Written by deliberatefic
Ryan wakes up and Brendon is right there, so why not burrow closer? He gets one leg twisted between Brendon's – ow – legs and settles his head on Brendon's chest. Now he'll fall back asleep. Except only a few moments go by and Brendon stirs, runs his hand over Ryan's hip, one soft stroke and then a tight squeeze, directly on fresh bruises.
Ryan shoots one eyes open, glaring at Brendon's chin. "I'm sore."
Brendon grins and presses his fingers sharp into the bone. "God, I hope so."
-
Rehearsals, well, really suck. Ryan doesn't know what he was expecting, but not this, a thousand people with monitors in their ears and clipboards in hand shuffling them around and telling them "one more minute, Mr. Urie. Mr. Ross, could you stand more left? Thanks," over and over again. And none of them are their people, they gloss over him like he's nothing, like he's just another performer, one of the ones with the big T on his access pass for Talent. There'll be another band on the stage in a half hour, another set of lighting cues to rehearse. Ryan sighs and pushes the hair out of his eyes. It's his birthday for fuck's sake. He glances at Brendon, who's watching him. Something goes wrong with the soundboard and they're waiting again. Spencer drums absentmindedly and Brendon blows him a kiss from across the stage and then licks his lips. Ryan blushes.
-
The label or management or someone gets them a suite, it's the nicest hotel room Ryan's ever stayed in, three rooms and there's a full dinning room table and a spread of a food and liquor, which Jon scooped up and sent back down to the concierge as soon as they arrived.
"Guys, it's okay, you don't have to – " Jon had cocked his eyebrow and Brendon had slapped his ass on his way to the bathroom and that had been that.
When they finally finish rehearsal and post-rehearsal interviews and are allowed to go home it's after midnight. Jon and Spencer disappear somewhere in the lobby and Ryan and Brendon ride the elevator to their room, Brendon's hand on the small of Ryan's back. Ryan lets his eyes slide closed and moves at Brendon's direction, follows the slight turns of his wrist and stops when Brendon tugs him close. Once they step inside Brendon pushes up behind him.
"Keep them closed."
-
The first time Brendon had fucked Ryan he had been drunk. William had sent him stumbling back to the bus in London and Ryan had been the last one in the front lounge, which left him on drunk duty, making sure Brendon laid down and had a bucket to puke in. Everything was going fine, Brendon went willingly and Ryan had tucked a blanket around him and figured his job was done.
Except that Brendon looped an arm around Ryan's middle when he tried to stand up and tugged him back down, wrapping a leg around him and forcing them side by side. Ryan squirmed and Brendon only held him tighter.
"Ryan, Ryan, baby."
"Shut up, go to bed."
"How many boys have you let fuck you, baby?" Ryan went still in Brendon's arms, rigid. He was so fucking drunk, Ryan hated that. He wished Spencer were here instead of him.
"Brendon, shut the fuck – "
"You'd be so sweet, how many?" Whining, stupid Brendon twisted closer, pushed his nose against Ryan's jaw.
Brendon was such a fuckwit and he was going to kill Beckett in the morning. "None, you fucker, want to be the first?"
Ryan had never been drunk himself, but touring made him used to the feel of it, like he understood it without ever touching a drop. The Academy boys could be drunk enough for three whole buses, and that one time Spencer had come home hanging on Jon, the Academy tech, Ryan had watched them, unashamed, as Spencer flirted and had no idea he was doing it because Mike had plying him with Peach Schnapps. Ryan knew how brave liquor could make you, so he could conjure that up in the face of Brendon, trashed and half on his lap. If Brendon's going to push him Ryan will push back. It's mental, and Ryan had spent enough time in his own head to know how to play it, reckless and fearless because in the morning you always had the best excuse.
But then, before Ryan knew what was happening, Brendon was fully on top of him, mashing their lips together inelegantly, grinding against him. If Ryan had any sense he'd knee him in the groin and make him sleep on the floor. Except Ryan didn't have any sense, and Brendon was murmuring, "yes, yes, want to, so bad," against his mouth and his fingers were clumsily slipping inside his pajama bottoms. They could both forget this in the morning, and Ryan would get off, which he hadn't done with another person in far too long. He didn't really expect Brendon to be focused enough to get his pants all the way off, or how much he'd like it when Brendon just pushed in, held his hips down and moaned against his throat.
"So fucking tight." Brendon slurred, wet lips on his neck and Ryan would have killed for that wetness, just a little spit, anything to help.
Ryan couldn't really breathe, fighting for gulping, stuttering breathes as his body tried to adjust to Brendon invading him, feeling his muscles open up, pull, burn. Ryan had never, not with anyone, and he opened his mouth to tell Brendon that and Brendon just bit at his lips.
"Take, you just take so." Brendon shifted, angled in hard, rutted his hips shallowly and it hurt so much. Nothing, Ryan was stretched beyond any time he'd ever, alone, one hand clamped over his mouth and feet propped on the ceiling of his bunk, wanting.
"Brendon, please," Ryan shivered, tried to blink back the tears that rolled down his face. He'd never – god, he was such a whore and now Brendon knew it. Brendon, who Ryan had seen stumble out of hotel rooms well-fucked, bruises on his neck and thought, 'if' but never more. Ryan never got what he wanted, except now, if he could just -- "Please, harder." It hurt so much and Ryan loved it, dug his heels into Brendon's back and Brendon slammed in.
"Baby, baby," Brendon whispered and curled a sure hand around Ryan's dick and that was all it took, Ryan arching between them and feeling Brendon jerk inside him. Ryan closed his eyes, Brendon breathing evenly across his chest, and tried not to think about what was going to happen tomorrow.
-
Brendon doesn't waste any time; he starts unbuttoning Ryan's shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, replaces it with his mouth, tiny bites across Ryan's shoulder blades, centering at the nape of his neck. Brendon shifts to the front and tugs him by the belt. Ryan stumbles forward, follows Brendon, knows they're going to the bed but he lets his eyes slit open a little, cheating, sure that Brendon can't see. Brendon falls back and Ryan falls forward, eyes snapping open as he braces himself. Brendon flips him over, gets one leg between Ryan's and presses there, constant.
"Oh no, cheater. Now I have to make sure."
Brendon leaves his field of vision, and the bed dips as he stands up. Ryan keeps staring at the ceiling, listening to Brendon rummaging in a bag and waits for him to return. He brings back a tie, an ugly one, and slips it over Ryan's eyes, shaking his head. "No more cheating."
Ryan stretches his neck back, exhales, hopes that Brendon doesn't drag this out. This is familiar, Ryan's been tied up with all sorts of things over the last few months, gagged and blindfolded on Brendon's whims and he always offers his arms, spreads his legs, enjoys the loss of control. He's so tired, and Brendon is relentless energy, and it's amazing just to let Brendon take care of him, take him past every point he'd normally let himself go, if he was in control.
Tonight it's cute and all, but Ryan would really just like to get fucked for his birthday. That's not too much to ask.
He lifts his hips so Brendon can slide off his pants and briefs, moans when Brendon licks a precise line up his cock.
"Want?"
Ryan moans again, hisses, "Yes."
Brendon tongues Ryan's navel, blows cool on the wet skin. "Oh baby, you're going to beg."
And then Ryan hears the click of the door opening.
-
Brendon's got Ryan bent up almost double, Ryan's palms flat against the headboard, bracing them.
"Harder, fuck." Ryan turns his neck, grinds his hips down against Brendon. "Harder."
Brendon slips his fingers against Ryan's open mouth, along his lower lip, and Ryan licks, sloppy, desperate. "You just want cock, don't you?"
Ryan moans, flattens his tongue against Brendon's fingertips and moans against his skin. "Yes, please, any, yes."
Brendon twists up, meets him, knows there will be bruises on his thighs in the morning. Whispers, low and dirty. "God, how many could you take?" Shoves two fingers in, a far as they can go, so far Ryan gags.
Ryan can't answer with a mouthful of Brendon's fingers, one hand on his own dick pulling in time with Brendon. Brendon shifts angles, goes deeper. "I'd love to watch you get fucked." Brendon slips his fingers out of Ryan's mouth and twists them in his hair, tugs. "Fuck."
"Yes," Ryan hisses and his eyes roll back and he comes, Brendon loves how tight it gets, impossibly tight, and he just fucks harder, has Ryan almost off the bed with the force of it, and comes inside him.
Brendon rolls them over after, pulls Ryan close. He waits until their breathing evens out.
"Who else would you want to fuck you?" It's not jealousy when he says it, it's curiosity. Ryan goes stiff, tense.
"Brendon, shut up."
"Spence? Would you beg for Spencer? Jon?"
Ryan gasps and then buries his face against Brendon's shoulder. "Stop, I don't want to –"
"Hey." Brendon pulls back, puts their foreheads together so it looks like Brendon has just one eye. A very serious eye. They've played every sort of game and Ryan's never told Brendon no, never wanted to. "I'm not. It's okay," Brendon runs his thumb along Ryan's cheekbone, into the dip of his cheek. "I'd like it."
Ryan's quiet, exhales. Waits in that heavy moment between them, feels like his heart is sliced open and Brendon is inside it. Not in a sweet way; painful, sharp every time he looks at Brendon. Only Brendon. "Me too."
Brendon strokes his hand over Ryan's shoulder, like a thousand times during any given day, only more. Kisses him, slides his hand down to cup Ryan's ass, squeezes, whispers. "Spencer would want you on your knees, want your mouth."
"I –"
"And Jon would fuck you, first."
Ryan shivers, and Brendon slips one finger, light, into his ass. "Fuck, Brendon."
"They could come, but not you. Not until I get to fuck you, okay? And they can't come inside you, only me. Promise." His hand's moving slow, delicate circles, and he's kissing Ryan along his jawline.
"This is, shit, oh fuck –"
Brendon stills, starts to pull away. "Promise, Ryan."
"I promise, I promise." And Brendon slips a second finger in.
-
"Took you long enough."
Ryan's gone still, and he jerks as if to stand up, but Brendon's got his hips pinned down firmly. He's used to this pressure, Brendon holding him down is normal but he's never wanted to escape as badly as he does right now.
"Sometimes other people want our attention, Brendon, we – " Spencer, and Ryan hears footsteps and then.
"Oh. Fuck." Jon.
Ryan twists and tries to move. His hands go to the blindfold, ready to rip it off. "Brendon."
"Shh, Ryan. Everything's fine. Spencer and Jon just want to help celebrate." Brendon reaches up and stills his hands, then pushes it off his eyes and cards his fingers through his hair. "See, just Spencer and Jon."
Jon stays by the wall, mouth open a bit, but Spencer walks over, kneels on the bed beside Ryan; Ryan, who's naked and hard and Spencer places his hand on Ryan's stomach and just looks at him.
Spencer and Ryan have spent practically every day together the last ten years of their lives, so at some point they really stopped talking. Not out of malice, or even lack of things to say, but necessity. Spencer and Ryan do a lot of their communicating through looks, or simple touches, so when Spencer cocks his head and smirks a little, Ryan's not at all surprised that Spencer kisses him.
Spencer's lips are chapped, and he bites like Ryan expected. After a moment he pulls back, smirks at Brendon and readjusts the tie over Ryan's eyes. "Happy Birthday."
-
"We need to practice more." Ryan was idly strumming his guitar, unplugged, while spread out across Spencer's bed.
"Eh, I need a new kick first."
"Get off your ass and get one."
"I get allowance on Friday, geez." Spencer stretched forward and turned on the Playstation before settling back against the mattress. "Let's play Bond."
Ryan set the guitar down, gently, and slid to the end of Spencer's bed and off, grabbing the second controller and jabbing at the start button. The game screen flickers on and Ryan starts scrolling through weapons.
"What are we doing tomorrow?" Spencer had the knife out, old fashioned, and he was already zig-zagging across the level.
"Dunno." Ryan's tongue was between his lips, concentrating. He always seemed to run into walls without meaning to.
"I mean, Tarah's thing or are you –"
"I dunno, man, my dad might not –" Ryan sighed, died, and hit restart. If anyone knew where to look, and Spencer did, they could still see the faint purple across Ryan's cheek.
"Cool. You know you can stay over. My mom likes feeding you."
"Yeah, I know."
They lapsed into silence except for the regular, plastic click of the controllers. They've played this level maybe eight times already this week, and Spencer should've known the layout by now but he's always surprised when he turns down hallways, forgetting. He should've also been able to kick Ryan's ass because Ryan was a lousy shot with a worse sense of video game direction than Spencer, but it was just not his day. Ryan won, throwing his hands up in the air, shouting "Eat it, bitch!"
Spencer shoved at Ryan's head and Ryan launched himself at Spencer, limbs gangly, twisting and pinching, laughing in Spencer's ear. They rolled around, tugging the controllers out of the system and slamming their shoulders hard into Spencer's bedposts.
Ryan might have been fast, slippery, but Spencer always beat him on sheer strength. He got Ryan under him, pinned hip to hip, grabbed a handful of skin and twisted.
"Ow, fuck!" Ryan's breath hitched and Spencer shifted and could feel, unmistakable, Ryan hard against his thigh.
They stayed like that for an awful moment, until Spencer thought, maybe, but then Ryan was struggling free and scrambling back to the television.
"Come on, I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself." Ryan's eyes were locked back on the screen and Spencer could pretend he didn't heave the quiver in Ryan's voice.
Spencer sat up, flushed. "Yeah, you just got lucky once."
-
Spencer's fingers play over Ryan's shoulder, tap out beats, and he's kissing Ryan slow, lazy. They're side by side, Spencer's shirt is gone and Brendon is whispering, hot, harsh, against Ryan's ear.
"He wants to fuck your mouth." Ryan moans, curls his fingertips in Spencer's waistband. "He told me, when I asked him, told me he thinks about it."
Spencer breaks away, bites at Ryan's neck, and Ryan sobs "please, please." Then, despite all the sensation, Ryan feels a delicate touch to his ankle, someone softly rubbing the bone there. Ryan twists, peeking out from under the insufficient blindfold, and sees Jon kneeling on the bed, jaw slack, eyes wide. Ryan can feel himself flush red. Redder.
"And Jon wants to fuck you."
Spencer moans at that, mouth hot on Ryan's neck, and Ryan arches up. Brendon pulls away, crawls to Jon at the end of the bed and takes Jon's hand, the one not already creeping up Ryan's shin, and sucks two fingers, sloppy, eyes locked. Brendon drags his lips along the underside, releases them with a faint pop.
"Fuck him hard, he'll scream."
-
"So, you're totally in the band fulltime now, but just so you know, Ryan and I fuck guys. Each other. Well, really I just fuck –"
"Spencer fucks guys too!" Ryan interjected, sitting up straight in his chair and away from Brendon.
"Hey!" Spencer threw a pillow at Ryan's head.
"We're just trying to be honest here, no projectiles, Christ." Brendon put his hands up, looking between Ryan and Spencer, who were having some sort of telepathic conversation that ended when Spencer huffed and sat back in his chair. "You cool, Jon?"
Jon just rolled his eyes. "I'm fine guys, I'm from Chicago," and he shook his head like that somehow explained everything.
"Okay," Ryan started. "So everything's cool, Decaydance is going to send over the contract just tell us if it –"
"Wait, hold up," Brendon scooted forward in his hair, elbows perched on his knees. "What about Jon-boy here?"
"Huh, what about me?" Jon was scratching the back of his neck, forehead wrinkled.
"As you are apparently joining the gayest band ever, where do you, er, fit in?"
Jon's eyebrows shot up, mouth a surprised little "oh." Spencer reached over a thwapped Brendon. "We are not the gayest band ever. Scissor Sisters, man."
"Pet Shop Boys." Ryan supplied.
"Fine, gayest band on Fueled By Ramen." Ryan kind of shrugged. "Decaydance?" Spencer wiggled his hand in the universal "sorta" gesture. Brendon threw his hands up.
"Shit, Jon, I'm just trying to ask do you fuck boys?"
"I've gotta say I love being in this band already. And no, not actually. I mean, in theory. I'm, well, flexible." Jon grinned and leaned back in his chair.
Brendon's eyes may have twinkled, or it may have just been the glare in his glasses, but there was no mistaking his tone.
"We can work with that."
-
They get him on his knees, Jon in his ass and Spencer down his throat. They're not working with him, with his body, but against it. One moment he's empty, aching for it, and the next he's impossibly full, stretched.
"You're so goddamn tight." Jon breathes, bent over Ryan's back, forehead on Ryan's shoulder blades. Spencer's got his fingertips to Ryan's temple, thumbs swiping down to catch the tears that streak Ryan's face.
"You love this." Spencer murmurs, no hint of questioning, and Ryan nods around a mouthful of dick and squeals when Jon's hips slam viciously.
Jon's breathing heavy. "I'm going to, going, fuck."
Ryan pulls off Spencer, panting, "Not inside, not inside."
Jon pulls out and Ryan feels it, hot splash against his back, Jon moaning his name in his ear. He rests his face against Spencer's thigh and starts, startled, when Jon slides away and he feels instead two fingers at the small of his back and then, rough, wet, inside him.
"Get Spencer off, Ross. I thought you were better than this." Brendon's perched beside him, pushing off the blindfold so he can see Spencer's cock for the first time, larger than Ryan ever realized, full and glistening thanks to him.
"Brendon." Spencer's tone is warning, but he's touching himself, slowly.
"Look, Ryan's a dirty slut who should be begging to suck you." Brendon's voice drops, his fingers curl. "Don't you want it? Don't you want him to fuck your mouth? Beg him."
"Please, please let me," Ryan whimpers, surges forward and laps at Spencer's dick, broad strokes, and even though he could take Spencer in his mouth he waits, wanting the force, wanting to be bruised.
"Jesus, he's so –"
"Isn't he, little slut." Brendon twists, adds a third finger as Spencer pushes past Ryan's lips.
Spencer's brutal, for all his supposed concern, doesn't stop when Ryan gags and Brendon's fingers still, just keeping him stretched.
"His face, Spence, he's so dirty."
"I know, I know, shit." Spencer pulls out and Ryan tries to follow, wants to taste it hot on his tongue, sobs when Brendon hooks an arm around his neck and holds him back. Spencer's hips twitch and he comes, hits Ryan's cheeks, then his mouth, then everywhere, up to his hairline, streaking down his face with the tears. Ryan's gasping at the lack of oxygen from Brendon's grip.
"You want to come, don't you?" Brendon rumbles, low. Ryan nods frantically, trying to flatten his hips to get friction against the cheap hotel comforter, but Brendon rolls him to the side.
"When Spencer fucks you. Wait, and then I'll – but get on your knees for Jon, okay baby?"
Jon's standing beside the bed, dick in hand, looking a little dazed. Brendon rolls Ryan down to the floor, pulls him up to his knees and then sits back. Ryan's shaky, so he braces his palms on Jon's thighs and looks up.
"Hey." Jon smiles, even blushes a little.
Ryan doesn't reply, he looks away and almost wishes for the blindfold again. Half of him wants to see this, all of this, but it makes him feel even more raw, even more worthless and horrible for wanting this so badly. He starts to nose at Jon's cock, his lips against his balls. He pulls back to the angle the head in his mouth and Brendon slaps his face sharply from behind.
"Ask nicely, Ry."
Ryan hangs his head, let's Jon's cock push against his cheek, still wet from Spencer. His back, too, sticky, and he feels dirty like he's never felt before, ass clenching, still wanting more. "Can I, please?"
Jon tilts his chin up, and Ryan can see he's got his eyes locked with Brendon behind him. He puts one thumb on the indentation of Ryan's chin and forces his mouth open, pushes in.
"You're so beautiful when you beg." Jon's gentle and Ryan worships his dick, purrs around him, until he feels Brendon shift away and Spencer slide in place, thrusting in without preamble and curling a hand around Ryan.
"You can come," he rasps. "I want to feel you."
Ryan fucks back, fucks himself hard, expects bruises from where he's slamming Spencer's hipbones. He comes between them, comes apart, sobbing and shaking on Spencer's dick, and Spencer doesn't falter, fucks him onto Jon just as hard even as Ryan's body goes limp. Jon pushes him back into Spencer's arms and jerks off onto his face before collapsing to his knees. Spencer pushes in hard one more time, then falls back onto his elbows, shifts onto his back, keeping Ryan perched above him with a steady hand around his waist.
"I need to get off, Ryan."
Spencer goes completely still and Ryan starts to collapse over, off balance, and then Brendon is there, holding his hands and helping him. They lock eyes and Brendon tilts his head, cocks an eyebrow. If Ryan can do this then Brendon will fuck him. Ryan needs Brendon to fuck him. Ryan starts to work his hips, crying out each time Spencer hits his prostate, body sore and exhausted. He starts to shake but doesn't stop moving, moaning. "Please, fuck, please come Spencer, please come."
It doesn't take long, not with Ryan's body still spasming. "Brendon, I'm going to –" And Brendon wraps his hands around Ryan, pulls him off and forward into his lap so Spencer comes against his own stomach, hissing.
Ryan's clinging to Brendon, shaking, and Brendon bites at his ear, whispers, "Clean him up," and takes one of Ryan's arms and twists it behind him, forcing him off his lap and onto Spencer. Another tug and Brendon's shoving Ryan's face into Spencer's stomach, holding him there against the wet skin. Ryan wails and Brendon just twists tighter.
"I said."
Ryan starts to lick, fast as he can, afraid of more punishment, of not getting fucked again. Spencer ruffles his hair and scratches the back of his neck.
"He could probably take two, couldn't he Spence?"
"He's so fucking tight, Brendon. I thought you two fucked like bunnies, how can he still be so –"
"But he'd take two, if we made him." Brendon, always a single-track mind, and Ryan licks, swallows, methodically, wanting Brendon inside.
"Well give me a second, I've already come twice."
Brendon lets go of Ryan's arm and Ryan collapses, boneless, against Spencer.
"Not tonight."
-
Ryan was sprawled out, book in hand, when Brendon slammed the door open with a flourish and walked into the front room, hands on his hips.
"I want cereal."
"So get it." Spencer and Jon were in the back, challenging each other to Indy Car Racing, and Ryan's bunk was too close to the wall, he could hear the stupid fake engines back there so he came out front for some peace and quiet. Which was pretty much a foreign concept anywhere within 50 feet of Brendon Urie.
"I think I will." Brendon rummaged in the cabinet and pulled out a dented red box, holding it over his head like he has won an Olympic medal.
They had been keep things pretty casual, no big discussions about What It All Means or real plans about anything. Brendon climbs into Ryan's bunk as often as the other way around, and they've always shared a hotel room from the beginning so that's never changed. Ryan has done things with Brendon he's never done with anyone else, ever, and he's pretty sure it's mutual but it's not like they've talked about it. They were just fucking, Ryan's fine with that, it's nice. Brendon's really fucking good at it. He's happy, he'll take this.
But somewhere in between Portland and Vancouver, while Brendon was hunched over a bowl of Fruity Pebbles with his glasses sliding down his nose and feet tucked up under him at the tiny little bus table that Ryan looked over and felt his gut twist. Brendon's got a green pebble stuck to his lip and his hood pulled up like it's cold or something, and he's swirling the milk around. Ryan knew he was trying to capture the perfect spoonful. Brendon's obsessed with shit like that, and Ryan knows it, and suddenly it means something more, and Ryan is so fucking stupid. Brendon finally noticed the errant pebbles, licked it off his lip and scratched his arm.
Ryan looked away, flushed, and thought, 'oh.' And then, more accurately, 'oh fuck.'
-
Brendon gets him onto his back and Ryan thinks finally, finally he's going to fuck him. Spencer and Jon settle at his side and Ryan's shaking, wanting, and Brendon leans in close. "Get yourself ready." Ryan gasps, reaches out but Brendon twists away, sits back on his knees. "Brendon, I'm, I'm ready, please."
"No." Brendon's tone is final, his eyes dark. "Fuck yourself."
Ryan looks to Spencer, Jon, anyone for help, but they're just staring at him, waiting. Ryan wonders just how much of this they knew about beforehand, how much Brendon planned. Ryan sobs, can't stop sobbing, but slides a hand down, winces as he pushes two fingers inside him. His eyes are screwed shut, but he knows they're all there, watching him.
It's so empty like this, the angle is all wrong, and Spencer's breath is tickling his ear, Brendon's thighs are brushing his shins and he'd give anything, anything for more contact.
"Don't be quiet, I know you like it." Brendon walks his fingers up Ryan's leg. He's so slight, almost gangly spread out like this, trembling.
"I'd like, I'd like."
"What, tell me."
Ryan twists his head back and forth on the pillow, trying to hold back, but Brendon just waits, and with every twist he can feel Spencer and Jon right there, their breath on his face, their eyes watching him. It's so difficult to not, and Ryan has to not know they're there right now. He can't be like this. "Fuck me, won't you. Please."
Brendon hums, shakes his head. Ryan's sliding his fingers in and out, hips moving in time. "Right here? With Spencer and Jon watching?"
"Fuck, Brendon."
"Haven't you gotten fucked enough tonight? You're that much of a slut, you want more?"
Ryan can hold back the tears, but he can't hold back the stuttering little moan, the soft whimpers. He's numb, he can't get off this way, but he won't stop moving his fingers because he knows. Still no one's really touching him, but he keeps shivering and shaking, thinking he feels Spencer touching his side or Jon ghosting over his nipples. But all he has is Brendon's fingers splayed at the junction of his leg to his torso, so close, but not. "Yes, fuck, I'm a slut, I'll take, anything, can't you."
Everything is crumbling, every last bit of what Ryan keeps bottled up inside, and Brendon leans over him, kisses him once, quick, and pulls Ryan's hand away to bury himself deep inside. Ryan's eyes shoot open, panicked, and it's a blur of faces looking down at him, too close. Spencer and Jon are touching him now, rubbing, everywhere.
"You still want more." Ryan nods, fresh tears welling up and sliding down his cheeks. Brendon pulls back, hikes his legs up and starts fucking into him.
Ryan does, even with Brendon filling him like this he still feels empty, incomplete, so when Spencer and Jon get to their knees Ryan reaches out and takes hold of them both, moaning and straining to reach, hungrily sucking on Spencer's cock before he turns his head to swallow Jon down. Back and forth, jostling with the force of Brendon's thrusts until Jon comes, first, followed by Spencer. Ryan licks his lips, feels it splash down his chin and neck and nothing has ever tasted better than this, than not knowing who's bitter on his tongue.
Brendon's kept him steady this whole time, strung out, and when Spencer and Jon move away it's just the two of them, Brendon in Ryan and that's all. No words, no tricks, just the rhythm they set together, rolling and angling, Ryan pushing back and begging silently, clearly.
Brendon leans close, closes his fist around Ryan's dick and murmurs, "Come, come on."
Ryan does, body twisting and arching, and the last thing he sees is Brendon's hair brushing over his forehead before he passes out.
-
Ryan yawns, rubs his face and is almost surprised not to find it sticky even though he remembers waking up to Brendon pressing a cool washcloth to him. "My singing's going to be so horrible today."
Ryan feels Brendon shrug. "No big diff."
"Asshole," Ryan rasps, and then coughs.
Brendon hums in response, tugs Ryan up closer so his lips are pressed against the shell of his ear.
"It was so hot , watching you take it, fucking you after them." Brendon darts his tongue out, fast. "You still begged for me, even after."
On stage, tonight, Ryan knows he'll remember with every step Jon's sure fingers inside him and Spencer's cock in his mouth. But mostly Brendon, Brendon's words, holding him there, always. They have to get up, still Ryan doesn't move, remembering. He feels the admission heavy on his tongue, but can't force it past his lips now. Not yet, too raw.
"Yeah," Ryan says, and it sounds like an admission anyway.
Brendon reaches down, finds Ryan's hand on his stomach and laces their finger together, bringing it up to kiss the wrist over the pulse. Ryan looks up, sees Brendon's admission in his eyes as clear as anything and can't look away.
YOU ARE READING
Kinky Ryden Smut Oneshots
FanfictionJust a bunch of smutty kinky oneshots found on live journal or written by myself. Enjoy
