Kinky Ryden Smut Oneshots

Fascinate

Written by therecordskipsx

Warning Blood kink

  Okay, so maybe he's always found it fascinating; the colour, the texture, the taste, what it does and how and why. It was something he could never quite wrap his head around, something he always sought to understand beyond a textbook knowledge of the stuff, but he never quite could.

One time, he walks into the bathroom when Brendon is shaving, and Ryan guesses he startles him a little, must, because Brendon jumps and nicks his neck, leaving a tiny stream of blood running down the curve of his Adam's apple. He stares at it, transfixed by the colour and the way it squiggles across his skin, and Brendon just shakes his head and goes back to what he's doing, leaving him to stand in the shadows of the bathroom with a strange feeling in his chest and an itch in his fingers.

Another time, he slips and cuts his finger on something, he can't remember what, not deep or serious, just shallow and stinging. When he sits at the table and plays with the blood, dragging it over his skin with fingertips and licking at it experimentally, Spencer just shakes his head and walks away to play Halo with Jon. Brendon remembers that time he was shaving suddenly, sitting on the couch and watching Ryan playing jovially with his own blood, and he starts to wonder what the heck is up with him, anyways.

----------

Ryan is sitting in his bunk, scribbling some thought that occurred to him in his notebook, when Brendon comes up and yanks the curtain aside, pulling himself into the bed and squishing Ryan over uncomfortably.

"So," he says, shoving Ryan playfully and ignoring the death glare Ryan is sending him, "what's up with the blood...thing?" Ryan looks mildly affronted, perhaps at Brendon's bluntness or the topic of his question, and he just shrugs and frowns and goes back to writing angular letters in his notebook.

"Dunno, s'just..." he stops to think about it, mulling it over in his head for a second. "I...really don't know, actually."

And Brendon is slightly taken aback by this, because Ryan has always seemed like one of those self-possessed people who have the answer to every question, no matter how obscure, and here he was, with this facet of himself that he didn't understand.

"Well, is it like..." he motions with his hand, turning to face the other boy. "Is it like, a...I don't know, you just wonder about it or something? Or is it like a..." he frowns, "like a sex thing?"

Ryan laughs, putting his pen into his notebook to mark his page, and turns to face Brendon.

"I told you I didn't know, and I wasn't lying."

"Well," Brendon sighs, shifting his weight again. "You don't like, murder people or anything, obviously. So either it's like, an academic interest, or like a fetish?"

Ryan sighs, letting his head rest against the wall of the bunk, picking at his fingers.

"I don't know why you care, but I've always supposed it's a bit of both."

"Mmkay, that's all I wanted to know," Brendon says, and bounces out of the bunk, thudding across the floor and singing something very loudly. Ryan sighs and re-opens his notebook, tries to go back to whatever thought he was on before Brendon interrupted, but finds it to be a lost cause. He throws the pen against the bunk wall, rubbing his eyes.

"Damn it, Brendon, you made me lose my train of thought!"

And from somewhere in the back of the bus, Brendon laughs, and Ryan wonders just what's so damn funny.

----------

Brendon's shaving, oh coincidence, when Ryan walks into the bathroom a little later, looking for something or other that he lost.

"Hey Bren, have you..." and he's sure, he's sure that the little cut appears on Brendon's neck on purpose, that there is something set and kind of frightening about his face, staring at Ryan through the mirror. He lifts his hand and drops it again, opens his mouth to speak and shuts it. "Well, I'll just," he starts, and turns around to leave, to go and hide in his bunk until his heart slows to a normal speed.

"Hey, Ry," Brendon says, "Wait." And Ryan turns on his heel slowly, hoping that the little river on Brendon's neck will be gone when he looks. It isn't. "Do you..." Brendon says, and Ryan shakes his head, backing towards the door.

"No, I," he starts, opens and closes his mouth again. "No." Brendon smiles and wipes his fingers over the trickle of blood with a little roll of his eyes, and Ryan watches with something akin to fascination when it wells up again and slides down his skin. Brendon shrugs and sucks the blood off the tip of his finger and turns around.

"Alright," he says, and Ryan swallows something threatening to choke him, some word or action, and reaches his hand around to the door handle, shutting it with a quiet click. He's still staring at the blood on Brendon's neck, and Brendon's just standing there, looking at Ryan through the mirror and letting the blood flow softly, just barely. And before he knows what he's doing, he's taking a small step forward, and then another, and then reaching the long fingers of his right hand out to touch Brendon's neck.

Brendon looks surprised, maybe, and a little smile spreads over his face.

"Okay," he says, question and statement, and Ryan brushes the pads of his fingers over his skin, transfixed by the smear of colour it creates, the contrast. He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed and lips parted, trying to memorize the cool-warm sensation against his fingertips and the copper-red colour of the blood against Brendon's beige-white skin.

He doesn't know what makes him do it, but he leans forward and darts his tongue quickly along the smear, barely enough for a taste. Brendon makes a tiny pleased noise in the back of his throat, the way Ryan's tongue feels grazing along his skin and maybe, maybe the fact that he's licking his blood, maybe. And then Ryan pulls his head back, quicker than he came forward, and his honey-gold eyes are stretched so wide it looks like they might pop out of his skull.

"I," he stammers. "Sorry. I'll..." and he turns around and all but rushes out the door, only noticing the smear of crimson on his fingers when he's half way to the lounge. He stops and stares at it for a long second, the way it colours against his skin, and lifts his hand to lap it away. Brendon pads out quietly behind him, sees Ryan with his fingertips against his mouth and a strange look on his face, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright," he says, and brushes past Ryan into the lounge with a little smile playing on his lips. Ryan's stomach flips over and drops into his feet.

"Alright," he says, both to Brendon and himself, and walks unsteadily into the lounge. "Alright?" he says again, to Brendon. "What do you mean, alright?"

Brendon shrugs, flopping down onto the couch.

"I mean...its cool," he says, pulling his legs up to curl under him. "I mean, if you're into something, then you are – whatever."

"And you," Ryan says, eyes darting, mouth suddenly very dry.

"I don't know," Brendon says. "Never really thought about it before, to be honest."

"You did it on purpose," Ryan says, but he doesn't have the energy to be accusing, so it comes out as more of a sigh. Brendon shrugs, eyes glittering.

"You don't mind," he says, looking up at Ryan with dark eyes, and Ryan swallows thickly.

"No." Brendon smirks, and Ryan shifts his weight. "Except..."

"Except?" Brendon says, raising his eyes from the T.V.

"Yeah, except...you, you Brendon, I..."

Brendon waves his hand airily, turning his eyes back to whatever show he's watching.

"Don't worry so much, Ryan. Obviously I'm not weirded out and..."

"No," Ryan says. "That's not...that's not what I mean."

Brendon clicks off the T.V. and sighs, throwing the remote down beside him.

"What, then?" he says, and Ryan's mouth is parched now, absolutely dust dry.

"You," he says, "I just," he laughs a little bit. "I, Ryan Ross, just licked your throat, Brendon Urie."

Brendon laughs and looks at Ryan, and something in his eyes scares Ryan a little, makes the ground shift out from underneath his feet.

"Yeah, and I, Brendon Urie, may have enjoyed that, Ryan Ross." And he gets up and brushes past Ryan, and leaves Ryan standing beside the couch and staring blankly at the wall, lost for words.

"Oh," he says, fingertips absently moving to rest on his mouth. "Oh."

-----------

"Hey, Bren?" Ryan mumbles, tugging at the curtain on Brendon's bunk gently.

"Yeah?" Brendon says, yanking it away and poking his head out to look up at Ryan.

"Spence and Jon asleep?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask them yourself?" Brendon laughs, listening to the soft snores and regular breathing coming from the bunks across the aisle, and shoves aside the book he was reading. "Why, what's up?"

"I..." he starts, twisting his fingers around and looking at the bunk across from his. "I was wondering what you meant earlier, exactly."

Brendon slides out of his bunk and climbs into Ryan's, all in one seemingly fluid motion, and settles beside him on the mattress before Ryan really has time to process it.

"What did I say earlier?" he questions, even though he knows, Ryan knows he knows, can see it in his face.

"You uh, said you..." he throws his hands in the air and sighs. "Oh, damn it Brendon, you know what you said!" Brendon chuckles low in his throat and looks at Ryan through his bangs. He's never seen Ryan flustered or confused, not the way he is right now, and it makes Brendon's heart beat sideways in his chest.

"Okay, yeah, I said a lot of things earlier with very few words."

Ryan nods and chews the corner of his lip.

"So I was just wondering, you know, why you said that, or..."

Brendon shrugs and rests his arm over his waist, holding his head up with his hand.

"Donno, just didn't feel like lying, I guess."

It suddenly occurs to Ryan, he remembers or realizes, thinking back over the incident in the bathroom...the noise Brendon made, that tiny whimper. He looks at him, and Brendon looks back, and he searches Brendon's neck with his eyes for the cut, trying to figure out if it was real. Brendon laughs and tips his head over and back, revealing the tiny pink-red scratch on his skin.

"Yeah," he says, and Ryan wonders how he knew exactly what he was thinking before he even said it.

"I," Ryan starts again. "I, want..." He groans and falls back on the mattress. "Okay, alright," he closes his eyes and rushes it out. "I want to do that again."

Brendon lets out a snort of laughter, rests his head on the pillow beside Ryan and smiles.

"Alright," he says, and Ryan's eyes snap open.

"What?"

"I said alright," Brendon murmurs, and Ryan turns to face him, eyes wide.

"Yeah?" And Brendon nods.

"Yeah, sure." Brendon clears his throat. "But, if we do that, I get something, too."

Ryan looks at him, lips pressed together in a thin line, eyes flickering around the bunk.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

Brendon brushes his fingers along the prominent line of Ryan's jaw and leans forward slowly, pressing a light kiss to his lips. Ryan doesn't mean to, but he bristles, every muscle in his body goes rigid.

"Relax, geez," he mutters, feeling the strain of Ryan's muscles and the way his whole body is taut and still.

"Relax?" Ryan splutters. "You're..."

"Yes, I am. So you might as well relax and let it happen," he murmurs, and leans forward to kiss him again. He hums against Ryan's mouth, fingers tracing the line of his neck. "Seriously, Ryan, relax." He grabs Ryan's hip and pulls, angling it towards his own body, lets his tongue glide slowly along Ryan's lip. And he's not really expecting it, the way Ryan's mouth opens and his whole body seems to let out a big, collective sigh.

"This doesn't mean anything," Brendon murmurs into his mouth. And Ryan sighs, nodding into the kiss, just wants Brendon to shut up and do it, if he's going to.

There's a battle for dominance that rages for just a second too long to be curiosity, just a second too long to be pure exploration, and then Brendon pulls his head back, breathing against Ryan's mouth.

"That's all I wanted," he says, and Ryan doesn't know why he doesn't think to question the sanity of this, but he doesn't, or doesn't want to. Either or.

"Alright," Ryan says, and then Brendon is slipping out of the bunk and landing on the floor with a soft thud, echoing through the tiny hallway, and extending one hand to Ryan.

"Well?" And Ryan grabs Brendon's hand and lowers himself to the floor, silent and slow, stretching with the grace of a cat, something Brendon has always admired in his clumsiness. Brendon waves his hand towards the lounge, and Ryan walks in and falls onto the couch, landing with a muffled thump and a long breath of air expelled. He can hear rustling and thumping, Brendon talking to himself in a low voice, seemingly checking things off a mental list, opening and closing cupboards, running water.

And while he's sitting there, hands folded, he starts to think to himself, okay, really, what is going on? It occurs to him with shocking, vivid clarity that Brendon will have to hurt himself to do this, and that neither of them really has an idea what they're doing. This has always been a thought, something to think about when he got a paper cut, not an experiment to be performed on his best friend, and a slow dread curls in the pit of his stomach. What are we doing?

Brendon strides back into the room, arms full of various things, wet Kleenex dripping in his hand, and something suspiciously small, flat and paper-wrapped poking out of the top of his pocket.

"Where did you find that?" Ryan asks, eyebrows raised, and Brendon shrugs.

"Man, we've got a bunch of weird shit around here. I don't even know where half of this came from!" And he lifts and lowers his arms, displaying the rubbing alcohol and the bag of cotton balls. Ryan sighs, and Brendon flops onto the couch beside him, dropping the half-full bottle of alcohol and the rustling plastic bag beside him.

"Bren," Ryan tries, but not for the first time, he's lost for words, and Brendon just looks at him patiently, so Ryan tries again. "Brendon, I don't want to...y'know, we don't know what we're doing, and you..."

"Hey," Brendon says, laying a warm hand on Ryan's knee. "Look, it's not like I'm gonna slit my throat or anything." Ryan's eyes widen, and Brendon chuckles. "Besides, it's not in the plan to have any one else know about this – so being safe and inconspicuous is definitely in the plan."

"Inconspicuous?" Ryan laughs, and Brendon nods.

"Hey, I know big words too, Mr. Poise-And-Rationality." Ryan rolls his eyes, is about to say that those are not big words, that he knows bigger, but decides against it. After all, Brendon is doing him a favour here, so to speak, so he should probably keep his trap shut.

"So," Brendon says, clearing his throat and shifting his weight to face Ryan. "Uh, where do you do this? I mean..." Ryan sighs again, shrugging his shoulders and coughing lightly.

"I uh, don't really know. But we can't do it on your arms, someone will definitely notice that, and...that's bad." He shifts, pulling his legs up onto the couch and crossing them underneath him.

"Well, where's somewhere you can't see, but that's not like..." he chuckles. "Well." Ryan frowns, eyebrows knitting together, forehead creasing up.

"Uh, well, I don't know. Like," and he leans forward and brushes his fingers over Brendon's hip. "Somewhere that's pretty much always covered by clothes." Brendon laughs again, lips twisting into a smile.

"That's uh, getting close, though."

"Better than your thigh or something," Ryan says with a shrug, and Brendon considers this for a moment, and finally nods his assent.

"Okay, point for you on logic. So uh," he reaches down and pulls his t-shirt over his head, pulling his hair up into all sorts of disorganized tufts and peaks, and chucks it onto the floor, and then sticks his fingers in his pocket, pulling out the razor blade, neatly wrapped. He lays it on the couch between them, setting it down gently, almost like an offering.

And maybe it is. Not just the blade, but this whole thing. "Wait, I should..." and he jumps up and pushes his jeans down, leaving them with his shirt before hopping back onto the couch. "Just, you know, blood stains on the jeans...maybe not the best idea."

And Ryan's really just too stunned by this whole thing to even say anything, just nods his head and dances his fingers over the surface of the couch to grab the blade, incredibly thin and waxy in its paper, turning it between his fingers. He looks from the blade to Brendon a few times, at Brendon's patient face and folded hands, and the way he can tell how sharp the blade is without even unwrapping it.

"Bren, I don't think I can..." His eyes flicker from one to the other, from the pale stretch of Brendon's skin to the ghostly wrapped blade, and he swallows heavily. Brendon sighs, reclining on his elbows and staring steadily at Ryan.

"Hey, Ryan, I'm not going to let you murder me or anything." He smiles, trying to be reassuring. "Besides, I'm like...laying here, half naked, letting you do it. It's not like you tied me up or anything, shit." Ryan raises his eyebrows, and Brendon hears the suggestion in his voice after the words are out and he groans. "Fuck, okay, not what I meant."

Ryan laughs, and it breaks the tension just a little bit, relaxes the muscles in his neck.

"Alright," he says, and he finds himself going through the motions, sitting between Brendon's legs and wiping a few square inches of skin clean, drying it with his t-shirt, resting his hand on the jutting bone with the blade millimeters from Brendon's unmarked skin. "Are you," and Brendon sighs, patting his hand on Ryan's shoulder.

"Yes, Ryan." He leans back against the arm of the couch, stretching his arms above his head. "Alright. Go."

And Ryan doesn't even have to press, not really, and the blade slices through his skin like paper, makes a line that swells immediately with red, and he's a little shocked at the suddenness, so he doesn't notice the sharp intake of breath that Brendon makes or the way his stomach muscles tense and his eyes slip shut.

He drags his fingertips through the line, smearing it, once again fascinated and captured by the contrast, the way it feels cold and warm against his fingers, and the way it just keeps beading up and he just keeps wiping it away. It's not really voluntary, his head moving forward slowly or his mouth closing over the cut, hard, but it happens. And he doesn't even try to catch the little groan that escapes his throat and dissolves into Brendon's skin when the taste hits the back of his throat, salty and metallic and warm.

And some part of him, some part of him isn't really surprised when Brendon gasps, because whether he's Ryan or not, he's licking and sucking and biting at his skin in a way that is probably overtly sensual, because the adrenaline and the taste of the blood is getting to his head and rushing downwards. He lifts his head, and Brendon notices the way his lower lip is shiny and blushed with blood, a crimson smear on pink flesh.

And then before he has any time to react, Ryan leans forward and kisses him, messy and wet, pushing the taste into his mouth, so that all he can taste is copper and salt and the trace of Ryan's mouth hidden behind it, and it's a little overwhelming, but he doesn't even think about it, just kisses back, hard, and tries to get every last drop of blood off Ryan's tongue.

Ryan shifts between his legs and straddles his thigh, pressing down hard and leaning down to lick a last stray smear of blood of his hip, dragging his open mouth up Brendon's side, stopping to bite his collar bone, marking it for later, tomorrow, whenever. He runs his fingers over Brendon's collar bone, and Brendon understands, nods, because he doesn't think he could speak right now, not with Ryan's hard on pressing none-too-elegantly into his hip and the taste of his own blood swirling in his mouth.

Ryan doesn't want to take long enough to figure this out, to think about what's going on, so he just slides the blade over Brendon's collar bone without even bothering to clean the skin, clamps his mouth on the cut and sucks, no playing or smearing involved now, and presses his hips hard against Brendon's thigh, moaning softly into his skin. He thinks he needs to be quiet, Jon and Spencer...but he shifts, puts his other leg over Brendon so he's straddling him properly, and thought vacates his head entirely.

He bites down on the cut hard, trying to illicit more blood flow, and he knows this is going to kill Brendon in the morning, it's going to ache and burn and every time he lifts his arms it's going to bleed. Oh, God, he hopes it doesn't, though, or he'll probably tackle him to the floor as soon as the blood seeps through his shirt. Fuck.

Brendon gasps when Ryan's teeth make contact with the cut, pain mingles indistinguishable with pleasure, and all the blood that isn't flowing into Ryan's mouth rushes downwards, and he was already painfully hard before that, oh, God. He starts on a train of thought that runs somewhere along a path dangerously close to sanity, why are you turned on by this, why is your best friend grinding you, why, why, why. But then Ryan's kissing him again, breathless and tasting strongly of blood, and it doesn't matter.

He doesn't really think about it when he trails his fingers over the waistband of Ryan's jeans while Ryan makes another small cut below the first one, lapping furiously at the trails of blood. He just grazes his fingers over the top of Ryan's ass, eliciting a sharp gasp and a hard bite, and then dances them around the front of his jeans, nimble fingers pulling furiously at the button and the zipper, releasing the pressure of the tight fabric from Ryan's erection, making him whimper and push up against the tips of Brendon's fingers, breathing heavily against his shoulder.

"You," Ryan breathes. "What are you doing?" And Brendon laughs, slips cold fingers into the opening on Ryan's boxers, cold fingers wrapping around warm flesh.

"Shut up, and don't let the blood run like that," he murmurs, twisting his wrist, and Ryan graciously re-attaches his mouth to the small cut and sucks until the skin turns purple, muffling soft sounds into Brendon's skin. "You know," he gasps. "Ry, it would be good if you would..." And he doesn't even have to finish the thought before Ryan slides his hand into his boxers, grabbing at him with frigid fingers and squeezing. "Oh, fuck," he drawls, fucking up into his hand before he can stop himself, because, oh, fuck.

He runs his thumb over Ryan's slit, makes his rhythm just a little bit faster, and Ryan pulls his head away from the cut, breathing shallow and heavy against his neck.

"Oh, Bren, fuck, I..." He licks a line along Brendon's collar bone, messy and aimless, and draws in a shuddering breath, resting his forehead in the crook of Brendon's neck. "Bren, I'm...oh, fuck, I'm..." And that's it, his rhythm falters and he jumps forward into Brendon's fist, white cum decorating their stomachs in graceful swirls. He takes a second to breathe, to recover, and then starts moving his own fist, letting Brendon fuck up into it, because what else is there to do? Then Brendon bites down hard on his shoulder and lets out a strangled moan, cum mixing with Ryan's on their stomachs, shuddering and shaking.

And that's it. Ryan licks a stray bead of blood off his collar bone, a little more self-possessed now, and plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses from his neck to his jaw, sliding the fingers of his left hand through the mess on their stomachs. He puts his index finger in his mouth, a taste completely separate from the blood washing around in his mouth, bitter and salty and sticky. Brendon groans, rolling his head against the arm of the couch, bathing in the warmth washing over his body.

"God, Ry. That's almost as good as the blood thing."