Each Touch Ch. 4
Title: Each touch belongs to each new sound (4/4)
Authors: EL and Toby
Fandoms: AAR, FOB, Panic
Pairings: Nick/Tyson, Pete/Ryan, Mike/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~32,000 total (god help us)
Summary: Ryan's good at fucking: it's the rest of it that sometimes confuses him. (mult. POVs)
Disclaimer: Never happened.
A/N: This is posted here, but Toby and I wrote this over IM TOGETHER for MONTHS AND MONTHS. It ate our brains and made us squealing, giggly girls. More than half the credit for this fic should go to Toby-- those of you that know her? Drop her an email and say nice job. That being said, you might be thinking WTF?! Ryan Ross living on the AAR tourbus during the BC&UD tour?? Are you on CRACK? To which the answer is YES, but it is the very best kind. I hope you all will come along because I promise this will be a very nice ride.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Mike is asleep when Ryan comes back in. Ryan just stands there and stares at him for a while. He's kind of fucked-the meeting took a lot out of him, and he’d usually just want to be alone, but he’s unbelievably happy Mike stayed. Mike's not under the covers - he didn't want to intrude and mess up Ryan's bed. His shoes are paired by the nightstand.
Ryan doesn't know what to do. His throat is tight and a little hot; he feels guilty. He should be thinking about the band, about tour, but all he can think of is that Mike is leaving. He toes his shoes off in the middle of the room and climbs onto the other side of the bed, careful not to touch Mike. He's not sure he wants to wake him. He lays on his side, facing Mike, watching his face as he sleeps. Mike's peaceful in sleep, and his face still bears traces of the smile that's almost always on his face. Ryan can't look away; the day after tomorrow, he won't be able to look at all anymore.
The covers are a little scratchy under his bare arms and Ryan shifts onto his stomach, arm pillowing his head. His fingers brush Mike's and he lets them stay for a moment, stroking his thumb over Mike's wrist. He's about to pull away when Mike blinks his eyes open. "Hey," he smiles, and Ryan feels like crying.
"Hey," Ryan whispers.
Mike stretches his arms above his head, dislodging Ryan's hand. His t-shirt rides up his stomach. "Have I been asleep long?" he says, rubbing his eyes. Mike shakes his head.
"Don't think so," Ryan tucks both arms under his head and swallows. "I was only over there forty-five minutes or so."
"How'd it go?" Mike asks quietly, turning onto his side to face him. Ryan shrugs.
"Shitty, but Spence is calling Jon tomorrow, so."
Mike reaches a hand out and rubs his back soothingly. "It'll all be okay, seriously." Ryan nods, even though he's got a feeling it won't be. "Hey," Mike says, smiling softly, "don't just nod at me, Ross." He kisses Ryan's forehead. "I mean it."
Ryan laughs a little, flushing at the touch; Mike gives it so easily that he almost feels worse. "It's gonna suck," he murmurs.
"Of course," Mike says. "But it's still gonna be okay."
Ryan sighs heavily and Mike rolls closer and drapes an arm over his back. "Wish I didn't have to do this," Ryan whispers and blinks away the prick of heat behind his eyes.
Mike noses against his shoulder. "Your turn to be the rock star, right?" he smiles. "It'll be good. Once you hit your stride, you'll remember why you love this." Ryan just nods again and shifts a fraction closer. "Come here," Mike says quietly. Ryan takes a deep breath, and folds in against him. Mike's breath is warm and comforting on his neck. "The festival is going to be a blast," he says. "Don't think I haven't noticed you looking longingly at my guitar these last few weeks, dude."
Ryan chuffs a laugh against Mike's shoulder. It's true, he has missed playing. But the tension from the group meeting is still palpable, his shoulders still tense from hunching in Spencer's desk chair.
"All you need is a stage and little eyeliner, and you'll remember," Mike murmurs. His lips are warm on Ryan's neck and Ryan sighs, shifting until their legs are tangled. It seems luxurious to have a queen size bed to themselves, but all Ryan wants is to be as close to Mike as humanly possible. Ryan wraps his arms around Mike's waist, tugging himself in. He hums a little as he noses Mike's neck, keeping his eyes closed. It's May, but the room is chilled with the artificial hum of air conditioning. Mike tilts his head, facing Ryan. "Hey," he says softly.
"Mike--" The name catches in his throat and Ryan leans in to kiss him-- not hard but a little desperate. His fingers clench in the back of Mike's shirt and Mike cups the side of his face, thumb running along his cheekbone in comforting strokes. Ryan pushes forward with a whimper and Mike pushes back, harder, until Ryan is flat against the mattress. He blinks at the ceiling as Mike trails kisses down his neck, his hair falling in soft waves over Ryan's cheek. The bed cushions his back -- it's late, almost four am, and Ryan feels like he's sinking deeper into the mattress. Mike sighs against his collarbone, his hand curling up into Ryan's messy hair.
Ryan slides a hand over the back of Mike's neck, fingers tucking under the collar of his shirt. "Mikey," he gasps when Mike's thigh rolls against his groin and Mike pauses with his forehead pressed to Ryan's collarbone. Ryan hooks a leg over Mike's and arches up, trying to say it without words. "Please," he finally chokes out and Mike is shaking a little, eyes wide as he lifts up enough to see Ryan's face.
Mike's hand is pressing down on the bed beside Ryan's head, propping him up. Ryan meets his gaze, swallowing to force words to come back to him. "Tonight," he says, rubbing Mike's shoulder blade.
"Ry," Mike starts and Ryan cuts him off with a look.
"Tonight," he says again, firmly, and he glances at the dark shades pulled over the windows. He can feel the morning coming and it’s almost like a race. His heart is already speeding up as Mike slides a hand down his side and up under his shirt.
"There's never enough fucking time," Mike sighs against his lips.
Ryan gasps as Mike's fingers seek out sensitive points on his chest; he shifts, and the motion sends his body back into alignment with Mike's. He closes his eyes, almost afraid of what he might say if he could see Mike so close, and whispers, "So make the time."
There's a sudden flurry of movement as Mike curses and shifts and tugs until their shirts are off, thrown haphazardly across the room. "Ry," he breathes and leans to kiss Ryan's stomach. The blood is rushing like a river past Ryan's ears, but he can feel the words on his skin, Mike's thumbs pressing into his hips. "I'd need a week to do this right," he grins and Ryan's eyes roll back at the thought.
"Come on, Kennerty," he manages roughly. "Show some fucking initiative." Mike laughs and sits back against his thighs. When Mike's hands go to unbutton Ryan's jeans (for the second time that night, Ryan remembers, and god, he feels like the luckiest person in New York), Ryan sucks in a gulping gasp of air.
"Okay?" Mike says. He rubs Ryan's skin just about the waistband of his jeans with the back of his palm, head tilted.
"Don't stop," Ryan says, the words coming out in a rush. Ryan stutters out a moan as Mike tugs his pants just over his hips, his cock straining free. Mike runs his knuckles gently over the ridge and down again before wrapping his fingers around Ryan's cock and jerking him once. "Fuck!" Ryan bucks and digs his fingers into Mike's solid thigh.
Mike groans and leans over to nip at Ryan's neck. "What do you want, Ry?" he asks, breathes coming in short pants under Ryan's ear. "How do you--"
"I don't...," Ryan whispers. "Just don't stop."
"God," Mike says, suspended above Ryan, still propping himself up. "I can't," he mumbles, words almost lost against Ryan's temple. His lips latch onto Ryan's earlobe, sucking hard and ending with a bite. Ryan casts out seeking hands, connecting with Mike's hips.
"I just. Yes," he says, head tilting back and neck arching.
Mike kisses him again, hard and needful, his hand still moving on Ryan's cock in excruciatingly gentle strokes. Ryan's hands are shaking as they tug Mike's pants open and Ryan can't suppress a smile as Mike shivers. "Come on," he tugs Mike down to the bed next to him and kicks his pants to the floor, rising to his knees and peeling Mike's off too. "God, how do you get these on," he half jokes, and Mike rolls his eyes.
"Like you're one to talk," he grunts and tugs Ryan back down on top of him. "Nice," Mike murmurs, palming the bare curve of Ryan's hip. "I guess that's how you get yours on," he teases, swatting gently at Ryan's bare ass. Ryan's been going commando since he bought his first pair of low-rise jeans.
He blushes, snapping the elastic of Mike's boxer-briefs. "Something like that," he says, and lets his hand drift down over Mike's cloth-covered erection. They both can play this way. Mike swears, arches up into his hand.
Ryan licks his lips slowly, remembering the feel of Mike's cock against his tongue. Mike's eyes flutter closed. "Don't," he groans, smiling as Ryan's hand slips between his thighs.
"Don't what?" Ryan teases and Mike hisses as his fingers snake under the leg band and tickle bare skin.
"I swear to God, I'm amazed I have anything left after that bathroom, so don't even think about it," Mike replies. Ryan smiles and leans down, breathing hot, wet air through the cotton straining over Mike's cock. Mike gasps, hands twisting against the bedding. "Ry," he groans, and Ryan glances up. "Seriously." He moves one hand to rub Ryan's bottom lip. "Tempting as it may be -- " his thumb slides into Ryan's mouth, in a move reminiscent of their first time together.
Ryan bites, feeling like laughing. He pulls off Mike's boxer briefs. "Then what?" he asks, giddiness rising in his throat.
"C'mere," Mike wraps a hand around Ryan's wrist and pulls him down to the mattress, hand sliding to the hollow of Ryan's back and pulling them flush together. Ryan shudders at the feeling of Mike's cock, hot and hard against his hip and Mike tucks Ryan's hair behind his ear and kisses his jaw. "You're so fucking amazing," he whispers almost reverently and Ryan's throat closes up again.
"You are," he rasps as Mike's hand ghosts over his ass. Ryan's been waiting for Mike to touch him like that for days, waiting for a hand to skate across the sensitive places where his leg ends, the joint of muscle and bone that makes him shiver. He kisses Mike's neck, sucking just below his pulse point to stop himself from making another noise. "I need it," he says, rocking back against Mike's hand.
"Fuck, Ry," Mike exhales as he lets one finger press against Ryan's entrance for a moment before pulling away. Ryan sobs against Mike's neck and Mike's eyes are wide and a little wild as he pulls away. "I have to... Don't move," he tells Ryan, almost comically serious before he rolls over and digs through the bag at the foot of the bed. Mike brought lube and condoms, multiple, and Ryan can't stop his grin. Mike wanted this, Mike planned for this. Ryan shifts to his side. "I said don't move," Mike grins with a hand on his hip.
Ryan shimmies a little, so Mike's hand slides against his skin. "Just watching," he says, grinning.
Mike comes back onto the bed, his right hand closed around the packet and the little tube. He curls in against Ryan, kissing him. "Watching what?" he mumbles. Ryan pries open his hand, so that the condom and the lube drop onto the mattress.
"Watching you get ready to fuck me." Mike groans, but grabs Ryan's hand, so that their fingers entwine. He squeezes, whispering Ryan's name again.
Mike kisses him, tongue slipping against Ryan's in a slow, easy rhythm as he eases Ryan's legs apart. The kisses don't stop, not even when his hand brushes along the crease of Ryan's thigh making him buck, not even when Mike eases him open with one slick finger, Ryan whimpering into his mouth. Ryan's used to being able to breathe more, and it's different than with Pete, slower. Ryan's breath hitches when Mike adds a second finger, just as slow and deep, and Mike breaks the kiss and runs a comforting hand over his taut stomach.
"Oh," Ryan whispers as Mike crooks his fingers, and something in him uncurls, hot and sharp and he's been missing it for weeks. He makes another 'oh' sound, his voice weaker.
"Can you - one more?" Mike asks, kissing his neck, and Ryan nods, rocking into Mike's hand.
"Please," he whispers, then again, "oh, please."
Ryan's fingers dig into Mike's shoulder as he pushes inside and he can feel the muscles tense and vibrate as Mike struggles to take slow even breathes along with Ryan. "God, Ry," he whispers and presses his forehead to Ryan's as Ryan presses down onto his hand, fingers leaving half-moons on Mike's shoulder. Mike's pupils are nearly blown and Ryan tilts his face up to kiss him softly.
"Please, Mike," he's whimpering and he doesn't fucking care. "Need you, now."
"Okay," Mike whispers, licking Ryan's lips, the kiss sloppy and half-focused. Ryan can feel Mike shifting against him; he hears the crinkling plastic of the condom wrapper over the battering of his own heart in his chest. He gives a small noise when Mike's fingers retreat, and moves automatically to roll onto his stomach. Mike doesn't let him go, stopping him with a nip to his shoulder. "Just. Like this," he pants. "So - I want to see you." Ryan pauses and Mike stutters a little. "If that’s. That's okay?"
"No, yeah. Yes," Ryan shifts back onto his back and blinks as Mike grabs one of the many extra pillows and taps his hip. Ryan lifts them automatically and Mike slides it under his back. This is... Ryan can't remember ever feeling like this-- nervousness and anticipation all wrapped around something warm and tight in his chest. "Mike," he starts, but Mike is already lining himself up and pressing into Ryan slowly, and all Ryan can do is close his eyes and try to remember to breath.
It's tight and hot, the way it always is -- Pete used to joke that maybe one day Ryan would get used to it, broken in, but Pete doesn't even register in Ryan's mind right now, with Mike over him, breathing heavily as he slides in, inch by inch. Ryan whimpers a little, and there's a cool touch to his face -- Mike's hand on his cheek, thumbing the corner of his mouth. "Okay?" he whispers, and Ryan can hear the strain in Mike's voice as he pauses.
"Don't stop," Ryan pants, tilting his head to kiss Mike's thumb. Ryan breathes deeply, relaxes as best he can until Mike groans low and hard and he's pressed flush against Ryan's body. He hooks his legs around Mike's waist and Mike's hand slides over his thigh, shifting him just a fraction until Ryan's whole body contracts from the friction of his cock pressed at just the right angle. "Oh, oh, fuck," Ryan says, his voice loud and echoing in his ears.
"Yeah, Ry, s-shit," Mike is shaking over him, eyes squeezed shut and he takes a few deep breaths before moving again, Ryan arching into him with every slow thrust. When Ryan brushes the hair from Mike's forehead, Mike smiles and Ryan tugs him closer for a kiss. It fucks up the rhythm but Ryan barely notices.
Ryan feels totally overwhelmed -- like all his barriers, all his levels of experience have been surpassed. He kisses Mike, focusing on that, trying his best to kiss him as Mike's cock presses his prostate again. He bites Mike's bottom lip, gritting out a moan. Mike strokes his side, nuzzling his neck. "You're perfect," Mike pants, and Ryan believes him.
He wants to tell Mike to fuck him more, harder, to never fucking stop, but Mike slides his hand between them and wraps his fingers around Ryan's cock and Ryan sobs and slams his hand into the headboard hard enough to rattle the side table. Mike smiles like its Christmas. "Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are when you come?" Mike murmurs and Ryan can already feel it coming, Mike's palm brushing the head of his cock causing a tingle at the base of his spine.
"Perfect," he echoes Mike, "perfect, perfect, yes," clinging to the word like a lifeline, an ultimate truth. This is perfect, all of it, and Ryan comes with a muffled sob as Mike kisses him again.
Everything in Ryan stops, for a moment -- he can't think, he can't speak, he can't move to kiss Mike back, to tell him he's right, that this is the most perfect thing ever; he feels, from the thinnest branches of his nerves to the pit of his skull and the sensation blows through his system like a fuse, shattering and sparking. The roar in his ears is so loud he doesn't register Mike's voice; he only vaguely feels his lips moving against Ryan's mouth.
When he blinks his eyes open, Mike is looking at him, face open and beautiful and Ryan thinks this might actually be what heaven looks like. Ryan feels himself smile and Mike laughs, giddy and a little unsteady and Ryan can see his arms starting to vibrate from the effort of holding himself steady. "Don't stop," Ryan rasps, and wraps his leg around Mike's middle. His limbs are all liquid and warm, buzzing, and Ryan knows he can take anything Mike wants to give him now. Mike takes an uneven breath and presses against him. "Don't ever stop," Ryan whispers in his ear.
Mike's chin hooks over Ryan's shoulder, and they're so close that Ryan can feel every tremble in Mike's limbs. He's blissed out, humming against Mike's temple and arching into him, supple and satisfied. "Ry," Mike mumbles, gritting his teeth. His hands splay over Ryan's back; his hips piston out erratically. Ryan kisses his temple, nuzzling his hair -- when Mike comes it's with a moan that Ryan knows, somewhere in the same place that's sleepy and happy, is meant to be his name.
Mike shifts too quickly, after, and Ryan makes a small noise of complaint until Mike sighs and just falls against him bonelessly. Ryan's thighs are going to kill tomorrow-- later today, really-- but right now he's still savoring the feeling of Mike inside him, around him, his breaths slowly getting deeper and steadier. He's almost asleep when Mike presses a kiss under his ear.
"Ryan?" Mike is smiling, even if Ryan can't see it.
"Hmmm?" Ryan stretches and Mike laughs low and quiet as he pulls out and rolls away just long enough to toss the condom. Ryan tugs him back down like a blanket, Mike's hand rubbing a circle on his hip.
"That was," Mike starts, but stops with a sigh.
There is already a sliver of early sun glowing around the curtains. "Don't go," Ryan says before he can stop.
Mike strokes down Ryan's spine with the knuckles of one hand. "It's almost dawn," he murmurs, and Ryan winces, curling in on himself. He feels washed out, at emotional low tide with everything just laid bare.
"Just," he says, "please don't go?" He swallows.
"Ryan." Mike lays a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Scoot over -- you're lying on top of the blankets." He kisses Ryan's temple.
He's chilly in the air conditioning again, the sweat on his neck making him shiver a little, and they both shift under the heavy comforter, Mike pulling Ryan into his chest and tucking the blankets around him. "Ry," Mike says quietly and Ryan closes his eyes. "Why do you think I'm in some sort of hurry to leave?" Ryan exhales sharply against Mike's neck and Mike holds him tighter. "I don't want to go, okay? I promise I'd stay if I could." The words simultaneously hurt-- like the minutes are ripping Mike away from him-- and make his whole body tingle.
Ryan keeps his eyes shut, his hands curled into each other over Mike's back. "I just," Ryan whispers lamely, through gritted teeth, "I've had a really. Really good time." He tugs up every bit of courage he's got in himself, adding, "I wish things were -- different."
"I don't," Mike says kindly, and wiggles his toes against Ryan's ankle. "I think everything happened just like it should have, don't you?"
Ryan blinks at him and Mike's features run together-- smile, beard, laugh lines around his eyes. "But. This is it," Ryan points out. Mike's gaze softens.
"I guess it could be. If that’s what you want."
Ryan frowns, blinking. "I mean. You're going home for, like, a week, and then back on tour. And. We have to do the festivals, and then the summer tour." He shivers a little and Mike tugs the blankets up again. "I won't be able to - do this, for you, anymore," Ryan says.
"Hey," Mike slides a hand across Ryan's cheek, eyebrows furrowing. "That's not. Ryan," he says firmly until Ryan looks him in the eye. He's serious, more serious than Ryan's used to seeing, and his stomach tightens. "Do you really think you were just some tour fuck?"
Ryan takes a long minute. He thinks about the last month - from watching movies, curled up in the back lounge; to eating fried dough from a venue concession stand; to walking, hand in hand, around a city at three am. Ryan shakes his head.
"No," Mike says, touching his collarbone.
Ryan flushes, suddenly warm everywhere. "Mike, I," he says through a stuttering breath and Mike kisses him, slow and sweet.
"I don't want to walk away from this," Mike murmurs as he pulls away a fraction. "I don't know what you want, Ry, but I think that--"
"You," Ryan cuts him off. "I fucking want you, that's it." Mike's answering laugh makes Ryan's breath catch.
"Good," Mike says. He presses a kiss to Ryan's lips, then another to his chin, the scrubbing sensation of his beard familiar now. Ryan laughs too as Mike squeezes him. He feels lighter, like he's floating. The covers are warm and Mike is warmer, hands splayed over Ryan's back as he slips his tongue against Ryan's pulse. Ryan sighs when Mike's hands drift lower and Mike hums against his skin. "Sleep," Mike admonishes when Ryan tries to slide a hand between them.
"Only have you for a little while," Ryan mumbles, already struggling to keep his eyes open.
"You have me for a long, long while," Mike smiles and twines his fingers with Ryan's. "My cell phone's set for eight o'clock. Sleep, Ross."
Ryan wants to keep protesting; after tomorrow night, everything changes for good. But he can't even begin to wonder how late it is, or how early, really; he's already come twice tonight and his entire body's colluding with Mike, curling in against his warmth and settling into unwilling sleep. "You sleep," he mumbles, as a comeback.
Mike laughs. "Yeah. That, too."
Mike's fingers lace through his hair as he drifts off, and when he wakes up a few hours later to the quiet beep coming from Mike's phone, Mike's hands are still there. The phone is on the nightstand on Mike's side, and Ryan presses his palm to Mike's cheek. "Hey," he whispers and Mike blinks his eyes open.
"Mornin'," Mike smiles and Ryan's heart stutters. Walking away from Mike today is going to hurt so badly he can't even... but Mike kisses him before he can finish the thought and rolls over to turn off the alarm.
Fuck," he whispers, stretching out in the bed as Mike turns back around. "I hope Spencer remembered to pack my stage clothes."
Mike rubs his side, smiling. "What?" he says. "You can't just throw shit on like the rest of us?"
Ryan sniffs. "I'm making a statement," he says. Mike kisses him again.
"Yeah, yeah. My boyfriend's an artist."
Ryan goes deathly still for a moment and Mike just leans back and winks at him, all smiles. "Mike," he starts, but Mike is rolling out of bed, naked and lean and gorgeous, and whatever stupid thing he was about to say dies on his lips. Boyfriend. Ryan tries it out in his head. This is my boyfriend, Mike.
He's grinning when Mike turns back around, room service menu in hand. "Waffles or eggs?"
Ryan shakes his head. "I'm not -- " Mike just looks at him, and Ryan smiles. "Waffles."
Mike heads to the phone on the nightstand, kissing Ryan as he goes. "I guarantee they're not as good as bus waffles," he says. He sits on the edge of the bed, dialing down to room service. Ryan tugs the covers up around himself, head resting against Mike's side.
Mike's fingers slip into his hair again almost thoughtlessly as he places their order. "Thank you too, ma'am," he says before he hangs up and Ryan smiles up at him. "So," Mike lets his hand drift lower, fingers massaging the nape of Ryan's neck. "We've got 20 minutes till food. Did you want--" Ryan cuts him off by leaning up onto his elbows and flicking his tongue against Mike's nipple. "Ry," Mike gasps. "I was going to ask if you wanted the first shower," he laughs breathlessly as Ryan does it again.
Ryan nuzzles against Mike's chest. "Make out, then food, then one shower for the two of us," he says firmly.
"You are such fucking trouble," Mike growls but he turns and presses Ryan back to the bed. It's not the sexiest kiss -- Ryan's mouth is kind of scummy, and he feels like he could fall asleep for another twelve hours. But Mike is still here, the next morning, still easy-going and soft with his hands and Ryan heart skitters with happiness.
Ryan sighs, tucking his leg in between them. "Oh, no," Mike says, and bites his bottom lip. "You shower. Then maybe you can ask Nick to do your hair." Ryan pouts and Mike just raises his eyebrows. "I live with Tyson Ritter. You really think that works on me?" He kisses Ryan again, fast, and gets up to tug on his underwear. "Shower, go."
Ryan's grumble turns to a slight wince as he stands and Mike shoots him a concerned look. "You okay?" Ryan grins and looks at his toes.
"Yeah, just. My boyfriend's a bit of tiger in the sack," he throws out and his stomach flips at Mike's happy flush.
"Damn right," Mike slides an arm around his waist and kisses his neck.
*
They are both fed and dressed an hour later, though the second is rapidly becoming a bother. Mike arches under Ryan on the unused bed, smiling as he tugs on Mike's still-damp hair, nipping at his lips. Mike knows they really should get themselves down to the buses, but even still the knock on the door is a completely unwelcome interruption. Mike laughs when Ryan yells "We are so not interested in room service right now!"
"Hey, um," Spence's voice falters a bit on the other side of the door. "Just checking that you're almost ready, Ry." Ryan opens his mouth to yell something offensive, but Mike rolls off the bed and heads to open it. He can see Spencer through the peephole, a jacket slung over one arm.
"Hey," Mike says, unlocking the door with a smile.
"Hey," Spencer says. There's a half-second of guarded mutual regarding -- Mike feels his neck prickle; Spencer's got the dispassionate stare down to an art -- and then Ryan's behind him, peering past with one hand on Mike's hip.
"Is it time?"
"Yeah, almost," Spence says, looking past Mike to Ryan. "Zach is rounding everyone up."
"Cool," Ryan hooks his chin over Mike's shoulder.
"Hey, so," Spence starts, eyes darting between them, and Mike can feel Ryan roll his eyes.
Mike's not big on grand gestures, but he figures maybe a small one is in order. He takes Ryan's hand and winds their fingers together. "I hope you're okay with this, Spencer," he says, meaning every word. If Spencer ever decides that Mike should go, Mike's under no delusions how long he'd last in Ryan's life.
Spencer smiles. "It's fine with me," he says. Ryan snorts.
"Oh, I'm so glad I've got your approval, Smith." He squeezes Mike's hand, though, so Mike's pretty sure it was the right move.
"Hey," Spencer says, waving his hand, "I'm just trying to be a good best friend, here."
"A good best friend would make himself scarce." Ryan enunciates each word, and Mike grins.
"Thanks for the single rooms, dude," he tells Spencer, who nods.
"Just - five minutes, okay?" Spencer says.
Ryan nods and half smiles as Mike shuts the door. He's still barefoot and he's pretty sure his toiletries are all over the bathroom, but Ryan is winding himself so tightly around him that Mike isn't sure he can breath much less move. "Hey," he says, pressing his lips to Ryan's temple. "We talked about this. This isn't the end of anything." Ryan nods against his shoulder but he doesn't let go.
Mike slides his arms around Ryan, gathering him into a hug. "So what do you want to do in five minutes?" he murmurs.
Ryan laughs thickly. "This is pretty good," he says. Mike nods.
"I think so, too." His hand warms a small circle of Ryan's lower back, stroking through the velvet of his jacket. "Hey," Mike adds, smiling. "You wanna ride over to the venue on our bus?"
Ryan pulls back enough to press their foreheads together. "That would be okay?" he asks by way of answering and Mike grins.
"What do you think?" Ryan smiles and kisses him softly.
"That'd be good, I think," he says and turns away to shove the rest of his things in his bag before Mike has a chance to comment on the way his eyes are shining. Mike just watches for a minute, back resting against the door. Ryan's hair is a crazy mess and his pants are sitting too low on his hips to be decent and his mouth is still red from making out this morning and Mike memorizes it all. "You just gonna stand there?" Ryan smirks at him and Mike laughs, voice a little rough.
"I travel with flip-flops and a brush, my friend. Packing is a piece of cake."
Ryan slides cases and carrying boxes into his duffel bag with care, his hands handling each and patting them into place. "Need help?" Mike asks. Ryan shakes his head. "It's just about ready," he says. He pulls out a pair of shoes, and zips the bag up. Mike rubs Ryan's shoulders as he sits on the edge of the bed, lacing them up.
When Ryan stands up, Mike slips his shoes on and laces their fingers together. "Ready to face your adoring public?" he asks and laughs when Ryan pulls a face.
"I just hope we get an hour to practice before we play," he notes dryly.
"You could ride with them, if you think--" Mike starts, fingers tightening on Ryan's hand even as he suggests it. He's a pragmatist most of the time, but he's not sure he can say goodbye this soon. Ryan shakes his head emphatically.
"We'll find a place when we get there." He rubs his thumb along Mike's palm and takes a deep breath. "Let's go."
Mike circles the room one last time, chucking a few missed items into his bag. He shuts the lights and opens the door. Outside, the carpeting of the hallway muffles their feet as they head to the elevator banks. The hotel's mostly deserted at this hour. Mike squeezes Ryan's hand, and Ryan lets his head tilt against Mike's shoulder as they wait for the one of the sets of doors to open. "Yo," Mike hears, and turns his head.
Brendon has both a backpack and a small rolling suitcase. He's wearing black from head to toe, but it makes him look less tough and more... slight. He's squinting at them like he's about to figure out a puzzle. Ryan's hand twitches in his and Mike loosens his grip a little in case Ryan wants to pull away. Ryan glances over at him and half-smiles before squeezing Mike's hand.
"Yes," he says to Brendon and Brendon starts a little.
"What?" he asks, looking at his shoes a little guiltily.
"You're the least subtle person I have ever met, Bren," Ry says with a sigh. "And I know you're wondering, and yes. We're. Together," Ryan hesitates a little on the last word, but he's smiling shyly and Mike resists the urge to kiss him in the hallway.
Brendon sniffs, tilting his head to the side and stretching his neck extravagantly. "I was just wondering if you were planning on going onstage looking like Adam Ant's dorky younger brother," he grins. His gaze flashes to Mike, as if challenging him to come to Ryan's defense. Mike laughs, and the elevator doors open with a chime.
"You wish you could pull off this jacket," Ryan sniffs.
"Whatever dude," Brendon grins. "I was referring more to the hair anyway." Ryan runs his hand through his bangs self-consciously and Brendon winks at Mike. "He's a diva, watch out," he says, following them onto the elevator and checking his reflection in the chrome of the doors as they close.
Ryan makes a noise of protest and Mike slings an arm loosely around Ryan's shoulders and grins back at Brendon. "I'll keep it under advisement," he says, already feeling a little lighter. If Spence and Brendon were okay with this, then everything would be fine for Ry on tour.
"Already, with the ganging up on me," Ryan grouses, but he leans in against Mike, a little.
The elevator whooshes down twenty floors in seconds; Mike feels his ears pop as the doors open again. In the lobby, there are more people -- mostly sketchy-looking young men with bleary hangover eyes and duffel bags. Mike sees Pete standing across the room with Patrick and Joe, cradling a latte. Buoyed by the casual chatter of Brendon and Ryan at his side, he waves his free hand. Joe gives him a peace sign; Patrick's smile is visible even from that distance.
Ryan is still leaning into him a little and he's preoccupied by Spence and Zach who find them immediately, Zach rolling his eyes and getting back on the elevator when it becomes apparent Brent didn't ride down with them. He misses the look Mike gets from Pete, jaw tightening a little. Mike doesn't look away; he's not guilty and Pete certainly can't intimidate him into feeling that way. He smiles as wide as he can without it seeming like a boast and wraps his hand around the back of Ryan's neck. "Yeah?" Ryan says with a smile, looking back at him. "Spence is cool about me riding with you guys, so. Where's..." he starts, and trails off when he finally spots Pete.
Mike strokes the back of Ryan's neck, rubbing the tense muscles there. "It's okay," he murmurs to Ryan, as Pete makes his way over towards them, skirting around where Dirty's molesting the spread of continental breakfast fare. He can see Ryan steady himself, and his gaze flickers over as Ryan schools his features into a calm, blank slate. Mike allows himself to be impressed for a moment before Pete's standing in front of them.
"Hey," Pete says to Ryan, barely acknowledging Mike with a flick of his eyes. "Spence says you all need to talk business." His tone is a little cool and Ryan just nods shortly.
"This might not be the best--" he starts as Brent comes off the elevator behind them and rolls out to the bus without so much as a glance at them.
"Okay," Pete says, a little more concerned than angry now as he watches Ryan watch Brent.
"We'll find you at the venue?" Ryan asks and Pete nods and sips his coffee.
Mike is getting a little tired of the invisibility act and clears his throat when he sees Shabba and Nick in the back of the lobby, a bleary Tyson propped against a large potted plant next to them. "I'm gonna -- " Mike makes to go join them, and Pete blinks twice, eyes clearing from a momentary reverie.
"Break a leg out there, dude," he says.
Mike can feel Ryan's eyes swing back and forth between them; he really doesn't have time for whatever showdown they might pantomime, here. "You, too," he says. Tucking his hand on the small of Ryan's back, Mike nudges them towards Tyson and the others.
"That went okay!" Ryan whispers at five paces away. A hesitant smile plays over his lips.
Mike nods in agreement. It could have gone better, but Pete was is talking to them, so he figures things will only go uphill from there. He glances back and sees Pete laughing at something Brendon said, leaning in a little closer than necessary, and shakes his head. He'll leave that for Spence to clean up. "Hey," he says when Nick looks up and smiles at them.
Tyson wakes up enough to ask "Is the deed done, my good lads?", whooping when Ryan blushes and turns his face into Mike's shoulder. Nick thwaps Ty in the arm and winks at Mike.
"I told Ry he could ride in with us, if that's--" Mike starts and Nick is already waving him quiet.
"Clearly, we all need a little last-minute Ryan time," he smiles.
Shabba passes Mike a copy of the day's schedule. "Chris and the others are already on the bus," he says.
Nick shoulders his bag and Tyson's, who winds himself around Ryan. "The time has come," he drawls, "chickadee, to speak of many things."
"On the bus," Ryan mumbles, and Mike swats Tyson off.
"Stop it," he says mildly. "His coat's clashing with his face, now." Ryan sticks out his tongue; Mike considers it a blessing that he waits to kiss him until they're on the bus.
The buses are lined up on the street like a caravan, security keeping a small group of fans at bay across the street. Mike tucks Ryan between him and Tyson, shielding him from view as they all duck onto the bus. "Hey!" John calls from the couch, smiling at Ryan. "Good to see you, kiddo! Donut?" he gestures to the table covered in Krispy Kreme boxes.
"You are a god among men, Captain," Tyson says in all seriousness and grabs two. Mike grabs the open seat next to Chris and tugs Ryan onto his lap. Chris makes a noise of mock-disgust when Ryan turns his head and kisses Mike softly.
Mike smiles, sliding away both their bags onto the floor. "Should be about twenty-five minutes, with rush hour traffic," he hears the driver tell Shabba.
Ryan gives a small noise, curling in closer. "What time do you go on?" he asks. Mike shrugs.
"Late afternoon, early evening." He kisses Ryan again. "We don't roll out until the end of the festival, though."
"You better not," Ryan says, his voice a little thick. "I want Nick to help with my hair."
"I totally will!" Nick beams from the table, where he's pouring himself more coffee.
The guys putter around the bus, stashing bags and warming donuts in the microwave. Mike just lets Ryan curl into him, fingers tangled in his belt loops, and they sit there quietly. No one but Tyson shoots him any sad looks, which is nice, but Mike feels his stomach tighten the closer they get to Jersey.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Ryan says quietly against his collar. His eyes are closed and his hand his warm on Mike's side.
"Everything will be fine," is Mike's non-answer and Ryan just nods and noses against his throat.
Chris hits Kadaver on the hand with a drumstick when he reaches for the last chocolate donut and suddenly the common area is a sea of flailing boys and cursing as Kadaver chases him down. Ryan laughs loudly and Mike realizes he can barely remember the scared kid who showed up on the bus a month ago.
From the windows on the side of the bus, Mike can see the western-most edges of Manhattan slide past them, already prickling with sharp morning sunlight. "It's going to be hot," Mike murmurs, to no one in particular. Ryan kisses the underside of his jaw, sighing. The bus banks out, following the bus in front of it, and the one in front of that. Mike holds Ryan's hand against his side, curled into his body heat, as they dip into the tunnel.
**
Author's Note by EL: For those of you who were looking forward to a Pete and/or Brent showdown, I hope this was enough. What we wanted to do was write a romance-- not even a bromance, but a real "dates and flowers and making out" romance for Ryan Ross. We fell in love with Ryan in this, and then fell in love with Mike right alongside him, and we hope you did too. *hugs*
Authors: EL and Toby
Fandoms: AAR, FOB, Panic
Pairings: Nick/Tyson, Pete/Ryan, Mike/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~32,000 total (god help us)
Summary: Ryan's good at fucking: it's the rest of it that sometimes confuses him. (mult. POVs)
Disclaimer: Never happened.
A/N: This is posted here, but Toby and I wrote this over IM TOGETHER for MONTHS AND MONTHS. It ate our brains and made us squealing, giggly girls. More than half the credit for this fic should go to Toby-- those of you that know her? Drop her an email and say nice job. That being said, you might be thinking WTF?! Ryan Ross living on the AAR tourbus during the BC&UD tour?? Are you on CRACK? To which the answer is YES, but it is the very best kind. I hope you all will come along because I promise this will be a very nice ride.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Mike is asleep when Ryan comes back in. Ryan just stands there and stares at him for a while. He's kind of fucked-the meeting took a lot out of him, and he’d usually just want to be alone, but he’s unbelievably happy Mike stayed. Mike's not under the covers - he didn't want to intrude and mess up Ryan's bed. His shoes are paired by the nightstand.
Ryan doesn't know what to do. His throat is tight and a little hot; he feels guilty. He should be thinking about the band, about tour, but all he can think of is that Mike is leaving. He toes his shoes off in the middle of the room and climbs onto the other side of the bed, careful not to touch Mike. He's not sure he wants to wake him. He lays on his side, facing Mike, watching his face as he sleeps. Mike's peaceful in sleep, and his face still bears traces of the smile that's almost always on his face. Ryan can't look away; the day after tomorrow, he won't be able to look at all anymore.
The covers are a little scratchy under his bare arms and Ryan shifts onto his stomach, arm pillowing his head. His fingers brush Mike's and he lets them stay for a moment, stroking his thumb over Mike's wrist. He's about to pull away when Mike blinks his eyes open. "Hey," he smiles, and Ryan feels like crying.
"Hey," Ryan whispers.
Mike stretches his arms above his head, dislodging Ryan's hand. His t-shirt rides up his stomach. "Have I been asleep long?" he says, rubbing his eyes. Mike shakes his head.
"Don't think so," Ryan tucks both arms under his head and swallows. "I was only over there forty-five minutes or so."
"How'd it go?" Mike asks quietly, turning onto his side to face him. Ryan shrugs.
"Shitty, but Spence is calling Jon tomorrow, so."
Mike reaches a hand out and rubs his back soothingly. "It'll all be okay, seriously." Ryan nods, even though he's got a feeling it won't be. "Hey," Mike says, smiling softly, "don't just nod at me, Ross." He kisses Ryan's forehead. "I mean it."
Ryan laughs a little, flushing at the touch; Mike gives it so easily that he almost feels worse. "It's gonna suck," he murmurs.
"Of course," Mike says. "But it's still gonna be okay."
Ryan sighs heavily and Mike rolls closer and drapes an arm over his back. "Wish I didn't have to do this," Ryan whispers and blinks away the prick of heat behind his eyes.
Mike noses against his shoulder. "Your turn to be the rock star, right?" he smiles. "It'll be good. Once you hit your stride, you'll remember why you love this." Ryan just nods again and shifts a fraction closer. "Come here," Mike says quietly. Ryan takes a deep breath, and folds in against him. Mike's breath is warm and comforting on his neck. "The festival is going to be a blast," he says. "Don't think I haven't noticed you looking longingly at my guitar these last few weeks, dude."
Ryan chuffs a laugh against Mike's shoulder. It's true, he has missed playing. But the tension from the group meeting is still palpable, his shoulders still tense from hunching in Spencer's desk chair.
"All you need is a stage and little eyeliner, and you'll remember," Mike murmurs. His lips are warm on Ryan's neck and Ryan sighs, shifting until their legs are tangled. It seems luxurious to have a queen size bed to themselves, but all Ryan wants is to be as close to Mike as humanly possible. Ryan wraps his arms around Mike's waist, tugging himself in. He hums a little as he noses Mike's neck, keeping his eyes closed. It's May, but the room is chilled with the artificial hum of air conditioning. Mike tilts his head, facing Ryan. "Hey," he says softly.
"Mike--" The name catches in his throat and Ryan leans in to kiss him-- not hard but a little desperate. His fingers clench in the back of Mike's shirt and Mike cups the side of his face, thumb running along his cheekbone in comforting strokes. Ryan pushes forward with a whimper and Mike pushes back, harder, until Ryan is flat against the mattress. He blinks at the ceiling as Mike trails kisses down his neck, his hair falling in soft waves over Ryan's cheek. The bed cushions his back -- it's late, almost four am, and Ryan feels like he's sinking deeper into the mattress. Mike sighs against his collarbone, his hand curling up into Ryan's messy hair.
Ryan slides a hand over the back of Mike's neck, fingers tucking under the collar of his shirt. "Mikey," he gasps when Mike's thigh rolls against his groin and Mike pauses with his forehead pressed to Ryan's collarbone. Ryan hooks a leg over Mike's and arches up, trying to say it without words. "Please," he finally chokes out and Mike is shaking a little, eyes wide as he lifts up enough to see Ryan's face.
Mike's hand is pressing down on the bed beside Ryan's head, propping him up. Ryan meets his gaze, swallowing to force words to come back to him. "Tonight," he says, rubbing Mike's shoulder blade.
"Ry," Mike starts and Ryan cuts him off with a look.
"Tonight," he says again, firmly, and he glances at the dark shades pulled over the windows. He can feel the morning coming and it’s almost like a race. His heart is already speeding up as Mike slides a hand down his side and up under his shirt.
"There's never enough fucking time," Mike sighs against his lips.
Ryan gasps as Mike's fingers seek out sensitive points on his chest; he shifts, and the motion sends his body back into alignment with Mike's. He closes his eyes, almost afraid of what he might say if he could see Mike so close, and whispers, "So make the time."
There's a sudden flurry of movement as Mike curses and shifts and tugs until their shirts are off, thrown haphazardly across the room. "Ry," he breathes and leans to kiss Ryan's stomach. The blood is rushing like a river past Ryan's ears, but he can feel the words on his skin, Mike's thumbs pressing into his hips. "I'd need a week to do this right," he grins and Ryan's eyes roll back at the thought.
"Come on, Kennerty," he manages roughly. "Show some fucking initiative." Mike laughs and sits back against his thighs. When Mike's hands go to unbutton Ryan's jeans (for the second time that night, Ryan remembers, and god, he feels like the luckiest person in New York), Ryan sucks in a gulping gasp of air.
"Okay?" Mike says. He rubs Ryan's skin just about the waistband of his jeans with the back of his palm, head tilted.
"Don't stop," Ryan says, the words coming out in a rush. Ryan stutters out a moan as Mike tugs his pants just over his hips, his cock straining free. Mike runs his knuckles gently over the ridge and down again before wrapping his fingers around Ryan's cock and jerking him once. "Fuck!" Ryan bucks and digs his fingers into Mike's solid thigh.
Mike groans and leans over to nip at Ryan's neck. "What do you want, Ry?" he asks, breathes coming in short pants under Ryan's ear. "How do you--"
"I don't...," Ryan whispers. "Just don't stop."
"God," Mike says, suspended above Ryan, still propping himself up. "I can't," he mumbles, words almost lost against Ryan's temple. His lips latch onto Ryan's earlobe, sucking hard and ending with a bite. Ryan casts out seeking hands, connecting with Mike's hips.
"I just. Yes," he says, head tilting back and neck arching.
Mike kisses him again, hard and needful, his hand still moving on Ryan's cock in excruciatingly gentle strokes. Ryan's hands are shaking as they tug Mike's pants open and Ryan can't suppress a smile as Mike shivers. "Come on," he tugs Mike down to the bed next to him and kicks his pants to the floor, rising to his knees and peeling Mike's off too. "God, how do you get these on," he half jokes, and Mike rolls his eyes.
"Like you're one to talk," he grunts and tugs Ryan back down on top of him. "Nice," Mike murmurs, palming the bare curve of Ryan's hip. "I guess that's how you get yours on," he teases, swatting gently at Ryan's bare ass. Ryan's been going commando since he bought his first pair of low-rise jeans.
He blushes, snapping the elastic of Mike's boxer-briefs. "Something like that," he says, and lets his hand drift down over Mike's cloth-covered erection. They both can play this way. Mike swears, arches up into his hand.
Ryan licks his lips slowly, remembering the feel of Mike's cock against his tongue. Mike's eyes flutter closed. "Don't," he groans, smiling as Ryan's hand slips between his thighs.
"Don't what?" Ryan teases and Mike hisses as his fingers snake under the leg band and tickle bare skin.
"I swear to God, I'm amazed I have anything left after that bathroom, so don't even think about it," Mike replies. Ryan smiles and leans down, breathing hot, wet air through the cotton straining over Mike's cock. Mike gasps, hands twisting against the bedding. "Ry," he groans, and Ryan glances up. "Seriously." He moves one hand to rub Ryan's bottom lip. "Tempting as it may be -- " his thumb slides into Ryan's mouth, in a move reminiscent of their first time together.
Ryan bites, feeling like laughing. He pulls off Mike's boxer briefs. "Then what?" he asks, giddiness rising in his throat.
"C'mere," Mike wraps a hand around Ryan's wrist and pulls him down to the mattress, hand sliding to the hollow of Ryan's back and pulling them flush together. Ryan shudders at the feeling of Mike's cock, hot and hard against his hip and Mike tucks Ryan's hair behind his ear and kisses his jaw. "You're so fucking amazing," he whispers almost reverently and Ryan's throat closes up again.
"You are," he rasps as Mike's hand ghosts over his ass. Ryan's been waiting for Mike to touch him like that for days, waiting for a hand to skate across the sensitive places where his leg ends, the joint of muscle and bone that makes him shiver. He kisses Mike's neck, sucking just below his pulse point to stop himself from making another noise. "I need it," he says, rocking back against Mike's hand.
"Fuck, Ry," Mike exhales as he lets one finger press against Ryan's entrance for a moment before pulling away. Ryan sobs against Mike's neck and Mike's eyes are wide and a little wild as he pulls away. "I have to... Don't move," he tells Ryan, almost comically serious before he rolls over and digs through the bag at the foot of the bed. Mike brought lube and condoms, multiple, and Ryan can't stop his grin. Mike wanted this, Mike planned for this. Ryan shifts to his side. "I said don't move," Mike grins with a hand on his hip.
Ryan shimmies a little, so Mike's hand slides against his skin. "Just watching," he says, grinning.
Mike comes back onto the bed, his right hand closed around the packet and the little tube. He curls in against Ryan, kissing him. "Watching what?" he mumbles. Ryan pries open his hand, so that the condom and the lube drop onto the mattress.
"Watching you get ready to fuck me." Mike groans, but grabs Ryan's hand, so that their fingers entwine. He squeezes, whispering Ryan's name again.
Mike kisses him, tongue slipping against Ryan's in a slow, easy rhythm as he eases Ryan's legs apart. The kisses don't stop, not even when his hand brushes along the crease of Ryan's thigh making him buck, not even when Mike eases him open with one slick finger, Ryan whimpering into his mouth. Ryan's used to being able to breathe more, and it's different than with Pete, slower. Ryan's breath hitches when Mike adds a second finger, just as slow and deep, and Mike breaks the kiss and runs a comforting hand over his taut stomach.
"Oh," Ryan whispers as Mike crooks his fingers, and something in him uncurls, hot and sharp and he's been missing it for weeks. He makes another 'oh' sound, his voice weaker.
"Can you - one more?" Mike asks, kissing his neck, and Ryan nods, rocking into Mike's hand.
"Please," he whispers, then again, "oh, please."
Ryan's fingers dig into Mike's shoulder as he pushes inside and he can feel the muscles tense and vibrate as Mike struggles to take slow even breathes along with Ryan. "God, Ry," he whispers and presses his forehead to Ryan's as Ryan presses down onto his hand, fingers leaving half-moons on Mike's shoulder. Mike's pupils are nearly blown and Ryan tilts his face up to kiss him softly.
"Please, Mike," he's whimpering and he doesn't fucking care. "Need you, now."
"Okay," Mike whispers, licking Ryan's lips, the kiss sloppy and half-focused. Ryan can feel Mike shifting against him; he hears the crinkling plastic of the condom wrapper over the battering of his own heart in his chest. He gives a small noise when Mike's fingers retreat, and moves automatically to roll onto his stomach. Mike doesn't let him go, stopping him with a nip to his shoulder. "Just. Like this," he pants. "So - I want to see you." Ryan pauses and Mike stutters a little. "If that’s. That's okay?"
"No, yeah. Yes," Ryan shifts back onto his back and blinks as Mike grabs one of the many extra pillows and taps his hip. Ryan lifts them automatically and Mike slides it under his back. This is... Ryan can't remember ever feeling like this-- nervousness and anticipation all wrapped around something warm and tight in his chest. "Mike," he starts, but Mike is already lining himself up and pressing into Ryan slowly, and all Ryan can do is close his eyes and try to remember to breath.
It's tight and hot, the way it always is -- Pete used to joke that maybe one day Ryan would get used to it, broken in, but Pete doesn't even register in Ryan's mind right now, with Mike over him, breathing heavily as he slides in, inch by inch. Ryan whimpers a little, and there's a cool touch to his face -- Mike's hand on his cheek, thumbing the corner of his mouth. "Okay?" he whispers, and Ryan can hear the strain in Mike's voice as he pauses.
"Don't stop," Ryan pants, tilting his head to kiss Mike's thumb. Ryan breathes deeply, relaxes as best he can until Mike groans low and hard and he's pressed flush against Ryan's body. He hooks his legs around Mike's waist and Mike's hand slides over his thigh, shifting him just a fraction until Ryan's whole body contracts from the friction of his cock pressed at just the right angle. "Oh, oh, fuck," Ryan says, his voice loud and echoing in his ears.
"Yeah, Ry, s-shit," Mike is shaking over him, eyes squeezed shut and he takes a few deep breaths before moving again, Ryan arching into him with every slow thrust. When Ryan brushes the hair from Mike's forehead, Mike smiles and Ryan tugs him closer for a kiss. It fucks up the rhythm but Ryan barely notices.
Ryan feels totally overwhelmed -- like all his barriers, all his levels of experience have been surpassed. He kisses Mike, focusing on that, trying his best to kiss him as Mike's cock presses his prostate again. He bites Mike's bottom lip, gritting out a moan. Mike strokes his side, nuzzling his neck. "You're perfect," Mike pants, and Ryan believes him.
He wants to tell Mike to fuck him more, harder, to never fucking stop, but Mike slides his hand between them and wraps his fingers around Ryan's cock and Ryan sobs and slams his hand into the headboard hard enough to rattle the side table. Mike smiles like its Christmas. "Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are when you come?" Mike murmurs and Ryan can already feel it coming, Mike's palm brushing the head of his cock causing a tingle at the base of his spine.
"Perfect," he echoes Mike, "perfect, perfect, yes," clinging to the word like a lifeline, an ultimate truth. This is perfect, all of it, and Ryan comes with a muffled sob as Mike kisses him again.
Everything in Ryan stops, for a moment -- he can't think, he can't speak, he can't move to kiss Mike back, to tell him he's right, that this is the most perfect thing ever; he feels, from the thinnest branches of his nerves to the pit of his skull and the sensation blows through his system like a fuse, shattering and sparking. The roar in his ears is so loud he doesn't register Mike's voice; he only vaguely feels his lips moving against Ryan's mouth.
When he blinks his eyes open, Mike is looking at him, face open and beautiful and Ryan thinks this might actually be what heaven looks like. Ryan feels himself smile and Mike laughs, giddy and a little unsteady and Ryan can see his arms starting to vibrate from the effort of holding himself steady. "Don't stop," Ryan rasps, and wraps his leg around Mike's middle. His limbs are all liquid and warm, buzzing, and Ryan knows he can take anything Mike wants to give him now. Mike takes an uneven breath and presses against him. "Don't ever stop," Ryan whispers in his ear.
Mike's chin hooks over Ryan's shoulder, and they're so close that Ryan can feel every tremble in Mike's limbs. He's blissed out, humming against Mike's temple and arching into him, supple and satisfied. "Ry," Mike mumbles, gritting his teeth. His hands splay over Ryan's back; his hips piston out erratically. Ryan kisses his temple, nuzzling his hair -- when Mike comes it's with a moan that Ryan knows, somewhere in the same place that's sleepy and happy, is meant to be his name.
Mike shifts too quickly, after, and Ryan makes a small noise of complaint until Mike sighs and just falls against him bonelessly. Ryan's thighs are going to kill tomorrow-- later today, really-- but right now he's still savoring the feeling of Mike inside him, around him, his breaths slowly getting deeper and steadier. He's almost asleep when Mike presses a kiss under his ear.
"Ryan?" Mike is smiling, even if Ryan can't see it.
"Hmmm?" Ryan stretches and Mike laughs low and quiet as he pulls out and rolls away just long enough to toss the condom. Ryan tugs him back down like a blanket, Mike's hand rubbing a circle on his hip.
"That was," Mike starts, but stops with a sigh.
There is already a sliver of early sun glowing around the curtains. "Don't go," Ryan says before he can stop.
Mike strokes down Ryan's spine with the knuckles of one hand. "It's almost dawn," he murmurs, and Ryan winces, curling in on himself. He feels washed out, at emotional low tide with everything just laid bare.
"Just," he says, "please don't go?" He swallows.
"Ryan." Mike lays a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Scoot over -- you're lying on top of the blankets." He kisses Ryan's temple.
He's chilly in the air conditioning again, the sweat on his neck making him shiver a little, and they both shift under the heavy comforter, Mike pulling Ryan into his chest and tucking the blankets around him. "Ry," Mike says quietly and Ryan closes his eyes. "Why do you think I'm in some sort of hurry to leave?" Ryan exhales sharply against Mike's neck and Mike holds him tighter. "I don't want to go, okay? I promise I'd stay if I could." The words simultaneously hurt-- like the minutes are ripping Mike away from him-- and make his whole body tingle.
Ryan keeps his eyes shut, his hands curled into each other over Mike's back. "I just," Ryan whispers lamely, through gritted teeth, "I've had a really. Really good time." He tugs up every bit of courage he's got in himself, adding, "I wish things were -- different."
"I don't," Mike says kindly, and wiggles his toes against Ryan's ankle. "I think everything happened just like it should have, don't you?"
Ryan blinks at him and Mike's features run together-- smile, beard, laugh lines around his eyes. "But. This is it," Ryan points out. Mike's gaze softens.
"I guess it could be. If that’s what you want."
Ryan frowns, blinking. "I mean. You're going home for, like, a week, and then back on tour. And. We have to do the festivals, and then the summer tour." He shivers a little and Mike tugs the blankets up again. "I won't be able to - do this, for you, anymore," Ryan says.
"Hey," Mike slides a hand across Ryan's cheek, eyebrows furrowing. "That's not. Ryan," he says firmly until Ryan looks him in the eye. He's serious, more serious than Ryan's used to seeing, and his stomach tightens. "Do you really think you were just some tour fuck?"
Ryan takes a long minute. He thinks about the last month - from watching movies, curled up in the back lounge; to eating fried dough from a venue concession stand; to walking, hand in hand, around a city at three am. Ryan shakes his head.
"No," Mike says, touching his collarbone.
Ryan flushes, suddenly warm everywhere. "Mike, I," he says through a stuttering breath and Mike kisses him, slow and sweet.
"I don't want to walk away from this," Mike murmurs as he pulls away a fraction. "I don't know what you want, Ry, but I think that--"
"You," Ryan cuts him off. "I fucking want you, that's it." Mike's answering laugh makes Ryan's breath catch.
"Good," Mike says. He presses a kiss to Ryan's lips, then another to his chin, the scrubbing sensation of his beard familiar now. Ryan laughs too as Mike squeezes him. He feels lighter, like he's floating. The covers are warm and Mike is warmer, hands splayed over Ryan's back as he slips his tongue against Ryan's pulse. Ryan sighs when Mike's hands drift lower and Mike hums against his skin. "Sleep," Mike admonishes when Ryan tries to slide a hand between them.
"Only have you for a little while," Ryan mumbles, already struggling to keep his eyes open.
"You have me for a long, long while," Mike smiles and twines his fingers with Ryan's. "My cell phone's set for eight o'clock. Sleep, Ross."
Ryan wants to keep protesting; after tomorrow night, everything changes for good. But he can't even begin to wonder how late it is, or how early, really; he's already come twice tonight and his entire body's colluding with Mike, curling in against his warmth and settling into unwilling sleep. "You sleep," he mumbles, as a comeback.
Mike laughs. "Yeah. That, too."
Mike's fingers lace through his hair as he drifts off, and when he wakes up a few hours later to the quiet beep coming from Mike's phone, Mike's hands are still there. The phone is on the nightstand on Mike's side, and Ryan presses his palm to Mike's cheek. "Hey," he whispers and Mike blinks his eyes open.
"Mornin'," Mike smiles and Ryan's heart stutters. Walking away from Mike today is going to hurt so badly he can't even... but Mike kisses him before he can finish the thought and rolls over to turn off the alarm.
Fuck," he whispers, stretching out in the bed as Mike turns back around. "I hope Spencer remembered to pack my stage clothes."
Mike rubs his side, smiling. "What?" he says. "You can't just throw shit on like the rest of us?"
Ryan sniffs. "I'm making a statement," he says. Mike kisses him again.
"Yeah, yeah. My boyfriend's an artist."
Ryan goes deathly still for a moment and Mike just leans back and winks at him, all smiles. "Mike," he starts, but Mike is rolling out of bed, naked and lean and gorgeous, and whatever stupid thing he was about to say dies on his lips. Boyfriend. Ryan tries it out in his head. This is my boyfriend, Mike.
He's grinning when Mike turns back around, room service menu in hand. "Waffles or eggs?"
Ryan shakes his head. "I'm not -- " Mike just looks at him, and Ryan smiles. "Waffles."
Mike heads to the phone on the nightstand, kissing Ryan as he goes. "I guarantee they're not as good as bus waffles," he says. He sits on the edge of the bed, dialing down to room service. Ryan tugs the covers up around himself, head resting against Mike's side.
Mike's fingers slip into his hair again almost thoughtlessly as he places their order. "Thank you too, ma'am," he says before he hangs up and Ryan smiles up at him. "So," Mike lets his hand drift lower, fingers massaging the nape of Ryan's neck. "We've got 20 minutes till food. Did you want--" Ryan cuts him off by leaning up onto his elbows and flicking his tongue against Mike's nipple. "Ry," Mike gasps. "I was going to ask if you wanted the first shower," he laughs breathlessly as Ryan does it again.
Ryan nuzzles against Mike's chest. "Make out, then food, then one shower for the two of us," he says firmly.
"You are such fucking trouble," Mike growls but he turns and presses Ryan back to the bed. It's not the sexiest kiss -- Ryan's mouth is kind of scummy, and he feels like he could fall asleep for another twelve hours. But Mike is still here, the next morning, still easy-going and soft with his hands and Ryan heart skitters with happiness.
Ryan sighs, tucking his leg in between them. "Oh, no," Mike says, and bites his bottom lip. "You shower. Then maybe you can ask Nick to do your hair." Ryan pouts and Mike just raises his eyebrows. "I live with Tyson Ritter. You really think that works on me?" He kisses Ryan again, fast, and gets up to tug on his underwear. "Shower, go."
Ryan's grumble turns to a slight wince as he stands and Mike shoots him a concerned look. "You okay?" Ryan grins and looks at his toes.
"Yeah, just. My boyfriend's a bit of tiger in the sack," he throws out and his stomach flips at Mike's happy flush.
"Damn right," Mike slides an arm around his waist and kisses his neck.
*
They are both fed and dressed an hour later, though the second is rapidly becoming a bother. Mike arches under Ryan on the unused bed, smiling as he tugs on Mike's still-damp hair, nipping at his lips. Mike knows they really should get themselves down to the buses, but even still the knock on the door is a completely unwelcome interruption. Mike laughs when Ryan yells "We are so not interested in room service right now!"
"Hey, um," Spence's voice falters a bit on the other side of the door. "Just checking that you're almost ready, Ry." Ryan opens his mouth to yell something offensive, but Mike rolls off the bed and heads to open it. He can see Spencer through the peephole, a jacket slung over one arm.
"Hey," Mike says, unlocking the door with a smile.
"Hey," Spencer says. There's a half-second of guarded mutual regarding -- Mike feels his neck prickle; Spencer's got the dispassionate stare down to an art -- and then Ryan's behind him, peering past with one hand on Mike's hip.
"Is it time?"
"Yeah, almost," Spence says, looking past Mike to Ryan. "Zach is rounding everyone up."
"Cool," Ryan hooks his chin over Mike's shoulder.
"Hey, so," Spence starts, eyes darting between them, and Mike can feel Ryan roll his eyes.
Mike's not big on grand gestures, but he figures maybe a small one is in order. He takes Ryan's hand and winds their fingers together. "I hope you're okay with this, Spencer," he says, meaning every word. If Spencer ever decides that Mike should go, Mike's under no delusions how long he'd last in Ryan's life.
Spencer smiles. "It's fine with me," he says. Ryan snorts.
"Oh, I'm so glad I've got your approval, Smith." He squeezes Mike's hand, though, so Mike's pretty sure it was the right move.
"Hey," Spencer says, waving his hand, "I'm just trying to be a good best friend, here."
"A good best friend would make himself scarce." Ryan enunciates each word, and Mike grins.
"Thanks for the single rooms, dude," he tells Spencer, who nods.
"Just - five minutes, okay?" Spencer says.
Ryan nods and half smiles as Mike shuts the door. He's still barefoot and he's pretty sure his toiletries are all over the bathroom, but Ryan is winding himself so tightly around him that Mike isn't sure he can breath much less move. "Hey," he says, pressing his lips to Ryan's temple. "We talked about this. This isn't the end of anything." Ryan nods against his shoulder but he doesn't let go.
Mike slides his arms around Ryan, gathering him into a hug. "So what do you want to do in five minutes?" he murmurs.
Ryan laughs thickly. "This is pretty good," he says. Mike nods.
"I think so, too." His hand warms a small circle of Ryan's lower back, stroking through the velvet of his jacket. "Hey," Mike adds, smiling. "You wanna ride over to the venue on our bus?"
Ryan pulls back enough to press their foreheads together. "That would be okay?" he asks by way of answering and Mike grins.
"What do you think?" Ryan smiles and kisses him softly.
"That'd be good, I think," he says and turns away to shove the rest of his things in his bag before Mike has a chance to comment on the way his eyes are shining. Mike just watches for a minute, back resting against the door. Ryan's hair is a crazy mess and his pants are sitting too low on his hips to be decent and his mouth is still red from making out this morning and Mike memorizes it all. "You just gonna stand there?" Ryan smirks at him and Mike laughs, voice a little rough.
"I travel with flip-flops and a brush, my friend. Packing is a piece of cake."
Ryan slides cases and carrying boxes into his duffel bag with care, his hands handling each and patting them into place. "Need help?" Mike asks. Ryan shakes his head. "It's just about ready," he says. He pulls out a pair of shoes, and zips the bag up. Mike rubs Ryan's shoulders as he sits on the edge of the bed, lacing them up.
When Ryan stands up, Mike slips his shoes on and laces their fingers together. "Ready to face your adoring public?" he asks and laughs when Ryan pulls a face.
"I just hope we get an hour to practice before we play," he notes dryly.
"You could ride with them, if you think--" Mike starts, fingers tightening on Ryan's hand even as he suggests it. He's a pragmatist most of the time, but he's not sure he can say goodbye this soon. Ryan shakes his head emphatically.
"We'll find a place when we get there." He rubs his thumb along Mike's palm and takes a deep breath. "Let's go."
Mike circles the room one last time, chucking a few missed items into his bag. He shuts the lights and opens the door. Outside, the carpeting of the hallway muffles their feet as they head to the elevator banks. The hotel's mostly deserted at this hour. Mike squeezes Ryan's hand, and Ryan lets his head tilt against Mike's shoulder as they wait for the one of the sets of doors to open. "Yo," Mike hears, and turns his head.
Brendon has both a backpack and a small rolling suitcase. He's wearing black from head to toe, but it makes him look less tough and more... slight. He's squinting at them like he's about to figure out a puzzle. Ryan's hand twitches in his and Mike loosens his grip a little in case Ryan wants to pull away. Ryan glances over at him and half-smiles before squeezing Mike's hand.
"Yes," he says to Brendon and Brendon starts a little.
"What?" he asks, looking at his shoes a little guiltily.
"You're the least subtle person I have ever met, Bren," Ry says with a sigh. "And I know you're wondering, and yes. We're. Together," Ryan hesitates a little on the last word, but he's smiling shyly and Mike resists the urge to kiss him in the hallway.
Brendon sniffs, tilting his head to the side and stretching his neck extravagantly. "I was just wondering if you were planning on going onstage looking like Adam Ant's dorky younger brother," he grins. His gaze flashes to Mike, as if challenging him to come to Ryan's defense. Mike laughs, and the elevator doors open with a chime.
"You wish you could pull off this jacket," Ryan sniffs.
"Whatever dude," Brendon grins. "I was referring more to the hair anyway." Ryan runs his hand through his bangs self-consciously and Brendon winks at Mike. "He's a diva, watch out," he says, following them onto the elevator and checking his reflection in the chrome of the doors as they close.
Ryan makes a noise of protest and Mike slings an arm loosely around Ryan's shoulders and grins back at Brendon. "I'll keep it under advisement," he says, already feeling a little lighter. If Spence and Brendon were okay with this, then everything would be fine for Ry on tour.
"Already, with the ganging up on me," Ryan grouses, but he leans in against Mike, a little.
The elevator whooshes down twenty floors in seconds; Mike feels his ears pop as the doors open again. In the lobby, there are more people -- mostly sketchy-looking young men with bleary hangover eyes and duffel bags. Mike sees Pete standing across the room with Patrick and Joe, cradling a latte. Buoyed by the casual chatter of Brendon and Ryan at his side, he waves his free hand. Joe gives him a peace sign; Patrick's smile is visible even from that distance.
Ryan is still leaning into him a little and he's preoccupied by Spence and Zach who find them immediately, Zach rolling his eyes and getting back on the elevator when it becomes apparent Brent didn't ride down with them. He misses the look Mike gets from Pete, jaw tightening a little. Mike doesn't look away; he's not guilty and Pete certainly can't intimidate him into feeling that way. He smiles as wide as he can without it seeming like a boast and wraps his hand around the back of Ryan's neck. "Yeah?" Ryan says with a smile, looking back at him. "Spence is cool about me riding with you guys, so. Where's..." he starts, and trails off when he finally spots Pete.
Mike strokes the back of Ryan's neck, rubbing the tense muscles there. "It's okay," he murmurs to Ryan, as Pete makes his way over towards them, skirting around where Dirty's molesting the spread of continental breakfast fare. He can see Ryan steady himself, and his gaze flickers over as Ryan schools his features into a calm, blank slate. Mike allows himself to be impressed for a moment before Pete's standing in front of them.
"Hey," Pete says to Ryan, barely acknowledging Mike with a flick of his eyes. "Spence says you all need to talk business." His tone is a little cool and Ryan just nods shortly.
"This might not be the best--" he starts as Brent comes off the elevator behind them and rolls out to the bus without so much as a glance at them.
"Okay," Pete says, a little more concerned than angry now as he watches Ryan watch Brent.
"We'll find you at the venue?" Ryan asks and Pete nods and sips his coffee.
Mike is getting a little tired of the invisibility act and clears his throat when he sees Shabba and Nick in the back of the lobby, a bleary Tyson propped against a large potted plant next to them. "I'm gonna -- " Mike makes to go join them, and Pete blinks twice, eyes clearing from a momentary reverie.
"Break a leg out there, dude," he says.
Mike can feel Ryan's eyes swing back and forth between them; he really doesn't have time for whatever showdown they might pantomime, here. "You, too," he says. Tucking his hand on the small of Ryan's back, Mike nudges them towards Tyson and the others.
"That went okay!" Ryan whispers at five paces away. A hesitant smile plays over his lips.
Mike nods in agreement. It could have gone better, but Pete was is talking to them, so he figures things will only go uphill from there. He glances back and sees Pete laughing at something Brendon said, leaning in a little closer than necessary, and shakes his head. He'll leave that for Spence to clean up. "Hey," he says when Nick looks up and smiles at them.
Tyson wakes up enough to ask "Is the deed done, my good lads?", whooping when Ryan blushes and turns his face into Mike's shoulder. Nick thwaps Ty in the arm and winks at Mike.
"I told Ry he could ride in with us, if that's--" Mike starts and Nick is already waving him quiet.
"Clearly, we all need a little last-minute Ryan time," he smiles.
Shabba passes Mike a copy of the day's schedule. "Chris and the others are already on the bus," he says.
Nick shoulders his bag and Tyson's, who winds himself around Ryan. "The time has come," he drawls, "chickadee, to speak of many things."
"On the bus," Ryan mumbles, and Mike swats Tyson off.
"Stop it," he says mildly. "His coat's clashing with his face, now." Ryan sticks out his tongue; Mike considers it a blessing that he waits to kiss him until they're on the bus.
The buses are lined up on the street like a caravan, security keeping a small group of fans at bay across the street. Mike tucks Ryan between him and Tyson, shielding him from view as they all duck onto the bus. "Hey!" John calls from the couch, smiling at Ryan. "Good to see you, kiddo! Donut?" he gestures to the table covered in Krispy Kreme boxes.
"You are a god among men, Captain," Tyson says in all seriousness and grabs two. Mike grabs the open seat next to Chris and tugs Ryan onto his lap. Chris makes a noise of mock-disgust when Ryan turns his head and kisses Mike softly.
Mike smiles, sliding away both their bags onto the floor. "Should be about twenty-five minutes, with rush hour traffic," he hears the driver tell Shabba.
Ryan gives a small noise, curling in closer. "What time do you go on?" he asks. Mike shrugs.
"Late afternoon, early evening." He kisses Ryan again. "We don't roll out until the end of the festival, though."
"You better not," Ryan says, his voice a little thick. "I want Nick to help with my hair."
"I totally will!" Nick beams from the table, where he's pouring himself more coffee.
The guys putter around the bus, stashing bags and warming donuts in the microwave. Mike just lets Ryan curl into him, fingers tangled in his belt loops, and they sit there quietly. No one but Tyson shoots him any sad looks, which is nice, but Mike feels his stomach tighten the closer they get to Jersey.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Ryan says quietly against his collar. His eyes are closed and his hand his warm on Mike's side.
"Everything will be fine," is Mike's non-answer and Ryan just nods and noses against his throat.
Chris hits Kadaver on the hand with a drumstick when he reaches for the last chocolate donut and suddenly the common area is a sea of flailing boys and cursing as Kadaver chases him down. Ryan laughs loudly and Mike realizes he can barely remember the scared kid who showed up on the bus a month ago.
From the windows on the side of the bus, Mike can see the western-most edges of Manhattan slide past them, already prickling with sharp morning sunlight. "It's going to be hot," Mike murmurs, to no one in particular. Ryan kisses the underside of his jaw, sighing. The bus banks out, following the bus in front of it, and the one in front of that. Mike holds Ryan's hand against his side, curled into his body heat, as they dip into the tunnel.
**
Author's Note by EL: For those of you who were looking forward to a Pete and/or Brent showdown, I hope this was enough. What we wanted to do was write a romance-- not even a bromance, but a real "dates and flowers and making out" romance for Ryan Ross. We fell in love with Ryan in this, and then fell in love with Mike right alongside him, and we hope you did too. *hugs*