Unexpected Places
Title: Unexpected Places
Pairings: Jon/Ryan, Brendon/Spencer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction.
Notes: Sequel to Oistros. Thanks to disarm_d for swooping in to save me yet again, and to adellyna for being my spellchecker.
Summary: They’re in the cabin having lunch when Ryan stands up one day and announces vaguely, “I feel a little…”
They’re in the cabin having lunch when Ryan stands up one day and announces vaguely, “I feel a little…”
Jon looks up, curious. Brendon ignores them, busy with the magnetic poetry on the refrigerator door. Ryan’s glance flits over him before it abruptly jerks back and he says insistently, “Spencer.”
Whatever he means, Spencer looks distinctly unhappy about it, but also pretty much resigned. He says, “I think we need to adjust our schedule,” and that’s when Brendon finally looks up and takes notice. He looks to Spencer first, as always, then Ryan.
“Oh shit,” he says, and it sounds surprised.
“Fucking fuck,” Ryan opines.
Spencer says, with the tone of one grimly gearing up for battle, “One week.”
Brendon raises his hand and says, “Not it.”
Jon has no fucking clue what any of them are talking about.
-
Jon’s known about Brendon and Spencer for a while now. They played it cool when he first met them, around the other bands, and even after he joined them on tour it took a while for them to be comfortable letting him see the little things, like Spencer mussing Brendon’s hair in the morning or Brendon sliding under Spencer’s arm on the couch while they watched a movie.
He suspected, certainly, but it wasn’t until they really became a unit that he started catching them with their guard down. He thinks now that they might have been easing him into it, but Spencer’s also fiercely private, so that might have been some of it.
Whatever the reason, it isn’t until two months into touring - with Brendon and Spencer sharing hotel rooms every time - that he first catches them kissing in the kitchenette on the bus, fingertips brushing each other’s skin, moving lazily together surrounded by a swirl of dust motes caught in the light.
Ryan comes out and catches him looking, that time, but he doesn’t say anything, just gives Jon a smile as if to say now it’s their secret, too.
-
They’re all much more open in the cabin, not bothering to hide anything when it’s usually just the four of them. Brendon and Spencer are openly sleeping together, sharing Spencer’s room. Jon’s still not used to it, not really, so every time he sees them together it’s almost like spying.
He knows Ryan fits in there somewhere as well, but it’s still something of a shock to see him sprawled between them on Brendon’s bed, curled between Spencer’s chest and Brendon’s hands on his back. He looks like he fits there.
He’d thought they were napping, but as he pauses, he can make out the low murmur of voices.
“We could rock-paper-scissors for it,” Brendon suggests, pianist’s fingers working idly into the muscles of Ryan’s back.
“That’s not exactly how it works,” Spencer says dryly, but there’s an undercurrent of affection to it, and in his eyes when he looks at Brendon.
Ryan says something garbled into Spencer’s chest. Spencer cocks his head, then says, “We should probably tell Jon.”
Ryan’s head comes up. “You’re not telling Jon,” he says, flat and final.
Spencer catches Jon’s eye in the doorway, but he doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips together in a way that Jon knows means the argument isn’t over yet, they’re just taking a break from it. Jon backs away quietly and leaves them alone.
-
He’s been a little grumpy all day, he knows, and it might have something to do with the other three members of his band having naptime slumber parties without him and keeping secrets, but he’s not about to admit it. Spencer leaves him alone for a while, but Jon suspects he’s the one who sends Brendon out after him, and it only takes five minutes and one wounded flash of Brendon’s puppy eyes for Jon to cave and come back inside to join in making dinner.
Afterwards, floating pleasantly in a cloud of smoke, it gets easier. Jon feels his bad mood fly away with the rest of his cares, up towards the ceiling in transparently dancing wisps. Brendon’s on his stomach on the floor, giggling at something and trying to talk Spencer into shotgunning. Ryan’s quiet for the first few minutes, but after a while he shuffles around to sit next to Jon, shoulders pressed closed.
“We all want you around,” he says, and Jon wonders whether Spencer said something, or if Ryan just figured it out on his own. His eyelids are heavy, half-closed as he looks seriously at Jon. “I want you around.”
“Okay,” Jon says amiably. He’s feeling pretty laidback; it’s not bothering him as much as it was earlier. This band is full of secrets, and they let him in on all of them eventually.
Ryan keeps looking at him, half-lidded and somber. It gives him almost a sensual look, like he’s just been fucked and can hardly stay awake. Jon has no idea why he’s thinking that now, none at all. He blames the smoke.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m a freak,” Ryan says finally. His eyes rove a little, then fix back on Jon.
“I’ve got news for you,” Jon says regretfully, tapping Ryan’s shoulder. “It’s too late for that.”
Ryan contemplates that for a moment, and then laughs.
-
The next day, Spencer turns into the taskmaster from hell. “Work, work, work,” he orders, herding them into the practice area every time they stray, pushing out beats and rhythms until they have no choice but to accomplish something.
After the umpteenth time trying to play through what they’ve tentatively titled, ‘The Waltzing Teacup Serenade,’ Brendon mutters something about Spencer being a hardass. Spencer just looks at him and says, “Do you remember last time?”
Brendon turns slightly pink. Jon doesn’t know what that’s about, but he notices that Ryan’s avoiding looking at Brendon. “We got it recorded,” he argues.
“The songs were already written last time,” Spencer returns.
Brendon almost huffs, Jon can see it in the line of his back, but instead he lets it go and says, “Why don’t we try the elephant song again?”
Ryan still isn’t looking up from his guitar, but he says, “Good idea,” and off they go again.
-
They call a halt sometime in the evening when everyone gets hungry, and Brendon and Spencer work together to make grilled cheese and hot sauce sandwiches while Jon and Ryan indulge a little before dinner.
Jon’s not even high, really, but he’s relaxing, unwinding from the day. Ryan gets progressively closer as they smoke, fingers brushing over Jon’s as they pass the joint back and forth.
“This is good,” Ryan muses somewhere near the end of their spliff. He moves in closer to Jon on the floor, curling up against his side. Jon thinks about Ryan between Spencer and Brendon on the bed earlier, and wonders if they look like they fit together the same way. He wonders if he’s jealous, if that’s what this is.
“Yeah,” he agrees. Ryan’s arm tucks over his chest, and his nose presses into the side of Jon’s neck. It’s nice, companionable, and Jon’s not thinking much of anything when he turns his head a little to the side to blow the last of the smoke towards Ryan’s face.
Ryan opens his mouth to catch it, and it might be Jon’s imagination that he leans in closer, but Jon doesn’t think so. He looks down at Ryan’s open mouth, Ryan’s lips, and imagines what would happen if he leaned in a bit further.
Spencer’s voice cracks out, “Ryan,” from the doorway into the kitchen.
Ryan jerks back, blinking rapidly, and says, “Fuck.” He says it again for good measure, then runs a hand through his hair and pulls away. His arm sliding across Jon’s chest feels reluctant.
Jon blinks a little as Ryan disappears into the kitchen, then leans back and closes his eyes to enjoy the buzz.
-
“It doesn’t seem as bad as last time, is all I’m saying,” Spencer finishes as Jon walks into the kitchen, his stomach announcing that it’s time to go in search of those sandwiches.
Ryan’s eyes flick over to Jon, then back to the table. “It’s pretty bad,” he says, and it sounds on the edge of miserable.
Brendon hands a plate to Jon with two sandwiches on it. His mouth is thin and unhappy, shoulders drawn up. Jon reaches out to touch his shoulder instinctively, but Brendon moves away before he can make contact.
“Do you think…?” Spencer asks, drawing it out. His eyes flick between Ryan and Brendon.
“No,” Ryan says vehemently. “No, not Brendon.”
Jon helps himself to a Diet Coke from the fridge and takes his place at the table. Brendon’s the only one who’s touched his food, it looks like, and all he’s doing is shredding the crusts of his sandwich into croutons.
“Ryan,” Spencer says, voice low, and it drops even further when he continues. “If you…the three of us, we could…”
Jon doesn’t see Ryan’s response, because his attention is caught by the way Brendon goes suddenly, rigidly stiff beside him. His eyes are fixed on his plate, jaw clenched. The crusts have been reduced to powder.
No, Jon wants to say, even though he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. He knows that look. It’s the way Brendon looks when they’re arguing over him, saying things like, ‘maybe Ryan should try being the lead singer on this album,’ or ‘I don’t think we should use that song, it sounds too much like folk music.’ It’s the expression he gets when he doesn’t want something, desperately, but goes silent rather than fighting for what he wants.
No, Jon thinks again, and this is wrong, and whatever it is, leave him alone. Let me fix it.
“I don’t know,” Ryan says, even and low, and no one says anything after that.
-
Jon isn’t above cornering one of them (probably Brendon, he’s the weakest link when it comes to things like this) and making them talk, but it turns out that he doesn’t have to, because Ryan corners him first.
He slides into Jon’s room and closes the door, leaning back against it, and says low in his throat, “We have to talk.”
Jon flips shut the magazine he was reading and looks up. “Yeah, I was getting that impression,” he says mildly.
Ryan fidgets for a minute, which in itself is fascinating, because Ryan’s not usually a fidgeter. “I have this condition,” he starts, and Jon rolls into a sitting position to listen, because this sounds important.
A few minutes later, Ryan finally rambles to a halt and Jon feels like he should probably pick his jaw up off the ground.
“Seriously?” he manages finally, and doesn’t even wait for Ryan to give him a look before saying, “Sorry, stupid question. I just…wow. Huh.”
Ryan nods. His fingers are pressed against the door, like he thinks he might need to make a hasty escape. “I just wanted you to know. From me. Before I do anything that’s…that’s not me.”
Jon nods, because he gets that. “And you usually just…pick someone?” he asks, because clearly he doesn’t know when to shut up and stop talking. In his defense, though, he’s really curious. It’s not every day you hear someone say their biology is wired into some sort of bizarre mating cycle. And it’s Ryan. Jon is…Jon is curious.
Ryan nods. “Probably Spencer,” he says slowly. “I think…I think it might be Spencer.”
Jon blinks, and almost asks, ‘And how does Brendon feel about that?’ before realizing that he already knows. Brendon knows this is a possibility, has maybe even been through it already once before. He doesn’t want it, but he’s going to let it happen anyway. They all are.
“Okay,” he says. “Thanks for telling me.” Ryan flashes him a quick, uncertain smile, and is turning to go when Jon adds, “Ryan?”
Ryan turns back around, eyebrow quirked. Jon smiles faintly at him. “I don’t think you’re a freak.”
Ryan dips his head, lips quirking up, and says, “Thanks,” before slipping out the door.
-
They’re all of them prone to insomnia up in the cabin, keeping weird hours as they are, so Jon’s not really surprised when he wanders out of his bedroom at three in the morning, scratching his belly absently, to find that everyone else is still awake.
He almost misses Brendon and Spencer, because the light in Spencer’s room is off, door slightly ajar. There’s enough moonlight for him to do a double-take, though, and see Brendon straddling Spencer’s hips, their foreheads tilted together.
He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he doesn’t linger, too aware that he’s intruding on a personal moment. As he turns to go, he sees Ryan standing at the end of the hallway watching him. It stops him in his tracks, and in the silence he can hear Spencer whispering something, “You, you,” and Brendon’s answering murmur.
Ryan doesn’t move. In the dim light, all Jon can really see are his eyes, dark and bright. He wonders if Ryan has already done his own eavesdropping on this room, if he’s giving them space for as long as he can before the inevitable. Jon’s still not sure exactly how that’s going to work. Ryan had said he wasn’t good at sharing, but Jon can’t imagine Brendon will let them shut him out, and Spencer had said it like that wasn’t an option, said the three of us.
Beside Jon, the soft sounds of conversation are replaced by wet noises, broken by quick indrawn breaths. He can see them in his head, the way they were a moment ago; Spencer’s hands sliding down to Brendon’s ass, gripping, and Brendon’s hands tangled in Spencer’s hair.
Jon should move. He should keep walking, past Ryan, and stop listening to this. Someone hisses, a long gasp punctuated by the rustling sounds of cloth against skin, and then one of them moans. Brendon.
Ryan turns on his heel and walks away, and it finally breaks the spell.
-
They’re high the next day, and Ryan thaws out a little when he’s buzzed, gets more affectionate, so Jon doesn’t think much of it when Ryan snuggles in next to him on the floor and starts stroking his stomach beneath the hem of his t-shirt.
What does get his attention is when Ryan’s fingers slip under the shirt, around the same time that his mouth opens damply over Jon’s neck.
“Ryan?” Jon asks, bemused. Ryan makes a little annoyed noise, like he can’t be bothered right now, and his fingers slide higher, over Jon’s rib cage, splaying out wide across his chest.
Brendon and Spencer aren’t there. They’d left an hour or so ago, heading down to pick up some fresh supplies (snacks, they claimed, although from a comment made before they left, Jon suspects they might be picking up some other supplies as well), and they won’t be back for a while.
“Hey,” Jon says carefully. His head is a little foggy, and Ryan’s hand on his skin actually feels good. He wonders dimly why he’s protesting at all. Ryan, though. He has Ryan to think about. “Maybe we should watch some TV until Spencer and Brendon get back.”
Ryan’s mouth lifts briefly from his skin. “No,” he says succinctly, and returns to exploring Jon’s neck.
“No?” Jon’s voice cracks. He sounds like a fucking thirteen-year-old. Really, it’s not like he hasn’t thought about this, the possibility of it, but with what Ryan told him, he thinks it might be an even worse idea right now than it usually seems. “What about trying for that new level on Mario? Brendon will…”
“Not Brendon,” Ryan says, and starts sucking.
Jon’s brain emits a little buzzing sound, like white noise. “Okay,” he tries. “But Spencer…”
Ryan detaches and looms over him, expression more intense than Jon had been anticipating. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows, and the muscles in his arms are all corded up. “Not Spencer,” he says, and his voice has gone weird.
Not Brendon and not Spencer. Ryan lowers himself again, on top of Jon this time, and pushes both hands under Jon’s shirt while he returns to his vampire impression affixed to Jon’s neck.
“Yeah,” Jon says breathlessly, making Ryan suck harder in response. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”
It’s not like Jon has never thought about guys. Not very often, it’s true, and not in any great detail, but he’s thought about it. He thinks a handjob wouldn’t be so bad. Getting a blowjob would be basically the same. Blowjobs are a universal truth.
He thinks about offering up that pearl of wisdom, but Ryan is already arranging matters to his own satisfaction. He squirms until they fit together in all the right places, and then just starts humping.
Jon grabs Ryan’s arms - mostly in surprise, because the friction inside his jeans is making him see stars, chafing and squeezing by turns - and hangs on for the first few seconds. Ryan’s head drops down, next to Jon’s, his forehead brushing the carpet, and he makes a soft noise Jon can’t determine as pain or relief. His movements are jerky, awkward the way Ryan always is inside his own body, but he’s got enough of a rhythm now that Jon is starting to think he might actually be able to get off like this after all.
“Hey,” Jon tries again, and it comes out garbled, so he clears his throat before making another attempt. “Ry…”
Ryan makes another noise, and suddenly his hips speed up, fast and hard enough that Jon bites his tongue on whatever he was going to say and starts grinding up as much as he can. It’s frustrating from this position, like when girls ride him, never quite enough, so after another dazed second he grabs Ryan and flips them over.
Ryan squirms at first, clearly no happier about being on the bottom than Jon had been, but Jon just pins him down with his weight and rubs their cocks together, dry and trapped in fabric, focused enough that Ryan forgets his complaint and angles his hips up instead for more.
It only takes them a handful of thrusts to get off, Ryan a split-second before Jon, and then they both lie there, twisted together on the carpet and panting. Jon eventually peels himself up, awkwardness beginning to settle in on him like an itchy wool blanket, and adjusts his softening cock inside his jeans.
“I’m just going to…” he offers, jerking his thumb back towards the bathroom. Get cleaned up. Find some other clothes. Freak out for a while. He just needs to clear his head, to take all of this in. It’s not really a big deal, what they did, but it’s still something, and he could use a few minutes to sort himself out.
Ryan appears in the bedroom just as he’s tossing his jeans aside and hunting for clean boxers. Jon hears the floor creak and twists around to see Ryan watching him, sharp and hungry. He’s also obviously aroused, from the size of the bulge in his pants.
Ryan moves forward - stalking him, Jon thinks - and runs his hands down Jon’s arms before leaning in to lick at the pulse-point in his throat. Jon opens his mouth to speak and feels teeth instead.
“Shit,” he says, surprised into honesty. “Again?”
Ryan makes a sound that, from anyone more intimidating, Jon would have considered a growl.
Again, then.
-
Two handjobs and one frantic humping session later, Ryan finally wears himself out and falls asleep. He looks younger in sleep, innocent, even though Jon knows - intimately, now - how far from the truth that is. The entire bedroom smells like sex.
Jon considers his options, rolls over and pulls off his sticky boxers, resuming his abandoned search for another pair. He almost freaks out at being naked in a room with Ryan, but Ryan’s dead to the world right now, and besides, after what they just did, Jon doesn’t think he has any room for queasiness.
He’s tired, but he’s hungry, too, so the call of food wins. Part of him also wants to track down Spencer, maybe just for the relief of being able to grab someone and cling a little. He just had sex with a dude. Even if it was Ryan, that deserves some cling time.
Spencer and Brendon still aren’t back yet. Jon starts to wonder where they are and what they’re doing, but then he remembers how sunburned Spencer’s ass was last week after they went ‘hiking’ together out by the lake, and decides he doesn’t want to know.
They appear just as he’s finishing his second bowl of Cheerios (sex requires strength, he needs to replenish) in a burst of noise and laughter caught in the slam of the front door. Brendon bounds into the kitchen, grocery bags in both hands, and says, “Hey, Jon. Where’s Ryan?”
“Sleeping,” Jon says, and he doesn’t know if it’s something in his voice, or the strangeness of the statement (Ryan’s not really one for napping, and they all woke up past noon today), or just Spencer being perceptive, but Spencer stops dead in the doorway and stares, and it only takes Brendon a second after that to look wildly between them and come to what’s probably the correct conclusion. “Oh, fuck.”
Spencer sets his bags down on the counter next to Brendon’s and asks, “Are you okay? Is he?”
“We’re both fine. It was fine. It is fine.” Jon hopes his cheeks aren’t turning pink at all. He doesn’t think they are, but he feels awfully exposed right now. There’s a giant sign over his head anyway, proclaiming ‘I had sex with Ryan!’ louder than a blush ever could.
“Wow, that’s…unexpected,” Brendon offers finally. He’s vibrating a little in place, tension along the lines of his body like he’s fighting strong emotion. Jon mentally flips through the possibilities of jealousy, concern, bitterness, and anger before he looks at Spencer and thinks, relief.
There’s a noise from the direction of the bedrooms; a door closing, probably to the bathroom. Brendon hesitates, then heads out of the kitchen in that direction. He and Spencer touch as he passes, a simple brush of hands against sides and arms that makes Jon’s stomach feel funny.
Spencer gives him a serious look. “Good luck,” he says. “It’s going to be a long week.”
-
Ryan isn’t just horny, Jon discovers quickly. Ryan is insatiable.
He’s clearly working hard to rein it in, trying not to overwhelm Jon or scare him off, but whatever biology he’s fighting is obviously a bitch. Jon does what he can, soothes with his hands and talks to Ryan whenever he goes quiet, but Ryan’s still fighting the larger part of the battle.
There are an awful lot of handjobs. Jon’s getting better and better at them, and he no longer has the little voice in his head popping up in a speech balloon to announce, ‘Your hand is on another guy’s dick!’ The more tired he gets, in fact - and he does get tired, they’re having sex nearly 24/7 - the easier it is to just relax and let go.
That’s the excuse he uses, at least, when he finds himself actually considering giving a blowjob. Preferably, of course, Ryan would be the one going down on him, but Ryan is currently a lot needier in the sex department than Jon is, and while he would probably go down on Jon if he asked, Jon isn’t the one who needs to get off right now.
He’s only thinking about it because he’s on Handjob #7 of the day, and his wrist is starting to hurt like a bitch. He can’t even keep the tempo up for long enough to get Ryan off, it’s killing him.
“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat to repeat it when the words are lost in Ryan’s desperate groan. “Hey, what if I…?” He gestures to explain what he means, a furtive wave at Ryan’s crotch and a back-and-forth mime in the direction of his mouth that every male recognizes by the time they hit puberty.
Ryan blinks at him for a second, then his eyes go wide and he scrambles backwards so fast that Jon nearly gets a knee to the face, kicking his boxers all the way off and spreading his legs. “Okay,” Jon says, and grins a little, nervous and amused. “Okay, yeah.”
It’s weird. He’s not going to lie about that. It’s weird and it tastes funny and it’s not anything he’d ever been inclined to do before this, but it’s surprisingly not that bad. He’s had blowjobs; he figures it out quick, and Ryan is nothing if not encouraging. He has a lot of trouble holding his hips still, but Jon manages to get one arm across his hipbones while the other braces his cock, and after the first few sucks he even manages to get a rhythm going without wanting to gag from the taste and the feel of a cock - thick, hot, salty - on his tongue.
He wonders if Brendon and Spencer are going to find out about this, or guess. He wonders if he’ll ever tell anyone else that this ever happened. That it’s something he’s done.
Then Ryan moans, hips pushing up urgently against the pressure of Jon’s arm, and Jon stops thinking about it.
It tastes fucking awful when Ryan comes, but Jon just spits the whole mess into a wad of tissues and excuses himself to the bathroom to gargle with mouthwash. When he comes back, Ryan is sprawled naked across the bed, one arm flung over his face, flushed and sweaty with his cock lying limp against his thigh. Jon thinks, wow, I did that, and then just, wow.
“Jon,” Ryan says, voice low and a little gravelly. Maybe it’s from all of the noise he’s been making lately.
“Yeah,” Jon says, shaking himself out of it and padding over to the bed. “Yeah, I’m here.”
-
“Here,” Spencer says the next time they get back from a run into town, handing over a familiar paper bag. “Thought you might need this at some point.”
“Jim Beam?” Jon asks, amused. “Why, have you guys been into my stash?”
Spencer shakes his head. “It’s not for you,” he explains. “It’s for Ryan. I used to…it helps, if he’s not getting enough sleep. If you both need to rest.”
Jon’s lips quirk up a little. “You used to get Ryan liquored up until he passed out?”
“Yes.” Spencer looks abruptly tired, but unrepentant. “Trust me. You might need it.”
“Okay,” Jon says. “Thanks.”
He’s about to say something else, something about what else Spencer used to do for Ryan and what Jon should be doing for him now to make all of this easier, but Ryan emerges sleepy and tousled from the bedroom, looking decidedly frowny.
Spencer tenses up, and it takes Jon a second to realize how close they are, and what Ryan had said earlier, echoed by Spencer a day later: jealous fits.
Ryan doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, though, just goes straight for Jon and wraps his arms around Jon’s waist, forehead dropping onto Jon’s shoulder. “Hey,” he mumbles. “You left.”
Jon grins at the crown of his head. “It’s a beautiful day,” he points out. “I wanted to stretch my legs.” Ryan makes a grumbling noise of assent, and Jon nudges him gently. “Hey, want to go out? We could take a walk down by the lake.”
Ryan raises his head and looks at Jon, considering. “Okay,” he says finally.
“Great.” Jon’s been itching to get out; it’s been too long since he left the cabin. “Let me grab my shoes.”
He recognizes the tactical error as soon as he makes it, as soon as he bends over to grab the flip-flops from beside the couch and feels Ryan’s eyes on his ass, burning his skin. When he straightens up, there’s a look in Ryan’s eyes that’s become all too familiar lately, and while it does give Jon a little thrill to see it directed at him, it also means they won’t be taking a walk anytime soon.
“No,” Ryan says, and his voice matches his eyes, predatory and hungry. “No walk.”
Jon sighs. “Yeah, I figured.” He just barely manages to toss the flip-flops back towards the couch as Ryan starts dragging him down the hallway, fingers clamped tightly over his wrist.
Jon throws up a finger behind him in the direction of Spencer’s laughter.
-
It’s not as if Jon hadn’t seen this coming. It’s just that maybe he’d thought it wouldn’t be coming quite so soon.
“Oh, fuck,” he says as Ryan’s fingers knead his ass, digging in and spreading, the gleam in his eyes nowhere near extinguished. “Fuck, Ryan.”
Ryan can be a manipulative bastard; Jon knows this. He’d never realized it extended to his mouth on Jon’s balls, hot and wet and not enough, while his fingers crept in closer and closer to the one place Jon really didn’t want them.
“Ryan,” he tries again, shaking his boxers off where they’re dangling from one ankle. His shirt is still on, but he feels terribly exposed, vulnerable. He’s never had his boxers off during this before. Ryan’s never had his mouth down there before.
Ryan’s eyes glitter a little, fever-bright. His hands push Jon’s thighs open wider, an inexorable force, and Jon can’t stop his legs from shaking for long enough to fight him. Then his head dips down out of sight and his tongue curls in, and Jon nearly brains himself on the headboard.
“Fuck,” he says again, like an idiot. ”Ryan.”
Ryan’s tongue is slippery and wet, insistently pushing in farther and deeper, like he can’t get enough, and Jon had no idea that was what this felt like. His legs are shaking in earnest now, but for an entirely different reason. “Ryan,” he says again, almost a whine. Ryan’s tongue slips out, and Jon has barely a second to mourn the loss - clenching, he realizes, around nothing - before the dull pressure of penetration returns and he nearly swallows his tongue when he realizes it’s Ryan’s finger this time.
He locks down automatically, going stiff and tense, but Ryan’s tongue is back almost immediately, pushing insistently until Jon’s traitorous body yields and lets him in again. It still feels amazing, and Jon finds himself spreading his legs wider without consciously deciding to do so. Ryan rewards him by going deeper, making hungry noises amidst the wet sounds of his tongue penetrating Jon’s body, and Jon breathes, “Oh shit, oh fuck,” as Ryan works a second finger in next to the first.
At least he’s remembering foreplay, stretching Jon out first. Spencer had warned that he might not. And it is a stretch; Ryan’s fingers are long and thin, but they feel huge inside him, pushing him open and forcing him to accommodate them. Ryan’s tongue soothes the burn, but it’s still an alien feeling, having something inside him like this.
Then - Jesus fucking Christ - Ryan starts fucking him. Jon thinks it just as his brain leaps to deflect that thought, trying to claim it’s only fingers, it’s not…but it is. It’s the push in and drag out that Jon recognizes intimately, and it’s happening inside him. Ryan has two fingers in his ass, and he’s fucking Jon with them. Fucking him.
Jon groans, something garbled and helpless, and Ryan seems to take that as permission to keep going, because he scrambles up to position his cock. His cock.
“Wait,” Jon yelps, and his legs try to snap closed but Ryan’s fingers are still there, still fucking him, and his muscles feel like jelly, so he only manages a weak twitch. “Condom. Lube.” He’s saying it like he’s actually going to let Ryan do this - fuck him - but he doesn’t really see another option at this point. Besides, it’s under duress. It’s for the good of a friend. It hardly counts as fucking at all, right?
That thought evaporates completely out of his head when Ryan returns and starts pressing in, slick with lube but still blunt, and far more of a stretch than his fingers had been. Jon digs his fingers into Ryan’s biceps and bites his lip, unwilling to open his mouth in case he couldn’t control the sound that came out. He finally makes a noise when Ryan breaches him, a low groan of pain and exhaustion, edged with the itch of need, and Ryan bites his own lip, eyes glazed, and starts thrusting.
It’s not comfortable. Jon does what he can, spreading his legs to change the angle and trying to lie still, but it hurts and he really just wants to get away. Ryan is huge. It had been hilarious, back when Jon was making clever remarks about donkeys, back before Ryan’s cock was in Jon’s ass. It’s not really all that funny now. Still, there’s plenty of lube, so Jon just grits his teeth and rides it out.
Ryan has a fucking lot of stamina for someone in fucking heat, but he finally comes, just as the fire in Jon’s ass is reaching the point that he feels like he can’t take it anymore. He falls forward, chest heaving, and Jon holds very still and waits for his cock to soften and slide out. There’s sweat all over Jon’s face, on his upper lip when he licks it. Some of it might not even be his.
Ryan finally, finally rolls off to the side, and Jon takes a deep breath and stretches his legs out. They’re stiff, and pain flares bright and angry in his ass when he moves them, but at least he’s slightly more comfortable. He feels Ryan start to grope questioningly for his cock, and says quickly, “No, no, that’s okay.” He doesn’t know whether Ryan believes him, but the hand stops its progress and eventually retreats. Jon takes a deep breath and listens to Ryan’s breathing slow and even out.
Eventually, his must do the same.
-
Jon wakes up disoriented, with the feeling that the world is somehow upside-down. It’s dark, he realizes; they’ve slept through dinner and it’s now the middle of the night. The house is quiet; he doesn’t hear Brendon or Spencer. He does hear Ryan.
Ryan’s been waiting for him to wake up, he thinks, but not patiently. His hands are on Jon’s legs, stroking and tickling with light touches, and his eyes are hungry. Jon starts to wake himself up enough for a handjob, but then he feels Ryan push at his thighs, the corresponding ache and sting at the base of his spine, and thinks, oh, fuck.
“Ryan,” he says, soft and burred with sleep, and Ryan makes a noise in response and licks into his mouth. His mouth is sour with sleep, tongue hot and wet, and Jon feels himself responding without meaning to, his cock stirring against Ryan’s leg. Ryan makes a pleased sound swallowed by Jon’s mouth and pushes his legs farther apart, and Jon tries to pull back and protest but doesn’t quite make it in time.
Something’s changed. Jon doesn’t know if it’s the angle, or the position, or the fact that he’s relaxed from sleep and still slick and open from the last time, but Ryan slides right in and Jon’s body doesn’t raise more protest than a dull ache. No condom, Jon realizes, fuck. But Ryan’s flush up against him, searching his eyes, and it’s too late now, so he just nods a little, giving permission.
Ryan goes slower this time; maybe the edge has been taken off already. It feels good, surprisingly, although the stretch to accommodate Ryan’s cock is still awkward and leaves him feeling swollen and obscene. It almost doesn’t matter once Ryan starts thrusting, deep and slow but with enough friction to make Jon’s skin buzz. He’s still half-asleep, he thinks. It’s good. He could let Ryan fuck him all night if it always felt like this.
That thought wakes him up a little, with the little jolt that he always gets whenever the words fuck him brand themselves across his brain, but he doesn’t get to be upset about it for very long. Ryan feels him shift, the bunch and gather of his muscles, and misinterprets it completely. His hand makes a grab for Jon’s cock, squeezing just a little too hard before stroking roughly, and the buzz in Jon’s skin starts popping and sizzling.
Ryan comes first, although it’s a close race. He doesn’t pull out, just stills his hips and keeps stroking Jon off after a brief pause for recovery while his orgasm shuddered through him. Ryan’s still inside him, thick and anchoring; Ryan’s come is inside him, and Jon comes as Ryan squeezes his cock on the tail end of that thought, feeling like he’s just been beaten over the head with a club.
They pant together for a few minutes, and when the waves finally ebb, Jon feels the surreal sensation of Ryan slowly hardening inside of him. “Jesus,” he whispers, shock blanking out over his mind. His body stretches with the blood flushing Ryan’s cock, which slowly swells until Jon aches with it, with the feeling of being filled up and penetrated. Ryan is taking him, there’s no other word for it, taking and using him and Jon feels a shudder skip down his spine that he never expected.
Ryan shifts just a fraction, just enough to make Jon gasp and lock his legs behind Ryan’s calves. Ryan doesn’t move much even after that, pulsing in tiny thrusts against Jon’s ass until Jon blinks the worst of the daze away and sees the question in his eyes.
He nods, giving permission, and Ryan sighs, his whole body relaxing in relief. He starts thrusting, long strokes that bring him nearly out and then deep inside again, before pushing in all the way, so far that Jon feels like his skin might be splitting, and rocking in shallow thrusts until Jon sees stars dance in front of his eyes.
Ryan keeps going, merciless once he feels Jon’s body tighten in response to his movements, and after a few seconds Jon can’t do anything but let his body unfurl, singing with every thrust - wet, slicked up from the lube and from Ryan’s come - and relax into the bed beneath him.
“Yeah,” he breathes, and lets Ryan have him.
-
It’s near dawn when Jon wakes up again, the first gray shades of morning starting to touch the room. He’s surprisingly well-rested, although if left alone he could easily sleep for another few hours; until noon, even.
Ryan isn’t asleep. Jon can feel the tension in his muscles, and when he pries his eyes open he sees Ryan’s eyes glittering, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey,” Jon mumbles, patting at Ryan’s leg. Ryan looks over at him, considers, and finally rolls in, fitting himself against Jon’s side. “Can’t sleep?” Jon asks, and then thinks muzzily that it’s a pretty stupid question, since he can feel Ryan’s erection pressed against his hip.
Ryan shakes his head, and Jon wakes himself up a little more to shift onto his side. “Do you want…?” he begins, and then feels a twinge shooting a reminder through his ass of how many times they’d had sex last night. “Uh, I don’t think…” he amends guiltily, shifting again to try to get more comfortable.
Ryan just shakes his head, and turns so that they’re spooning, Ryan’s back against his front. He wraps Jon’s arm around his chest, and hesitates for a brief second before pulling Jon’s leg over both of his as well. Jon blinks and lets himself be manhandled until Ryan seems more content with the arrangements.
Ryan lies quietly for a second, and then asks, “Can you sing?”
Jon frowns. “You mean, right now?” he asks. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but then neither does Ryan asking just in general, when Jon’s been singing their back-up vocals for months.
“Yeah,” Ryan says. Jon can feel him breathing, the air tickling over the back of Jon’s hand every time his chest falls. “Anything. Or hum, whatever. It’s…” He pauses, then says, “It’s something Brendon used to do. It helps.”
Jon is suddenly wide-awake. That didn’t sound like a ‘used to do for me when Spencer wasn’t available,’ it sounds like a ‘used to do for me when we were like this, in bed together,’ and Jon did not see that one coming. Admittedly, for as long as he’s known them, it’s been Brendon-and-Spencer, and in a different way, Spencer-and-Ryan. He thinks he can be forgiven for not anticipating that particular curve ball.
He wants to ask questions, but Ryan is starting to move, plaintive little thrusts of his hips like he can’t stay still, can’t control it, and that reminds Jon why he’s doing this. He starts humming without thinking about what he’s going to sing, something nonsensical that evolves out of the first thing that comes into his head, and feels Ryan slowly relax.
It’s not quite enough, or else Ryan just never loses that final edge of tension. Once Jon’s hummed his way through an entire CCR album and something he, Butcher and William once made up while drunk on tour together, he stops to rub Ryan’s belly questioningly.
“Is it working?” he asks. He knows the answer even before Ryan hesitates and then slowly shakes his head. “Maybe I’m not doing it right,” he offers. He’d volunteer to go get Brendon, because he’s sure Brendon wouldn’t mind, not for this, but he doesn’t think that would help. One person, Ryan had said. One person Ryan fixated on and nothing else in the world mattered.
“I don’t…” Ryan says slowly, and then lapses into silence.
“Are you sure this is how he did it?” Jon asks. It seems straightforward enough, spoon and sing, but then he’s been in this band for long enough to know that sometimes Brendon is magic.
“Well,” Ryan says reluctantly. Jon is on the verge of spurring him on gently when he admits, “He usually got me off first.”
Jon laughs, rough and rumbling against Ryan’s neck. He feels Ryan shiver, and slides his hand down, over the slight curve of Ryan’s stomach to his cock. “Oh, well,” he says, squeezing and feeling Ryan shudder. “Details.”
-
When it finally looks enough like morning for Jon to peel himself out of bed - fuck, he’s disgusting - his stomach is about to stage a revolt. Ryan must have the same idea, because he pads out of the bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and returns a few minutes later with an entire pizza box, Brendon’s voice rising in protest behind him before he shuts the door and smiles.
“My hero,” Jon says fervently, and then they sit on the bed and devour a piping-hot large supreme without pausing for conversation.
There are two pieces left when they finally slow, and both of them offer it to the other before they just push it away and lay back down. Jon smells truly rank right now. He thinks a shower might be necessary, but that involves getting up. Ryan finally makes the decision for him, wrinkling his nose and dragging himself off to the bathroom.
Jon listens to the water turn on and wriggles his toes thoughtfully for a minute before going over to tap on the door and ask, “Can I join you?”
Ryan looks grateful, which reminds Jon that it’s been a few hours since the last handjob. Ryan’s cock is already curving gracefully towards his stomach, flushing red. Jon waits until they’re both under the spray to jerk him off, taking his time and watching Ryan’s expression as his breathing goes erratic, hips working into Jon’s grip.
After Ryan comes, open-mouthed and gasping, they take a few minutes to actually get clean. Jon’s hair feels like it’s caked in sand, and after he scrubs he feels a lot better. Ryan is more fastidious, and uses a lot more products from bottles, but Jon manages to herd him out of the shower before the water starts to cool.
He’d thought about maybe joining Brendon and Spencer, making some music or watching TV, but as soon as he drops his towel he feels Ryan’s eyes on him, hot and hungry. He turns around and raises an eyebrow, then sits on the bed, leaning back against the pillows in invitation.
Ryan hardly waits for him to get there, straddling his hips before Jon is even settled and leaning in to lick at the drops of water still clinging to Jon’s throat and jaw. Jon cups Ryan’s ass, helping him balance, and opens his mouth for Ryan’s tongue.
It’s the first time they’ve kissed like this, he realizes. Hours and hours of sex, but he’s never felt this before; the way Ryan tilts his head and parts his lips, the shallow sweep of his tongue in Jon's mouth. Ryan makes a growling noise when Jon sucks on his tongue, and then clambers backwards on the bed. Jon’s opening his mouth to ask when Ryan grabs his ankles and pulls, jerking Jon straight onto his back.
“Oh, okay,” Jon tells the ceiling, and then feels Ryan’s weight settle over him and is presented with a close-up view of Ryan’s upside-down cock.
It’s a new angle, and he’s not really crazy about the fact that it gives Ryan all the control, but then he feels Ryan’s tongue lick hot and wet over his own cock, and suddenly he sees where all of this is going. He opens up carefully, keeping one hand around the base so he won’t choke, and runs his tongue over the head of Ryan’s cock.
It’s good, but Ryan keeps trying to shove his hips down, and Jon keeps trying to shove his hips up, and it’s not the most ideal situation in the world. Jon finally tips Ryan sideways, trying to get him on the bed so they can do this one at a time like normal people, only Ryan rolls onto his side and pulls Jon with him, somehow keeping his grip on Jon’s cock, and hey, this is much better.
He starts to tell Ryan that, but as soon as he goes to speak Ryan makes a noise of extreme disapproval, probably that Jon’s mouth is no longer on his cock. Jon thinks that after this maybe they should take advantage of Spencer’s gift and have some drunk cuddle time, just for variety.
Ryan makes another noise, this one vaguely threatening, and twitches his hips.
Jon opens his mouth and goes back to sucking.
-
Ryan goes back to his room after they clean up again, barricading himself in with mutters of lyrics and melody lines. Jon guesses he probably just needs some time to himself.
He finds Brendon in the living room playing video games. Spencer must be in the kitchen; Jon can hear dishes clattering, and the occasional soft ‘whoomp’ of a cupboard door closing.
“Spence is making Rice Krispie treats,” Brendon confirms, without taking his eyes off the screen. The television erupts in another series of laser-beam-chirps and explosions, and Brendon makes a face that means he probably isn’t winning. Jon goes to sit next to him on the couch and freezes for a second when all of the muscles in his lower back scream in protest at once.
He hopes that his face isn’t as beet red as it feels, but something must give it away, because Brendon laughs. “Yeah, I remember,” he says. “Just take it easy. Do you have enough room?”
He starts to scoot away, but Jon puts a hand on his thigh, keeping him there. It feels good to be around other people, back in normal life for a little while. The whole thing with Ryan feels more surreal by the day.
Jon coughs to clear his throat. “I didn’t know you and Ryan…”
“Yeah. Back in Maryland. It must be easier, not having to work all day and keep to a schedule. He seems to be doing better this time.” Brendon still isn’t looking at him, attention trained on the screen, but Jon finds that’s actually a comfort, considering the conversation.
“How did you and Spencer handle…?” Jon asks awkwardly. He’s not sure if his curiosity is more about the band, or about Ryan.
“We weren’t together,” Brendon says, and then after a moment and an awkward laugh, he adds ruefully, “Not well.”
Jon’s not an idiot. There are three of them up here besides Ryan, three people Ryan trusts intimately, and two of those people are starry-eyed in love with each other. There’s a reason Ryan fixated on Jon, probably with single-minded desperation. Not Brendon, he’d said, and not Spencer. Jon tells himself he really doesn’t mind.
He doesn’t know what Brendon picks up on, but it must be something, because a few minutes later Brendon is scooting over on the couch, crowding Jon into a corner and pressing their thighs companionably together. “Better angle,” he explains, as if Brendon has ever needed an excuse, and leans on Jon’s shoulder.
Brendon offers Jon the controller after he finishes the level, but Jon shakes his head, content to watch. They sit for about an hour before Spencer yells something from the kitchen and Ryan appears in the doorway, looking puzzled. Jon wonders if he should stop touching Brendon, if this is likely to provoke a fight, but Brendon just grins and drapes an arm around Jon’s neck, thumbs still busy on the controller.
He’s deliberately testing, Jon thinks, and isn’t sure how he feels about that. Brendon’s magic must be working again, though, because Ryan just makes an annoyed noise and reclaims Jon with a hand fisted into the hem of his shirt, removing Brendon’s arms with polite force.
Brendon laughs, and Jon lets Ryan haul him off towards the kitchen. “Spencer made Rice Krispie treats,” he explains, and Jon can’t argue with that.
-
The days are starting to blur together, but Jon thinks they’re somewhere between five and six. He’s existing in a pattern of sex-sex-sex-food-sex-sleep-sex, and he’d never thought there was such a thing as too much sex before, but now he’s starting to consider it.
Spencer makes sure they eat, but besides that they don’t see much of anyone besides each other. Ryan can’t seem to stand being away from him for long, always returning to touch and press close. Spencer says it’s normal, and Brendon gives him a tip on the patch of warm skin at the base of Ryan’s spine that makes him purr like an overgrown kitten when Jon strokes it.
They’re doing more kissing now, making out between handjobs and blowjobs, and Jon gets the hang of spooning, rubbing Ryan’s skin while he sings whatever comes to mind, musicals and cartoon themes and the songs his parents used to listen to on the record player when he was a kid.
Ryan relaxes under his hands, soaks it all up and wakes Jon three hours later to fuck him slowly in the moonlight, with Jon’s spine liquid from sleep and Ryan’s cock making sparks dance behind his eyelids. Jon comes without Ryan ever touching his cock, just from the friction and the rhythm and the noises Ryan makes with his mouth pressed against Jon’s throat, and then he lies there in a daze while Ryan drifts off to sleep draped over Jon like a blanket.
He’s restless and unsettled, and he thinks it might have something to do with the fact that they’re counting down now instead of up, but he doesn’t want to admit that yet. He moves Ryan onto the bed, slowly and carefully, and ignores the sound Ryan makes in his sleep when their skin is no longer touching anywhere. He needs to clear his head.
The television is on in the living room, screen gone to blue. Brendon and Spencer are together on the couch making out, lazy and unhurried, and Jon just stares at them for a minute because there are too many things he wants to say, too much he wants to ask.
He knows it wasn’t love between Brendon and Ryan. He thinks it was love between Ryan and Spencer because it still is, but not the same kind as this, not Brendon’s hands tucked into Spencer’s back pockets and Spencer’s fingers lightly tugging Brendon’s hair.
Jon wants to interrupt them, wants to say, ‘How did you do it?’ and come up with some answers for himself, but Brendon’s hand slides out of Spencer’s pocket only to push under his shirt, and there’s nothing obscene in what they’re doing, nothing Jon should definitely not be seeing, but they’re in their own world right now and Jon can’t stand to intrude.
Spencer makes a noise, a little grumbling growl without moving his mouth from Brendon’s, and Brendon laughs against his lips.
Jon goes back to bed.
-
He thinks of ways to say it, ‘How about we…?’ and ‘What if we just…?’ and ‘I think maybe I want this.’ He practices speeches in the mirror while he’s supposed to be brushing his teeth, silently raising his eyebrows at his reflection and filling in Ryan’s part of the dialogue. He hopes it would go something like, ‘Yeah, me too,’ but he can’t be sure.
He looks up once and Spencer’s watching him from the doorway, leaning against the frame casually while Jon silently talks to the mirror. He turns guiltily, but Spencer just crooks a smile and says, “I think Ryan’s going to pace a hole in the carpet if you take much longer.”
“Sorry,” Jon says, and puts the cap back on the toothpaste he hasn’t used.
Spencer catches his elbow on the way past, and Jon pauses. It takes Spencer a second to say something, mulling it over first the way he always does. Finally he says, “He’s not jealous with you,” like it should mean something more than it does. Jon raises his eyebrows.
Spencer just grins. “He used to be, with me. With Brendon. But Brendon’s been all over you and he hasn’t said a word.”
Jon shifts his weight a little. He knows this is going somewhere, or that there’s a message in this he’s supposed to be picking up on, but he doesn’t know what. He’s impatient to get to Ryan, to keep him from digging his nails into his palms because he doesn’t have Jon to touch instead.
Spencer rolls his eyes. “What I’m saying is that maybe he knows he doesn’t have to be,” he says, and claps Jon on the shoulder before pushing past him into the bathroom.
Jon thinks about that, turning it over in his mind and trying to add it into his mirror-conversation. Then Ryan sees him, curls his hands over Jon’s shoulder blades and wraps them tightly together, and Jon stops thinking about anything at all.
-
Jon wakes up in the middle of the night alone and knows it’s over. Ryan’s side of the bed is cold, so Jon shakes himself blearily awake, finds a pair of boxer shorts, and pads out of the bedroom to find him.
He’s in the last place Jon looks, but what probably should have been the first. Spencer’s bed is more than big enough, and they’re still only taking up two-thirds of it, sprawled around each other in the center. Brendon and Ryan are curled up together in a tangle of limbs, with Spencer on the other side of Ryan, sandwiching him in and keeping one arm draped protectively over his shoulders.
After a moment, Jon realizes that Spencer isn’t asleep at all, is watching him with dark eyes from the far side of the bed. He shifts his weight, crossing his arms, and tries to think of what to say.
Spencer just raises an eyebrow and lifts his arm, a silent invitation.
Jon should turn it down, he knows, because Ryan probably wants to be with Spencer for a while, at least until he gets back to normal. His bed is empty, though, and it feels like years since he slept without Ryan plastered against his side.
He gets in slowly, careful not to disturb them, but Ryan’s out cold and Brendon sleeps like the dead. Spencer scoots over a little, as much as he can without displacing the other two, and Jon settles on the edge of the bed against Spencer’s back.
There are too many things he wants to say, to ask, so he shuts his eyes against the press of words and tries to make himself sleep. He’s not all that gay, he thinks, but if Ryan woke up and wanted to fuck him without the hormones driving him on, if he wanted to spend the day in bed just touching and tasting, Jon wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t say no.
He wouldn’t have said no even before all of this, is the thing. He would have protested more, maybe, but he wouldn’t have meant it. He’s been looking at Ryan for longer now than he can even remember.
Ryan snuffles a little and shifts in his sleep, rolling towards Spencer. His hand falls over Spencer’s side and then keeps moving, questing out until he finds Jon’s arm. Jon reaches up and squeezes, tangling their fingers together, and Ryan exhales a sigh and falls still again.
Jon closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
-
If he’d thought about it, he would have expected the morning to be awkward, but it isn’t. Ryan wakes up first - technically, Spencer probably wakes up first, since he seems the most alert, but Ryan’s the one who moves and wakes the rest of them - and he and Brendon battle crankily for space until Ryan clambers out over top of him.
“Oof,” Brendon complains. “Elbows,” and Spencer laughs, rolling into the space Ryan just vacated and stretching out.
“It’s time to wake up,” Brendon murmurs, tripping his fingers over Spencer’s shoulder. “Wake, wake…” ignoring Spencer’s hand batting him away. “Jon, help me.”
“You’re on your own,” Jon tells him, his voice gravelly and rough, and he hears more than sees Ryan turn around in the doorway to blink at them. He looks up, steeling himself, but Ryan just scratches at his mussed hair and smiles lopsidedly at him before continuing on his way to the bathroom.
Jon leaves when Spencer decides to retaliate against Brendon’s tickling fingers and nearly kicks him off the edge of the bed. He finds Ryan in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water and looking out the window at the morning sunlight.
“Hey,” Jon says, and it’s nowhere near what he wants to say, but it’s a start. “Breakfast?”
Ryan nods and starts getting out bowls and cereal. Jon opens the fridge for the milk and sees a carton of strawberries on the top shelf. Ryan used to love having fruit on his cereal, Jon remembers Spencer telling him. Spencer’s mom used to do it for them when he slept over.
Jon feels a little bit like an idiot, but he pulls out the carton and starts slicing.
Ryan looks surprised when Jon holds out a hand for his bowl and returns it covered in strawberries, but also thoughtful, and Jon thinks maybe secretly pleased. “Thanks,” Ryan says, and the tops of his cheeks are pink.
Brendon tumbles in a minute later, scrambling for cover between Jon’s back and the fridge. “Truce,” he calls from his position of safety. “I call truce!”
Spencer saunters in after him, looking relaxed and nonplussed and freshly rumpled, but his eyes are twinkling dangerously. “Don’t think Jon will be able to save you,” he warns, and it sounds threatening, but Jon can feel Brendon quivering with laughter.
“Jon is safe,” Brendon insists. “Jon is like…hey, are those our strawberries?” Jon half-turns to see Brendon wrinkling his forehead at the half-empty carton. “Spence, they’re eating our strawberries. Our sex strawberries.”
“Ew,” Ryan puts in from the table.
“Shut up, Ross,” Brendon counters without missing a beat.
“We’ll buy more,” Spencer says, coming over to the counter to steal one. Brendon shies nervously to Jon’s other side, still vibrating with energy. “We’ll buy two cartons this time.” He grins, and Jon has a second to think, evil, Spencer is evil before he adds, “So Ryan and Jon can have some too.”
“Ha ha,” Ryan deadpans, but his cheeks are still pink, Jon notices.
Jon takes his bowl over to the table and sits next to Ryan, ignoring Brendon’s weak protest at being left to Spencer’s mercy. “Hey, so,” he says quietly, pitching his voice as low as it can go. “I’m glad you’re back. Not that it hasn’t been fun, but, you know, it’s good to have you. Again.”
Ryan looks at him sideways, spoon hovering over his cereal bowl. After a moment he says, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Jon replies sincerely. Ryan gives him a funny look, and a funny little smile to go with it. Jon thinks he’s probably giving Ryan a funny little smile back, but he can’t really help it.
“Sex strawberries,” Spencer says from the fridge. “Two cartons. And extra whipped cream.”
Jon looks away, scratching the thick stubble on his chin and feigning nonchalance to hide the heat in his cheeks. Brendon’s laughter says he isn’t fooled.
Ryan drops his hand to Jon’s knee under the table and squeezes. He probably isn’t fooled either, and Jon doesn’t really mind at all.
Pairings: Jon/Ryan, Brendon/Spencer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction.
Notes: Sequel to Oistros. Thanks to disarm_d for swooping in to save me yet again, and to adellyna for being my spellchecker.
Summary: They’re in the cabin having lunch when Ryan stands up one day and announces vaguely, “I feel a little…”
They’re in the cabin having lunch when Ryan stands up one day and announces vaguely, “I feel a little…”
Jon looks up, curious. Brendon ignores them, busy with the magnetic poetry on the refrigerator door. Ryan’s glance flits over him before it abruptly jerks back and he says insistently, “Spencer.”
Whatever he means, Spencer looks distinctly unhappy about it, but also pretty much resigned. He says, “I think we need to adjust our schedule,” and that’s when Brendon finally looks up and takes notice. He looks to Spencer first, as always, then Ryan.
“Oh shit,” he says, and it sounds surprised.
“Fucking fuck,” Ryan opines.
Spencer says, with the tone of one grimly gearing up for battle, “One week.”
Brendon raises his hand and says, “Not it.”
Jon has no fucking clue what any of them are talking about.
-
Jon’s known about Brendon and Spencer for a while now. They played it cool when he first met them, around the other bands, and even after he joined them on tour it took a while for them to be comfortable letting him see the little things, like Spencer mussing Brendon’s hair in the morning or Brendon sliding under Spencer’s arm on the couch while they watched a movie.
He suspected, certainly, but it wasn’t until they really became a unit that he started catching them with their guard down. He thinks now that they might have been easing him into it, but Spencer’s also fiercely private, so that might have been some of it.
Whatever the reason, it isn’t until two months into touring - with Brendon and Spencer sharing hotel rooms every time - that he first catches them kissing in the kitchenette on the bus, fingertips brushing each other’s skin, moving lazily together surrounded by a swirl of dust motes caught in the light.
Ryan comes out and catches him looking, that time, but he doesn’t say anything, just gives Jon a smile as if to say now it’s their secret, too.
-
They’re all much more open in the cabin, not bothering to hide anything when it’s usually just the four of them. Brendon and Spencer are openly sleeping together, sharing Spencer’s room. Jon’s still not used to it, not really, so every time he sees them together it’s almost like spying.
He knows Ryan fits in there somewhere as well, but it’s still something of a shock to see him sprawled between them on Brendon’s bed, curled between Spencer’s chest and Brendon’s hands on his back. He looks like he fits there.
He’d thought they were napping, but as he pauses, he can make out the low murmur of voices.
“We could rock-paper-scissors for it,” Brendon suggests, pianist’s fingers working idly into the muscles of Ryan’s back.
“That’s not exactly how it works,” Spencer says dryly, but there’s an undercurrent of affection to it, and in his eyes when he looks at Brendon.
Ryan says something garbled into Spencer’s chest. Spencer cocks his head, then says, “We should probably tell Jon.”
Ryan’s head comes up. “You’re not telling Jon,” he says, flat and final.
Spencer catches Jon’s eye in the doorway, but he doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips together in a way that Jon knows means the argument isn’t over yet, they’re just taking a break from it. Jon backs away quietly and leaves them alone.
-
He’s been a little grumpy all day, he knows, and it might have something to do with the other three members of his band having naptime slumber parties without him and keeping secrets, but he’s not about to admit it. Spencer leaves him alone for a while, but Jon suspects he’s the one who sends Brendon out after him, and it only takes five minutes and one wounded flash of Brendon’s puppy eyes for Jon to cave and come back inside to join in making dinner.
Afterwards, floating pleasantly in a cloud of smoke, it gets easier. Jon feels his bad mood fly away with the rest of his cares, up towards the ceiling in transparently dancing wisps. Brendon’s on his stomach on the floor, giggling at something and trying to talk Spencer into shotgunning. Ryan’s quiet for the first few minutes, but after a while he shuffles around to sit next to Jon, shoulders pressed closed.
“We all want you around,” he says, and Jon wonders whether Spencer said something, or if Ryan just figured it out on his own. His eyelids are heavy, half-closed as he looks seriously at Jon. “I want you around.”
“Okay,” Jon says amiably. He’s feeling pretty laidback; it’s not bothering him as much as it was earlier. This band is full of secrets, and they let him in on all of them eventually.
Ryan keeps looking at him, half-lidded and somber. It gives him almost a sensual look, like he’s just been fucked and can hardly stay awake. Jon has no idea why he’s thinking that now, none at all. He blames the smoke.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m a freak,” Ryan says finally. His eyes rove a little, then fix back on Jon.
“I’ve got news for you,” Jon says regretfully, tapping Ryan’s shoulder. “It’s too late for that.”
Ryan contemplates that for a moment, and then laughs.
-
The next day, Spencer turns into the taskmaster from hell. “Work, work, work,” he orders, herding them into the practice area every time they stray, pushing out beats and rhythms until they have no choice but to accomplish something.
After the umpteenth time trying to play through what they’ve tentatively titled, ‘The Waltzing Teacup Serenade,’ Brendon mutters something about Spencer being a hardass. Spencer just looks at him and says, “Do you remember last time?”
Brendon turns slightly pink. Jon doesn’t know what that’s about, but he notices that Ryan’s avoiding looking at Brendon. “We got it recorded,” he argues.
“The songs were already written last time,” Spencer returns.
Brendon almost huffs, Jon can see it in the line of his back, but instead he lets it go and says, “Why don’t we try the elephant song again?”
Ryan still isn’t looking up from his guitar, but he says, “Good idea,” and off they go again.
-
They call a halt sometime in the evening when everyone gets hungry, and Brendon and Spencer work together to make grilled cheese and hot sauce sandwiches while Jon and Ryan indulge a little before dinner.
Jon’s not even high, really, but he’s relaxing, unwinding from the day. Ryan gets progressively closer as they smoke, fingers brushing over Jon’s as they pass the joint back and forth.
“This is good,” Ryan muses somewhere near the end of their spliff. He moves in closer to Jon on the floor, curling up against his side. Jon thinks about Ryan between Spencer and Brendon on the bed earlier, and wonders if they look like they fit together the same way. He wonders if he’s jealous, if that’s what this is.
“Yeah,” he agrees. Ryan’s arm tucks over his chest, and his nose presses into the side of Jon’s neck. It’s nice, companionable, and Jon’s not thinking much of anything when he turns his head a little to the side to blow the last of the smoke towards Ryan’s face.
Ryan opens his mouth to catch it, and it might be Jon’s imagination that he leans in closer, but Jon doesn’t think so. He looks down at Ryan’s open mouth, Ryan’s lips, and imagines what would happen if he leaned in a bit further.
Spencer’s voice cracks out, “Ryan,” from the doorway into the kitchen.
Ryan jerks back, blinking rapidly, and says, “Fuck.” He says it again for good measure, then runs a hand through his hair and pulls away. His arm sliding across Jon’s chest feels reluctant.
Jon blinks a little as Ryan disappears into the kitchen, then leans back and closes his eyes to enjoy the buzz.
-
“It doesn’t seem as bad as last time, is all I’m saying,” Spencer finishes as Jon walks into the kitchen, his stomach announcing that it’s time to go in search of those sandwiches.
Ryan’s eyes flick over to Jon, then back to the table. “It’s pretty bad,” he says, and it sounds on the edge of miserable.
Brendon hands a plate to Jon with two sandwiches on it. His mouth is thin and unhappy, shoulders drawn up. Jon reaches out to touch his shoulder instinctively, but Brendon moves away before he can make contact.
“Do you think…?” Spencer asks, drawing it out. His eyes flick between Ryan and Brendon.
“No,” Ryan says vehemently. “No, not Brendon.”
Jon helps himself to a Diet Coke from the fridge and takes his place at the table. Brendon’s the only one who’s touched his food, it looks like, and all he’s doing is shredding the crusts of his sandwich into croutons.
“Ryan,” Spencer says, voice low, and it drops even further when he continues. “If you…the three of us, we could…”
Jon doesn’t see Ryan’s response, because his attention is caught by the way Brendon goes suddenly, rigidly stiff beside him. His eyes are fixed on his plate, jaw clenched. The crusts have been reduced to powder.
No, Jon wants to say, even though he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. He knows that look. It’s the way Brendon looks when they’re arguing over him, saying things like, ‘maybe Ryan should try being the lead singer on this album,’ or ‘I don’t think we should use that song, it sounds too much like folk music.’ It’s the expression he gets when he doesn’t want something, desperately, but goes silent rather than fighting for what he wants.
No, Jon thinks again, and this is wrong, and whatever it is, leave him alone. Let me fix it.
“I don’t know,” Ryan says, even and low, and no one says anything after that.
-
Jon isn’t above cornering one of them (probably Brendon, he’s the weakest link when it comes to things like this) and making them talk, but it turns out that he doesn’t have to, because Ryan corners him first.
He slides into Jon’s room and closes the door, leaning back against it, and says low in his throat, “We have to talk.”
Jon flips shut the magazine he was reading and looks up. “Yeah, I was getting that impression,” he says mildly.
Ryan fidgets for a minute, which in itself is fascinating, because Ryan’s not usually a fidgeter. “I have this condition,” he starts, and Jon rolls into a sitting position to listen, because this sounds important.
A few minutes later, Ryan finally rambles to a halt and Jon feels like he should probably pick his jaw up off the ground.
“Seriously?” he manages finally, and doesn’t even wait for Ryan to give him a look before saying, “Sorry, stupid question. I just…wow. Huh.”
Ryan nods. His fingers are pressed against the door, like he thinks he might need to make a hasty escape. “I just wanted you to know. From me. Before I do anything that’s…that’s not me.”
Jon nods, because he gets that. “And you usually just…pick someone?” he asks, because clearly he doesn’t know when to shut up and stop talking. In his defense, though, he’s really curious. It’s not every day you hear someone say their biology is wired into some sort of bizarre mating cycle. And it’s Ryan. Jon is…Jon is curious.
Ryan nods. “Probably Spencer,” he says slowly. “I think…I think it might be Spencer.”
Jon blinks, and almost asks, ‘And how does Brendon feel about that?’ before realizing that he already knows. Brendon knows this is a possibility, has maybe even been through it already once before. He doesn’t want it, but he’s going to let it happen anyway. They all are.
“Okay,” he says. “Thanks for telling me.” Ryan flashes him a quick, uncertain smile, and is turning to go when Jon adds, “Ryan?”
Ryan turns back around, eyebrow quirked. Jon smiles faintly at him. “I don’t think you’re a freak.”
Ryan dips his head, lips quirking up, and says, “Thanks,” before slipping out the door.
-
They’re all of them prone to insomnia up in the cabin, keeping weird hours as they are, so Jon’s not really surprised when he wanders out of his bedroom at three in the morning, scratching his belly absently, to find that everyone else is still awake.
He almost misses Brendon and Spencer, because the light in Spencer’s room is off, door slightly ajar. There’s enough moonlight for him to do a double-take, though, and see Brendon straddling Spencer’s hips, their foreheads tilted together.
He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he doesn’t linger, too aware that he’s intruding on a personal moment. As he turns to go, he sees Ryan standing at the end of the hallway watching him. It stops him in his tracks, and in the silence he can hear Spencer whispering something, “You, you,” and Brendon’s answering murmur.
Ryan doesn’t move. In the dim light, all Jon can really see are his eyes, dark and bright. He wonders if Ryan has already done his own eavesdropping on this room, if he’s giving them space for as long as he can before the inevitable. Jon’s still not sure exactly how that’s going to work. Ryan had said he wasn’t good at sharing, but Jon can’t imagine Brendon will let them shut him out, and Spencer had said it like that wasn’t an option, said the three of us.
Beside Jon, the soft sounds of conversation are replaced by wet noises, broken by quick indrawn breaths. He can see them in his head, the way they were a moment ago; Spencer’s hands sliding down to Brendon’s ass, gripping, and Brendon’s hands tangled in Spencer’s hair.
Jon should move. He should keep walking, past Ryan, and stop listening to this. Someone hisses, a long gasp punctuated by the rustling sounds of cloth against skin, and then one of them moans. Brendon.
Ryan turns on his heel and walks away, and it finally breaks the spell.
-
They’re high the next day, and Ryan thaws out a little when he’s buzzed, gets more affectionate, so Jon doesn’t think much of it when Ryan snuggles in next to him on the floor and starts stroking his stomach beneath the hem of his t-shirt.
What does get his attention is when Ryan’s fingers slip under the shirt, around the same time that his mouth opens damply over Jon’s neck.
“Ryan?” Jon asks, bemused. Ryan makes a little annoyed noise, like he can’t be bothered right now, and his fingers slide higher, over Jon’s rib cage, splaying out wide across his chest.
Brendon and Spencer aren’t there. They’d left an hour or so ago, heading down to pick up some fresh supplies (snacks, they claimed, although from a comment made before they left, Jon suspects they might be picking up some other supplies as well), and they won’t be back for a while.
“Hey,” Jon says carefully. His head is a little foggy, and Ryan’s hand on his skin actually feels good. He wonders dimly why he’s protesting at all. Ryan, though. He has Ryan to think about. “Maybe we should watch some TV until Spencer and Brendon get back.”
Ryan’s mouth lifts briefly from his skin. “No,” he says succinctly, and returns to exploring Jon’s neck.
“No?” Jon’s voice cracks. He sounds like a fucking thirteen-year-old. Really, it’s not like he hasn’t thought about this, the possibility of it, but with what Ryan told him, he thinks it might be an even worse idea right now than it usually seems. “What about trying for that new level on Mario? Brendon will…”
“Not Brendon,” Ryan says, and starts sucking.
Jon’s brain emits a little buzzing sound, like white noise. “Okay,” he tries. “But Spencer…”
Ryan detaches and looms over him, expression more intense than Jon had been anticipating. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows, and the muscles in his arms are all corded up. “Not Spencer,” he says, and his voice has gone weird.
Not Brendon and not Spencer. Ryan lowers himself again, on top of Jon this time, and pushes both hands under Jon’s shirt while he returns to his vampire impression affixed to Jon’s neck.
“Yeah,” Jon says breathlessly, making Ryan suck harder in response. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”
It’s not like Jon has never thought about guys. Not very often, it’s true, and not in any great detail, but he’s thought about it. He thinks a handjob wouldn’t be so bad. Getting a blowjob would be basically the same. Blowjobs are a universal truth.
He thinks about offering up that pearl of wisdom, but Ryan is already arranging matters to his own satisfaction. He squirms until they fit together in all the right places, and then just starts humping.
Jon grabs Ryan’s arms - mostly in surprise, because the friction inside his jeans is making him see stars, chafing and squeezing by turns - and hangs on for the first few seconds. Ryan’s head drops down, next to Jon’s, his forehead brushing the carpet, and he makes a soft noise Jon can’t determine as pain or relief. His movements are jerky, awkward the way Ryan always is inside his own body, but he’s got enough of a rhythm now that Jon is starting to think he might actually be able to get off like this after all.
“Hey,” Jon tries again, and it comes out garbled, so he clears his throat before making another attempt. “Ry…”
Ryan makes another noise, and suddenly his hips speed up, fast and hard enough that Jon bites his tongue on whatever he was going to say and starts grinding up as much as he can. It’s frustrating from this position, like when girls ride him, never quite enough, so after another dazed second he grabs Ryan and flips them over.
Ryan squirms at first, clearly no happier about being on the bottom than Jon had been, but Jon just pins him down with his weight and rubs their cocks together, dry and trapped in fabric, focused enough that Ryan forgets his complaint and angles his hips up instead for more.
It only takes them a handful of thrusts to get off, Ryan a split-second before Jon, and then they both lie there, twisted together on the carpet and panting. Jon eventually peels himself up, awkwardness beginning to settle in on him like an itchy wool blanket, and adjusts his softening cock inside his jeans.
“I’m just going to…” he offers, jerking his thumb back towards the bathroom. Get cleaned up. Find some other clothes. Freak out for a while. He just needs to clear his head, to take all of this in. It’s not really a big deal, what they did, but it’s still something, and he could use a few minutes to sort himself out.
Ryan appears in the bedroom just as he’s tossing his jeans aside and hunting for clean boxers. Jon hears the floor creak and twists around to see Ryan watching him, sharp and hungry. He’s also obviously aroused, from the size of the bulge in his pants.
Ryan moves forward - stalking him, Jon thinks - and runs his hands down Jon’s arms before leaning in to lick at the pulse-point in his throat. Jon opens his mouth to speak and feels teeth instead.
“Shit,” he says, surprised into honesty. “Again?”
Ryan makes a sound that, from anyone more intimidating, Jon would have considered a growl.
Again, then.
-
Two handjobs and one frantic humping session later, Ryan finally wears himself out and falls asleep. He looks younger in sleep, innocent, even though Jon knows - intimately, now - how far from the truth that is. The entire bedroom smells like sex.
Jon considers his options, rolls over and pulls off his sticky boxers, resuming his abandoned search for another pair. He almost freaks out at being naked in a room with Ryan, but Ryan’s dead to the world right now, and besides, after what they just did, Jon doesn’t think he has any room for queasiness.
He’s tired, but he’s hungry, too, so the call of food wins. Part of him also wants to track down Spencer, maybe just for the relief of being able to grab someone and cling a little. He just had sex with a dude. Even if it was Ryan, that deserves some cling time.
Spencer and Brendon still aren’t back yet. Jon starts to wonder where they are and what they’re doing, but then he remembers how sunburned Spencer’s ass was last week after they went ‘hiking’ together out by the lake, and decides he doesn’t want to know.
They appear just as he’s finishing his second bowl of Cheerios (sex requires strength, he needs to replenish) in a burst of noise and laughter caught in the slam of the front door. Brendon bounds into the kitchen, grocery bags in both hands, and says, “Hey, Jon. Where’s Ryan?”
“Sleeping,” Jon says, and he doesn’t know if it’s something in his voice, or the strangeness of the statement (Ryan’s not really one for napping, and they all woke up past noon today), or just Spencer being perceptive, but Spencer stops dead in the doorway and stares, and it only takes Brendon a second after that to look wildly between them and come to what’s probably the correct conclusion. “Oh, fuck.”
Spencer sets his bags down on the counter next to Brendon’s and asks, “Are you okay? Is he?”
“We’re both fine. It was fine. It is fine.” Jon hopes his cheeks aren’t turning pink at all. He doesn’t think they are, but he feels awfully exposed right now. There’s a giant sign over his head anyway, proclaiming ‘I had sex with Ryan!’ louder than a blush ever could.
“Wow, that’s…unexpected,” Brendon offers finally. He’s vibrating a little in place, tension along the lines of his body like he’s fighting strong emotion. Jon mentally flips through the possibilities of jealousy, concern, bitterness, and anger before he looks at Spencer and thinks, relief.
There’s a noise from the direction of the bedrooms; a door closing, probably to the bathroom. Brendon hesitates, then heads out of the kitchen in that direction. He and Spencer touch as he passes, a simple brush of hands against sides and arms that makes Jon’s stomach feel funny.
Spencer gives him a serious look. “Good luck,” he says. “It’s going to be a long week.”
-
Ryan isn’t just horny, Jon discovers quickly. Ryan is insatiable.
He’s clearly working hard to rein it in, trying not to overwhelm Jon or scare him off, but whatever biology he’s fighting is obviously a bitch. Jon does what he can, soothes with his hands and talks to Ryan whenever he goes quiet, but Ryan’s still fighting the larger part of the battle.
There are an awful lot of handjobs. Jon’s getting better and better at them, and he no longer has the little voice in his head popping up in a speech balloon to announce, ‘Your hand is on another guy’s dick!’ The more tired he gets, in fact - and he does get tired, they’re having sex nearly 24/7 - the easier it is to just relax and let go.
That’s the excuse he uses, at least, when he finds himself actually considering giving a blowjob. Preferably, of course, Ryan would be the one going down on him, but Ryan is currently a lot needier in the sex department than Jon is, and while he would probably go down on Jon if he asked, Jon isn’t the one who needs to get off right now.
He’s only thinking about it because he’s on Handjob #7 of the day, and his wrist is starting to hurt like a bitch. He can’t even keep the tempo up for long enough to get Ryan off, it’s killing him.
“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat to repeat it when the words are lost in Ryan’s desperate groan. “Hey, what if I…?” He gestures to explain what he means, a furtive wave at Ryan’s crotch and a back-and-forth mime in the direction of his mouth that every male recognizes by the time they hit puberty.
Ryan blinks at him for a second, then his eyes go wide and he scrambles backwards so fast that Jon nearly gets a knee to the face, kicking his boxers all the way off and spreading his legs. “Okay,” Jon says, and grins a little, nervous and amused. “Okay, yeah.”
It’s weird. He’s not going to lie about that. It’s weird and it tastes funny and it’s not anything he’d ever been inclined to do before this, but it’s surprisingly not that bad. He’s had blowjobs; he figures it out quick, and Ryan is nothing if not encouraging. He has a lot of trouble holding his hips still, but Jon manages to get one arm across his hipbones while the other braces his cock, and after the first few sucks he even manages to get a rhythm going without wanting to gag from the taste and the feel of a cock - thick, hot, salty - on his tongue.
He wonders if Brendon and Spencer are going to find out about this, or guess. He wonders if he’ll ever tell anyone else that this ever happened. That it’s something he’s done.
Then Ryan moans, hips pushing up urgently against the pressure of Jon’s arm, and Jon stops thinking about it.
It tastes fucking awful when Ryan comes, but Jon just spits the whole mess into a wad of tissues and excuses himself to the bathroom to gargle with mouthwash. When he comes back, Ryan is sprawled naked across the bed, one arm flung over his face, flushed and sweaty with his cock lying limp against his thigh. Jon thinks, wow, I did that, and then just, wow.
“Jon,” Ryan says, voice low and a little gravelly. Maybe it’s from all of the noise he’s been making lately.
“Yeah,” Jon says, shaking himself out of it and padding over to the bed. “Yeah, I’m here.”
-
“Here,” Spencer says the next time they get back from a run into town, handing over a familiar paper bag. “Thought you might need this at some point.”
“Jim Beam?” Jon asks, amused. “Why, have you guys been into my stash?”
Spencer shakes his head. “It’s not for you,” he explains. “It’s for Ryan. I used to…it helps, if he’s not getting enough sleep. If you both need to rest.”
Jon’s lips quirk up a little. “You used to get Ryan liquored up until he passed out?”
“Yes.” Spencer looks abruptly tired, but unrepentant. “Trust me. You might need it.”
“Okay,” Jon says. “Thanks.”
He’s about to say something else, something about what else Spencer used to do for Ryan and what Jon should be doing for him now to make all of this easier, but Ryan emerges sleepy and tousled from the bedroom, looking decidedly frowny.
Spencer tenses up, and it takes Jon a second to realize how close they are, and what Ryan had said earlier, echoed by Spencer a day later: jealous fits.
Ryan doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, though, just goes straight for Jon and wraps his arms around Jon’s waist, forehead dropping onto Jon’s shoulder. “Hey,” he mumbles. “You left.”
Jon grins at the crown of his head. “It’s a beautiful day,” he points out. “I wanted to stretch my legs.” Ryan makes a grumbling noise of assent, and Jon nudges him gently. “Hey, want to go out? We could take a walk down by the lake.”
Ryan raises his head and looks at Jon, considering. “Okay,” he says finally.
“Great.” Jon’s been itching to get out; it’s been too long since he left the cabin. “Let me grab my shoes.”
He recognizes the tactical error as soon as he makes it, as soon as he bends over to grab the flip-flops from beside the couch and feels Ryan’s eyes on his ass, burning his skin. When he straightens up, there’s a look in Ryan’s eyes that’s become all too familiar lately, and while it does give Jon a little thrill to see it directed at him, it also means they won’t be taking a walk anytime soon.
“No,” Ryan says, and his voice matches his eyes, predatory and hungry. “No walk.”
Jon sighs. “Yeah, I figured.” He just barely manages to toss the flip-flops back towards the couch as Ryan starts dragging him down the hallway, fingers clamped tightly over his wrist.
Jon throws up a finger behind him in the direction of Spencer’s laughter.
-
It’s not as if Jon hadn’t seen this coming. It’s just that maybe he’d thought it wouldn’t be coming quite so soon.
“Oh, fuck,” he says as Ryan’s fingers knead his ass, digging in and spreading, the gleam in his eyes nowhere near extinguished. “Fuck, Ryan.”
Ryan can be a manipulative bastard; Jon knows this. He’d never realized it extended to his mouth on Jon’s balls, hot and wet and not enough, while his fingers crept in closer and closer to the one place Jon really didn’t want them.
“Ryan,” he tries again, shaking his boxers off where they’re dangling from one ankle. His shirt is still on, but he feels terribly exposed, vulnerable. He’s never had his boxers off during this before. Ryan’s never had his mouth down there before.
Ryan’s eyes glitter a little, fever-bright. His hands push Jon’s thighs open wider, an inexorable force, and Jon can’t stop his legs from shaking for long enough to fight him. Then his head dips down out of sight and his tongue curls in, and Jon nearly brains himself on the headboard.
“Fuck,” he says again, like an idiot. ”Ryan.”
Ryan’s tongue is slippery and wet, insistently pushing in farther and deeper, like he can’t get enough, and Jon had no idea that was what this felt like. His legs are shaking in earnest now, but for an entirely different reason. “Ryan,” he says again, almost a whine. Ryan’s tongue slips out, and Jon has barely a second to mourn the loss - clenching, he realizes, around nothing - before the dull pressure of penetration returns and he nearly swallows his tongue when he realizes it’s Ryan’s finger this time.
He locks down automatically, going stiff and tense, but Ryan’s tongue is back almost immediately, pushing insistently until Jon’s traitorous body yields and lets him in again. It still feels amazing, and Jon finds himself spreading his legs wider without consciously deciding to do so. Ryan rewards him by going deeper, making hungry noises amidst the wet sounds of his tongue penetrating Jon’s body, and Jon breathes, “Oh shit, oh fuck,” as Ryan works a second finger in next to the first.
At least he’s remembering foreplay, stretching Jon out first. Spencer had warned that he might not. And it is a stretch; Ryan’s fingers are long and thin, but they feel huge inside him, pushing him open and forcing him to accommodate them. Ryan’s tongue soothes the burn, but it’s still an alien feeling, having something inside him like this.
Then - Jesus fucking Christ - Ryan starts fucking him. Jon thinks it just as his brain leaps to deflect that thought, trying to claim it’s only fingers, it’s not…but it is. It’s the push in and drag out that Jon recognizes intimately, and it’s happening inside him. Ryan has two fingers in his ass, and he’s fucking Jon with them. Fucking him.
Jon groans, something garbled and helpless, and Ryan seems to take that as permission to keep going, because he scrambles up to position his cock. His cock.
“Wait,” Jon yelps, and his legs try to snap closed but Ryan’s fingers are still there, still fucking him, and his muscles feel like jelly, so he only manages a weak twitch. “Condom. Lube.” He’s saying it like he’s actually going to let Ryan do this - fuck him - but he doesn’t really see another option at this point. Besides, it’s under duress. It’s for the good of a friend. It hardly counts as fucking at all, right?
That thought evaporates completely out of his head when Ryan returns and starts pressing in, slick with lube but still blunt, and far more of a stretch than his fingers had been. Jon digs his fingers into Ryan’s biceps and bites his lip, unwilling to open his mouth in case he couldn’t control the sound that came out. He finally makes a noise when Ryan breaches him, a low groan of pain and exhaustion, edged with the itch of need, and Ryan bites his own lip, eyes glazed, and starts thrusting.
It’s not comfortable. Jon does what he can, spreading his legs to change the angle and trying to lie still, but it hurts and he really just wants to get away. Ryan is huge. It had been hilarious, back when Jon was making clever remarks about donkeys, back before Ryan’s cock was in Jon’s ass. It’s not really all that funny now. Still, there’s plenty of lube, so Jon just grits his teeth and rides it out.
Ryan has a fucking lot of stamina for someone in fucking heat, but he finally comes, just as the fire in Jon’s ass is reaching the point that he feels like he can’t take it anymore. He falls forward, chest heaving, and Jon holds very still and waits for his cock to soften and slide out. There’s sweat all over Jon’s face, on his upper lip when he licks it. Some of it might not even be his.
Ryan finally, finally rolls off to the side, and Jon takes a deep breath and stretches his legs out. They’re stiff, and pain flares bright and angry in his ass when he moves them, but at least he’s slightly more comfortable. He feels Ryan start to grope questioningly for his cock, and says quickly, “No, no, that’s okay.” He doesn’t know whether Ryan believes him, but the hand stops its progress and eventually retreats. Jon takes a deep breath and listens to Ryan’s breathing slow and even out.
Eventually, his must do the same.
-
Jon wakes up disoriented, with the feeling that the world is somehow upside-down. It’s dark, he realizes; they’ve slept through dinner and it’s now the middle of the night. The house is quiet; he doesn’t hear Brendon or Spencer. He does hear Ryan.
Ryan’s been waiting for him to wake up, he thinks, but not patiently. His hands are on Jon’s legs, stroking and tickling with light touches, and his eyes are hungry. Jon starts to wake himself up enough for a handjob, but then he feels Ryan push at his thighs, the corresponding ache and sting at the base of his spine, and thinks, oh, fuck.
“Ryan,” he says, soft and burred with sleep, and Ryan makes a noise in response and licks into his mouth. His mouth is sour with sleep, tongue hot and wet, and Jon feels himself responding without meaning to, his cock stirring against Ryan’s leg. Ryan makes a pleased sound swallowed by Jon’s mouth and pushes his legs farther apart, and Jon tries to pull back and protest but doesn’t quite make it in time.
Something’s changed. Jon doesn’t know if it’s the angle, or the position, or the fact that he’s relaxed from sleep and still slick and open from the last time, but Ryan slides right in and Jon’s body doesn’t raise more protest than a dull ache. No condom, Jon realizes, fuck. But Ryan’s flush up against him, searching his eyes, and it’s too late now, so he just nods a little, giving permission.
Ryan goes slower this time; maybe the edge has been taken off already. It feels good, surprisingly, although the stretch to accommodate Ryan’s cock is still awkward and leaves him feeling swollen and obscene. It almost doesn’t matter once Ryan starts thrusting, deep and slow but with enough friction to make Jon’s skin buzz. He’s still half-asleep, he thinks. It’s good. He could let Ryan fuck him all night if it always felt like this.
That thought wakes him up a little, with the little jolt that he always gets whenever the words fuck him brand themselves across his brain, but he doesn’t get to be upset about it for very long. Ryan feels him shift, the bunch and gather of his muscles, and misinterprets it completely. His hand makes a grab for Jon’s cock, squeezing just a little too hard before stroking roughly, and the buzz in Jon’s skin starts popping and sizzling.
Ryan comes first, although it’s a close race. He doesn’t pull out, just stills his hips and keeps stroking Jon off after a brief pause for recovery while his orgasm shuddered through him. Ryan’s still inside him, thick and anchoring; Ryan’s come is inside him, and Jon comes as Ryan squeezes his cock on the tail end of that thought, feeling like he’s just been beaten over the head with a club.
They pant together for a few minutes, and when the waves finally ebb, Jon feels the surreal sensation of Ryan slowly hardening inside of him. “Jesus,” he whispers, shock blanking out over his mind. His body stretches with the blood flushing Ryan’s cock, which slowly swells until Jon aches with it, with the feeling of being filled up and penetrated. Ryan is taking him, there’s no other word for it, taking and using him and Jon feels a shudder skip down his spine that he never expected.
Ryan shifts just a fraction, just enough to make Jon gasp and lock his legs behind Ryan’s calves. Ryan doesn’t move much even after that, pulsing in tiny thrusts against Jon’s ass until Jon blinks the worst of the daze away and sees the question in his eyes.
He nods, giving permission, and Ryan sighs, his whole body relaxing in relief. He starts thrusting, long strokes that bring him nearly out and then deep inside again, before pushing in all the way, so far that Jon feels like his skin might be splitting, and rocking in shallow thrusts until Jon sees stars dance in front of his eyes.
Ryan keeps going, merciless once he feels Jon’s body tighten in response to his movements, and after a few seconds Jon can’t do anything but let his body unfurl, singing with every thrust - wet, slicked up from the lube and from Ryan’s come - and relax into the bed beneath him.
“Yeah,” he breathes, and lets Ryan have him.
-
It’s near dawn when Jon wakes up again, the first gray shades of morning starting to touch the room. He’s surprisingly well-rested, although if left alone he could easily sleep for another few hours; until noon, even.
Ryan isn’t asleep. Jon can feel the tension in his muscles, and when he pries his eyes open he sees Ryan’s eyes glittering, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey,” Jon mumbles, patting at Ryan’s leg. Ryan looks over at him, considers, and finally rolls in, fitting himself against Jon’s side. “Can’t sleep?” Jon asks, and then thinks muzzily that it’s a pretty stupid question, since he can feel Ryan’s erection pressed against his hip.
Ryan shakes his head, and Jon wakes himself up a little more to shift onto his side. “Do you want…?” he begins, and then feels a twinge shooting a reminder through his ass of how many times they’d had sex last night. “Uh, I don’t think…” he amends guiltily, shifting again to try to get more comfortable.
Ryan just shakes his head, and turns so that they’re spooning, Ryan’s back against his front. He wraps Jon’s arm around his chest, and hesitates for a brief second before pulling Jon’s leg over both of his as well. Jon blinks and lets himself be manhandled until Ryan seems more content with the arrangements.
Ryan lies quietly for a second, and then asks, “Can you sing?”
Jon frowns. “You mean, right now?” he asks. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but then neither does Ryan asking just in general, when Jon’s been singing their back-up vocals for months.
“Yeah,” Ryan says. Jon can feel him breathing, the air tickling over the back of Jon’s hand every time his chest falls. “Anything. Or hum, whatever. It’s…” He pauses, then says, “It’s something Brendon used to do. It helps.”
Jon is suddenly wide-awake. That didn’t sound like a ‘used to do for me when Spencer wasn’t available,’ it sounds like a ‘used to do for me when we were like this, in bed together,’ and Jon did not see that one coming. Admittedly, for as long as he’s known them, it’s been Brendon-and-Spencer, and in a different way, Spencer-and-Ryan. He thinks he can be forgiven for not anticipating that particular curve ball.
He wants to ask questions, but Ryan is starting to move, plaintive little thrusts of his hips like he can’t stay still, can’t control it, and that reminds Jon why he’s doing this. He starts humming without thinking about what he’s going to sing, something nonsensical that evolves out of the first thing that comes into his head, and feels Ryan slowly relax.
It’s not quite enough, or else Ryan just never loses that final edge of tension. Once Jon’s hummed his way through an entire CCR album and something he, Butcher and William once made up while drunk on tour together, he stops to rub Ryan’s belly questioningly.
“Is it working?” he asks. He knows the answer even before Ryan hesitates and then slowly shakes his head. “Maybe I’m not doing it right,” he offers. He’d volunteer to go get Brendon, because he’s sure Brendon wouldn’t mind, not for this, but he doesn’t think that would help. One person, Ryan had said. One person Ryan fixated on and nothing else in the world mattered.
“I don’t…” Ryan says slowly, and then lapses into silence.
“Are you sure this is how he did it?” Jon asks. It seems straightforward enough, spoon and sing, but then he’s been in this band for long enough to know that sometimes Brendon is magic.
“Well,” Ryan says reluctantly. Jon is on the verge of spurring him on gently when he admits, “He usually got me off first.”
Jon laughs, rough and rumbling against Ryan’s neck. He feels Ryan shiver, and slides his hand down, over the slight curve of Ryan’s stomach to his cock. “Oh, well,” he says, squeezing and feeling Ryan shudder. “Details.”
-
When it finally looks enough like morning for Jon to peel himself out of bed - fuck, he’s disgusting - his stomach is about to stage a revolt. Ryan must have the same idea, because he pads out of the bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and returns a few minutes later with an entire pizza box, Brendon’s voice rising in protest behind him before he shuts the door and smiles.
“My hero,” Jon says fervently, and then they sit on the bed and devour a piping-hot large supreme without pausing for conversation.
There are two pieces left when they finally slow, and both of them offer it to the other before they just push it away and lay back down. Jon smells truly rank right now. He thinks a shower might be necessary, but that involves getting up. Ryan finally makes the decision for him, wrinkling his nose and dragging himself off to the bathroom.
Jon listens to the water turn on and wriggles his toes thoughtfully for a minute before going over to tap on the door and ask, “Can I join you?”
Ryan looks grateful, which reminds Jon that it’s been a few hours since the last handjob. Ryan’s cock is already curving gracefully towards his stomach, flushing red. Jon waits until they’re both under the spray to jerk him off, taking his time and watching Ryan’s expression as his breathing goes erratic, hips working into Jon’s grip.
After Ryan comes, open-mouthed and gasping, they take a few minutes to actually get clean. Jon’s hair feels like it’s caked in sand, and after he scrubs he feels a lot better. Ryan is more fastidious, and uses a lot more products from bottles, but Jon manages to herd him out of the shower before the water starts to cool.
He’d thought about maybe joining Brendon and Spencer, making some music or watching TV, but as soon as he drops his towel he feels Ryan’s eyes on him, hot and hungry. He turns around and raises an eyebrow, then sits on the bed, leaning back against the pillows in invitation.
Ryan hardly waits for him to get there, straddling his hips before Jon is even settled and leaning in to lick at the drops of water still clinging to Jon’s throat and jaw. Jon cups Ryan’s ass, helping him balance, and opens his mouth for Ryan’s tongue.
It’s the first time they’ve kissed like this, he realizes. Hours and hours of sex, but he’s never felt this before; the way Ryan tilts his head and parts his lips, the shallow sweep of his tongue in Jon's mouth. Ryan makes a growling noise when Jon sucks on his tongue, and then clambers backwards on the bed. Jon’s opening his mouth to ask when Ryan grabs his ankles and pulls, jerking Jon straight onto his back.
“Oh, okay,” Jon tells the ceiling, and then feels Ryan’s weight settle over him and is presented with a close-up view of Ryan’s upside-down cock.
It’s a new angle, and he’s not really crazy about the fact that it gives Ryan all the control, but then he feels Ryan’s tongue lick hot and wet over his own cock, and suddenly he sees where all of this is going. He opens up carefully, keeping one hand around the base so he won’t choke, and runs his tongue over the head of Ryan’s cock.
It’s good, but Ryan keeps trying to shove his hips down, and Jon keeps trying to shove his hips up, and it’s not the most ideal situation in the world. Jon finally tips Ryan sideways, trying to get him on the bed so they can do this one at a time like normal people, only Ryan rolls onto his side and pulls Jon with him, somehow keeping his grip on Jon’s cock, and hey, this is much better.
He starts to tell Ryan that, but as soon as he goes to speak Ryan makes a noise of extreme disapproval, probably that Jon’s mouth is no longer on his cock. Jon thinks that after this maybe they should take advantage of Spencer’s gift and have some drunk cuddle time, just for variety.
Ryan makes another noise, this one vaguely threatening, and twitches his hips.
Jon opens his mouth and goes back to sucking.
-
Ryan goes back to his room after they clean up again, barricading himself in with mutters of lyrics and melody lines. Jon guesses he probably just needs some time to himself.
He finds Brendon in the living room playing video games. Spencer must be in the kitchen; Jon can hear dishes clattering, and the occasional soft ‘whoomp’ of a cupboard door closing.
“Spence is making Rice Krispie treats,” Brendon confirms, without taking his eyes off the screen. The television erupts in another series of laser-beam-chirps and explosions, and Brendon makes a face that means he probably isn’t winning. Jon goes to sit next to him on the couch and freezes for a second when all of the muscles in his lower back scream in protest at once.
He hopes that his face isn’t as beet red as it feels, but something must give it away, because Brendon laughs. “Yeah, I remember,” he says. “Just take it easy. Do you have enough room?”
He starts to scoot away, but Jon puts a hand on his thigh, keeping him there. It feels good to be around other people, back in normal life for a little while. The whole thing with Ryan feels more surreal by the day.
Jon coughs to clear his throat. “I didn’t know you and Ryan…”
“Yeah. Back in Maryland. It must be easier, not having to work all day and keep to a schedule. He seems to be doing better this time.” Brendon still isn’t looking at him, attention trained on the screen, but Jon finds that’s actually a comfort, considering the conversation.
“How did you and Spencer handle…?” Jon asks awkwardly. He’s not sure if his curiosity is more about the band, or about Ryan.
“We weren’t together,” Brendon says, and then after a moment and an awkward laugh, he adds ruefully, “Not well.”
Jon’s not an idiot. There are three of them up here besides Ryan, three people Ryan trusts intimately, and two of those people are starry-eyed in love with each other. There’s a reason Ryan fixated on Jon, probably with single-minded desperation. Not Brendon, he’d said, and not Spencer. Jon tells himself he really doesn’t mind.
He doesn’t know what Brendon picks up on, but it must be something, because a few minutes later Brendon is scooting over on the couch, crowding Jon into a corner and pressing their thighs companionably together. “Better angle,” he explains, as if Brendon has ever needed an excuse, and leans on Jon’s shoulder.
Brendon offers Jon the controller after he finishes the level, but Jon shakes his head, content to watch. They sit for about an hour before Spencer yells something from the kitchen and Ryan appears in the doorway, looking puzzled. Jon wonders if he should stop touching Brendon, if this is likely to provoke a fight, but Brendon just grins and drapes an arm around Jon’s neck, thumbs still busy on the controller.
He’s deliberately testing, Jon thinks, and isn’t sure how he feels about that. Brendon’s magic must be working again, though, because Ryan just makes an annoyed noise and reclaims Jon with a hand fisted into the hem of his shirt, removing Brendon’s arms with polite force.
Brendon laughs, and Jon lets Ryan haul him off towards the kitchen. “Spencer made Rice Krispie treats,” he explains, and Jon can’t argue with that.
-
The days are starting to blur together, but Jon thinks they’re somewhere between five and six. He’s existing in a pattern of sex-sex-sex-food-sex-sleep-sex, and he’d never thought there was such a thing as too much sex before, but now he’s starting to consider it.
Spencer makes sure they eat, but besides that they don’t see much of anyone besides each other. Ryan can’t seem to stand being away from him for long, always returning to touch and press close. Spencer says it’s normal, and Brendon gives him a tip on the patch of warm skin at the base of Ryan’s spine that makes him purr like an overgrown kitten when Jon strokes it.
They’re doing more kissing now, making out between handjobs and blowjobs, and Jon gets the hang of spooning, rubbing Ryan’s skin while he sings whatever comes to mind, musicals and cartoon themes and the songs his parents used to listen to on the record player when he was a kid.
Ryan relaxes under his hands, soaks it all up and wakes Jon three hours later to fuck him slowly in the moonlight, with Jon’s spine liquid from sleep and Ryan’s cock making sparks dance behind his eyelids. Jon comes without Ryan ever touching his cock, just from the friction and the rhythm and the noises Ryan makes with his mouth pressed against Jon’s throat, and then he lies there in a daze while Ryan drifts off to sleep draped over Jon like a blanket.
He’s restless and unsettled, and he thinks it might have something to do with the fact that they’re counting down now instead of up, but he doesn’t want to admit that yet. He moves Ryan onto the bed, slowly and carefully, and ignores the sound Ryan makes in his sleep when their skin is no longer touching anywhere. He needs to clear his head.
The television is on in the living room, screen gone to blue. Brendon and Spencer are together on the couch making out, lazy and unhurried, and Jon just stares at them for a minute because there are too many things he wants to say, too much he wants to ask.
He knows it wasn’t love between Brendon and Ryan. He thinks it was love between Ryan and Spencer because it still is, but not the same kind as this, not Brendon’s hands tucked into Spencer’s back pockets and Spencer’s fingers lightly tugging Brendon’s hair.
Jon wants to interrupt them, wants to say, ‘How did you do it?’ and come up with some answers for himself, but Brendon’s hand slides out of Spencer’s pocket only to push under his shirt, and there’s nothing obscene in what they’re doing, nothing Jon should definitely not be seeing, but they’re in their own world right now and Jon can’t stand to intrude.
Spencer makes a noise, a little grumbling growl without moving his mouth from Brendon’s, and Brendon laughs against his lips.
Jon goes back to bed.
-
He thinks of ways to say it, ‘How about we…?’ and ‘What if we just…?’ and ‘I think maybe I want this.’ He practices speeches in the mirror while he’s supposed to be brushing his teeth, silently raising his eyebrows at his reflection and filling in Ryan’s part of the dialogue. He hopes it would go something like, ‘Yeah, me too,’ but he can’t be sure.
He looks up once and Spencer’s watching him from the doorway, leaning against the frame casually while Jon silently talks to the mirror. He turns guiltily, but Spencer just crooks a smile and says, “I think Ryan’s going to pace a hole in the carpet if you take much longer.”
“Sorry,” Jon says, and puts the cap back on the toothpaste he hasn’t used.
Spencer catches his elbow on the way past, and Jon pauses. It takes Spencer a second to say something, mulling it over first the way he always does. Finally he says, “He’s not jealous with you,” like it should mean something more than it does. Jon raises his eyebrows.
Spencer just grins. “He used to be, with me. With Brendon. But Brendon’s been all over you and he hasn’t said a word.”
Jon shifts his weight a little. He knows this is going somewhere, or that there’s a message in this he’s supposed to be picking up on, but he doesn’t know what. He’s impatient to get to Ryan, to keep him from digging his nails into his palms because he doesn’t have Jon to touch instead.
Spencer rolls his eyes. “What I’m saying is that maybe he knows he doesn’t have to be,” he says, and claps Jon on the shoulder before pushing past him into the bathroom.
Jon thinks about that, turning it over in his mind and trying to add it into his mirror-conversation. Then Ryan sees him, curls his hands over Jon’s shoulder blades and wraps them tightly together, and Jon stops thinking about anything at all.
-
Jon wakes up in the middle of the night alone and knows it’s over. Ryan’s side of the bed is cold, so Jon shakes himself blearily awake, finds a pair of boxer shorts, and pads out of the bedroom to find him.
He’s in the last place Jon looks, but what probably should have been the first. Spencer’s bed is more than big enough, and they’re still only taking up two-thirds of it, sprawled around each other in the center. Brendon and Ryan are curled up together in a tangle of limbs, with Spencer on the other side of Ryan, sandwiching him in and keeping one arm draped protectively over his shoulders.
After a moment, Jon realizes that Spencer isn’t asleep at all, is watching him with dark eyes from the far side of the bed. He shifts his weight, crossing his arms, and tries to think of what to say.
Spencer just raises an eyebrow and lifts his arm, a silent invitation.
Jon should turn it down, he knows, because Ryan probably wants to be with Spencer for a while, at least until he gets back to normal. His bed is empty, though, and it feels like years since he slept without Ryan plastered against his side.
He gets in slowly, careful not to disturb them, but Ryan’s out cold and Brendon sleeps like the dead. Spencer scoots over a little, as much as he can without displacing the other two, and Jon settles on the edge of the bed against Spencer’s back.
There are too many things he wants to say, to ask, so he shuts his eyes against the press of words and tries to make himself sleep. He’s not all that gay, he thinks, but if Ryan woke up and wanted to fuck him without the hormones driving him on, if he wanted to spend the day in bed just touching and tasting, Jon wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t say no.
He wouldn’t have said no even before all of this, is the thing. He would have protested more, maybe, but he wouldn’t have meant it. He’s been looking at Ryan for longer now than he can even remember.
Ryan snuffles a little and shifts in his sleep, rolling towards Spencer. His hand falls over Spencer’s side and then keeps moving, questing out until he finds Jon’s arm. Jon reaches up and squeezes, tangling their fingers together, and Ryan exhales a sigh and falls still again.
Jon closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
-
If he’d thought about it, he would have expected the morning to be awkward, but it isn’t. Ryan wakes up first - technically, Spencer probably wakes up first, since he seems the most alert, but Ryan’s the one who moves and wakes the rest of them - and he and Brendon battle crankily for space until Ryan clambers out over top of him.
“Oof,” Brendon complains. “Elbows,” and Spencer laughs, rolling into the space Ryan just vacated and stretching out.
“It’s time to wake up,” Brendon murmurs, tripping his fingers over Spencer’s shoulder. “Wake, wake…” ignoring Spencer’s hand batting him away. “Jon, help me.”
“You’re on your own,” Jon tells him, his voice gravelly and rough, and he hears more than sees Ryan turn around in the doorway to blink at them. He looks up, steeling himself, but Ryan just scratches at his mussed hair and smiles lopsidedly at him before continuing on his way to the bathroom.
Jon leaves when Spencer decides to retaliate against Brendon’s tickling fingers and nearly kicks him off the edge of the bed. He finds Ryan in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water and looking out the window at the morning sunlight.
“Hey,” Jon says, and it’s nowhere near what he wants to say, but it’s a start. “Breakfast?”
Ryan nods and starts getting out bowls and cereal. Jon opens the fridge for the milk and sees a carton of strawberries on the top shelf. Ryan used to love having fruit on his cereal, Jon remembers Spencer telling him. Spencer’s mom used to do it for them when he slept over.
Jon feels a little bit like an idiot, but he pulls out the carton and starts slicing.
Ryan looks surprised when Jon holds out a hand for his bowl and returns it covered in strawberries, but also thoughtful, and Jon thinks maybe secretly pleased. “Thanks,” Ryan says, and the tops of his cheeks are pink.
Brendon tumbles in a minute later, scrambling for cover between Jon’s back and the fridge. “Truce,” he calls from his position of safety. “I call truce!”
Spencer saunters in after him, looking relaxed and nonplussed and freshly rumpled, but his eyes are twinkling dangerously. “Don’t think Jon will be able to save you,” he warns, and it sounds threatening, but Jon can feel Brendon quivering with laughter.
“Jon is safe,” Brendon insists. “Jon is like…hey, are those our strawberries?” Jon half-turns to see Brendon wrinkling his forehead at the half-empty carton. “Spence, they’re eating our strawberries. Our sex strawberries.”
“Ew,” Ryan puts in from the table.
“Shut up, Ross,” Brendon counters without missing a beat.
“We’ll buy more,” Spencer says, coming over to the counter to steal one. Brendon shies nervously to Jon’s other side, still vibrating with energy. “We’ll buy two cartons this time.” He grins, and Jon has a second to think, evil, Spencer is evil before he adds, “So Ryan and Jon can have some too.”
“Ha ha,” Ryan deadpans, but his cheeks are still pink, Jon notices.
Jon takes his bowl over to the table and sits next to Ryan, ignoring Brendon’s weak protest at being left to Spencer’s mercy. “Hey, so,” he says quietly, pitching his voice as low as it can go. “I’m glad you’re back. Not that it hasn’t been fun, but, you know, it’s good to have you. Again.”
Ryan looks at him sideways, spoon hovering over his cereal bowl. After a moment he says, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Jon replies sincerely. Ryan gives him a funny look, and a funny little smile to go with it. Jon thinks he’s probably giving Ryan a funny little smile back, but he can’t really help it.
“Sex strawberries,” Spencer says from the fridge. “Two cartons. And extra whipped cream.”
Jon looks away, scratching the thick stubble on his chin and feigning nonchalance to hide the heat in his cheeks. Brendon’s laughter says he isn’t fooled.
Ryan drops his hand to Jon’s knee under the table and squeezes. He probably isn’t fooled either, and Jon doesn’t really mind at all.