[fic] all the other boys
title: all the other boys
fandom: hockey rpf
pairings: jordan eberle/taylor hall, ryan whitney/jordan eberle/taylor hall
rating: pg-13? pg? idek
word count: ~2500?
disclaimer: not real. we blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-a-lcohol
notes: again, thank yous forever to gonetoarcadia for a beta.
they kind of brought this on themselves
five times ryan did not hook up with his roommates. and then one time he did.
01. threw a wish in a well
The season is rapidly drawing to a close, and everything is still pretty terrible -
“It could be worse,” Sam says diplomatically. “We’re only twenty-ninth, but we still have a shot at the lottery. With the way things are going, we could get another Nuge. Or a Hallsy.”
“Nobody wants another Hallsy,” Nuge mutters, taking another long pull of his beer. He clears his throat. “Uh. Just kidding,” he says, a little louder.
Ryan looks over to where Taylor’s alternating between poking at his own arm that’s braced in a sling and slowly tipping into Jordan’s lap. Taylor can’t have anything alcoholic to drink; Ryan, much to his own chagrin, has been keeping an eye out for the kid, and he’s pretty sure Jordan would have flipped a table if Taylor had tried to sneak booze.
“Good one, Nugget,” Jeff says cheerfully, punching Nuge in the arm.
Nuge scowls, scooting his chair closer to Colten’s. “Hey, can we not with my shoulder?”
“Yeah,” Jordan agrees. “C’mon Petry: we need him healthy for Worlds. Don’t take out our centre just to make it easy on your boys.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. He desperately needs more to drink if he’s going to deal with this idiocy for the rest of the night. They don’t have an early morning skate, so he figures he could probably get away with another or four more, and gets up to head into Sam’s kitchen to do just that, leaving the children to their own devices. Even though he takes his time, when he gets back with a beer in each hand, Sam, Nuge, and Jeff are all still shouting gleefully at each other; Sam and Nuge waxing poetic about Canadian hockey skills while Colten nods emphatically at every word.
“Whit!” Jeff hollers as Ryan’s walking back into the room after silently counting to five. “Come back here! I’m being triple-teamed by Canadians. It’s weird and I don’t like it!”
Ryan looks around at the four of them sprawled out and realizes that there’s suddenly much more room on the couch. “Hey,” he says. “ Where’s World Junior? And his gimpy shadow? They go home?”
“Nope,” Colten says. He grins. “They’re, you know. Off doing their thing. Again.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “What thing?”
“Talking,” Colten replies patiently.
“That makes sense, I guess,” Sam says. “Guess we were being kinda loud, and a stoned Hallsy is a mumbling Hallsy; Ebs probably couldn’t hear him.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Colten says. “You guys really know where it’s at.” He turns to Ryan. “Hey Whit, in the name of team-bonding: gimme one of those brewskies.
There’s something…off about all of this, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’s pretty sure that Colten’s lying, but he’s even more sure that if Jordan and Taylor are up to something, those idiots can’t keep a secret to save their lives, so he’ll probably find out eventually anyway. In the meantime, he’ll spend the rest of his evening keeping his beers away from Colten’s clutches: Colten can get his own.
-
02. don’t ask me (i’ll never tell)
When the Strudwicks told Ryan they were moving back into their house after Jason’s year in Sweden, Ryan was faced with the unenviable prospect of trying to find a place to live in Edmonton for September. Though there might not even be a season, Ryan had decided to be optimistic for once. He knew that Nuge and Sam were moving in together, but he had heard Sam’s dishwasher story, and he had also heard about Nuge’s current self-imposed strike on chores; Ryan had wanted nothing to do with that nonsense, being too old for that shit.
He had brought it up with Taylor and Jordan over dinner near the end of the season, because they might have been idiots most of the time but sometimes they were idiots with connections. They did that freaky thing where they stared at each other for a few seconds and then Jordan had said carefully:
“Hey, we’re looking at maybe moving into a new place, you could come live with us.”
Ryan had been about to say hell no, but then he realised that he spent most of his free time with these two peasants anyway, and at least Jordan was self-sufficient enough that the place they lived in wouldn’t inevitably be condemned.
Taylor, as if he could sense Ryan’s weakness, had jumped in. “Yeah, you like, know Stuff already, so we can be cool, right?”
When Taylor said Stuff, Ryan thought he meant their unending idiocy, not the strange sounds currently coming from down the hall five months later. While they’d all gone out the night before, celebrating their return to Edmonton and hopefully hockey, he was pretty sure all three of them had struck out. So unless one of them had somehow snuck in a lady after the fact, there are only two other people in the apartment right now. And he’s pretty sure a girl would not be moaning “Ebby, please,” in a very familiar baritone.
Ryan wishes he was still drunk, but it’s only 10 am so he decides to go back to sleep instead.
The thing is, they’re kind of loud -- Taylor especially. Ryan tries ignoring them, then covering his head with the pillow, and eventually he just turns on the tv loudly and resolves to never leave his room ever again. Even when he loses his remote in the sheets and is stuck watching a Love It or List It marathon. It’s a small price to pay for his sanity, because even when they’re done and wandering around the apartment, he doesn’t think he can look either of them in the eye for a little while yet.
(“Bad hangover, huh?” Jordan asks him later, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Ryan cringes and shrugs. “Man, I do not look forward to being old at all.”
Ryan looks between Jordan’s chipmunk cheeks and where Taylor’s sitting on the couch trying to cram half a sandwich into his mouth, and questions their life choices. He wishes he could say he wasn’t judging them, but he totally is.)
-
03. pennies and dimes for a kiss
Despite Ryan’s optimism, the lockout happens anyway. He briefly considers trying to find another team in Europe, but then Sidney Crosby mentions trying to get the old gang back together for conditioning if things still don’t get sorted in a few weeks, and he figures it’s a good place to find his mojo again. So he’s feeling a little zen, unlike the two idiots currently sulking on the couch.
“You know they’re just being careful, Hallsy. You kind of deserve it,” Jordan says, patting Taylor’s knee. “You know. Lying about your shoulder for four years and all.”
“Are you ever going to let me forget that?”
“Nope.”
“But it feels fine now,” Taylor says plaintively, his voice bordering on a whine. “Why don’t they want me?”
Ryan considers vomiting, but the afghan his mom sent them as a housewarming present is too nice.
“Hey,” Jordan says quietly, leaning into rest his forehead against the side of Taylor’s face. “We’ll be back here before you know it, okay?”
“Yeah,” Taylor replies. “I know. And you guys are gonna be great. But, like. It’s better when it’s me and you, you know?”
Suddenly, Ryan feels kind of like a voyeur -- this is even worse than hearing their weird sex noises. He realises with a sick jolt that they’re totally not just a hookup, that by stuff Taylor had meant their big gay feelings-fest of a relationship; Ryan has moved in with boyfriends.
Ryan hates his life.
“Hey, Whit, wanna come to OKC with the cool kids?” Jordan asks suddenly, looking slightly sheepish, but not embarrassed enough to pull away from Taylor. “You and Hallsy could get a place there together and become our cheerleading squad.”
“I want nothing to do with your nonsense,” Ryan says, leaving them to their own devices. He supposes he has no one to blame but himself; he should have seen this one coming from miles and miles away.
-
04. wasn’t looking for this (but now you’re in my way)
Ryan has an uneventful few months bumming around Boston while trying to rationalize his life choices to himself; they’re still the same dumbasses he was always reluctantly fond of, they’re just even more fond of each other. So he supposes he’s not displeased to hear from them, especially when Taylor somehow manages to swing an OKC contract of his own after he’s finally cleared for action and they both stop whining pathetically at each other.
(Bro seriously??? Ryan texts to Colten.
how did u guys all not know Colten sends back immediately. there leik that rocket v.s model and her husband the elf. ebs is the hot one cuz hes nahlas fave
Seriously, Ryan hates every last one of them.)
Eventually, they all make their way back to Edmonton in January, and Ryan might even be kind of happy to see them all again; even his stupid roommates who almost instantly regale him with the story of how Jordan had accidently split Taylor’s forehead open. The version they’re telling everyone is that they ran into each other on the stairs --
“But that’s not what really happened,” Taylor tells him earnestly while sitting together at the bar. “It totally happened during sex.”
“Because I needed to know that,” Ryan groans. “You’re buying me a beer. You’re buying me all the beer.”
To be fair, Taylor does. They’re a few down when Taylor turns to him and looks conflicted for a moment before turning back to his own drink. Ryan lets this happen four times before he breaks: “Bro, seriously, out with it.”
Taylor licks his lips in that way that’s probably unconscious but always almost a little distracting and leans in. “So uh. How do you feel about. You know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Ryan says impatiently, though he does have a strange tickle in the back of his brain that’s sending out warning signals about Taylor’s sudden invasion of personal space.
“Well...” Taylor pauses, and then starts again. “Wanna bone?”
Ryan stares at him for a long moment. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, Hallsy,” he finally says, standing up and digging for his cellphone. “You’re going to pay the tab, I’m going to call a cab, and then we’re going home. Where I’m going to bed. By myself. And you will also going to bed. With your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Taylor protests.
“Shut up Hallsy,” Ryan says gently. “Let us never speak of this again. Ever.”
“Okay, he is my boyfriend, I guess. But he said this would be a good idea!” Taylor looks a little crestfallen as he stumbles off, and for a second Ryan almost feels bad.
(Apparently he feels more than he expected; that night he dreams about them, Taylor shameless and begging for it, Jordan’s hands sure and practiced on Taylor’s body, and Ryan wakes up uncomfortable and too warm. Everything is awful.)
-
05. where you think you goin’, baby?
“So,” Ryan says uncomfortably, when he and Jordan are both in the kitchen the next morning, staring at the coffee maker. “Your boyfriend tried to hit on me last night.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jordan says automatically, then grins and shrugs. “Okay, he’s my boyfriend. But that doesn’t mean I care about him.” When Ryan just blinks at him, he continues. “Care about him coming onto you. At least he listens to me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“So, Whit, I have a poem for you.” Ryan doesn’t trust the smile on Jordan’s face, but the coffee’s brewed and he’s too busy pouring himself a cup to argue; Ryan has priorities. “Roses are red, violets are blue, you’re kind of like dubstep, ‘cause we wub wub wub you.”
It suddenly occurs to Ryan that Jordan has probably orchestrated this whole thing. He’s not sure how he feels about that. He drains his coffee, and wills the caffination to kick in, because nothing makes sense about this. “But I hate dubstep,” is all he can manage to say.
That’s when Taylor comes into the kitchen, pours himself a cup of coffee, and squints at the both of them.
“Why are we all still wearing clothes?” he asks. “I thought you were going to make this happen, Ebby.”
“Whit’s being a huge non-beauty,” Jordan says, stealing Taylor’s mug for a sip. Ryan decides it’s too early to deal with this shit, and gets himself more coffee before heading back to his room. Let them sort themselves out, he thinks while trying to ignore the rather uncomfortable hard-on in his pants. He probably doesn’t need this sort of thing in his life.
-
+ 01. (and this is crazy)
The thing is, Ryan can’t stop thinking about it. He can hear quiet murmuring out in the hall, and while he’s gotten used to the sounds of sex through these walls, this seems just as intimate. Before he can talk himself back to sanity, he opens his bedroom door to find the both of them looking sheepish.
“It’s cool if you say no,” Jordan offers. “I mean, like, we figured you wouldn’t be weird about it if you didn’t say yes.”
“And we’re sorry if we, you know,” Taylor continues. “Made it weird or whatever.”
Ryan looks between them, squinting; he has a million thoughts going through his head right now. And yet for his ego’s sake, the most pressing is: “Why me?”
“Why not you?” Taylor says eagerly. “You’re, like, our bro. So.”
“Figuratively, not literally,” Jordan says.
“Big word, Doc Seaman.” Taylor shoves at Jordan, and Ryan briefly considers shutting the door in both their faces. “But seriously, Whit,” he continues. “It would be fun. We’d be into it if you are.”
“You’re already into this,” Ryan points out, gratified when they both shrug. “If we’re doing this, it’s happening in my room. I know Hallsy doesn’t do laundry, and I’m pretty sure you’ve already boned on Jordan’s sheets.” When neither of them argue, he steps back and sweeps his arm out extravagantly. “Well, mi casa es tu casa.”
“Literally, not figuratively,” Taylor says, then laughs as Jordan pushes him through the doorway.
“That was totally the word-a-day-calendar your mom gave me for Christmas, okay?” Jordan complains, purposefully bumping into Ryan and grinning. “Seriously, Whit. Get naked.”
“You’re not naked,” Ryan points out.
“No, he’s not,” Taylor agrees, taking off his shirt and glancing over consideringly at Jordan. “But he should be.”
Despite his best judgement, Ryan agrees.
("So, like," Taylor says hours later, sprawled out face-down on Ryan's bedsheets. "Is this a one-time thing?"
"I don't know," Ryan replies. "I'm not the one with a boyfriend."
“Seriously, Whit, fuck off.” Jordan pushes at him, but Ryan’s too busy being dead weight to move. “...But seriously, is it?”
“Seriously,” Ryan parrots back mockingly in a high-pitched voice. “You asking me to be your boyfriend? Because the answer is no. Nada. Nyet. Other synonyms that will probably be available in your mother-in-law’s calendar.”
“We’re not married,” Taylor says.
“Well, if you’re not married --”
In retrospect, he probably deserves it when they team up to shove him off the bed and onto the floor.
“Well,” Ryan says, after catching his breath and unleashing a steady stream of curse words directed at the two grinning faces staring down at him. “Now I’ll never ever, ever be your boyfriend.”
“Kiss it better?” Taylor asks.
“Whit, did you just reference Taylor Swift?” Jordan asks.
Ryan grins and crawls back up onto the bed, where they immediately make room for him, both of them looking intent for round two.
He’s got this.)
fandom: hockey rpf
pairings: jordan eberle/taylor hall, ryan whitney/jordan eberle/taylor hall
rating: pg-13? pg? idek
word count: ~2500?
disclaimer: not real. we blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-a-lcohol
notes: again, thank yous forever to gonetoarcadia for a beta.
they kind of brought this on themselves
five times ryan did not hook up with his roommates. and then one time he did.
01. threw a wish in a well
The season is rapidly drawing to a close, and everything is still pretty terrible -
“It could be worse,” Sam says diplomatically. “We’re only twenty-ninth, but we still have a shot at the lottery. With the way things are going, we could get another Nuge. Or a Hallsy.”
“Nobody wants another Hallsy,” Nuge mutters, taking another long pull of his beer. He clears his throat. “Uh. Just kidding,” he says, a little louder.
Ryan looks over to where Taylor’s alternating between poking at his own arm that’s braced in a sling and slowly tipping into Jordan’s lap. Taylor can’t have anything alcoholic to drink; Ryan, much to his own chagrin, has been keeping an eye out for the kid, and he’s pretty sure Jordan would have flipped a table if Taylor had tried to sneak booze.
“Good one, Nugget,” Jeff says cheerfully, punching Nuge in the arm.
Nuge scowls, scooting his chair closer to Colten’s. “Hey, can we not with my shoulder?”
“Yeah,” Jordan agrees. “C’mon Petry: we need him healthy for Worlds. Don’t take out our centre just to make it easy on your boys.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. He desperately needs more to drink if he’s going to deal with this idiocy for the rest of the night. They don’t have an early morning skate, so he figures he could probably get away with another or four more, and gets up to head into Sam’s kitchen to do just that, leaving the children to their own devices. Even though he takes his time, when he gets back with a beer in each hand, Sam, Nuge, and Jeff are all still shouting gleefully at each other; Sam and Nuge waxing poetic about Canadian hockey skills while Colten nods emphatically at every word.
“Whit!” Jeff hollers as Ryan’s walking back into the room after silently counting to five. “Come back here! I’m being triple-teamed by Canadians. It’s weird and I don’t like it!”
Ryan looks around at the four of them sprawled out and realizes that there’s suddenly much more room on the couch. “Hey,” he says. “ Where’s World Junior? And his gimpy shadow? They go home?”
“Nope,” Colten says. He grins. “They’re, you know. Off doing their thing. Again.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “What thing?”
“Talking,” Colten replies patiently.
“That makes sense, I guess,” Sam says. “Guess we were being kinda loud, and a stoned Hallsy is a mumbling Hallsy; Ebs probably couldn’t hear him.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Colten says. “You guys really know where it’s at.” He turns to Ryan. “Hey Whit, in the name of team-bonding: gimme one of those brewskies.
There’s something…off about all of this, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’s pretty sure that Colten’s lying, but he’s even more sure that if Jordan and Taylor are up to something, those idiots can’t keep a secret to save their lives, so he’ll probably find out eventually anyway. In the meantime, he’ll spend the rest of his evening keeping his beers away from Colten’s clutches: Colten can get his own.
-
02. don’t ask me (i’ll never tell)
When the Strudwicks told Ryan they were moving back into their house after Jason’s year in Sweden, Ryan was faced with the unenviable prospect of trying to find a place to live in Edmonton for September. Though there might not even be a season, Ryan had decided to be optimistic for once. He knew that Nuge and Sam were moving in together, but he had heard Sam’s dishwasher story, and he had also heard about Nuge’s current self-imposed strike on chores; Ryan had wanted nothing to do with that nonsense, being too old for that shit.
He had brought it up with Taylor and Jordan over dinner near the end of the season, because they might have been idiots most of the time but sometimes they were idiots with connections. They did that freaky thing where they stared at each other for a few seconds and then Jordan had said carefully:
“Hey, we’re looking at maybe moving into a new place, you could come live with us.”
Ryan had been about to say hell no, but then he realised that he spent most of his free time with these two peasants anyway, and at least Jordan was self-sufficient enough that the place they lived in wouldn’t inevitably be condemned.
Taylor, as if he could sense Ryan’s weakness, had jumped in. “Yeah, you like, know Stuff already, so we can be cool, right?”
When Taylor said Stuff, Ryan thought he meant their unending idiocy, not the strange sounds currently coming from down the hall five months later. While they’d all gone out the night before, celebrating their return to Edmonton and hopefully hockey, he was pretty sure all three of them had struck out. So unless one of them had somehow snuck in a lady after the fact, there are only two other people in the apartment right now. And he’s pretty sure a girl would not be moaning “Ebby, please,” in a very familiar baritone.
Ryan wishes he was still drunk, but it’s only 10 am so he decides to go back to sleep instead.
The thing is, they’re kind of loud -- Taylor especially. Ryan tries ignoring them, then covering his head with the pillow, and eventually he just turns on the tv loudly and resolves to never leave his room ever again. Even when he loses his remote in the sheets and is stuck watching a Love It or List It marathon. It’s a small price to pay for his sanity, because even when they’re done and wandering around the apartment, he doesn’t think he can look either of them in the eye for a little while yet.
(“Bad hangover, huh?” Jordan asks him later, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Ryan cringes and shrugs. “Man, I do not look forward to being old at all.”
Ryan looks between Jordan’s chipmunk cheeks and where Taylor’s sitting on the couch trying to cram half a sandwich into his mouth, and questions their life choices. He wishes he could say he wasn’t judging them, but he totally is.)
-
03. pennies and dimes for a kiss
Despite Ryan’s optimism, the lockout happens anyway. He briefly considers trying to find another team in Europe, but then Sidney Crosby mentions trying to get the old gang back together for conditioning if things still don’t get sorted in a few weeks, and he figures it’s a good place to find his mojo again. So he’s feeling a little zen, unlike the two idiots currently sulking on the couch.
“You know they’re just being careful, Hallsy. You kind of deserve it,” Jordan says, patting Taylor’s knee. “You know. Lying about your shoulder for four years and all.”
“Are you ever going to let me forget that?”
“Nope.”
“But it feels fine now,” Taylor says plaintively, his voice bordering on a whine. “Why don’t they want me?”
Ryan considers vomiting, but the afghan his mom sent them as a housewarming present is too nice.
“Hey,” Jordan says quietly, leaning into rest his forehead against the side of Taylor’s face. “We’ll be back here before you know it, okay?”
“Yeah,” Taylor replies. “I know. And you guys are gonna be great. But, like. It’s better when it’s me and you, you know?”
Suddenly, Ryan feels kind of like a voyeur -- this is even worse than hearing their weird sex noises. He realises with a sick jolt that they’re totally not just a hookup, that by stuff Taylor had meant their big gay feelings-fest of a relationship; Ryan has moved in with boyfriends.
Ryan hates his life.
“Hey, Whit, wanna come to OKC with the cool kids?” Jordan asks suddenly, looking slightly sheepish, but not embarrassed enough to pull away from Taylor. “You and Hallsy could get a place there together and become our cheerleading squad.”
“I want nothing to do with your nonsense,” Ryan says, leaving them to their own devices. He supposes he has no one to blame but himself; he should have seen this one coming from miles and miles away.
-
04. wasn’t looking for this (but now you’re in my way)
Ryan has an uneventful few months bumming around Boston while trying to rationalize his life choices to himself; they’re still the same dumbasses he was always reluctantly fond of, they’re just even more fond of each other. So he supposes he’s not displeased to hear from them, especially when Taylor somehow manages to swing an OKC contract of his own after he’s finally cleared for action and they both stop whining pathetically at each other.
(Bro seriously??? Ryan texts to Colten.
how did u guys all not know Colten sends back immediately. there leik that rocket v.s model and her husband the elf. ebs is the hot one cuz hes nahlas fave
Seriously, Ryan hates every last one of them.)
Eventually, they all make their way back to Edmonton in January, and Ryan might even be kind of happy to see them all again; even his stupid roommates who almost instantly regale him with the story of how Jordan had accidently split Taylor’s forehead open. The version they’re telling everyone is that they ran into each other on the stairs --
“But that’s not what really happened,” Taylor tells him earnestly while sitting together at the bar. “It totally happened during sex.”
“Because I needed to know that,” Ryan groans. “You’re buying me a beer. You’re buying me all the beer.”
To be fair, Taylor does. They’re a few down when Taylor turns to him and looks conflicted for a moment before turning back to his own drink. Ryan lets this happen four times before he breaks: “Bro, seriously, out with it.”
Taylor licks his lips in that way that’s probably unconscious but always almost a little distracting and leans in. “So uh. How do you feel about. You know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Ryan says impatiently, though he does have a strange tickle in the back of his brain that’s sending out warning signals about Taylor’s sudden invasion of personal space.
“Well...” Taylor pauses, and then starts again. “Wanna bone?”
Ryan stares at him for a long moment. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, Hallsy,” he finally says, standing up and digging for his cellphone. “You’re going to pay the tab, I’m going to call a cab, and then we’re going home. Where I’m going to bed. By myself. And you will also going to bed. With your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Taylor protests.
“Shut up Hallsy,” Ryan says gently. “Let us never speak of this again. Ever.”
“Okay, he is my boyfriend, I guess. But he said this would be a good idea!” Taylor looks a little crestfallen as he stumbles off, and for a second Ryan almost feels bad.
(Apparently he feels more than he expected; that night he dreams about them, Taylor shameless and begging for it, Jordan’s hands sure and practiced on Taylor’s body, and Ryan wakes up uncomfortable and too warm. Everything is awful.)
-
05. where you think you goin’, baby?
“So,” Ryan says uncomfortably, when he and Jordan are both in the kitchen the next morning, staring at the coffee maker. “Your boyfriend tried to hit on me last night.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jordan says automatically, then grins and shrugs. “Okay, he’s my boyfriend. But that doesn’t mean I care about him.” When Ryan just blinks at him, he continues. “Care about him coming onto you. At least he listens to me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“So, Whit, I have a poem for you.” Ryan doesn’t trust the smile on Jordan’s face, but the coffee’s brewed and he’s too busy pouring himself a cup to argue; Ryan has priorities. “Roses are red, violets are blue, you’re kind of like dubstep, ‘cause we wub wub wub you.”
It suddenly occurs to Ryan that Jordan has probably orchestrated this whole thing. He’s not sure how he feels about that. He drains his coffee, and wills the caffination to kick in, because nothing makes sense about this. “But I hate dubstep,” is all he can manage to say.
That’s when Taylor comes into the kitchen, pours himself a cup of coffee, and squints at the both of them.
“Why are we all still wearing clothes?” he asks. “I thought you were going to make this happen, Ebby.”
“Whit’s being a huge non-beauty,” Jordan says, stealing Taylor’s mug for a sip. Ryan decides it’s too early to deal with this shit, and gets himself more coffee before heading back to his room. Let them sort themselves out, he thinks while trying to ignore the rather uncomfortable hard-on in his pants. He probably doesn’t need this sort of thing in his life.
-
+ 01. (and this is crazy)
The thing is, Ryan can’t stop thinking about it. He can hear quiet murmuring out in the hall, and while he’s gotten used to the sounds of sex through these walls, this seems just as intimate. Before he can talk himself back to sanity, he opens his bedroom door to find the both of them looking sheepish.
“It’s cool if you say no,” Jordan offers. “I mean, like, we figured you wouldn’t be weird about it if you didn’t say yes.”
“And we’re sorry if we, you know,” Taylor continues. “Made it weird or whatever.”
Ryan looks between them, squinting; he has a million thoughts going through his head right now. And yet for his ego’s sake, the most pressing is: “Why me?”
“Why not you?” Taylor says eagerly. “You’re, like, our bro. So.”
“Figuratively, not literally,” Jordan says.
“Big word, Doc Seaman.” Taylor shoves at Jordan, and Ryan briefly considers shutting the door in both their faces. “But seriously, Whit,” he continues. “It would be fun. We’d be into it if you are.”
“You’re already into this,” Ryan points out, gratified when they both shrug. “If we’re doing this, it’s happening in my room. I know Hallsy doesn’t do laundry, and I’m pretty sure you’ve already boned on Jordan’s sheets.” When neither of them argue, he steps back and sweeps his arm out extravagantly. “Well, mi casa es tu casa.”
“Literally, not figuratively,” Taylor says, then laughs as Jordan pushes him through the doorway.
“That was totally the word-a-day-calendar your mom gave me for Christmas, okay?” Jordan complains, purposefully bumping into Ryan and grinning. “Seriously, Whit. Get naked.”
“You’re not naked,” Ryan points out.
“No, he’s not,” Taylor agrees, taking off his shirt and glancing over consideringly at Jordan. “But he should be.”
Despite his best judgement, Ryan agrees.
("So, like," Taylor says hours later, sprawled out face-down on Ryan's bedsheets. "Is this a one-time thing?"
"I don't know," Ryan replies. "I'm not the one with a boyfriend."
“Seriously, Whit, fuck off.” Jordan pushes at him, but Ryan’s too busy being dead weight to move. “...But seriously, is it?”
“Seriously,” Ryan parrots back mockingly in a high-pitched voice. “You asking me to be your boyfriend? Because the answer is no. Nada. Nyet. Other synonyms that will probably be available in your mother-in-law’s calendar.”
“We’re not married,” Taylor says.
“Well, if you’re not married --”
In retrospect, he probably deserves it when they team up to shove him off the bed and onto the floor.
“Well,” Ryan says, after catching his breath and unleashing a steady stream of curse words directed at the two grinning faces staring down at him. “Now I’ll never ever, ever be your boyfriend.”
“Kiss it better?” Taylor asks.
“Whit, did you just reference Taylor Swift?” Jordan asks.
Ryan grins and crawls back up onto the bed, where they immediately make room for him, both of them looking intent for round two.
He’s got this.)