Fic: A Hotter Touch, A Better Fuck
A Hotter Touch, A Better Fuck
[Ryan/Spencer/Brendon, 2095 words, NC-17]
by foxxcub & adellyna
"Maybe," Ryan says coldly, glaring at Brendon. "If you didn't stare at Spencer's dick all the time, you wouldn't have so many opinions about my proximity to it."
Slight warning: Semi noncon at the beginning, guys, but it's nothing serious. *g*
THANKS TO MANDI, for her brain is a wonderful, porny place.
Brendon makes one too many cracks about Spencer and Ryan and their "close, personal friendship" and their "seeming immunity to penis space," which is his own personal answer to personal space: as long as you stay at least eight inches away from another dude's dick at all times, you're totally straight. So he makes one too many cracks, and it's not even like they're doing anything, it's just that Ryan's head is on Spencer's thigh, and when he turns his head his nose brushes Spencer's zipper, and it's just. It's not that.
"Maybe," Ryan says coldly, glaring at Brendon. "If you didn't stare at Spencer's dick all the time, you wouldn't have so many opinions about my proximity to it."
Brendon says, "I don't. I totally don't. I'm trying to look you in the eye, Ross, like any polite person having a conversation, but you're always licking Spencer's zipper, so it's not even like I have a choice."
Spencer snorts. "Admit it, Urie, you really just want in Ross's pants."
"I don't," Brendon protests. "Unless you mean in the strictly literal sense, and even not then, because unlike some people, I have an ass."
Ryan smirks. "And whatever, Spence, he's staring at your crotch, not mine."
Spencer stretches; long and lazy, and Ryan can feel his muscles lengthen under his cheek, sees the pale flash of his wrist before it ducks behind his head and, most importantly, he sees Brendon's eyes widen a little, dart from Spencer's waist to his neck, to his turned up forearms, his bare feet.
"He's staring at your soulful eyes," Spencer scoffs. "My crotch is incidental."
Ryan rolls up out of Spencer's lap, and if his hand maybe cups a little close to Spencer's pocket, well. That's just to watch Brendon's reaction, which is predictable: flushed, eyes wide and then averted, lip bitten.
"You obviously see something you like," Ryan says quietly, like he's talking to a skittish animal. Which...it is Brendon, after all.
"No, I - " Brendon looks down intently at the floor and starts picking at the carpet.
Ryan squeezes Spencer's thigh again, and cuts his eyes at him for just a second. Spencer nods, and they both edge off of the couch and over to Brendon. Ryan walks, but Spencer crawls across the floor on his hands and knees, until he's close enough to sit on Brendon's legs and smile brightly at him. "You?"
Brendon's eyes flare and he immediately starts an attempt to wriggle away from Spencer. "What are you - you can't be - "
But just as he's about to slip out from under Spencer, Ryan pins his wrists above his head and whispers hotly against his neck, "Oh, yes, we can."
"We're dirty that way," Spencer agrees. "Remember? Always up on everyone's dick?"
Ryan watches as he plants his hands to either side of Brendon's hips and squeezes his knees together, trapping Brendon's legs between. Brendon's hips buck a little, desperate, twisting, and Spencer smirks. "Eager?"
"No. Stop it, guys."
"What, you don't want to experiment a little?" Without preamble, Spencer cups Brendon through his jeans. It's not rough, but it's enough to make Brendon bite his lip and hiss, his hips thrusting up against Spencer's hand.
"Fuck you, get off me," Brendon growls, but it's soft. Breathless
Ryan grins at Spencer over Brendon's tense, twisting body. "I think," he coos, "you mean 'get me off.'"
"You're hilarious, Ross, fucking hilarious." Brendon tries to glare, but then Spencer cups him a little harder and Ryan decides to lean down and lick a stripe up Brendon's neck.
Spencer smiles again, wickedly; he's all shining eyes and straight teeth, his fingers pulsing around Brendon's dick. "If Ryan's hilarious, what am I?"
"A fucking prick," Brendon hisses, and Ryan grins at the way Brendon's knuckles are turning white in his effort to still his hips.
"Actually," Spencer says, smirking. "This is a fucking prick." He squeezes then, hard, if the choked noise Brendon makes is any indication, and drags his palm up and then down again, fast. The fabric of Brendon's pants bunches under Spencer's palm, rippling waves of wrinkles; Brendon's breath hisses out of him, and Ryan bites his ear, flicks his tongue against the lobe, and grins at Spencer.
"Admit it," he purrs. "You like it."
"No, I - " But Ryan bites down again, hard, sucking at his earlobe, and Brendon groans so loudly, Spencer's laughing.
Brendon bucks again, sort of undulates, and Ryan doesn't realize what he's trying to do until Spencer's laugh changes, fades from mocking to genuine amusement.
"Not," he says, pressing his palms down on Brendon's hips; his hands are so big now, the heels nearly meet under Brendon's bellybutton, even as his fingers wrap toward the floor. "Nice. Very not nice, Brendon. No kneeing." Spencer shifts, and wedges a knee between Brendon's, his left, and then his right. Brendon bucks again, a little desperate; for what, Ryan's not sure, but there's definite desperation in the cant of his hips.
This time, Spencer keeps his hands on Brendon's hips, and rocks down hard with his own. Ryan can see - when Spencer's body arches up - the way they line up. Hard on hard, hips on hips, and Brendon's legs falling open wider, even as he says, "This is such bullshit, guys."
"If it's bullshit, then why are you trying to dry hump him?" Ryan whispers in his ear. Brendon grits his teeth and makes a weird choking noise.
Spencer laughs again. Brendon plants his feet flat on the floor and jerks up hard. Spencer stops laughing, stops breathing for a second, shoves his hips back down toward the floor and traps Brendon's between himself and the carpet.
"It's called - " Brendon starts, and presses up again, but Spencer's ready this time and pushes down, and it's this gritty, rocking motion that makes Ryan's dick twitch.
"Called what?" he asks. "Dry humping?"
Spencer's chin hits his chest, and Ryan translates the narrow slice of his eyes immediately. His dick twitches again.
"Self defense," Brendon pants.
The humor has suddenly been sucked out of the room, and all that's left is Ryan's inability to stop staring at Spencer, at the way this slow, red flush is creeping over his skin every time Brendon bucks his hips up. He knows he should be mocking Brendon, whispering snark in his ear, but. Spencer. Fuck.
Brendon chokes on air, strangles out a, "-ck," and Ryan thinks, yeah, exactly.
"Spence," he says, low, pushing the word out through his suddenly too-tight throat. Brendon gasps again, and when Spencer curls his fingers under Brendon's knee it rises smoothly, presses against Spencer's ribs, and Spencer looks up and smiles. At Ryan.
Ryan leans forward. His shirt rides up a little, and he can feel the cool skin of his stomach press against Brendon's hot forehead; Spencer leans forward, too, and they can't quite reach, there's a few inches, but Spencer rolls his hips down hard against Brendon's and gets an inch, maybe two, just enough that when he darts his tongue out, it wets Ryan's bottom lip.
Beneath them, Brendon goes still, then arches up off the floor, and says, "Holy shit."
Spencer pulls back when Brendon rolls his hips up, and Ryan sort of huffs a loud groan of frustration. He doesn't think, just crawls forward, pins his knees against the side of Brendon's head to put himself closer to Spencer. He reaches out and digs his hand into Spencer's hair and pulls him back into a kiss, a real kiss, one that involves sucking and tongues and every fucking thing Ryan wants at the moment that doesn't involve his dick. Which.
Holy fuck. Brendon's whimpering and arching his back and nuzzling Ryan's crotch.
Ryan breaks out of the kiss to say, "Oh, shit."
Spencer hums against his mouth, eyes flicking down to Brendon. "Jesus, he learns fast."
Brendon says, "Fuck you." Ryan feels every letter of it, hard consonants humming against his cock, soft breath seeping through denim on the vowels.
He swears, licks the last of the profanity into Spencer's mouth, and slams his right hand down on the carpet, hard, his fingers splayed wide to keep his balance. "Please," he says. "Spence."
Spencer makes a humming noise, questioning, but Ryan's left hand slides under Brendon's knee, bumping Spencer's fingers out of the way, and Spencer says, "Oh. Oh." Then, Spencer's hand is there, pressing hard against Ryan's dick; he can still feel Brendon's breath, coming in short, hard gusts, but it's Spencer who swears first, nipping at Ryan's lip with a strained, "Fuck."
Ryan breaks the kiss and looks down. Brendon's licking Spencer's hand, tonguing the skin stretched between Spencer's fingers; he arches a little more, back rising off the floor, and then his tongue is rasping against Ryan's zipper.
"I want," Ryan gasps, not even sure what he's saying, what he means to say at all. But Spencer nods, digs the heel of his hand harder against Ryan's cock, making him growl and bite down hard on Spencer's bottom lip. Brendon's gasping, rocking his hips faster in time with Spencer's.
Brendon's chanting, breathlessly, "Shit shit shit shit shit." His hips jerk erratically, and he lifts his other leg and wraps it around Spencer's waist. His glasses are pushed almost off his nose; Ryan can feel the cold glass against his bellybutton every time he rocks forward against Spencer's hand. They're both gorgeous like this, Spencer, eyes pried open, watching Ryan's face, and Brendon, with his screwed shut, his mouth gaping open.
"Shit," Brendon says again, but different. "Shit."
"Brendon's gonna come fiiiirst," Spencer whispers, sing-song.
"F-fuck y-you," Brendon grits out, which quickly dissolves into a long, desperate groan when Spencer smirks and grinds down harder.
Spencer's not far either, Ryan can tell from the hum of tension in his shoulders, from the sloppy way he's kissing. Brendon hasn't even finished coming, with a long, strained moan - lower pitched than Ryan would have expected, more Lying Is The Most Fun, and less I Write Sins - when Spencer's mouth falls open. His forehead knocks against Ryan's, his eyes scrunch shut, and he's whimpering the way Ryan's heard a dozen times through curtains and thin walls.
He sags, his shoulders loose and slumping. Brendon's head is rolling side to side, his cheek bumping Ryan's thigh in slow, careless movements, and Ryan's so hard he feels like he's going to explode. "Spence."
"Shit." Spencer surges forward a little; their heads knock, and it hurts, but he doesn't care, because Spencer is climbing over Brendon's body and pushing Ryan back, up onto his knees, and fumbling with his zipper.
"Spencer," he says again, but Spencer gets it, yanks the zipper down, reaches into Ryan's pants, and Ryan has time to register hands, sweat, hot before Spencer's tongue curls around the head of his cock.
"No, wait." Ryan barely has the presence of mind to realize that it's Brendon's voice, scratched raw, and that he's suddenly up on his knees, eye level with Ryan, before he cups Ryan's face in his hands and kisses him, wet and dirty, his tongue licking into his mouth in time with Spencer's around Ryan's cock.
Ryan almost tilts forward; he's got no balance left to speak of, but he catches himself with a hand on Spencer's head, fingers slipping easily into Spencer's hair, and Spencer must think it's a cue or something, a request, because he cocks his head to the side and takes Ryan as far down as he can. At this angle, on his knees, with Spencer's forearms pressed to the floor, it's not all the way, but it's enough.
He comes so hard he thinks he's gone blind from it. There's nothing but black, little specks of white like dust, Spencer's swallowing hard, his throat spasming around the head of Ryan's cock, and Brendon's tongue sliding across the teeth Ryan has buried in his lip.
Ryan can't breathe, can't even form coherent thought, and Brendon won't stop kissing him. He finally splays a hand over Brendon's chest and pushes him away as he sucks the air back into his lungs. Spencer has his cheek pressed against Ryan's thigh, panting, eyes closed and cheeks damp and too pink.
"In short," Spencer mumbles, some quantity of time later that Ryan can measure only by which parts of his body he can feel again (his feet, calves, knees, hands, and wrists). "You, Brendon Urie, are a big queer."
"Am not, fuck off and die," Brendon mumbles against Ryan's chin.
[Ryan/Spencer/Brendon, 2095 words, NC-17]
by foxxcub & adellyna
"Maybe," Ryan says coldly, glaring at Brendon. "If you didn't stare at Spencer's dick all the time, you wouldn't have so many opinions about my proximity to it."
Slight warning: Semi noncon at the beginning, guys, but it's nothing serious. *g*
THANKS TO MANDI, for her brain is a wonderful, porny place.
Brendon makes one too many cracks about Spencer and Ryan and their "close, personal friendship" and their "seeming immunity to penis space," which is his own personal answer to personal space: as long as you stay at least eight inches away from another dude's dick at all times, you're totally straight. So he makes one too many cracks, and it's not even like they're doing anything, it's just that Ryan's head is on Spencer's thigh, and when he turns his head his nose brushes Spencer's zipper, and it's just. It's not that.
"Maybe," Ryan says coldly, glaring at Brendon. "If you didn't stare at Spencer's dick all the time, you wouldn't have so many opinions about my proximity to it."
Brendon says, "I don't. I totally don't. I'm trying to look you in the eye, Ross, like any polite person having a conversation, but you're always licking Spencer's zipper, so it's not even like I have a choice."
Spencer snorts. "Admit it, Urie, you really just want in Ross's pants."
"I don't," Brendon protests. "Unless you mean in the strictly literal sense, and even not then, because unlike some people, I have an ass."
Ryan smirks. "And whatever, Spence, he's staring at your crotch, not mine."
Spencer stretches; long and lazy, and Ryan can feel his muscles lengthen under his cheek, sees the pale flash of his wrist before it ducks behind his head and, most importantly, he sees Brendon's eyes widen a little, dart from Spencer's waist to his neck, to his turned up forearms, his bare feet.
"He's staring at your soulful eyes," Spencer scoffs. "My crotch is incidental."
Ryan rolls up out of Spencer's lap, and if his hand maybe cups a little close to Spencer's pocket, well. That's just to watch Brendon's reaction, which is predictable: flushed, eyes wide and then averted, lip bitten.
"You obviously see something you like," Ryan says quietly, like he's talking to a skittish animal. Which...it is Brendon, after all.
"No, I - " Brendon looks down intently at the floor and starts picking at the carpet.
Ryan squeezes Spencer's thigh again, and cuts his eyes at him for just a second. Spencer nods, and they both edge off of the couch and over to Brendon. Ryan walks, but Spencer crawls across the floor on his hands and knees, until he's close enough to sit on Brendon's legs and smile brightly at him. "You?"
Brendon's eyes flare and he immediately starts an attempt to wriggle away from Spencer. "What are you - you can't be - "
But just as he's about to slip out from under Spencer, Ryan pins his wrists above his head and whispers hotly against his neck, "Oh, yes, we can."
"We're dirty that way," Spencer agrees. "Remember? Always up on everyone's dick?"
Ryan watches as he plants his hands to either side of Brendon's hips and squeezes his knees together, trapping Brendon's legs between. Brendon's hips buck a little, desperate, twisting, and Spencer smirks. "Eager?"
"No. Stop it, guys."
"What, you don't want to experiment a little?" Without preamble, Spencer cups Brendon through his jeans. It's not rough, but it's enough to make Brendon bite his lip and hiss, his hips thrusting up against Spencer's hand.
"Fuck you, get off me," Brendon growls, but it's soft. Breathless
Ryan grins at Spencer over Brendon's tense, twisting body. "I think," he coos, "you mean 'get me off.'"
"You're hilarious, Ross, fucking hilarious." Brendon tries to glare, but then Spencer cups him a little harder and Ryan decides to lean down and lick a stripe up Brendon's neck.
Spencer smiles again, wickedly; he's all shining eyes and straight teeth, his fingers pulsing around Brendon's dick. "If Ryan's hilarious, what am I?"
"A fucking prick," Brendon hisses, and Ryan grins at the way Brendon's knuckles are turning white in his effort to still his hips.
"Actually," Spencer says, smirking. "This is a fucking prick." He squeezes then, hard, if the choked noise Brendon makes is any indication, and drags his palm up and then down again, fast. The fabric of Brendon's pants bunches under Spencer's palm, rippling waves of wrinkles; Brendon's breath hisses out of him, and Ryan bites his ear, flicks his tongue against the lobe, and grins at Spencer.
"Admit it," he purrs. "You like it."
"No, I - " But Ryan bites down again, hard, sucking at his earlobe, and Brendon groans so loudly, Spencer's laughing.
Brendon bucks again, sort of undulates, and Ryan doesn't realize what he's trying to do until Spencer's laugh changes, fades from mocking to genuine amusement.
"Not," he says, pressing his palms down on Brendon's hips; his hands are so big now, the heels nearly meet under Brendon's bellybutton, even as his fingers wrap toward the floor. "Nice. Very not nice, Brendon. No kneeing." Spencer shifts, and wedges a knee between Brendon's, his left, and then his right. Brendon bucks again, a little desperate; for what, Ryan's not sure, but there's definite desperation in the cant of his hips.
This time, Spencer keeps his hands on Brendon's hips, and rocks down hard with his own. Ryan can see - when Spencer's body arches up - the way they line up. Hard on hard, hips on hips, and Brendon's legs falling open wider, even as he says, "This is such bullshit, guys."
"If it's bullshit, then why are you trying to dry hump him?" Ryan whispers in his ear. Brendon grits his teeth and makes a weird choking noise.
Spencer laughs again. Brendon plants his feet flat on the floor and jerks up hard. Spencer stops laughing, stops breathing for a second, shoves his hips back down toward the floor and traps Brendon's between himself and the carpet.
"It's called - " Brendon starts, and presses up again, but Spencer's ready this time and pushes down, and it's this gritty, rocking motion that makes Ryan's dick twitch.
"Called what?" he asks. "Dry humping?"
Spencer's chin hits his chest, and Ryan translates the narrow slice of his eyes immediately. His dick twitches again.
"Self defense," Brendon pants.
The humor has suddenly been sucked out of the room, and all that's left is Ryan's inability to stop staring at Spencer, at the way this slow, red flush is creeping over his skin every time Brendon bucks his hips up. He knows he should be mocking Brendon, whispering snark in his ear, but. Spencer. Fuck.
Brendon chokes on air, strangles out a, "-ck," and Ryan thinks, yeah, exactly.
"Spence," he says, low, pushing the word out through his suddenly too-tight throat. Brendon gasps again, and when Spencer curls his fingers under Brendon's knee it rises smoothly, presses against Spencer's ribs, and Spencer looks up and smiles. At Ryan.
Ryan leans forward. His shirt rides up a little, and he can feel the cool skin of his stomach press against Brendon's hot forehead; Spencer leans forward, too, and they can't quite reach, there's a few inches, but Spencer rolls his hips down hard against Brendon's and gets an inch, maybe two, just enough that when he darts his tongue out, it wets Ryan's bottom lip.
Beneath them, Brendon goes still, then arches up off the floor, and says, "Holy shit."
Spencer pulls back when Brendon rolls his hips up, and Ryan sort of huffs a loud groan of frustration. He doesn't think, just crawls forward, pins his knees against the side of Brendon's head to put himself closer to Spencer. He reaches out and digs his hand into Spencer's hair and pulls him back into a kiss, a real kiss, one that involves sucking and tongues and every fucking thing Ryan wants at the moment that doesn't involve his dick. Which.
Holy fuck. Brendon's whimpering and arching his back and nuzzling Ryan's crotch.
Ryan breaks out of the kiss to say, "Oh, shit."
Spencer hums against his mouth, eyes flicking down to Brendon. "Jesus, he learns fast."
Brendon says, "Fuck you." Ryan feels every letter of it, hard consonants humming against his cock, soft breath seeping through denim on the vowels.
He swears, licks the last of the profanity into Spencer's mouth, and slams his right hand down on the carpet, hard, his fingers splayed wide to keep his balance. "Please," he says. "Spence."
Spencer makes a humming noise, questioning, but Ryan's left hand slides under Brendon's knee, bumping Spencer's fingers out of the way, and Spencer says, "Oh. Oh." Then, Spencer's hand is there, pressing hard against Ryan's dick; he can still feel Brendon's breath, coming in short, hard gusts, but it's Spencer who swears first, nipping at Ryan's lip with a strained, "Fuck."
Ryan breaks the kiss and looks down. Brendon's licking Spencer's hand, tonguing the skin stretched between Spencer's fingers; he arches a little more, back rising off the floor, and then his tongue is rasping against Ryan's zipper.
"I want," Ryan gasps, not even sure what he's saying, what he means to say at all. But Spencer nods, digs the heel of his hand harder against Ryan's cock, making him growl and bite down hard on Spencer's bottom lip. Brendon's gasping, rocking his hips faster in time with Spencer's.
Brendon's chanting, breathlessly, "Shit shit shit shit shit." His hips jerk erratically, and he lifts his other leg and wraps it around Spencer's waist. His glasses are pushed almost off his nose; Ryan can feel the cold glass against his bellybutton every time he rocks forward against Spencer's hand. They're both gorgeous like this, Spencer, eyes pried open, watching Ryan's face, and Brendon, with his screwed shut, his mouth gaping open.
"Shit," Brendon says again, but different. "Shit."
"Brendon's gonna come fiiiirst," Spencer whispers, sing-song.
"F-fuck y-you," Brendon grits out, which quickly dissolves into a long, desperate groan when Spencer smirks and grinds down harder.
Spencer's not far either, Ryan can tell from the hum of tension in his shoulders, from the sloppy way he's kissing. Brendon hasn't even finished coming, with a long, strained moan - lower pitched than Ryan would have expected, more Lying Is The Most Fun, and less I Write Sins - when Spencer's mouth falls open. His forehead knocks against Ryan's, his eyes scrunch shut, and he's whimpering the way Ryan's heard a dozen times through curtains and thin walls.
He sags, his shoulders loose and slumping. Brendon's head is rolling side to side, his cheek bumping Ryan's thigh in slow, careless movements, and Ryan's so hard he feels like he's going to explode. "Spence."
"Shit." Spencer surges forward a little; their heads knock, and it hurts, but he doesn't care, because Spencer is climbing over Brendon's body and pushing Ryan back, up onto his knees, and fumbling with his zipper.
"Spencer," he says again, but Spencer gets it, yanks the zipper down, reaches into Ryan's pants, and Ryan has time to register hands, sweat, hot before Spencer's tongue curls around the head of his cock.
"No, wait." Ryan barely has the presence of mind to realize that it's Brendon's voice, scratched raw, and that he's suddenly up on his knees, eye level with Ryan, before he cups Ryan's face in his hands and kisses him, wet and dirty, his tongue licking into his mouth in time with Spencer's around Ryan's cock.
Ryan almost tilts forward; he's got no balance left to speak of, but he catches himself with a hand on Spencer's head, fingers slipping easily into Spencer's hair, and Spencer must think it's a cue or something, a request, because he cocks his head to the side and takes Ryan as far down as he can. At this angle, on his knees, with Spencer's forearms pressed to the floor, it's not all the way, but it's enough.
He comes so hard he thinks he's gone blind from it. There's nothing but black, little specks of white like dust, Spencer's swallowing hard, his throat spasming around the head of Ryan's cock, and Brendon's tongue sliding across the teeth Ryan has buried in his lip.
Ryan can't breathe, can't even form coherent thought, and Brendon won't stop kissing him. He finally splays a hand over Brendon's chest and pushes him away as he sucks the air back into his lungs. Spencer has his cheek pressed against Ryan's thigh, panting, eyes closed and cheeks damp and too pink.
"In short," Spencer mumbles, some quantity of time later that Ryan can measure only by which parts of his body he can feel again (his feet, calves, knees, hands, and wrists). "You, Brendon Urie, are a big queer."
"Am not, fuck off and die," Brendon mumbles against Ryan's chin.