On the Line (R; Brendon/Ryan; bandom)
Guys, I thought I'd left bandom behind as a happy but distant memory. I'd stopped reading all their twitters (except Pete's)! I'd swapped out the icons! I had a newer, shinier, younger band to love!
Yeah, no. Good fandoms never leave you completely. Also, I'm a really slow writer! So let's all pretend it's 2008 again, just for a moment, because that's when I think I started this fic. (Also, band split? What band split?)
Also on AO3 if you want to read it over there.
Thanks to Ro (littlerhymes) for being a great beta as always and for getting the random popculture references! :)
ON THE LINE
On a typical call, this is how it goes.
Ryan answers the phone on the fourth ring, and the fourth ring only. He'll shift whatever’s on his lap - his psych textbook, the latest novel he picked up from the library, his phone - to one side, lean against the side of the cubicle, and pitch his voice lower, aiming for sexy and alluring.
(Though the one time Spencer and Jon rang as a prank, they said he sounded like he was bored and distracted, as if he was checking his email or something.
Ryan had said, "Fuck you guys, I told you not to ring," but it's without heat. He had been busy tweeting about wanting Cheez-its during his break after all.)
Luckily, the callers he normally gets aren’t all that discerning - they just want the usual bullshit about being naked and nubile, or willing and wild, with a couple of pants and a large, loud climax to go with it.
During one of the more boring shifts a few months back, Ryan had made a few amendments to the official script they were all given in orientation. He'd taken it to Patrick to look over, expecting to be shot down, but Patrick had read one page, raised an eyebrow before shrugging and saying, "Well, whatever gets people off." Ryan had been surprised - he'd thrown in a few tumescent and throbbing members thrown in there for the hell of it - and he hadn't expected Patrick to be so lax. But then Pete'd sent him what William did to his script and Ryan realised why Patrick couldn't care less.
William's currently top of the leader board that‘s hanging in the break room.
This is a typical call though, so after eight short minutes, Ryan gets to hangs up, the sound of another satisfied customer still ringing in his ears. Around the six minute mark, when Ryan had started to fake his moans, Gabe had peered over their shared partition and he hadn't left in all that time.
"Hey, did that put you off your game?" Gabe asks. "I'm trying out a few methods to psych out the competition. Gabe Saporta comes second to no man!"
Ryan rolls his eyes and says, "Yes. It was terrifying and creepy. I felt violated by your eyes."
"You don't sound terrified or creeped out," Gabe says. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better? Because I can totally detect when people are not being sincere."
"Just go and harass William like we both know you want to," Ryan said. "Anyway, shoo. I'm waiting for a call." He shoots a quick glance at the clock at the end of the room. It's two minutes to eight.
Gabe snickers, and says, "Uh, we all do? That's our job. Oh wait, it's someone special, is it? A special someone who’s paying by the minute to make sweet sweet love to your voice."
Ryan gives him the finger and spins around on his chair, turning his back on Gabe. The phone rings at 8 on the dot.
“So hey, Ryan?”
Ryan still feels weird when he hears Brendon calling him by his real name. They’d covered this in orientation, though not very successfully; Patrick had stormed off without finishing the role play after Pete topped himself at inventing the most ridiculous fake name ever. But generally, they all knew the rule: no real names. But then, the orientation guide had probably never met Brendon.
(The first time Brendon had called, Ryan barely had time to note the slightly breathless voice on the other end of the line, friendly and surprisingly young, before he's asked, “Hey, so what’s your name?"
"Who do you want me to be? You can call me anything," Ryan had said, reading right off the script. He didnd't even roll his eyes at the cheesiness of the line anymore, and he'd stopped being surprised at the impossibly long list of weird names people want to yell during sex by his second week.
But the guy on the line just laughed delightedly and started singing under his breath, indistinct at first and Ryan strained to pick out the words, intrigued in spite of himself.
"...I can be your long lost pal, I can call you Betty, And Betty when you call me - "
"You can call me Al," Ryan said, completing the line without thinking.
"Oh cool, a fellow Paul Simon fan, right on," the guy said. "I got me a good one for my first time."
"Your first time? Aww, I'm honored, I'll try to make this real good for you," Ryan said, then bit back any further non-scripted remarks, surprised at himself. He wasn't usually this flirty with any of his customers, not even when he tried. He shifted in his seat, trying to remind himself this was work, not some guy on the dancefloor at a club.
"Heh, I'm sure you will. But seriously Al, what's your real name? Can't let some nameless stranger pop my phone sex cherry. And don't give me some weird porn name that’s your pet’s name plus the name of your street - actually, no, give that to me too. I’d be Dylan Summerlin, which isn’t too bad, but it doesn’t really sound like a porn star name, you know? Maybe I’d be in really vanilla shit, like schoolgirls on a bed with filmy Vaseline lens photography. Anyway, that’s me, I'm Brendon. How about you?”
“Ryan,” he’d found himself revealing, completely disarmed. “It’s Ryan. And not, like, Hobo Feather.”
“HOBO FEATHER!” Ryan could hear choking giggles down the receiver. “That shit’s awesome. Beats mine any day.”
And then they had chatted, with no sex, for another half hour. Ryan felt like a fraud when he made it into the top three of the leaderboard for the first time that week.)
Brendon's been calling at 8pm on Fridays for the last six weeks now. They’ve never made it past conversation and it’s probably a sign that Ryan's been doing this too long that this friendly chatter, this bonding with a perfect stranger, is making him more uneasy than getting them off anonymously over the phone.
But not long after his second call hearing all about Brendon’s day, Ryan comes to the uncomfortable realization they've probably crossed paths during the day on campus. He snaps one night, when, after Spencer bitches about an economics assignment and some crazy guy in his class who sits behind Spencer and fidgets the whole time, Brendon rings up and whines about exactly the same stupid assignment.
"Hey, hey. You do know you're paying exorbitant rates for this, right?" Ryan cuts in sharply through Brendon's second rant about how this tall dude in his class knows all the answers and rolls his eyes at the TA's mistakes.
There's a pause, and then Brendon says, "HAH! I knew you weren't a robot."
“Why the fuck would I be a robot?” Ryan said, twisting the phone cord around his index finger.
“It’s the voice, man,” Brendon says.
“Well, this isn’t how calls usually go,” Ryan huffs. “Maybe I only sound this automated when you’re on the line.”
“Yeah, right,” Brendon snorts. “Fine, let me try it.” He clears his throat, and there’s a weird raspberry sound, and Ryan realises the goofball is preparing for a scene. He’s about to call Brendon out for being so damn cheesy, when Brendon drops his voice about an octave and says, “So tell me what you’re wearing right now.”
Brendon sounds completely different, and maybe even a little hot, and Ryan tries to ignore the little shiver that travels down his back, and the way he just got hard.
“Nothing,” he says instead, trying to match the tone in Brendon’s voice. “Nothing at all.”
There’s a pause, then Brendon, in his normal voice, says, “Really? Doesn’t it get a bit cold, being naked in the draughty call centre?”
“Why do you insist on ruining the fantasy?” Ryan says, in his best deadpan voice.
Brendon bursts out laughing. “I gave it a try! I just - I know you’re not naked. I bet you’re wearing lots of warm layers, and scrolling through your iPod, and wondering if your supervisor’s gonna bust your ass for not working hard enough.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. Sure, he is actually wearing a vest over his shirt, and even a hat, and he’s got his earbuds around his neck, but still.
“Dude, Patrick doesn’t care that I’m not moaning away, he’s probably relieved. He has to use his noise-cancelling earphones when some of the other guys are on. Also, whatever I’m doing, you’re still paying for this call. Don’t you have better things to do on a Friday night?”
Brendon says quickly, “Sure I do.” There’s a longer pause this time, and Ryan thinks he hears a quiet sigh, and then Brendon says, “I better go and let you fleece some other sad loser.” He laughs, but it’s hollow this time, and before Ryan can say goodbye, or sorry, he’s already hung up.
And then for two long weeks, Ryan doesn’t hear from Brendon at all. He tells himself it’s for the best - it’s coming up to finals, he could do with the extra hour studying in his cubicle, it was pathetic to be missing a phone sex customer.
Ryan wakes up bleary-eyed, already late for his 9am class. On his way to campus for his next class, the radio in his car is tuned to a classic rock station for some reason and he blinks when he realizes You Can Call Me Al is playing. It makes him think of Brendon's voice, which in turn reminds him he jerked off last night to the memory of Brendon's voice, and then he feels himself flushing and getting hard at the same time. Which in turn means he's so distracted he jumps the curb at the corner just outside the entrance of college and fuck it, he might as well stop in at the Dunkin’ Donuts there for a coffee to make up for the shit day this is turning out to be.
Of course, he’s only managed one sip when some guy runs into him just outside the door, spilling the whole cup over his new scarf.
"Oh shit! I’m so sorry - here, let me - " The other guy, dark haired, dark wild eyes, lifts Ryan's scarf over his head before Ryan can protest, and runs it under a quick stream of water from the nearest drinking fountain.
"Really, you - shouldn't," Ryan says weakly. He winces as the guy starts scrubbing hard at the stain on the delicate material, a stream of words from his mouth.
"I am so sorry, I don't know where my head's at, I have my econ final tomorrow and I stayed up all night studying so the first thing I thought of when I got here was coffee, even though I am totally not meant to have any caffeine but, you know."
He gives the scarf one last wring to squeeze out all the water, and hands the soggy bundle back to Ryan. He has such an apologetic look on his face that Ryan swallows his sigh, and says, "Thanks."
And then the voice hits him and he freezes. "Brendon?" he asks, finally, just as the other guy puts a hand to his mouth and says, "Oh! You're Ryan!"
They stare at each other for a long moment.
"I - You haven't called in a while," Ryan says finally.
"What, didn't meet your targets this week for the first time?" Brendon says, but not meanly. He drops his head. "Anyway, yeah, I'm sorry about the coffee and your scarf. Here, buy another one on me.” He fumbles around in his pocket for some change and hands it over without looking up at Ryan, before mumbling “see you” and turning to leave.
"No, wait - actually, I - I missed talking to you," Ryan says, his heart thudding in his chest. "Work is work, you know, but it's always better when you call. So, yeah."
Brendon stills. Ryan continues, "So, uh, I've just missed another class so what the hell, I'm just heading in to meet some friends for lunch. You could come with. If you have time. If you wanted to."
When Spencer and Brendon catch sight of each other in the cafeteria, they both yell, “YOU!”
Turns out Spencer is the annoying tall guy in Brendon’s econ class, and Brendon is the annoying ADHD dude behind him. But not 20 minutes later, they’re high-fiving each other and making plans to go surfing when the weather starts getting warmer and ganging up to mock Ryan to his face.
“I hate you both,” Ryan says, gritting his teeth, as Spencer cackles and tells another story about Ryan and the stripper who lived next door when they were young.
“Ooh, I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Jon says, leaning in. “Is this funnier than the time you set the couch on fire?”
“Fuck you all, you traitors,” Ryan grumbles. He steals half of Jon’s chips in retaliation, and watches Brendon listening raptly to Spencer. He’s leaning forward, tapping his fingers on the table, roaring with laughter at all the right spots. Ryan grudgingly admits to himself he might have a little thing for Brendon’s smile, now that he’s finally seen it in person, and even though he’s going to cheerfully murder Spencer later for embarrassing him, he’s kind of glad that he gets this chance to watch Brendon light up.
Brendon calls Ryan at work that night, 8pm on the dot. “I didn’t know if you’d be on tonight,” Brendon admits. “And I know you just talked to me today so maybe this is completely stupid but - “
“No, I’m glad you called,” Ryan says in a rush. “But you really - I’m gonna give you another number to call instead, okay?” And he reels off his own digits, slides down lower in his chair, and hopes Patrick’s too caught up in his music or in Pete’s latest shenanigans to notice this lapse in work ethic.
Brendon calls back immediately. “Hey, so at today at lunch, Spencer asked me how we met, and I blanked and said the library ‘cos it was the first building I saw. So, just so you know. If it comes up.”
Ryan tucks the phone under the chin and says, “Aww, were you trying to protect my reputation?“ He bites his lip and then adds apologetically, “Thanks, but, uh, they know.”
(Spencer always shrugs apologetically at the mention of it but he never gives Ryan a hard time about what he does to make enough money to get by without having to rely on his dad. Spencer knows he’s lucky that his parents insist on a generous allowance, and he even gets to temp at his mom’s office for extra cash.
Jon makes ends meet with a small videography business with his friend Tom - they film corporate training, the odd late night furniture shop ad, and lately, weddings. And then Jon had come home from the last one amazed at what the shitty covers band had pulled for the reception.
“Six man band, half of which couldn't play their instruments, and they got paid $150 EACH for four hours of soppy ballads,” Jon said, voice raised and eyes wild. “Plus food and alcohol. We should be doing that.” Pete must’ve overheard them, because Mikey talked to Frank, who talked to his friend Bob in the film and music school, and suddenly Jon had a bunch of sound equipment on loan. They’ve played four weddings so far, the three of them, and made decent bank but Ryan knows they could do better with another guitarist, maybe someone to share lead vocals with him.
Until then, the call centre lets him study between calls, it’s clean and quiet most days if Pete’s not been in his cubicle on the earlier shift, and it’s easier money than working fast food or waiting tables.)
At the end of the call, Ryan surprises himself by asking Brendon out for a coffee.
“Like, see you tomorrow at Dunkin’ Donuts at 11, and we pretend it’s a nice coincidence?” Brendon asks nervously.
“More like, hey do you want to grab a coffee with me? On a date?”
“Oh!” Brendon said, “In that case, definitely, yes.”
They don’t end up drinking coffee. Brendon orders a ridiculous concoction of sugar and chocolate and cream. "That not having caffeine thing," Brendon says as explanation, shrugging, when he sees Ryan's expression.
"So how do you even get into the phone sex business?" Brendon asks suddenly. "Like, did you just answer an ad online? Did you know what you were getting into? Did someone say you had a good voice for it?" He keeps a straight face but Ryan can see the joke hiding in the way the corner of his mouth is lifted.
"Hey, you liked my voice enough to call all those times," Ryan protests. Then he says, more seriously, "I just needed some cash quickly one month when my dad - when we were short. Met some friends of Jon at a party who'd been working at the call centre for a while and they made it seem like easy work, easy money. After the first few calls you realize it's just another customer service job."
He kicks Brendon gently under the table as he opens his mouth. "Don't go there, don't make the obvious joke," Ryan warns, but he smiles anyway when Brendon waggles his eyebrows, ridiculous and not at all sexy but somehow totally endearing.
Brendon shuts his mouth obediently, but then he perks up and says, “What about your band? Jon mentioned something yesterday about a gig this weekend?”
“It’s just a wedding one. Jon plays the bass, Spencer plays the drums, and I play guitar and sing. I'd do that full time if we could get regular gigs, if we made real money, but we've got a long way to go." Ryan looks at Brendon speculatively, and asks, “Hey, you're a great singer - do you play any instruments as well?”
“Yeah, a little,” Brendon says, rubbing the side of his neck. “I can play the piano, guitar, and drums. Oh, and accordion, but there‘s not much call for it.”
There’s a pause, and then Ryan says, “What, all a little?"
Brendon shrugs and looks embarrassed. “Uh, maybe more? I wanted to be a music major, but my parents weren’t too keen on that idea.”
Ryan keeps his eyes on Brendon and Brendon blushes and ducks his head. “What, do I have cream on my nose or something?” he says, rubbing it quickly with the back of his hand.
“You don’t think you should be caffeinated but you’ll consume your weight in sugar and cream,“ Ryan says slowly. “You play a gazillion instruments just for fun, and you called a phone sex line just to chat.”
“Yes, when you list it out like that, I do sound like a bit of a flake,” Brendon says, biting his lip.
“No, I think - you‘re,” Ryan pauses to find the right words and the he says honestly. “You’re constantly surprising me.“
Brendon grimaces. “Good surprise or bad surprise?”
“Definitely good,” Ryan says. He reaches out and grasps Brendon’s hand under the table, and his mouth curls up in a smile as Brendon’s cheeks flush pink. He slips his fingers between Ryan’s, intertwining them.
Ryan leans forward and says, low and urgent in Brendon‘s ear, “We could - my place is five minutes away.” He gets up and tugs at Brendon, leading him by the hand.
But Brendon holds back for a moment, and Ryan says, “What, now you’re having second thoughts?“
“No, just thinking that’s about the sexiest I’ve ever heard you sound in all this time,“ Brendon says with a smirk before he willingly follows.
They barely make it inside the house before Ryan’s pressing Brendon up against the door, kissing him like he’s wanted to all along.
“I have a confession, we don’t have much time ‘cos we have band practice in a bit and Spencer‘s coming to pick me up. He’s got class now,” Ryan gasps against Brendon’s mouth, as they make out in his hallway.
Brendon laughs breathlessly and says, “I know. I’m supposed to be there too.” He looks up sideways and says, “He won‘t be out for another half hour.”
It turns out Brendon is surprisingly quiet in bed. Okay, so Ryan’s imagined a few times how this could go, figured there’d be a never-ending stream of words from Brendon’s swollen mouth as Ryan sucked him down, but the reality is different, if just as hot.
At first they’re too pre-occupied with making out to really talk, mouths busy tracing the lines of each other’s body, learning all the parts that make them squirm with pleasure, as well as make them laugh.
But when Ryan finally goes down on Brendon, he just lets out a small, breathy moan, and throws his arm over his eyes. Ryan mouths at the head of his cock, traces down the length with his tongue, and Brendon gasps, before the moans get higher and come faster. It’s a wordless sound guide and Ryan gets lost for a moment in working out what Brendon likes best by what he’s not saying, testing all the ways he can make Brendon change the cadence of the noises he’s making, until Brendon keens and pulls him out for a rough, desperate kiss.
“Fuck, stop being such a tease,” Brendon groans. His fingers scrabble at Ryan’s belt, pushing at the waistband of his jeans, muttering off, off. Ryan obliges, shucking them off as Brendon turns his attention to his shirt, pulling it off clumsily, arms stuck for a moment. But then they’re both naked, pressed against each other, and Brendon closes his eyes, sighs, and cants his hips so he’s rubbing against Ryan’s thigh.
“Like this?” Ryan murmurs, stroking his fingers along the curve of Brendon’s ass, pulling him closer and Brendon hums his approval, punctuates the occasional thrust with a pant. He’s the best soundtrack Ryan’s ever had and when Brendon comes with a wrecked moan, Ryan matches him sound for sound, gets a hand around himself and works his cock until he’s coming also, Brendon watching him avidly. They’re still lying there, grinning at each other, Brendon's hands sweeping lazily along Ryan's side, when the door clicks open and Spencer walks in.
"I let myself in you lazy fuck, c'mon, don't tell me you've forgotten - Shit! “Spencer does a quick about face, and says to the wall, "Warn a guy next time, geez. Uh, hey Brendon. I think I'm obligated to say I’m glad you two are happy, but if you hurt him I’ll kill you, blah blah blah. Anyway, Ryan, get a move on, Jon's already waiting for us at the practice space.”
"You mind if Brendon comes with to rehearsal?” Ryan asks, pulling himself out of bed. “He’s going to show us what he can do.”
Brendon smiles slyly and says, “I thought I just did.”
“For the band!” Ryan says, punching him lightly on the arm. But before he heads to the shower, he drops his voice and says with a leer, “You’re definitely musical.”
Spencer makes a strangled noise and pretends to fake vomit. Brendon laughs, loud and happy, as beautiful and warm as the first time Ryan heard him down the line, now even better in the flesh.
END
I know, there's no actual phone sex in this story. Sorry!
The one where Ryan Ross works as a phone sex operator and Brendon charms him with his conversation instead.
Yeah, no. Good fandoms never leave you completely. Also, I'm a really slow writer! So let's all pretend it's 2008 again, just for a moment, because that's when I think I started this fic. (Also, band split? What band split?)
Also on AO3 if you want to read it over there.
Thanks to Ro (littlerhymes) for being a great beta as always and for getting the random popculture references! :)
ON THE LINE
On a typical call, this is how it goes.
Ryan answers the phone on the fourth ring, and the fourth ring only. He'll shift whatever’s on his lap - his psych textbook, the latest novel he picked up from the library, his phone - to one side, lean against the side of the cubicle, and pitch his voice lower, aiming for sexy and alluring.
(Though the one time Spencer and Jon rang as a prank, they said he sounded like he was bored and distracted, as if he was checking his email or something.
Ryan had said, "Fuck you guys, I told you not to ring," but it's without heat. He had been busy tweeting about wanting Cheez-its during his break after all.)
Luckily, the callers he normally gets aren’t all that discerning - they just want the usual bullshit about being naked and nubile, or willing and wild, with a couple of pants and a large, loud climax to go with it.
During one of the more boring shifts a few months back, Ryan had made a few amendments to the official script they were all given in orientation. He'd taken it to Patrick to look over, expecting to be shot down, but Patrick had read one page, raised an eyebrow before shrugging and saying, "Well, whatever gets people off." Ryan had been surprised - he'd thrown in a few tumescent and throbbing members thrown in there for the hell of it - and he hadn't expected Patrick to be so lax. But then Pete'd sent him what William did to his script and Ryan realised why Patrick couldn't care less.
William's currently top of the leader board that‘s hanging in the break room.
This is a typical call though, so after eight short minutes, Ryan gets to hangs up, the sound of another satisfied customer still ringing in his ears. Around the six minute mark, when Ryan had started to fake his moans, Gabe had peered over their shared partition and he hadn't left in all that time.
"Hey, did that put you off your game?" Gabe asks. "I'm trying out a few methods to psych out the competition. Gabe Saporta comes second to no man!"
Ryan rolls his eyes and says, "Yes. It was terrifying and creepy. I felt violated by your eyes."
"You don't sound terrified or creeped out," Gabe says. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better? Because I can totally detect when people are not being sincere."
"Just go and harass William like we both know you want to," Ryan said. "Anyway, shoo. I'm waiting for a call." He shoots a quick glance at the clock at the end of the room. It's two minutes to eight.
Gabe snickers, and says, "Uh, we all do? That's our job. Oh wait, it's someone special, is it? A special someone who’s paying by the minute to make sweet sweet love to your voice."
Ryan gives him the finger and spins around on his chair, turning his back on Gabe. The phone rings at 8 on the dot.
“So hey, Ryan?”
Ryan still feels weird when he hears Brendon calling him by his real name. They’d covered this in orientation, though not very successfully; Patrick had stormed off without finishing the role play after Pete topped himself at inventing the most ridiculous fake name ever. But generally, they all knew the rule: no real names. But then, the orientation guide had probably never met Brendon.
(The first time Brendon had called, Ryan barely had time to note the slightly breathless voice on the other end of the line, friendly and surprisingly young, before he's asked, “Hey, so what’s your name?"
"Who do you want me to be? You can call me anything," Ryan had said, reading right off the script. He didnd't even roll his eyes at the cheesiness of the line anymore, and he'd stopped being surprised at the impossibly long list of weird names people want to yell during sex by his second week.
But the guy on the line just laughed delightedly and started singing under his breath, indistinct at first and Ryan strained to pick out the words, intrigued in spite of himself.
"...I can be your long lost pal, I can call you Betty, And Betty when you call me - "
"You can call me Al," Ryan said, completing the line without thinking.
"Oh cool, a fellow Paul Simon fan, right on," the guy said. "I got me a good one for my first time."
"Your first time? Aww, I'm honored, I'll try to make this real good for you," Ryan said, then bit back any further non-scripted remarks, surprised at himself. He wasn't usually this flirty with any of his customers, not even when he tried. He shifted in his seat, trying to remind himself this was work, not some guy on the dancefloor at a club.
"Heh, I'm sure you will. But seriously Al, what's your real name? Can't let some nameless stranger pop my phone sex cherry. And don't give me some weird porn name that’s your pet’s name plus the name of your street - actually, no, give that to me too. I’d be Dylan Summerlin, which isn’t too bad, but it doesn’t really sound like a porn star name, you know? Maybe I’d be in really vanilla shit, like schoolgirls on a bed with filmy Vaseline lens photography. Anyway, that’s me, I'm Brendon. How about you?”
“Ryan,” he’d found himself revealing, completely disarmed. “It’s Ryan. And not, like, Hobo Feather.”
“HOBO FEATHER!” Ryan could hear choking giggles down the receiver. “That shit’s awesome. Beats mine any day.”
And then they had chatted, with no sex, for another half hour. Ryan felt like a fraud when he made it into the top three of the leaderboard for the first time that week.)
Brendon's been calling at 8pm on Fridays for the last six weeks now. They’ve never made it past conversation and it’s probably a sign that Ryan's been doing this too long that this friendly chatter, this bonding with a perfect stranger, is making him more uneasy than getting them off anonymously over the phone.
But not long after his second call hearing all about Brendon’s day, Ryan comes to the uncomfortable realization they've probably crossed paths during the day on campus. He snaps one night, when, after Spencer bitches about an economics assignment and some crazy guy in his class who sits behind Spencer and fidgets the whole time, Brendon rings up and whines about exactly the same stupid assignment.
"Hey, hey. You do know you're paying exorbitant rates for this, right?" Ryan cuts in sharply through Brendon's second rant about how this tall dude in his class knows all the answers and rolls his eyes at the TA's mistakes.
There's a pause, and then Brendon says, "HAH! I knew you weren't a robot."
“Why the fuck would I be a robot?” Ryan said, twisting the phone cord around his index finger.
“It’s the voice, man,” Brendon says.
“Well, this isn’t how calls usually go,” Ryan huffs. “Maybe I only sound this automated when you’re on the line.”
“Yeah, right,” Brendon snorts. “Fine, let me try it.” He clears his throat, and there’s a weird raspberry sound, and Ryan realises the goofball is preparing for a scene. He’s about to call Brendon out for being so damn cheesy, when Brendon drops his voice about an octave and says, “So tell me what you’re wearing right now.”
Brendon sounds completely different, and maybe even a little hot, and Ryan tries to ignore the little shiver that travels down his back, and the way he just got hard.
“Nothing,” he says instead, trying to match the tone in Brendon’s voice. “Nothing at all.”
There’s a pause, then Brendon, in his normal voice, says, “Really? Doesn’t it get a bit cold, being naked in the draughty call centre?”
“Why do you insist on ruining the fantasy?” Ryan says, in his best deadpan voice.
Brendon bursts out laughing. “I gave it a try! I just - I know you’re not naked. I bet you’re wearing lots of warm layers, and scrolling through your iPod, and wondering if your supervisor’s gonna bust your ass for not working hard enough.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. Sure, he is actually wearing a vest over his shirt, and even a hat, and he’s got his earbuds around his neck, but still.
“Dude, Patrick doesn’t care that I’m not moaning away, he’s probably relieved. He has to use his noise-cancelling earphones when some of the other guys are on. Also, whatever I’m doing, you’re still paying for this call. Don’t you have better things to do on a Friday night?”
Brendon says quickly, “Sure I do.” There’s a longer pause this time, and Ryan thinks he hears a quiet sigh, and then Brendon says, “I better go and let you fleece some other sad loser.” He laughs, but it’s hollow this time, and before Ryan can say goodbye, or sorry, he’s already hung up.
And then for two long weeks, Ryan doesn’t hear from Brendon at all. He tells himself it’s for the best - it’s coming up to finals, he could do with the extra hour studying in his cubicle, it was pathetic to be missing a phone sex customer.
Ryan wakes up bleary-eyed, already late for his 9am class. On his way to campus for his next class, the radio in his car is tuned to a classic rock station for some reason and he blinks when he realizes You Can Call Me Al is playing. It makes him think of Brendon's voice, which in turn reminds him he jerked off last night to the memory of Brendon's voice, and then he feels himself flushing and getting hard at the same time. Which in turn means he's so distracted he jumps the curb at the corner just outside the entrance of college and fuck it, he might as well stop in at the Dunkin’ Donuts there for a coffee to make up for the shit day this is turning out to be.
Of course, he’s only managed one sip when some guy runs into him just outside the door, spilling the whole cup over his new scarf.
"Oh shit! I’m so sorry - here, let me - " The other guy, dark haired, dark wild eyes, lifts Ryan's scarf over his head before Ryan can protest, and runs it under a quick stream of water from the nearest drinking fountain.
"Really, you - shouldn't," Ryan says weakly. He winces as the guy starts scrubbing hard at the stain on the delicate material, a stream of words from his mouth.
"I am so sorry, I don't know where my head's at, I have my econ final tomorrow and I stayed up all night studying so the first thing I thought of when I got here was coffee, even though I am totally not meant to have any caffeine but, you know."
He gives the scarf one last wring to squeeze out all the water, and hands the soggy bundle back to Ryan. He has such an apologetic look on his face that Ryan swallows his sigh, and says, "Thanks."
And then the voice hits him and he freezes. "Brendon?" he asks, finally, just as the other guy puts a hand to his mouth and says, "Oh! You're Ryan!"
They stare at each other for a long moment.
"I - You haven't called in a while," Ryan says finally.
"What, didn't meet your targets this week for the first time?" Brendon says, but not meanly. He drops his head. "Anyway, yeah, I'm sorry about the coffee and your scarf. Here, buy another one on me.” He fumbles around in his pocket for some change and hands it over without looking up at Ryan, before mumbling “see you” and turning to leave.
"No, wait - actually, I - I missed talking to you," Ryan says, his heart thudding in his chest. "Work is work, you know, but it's always better when you call. So, yeah."
Brendon stills. Ryan continues, "So, uh, I've just missed another class so what the hell, I'm just heading in to meet some friends for lunch. You could come with. If you have time. If you wanted to."
When Spencer and Brendon catch sight of each other in the cafeteria, they both yell, “YOU!”
Turns out Spencer is the annoying tall guy in Brendon’s econ class, and Brendon is the annoying ADHD dude behind him. But not 20 minutes later, they’re high-fiving each other and making plans to go surfing when the weather starts getting warmer and ganging up to mock Ryan to his face.
“I hate you both,” Ryan says, gritting his teeth, as Spencer cackles and tells another story about Ryan and the stripper who lived next door when they were young.
“Ooh, I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Jon says, leaning in. “Is this funnier than the time you set the couch on fire?”
“Fuck you all, you traitors,” Ryan grumbles. He steals half of Jon’s chips in retaliation, and watches Brendon listening raptly to Spencer. He’s leaning forward, tapping his fingers on the table, roaring with laughter at all the right spots. Ryan grudgingly admits to himself he might have a little thing for Brendon’s smile, now that he’s finally seen it in person, and even though he’s going to cheerfully murder Spencer later for embarrassing him, he’s kind of glad that he gets this chance to watch Brendon light up.
Brendon calls Ryan at work that night, 8pm on the dot. “I didn’t know if you’d be on tonight,” Brendon admits. “And I know you just talked to me today so maybe this is completely stupid but - “
“No, I’m glad you called,” Ryan says in a rush. “But you really - I’m gonna give you another number to call instead, okay?” And he reels off his own digits, slides down lower in his chair, and hopes Patrick’s too caught up in his music or in Pete’s latest shenanigans to notice this lapse in work ethic.
Brendon calls back immediately. “Hey, so at today at lunch, Spencer asked me how we met, and I blanked and said the library ‘cos it was the first building I saw. So, just so you know. If it comes up.”
Ryan tucks the phone under the chin and says, “Aww, were you trying to protect my reputation?“ He bites his lip and then adds apologetically, “Thanks, but, uh, they know.”
(Spencer always shrugs apologetically at the mention of it but he never gives Ryan a hard time about what he does to make enough money to get by without having to rely on his dad. Spencer knows he’s lucky that his parents insist on a generous allowance, and he even gets to temp at his mom’s office for extra cash.
Jon makes ends meet with a small videography business with his friend Tom - they film corporate training, the odd late night furniture shop ad, and lately, weddings. And then Jon had come home from the last one amazed at what the shitty covers band had pulled for the reception.
“Six man band, half of which couldn't play their instruments, and they got paid $150 EACH for four hours of soppy ballads,” Jon said, voice raised and eyes wild. “Plus food and alcohol. We should be doing that.” Pete must’ve overheard them, because Mikey talked to Frank, who talked to his friend Bob in the film and music school, and suddenly Jon had a bunch of sound equipment on loan. They’ve played four weddings so far, the three of them, and made decent bank but Ryan knows they could do better with another guitarist, maybe someone to share lead vocals with him.
Until then, the call centre lets him study between calls, it’s clean and quiet most days if Pete’s not been in his cubicle on the earlier shift, and it’s easier money than working fast food or waiting tables.)
At the end of the call, Ryan surprises himself by asking Brendon out for a coffee.
“Like, see you tomorrow at Dunkin’ Donuts at 11, and we pretend it’s a nice coincidence?” Brendon asks nervously.
“More like, hey do you want to grab a coffee with me? On a date?”
“Oh!” Brendon said, “In that case, definitely, yes.”
They don’t end up drinking coffee. Brendon orders a ridiculous concoction of sugar and chocolate and cream. "That not having caffeine thing," Brendon says as explanation, shrugging, when he sees Ryan's expression.
"So how do you even get into the phone sex business?" Brendon asks suddenly. "Like, did you just answer an ad online? Did you know what you were getting into? Did someone say you had a good voice for it?" He keeps a straight face but Ryan can see the joke hiding in the way the corner of his mouth is lifted.
"Hey, you liked my voice enough to call all those times," Ryan protests. Then he says, more seriously, "I just needed some cash quickly one month when my dad - when we were short. Met some friends of Jon at a party who'd been working at the call centre for a while and they made it seem like easy work, easy money. After the first few calls you realize it's just another customer service job."
He kicks Brendon gently under the table as he opens his mouth. "Don't go there, don't make the obvious joke," Ryan warns, but he smiles anyway when Brendon waggles his eyebrows, ridiculous and not at all sexy but somehow totally endearing.
Brendon shuts his mouth obediently, but then he perks up and says, “What about your band? Jon mentioned something yesterday about a gig this weekend?”
“It’s just a wedding one. Jon plays the bass, Spencer plays the drums, and I play guitar and sing. I'd do that full time if we could get regular gigs, if we made real money, but we've got a long way to go." Ryan looks at Brendon speculatively, and asks, “Hey, you're a great singer - do you play any instruments as well?”
“Yeah, a little,” Brendon says, rubbing the side of his neck. “I can play the piano, guitar, and drums. Oh, and accordion, but there‘s not much call for it.”
There’s a pause, and then Ryan says, “What, all a little?"
Brendon shrugs and looks embarrassed. “Uh, maybe more? I wanted to be a music major, but my parents weren’t too keen on that idea.”
Ryan keeps his eyes on Brendon and Brendon blushes and ducks his head. “What, do I have cream on my nose or something?” he says, rubbing it quickly with the back of his hand.
“You don’t think you should be caffeinated but you’ll consume your weight in sugar and cream,“ Ryan says slowly. “You play a gazillion instruments just for fun, and you called a phone sex line just to chat.”
“Yes, when you list it out like that, I do sound like a bit of a flake,” Brendon says, biting his lip.
“No, I think - you‘re,” Ryan pauses to find the right words and the he says honestly. “You’re constantly surprising me.“
Brendon grimaces. “Good surprise or bad surprise?”
“Definitely good,” Ryan says. He reaches out and grasps Brendon’s hand under the table, and his mouth curls up in a smile as Brendon’s cheeks flush pink. He slips his fingers between Ryan’s, intertwining them.
Ryan leans forward and says, low and urgent in Brendon‘s ear, “We could - my place is five minutes away.” He gets up and tugs at Brendon, leading him by the hand.
But Brendon holds back for a moment, and Ryan says, “What, now you’re having second thoughts?“
“No, just thinking that’s about the sexiest I’ve ever heard you sound in all this time,“ Brendon says with a smirk before he willingly follows.
They barely make it inside the house before Ryan’s pressing Brendon up against the door, kissing him like he’s wanted to all along.
“I have a confession, we don’t have much time ‘cos we have band practice in a bit and Spencer‘s coming to pick me up. He’s got class now,” Ryan gasps against Brendon’s mouth, as they make out in his hallway.
Brendon laughs breathlessly and says, “I know. I’m supposed to be there too.” He looks up sideways and says, “He won‘t be out for another half hour.”
It turns out Brendon is surprisingly quiet in bed. Okay, so Ryan’s imagined a few times how this could go, figured there’d be a never-ending stream of words from Brendon’s swollen mouth as Ryan sucked him down, but the reality is different, if just as hot.
At first they’re too pre-occupied with making out to really talk, mouths busy tracing the lines of each other’s body, learning all the parts that make them squirm with pleasure, as well as make them laugh.
But when Ryan finally goes down on Brendon, he just lets out a small, breathy moan, and throws his arm over his eyes. Ryan mouths at the head of his cock, traces down the length with his tongue, and Brendon gasps, before the moans get higher and come faster. It’s a wordless sound guide and Ryan gets lost for a moment in working out what Brendon likes best by what he’s not saying, testing all the ways he can make Brendon change the cadence of the noises he’s making, until Brendon keens and pulls him out for a rough, desperate kiss.
“Fuck, stop being such a tease,” Brendon groans. His fingers scrabble at Ryan’s belt, pushing at the waistband of his jeans, muttering off, off. Ryan obliges, shucking them off as Brendon turns his attention to his shirt, pulling it off clumsily, arms stuck for a moment. But then they’re both naked, pressed against each other, and Brendon closes his eyes, sighs, and cants his hips so he’s rubbing against Ryan’s thigh.
“Like this?” Ryan murmurs, stroking his fingers along the curve of Brendon’s ass, pulling him closer and Brendon hums his approval, punctuates the occasional thrust with a pant. He’s the best soundtrack Ryan’s ever had and when Brendon comes with a wrecked moan, Ryan matches him sound for sound, gets a hand around himself and works his cock until he’s coming also, Brendon watching him avidly. They’re still lying there, grinning at each other, Brendon's hands sweeping lazily along Ryan's side, when the door clicks open and Spencer walks in.
"I let myself in you lazy fuck, c'mon, don't tell me you've forgotten - Shit! “Spencer does a quick about face, and says to the wall, "Warn a guy next time, geez. Uh, hey Brendon. I think I'm obligated to say I’m glad you two are happy, but if you hurt him I’ll kill you, blah blah blah. Anyway, Ryan, get a move on, Jon's already waiting for us at the practice space.”
"You mind if Brendon comes with to rehearsal?” Ryan asks, pulling himself out of bed. “He’s going to show us what he can do.”
Brendon smiles slyly and says, “I thought I just did.”
“For the band!” Ryan says, punching him lightly on the arm. But before he heads to the shower, he drops his voice and says with a leer, “You’re definitely musical.”
Spencer makes a strangled noise and pretends to fake vomit. Brendon laughs, loud and happy, as beautiful and warm as the first time Ryan heard him down the line, now even better in the flesh.
END
I know, there's no actual phone sex in this story. Sorry!
The one where Ryan Ross works as a phone sex operator and Brendon charms him with his conversation instead.