random bandom comment fic (Jon/Ryan/Pete, NC-17)
Jon/Ryan/Pete
NC-17
2400 words
Was supposed to be a comment fic for themoononastick. Went off the rails. Is porn with perhaps a tad bit too much character-sketching, but once something like that creeps into a story, you can't get it the fuck out, right?
This really shouldn't be that weird, Jon thinks. He's fucked around with Pete before. That's not really a secret, certainly not to Ryan, who he's been doing a lot more than just fucking around with over the past few months. And if Ryan's never fucked around with Pete himself, then Jon owes Patrick Stump a lot of money.
So it shouldn't be weird, but it is. A good kind of weird, he thinks. Maybe a better word is different, and he has to admit that's mostly because for once Pete Wentz looks absolutely out of his depth. As Ryan crawls on top of Pete and settles between his legs, Pete gives this low, familiar moan, one he usually doesn't make unless he's really drunk and has a mouth on his cock or a cock up his ass. His lips are already shiny and red, and they fall open in a pant as Ryan nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck and, if Jon knows Ryan, bites a little. He loves it when Ryan's kind of rough like that, and Pete looks fucking stupidly hot stretched out under him. Jon can't wait to see all that dark, inked skin against Ryan's paler skin.
That's what's so crazy: they're not even naked yet. They've only just now stumbled into Pete's hotel room after a long, sort of tense elevator ride. Everything's so overwhelming and overcharged, and it pretty much has been all night, but not in a good way. Pete spent almost two hours sitting across the booth from them, staring and then oh-so-obviously not staring at them as he tried but failed to make fluid conversation. He wasn't really flirting except occasionally and in a really clumsy way (even for Pete), but he was sending out these waves of testosterone and energy and something like desperation that made Jon a little antsy. Finally, Ryan just reached across the table, grabbed Pete's hand, and quirked an eyebrow and asked him if maybe he wanted company in his hotel room. Pete's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard, but then he quickly gave a casual sounding laugh and said, "Sure."
That's Pete defense mechanism, to turn everything into a joke. Ryan's is to get quiet, so his near silence in the cab on the way over told Jon he was maybe less sure about what he was doing than he was pretending to be. But there was no trace of that in his movements when they got into Pete's room and Ryan backed Pete toward the bed and climbed up over him as he lay back on the pillows, eyes a little wild. Now, as Ryan pulls at Pete's shoulder and rolls them until they're on their sides, facing each other, Pete looks a little more confident, more like his usual self but still a little bewildered.
Their limbs slide together with purpose and Pete's hands tangle in Ryan's hair as he kisses him. They're smiling into the kiss, breaking off sometimes to giggle at each other before they dive back in, and Jon almost asks them, but he thinks he knows why. It's been a long time for them, and they're both so different now. Ryan was surely young and inexperienced when whatever happened between them happened, and if Jon knows Pete, there was no kissing and smiling and laughing then. It was probably Ryan on his knees one way or another-blowing Pete's mind or else fucking him into oblivion. It was probably what both of them wanted then, but now things are different, for both of them, and they seem like they're enjoying relearning each other. Jon smiles as he watches them.
Eventually, Ryan pushes his hand down between them and flicks Pete's fly open with one hand without taking his mouth from Pete's neck. As he pulls him out of his boxer briefs, he's whispering something in his ear that makes Pete's hips jerk forward. A moment later Ryan pushes him onto his back again.
"Oh fuck," Pete murmurs as Ryan takes his cock in his mouth even as he's still pulling Pete's pants down over his hips. That's when Jon reminds himself there's absolutely no good reason he has to stand in the doorway and just watch.
When Jon climbs onto the bed, he takes over the undressing. He wrestles with Pete's skinny jeans first, then he makes Ryan stop what he's doing long enough to take his shirt off before he goes for Pete's. At the feel of Jon's hands against his stomach, Pete bucks up hard enough to nearly make Ryan gag, and Jon has to grab his hips and hold him down. It's okay, he likes that. He seems to like it even better when Jon finally gets his shirt off him, palms roaming over his torso, over tattoos familiar and unfamiliar. It's been a long time. Too long, he thinks as he leans over and kisses him.
This is the weird part for Jon. Back in the day, it was never like this. There were long, lazy makeout sessions when they were both wasted or stoned, and there were fast, rough handjobs or blowjobs in bathrooms and dressing rooms; it was always either-or, never both at the same time. Jon likes this, though, likes the way Pete kisses when he's getting off, all gulps of breath and moans and teeth and tongue. But once they settle into the kiss a little, Jon feels the balance shift. Pete's letting Jon lead; he's letting himself be kissed. That's new, or maybe it's just a side of him Jon's never seen before. Whatever it is, he likes it almost as much as he likes the look of his boyfriend's soft pink mouth stretched around Pete's dark, flushed cock, Ryan's lips meeting his own fist as he bobs his head up and down.
"Fuck," Pete moans against Jon's mouth, then he's pulling away to take a gasping breath. He rests his face against neck, and soon he's pulling weakly at Jon's waist, trying to get him to come up closer. So Jon lets go of his hips, finally, pausing to scratch his fingers across Ryan's scalp and pinch the nape of his neck before he slides up the bed again. Ryan moans around Pete's cock, and Pete shivers as he pulls Jon into another kiss, this one so dirty and so Pete that Jon wishes he wasn't balanced awkwardly on his knees so he could get some fucking friction with something. He really wishes he had something to fuck right about now. He wonders if Ryan would let him fuck Pete. Maybe they both could.
Eventually, Pete breaks away to breathe again. "God, your mouth," he pants, looking at Jon with dark, unfocused eyes. Then he chuckles. "Learned a thing or two in-" He breaks off in a moan and his eyes roll back in his head when Ryan takes his hand away and goes all the way down on his cock. "Ohfuck," he moans.
"You like that?" Jon asks, letting his palms graze Pete's chest, callused fingers finding a nipple.
"Fuck you," Pete says. "You know I do. Christ, just don't stop."
Jon's not sure who Pete's even talking to anymore, but it might be both of them, as wound up as they've got him. No, it probably is both of them. Suddenly, he gets why this is feels way more alien than it should. It's not just that they're not dumb, inexperienced kids anymore. It's that they're together.
It's not like he couldn't guess Pete was interested in them as a couple. All night, Jon caught him smiling to himself as he watched them, the way they smile at each other with their eyes and sometimes talk without saying a word, and the way they can't keep their hands off each other, Jon spreading his fingers over the small of Ryan's back or absentmindedly tracing over the tattoos on his wrist with his thumb, Ryan pushing a stray lock of hair behind Jon's ear or slinging a possessive arm around his waist. Jon and Ryan have been doing this long enough now they've forgotten how they must look to other people, especially people who knew them before. Or Jon had, anyway. Apparently, Ryan hadn't, at least not with Pete drinking in their every movement. He probably isn't forgetting it now, either, it's just that his hands are a little too occupied to do anything about it. But Jon's aren't, so he kisses Pete hard and deep one last time and then slides back down the bed.
He'd really like to kiss Ryan, but since he can't do that, at least he can still touch him. Jon makes quick work of Ryan's fly and pulls his cock out through the slit in his boxers. He loves the way Ryan's hips are already shifting toward his hand. The tip of his cock is wet, but Jon licks his hand anyway before he starts stroking him. It's a fucking awkward angle, and Pete can't even see what he's doing, but he can hear it, and he can surely feel the way Ryan's humming low in his throat. Jon's other hand settles on Ryan's back, sweeps up and down on the knobs of his spine because Ryan loves that. Eventually, he lets his fingers slip down between Ryan's cheeks to rub over his hole. Ryan whimpers in a way Jon will be sure to make fun of him for later and nearly throws them both off balance thrusting his cock down through Jon's fist.
Pete's murmuring a steady stream of curses by now, and when Jon looks up and locks eyes with him, he shifts his hips up, shoves himself probably a little too hard and deep down Ryan's throat; but Jon's sure Ryan must be swallowing around the head of his cock because Pete's suddenly gone silent the way he does just as he comes.
Ryan swallows it all, so there's no mess when he pulls off. There's just Jon hauling him up onto his knees, pulling Ryan's back against his chest and pushing his jeans and boxers down with one hand to get better access. His other hand turns Ryan's head so he can kisses him wet and dirty, tasting Pete on his tongue.
"Jesus," Pete murmurs, and Jon can feel the bed move as he struggles to sit up.
Jon's got his forearm braced across Ryan's chest to hold him up as he strokes him with his other hand. As he kisses Ryan's neck, he's sort of babbling at him about how fucking hot that was, but it's not like he can help it anymore. It's too damn warm in the room for this, and there are too many arms and legs all vying for the same space, but Pete's still coming up onto his knees and crowding up against them anyway. He asks if he can watch Jon fuck Ryan, but he doesn't wait for a response before he's kissing Ryan, one hand clutching his side and the other on his neck. Ryan's already so close that when Pete reaches down to cup Ryan's balls and give them a squeeze, Ryan whimpers into their kiss and goes slack between them as he comes in hot streaks over Pete's stomach.
Everything moves in a blur for Jon after that. He's so hard and so fucking turned on he doesn't think it'll take much to get him off--if someone will just get his cock out of his fucking pants already. Pete cups him through his jeans and gives him a teasing look despite still being sex-dazed, and Jon sort of growls at him, so Pete just gives him a smirking, wolfish grin and tugs his zipper open. Ryan's hands make quick work of his shirt, then Ryan's up on his knees in front of him, too, holding him steady. His mouth is all over him, biting at his neck and collarbone and then sucking in a nipple as Pete finally gets him free of his boxers and takes him in hand. Jon tries to hold Ryan there by a firm hand on the back of his neck, but it doesn't take long before he's really not in control of any of this anymore. His hips buck forward, thrusting his slick cock through Pete's fist. His hands blindly clutch at Ryan's neck and shoulder as Ryan lets Jon take over his mouth, thrust his tongue inside the way he'd like to be fucking Ryan right now if he wasn't already too far gone. Later, he tells himself, and he comes so hard he feels dizzy for a second.
It shouldn't surprise Jon that things are kind of weird after, too, but another kind of good weird. They follow each other into the bathroom and clean up together, then they collapse on the bed, laughing and cracking jokes at each others' expense, about how Ryan's gone hoarse and how Jon lacks all coordination after an orgasm and how Pete's dick looks just like it did the last time they saw it…on the internet. It's nice, relaxed and friendly. It's what this meeting of old friends at the bar should've been but wasn't.
There was too much tension back there, pulling at them from all sides of this thing. It's not exactly gone now, but it's not as overwhelming anymore. It's easy and kind of perfect, and best of all, Pete's himself again, dorky and badass, confident and neurotic, equal parts protective self-mockery and absolute earnestness. Ryan and Jon sit propped up against the headboard, exchanging amused glances as they watch Pete, who's sprawled out across the foot of the bed, flirting crudely and shamelessly and talking with his hands about life and love and art and friendship.
~
NC-17
2400 words
Was supposed to be a comment fic for themoononastick. Went off the rails. Is porn with perhaps a tad bit too much character-sketching, but once something like that creeps into a story, you can't get it the fuck out, right?
This really shouldn't be that weird, Jon thinks. He's fucked around with Pete before. That's not really a secret, certainly not to Ryan, who he's been doing a lot more than just fucking around with over the past few months. And if Ryan's never fucked around with Pete himself, then Jon owes Patrick Stump a lot of money.
So it shouldn't be weird, but it is. A good kind of weird, he thinks. Maybe a better word is different, and he has to admit that's mostly because for once Pete Wentz looks absolutely out of his depth. As Ryan crawls on top of Pete and settles between his legs, Pete gives this low, familiar moan, one he usually doesn't make unless he's really drunk and has a mouth on his cock or a cock up his ass. His lips are already shiny and red, and they fall open in a pant as Ryan nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck and, if Jon knows Ryan, bites a little. He loves it when Ryan's kind of rough like that, and Pete looks fucking stupidly hot stretched out under him. Jon can't wait to see all that dark, inked skin against Ryan's paler skin.
That's what's so crazy: they're not even naked yet. They've only just now stumbled into Pete's hotel room after a long, sort of tense elevator ride. Everything's so overwhelming and overcharged, and it pretty much has been all night, but not in a good way. Pete spent almost two hours sitting across the booth from them, staring and then oh-so-obviously not staring at them as he tried but failed to make fluid conversation. He wasn't really flirting except occasionally and in a really clumsy way (even for Pete), but he was sending out these waves of testosterone and energy and something like desperation that made Jon a little antsy. Finally, Ryan just reached across the table, grabbed Pete's hand, and quirked an eyebrow and asked him if maybe he wanted company in his hotel room. Pete's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard, but then he quickly gave a casual sounding laugh and said, "Sure."
That's Pete defense mechanism, to turn everything into a joke. Ryan's is to get quiet, so his near silence in the cab on the way over told Jon he was maybe less sure about what he was doing than he was pretending to be. But there was no trace of that in his movements when they got into Pete's room and Ryan backed Pete toward the bed and climbed up over him as he lay back on the pillows, eyes a little wild. Now, as Ryan pulls at Pete's shoulder and rolls them until they're on their sides, facing each other, Pete looks a little more confident, more like his usual self but still a little bewildered.
Their limbs slide together with purpose and Pete's hands tangle in Ryan's hair as he kisses him. They're smiling into the kiss, breaking off sometimes to giggle at each other before they dive back in, and Jon almost asks them, but he thinks he knows why. It's been a long time for them, and they're both so different now. Ryan was surely young and inexperienced when whatever happened between them happened, and if Jon knows Pete, there was no kissing and smiling and laughing then. It was probably Ryan on his knees one way or another-blowing Pete's mind or else fucking him into oblivion. It was probably what both of them wanted then, but now things are different, for both of them, and they seem like they're enjoying relearning each other. Jon smiles as he watches them.
Eventually, Ryan pushes his hand down between them and flicks Pete's fly open with one hand without taking his mouth from Pete's neck. As he pulls him out of his boxer briefs, he's whispering something in his ear that makes Pete's hips jerk forward. A moment later Ryan pushes him onto his back again.
"Oh fuck," Pete murmurs as Ryan takes his cock in his mouth even as he's still pulling Pete's pants down over his hips. That's when Jon reminds himself there's absolutely no good reason he has to stand in the doorway and just watch.
When Jon climbs onto the bed, he takes over the undressing. He wrestles with Pete's skinny jeans first, then he makes Ryan stop what he's doing long enough to take his shirt off before he goes for Pete's. At the feel of Jon's hands against his stomach, Pete bucks up hard enough to nearly make Ryan gag, and Jon has to grab his hips and hold him down. It's okay, he likes that. He seems to like it even better when Jon finally gets his shirt off him, palms roaming over his torso, over tattoos familiar and unfamiliar. It's been a long time. Too long, he thinks as he leans over and kisses him.
This is the weird part for Jon. Back in the day, it was never like this. There were long, lazy makeout sessions when they were both wasted or stoned, and there were fast, rough handjobs or blowjobs in bathrooms and dressing rooms; it was always either-or, never both at the same time. Jon likes this, though, likes the way Pete kisses when he's getting off, all gulps of breath and moans and teeth and tongue. But once they settle into the kiss a little, Jon feels the balance shift. Pete's letting Jon lead; he's letting himself be kissed. That's new, or maybe it's just a side of him Jon's never seen before. Whatever it is, he likes it almost as much as he likes the look of his boyfriend's soft pink mouth stretched around Pete's dark, flushed cock, Ryan's lips meeting his own fist as he bobs his head up and down.
"Fuck," Pete moans against Jon's mouth, then he's pulling away to take a gasping breath. He rests his face against neck, and soon he's pulling weakly at Jon's waist, trying to get him to come up closer. So Jon lets go of his hips, finally, pausing to scratch his fingers across Ryan's scalp and pinch the nape of his neck before he slides up the bed again. Ryan moans around Pete's cock, and Pete shivers as he pulls Jon into another kiss, this one so dirty and so Pete that Jon wishes he wasn't balanced awkwardly on his knees so he could get some fucking friction with something. He really wishes he had something to fuck right about now. He wonders if Ryan would let him fuck Pete. Maybe they both could.
Eventually, Pete breaks away to breathe again. "God, your mouth," he pants, looking at Jon with dark, unfocused eyes. Then he chuckles. "Learned a thing or two in-" He breaks off in a moan and his eyes roll back in his head when Ryan takes his hand away and goes all the way down on his cock. "Ohfuck," he moans.
"You like that?" Jon asks, letting his palms graze Pete's chest, callused fingers finding a nipple.
"Fuck you," Pete says. "You know I do. Christ, just don't stop."
Jon's not sure who Pete's even talking to anymore, but it might be both of them, as wound up as they've got him. No, it probably is both of them. Suddenly, he gets why this is feels way more alien than it should. It's not just that they're not dumb, inexperienced kids anymore. It's that they're together.
It's not like he couldn't guess Pete was interested in them as a couple. All night, Jon caught him smiling to himself as he watched them, the way they smile at each other with their eyes and sometimes talk without saying a word, and the way they can't keep their hands off each other, Jon spreading his fingers over the small of Ryan's back or absentmindedly tracing over the tattoos on his wrist with his thumb, Ryan pushing a stray lock of hair behind Jon's ear or slinging a possessive arm around his waist. Jon and Ryan have been doing this long enough now they've forgotten how they must look to other people, especially people who knew them before. Or Jon had, anyway. Apparently, Ryan hadn't, at least not with Pete drinking in their every movement. He probably isn't forgetting it now, either, it's just that his hands are a little too occupied to do anything about it. But Jon's aren't, so he kisses Pete hard and deep one last time and then slides back down the bed.
He'd really like to kiss Ryan, but since he can't do that, at least he can still touch him. Jon makes quick work of Ryan's fly and pulls his cock out through the slit in his boxers. He loves the way Ryan's hips are already shifting toward his hand. The tip of his cock is wet, but Jon licks his hand anyway before he starts stroking him. It's a fucking awkward angle, and Pete can't even see what he's doing, but he can hear it, and he can surely feel the way Ryan's humming low in his throat. Jon's other hand settles on Ryan's back, sweeps up and down on the knobs of his spine because Ryan loves that. Eventually, he lets his fingers slip down between Ryan's cheeks to rub over his hole. Ryan whimpers in a way Jon will be sure to make fun of him for later and nearly throws them both off balance thrusting his cock down through Jon's fist.
Pete's murmuring a steady stream of curses by now, and when Jon looks up and locks eyes with him, he shifts his hips up, shoves himself probably a little too hard and deep down Ryan's throat; but Jon's sure Ryan must be swallowing around the head of his cock because Pete's suddenly gone silent the way he does just as he comes.
Ryan swallows it all, so there's no mess when he pulls off. There's just Jon hauling him up onto his knees, pulling Ryan's back against his chest and pushing his jeans and boxers down with one hand to get better access. His other hand turns Ryan's head so he can kisses him wet and dirty, tasting Pete on his tongue.
"Jesus," Pete murmurs, and Jon can feel the bed move as he struggles to sit up.
Jon's got his forearm braced across Ryan's chest to hold him up as he strokes him with his other hand. As he kisses Ryan's neck, he's sort of babbling at him about how fucking hot that was, but it's not like he can help it anymore. It's too damn warm in the room for this, and there are too many arms and legs all vying for the same space, but Pete's still coming up onto his knees and crowding up against them anyway. He asks if he can watch Jon fuck Ryan, but he doesn't wait for a response before he's kissing Ryan, one hand clutching his side and the other on his neck. Ryan's already so close that when Pete reaches down to cup Ryan's balls and give them a squeeze, Ryan whimpers into their kiss and goes slack between them as he comes in hot streaks over Pete's stomach.
Everything moves in a blur for Jon after that. He's so hard and so fucking turned on he doesn't think it'll take much to get him off--if someone will just get his cock out of his fucking pants already. Pete cups him through his jeans and gives him a teasing look despite still being sex-dazed, and Jon sort of growls at him, so Pete just gives him a smirking, wolfish grin and tugs his zipper open. Ryan's hands make quick work of his shirt, then Ryan's up on his knees in front of him, too, holding him steady. His mouth is all over him, biting at his neck and collarbone and then sucking in a nipple as Pete finally gets him free of his boxers and takes him in hand. Jon tries to hold Ryan there by a firm hand on the back of his neck, but it doesn't take long before he's really not in control of any of this anymore. His hips buck forward, thrusting his slick cock through Pete's fist. His hands blindly clutch at Ryan's neck and shoulder as Ryan lets Jon take over his mouth, thrust his tongue inside the way he'd like to be fucking Ryan right now if he wasn't already too far gone. Later, he tells himself, and he comes so hard he feels dizzy for a second.
It shouldn't surprise Jon that things are kind of weird after, too, but another kind of good weird. They follow each other into the bathroom and clean up together, then they collapse on the bed, laughing and cracking jokes at each others' expense, about how Ryan's gone hoarse and how Jon lacks all coordination after an orgasm and how Pete's dick looks just like it did the last time they saw it…on the internet. It's nice, relaxed and friendly. It's what this meeting of old friends at the bar should've been but wasn't.
There was too much tension back there, pulling at them from all sides of this thing. It's not exactly gone now, but it's not as overwhelming anymore. It's easy and kind of perfect, and best of all, Pete's himself again, dorky and badass, confident and neurotic, equal parts protective self-mockery and absolute earnestness. Ryan and Jon sit propped up against the headboard, exchanging amused glances as they watch Pete, who's sprawled out across the foot of the bed, flirting crudely and shamelessly and talking with his hands about life and love and art and friendship.
~