If I Kissed the Way You Do
Title: If I Kissed the Way You Do
Pairing: Jon/Ryan
Rating: pg-13
Summary: The sky reminds him of Chicago, of the one time he stayed at Jon’s place.
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me and this is all totally fake
Warning: Mild angst
Authors notes: This is what happens when I have writer’s block and listen to the same song twenty million times in a row. This fic is loosely based off of the song ‘Sorry’ by Maria Mena which you can download Here the title also belongs to the same song.
It doesn’t rain much in California. At least not as far as Ryan can tell. The air is warm with just the right undertones of a cool breeze to keep it from getting too hot. But it rarely rains. So it’s a surprise when Ryan wakes up around six at night, his bedroom unnaturally dark, the vague tapping of rain against the roof, the windows, and Ryan’s patio furniture.
Ryan lies in his bed for a long time, just listening to the sound. He doesn’t remember it raining much in Vegas either. The boy stretches his long arms above his head, joints cracking like he hasn’t moved in years. There’s a stale taste in Ryan’s mouth and his brain feels foggy, like he’s still dreaming.
Honestly, if he were, it wouldn’t surprise him.
The whole house is dark and quiet and its times like this that Ryan wishes he had fought a little harder to keep Hobo around. Ryan’s dressed in nothing but a thin worn out tank top and his boxers and he shuffles quietly to the large bay window in the front of his house. Fat drops of rain are splattering against the glass, running down in slow rivets and Ryan’s fingers trace the trails they leave behind.
The sky is dark and grey and several thoughts flicker through Ryan’s head. The sky reminds him of Chicago, of the one time he stayed at Jon’s place. It was back when Jon and Cassie were on a break and Brendon had already moved out to California. Ryan remembers that it had rained all week long and Jon had just shrugged and said he was used to it. Ryan recalls that Jon bought him a personalized umbrella.
That week had been an important one. It was the first time Ryan had admitted out loud that he thought Panic was stuck. He and Jon had been lying on the floor of Jon’s living room, soft carpet against Ryan’s bare arms and he had been scared to say it, to tell Jon. Ryan had looked over and Jon’s eyes were heavy but clear. It was then that Jon told Ryan that he felt the same.
Ryan remembers Jon taking his hand, clasping their fingers together. He remembers looking over at the older boy, holding on to him like Ryan was drowning and Jon was the last lifesaver he had. His mind brings back the feeling of Jon’s rough fingers on Ryan’s jaw and how without much hesitation Jon leaned over, barely connecting his lips to Ryan’s own.
It was the first time Ryan and Jon had kissed.
There’s a crack of thunder and Ryan is snapped out of his thoughts. The sky is darkening around the edges, thick dark clouds spreading across the sky. Ryan wishes he had a camera; a real camera like Jon has, so he could take a picture of the landscape, email it to Jon. He’d be the only one who’d appreciate it anyway.
Ryan leaves the window, clicks on the lamp in his living room, a warm buttery glow filling the room. He goes to find his cell phone, bare feet making soft slapping noises against the hardwood floors of his house. His cell phone is sitting abandoned on the dresser in his room; he has some old texts from Spencer that he needs to return.
Ryan sits on the edge of his bed and thumbs through his contact list, dials. It’s probably a stupid idea to call Jon. It’s most likely either too early or too late there. What if Jon and Cassie are sleeping? What if she answers instead of Jon? These thoughts all come too late because there’s a ringing on the line before someone answers.
“Ryan, what’s up?” Jon’s calm easy voice says. Ryan clears his throat against the tight ball of nerves he feels and scratches a hand through his hair. Why is he calling again? It’s not like he has that much of a reason to miss Jon. The older boy had been living with Ryan for practically two months and he’s only been home again for about three weeks now. “Ry? You there man?” Jon asks again.
“Oh, yeah, I’m here. I’m ah…I’m not interrupting anything am I?” A dinner with Cassie, a quiet night at home, Jon playing with his cats. The last image makes a small smile creep onto Ryan’s face. Jon huffs out a small laugh, Ryan’s smile grows wider.
“No, I was just hanging around at home,” Jon says. “So, what’s going on with you?”
“I...”
“You just woke up didn’t you?” Jon asks and Ryan can hear that smile in his voice, that wide lazy smile. Ryan misses that smile.
“Yeah” Ryan mumbles, “It’s raining here.”
“Your outdoor furniture will be soaked for weeks,” Jon replies. Ryan laughs a little; the knot in his throat loosens just a bit.
“Listen,” Ryan begins. “You should…come back…here, you know?” Ryan forces out because he knows that if he lets Jon keep going than he’ll never say it and he’ll be just as alone tomorrow as he is tonight.
“But the record is done, Ry,” Jon tells him and Ryan nods even though Jon can’t see him.
“I know but we’re…we can hang out without it being about music right?”
Jon’s silent again and Ryan pulls his knees up onto the bed, wraps his arm around them. Ryan doesn’t want to say it; he doesn’t want to tell Jon that he’s lonely. He needs real company beyond Alex or Kate. He needs Jon.
“She’ll be pissed if I tell her I’m going back so soon,” Jon says, he sounds conflicted maybe sad, Ryan can’t really tell. His heart speeds in his chest. This is getting stupider by the second, Ryan should never have called.
“Tell her it’s for the album? It could just be for a few days…a week at the most?”
“Ryan, you’re going to have to give me a good reason,” Jon presses. Does Ryan even have a good reason to pull Jon away from his life?
“I’m lonely,” Ryan gives in and tells the older boy. Jon’s quiet for a few seconds, Ryan counts his heartbeats like he used to count Spencer’s drumbeats.
“Alex-” Jon begins but Ryan cuts him off.
“I don’t want Alex,” The younger boy says, his voice spilling out of him before he can bite it back. Ryan can hear Jon on the line, the soft in and out of his breathing.
“I’ll buy a ticket tomorrow,” Jon says slowly, careful and Ryan smiles but he doesn’t want to let himself get too hopeful for anything.
*
Jon shows up two days after their phone conversation.
Ryan picks him up from the airport and the rain has long since stopped but Jon had been right, his outdoor furniture is soaked. The air is warm again and Ryan has the glass doors that lead to the backyard open, letting the breeze rush in.
Jon is sitting on Ryan’s couch, guitar in his lap and he’s playing the bridge to something the two of them had once been working on. His head is tipped down as he watches his own fingers move across the strings. Ryan’s leaning against the wall, watching Jon.
He wants to open his mouth and say something; anything but he catches the way Jon’s toes are curling as he plays through the song and the low heavy way Jon hums a long to his own playing. Ryan stands like that for a long time, watching Jon and the older boy knows Ryan’s there but he plays like there’s no one else around.
Finally Ryan moves over to him and drops down on the space next to Jon on the couch. Jon’s fingers go still against the strings. He lifts his head and he smiles a little at Ryan, he’s shaved and it’s been a long time since Ryan’s seen him sans beard.
“You shaved,” Ryan says, it’s not at all what he wanted to say. Jon looks surprised at the words but he smiles and nods.
“Yeah, Cass thought maybe it was time I went fresh faced again,” Jon answers. Ryan ducks his head. She’s not what he wants to talk about. It’s not like, he doesn’t hate Cassie but she has Jon in a way that Ryan doesn’t…did…can’t have him. He’s more jealous of the girl than anything else.
Ryan reaches out and those long spidery fingers of his trace softly against Jon’s smooth cheek. He cups Jon’s face, his thumb stroking across Jon’s cheekbone. Jon is just sitting there, letting Ryan touch at him. He watches Ryan with those deep brown eyes, careful and blank.
“What are you doing, Ryan?” Jon asks softly, not confused, almost like a warning. He scoots away from Ryan’s touch. The younger boy’s hand falls away, his eyes dropping to his lap. Jon sighs softly. “Why did you want me out here, really?” Jon presses and Ryan looks up at him.
“I told you already. I miss you, it’s the truth,” Ryan replies. His body is craving to touch the older boy again but it’s not really different from any other time he’s alone with Jon. The older boy is staring at him again and Ryan shifts uncomfortable under Jon’s unwavering gaze. Ryan scoots forward a bit, moves towards Jon. His hands hold on to Jon’s shoulders and he brings their faces closer together, mere inches apart.
They don’t kiss. Jon moves at the last second so that Ryan’s face winds up against Jon’s shoulder, Ryan’s leaning on to Jon now, his front draped over Jon’s.
“You know we can’t do that anymore,” Jon says. He says anymore but there hadn’t been that much before. Stolen kisses, brief touches, the two of them jerking each other off and sharing a bed. It hasn’t happened since a couple weeks before Jon left for Chicago.
“It wasn’t enough,” Ryan mumbles into the skin of Jon’s neck. “Those few times weren’t enough.”
“Ryan,” Jon’s voice is a strange mix between sad and tired. “I’m not…I can’t. I’m with Cassie, Ryan, I can’t do this with you,” Jon forces out. Ryan presses his face against Jon’s skin. He doesn’t want to listen; he drinks in Jon’s scent instead, the way the worn fabric of his t-shirt feels against the skin of Ryan’s neck.
“You liked it,” Ryan starts, “What we were doing, you liked it. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t.”
“I’m not gay, Ryan!” Jon spits out and his hands are trembling as they grip at Ryan’s thin arms and push him back a little, enough so they’re not touching. Ryan moves his own hands to mimic Jon, holds on to the older boy’s forearms.
“I know… but I’m not… there’s never been any other guy but you,” Ryan says, he pushes against the resistance of Jon’s grip on him. He presses closer to Jon, daring to bring himself up to the older boy’s face. Their mouths are close and Ryan’s eyes are locked on Jon’s. “And I don’t think you mean it when you say that you can’t love me,” Ryan breathes and this time Jon doesn’t move away as Ryan kisses him.
It’s warm and soft and Ryan plants a series of chaste kisses on Jon’s mouth, like each one will prove that Jon does love him. Jon only moves away when Ryan slides his tongue into Jon’s mouth. Jon moves and Ryan’s chest heaves, little fine spider web cracks on his heart, spreading out.
Ryan pulls away from Jon all together, climbs off the couch and he doesn’t know where he’s going but he wants it to be wherever Jon isn’t. Unfortunately Jon springs up and off the couch and then his arms are back on Ryan’s shoulders, stopping him in the middle of the living room.
Jon tugs a little, gets Ryan turned around so they’re face to face. Ryan won’t meet Jon’s eyes; he’s staring at the floor, mouth a tight line, hands curling into fists. Jon’s hands slide away from him, leaving nothing but heat, the ghost of his touch behind on Ryan’s skin. Jon wraps his fingers around Ryan’s wrists, squeezes slightly.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Jon says his voice low like a whisper. Ryan looks up to meet Jon’s gaze, Jon’s eyes are big and hurt and Ryan can barely stand the fact that he’s the one who made them that way.
“What am I supposed to do Jon?” Ryan asks, his voice is ragged, upset. “All I want is you, nothing else.”
Ryan can feel Jon’s thumbs rubbing circles against the sharp bones of his wrists. Ryan brings his hands up, Jon still attached to his wrists as he sinks his fingers into Jon’s t-shirt, holds on tight.
“Don’t do this,” Jon says. Ryan’s shaking, he can’t control it. Jon tugs Ryan closer; Ryan presses his face against Jon’s chest.
“Why can’t you love me?” Ryan whispers, he looks at Jon, straight in his eyes. “I’ll change for you, I will. I’ll be anyway you want me to be, I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll play any role you choose, Jon, please, why can’t you love me?”
Jon’s hands leave Ryan’s wrists; they move up to cup his cheeks. Jon leans in, pressing himself against Ryan’s trembling, lithe form. He rests his forehead against Ryan’s and he closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers, his mouth is almost against Ryan’s, he can feel each letter against his skin. Ryan lets out a small dry sob, he shakes harder, Jon’s hands slide to his back, holding tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
Ryan doesn’t want to hear it but he can’t get away and this, it all just won’t go away. Jon presses his mouth soft against Ryan’s. “I’m sorry, I am sorry,” Jon whispers again and again, it almost sounds like pleading, like Jon’s begging against Ryan’s mouth as the two of them stand there in the middle of Ryan’s living room. Ryan closes his eyes and listens to each one, every apology from Jon.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Pairing: Jon/Ryan
Rating: pg-13
Summary: The sky reminds him of Chicago, of the one time he stayed at Jon’s place.
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me and this is all totally fake
Warning: Mild angst
Authors notes: This is what happens when I have writer’s block and listen to the same song twenty million times in a row. This fic is loosely based off of the song ‘Sorry’ by Maria Mena which you can download Here the title also belongs to the same song.
It doesn’t rain much in California. At least not as far as Ryan can tell. The air is warm with just the right undertones of a cool breeze to keep it from getting too hot. But it rarely rains. So it’s a surprise when Ryan wakes up around six at night, his bedroom unnaturally dark, the vague tapping of rain against the roof, the windows, and Ryan’s patio furniture.
Ryan lies in his bed for a long time, just listening to the sound. He doesn’t remember it raining much in Vegas either. The boy stretches his long arms above his head, joints cracking like he hasn’t moved in years. There’s a stale taste in Ryan’s mouth and his brain feels foggy, like he’s still dreaming.
Honestly, if he were, it wouldn’t surprise him.
The whole house is dark and quiet and its times like this that Ryan wishes he had fought a little harder to keep Hobo around. Ryan’s dressed in nothing but a thin worn out tank top and his boxers and he shuffles quietly to the large bay window in the front of his house. Fat drops of rain are splattering against the glass, running down in slow rivets and Ryan’s fingers trace the trails they leave behind.
The sky is dark and grey and several thoughts flicker through Ryan’s head. The sky reminds him of Chicago, of the one time he stayed at Jon’s place. It was back when Jon and Cassie were on a break and Brendon had already moved out to California. Ryan remembers that it had rained all week long and Jon had just shrugged and said he was used to it. Ryan recalls that Jon bought him a personalized umbrella.
That week had been an important one. It was the first time Ryan had admitted out loud that he thought Panic was stuck. He and Jon had been lying on the floor of Jon’s living room, soft carpet against Ryan’s bare arms and he had been scared to say it, to tell Jon. Ryan had looked over and Jon’s eyes were heavy but clear. It was then that Jon told Ryan that he felt the same.
Ryan remembers Jon taking his hand, clasping their fingers together. He remembers looking over at the older boy, holding on to him like Ryan was drowning and Jon was the last lifesaver he had. His mind brings back the feeling of Jon’s rough fingers on Ryan’s jaw and how without much hesitation Jon leaned over, barely connecting his lips to Ryan’s own.
It was the first time Ryan and Jon had kissed.
There’s a crack of thunder and Ryan is snapped out of his thoughts. The sky is darkening around the edges, thick dark clouds spreading across the sky. Ryan wishes he had a camera; a real camera like Jon has, so he could take a picture of the landscape, email it to Jon. He’d be the only one who’d appreciate it anyway.
Ryan leaves the window, clicks on the lamp in his living room, a warm buttery glow filling the room. He goes to find his cell phone, bare feet making soft slapping noises against the hardwood floors of his house. His cell phone is sitting abandoned on the dresser in his room; he has some old texts from Spencer that he needs to return.
Ryan sits on the edge of his bed and thumbs through his contact list, dials. It’s probably a stupid idea to call Jon. It’s most likely either too early or too late there. What if Jon and Cassie are sleeping? What if she answers instead of Jon? These thoughts all come too late because there’s a ringing on the line before someone answers.
“Ryan, what’s up?” Jon’s calm easy voice says. Ryan clears his throat against the tight ball of nerves he feels and scratches a hand through his hair. Why is he calling again? It’s not like he has that much of a reason to miss Jon. The older boy had been living with Ryan for practically two months and he’s only been home again for about three weeks now. “Ry? You there man?” Jon asks again.
“Oh, yeah, I’m here. I’m ah…I’m not interrupting anything am I?” A dinner with Cassie, a quiet night at home, Jon playing with his cats. The last image makes a small smile creep onto Ryan’s face. Jon huffs out a small laugh, Ryan’s smile grows wider.
“No, I was just hanging around at home,” Jon says. “So, what’s going on with you?”
“I...”
“You just woke up didn’t you?” Jon asks and Ryan can hear that smile in his voice, that wide lazy smile. Ryan misses that smile.
“Yeah” Ryan mumbles, “It’s raining here.”
“Your outdoor furniture will be soaked for weeks,” Jon replies. Ryan laughs a little; the knot in his throat loosens just a bit.
“Listen,” Ryan begins. “You should…come back…here, you know?” Ryan forces out because he knows that if he lets Jon keep going than he’ll never say it and he’ll be just as alone tomorrow as he is tonight.
“But the record is done, Ry,” Jon tells him and Ryan nods even though Jon can’t see him.
“I know but we’re…we can hang out without it being about music right?”
Jon’s silent again and Ryan pulls his knees up onto the bed, wraps his arm around them. Ryan doesn’t want to say it; he doesn’t want to tell Jon that he’s lonely. He needs real company beyond Alex or Kate. He needs Jon.
“She’ll be pissed if I tell her I’m going back so soon,” Jon says, he sounds conflicted maybe sad, Ryan can’t really tell. His heart speeds in his chest. This is getting stupider by the second, Ryan should never have called.
“Tell her it’s for the album? It could just be for a few days…a week at the most?”
“Ryan, you’re going to have to give me a good reason,” Jon presses. Does Ryan even have a good reason to pull Jon away from his life?
“I’m lonely,” Ryan gives in and tells the older boy. Jon’s quiet for a few seconds, Ryan counts his heartbeats like he used to count Spencer’s drumbeats.
“Alex-” Jon begins but Ryan cuts him off.
“I don’t want Alex,” The younger boy says, his voice spilling out of him before he can bite it back. Ryan can hear Jon on the line, the soft in and out of his breathing.
“I’ll buy a ticket tomorrow,” Jon says slowly, careful and Ryan smiles but he doesn’t want to let himself get too hopeful for anything.
*
Jon shows up two days after their phone conversation.
Ryan picks him up from the airport and the rain has long since stopped but Jon had been right, his outdoor furniture is soaked. The air is warm again and Ryan has the glass doors that lead to the backyard open, letting the breeze rush in.
Jon is sitting on Ryan’s couch, guitar in his lap and he’s playing the bridge to something the two of them had once been working on. His head is tipped down as he watches his own fingers move across the strings. Ryan’s leaning against the wall, watching Jon.
He wants to open his mouth and say something; anything but he catches the way Jon’s toes are curling as he plays through the song and the low heavy way Jon hums a long to his own playing. Ryan stands like that for a long time, watching Jon and the older boy knows Ryan’s there but he plays like there’s no one else around.
Finally Ryan moves over to him and drops down on the space next to Jon on the couch. Jon’s fingers go still against the strings. He lifts his head and he smiles a little at Ryan, he’s shaved and it’s been a long time since Ryan’s seen him sans beard.
“You shaved,” Ryan says, it’s not at all what he wanted to say. Jon looks surprised at the words but he smiles and nods.
“Yeah, Cass thought maybe it was time I went fresh faced again,” Jon answers. Ryan ducks his head. She’s not what he wants to talk about. It’s not like, he doesn’t hate Cassie but she has Jon in a way that Ryan doesn’t…did…can’t have him. He’s more jealous of the girl than anything else.
Ryan reaches out and those long spidery fingers of his trace softly against Jon’s smooth cheek. He cups Jon’s face, his thumb stroking across Jon’s cheekbone. Jon is just sitting there, letting Ryan touch at him. He watches Ryan with those deep brown eyes, careful and blank.
“What are you doing, Ryan?” Jon asks softly, not confused, almost like a warning. He scoots away from Ryan’s touch. The younger boy’s hand falls away, his eyes dropping to his lap. Jon sighs softly. “Why did you want me out here, really?” Jon presses and Ryan looks up at him.
“I told you already. I miss you, it’s the truth,” Ryan replies. His body is craving to touch the older boy again but it’s not really different from any other time he’s alone with Jon. The older boy is staring at him again and Ryan shifts uncomfortable under Jon’s unwavering gaze. Ryan scoots forward a bit, moves towards Jon. His hands hold on to Jon’s shoulders and he brings their faces closer together, mere inches apart.
They don’t kiss. Jon moves at the last second so that Ryan’s face winds up against Jon’s shoulder, Ryan’s leaning on to Jon now, his front draped over Jon’s.
“You know we can’t do that anymore,” Jon says. He says anymore but there hadn’t been that much before. Stolen kisses, brief touches, the two of them jerking each other off and sharing a bed. It hasn’t happened since a couple weeks before Jon left for Chicago.
“It wasn’t enough,” Ryan mumbles into the skin of Jon’s neck. “Those few times weren’t enough.”
“Ryan,” Jon’s voice is a strange mix between sad and tired. “I’m not…I can’t. I’m with Cassie, Ryan, I can’t do this with you,” Jon forces out. Ryan presses his face against Jon’s skin. He doesn’t want to listen; he drinks in Jon’s scent instead, the way the worn fabric of his t-shirt feels against the skin of Ryan’s neck.
“You liked it,” Ryan starts, “What we were doing, you liked it. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t.”
“I’m not gay, Ryan!” Jon spits out and his hands are trembling as they grip at Ryan’s thin arms and push him back a little, enough so they’re not touching. Ryan moves his own hands to mimic Jon, holds on to the older boy’s forearms.
“I know… but I’m not… there’s never been any other guy but you,” Ryan says, he pushes against the resistance of Jon’s grip on him. He presses closer to Jon, daring to bring himself up to the older boy’s face. Their mouths are close and Ryan’s eyes are locked on Jon’s. “And I don’t think you mean it when you say that you can’t love me,” Ryan breathes and this time Jon doesn’t move away as Ryan kisses him.
It’s warm and soft and Ryan plants a series of chaste kisses on Jon’s mouth, like each one will prove that Jon does love him. Jon only moves away when Ryan slides his tongue into Jon’s mouth. Jon moves and Ryan’s chest heaves, little fine spider web cracks on his heart, spreading out.
Ryan pulls away from Jon all together, climbs off the couch and he doesn’t know where he’s going but he wants it to be wherever Jon isn’t. Unfortunately Jon springs up and off the couch and then his arms are back on Ryan’s shoulders, stopping him in the middle of the living room.
Jon tugs a little, gets Ryan turned around so they’re face to face. Ryan won’t meet Jon’s eyes; he’s staring at the floor, mouth a tight line, hands curling into fists. Jon’s hands slide away from him, leaving nothing but heat, the ghost of his touch behind on Ryan’s skin. Jon wraps his fingers around Ryan’s wrists, squeezes slightly.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Jon says his voice low like a whisper. Ryan looks up to meet Jon’s gaze, Jon’s eyes are big and hurt and Ryan can barely stand the fact that he’s the one who made them that way.
“What am I supposed to do Jon?” Ryan asks, his voice is ragged, upset. “All I want is you, nothing else.”
Ryan can feel Jon’s thumbs rubbing circles against the sharp bones of his wrists. Ryan brings his hands up, Jon still attached to his wrists as he sinks his fingers into Jon’s t-shirt, holds on tight.
“Don’t do this,” Jon says. Ryan’s shaking, he can’t control it. Jon tugs Ryan closer; Ryan presses his face against Jon’s chest.
“Why can’t you love me?” Ryan whispers, he looks at Jon, straight in his eyes. “I’ll change for you, I will. I’ll be anyway you want me to be, I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll play any role you choose, Jon, please, why can’t you love me?”
Jon’s hands leave Ryan’s wrists; they move up to cup his cheeks. Jon leans in, pressing himself against Ryan’s trembling, lithe form. He rests his forehead against Ryan’s and he closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers, his mouth is almost against Ryan’s, he can feel each letter against his skin. Ryan lets out a small dry sob, he shakes harder, Jon’s hands slide to his back, holding tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
Ryan doesn’t want to hear it but he can’t get away and this, it all just won’t go away. Jon presses his mouth soft against Ryan’s. “I’m sorry, I am sorry,” Jon whispers again and again, it almost sounds like pleading, like Jon’s begging against Ryan’s mouth as the two of them stand there in the middle of Ryan’s living room. Ryan closes his eyes and listens to each one, every apology from Jon.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”