Log in

31 January 2010 @ 10:01 pm
[fic] well, I'm of consenting age (2/2)  
Part 1

Operation: Get Back At Brendon is on.

After Ryan explains the entire situation to them (with a lot of cringing and embarrassment on the part of Ryan, and laughing, on the parts of Spencer and Jon, who was polite enough to only quirk his mouth amusedly, unlike Spencer, who had no compunctions about guffawing loudly), they decide that it'll only be fitting if Ryan gets back at Brendon using the same tactic.

That very day, they stop the bus by a cake shop (Jon distracts Brendon by offering to snuggle with him on the couch and watch Die Hard 4.0
, something Brendon has wanted to do since forever but has been vetoed countless times because no one wants to be responsible for Brendon when he attempts a stunt and jumps off the bus onto two inches of asphalt) and order a giant confection of a cake, a huge three pound chocolate-cream-and-coffee cake with fruits weighting down the icing on top and white chocolate bits scattered all around like snowflakes. They arrange to have it delivered to the hotel they'll be staying in two days later.

After they return to the bus, job accomplished, wearing matching pleased grins, they lounge around the bus radiating satisfaction, which also has the added bonus of making Brendon incredibly suspicious.


That night, Ryan is ready for Brendon. He goes to bed early, Sidekick tucked away under his pillow, and waits for Brendon to come in. Ryan's already hard and aching, his free hand curled against his thigh, hand against his thigh, knuckles just brushing his erection teasingly.

Ryan waits, stomach tense and roiling as Brendon slips down his pants, the rustle of bedsheets intimately familiar. Ryan knows the exact moment Brendon's hand wraps around his cock because he makes this tiny whine that instantly sends Ryan's blood rushing down to already-full cock, so he's surprised when it doesn't come when he expects it, instead only silence meeting him, even though Ryan can swear Brendon's half-naked right now.

The image of Brendon just lying up there, cock flushed and bared to the cool air, turns Ryan on so much that he shifts, hands itching to touch himself but he's determined to wait, wait until Brendon starts first, and what the fuck is Brendon doing up there anyway?

"Ryan." Comes a quiet whisper from Brendon's bunk and Ryan startles in his bed, body twitching on the sound of his name on Brendon's rough voice. He's already leaking, a sticky and wet mess between his thighs and Ryan presses the heel of his hand against the bulge even as the other one goes up to his mouth to muffle any sound.

There's a moment of tense silence, as though Brendon's waiting for something, and Ryan waits with him, heart fluttering rapidly even as he prays please don't let Spencer and Jon wake up please don't. Then Brendon begins to move, the bunk creaking as Brendon takes himself in hand and starts stroking himself off, not even bothering to keep it quiet this time, groans and gasps spilling out of his mouth that segue smoothly into a litany of muttered curses fuck and god and oh as he thrusts into his hand.

Ryan feverishly pulls his pants down, wraps his hand around himself and starts matching Brendon breath for breath, stroke for stroke, hips rolling up to meet the glorious friction of his hand, slick with saliva and sweat. He thinks of Brendon above in his bunk, doing the same exact thing, barely feet away and if Ryan gets out of his bunk and climbs out, they could do it together, and Ryan's breath stutters loudly on that thought. He knows Brendon must be able to hear him loud and clear, the desire and need roiling in him, but he can't bring himself to care at the moment, Brendon's moans wrapping around him like sultry notes of a siren's song, fingers stroking down himself expertly. Brendon's noises are getting noisier, more erratic, and Ryan pictures Brendon, hips pushing into his hand, torso arching, mouth open and hair slicked with sweat, imagines himself up there with him, jerking both of them off, hot sticky skin sliding in a smoky dance of sex, mouths slick and open around curses and each other's names -

"Ryan -" Brendon hisses out, voice breaking on the second syllable and just like that, Ryan's gone, back arching up in an ungraceful bridge as he spills himself into his hand, entire body shaking, the most intense jerk-off session he can remember having in a long time.

When he comes down from his post-orgasmic high, Ryan feels the silence wrap uneasily around him. The room is suddenly still and quiet except for their matching harsh breaths, and Ryan shivers as the cold air raise goosebumps up his bared skin. He wants to reply, to say Brendon in the same tone Brendon just said his name, want to crawl up there and drift off to sleep against a warm body, but he doesn't.

Instead, he listens to Brendon relax slowly as he recovers, waiting for something from Ryan that never comes before finally slipping resignedly into the regular breathing pattern of the asleep. Ryan eventually falls asleep too, sweat still cooling clammily on his skin.


In the other bunk, Spencer releases a breath and turns off his Sidekick. Despite watching their impending collision over the past weeks, he had not expected that, and he wonders if Ryan knows what he's doing.

He doesn't think Ryan sees the way Brendon looks at him sometimes, like he's everything Brendon wants, sunshine and butterflies and sugar and spice all in one pale, boy-shaped package lined with wistfulness, because Brendon doesn't think Ryan'll ever look at him as more than Brendon his hyperactive band mate and best friend, nor is Ryan aware of the moments when he returns those looks either, and he wonders how two people can spend so much time with each other and still be so oblivious.

Then again, Brendon doesn't notice the awed, almost-yearning looks Ryan sometimes slant at him for brief moments, on stage in the bridge of But It's Better If You Do and when they're just chilling out on the sofa sometimes, so Spencer supposes they're quits.


Nobody mentions the incident in the morning.

Spencer watches as Brendon climbs sleepily out of his bunk, front of his pants suspiciously wrinkled (Spencer thinks that was Brendon's last pair, and is grateful that they are driving to the hotel later, where they can finally do some laundry), and walks to the bathroom just as the door flings open and Ryan comes out, wearing jeans and a towel slung over his shoulders. They stare at each other, transfixed for a moment before they seem to come to their senses; Ryan mumbles something, ducks his head and moves quickly away, while Brendon takes a hasty step back and looks on as Ryan leaves with a strange, wistful expression.

Spencer sighs, hoping the plan Jon and him devised works, because this amount of awkward is simply too much to handle this early in the morning, and no two persons can be this stupid, seriously.

He pulls Ryan aside after that. "Ryan. Do you know what Brendon means to you?"

Ryan looks as though he's been blindslided. "No," he admits. "No, I don't. Spencer, I don't know what the fuck we're doing now, honestly."

"Okay." Spencer allows. He is expecting that. "But do you know what you mean to Brendon?"

Spencer takes one look at the resounding no on Ryan's face and knows he has his answer.

"I - I haven't thought about it." Ryan says, finally.


At the hotel, Ryan grabs a key nervously, and watches as Spencer pulls Jon after him, holding the other one. Brendon shuffles his feet, and asks, "Can we go up now? I feel like a mudskipper, seriously. I need a shower."

Ryan nods. Their suite has two queen-sized beds; they're the first thing that greets them when they walk in. Brendon doesn't say anything, just dumps his duffel bag - clothes sorted into two piles, wearable and to burn - on one bed, and walks into the bathroom. Ryan's so tired that he falls asleep on top of the duvet, shoes and jeans on.

Nothing happens that night. When Ryan wakes up in the middle of the night, Brendon's curled up on his bed, sleeping soundly. Ryan gets up and goes to the bathroom; his mouth feels like something had died in it.

It's not until he's walking back to his bed that he realizes his shoes have been taken off, and his residual stage make-up as well as the gel in his hair carefully removed. Ryan lays awake for a long, long time, thinking, before he falls asleep facing Brendon's sleeping self on the other bed.


The cake comes early the next morning. They were all up in Ryan's and Brendon's suite, going over prepared answers to interview questions for later when the buzzer rings. Spencer pulls Ryan to one side as Jon opens the door and welcomes the cake delivery man, and asks, seriously, "Do you know what you're doing?"

Ryan has no fucking idea
what he's doing, but then Brendon comes charging out of the bathroom, where he was in the middle of his morning ablutions, saying "What's that, oh my god, is that for me", wrapped only in a towel. Ryan's instantly hit by a sharp wave of want, the lingering warmth in his stomach that's never really faded since the muffin incident flaring up into a burning coil of desire and urgency.

It's entirely unfamiliar from the slow spread of affection he used to feel for Brendon; this is far hotter, more urgent, but no less permanent. This realization surprises Ryan for a moment, because for all his past fixation on Brendon, he hasn't actually thought about it in a long-term fashion beyond sex right now yet. Looking over at Brendon, the thought that this could be more than just sex sends a strange sensation running through Ryan.

Spencer follows his gaze over to Brendon, and then chuckles ruefully. "Alright then." He grins. "I'll go, uh, run some errands with Jon right about now. " Spencer takes a few steps towards the door before turning back and asking, "Asking you this somehow taints every childhood memory I have of you as a little boy, but - you are prepared, right?"

Ryan spins back from staring at Brendon to hiss at Spencer, "We are not talking about this, Spence!"

"If you're old enough to do it, you're old enough to say it, Ryan." Spencer's grin widens. He's obviously enjoying himself at Ryan's expense. Ryan has lousy friends, seriously. He should really, really exchange Spencer for someone nice. Like Jon. Jon is sweet, and cuddly, and will always let Ryan win at Guitar Hero when Ryan's upset, without making it seem as though he was doing it on purpose.

The delivery man leaves the package on the mantel in the hallway, giving the room and them awestruck looks before walking back to the door. He says a few words in Jon's ear that has Jon flushing all the way down to his neck, and Ryan looks interestedly on as Jon shakes his head firmly. The delivery man shrugs, and leaves. Jon closes the door behind him, and turns around, face still slightly pink. He carries the cake box - carefully wrapped in brown paper and tied with pink raffia - over to the couch. It's big, and Ryan feels weird just looking at it, knowing what he has to do with it.

Brendon giggles suddenly. "Was that man coming on to you, Jon?"

Jon glares at him. "No." The tips of Jon's ears are pink now. "No. He - he just gave me his phone number and told me to call him, that's all."

"Yeah, no, that's not coming on to you at all." Ryan agrees.

Jon gives Ryan a distinctly unimpressed look, before turning to Spencer, saying casually, "Spencer. Remember that thing we had to do?"

Spencer looks confused. "The thing?"

"You know, the thing. That we have to do. Now."

"Oh. Yes. The thing." Spencer nods vigorously, barely stifling a bark of laughter.

Brendon chimes in with a, "What thing?"

Ryan says hurriedly, "Nothing!" At Brendon's unimpressed look, he clarifies, "It's a, um, Jon and Spencer thing. So they're just going to go off now." Ryan gives them a meaningful look.

"Can I -"

"No, you can't go with them." Ryan preempts. "You're, uh, not dressed for it."

Before any of them can say anything else to further prolong this farcical scene, Ryan opens the door and pushes Spencer and Jon out. He really, really wishes he is leaving with them, but then Spencer mouths Good luck and Jon says Use protection! and Ryan rolls his eyes and closes the door in their faces.

Brendon turns back to Ryan, still half-confused but amused. He grins, "So, who's going to tell Cassie about that little incident?" Brendon's still half-naked, and Ryan is trying very hard not to stare at that pale expanse of skin on display, still damp from the shower.

"Um." His voice comes out harsh, wrong. Ryan has a sinking feeling that things are going terribly off-path. "You should - you should go and get changed before you catch a chill."

"Oh." Brendon looks down at himself and pinks slightly, but remains silent for a moment, before moving - in the wrong direction, towards Ryan. Ryan starts panicking and takes a hasty step back. He's just not ready, not yet. This - this feels like a huge step.

Brendon stops. Sighs. "Ryan."

Ryan waits. He's half-hard; Brendon sounds the way he did the night before, whispering his name as he climaxed. Ryan wants to move in closer and touch Brendon, but out of the corner of his eyes, Ryan catches sight of the cake and decides that he has to finish what Brendon has started properly.

Then Brendon starts talking. "Look, I know I've been - acting a little weird during the past few weeks, and I'm sorry if - if I've made you uncomfortable." Brendon looks resigned, determined to get this over and done with. Ryan desperately wishes that Brendon will shut up about now but the words keep coming, falling into the empty distance between them with dull thuds. "It was - I just wanted to -" Brendon makes a low noise of frustration, and even that gets Ryan's pulse skipping faster, but he barely registers the feeling over the pounding echo of no no no in his head. "- I can't explain it, but, but I'll stop, okay? I'll stop now. I won't let this - go any further."

Brendon finishes, and takes a step forward as if to touch Ryan, but thinks better of it, and turns to walk into the bathroom. The door closes behind him with a click.

Ryan stares after Brendon in shock. This is definitely not supposed to happen, what the fuck. First Brendon starts this whole food-seduction thing without even telling Ryan, and confuses the hell out of him, and when Ryan finally gets it, he's all, Oh, let's stop this now? No fucking way. He won't let Brendon do this. He can't.

When Brendon comes out of the bathroom, though, he dodges all of Ryan's increasingly transparent attempts to get him on the sofa, pleading a headache before slipping away into his room, eyes downcast.

After staring at the closed door with an impending sense of dismay, Ryan sinks back down the sofa, the cake box still unopened in front of him. This isn't how it is supposed to happen, Ryan thinks.

Spencer and Jon return, arms full of plastic bags, bickering furiously ("You wanted to get the ugly hat, even after I expressly told you it was ugly!" "You said it gave my face character!"), to find him still in that same position.


The next few days drive Ryan crazy.

They eat the cake - now grimly ostentatious in its grandeur - for breakfast, Brendon being as quiet and normal as possible about it while Ryan looks everywhere but him, and Spencer and Jon exchanging looks that they think Ryan can't see.

He's not - depressed or anything. He just - he feels like Brendon's put up this wall around him, and there's nothing coming from the other side. All Ryan's getting now is static, and the silence is unnerving, frustrating after the past few weeks of intimate contact. Ryan walks around half-hard most of the time, and even though Brendon keeps to his word and stops his decadent displays with food, Ryan still can't stay around Brendon when he's eating (or singing or brushing his teeth or just sitting on the sofa alone, damn it), and has to mumble out some highly implausible excuse to leave whenever Brendon enters a room, ignoring Brendon's confused, almost hurt looks.

Just one look at Brendon's mouth as it wraps innocently around his straw gets Ryan straight from vaguely uncomfortable in his jeans to achingly hard and seeking release in point two seconds. It'll be hilarious if it isn't killing Ryan.

It's not just that, though. Ryan misses Brendon, okay, Brendon with his stupid, gorgeous mouth and silly grins and hyperactive jumping instead of walking to places like normal people. He misses sitting next to Brendon on the sofa, leaning slightly in, breathing in the inexplicable peace that Brendon somehow exudes in spite of his constant motion. He wants to go back to what they used to be like before this came between them.


Ryan calls Pete up the next day, on an impulse. When it gets through, he starts babbling. "Brendon has like, this thing for me and I think I may like him back that way too and he was trying to seduce me with food and fingers and sucking the past few weeks but now he's stopped and we aren't talking now and Spencer keeps sending me dark, fucking-fix-this looks and I don't know what the fuck to do!"

"Uh." Patrick pauses, discomfort vibes blaring loudly over the phone. "So, I'm just going to pass the phone to Pete, and then I'm going to walk into a wall a couple of times to forget that the past minute ever happened, okay?"

Pete tells Ryan to talk to Brendon.

(Well, actually Pete's exact words were Envelop him in your warm embrace, Ryro, and declare your undying! devotion to him before you two have wild, unrestrained sex in front of the web cam I gave Brendon for Christmas - quick, while Patrick's in the other room, but Ryan is good at distilling the relevant point from Pete's meandering words, and ignoring the rest.)


Touring resumes. Ryan didn't think it was possible for two people living on the same bus - it's what, less than a hundred square feet - to never get a moment alone together, but after the fifth time Brendon manages to find some excuse to run away from him, Ryan decides to take matters into his own hands.

He times it carefully to catch Brendon just before his three o'clock snack time, shoving Jon and Spencer off the bus in the direction of The Academy at two fifty before setting the table with a large plate and the leftover cake (a decent-sized chunk still present despite three consecutive days of having it for breakfast). Everything goes perfectly as planned, and Brendon comes into the kitchen just as Ryan's sinking his teeth into a large slice of cake.

He moans around it at the exact moment Brendon stops short. Brendon looks slightly stunned, eyes darting from the cake to Ryan before he takes a step back. "Uh -"

Ryan bites the piece off, and lowers his hand. He's acutely aware of the large dollop of whipped cream smeared over his lips, partly because it's cold, and Ryan had pushed his cake deliberately against his lips, slanting up to get much as possible onto his mouth, and also because Brendon's staring mesmerizedly at it, lips parting unconsciously.

"Want some?" Ryan offers, voice husky. The tip of his tongue slips out to slide across his bottom lip, creamy sweetness filling his mouth.

Brendon's eyes are dark, tension running through his body. When he doesn't move, Ryan gets up from the chair, and stalks forward. Quite honestly, he's sick of this - whatever it is they were doing, and god, he's going to do something about it now. Ryan thinks he's already spent too long waiting; it's his turn to go after what he wants, and he refuses to be scared and insecure about Brendon.

Brendon's just Brendon; Ryan doesn't have to anything more than what he is, doesn't have to be ready.

Brendon stays still as Ryan moves closer, cake in hand. His eyes track Ryan's movement warily, breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, before he meets Ryan's eyes.

"Déjà vu, Brendon?" Ryan's smile is sharp. In a swift move, he swipes the chunk of cake hard over Brendon's mouth, leaving smears everywhere, cheek, chin, lips. Brendon's eyes go impossibly wide, hand coming up instinctively to wipe himself clean but Ryan clamps a hand hard over Brendon's wrist to stop him. This close, Ryan can see Brendon's eyes, nearly black with desire, heat radiating off him. Brendon is tense under his hand, body braced as if to escape any moment, and Ryan tightens his hand, pulling Brendon in closer so that the fabric of their clothes brushes.

Ryan gives Brendon a tiny smirk before dropping his eyes to Brendon's mouth, stick with cake, feeling Brendon shudder under his gaze, before bringing his own fingers up, messy with sponge cake and coffee-streaks of cream, into his own mouth. Brendon's pupils blow wide at that, dropping down helplessly to stare at Ryan's slick lips as it moves up and down his own fingers, sucking them clean slowly.
Then Ryan's pulling his fingers free with a soft pop, leaning forward until his lips are brushing over Brendon's face, starting from his right cheek downwards, tasting coffee and whipped cream and the salt of Brendon's skin, teasing out a heavy gasp from Brendon as Ryan starts licking at the sticky spots on Brendon's face. He pushes in closer, letting out a moan when his hips meet the bulge in Brendon's jeans, and Brendon can't help but push back, making a broken, answering noise. Ryan follows the heat blindly, trailing down to the corner of Ryan's lips and Brendon tastes impossibly sweet, the mocha mixing with the heady taste of Brendon, and Ryan can't get enough, sliding the tip of his tongue out against Brendon's lips repeatdly, tracing the outline hotly before pulling back just as Brendon arches desperately forward for more contact.

"There's still more -" Ryan gets out, before he's dipping his head down again to set his mouth firmly on Brendon's other cheek, barely brushing the edge of Brendon's mouth, wrenching out a whimper from him before Brendon's free arm comes up suddenly against Ryan's back and presses him in closer, aligning their hips so that their cocks rub against each other in a delicious slide of friction, that has Ryan bucking his hips forward, mouth opening around a shocked oh.

Then Ryan's fully into Brendon's space, twice as hard, mouth crashing unerringly down onto Brendon's, tongue pressing boldly in, all thoughts of teasing Brendon flying out of his head. Brendon responds fiercely, pushing back against Ryan every bit as hard and biting down harshly on Ryan's bottom lip before dragging his tongue over it in an aggressively intimate caress that sends a shudder through Ryan's body.
Ryan tangles a hand into Brendon's hair and follows the trail of sweat down Brendon's throat, impossibly turned out by the length of smooth skin. He waits a moment, giving Brendon's neck tiny, almost-gentle licks before he bites down mercilessly, blood rushing down into his hard-on as Brendon's breath catches and his hips thrust upward against Ryan's harder than before, sending a dizzying thrill of excitement through Ryan.

Without warning, Brendon slides a hand hotly down Ryan's back, tracing over his spine to cup Ryan's ass, pushing them even more firmly against each other, and Ryan grinds down tightly on Brendon because fuck, he needs more friction right now, and somewhere at the back of his mind, Ryan knows they really shouldn't be doing this here where Jon and Spencer and any of the techs can come in and see them any moment, but Brendon is making a series of soft whimpering noises that's going straight to Ryan's groin, and he can't bring himself to let go of Brendon, not even if the bus suddenly disintegrated and they found themselves in the middle of a crowd of people.

"Ryan, Ryan, oh fuck -" Brendon chokes out, hips thrusting furiously against Ryan's, and it sounds exactly like the noises Brendon makes in bed at night when he strokes himself off, and the thought of Ryan being the one to do this to Brendon, the one to make Brendon lose all composure and control sends a jolt of heat through Ryan, and he shudders.

"Brendon, can you, please -" Ryan wants skin right now, his other hand coming up to tug at Brendon's shirt, but he can't do more than fumble ineffectually at it, all the while attacking Brendon's mouth, and he makes a frustrated noise in his throat as Brendon's shirt hitches up slightly so Ryan can brush his fingertips against a smooth strip of skin, making Brendon hiss in pleasure, but it's not nearly enough contact for Ryan, and he mouths urgently at Brendon's neck, murmuring incoherently, "- shirt, I want skin, please, Brendon -"

Brendon pulls back slightly, staring down at Ryan with a glazed look in his eyes, face flushed, before bringing unsteady hands up to start unbuttoning his shirt, and who the fuck wears shirts with thousands of tiny buttons up the front, seriously, because every second Brendon makes Ryan waits, his cock throbs painfully against his zipper, and he wants.
After a few infuriating seconds, Ryan growls in frustration and he pounces on Brendon, pushing him back against the fridge; when the first two buttons come undone and a small triangle of skin is revealed, Ryan presses his mouth greedily against the heated skin exposed, feeling Brendon's chest rise and fall shakily, hands coming up to slide under Ryan's shirt. Ryan arches against the feel of Brendon's hands hot on his back, and tilts his face blindly up into Brendon, and Brendon eagerly complies with the implicit command by closing his mouth tightly over Ryan's again, sweeping his tongue across the top of Ryan's mouth, licking Ryan like he's Brendon's favourite candy, and that thought sends fire sparking through Ryan's veins, dragging a long groan out of Ryan.

Then Brendon moves his hands around to grope at Ryan's ass briefly, before coming around to the front and brushing teasingly across the bulge in Ryan's jeans. Ryan's heart stops at the contact; Brendon's eyes are dilated with desire, his hand fumbling down to Ryan's zipper, running his fingers up and down teasingly - pulling out a whine from Ryan's throat as he collapses against Brendon, hips stuttering - before undoing Ryan's jeans, tugging down Ryan's boxes at the same time, and presses two fingers hard against the soft skin of Ryan's belly.
Ryan cries out at the contact, murmuring please please please against Brendon's throat, feeling the corners of his mouth lift up in brief amusement before Brendon rubs once, twice across Ryan's head, surprisingly gently. He pulls down Ryan's boxers and jeans quickly and wraps his hand around Ryan's leaking cock in one vicious move.

Ryan jerks against Brendon, and gasps for breath, body too weak under the onslaught of pleasure to do much more than push his hips blindly into Brendon's hands, tiny delicious shivers running up Ryan's body. Brendon strokes up Ryan firmly, rhythm marching in time to their collective pants, Brendon thrusting his cock against Ryan's hip as he strokes. Ryan's close, he can feel it, was close ever since he smeared cake onto Brendon's face, feeling heat and skin against the pads of his fingertips, warm pleasure flooding urgently through his body, pressure building low in his stomach -

Then Brendon does this little twist thing, fingers slipping around the sensitive head of Ryan's cock, sending waves of red-hot pleasure rushing through Ryan and Ryan's hips stutter hard against Brendon, voice breaking on a harsh, needy sound because god that felt good, and Ryan wonders if this is what Brendon does to himself all those nights alone in their bunks, hand moving expertly, fast, over his own cock, long fingers sliding, slippery with saliva and come and sweat, the other hand slipping further down to press against his hole, just the tip of a finger dipping in, if just that touch is enough to send Brendon tumbling over the edge, imagines himself doing that to Brendon -
"Fuck." Ryan explodes with a hoarse cry all over Brendon's hand, closing his eyes so tightly he sees stars.

Brendon strokes Ryan through his climax, murmuring low, dirty words into Ryan's ears, thrusting urgently against Ryan, rushing towards the end. Ryan shivers, aftershocks running through his body, and half-turns, catching Brendon's half-crazed eyes, and whispers, "Brendon", that small flutter of a word pushing Brendon over. Brendon comes hard with a low, strangled groan, a burst of warmth against Ryan's hip, before his forehead falls forward into the sweaty cradle of Ryan's shoulder and neck, arms still loosely looped around Ryan's waist. The musky smell of sweat permeates the kitchen; through exhausted eyes, Ryan spots some cream still left in Brendon's hair, and thinks suddenly, Spencer's going to kill us.

As though Brendon hears exactly what Ryan is thinking, Brendon mumbles, "You know Spencer's going to kill us, right?" His thumb strokes hypnotizingly across Ryan's right hipbone, where it juts out from Ryan's undone jeans. Ryan shivers.

"I think it was worth it." He replies. Brendon snuffles out a breath against his ear, and starts singing softly I wanna live a life from a new perspective, you came along because I love your face. It tickles, but Ryan doesn't shift away.


"Two hours, Ryan. I leave you for two hours, and you defile the Dining Room. The Place Where We Eat." Spencer glares at Ryan where's he's pacing, daring him to ignore his Capital Letters. He only breaks them out when he's really, fucking, can-disembowel-you-with-a-blunt-knife pissed. They're in the living room, dragged there after Jon and Spencer came back just as Ryan and Brendon were starting to get dressed, which resulted in Spencer shrieking in a high-pitched voice and backing away, hands held over eyes.

Jon leered at them comically, before going to calm Spencer down.

Slumped against Brendon, head tucked against his shoulder, with about four more hours of afterglow left, Ryan can't bring himself to be particularly bothered, though. "We mopped the floor after that! Twice!"

Brendon just laughs, chest rumbling against Ryan's back. Spencer sends him a disgruntled look, and says something under his breath, before stomping away.

Jon looks at them warmly, more than a little amusement evident on his face. "I suppose we should be grateful you guys only used the fridge, and not the table."

Brendon and Ryan exchange looks. When Spencer and Jon walked in on them getting dressed, they were actually getting dressed again. "Well -" Brendon begins, sheepishly.



Seriously, Spencer thinks grumpily, if Spencer had realized that helping Ryan and Brendon get together would have resulted in very public sex in public places, he never would have agreed in the first place. Ryan and Brendon are adorable together, though; Spencer sees them cuddling on the sofa, heads tilted towards each other, laughing faces impossibly young and happy, and he's relieved, glad for them.

The happiness doesn't extend to relaxing the No Sex rule in their bunks, though. Spencer's soft-hearted, not stupid.