Jon/Ryan ficlet of random
I am fully aware that this is completely ridiculous and might possibly squick some, but it seemed like a really good idea when I was trying to fall asleep at 5:30 this morning, enough so that I turned my laptop back on to write it before I went to bed. For zarah5's boys helping each other dress meme.
*hands*
"I'm not putting them on," Jon says stubbornly, crossing his arms and staring up at Ryan from the couch. He's comfortable damn it, and he doesn't want to and shouldn't have to always do what Ryan wants.
Ryan glares down at him, crossing his own arms over his narrow chest. "Yes, you are."
"Nope," Jon says. "I'm really not."
And the thing is, Jon hates Ryan's evil eye. Usually he would do what he could to avoid evoking it. But. This is important, and he's going to damn well stand his ground. Ryan can't always get his way just because Jon likes the way Ryan sucks his dick and kisses and fucks, on top of just liking Ryan, period.
The glaring standoff lasts for maybe thirty seconds longer, when Ryan's expression suddenly changes. It doesn't get any less unpleasant, not really. It just shifts from pissed off to calculating smugness.
Still, Jon doesn't expect it when Ryan drops to his knees in front of him.
Ryan stares up at Jon through his eyelashes, rubbing at Jon's thighs. "Mmmm," he hums. "You really, really are."
Jon's brain is stuck on "What?" enough that he kind of can't remember what they're arguing about. But then Ryan trails one hand down over Jon's knee, rubbing down over his calf and capturing his foot right behing the Achilles' tendon.
Ryan lifts Jon's foot slowly while Jon watches, open-mouthed and dumbstruck. Then Ryan slides Jon's flip-flop off and throws it over his shoulder. It smacks against the wall and drops to lie pathetically on the floor, worn sole facing up.
The second shoe lands just inches away from the first, and then Ryan's holding Jon's right foot in one hand, trailing one finger over the arch slowly, until Jon shivers. His feet are sensitive, okay?
"Dude," Jon manages to say. "Do you have a foot fetish you didn't tell me about? Because I'd think you wouldn't want me wearing shoes if that's how it was."
"Shut up," Ryan says, circling one thumb around Jon's ankle bone. He grasps Jon's heel and teases his fingers back along the underside of Jon's foot. Jon would swear he's never gotten turned on by someone playing with his feet before, but it's Ryan, and he's doing things with his suggestive eyes and his callused fingertips, and, well, maybe Jon is willing to be convinced about the shoes.
But not without putting up a little resistance. Because Jon generally tries not to let his dick make his decisions.
"I know what you're trying to do," Jon says, relaxing a little at the feel of Ryan's fingers trailing across his skin. He sounds more out of breath than he'd like, but it'll do. "You want to get me all pliant so I'll agree with you, but I have principles, Ryan, and you're not going to convince me so easily!"
Ryan makes a snorting sound that should be unattractive, but it's one of those things he manages to make dismissive. "You have principles about wearing flip-flops," he says flatly, raising an eyebrow at Jon.
"Exactly," Jon says, and tries hard not to wiggle his toes when Ryan's hands still on his feet. "If you want me to wear shoes, you're going to have to put them on me yourself," Jon says. Then he caves and wiggles his toes hopefully.
Ryan looks down quickly, but not quickly enough that Jon doesn't catch his smile. "Hmmm. You think so?"
"I do," Jon says, and sighs when Ryan massages between his toes.
There's a pause while Ryan works on Jon's feet before nodding and saying, "Okay." Jon's pretty sure Ryan wasn't supposed to agree to that.
"I'll go get them, then," Ryan says, and okay, there's something about his tone that Jon is not sure he likes. He likes Ryan letting go of his feet even less.
Ryan comes back with a pair of socks and a pair of dress shoes that Jon's pretty sure he's only worn twice: once to a wedding and once to the VMAs. They pinch his toes and Jon hates them, but he just sighs. He guesses if Ryan's the one doing this, he deserves to get to choose the shoes.
Jon sits back and presents his feet, ready to feel like a kindergartner whose mom needs to help him tie his shoelaces.
It doesn't exactly go like that.
Ryan sits back on his heels and takes ahold of Jon's right foot gently at the ankle, lifting it off the ground to rest between his knees. He works the sock on slowly, almost like a woman putting on stockings, and he strokes Jon's ankle, light and bordering on teasing, before he exchanges one foot for the other. The second sock goes on even slower, with lots of inappropriate touching happening so that by the time it's on, Jon's breathing shallowly, sprawled on the couch with his legs open, watching as Ryan rubs Jon's calf.
Ryan sits back a little, picking up one shoe, and says, "Cinderella," as he slides Jon's foot inside. Jon smiles a little as Ryan tightens and ties the laces.
"It fits!" Jon says, like it's a revelation, and Ryan cracks a smile, too.
Ryan takes a little more time on the other foot, running his thumb lightly over the arch one last time before he hides it inside expensive leather.
When he's done, he sits back and looks Jon in the eye again before letting his eyes wander down, over Jon's chest, between his legs. Jon's hard, and nothing's going to hide it, so he doesn't bother to try.
Ryan smiles alarmingly wide, and suddenly Jon remembers that shift in expression, the way Ryan looked smug and calculating before he dropped to his knees.
He thinks maybe he was wrong to worry when Ryan rises from his knees, sliding up Jon's body and kissing him hotly. Jon opens for it, groaning into Ryan's mouth. But just when Jon's settling in, Ryan pulls back and presses his mouth close to Jon's ear, cupping one hand over Jon's cock and squeezing.
"From now on," Ryan murmurs, "if you don't put on shoes when I tell you to, you're going to have to get off without me."
Jon maybe stops breathing, and Ryan pulls back with a faux-sad expression on, standing and backing toward the door even as Jon tries to make his arms work and grab Ryan before he can get away.
"Too bad about that hard-on, huh?" Ryan says. "Maybe your flip-flops can take care of it for you."
He smirks, turns and leaves. Jon stares at the closed door mournfully, then turns to look at his flip-flops. They just lie there.
*hands*
"I'm not putting them on," Jon says stubbornly, crossing his arms and staring up at Ryan from the couch. He's comfortable damn it, and he doesn't want to and shouldn't have to always do what Ryan wants.
Ryan glares down at him, crossing his own arms over his narrow chest. "Yes, you are."
"Nope," Jon says. "I'm really not."
And the thing is, Jon hates Ryan's evil eye. Usually he would do what he could to avoid evoking it. But. This is important, and he's going to damn well stand his ground. Ryan can't always get his way just because Jon likes the way Ryan sucks his dick and kisses and fucks, on top of just liking Ryan, period.
The glaring standoff lasts for maybe thirty seconds longer, when Ryan's expression suddenly changes. It doesn't get any less unpleasant, not really. It just shifts from pissed off to calculating smugness.
Still, Jon doesn't expect it when Ryan drops to his knees in front of him.
Ryan stares up at Jon through his eyelashes, rubbing at Jon's thighs. "Mmmm," he hums. "You really, really are."
Jon's brain is stuck on "What?" enough that he kind of can't remember what they're arguing about. But then Ryan trails one hand down over Jon's knee, rubbing down over his calf and capturing his foot right behing the Achilles' tendon.
Ryan lifts Jon's foot slowly while Jon watches, open-mouthed and dumbstruck. Then Ryan slides Jon's flip-flop off and throws it over his shoulder. It smacks against the wall and drops to lie pathetically on the floor, worn sole facing up.
The second shoe lands just inches away from the first, and then Ryan's holding Jon's right foot in one hand, trailing one finger over the arch slowly, until Jon shivers. His feet are sensitive, okay?
"Dude," Jon manages to say. "Do you have a foot fetish you didn't tell me about? Because I'd think you wouldn't want me wearing shoes if that's how it was."
"Shut up," Ryan says, circling one thumb around Jon's ankle bone. He grasps Jon's heel and teases his fingers back along the underside of Jon's foot. Jon would swear he's never gotten turned on by someone playing with his feet before, but it's Ryan, and he's doing things with his suggestive eyes and his callused fingertips, and, well, maybe Jon is willing to be convinced about the shoes.
But not without putting up a little resistance. Because Jon generally tries not to let his dick make his decisions.
"I know what you're trying to do," Jon says, relaxing a little at the feel of Ryan's fingers trailing across his skin. He sounds more out of breath than he'd like, but it'll do. "You want to get me all pliant so I'll agree with you, but I have principles, Ryan, and you're not going to convince me so easily!"
Ryan makes a snorting sound that should be unattractive, but it's one of those things he manages to make dismissive. "You have principles about wearing flip-flops," he says flatly, raising an eyebrow at Jon.
"Exactly," Jon says, and tries hard not to wiggle his toes when Ryan's hands still on his feet. "If you want me to wear shoes, you're going to have to put them on me yourself," Jon says. Then he caves and wiggles his toes hopefully.
Ryan looks down quickly, but not quickly enough that Jon doesn't catch his smile. "Hmmm. You think so?"
"I do," Jon says, and sighs when Ryan massages between his toes.
There's a pause while Ryan works on Jon's feet before nodding and saying, "Okay." Jon's pretty sure Ryan wasn't supposed to agree to that.
"I'll go get them, then," Ryan says, and okay, there's something about his tone that Jon is not sure he likes. He likes Ryan letting go of his feet even less.
Ryan comes back with a pair of socks and a pair of dress shoes that Jon's pretty sure he's only worn twice: once to a wedding and once to the VMAs. They pinch his toes and Jon hates them, but he just sighs. He guesses if Ryan's the one doing this, he deserves to get to choose the shoes.
Jon sits back and presents his feet, ready to feel like a kindergartner whose mom needs to help him tie his shoelaces.
It doesn't exactly go like that.
Ryan sits back on his heels and takes ahold of Jon's right foot gently at the ankle, lifting it off the ground to rest between his knees. He works the sock on slowly, almost like a woman putting on stockings, and he strokes Jon's ankle, light and bordering on teasing, before he exchanges one foot for the other. The second sock goes on even slower, with lots of inappropriate touching happening so that by the time it's on, Jon's breathing shallowly, sprawled on the couch with his legs open, watching as Ryan rubs Jon's calf.
Ryan sits back a little, picking up one shoe, and says, "Cinderella," as he slides Jon's foot inside. Jon smiles a little as Ryan tightens and ties the laces.
"It fits!" Jon says, like it's a revelation, and Ryan cracks a smile, too.
Ryan takes a little more time on the other foot, running his thumb lightly over the arch one last time before he hides it inside expensive leather.
When he's done, he sits back and looks Jon in the eye again before letting his eyes wander down, over Jon's chest, between his legs. Jon's hard, and nothing's going to hide it, so he doesn't bother to try.
Ryan smiles alarmingly wide, and suddenly Jon remembers that shift in expression, the way Ryan looked smug and calculating before he dropped to his knees.
He thinks maybe he was wrong to worry when Ryan rises from his knees, sliding up Jon's body and kissing him hotly. Jon opens for it, groaning into Ryan's mouth. But just when Jon's settling in, Ryan pulls back and presses his mouth close to Jon's ear, cupping one hand over Jon's cock and squeezing.
"From now on," Ryan murmurs, "if you don't put on shoes when I tell you to, you're going to have to get off without me."
Jon maybe stops breathing, and Ryan pulls back with a faux-sad expression on, standing and backing toward the door even as Jon tries to make his arms work and grab Ryan before he can get away.
"Too bad about that hard-on, huh?" Ryan says. "Maybe your flip-flops can take care of it for you."
He smirks, turns and leaves. Jon stares at the closed door mournfully, then turns to look at his flip-flops. They just lie there.