fic: Spin Cycle (Brendon/Ryan, NC-17)
So, a while ago I showed Chelle (aka violentfires) this picture of Ryan sniffing a blue T-shirt and this one of Brendon wearing a blue T-shirt because, dude, that's the same T-shirt, seriously. And she said 'I WANT RYRO KINKY DIRTY CLOTHES-SNIFFING PORN' and I said 'OK!' because I <3 her. So, here's Ryan-has-a-dirty-T-shirts-Brendon-kink fic.
:D
Spin Cycle
Brendon/Ryan
NC-17, 3 801
Thanks for beta, hand-holding, patiently listening to me whine and general awesomeness to violentfires ♥
It’s not like Brendon is that messy. He loses things once in a while, small things, and maybe sometimes bigger things, and yes, he’s lost T-shirts before, but not several at once. He’s looked everywhere, from his bag (unlikely), to under the bunks (more likely), to the bathroom, the kitchenette, the lounge, everywhere. Brendon has exhausted his arsenal of T-shirt hiding places, but refuses to accept the fact that his T-Rex shirt is gone.
He suspects Spence at first, because Spencer hates the T-Rex shirt, and Brendon thinks that Spencer might be sneaky and mean enough to let it vanish. He also doesn’t think that Jon did it, because Jon seems unconcerned by clothing issues in general.
“Ryan does the laundry,” Spence says over his cup of coffee without looking up from the newspaper after Brendon has accused him of pilfering his T-shirt.
“Oh,” Brendon says because he didn’t know that. He never really thought about the technicalities of how his clothes go from smelly to clean again after he put them in the laundry basket. He stares at Spence expectantly for a few moments, waiting for an explanation or more hints, but gives up after thirty seconds. Spence is just like an iron wall. He walks to Ryan’s bunk and crawls inside without warning.
“Did you steal my T-shirts?” he asks and then repeats his question when Ryan pulls his headphones from his ears.
“Uhm,” Ryan says after giving him a confused look. “Why would I do that? Your T-shirts are like, atrocious.”
“They are awesome. And I don’t know,” Brendon answers and shrugs. “Smith told me that you do the laundry, so.” He shrugs again.
Ryan quirks a brow at him. “And because I sacrifice a few hours twice a week, I steal your ugly T-shirts to compensate?”
“Well, they are great T-shirts,” Brendon points out, but Ryan is already pushing him out of the bunk.
*
“Why would Ryan steal your clothes?” Jon asks reasonably, twists his controller and hustles Brendon’s car off the road. “Ryan doesn’t even wear T-shirts unless they’re really girly.” He grins.
“Shut up, I can hear you,” Ryan yells from the kitchenette. “I like all kinds of clothes!”
“Jon’s right, you know,” Brendon can hear Spence say and a moment later Spence appears in the lounge with a cup of something steaming. He flops down on the couch next to Jon and puts his head on Jon’s shoulder.
“I don’t steal clothes,” Ryan says and sits down on the armrest. “Or anything else, really.”
“But only if I keep him sedated with hot chocolate,” Spence mumbles, eyes closed in bliss as he takes another sip from his cup.
“Ross, I trade my yellow Superman T-shirt for your hot chocolate,” Brendon says quickly and presses ‘Start’ so Jon can’t kick his ass while he’s negotiating with Ryan.
“I don’t want your clothes,” Ryan replies. “Why would I want your dirty clothes?”
“You enjoy doing the laundry?” Brendon tries and is shortly distracted by Jon trying to start the game again.
“I enjoy hot chocolate more,” Ryan says and smirks. “You can have a sip, though. But please keep your clothes on.”
Brendon cheers.
*
Brendon’s lost T-shirts show up again in a batch of clean clothes Ryan brings from the Laundromat the next day. They smell fresh and flowery, and Brendon feels a little bad about having not even known that it’s Ryan who does their laundry.
He climbs from his bunk and sneaks into Ryan’s. Ryan gives a little protesting sound, but Brendon pushes and pulls until Ryan gives in and they’re lying side by side cramped in the too-small bunk.
“Your laundry-doing is awesome,” Brendon states. “Awesomest, even.”
“You could have told me that without climbing in my bunk,” Ryan says and wiggles a little. “I think my arm is going to fall off.”
“That would impede the laundry-doing, right?” Brendon asks, worried and snuggles close to Ryan who smells just as awesome as the laundry detergent he uses on their clothes, very flowery and sweet and soft. Brendon blinks, shaking the thought off.
“It would.” Ryan sighs closing his book. “Which is why you should probably go back to your own bunk, please?”
“I like snuggling more than clean laundry,” Brendon answers because it’s true and snuggling Ryan is kind of nice. He presses a bit closer. Ryan concedes.
*
The next day Spence is wearing one of Brendon’s T-shirts. When Brendon asks him (‘What the fuck, Smith?’) he just answers that it came with his stack of clean clothes. He looks a little mischievous though, and Brendon has the slight suspicion that Spence might be winding him up.
“Oh, hey,” Ryan says when he enters from the bunk area, looking ruffled and sleepy. “I thought that was Brendon’s?”
“Huh,” Spence says. “I don’t know. It might be. But you’re the great laundry master, so what do I know?” He grins and Ryan glares at him, and Brendon wonders why Ryan can tell that a plain green T-shirt is Brendon’s.
Jon enters the lounge, hair wet, and drops onto the cushions next to Spence. “New clothes?” he asks, running his fingers over Spence’s shoulder. Spence shrugs, smiles a little and turns back to the book in his lap.
“Hey,” Ryan says to Brendon and hands him a cup of hot chocolate. Brendon blinks, staring at the swirling steam for a moment and gives Ryan a questioning look. Ryan just shrugs and Brendon decides that Ryan’s probably feeling guilty for slipping Brendon’s green T-shirt into Spence’s clothes stack.
*
It’s not like they don’t all do it. It was weird at the beginning maybe, but then they’re all guys, even Ryan, so Brendon is not really surprised to hear a faint moan come from the bunk beneath his own. Shifting, rustling sheets, the mattress creaking. Brendon swallows tightly and tries to fall asleep again, but Ryan’s soft, quiet moans are penetrating through the curtains of his bunk, and he has to think of how Ryan smells so wonderful.
He stays awake even after the sounds from beneath have subsided, and falls asleep when it’s more early than late. Only a few hours later he crawls out of bed, tired and uncomfortable. Spence and Jon are in the lounge, talking quietly, and Brendon grunts a good morning at them and enters the bathroom.
“Shit,” Ryan hisses, and drops the lid on the laundry basket. He looks caught, nervous.
“It wasn’t locked,” Brendon retorts and pushes past him to brush his teeth.
“Fuck you,” Ryan answers and is out the door before Brendon can say anything in response. Brendon shakes his head, confused, and pulls off his clothes, ready to drop them in the basket, when he notices a red T-shirt, the one he hasn’t been able to find, at the top of the pile. He’s pretty sure he didn’t put it there. He’s pretty sure it’s what Ryan dropped a few moments ago.
“Fuck,” he says quietly, because he honestly doesn’t know what else to say to that.
*
“Ross,” Brendon starts and buttons his shirt up. It’s half an hour before the show and Ryan is drawing birds onto his face, flocks and flocks of black birds. “Hey, Ross,” Brendon repeats and snaps his fingers when Ryan doesn’t look away from the mirror.
“If you,” Brendon quickly turns to check what Jon and Spence are doing, but they’re curled up on the couch in pre-gig silence. He continues, “you know, if you want my clothes, I’ll share.”
“What?” Ryan’s eyeliner slips a little, blotting a little, and he curses. “I don’t want your clothes.”
Brendon grins and sits down on the stool next to Ryan. “Liar,” he says, and feels a little fond of the way Ryan’s mouth tightens. “It’s okay, though.”
“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Ryan insists, dabbing away the irregular black stains on his cheek with a Q-tip.
“You’re stealing my T-shirts.” Brendon smirks and reaches out on a hunch, touching Ryan’s neck, his nape, Ryan’s hair soft beneath his fingers. Ryan makes a motion to move away, but Brendon holds him, throat going a little dry and he doesn’t even know why.
“I don’t mind,” he eventually says, tentatively massaging Ryan’s neck. Ryan exhales audibly and continues with his makeup, but doesn’t shrug Brendon’s touch off.
*
“I wanna snuggle, too,” Brendon exclaims when he enters Ryan’s and Spence’s hotel room and finds Spence and Jon curled up together on one bed watching TV, legs entwined. He finds it a bit unfair that Spence is always quicker with claiming Jon for himself, because Jon is more cuddly than anyone else and the best snuggler and overall Brendon thinks he has Jon-Walker-snuggling-rights too.
“I called Jon first,” Spence points out and tucks Jon’s arm over his shoulder. Brendon gives him a hurt stare, puppy eyes and all, but Spence is pretty much immune to that. “You can have Ryan,” Spence continues and then presses his face against Jon’s shoulder, yawning.
Brendon glances at Ryan who’s lying on his stomach, arms folded underneath his chin, iPod earphones plugged in. Brendon considers him for a moment and then bounces on the bed next to him, wiggling close. Ryan resists but only for a moment and Brendon wrestles him down and steals his right earphone.
“Oh, that’s good,” he says after a moment. “What’s that?”
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know. Pete sent it, but I didn’t look at the name.” He taps his pen against his notepad. “It’s good for writing though.”
“Hm,” Brendon makes and tries to decipher Ryan’s scrawny handwriting. He pushes closer, Ryan’s hair brushing his cheek, and drapes an arm around his waist. Ryan smells weirdly nice for a guy, like before only a little sweeter maybe. Brendon tells him so.
“Whatever, dude,” Ryan says but looks a little embarrassed but in a I-just-received-a-compliment-and-don’t-know-how-react kind of way. Brendon watches him fidget, amused.
“You too,” Ryan mumbles after a moment.
Brendon presses close and whispers against his ear, “What? I didn’t get that.”
“Asshole,” Ryan retorts, but Brendon feels him shiver and blows more warm breath against his ear. “I said you− I said you also smelled nice,” Ryan adds, and Brendon kisses his temple because Ryan’s close and seems unresisting, and kissing the temple of your friends in a totally friendly way is totally normal.
*
Brendon does not exactly follow Ryan to the Laundromat. He has reasons. He forgot to put his favorite pair of jeans in the laundry basket and he needs them tonight, so he leaves the bus and wanders down the empty street to the Laundromat. When he enters Ryan’s alone in there, already sorting clothes, shifting through bags and dividing them into piles. Brendon wants to announce his presence, but then Ryan pulls one of his, Brendon’s, T-shirts from a bag and presses it to his face, shoulders heaving as he inhales deeply.
“What the fuck?” Brendon blurts out, the door falling shut behind him. Ryan jerks, turning around and brushing a pile of clothes from the closest dryer.
“Did you just−?” Brendon continues, startled by Ryan and the look of terror on his face.
“I did not,” Ryan says quickly and under the pale fluorescent light Brendon can see him blush, pale pink spreading across his cheeks.
Brendon smirks. “You so did,” he replies, “you so did.”
“I’m not. I haven’t,” Ryan starts, and Brendon can see his hands shaking. Ryan stops, grips the handle of one of the bags, shoulders hunched. He looks tinier and smaller than Brendon has ever seen him look, and it makes Brendon feel guilty.
“Uhm,” he says, and nearly wishes he’d not come after Ryan.
“Oh god,” Ryan says, turning a little, leaning against the washing machine, and buries his face in his hands. “This is so not happening.”
“I’m,” Brendon begins, but stops because he honestly doesn’t know what to say. Ryan looks as though he’d rather die than ever, ever talk to him again, and, in a moment of panic, Brendon thinks that’s if that happens he’s going to die.
“You know,” Brendon says eventually, trying to sound reassuring, “it’s, I mean, it’s okay.”
“Fuck, fuck,” Ryan mutters under his breath and Brendon moves closer, reaching out. Ryan backs off until he hits the washing machine. Brendon softly touches his arm; Ryan jerks, flinging a bag of dirty clothes at him. The handle hits Brendon’s nose and for a moment he doesn’t really see, just pulls dirty T-shirts off his face. When he turns, Ryan’s heading (sprinting) towards the exit and Brendon barely manages to grip his hood and pull him back, pinning him against one of the laundry detergent dispensers by his wrists.
“Hey, don’t-“ Brendon swallows, not even knowing what he’s doing. Ryan is still avoiding his eyes, straining against Brendon’s grip. “Don’t run, okay?”
“Go away,” Ryan hisses back, blinking rapidly. Brendon feels his insides twinge a little at the sight, is tempted to touch Ryan’s face. “Please, Brendon,” Ryan continues and bites his lower lip.
“It’s okay,” Brendon says and loosens his grip. “I-”
“You what?” Ryan interrupts him, voice cracking a bit. “You what? You think I’m a total freak? You’ll leave the band? You want me to leave the band? You-”
“Oh god, shut up,” Brendon sighs and completely lets go of Ryan. “I don’t care. I don’t mind. Nobody’s gonna leave the band.”
Ryan half turns away. “I know it’s weird. I can’t-” He stops, struggling for words and then seemingly gives up. Brendon reaches up and carefully touches Ryan’s cheek, curled knuckles pressed against Ryan’s skin. Ryan flinches a little, and Brendon’s breath hitches.
“It’s not weird,” Brendon replies, and tentatively strokes Ryan’s neck, feels him shiver. Ryan looks at him, then, and Brendon decides to stop thinking so damn hard and leans down and softly kisses him. He pulls back a moment later, surprised at himself. Ryan looks breathless and his lips look soft and wet, and Brendon tries to suppress the urge to kiss him again.
“Hey,” he says, and blushes a little maybe at the look in Ryan’s eyes as Ryan looks at him again.
“Why did you do that?” Ryan asks, sounding puzzled, and Brendon smiles and shrugs because he doesn’t quite know himself. Ryan is warm against him, and yeah, smells good, too.
“Please don’t, please don’t tell them.” Ryan’s voice is small and Brendon feels like hugging him. He shakes his head.
“Thanks,” Ryan answers, and smiles a little.
“Probably,” Brendon adds, but doesn’t quite mean it, even though he can see the advantages of knowing one of Ryan’s many, many secrets.
“Hey,” Ryan starts and pushes at Brendon’s shoulder, and Brendon quickly leans in and presses their mouths together again before Ryan can say anything else. It seemed like a rather effective method of shutting Ryan up when he did it the first time, but now Ryan makes a muffled sound and pushes at Brendon’s shoulders until he pulls back.
“Stop doing that,” Ryan hisses. He’s blushing again, it makes Brendon weirdly happy inside and he doesn’t quite understand why. Ryan moves past him, picking up T-shirts along the way and dropping them in one of the baskets.
Brendon watches him, puzzled, and then slowly follows him and leans against a washing machine next to him. “So, you have, like a stack of my T-shirts?” He grins, and tries to keep the corners of his mouth from quivering, a strange nervousness bubbling inside him.
Ryan tenses for a moment, and then drops lid of the washing machine in front of him with quite a fervor. Brendon wishes that his brain-mouth connection was sometimes slower. “Heh, sorry,” he says, feeling awkward and shuffles his feet against the floor.
“You’re an idiot,” Ryan retorts without looking up, but he there’s a lightness to his tone that makes Brendon smile.
“Dude, you’re a freak,” Brendon quips and this time, Ryan just makes a disgruntled sound and flings a penny at him over his shoulder.
Brendon catches and pockets it, and Ryan continues, “You promised not to tell anyone, yeah?”
For a moment Brendon isn’t sure whether this is really a question, whether the playful sound in Ryan’s voice is real or just fake. He bites his lip, juggling options for a moment and then replies, “Can’t remember promising. What’re you gonna give me for my silence?”
Ryan shakes his head, maybe laughing, and Brendon decides to continue, “If you.” A pause, but then the words tumble from his lips. “Dude, if you blow me, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He laughs a little, expecting Ryan to roll his eyes at him, maybe fling a T-shirt or a pair of jeans at him, and tell him to fuck off, laughing.
But Ryan just stops sorting through clothes, and turns to him, expression earnest and serious. His right hand, resting on the surface of the washing machine next to Brendon’s hip, is shaking ever so slightly.
“Yeah, okay,” he says and moves a little.
“What?” Brendon asks and takes a few seconds to process that Ryan’s hand is at his hip and that he’s sucking his lower lip between his teeth.
“I can do that,” Ryan continues, sliding his hand to Brendon’s belt and slowly sinks to his knees, eyes locked with Brendon’s. Brendon feels a little paralyzed; he wants to move, reach out and make him get up, because really, this was just a joke, and he honestly wasn’t expecting Ryan to be fumbling open his pants, chewing his lower lip as if impatient.
“You’re not,” Brendon starts but then Ryan’s hands reach inside his boxers, and Brendon’s just a boy, it’s not like he can say no to hands or, god, a tongue, a mouth, lips. “You don’t have to,” he grinds out between his teeth, but reaches down and buries his fingers in Ryan’s hair anyway.
Ryan pulls his pants down more, and sucks Brendon’s cock between his lips, wet and hot. Brendon tries to hold a small, pathetic sound back, but fails, hips twitching. Ryan pauses for a moment, steadying Brendon’s hips, blowing hot air over Brendon’s cock.
“Oh god,” he breathes and squeezes his eyes shut, gripping Ryan’s hair harder. Ryan makes a little noise, moves down again and sucks harder, covering the base of Brendon’s cock with his fingers, carefully stroking in pace with his mouth. Brendon opens his eyes again, staring down, watching his cock disappear between Ryan’s lips, and moans.
Ryan shifts closer, tightening his grip on Brendon’s hip, and Brendon reaches down and steadies his shoulder; Ryan pulls back and kisses the tip, licking around it, and then moves back, slowly stroking him in pace.
“Yeah,” he gasps, bites his lip and tries to keep his hips from moving. Ryan looks up at him and hums around him, low and soft, and it sends shivers up his spine, like lightening. The touch of his hands on Brendon’s hips is nearly tender, and his fingers draw tiny circles around his hipbones, making it even harder to concentrate.
Brendon closes his eyes again, lets his head fall back, shivering, excited, because god, Ryan looks so fucking hot on his knees there, as if he really likes it.
“I think,” he says. “Ryan,” he moans, and carefully pushes at Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan pulls off, lips smacking, and Brendon just wanted to tell him to go slower, because, god, he’s going to come, but Ryan keeps stroking him, lazily, carefully, but hard, almost up to the tip and down to the base again, pace matched with his heavy breathing. Brendon looks down at him, at his wet lips and red cheeks, his little pink tongue flicking out to lick at the tip, and comes, spurting sticky semen onto Ryan’s lips and chin.
“Shit.” Brendon shifts, shivering, and slides to the floor, knees giving in. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to.” Ryan glares at him, wipes the stains away with his sleeves and Brendon reaches out and rubs at a spot right under his chin.
“That was,” Brendon starts after a moment of silence and tucks himself in. “That was. Pretty awesome,” he finishes lamely and reaches out, curling his hands around Ryan’s neck.
*
Spencer corners him in the evening; he looks very fierce and is wearing his I-mean-business-sneakers. Brendon nearly drops his bowl of Fruit Loops and tries to keep a straight face. From the lounge he can hear Jon and Ryan laugh, and the sounds of Guitar Hero, and considers calling for help, but the look on Spence’s face tells him that it’s probably best not to make a sound.
“So,” Spence says amiably and sits down on the other stool in the little kitchen area.
“Oh god,” Brendon says and finally puts down his bowl. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“I might,” Spence replies and reaches for Brendon’s bowl.
“I shall be mourned. Jon will mourn me,” Brendon replies, glancing at his Fruit Loops longingly. They were particularly tasty, too. “Ryan will mourn me. Think of my mom, too.”
“She’ll send me flowers,” Spence says around a mouth full of cereal. He swallows, pauses, and Brendon considers bribing him with chocolate from the secret stash he’s hiding in his travel bag.
“Your life is dependant on your actions in the next forty-eight hours,” Spence eventually continues with a small grin, and hands Brendon his bowl back. All the blue and green loops are missing, and Brendon glares at Spence.
Spencer shrugs. “Casualties.”
*
“Hi,” Brendon says and pushes past the curtains to Ryan’s bunk. Ryan is curled up and probably already half-asleep, but Brendon is good at waking people up.
“What?” Ryan asks and shifts, giving in as Brendon makes space for himself under the covers. Ryan feels warm and wonderful against him, and Brendon snuggles close.
“Spence said he’ll kill me,” he whispers against Ryan’s ear.
“That’s okay,” Ryan says and shifts so he’s lying back pressed to Brendon’s chest.
“What do you mean ‘it’s okay’?” he hisses, trying his best to sound more offended than amused.
“It’ll shut you up.” Ryan yawns.
“Hmph,” Brendon makes and closes his eyes. It’s really cramped like this, and he’ll probably have the worst of all back pains in the morning, and Ryan will probably be bitchy all day, but for some reason he doesn’t ever want to move again. “Can I sleep here?”
“Mh,” Ryan replies, breathing evening out. Brendon moves a little, sneaking an arm around Ryan’s middle and pulls him close, burying his face in Ryan’s hair. Yes, Ryan smells too good to let go, and Brendon will be able to deal with a little pain, and he’ll certainly be able to deal with Ryan’s moods and Spencer, anything for this.
:D
Spin Cycle
Brendon/Ryan
NC-17, 3 801
Thanks for beta, hand-holding, patiently listening to me whine and general awesomeness to violentfires ♥
It’s not like Brendon is that messy. He loses things once in a while, small things, and maybe sometimes bigger things, and yes, he’s lost T-shirts before, but not several at once. He’s looked everywhere, from his bag (unlikely), to under the bunks (more likely), to the bathroom, the kitchenette, the lounge, everywhere. Brendon has exhausted his arsenal of T-shirt hiding places, but refuses to accept the fact that his T-Rex shirt is gone.
He suspects Spence at first, because Spencer hates the T-Rex shirt, and Brendon thinks that Spencer might be sneaky and mean enough to let it vanish. He also doesn’t think that Jon did it, because Jon seems unconcerned by clothing issues in general.
“Ryan does the laundry,” Spence says over his cup of coffee without looking up from the newspaper after Brendon has accused him of pilfering his T-shirt.
“Oh,” Brendon says because he didn’t know that. He never really thought about the technicalities of how his clothes go from smelly to clean again after he put them in the laundry basket. He stares at Spence expectantly for a few moments, waiting for an explanation or more hints, but gives up after thirty seconds. Spence is just like an iron wall. He walks to Ryan’s bunk and crawls inside without warning.
“Did you steal my T-shirts?” he asks and then repeats his question when Ryan pulls his headphones from his ears.
“Uhm,” Ryan says after giving him a confused look. “Why would I do that? Your T-shirts are like, atrocious.”
“They are awesome. And I don’t know,” Brendon answers and shrugs. “Smith told me that you do the laundry, so.” He shrugs again.
Ryan quirks a brow at him. “And because I sacrifice a few hours twice a week, I steal your ugly T-shirts to compensate?”
“Well, they are great T-shirts,” Brendon points out, but Ryan is already pushing him out of the bunk.
*
“Why would Ryan steal your clothes?” Jon asks reasonably, twists his controller and hustles Brendon’s car off the road. “Ryan doesn’t even wear T-shirts unless they’re really girly.” He grins.
“Shut up, I can hear you,” Ryan yells from the kitchenette. “I like all kinds of clothes!”
“Jon’s right, you know,” Brendon can hear Spence say and a moment later Spence appears in the lounge with a cup of something steaming. He flops down on the couch next to Jon and puts his head on Jon’s shoulder.
“I don’t steal clothes,” Ryan says and sits down on the armrest. “Or anything else, really.”
“But only if I keep him sedated with hot chocolate,” Spence mumbles, eyes closed in bliss as he takes another sip from his cup.
“Ross, I trade my yellow Superman T-shirt for your hot chocolate,” Brendon says quickly and presses ‘Start’ so Jon can’t kick his ass while he’s negotiating with Ryan.
“I don’t want your clothes,” Ryan replies. “Why would I want your dirty clothes?”
“You enjoy doing the laundry?” Brendon tries and is shortly distracted by Jon trying to start the game again.
“I enjoy hot chocolate more,” Ryan says and smirks. “You can have a sip, though. But please keep your clothes on.”
Brendon cheers.
*
Brendon’s lost T-shirts show up again in a batch of clean clothes Ryan brings from the Laundromat the next day. They smell fresh and flowery, and Brendon feels a little bad about having not even known that it’s Ryan who does their laundry.
He climbs from his bunk and sneaks into Ryan’s. Ryan gives a little protesting sound, but Brendon pushes and pulls until Ryan gives in and they’re lying side by side cramped in the too-small bunk.
“Your laundry-doing is awesome,” Brendon states. “Awesomest, even.”
“You could have told me that without climbing in my bunk,” Ryan says and wiggles a little. “I think my arm is going to fall off.”
“That would impede the laundry-doing, right?” Brendon asks, worried and snuggles close to Ryan who smells just as awesome as the laundry detergent he uses on their clothes, very flowery and sweet and soft. Brendon blinks, shaking the thought off.
“It would.” Ryan sighs closing his book. “Which is why you should probably go back to your own bunk, please?”
“I like snuggling more than clean laundry,” Brendon answers because it’s true and snuggling Ryan is kind of nice. He presses a bit closer. Ryan concedes.
*
The next day Spence is wearing one of Brendon’s T-shirts. When Brendon asks him (‘What the fuck, Smith?’) he just answers that it came with his stack of clean clothes. He looks a little mischievous though, and Brendon has the slight suspicion that Spence might be winding him up.
“Oh, hey,” Ryan says when he enters from the bunk area, looking ruffled and sleepy. “I thought that was Brendon’s?”
“Huh,” Spence says. “I don’t know. It might be. But you’re the great laundry master, so what do I know?” He grins and Ryan glares at him, and Brendon wonders why Ryan can tell that a plain green T-shirt is Brendon’s.
Jon enters the lounge, hair wet, and drops onto the cushions next to Spence. “New clothes?” he asks, running his fingers over Spence’s shoulder. Spence shrugs, smiles a little and turns back to the book in his lap.
“Hey,” Ryan says to Brendon and hands him a cup of hot chocolate. Brendon blinks, staring at the swirling steam for a moment and gives Ryan a questioning look. Ryan just shrugs and Brendon decides that Ryan’s probably feeling guilty for slipping Brendon’s green T-shirt into Spence’s clothes stack.
*
It’s not like they don’t all do it. It was weird at the beginning maybe, but then they’re all guys, even Ryan, so Brendon is not really surprised to hear a faint moan come from the bunk beneath his own. Shifting, rustling sheets, the mattress creaking. Brendon swallows tightly and tries to fall asleep again, but Ryan’s soft, quiet moans are penetrating through the curtains of his bunk, and he has to think of how Ryan smells so wonderful.
He stays awake even after the sounds from beneath have subsided, and falls asleep when it’s more early than late. Only a few hours later he crawls out of bed, tired and uncomfortable. Spence and Jon are in the lounge, talking quietly, and Brendon grunts a good morning at them and enters the bathroom.
“Shit,” Ryan hisses, and drops the lid on the laundry basket. He looks caught, nervous.
“It wasn’t locked,” Brendon retorts and pushes past him to brush his teeth.
“Fuck you,” Ryan answers and is out the door before Brendon can say anything in response. Brendon shakes his head, confused, and pulls off his clothes, ready to drop them in the basket, when he notices a red T-shirt, the one he hasn’t been able to find, at the top of the pile. He’s pretty sure he didn’t put it there. He’s pretty sure it’s what Ryan dropped a few moments ago.
“Fuck,” he says quietly, because he honestly doesn’t know what else to say to that.
*
“Ross,” Brendon starts and buttons his shirt up. It’s half an hour before the show and Ryan is drawing birds onto his face, flocks and flocks of black birds. “Hey, Ross,” Brendon repeats and snaps his fingers when Ryan doesn’t look away from the mirror.
“If you,” Brendon quickly turns to check what Jon and Spence are doing, but they’re curled up on the couch in pre-gig silence. He continues, “you know, if you want my clothes, I’ll share.”
“What?” Ryan’s eyeliner slips a little, blotting a little, and he curses. “I don’t want your clothes.”
Brendon grins and sits down on the stool next to Ryan. “Liar,” he says, and feels a little fond of the way Ryan’s mouth tightens. “It’s okay, though.”
“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Ryan insists, dabbing away the irregular black stains on his cheek with a Q-tip.
“You’re stealing my T-shirts.” Brendon smirks and reaches out on a hunch, touching Ryan’s neck, his nape, Ryan’s hair soft beneath his fingers. Ryan makes a motion to move away, but Brendon holds him, throat going a little dry and he doesn’t even know why.
“I don’t mind,” he eventually says, tentatively massaging Ryan’s neck. Ryan exhales audibly and continues with his makeup, but doesn’t shrug Brendon’s touch off.
*
“I wanna snuggle, too,” Brendon exclaims when he enters Ryan’s and Spence’s hotel room and finds Spence and Jon curled up together on one bed watching TV, legs entwined. He finds it a bit unfair that Spence is always quicker with claiming Jon for himself, because Jon is more cuddly than anyone else and the best snuggler and overall Brendon thinks he has Jon-Walker-snuggling-rights too.
“I called Jon first,” Spence points out and tucks Jon’s arm over his shoulder. Brendon gives him a hurt stare, puppy eyes and all, but Spence is pretty much immune to that. “You can have Ryan,” Spence continues and then presses his face against Jon’s shoulder, yawning.
Brendon glances at Ryan who’s lying on his stomach, arms folded underneath his chin, iPod earphones plugged in. Brendon considers him for a moment and then bounces on the bed next to him, wiggling close. Ryan resists but only for a moment and Brendon wrestles him down and steals his right earphone.
“Oh, that’s good,” he says after a moment. “What’s that?”
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know. Pete sent it, but I didn’t look at the name.” He taps his pen against his notepad. “It’s good for writing though.”
“Hm,” Brendon makes and tries to decipher Ryan’s scrawny handwriting. He pushes closer, Ryan’s hair brushing his cheek, and drapes an arm around his waist. Ryan smells weirdly nice for a guy, like before only a little sweeter maybe. Brendon tells him so.
“Whatever, dude,” Ryan says but looks a little embarrassed but in a I-just-received-a-compliment-and-don’t-know-how-react kind of way. Brendon watches him fidget, amused.
“You too,” Ryan mumbles after a moment.
Brendon presses close and whispers against his ear, “What? I didn’t get that.”
“Asshole,” Ryan retorts, but Brendon feels him shiver and blows more warm breath against his ear. “I said you− I said you also smelled nice,” Ryan adds, and Brendon kisses his temple because Ryan’s close and seems unresisting, and kissing the temple of your friends in a totally friendly way is totally normal.
*
Brendon does not exactly follow Ryan to the Laundromat. He has reasons. He forgot to put his favorite pair of jeans in the laundry basket and he needs them tonight, so he leaves the bus and wanders down the empty street to the Laundromat. When he enters Ryan’s alone in there, already sorting clothes, shifting through bags and dividing them into piles. Brendon wants to announce his presence, but then Ryan pulls one of his, Brendon’s, T-shirts from a bag and presses it to his face, shoulders heaving as he inhales deeply.
“What the fuck?” Brendon blurts out, the door falling shut behind him. Ryan jerks, turning around and brushing a pile of clothes from the closest dryer.
“Did you just−?” Brendon continues, startled by Ryan and the look of terror on his face.
“I did not,” Ryan says quickly and under the pale fluorescent light Brendon can see him blush, pale pink spreading across his cheeks.
Brendon smirks. “You so did,” he replies, “you so did.”
“I’m not. I haven’t,” Ryan starts, and Brendon can see his hands shaking. Ryan stops, grips the handle of one of the bags, shoulders hunched. He looks tinier and smaller than Brendon has ever seen him look, and it makes Brendon feel guilty.
“Uhm,” he says, and nearly wishes he’d not come after Ryan.
“Oh god,” Ryan says, turning a little, leaning against the washing machine, and buries his face in his hands. “This is so not happening.”
“I’m,” Brendon begins, but stops because he honestly doesn’t know what to say. Ryan looks as though he’d rather die than ever, ever talk to him again, and, in a moment of panic, Brendon thinks that’s if that happens he’s going to die.
“You know,” Brendon says eventually, trying to sound reassuring, “it’s, I mean, it’s okay.”
“Fuck, fuck,” Ryan mutters under his breath and Brendon moves closer, reaching out. Ryan backs off until he hits the washing machine. Brendon softly touches his arm; Ryan jerks, flinging a bag of dirty clothes at him. The handle hits Brendon’s nose and for a moment he doesn’t really see, just pulls dirty T-shirts off his face. When he turns, Ryan’s heading (sprinting) towards the exit and Brendon barely manages to grip his hood and pull him back, pinning him against one of the laundry detergent dispensers by his wrists.
“Hey, don’t-“ Brendon swallows, not even knowing what he’s doing. Ryan is still avoiding his eyes, straining against Brendon’s grip. “Don’t run, okay?”
“Go away,” Ryan hisses back, blinking rapidly. Brendon feels his insides twinge a little at the sight, is tempted to touch Ryan’s face. “Please, Brendon,” Ryan continues and bites his lower lip.
“It’s okay,” Brendon says and loosens his grip. “I-”
“You what?” Ryan interrupts him, voice cracking a bit. “You what? You think I’m a total freak? You’ll leave the band? You want me to leave the band? You-”
“Oh god, shut up,” Brendon sighs and completely lets go of Ryan. “I don’t care. I don’t mind. Nobody’s gonna leave the band.”
Ryan half turns away. “I know it’s weird. I can’t-” He stops, struggling for words and then seemingly gives up. Brendon reaches up and carefully touches Ryan’s cheek, curled knuckles pressed against Ryan’s skin. Ryan flinches a little, and Brendon’s breath hitches.
“It’s not weird,” Brendon replies, and tentatively strokes Ryan’s neck, feels him shiver. Ryan looks at him, then, and Brendon decides to stop thinking so damn hard and leans down and softly kisses him. He pulls back a moment later, surprised at himself. Ryan looks breathless and his lips look soft and wet, and Brendon tries to suppress the urge to kiss him again.
“Hey,” he says, and blushes a little maybe at the look in Ryan’s eyes as Ryan looks at him again.
“Why did you do that?” Ryan asks, sounding puzzled, and Brendon smiles and shrugs because he doesn’t quite know himself. Ryan is warm against him, and yeah, smells good, too.
“Please don’t, please don’t tell them.” Ryan’s voice is small and Brendon feels like hugging him. He shakes his head.
“Thanks,” Ryan answers, and smiles a little.
“Probably,” Brendon adds, but doesn’t quite mean it, even though he can see the advantages of knowing one of Ryan’s many, many secrets.
“Hey,” Ryan starts and pushes at Brendon’s shoulder, and Brendon quickly leans in and presses their mouths together again before Ryan can say anything else. It seemed like a rather effective method of shutting Ryan up when he did it the first time, but now Ryan makes a muffled sound and pushes at Brendon’s shoulders until he pulls back.
“Stop doing that,” Ryan hisses. He’s blushing again, it makes Brendon weirdly happy inside and he doesn’t quite understand why. Ryan moves past him, picking up T-shirts along the way and dropping them in one of the baskets.
Brendon watches him, puzzled, and then slowly follows him and leans against a washing machine next to him. “So, you have, like a stack of my T-shirts?” He grins, and tries to keep the corners of his mouth from quivering, a strange nervousness bubbling inside him.
Ryan tenses for a moment, and then drops lid of the washing machine in front of him with quite a fervor. Brendon wishes that his brain-mouth connection was sometimes slower. “Heh, sorry,” he says, feeling awkward and shuffles his feet against the floor.
“You’re an idiot,” Ryan retorts without looking up, but he there’s a lightness to his tone that makes Brendon smile.
“Dude, you’re a freak,” Brendon quips and this time, Ryan just makes a disgruntled sound and flings a penny at him over his shoulder.
Brendon catches and pockets it, and Ryan continues, “You promised not to tell anyone, yeah?”
For a moment Brendon isn’t sure whether this is really a question, whether the playful sound in Ryan’s voice is real or just fake. He bites his lip, juggling options for a moment and then replies, “Can’t remember promising. What’re you gonna give me for my silence?”
Ryan shakes his head, maybe laughing, and Brendon decides to continue, “If you.” A pause, but then the words tumble from his lips. “Dude, if you blow me, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He laughs a little, expecting Ryan to roll his eyes at him, maybe fling a T-shirt or a pair of jeans at him, and tell him to fuck off, laughing.
But Ryan just stops sorting through clothes, and turns to him, expression earnest and serious. His right hand, resting on the surface of the washing machine next to Brendon’s hip, is shaking ever so slightly.
“Yeah, okay,” he says and moves a little.
“What?” Brendon asks and takes a few seconds to process that Ryan’s hand is at his hip and that he’s sucking his lower lip between his teeth.
“I can do that,” Ryan continues, sliding his hand to Brendon’s belt and slowly sinks to his knees, eyes locked with Brendon’s. Brendon feels a little paralyzed; he wants to move, reach out and make him get up, because really, this was just a joke, and he honestly wasn’t expecting Ryan to be fumbling open his pants, chewing his lower lip as if impatient.
“You’re not,” Brendon starts but then Ryan’s hands reach inside his boxers, and Brendon’s just a boy, it’s not like he can say no to hands or, god, a tongue, a mouth, lips. “You don’t have to,” he grinds out between his teeth, but reaches down and buries his fingers in Ryan’s hair anyway.
Ryan pulls his pants down more, and sucks Brendon’s cock between his lips, wet and hot. Brendon tries to hold a small, pathetic sound back, but fails, hips twitching. Ryan pauses for a moment, steadying Brendon’s hips, blowing hot air over Brendon’s cock.
“Oh god,” he breathes and squeezes his eyes shut, gripping Ryan’s hair harder. Ryan makes a little noise, moves down again and sucks harder, covering the base of Brendon’s cock with his fingers, carefully stroking in pace with his mouth. Brendon opens his eyes again, staring down, watching his cock disappear between Ryan’s lips, and moans.
Ryan shifts closer, tightening his grip on Brendon’s hip, and Brendon reaches down and steadies his shoulder; Ryan pulls back and kisses the tip, licking around it, and then moves back, slowly stroking him in pace.
“Yeah,” he gasps, bites his lip and tries to keep his hips from moving. Ryan looks up at him and hums around him, low and soft, and it sends shivers up his spine, like lightening. The touch of his hands on Brendon’s hips is nearly tender, and his fingers draw tiny circles around his hipbones, making it even harder to concentrate.
Brendon closes his eyes again, lets his head fall back, shivering, excited, because god, Ryan looks so fucking hot on his knees there, as if he really likes it.
“I think,” he says. “Ryan,” he moans, and carefully pushes at Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan pulls off, lips smacking, and Brendon just wanted to tell him to go slower, because, god, he’s going to come, but Ryan keeps stroking him, lazily, carefully, but hard, almost up to the tip and down to the base again, pace matched with his heavy breathing. Brendon looks down at him, at his wet lips and red cheeks, his little pink tongue flicking out to lick at the tip, and comes, spurting sticky semen onto Ryan’s lips and chin.
“Shit.” Brendon shifts, shivering, and slides to the floor, knees giving in. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to.” Ryan glares at him, wipes the stains away with his sleeves and Brendon reaches out and rubs at a spot right under his chin.
“That was,” Brendon starts after a moment of silence and tucks himself in. “That was. Pretty awesome,” he finishes lamely and reaches out, curling his hands around Ryan’s neck.
*
Spencer corners him in the evening; he looks very fierce and is wearing his I-mean-business-sneakers. Brendon nearly drops his bowl of Fruit Loops and tries to keep a straight face. From the lounge he can hear Jon and Ryan laugh, and the sounds of Guitar Hero, and considers calling for help, but the look on Spence’s face tells him that it’s probably best not to make a sound.
“So,” Spence says amiably and sits down on the other stool in the little kitchen area.
“Oh god,” Brendon says and finally puts down his bowl. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“I might,” Spence replies and reaches for Brendon’s bowl.
“I shall be mourned. Jon will mourn me,” Brendon replies, glancing at his Fruit Loops longingly. They were particularly tasty, too. “Ryan will mourn me. Think of my mom, too.”
“She’ll send me flowers,” Spence says around a mouth full of cereal. He swallows, pauses, and Brendon considers bribing him with chocolate from the secret stash he’s hiding in his travel bag.
“Your life is dependant on your actions in the next forty-eight hours,” Spence eventually continues with a small grin, and hands Brendon his bowl back. All the blue and green loops are missing, and Brendon glares at Spence.
Spencer shrugs. “Casualties.”
*
“Hi,” Brendon says and pushes past the curtains to Ryan’s bunk. Ryan is curled up and probably already half-asleep, but Brendon is good at waking people up.
“What?” Ryan asks and shifts, giving in as Brendon makes space for himself under the covers. Ryan feels warm and wonderful against him, and Brendon snuggles close.
“Spence said he’ll kill me,” he whispers against Ryan’s ear.
“That’s okay,” Ryan says and shifts so he’s lying back pressed to Brendon’s chest.
“What do you mean ‘it’s okay’?” he hisses, trying his best to sound more offended than amused.
“It’ll shut you up.” Ryan yawns.
“Hmph,” Brendon makes and closes his eyes. It’s really cramped like this, and he’ll probably have the worst of all back pains in the morning, and Ryan will probably be bitchy all day, but for some reason he doesn’t ever want to move again. “Can I sleep here?”
“Mh,” Ryan replies, breathing evening out. Brendon moves a little, sneaking an arm around Ryan’s middle and pulls him close, burying his face in Ryan’s hair. Yes, Ryan smells too good to let go, and Brendon will be able to deal with a little pain, and he’ll certainly be able to deal with Ryan’s moods and Spencer, anything for this.