Kinky Ryden Smut Oneshots

Things That I'd Let You Put In Me

Written by Woodenduck

  There were some things about Brendon Urie that Ryan Ross found inevitable. Not inescapable, not unavoidable, but inevitable.
It was inevitable that Brendon would command Ryan's lingering gaze, no matter how he tried to pull his eyes away.
It was inevitable that the sensation of Brendon's chest against his back, a playful hug in a photo shoot, would swiftly become something Ryan felt the absence of.
It was inevitable that it would become Brendon's face he imagined above him as he lay in his bunk, darkness pressing in, fingers deep inside, pushing and gasping.
And it was inevitable that one day, Ryan just wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut any longer.

- - -

Brendon lay sprawled on one of the cramped bus couches, feet propped on an armrest, one hand resting on his chest, the other holding open a copy of American Psycho. Ryan leant against the wall, eyes trailing the length of Brendon's legs, their inelegant, almost gangly stretch. Switching to stare at the slight tensing of a forearm muscle as it held the book upright. Moving to cast on Brendon's face, lip caught softly between white teeth, neck twisting slightly, eyes meeting, before Ryan blushed lightly and stared at a slight hole in the carpet.

"Are you going to stand there checking me out, or come over here and sit down?"
Ryan moved over to the couch, fingers tapping against the side of Brendon's bare foot. Once, twice.
"Move over, then."
Brendon casually lifted his legs, allowing Ryan to slide in underneath them. Ryan rested his hands across denim-clad shins, playing softly with the seam of Brendon's pants.

Brendon rested the book on his chest, fixing Ryan with a look of utmost seriousness.
"I want to cut you up and play around in your blood."
A faint glimmer flashed in his eyes.
"Oh man, you've got to stop reading that book," Ryan said, slight hint of a smile.
"What, like Chuck Palahniuk is any better?"
Ryan grimaced. "At least his work isn't an impenetrable wall of shit."

Brendon paused, feet tapping together idly. Ryan could feel the flex of calf muscle against his thighs.

"You know who I feel sorry for?"
This'll be great, thought Ryan, eyes rolling slightly. "Who?"
"Wolverine," said Brendon.
"Ah," said Ryan. "I see." Like it was the most sensible answer in the world. "Why, exactly?"
Brendon grinned, shifting to sit a little more upright, digging his feet unceremoniously into Ryan's lap.
"Well, poor guy. And when I say poor, I mean, he has awesome self-healing powers, can totally kick anyone's ass, and has a skeleton made of metal... But those claws. I mean, every time the poor bastard tries to fist someone, he's just going to end up killing them!"
Ryan looked on, a little slackjawed in horror.
"Think about it Ry, he's getting in there with some guy or girl or whatever, gets the fist in, and suddenly 'Oh, shit, I've killed you!'"
Ryan shook his head slowly. "Look, Brendon, I'm pretty sure that he has some kind of control over his claw-release."
"Yeah, but I thought about that, too. He might just lose control in the heat of passion. You know, the other person's jerking him off or something, and he just... loses it."
It's plausible, thought Ryan. Fucked up, but kind of plausible.

Silence...

"It would totally be Gambit, too."
"Brendon!"
Brendon chuckled gleefully. He swung his legs off Ryan's lap, falling to the ground between Ryan's legs. He ran his fingers over Ryan's knees, stopping to dig slightly into the fabric of his jeans.
"What about you?"
Ryan found it hard to think around the slow haze in his brain.
"'What about me' what?"
"Ever been... fisted?"

Brendon makes an obscene gesture, pushing his fist through his circled hand and making a slurping noise, before pulling it out again, popping his lips.

Ryan screwed up his face. "Gross, Bren."
Brendon placed his hands back onto Ryan's legs, this time creeping a little higher onto his thighs.
"How many things have you put inside you?"
Ryan closed his eyes. This is so not happening.
Brendon persisted. "How many things would you let me put inside you?"

With an almost inaudible moan, Ryan pushed Brendon onto the floor, swiftly standing, and stalking off in the direction of the door.

- - - -

Ten days passed, and Brendon hadn't mentioned it again. This was perhaps because Ryan was avoiding him. And perhaps Ryan was avoiding him because Brendon had taken to humming the X-Men theme song whenever they were in the same room.

Ryan could feel himself beginning to crack. Brendon had started it, it was all his fault. Brendon had started the whole damn conversation, and, in his own way, had ended it. He knew how to push Ryan's buttons, that much was for sure. Ryan just wished that he knew what Brendon was trying to achieve by the whole thing.

Because to be honest, since Brendon had asked, Ryan couldn't stop thinking about it. And to be more honest, Brendon's question hadn't really been the start of it.

So Ryan did what he did best - he wrote. He sat on his bunk, back against the wall, and comprised a list.

Things That I'd Let You Put In Me
Your tongue
Your fingers
Your cock
A vibrator

Thirty minutes later, severely flustered, Ryan crawled out of his bunk, and tucked the note under Brendon's pillow.

- - - -

The next morning, Ryan awoke to a human weight resting on his thighs. Cracking an eye open, he was met by the sight of Brendon, arms crossed against his chest, a piece of paper covered in familiar scrawl clutched in one fist.

"Number one," he started. "Your tongue."
Ryan blushed. "Do you have to?"
Brendon pushed his glasses a little higher on his nose. "Yes. Yes I do. This is gold."
"Look, if you're just here to embarrass me - "
Brendon uncrossed his arms, bringing his free hand down to cover Ryan's mouth.
"No, I didn't. I came here to talk to you. Are you serious about this?"
Ryan was still.
"Because I must admit, Ry," Brendon continued. "What the hell kind of surprise is this? Apart from a kind of really hot one."
Ryan shrugged. His tongue snaked out, softly lapping against the flesh of Brendon's hand. Salty

"I never really pegged you as the type for rimming. Not that it doesn't really turn me on that you are."
Ryan shifted under the weight of the other boy, not entirely surprised to feel Brendon's hardness against his thigh.
"Number fourteen, Spencer's drumsticks?" Brendon giggled. "Seriously, Ry."
He removed his hand from Ryan's mouth, lips suddenly taking its place.

Ryan's eyes widened, before fluttering closed. He could feel Brendon's tongue pushing insistently at the seam of his lips, and let his jaw fall open, pliant, wet, wanting. Their tongues met, teeth clashing aggressively, Ryan's hands coming up to clutch feverishly at Brendon's shirt.

Brendon pulled away, biting softly at Ryan's lower lip.

"Ry?"
"Hmmm?"
"What constitutes a 'pretty' butt plug?"
Ryan half-groaned, half-laughed, Brendon breaking out into a full laugh, falling forward to rest his face against Ryan's neck.

"Brendon, get off me. I need a shower."
Brendon smiled against Ryan's neck. "Want me to come with you?"
Ryan shifted, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Why?"
Brendon sat up again, fixing Ryan with a forceful stare.
"Because Ryan. This is quite a comprehensive list. And if we want to get through it any time this week, we'd better get started as soon as possible."

He placed a well-aimed pinch on Ryan's nipple before rolling off him and onto the floor.
"Race you to the bathroom!"
Ryan threw off his sheet, chasing Brendon out of their sleeping quarters.
"Asshole!"
Brendon stopped and turned, catching Ryan in his arms, kissing him messily, awkwardly.
Ryan broke away. "Should I go and ask Spence if we can borrow his sticks?"