Kinky Ryden Smut Oneshots

Cock Slut

Written by poisonarrows

  "Ryan? Ryan, you're staring again," Spencer quietly observes with an impish grin.

Ryan makes a vague sound of acknowledgment, but frankly he's more concerned with the way Brendon's ass looks as he bends down to pick up the drumstick he knocked out of Spencer's hand.

Standing up straight, seemingly oblivious to Ryan's staring, he holds the stick out to Spencer. "Sorry, man."

Ryan gulps as he watches the long, smooth item pulled from Brendon's grip. He's desperately trying to get those thoughts out of his head, and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lowers his head. His head is still tilted down when he opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Brendon's crotch, covered only by the thin leggings he's taken a liking to throughout the tour. His eyes widen, unable to look anywhere else, and he hears Spencer snort before walking over to the wardrobe to join Jon. Ryan's fucked.

**

He doesn't even recall how it happened, but somehow Ryan's managed to get Brendon alone in a deserted corner of the backstage area. They're standing behind three large speakers, and Ryan's not-so-casually brushing his index finger down Brendon's arm. He feels Brendon shiver and a grin plants itself firmly on his face.

"Hey, Brendon – "

"Kiss me."

Brendon, impatient as he is, shoves Ryan's hand away and roughly connects their lips. He brings his hands up to grip the back of Ryan's head, lightly tugging on the hair. Ryan moans and Brendon takes the opportunity to thrust his tongue between Ryan's parted lips. Brendon's massaging Ryan's tongue with his own and his right hand slips down to cup Ryan's ass.

Left hand toying with the hair at the nape of Ryan's neck, Brendon runs his right hand up Ryan's back and then slips it into the back of his pants. As he pushes his middle finger into Ryan's entrance, Ryan moans and grinds against the other boy. He moves one hand to the wall beside Brendon's head, and the other to the strip of skin poking out from beneath Brendon's shirt. Rubbing his thumb over it, he breaks the kiss with a gasp and leans his forehead against Brendon's, hot skin to hot skin.

"I saw you eyeing me up onstage tonight," Brendon begins now that their mouths aren't occupied, breathing heavily. "You know, the end of my little dance – "

"Don't," Ryan deadpans, pushing back against Brendon's finger.

Brendon grinds his erection against Ryan's, curling his finger up, and persists. "No, Ry, it was sexy seeing you all hot and bothered because of me."

When Brendon's name cascades from his lips, he means for it to be stern, but it comes out more like a weak whimper. "I want you, B."

Brendon pulls out his hand, slinking against the wall and resting his arm on the speaker beside him. "You can have me."

Ryan groans at the loss of contact and sinks to his knees directly in front of Brendon. He narrows his eyes, calculating the best way to go about freeing Brendon's cock from the tights that look more like a second skin than something appropriate to wear onstage in front of a bunch of preteen girls.

"Jesus, you idiot," he breathes out. "Why do you have to wear fucking tights on stage?"

Brendon smirks and looks down, giving Ryan a patronizing tap on the nose. "To torture you." At the disbelieving look Ryan shoots his way, he adds, "You can't hide that boner when your guitar's not around, kid. I mean, you couldn't hide it very well when it was around, but..."

Ryan's tempted to sock Brendon in the face because he doesn't know when to shut the fuck up, and that smirk is pissing him off. At the same time, it's making him want to just tear the Goddamn skin-tight things off his legs, so he turns his attention back to them. "Fuck you," he huffs. "And fuck these tights!"

Brendon chuckles. "Calm down, princess. It's the last night of the tour. Just rip 'em off."

Ryan's torn between wondering how the hell Brendon can sound so calm and cursing himself for not thinking of that earlier. Lightly brushing his fingertips over the erection in front of his eyes, he wraps both hands around the middle of Brendon's waistband, ready to pull in both directions.

"Wait!" Brendon cuts in.

Ryan's confused because he's sure Brendon had been just as eager as he was for this to happen. He lets out a sigh of frustration and throws his hands into the air. "Brendon, do you want this or not?"

"Hey," Brendon reaches out and grasps Ryan's right hand, pulling it towards the hardness straining against teasingly thin fabric. "Do you even have to ask?" he questions, voice husky, as he begins to slowly move Ryan's hand.

Ryan's not aware of his jaw dropping until his throat's a little dry and he's finding it difficult to breathe. He snaps his mouth shut just as Brendon drops his own hand and flattens it against the wall, fingers tense. Ryan keeps rubbing, applying more pressure, and the sound that escapes from his lips wouldn't be embarrassing if it was his dick being rubbed. It's not his dick, though; it's Brendon's and this shouldn't be turning him on as much as it is. He feels his cheeks redden and keeps his gaze lowered, feeling Brendon's eyes burning into him.

He starts to wonder if maybe he should stop and just get on with it. When Brendon mutters, "Ryan, wait a second," he thinks maybe Brendon can read his mind and has known all along how badly he's wanted this. He slows the movements of his hand and gives a slight shrug.

"No, Ryan, seriously," Brendon gulps. "Hold on."

Ryan groans, amazed at Brendon's self-control and still refusing to meet his eyes. When his voice comes out it's a lot more confident than he really feels. "If you don't shut the fuck up, this is all over."

Brendon snorts and Ryan hears a distinct, albeit quiet, "Hah," before his hand is shoved away and Brendon pushes himself from the wall.

He pokes his head out from behind the speaker and then around the corner. When he doesn't spot anyone, he hurries off in the direction of the wardrobe with a slight, wobbly difference in his step. Still on his knees, a bit confused about how the hell Brendon can so easily walk away, all Ryan can do is stare at his retreating form.

**

To Ryan's relief, Brendon's back in record time, a pair of jeans in hand and a smirk on his face. He throws the jeans on top of the speaker and moves in front of Ryan. He leans back against the wall, tilting Ryan's head up. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Ryan works his finger into the hole above Brendon's left knee. He pulls just enough so that he can fit a finger in from the other hand. After sucking a breath in, he pulls his hands in opposite directions. The majority of Brendon's thigh is exposed, and Ryan shifts his grip on the fabric. He tears the material all the way to the elastic of the waistband and then easily pulls the waistband down around Brendon's knees.

"Jesus, Ryan. That... was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen," Brendon confesses, panting. Ryan feels his face get hotter and mentally congratulates himself.

His eyes go wide at the sight in front of him. Finally – finally the fucking fabric is out of his way, and he can do what he's wanted to do all evening. Or, ever since he first met Brendon, really. He reaches a hand out, gripping Brendon's cock and opening his mouth just enough to dart his tongue out. He licks the tip and Brendon shudders.

Dragging his tongue down the shaft, he reaches around with his other hand and starts massaging Brendon's ass. He licks back to the tip and opens his mouth, taking it in.

Ryan can barely make sense of the initial thoughts running through his head, but he knows that the most prominent one is "Brendon's cock is in my mouth!" and he resists the urge to stop for one second and let out an embarrassingly excited squeal. He hollows his cheeks and rolls his tongue around before pulling back and bobbing off.

He swirls his tongue around the tip, and starts pumping his fist. After a long, hot lick down to his fist and back up, he hears Brendon let out a low moan. Ryan takes a breath and moves forward again, relaxing his throat and jaw muscles. Taking Brendon's cock in as far as he can go, he's surprised his gag reflexes aren't kicking in. Brendon whimpers appreciatively and moves one hand to the back of Ryan's neck, lightly tugging him forward. His other hand reaches up to his own mouth and he bites down on his index finger.

Ryan doesn't exactly like that he's going down on him because they're backstage and, God, anyone could catch them. At the same time, though, he's waited so long for this and he starts to wonder if maybe that makes him a slut.

"Jesus, Ryan, you're such a f-fucking cock slut."

Brendon's finger isn't in his mouth anymore, and it startles Ryan that he's forming such composed sentences. It maybe even worries him a bit. He's losing confidence and wondering just how enjoyable it is – or isn't? – for Brendon. He's feeling all kinds of conflicting emotions. They're surging through his veins and he wishes some of them would just disappear, but if the bad ones disappear, he knows the good ones will go with them. He sucks in as deep a breath as he can manage through his nose and gives his head a tiny shake. Maybe it's his thoughts that really need to go away.

Brendon's breathing is getting quicker and Ryan can feel his legs beginning to shake; he's close. Ryan pulls off a bit and takes Brendon all the way in again. He keeps massaging Brendon's ass and feels the grip on his hair tighten. Brendon lets out a long stream of curses and comes, Ryan wincing a bit and spitting onto the floor. He feels a blush creeping across his face and hears Brendon let out an amused and slightly bewildered chuckle.

Ryan's not sure if Brendon's more out of breath or if he is. He looks up, making eye contact with the boy in front of him. Brendon lets out a puff of breath and smiles down at the boy on the floor. He slowly slides down the wall, slumping down beside him and making sure to avoid the mess they made. Ryan's lightly panting and his eyes are heavily lidded.

"God," Brendon admits as he reaches up to grab his jeans, "you're so fucking hot."

He gets his pants on in what seems like seconds and closes the distance between their faces, kissing Ryan hard. He can still taste a bit of himself on Ryan's tongue. Brendon breaks the kiss and brings his hand to the front of Ryan's shirt, slipping it underneath. He feels Ryan's hard nipple beneath his fingertips and the other boy lets out a long, throaty moan.

Brendon attaches his lips to Ryan's collarbone, then licks a hot trail up his neck. When he reaches Ryan's ear, he whispers, "Your turn."