PatD fic: The Stupid Thing (Jon/Ryan, PG-13)
Continuing my quest for accurate tagging despite a disintegrating band, I dub this story a Panic fic, not Young Veins. Since, you know, they were still in Panic at this point.
Random old story that's been lurking on the hard drive. Thought I'd dust it off and see if it amused anybody.
Title: The Stupid Thing
Pairing: Jon/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jon's standing up against a concrete wall at the end of some out-of-the-way backstage corridor that leads to nothing, not talking to anybody and not even moving very much. Certainly not smiling. But he doesn't look mopey or angry or stoned or anything. That's just it: he looks like nothing. 3700 words.
Note: Set during Jon's first tour with the band. This is pretty far from an entirely serious piece of fanfiction. It's not crack, but it's not srs bzns either. Just sayin'.
The Stupid Thing
And the stupid thing is Jon's not even high.
Totally not high. Or at least Ryan's almost positive, especially after the no smoking up before a show anymore, okay, because you kinda drag and act weird mumble-cranky speech thing he gave a couple of weeks back. Mumbled because he just can't look Jon Walker in the face and yell at him, even when he wants to; something in his big brown eyes makes Ryan wonder if he's maybe wrong or something, and, dude, he totally isn’t wrong that often.
So Jon's probably not high, but yet he's standing up against a concrete wall at the end of some out-of-the-way backstage corridor that leads to nothing, not talking to anybody and not even moving very much. Certainly not smiling. But he doesn't look mopey or angry or stoned or anything. That's just it: he looks like nothing. Vacant. Like he's sleepwalking.
"Hey, sleep-Walker, what the fuck?" Ryan calls out as he comes to a point midway down the hall. There's a door open at the end, and Jon's staring out into the late afternoon light.
"Mmm?" Jon replies, turning to him and blinking into the darkness, frowning a little.
Predictably, at the sound of Ryan's bellowing Brendon materializes from out of nowhere, and he pushes past him before either Ryan or Jon can even open their mouths.
"You alright?" Brendon asks.
When he lays his head on Jon's shoulder, Jon replies, "Sure. Why?"
"I dunno. You seem…"
Ryan notices that now Spencer has also similarly appeared out of nowhere, and he's already frowning and looking tentative in a way that makes Ryan way more irritated than nervous.
Spencer says, "Don't tell me he's…"
"No," Ryan replies tersely. Maybe because, honestly, he would've expected Spencer to know about this…whatever it is, even before he did, and maybe to have already done something about it.
Spencer walks down to Jon, too, and stops directly in front of him, peering into his face, at which attention Jon gives a half smile.
"No, dude," Jon says. "I'm just tired. That's all."
"You slept for hours on the way here," Brendon says. He pokes Jon in the ribs and gets not even flinch in response. "Maybe you have mono. I had mono once. So not fun."
Ryan groans. "Yeah, we remember."
Spencer says, "Where would he have gotten…?"
Brendon pokes Jon again. "Hey, maybe we should call that girl from-"
"Bren," Spencer says with a hiss, eyes shifting to Ryan instinctively and just as instinctively shifting away.
That girl? That girl who potentially has something to do with Jon's possible mono? And why is it everybody else seems to know about that girl but him?
Ryan tries to meet Jon's gaze, but he won't look at him. Instead, he looks over his shoulder, like he's looking down the hall to the rest of the noisy world behind them.
Quietly and way more calmly than he feels, Ryan says through clenched teeth, "What girl?"
Jon's turns his head and looks out the door again. "Nothing. Just some catering girl in Cleveland."
"Some catering girl in Cleveland," Ryan echoes, as though it's a riddle. It is, right? Jon…hooking up with some…girl? Jon who belongs to them? Aren't they enough for Jon?
And, really, how the fuck didn't he know about this?
So it is kind of a riddle, but Jon seems to take it as an insult, which it probably is, too, anyway. Kind of. Jon doesn't look at Ryan, but at least he swings his head in Spencer's general direction, where he's leaned back against the wall opposite him. Jon's voice rises a little, so that it's now at maybe a normal level of intensity.
"She was cool," he says. "She didn't giggle or ask me to sign her tits or anything. She was a good kisser." He shrugs again, this time with purpose.
"Couldn't have been too good," Brendon says. "You didn't even-"
Spencer cuffs him on the side of the head.
Brendon yelps and gives Spencer a death glare, that one that he has no idea how ridiculous it looks. "It's not a fucking secret." He looks at Jon for confirmation, suddenly a little worried or guilty or something. "Right?"
Jon nods at Brendon, then he squints at Spencer. "It's cool. And not a secret. I told you nothing really happened."
Though he speaks loudly enough for Ryan to hear, even halfway down the hall, he's still not looking at him-which is good because that means he doesn't see how Ryan's been winding tighter and tighter during this whole exchange, and now his face is hot and probably an embarrassing shade of pink.
Ryan snaps, "Well, Jon, I'd appreciate it if your inability to have sex with groupies didn't-"
"Not inability," Jon muttered. "And not a groupie."
"Whatever!" Ryan suddenly squawks, and he finds his hands flailing, which… He takes a ragged breath and decides for more stern and less frantic: "We're on in like half an hour, and you're standing here acting like you actually do have mono or something, when you've got music to play and-"
"Ryan," Jon huffs, turning his head fast and narrowing his eyes as he peers down the dark hallway at him. "You know how it is. When I hit the stage I'll be-"
Spencer snorts and suddenly all eyes are on him, and it's his turn to look toward the door and the sunlight.
Spencer sighs, then he turns back to look and Jon and says quietly, "You absolutely don't wake up out there. I've seen it too many times."
Suddenly, as if the emotional barometer in the corridor has dropped in ways only his internal sensors are subtle enough to detect, Brendon insinuates himself into the middle of the triangle of them-and with no finesse at all, although maybe that's the point. His voice is painfully diplomatic, bordering on patronizing as he casts his glance at Jon but somehow pitches his words at Ryan and Spencer.
"But it's totally fine, right? You've got that cool bassist vibe thing going on. I'll just be extra…charming or…."
Brendon's glancing reflexively at Spencer for confirmation, and once he sees how Spencer's glaring at Ryan, Brendon turns back and looks at Ryan, too, then he shuts his mouth in a hurry.
Ryan grits his teeth and gestures at Jon with his hand as he tries for stern again and ends up with half-desperate and maybe a little bitter. Or, you know, angry. Okay, frustrated, really, which for Ryan nearly always turns into angry-when it's about his band or his friends or his friends in his band.
"I don't give a rat's ass what's wrong with you," Ryan says. "You need to come out of whatthefuckever kind of walking coma this is and be ready to be happy and awake and energetic and sing the goddamn songs or I'm seriously going to kick your ass."
Jon's body posture doesn't change one iota, but his eyes do, narrowing suddenly. It makes the blood creep up the back of Ryan's neck. Hot. Too hot. Not in a sex way, either. Except.
Fuck.
Ryan kind of wants to yell more, even if a part of him is instantly sorry he was an asshole. Because if Jon is going to look at him like that when he yells…
Jon's eyes are so dark now, and he replies slowly, "You bitching at me isn't helping, you motherfucking control freak."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Ryan sees Brendon bite his lip and Spencer shake his head, and they both draw in a deep breath and hold it-as if they haven't all said a hell of a lot worse to each other before. Well, they have. Jon hasn't. It was only a matter of time, really, but it's infuriating for it to be happening now: Jon's picking a fight but he's somehow still managing to look like he's half dead to the world.
It suddenly occurs to Ryan that Brendon really is like some emotional equivalent of a carbon monoxide detector, picking up on warning signs before anybody else could sense them, because this is serious. Not simple bickering but a real fight. If it's freaking out everyone around Ryan, it must be serious.
Brendon reaches out and tugs Jon's sleeve. "Hey, let's…"
Almost as if they've choreographed it beforehand, Brendon's pulling Jon down the hallway past them as Spencer comes and stands near Ryan so he can act as a shield and give him his best no bullshit face, the kind Ryan often chooses to ignore, even if that means consequences later.
Oh, there will be some big consequences for this one, but he can't stop himself.
Once Jon's a few paces down the hallway back to the common area, Ryan shouts at his retreating back, "Lazy cocksucker!"
Spencer's hand closes over his arm and Brendon glares back at him, eyes going wide, and Ryan realizes he doesn't even know why he's so angry and in need of provoking a response. If he's honest and rational about it, there have been any number of times when Jon was quiet and cool and maybe even a bit withdrawn on stage, and it wasn't a disaster at all, not even remotely. That's not his role in the show or in the band, to be the whirling, gregarious center of attention. Hell, it's not even Ryan's job. So this is pretty fucking irrational, yet Ryan is angry and he does need a response. And he gets one.
Jon stops, despite Brendon's pulling. When he turns, his expression is pretty black, but then it warms into a nasty smile.
"You wish."
"Oh?" Ryan replies. "I wish you were a cocksucker? Is that right?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"Jesus," Spencer mutters. "Do we have to have the fucking Kinsey scale discussion…right now?"
"I don't know," Ryan says. "Depends on if it explains what went wrong with the nameless horny catering groupie from Cleveland."
"I'm sure she has a name," Brendon says.
Ryan smirks. "Well, we don't know it. Jon probably doesn't even know it. Not like he needs to know it, right? Not for what he's looking for. So I'm gonna call her a Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland."
Spencer snaps, "It's really not like it was anything sordid, Ry."
"Apparently, since nothing really happened with the Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland."
"Well, something happened," Brendon says.
"How surprising," Ryan says sarcastically, "given how she's a Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland."
When Jon finally raises his head to respond, his voice is a bark: "Yeah, well maybe you're a Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland," he says lamely.
Spencer is the first to break up in giggles, after carefully hiding his mouth behind his hand, but Brendon isn't far behind and he doesn't bother to hide it at all. But Ryan's staring at Jon, and though Jon still isn't moving, his expression vacillates now between really amused and really annoyed and really amused at being really annoyed.
Ryan's face curves into a mischievous smile that makes his face feel a little too hot, but he can't stop it.
Over Brendon's wheezing laughter and Spencer's giggling, Ryan says, "You know, I will be, if you're that hard up for groupies."
Jon's grinning now. "But you're not from Cleveland."
"And you already know my name."
"Oh," Jon says, lips pursing round, smirking a bit. "And just like that, he deflects the question of whether he's horny."
"And you didn't even ask me if I can cook."
Jon raises his eyebrows. "Maybe I don't care."
Ryan takes a shallow breath. Oh, and it's serious again-not angry serious but really serious. Ryan was just…flirting, right? Which he never means to do; in fact, he always means not to. He's been pushing this kind of thing back since he realized having a kick-ass bassist was more important than indulging his ridiculous-and, honestly, fickle-libido. Not that his libido has ever been fickle about Jon Walker.
He's relatively sure this is the very reason he has such a hard time yelling at Jon like he does Spencer and Brendon. He's morbidly afraid of the kind of shit that will come out of his mouth when he lets it all come loose the way he does when he's mad. That's why he sticks to having long, sedate conversations with him about music and twenty million other things besides anything personal. Sure, it all seems personal, the things they say to each other about the way they see the world and the way music sounds to them, but they don't do details except when they matter. They don't keep intricate tabs on each others' lives. Maybe that's why he didn't know about the girl. And he totally should have known.
Because he's his friend, along with the music and whatever else. This is also why he really should be worried about Jon's epic lethargy, which he totally is. But since Jon looks so cute smiling at him all lazy and mischievous, Ryan just keeps smiling back. He smiles long enough that Spencer gives up his referee job and wanders off, and when Ryan gives Brendon a look, he raises his eyebrows and shuffles off, too.
The music from the second opener is louder now, making the walls around them vibrate, loud enough Ryan takes a few steps forward so he can hear Jon if he speaks, which still really doesn't look all that likely, but he's finally at least smiling. The world seems almost normal again. Perhaps it bothered him more than he cared to admit to see Jon so withdrawn.
Once he's close enough to be heard, almost close enough to touch, Ryan says firmly, "Seriously, what's wrong?"
Jon shakes his head. "I don't know. I've been… All day. Past few days, maybe."
"You feel bad?"
"I feel… I don’t know." He shrugs, trying for blank, but there's this ghost of a hollow look on his face. Ryan frowns at him, and Jon shakes his head, closing his eyes and muttering to himself, "Shit. I'll be fine, just…"
Ryan cocks his head to the side, trying to work out just what it is that makes Jon's eyes do that glazed, sad thing they're doing. Because he's just now realizing it's sadness. It was always sadness: sadness covered in apathy, a little like how he looks over a smoked bowl, which was probably also…
Ryan asks him, "Jon, are you miserable here?"
In our band? he thinks. With us?
With me? a tiny voice inside him echoes.
"No," he replies, but he's decidedly not looking at him.
"Don't lie to me."
Jon turns his gaze back on him and smiles. "I never have been able to."
Ryan's throat feels tight, but he manages to get the words out anyway: "The girl would've…? Right?"
Jon looks startled, but then his head bounces into a nod.
Ryan asks, "But you didn't want the girl."
Jon's head moves slowly from side to side. His eyes fasten on Ryan's and he doesn't look away. Then Ryan can't help but reach out and touch him, just his hands on the sides of his face, over his beard.
Jon quiets in a hurry, softly huffing out his name like a plea, like it's one syllable: "Ryan."
Something in Ryan softens at his tone. Maybe that something has always been soft where Jon's concerned, even when it comes to this music thing they do that he knows he keeps way too tight a grip on. It's like he can't always stop himself from being an asshole about music, and so many things, too. He thinks that Jon's helping him with that.
He tries to help Jon with this, then. He says, "You really can pull off that mysterious bassist bullshit thing if you need to tonight. Okay?"
Jon's shoulders drop. His whole face relaxes and it makes Ryan's gut twist with concern and a little fear and maybe something like pride. Then Jon leans in and lets his forehead touch Ryan's, and suddenly Ryan can't breathe.
Jon smiles and whispers into Ryan's mouth:, "But I'd hate to take attention away from your mysterious lead guitarist bullshit thing."
As easy as falling, Ryan leans into him, tilting his head as he kisses him full on the mouth, Jon's own head tilting and those thick lips of his opening up instantly, as though he's not a bit startled. Ryan is. Ryan is absolutely bowled over by how he's kissing Jon fucking Walker, how badly he wants this, how badly he wants Jon to want this, too. He's rattled enough he almost pulls away, but he can't. It's like he still hasn't stopped trying to get Jon to wake up, to come off that wall, to be real and human and present again. It makes him feel determined and stubborn and a little desperate, so he keeps trying.
Ryan nudges his whole body into Jon's, pinning him to the wall as he angles his head so he can plunge his tongue into Jon's mouth. Jon's hands close over his hips, but he's not pulling or guiding or anything, just holding on and opening up as Ryan fucks his mouth with his tongue. Ryan's thumbs stroke over his beard for a moment then settle against the sides of his neck. When he cards his fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck and tugs a little, Jon finally clenches his hands on his hips and groans and presses up off the wall and into him.
Jon's still letting Ryan control things, but he's finally really reacting now, and reacting so well Ryan's coming up so fucking hard it almost hurts. It's all he can do not to grind into him, especially when he feels the ridge of Jon's dick against his hip as Jon opens his mouth even wider, wetter, and groans as Ryan thrusts his tongue in one last time and then sucks on his lower lip until he's pulling away, because this…
When he staggers back, Jon looks just as flushed and horny and fucking awake as Ryan feels, and his eyes look alive for the first time all day, even when he ducks his head and tries not to look at him. Ryan tries not to look at him either, especially not his crotch, but he can't help it. Jon's fingers are already drumming against his hip.
Ryan suppresses a relieved and smug smile. Jon is finally on planet earth with the rest of them again-because Ryan kissed him.
Jon takes a deep breath. He huffs it out and says, "Jesus."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. It's just… Fuck." He scratches at his scalp, then he grins.
Suddenly, with his usual impeccably awkward timing, Brendon floats around the corner again and comes down the hallway toward them. He sighs dramatically when he sees that Jon's moving and smiling.
"Halle-fucking-lujah. It's bad enough when Spencer's in bitch mode-which he is now, by the way-but I can't take it when everybody's acting like they've suddenly developed vaginas at the same time."
Ryan's turned away, hiding his pink face and his uncomfortable and probably super-obvious erection, but he does reach over at that and ruffle Brendon's hair. "We can't all be tiny rays of sunshine."
Brendon jerks away from him and flips him off and turns to yell back down the hallway.
"Spence! There's been no bloodshed, so get your ass out of the dressing room and stop pouting!"
Ryan says, "He's…?"
Brendon raises his eyebrows, then he rolls his eyes. "He'll get over it." Turning to Jon, he says, "You good now?"
Jon smiles at Ryan. "Yeah. I think so."
Brendon narrows his eyes at them, but he thankfully doesn't look too hard at Ryan's face. Or at anyone's crotch.
He's about to ask something when Jon says, "Hey, Bren, did you already drink all the Red Bull?"
He shakes his head. "Still one left back there. I'll get it." With another sweeping, scrutinizing glance at them, as if he's confirming that things are definitely okay, he wanders off bellowing Spencer's name again.
Ryan finds himself frozen to his little patch of floor when Jon starts to walk over to him. He stops just close enough to lay the collar of his shirt right again, and he leaves his hands on his shoulders.
"You know," Jon says, "you could find your way over to my side of the stage tonight." He gives him a sly grin. "Might help keep me…alert."
"It would confuse the hell out of Brendon."
Jon grins. "Yep."
"Dangerous, though."
"Yeah?"
Ryan lets his eyes close. "Yeah."
Suddenly, Jon's thumb is smoothing over his lower lip, just for a long second, and he's sounding really fucking serious again. "Ryan, I promise: I am not miserable on this tour."
"Good."
"Just lonely sometimes. I mean you guys are great, but I get…"
He can hear Spencer and Brendon coming again, but he doesn't bother to step away from Jon. He still can't reach out to hold him, but he doesn't pull away either.
Ryan says, "You don't get anything anymore, okay? Not if I have a say in it."
Jon smiles. "Oh, you totally have a say."
Brendon says, "Ooh, what? Do I get a say?"
Jon's hand slides slowly off Ryan's neck as he steps around him and lets Brendon sling an arm over his shoulder and hand over an already open can of Red Bull.
"Nope," Jon says. "Just Ross."
There are so many stupid things about this situation, but the stupidest actually isn't that Jon's not high. It's that Ryan really had no idea until now that he had totally fallen for his bassist.
~
Random old story that's been lurking on the hard drive. Thought I'd dust it off and see if it amused anybody.
Title: The Stupid Thing
Pairing: Jon/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jon's standing up against a concrete wall at the end of some out-of-the-way backstage corridor that leads to nothing, not talking to anybody and not even moving very much. Certainly not smiling. But he doesn't look mopey or angry or stoned or anything. That's just it: he looks like nothing. 3700 words.
Note: Set during Jon's first tour with the band. This is pretty far from an entirely serious piece of fanfiction. It's not crack, but it's not srs bzns either. Just sayin'.
The Stupid Thing
And the stupid thing is Jon's not even high.
Totally not high. Or at least Ryan's almost positive, especially after the no smoking up before a show anymore, okay, because you kinda drag and act weird mumble-cranky speech thing he gave a couple of weeks back. Mumbled because he just can't look Jon Walker in the face and yell at him, even when he wants to; something in his big brown eyes makes Ryan wonder if he's maybe wrong or something, and, dude, he totally isn’t wrong that often.
So Jon's probably not high, but yet he's standing up against a concrete wall at the end of some out-of-the-way backstage corridor that leads to nothing, not talking to anybody and not even moving very much. Certainly not smiling. But he doesn't look mopey or angry or stoned or anything. That's just it: he looks like nothing. Vacant. Like he's sleepwalking.
"Hey, sleep-Walker, what the fuck?" Ryan calls out as he comes to a point midway down the hall. There's a door open at the end, and Jon's staring out into the late afternoon light.
"Mmm?" Jon replies, turning to him and blinking into the darkness, frowning a little.
Predictably, at the sound of Ryan's bellowing Brendon materializes from out of nowhere, and he pushes past him before either Ryan or Jon can even open their mouths.
"You alright?" Brendon asks.
When he lays his head on Jon's shoulder, Jon replies, "Sure. Why?"
"I dunno. You seem…"
Ryan notices that now Spencer has also similarly appeared out of nowhere, and he's already frowning and looking tentative in a way that makes Ryan way more irritated than nervous.
Spencer says, "Don't tell me he's…"
"No," Ryan replies tersely. Maybe because, honestly, he would've expected Spencer to know about this…whatever it is, even before he did, and maybe to have already done something about it.
Spencer walks down to Jon, too, and stops directly in front of him, peering into his face, at which attention Jon gives a half smile.
"No, dude," Jon says. "I'm just tired. That's all."
"You slept for hours on the way here," Brendon says. He pokes Jon in the ribs and gets not even flinch in response. "Maybe you have mono. I had mono once. So not fun."
Ryan groans. "Yeah, we remember."
Spencer says, "Where would he have gotten…?"
Brendon pokes Jon again. "Hey, maybe we should call that girl from-"
"Bren," Spencer says with a hiss, eyes shifting to Ryan instinctively and just as instinctively shifting away.
That girl? That girl who potentially has something to do with Jon's possible mono? And why is it everybody else seems to know about that girl but him?
Ryan tries to meet Jon's gaze, but he won't look at him. Instead, he looks over his shoulder, like he's looking down the hall to the rest of the noisy world behind them.
Quietly and way more calmly than he feels, Ryan says through clenched teeth, "What girl?"
Jon's turns his head and looks out the door again. "Nothing. Just some catering girl in Cleveland."
"Some catering girl in Cleveland," Ryan echoes, as though it's a riddle. It is, right? Jon…hooking up with some…girl? Jon who belongs to them? Aren't they enough for Jon?
And, really, how the fuck didn't he know about this?
So it is kind of a riddle, but Jon seems to take it as an insult, which it probably is, too, anyway. Kind of. Jon doesn't look at Ryan, but at least he swings his head in Spencer's general direction, where he's leaned back against the wall opposite him. Jon's voice rises a little, so that it's now at maybe a normal level of intensity.
"She was cool," he says. "She didn't giggle or ask me to sign her tits or anything. She was a good kisser." He shrugs again, this time with purpose.
"Couldn't have been too good," Brendon says. "You didn't even-"
Spencer cuffs him on the side of the head.
Brendon yelps and gives Spencer a death glare, that one that he has no idea how ridiculous it looks. "It's not a fucking secret." He looks at Jon for confirmation, suddenly a little worried or guilty or something. "Right?"
Jon nods at Brendon, then he squints at Spencer. "It's cool. And not a secret. I told you nothing really happened."
Though he speaks loudly enough for Ryan to hear, even halfway down the hall, he's still not looking at him-which is good because that means he doesn't see how Ryan's been winding tighter and tighter during this whole exchange, and now his face is hot and probably an embarrassing shade of pink.
Ryan snaps, "Well, Jon, I'd appreciate it if your inability to have sex with groupies didn't-"
"Not inability," Jon muttered. "And not a groupie."
"Whatever!" Ryan suddenly squawks, and he finds his hands flailing, which… He takes a ragged breath and decides for more stern and less frantic: "We're on in like half an hour, and you're standing here acting like you actually do have mono or something, when you've got music to play and-"
"Ryan," Jon huffs, turning his head fast and narrowing his eyes as he peers down the dark hallway at him. "You know how it is. When I hit the stage I'll be-"
Spencer snorts and suddenly all eyes are on him, and it's his turn to look toward the door and the sunlight.
Spencer sighs, then he turns back to look and Jon and says quietly, "You absolutely don't wake up out there. I've seen it too many times."
Suddenly, as if the emotional barometer in the corridor has dropped in ways only his internal sensors are subtle enough to detect, Brendon insinuates himself into the middle of the triangle of them-and with no finesse at all, although maybe that's the point. His voice is painfully diplomatic, bordering on patronizing as he casts his glance at Jon but somehow pitches his words at Ryan and Spencer.
"But it's totally fine, right? You've got that cool bassist vibe thing going on. I'll just be extra…charming or…."
Brendon's glancing reflexively at Spencer for confirmation, and once he sees how Spencer's glaring at Ryan, Brendon turns back and looks at Ryan, too, then he shuts his mouth in a hurry.
Ryan grits his teeth and gestures at Jon with his hand as he tries for stern again and ends up with half-desperate and maybe a little bitter. Or, you know, angry. Okay, frustrated, really, which for Ryan nearly always turns into angry-when it's about his band or his friends or his friends in his band.
"I don't give a rat's ass what's wrong with you," Ryan says. "You need to come out of whatthefuckever kind of walking coma this is and be ready to be happy and awake and energetic and sing the goddamn songs or I'm seriously going to kick your ass."
Jon's body posture doesn't change one iota, but his eyes do, narrowing suddenly. It makes the blood creep up the back of Ryan's neck. Hot. Too hot. Not in a sex way, either. Except.
Fuck.
Ryan kind of wants to yell more, even if a part of him is instantly sorry he was an asshole. Because if Jon is going to look at him like that when he yells…
Jon's eyes are so dark now, and he replies slowly, "You bitching at me isn't helping, you motherfucking control freak."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Ryan sees Brendon bite his lip and Spencer shake his head, and they both draw in a deep breath and hold it-as if they haven't all said a hell of a lot worse to each other before. Well, they have. Jon hasn't. It was only a matter of time, really, but it's infuriating for it to be happening now: Jon's picking a fight but he's somehow still managing to look like he's half dead to the world.
It suddenly occurs to Ryan that Brendon really is like some emotional equivalent of a carbon monoxide detector, picking up on warning signs before anybody else could sense them, because this is serious. Not simple bickering but a real fight. If it's freaking out everyone around Ryan, it must be serious.
Brendon reaches out and tugs Jon's sleeve. "Hey, let's…"
Almost as if they've choreographed it beforehand, Brendon's pulling Jon down the hallway past them as Spencer comes and stands near Ryan so he can act as a shield and give him his best no bullshit face, the kind Ryan often chooses to ignore, even if that means consequences later.
Oh, there will be some big consequences for this one, but he can't stop himself.
Once Jon's a few paces down the hallway back to the common area, Ryan shouts at his retreating back, "Lazy cocksucker!"
Spencer's hand closes over his arm and Brendon glares back at him, eyes going wide, and Ryan realizes he doesn't even know why he's so angry and in need of provoking a response. If he's honest and rational about it, there have been any number of times when Jon was quiet and cool and maybe even a bit withdrawn on stage, and it wasn't a disaster at all, not even remotely. That's not his role in the show or in the band, to be the whirling, gregarious center of attention. Hell, it's not even Ryan's job. So this is pretty fucking irrational, yet Ryan is angry and he does need a response. And he gets one.
Jon stops, despite Brendon's pulling. When he turns, his expression is pretty black, but then it warms into a nasty smile.
"You wish."
"Oh?" Ryan replies. "I wish you were a cocksucker? Is that right?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"Jesus," Spencer mutters. "Do we have to have the fucking Kinsey scale discussion…right now?"
"I don't know," Ryan says. "Depends on if it explains what went wrong with the nameless horny catering groupie from Cleveland."
"I'm sure she has a name," Brendon says.
Ryan smirks. "Well, we don't know it. Jon probably doesn't even know it. Not like he needs to know it, right? Not for what he's looking for. So I'm gonna call her a Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland."
Spencer snaps, "It's really not like it was anything sordid, Ry."
"Apparently, since nothing really happened with the Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland."
"Well, something happened," Brendon says.
"How surprising," Ryan says sarcastically, "given how she's a Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland."
When Jon finally raises his head to respond, his voice is a bark: "Yeah, well maybe you're a Nameless Horny Catering Groupie from Cleveland," he says lamely.
Spencer is the first to break up in giggles, after carefully hiding his mouth behind his hand, but Brendon isn't far behind and he doesn't bother to hide it at all. But Ryan's staring at Jon, and though Jon still isn't moving, his expression vacillates now between really amused and really annoyed and really amused at being really annoyed.
Ryan's face curves into a mischievous smile that makes his face feel a little too hot, but he can't stop it.
Over Brendon's wheezing laughter and Spencer's giggling, Ryan says, "You know, I will be, if you're that hard up for groupies."
Jon's grinning now. "But you're not from Cleveland."
"And you already know my name."
"Oh," Jon says, lips pursing round, smirking a bit. "And just like that, he deflects the question of whether he's horny."
"And you didn't even ask me if I can cook."
Jon raises his eyebrows. "Maybe I don't care."
Ryan takes a shallow breath. Oh, and it's serious again-not angry serious but really serious. Ryan was just…flirting, right? Which he never means to do; in fact, he always means not to. He's been pushing this kind of thing back since he realized having a kick-ass bassist was more important than indulging his ridiculous-and, honestly, fickle-libido. Not that his libido has ever been fickle about Jon Walker.
He's relatively sure this is the very reason he has such a hard time yelling at Jon like he does Spencer and Brendon. He's morbidly afraid of the kind of shit that will come out of his mouth when he lets it all come loose the way he does when he's mad. That's why he sticks to having long, sedate conversations with him about music and twenty million other things besides anything personal. Sure, it all seems personal, the things they say to each other about the way they see the world and the way music sounds to them, but they don't do details except when they matter. They don't keep intricate tabs on each others' lives. Maybe that's why he didn't know about the girl. And he totally should have known.
Because he's his friend, along with the music and whatever else. This is also why he really should be worried about Jon's epic lethargy, which he totally is. But since Jon looks so cute smiling at him all lazy and mischievous, Ryan just keeps smiling back. He smiles long enough that Spencer gives up his referee job and wanders off, and when Ryan gives Brendon a look, he raises his eyebrows and shuffles off, too.
The music from the second opener is louder now, making the walls around them vibrate, loud enough Ryan takes a few steps forward so he can hear Jon if he speaks, which still really doesn't look all that likely, but he's finally at least smiling. The world seems almost normal again. Perhaps it bothered him more than he cared to admit to see Jon so withdrawn.
Once he's close enough to be heard, almost close enough to touch, Ryan says firmly, "Seriously, what's wrong?"
Jon shakes his head. "I don't know. I've been… All day. Past few days, maybe."
"You feel bad?"
"I feel… I don’t know." He shrugs, trying for blank, but there's this ghost of a hollow look on his face. Ryan frowns at him, and Jon shakes his head, closing his eyes and muttering to himself, "Shit. I'll be fine, just…"
Ryan cocks his head to the side, trying to work out just what it is that makes Jon's eyes do that glazed, sad thing they're doing. Because he's just now realizing it's sadness. It was always sadness: sadness covered in apathy, a little like how he looks over a smoked bowl, which was probably also…
Ryan asks him, "Jon, are you miserable here?"
In our band? he thinks. With us?
With me? a tiny voice inside him echoes.
"No," he replies, but he's decidedly not looking at him.
"Don't lie to me."
Jon turns his gaze back on him and smiles. "I never have been able to."
Ryan's throat feels tight, but he manages to get the words out anyway: "The girl would've…? Right?"
Jon looks startled, but then his head bounces into a nod.
Ryan asks, "But you didn't want the girl."
Jon's head moves slowly from side to side. His eyes fasten on Ryan's and he doesn't look away. Then Ryan can't help but reach out and touch him, just his hands on the sides of his face, over his beard.
Jon quiets in a hurry, softly huffing out his name like a plea, like it's one syllable: "Ryan."
Something in Ryan softens at his tone. Maybe that something has always been soft where Jon's concerned, even when it comes to this music thing they do that he knows he keeps way too tight a grip on. It's like he can't always stop himself from being an asshole about music, and so many things, too. He thinks that Jon's helping him with that.
He tries to help Jon with this, then. He says, "You really can pull off that mysterious bassist bullshit thing if you need to tonight. Okay?"
Jon's shoulders drop. His whole face relaxes and it makes Ryan's gut twist with concern and a little fear and maybe something like pride. Then Jon leans in and lets his forehead touch Ryan's, and suddenly Ryan can't breathe.
Jon smiles and whispers into Ryan's mouth:, "But I'd hate to take attention away from your mysterious lead guitarist bullshit thing."
As easy as falling, Ryan leans into him, tilting his head as he kisses him full on the mouth, Jon's own head tilting and those thick lips of his opening up instantly, as though he's not a bit startled. Ryan is. Ryan is absolutely bowled over by how he's kissing Jon fucking Walker, how badly he wants this, how badly he wants Jon to want this, too. He's rattled enough he almost pulls away, but he can't. It's like he still hasn't stopped trying to get Jon to wake up, to come off that wall, to be real and human and present again. It makes him feel determined and stubborn and a little desperate, so he keeps trying.
Ryan nudges his whole body into Jon's, pinning him to the wall as he angles his head so he can plunge his tongue into Jon's mouth. Jon's hands close over his hips, but he's not pulling or guiding or anything, just holding on and opening up as Ryan fucks his mouth with his tongue. Ryan's thumbs stroke over his beard for a moment then settle against the sides of his neck. When he cards his fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck and tugs a little, Jon finally clenches his hands on his hips and groans and presses up off the wall and into him.
Jon's still letting Ryan control things, but he's finally really reacting now, and reacting so well Ryan's coming up so fucking hard it almost hurts. It's all he can do not to grind into him, especially when he feels the ridge of Jon's dick against his hip as Jon opens his mouth even wider, wetter, and groans as Ryan thrusts his tongue in one last time and then sucks on his lower lip until he's pulling away, because this…
When he staggers back, Jon looks just as flushed and horny and fucking awake as Ryan feels, and his eyes look alive for the first time all day, even when he ducks his head and tries not to look at him. Ryan tries not to look at him either, especially not his crotch, but he can't help it. Jon's fingers are already drumming against his hip.
Ryan suppresses a relieved and smug smile. Jon is finally on planet earth with the rest of them again-because Ryan kissed him.
Jon takes a deep breath. He huffs it out and says, "Jesus."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. It's just… Fuck." He scratches at his scalp, then he grins.
Suddenly, with his usual impeccably awkward timing, Brendon floats around the corner again and comes down the hallway toward them. He sighs dramatically when he sees that Jon's moving and smiling.
"Halle-fucking-lujah. It's bad enough when Spencer's in bitch mode-which he is now, by the way-but I can't take it when everybody's acting like they've suddenly developed vaginas at the same time."
Ryan's turned away, hiding his pink face and his uncomfortable and probably super-obvious erection, but he does reach over at that and ruffle Brendon's hair. "We can't all be tiny rays of sunshine."
Brendon jerks away from him and flips him off and turns to yell back down the hallway.
"Spence! There's been no bloodshed, so get your ass out of the dressing room and stop pouting!"
Ryan says, "He's…?"
Brendon raises his eyebrows, then he rolls his eyes. "He'll get over it." Turning to Jon, he says, "You good now?"
Jon smiles at Ryan. "Yeah. I think so."
Brendon narrows his eyes at them, but he thankfully doesn't look too hard at Ryan's face. Or at anyone's crotch.
He's about to ask something when Jon says, "Hey, Bren, did you already drink all the Red Bull?"
He shakes his head. "Still one left back there. I'll get it." With another sweeping, scrutinizing glance at them, as if he's confirming that things are definitely okay, he wanders off bellowing Spencer's name again.
Ryan finds himself frozen to his little patch of floor when Jon starts to walk over to him. He stops just close enough to lay the collar of his shirt right again, and he leaves his hands on his shoulders.
"You know," Jon says, "you could find your way over to my side of the stage tonight." He gives him a sly grin. "Might help keep me…alert."
"It would confuse the hell out of Brendon."
Jon grins. "Yep."
"Dangerous, though."
"Yeah?"
Ryan lets his eyes close. "Yeah."
Suddenly, Jon's thumb is smoothing over his lower lip, just for a long second, and he's sounding really fucking serious again. "Ryan, I promise: I am not miserable on this tour."
"Good."
"Just lonely sometimes. I mean you guys are great, but I get…"
He can hear Spencer and Brendon coming again, but he doesn't bother to step away from Jon. He still can't reach out to hold him, but he doesn't pull away either.
Ryan says, "You don't get anything anymore, okay? Not if I have a say in it."
Jon smiles. "Oh, you totally have a say."
Brendon says, "Ooh, what? Do I get a say?"
Jon's hand slides slowly off Ryan's neck as he steps around him and lets Brendon sling an arm over his shoulder and hand over an already open can of Red Bull.
"Nope," Jon says. "Just Ross."
There are so many stupid things about this situation, but the stupidest actually isn't that Jon's not high. It's that Ryan really had no idea until now that he had totally fallen for his bassist.
~