(no subject)
Master Post
"So," Brendon says, as they're watching Marion down shots in a bar in Siberia. "I hear that sometimes going to drive-in movies involves making out."
"Oh yeah?" Z says, raising an eyebrow at him and grinning. "You've heard that, huh?"
"Just a thought," Brendon says innocently.
Z leans forward, brushing her mouth against the curve of Brendon's jaw. Brendon makes a soft noise, tilting his head to give her better access. Z smiles into his skin, and then pulls away. "There," Z says. "Now watch the movie."
"I can't," Brendon says. "Too distracted now."
"Sucks to be you," Z agrees, and then she's laughing as Brendon turns around and gently tackles her. He noses at the curve of her neck, pressing his mouth into the same spot, just underneath her ear.
"The movie," Z points out, even though Brendon is pressing little kisses into her skin, and it feels really nice. "The movie, B. We're going to miss it."
"I'll buy you the DVD," Brendon says.
"I own the DVD," Z says, outraged, and Brendon snickers.
"Okay, okay," Brendon says, pulling back. "Fine. Sorry. I just-you're hot."
"I'm not saying no," Z points out, flicking him in the nose. "I'm just saying it's bad timing." She glances over at the screen. "But I suppose they're going to be fighting in this bar for a while," she hedges.
"Yes," Brendon agrees. "Yes, they are. Can I kiss you now?"
"You're insatiable," Z mutters, and then Brendon is kissing her lightly, the barest press of lips and teeth. Z slides her hands into his hair and kisses back, enjoying the heat and warmth of Brendon's body perched on top of hers. They're squished into the backseat like this, and there really isn't enough room to move, but Z really doesn't care that much. Brendon's mouth is soft on hers, soft and gentle, and it's obvious that he's not pushing for anything more. He could, though. Or she can.
"Come here," Z murmurs, sliding her hand out of his hair and down to the curve of his shoulder. She tugs until they're pressed chest to chest and hip to hip, much closer than they were before.
Brendon raises an eyebrow at her. "I thought you were opposed to the making out," he says, looking like he's trying not to laugh.
Z shrugs. "I know how to prioritize," Z says, and then Brendon's mouth is covering hers again, and his kisses are much less hesitant this time around. Z squirms a little, leaning up so she can bite at the edge of Brendon's jaw. There's a patch of heat blooming low in her stomach, and she rolls her hips experimentally, pressing until she can slide her thigh up and in. Brendon makes a surprised noise into her mouth, sliding his hands into her hair so he can kiss her deeper, pressing his hips down so that he's rubbing up against Z's thigh. He's very obviously hard.
"Wow," Z murmurs, a little helplessly, and Brendon makes a soft noise in reply. Z can't help herself-she suddenly wants to be touching naked skin, like, yesterday-and she lets her hands slide down Brendon's sides a little further, to the edge of his hips. Z kisses him deeper, opening up under his mouth even as she slides her palm roughly in between them, rubbing down the front of his jeans.
Brendon makes a startled noise into her mouth, a choked-off moan that Z takes as eager consent. He's not wearing a belt, just jeans and briefs, and so it's easy enough to slip her hands down his stomach, to tuck her fingers underneath both and keep going. Z closes her eyes and bites her lip, her stomach tightening up as her fingers brush against curly hair and soft, warm skin. There's just enough room to brush the tips of her fingers down the side of his cock, and Z marvels for a minute at how soft Brendon's skin is until she realizes he's holding himself absolutely still above her.
"Bren," Z breathes, suddenly feeling a little a nauseous. She stills her hand immediately. "Oh, shit, Brendon-I didn't-tell me this is okay," Z whispers. Brendon has his eyes closed, breathing heavily through his nose, and Z's stomach sinks further. "Oh god," Z says, weakly, tugging her hands out of his underwear. "Shit, Brendon, I'm so sorry-I thought-"
"No," Brendon gasps out, opening his eyes. "What are you. Wait-Z, what?"
"You didn't," Z says. "You got all quiet and still, and I thought-"
"No, hey," Brendon says, letting his weight rest on her more fully. He reaches down and links her fingers with his, then leans in and kisses the top of her forehead. His face is flushed, and there's sweat beading along his hairline. "No, it's okay, you just surprised me."
"Surprised you?" Z says weakly. "Like. Bad surprise?"
"Like good surprise," Brendon says firmly. "And also like, SURPRISE! surprise. I was just trying not to, you know. Give your dress a surprise."
"Oh," Z says, and then she can't help but snicker a little. "Oh."
"Yeah," Brendon says, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. His left hand is rubbing up and down Z's bare thigh, tracing patterns underneath the thin fabric of her dress.
"So this is-okay?" Z says, still a little hesitant. "You've done this before?"
"Yeah," Brendon breathes, rolling his hips down again, like he can't quite help himself. "I'm not like-I mean, I'm about as non-virginal as you can get while still actually being a virgin."
Z blinks at him for a moment.
"Really?" she says softly, brushing his hair away from his face. "You've never-"
Brendon grins at her a little. "Trust me," Brendon says. "I still know what I'm doing. I promise there will be orgasms."
"No, I didn't mean that," Z says, flicking Brendon in the forehead. "Idiot. I just meant-I don't know. I'm glad you told me," Z says, honestly. It's not like she had been planning anything for tonight in particular, but there are condoms in the glove compartment, and it's not like Z's had a ton of sex, but she's had enough.
She and Ryan had both been fifteen when they'd lost their virginity, just a few weeks apart. When Z thinks about it now she realizes that they were both kind of young, but she hadn't felt young at the time, and she knew Ryan hadn't, either. It had been this big exciting secret between them-Z remembered looking around the lunch room with Ryan, whispering back and forth and gossiping about who was still a virgin. It seems so petty, now, petty and really dumb, but it had just been so overwhelming at the time. Neither of them really knew how to process all these new feelings and sensations and emotions, so they'd fallen back on old habits, holing up together in Z's bedroom and talking for hours.
Both of their relationships had ended pretty quickly after that.
But either way, she's been having sex for almost three years at this point, and sometimes she just...forgets that not everyone is in the same place. The idea of fumbling into that with Brendon, not knowing it was his first time, makes her heart hurt.
"You okay?" Brendon says, nosing at her collarbone. "You got all quiet."
"Yeah," Z says, shaking her head a little. "No, I'm just-I'm really happy you told me. I, um-I was fifteen," Z says. "So it was a while ago."
"Oh," Brendon says, his face softening a little. "That's-that's kind of young."
"Yeah," Z says, nodding. "I mean-it was okay! I don't want you to think it was terrible, or anything, it wasn't. Just. I probably would have been all 'hey, let's have sex!' and then it would have been awkward and I really, really, really don't mind waiting, if that's what you want, or like, if you don't want to that's okay too, but the car kind of isn't the best place and we should probably wait until we're in a bed--"
"Z, relax," Brendon says, laughing outright. Z snaps her mouth shut. She can feel her face flaming. "I am pretty happy with my life choices," Brendon says, pressing his face into her shoulder. She can feel him smiling against her skin. "I'm not opposed to the idea, it just never felt right, so I'm waiting until it does," Brendon says simply. "And speaking of feeling right, I was totally about to try and get you off before you almost made me come, so I'm going to get back to that."
"Oh," Z breathes out. "Okay. I mean, don't let me stop you, that's-Oh," Z says, because Brendon's already sliding his way down her body, pushing her dress up so that it's rucked up around her stomach. Z bites her lip and shifts restlessly, letting her legs fall open a little more. She can feel Brendon's breath on her stomach, hot and warm, and then he leans in and he's nipping at her skin, just below her belly button. His hands are cradling her hips, slipping underneath the sides of her panties, and Z tries and fails to remember which ones she put on this morning. God, she really hopes they're not an old, raggedy pair. That would suck.
Brendon's mouth is hot on her skin, his tongue slipping out to trace a meandering path down her hips and the top of her thigh. He keeps nipping at her skin, little bursts of sensation that make her hips jump up involuntarily. Z struggles to sit up, just a little, because seriously if she needs to apologize for wearing totally non-sexy underwear she'd like to do so as soon as possible, but Brendon flicks his eyes up at her and smiles, biting down on the inside of her thigh and Z forgets to do anything but arch her back and press forward. She can feel the way she's starting to soak through her panties which-okay, yes, not exactly super sexy, but at least they're plain green boy shorts and not the full coverage Hanes she wears under tights sometimes. Z opens her mouth to say something self-deprecating, but then Brendon looks up at her, holding her gaze while he licks a long, slow stripe up the front of her panties.
"Nevermind," Z mumbles weakly, letting herself fall back against the door. Brendon hums a little against her skin, and Z shifts restlessly because fuck, seriously, all this teasing, it's like-it's so good, but it's so frustrating, and she doesn't know whether she wants Brendon to continue doing what he's doing forever or get on with it.
"I like these," Brendon murmurs, kissing along the elastic on the inside of Z's thigh. Z spreads her legs wider, arching up, but Brendon just moves back a little, making her wait. He slips two fingers underneath the seam, holding it away from her body, and then Z can feel his tongue sliding across bare skin, so close to where she wants it.
"Fuck," Z says, groaning. "Brendon."
"They're cute," Brendon mumbles, just as Z fists a hand in his hair and tugs him forward. She can feel Brendon laughing softly against her skin, but dammit, she doesn't even care. She's wet and swollen and aching, and Brendon needs to either deal with that or pay the consequences.
"Come on," Z mumbles, when Brendon seems content to just sit there and nuzzle at her, to run his fingers gently down her slit and do all sorts of nice things that are not even remotely what Z wants right now. She's just about to tug on his hair again when she feels his hands on her hips, sliding her underwear off, and Z has to sort of kick her legs awkwardly so that they end up on one leg and not stretched over Brendon's head, but then-oh god, Z can't even breathe, because his mouth is on her and he's not teasing anymore. She can feel the way he's licking her open, gentle but firm, sliding his fingers up to where she's warm and wet. Z can hear herself making stupid, stupid noises and fuck, she doesn't even care.
Brendon pulls back a moment later, and Z hears herself whimper helplessly. She shifts her hips up, trying to get his mouth back. Brendon grins at her and then lifts her leg up, arranging it over his shoulder. "Easier this way," Brendon murmurs, leaning back in. "God, you smell so good-" He licks another long, slow swipe from top to bottom and then Z can feel his fingers stroking at her, pressing lightly, like he's giving her the option.
And shit, Z thinks to herself, as she pushes her hips forward sharply and his fingers slip in all the way-she is so taking that option. He presses up inside her, rubbing carefully, and then he leans down and swipes his tongue over her clit and fuck, that's the magic combination right there. If Brendon just keeps doing that-and yeah, he is, long, slow licks of his tongue and gentle pressure on her clit, and he's moving his fingers a little faster, a little rougher, and Z feels everything do that turning-inside-out thing and god, she's going to come soon and it's going to be awesome.
"Okay?" Brendon whispers, and when he looks up at Z his mouth is shining in the low light. Z wants to kiss him, she can't help it, and she tugs him up roughly, still working herself back on his fingers. "What," Brendon whispers, looking a little confused, and Z groans.
"Just fucking kiss me," Z pleads, her stomach starting to tighten up. "Just god, keep doing that and just kiss me-"
Brendon covers her mouth with his own, breathing thick and fast, and Z bites down on his lower lip, tasting herself when she swipes her tongue over the mark in apology. She's so close, and everything she can feel and taste is Brendon, his mouth on her skin, his fingers working inside her. She just needs something else, something to push her over the edge, and she whines a little, tensing up. Brendon breaks away, panting, and then she feels his thumb smoothing against her clit, quick little circles, light and teasing and Z comes, sudden and breathless. Brendon doesn't pull his fingers away, and she can feel herself clenching down on him and somehow that makes it even better, makes her ride it out on this awesome wave of pleasure that leaves her a little stunned at the end.
Z licks her lips, her chest heaving, and tries to remember how to breathe. "Wow," she says, unsteadily, as Brendon carefully moves his fingers away.
"I would say that was a wow," Brendon breathes. His voice is low and rough, and he's looking at her like-Z doesn't even know. Like she's amazing, or something.
"Come up here," Z says, flailing her hands a little until she can settle her hands on Brendon's hips and pull him on top of her.
"I am up here," Brendon says, leaning in to kiss her neck. Z tightens her fingers, tugging him in. "Closer," Z says firmly, sliding one hand down to work at the front of his jeans. She manages to tug them open far enough to get her fingers in, and there, seriously, his skin is so soft. Z holds him carefully, brushing a thumb across the head of his cock just to feel him jerk a little at the sensation. "Now. No more distractions."
"Sounds good," Brendon says brokenly. He presses another wet, open-mouthed kiss to her neck, and Z slowly starts to move her hand. She thinks idly about going down on him, but right now she's kind of just sated and sleepy, and oral sex would require them to move. Brendon's warm on top of her, whimpering slightly and squeezing down on her shoulder whenever she speeds up. This is nice, right here. Z honestly doesn't feel like moving, and Brendon doesn't sound like he minds.
Z swipes her thumb over the head of his cock again, pressing down slightly and tightening her hand. Brendon whimpers again, louder this time. "Good?" Z says, her voice coming out breathier than normal. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah," Brendon whispers. His voice is low and rough. "Fuck. Can you-just a little faster, like-"
"Like this?" Z says, finally speeding up to something that will actually get Brendon off. "Or..." She slows her hand down again, and she's rewarded with a groan. Z can feel herself grinning.
"Please," Brendon whines, pushing himself up on his elbow so he can kiss her, frantic and messy. "Z, please, come on-"
"Oh, fine," Z murmurs, smiling against his mouth. "Since you asked so nicely." She's not trying to tease, she just can't really help it. Brendon's all warm and flushed and pliant; something about seeing him this way makes her want to push, want to see how far she can take him. Possibly it's a little weird, but Z's never been overly concerned with being normal.
"Oh, god," Brendon whispers, when she finally tightens her hand and gives him what he needs. She can feel the way he's bucking up into her hand, and Z's just starting to wonder if she might be up for a second round when Brendon shudders, coming into her hand with a muffled groan against her neck.
"Oh fuck," Brendon says, pulling away. He makes a horrified face. "Oh, fuck."
"Oh," Z says. She looks down and yup, Brendon definitely just came on her dress. Shit.
"Would you believe me if I said this has never happened before?" Brendon says weakly, and Z bursts out laughing. It's just-his face, he's bright red and blushing, and she should probably be upset but instead it's just kind of hysterical. Her boyfriend really is a walking disaster.
"It's okay," Z manages, through her laughter. "It's fine, Brendon. I'll wash it."
"I am so sorry," Brendon says sadly, but there's a smile starting to pull at the edges of his mouth. "I swear to god. I'll come over and do your laundry for you."
"Oh, because that's not suspicious," Z says. "Not at all."
"Shut up," Brendon mumbles, hiding his grin in her shoulder. "I could just be a doting boyfriend. You never know. "
"You forget that Ryan practically lives at my house," Z says. "He'd never let you hear the end of it. Trust me."
"But what are you going to do right now?" Brendon says, making a face as he pokes at her stomach. "Are your parents going to be up? Oh, god, they're going to hate me. They're going to know I came on their daughter." He looks a little sick.
"That's what attractive yet modest cardigan sweaters are for," Z says, kissing him again. "Seriously. Don't worry about it. I have some in the trunk for emergencies. Fashion emergencies," Z says severely, when Brendon's eyes get rather large. "This isn't a common occurrence, don't get any ideas."
"No, hey," Brendon says, his expression softening. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," Z says softly, marveling at how she actually believes him. Brendon may be many things, but malicious isn't one of them. Z's pretty sure he doesn't have a petty or dishonest bone in his body.
"We should probably get going, though," Brendon says, sounding regretful. "My aunt's going to be wondering where the hell I am."
"Oh, the horror," Z says, rolling her eyes, but she follows when he starts to climb into the front seat of her car.
-
"I've come to a decision," Z announces dramatically, halfway through lunch the next day. She waits for the expected lull in the conversation to signal everyone else's excitement and interest, and it's then that she realizes that absolutely no one is paying attention.
"Ryan," Z says, poking him with her fork. "I've come to a decision. An important one. I need you to pretend to care for a second."
"Z, Stop," Ryan mumbles, brushing away her fork. Z frowns at him. He's been too quiet lately, too locked inside his own head. Her Ryan-radar is pinging and Z means to find out what's going on with her best friend, stat, but she also has an announcement to make and seriously, what the fuck, no one is listening.
"GUYS," Z says, bringing the conversation around the table to a screeching halt. Tennessee and Brendon are blinking at her in curiosity, their heads pushed close together over Tennessee's Chemistry textbook and Brendon's half-finished homework. Spencer pauses in the act of offering Ryan one of his iPod earbuds. Ryan just looks at her blankly.
"Go back to what you were doing," he tells the table at large, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "Z's important announcements are usually about how she likes shoes, or something. They're never actually important."
"Oh," Tennessee says, her forehead creasing in confusion. Brendon just looks amused.
"It wasn't about shoes, shut up," Z says, groaning. She knows what he's referring to, and he's gotten it all wrong, as usual. "It was about-oh, never-fucking-mind. You ruined the joke already."
"Let me guess," Ryan says dryly. "It was about how you hate Mondays. Or about how your band needs a drummer." He gives her a look that says see? See what I just did there? louder than words ever could, and then he accepts Spencer's earbud offer, tucking it into his right ear.
"I do hate Mondays," Z muses out loud, sucking on the straw of her soda. "And we do need a drummer." She tries to give Spencer and/or Tennessee a significant look, but Tennessee is back to helping Brendon with his Chemistry homework again, and Spencer's scrolling through his iPod with intense concentration.
Z tries again. "It would be so great if we knew someone who played the drums, wouldn't it?" she says, to the table at large but mostly in Tennessee's direction. She thinks she detects a faint blush on Tennessee's cheeks, but when she turns to see if her oh-so-subtle approach is working on Spencer, all she gets for her troubles is Ryan giving her an unimpressed look.
"What?" Z says, feigning innocence.
Ryan kicks her under the table.
"Ow, fuck," Z mutters. "It was just an observation."
"I'm sure if anyone here happens to have a secret drumming talent, they'll let you know," Ryan says. "Now that we all know beyond a shadow of a doubt how desperate you are."
"We're not desperate," Z starts out, and then cuts herself off with a sigh. "Okay, yeah, we are kind of desperate," Z mumbles, picking at her half-eaten slice of veggie pizza. "We can't keep playing with a fucking drum machine." Z gets the feeling that someone at their table is watching her closely, but when she looks back up, everyone is engrossed in their own activities. Everyone except Brendon, who is biting his lip and looking thoughtful.
"I can play a little," Brendon says. "I mean. I'm not great, but I'm not terrible. I could practice more, if you guys are really stuck."
"That's sweet," Z says, reaching out so she can squeeze his hand. She means it, too. "And that would be awesome, but that's kind of a recipe for disaster, you know?"
"Hey, I'm not that bad," Brendon says, winking at her. "I've only broken someone's kit twice before. That's a decent track record, right?" Next to him, Spencer makes a slightly pained noise.
"That's--not bad," Z says, trying to keep a straight face. "But no, I meant, like. With the whole you-and-me thing, and then if it didn't work out-you know what I mean," Z says, unwilling to say something like if we broke up, you'd leave us high and dry and that would suck a whole fucking lot. It's sweet what Brendon is offering, it really is, but letting Brendon into her band is just-it's not a good idea.
"No, I know," Brendon says, sliding his foot around her ankle for a moment, underneath the table. "I was just thinking I could help out until you find someone permanent."
"Okay," Z says, biting her lip. "Um-I'll think about it." A couple of practice sessions might be okay. Though it'd be better if they could just find someone they knew they could keep. And she kind of wants a girl, which, Tennessee is very carefully not looking at either of them, nose pressed so close to her book that she might as well be sleeping on it. Z's dying to just ask her outright, but she can't shake the feeling that maybe this isn't the right time.
It's a lost cause, anyway, because at that moment the lunch bell rings. "Urgh," Brendon says, staring down at his Chemistry homework. "I'm still not done. You think I can figure this out by myself during History?"
"Just borrow the book," Tennessee says, pushing it towards Brendon. "Don't worry about it. You can give it back to me after class."
"Thanks," Brendon says, hefting it into his backpack. "You sure?"
"Absolutely," Tennessee says, nodding firmly. She shoots Z one last unreadable glance before gathering her things up and saying a quick goodbye to all of them, kissing Spencer on the nose before she runs off to AP European History. Z follows suit, tugging her backpack onto her shoulder and joining the crush of people streaming out from the cafeteria. She waves goodbye to Spencer and Brendon as they head off towards the other end of the school for Spanish, and then it's just her and Ryan, hurrying down the hall towards their French class.
"Subtle," Ryan says, giving her another unimpressed look. "You think you sledgehammered the point enough?"
"No," Z says, giving him a placid look. Tennessee's mysterious resolve to keep her awesome drumming a secret is already starting to wear down. Z can feel it. "Not really, no."
-
In Chemistry, they're treated to a lecture on oxyhydrogen. Spencer wishes they'd get to do an actual experiment; he really enjoys things that blow up (who doesn't?) but apparently there are safety rules in Chemistry and they don't allow students to handle substances that are this volatile. So instead they all have to sit there and hear about why it's so volatile, and then watch their teacher carefully create a tiny explosion for them.
Boring.
Next to him, Brendon is fidgeting. He tilts his head at Tennessee and whispers, "Why aren't you in Jazz Band?"
Tennessee freezes. Spencer's not sure what to do, but he's sure this isn't the place for this particular conversation. He knocks at Brendon's elbow and pencils later talk about this later on Brendon's notebook and nods at his girlfriend who glares at him. He doesn't know why she hasn't told Brendon yet, and he's not going to make her tell him, but he knows they should have the actual talk somewhere they won't get interrupted by explosions.
After class, they avoid Ryan and Z and hide in the Art room, which is empty during the last class period. It's a fact he and Tenn have definitely taken advantage of before, but right now they have more pressing things to deal with, like Brendon and his insatiable curiosity.
Brendon says, carefully, "I don't get it. You, you and Spencer both, you're awesome and your drumming, seriously, it's really good, but you won't. Um. Z obviously wants you in her band."
Tennessee isn't looking at either of them. Spencer shoves his hands deep into his pockets because he's not very good at watching when she's in pain, but he really has to let her tell this story. If she wants to.
Tennessee licks her lips. "It's not that I," she pauses. "Z's band is awesome."
"So are you," Brendon says fiercely.
"It's dumb," she says.
"You don't actually have to tell me," Brendon says, "but you have to know you're good enough for them. More than good enough for them."
She breathes in. "Okay," she says. "I just. I had a drum teacher."
Brendon stiffens, and Tennessee shakes her head. "Nothing like that," she says. "Nothing-he just wasn't very nice. He was very good, but he wasn't very nice. He'd say, like. 'Of course you don't have that fill down yet, fine, let's run it again.' And stuff."
There was more to it than that, Spencer knows. He said worse things, this asshole teacher of Tennessee's and it took Spencer two months to figure out why she stopped drumming. He got her to play with him and then he asked her to come to one of his lessons, and now she has Bob, Bob who is the nicest guy Spencer ever met, and who never ever criticized her for the first three months of lessons. Spencer hadn't told him anything, but Bob's good with people.
"What an asshole," Brendon says. "What an absolute, absolute asshole."
Tennessee peers at him through her bangs. "Yes," she says. "He was. But, er, that's why. So now you know."
"Okay," Brendon says. "He so doesn't deserve to take anything away from you, but I get it."
"You do, don't you," Tennessee says, sounding sad. Brendon hugs her then, tightly, and Spencer aches a little, looking at them both. It'd be nice if there was some kind of instant karma button, he thinks, poking at the floor with his toe.
-
That Saturday, Z ends her call with Brendon and looks up at her bandmates. A shitty drum teacher, Brendon said, and wouldn't tell her anything else. "I shouldn't even say that much," he said, sounding sad. Z wanted Tennessee to join them before, true, but now she really really wants her because no one should have music taken away from them like that. No one.
"Guys," she says. "You know how I mentioned a possible drummer?"
"Oh fuck," Laena says immediately, like she'd been worrying. "She won't do it?"
Z shakes her head, then realizes what it looks like she means. "No! I mean maybe. I don't know. She-something happened, and now she doesn't think she's good enough to drum in front of an audience, but I really think she's the right person."
"Oh, that's awful," Annie says. "Can we help somehow?"
"I don't know," Z admits. She doesn't. You can't just make someone feel better. (She should know, she's been best friends with Ryan Ross since forever. Also, to be fair, she's not all that together herself all the time.)
"Just keep asking," Laena says. "I don't know her, but just keep asking."
"Maybe we could just ask her to come around and feel it out?" Annie says. "No obligation, nothing like that, just, like, trying it out. Trying us out."
"That's what she said," Z mutters, but she thinks Annie might be on the right track.
That's when Spencer calls her and asks, "Have you heard from Ryan?" and no, Z hasn't heard from Ryan. Not since they got out of school yesterday, come to think of it.
"Check the school," she says, swallowing down the sudden worry. She's too far away, Spencer's closer. "He sometimes goes walking there when he's, um." When he's really upset, and it's always a fucking bad idea.
-
Ryan isn't thinking straight, or else he would have realized this was a terrible plan.
It's only when he rounds the corner of the athletics wing that he notices where he is, where he's going. He's been walking aimlessly for hours, unable to sit still, unable to face going home. He doesn't want to call Z and he doesn't want to call Spencer or Tennessee; fuck, he can't call anyone. His legs ache. Everything aches. He's used to feeling shitty but not like this-like he's been hollowed out, like every nerve in his body has been scraped down into nothing.
He just keeps walking. He rounds the corner and keeps walking and there's, yeah, there's five members of the wrestling team hanging out waiting for their rides in front of the entrance. He thinks about turning around and going back the way he came, but that would take a hell of a lot longer than just walking past them and down the street where he can get on the 201 bus to go home. Fuck it. Maybe they'll behave.
But he should have known better. "Faggot," one of them mutters, as Ryan walks by. There's some nudging, some whispers, a few lewd hand gestures. Ryan grits his teeth.
"Moron," he mutters, but he must have been louder than he thought, because one of them is on his feet. It's Carl, of course it is.
"What was that?" Carl says. "Did you have something to say?" And it's so obvious that he expects Ryan to back down because people always back down, but Ryan's just done. He's been hurting and hurting for hours, for days, and if these fuckers think they can do worse than that, they're welcome to try. And this time, he'll give back as much as he can.
"I said you're a moron," he says, turning around. "You, and Steve, and every one of you assholes. You're so stupid you wouldn't know a book if it hit you in your fucking faces, and you're on a second-rate high school wrestling team, and you're never, ever, ever going to get out of here." I am. Just wait and fucking see.
"Oh, I bet you can't wait to get out of here," Carl says, looking at him. "I bet you can't wait to go somewhere they'll fuck you as much as you want."
Really, how predictable can you get? Ryan smirks. "You want some, is that it?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Steve says, spitting on the ground. He rubs at his crotch, giving Ryan a leer. "I bet you couldn't even take it. I'd choke you with this motherfucker."
"You think I can't take it?" Ryan says, walking towards them slowly. He stops a few feet away. They're all staring at him, cold glares full of anger and fear. It's kind of sad, Ryan thinks, in the corner of his mind that isn't fueled by sheer adrenaline.
"Yeah," Steve says. He looks confused, though. Ryan doesn't usually move towards them. "You fucking faggot motherfucker," Steve-the-moron adds, and Ryan knows it's time to act.
The wad of phlegm is a direct hit, right on Steve's ugly face, in between his eyes. Ryan's already ducking away from the swing before he's even finished swallowing, backing away and taking off at a dead run. He can hear the sound of yelling behind him, the pounding of feet on the pavement. Ryan skids around the corner, his heart pounding, stomach tensing in preparation for the first and probably only swing he's going to get off-
-and runs straight into Tennessee.
"Get the fuck out of here," Ryan gasps out, shoving her shoulder. "Seriously, run."
"We've been looking everywhere for you," Tennessee hisses, and her mouth is set in a thin line, and Ryan has the sudden, overwhelming urge to apologize but there isn't time.
"Go," Ryan says, pushing at her arm, and at the exact same moment Tennessee's eyes widen and she hisses "Duck!"
Ryan moves without thinking. He pulls his shoulders in, tucking himself down, and then someone grabs his arm and he's thrown up against the brick wall of the gymnasium. He sees Tennessee's head snap back as one of them punches her across the jaw-a punch meant for Ryan, but they're obviously not very organized-and then his head is slammed into the brick and Ryan's stomach drops, nausea blooming in his stomach. The back of his head feels wet but there's no time to think-he gets a punch to the jaw, then another, and someone gets his nose. He kicks out wildly because it hurts, but there's too many of them, at least two of them holding him in place while Steve shakes his hand out with a grim smile.
"You fucking asked for it," he says, and Ryan swallows hard, because he did, fuck, but Steve's rubbing at his crotch again, pointedly, and-
Oh, god.
Ryan has a split second to process, a moment of sheer, unadulterated terror, and then there's a blur of blond hair and Tennessee's wrenching herself free from the guy who has her hands behind her back. Ryan's eyes widen. She's behind Steve, but only for a second, because then she's ducking to the side and landing a solid right hook to his head. He pulls away, confused, and then she pulls back and lands another, then another-two quick, solid blows, right to his nose, and Ryan hears a crack! and then there's a spray of something dark and wet on Steve's face, too.
Ryan kicks out again, taking advantage of the distraction to fight dirty, to knee the guy on his right in the balls and then bite down on the other guy's arm. He sinks his teeth in, hard, and the guy yells out-a harsh, guttural noise, right in Ryan's ear. Tenneesee's relentless-they're all around her, now, obviously preparing to deal with this unexpected threat when there's the sound of more feet pounding on the pavement and Spencer skids to a stop around the corner.
Everyone pauses.
"Get the fuck away from them," Spencer says, in a voice that Ryan's never heard him use before. It's low and dangerous, and Ryan can see how Spencer's already clenching his hands into fists. Ryan takes advantage of the distraction to elbow the guy next to him in the solar plexus. He keels over, groaning.
"I'm serious," Spencer grinds out. "You don't think there's more of us coming? They're right behind me. They've already called the fucking police." Ryan can feel the last remaining hand on his arm slowly loosening, and he tugs himself loose as soon as he thinks he can make it. The wrestling guys start to back away slowly, glancing at each other.
"Not our fault he's a fucking faggot," one of them mutters, under their breath.
"Get the fuck out of here," Spencer says, and as if on cue, there's the wail of sirens in the distance. It's the magic combination, even though Ryan's 99% certain that Spencer is bluffing; the guys take off around the side of the building at a dead run.
Ryan lets himself slump down to the pavement. He brings a hand up to the back of his head, and it comes away dark and wet.
"Ryan," Spencer murmurs, and then there's hands trying to help him up, smoothing his hair away from his face. Ryan jerks away, anger flaring bright and sudden in his chest.
"Don't fucking touch me," Ryan spits out.
"Ryan-" Tennessee says, looking confused as she wipes the blood and grime away from her temple. "Ryan, what-?"
"I don't need anyone else to fight my battles," Ryan says, his voice shaking. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?"
"Helping," Tennessee grinds out, her voice low and dangerous. "They would have-Ryan, they were going to-"
"So?" Ryan spits back. "The fuck do you care?" Behind them, the sirens are fading away. Ryan had figured Spencer was bluffing.
"What do you mean, what the fuck do we care?" Spencer growls, still reaching out for the cut on the back of Ryan's head. "Shit, we need to get you to a hospital."
"I'm fine," Ryan says, jerking away again. "I don't need your help, okay? I don't need you. Either of you. I could have handled it."
"Maybe you could have," Tennessee says, still quiet and furious. "But you shouldn't have to."
"That's my problem, then," Ryan grinds out. "You're so-you're both so-I don't get you, either of you. Why the fuck would you want to help-" Me, Ryan thinks, furious and disjointed. Why the fuck are you here, why can't you just stop caring, don't you understand how much this fucking hurts?
"Because we care about you," Tennessee says, and she reaches out again, and Ryan can't-he just can't. Fuck this.
"You don't," Ryan spits. "You don't, the two of you, this is all just some game to you, 'let's help the poor faggot out'-"
"Don't you ever call yourself that again," Spencer says, and Ryan's never heard him sound so serious.
"You just don't get it," Ryan says, slightly hysterical, and his face feels wet, and Ryan grits his teeth and blinks, hard. He hasn't cried since he was ten years old; he's not going to start now. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Do you think I could leave Spencer alone in that situation?" Tennessee demands, reaching out, taking Ryan's face between her palms of her hands and forcing him to look at her. Ryan tries to pull away, but Tennessee's strong, he knew that, drummer and all. "Do you?"
"No," Ryan whispers. It feels like the words are being torn out of his chest.
"Then you know why I couldn't leave you," Tennessee says, softer now.
"I don't," Ryan says, his voice cracking. "Why?"
"We're not leaving you," Spencer says, quiet and firm. "Not ever."
"You can't," Ryan says weakly. "I. We. That's not." Possible, Ryan thinks. That's not normal, that's not possible. Ryan wants to scream and he wants to cry and he sort of wants to pass out. He does none of those things, but it's a close call.
"Who cares?" Tennessee says, smiling wry and sharp. "We don't."
"Whatever," Ryan says, shaking his head. "Don't-that's not funny."
"Good," Tennessee says, her mouth firming back into a thin line. "It's not supposed to be." She brushes her fingers over Ryan's temple, and when she pulls them away Ryan can see that the tips are dark with blood. He feels lightheaded all of a sudden.
"Ryan," Spencer says, catching him by the arm when Ryan blinks and the world shudders into motion for a long, terrifying minute. "Seriously, we're taking you to a hospital. You're still bleeding."
"I can't," Ryan says. He thinks about just pointing out that he doesn't have health insurance, but then Spencer and Tennessee will try to pay for it, and-no. Ryan's not doing this right now. He isn't.
"Why not?" Tennessee says, pulling him carefully to his feet, watching him closely. "Ryan, you're hurt. I don't know why we're even still discussing this. "
"Just take me to Z's," Ryan says, shaking his head and then stopping abruptly when the movement engenders more vertigo. "If you take me the hospital, I swear I'll fucking...I'll run away. I'll walk home. Just-please," Ryan grits out, hoping against hope that just for once, someone in his life will fucking listen to him.
"This isn't the first time they've attacked you," Spencer says suddenly, his voice flat, espressionless. "Is it?"
Hah, Ryan thinks. You have no idea. He keeps his mouth shut. "Just take me back to Z's house," Ryan says, abruptly close to falling over from exhaustion. He leans heavily on Tennessee's steadying arm. "I know where the spare key is. It's not a big deal."
"We're not leaving you," Tennessee says quietly, as they make their way slowly across the parking lot to her car. Spencer is on his other side, close, but not touching.
"That's nice," Ryan says. He concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other.
-
The drive to Z's house passes in a blur. Ryan hears Spencer talking quietly to someone on his cell phone, hears him repeating the directions to Z's house to Tennessee, but everything around him feels distant and dull. It's not until Spencer's opening Ryan's car door and holding out a hand to help Ryan out that he starts to wake up again, and suddenly he's very, very awake because Z is flying across her lawn and throwing her arms around him.
"Don't you fucking do that to me," Z mutters, clutching him so tightly that Ryan groans in pain. She stiffens, dropping her arms and looking at him with a guilty expression. Ryan closes his eyes, leaning up against the side of Tennessee's car. The metal is warm to the touch. He can feel Z's hands brushing over his head, checking for bruises and cuts.
"I'm still so fucking mad at you," Z says. "Why the fuck didn't you call?" She pulls her fingers away, looking down at them for a moment, and Ryan wishes everyone would stop putting their hands in his blood and then looking at him like he's going to break. It's just a head wound. They bleed a lot. Maybe Spencer and Tennessee aren't used to it, but Z definitely is. There's no reason for her to be all freaked out right now.
"Come inside," is all Z says, but Ryan feels the way her hand is trembling when she links her fingers in his. He looks over his shoulder to see Spencer and Tennessee giving each other an unreadable look, and then he looks forward to see Brendon standing in Z's doorway, his eyes large and concerned, and what the fuck, seriously, is there going to be party here tonight or something?
"Don't get pissed," Z murmurs, squeezing his hand as Brendon moves out of the way so they can make it through the doorway. "Tenn and Spencer called him first and then I called him and then he refused to go anywhere but here. He's worried about you. They all are."
"Everyone needs to worry about me somewhere else," Ryan says, following Z to the bathroom. He sits down on the closed toilet, his head spinning, and then suddenly he's crowded into the room by three people while Z goes to tell her parents why their house has suddenly been invaded with teenagers. He's glad Z's mom didn't get a look at him when he came in, or he'd be in the hospital for sure.
Brendon is the first to break the strained silence. "What happened?" he says softly, biting his lip. "Did you-"
"Tripped," Ryan says blithely. "Happens all the time. I'm clumsy."
"Don't," Spencer says, his mouth a thin, hard line. "Don't do that, don't pretend it didn't happen. They fucking-someone should arrest those assholes."
"If someone was going to arrest them, it would have happened long ago," Ryan says humorlessly. "What, you think this is the first time this has happened? You think I'm the only guy they've ever beat the shit out of? It's not-" he pauses, searching for the words. "It's fine," Ryan says tiredly, pushing himself up so he can get a good look at himself in the mirror.
It's not a pretty picture. His left eye is rapidly swelling shut, and he can tell just from looking that he's going to have matching black eyes tomorrow. There's blood and dirt smeared on his temple, across his forehead, and when he pokes his nose gingerly there's a bit of a crunching sound. He doesn't think it's broken, though-he pokes it again, just to make sure, and then he hears a pained noise from behind him.
"Ryan," Tennessee says helplessly, and then she's pressing her face into the back of his neck, hugging him with something akin to desperation.
Ryan freezes, two fingers still on his possibly broken nose. "What?" he says, instead of telling her to let go again, because as much as Tennessee hugging him is kind of hurting his ribs, he's not a complete asshole. Not most of the time, anyway. And she seems really upset.
"No one should look that unconcerned about making sure their nose isn't broken," Spencer says softly, and Ryan looks through the mirror to see that Brendon has disappeared, that it's just him and Spencer and Tennessee crammed into the small guest bathroom on the first floor. "How many times, Ryan? How often does Z have to-fuck, how many times?"
"Eight or nine," Ryan says, looking away. "It's fine, Spencer. Usually it's not broken. It's not a big deal." And Ryan knows that his definition of big deal is different from other people's, he does, but there's no way he can explain that without going into the whole story about his dad, and he-he trusts them, maybe, he thinks he might love them, but that story is a lot to give someone and he's not quite sure that Spencer and Tennessee are there yet. Maybe they won't ever be.
He's saved from elaborating by the appearance of Z at his elbow, followed by Brendon, laden down with Z's first aid kit and multiple packages of frozen vegetables.
"Peas on the face, you," Z says firmly, giving Tennessee a Look. Tennessee moves away from Ryan, stumbling back towards the door. Brendon follows close behind her, pressing a bag of frozen vegetables into her hand. "Ryan, sit down, head between your knees. I need to look at that cut on the back of your head."
"It's fine," Ryan says, for what feels like the hundreth time tonight, but Z just raises an eyebrow. Ryan rolls his eyes, wincing, and then sits down.
"You act like we've never done this before," Z mutters, unscrewing the cap from a large bottle of hydrogen peroxcide with one hand while she brushes Ryan's hair away from the cut with the other. "Actually-you know what, fuck it, just take your shirt off and get in the tub."
"Seriously?" Ryan says, looking up to glare at her.
"Do you want me to pour this all over the floor?" Z says, holding the bottle up. "Strip. And the rest of you-Out. I need room to work." Brendon and Tennessee slip out almost immediately, but Spencer stands his ground, still looking unexpectedly fierce, and a little bit like he's about to loose his shit all over the place.
"I just-" Spencer says, and Z fixes him with one of her best glares. "Out," Z says, pointing firmly.
Spencer goes.
-
Who does that? Spencer thinks, almost stumbling as he walks out the door. Who goes to school every day knowing that the worst, the worst could-Spencer knew it was bad, of course he did, but he didn't know. Fuck. And Tennessee nearly-he tries to blink away the image of her, surrounded, but he can't seem to manage it.
He wants-actually, he even doesn't know, he thinks, staring blankly at the cluster of family pictures that line Z's living room wall. He wants all of this not to be happening. Fuck.
He picks his way up the stairs because he needs to at least see Tennessee; he knows Z can take care of Ryan, knows she'll say the right things in a way that Spencer couldn't, not right now. As much as he wants to help, he's also really good at recognizing when he's out of his depth. It's such a shitty thing: he's no good at being powerless, but he's so fucking good at knowing when he can't do anything. The adrenaline of earlier is ebbing away into an empty aching feeling in his chest, and he doesn't know what to do right now, so he needs to go find Tennessee. It's a strategy that usually works.
The bathroom door upstairs is cracked open. Brendon is saying something and Tennessee is laughing. Spencer swipes a hand across his eyes and knocks.
-
"Yeah," Brendon says, and Spencer pushes the door open the rest of the way.
"Can I come in?" he says.
Brendon glances at Tennessee, who nods. "You don't faint at the sight of blood, right?" Brendon says. "Because I need to be able to do my work, here."
Spencer manages a grin. "Nah, I'll live. Tennessee's the one with the injuries; I should be able to survive watching them get cleaned up." He sits down, leaning against the bathtub.
"I don't know," Brendon says musingly. "She's kind of a gory sight at the moment."
"Really, though, you should have seen the other guy," Tennessee says, then corrects herself. "Guys," she says. "There were several."
"So I gathered," Brendon murmurs. "Tilt your chin up, 'kay, because-" She does, and he carefully cleans the cut under her jaw.
"Thanks," she says, and flinches when Brendon's hand slips.
"Sorry," he says. "Sorry, my hand slipped."
"That's quite alright," she says. "I laugh in the face of pain, etcetera."
Brendon touches her cheek with the cotton ball he's holding. "You're totally brave," he says softly. "I-you're totally brave." He bends down to throw the cotton away and soaks a new one in rubbing alcohol.
Tennessee shakes her head automatically. "No, I just couldn't watch him get hurt. Spencer did the same thing."
"You got hurt, though," Spencer says quietly. Tennessee flicks her eyes over, looking at him.
"I'm okay," she says. "I'm okay, Spencer. Ryan's worse off."
Spencer nods, because yes, he's aware of that. He sneaks his hand up to touch Tennessee's hand and she's not looking at him, but she curls her fingers around his, squeezing and letting go. Spencer zones out a little and when he starts listening again, Brendon is talking.
"But, like, I don't quite get it. How many of them were there?"
"I'm not sure," Tennessee says, and her voice sounds brittle. "I came around the corner and oh, there were a lot, and Ryan, and I just couldn't even think because he was all alone against the wall and I couldn't leave him there, I couldn't-"
"No, I got that part," Brendon says. "You did a good thing, Tenn. I would have been scared shitless. I couldn't have done it."
She draws in a sharp breath. "I-" and then she's crying, all of a sudden, and Brendon is hugging her and Spencer just hurts. Tennessee doesn't cry like most people; there's no build-up, no watery eyes. She's tough and in-control until the moment she isn't, anymore, and watching her break down always makes him die a little.
"Hey," Brendon says softly. "Hey, hey, Tenn, you're okay, we're all here, you're okay." She's clinging to him and Brendon kisses the top of her head. "Shhh," he says. "We're all here, you're okay."
"Love you," Spencer manages, voice shaking because yeah, he's kind of crying too, silently.
"Yeah, we all love you, everyone loves you," Brendon says. "You're just that lovable," and there, that's the right note, just cheerful and earnest enough that she chokes a little, laughing, and the worst of it ebbs.
"Z loves you," she says. Brendon goes a little red. "No, she does, and she loves Ryan. I'm not all that certain of how she feels about me, however, though it's awfully nice of her to let you clean me up in her bathroom."
Brendon grins. "No, hey, she totally loves you too, beanstalk. I'm getting jealous, the way she keeps talking about you." He quirks an eyebrow at her.
Tennessee blinks. "Me?"
"You're a drummer," Brendon says gently. "A lady drummer, and a damn good one at that. You just might be her new favorite person."
Tennessee swallows.
Spencer holds his breath. He tried to talk to her about Z's band, he kept his promise to Ryan and tried but she just shook her head and kissed him and said, "Perhaps at college, Spencer Smith," but maybe, maybe-oh god, it would be so good for her, so good for all of them-
Brendon senses his advantage. "Try it," he says softly. "Just try it."
"You think I-"
"You're good enough. More than. Just try it. Don't promise them anything, but."
She nods, and Spencer wants to smile for the first time in hours. He reaches for her hand again. "Love you," he says quietly.
"You too," she says, and he kneels up and kisses the corner of her mouth carefully.
Brendon's looking at them both and smiling. "Let's get some ice on your hand, Thomas, and then let's go downstairs and see how Ryan's doing."
Part Four | Part Six
"So," Brendon says, as they're watching Marion down shots in a bar in Siberia. "I hear that sometimes going to drive-in movies involves making out."
"Oh yeah?" Z says, raising an eyebrow at him and grinning. "You've heard that, huh?"
"Just a thought," Brendon says innocently.
Z leans forward, brushing her mouth against the curve of Brendon's jaw. Brendon makes a soft noise, tilting his head to give her better access. Z smiles into his skin, and then pulls away. "There," Z says. "Now watch the movie."
"I can't," Brendon says. "Too distracted now."
"Sucks to be you," Z agrees, and then she's laughing as Brendon turns around and gently tackles her. He noses at the curve of her neck, pressing his mouth into the same spot, just underneath her ear.
"The movie," Z points out, even though Brendon is pressing little kisses into her skin, and it feels really nice. "The movie, B. We're going to miss it."
"I'll buy you the DVD," Brendon says.
"I own the DVD," Z says, outraged, and Brendon snickers.
"Okay, okay," Brendon says, pulling back. "Fine. Sorry. I just-you're hot."
"I'm not saying no," Z points out, flicking him in the nose. "I'm just saying it's bad timing." She glances over at the screen. "But I suppose they're going to be fighting in this bar for a while," she hedges.
"Yes," Brendon agrees. "Yes, they are. Can I kiss you now?"
"You're insatiable," Z mutters, and then Brendon is kissing her lightly, the barest press of lips and teeth. Z slides her hands into his hair and kisses back, enjoying the heat and warmth of Brendon's body perched on top of hers. They're squished into the backseat like this, and there really isn't enough room to move, but Z really doesn't care that much. Brendon's mouth is soft on hers, soft and gentle, and it's obvious that he's not pushing for anything more. He could, though. Or she can.
"Come here," Z murmurs, sliding her hand out of his hair and down to the curve of his shoulder. She tugs until they're pressed chest to chest and hip to hip, much closer than they were before.
Brendon raises an eyebrow at her. "I thought you were opposed to the making out," he says, looking like he's trying not to laugh.
Z shrugs. "I know how to prioritize," Z says, and then Brendon's mouth is covering hers again, and his kisses are much less hesitant this time around. Z squirms a little, leaning up so she can bite at the edge of Brendon's jaw. There's a patch of heat blooming low in her stomach, and she rolls her hips experimentally, pressing until she can slide her thigh up and in. Brendon makes a surprised noise into her mouth, sliding his hands into her hair so he can kiss her deeper, pressing his hips down so that he's rubbing up against Z's thigh. He's very obviously hard.
"Wow," Z murmurs, a little helplessly, and Brendon makes a soft noise in reply. Z can't help herself-she suddenly wants to be touching naked skin, like, yesterday-and she lets her hands slide down Brendon's sides a little further, to the edge of his hips. Z kisses him deeper, opening up under his mouth even as she slides her palm roughly in between them, rubbing down the front of his jeans.
Brendon makes a startled noise into her mouth, a choked-off moan that Z takes as eager consent. He's not wearing a belt, just jeans and briefs, and so it's easy enough to slip her hands down his stomach, to tuck her fingers underneath both and keep going. Z closes her eyes and bites her lip, her stomach tightening up as her fingers brush against curly hair and soft, warm skin. There's just enough room to brush the tips of her fingers down the side of his cock, and Z marvels for a minute at how soft Brendon's skin is until she realizes he's holding himself absolutely still above her.
"Bren," Z breathes, suddenly feeling a little a nauseous. She stills her hand immediately. "Oh, shit, Brendon-I didn't-tell me this is okay," Z whispers. Brendon has his eyes closed, breathing heavily through his nose, and Z's stomach sinks further. "Oh god," Z says, weakly, tugging her hands out of his underwear. "Shit, Brendon, I'm so sorry-I thought-"
"No," Brendon gasps out, opening his eyes. "What are you. Wait-Z, what?"
"You didn't," Z says. "You got all quiet and still, and I thought-"
"No, hey," Brendon says, letting his weight rest on her more fully. He reaches down and links her fingers with his, then leans in and kisses the top of her forehead. His face is flushed, and there's sweat beading along his hairline. "No, it's okay, you just surprised me."
"Surprised you?" Z says weakly. "Like. Bad surprise?"
"Like good surprise," Brendon says firmly. "And also like, SURPRISE! surprise. I was just trying not to, you know. Give your dress a surprise."
"Oh," Z says, and then she can't help but snicker a little. "Oh."
"Yeah," Brendon says, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. His left hand is rubbing up and down Z's bare thigh, tracing patterns underneath the thin fabric of her dress.
"So this is-okay?" Z says, still a little hesitant. "You've done this before?"
"Yeah," Brendon breathes, rolling his hips down again, like he can't quite help himself. "I'm not like-I mean, I'm about as non-virginal as you can get while still actually being a virgin."
Z blinks at him for a moment.
"Really?" she says softly, brushing his hair away from his face. "You've never-"
Brendon grins at her a little. "Trust me," Brendon says. "I still know what I'm doing. I promise there will be orgasms."
"No, I didn't mean that," Z says, flicking Brendon in the forehead. "Idiot. I just meant-I don't know. I'm glad you told me," Z says, honestly. It's not like she had been planning anything for tonight in particular, but there are condoms in the glove compartment, and it's not like Z's had a ton of sex, but she's had enough.
She and Ryan had both been fifteen when they'd lost their virginity, just a few weeks apart. When Z thinks about it now she realizes that they were both kind of young, but she hadn't felt young at the time, and she knew Ryan hadn't, either. It had been this big exciting secret between them-Z remembered looking around the lunch room with Ryan, whispering back and forth and gossiping about who was still a virgin. It seems so petty, now, petty and really dumb, but it had just been so overwhelming at the time. Neither of them really knew how to process all these new feelings and sensations and emotions, so they'd fallen back on old habits, holing up together in Z's bedroom and talking for hours.
Both of their relationships had ended pretty quickly after that.
But either way, she's been having sex for almost three years at this point, and sometimes she just...forgets that not everyone is in the same place. The idea of fumbling into that with Brendon, not knowing it was his first time, makes her heart hurt.
"You okay?" Brendon says, nosing at her collarbone. "You got all quiet."
"Yeah," Z says, shaking her head a little. "No, I'm just-I'm really happy you told me. I, um-I was fifteen," Z says. "So it was a while ago."
"Oh," Brendon says, his face softening a little. "That's-that's kind of young."
"Yeah," Z says, nodding. "I mean-it was okay! I don't want you to think it was terrible, or anything, it wasn't. Just. I probably would have been all 'hey, let's have sex!' and then it would have been awkward and I really, really, really don't mind waiting, if that's what you want, or like, if you don't want to that's okay too, but the car kind of isn't the best place and we should probably wait until we're in a bed--"
"Z, relax," Brendon says, laughing outright. Z snaps her mouth shut. She can feel her face flaming. "I am pretty happy with my life choices," Brendon says, pressing his face into her shoulder. She can feel him smiling against her skin. "I'm not opposed to the idea, it just never felt right, so I'm waiting until it does," Brendon says simply. "And speaking of feeling right, I was totally about to try and get you off before you almost made me come, so I'm going to get back to that."
"Oh," Z breathes out. "Okay. I mean, don't let me stop you, that's-Oh," Z says, because Brendon's already sliding his way down her body, pushing her dress up so that it's rucked up around her stomach. Z bites her lip and shifts restlessly, letting her legs fall open a little more. She can feel Brendon's breath on her stomach, hot and warm, and then he leans in and he's nipping at her skin, just below her belly button. His hands are cradling her hips, slipping underneath the sides of her panties, and Z tries and fails to remember which ones she put on this morning. God, she really hopes they're not an old, raggedy pair. That would suck.
Brendon's mouth is hot on her skin, his tongue slipping out to trace a meandering path down her hips and the top of her thigh. He keeps nipping at her skin, little bursts of sensation that make her hips jump up involuntarily. Z struggles to sit up, just a little, because seriously if she needs to apologize for wearing totally non-sexy underwear she'd like to do so as soon as possible, but Brendon flicks his eyes up at her and smiles, biting down on the inside of her thigh and Z forgets to do anything but arch her back and press forward. She can feel the way she's starting to soak through her panties which-okay, yes, not exactly super sexy, but at least they're plain green boy shorts and not the full coverage Hanes she wears under tights sometimes. Z opens her mouth to say something self-deprecating, but then Brendon looks up at her, holding her gaze while he licks a long, slow stripe up the front of her panties.
"Nevermind," Z mumbles weakly, letting herself fall back against the door. Brendon hums a little against her skin, and Z shifts restlessly because fuck, seriously, all this teasing, it's like-it's so good, but it's so frustrating, and she doesn't know whether she wants Brendon to continue doing what he's doing forever or get on with it.
"I like these," Brendon murmurs, kissing along the elastic on the inside of Z's thigh. Z spreads her legs wider, arching up, but Brendon just moves back a little, making her wait. He slips two fingers underneath the seam, holding it away from her body, and then Z can feel his tongue sliding across bare skin, so close to where she wants it.
"Fuck," Z says, groaning. "Brendon."
"They're cute," Brendon mumbles, just as Z fists a hand in his hair and tugs him forward. She can feel Brendon laughing softly against her skin, but dammit, she doesn't even care. She's wet and swollen and aching, and Brendon needs to either deal with that or pay the consequences.
"Come on," Z mumbles, when Brendon seems content to just sit there and nuzzle at her, to run his fingers gently down her slit and do all sorts of nice things that are not even remotely what Z wants right now. She's just about to tug on his hair again when she feels his hands on her hips, sliding her underwear off, and Z has to sort of kick her legs awkwardly so that they end up on one leg and not stretched over Brendon's head, but then-oh god, Z can't even breathe, because his mouth is on her and he's not teasing anymore. She can feel the way he's licking her open, gentle but firm, sliding his fingers up to where she's warm and wet. Z can hear herself making stupid, stupid noises and fuck, she doesn't even care.
Brendon pulls back a moment later, and Z hears herself whimper helplessly. She shifts her hips up, trying to get his mouth back. Brendon grins at her and then lifts her leg up, arranging it over his shoulder. "Easier this way," Brendon murmurs, leaning back in. "God, you smell so good-" He licks another long, slow swipe from top to bottom and then Z can feel his fingers stroking at her, pressing lightly, like he's giving her the option.
And shit, Z thinks to herself, as she pushes her hips forward sharply and his fingers slip in all the way-she is so taking that option. He presses up inside her, rubbing carefully, and then he leans down and swipes his tongue over her clit and fuck, that's the magic combination right there. If Brendon just keeps doing that-and yeah, he is, long, slow licks of his tongue and gentle pressure on her clit, and he's moving his fingers a little faster, a little rougher, and Z feels everything do that turning-inside-out thing and god, she's going to come soon and it's going to be awesome.
"Okay?" Brendon whispers, and when he looks up at Z his mouth is shining in the low light. Z wants to kiss him, she can't help it, and she tugs him up roughly, still working herself back on his fingers. "What," Brendon whispers, looking a little confused, and Z groans.
"Just fucking kiss me," Z pleads, her stomach starting to tighten up. "Just god, keep doing that and just kiss me-"
Brendon covers her mouth with his own, breathing thick and fast, and Z bites down on his lower lip, tasting herself when she swipes her tongue over the mark in apology. She's so close, and everything she can feel and taste is Brendon, his mouth on her skin, his fingers working inside her. She just needs something else, something to push her over the edge, and she whines a little, tensing up. Brendon breaks away, panting, and then she feels his thumb smoothing against her clit, quick little circles, light and teasing and Z comes, sudden and breathless. Brendon doesn't pull his fingers away, and she can feel herself clenching down on him and somehow that makes it even better, makes her ride it out on this awesome wave of pleasure that leaves her a little stunned at the end.
Z licks her lips, her chest heaving, and tries to remember how to breathe. "Wow," she says, unsteadily, as Brendon carefully moves his fingers away.
"I would say that was a wow," Brendon breathes. His voice is low and rough, and he's looking at her like-Z doesn't even know. Like she's amazing, or something.
"Come up here," Z says, flailing her hands a little until she can settle her hands on Brendon's hips and pull him on top of her.
"I am up here," Brendon says, leaning in to kiss her neck. Z tightens her fingers, tugging him in. "Closer," Z says firmly, sliding one hand down to work at the front of his jeans. She manages to tug them open far enough to get her fingers in, and there, seriously, his skin is so soft. Z holds him carefully, brushing a thumb across the head of his cock just to feel him jerk a little at the sensation. "Now. No more distractions."
"Sounds good," Brendon says brokenly. He presses another wet, open-mouthed kiss to her neck, and Z slowly starts to move her hand. She thinks idly about going down on him, but right now she's kind of just sated and sleepy, and oral sex would require them to move. Brendon's warm on top of her, whimpering slightly and squeezing down on her shoulder whenever she speeds up. This is nice, right here. Z honestly doesn't feel like moving, and Brendon doesn't sound like he minds.
Z swipes her thumb over the head of his cock again, pressing down slightly and tightening her hand. Brendon whimpers again, louder this time. "Good?" Z says, her voice coming out breathier than normal. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah," Brendon whispers. His voice is low and rough. "Fuck. Can you-just a little faster, like-"
"Like this?" Z says, finally speeding up to something that will actually get Brendon off. "Or..." She slows her hand down again, and she's rewarded with a groan. Z can feel herself grinning.
"Please," Brendon whines, pushing himself up on his elbow so he can kiss her, frantic and messy. "Z, please, come on-"
"Oh, fine," Z murmurs, smiling against his mouth. "Since you asked so nicely." She's not trying to tease, she just can't really help it. Brendon's all warm and flushed and pliant; something about seeing him this way makes her want to push, want to see how far she can take him. Possibly it's a little weird, but Z's never been overly concerned with being normal.
"Oh, god," Brendon whispers, when she finally tightens her hand and gives him what he needs. She can feel the way he's bucking up into her hand, and Z's just starting to wonder if she might be up for a second round when Brendon shudders, coming into her hand with a muffled groan against her neck.
"Oh fuck," Brendon says, pulling away. He makes a horrified face. "Oh, fuck."
"Oh," Z says. She looks down and yup, Brendon definitely just came on her dress. Shit.
"Would you believe me if I said this has never happened before?" Brendon says weakly, and Z bursts out laughing. It's just-his face, he's bright red and blushing, and she should probably be upset but instead it's just kind of hysterical. Her boyfriend really is a walking disaster.
"It's okay," Z manages, through her laughter. "It's fine, Brendon. I'll wash it."
"I am so sorry," Brendon says sadly, but there's a smile starting to pull at the edges of his mouth. "I swear to god. I'll come over and do your laundry for you."
"Oh, because that's not suspicious," Z says. "Not at all."
"Shut up," Brendon mumbles, hiding his grin in her shoulder. "I could just be a doting boyfriend. You never know. "
"You forget that Ryan practically lives at my house," Z says. "He'd never let you hear the end of it. Trust me."
"But what are you going to do right now?" Brendon says, making a face as he pokes at her stomach. "Are your parents going to be up? Oh, god, they're going to hate me. They're going to know I came on their daughter." He looks a little sick.
"That's what attractive yet modest cardigan sweaters are for," Z says, kissing him again. "Seriously. Don't worry about it. I have some in the trunk for emergencies. Fashion emergencies," Z says severely, when Brendon's eyes get rather large. "This isn't a common occurrence, don't get any ideas."
"No, hey," Brendon says, his expression softening. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," Z says softly, marveling at how she actually believes him. Brendon may be many things, but malicious isn't one of them. Z's pretty sure he doesn't have a petty or dishonest bone in his body.
"We should probably get going, though," Brendon says, sounding regretful. "My aunt's going to be wondering where the hell I am."
"Oh, the horror," Z says, rolling her eyes, but she follows when he starts to climb into the front seat of her car.
-
"I've come to a decision," Z announces dramatically, halfway through lunch the next day. She waits for the expected lull in the conversation to signal everyone else's excitement and interest, and it's then that she realizes that absolutely no one is paying attention.
"Ryan," Z says, poking him with her fork. "I've come to a decision. An important one. I need you to pretend to care for a second."
"Z, Stop," Ryan mumbles, brushing away her fork. Z frowns at him. He's been too quiet lately, too locked inside his own head. Her Ryan-radar is pinging and Z means to find out what's going on with her best friend, stat, but she also has an announcement to make and seriously, what the fuck, no one is listening.
"GUYS," Z says, bringing the conversation around the table to a screeching halt. Tennessee and Brendon are blinking at her in curiosity, their heads pushed close together over Tennessee's Chemistry textbook and Brendon's half-finished homework. Spencer pauses in the act of offering Ryan one of his iPod earbuds. Ryan just looks at her blankly.
"Go back to what you were doing," he tells the table at large, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "Z's important announcements are usually about how she likes shoes, or something. They're never actually important."
"Oh," Tennessee says, her forehead creasing in confusion. Brendon just looks amused.
"It wasn't about shoes, shut up," Z says, groaning. She knows what he's referring to, and he's gotten it all wrong, as usual. "It was about-oh, never-fucking-mind. You ruined the joke already."
"Let me guess," Ryan says dryly. "It was about how you hate Mondays. Or about how your band needs a drummer." He gives her a look that says see? See what I just did there? louder than words ever could, and then he accepts Spencer's earbud offer, tucking it into his right ear.
"I do hate Mondays," Z muses out loud, sucking on the straw of her soda. "And we do need a drummer." She tries to give Spencer and/or Tennessee a significant look, but Tennessee is back to helping Brendon with his Chemistry homework again, and Spencer's scrolling through his iPod with intense concentration.
Z tries again. "It would be so great if we knew someone who played the drums, wouldn't it?" she says, to the table at large but mostly in Tennessee's direction. She thinks she detects a faint blush on Tennessee's cheeks, but when she turns to see if her oh-so-subtle approach is working on Spencer, all she gets for her troubles is Ryan giving her an unimpressed look.
"What?" Z says, feigning innocence.
Ryan kicks her under the table.
"Ow, fuck," Z mutters. "It was just an observation."
"I'm sure if anyone here happens to have a secret drumming talent, they'll let you know," Ryan says. "Now that we all know beyond a shadow of a doubt how desperate you are."
"We're not desperate," Z starts out, and then cuts herself off with a sigh. "Okay, yeah, we are kind of desperate," Z mumbles, picking at her half-eaten slice of veggie pizza. "We can't keep playing with a fucking drum machine." Z gets the feeling that someone at their table is watching her closely, but when she looks back up, everyone is engrossed in their own activities. Everyone except Brendon, who is biting his lip and looking thoughtful.
"I can play a little," Brendon says. "I mean. I'm not great, but I'm not terrible. I could practice more, if you guys are really stuck."
"That's sweet," Z says, reaching out so she can squeeze his hand. She means it, too. "And that would be awesome, but that's kind of a recipe for disaster, you know?"
"Hey, I'm not that bad," Brendon says, winking at her. "I've only broken someone's kit twice before. That's a decent track record, right?" Next to him, Spencer makes a slightly pained noise.
"That's--not bad," Z says, trying to keep a straight face. "But no, I meant, like. With the whole you-and-me thing, and then if it didn't work out-you know what I mean," Z says, unwilling to say something like if we broke up, you'd leave us high and dry and that would suck a whole fucking lot. It's sweet what Brendon is offering, it really is, but letting Brendon into her band is just-it's not a good idea.
"No, I know," Brendon says, sliding his foot around her ankle for a moment, underneath the table. "I was just thinking I could help out until you find someone permanent."
"Okay," Z says, biting her lip. "Um-I'll think about it." A couple of practice sessions might be okay. Though it'd be better if they could just find someone they knew they could keep. And she kind of wants a girl, which, Tennessee is very carefully not looking at either of them, nose pressed so close to her book that she might as well be sleeping on it. Z's dying to just ask her outright, but she can't shake the feeling that maybe this isn't the right time.
It's a lost cause, anyway, because at that moment the lunch bell rings. "Urgh," Brendon says, staring down at his Chemistry homework. "I'm still not done. You think I can figure this out by myself during History?"
"Just borrow the book," Tennessee says, pushing it towards Brendon. "Don't worry about it. You can give it back to me after class."
"Thanks," Brendon says, hefting it into his backpack. "You sure?"
"Absolutely," Tennessee says, nodding firmly. She shoots Z one last unreadable glance before gathering her things up and saying a quick goodbye to all of them, kissing Spencer on the nose before she runs off to AP European History. Z follows suit, tugging her backpack onto her shoulder and joining the crush of people streaming out from the cafeteria. She waves goodbye to Spencer and Brendon as they head off towards the other end of the school for Spanish, and then it's just her and Ryan, hurrying down the hall towards their French class.
"Subtle," Ryan says, giving her another unimpressed look. "You think you sledgehammered the point enough?"
"No," Z says, giving him a placid look. Tennessee's mysterious resolve to keep her awesome drumming a secret is already starting to wear down. Z can feel it. "Not really, no."
-
In Chemistry, they're treated to a lecture on oxyhydrogen. Spencer wishes they'd get to do an actual experiment; he really enjoys things that blow up (who doesn't?) but apparently there are safety rules in Chemistry and they don't allow students to handle substances that are this volatile. So instead they all have to sit there and hear about why it's so volatile, and then watch their teacher carefully create a tiny explosion for them.
Boring.
Next to him, Brendon is fidgeting. He tilts his head at Tennessee and whispers, "Why aren't you in Jazz Band?"
Tennessee freezes. Spencer's not sure what to do, but he's sure this isn't the place for this particular conversation. He knocks at Brendon's elbow and pencils later talk about this later on Brendon's notebook and nods at his girlfriend who glares at him. He doesn't know why she hasn't told Brendon yet, and he's not going to make her tell him, but he knows they should have the actual talk somewhere they won't get interrupted by explosions.
After class, they avoid Ryan and Z and hide in the Art room, which is empty during the last class period. It's a fact he and Tenn have definitely taken advantage of before, but right now they have more pressing things to deal with, like Brendon and his insatiable curiosity.
Brendon says, carefully, "I don't get it. You, you and Spencer both, you're awesome and your drumming, seriously, it's really good, but you won't. Um. Z obviously wants you in her band."
Tennessee isn't looking at either of them. Spencer shoves his hands deep into his pockets because he's not very good at watching when she's in pain, but he really has to let her tell this story. If she wants to.
Tennessee licks her lips. "It's not that I," she pauses. "Z's band is awesome."
"So are you," Brendon says fiercely.
"It's dumb," she says.
"You don't actually have to tell me," Brendon says, "but you have to know you're good enough for them. More than good enough for them."
She breathes in. "Okay," she says. "I just. I had a drum teacher."
Brendon stiffens, and Tennessee shakes her head. "Nothing like that," she says. "Nothing-he just wasn't very nice. He was very good, but he wasn't very nice. He'd say, like. 'Of course you don't have that fill down yet, fine, let's run it again.' And stuff."
There was more to it than that, Spencer knows. He said worse things, this asshole teacher of Tennessee's and it took Spencer two months to figure out why she stopped drumming. He got her to play with him and then he asked her to come to one of his lessons, and now she has Bob, Bob who is the nicest guy Spencer ever met, and who never ever criticized her for the first three months of lessons. Spencer hadn't told him anything, but Bob's good with people.
"What an asshole," Brendon says. "What an absolute, absolute asshole."
Tennessee peers at him through her bangs. "Yes," she says. "He was. But, er, that's why. So now you know."
"Okay," Brendon says. "He so doesn't deserve to take anything away from you, but I get it."
"You do, don't you," Tennessee says, sounding sad. Brendon hugs her then, tightly, and Spencer aches a little, looking at them both. It'd be nice if there was some kind of instant karma button, he thinks, poking at the floor with his toe.
-
That Saturday, Z ends her call with Brendon and looks up at her bandmates. A shitty drum teacher, Brendon said, and wouldn't tell her anything else. "I shouldn't even say that much," he said, sounding sad. Z wanted Tennessee to join them before, true, but now she really really wants her because no one should have music taken away from them like that. No one.
"Guys," she says. "You know how I mentioned a possible drummer?"
"Oh fuck," Laena says immediately, like she'd been worrying. "She won't do it?"
Z shakes her head, then realizes what it looks like she means. "No! I mean maybe. I don't know. She-something happened, and now she doesn't think she's good enough to drum in front of an audience, but I really think she's the right person."
"Oh, that's awful," Annie says. "Can we help somehow?"
"I don't know," Z admits. She doesn't. You can't just make someone feel better. (She should know, she's been best friends with Ryan Ross since forever. Also, to be fair, she's not all that together herself all the time.)
"Just keep asking," Laena says. "I don't know her, but just keep asking."
"Maybe we could just ask her to come around and feel it out?" Annie says. "No obligation, nothing like that, just, like, trying it out. Trying us out."
"That's what she said," Z mutters, but she thinks Annie might be on the right track.
That's when Spencer calls her and asks, "Have you heard from Ryan?" and no, Z hasn't heard from Ryan. Not since they got out of school yesterday, come to think of it.
"Check the school," she says, swallowing down the sudden worry. She's too far away, Spencer's closer. "He sometimes goes walking there when he's, um." When he's really upset, and it's always a fucking bad idea.
-
Ryan isn't thinking straight, or else he would have realized this was a terrible plan.
It's only when he rounds the corner of the athletics wing that he notices where he is, where he's going. He's been walking aimlessly for hours, unable to sit still, unable to face going home. He doesn't want to call Z and he doesn't want to call Spencer or Tennessee; fuck, he can't call anyone. His legs ache. Everything aches. He's used to feeling shitty but not like this-like he's been hollowed out, like every nerve in his body has been scraped down into nothing.
He just keeps walking. He rounds the corner and keeps walking and there's, yeah, there's five members of the wrestling team hanging out waiting for their rides in front of the entrance. He thinks about turning around and going back the way he came, but that would take a hell of a lot longer than just walking past them and down the street where he can get on the 201 bus to go home. Fuck it. Maybe they'll behave.
But he should have known better. "Faggot," one of them mutters, as Ryan walks by. There's some nudging, some whispers, a few lewd hand gestures. Ryan grits his teeth.
"Moron," he mutters, but he must have been louder than he thought, because one of them is on his feet. It's Carl, of course it is.
"What was that?" Carl says. "Did you have something to say?" And it's so obvious that he expects Ryan to back down because people always back down, but Ryan's just done. He's been hurting and hurting for hours, for days, and if these fuckers think they can do worse than that, they're welcome to try. And this time, he'll give back as much as he can.
"I said you're a moron," he says, turning around. "You, and Steve, and every one of you assholes. You're so stupid you wouldn't know a book if it hit you in your fucking faces, and you're on a second-rate high school wrestling team, and you're never, ever, ever going to get out of here." I am. Just wait and fucking see.
"Oh, I bet you can't wait to get out of here," Carl says, looking at him. "I bet you can't wait to go somewhere they'll fuck you as much as you want."
Really, how predictable can you get? Ryan smirks. "You want some, is that it?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Steve says, spitting on the ground. He rubs at his crotch, giving Ryan a leer. "I bet you couldn't even take it. I'd choke you with this motherfucker."
"You think I can't take it?" Ryan says, walking towards them slowly. He stops a few feet away. They're all staring at him, cold glares full of anger and fear. It's kind of sad, Ryan thinks, in the corner of his mind that isn't fueled by sheer adrenaline.
"Yeah," Steve says. He looks confused, though. Ryan doesn't usually move towards them. "You fucking faggot motherfucker," Steve-the-moron adds, and Ryan knows it's time to act.
The wad of phlegm is a direct hit, right on Steve's ugly face, in between his eyes. Ryan's already ducking away from the swing before he's even finished swallowing, backing away and taking off at a dead run. He can hear the sound of yelling behind him, the pounding of feet on the pavement. Ryan skids around the corner, his heart pounding, stomach tensing in preparation for the first and probably only swing he's going to get off-
-and runs straight into Tennessee.
"Get the fuck out of here," Ryan gasps out, shoving her shoulder. "Seriously, run."
"We've been looking everywhere for you," Tennessee hisses, and her mouth is set in a thin line, and Ryan has the sudden, overwhelming urge to apologize but there isn't time.
"Go," Ryan says, pushing at her arm, and at the exact same moment Tennessee's eyes widen and she hisses "Duck!"
Ryan moves without thinking. He pulls his shoulders in, tucking himself down, and then someone grabs his arm and he's thrown up against the brick wall of the gymnasium. He sees Tennessee's head snap back as one of them punches her across the jaw-a punch meant for Ryan, but they're obviously not very organized-and then his head is slammed into the brick and Ryan's stomach drops, nausea blooming in his stomach. The back of his head feels wet but there's no time to think-he gets a punch to the jaw, then another, and someone gets his nose. He kicks out wildly because it hurts, but there's too many of them, at least two of them holding him in place while Steve shakes his hand out with a grim smile.
"You fucking asked for it," he says, and Ryan swallows hard, because he did, fuck, but Steve's rubbing at his crotch again, pointedly, and-
Oh, god.
Ryan has a split second to process, a moment of sheer, unadulterated terror, and then there's a blur of blond hair and Tennessee's wrenching herself free from the guy who has her hands behind her back. Ryan's eyes widen. She's behind Steve, but only for a second, because then she's ducking to the side and landing a solid right hook to his head. He pulls away, confused, and then she pulls back and lands another, then another-two quick, solid blows, right to his nose, and Ryan hears a crack! and then there's a spray of something dark and wet on Steve's face, too.
Ryan kicks out again, taking advantage of the distraction to fight dirty, to knee the guy on his right in the balls and then bite down on the other guy's arm. He sinks his teeth in, hard, and the guy yells out-a harsh, guttural noise, right in Ryan's ear. Tenneesee's relentless-they're all around her, now, obviously preparing to deal with this unexpected threat when there's the sound of more feet pounding on the pavement and Spencer skids to a stop around the corner.
Everyone pauses.
"Get the fuck away from them," Spencer says, in a voice that Ryan's never heard him use before. It's low and dangerous, and Ryan can see how Spencer's already clenching his hands into fists. Ryan takes advantage of the distraction to elbow the guy next to him in the solar plexus. He keels over, groaning.
"I'm serious," Spencer grinds out. "You don't think there's more of us coming? They're right behind me. They've already called the fucking police." Ryan can feel the last remaining hand on his arm slowly loosening, and he tugs himself loose as soon as he thinks he can make it. The wrestling guys start to back away slowly, glancing at each other.
"Not our fault he's a fucking faggot," one of them mutters, under their breath.
"Get the fuck out of here," Spencer says, and as if on cue, there's the wail of sirens in the distance. It's the magic combination, even though Ryan's 99% certain that Spencer is bluffing; the guys take off around the side of the building at a dead run.
Ryan lets himself slump down to the pavement. He brings a hand up to the back of his head, and it comes away dark and wet.
"Ryan," Spencer murmurs, and then there's hands trying to help him up, smoothing his hair away from his face. Ryan jerks away, anger flaring bright and sudden in his chest.
"Don't fucking touch me," Ryan spits out.
"Ryan-" Tennessee says, looking confused as she wipes the blood and grime away from her temple. "Ryan, what-?"
"I don't need anyone else to fight my battles," Ryan says, his voice shaking. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?"
"Helping," Tennessee grinds out, her voice low and dangerous. "They would have-Ryan, they were going to-"
"So?" Ryan spits back. "The fuck do you care?" Behind them, the sirens are fading away. Ryan had figured Spencer was bluffing.
"What do you mean, what the fuck do we care?" Spencer growls, still reaching out for the cut on the back of Ryan's head. "Shit, we need to get you to a hospital."
"I'm fine," Ryan says, jerking away again. "I don't need your help, okay? I don't need you. Either of you. I could have handled it."
"Maybe you could have," Tennessee says, still quiet and furious. "But you shouldn't have to."
"That's my problem, then," Ryan grinds out. "You're so-you're both so-I don't get you, either of you. Why the fuck would you want to help-" Me, Ryan thinks, furious and disjointed. Why the fuck are you here, why can't you just stop caring, don't you understand how much this fucking hurts?
"Because we care about you," Tennessee says, and she reaches out again, and Ryan can't-he just can't. Fuck this.
"You don't," Ryan spits. "You don't, the two of you, this is all just some game to you, 'let's help the poor faggot out'-"
"Don't you ever call yourself that again," Spencer says, and Ryan's never heard him sound so serious.
"You just don't get it," Ryan says, slightly hysterical, and his face feels wet, and Ryan grits his teeth and blinks, hard. He hasn't cried since he was ten years old; he's not going to start now. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Do you think I could leave Spencer alone in that situation?" Tennessee demands, reaching out, taking Ryan's face between her palms of her hands and forcing him to look at her. Ryan tries to pull away, but Tennessee's strong, he knew that, drummer and all. "Do you?"
"No," Ryan whispers. It feels like the words are being torn out of his chest.
"Then you know why I couldn't leave you," Tennessee says, softer now.
"I don't," Ryan says, his voice cracking. "Why?"
"We're not leaving you," Spencer says, quiet and firm. "Not ever."
"You can't," Ryan says weakly. "I. We. That's not." Possible, Ryan thinks. That's not normal, that's not possible. Ryan wants to scream and he wants to cry and he sort of wants to pass out. He does none of those things, but it's a close call.
"Who cares?" Tennessee says, smiling wry and sharp. "We don't."
"Whatever," Ryan says, shaking his head. "Don't-that's not funny."
"Good," Tennessee says, her mouth firming back into a thin line. "It's not supposed to be." She brushes her fingers over Ryan's temple, and when she pulls them away Ryan can see that the tips are dark with blood. He feels lightheaded all of a sudden.
"Ryan," Spencer says, catching him by the arm when Ryan blinks and the world shudders into motion for a long, terrifying minute. "Seriously, we're taking you to a hospital. You're still bleeding."
"I can't," Ryan says. He thinks about just pointing out that he doesn't have health insurance, but then Spencer and Tennessee will try to pay for it, and-no. Ryan's not doing this right now. He isn't.
"Why not?" Tennessee says, pulling him carefully to his feet, watching him closely. "Ryan, you're hurt. I don't know why we're even still discussing this. "
"Just take me to Z's," Ryan says, shaking his head and then stopping abruptly when the movement engenders more vertigo. "If you take me the hospital, I swear I'll fucking...I'll run away. I'll walk home. Just-please," Ryan grits out, hoping against hope that just for once, someone in his life will fucking listen to him.
"This isn't the first time they've attacked you," Spencer says suddenly, his voice flat, espressionless. "Is it?"
Hah, Ryan thinks. You have no idea. He keeps his mouth shut. "Just take me back to Z's house," Ryan says, abruptly close to falling over from exhaustion. He leans heavily on Tennessee's steadying arm. "I know where the spare key is. It's not a big deal."
"We're not leaving you," Tennessee says quietly, as they make their way slowly across the parking lot to her car. Spencer is on his other side, close, but not touching.
"That's nice," Ryan says. He concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other.
-
The drive to Z's house passes in a blur. Ryan hears Spencer talking quietly to someone on his cell phone, hears him repeating the directions to Z's house to Tennessee, but everything around him feels distant and dull. It's not until Spencer's opening Ryan's car door and holding out a hand to help Ryan out that he starts to wake up again, and suddenly he's very, very awake because Z is flying across her lawn and throwing her arms around him.
"Don't you fucking do that to me," Z mutters, clutching him so tightly that Ryan groans in pain. She stiffens, dropping her arms and looking at him with a guilty expression. Ryan closes his eyes, leaning up against the side of Tennessee's car. The metal is warm to the touch. He can feel Z's hands brushing over his head, checking for bruises and cuts.
"I'm still so fucking mad at you," Z says. "Why the fuck didn't you call?" She pulls her fingers away, looking down at them for a moment, and Ryan wishes everyone would stop putting their hands in his blood and then looking at him like he's going to break. It's just a head wound. They bleed a lot. Maybe Spencer and Tennessee aren't used to it, but Z definitely is. There's no reason for her to be all freaked out right now.
"Come inside," is all Z says, but Ryan feels the way her hand is trembling when she links her fingers in his. He looks over his shoulder to see Spencer and Tennessee giving each other an unreadable look, and then he looks forward to see Brendon standing in Z's doorway, his eyes large and concerned, and what the fuck, seriously, is there going to be party here tonight or something?
"Don't get pissed," Z murmurs, squeezing his hand as Brendon moves out of the way so they can make it through the doorway. "Tenn and Spencer called him first and then I called him and then he refused to go anywhere but here. He's worried about you. They all are."
"Everyone needs to worry about me somewhere else," Ryan says, following Z to the bathroom. He sits down on the closed toilet, his head spinning, and then suddenly he's crowded into the room by three people while Z goes to tell her parents why their house has suddenly been invaded with teenagers. He's glad Z's mom didn't get a look at him when he came in, or he'd be in the hospital for sure.
Brendon is the first to break the strained silence. "What happened?" he says softly, biting his lip. "Did you-"
"Tripped," Ryan says blithely. "Happens all the time. I'm clumsy."
"Don't," Spencer says, his mouth a thin, hard line. "Don't do that, don't pretend it didn't happen. They fucking-someone should arrest those assholes."
"If someone was going to arrest them, it would have happened long ago," Ryan says humorlessly. "What, you think this is the first time this has happened? You think I'm the only guy they've ever beat the shit out of? It's not-" he pauses, searching for the words. "It's fine," Ryan says tiredly, pushing himself up so he can get a good look at himself in the mirror.
It's not a pretty picture. His left eye is rapidly swelling shut, and he can tell just from looking that he's going to have matching black eyes tomorrow. There's blood and dirt smeared on his temple, across his forehead, and when he pokes his nose gingerly there's a bit of a crunching sound. He doesn't think it's broken, though-he pokes it again, just to make sure, and then he hears a pained noise from behind him.
"Ryan," Tennessee says helplessly, and then she's pressing her face into the back of his neck, hugging him with something akin to desperation.
Ryan freezes, two fingers still on his possibly broken nose. "What?" he says, instead of telling her to let go again, because as much as Tennessee hugging him is kind of hurting his ribs, he's not a complete asshole. Not most of the time, anyway. And she seems really upset.
"No one should look that unconcerned about making sure their nose isn't broken," Spencer says softly, and Ryan looks through the mirror to see that Brendon has disappeared, that it's just him and Spencer and Tennessee crammed into the small guest bathroom on the first floor. "How many times, Ryan? How often does Z have to-fuck, how many times?"
"Eight or nine," Ryan says, looking away. "It's fine, Spencer. Usually it's not broken. It's not a big deal." And Ryan knows that his definition of big deal is different from other people's, he does, but there's no way he can explain that without going into the whole story about his dad, and he-he trusts them, maybe, he thinks he might love them, but that story is a lot to give someone and he's not quite sure that Spencer and Tennessee are there yet. Maybe they won't ever be.
He's saved from elaborating by the appearance of Z at his elbow, followed by Brendon, laden down with Z's first aid kit and multiple packages of frozen vegetables.
"Peas on the face, you," Z says firmly, giving Tennessee a Look. Tennessee moves away from Ryan, stumbling back towards the door. Brendon follows close behind her, pressing a bag of frozen vegetables into her hand. "Ryan, sit down, head between your knees. I need to look at that cut on the back of your head."
"It's fine," Ryan says, for what feels like the hundreth time tonight, but Z just raises an eyebrow. Ryan rolls his eyes, wincing, and then sits down.
"You act like we've never done this before," Z mutters, unscrewing the cap from a large bottle of hydrogen peroxcide with one hand while she brushes Ryan's hair away from the cut with the other. "Actually-you know what, fuck it, just take your shirt off and get in the tub."
"Seriously?" Ryan says, looking up to glare at her.
"Do you want me to pour this all over the floor?" Z says, holding the bottle up. "Strip. And the rest of you-Out. I need room to work." Brendon and Tennessee slip out almost immediately, but Spencer stands his ground, still looking unexpectedly fierce, and a little bit like he's about to loose his shit all over the place.
"I just-" Spencer says, and Z fixes him with one of her best glares. "Out," Z says, pointing firmly.
Spencer goes.
-
Who does that? Spencer thinks, almost stumbling as he walks out the door. Who goes to school every day knowing that the worst, the worst could-Spencer knew it was bad, of course he did, but he didn't know. Fuck. And Tennessee nearly-he tries to blink away the image of her, surrounded, but he can't seem to manage it.
He wants-actually, he even doesn't know, he thinks, staring blankly at the cluster of family pictures that line Z's living room wall. He wants all of this not to be happening. Fuck.
He picks his way up the stairs because he needs to at least see Tennessee; he knows Z can take care of Ryan, knows she'll say the right things in a way that Spencer couldn't, not right now. As much as he wants to help, he's also really good at recognizing when he's out of his depth. It's such a shitty thing: he's no good at being powerless, but he's so fucking good at knowing when he can't do anything. The adrenaline of earlier is ebbing away into an empty aching feeling in his chest, and he doesn't know what to do right now, so he needs to go find Tennessee. It's a strategy that usually works.
The bathroom door upstairs is cracked open. Brendon is saying something and Tennessee is laughing. Spencer swipes a hand across his eyes and knocks.
-
"Yeah," Brendon says, and Spencer pushes the door open the rest of the way.
"Can I come in?" he says.
Brendon glances at Tennessee, who nods. "You don't faint at the sight of blood, right?" Brendon says. "Because I need to be able to do my work, here."
Spencer manages a grin. "Nah, I'll live. Tennessee's the one with the injuries; I should be able to survive watching them get cleaned up." He sits down, leaning against the bathtub.
"I don't know," Brendon says musingly. "She's kind of a gory sight at the moment."
"Really, though, you should have seen the other guy," Tennessee says, then corrects herself. "Guys," she says. "There were several."
"So I gathered," Brendon murmurs. "Tilt your chin up, 'kay, because-" She does, and he carefully cleans the cut under her jaw.
"Thanks," she says, and flinches when Brendon's hand slips.
"Sorry," he says. "Sorry, my hand slipped."
"That's quite alright," she says. "I laugh in the face of pain, etcetera."
Brendon touches her cheek with the cotton ball he's holding. "You're totally brave," he says softly. "I-you're totally brave." He bends down to throw the cotton away and soaks a new one in rubbing alcohol.
Tennessee shakes her head automatically. "No, I just couldn't watch him get hurt. Spencer did the same thing."
"You got hurt, though," Spencer says quietly. Tennessee flicks her eyes over, looking at him.
"I'm okay," she says. "I'm okay, Spencer. Ryan's worse off."
Spencer nods, because yes, he's aware of that. He sneaks his hand up to touch Tennessee's hand and she's not looking at him, but she curls her fingers around his, squeezing and letting go. Spencer zones out a little and when he starts listening again, Brendon is talking.
"But, like, I don't quite get it. How many of them were there?"
"I'm not sure," Tennessee says, and her voice sounds brittle. "I came around the corner and oh, there were a lot, and Ryan, and I just couldn't even think because he was all alone against the wall and I couldn't leave him there, I couldn't-"
"No, I got that part," Brendon says. "You did a good thing, Tenn. I would have been scared shitless. I couldn't have done it."
She draws in a sharp breath. "I-" and then she's crying, all of a sudden, and Brendon is hugging her and Spencer just hurts. Tennessee doesn't cry like most people; there's no build-up, no watery eyes. She's tough and in-control until the moment she isn't, anymore, and watching her break down always makes him die a little.
"Hey," Brendon says softly. "Hey, hey, Tenn, you're okay, we're all here, you're okay." She's clinging to him and Brendon kisses the top of her head. "Shhh," he says. "We're all here, you're okay."
"Love you," Spencer manages, voice shaking because yeah, he's kind of crying too, silently.
"Yeah, we all love you, everyone loves you," Brendon says. "You're just that lovable," and there, that's the right note, just cheerful and earnest enough that she chokes a little, laughing, and the worst of it ebbs.
"Z loves you," she says. Brendon goes a little red. "No, she does, and she loves Ryan. I'm not all that certain of how she feels about me, however, though it's awfully nice of her to let you clean me up in her bathroom."
Brendon grins. "No, hey, she totally loves you too, beanstalk. I'm getting jealous, the way she keeps talking about you." He quirks an eyebrow at her.
Tennessee blinks. "Me?"
"You're a drummer," Brendon says gently. "A lady drummer, and a damn good one at that. You just might be her new favorite person."
Tennessee swallows.
Spencer holds his breath. He tried to talk to her about Z's band, he kept his promise to Ryan and tried but she just shook her head and kissed him and said, "Perhaps at college, Spencer Smith," but maybe, maybe-oh god, it would be so good for her, so good for all of them-
Brendon senses his advantage. "Try it," he says softly. "Just try it."
"You think I-"
"You're good enough. More than. Just try it. Don't promise them anything, but."
She nods, and Spencer wants to smile for the first time in hours. He reaches for her hand again. "Love you," he says quietly.
"You too," she says, and he kneels up and kisses the corner of her mouth carefully.
Brendon's looking at them both and smiling. "Let's get some ice on your hand, Thomas, and then let's go downstairs and see how Ryan's doing."
Part Four | Part Six