Each Touch Ch. 3
Title: Each touch belongs to each new sound (3/4)
Authors: EL and Toby
Fandoms: AAR, FOB, Panic
Pairings: Nick/Tyson, Pete/Ryan, Mike/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~32,000 total (god help us)
Summary: Ryan's good at fucking: it's the rest of it that sometimes confuses him. (mult. POVs)
Disclaimer: Never happened.
A/N: This is posted here, but Toby and I wrote this over IM TOGETHER for MONTHS AND MONTHS. It ate our brains and made us squealing, giggly girls. More than half the credit for this fic should go to Toby-- those of you that know her? Drop her an email and say nice job. That being said, you might be thinking WTF?! Ryan Ross living on the AAR tourbus during the BC&UD tour?? Are you on CRACK? To which the answer is YES, but it is the very best kind. I hope you all will come along because I promise this will be a very nice ride.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The next week is a blur of concerts and asphalt; Ryan spends most of it curled in the lounge with Mike watching movies and making out. Mike, it turns out, has a wonderful attention to detail. He picks up little presents for Ryan at rest stops and knows exactly how much honey Ryan likes in his tea. He takes Ryan on dates -- stupid things, like their own booth at the Waffle House, or bribing a crew member to take them to the mall. One morning, Mike wakes him up early. They’re already at the next venue, across the street from a park.
“Come on,” Mike grins at him and Ryan can’t even muster any annoyance at being woken up at seven o’clock. They wander the park for an hour, Mike’s fingers twined in his, and Ryan can’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed around someone.
Ryan is really happy, but he still doesn’t know what Mike’s is up to. Late that afternoon, Ryan is splayed out under Mike on the sofa, hands scratching down Mike’s back, his eyes rolling back from the friction of Mike’s hip, pressed hard into his cock.
“Fuck, okay, okay,” Mike mutters harshly against his neck, sliding away. Ryan whines and digs his fingers into Mike’s arm.
“What the fuck, Kennerty?” he pants and Mike shakes his head, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. Ryan’s stomach twists. “I mean. You do want to fuck me, don’t you?”
Mike just starts laughing, resting his head back on the cushion.
"It's a simple question, Mike," Ryan asks huffily.
Mike pins his arms over his head, lightning-fast, and kisses him so hard that Ryan whimpers. "Yes," he mumbles against Ryan's bottom lip.
Ryan thinks "oh" and then "oh God" and then he's a little giddy. He arches against Mike wantonly and shudders when Mike bites his bottom lip. Ryan's not sure he can remember his name, but Mike grins.
"Come on," he says, "there's a place by the venue we went to the last time we were in town. Let's get some pie."
***
Ryan is kind of amazed there are seedy bars in Connecticut. Or seedy cities, for that matter. It all looks really pretty on those Lifetime movies. But here they are, in a dive bar a few miles from the venue-- the band, the crew, half a dozen hootchie girls who have no idea who they are but who are macking on Shabba and Chris anyway, and Ryan Ross. Tyson grins at him.
Ryan doesn't usually go to places like this -- and usually means ever, actually. He's sitting on a barstool by the corner of the bar, and the upholstery feels gritty underneath him. He has his hands on his thighs, trying to avoid actually touching the bar. He watches as Tyson steps around Nick to grab another beer and wonders if he imagines the fleeting press of Tyson's lips to the back of Nick's neck. Probably not.
It's dim in the bar, so he hears rather than sees Mike lose his pool game, wandering over with the neck of his beer bottle dangling between his fingers. He takes a sip when he's just a few steps away, eyes never leaving Ryan's and Ryan swallows. They've been doing... whatever it is they're doing for a while now, and Ryan has to press his palms into his thighs to stop his fingers from looping and Mike's beltloops and pulling him closer.
"Hey!" Mike smiles and grabs the stool next to Ryan, scooting over so their thighs are touching.
"Hey," Ryan echoes. He turns his stool in, their knees bumping together. He smoooths his hands over his jeans, flicking his gaze to Mike. "Not your lucky night?" he asks.
"It's always my lucky night," Mike winks and takes another sip of beer. Ryan flushes, eyes darting to the burly bartender. He's gotten so used to the boys' easy touching that it’s taking some effort to remember that seedy bars are probably not all that gay.
"Who ordered a Cosmo?" Dave yells incredulously a few seats away and Nick whoops in reply.
"Christ," Mike mutters fondly.
Nick wraps a protective hand around his drink, glancing around jealously. He meets Ryan's eyes and grins, waving his other hand. Ryan has to smile back. "I wonder why he didn't go out and play for Pete tonight," Ryan says, turning back to Mike.
Mike grins over the top of his bottle. "You really want to know?" When Ryan nods, he leans in. "Tyson went down on his knees during 'Swing Swing'."
Ryan laughs. "So, that's like some sort of gay code for fuck me in the green room?"
Mike waggles his eyebrows. "Disgusting, I know. But at least they got it out of their system before we went out. Half the time I have to make sure they don't cross the bar line between drunken dudes and drunken dudes who are making out in the Bible Belt."
Ryan groans. Tyson wanders over and slings an arm around Ryan's neck. He smells like beer and cigarettes but Ryan leans closer anyway. "Hate to break it to you, sweetcheeks, but Nick 'n I have been making out in the Bible Belt since you were in diapers."
"So, you were... what, five?" Mike asks.
"I was an early bloomer!" Tyson beams, squeezing Ryan. "Just like my darling muffin, here. So experienced for his age!"
"I hate you," Ryan says. Next to him, he can feel Mike's blush.
Tyson kisses the top of his head, unconcerned. "You have fun tonight, princess?"
Ryan barely notices the nicknames anymore. "Yeah, it was a great show," he nods and glances at Mike.
"Right," Tyson sighs dramatically. "I could have been performing fucking Hamlet up there and you'd have no idea. Though how you can keep your eyes glued to Mr. Spastic over here, I will never know." Mike snorts and Ryan drops his eyes to his hands.
Tyson leans in and whispers "I bet you could get him drunk enough to take advantage of him. Tequila is his kryptonite."
Ryan elbows Tyson in the side, but is mortified to find that his cock is actually intrigued by the idea.
"You know that I can hear everything you're saying?" Mike rolls his eyes.
Tyson pats Ryan's shoulder. "Think about it," he says, pulling back. "Wheeler!" he shouts, turning back towards the rest of the bar. (The girls and Chris, Ryan notes, are gone, although he's not entirely sure there's a causative relationship. He still can't tell, with Chris.) "Where are you, baby?"
Mike thumps his head on the bar and turns to watch Tyson sashay away. Ryan places a hand on his arm. "Let Dave and Shabba get this one," he says with a slow smile and Mike ducks his head and nods. Ryan leans on the bar and rests his head on his arms so he can look at Mike. He watches Mike roll his beer between his palms for a minute. It's... Ryan searches for the word. Comfortable.
He smiles again and Mike leans forward so their noses almost touch. "You wouldn't really take advantage of me, would you?" he drawls, low and teasing.
Ryan feels a tight, warm shiver spread through him. "It depends," he murmurs, keeping the precise distance between himself and Mike. The jukebox starts blaring Def Leppard (Tyson must have found Nick), but Ryan doesn't even register that his knowledge of eighties rock has improved to the level of recognizing Def Leppard songs in the first place.
"Depends on what?" Mike says.
"On how much I couldn't resist." Ryan lets his hand brush over Mike's thigh and smiles wider when Mike's exhale is a little shaky.
"Sometimes," Mike starts, then shakes his head with a laugh.
"Sometimes what?" Ryan prompts, low. They're far enough in the shadows that he's sure no one can see his fingers tracing up the inseam of Mike's jeans.
"Shit," Mike breathes, eyes fluttering closed for a second. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't such an upstanding guy," he finishes with a smile, but his eyes flash and Ryan's breath catches.
"Me too," he whispers without thinking.
"Ryan," Mike says, a hiss of air, and Ryan recognizes that tone. He's winning, and he lets his hand rest there, just touching where the pieces of denim are sewn together.
"I want to do this," Ryan says, voice low and clear. "I don't know how to tell you that any better than I have."
Mike's leaning on the bar on his elbows now, hair falling over his eyes, and Ryan aches to reach up and brush it away. "I know," Mike says, suddenly serious. He's still breathing heavily, both of them are, and Ryan is only distantly aware of the sounds in the rest of the bar when Mike meets his eyes. "I just. I never want you to feel like, I don't know. Like what I want's more important than what you want."
"What do you want, Mike?" Ryan asks.
Mike reaches out, his hand touching Ryan's. He gives a little smile, sliding his palm over Ryan's in a move that somehow strikes Ryan as explicit, their skin rubbing together. "I want to make you feel good," Mike says, and Ryan is sure his voice wouldn’t be so steady.
Ryan licks his own lips, mouth dry as Mike continues. "I want this to mean something." Their hands are hidden by the bar and their touching legs. Ryan flips his palm, tangling their fingers together.
Ryan has to kiss Mike, soon. Like, 'oh my god, please let a miracle occur,' soon. His heart is racing and he can feel Mike's unsteady breath on his cheek as he grips Ryan's hand under the bar. Ryan can feel the heat of Mike's cock inches from the back of his hand and he bites his lip. He's never gotten this hard this fast in his entire young life, even in close proximity to Pete Wentz, and it would be a little scary if Mike weren't smiling at him.
A noise behind him startles Ryan back a few inches; he glances over his shoulder and down a tiny dark hall to where the bathroom door is still banging shut. "Come on," he practically growls and pulls Mike after him down the hall.
Ryan hears Nick say something as they speed through the tiny bar, but he can't process it. Mike's hand is gripping his, and Ryan pushes on the door with his shoulder, not minding that his hoodie is going to get covered in innumerable germs. He scrapes around for the light and hears Mike shut the door behind them. In the same moment as the single incandescent bulb switches on to reveal a wallpaper of show flyers and party notices, Mike's lips are on his.
He curls a hand desperately around Mike's neck and whimpers. Mike tries to slow down, fingers warm on Ryan's waist, but Ryan can't do anything but press Mike back against the door with a thud. When he slides his knee firmly between Mike's thigh and leans in closer, Mike groans in his mouth. "Fuck, Ry," he's panting and Ryan hasn't felt this fucking alive in months. He's the one pushing, the one making Mike's fingers shake as they slide under his shirt, and the control gives him focus.
"Tell me what you really want, Mike." He echoes his earlier question with a sly smile and presses his palm flat against the front of Mike's jeans. Mikes eyes roll back and Ryan noses at his jaw. "You wanna watch me suck you off? You want me on my knees?"
"Ry," Mike says again, and Ryan flicks open the top button of his jeans. The short scruff of Mike's beard buzzes his lips as he kisses a line up to his ear.
"I want to," he whispers, sliding his hand up and under Mike's t-shirt. Mike's skin is hot and his muscles are taut; his erection presses against the base of Ryan's palm. "I've wanted to for ages." Ryan's hand drifts back down, easing the zipper as he bites Mike's earlobe. "I want your cock in my mouth."
"Jesus, yes," Mike shakes under his hand and Ryan smiles into his skin. Mike tips his head and presses his mouth to Ryan's but he's distracted from the kiss almost immediately as Ryan shoves Mike's jeans down to his thighs and wraps his fingers around Mike's cock snugly. Mike's fingers tighten around the back of his neck and Ryan brushes Mike's hair back with his other hand.
"Watch," he orders as Mike's eyes lock on his and he sinks to his knees as gracefully as he can. He slides the head of head of Mike's cock along his lower lip, the slick precum acting like some perverse lipgloss.
"Ryan--" Mike's staring down at him like he's the fucking messiah and Ryan smiles.
"Breath, Mikey," he instructs, right before sucking the head of his cock into his mouth. Ryan closes his eyes and concentrates on the sensation of heat on his tongue, the tightness of the muscles across Mike's stomach as he hollows his cheeks and pulls back slowly. Ryan had almost forgotten how much he liked this, making boys shiver and shake and moan. In the end, with Pete, it had been about speed more than anything else, efficiency.
When Mike's fingers find their way to his hair, Ryan freezes for a second, waiting for direction. But Mike just sweeps Ryan's bangs back and runs his thumb over Ryan's temple. When Ryan sighs around Mike's cock, Mike gasps. "Ry, fuck." Ryan keeps his right hand firm around the base of Mike's cock (Mike's cock, Mike's fucking cock! he thinks with something approaching giddiness) as he slides his lips lower, creeping down the shaft. When he pulls back up, Mike's hips tremble, as if he's forcing himself not to follow. Ryan flicks his tongue over the head of Mike's cock, tasting the traces of precome over the slit.
He looks up, meeting Mike's gaze, and his heart pounds at the way Mike is staring, never looking away from him. Ryan swirls his tongue, and takes Mike in deeper; Mike gasps like he's fragile. Mike's not going to last all that long, Ryan's pretty sure from the whimper he just pulled from him. The sounds are driving Ryan insane, the wet slide of skin on skin and gorgeous moans echoing off stone and linoleum, and he's so hard he can feel the press of the zipper against his cock.
He almost reaches down to slide a hand into his pants, but he decides to slide it up instead, under Mike's shirt, nails raking gently over his sternum. When he looks up, Mike's eyes are hooded and dark and Ryan can see where he's holding himself up with the doorknob, knuckles white. He'd fuck me right now if I asked him to, right here, he thinks brightly, shivering at the thought. But Mike opens his mouth and says "God, Ryan, please" like he's dying and Ryan decides this is perfect, just this, giving Mike everything.
Ryan can feel Mike's heartbeat, thumping fast against the palm of his hand as he takes Mike in deeper, until his lips touch his hand and he feels like he's completely surrounding Mike, possessing him. Mike's hips twinge again and Ryan moves back and forth rhythmically, sucking as he goes. "Ryan, I - " Mike's voice is only audible in the silence of the room, the tile walls muffling the sounds from the bar. He makes to pull away, but Ryan sucks once, twice, and feels Mike release into his mouth, hot ropes of come as he groans, his eyes forced shut and his mouth slack. Ryan opens his mouth and swallows, his hand holding onto Mike's hip, keeping him from pulling out until he's shaking from the afterglow, slumping against the wall.
Ryan pulls off slowly, the wet pop making him smile as he leans back to rest on his ankles. He can't quite stand up yet; his whole body is thrumming and as he takes a deep breath, his vision blurs for a second. When it clears, Mike is grinning down at him, flushed and sweating; his hands shake a little when they tug his jeans back up. I did that, Ryan thinks, irrationally proud.
"C'mere," Mike holds his hand out to pull Ryan up. Ryan sways unsteadily on his feet, his sore knees outweighed by the painful ache in his groin as Mike pulls him close and kisses him. "God, you're amazing," Mike murmurs against his jaw. His voice is rough and Ryan gasps as Mike's tongue presses against his skittering pulse.
Ryan's hands go to Mike's sides, as if to keep himself stable. He leans into Mike's body, his erection pressing against Mike's thigh. Mike kisses his neck, lips sliding down to his shoulder. Mike flexes his thigh, and Ryan gives a small moan, teeth gritted. "Hey," Mike says, voice amused. "You okay, there?"
Ryan nods, licking his lips. "I - I would be." He swallows, Mike's come still bitter and heavy on his tongue. "If you. Just." Mike chuckles, and Ryan sighs as his hand cups Ryan through his jeans.
Mike turns them until Ryan's back is pressed against the wall, fingers still tangled in Mike's shirt hem. Mike strokes him a few times through the denim and Ryan hisses from the friction, slams a palm against the wall with a thump when Mike adds a little pressure. Mike's eyes flash again and his hands tug Ryan's jeans open quickly.
Ryan arches forward as Mike slides his hand into Ryan's boxers and wrap around his cock. Ryan presses his forehead into the crook of Mike's neck, and he's almost embarrassed by the sob that escapes as Mike's calloused thumb draws a line over the slit of his cock.
But Mike noses against his neck and whispers "Ry? You want me to go down on you or--"
"This. Please. Don't stop." Ryan gasps. He's pretty sure he might actually die if he doesn't come as soon as humanly possible. Mike grins, but he's all business as he presses Ryan back against the wall and jerks him off in quick, tight strokes, and Ryan comes hard enough to go blind, thankful that Mike is there to keep him standing.
The first thing he's aware of as he blinks his eyes open is Mike's hand at his waist, fingers splayed open, thumb rubbing in comforting circles on his waist. "Mike?" he rasps, and Mike laughs lightly against his shoulder.
"You okay?" he asks with a sweet smile and Ryan sighs.
"Mmm hmm," he nods, but hisses when Mike pulls his hand away.
"Good thing we're already in the bathroom," he says wryly, looking at his sticky fingers and Ryan laughs.
"Sorry," he manages and Mike kisses him slow and deep.
"Never fucking apologize for that. That was the hottest thing I have ever seen," Mike murmurs against his lips and Ryan flushes.
They kiss for a moment longer until Ryan hears a voice outside the door and pulls back. "We should probably..." he says, wrinkling his nose and gesturing to their more-than-rumpled appearance.
Mike laughs, kissing his nose. "It's a lost cause," he murmurs, ruffling his hair.
He zips Ryan back up and turns to the sink, washing his hands with a quick efficiency. His eyes track Ryan's furtive attempts to straighten the collar of his shirt, to smooth out the wrinkles. Ryan stops, hands pausing on his hips. He kisses the back of Mike's neck, tilting his head up.
"Hey," Mike says.
Ryan leans into his side as he grabs a handful of paper towels, drying his hands. "You don't think they'll cut us a break?" Ryan asks.
Mike kisses him, long and sweet. "Not a chance," he murmurs, laughing against Ryan's mouth. "We'll be lucky if there's no applause."
Ryan groans, wincing.
Mike slides his hand to the small of Ryan's back, rubbing gently. "Let's go," he says.
Ryan thinks he'll at least have the few steps from the bathroom down the hall to steel himself, but someone (Ryan's going to go with Ty) set up a lookout at the end of the bar. "Two in the hole!" Kadaver yells as Mike swings the door open. Ryan buries his face in Mike's shoulder as Chris and Ty stand and applaud. Nick shakes his head in apology over his beer, but he's grinning.
Mike wraps an arm around Ryan and leads him out, flipping off Kadaver as the they pass. (Ryan used to be terrified of him, but he's pretty awesome, even if he's got a foot of height on almost everyone in the band.) Chris is back form wherever he ran off to, and he and Ty keep a running clap going as Mike steers him back to the bar. Ryan feels his cheeks burning. "Oh, you can all go to hell," Mike laughs.
The bartender shoots them a sidelong glance before sliding Mike one more Sam Adams. He pretends Ryan isn't even there. "So," Tyson sidles up between them and leans his head on Ryan's shoulder. "I was right about the tequila, huh?" he asks and Ryan can't even look at him.
Mike swings an arm back into Tyson shoulder. "Ty," he says warningly and Tyson kisses Ryan's cheek with a smack.
"You better fucking tell me about it later," he whispers in Ryan's ear and Ryan grins.
Mike laughs. "You don't want to talk to me later?" He shoves Tyson away, laughing as Tyson shakes his head.
"The half-pint and I have some major issues to discuss. You can talk to Chris."
"Half-pint?" Ryan says, at the same time as Chris shouts from the other end of the bar, "NO TALKING, KENNERTY!"
The rest of the crew echoes Chris and Mike flips them all off. "Since when did I become Laura fucking Ingalls," Ryan grouses, and Nick laughs so hard he snorts some of his beer.
"Oh, man," he says when he finally recovers. "How fucking queer are you that you came up with Laura Ingalls."
"Wilder," Tyson corrects and they all stare at him. "What? Her husband was hot, 's all I'm saying." Ty shrugs and eats a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the bar. Ryan is perpetually amazed by Tyson's inability to be embarrassed by anything.
"You know," Mike says, "bar popcorn is covered in millions of germs and bacteria." He sips at his beer, laughing as Tyson throws the rest of the handful at him.
"As opposed to bar bathrooms," Chris says, "which are bastions of cleanliness."
Ryan picks popcorn off Mike's shirt. The touches to his chest calm him, and he shares a small smile with Mike before Tyson's laugh interrupts them. "The walls aren't the only things that were dirty in there, if you know what I'm sayin’." He elbows Nick, who just rolls his eyes.
"He's basically twelve," Nick says by way of apology and Tyson tucks him into a headlock and gives him a noogie. Ryan and Mike laugh as Nick tips back off his stool and slips free from years of practice.
Mike leans into Ryan's side and Ryan tips his head to Mike's shoulder for a minute. "Sorry," Mike whispers but he's grinning. He's not embarrassed at all, Ryan realizes with a start, not even when the whole crew knows exactly what just happened, or near enough. But it's not gloating, like Pete used to do, wandering the Panic bus in low-slung boxers and sex hair. Mike's not going to kiss and tell, Ryan knows. Mike just looks... happy.
Ryan looks up as John taps Nick's shoulder, and points at his watch. "Oh, shit," Nick says, looking around. "Guys, bus call's in, like, half a second."
Ryan blinks; he feels like they've just gotten here, and wonders how much time they actually took in the bathroom. "The cars are waiting," John says. "Shabba's ready to kill you all."
"Fuck Shabba!" Tyson says, looping his arm around Ryan's shoulders. "For tonight! Has been a night of celebration!"
"You can celebrate on the bus," Mike says, and finds Ryan's hand.
"Possibly by fucking Shabba," Ryan grins. Tyson shrieks, and runs toward the door. Nick rolls his eyes, counting out a series of twenties to leave on the counter.
There is a flurry of activity when they get back to the bus-- everyone changing and brushing teeth and grabbing snacks and sorting out who's in the lounge for Xbox action. Ryan changes in the tiny bathroom ("You're the only one small enough to do that," Chris marvels when he comes out), still self-conscious about being even a little naked on the AAR bus. Besides, it gives him a chance to survey the damage-- his skin is already becoming desensitized to Mike's constant scruff, and if he didn't know what had happened, there would be barely a trace of Mike on him. When he emerges, Mike's already in his flannel sleep pants and an old Metallica t-shirt.
"Your phone went off," Mike says, smiling. "You have 'Billie Jean' as your ring tone?"
Ryan rolls his eyes. "That was Trohman." He goes to his bunk and sifts through his things, coming up with his Sidekick and flipping the screen over. Spencer's name flashes, and Ryan looks up.
"You're supposed to meet your guys in New York, aren't you?" Mike says.
Ryan nods. "Yeah. They were flying in today from Vegas for Bamboozle tomorrow."
Mike looks down for a moment then smiles. "You should call them, make sure they got in okay."
"Mike," Ryan starts, but he's not sure what he wants to say.
"It's okay," Mike says. "We, um. I think we have an overlapping day in there, if you want to do something in the city."
"Yeah," Ryan says, not caring that he sounds eager. "We totally should."
"Call them," Mike winks at him fondly and wanders back to the kitchen for a can of Dr. Pepper.
Ryan goes into his bunk. He flicks through the display on his phone restlessly, before settling on Spencer's number. He bites his bottom lip, but stops when he remembers the way Mike's teeth felt against his lip. The line rings twice, before he hears a slightly disgruntled, "Hello?"
"Hey," he says quietly. "Sorry I didn't pick up, I was in the bathroom." He hears Brendon shout in the background.
"Shut up," Spence grumbles and Brendon asks "Is that Ry? When the fuck is he getting here?"
"Not sure," Ryan says before Spence can even repeat the question. He sticks his head out of the bunk. "Hey Shabba? When do we get to the city?"
"'Bout 2 hours," he calls back and Ryan sits back, a little in shock.
"Oh, okay. Thanks." Fuck, New England is tiny, he thinks to himself. "We'll be there tonight," he says and Spence sighs a little in relief.
"Good. Who the hell was that, anyway?"
"That was Shabba," Ryan says, leaning back into his pillow. "He's AAR's tour manager."
"Oh," Spencer says, and Ryan can hear he's holding something back.
"What?" Ryan says.
"What nothing." Ryan can hear Spencer exhale, "you just seem to like those guys a lot."
"They're really nice." Ryan smiles a little. "They're my friends."
"Is Mike your friend?"
Ryan blushes. "He's nice, too," he mumbles. "Um. We. We've been hooking up a lot, lately."
"I want to meet him," Spence says, automatically.
"Meet who?" Ryan hears Brendon shout.
"Your mom," Spencer yells back and Ryan is reminded why Spence is his best friend.
"He's, um. I mean, we're all coming in tonight, so." Ryan wasn't sure why he was nervous about this. Maybe it was that Spence was a pretty harsh judge of character. His withering gaze was pretty much all that kept him in the cool cliques in school.
"Bring him up when you get here." Spence drops his voice. "I convinced them all to let us have our own rooms this time. Mainly because one of us might actually kill Brent this weekend, but. You know. Thought it would work out for you." He can hear Spence's grin. A hotel room, of his own, with Mike? Ryan's fluttered nerves about bringing Mike to meet Spence and the guys abruptly change to something else entirely.
"Thanks," Ryan says quietly. "Brent and Brendon -- they don't." He takes a deep breath. "I haven't exactly said anything to Brendon, or Brent." He shakes his head. "We have to talk about Brent." Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. He's spent the last four weeks trying his hardest not to think about The Problem, with its looming capital letters in his head, but he can feel the same headache he's had since January starting again.
"We will," Spencer says, his voice firm. "Shit's been happening here, too."
Ryan sighs. "I'm sorry I'm not there."
"No, you're not," Spencer says, laughing a little.
"Fuck you," Ryan grins.
"You'll be in the middle of the shitstorm in no time," Spence reminds him and Ryan flashes to Brent's surly face in their last rehearsal, his sneer about Ryan's costume ideas and Brendon's staging. He can feel the start of a raging stress headache in the back of his neck. "You've got a few hours of freedom left," Spence intones wisely in his ear. "Enjoy it, dickwad."
Ryan laughs. "I love you too, asshole," he says easily and hangs up after a quick goodnight. Mike's not back yet, so he slips back out of his bunk and takes the few steps to the kitchenette.
**
"Hey, didn't want to interrupt," Mike says with a small smile. He and Ryan sit with the gang for a while in comfortable silence, letting Ty and Chris and John argue over the best bars in New York. Mike wanders back to the bunks and Ryan follows; when Mike tugs back the curtains on his bunk, Ryan glances at him. “We’ll be there soon,” he says and Ryan takes it as an invitation, sliding in warm and close next to him.
"How are they all doing?" Mike asks, stroking his back.
Ryan shifts, head propped on Mike's chest, sprawled out over him like a blanket. "The same," he says, sighing.
Mike sort of gets that 'the same' isn't 'good', so he hugs Ryan a little closer. "I can pack you in my luggage and take you home," he suggests with a laugh even though its sort of sounds like a great idea.
Ryan gives a small laugh. He takes a minute to swallow, like his throat is too tight. "Pack me up like Nermal the cat?"
"Why not?" Mike presses his nose to Ryan's temple. "You're pretty bendy -- you'd fit." Ryan doesn't say anything; Mike wonders if he's already thinking about Spence and Brent and the mess he has to deal with in (he checks his watch) about an hour. Mike slings the blanket over both of them. "Wanna take a nap?" he says, kissing Ryan at the hairline.
Ryan shakes his head. "I'm not tired."
"Wanna talk about it?" Mike asks, quieter. He not really sure what he's asking to talk about, but it's moot when Ryan shakes his head again. "What do you want to--" he starts and sighs a little when Ryan's mouth presses against his collar. Ryan's lips are parted and the kiss is wet; Mike can feel Ryan's tongue as it licks along his collarbone. He remembers Ryan's mouth on his cock in the bar, and pets at Ryan's hair. "You don't have to distract me," he murmurs.
Ryan's hand slides under his shirt, palm flat on the plane of Mike's stomach. "Maybe I want you to distract me," Ryan whispers against his neck and Mike closes his eyes. He's got no idea what tomorrow is going to look like, but he sure as hell doesn't have the willpower to say no to Ryan anymore.
Ryan's wriggling over him, almost hyper-eager as he kisses the spots he's learned to pick out against the soft burr of Mike's beard. "Ryan," Mike murmurs softly, and Ryan's hand tenses against his side. He turns his head and Ryan's eyes are wide and a little wet. His mantra the whole time he's been with Ryan is 'slow down; we have time', but now... Mike brushes his lips over Ryan's cheek and slides his hand over Ryan's, lacing their fingers together. His heart is beating faster than normal and he prays Ryan can't tell.
Ryan shifts up and their lips touch together. He squeezes Ryan's hand, sighing into the kiss. Ryan's sprawled out over him, the planes of their bodies lined together in the tiny bunk. Ryan's kisses turn urgent quickly, his hips pressing into Mike's as he groans. Mike tucks a hand around his neck and squeezes just a fraction until Ryan gasps and pulls back. "Not here," Mike whispers. He's hard and panting and acutely aware of Shabba and Dave talking quietly in the front lounge and Chris snoring lightly a few feet away.
"Mike," Ryan says, a little brokenly, and Mike's hips arch into him traitorously.
Mike smoothes his hand over Ryan's hair, hand settling back in its place on the nape of Ryan's neck. "We can't," Mike whispers, sucking in deep breaths of air. Ryan ducks his head, shaking off Mike's touch and nosing at his throat again. He's shaking, a little. The bus sways a little and Mike uses the momentum to roll Ryan over, pressing him against the wall at the back of his bunk. "We're almost there," Mike whispers and Ryan looks at him hard, like there's more to the sentence than Mike is letting on. There probably is.
Mike tries to start conversation. "Gonna be weird, watching you perform for a change." He smiles, but Ryan just looks at him, his eyes large and liquid in the half-dark of the bunk. "Think I can come stand sidestage?" Ryan nods, but stays silent.
Mike just settles himself against Ryan's body, and holds him. Even when the bus is jittering and turning down narrow New York streets and Tyson rolls out of Nick's bunk with a thud and a curse, Ryan stays still and silent.
"We're here," Shabba calls out, reaching a hand into Chris's bunk to whack him on the leg. Chris kicks back and Shabba flails through Mike's curtain. Ryan closes his eyes and slowly uncurls his fingers from the back of Mike's shirt.
"We better go," he says distantly and Mike can't stop himself from tugging Ryan closer and kissing him deeply. Ryan makes a small sound as their lips touch. His hands palm Mike's sides, holding him tight. Mike strokes the muscles in Ryan's arms, appreciating the last moments in this now-familiar position.
There's a knock at the bunk frame, and Nick's voice: "Ty's got your bag, Ryan." Ryan exhales, pulls away. Mike climbs out first; they both ignore Dave's whistle as Mike helps Ryan out after him.
"Heya pumpkin," Tyson says with a smile and ruffles Ryan's hair. "You ready to face the big bad city?" he asks in his most ridiculous Okie accent. Mike watches Ryan try to smile.
"Hey, Kennerty," Chris touches his shoulder and Mike manages to look away as Ryan leans into Ty's side. Chris slips a piece of plastic into his hand. "We're room 2324. But I won't wait up," he grins and Mikes stomach twists expectantly. Mike palms the key, sliding it in his back pocket.
They're staying at the W, right off the Lincoln Tunnel so they can get into Jersey tomorrow. Mike shoulders his bag - he packed his shit the night before, and turns. Ryan's talking quietly to Nick, and Mike double-checks the lounge for things he might have forgotten to pack.
"Okay, dickwads, everybody out," Shabba yells from the front and Tyson lets out a hoot.
"Room service, here I come," he shouts and Shabba glares at him. “Just a sandwich or something, jeez," Tyson adds hastily.
Ryan slips into the line in front of him and tugs out his phone and speed dials someone. "We're here," he says quietly, and Mike can hear Spencer on the other end of the line, Ryan nodding through mumbled directions.
The lobby is impressive (Mike still can't believe he gets to stay in places like this) and Zach meets Ryan at the elevators, handing him a keycard blearily. "We're on 20. Room number's on the little sleeve. I have to check the bus for stowaways."
Ryan laughs, nodding. "Okay," he says, palming the key. Zach -- Mike's met him once -- eyes Mike with curious wariness, as if he can tell there's something about the way the two of them are avoiding each other's eyes.
"Spencer wants to talk to you- he's in the next room over."
"Okay," Ryan says. "Did he-"
"Business."
Mike watches as Ryan's face falls. "Thanks, Zach."
They all load into the elevator and Mike spends most of the ride watching Ryan's reflection in the shining surface of the door. Ryan looks at him once, face pinched and drawn, and Mike resists the urge to take his hand. (Ryan had already eyed the hidden video camera warily.)
The elevator dings open at 20 and Ryan takes a deep breath and steps out. "So I guess I'll see you at--" he starts and Chris just groans.
"Jesus Christ, Ross," he says and shoves Mike out of the car. Mike blinks as the door closes on Shabba saying "Roll out is at ten."
Mike shoves his hands in his pockets, laughing softly. "Um," he says, "Sorry about-"
"You don't have to apologize." Ryan picks at his luggage tag. "I've pretty much figured out that he does whatever the fuck he wants."
"Yeah," Mike grins, "basically. So." The hallway's deserted, which is odd, since the whole festival's supposed to be here. Mike can hear music pumping from one end of the hall. "What room are you?" Mike asks, and when the hell did he get this nervous around Ryan Ross?
Ryan checks the key card and points down a long hall. "That way," he says, not quite catching Mike's eye. "You know you don't have to--" he starts, but he's cut off when a door swings open down the hall and Brendon tumbles out.
"Fucking Ryan Ross!" he says too loudly and Ryan winces. Mike takes an unconscious step closer.
Brendon's a pretty okay kid, as far as Mike remembers -- they did a couple shows together on the festival circuit before they both went out with TAI. Ryan turns to him, and there's a genuine smile there, twinged with maybe annoyance. Brendon races down the hall, blowing right past Mike without a glance and attacking Ryan in a full-body, leaping hug.
"Jesus Christ," Ryan yelps, pulling back, but Brendon hangs on, tenacious.
"My fucking hero!" he gasps. "You've got to save me before I go mad, MAD!" Brendon tucks his face in, nuzzling Ryan's neck and Mike's stomach clenches. "Mmm, I thought you'd abandoned me for that fucking tattooed gnome in my hour of need, here!"
"Fuck you," Ryan laughs and he hugs Brendon back tightly. "Like I wanted to spend my off-time watching you and Spence play video games." Brendon finally pulls away but he's still standing close enough to Ryan that Mike has to swallow hard. He can feel the outline of his keycard in his back pocket and wonders if maybe.... "You remember Mike, right?" Ryan says just then and Mike looks up to see Ryan smiling at him.
"Hey," he says, sticking out his hand like an idiot. Brendon shakes it with a moderately perplexed look on his face. Ryan smirks behind him.
"Yeah, hey." Brendon says finally. "What's up?"
Mike laughs. "Not much," he says, feeling the same awkward smile he always gets in uncomfortable situations plastering itself across his face. "We just got in from our show."
Brendon nods, looking between the two of them. "Cool -- is Pete on his way up?" He turns back to Ryan. "Spencer wants us to talk to him. You know. About shit." The glance he throws to Ryan freezes Mike's smile. "After we talk."
"Um," Ryan shifts and Mike wishes he had some sort of machine to stop time so he could get them both out of this hallway and back down to the bus, where they belong. "I guess we'll just call him. After."
Brendon nods, suddenly serious. He leans in, voice low. "It's, like, he can't even be bothered to show up on time anymore. He almost missed the plane."
Ryan glances at Mike apologetically. "Where's Spence? Let's get this the fuck over with," he says, and Mike can hear the exhaustion in his voice.
Mike reaches out and takes Ryan's bag in his other hand. "Which one's you, Ry?" he asks softly.
"Twenty-seventeen," Ryan says. He looks to Mike, flashing him a smile that Mike can't help but return. He gives Mike his key; their fingers just brush. Brendon's eyes narrow, but it passes quickly, and he's already turning back.
"Come on," Brendon says, "he went out after dinner and no one's seen him. We’ve been waiting for you."
"Thanks," Ryan murmurs to Mike.
Mike wants to kiss him, but he settles for a small smile and trudges down the hall with the bags. Brendon and Ry are following behind him and they stop at a door just before Ryan's. Mike slides the key into the door and opens it at Spence tugs his open next door. He manages to throw Ryan one last encouraging smile before Brendon sweeps them into the room. Mike drops the bags on the floor and sits on the bed.
Authors: EL and Toby
Fandoms: AAR, FOB, Panic
Pairings: Nick/Tyson, Pete/Ryan, Mike/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~32,000 total (god help us)
Summary: Ryan's good at fucking: it's the rest of it that sometimes confuses him. (mult. POVs)
Disclaimer: Never happened.
A/N: This is posted here, but Toby and I wrote this over IM TOGETHER for MONTHS AND MONTHS. It ate our brains and made us squealing, giggly girls. More than half the credit for this fic should go to Toby-- those of you that know her? Drop her an email and say nice job. That being said, you might be thinking WTF?! Ryan Ross living on the AAR tourbus during the BC&UD tour?? Are you on CRACK? To which the answer is YES, but it is the very best kind. I hope you all will come along because I promise this will be a very nice ride.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The next week is a blur of concerts and asphalt; Ryan spends most of it curled in the lounge with Mike watching movies and making out. Mike, it turns out, has a wonderful attention to detail. He picks up little presents for Ryan at rest stops and knows exactly how much honey Ryan likes in his tea. He takes Ryan on dates -- stupid things, like their own booth at the Waffle House, or bribing a crew member to take them to the mall. One morning, Mike wakes him up early. They’re already at the next venue, across the street from a park.
“Come on,” Mike grins at him and Ryan can’t even muster any annoyance at being woken up at seven o’clock. They wander the park for an hour, Mike’s fingers twined in his, and Ryan can’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed around someone.
Ryan is really happy, but he still doesn’t know what Mike’s is up to. Late that afternoon, Ryan is splayed out under Mike on the sofa, hands scratching down Mike’s back, his eyes rolling back from the friction of Mike’s hip, pressed hard into his cock.
“Fuck, okay, okay,” Mike mutters harshly against his neck, sliding away. Ryan whines and digs his fingers into Mike’s arm.
“What the fuck, Kennerty?” he pants and Mike shakes his head, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. Ryan’s stomach twists. “I mean. You do want to fuck me, don’t you?”
Mike just starts laughing, resting his head back on the cushion.
"It's a simple question, Mike," Ryan asks huffily.
Mike pins his arms over his head, lightning-fast, and kisses him so hard that Ryan whimpers. "Yes," he mumbles against Ryan's bottom lip.
Ryan thinks "oh" and then "oh God" and then he's a little giddy. He arches against Mike wantonly and shudders when Mike bites his bottom lip. Ryan's not sure he can remember his name, but Mike grins.
"Come on," he says, "there's a place by the venue we went to the last time we were in town. Let's get some pie."
***
Ryan is kind of amazed there are seedy bars in Connecticut. Or seedy cities, for that matter. It all looks really pretty on those Lifetime movies. But here they are, in a dive bar a few miles from the venue-- the band, the crew, half a dozen hootchie girls who have no idea who they are but who are macking on Shabba and Chris anyway, and Ryan Ross. Tyson grins at him.
Ryan doesn't usually go to places like this -- and usually means ever, actually. He's sitting on a barstool by the corner of the bar, and the upholstery feels gritty underneath him. He has his hands on his thighs, trying to avoid actually touching the bar. He watches as Tyson steps around Nick to grab another beer and wonders if he imagines the fleeting press of Tyson's lips to the back of Nick's neck. Probably not.
It's dim in the bar, so he hears rather than sees Mike lose his pool game, wandering over with the neck of his beer bottle dangling between his fingers. He takes a sip when he's just a few steps away, eyes never leaving Ryan's and Ryan swallows. They've been doing... whatever it is they're doing for a while now, and Ryan has to press his palms into his thighs to stop his fingers from looping and Mike's beltloops and pulling him closer.
"Hey!" Mike smiles and grabs the stool next to Ryan, scooting over so their thighs are touching.
"Hey," Ryan echoes. He turns his stool in, their knees bumping together. He smoooths his hands over his jeans, flicking his gaze to Mike. "Not your lucky night?" he asks.
"It's always my lucky night," Mike winks and takes another sip of beer. Ryan flushes, eyes darting to the burly bartender. He's gotten so used to the boys' easy touching that it’s taking some effort to remember that seedy bars are probably not all that gay.
"Who ordered a Cosmo?" Dave yells incredulously a few seats away and Nick whoops in reply.
"Christ," Mike mutters fondly.
Nick wraps a protective hand around his drink, glancing around jealously. He meets Ryan's eyes and grins, waving his other hand. Ryan has to smile back. "I wonder why he didn't go out and play for Pete tonight," Ryan says, turning back to Mike.
Mike grins over the top of his bottle. "You really want to know?" When Ryan nods, he leans in. "Tyson went down on his knees during 'Swing Swing'."
Ryan laughs. "So, that's like some sort of gay code for fuck me in the green room?"
Mike waggles his eyebrows. "Disgusting, I know. But at least they got it out of their system before we went out. Half the time I have to make sure they don't cross the bar line between drunken dudes and drunken dudes who are making out in the Bible Belt."
Ryan groans. Tyson wanders over and slings an arm around Ryan's neck. He smells like beer and cigarettes but Ryan leans closer anyway. "Hate to break it to you, sweetcheeks, but Nick 'n I have been making out in the Bible Belt since you were in diapers."
"So, you were... what, five?" Mike asks.
"I was an early bloomer!" Tyson beams, squeezing Ryan. "Just like my darling muffin, here. So experienced for his age!"
"I hate you," Ryan says. Next to him, he can feel Mike's blush.
Tyson kisses the top of his head, unconcerned. "You have fun tonight, princess?"
Ryan barely notices the nicknames anymore. "Yeah, it was a great show," he nods and glances at Mike.
"Right," Tyson sighs dramatically. "I could have been performing fucking Hamlet up there and you'd have no idea. Though how you can keep your eyes glued to Mr. Spastic over here, I will never know." Mike snorts and Ryan drops his eyes to his hands.
Tyson leans in and whispers "I bet you could get him drunk enough to take advantage of him. Tequila is his kryptonite."
Ryan elbows Tyson in the side, but is mortified to find that his cock is actually intrigued by the idea.
"You know that I can hear everything you're saying?" Mike rolls his eyes.
Tyson pats Ryan's shoulder. "Think about it," he says, pulling back. "Wheeler!" he shouts, turning back towards the rest of the bar. (The girls and Chris, Ryan notes, are gone, although he's not entirely sure there's a causative relationship. He still can't tell, with Chris.) "Where are you, baby?"
Mike thumps his head on the bar and turns to watch Tyson sashay away. Ryan places a hand on his arm. "Let Dave and Shabba get this one," he says with a slow smile and Mike ducks his head and nods. Ryan leans on the bar and rests his head on his arms so he can look at Mike. He watches Mike roll his beer between his palms for a minute. It's... Ryan searches for the word. Comfortable.
He smiles again and Mike leans forward so their noses almost touch. "You wouldn't really take advantage of me, would you?" he drawls, low and teasing.
Ryan feels a tight, warm shiver spread through him. "It depends," he murmurs, keeping the precise distance between himself and Mike. The jukebox starts blaring Def Leppard (Tyson must have found Nick), but Ryan doesn't even register that his knowledge of eighties rock has improved to the level of recognizing Def Leppard songs in the first place.
"Depends on what?" Mike says.
"On how much I couldn't resist." Ryan lets his hand brush over Mike's thigh and smiles wider when Mike's exhale is a little shaky.
"Sometimes," Mike starts, then shakes his head with a laugh.
"Sometimes what?" Ryan prompts, low. They're far enough in the shadows that he's sure no one can see his fingers tracing up the inseam of Mike's jeans.
"Shit," Mike breathes, eyes fluttering closed for a second. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't such an upstanding guy," he finishes with a smile, but his eyes flash and Ryan's breath catches.
"Me too," he whispers without thinking.
"Ryan," Mike says, a hiss of air, and Ryan recognizes that tone. He's winning, and he lets his hand rest there, just touching where the pieces of denim are sewn together.
"I want to do this," Ryan says, voice low and clear. "I don't know how to tell you that any better than I have."
Mike's leaning on the bar on his elbows now, hair falling over his eyes, and Ryan aches to reach up and brush it away. "I know," Mike says, suddenly serious. He's still breathing heavily, both of them are, and Ryan is only distantly aware of the sounds in the rest of the bar when Mike meets his eyes. "I just. I never want you to feel like, I don't know. Like what I want's more important than what you want."
"What do you want, Mike?" Ryan asks.
Mike reaches out, his hand touching Ryan's. He gives a little smile, sliding his palm over Ryan's in a move that somehow strikes Ryan as explicit, their skin rubbing together. "I want to make you feel good," Mike says, and Ryan is sure his voice wouldn’t be so steady.
Ryan licks his own lips, mouth dry as Mike continues. "I want this to mean something." Their hands are hidden by the bar and their touching legs. Ryan flips his palm, tangling their fingers together.
Ryan has to kiss Mike, soon. Like, 'oh my god, please let a miracle occur,' soon. His heart is racing and he can feel Mike's unsteady breath on his cheek as he grips Ryan's hand under the bar. Ryan can feel the heat of Mike's cock inches from the back of his hand and he bites his lip. He's never gotten this hard this fast in his entire young life, even in close proximity to Pete Wentz, and it would be a little scary if Mike weren't smiling at him.
A noise behind him startles Ryan back a few inches; he glances over his shoulder and down a tiny dark hall to where the bathroom door is still banging shut. "Come on," he practically growls and pulls Mike after him down the hall.
Ryan hears Nick say something as they speed through the tiny bar, but he can't process it. Mike's hand is gripping his, and Ryan pushes on the door with his shoulder, not minding that his hoodie is going to get covered in innumerable germs. He scrapes around for the light and hears Mike shut the door behind them. In the same moment as the single incandescent bulb switches on to reveal a wallpaper of show flyers and party notices, Mike's lips are on his.
He curls a hand desperately around Mike's neck and whimpers. Mike tries to slow down, fingers warm on Ryan's waist, but Ryan can't do anything but press Mike back against the door with a thud. When he slides his knee firmly between Mike's thigh and leans in closer, Mike groans in his mouth. "Fuck, Ry," he's panting and Ryan hasn't felt this fucking alive in months. He's the one pushing, the one making Mike's fingers shake as they slide under his shirt, and the control gives him focus.
"Tell me what you really want, Mike." He echoes his earlier question with a sly smile and presses his palm flat against the front of Mike's jeans. Mikes eyes roll back and Ryan noses at his jaw. "You wanna watch me suck you off? You want me on my knees?"
"Ry," Mike says again, and Ryan flicks open the top button of his jeans. The short scruff of Mike's beard buzzes his lips as he kisses a line up to his ear.
"I want to," he whispers, sliding his hand up and under Mike's t-shirt. Mike's skin is hot and his muscles are taut; his erection presses against the base of Ryan's palm. "I've wanted to for ages." Ryan's hand drifts back down, easing the zipper as he bites Mike's earlobe. "I want your cock in my mouth."
"Jesus, yes," Mike shakes under his hand and Ryan smiles into his skin. Mike tips his head and presses his mouth to Ryan's but he's distracted from the kiss almost immediately as Ryan shoves Mike's jeans down to his thighs and wraps his fingers around Mike's cock snugly. Mike's fingers tighten around the back of his neck and Ryan brushes Mike's hair back with his other hand.
"Watch," he orders as Mike's eyes lock on his and he sinks to his knees as gracefully as he can. He slides the head of head of Mike's cock along his lower lip, the slick precum acting like some perverse lipgloss.
"Ryan--" Mike's staring down at him like he's the fucking messiah and Ryan smiles.
"Breath, Mikey," he instructs, right before sucking the head of his cock into his mouth. Ryan closes his eyes and concentrates on the sensation of heat on his tongue, the tightness of the muscles across Mike's stomach as he hollows his cheeks and pulls back slowly. Ryan had almost forgotten how much he liked this, making boys shiver and shake and moan. In the end, with Pete, it had been about speed more than anything else, efficiency.
When Mike's fingers find their way to his hair, Ryan freezes for a second, waiting for direction. But Mike just sweeps Ryan's bangs back and runs his thumb over Ryan's temple. When Ryan sighs around Mike's cock, Mike gasps. "Ry, fuck." Ryan keeps his right hand firm around the base of Mike's cock (Mike's cock, Mike's fucking cock! he thinks with something approaching giddiness) as he slides his lips lower, creeping down the shaft. When he pulls back up, Mike's hips tremble, as if he's forcing himself not to follow. Ryan flicks his tongue over the head of Mike's cock, tasting the traces of precome over the slit.
He looks up, meeting Mike's gaze, and his heart pounds at the way Mike is staring, never looking away from him. Ryan swirls his tongue, and takes Mike in deeper; Mike gasps like he's fragile. Mike's not going to last all that long, Ryan's pretty sure from the whimper he just pulled from him. The sounds are driving Ryan insane, the wet slide of skin on skin and gorgeous moans echoing off stone and linoleum, and he's so hard he can feel the press of the zipper against his cock.
He almost reaches down to slide a hand into his pants, but he decides to slide it up instead, under Mike's shirt, nails raking gently over his sternum. When he looks up, Mike's eyes are hooded and dark and Ryan can see where he's holding himself up with the doorknob, knuckles white. He'd fuck me right now if I asked him to, right here, he thinks brightly, shivering at the thought. But Mike opens his mouth and says "God, Ryan, please" like he's dying and Ryan decides this is perfect, just this, giving Mike everything.
Ryan can feel Mike's heartbeat, thumping fast against the palm of his hand as he takes Mike in deeper, until his lips touch his hand and he feels like he's completely surrounding Mike, possessing him. Mike's hips twinge again and Ryan moves back and forth rhythmically, sucking as he goes. "Ryan, I - " Mike's voice is only audible in the silence of the room, the tile walls muffling the sounds from the bar. He makes to pull away, but Ryan sucks once, twice, and feels Mike release into his mouth, hot ropes of come as he groans, his eyes forced shut and his mouth slack. Ryan opens his mouth and swallows, his hand holding onto Mike's hip, keeping him from pulling out until he's shaking from the afterglow, slumping against the wall.
Ryan pulls off slowly, the wet pop making him smile as he leans back to rest on his ankles. He can't quite stand up yet; his whole body is thrumming and as he takes a deep breath, his vision blurs for a second. When it clears, Mike is grinning down at him, flushed and sweating; his hands shake a little when they tug his jeans back up. I did that, Ryan thinks, irrationally proud.
"C'mere," Mike holds his hand out to pull Ryan up. Ryan sways unsteadily on his feet, his sore knees outweighed by the painful ache in his groin as Mike pulls him close and kisses him. "God, you're amazing," Mike murmurs against his jaw. His voice is rough and Ryan gasps as Mike's tongue presses against his skittering pulse.
Ryan's hands go to Mike's sides, as if to keep himself stable. He leans into Mike's body, his erection pressing against Mike's thigh. Mike kisses his neck, lips sliding down to his shoulder. Mike flexes his thigh, and Ryan gives a small moan, teeth gritted. "Hey," Mike says, voice amused. "You okay, there?"
Ryan nods, licking his lips. "I - I would be." He swallows, Mike's come still bitter and heavy on his tongue. "If you. Just." Mike chuckles, and Ryan sighs as his hand cups Ryan through his jeans.
Mike turns them until Ryan's back is pressed against the wall, fingers still tangled in Mike's shirt hem. Mike strokes him a few times through the denim and Ryan hisses from the friction, slams a palm against the wall with a thump when Mike adds a little pressure. Mike's eyes flash again and his hands tug Ryan's jeans open quickly.
Ryan arches forward as Mike slides his hand into Ryan's boxers and wrap around his cock. Ryan presses his forehead into the crook of Mike's neck, and he's almost embarrassed by the sob that escapes as Mike's calloused thumb draws a line over the slit of his cock.
But Mike noses against his neck and whispers "Ry? You want me to go down on you or--"
"This. Please. Don't stop." Ryan gasps. He's pretty sure he might actually die if he doesn't come as soon as humanly possible. Mike grins, but he's all business as he presses Ryan back against the wall and jerks him off in quick, tight strokes, and Ryan comes hard enough to go blind, thankful that Mike is there to keep him standing.
The first thing he's aware of as he blinks his eyes open is Mike's hand at his waist, fingers splayed open, thumb rubbing in comforting circles on his waist. "Mike?" he rasps, and Mike laughs lightly against his shoulder.
"You okay?" he asks with a sweet smile and Ryan sighs.
"Mmm hmm," he nods, but hisses when Mike pulls his hand away.
"Good thing we're already in the bathroom," he says wryly, looking at his sticky fingers and Ryan laughs.
"Sorry," he manages and Mike kisses him slow and deep.
"Never fucking apologize for that. That was the hottest thing I have ever seen," Mike murmurs against his lips and Ryan flushes.
They kiss for a moment longer until Ryan hears a voice outside the door and pulls back. "We should probably..." he says, wrinkling his nose and gesturing to their more-than-rumpled appearance.
Mike laughs, kissing his nose. "It's a lost cause," he murmurs, ruffling his hair.
He zips Ryan back up and turns to the sink, washing his hands with a quick efficiency. His eyes track Ryan's furtive attempts to straighten the collar of his shirt, to smooth out the wrinkles. Ryan stops, hands pausing on his hips. He kisses the back of Mike's neck, tilting his head up.
"Hey," Mike says.
Ryan leans into his side as he grabs a handful of paper towels, drying his hands. "You don't think they'll cut us a break?" Ryan asks.
Mike kisses him, long and sweet. "Not a chance," he murmurs, laughing against Ryan's mouth. "We'll be lucky if there's no applause."
Ryan groans, wincing.
Mike slides his hand to the small of Ryan's back, rubbing gently. "Let's go," he says.
Ryan thinks he'll at least have the few steps from the bathroom down the hall to steel himself, but someone (Ryan's going to go with Ty) set up a lookout at the end of the bar. "Two in the hole!" Kadaver yells as Mike swings the door open. Ryan buries his face in Mike's shoulder as Chris and Ty stand and applaud. Nick shakes his head in apology over his beer, but he's grinning.
Mike wraps an arm around Ryan and leads him out, flipping off Kadaver as the they pass. (Ryan used to be terrified of him, but he's pretty awesome, even if he's got a foot of height on almost everyone in the band.) Chris is back form wherever he ran off to, and he and Ty keep a running clap going as Mike steers him back to the bar. Ryan feels his cheeks burning. "Oh, you can all go to hell," Mike laughs.
The bartender shoots them a sidelong glance before sliding Mike one more Sam Adams. He pretends Ryan isn't even there. "So," Tyson sidles up between them and leans his head on Ryan's shoulder. "I was right about the tequila, huh?" he asks and Ryan can't even look at him.
Mike swings an arm back into Tyson shoulder. "Ty," he says warningly and Tyson kisses Ryan's cheek with a smack.
"You better fucking tell me about it later," he whispers in Ryan's ear and Ryan grins.
Mike laughs. "You don't want to talk to me later?" He shoves Tyson away, laughing as Tyson shakes his head.
"The half-pint and I have some major issues to discuss. You can talk to Chris."
"Half-pint?" Ryan says, at the same time as Chris shouts from the other end of the bar, "NO TALKING, KENNERTY!"
The rest of the crew echoes Chris and Mike flips them all off. "Since when did I become Laura fucking Ingalls," Ryan grouses, and Nick laughs so hard he snorts some of his beer.
"Oh, man," he says when he finally recovers. "How fucking queer are you that you came up with Laura Ingalls."
"Wilder," Tyson corrects and they all stare at him. "What? Her husband was hot, 's all I'm saying." Ty shrugs and eats a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the bar. Ryan is perpetually amazed by Tyson's inability to be embarrassed by anything.
"You know," Mike says, "bar popcorn is covered in millions of germs and bacteria." He sips at his beer, laughing as Tyson throws the rest of the handful at him.
"As opposed to bar bathrooms," Chris says, "which are bastions of cleanliness."
Ryan picks popcorn off Mike's shirt. The touches to his chest calm him, and he shares a small smile with Mike before Tyson's laugh interrupts them. "The walls aren't the only things that were dirty in there, if you know what I'm sayin’." He elbows Nick, who just rolls his eyes.
"He's basically twelve," Nick says by way of apology and Tyson tucks him into a headlock and gives him a noogie. Ryan and Mike laugh as Nick tips back off his stool and slips free from years of practice.
Mike leans into Ryan's side and Ryan tips his head to Mike's shoulder for a minute. "Sorry," Mike whispers but he's grinning. He's not embarrassed at all, Ryan realizes with a start, not even when the whole crew knows exactly what just happened, or near enough. But it's not gloating, like Pete used to do, wandering the Panic bus in low-slung boxers and sex hair. Mike's not going to kiss and tell, Ryan knows. Mike just looks... happy.
Ryan looks up as John taps Nick's shoulder, and points at his watch. "Oh, shit," Nick says, looking around. "Guys, bus call's in, like, half a second."
Ryan blinks; he feels like they've just gotten here, and wonders how much time they actually took in the bathroom. "The cars are waiting," John says. "Shabba's ready to kill you all."
"Fuck Shabba!" Tyson says, looping his arm around Ryan's shoulders. "For tonight! Has been a night of celebration!"
"You can celebrate on the bus," Mike says, and finds Ryan's hand.
"Possibly by fucking Shabba," Ryan grins. Tyson shrieks, and runs toward the door. Nick rolls his eyes, counting out a series of twenties to leave on the counter.
There is a flurry of activity when they get back to the bus-- everyone changing and brushing teeth and grabbing snacks and sorting out who's in the lounge for Xbox action. Ryan changes in the tiny bathroom ("You're the only one small enough to do that," Chris marvels when he comes out), still self-conscious about being even a little naked on the AAR bus. Besides, it gives him a chance to survey the damage-- his skin is already becoming desensitized to Mike's constant scruff, and if he didn't know what had happened, there would be barely a trace of Mike on him. When he emerges, Mike's already in his flannel sleep pants and an old Metallica t-shirt.
"Your phone went off," Mike says, smiling. "You have 'Billie Jean' as your ring tone?"
Ryan rolls his eyes. "That was Trohman." He goes to his bunk and sifts through his things, coming up with his Sidekick and flipping the screen over. Spencer's name flashes, and Ryan looks up.
"You're supposed to meet your guys in New York, aren't you?" Mike says.
Ryan nods. "Yeah. They were flying in today from Vegas for Bamboozle tomorrow."
Mike looks down for a moment then smiles. "You should call them, make sure they got in okay."
"Mike," Ryan starts, but he's not sure what he wants to say.
"It's okay," Mike says. "We, um. I think we have an overlapping day in there, if you want to do something in the city."
"Yeah," Ryan says, not caring that he sounds eager. "We totally should."
"Call them," Mike winks at him fondly and wanders back to the kitchen for a can of Dr. Pepper.
Ryan goes into his bunk. He flicks through the display on his phone restlessly, before settling on Spencer's number. He bites his bottom lip, but stops when he remembers the way Mike's teeth felt against his lip. The line rings twice, before he hears a slightly disgruntled, "Hello?"
"Hey," he says quietly. "Sorry I didn't pick up, I was in the bathroom." He hears Brendon shout in the background.
"Shut up," Spence grumbles and Brendon asks "Is that Ry? When the fuck is he getting here?"
"Not sure," Ryan says before Spence can even repeat the question. He sticks his head out of the bunk. "Hey Shabba? When do we get to the city?"
"'Bout 2 hours," he calls back and Ryan sits back, a little in shock.
"Oh, okay. Thanks." Fuck, New England is tiny, he thinks to himself. "We'll be there tonight," he says and Spence sighs a little in relief.
"Good. Who the hell was that, anyway?"
"That was Shabba," Ryan says, leaning back into his pillow. "He's AAR's tour manager."
"Oh," Spencer says, and Ryan can hear he's holding something back.
"What?" Ryan says.
"What nothing." Ryan can hear Spencer exhale, "you just seem to like those guys a lot."
"They're really nice." Ryan smiles a little. "They're my friends."
"Is Mike your friend?"
Ryan blushes. "He's nice, too," he mumbles. "Um. We. We've been hooking up a lot, lately."
"I want to meet him," Spence says, automatically.
"Meet who?" Ryan hears Brendon shout.
"Your mom," Spencer yells back and Ryan is reminded why Spence is his best friend.
"He's, um. I mean, we're all coming in tonight, so." Ryan wasn't sure why he was nervous about this. Maybe it was that Spence was a pretty harsh judge of character. His withering gaze was pretty much all that kept him in the cool cliques in school.
"Bring him up when you get here." Spence drops his voice. "I convinced them all to let us have our own rooms this time. Mainly because one of us might actually kill Brent this weekend, but. You know. Thought it would work out for you." He can hear Spence's grin. A hotel room, of his own, with Mike? Ryan's fluttered nerves about bringing Mike to meet Spence and the guys abruptly change to something else entirely.
"Thanks," Ryan says quietly. "Brent and Brendon -- they don't." He takes a deep breath. "I haven't exactly said anything to Brendon, or Brent." He shakes his head. "We have to talk about Brent." Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. He's spent the last four weeks trying his hardest not to think about The Problem, with its looming capital letters in his head, but he can feel the same headache he's had since January starting again.
"We will," Spencer says, his voice firm. "Shit's been happening here, too."
Ryan sighs. "I'm sorry I'm not there."
"No, you're not," Spencer says, laughing a little.
"Fuck you," Ryan grins.
"You'll be in the middle of the shitstorm in no time," Spence reminds him and Ryan flashes to Brent's surly face in their last rehearsal, his sneer about Ryan's costume ideas and Brendon's staging. He can feel the start of a raging stress headache in the back of his neck. "You've got a few hours of freedom left," Spence intones wisely in his ear. "Enjoy it, dickwad."
Ryan laughs. "I love you too, asshole," he says easily and hangs up after a quick goodnight. Mike's not back yet, so he slips back out of his bunk and takes the few steps to the kitchenette.
**
"Hey, didn't want to interrupt," Mike says with a small smile. He and Ryan sit with the gang for a while in comfortable silence, letting Ty and Chris and John argue over the best bars in New York. Mike wanders back to the bunks and Ryan follows; when Mike tugs back the curtains on his bunk, Ryan glances at him. “We’ll be there soon,” he says and Ryan takes it as an invitation, sliding in warm and close next to him.
"How are they all doing?" Mike asks, stroking his back.
Ryan shifts, head propped on Mike's chest, sprawled out over him like a blanket. "The same," he says, sighing.
Mike sort of gets that 'the same' isn't 'good', so he hugs Ryan a little closer. "I can pack you in my luggage and take you home," he suggests with a laugh even though its sort of sounds like a great idea.
Ryan gives a small laugh. He takes a minute to swallow, like his throat is too tight. "Pack me up like Nermal the cat?"
"Why not?" Mike presses his nose to Ryan's temple. "You're pretty bendy -- you'd fit." Ryan doesn't say anything; Mike wonders if he's already thinking about Spence and Brent and the mess he has to deal with in (he checks his watch) about an hour. Mike slings the blanket over both of them. "Wanna take a nap?" he says, kissing Ryan at the hairline.
Ryan shakes his head. "I'm not tired."
"Wanna talk about it?" Mike asks, quieter. He not really sure what he's asking to talk about, but it's moot when Ryan shakes his head again. "What do you want to--" he starts and sighs a little when Ryan's mouth presses against his collar. Ryan's lips are parted and the kiss is wet; Mike can feel Ryan's tongue as it licks along his collarbone. He remembers Ryan's mouth on his cock in the bar, and pets at Ryan's hair. "You don't have to distract me," he murmurs.
Ryan's hand slides under his shirt, palm flat on the plane of Mike's stomach. "Maybe I want you to distract me," Ryan whispers against his neck and Mike closes his eyes. He's got no idea what tomorrow is going to look like, but he sure as hell doesn't have the willpower to say no to Ryan anymore.
Ryan's wriggling over him, almost hyper-eager as he kisses the spots he's learned to pick out against the soft burr of Mike's beard. "Ryan," Mike murmurs softly, and Ryan's hand tenses against his side. He turns his head and Ryan's eyes are wide and a little wet. His mantra the whole time he's been with Ryan is 'slow down; we have time', but now... Mike brushes his lips over Ryan's cheek and slides his hand over Ryan's, lacing their fingers together. His heart is beating faster than normal and he prays Ryan can't tell.
Ryan shifts up and their lips touch together. He squeezes Ryan's hand, sighing into the kiss. Ryan's sprawled out over him, the planes of their bodies lined together in the tiny bunk. Ryan's kisses turn urgent quickly, his hips pressing into Mike's as he groans. Mike tucks a hand around his neck and squeezes just a fraction until Ryan gasps and pulls back. "Not here," Mike whispers. He's hard and panting and acutely aware of Shabba and Dave talking quietly in the front lounge and Chris snoring lightly a few feet away.
"Mike," Ryan says, a little brokenly, and Mike's hips arch into him traitorously.
Mike smoothes his hand over Ryan's hair, hand settling back in its place on the nape of Ryan's neck. "We can't," Mike whispers, sucking in deep breaths of air. Ryan ducks his head, shaking off Mike's touch and nosing at his throat again. He's shaking, a little. The bus sways a little and Mike uses the momentum to roll Ryan over, pressing him against the wall at the back of his bunk. "We're almost there," Mike whispers and Ryan looks at him hard, like there's more to the sentence than Mike is letting on. There probably is.
Mike tries to start conversation. "Gonna be weird, watching you perform for a change." He smiles, but Ryan just looks at him, his eyes large and liquid in the half-dark of the bunk. "Think I can come stand sidestage?" Ryan nods, but stays silent.
Mike just settles himself against Ryan's body, and holds him. Even when the bus is jittering and turning down narrow New York streets and Tyson rolls out of Nick's bunk with a thud and a curse, Ryan stays still and silent.
"We're here," Shabba calls out, reaching a hand into Chris's bunk to whack him on the leg. Chris kicks back and Shabba flails through Mike's curtain. Ryan closes his eyes and slowly uncurls his fingers from the back of Mike's shirt.
"We better go," he says distantly and Mike can't stop himself from tugging Ryan closer and kissing him deeply. Ryan makes a small sound as their lips touch. His hands palm Mike's sides, holding him tight. Mike strokes the muscles in Ryan's arms, appreciating the last moments in this now-familiar position.
There's a knock at the bunk frame, and Nick's voice: "Ty's got your bag, Ryan." Ryan exhales, pulls away. Mike climbs out first; they both ignore Dave's whistle as Mike helps Ryan out after him.
"Heya pumpkin," Tyson says with a smile and ruffles Ryan's hair. "You ready to face the big bad city?" he asks in his most ridiculous Okie accent. Mike watches Ryan try to smile.
"Hey, Kennerty," Chris touches his shoulder and Mike manages to look away as Ryan leans into Ty's side. Chris slips a piece of plastic into his hand. "We're room 2324. But I won't wait up," he grins and Mikes stomach twists expectantly. Mike palms the key, sliding it in his back pocket.
They're staying at the W, right off the Lincoln Tunnel so they can get into Jersey tomorrow. Mike shoulders his bag - he packed his shit the night before, and turns. Ryan's talking quietly to Nick, and Mike double-checks the lounge for things he might have forgotten to pack.
"Okay, dickwads, everybody out," Shabba yells from the front and Tyson lets out a hoot.
"Room service, here I come," he shouts and Shabba glares at him. “Just a sandwich or something, jeez," Tyson adds hastily.
Ryan slips into the line in front of him and tugs out his phone and speed dials someone. "We're here," he says quietly, and Mike can hear Spencer on the other end of the line, Ryan nodding through mumbled directions.
The lobby is impressive (Mike still can't believe he gets to stay in places like this) and Zach meets Ryan at the elevators, handing him a keycard blearily. "We're on 20. Room number's on the little sleeve. I have to check the bus for stowaways."
Ryan laughs, nodding. "Okay," he says, palming the key. Zach -- Mike's met him once -- eyes Mike with curious wariness, as if he can tell there's something about the way the two of them are avoiding each other's eyes.
"Spencer wants to talk to you- he's in the next room over."
"Okay," Ryan says. "Did he-"
"Business."
Mike watches as Ryan's face falls. "Thanks, Zach."
They all load into the elevator and Mike spends most of the ride watching Ryan's reflection in the shining surface of the door. Ryan looks at him once, face pinched and drawn, and Mike resists the urge to take his hand. (Ryan had already eyed the hidden video camera warily.)
The elevator dings open at 20 and Ryan takes a deep breath and steps out. "So I guess I'll see you at--" he starts and Chris just groans.
"Jesus Christ, Ross," he says and shoves Mike out of the car. Mike blinks as the door closes on Shabba saying "Roll out is at ten."
Mike shoves his hands in his pockets, laughing softly. "Um," he says, "Sorry about-"
"You don't have to apologize." Ryan picks at his luggage tag. "I've pretty much figured out that he does whatever the fuck he wants."
"Yeah," Mike grins, "basically. So." The hallway's deserted, which is odd, since the whole festival's supposed to be here. Mike can hear music pumping from one end of the hall. "What room are you?" Mike asks, and when the hell did he get this nervous around Ryan Ross?
Ryan checks the key card and points down a long hall. "That way," he says, not quite catching Mike's eye. "You know you don't have to--" he starts, but he's cut off when a door swings open down the hall and Brendon tumbles out.
"Fucking Ryan Ross!" he says too loudly and Ryan winces. Mike takes an unconscious step closer.
Brendon's a pretty okay kid, as far as Mike remembers -- they did a couple shows together on the festival circuit before they both went out with TAI. Ryan turns to him, and there's a genuine smile there, twinged with maybe annoyance. Brendon races down the hall, blowing right past Mike without a glance and attacking Ryan in a full-body, leaping hug.
"Jesus Christ," Ryan yelps, pulling back, but Brendon hangs on, tenacious.
"My fucking hero!" he gasps. "You've got to save me before I go mad, MAD!" Brendon tucks his face in, nuzzling Ryan's neck and Mike's stomach clenches. "Mmm, I thought you'd abandoned me for that fucking tattooed gnome in my hour of need, here!"
"Fuck you," Ryan laughs and he hugs Brendon back tightly. "Like I wanted to spend my off-time watching you and Spence play video games." Brendon finally pulls away but he's still standing close enough to Ryan that Mike has to swallow hard. He can feel the outline of his keycard in his back pocket and wonders if maybe.... "You remember Mike, right?" Ryan says just then and Mike looks up to see Ryan smiling at him.
"Hey," he says, sticking out his hand like an idiot. Brendon shakes it with a moderately perplexed look on his face. Ryan smirks behind him.
"Yeah, hey." Brendon says finally. "What's up?"
Mike laughs. "Not much," he says, feeling the same awkward smile he always gets in uncomfortable situations plastering itself across his face. "We just got in from our show."
Brendon nods, looking between the two of them. "Cool -- is Pete on his way up?" He turns back to Ryan. "Spencer wants us to talk to him. You know. About shit." The glance he throws to Ryan freezes Mike's smile. "After we talk."
"Um," Ryan shifts and Mike wishes he had some sort of machine to stop time so he could get them both out of this hallway and back down to the bus, where they belong. "I guess we'll just call him. After."
Brendon nods, suddenly serious. He leans in, voice low. "It's, like, he can't even be bothered to show up on time anymore. He almost missed the plane."
Ryan glances at Mike apologetically. "Where's Spence? Let's get this the fuck over with," he says, and Mike can hear the exhaustion in his voice.
Mike reaches out and takes Ryan's bag in his other hand. "Which one's you, Ry?" he asks softly.
"Twenty-seventeen," Ryan says. He looks to Mike, flashing him a smile that Mike can't help but return. He gives Mike his key; their fingers just brush. Brendon's eyes narrow, but it passes quickly, and he's already turning back.
"Come on," Brendon says, "he went out after dinner and no one's seen him. We’ve been waiting for you."
"Thanks," Ryan murmurs to Mike.
Mike wants to kiss him, but he settles for a small smile and trudges down the hall with the bags. Brendon and Ry are following behind him and they stop at a door just before Ryan's. Mike slides the key into the door and opens it at Spence tugs his open next door. He manages to throw Ryan one last encouraging smile before Brendon sweeps them into the room. Mike drops the bags on the floor and sits on the bed.