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31 January 2010 @ 10:03 pm
[fic] well, I'm of consenting age (1/2)  
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9551
Warnings: Food porn? Does that count as a warning?
Disclaimer: Not true, sorry.
A/N: Much thanks and love to
[info]g_esquared for the awesome beta job (and inspiring me to Write Porn!). All residual mistakes are my own. Written for and originally submitted to

Ryan hates it when Brendon brings sweets onto the tour bus. In which Brendon decides to seduce Ryan through food, and how it all eventually ends up with them making out against the fridge, to Spencer's horror. Bonus cameos of uncomfortable!Patrick and pervy!Pete - this is pretty much a PWP, can you tell? Ignores timeline, The Break-Up and all semblance of significant plot points.

Ryan hates it when Brendon brings sweets onto the tour bus.

It's completely justified, he swears. Normal people buy packet candies, gummy worms or fruit pastilles. Small things that are clean and can be popped into mouths without making a fuss. Ryan has a thing for licorice, himself.

But no, Brendon has to make a production
of whatever he eats. Instead of eating gummy bears from the packet individually, he stretches them into misshapen blobs and then, for all intents and purposes, sucks them into his mouth. And keeps sucking. And sucking. How long does it even take that tiny lump to dissolve into sugar and empty calories, anyway? 

Brendon's record is like, five minutes. Five minutes

Not that Ryan is staring all that while, because he isn't. He just happens to glance over once or twice or seven times. Brendon's lips are slightly swollen, and look a lot like the gummy bears he is eating, all red and plump -

"Want one?" Brendon turns and offers, a gummy bear's head still peeking out from his mouth.

For a split second, Ryan imagines leaning close to sink his teeth into that offending bit, tugging it out from Brendon's mouth wetly. Brendon steps closer, outstretched hand still holding the proffered gummy, and Ryan jumps, flushes. "No, seriously, what are you, five?"

"If you're too old for sweets, you're too old for life, Ross." Brendon replies, shrugging easily. He resumes eating in that obnoxious manner, leaving Ryan to make a half-strangled noise and plug in his Sidekick to drown out the distracting sounds.


The next week, it's Oreos. Oreos, for fuck's sake. Ryan's pretty sure that he's going straight to hell - do not pass Go, do not collect $200 - for finding sexual innuendo in a product that uses ten-year-old triplets ballerinas for advertisement. Kids eat the stuff! Spencer's mom used to buy it by the carton for Spencer and him to eat during sleepovers, and yeah, there goes one of the few salvageable memories of his childhood.

He's pretty sure Brendon's not supposed to eat them like that, either, or else there would be Adult warnings stamped over all those Oreo advertisements that pop out whenever he surfs the Internet on his Sidekick.

"Brendon." Ryan says in a clipped tone.

Brendon looks up from where he's just dunked a dissected Oreo into milk, condensation filming the tall frosty glass. "Mm?"

"Can you -" Ryan begins, in a well-meaning attempt to stop Brendon from making all those noises before Ryan kills him. He tells himself firmly that the band needs Brendon; Brendon is their lead singer, they are contracted to produce another album - Spencer will kill him if Brendon disappears, even if Ryan makes sure his body is never, ever found because Spencer just knows, and Jon will just give him the confused look that asks sadly Why did you kill Brendon, Ryan? and no one wants to see Jon sad.

Then Brendon brings up his right hand and slips the half-Oreo, still dripping with milk, into his mouth, and Ryan stops. Watches Brendon bite down with a very satisfying crunch, corners of his mouth turning up. Follows the tiny drop of milk as it rolls from the corner of Brendon's mouth down his chin. Ryan makes a choked sound.

It's completely irrational to be jealous of an inanimate object, Ryan knows. He's making a valiant attempt, he is, but right now he can't think of anything he wants more than to put his tongue where the milk has gone, and thoroughly lick Brendon's lips clean where it's flaked with crumbs.

(Tissues, who needs tissues? Ryan has a perfectly functional tongue.)

"-  What were you saying, Ryan?" There's a glint in Brendon's eyes that Ryan doesn't see because well, he's too busy pretending he isn't staring at Brendon's shiny lips.
It's not his fault, Ryan thinks desperately. It's not Brendon. He's just - he's attracted to shiny things, that's all. Like a magpie. It doesn't mean anything, at all.

"Um -" Ryan coughs, and smooths a hand nervously over the fabric of his black skinny jeans, tighter now than in the morning when he had put it on. "You do know of the Chinese melamine scandal, right? If you eat too much of those, you can die from the high toxicity?"

Then Ryan runs away, because through his peripheral vision he can see that Brendon still has an entire roll of at least ten Oreos left, as well as the opened one he's currently eating from. Ryan doesn't have any issue admitting - at least to himself - that he's not strong enough for that. One, two, maybe, but not fifteen of those damned things.

Screw discretion; escape is the better part of valor.


Jon gives Ryan a bemused look when Ryan shoves an Oreo cookie at his face the next morning as he's reading the morning paper at the table and growls, with bleary eyes as though he hasn't slept the night before, "Eat this."

He takes it from Ryan, and then pops the entire thing in his mouth. Ryan stares expectantly as Jon chews happily. He's forgotten how good these things taste, regardless of the additives and concentrates. "Mm thanks, this is awesome. Where'd you get them, Ryan?"

Jon watches as Ryan starts frowning, and stands there as though he's waiting for something. "Ryan? Was that the last cookie or something? Did you want it?" Jon says cautiously. That doesn't make sense, considering Ryan's the one who gave it to him in the first place, but with Ryan, it's always safer to check, or risk a ten-hour sulk, and Spencer will kill Jon if Ryan gets into one of his moods right before a show, because it screws up his rhythm on stage.

Ryan just scowls harder, and mutters something that sounds like god I'm so fucked
, before stalking away. Jon stares after him for maybe a second before returning to his news. He'll never understand Ryan.

He looks up again when Brendon comes bounding in a few minutes later, saying mournfully, "Jon Walker, Jon Walker, someone stole my last Oreo. We have a shameless Oreo-thief in our midst. On this very bus


Ryan doesn't get it for a long while. Why Brendon's been acting so weird lately, fondling his food and making extravagant noises and yeah, Brendon's usually strange, but not this strange.

Then Brendon starts jerking off nightly. 

No one ever had the misconception that bunks were soundproof, and so they generally make an effort to be as quiet as possible - it's just basic tour bus courtesy, really. But Brendon gets into the habit of going to bed immediately after Ryan, crawling into his bunk with as much noise as possible (without waking Spencer or Jon). Then the unmistakable sound of fabric rustling and callused skin moving against warm, wet skin and the drawn-out gasp of the first, heated contact will drift down to Ryan's bunk, and Ryan is immediately, instantly hard, hands clenched into his sheets.

After that first night of listening to every single sound Brendon makes as he brings himself off, Ryan brings his Sidekick into bed every night, turning up the volume all the way to drown out the gasps and barely-muffled sounds coming overhead. But even if he closes his eyes really hard and focuses on the voice of Bob Dylan crooning babe I'm in the mood for you
, the hitch in Brendon's voice, the rough whine in his throat and the thump of his hips against the bed as he comes are still very audible, lingering in Ryan's bunk even as Brendon comes down from his high, still panting harshly.

Ryan fidgets fitfully long after Brendon's breath evens out into gentle snores, skin still overheated, hips desperately shifting for some friction, but Ryan refuses to jerk off to Brendon jerking off.

The past week suddenly becomes much clearer to Ryan.


Ryan can remember a time where he didn't want to have sex with Brendon. Not that he wants to have sex with Brendon now, because he doesn't, except when Brendon starts eating Hershey chocolate bars messily (because Brendon's non-musical talent is doing everything messily), but that's not Ryan's fault. He has it on good authority (LJ communities) that the entire world wants to do Brendon, so if Ryan occasionally feels an urge to do so, it's completely understandable.

He misses it a little, though. The easy camaraderie they used to have before all this tension materializes from nowhere. Back before they got signed, before rehearsals, if Brent and Spencer were late, they'd lay on the floor, head touching head at a thirty degree angle, picking out short strands of melodies on their guitars. Both of them would make up words to songs as they went along, singing at the top of their voices, often laughing themselves silly in the middle when Brendon's voice went dramatically high or when Ryan did his best rockstar impression.

Now it's hard to even go near Brendon without his body tightening in anticipation, without noticing the way Brendon's collarbone curves elegantly across his neck, without wanting to scrap his teeth over warm, soft skin.

The sexual tension is all very exciting, but sometimes Ryan just wants the old Brendon back. His Brendon. 


The day Zack lets them stopover at a convenience store is the day Ryan curses the idiot who discovered ice-cream in the first place. Yes, it's a excellent way to cool down in the heat of the Ohio summer, but no snack is worth the pained pleasure of watching Brendon attack his ice-cream cone, taking tiny licks off the top of the vanilla scoop with darting strokes of his pink tongue, before curling it around the base when the heat sent the ice-cream crumpling into thin white rivulets running down the cone and onto Brendon's hand like a child's crayon scrawl.

Ryan chokes slightly when Brendon wraps his mouth around the top and starts sucking gently with a slurping sound, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Then Brendon detaches his mouth, shiny and wet from the vanilla ice-cream, and Ryan thinks that if he kisses Brendon now, his mouth would be cold and impossibly sweet, and he wants to, oh god, how he wants to, in public, despite the guitar techs and backstage crew milling around.

Brendon brings his hand up to his mouth and starts taking care of the sticky trails of ice-cream on his hand, tongue tangling with his fingers and sucking them gently clean, and Ryan feels like he's melting under the sun like the ice-cream in Brendon's hand, because damn, that's hot and suddenly Ryan wonders how it would feel to have Brendon dripping ice-cream onto him, skin prickling under the cold, and then Brendon licking it off him like that, all slow and methodical, tongue firm against his skin, cleaning him up and fuck.

Zack looks at him oddly when Ryan dumps his half-eaten, half-melted popsicle into the trashcan and spends the last fifteen minutes of their rare break on the bus, lying on his bunk.


Somewhere between Texas and California, Ryan finds himself next to Brendon during a movie marathon night. The schedule for the next day is fairly empty, so when Brendon starts pleading to watch Harry Potter, they agree, even though Ryan says disgustedly, "Harry Potter, really, Brendon? Is it going to be The Powerpuff Girls next? How about Spongebob Squarepants?"

But he secretly wants to watch all the movies again too, despite the shameless commercialization of the franchise, and so they settle down. Spencer breaks out the last box of salty microwave popcorn, pouring sugar on their warm popcorn and pairing it with canned Cokes like they were underaged teens pretending at being adults all over again.

Ryan watches the first movie next to Spencer, exchanging familiar, almost wistful looks occasionally that said Do you remember back when we were still kids, because those days seem simultaneously so far away and yet exactly like the life Ryan's living now, just the things looking different from another angle. Then Jon leaves to use the toilet as first movie ends, and  Spencer gets up to put in the second movie.

Brendon scoots over to Ryan's side, pressing warmly up against Ryan, but Ryan feels too languid, mellow to remember the stange game Brendon is playing with him, and just laughs lowly, leaning back. Brendon sends him a soft smile and nudges Ryan with his shoulder, whispering, "Who's your favourite Hogwarts professor?"

Ryan is equally quiet as he replies, "Dumbledore." Brendon chuckles, loops his arm loosely through Ryan's, and says, "Me too. But only up till the third movie." Then Jon comes back, waving droplets of water onto them unapologetically ("Oh oops, sorry, should have dried my hands before I came out"), resulting in a brief scuffle, which Brendon eventually wins because he procures an effective weapon ("I have cushions, my friends, and I'm not afraid to use them").

They settle back after that as the second movie begins playing, Brendon a steady pressure against Ryan, Spencer on Ryan's other side, Jon's arm around holding the popcorn bucket in the center. Ryan breathes in the smell of Brendon, them, the bus, and a gentle warmth suffuses through his body. It's the most peaceful night he's had for a long while.


It doesn't last, though.

During a meet-and-greet session in Boston, a sweet, twenty-something brunette comes shyly up to their table and gives them a cake box. It is still warm, and they don't even have to open it to smell the rich chocolate wafting from it.

Brendon says, "Muffins, god, chocolate muffins" and pounces on them. The girl backs away a little, slightly terrified but also more than a little pleased, flushing with pleasure, and Spencer sends her a real smile of gratitude - not the plastic ones with the edge he gives to nosy reporters and crazy fans who ask them to please sign their unmentionables - even as Ryan slaps at Brendon's hands and scolds, "We're in fucking public, Brendon, can you act like you're a legally drinking adult?"

Jon says, "Hey, hey, less fighting, more signing?" The girl leaves, a smile still on her face and like, ten Facebook photos to pimp out on LJ communities because Brendon insists on posing with each of the muffins individually.

For everyone's sanity, Spencer makes them - well, Brendon, really - promise not to touch them until they get back on the bus.

He ignores Brendon's plaintive "But they'll be cold by then, Spencer, cold and hard, and it's a crime to leave warm muffins uneaten!"

Jon slides an arm around Brendon's shoulders consolingly and whispers, "We'll just power up the microwave, okay?"

"Fuck no, you will not. " Ryan may hate the fact that his ears are sharper than most when he's in clubs with throbbing music, or during nights when Brendon decides to um, let off some steam in his bunk, which is really not soundproof at all, but he wields it now with relish. Ryan wants a tour bus that doesn't smell of charred chairs and smoky curtains. "That thing's ancient. Remember the last time we tried to make popcorn for The Matrix's marathon?"

"That was one small explosion, and nothing even caught fire - you're so mean, Ryan Ross!" Brendon pouts, and impressively manages to keep it in place all the way back to the bus.

The moment he steps onto the bus, Brendon leaps into the kitchen and rips into the box, starting immediately on one particularly moist-looking one, with rainbow sprinkles decorating the top. Spencer and Jon take one each, and then move into the lounge because sometime over lunch earlier, Jon had casually told the table that no one in TAI or FOB has ever come close to topping his score at Halo 3, and Spencer had looked up to fix him with cool challenge in his eyes.

Ryan takes one too, because he very apparently doesn't learn that it's not wise to be around Brendon when he's having sweets, and he's going to kick himself later for it, but the muffins just look really good, and even Ryan Ross can't resist a perfectly baked, still-warm-in-his-hand, melted-chocolate-covered muffin.

For a few minutes, everything is comfortably silent in the kitchen except for soft chewing noises coming back both of them, the atmosphere relaxed, that of friends sharing good muffins together. Ryan relaxes in the warm presence of Brendon just around the table and the sweet aroma of baked goods on the table; it makes him think suddenly of home, a concept he's always associated with Spencer's mom offering him second and third helpings during dinner, the smell of home-cooked dishes. Lately with everything that's been going on with Brendon and him, he's been left with a constant thrum of tension, and just for a moment it's nice to let it all go.

Then an unmistakable moan comes from somewhere near Ryan, and instantly, the tension is back tenfold. Ryan twists around so fast his neck twinges in protest.

Brendon's eyes are nearly closed, teeth sinking into the fluffy center of the muffin, as he makes that soft noise of satisfaction again, and sends Ryan's heart tripping into overtime, nights of unfulfilled desire coalescing into a tight ball of want. Gooey chocolate coats Brendon's lips when he pulls away, eyes still half-closed in pleasure as his mouth moves.

Ryan can't tear his eyes away, half-eaten muffin forgotten in his right hand, even as the tiny part of his brain not arrested by the sight of Brendon enjoying his muffin pokes at him to stop staring because Brendon could open his eyes any moment.

Then Brendon does open his eyes and meets Ryan's gaze straight on, irises dark like the chocolate still on his lips. He smiles slowly, dangerously. "Have you gotten to the center yet? It's liquid chocolate, pure genius, seriously. I have no fucking idea how she did it." Ryan just stares as Brendon move around the table closer to him, and wraps a hand around his wrist, bringing Ryan's muffin up to his mouth. He meets no resistance whatsoever. 

"Bite." Brendon instructs softly, and Ryan compiles, eyes flying up to Brendon's when he hits something wet and sticky in the center of the muffin and he can't help the startled sound that comes out. Brendon keeps his gaze on Ryan, his hand hot around Ryan's wrist the entire time Ryan chews through his mouthful, throat suddenly dry as he swallows. Brendon brings up his hand again, this time to his own mouth, and they finish the muffin like that, Brendon's hand guiding Ryan's as he feeds both of them together, alternating the mouthfuls.

Ryan's pretty sure this isn't what bandmates do, feeding each other cake, even considering that Pete has assembled the gayest group of people under his label, but then neither do bandmates listen to each other jerk off at night either, and Ryan just can't bring himself to pull out of Brendon's heated grasp, can't bring himself to do anything but acquiesce to Brendon's smoldering eyes. Then it's down to the last bite, and Brendon brings Ryan's hand across to his mouth - like he's kissing the hand of a lady, Ryan thinks half-hysterically - and pops the remaining piece in, tongue just - just - darting out to push scorchingly against the tip of Ryan's index finger, eyes intense on Ryan's.

Ryan jerks back with a gasp, startled, harder than he's ever been. Ryan wants to run the fuck away right now and also press in tightly so the tantalizing promise of friction becomes reality, damn it, all at the same time, and his head's spinning so hard he thinks he'll fall if Brendon's not keeping a tight hold on him. Already, the heat emanating from Brendon is unbearable, and Ryan makes to back away, cool things down before this - whatever this is - actually happens, but Brendon tightens his grip on Ryan's hand. He brings his other hand up to Ryan's face and it hovers there a moment. Ryan tenses. 

He's looking anywhere but Brendon now, gaze skittering over the fridge and the table and the box of muffins lying innocuously in the center but the touch of Brendon's fingers hot on Ryan's lips still him instantly, and Ryan's eyes jerk back to Brendon. 

Who's not meeting Ryan's eyes but rather, staring straight at Ryan's mouth, eyes shading into charcoal, as he brushes his finger over the corner of Ryan's mouth, stroking briefly, once, twice before pressing in hard for a moment in a shock of pressure that has Ryan parting his lips instinctively and Brendon making a low noise, head moving forward as though he can't stand the distance any longer, inching down as Ryan waits, anticipation coiling painfully in his stomach -

But then Brendon stops and pulls back abruptly, dark, unreadable eyes coming up to meet Ryan's, and Ryan looks away quickly, nearly groaning in disappointment.
After a beat, Brendon brings up his hand - the hand that just touched Ryan's lips, Ryan's brain supplies helpfully - and sucks it into his mouth to clean it off, making a soft noise that goes straight to Ryan's cock, and Ryan hopes to hell that Brendon doesn't look down, because his jeans hide absolutely nothing.

Ryan stares, transfixed for a moment, before he realizes Brendon's saying something.

" - chocolate on your mouth." Brendon says in an even tone, as though the past ten minutes did not happen. Ryan just nods, faintly. His mouth is tingling all over, and Ryan wonders briefly if it isn't something in the muffins (aphrodisiac-laced food from fans is not unheard of), before he remembers the Oreos and the gummy bears and the multitude of candies before that and that's when Ryan gets it.

Ryan is fucked. So, so fucked and Ryan spends the next minute freaking out so much over the realization that he doesn't notice Brendon's not all that steady either when he walks out of the kitchen, leaving Ryan collapsed hard and aching against the kitchen table.


Ryan stomps into the lounge a few hours later. Jon's collapsed over some cushions in the corner, controller still clutched in hand, making pitiful noises into the giant blue pillow. The plasma TV screen proclaims, NEW HIGH SCORE and Spencer is wearing smugness like aftershave.

Ryan feels vaguely sorry for Jon, because he should have warned him that Spencer's a fucking savant
at electronic games, but he has troubles of his own to contend with now.

"Spencer. Spencer." Ryan settles down next to Spencer. "I'm so fucked."

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "In what sense?"

Ryan throws a wary look at Jon's prone form a few feet away, and then starts rambling in a low voice. "It's not my fault, I swear, I'm just minding my own business in the band and on the bus and all, and then for some reason, Brendon fucking comes along with all his sweets and candies and his come-hither eyes and sticky lips -" Spencer's eyes go comically round at this. "- and I have to listen to him jerk off in the bunks fucking every night
! I'm weak, Spence, I am, we still need to spend what, at least another year together for the third album and fucking hell, he fed me cake and then licked my finger - so you tell me, what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

Towards the end, Spencer starts laughing so hard he loses his balance and falls off the sofa. Ryan glares huffily at him. Hello, crisis here?

"Get back at him."

Both Spencer and Ryan spin around to stare at Jon. Jon lifts his head blearily up at them and repeats it, slightly louder. "Get back at him."

"How?" Ryan asks, after a moment.

"I'll tell you how." There's a scary glint in Jon's eyes. "Brendon owes me for those nightly jerk-off sessions too. There are some things even Radiohead at maximum volume can't cover, okay."

Ryan makes a mental note never to cross Jon. Jon may seem a giant cuddly panda most of the time, but he can be fucking terrifying
when he wants to be.

"But no - and by no, I mean never the fuck no
- making out in the bunks when we're there, okay?" Jon fixes a hard stare at Ryan, and he nods hurriedly, ignoring the low twist of heat in his stomach at the thought of making out with Brendon.