even know what he really wants until Ryan spreads his legs a bit more and their hips line up perfectly. Brendon should really be a little embarrassed to discover he's already this hard, but it's not like Ryan isn't totally sporting wood, either, and wow, okay, he made Ryan go hard from nothing but kissing. This night isn't ruined after all.
Especially when Brendon arches his hips up, testing the angle, and Ryan makes this soft, high-pitched moan that's possibly the hottest fucking thing Brendon's ever heard in his life.
"I-I don't know if you--I didn't intend to--" Ryan Ross is stuttering while grinding into Brendon's lap. Fuck yes.
"Intend to what?" Brendon asks, kissing his way up Ryan's jaw to his ear. "Make out with me?"
"Well...yeah, kind of, but--" He hisses sharply when Brendon sucks gently at the soft skin below his earlobe. "I don't have any, like--stuff with me."
Brendon's snort is decidedly louder and ten times dorkier than Ryan's. "Oh my god, Ross, you're honestly thinking about fucking me in your office?" He presses his face into Ryan's neck and laughs and laughs, his chest feeling very light suddenly. Light and warm.
He can feel Ryan's shoulders go stiff as he slides his free hand up Ryan's arm. "I'm just saying that if we actually decide to, you know, do...things...I don't think we can. Unless--"
"Fuck, please don't ask if I have lube and shit in my desk. It's bad enough I have the computer nerd rep." Funny how he's hard and throbbing in his jeans, and yet all he wants to do in this moment is wrap his arms around Ryan. Weird. "I'm perfectly happy to jerk you off, though."
"Oh god," Ryan moans, shoving a hand into Brendon's hair and kissing him roughly. Brendon's glasses go askew and end up getting tossed somewhere around Ryan's desk.
"Is that a yes?" Brendon gasps. He'd kind of like for their shirts to be gone right now.
"As long as you promise to get that mouth of yours on me sometime when I can see it." Ryan says the words between gasps as he thrusts against Brendon's crotch, which shouldn't be this hot, seriously. Also, he shouldn't be this fucking close from just dry humping and kissing, but then, it's been a billion years since he got laid, so. A dry spell plus whiskey and a willing Ryan in his lap mean zero endurance.
But if he's going to come like he's fifteen again, he's gonna fucking have some skin to touch, by god.
He tugs at Ryan's tie, growls, "Off." In the dim light he can see Ryan's freakishly long, weirdly elegant fingers fumble with the silk. He jerks it off and throws it over his shoulder before attacking the buttons of his dress shirt. Brendon wants to help, but he also just wants to watch those fingers at work. It's hypnotic, and he's fairly certain he'll never be able to watch Ryan sign documents without getting hard.
Once the last button is free, Ryan shrugs the shirt off, but Brendon stops him once the material catches at his elbows. "No, leave it," he whispers.
Ryan licks his lips as he pushes his hands under Brendon's thin t-shirt. "You next."
Brendon has never been so thankful that the tech department doesn't have to follow the Bureau dress code. His shirt is gone in two seconds flat, and then, then, finally, he's got skin on skin and Ryan's arms wrapping around his neck and his hands splaying over Ryan's back.
"Yes," he breathes, wishing he had more light to see Ryan--he knows there are tattoos somewhere along his shoulders, shadows of ink he's caught through Ryan's shirt now and then. The part of his brain that wants to believe this more than just the situation and their inhibitions being lowered thinks spreading Ryan out on white sheets and making out every design would be so perfect.
Suddenly he's lost in the image of having Ryan in his bed, naked and flushed, his cock hard and leaking against his belly as his hand twitches to touch himself. He's watching Brendon with dark, heavy eyes, and his mouth is wet and red. Slowly, he bends his knee, spreading himself even more, and slides his hand down past his balls. He moans, bucking against his hand, and it's--it's--
"Shit, Brendon," Ryan gasps. The fantasy fades back into the present, and Brendon is sucking sharply at Ryan's collarbone, leaving angry dark circles on his skin. He's also grinding up into Ryan furiously, hips pushing off the floor haphazardly.
"Let me get--we should--maybe--" Ryan pants into Brendon's mouth, his hands fumbling between them, but Brendon can't stop for stupid things like jeans and buttons and zippers. He needs to come and make Ryan come with him, that's all that matters to him. The complicated stuff can come later. So to speak.
"Just--just--" He slides his hands down Ryan's chest, nails scratching lightly at his nipples. Ryan moans and meets his thrusts, the rhythm getting more and more frantic. It's almost a relief to know Ryan's just as desperate for it as Brendon, and probably just as close.
Brendon knows they should slow down, because coming in your jeans is disgusting and so high school. He'll have to eventually drive home that way, since he doesn't keep a change of clothes in his desk. But this is the hottest thing that's happened to him in a long, long time, and he figures it's worth a little discomfort in the end. Making Ryan shudder and groan, "Fuck," like he's dying is so worth it.
"Next time," Brendon says, feeling the familiar tightening in his stomach. "Next time I'll totally suck you any way you want, promise--"
Ryan's hands dig into Brendon's shoulders painfully as he jerks and throws his head back, moaning something that sounds a lot like Brendon's name, but he's trying to bite back the sounds, like he's afraid someone in the dark with hear. He shoves up hard one last time and goes still, drops his forehead down onto Brendon's as he gasps for breath.
"C'mon, don't leave me hanging," Ryan whispers, laughing breathlessly. He reaches down between them and cups Brendon through his jeans, squeezing as he rubs the heel of his hand against the head as much as he can through thick denim. Really thick, stupid denim Brendon wishes he wasn't wearing at the moment.
But then he's coming, so fast it shocks him, and he doesn't give a flying fuck if anyone's still left in the building--he moans until he's hoarse, teeth clenched tight enough to make his jaw ache.
They stay slumped against one another, their ragged breathing mingling with the quiet roar of the storm outside. Eventually Ryan leans back and sighs, but not before he kisses the corner of Brendon's mouth, soft and chaste-like.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Gimme another few minutes and I'll let you know." It's been a long, long time since he had an orgasm like that. A long time. He may never recover.
Ryan chuckles quietly as he carefully climbs off of Brendon and slides to the side, pressing beside Brendon along the wall. Brendon's still out of it enough to let his head drop onto Ryan's shoulder.
"There'll be a next time, right?" Brendon whispers, wincing at how small his voice sounds. But he has to ask, he can't go back to being ignored, not now.
He feels a hand take his own and thread their fingers together. "A billion more times," Ryan says, kissing Brendon's hairline.
Brendon beams sleepily. "Am I still stuck on desk duty?"
"As inappropriate as it is for us to be having this conversation right now, I...will be willing to reconsider." He sighs, shifting against Brendon's side. "I mean...you know why I did all that, right? Why I buried you in busy work?"
"Because you're slightly insane and a little mean?"
"Because you scared the living shit out of me when you nearly died. I know you're only human, Bren, and I know it wasn't entirely all your fault. But--but I wasn't prepared to deal with how I felt when you--when I almost--"
"Wait." Brendon lifted his head to smirk at him. "Ryan fucking Ross, are you saying you're in love with me?"
Ryan huffs. "Love's a really strong word--"
"You fucking are, you giant hypocrite!" He laughs and smacks a loud, sloppy kiss on Ryan's cheek, feeling happier than he has in weeks.
"Let's not get carried away or anything here--"
"S'okay, I've kinda been in love with you since Christmas."
Ryan blinks at him. "...Really?" The slow, completely open smile that spreads across his face is the best thing Brendon's seen all day.
"Yeah, really. But I was a little distracted with the whole thinking you hated my guts thing." He kisses him again, more serious this time, and Ryan gradually turns his head into the kiss, making it real, making it count.
Brendon's phone buzzes in his pocket. The pocket of his now-sticky jeans. He scrinches his nose as he gingerly pulls it out.
It's a text from Jon. everything ok?? u still locked in with ross?
Apparently he's got a signal back.
He holds the phone up for Ryan to read. "What should I tell him?"
Ryan squints at the screen, then grins deviously. "Tell him Spencer was right. He'll know what that means."
Two minutes after Brendon sends the text, another one comes back. spence says he wants the movie rights to ur love story. also that he is a genuis.
When Brendon shows him the message, Ryan laughs his ass off for nearly five minutes straight.