Ryden Smut

For Other Meanings Of Tsunami, part 3/4

For Other Meanings Of Tsunami, part 3/4 By @ jocondite on LiveJournal http://jocondite.livejournal.com/126866.html

“Right,” Brendon says, standing right in front of Ryan. Spencer and Jon have long since vanished into the bunks, so he sets his jaw and assumes an expression which he hopes conveys grim determination. “I’m going to blow you, and it’s going to be fucking awesome, and you’re going to think that I’m sucking your soul out through your dick, and then you’re going to be my little bitch forever and trail around after me telling me how good I am at giving head and asking for more, like, like - a tiny perverted Oliver Twist!”

“Sure,” Ryan says boredly. He punches Brendon in the arm, and either he means it to feel like a gentle glancing blow from a dying butterfly or he’s getting weaker and weaker as his thighs get thinner and further apart, because it doesn’t hurt at all. “Sure I will.” He looks down at his knees, and then quickly up again. “Look. Brendon. This has all been kind of a disaster, I think maybe we should just –”

“I haven’t finished!” Brendon protests, holding up a hand dramatically. “Look, that’s only part one of the plan, and wait, before I unveil part two, what the fuck kind of guy are you? I promise you amazing head, and you try to brea- to turn me down? Jesus.” 

Ryan starts to open his mouth again, and Brendon waves the hand in his face magisterially. “Part two,” he says loudly, “involves you going down on me, and you have no idea, like, none at all, how much I think about that sometimes. God, your mouth. It’s so – don’t you dare hit me – it’s so fucking pretty, and sometimes when we’re onstage or on the bus or, you know, anywhere public, I just, I just stare at it. And sometimes I think about how it would look around my dick, and, and, yeah.”

He looks up to see how Ryan’s taking it. 

“Oh,” Ryan says quietly. His eyes are wide and dark, color smeared along his cheekbones (and the natural kind, not the type that comes in shining black tubes of MAC, even), and as Brendon watches, he shifts in his seat, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He doesn’t say anything more.

Promising.

Brendon kneels in front of the couch again, between Ryan’s legs, and puts his hands on his knees, pushing them gently apart. Ryan lets him move him just like a poseable doll (not that Brendon has ever touched one of those, no), and doesn’t even say anything sharp, just watches him, eyes wide. 

Oh yeah, this is going to be excellent. 

He gets Ryan’s jeans open with a minimum of difficulty this time. Ryan isn’t wearing underwear again, because boxers just don’t work properly with pants that tight, and Brendon really, really likes that about him. It’s an admirable character trait, Ryan’s occasional complete lack of underwear.

He’s better at going down this time, too, because while he panics a bit at first (not enough to stop or slow down) he gets into, like, this groove, after only about half a minute of overdramatic imaginings of his possible death. Ryan starts to make the soft needy noises again, and yeah. He is going to get Ryan off properly even if it kills him, and then Ryan is going to get him off, and no one is going to interrupt or fall asleep, and it is going to be awesome.

He shifts his hands from Ryan’s thighs, sliding one along to clutch at Ryan’s ass (ass grab! He is so fucking smooth) and moves the other down to unfasten his own fly, because Ryan making those noises because of him? Really, really, fucking hot. 

“Mmmph,” Ryan half-moans, “Brendon, fuck, Brendon- ”

Yeah, so fucking hot. 

“ - fuck, Brendon, watch your teeth, ow. Mmm, better, god, could you use your tongue some more? Watch the fucking teeth already. Yes, tongue, and if you could – god, Brendon­, yeah, that’s okay, that’s good - could get your hand off your own dick long enough to touch my balls, or something, please, fuck –”