The One Where Brendon Goes Down on Ryan [s/a]
Title: The One Where Brendon Goes Down on Ryan (And Maybe There's A Little Fast-Forwarding, But This Isn't A New Perspective Reference) [s/a]
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: the_randomist
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: PWP. The look in Brendon's eyes - when Ryan can see past how clouded over with lust they are, pupils blown until Brendon's vision is almost black - there’s something unstable, explosive and uncontainable.
Disclaimer: Not true.
Author Notes: For my_obsession_xx ♥
It's crowded. Stale sweat and dim lights, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, breathing down necks and bumping elbows because there's just no where else to go. Pete snuck them in, promised them free booze and hot chicks if they promised to make sure the album sold millions, and they're tucked away in a the back corner, shouting over the loud music and talking animatedly with their hands.
Brendon had made a beeline for the bar and ordered the most common drink from the bartender. He’d taken a few sips here and there, letting the alcohol burn his throat and there’d been a pretty brunette leaning against an empty stool and he’d moved down to ask for her name at the same time she asked him if he wanted to dance. They’d laughed and some dude had said, “Hey, man. Is this yours?” and passed Brendon his glass, and Brendon had downed it all in one go, not noticing the strange bitterness and said, “Let’s dance.”
After their third song Brendon’s head is dizzy in a way it’s never been before, nothing familiar like the tightness from flashing lights and body heat, and he says, “I gotta take a breather,” and lets her off his arm and into the bumping crowd before turning circles to find someone he recognizes in the corner. He spots the top of Pete’s black head and blinks twice before realization actually hits him and he starts moving in his direction. His mouth is dry, a side effect of the alcohol, he assumes, and really, if Brendon has a splitting headache like this after just one drink, he’s going to be a Water-or-Coke-please wimp at parties the rest of his life.
Ryan's slouched on the same couch as Pete, shoulders pressed mid-way into the back cushion, ass almost hanging off the seat, head thrown back in a laugh. Pete is pressing his forehead into Ryan's lazy shoulder, giggling, and Ryan’s legs are spread to brace himself from slipping off onto the floor, pinstriped pants loose everywhere except the one spot Brendon wishes he’d never noticed because the exact moment he does, the dizziness in his head worsens and his stomach tightens. Surprisingly, the thick dryness in his mouth is no longer a problem.
Brendon stands at the edge of the crowd, tries not to notice how every time Ryan's stomach folds and he laughs harder, it's even more impossible for Brendon to look away, the visible curve of Ryan's cock pressing against the seam of his pants making Brendon's fingers itch. It's not that Ryan's speculated permanent hard-on for Pete is actually true - it's not, well, there was that one time, but... - it's just that those pants. They do wonders for emphasizing how well-endowed Ryan is.
It’s strange, because he literally just finished grinding against a really sexy brunette and didn't even so much as think about possibly hooking up with her, much less feel something heavy slip into his stomach like a hot acid. Sadly, his reaction to Ryan isn‘t as easy to let go of as that brunette‘s hand, considering Brendon had spotted him over the heads of a few people on the dance floor, taken a few unsure steps and stopped dead in his tracks. Yeah, Ryan is kind of shameless, even if he's oblivious about it.
Pete is in the middle of what Brendon assumes has to be another joke when something inside him snaps - watching Ryan reach down to his knee caps and pinch the fabric of his pants between his fingers, adjusting and fucking stretching the fabric over his crotch and Brendon just- Fuck, he doesn't know but he feels it in his stomach and in the prominent throb in his dick. It's crippling, almost, something warm and tingling beneath the surface of his skin, something dark and coiling in his gut, and his eyes focus in a way they've never done before, a tingling behind his head that only adds to the dizziness whirling around within. The feeling is new, uncontrollable and a bit unsettling but the panic creeping into Brendon's brain caused by this sudden, overwhelming urge is pushed away but the sheer fact that he wants.
Noticing that is frightening.
It takes him no more than six paces before he's pressing his knees into the same leather cushion Ryan is on, dipping his head low to breathe into Ryan's ear, heavy breaths that he didn't know he couldn't pace all of a sudden and he can smell even the faintest hint of sweat clinging to the back of Ryan's neck, almost as if his senses are amplified to a degree that's quite alarming, when he thinks about it, because he can also feel Ryan's laugh reverberating off his skin, even as it fizzles out into nothing at all upon realizing that Brendon has his mouth to his ear.
"Brendon, wha-?"
"I need your cock."
The words are out before Brendon even knows he saying them, much less how true they are and everything loose and casual in Ryan's body stiffens. Brendon can hear him swallow, hear Ryan's throat clench over the blasting music and the too-loud chatter and Pete's braying of "Hey, Urie, you dickfuck, I was talking!" and fuck, someone had to have spiked his drink because this isn't normal. This desperate, scary, compulsive need coursing through his veins, making him wrap his hand around the back of Ryan's neck with shaky fingers and pant something as forward as that into his bandmate's ear. Fuck, and he means it, too.
Ryan's heart is suddenly pounding in his chest - Brendon can feel it against his hand pressed against Ryan's shirt, bracing himself - and he's breathing through his nose, like he does when he's trying to control himself, like he did when they were in Maryland and Brendon couldn't perfect that one note and breathing through his mouth usually resulted in emitting a growl or a groan. Brendon knows how Ryan breathes when he's tense and right now, he's so impossibly wound up, the only thing Brendon can do is twist his fingers into the hair on the base of Ryan's skull and make it apparent how badly he needs this:
"Fuck, Ry. I don't know what's wrong with me but I- I-" Brendon stops, swallows the moan fighting its way up his throat. "I need it, need to taste it. Please, Ryan, please. I can't- I just- I want and -"
Ryan gasps sharp and harsh when Brendon's hand drags roughly down the front of his shirt, over his abdomen, fingers curling into the waistband of his pants. Boldly - uncontrollably, compulsively - Brendon's teeth clench around the lobe of Ryan's ear and he tugs, whimpering and pathetic, just on this side of scared out of his mind because his entire body is thrumming with an energy he can't disperse to anywhere other than on the goal of getting Ryan's cock in his mouth and this isn't normal and Brendon’s hands are trembling.
But when Ryan grabs Brendon by the wrist and tugs him up off the couch, starts dragging him off through the crowd, a little bit of the chaos pumping through Brendon's veins settles into a hint of satisfaction and for a moment the frantic ends of his nerves aren’t sparking like the frayed ends of wires in a machine malfunctioning. Ryan's fingers are digging into his pulse, soothing the pounding put there by Brendon's consuming urge but they only make it to the hottest part of the sea of bodies and Ryan is stopping them, rounding on Brendon with wide, angry eyes and shouting, "What the fuck?" so loud that Brendon can see the veins in his neck strain and his grip on Brendon's wrist grows so tight Brendon actually winces.
That doesn't stop him from stepping close to Ryan, though, plastering himself tight against Ryan's side and pushing his face into Ryan's neck, hot and sticky with sweat from the club, and biting weakly at the skin not covered by the collar of his shirt. He digs his nails so deep into the back of Ryan's hip that Ryan flinches and Brendon says, "Don't yell at me, please. I can't help this, Ry -"
"What is wrong with you?" Ryan growls, trying to shove Brendon off. Brendon kisses sloppy and fast across Ryan's neck, drags his teeth up his throat and over his chin and all out bites the sneer on Ryan's lips, harder than he anticipated, but his stomach is twisting and despite Ryan's anger, Brendon can feel Ryan's stomach fluttering under the hand he's re-curled back over the top of Ryan's pants.
Ryan jerks back, away from Brendon's mouth and teeth and tongue and turns his head, but Brendon catches his bottom lip firmly between his teeth and yanks Ryan back. He lets go only when Ryan's groan fizzles away and he kisses Ryan hard on the mouth before pressing his forehead to Ryan's, gasping, "I don't know. Fuck, I don't know but I can't- I can't help myself, Ryan." Brendon's voice is shaking and Ryan can feel his whole body trembling against his and Brendon breathes open mouthed and hot against Ryan's lips. "It hurts, Ryan. I want you so bad and I'm sorry I can't control this but- Please, I-”
Ryan takes Brendon’s shoulders, shakes him and says, “Brendon, what the fuck?”
“Ryan, please. I don’t- I think my drink, it -” Brendon can’t form anything coherent, to distraught with greed and hunger and lust and something angry, protective curls low in Ryan‘s gut when Brendon presses his face back into his neck, weak. If someone fucked with Brendon’s drink… “I just want the buzzing to go away. Make it stop, Ryan, please.”
The look in Brendon's eyes - when Ryan can see past how clouded over with lust they are, pupils blown until Brendon's vision is almost black - there’s something unstable, explosive and uncontainable. There's a hint of discomfort and reluctance swimming around the outskirts, blotching into Brendon's pupils, and a surge of fear surfacing with every heavy breath Brendon forces onto Ryan's mouth, but in that moment Ryan knows Brendon isn't just rutting up against him for annoyance purposes, or to draw him away from Pete because he was feeling left out again. No, Brendon is truly a loose cannon, something wild and dangerous, worming his fingers down into Ryan's pants in a way that makes Ryan's breath hitch as he nods and says, "Okay. Okay, yeah" and lets Brendon kiss him rough thank yous, tongue forcing passed Ryan's lips and teeth and curling up under the roof of Ryan's mouth in the filthiest way.
"I need- Ryan, I-"
Ryan doesn't know why, but he's suddenly desperate to get rid of the frantic energy surging through Brendon's body, even if it is by channeling some of his own and silencing Brendon's whimpers with his tongue. He kisses Brendon hard and dirty, just the way Brendon wants it and rips his lips away as soon as he starts, jerking Brendon through the crowd again and leaving Brendon stumbling headfirst after Ryan's mouth.
They make it to the dimly lit hallway by the bathrooms, out of the maze of bodies and into the open air and it takes every ounce of strength within Brendon not to drop to his knees right then. In fact, his knees give out just a little, considering, but Ryan jerks him up and Brendon pins him to the wall with his hips, grinding against him and sucking bruises on the side of his neck. Ryan moans, lets his breath catch when Brendon rubs their cocks together and when he lifts his hands from Brendon's hips to cup Brendon's face, Brendon grabs his wrist and licks a greedy strip up the center of Ryan's palm before taking two of Ryan's fingers in his mouth, lips sinking down to the set of knuckles on the top of Ryan's hand.
Ryan maybe chokes.
"Fuck, Brendon, you- What happened to you?" Ryan sounds breathless and awed, eyes wide and observant as Brendon generously sucks Ryan's fingers, tongue slipping between them as Ryan twitches them experimentally. Brendon's splitting headache subsides and his eyes flutter and Ryan can only see whites and holy shit, that is the back of Brendon's throat. "Bren, shit, you can't- you can't just do this to me you-"
Brendon pulls of Ryan's fingers and Ryan tries not to pay much attention to the string of saliva that bridges the gap between Brendon's mouth and the tips of his slick fingers, and Brendon says, "Your cock, Ry. I want it, I want, please."
"Yeah, okay, just- Shit," Ryan pants, prying Brendon's fingers from his zipper and lifting Brendon back up by his arms. "Hold on."
"So bad, Ry," Brendon whines as his head starts pounding again, palming Ryan through his pants, those fucking pinstriped pants that Brendon will never be able to look at again, much less sing a song about because my god are they accentuating.
Ryan groans, deep and hungry and wraps his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling his hand away. "C'mon."
Brendon can hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his throat and see it pounding red each time he blinks. Ryan drags him down the hall, shoves passed drunks making best friends with the wall and girls chatting away on their cell phones and Brendon feels an instant but fleeting urge to scream at everyone to get the fuck out until he's blue in the face. But Ryan's throwing him into a doorway before Brendon can even wrap his head around anything because the salty taste of Ryan's fingers had been so painfully close to what Brendon's clawing for, had eased the throbbing in his head just enough for Brendon to think clearly for a moment, and knowing a permanent remedy is so close is enough to drive him crazy.
Ryan can hardly get the door closed before Brendon has his hand down his pants, not even bothering to undo them. Just a greedy hand plunged down the front and anxious fingers wrapped firmly around the cock his mouth has been watering for for the past ten minutes. Ryan gasps, pants wet and hot against the side of Brendon's head as Brendon rubs his thumb over Ryan's leaking tip and, "Fuck, Brendon, so good."
"Want to taste you," Brendon says, recruiting his other hand to work open Ryan's pants, fingers fumbling.
Ryan groans when Brendon finally gets his pants undone and Brendon sinks to his knees the same instant Ryan's pants meet his knees and Ryan is chasing after the heat in Brendon’s temple with his mouth before he knows Brendon has his lips wrapped around him, cheeks already hallowing.
"Shit, shit, shit," Ryan gasps, practically crawling up the wall as he grasps for something to hold on to, to dig his nails into. He successfully knocks over two brooms and an entire box of cleaning supplies and hey, they're in a storage closet. Go figure. "Oh, fuck. Oh, shit, Brendon. Brendon."
Brendon is working Ryan's dick with feverish, urgent lips, head bobbing fast and rhythmic, steady and paced, yet sloppy and delicious and he's moaning around the heavy weight on his tongue like he was the one getting his cock sucked. He wraps his fingers around what he can't fit in his mouth, twists his wrist and curls his tongue against the underside of Ryan's cock in a way that has Ryan burying his hands in Brendon's silky hair, tugging in the most encouraging way.
Through the door, Ryan can hear the low rumble of the music and the foot traffic out in the hall and anyone could walk in on this - Ryan pressed up against the wall with Brendon sucking his cock with a desperate eagerness unrivaled by anything Ryan has ever witnessed - but Brendon is slipping off slowly, only to press both of his hands onto Ryan's bony hips, his tongue flicking over the head of Ryan's dick in the most repetitive, maddening way possible, fast and teasing, and it's enough to make Ryan cry out, eyes rolling to the back of his head and when his fingers tighten in Brendon's hair, Brendon keens for it.
"Brendon- ah! ah! Oh, shit, you -" Ryan can't say anything that doesn't come out as an incoherent plea and Brendon keeps lapping at the tip of Ryan's cock, moaning as the taste of Ryan gathers on his tongue.
For the first time since he sank to his knees, Brendon opens his mouth for something other than wrapping his lips around Ryan's cock and he says, "God, you taste -" but he doesn't even let himself finish before he's back to driving Ryan up the wall, this time, taking Ryan back in his mouth, all hot hot heat and velvet tongue.
And this is good. This is so, so incredibly good and Ryan just threads his fingers in Brendon's hair and only pulls when Brendon turns his tongue just right and there's a blissed out glaze over Ryan's eyes as he stares down at Brendon, watches his dick slip in and out of the kiss swollen lips stretched tight around him.
Brendon looks up at him, dark through his lashes and Ryan lets one hand drop to Brendon's face, dusting his thumb just beneath his eye, grazing his cheekbone. Brendon closes his eyes again and moans, reaches up to claim Ryan's hand and rightfully places it back in his hair, and before Ryan can be curious about Brendon's intentions, Brendon is sinking Ryan's cock deeper and deeper into his mouth until Ryan can feel himself pressing against the back of Brendon's throat and fucking shit and -
Brendon pulls off, sputtering. His eyes are watering, tears collected in the corners and he's coughing into Ryan's hip, shoulders trembling and the line of his back perfect and curved from Ryan's view.
"Hey," Ryan says softly, the most coherent thing he's managed to say since they found themselves in here. "Hey," he repeats, petting Brendon's hair gently and Brendon kisses his hip quickly before pointedly not looking at Ryan and going back down on him, just as greedy as before and even more determined. He bobs on and off a few times, causing the back of Ryan’s head to suffer a dull blow from the wall behind and when he tries to swallow Ryan down again, when Ryan feels the slick wet of Brendon's throat - Ryan presses forward just a little, testing and selfish and he wipes away the tears streaming out of the corners of Brendon's eyes with his thumbs and coos, "Shh, you're doing good. You're doing so good, Bren."
With a little gag, Brendon pulls off and there's so much spit on Ryan's cock, dripping from it and slipping down Brendon's chin, Ryan's gut twists and fuck, that is the hottest thing he's ever seen.
"I want... fuck my mouth," Brendon pants, swallows around his clenching, burning throat and Ryan's own throat clenches because shit, Brendon's mouth and Brendon's throat and yeah.
"Are you sure?" Ryan asks, fingers tripping over Brendon's jaw, his chin, smearing some of Brendon's spit up to his lips, eyes burning. "I don't want to choke you."
Brendon's tongue darts out to taste Ryan's finger and Ryan presses it into the corner of his mouth for better access. "I do."
Ryan wonders if the overwhelming heat that rushes over every inch of his body is what spontaneous combustion feels like.
He's silent for a moment, letting it sink in that Brendon wants his cock down his throat, gagging him, Ryan's hands on the back of Brendon's head holding him in place while Ryan thrusts into Brendon's mouth ruthlessly, searching for something tighter, hotter, wetter - "Okay," Ryan says and strokes away the hair stuck to Brendon's forehead.
Brendon breathes in deep through his nose and kisses the tip of Ryan's cock experimentally, softly, and starts out slow and deliberate. He times his movements, each bob of his head, each roll of his neck, pacing himself as he tongues Ryan in deeper and deeper, urging Ryan closer to the edge. He gets to the point that his lips are rutting against the fingers he has wrapped around the base and when Brendon takes his hand away, puts it in his lap and presses the heel of his hand into his erection, Ryan realizes just how long Brendon has been throbbing, aching in his own jeans. He lets himself feel selfish for only a second because Brendon needs this and he’s sinking lower still and fuck, and yeah, and, "Jesus Christ, Brendon."
There's the familiar movement of Brendon's throat constricting, questioning the intrusion and adjusting to allow for it, and Brendon gags just a little, his reflex pushing Ryan further down his throat and Ryan chokes at the same time Brendon does. Something about the synchronization makes Brendon's eyes fly open, searching for the far out look in Ryan's gaze. Its there, but dim, like an ember in need of oxygen and Brendon takes Ryan's hands, positions them on the back of his head and waits for Ryan to fuel the flame.
Ryan starts slow, caution apparent in every shallow thrust into Brendon's mouth, and watches as Brendon's eyes stare up at him, glazed over and dripping tears. Brendon's breathing through his nose and Ryan can feel himself being carried closer and closer. Brendon's eyes clench shut when Ryan's hands grip the hair at the back of Brendon's head and his hips rock harder and harder towards Brendon's face until every time Ryan pumps forward, Brendon is groaning and sending vibrations through Ryan's entire body and when Ryan comes Brendon swallows him down as best he can, pulling off to cough and breathe and stroke Ryan through the aftershocks with a loose hand.
Sinking to the floor, sated and lazy and so fucking gone, Ryan pushes Brendon backwards and crawls over him, knocking his knees against the mop bucket and recycled cardboard boxes on the tile. Brendon tastes like his come and Ryan braces one hand on the ground beside Brendon's head and snakes the other one down Brendon's pants and strokes Brendon off easily, licking the taste of himself from the corners of Brendon's mouth and tongue.
Brendon comes quickly, hard, and biting Ryan's bottom lip with a moan, rocking into Ryan's hand until everything in his body dies down, everything - except for the taste of Ryan still buzzing on his tongue - for the first time since he saw Ryan through the crowd still packed into the club a wall away. Brendon feels relieved, languid and melted, like a hot liquid oozing out onto the floor, just content with lying there forever as Ryan leans over him and licks into Brendon's open mouth, his lazy tongue swirling with Ryan's dominant, rewarding kisses.
The uncontrollable hunger that spread through him like wildfire is nothing more than a distant tingling dying at the tips of Brendon's fingers.
Everything is quieter, even in his head.
Until there's a loud banging on the door and they hear Pete laughing drunkenly through the door, "Ross, I never finished my story!"
And maybe the sound of Ryan's laugh pressed against his neck is okay enough to interrupt the quiet Brendon's found settling in his body, maybe.
fin.
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: the_randomist
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: PWP. The look in Brendon's eyes - when Ryan can see past how clouded over with lust they are, pupils blown until Brendon's vision is almost black - there’s something unstable, explosive and uncontainable.
Disclaimer: Not true.
Author Notes: For my_obsession_xx ♥
It's crowded. Stale sweat and dim lights, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, breathing down necks and bumping elbows because there's just no where else to go. Pete snuck them in, promised them free booze and hot chicks if they promised to make sure the album sold millions, and they're tucked away in a the back corner, shouting over the loud music and talking animatedly with their hands.
Brendon had made a beeline for the bar and ordered the most common drink from the bartender. He’d taken a few sips here and there, letting the alcohol burn his throat and there’d been a pretty brunette leaning against an empty stool and he’d moved down to ask for her name at the same time she asked him if he wanted to dance. They’d laughed and some dude had said, “Hey, man. Is this yours?” and passed Brendon his glass, and Brendon had downed it all in one go, not noticing the strange bitterness and said, “Let’s dance.”
After their third song Brendon’s head is dizzy in a way it’s never been before, nothing familiar like the tightness from flashing lights and body heat, and he says, “I gotta take a breather,” and lets her off his arm and into the bumping crowd before turning circles to find someone he recognizes in the corner. He spots the top of Pete’s black head and blinks twice before realization actually hits him and he starts moving in his direction. His mouth is dry, a side effect of the alcohol, he assumes, and really, if Brendon has a splitting headache like this after just one drink, he’s going to be a Water-or-Coke-please wimp at parties the rest of his life.
Ryan's slouched on the same couch as Pete, shoulders pressed mid-way into the back cushion, ass almost hanging off the seat, head thrown back in a laugh. Pete is pressing his forehead into Ryan's lazy shoulder, giggling, and Ryan’s legs are spread to brace himself from slipping off onto the floor, pinstriped pants loose everywhere except the one spot Brendon wishes he’d never noticed because the exact moment he does, the dizziness in his head worsens and his stomach tightens. Surprisingly, the thick dryness in his mouth is no longer a problem.
Brendon stands at the edge of the crowd, tries not to notice how every time Ryan's stomach folds and he laughs harder, it's even more impossible for Brendon to look away, the visible curve of Ryan's cock pressing against the seam of his pants making Brendon's fingers itch. It's not that Ryan's speculated permanent hard-on for Pete is actually true - it's not, well, there was that one time, but... - it's just that those pants. They do wonders for emphasizing how well-endowed Ryan is.
It’s strange, because he literally just finished grinding against a really sexy brunette and didn't even so much as think about possibly hooking up with her, much less feel something heavy slip into his stomach like a hot acid. Sadly, his reaction to Ryan isn‘t as easy to let go of as that brunette‘s hand, considering Brendon had spotted him over the heads of a few people on the dance floor, taken a few unsure steps and stopped dead in his tracks. Yeah, Ryan is kind of shameless, even if he's oblivious about it.
Pete is in the middle of what Brendon assumes has to be another joke when something inside him snaps - watching Ryan reach down to his knee caps and pinch the fabric of his pants between his fingers, adjusting and fucking stretching the fabric over his crotch and Brendon just- Fuck, he doesn't know but he feels it in his stomach and in the prominent throb in his dick. It's crippling, almost, something warm and tingling beneath the surface of his skin, something dark and coiling in his gut, and his eyes focus in a way they've never done before, a tingling behind his head that only adds to the dizziness whirling around within. The feeling is new, uncontrollable and a bit unsettling but the panic creeping into Brendon's brain caused by this sudden, overwhelming urge is pushed away but the sheer fact that he wants.
Noticing that is frightening.
It takes him no more than six paces before he's pressing his knees into the same leather cushion Ryan is on, dipping his head low to breathe into Ryan's ear, heavy breaths that he didn't know he couldn't pace all of a sudden and he can smell even the faintest hint of sweat clinging to the back of Ryan's neck, almost as if his senses are amplified to a degree that's quite alarming, when he thinks about it, because he can also feel Ryan's laugh reverberating off his skin, even as it fizzles out into nothing at all upon realizing that Brendon has his mouth to his ear.
"Brendon, wha-?"
"I need your cock."
The words are out before Brendon even knows he saying them, much less how true they are and everything loose and casual in Ryan's body stiffens. Brendon can hear him swallow, hear Ryan's throat clench over the blasting music and the too-loud chatter and Pete's braying of "Hey, Urie, you dickfuck, I was talking!" and fuck, someone had to have spiked his drink because this isn't normal. This desperate, scary, compulsive need coursing through his veins, making him wrap his hand around the back of Ryan's neck with shaky fingers and pant something as forward as that into his bandmate's ear. Fuck, and he means it, too.
Ryan's heart is suddenly pounding in his chest - Brendon can feel it against his hand pressed against Ryan's shirt, bracing himself - and he's breathing through his nose, like he does when he's trying to control himself, like he did when they were in Maryland and Brendon couldn't perfect that one note and breathing through his mouth usually resulted in emitting a growl or a groan. Brendon knows how Ryan breathes when he's tense and right now, he's so impossibly wound up, the only thing Brendon can do is twist his fingers into the hair on the base of Ryan's skull and make it apparent how badly he needs this:
"Fuck, Ry. I don't know what's wrong with me but I- I-" Brendon stops, swallows the moan fighting its way up his throat. "I need it, need to taste it. Please, Ryan, please. I can't- I just- I want and -"
Ryan gasps sharp and harsh when Brendon's hand drags roughly down the front of his shirt, over his abdomen, fingers curling into the waistband of his pants. Boldly - uncontrollably, compulsively - Brendon's teeth clench around the lobe of Ryan's ear and he tugs, whimpering and pathetic, just on this side of scared out of his mind because his entire body is thrumming with an energy he can't disperse to anywhere other than on the goal of getting Ryan's cock in his mouth and this isn't normal and Brendon’s hands are trembling.
But when Ryan grabs Brendon by the wrist and tugs him up off the couch, starts dragging him off through the crowd, a little bit of the chaos pumping through Brendon's veins settles into a hint of satisfaction and for a moment the frantic ends of his nerves aren’t sparking like the frayed ends of wires in a machine malfunctioning. Ryan's fingers are digging into his pulse, soothing the pounding put there by Brendon's consuming urge but they only make it to the hottest part of the sea of bodies and Ryan is stopping them, rounding on Brendon with wide, angry eyes and shouting, "What the fuck?" so loud that Brendon can see the veins in his neck strain and his grip on Brendon's wrist grows so tight Brendon actually winces.
That doesn't stop him from stepping close to Ryan, though, plastering himself tight against Ryan's side and pushing his face into Ryan's neck, hot and sticky with sweat from the club, and biting weakly at the skin not covered by the collar of his shirt. He digs his nails so deep into the back of Ryan's hip that Ryan flinches and Brendon says, "Don't yell at me, please. I can't help this, Ry -"
"What is wrong with you?" Ryan growls, trying to shove Brendon off. Brendon kisses sloppy and fast across Ryan's neck, drags his teeth up his throat and over his chin and all out bites the sneer on Ryan's lips, harder than he anticipated, but his stomach is twisting and despite Ryan's anger, Brendon can feel Ryan's stomach fluttering under the hand he's re-curled back over the top of Ryan's pants.
Ryan jerks back, away from Brendon's mouth and teeth and tongue and turns his head, but Brendon catches his bottom lip firmly between his teeth and yanks Ryan back. He lets go only when Ryan's groan fizzles away and he kisses Ryan hard on the mouth before pressing his forehead to Ryan's, gasping, "I don't know. Fuck, I don't know but I can't- I can't help myself, Ryan." Brendon's voice is shaking and Ryan can feel his whole body trembling against his and Brendon breathes open mouthed and hot against Ryan's lips. "It hurts, Ryan. I want you so bad and I'm sorry I can't control this but- Please, I-”
Ryan takes Brendon’s shoulders, shakes him and says, “Brendon, what the fuck?”
“Ryan, please. I don’t- I think my drink, it -” Brendon can’t form anything coherent, to distraught with greed and hunger and lust and something angry, protective curls low in Ryan‘s gut when Brendon presses his face back into his neck, weak. If someone fucked with Brendon’s drink… “I just want the buzzing to go away. Make it stop, Ryan, please.”
The look in Brendon's eyes - when Ryan can see past how clouded over with lust they are, pupils blown until Brendon's vision is almost black - there’s something unstable, explosive and uncontainable. There's a hint of discomfort and reluctance swimming around the outskirts, blotching into Brendon's pupils, and a surge of fear surfacing with every heavy breath Brendon forces onto Ryan's mouth, but in that moment Ryan knows Brendon isn't just rutting up against him for annoyance purposes, or to draw him away from Pete because he was feeling left out again. No, Brendon is truly a loose cannon, something wild and dangerous, worming his fingers down into Ryan's pants in a way that makes Ryan's breath hitch as he nods and says, "Okay. Okay, yeah" and lets Brendon kiss him rough thank yous, tongue forcing passed Ryan's lips and teeth and curling up under the roof of Ryan's mouth in the filthiest way.
"I need- Ryan, I-"
Ryan doesn't know why, but he's suddenly desperate to get rid of the frantic energy surging through Brendon's body, even if it is by channeling some of his own and silencing Brendon's whimpers with his tongue. He kisses Brendon hard and dirty, just the way Brendon wants it and rips his lips away as soon as he starts, jerking Brendon through the crowd again and leaving Brendon stumbling headfirst after Ryan's mouth.
They make it to the dimly lit hallway by the bathrooms, out of the maze of bodies and into the open air and it takes every ounce of strength within Brendon not to drop to his knees right then. In fact, his knees give out just a little, considering, but Ryan jerks him up and Brendon pins him to the wall with his hips, grinding against him and sucking bruises on the side of his neck. Ryan moans, lets his breath catch when Brendon rubs their cocks together and when he lifts his hands from Brendon's hips to cup Brendon's face, Brendon grabs his wrist and licks a greedy strip up the center of Ryan's palm before taking two of Ryan's fingers in his mouth, lips sinking down to the set of knuckles on the top of Ryan's hand.
Ryan maybe chokes.
"Fuck, Brendon, you- What happened to you?" Ryan sounds breathless and awed, eyes wide and observant as Brendon generously sucks Ryan's fingers, tongue slipping between them as Ryan twitches them experimentally. Brendon's splitting headache subsides and his eyes flutter and Ryan can only see whites and holy shit, that is the back of Brendon's throat. "Bren, shit, you can't- you can't just do this to me you-"
Brendon pulls of Ryan's fingers and Ryan tries not to pay much attention to the string of saliva that bridges the gap between Brendon's mouth and the tips of his slick fingers, and Brendon says, "Your cock, Ry. I want it, I want, please."
"Yeah, okay, just- Shit," Ryan pants, prying Brendon's fingers from his zipper and lifting Brendon back up by his arms. "Hold on."
"So bad, Ry," Brendon whines as his head starts pounding again, palming Ryan through his pants, those fucking pinstriped pants that Brendon will never be able to look at again, much less sing a song about because my god are they accentuating.
Ryan groans, deep and hungry and wraps his fingers around Brendon's wrist, pulling his hand away. "C'mon."
Brendon can hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his throat and see it pounding red each time he blinks. Ryan drags him down the hall, shoves passed drunks making best friends with the wall and girls chatting away on their cell phones and Brendon feels an instant but fleeting urge to scream at everyone to get the fuck out until he's blue in the face. But Ryan's throwing him into a doorway before Brendon can even wrap his head around anything because the salty taste of Ryan's fingers had been so painfully close to what Brendon's clawing for, had eased the throbbing in his head just enough for Brendon to think clearly for a moment, and knowing a permanent remedy is so close is enough to drive him crazy.
Ryan can hardly get the door closed before Brendon has his hand down his pants, not even bothering to undo them. Just a greedy hand plunged down the front and anxious fingers wrapped firmly around the cock his mouth has been watering for for the past ten minutes. Ryan gasps, pants wet and hot against the side of Brendon's head as Brendon rubs his thumb over Ryan's leaking tip and, "Fuck, Brendon, so good."
"Want to taste you," Brendon says, recruiting his other hand to work open Ryan's pants, fingers fumbling.
Ryan groans when Brendon finally gets his pants undone and Brendon sinks to his knees the same instant Ryan's pants meet his knees and Ryan is chasing after the heat in Brendon’s temple with his mouth before he knows Brendon has his lips wrapped around him, cheeks already hallowing.
"Shit, shit, shit," Ryan gasps, practically crawling up the wall as he grasps for something to hold on to, to dig his nails into. He successfully knocks over two brooms and an entire box of cleaning supplies and hey, they're in a storage closet. Go figure. "Oh, fuck. Oh, shit, Brendon. Brendon."
Brendon is working Ryan's dick with feverish, urgent lips, head bobbing fast and rhythmic, steady and paced, yet sloppy and delicious and he's moaning around the heavy weight on his tongue like he was the one getting his cock sucked. He wraps his fingers around what he can't fit in his mouth, twists his wrist and curls his tongue against the underside of Ryan's cock in a way that has Ryan burying his hands in Brendon's silky hair, tugging in the most encouraging way.
Through the door, Ryan can hear the low rumble of the music and the foot traffic out in the hall and anyone could walk in on this - Ryan pressed up against the wall with Brendon sucking his cock with a desperate eagerness unrivaled by anything Ryan has ever witnessed - but Brendon is slipping off slowly, only to press both of his hands onto Ryan's bony hips, his tongue flicking over the head of Ryan's dick in the most repetitive, maddening way possible, fast and teasing, and it's enough to make Ryan cry out, eyes rolling to the back of his head and when his fingers tighten in Brendon's hair, Brendon keens for it.
"Brendon- ah! ah! Oh, shit, you -" Ryan can't say anything that doesn't come out as an incoherent plea and Brendon keeps lapping at the tip of Ryan's cock, moaning as the taste of Ryan gathers on his tongue.
For the first time since he sank to his knees, Brendon opens his mouth for something other than wrapping his lips around Ryan's cock and he says, "God, you taste -" but he doesn't even let himself finish before he's back to driving Ryan up the wall, this time, taking Ryan back in his mouth, all hot hot heat and velvet tongue.
And this is good. This is so, so incredibly good and Ryan just threads his fingers in Brendon's hair and only pulls when Brendon turns his tongue just right and there's a blissed out glaze over Ryan's eyes as he stares down at Brendon, watches his dick slip in and out of the kiss swollen lips stretched tight around him.
Brendon looks up at him, dark through his lashes and Ryan lets one hand drop to Brendon's face, dusting his thumb just beneath his eye, grazing his cheekbone. Brendon closes his eyes again and moans, reaches up to claim Ryan's hand and rightfully places it back in his hair, and before Ryan can be curious about Brendon's intentions, Brendon is sinking Ryan's cock deeper and deeper into his mouth until Ryan can feel himself pressing against the back of Brendon's throat and fucking shit and -
Brendon pulls off, sputtering. His eyes are watering, tears collected in the corners and he's coughing into Ryan's hip, shoulders trembling and the line of his back perfect and curved from Ryan's view.
"Hey," Ryan says softly, the most coherent thing he's managed to say since they found themselves in here. "Hey," he repeats, petting Brendon's hair gently and Brendon kisses his hip quickly before pointedly not looking at Ryan and going back down on him, just as greedy as before and even more determined. He bobs on and off a few times, causing the back of Ryan’s head to suffer a dull blow from the wall behind and when he tries to swallow Ryan down again, when Ryan feels the slick wet of Brendon's throat - Ryan presses forward just a little, testing and selfish and he wipes away the tears streaming out of the corners of Brendon's eyes with his thumbs and coos, "Shh, you're doing good. You're doing so good, Bren."
With a little gag, Brendon pulls off and there's so much spit on Ryan's cock, dripping from it and slipping down Brendon's chin, Ryan's gut twists and fuck, that is the hottest thing he's ever seen.
"I want... fuck my mouth," Brendon pants, swallows around his clenching, burning throat and Ryan's own throat clenches because shit, Brendon's mouth and Brendon's throat and yeah.
"Are you sure?" Ryan asks, fingers tripping over Brendon's jaw, his chin, smearing some of Brendon's spit up to his lips, eyes burning. "I don't want to choke you."
Brendon's tongue darts out to taste Ryan's finger and Ryan presses it into the corner of his mouth for better access. "I do."
Ryan wonders if the overwhelming heat that rushes over every inch of his body is what spontaneous combustion feels like.
He's silent for a moment, letting it sink in that Brendon wants his cock down his throat, gagging him, Ryan's hands on the back of Brendon's head holding him in place while Ryan thrusts into Brendon's mouth ruthlessly, searching for something tighter, hotter, wetter - "Okay," Ryan says and strokes away the hair stuck to Brendon's forehead.
Brendon breathes in deep through his nose and kisses the tip of Ryan's cock experimentally, softly, and starts out slow and deliberate. He times his movements, each bob of his head, each roll of his neck, pacing himself as he tongues Ryan in deeper and deeper, urging Ryan closer to the edge. He gets to the point that his lips are rutting against the fingers he has wrapped around the base and when Brendon takes his hand away, puts it in his lap and presses the heel of his hand into his erection, Ryan realizes just how long Brendon has been throbbing, aching in his own jeans. He lets himself feel selfish for only a second because Brendon needs this and he’s sinking lower still and fuck, and yeah, and, "Jesus Christ, Brendon."
There's the familiar movement of Brendon's throat constricting, questioning the intrusion and adjusting to allow for it, and Brendon gags just a little, his reflex pushing Ryan further down his throat and Ryan chokes at the same time Brendon does. Something about the synchronization makes Brendon's eyes fly open, searching for the far out look in Ryan's gaze. Its there, but dim, like an ember in need of oxygen and Brendon takes Ryan's hands, positions them on the back of his head and waits for Ryan to fuel the flame.
Ryan starts slow, caution apparent in every shallow thrust into Brendon's mouth, and watches as Brendon's eyes stare up at him, glazed over and dripping tears. Brendon's breathing through his nose and Ryan can feel himself being carried closer and closer. Brendon's eyes clench shut when Ryan's hands grip the hair at the back of Brendon's head and his hips rock harder and harder towards Brendon's face until every time Ryan pumps forward, Brendon is groaning and sending vibrations through Ryan's entire body and when Ryan comes Brendon swallows him down as best he can, pulling off to cough and breathe and stroke Ryan through the aftershocks with a loose hand.
Sinking to the floor, sated and lazy and so fucking gone, Ryan pushes Brendon backwards and crawls over him, knocking his knees against the mop bucket and recycled cardboard boxes on the tile. Brendon tastes like his come and Ryan braces one hand on the ground beside Brendon's head and snakes the other one down Brendon's pants and strokes Brendon off easily, licking the taste of himself from the corners of Brendon's mouth and tongue.
Brendon comes quickly, hard, and biting Ryan's bottom lip with a moan, rocking into Ryan's hand until everything in his body dies down, everything - except for the taste of Ryan still buzzing on his tongue - for the first time since he saw Ryan through the crowd still packed into the club a wall away. Brendon feels relieved, languid and melted, like a hot liquid oozing out onto the floor, just content with lying there forever as Ryan leans over him and licks into Brendon's open mouth, his lazy tongue swirling with Ryan's dominant, rewarding kisses.
The uncontrollable hunger that spread through him like wildfire is nothing more than a distant tingling dying at the tips of Brendon's fingers.
Everything is quieter, even in his head.
Until there's a loud banging on the door and they hear Pete laughing drunkenly through the door, "Ross, I never finished my story!"
And maybe the sound of Ryan's laugh pressed against his neck is okay enough to interrupt the quiet Brendon's found settling in his body, maybe.
fin.