Always crashing in the same car
Title: Always crashing in the same car
Author: Telis (theaerosolkid)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Brendon/Ryan, Brendon/Ryan
Summary: There are things Jon wants; there are things Brendon wants; there are things Ryan wants.
Word Count: 4812
Disclaimer: Fake, fake, fake.
A/N: For blows_to_come. Thanks to notshybutsly for the beta, and for everyone who let me pester them about this one ♥
*
This is probably the worst time of the year, Jon thinks. It's ridiculously fucking hot, to the point where he just feels like he's melting. After shows are the worst, really, when they're all dripping with sweat and fighting over whose turn it is in the shower, all that bullshit. Jon never pushes for first or even second, because he's the New Guy and -- sometimes it's just easier to not assume so much. Right now they're stuck backstage in a makeshift green room where the A/C isn't working. Spencer stole first shower and the rest of them are just sitting and pretty much boiling.
He sighs and glances over at Brendon, sees his quick easy grin; without thinking Jon returns the smile.
It's lucky the bathroom door swings open at this point, because Jon's not really sure how much longer he can keep going without at least the hope of getting clean and dry. Spencer walks out of the bathroom and exhales heavily.
"I'm going to go wait out on the bus with Zack," Spencer says, tossing his damp towel vaguely in Jon's direction. Jon ducks to the side, lets it thwack at Brendon's face, accompanied with a squawk of discontent. "I'll let you guys fight over who gets next shower -- ohhkay there, Ryan."
"Jesus," Jon says bemusedly, "I didn't know Ryan could move that fast." Brendon snorts as the bathroom door slams shut behind Ryan. Spencer flaps a hand in his general direction, and Jon salutes casually as Spencer saunters out.
"You'd be surprised," Brendon mutters. "He's a tricky asshole." Jon laughs, settles back against the couch. Brendon flops down beside him. "Man, I fucking reek."
"And yet I love you anyway," Jon says easily, slinging an arm around Brendon's shoulders. Brendon curls in closer, nuzzling at Jon's neck.
"You're the only one, really."
"That's pretty pessimistic."
"My life is bleak, Jon," Brendon says. "It's pretty terrible. I'm in need of some serious comfort, you know."
"Wonder where you're gonna get that," Jon says. Brendon smirks, nuzzles in closer.
"It's a mystery," he says happily. Jon starts stroking absentmindedly at his back, feeling the ridged bumps of his spine. Brendon tilts his head back, looking up at Jon, biting his lip, as though considering something. Jon blinks down at him, until suddenly Brendon sits up and kisses him.
It's not a rough overeager kiss, like you might expect from Brendon; neither is it sloppy or overenthusiastic. Brendon's movements are remarkably controlled, his mouth just pressing gently against Jon's, tongue flicking out slow and deliberate, sliding between Jon's slightly parted lips. His hands, calloused from drums and guitar, come up to cup Jon's face, thumbs rubbing light circles over Jon's cheekbones.
Jon tenses up, tries to pull away. Brendon just presses himself closer, an increase not in force but intent. Jon manages to twist away, whisper-gasping, "Ryan --"
"Ryan won't mind," Brendon whispers back, his lips still brushing Jon's. "Jon -- do you? I mean." He pulls back, sits up straight.
"What are you asking me?" Jon asks tightly, keeping his hands to himself.
Brendon leans in again, closer, "I just -- Jon, this isn't anything, like. I mean. I just kind of wanted, you know."
And it's stupid, it shouldn't make any sense, but it does, Jon knows what he was saying; understands the curiosity and the need and the trust implicit in the request, both in its verbal and nonverbal manifestations. Brendon kisses him again, a question on his mouth, and Jon kisses back this time. When Brendon pulls away, Jon tries to smile at him, and manages something approximating a weak grin before Brendon kisses him again, harder this time. Jon lets his eyes slide closed, lets his hands rest at Brendon's shoulders, gripping as gently as he can bring himself to, licking up into his mouth carefully at first. Brendon lets out a soft little noise, then climbs into Jon's lap, straddling him and grinding down. Jon moans at the heat of Brendon pressing down and drops his hands to Brendon's hips, digging fingertips in. Brendon gasps and dips his head down so that his forehead rests against Jon's shoulder, breathing more heavily. Jon kisses the exposed strip of Brendon's neck, following the smooth line of his tendon.
Jon flicks his tongue out before latching down and sucking hard at the pale curve at the base of Brendon's throat, drawing another low sound, tasting the vibrations and the salt of his sweat as one. Jon can feel the rippling of tendons and muscles as Brendon arches up into the sensation, tipping his head back and baring more skin. Brendon's fingers twist in Jon's shirt, not making any move to pull it off, just gripping at it.
And this is -- is probably a bad idea, new guy in school getting too involved too quickly before he even knew the score. Even that's just bullshit, really, Jon knows exactly what the score is; he's seen Brendon and Ryan, he didn't even need the tense introduction from Spencer, "They're kind of --", he'd figured it all out by himself. They're something, defining it would be stupid and it all sounds so political and juvenile outside the simplicity of stating they're together, those three little syllables holding significance Jon can't quite comprehend.
But what they're doing right now, slow and appreciative making out, this isn't for Brendon what it is for Jon. Jon's an easy guy, he likes touching and tasting, he likes the slipslide of a mouth against his, likes the blunt stretching pressure of penetration, likes the ease of sinking into another body, feeling heat and breathing the same air; for Brendon, this is a mission statement, this is who he is, this is Brendon standing up and declaring a preference, exploring and redefining himself.
In the same way that Jon doesn't think about these things, Ryan is likewise quiet -- he knows what he wants, and what he wants right now is Brendon, and for the time being, Brendon is his. Although neither Jon nor Ryan is particularly interested in quantifying the facets of their desire, their desires are separate. Jon likes sex, simply enough, and is willing to overlook the complexities of which body parts he's dealing with in order to get to that point, that moment of shared satisfaction. From what Jon can tell, Ryan likes people and hasn't ever thought that sex was anything other than the crude physical joining of two bodies.
At this moment, though, Jon's not thinking of any of this, he's just kissing Brendon, sucking at his bottom lip before leaning back to look at him, post-show sweat gleaming over his skin, mouth lush and swollen. Jon reaches up and thumbs at Brendon's chin, sees his eyes wide and dark. Before he can ask how much Brendon wants, he's being kissed again, Brendon's pushing his tongue into Jon's mouth and threading fingers into Jon's hair.
"Brendon," he hears, quietly spoken from the bathroom door. Jon jerks, shoves Brendon away on pure instinct. Brendon lands on the floor, an inelegant pile. Ryan's standing at the bathroom door, cheeks flushed from the hot water and the residue of makeup smudged around his eyes, over-bright. Brendon's looking up at Ryan from his vantage point on the floor, and Ryan moves to the table where his bag is set up, methodically packing up his toiletries before thumbing his Sidekick's screen open. The cli-cli-clik of the wheel is an imprecise metronome rhythm against Brendon's loud uneven breaths, and Jon shifts to the side, uneasily.
The pattern's broken when Ryan speaks up again, still speaking softly, "Jon, you should probably take your shower now."
He doesn't look at Brendon when he gets up and heads to the bathroom, and knows that Brendon's not looking at him either.
*
When Jon gets out of the shower -- he takes a long one, actively fighting against thinking -- he sees Brendon sitting placidly on the couch, listening to his iPod. Jon hesitates at the door, glancing at Ryan sitting next to Brendon, typing away at his Sidekick.
He clears his throat. "Shower's free."
Brendon doesn't move, and Jon considers saying it louder, but Ryan nudges at Brendon's leg with his foot, and Brendon jumps up and heads into the bathroom, dropping his iPod into Ryan's bag as he goes.
"I'm not mad at you," Ryan says, not looking up from his phone. Jon freezes.
"Okay," he says carefully. "That's good."
"It's all right," Ryan says. "I get it."
No, I don't think you do, Jon thinks, but he doesn't say anything, just bites his lip and nods.
"Brendon's an adult," Ryan tells him. Jon is, in fact, aware of this. "Just, I don't know, be clear."
"Clear on what, exactly?" Jon asks. He's not trying to be antagonistic, but this is -- that whole thing with Brendon was probably a really stupid idea, and there's now this issue with the fact that they're not only friends, but the most fucked-up kind of co-workers, and he's the New Guy, he has to keep that in mind, he can't go breaking patterns he didn't have a hand in making --
"On what you want from him," Ryan says sharply. "If you're just fucking around, that's fine, but --"
"That's it," Jon says, frustrated. "I just -- it's not a big deal, okay?" Ryan's jaw clenches at this, but he still doesn't look up from his phone.
"Yeah, okay, whatever."
Jon sighs. "Ryan, I mean. I don't know how to convince you."
"You don't have to convince me of anything," Ryan says coolly. "I wasn't there, Jon, I can't form an opinion about -- about something I didn't see."
"Is that what it is?" Jon asks softly. "What, Brendon can only fuck around if you're there?"
Ryan flinches. There's a moment of harsh uneasy silence, until Ryan flips his screen shut, the sound effect disruptive. He finally stares right at Jon, the sudden eye contact a challenge. "I don't really think you get it," he says, and his voice is so -- it's so blank. The complete lack of inflection is leaving Jon clueless: attack or back the fuck off? Get out while he still can? They found a replacement bassist once, they can do it again.
These are the rationalizations and questions that pound at Jon's skull, worse than any hangover, and it's Ryan's voice that breaks him out of his reverie.
"Saying Brendon's 'allowed' to fuck around -- " he practically spits the phrase out " -- if I'm there is implying there's rules to this thing with us, and that's stupid. I just. It's fucking around for you, but. It's not for me."
"Oh," Jon says quietly. And -- all right, he's not stupid, he figured out a lot so far, but the knowledge that something as relatively minor as what had gone on earlier would put Ryan in this state of tight control, gloss that veneer of cold disinterest over his actions and speech -- it's a little much. There's involved, and then there's involved. Ryan, it seems, might place a little more stock in sex than he admits in person.
Of course, Jon should've seen that, he really fucking should have. Ryan is most honest in his lyrics, and nobody who's familiar with their album has missed his scathing tirade against an unfaithful girlfriend. Jon's starting to get it for real, now; Ryan knows precisely what sex is to him and what it means to him but on that same level, he knows that his blasé attitude isn't exactly shared with the world at large.
"So, just." Ryan says, and Jon has no idea what he means, and he says as much. Ryan sighs. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not going to give you permission or whatever, because if I do, that means that I'm saying to you that I have the actual -- the ability to give approval or permission or -- or something. And I don't. So, I just don't know what you want from me."
"You're kind of making a big deal out of this," Jon says. "It was stupid, something we did once, and, okay, it was dumb, so we just won't do it again, all right?"
"Not that easy," Ryan says sharply. "You're going to not hook up with Brendon because you think I don't want you to. I'm not -- I'm not going to be that guy."
"Well, you don't want me to hook up with Brendon," Jon points out.
"Not really, no."
"Then -- maybe -- all of us?" Jon blurts out. Ryan looks at him like he's just grown an extra head and puked the masticated bodies of newborn kittens out of it.
"Threesome, Jon?" Ryan says, and it's almost accusatory.
"If you're up for it," Jon manages. "Just -- me and Brendon, and you, so that's."
Ryan's quiet for a long moment, biting at his bottom lip. Jon stays still, not sure which response he's hoping for.
"Yeah, okay," Ryan says softly. "No stupid rules. This isn't television. I'm not going to say what you can and can't do."
"Cool," Jon says right away. This is -- they're going to do this. It's going to happen, and then it'll be over, and it'll be good and everything can go back to normal (a normal they haven't actually quite defined, but maybe, maybe this can help, maybe it'll all be okay, maybe they can figure their shit out already), and nobody will have the obligation or the ability to feel guilty or excluded.
He sits down, finally, next to Ryan, who regards him calmly. Jon wishes at that moment for an ounce of Ryan's serenity, but chooses instead to inch closer and drop a hand clumsily to Ryan's jaw, cupping and tilting his face. Ryan lets him do so, keeps eye contact throughout, but makes no move to do absolutely anything at all. Jon takes a deep breath and leans in, kisses him slowly, a stumbling imitation of Brendon's gently authoritative kisses.
Ryan is clearly having none of it.
Ryan kisses him back harder, biting at his mouth and tipping them over so Jon is poised over his body, trying to support his weight on his forearms, on either side of Ryan's head. Ryan pulls him down harder, slips a thigh between Jon's legs and grinds up hard, rolling his hips in a fluid motion that leaves Jon gasping, ducking away and rutting down against Ryan's small slim form, not even kissing now, just breathing into Ryan's mouth and letting Ryan suck at his tongue, flick his own up between Jon's lips.
It's so different from Brendon that he can hardly reconcile the idea of the two of them together anymore; Ryan's insistence with Brendon's almost lazy movements. Ryan's hands skitter down his back before stroking back up hard, bracing his knuckles against Jon's back and scraping up. Jon arches into it, feels tracks of harsh pleasure score their way through his shirt.
Ryan lets out a low groan as Jon drops his head again and kisses him with bruising force, and gives as good as he gets, thrusting up at Jon's body, demanding.
They go on like this for minutes or maybe hours until Ryan pushes him away, breathing hard with kiss-wet lips and ruffled hair. "That's enough for now."
Jon stares at him, uncomprehending; he's hard already and while it seems stupid now to think that they would do anything about that at this moment, exactly, he still feels somewhat cheated, and Ryan raises his eyebrows. "Somehow I think a repeat is a bad idea."
"Yeah, okay," Jon says, clearing his throat. "D'you mind if I --" he gestures towards the door. He's not sure he wants to be here for Ryan's explanation. It might have been his idea, but this situation is rapidly getting more and more out of his control, and he's uncertain about his ability to hand the proverbial reins over to Ryan with an audience, even if it's just Brendon.
"Run along," Ryan says, sounding vaguely amused. Jon envies his composure.
*
They get to the hotel for the night and Brendon's practically bouncing on his feet, careful not to touch either of them. Jon sort of understands what he's going for, trying to reassure Ryan by not touching Jon that their relationship was the more important one here -- and Jon is honestly glad that Brendon's taking steps to appeal to Ryan's odd, twisted sense of Fair -- and trying to reassure Jon that he's not just some replaceable toy for them to play with by not touching Ryan.
All in all, though, there's no getting around the definition of what is, at its core, an awkward arrangement. None of them are entirely certain about how exactly this is supposed to work -- the sex, first of all, what are they going to do, precisely, Jon wonders. Then there's the question of what happens after, if they're going to do this again. And how do you decide something like that? Do you judge the third person based on their performance, or do you allow them a gimme for nerves?
Jon really wishes he could switch his mind off.
*
At first, it's relatively straightforward, setting aside their things. It's already very late, and normally Jon's attitude would be to say, Fuck it, and just go to sleep, skip masturbation or screwing or whatever, but they have a reasonably late wake-up call the next day and -- well. This is something with a certain degree of immediacy to it, really, and Jon's not going to pass up on it.
Brendon gets his bags put away quickly, and Jon follows suit. Ryan takes his own time with things, leaving Jon and Brendon to stand and not look at each other. Ryan glances at Brendon and arches an eyebrow, and that seems to be it, their cue to continue or begin or pick up where they left off.
Jon's heart skips a beat, as stupid and lame as it is as Brendon crosses to him. It's not as nice a feeling as all those supermarket romance novels make it sound -- it's painful, almost; sharp. Still, it's hard to focus on the discomfort in his midsection when Brendon's leaning in and cupping warm rough hands around his neck, kissing him gently.
It's the same as before, Jon is pleased to discover, Brendon's still slow and deliberate and thorough, tasting Jon and drawing out harsh pleased sounds. I didn't think I made sounds like that, Jon thinks, and is lost again as Brendon presses their hips together, feels how small Brendon is, really, and rests his hands at the warm swell of Brendon's hips. Brendon's almost whimpering a little now, needful and clingy even as he makes it clear that this is his kiss, it's his mouth Jon is swiping his tongue into, it's his taste that will linger.
Brendon pulls back and drops to his knees, almost too quickly, like he'd practiced it -- not in front of a mirror, maybe, but certainly in his own mind, and tugs at Jon's belt. "I want to suck you off," he says quickly.
And Jon thinks he might understand this, that Brendon is taking matters into his own hands, that while Ryan's gotten involved, this is still his experience, he's the one who will be getting Jon off. Jon glances up at Ryan, sees his expression. He's still fucking stoic, his features arranged into a pattern that's just completely unreadable. There's something flickering in his gaze, something dark and incomprehensible to Jon, and he brushes his fingertips at Brendon's hair, gently, "Yeah, all right," knowing the rehearsal that probably went into that simple phrase.
Brendon's hands might be shaking, or he might just be clumsy, but either way it takes him a while to get the belt undone and the jeans opened. Jon waits patiently, and Ryan makes his way casually to the nearest bed and sprawls out, watching in a disconcertingly casual way. Brendon finally manages to get everything arranged the way he wants it, shoving Jon's pants and boxers down to his ankles -- here Jon steps away to kick his clothing to the corner. He's mostly hard already (still, from earlier, if he's honest) and Brendon doesn't waste any time, licking his palm before wrapping it around the base of Jon's cock, stroking intently, firm pressure. Jon sighs, watching Brendon lick at his mouth, suddenly completely and irrationally eager. Brendon parts his lips and takes the tip of Jon's cock into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the underside as he sucks his way down cautiously.
It's clear that he hasn't really done this all that much, the hesitance in his movements both endearing and pleasurable, and it's an effort for Jon to hold himself back. This is -- this is good, so far, almost surprisingly so, as though the intangible concept of it were something he didn't think the reality could live up to. But, happily, it does, the wet heat of Brendon's mouth around him, lips stretched tightly around his cock as he sucks, soft soft hard, rhythmic, and Jon allows his hips to thrust just a little.
Brendon takes it easily enough, but seems uncertain about what to do with his hands, precisely. Gently, he cards his fingers through Brendon's hair, trying to encourage without babying him, and Brendon hums a bit, absentmindedly. Jon sighs, lets his eyes slip closed. Brendon's hands find their way to his hips, resting lightly. He pulls back and licks at the head, working his way down to the base and curling his tongue around, and Jon curses a bit, bucks, and the movement sends his cock bumping against Brendon's cheek.
"Need some help?" Ryan drawls from the bed.
"If you're offering," Brendon says archly. Jon looks over his shoulder at Ryan, sees him curled casually over the cheap plasticy cover, and Brendon pushes him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he buckles, falling and nearly hitting Ryan, who's apparently rolled to his feet on the other side of the bed.
"Pushy," Jon says, but lies down. Brendon crouches on one side of him and takes his cock back into his mouth, sucking more easily now, getting more of the length into his mouth. Jon closes his eyes again, lost in the sensation, the simple fact of it, Brendon's mouth wrapped around him, suckling diligently. He feels the mattress dip as Ryan joins them, then, and feels Ryan's fingertips trailing up and down the sensitive insides of his thighs. Ryan dips his head down and laps delicately at the base of Jon's cock, and Jon gasps hard at that. Brendon slides off, quickly, glancing at Ryan.
"Sharing is caring," Ryan says sardonically, and Brendon's face crumples in on itself in confusion. Ryan grabs the back of Brendon's neck and hauls him in for an almost vicious kiss, brutal, and Brendon goes with it, lets Ryan push against him and fuck his tongue between swollen lips. Brendon almost falls to his back, almost takes Ryan with him, but Ryan doesn't allow it, pulls him upright again and Brendon follows, ducks back down to lick at the head of Jon's cock. Ryan joins him, and they kiss around the tip, tongues sliding against each other and against Jon, and he can't stop the harsh moan that escapes him at that moment.
"Ohh, fuck," Jon manages, stunned at how breathy and loose he sounds. "Ohh, ohh." He can't seem to stop making these stupid noises, propped up on his elbows as they attend to him. Ryan sucks Jon's cock into his mouth, knocking Brendon aside and taking him all the way to the base, and it's fucking incredible, tight and wet, all the way inside and Ryan's not even gagging, just -- just taking it like he was made for this, like it all comes easily to him.
When he pulls off, Jon practically mourns the loss, lets out a muffled grunt. "Well," Ryan rasps, sitting up and looking down at Brendon. "Were you going to suck him off or not?"
Brendon flinches again, but gets back to it, and it's better than before, like he's got something to prove, and maybe he does, but Jon doesn't mind at all, can't mind, not with the way Brendon's throwing himself into this, and his head's spinning with it all.
Ryan slithers up his body, fits his mouth at Jon's throat before kissing him again, hard and dirty, barely even kissing properly, just licking hard and biting Jon's lips between his teeth, tugging and it almost hurts, okay, it does actually hurt but it's just another sensation, just like Ryan's hand sliding easily across his chest to scratch at his nipple through the rough cotton of his t-shirt, and that shouldn't feel good, it really shouldn't, but it's a counterpoint to the way Brendon's twisting his hand at the base of his cock, sucking his way up and down in a maddeningly fast pattern, the way Ryan's kissing him like he's fighting him and it's too much and all he can think of is more more more please more more more more more but he's afraid to ask or demand because he's the New Guy, all right, he's the replaceable part, and this -- this is -- this was maybe a very bad idea --
-- and Jon's choking as he comes with a shaky cry. Ryan swallows the sound like Brendon doesn't swallow his come and it's Ryan's turn to be jerked away. Jon has no idea how he manages to get his eyes open, but he does, somehow, he manages, and he's glad that he does because he sees Brendon kissing Ryan open-mouthed, roughly, can see from the way Brendon's working his jaw that he's passing Jon's release into Ryan's mouth.
"Swallow," Brendon grunts against Ryan's mouth. "Swallow."
Ryan's eyes open wide and he tries to pull away, but Brendon anchors him in place and presses himself harder to Ryan, and Ryan goes with it, winces and swallows, his throat working.
The transfer was imperfect; their mouths are messy with it and Brendon kisses him again, licking around Ryan's lips for more and Ryan does the same, grabbing for Brendon's shoulders. Brendon works with the motion and pins Ryan down hard, rolling his hips. They're panting and moaning and grappling, it's more like wrestling than fucking. They're not even taking the time for actual penetration, Jon can see through the haze of orgasm that they're just rutting against each other, it's just the bucking movements of their hips and rough kisses -- Ryan's trying for something coarser, trying to hurt, almost, and Brendon's not going with it at all, he's pulling back again and again with sharp little teasing kisses, brutal like jabs of a knife before pulling up and grinding down hard, dipping back for another viciously quick, sucking kiss.
Ryan moans, long and low, broken, and Brendon finally gives Ryan what he wants, biting kisses as he thrusts down against him. Jon's trying to watch, really he is, but there's something dark and visceral here, something -- he's not meant to see this, this is their relationship changing and evolving, the shifting politics of two incomplete people comprehensively joined.
Ryan arches up into the onslaught, wraps long slim legs high around Brendon's waist and the jagged movement of their bodies reaches a truly frenzied pace; Jon tries to close his eyes, and right when he thinks he might be able to manage it, Ryan cries out and spasms a little, coming. Brendon grunts and thrusts his hips a few more times, hard unforgiving movements, and then he's fixing his teeth at Ryan's shoulder, biting and groaning.
There's a sort of deafening silence, then. As a musician Jon has not ever been able to conceive such a thing, the idea that silence could be as powerful as sound, but here it is and he's lost.
That's the easiest way to explain it. He is lost.
Jon forces himself to roll to his feet and walk to the bathroom, makes himself wet a washcloth and carry it to the bedroom. He stands, shifting his weight to and from each side of his body, suddenly feeling more exposed than before. He realizes, somewhat absurdly, that he never took his shirt off and that both Ryan and Brendon are fully clothed.
"I'm going to take a shower now," Brendon says quietly, and he stands up, unsteady on his feet. Ryan looks up at him and for the first time that night, Jon can read the look on his face.
He just doesn't want to.
*
Author: Telis (theaerosolkid)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Brendon/Ryan, Brendon/Ryan
Summary: There are things Jon wants; there are things Brendon wants; there are things Ryan wants.
Word Count: 4812
Disclaimer: Fake, fake, fake.
A/N: For blows_to_come. Thanks to notshybutsly for the beta, and for everyone who let me pester them about this one ♥
*
This is probably the worst time of the year, Jon thinks. It's ridiculously fucking hot, to the point where he just feels like he's melting. After shows are the worst, really, when they're all dripping with sweat and fighting over whose turn it is in the shower, all that bullshit. Jon never pushes for first or even second, because he's the New Guy and -- sometimes it's just easier to not assume so much. Right now they're stuck backstage in a makeshift green room where the A/C isn't working. Spencer stole first shower and the rest of them are just sitting and pretty much boiling.
He sighs and glances over at Brendon, sees his quick easy grin; without thinking Jon returns the smile.
It's lucky the bathroom door swings open at this point, because Jon's not really sure how much longer he can keep going without at least the hope of getting clean and dry. Spencer walks out of the bathroom and exhales heavily.
"I'm going to go wait out on the bus with Zack," Spencer says, tossing his damp towel vaguely in Jon's direction. Jon ducks to the side, lets it thwack at Brendon's face, accompanied with a squawk of discontent. "I'll let you guys fight over who gets next shower -- ohhkay there, Ryan."
"Jesus," Jon says bemusedly, "I didn't know Ryan could move that fast." Brendon snorts as the bathroom door slams shut behind Ryan. Spencer flaps a hand in his general direction, and Jon salutes casually as Spencer saunters out.
"You'd be surprised," Brendon mutters. "He's a tricky asshole." Jon laughs, settles back against the couch. Brendon flops down beside him. "Man, I fucking reek."
"And yet I love you anyway," Jon says easily, slinging an arm around Brendon's shoulders. Brendon curls in closer, nuzzling at Jon's neck.
"You're the only one, really."
"That's pretty pessimistic."
"My life is bleak, Jon," Brendon says. "It's pretty terrible. I'm in need of some serious comfort, you know."
"Wonder where you're gonna get that," Jon says. Brendon smirks, nuzzles in closer.
"It's a mystery," he says happily. Jon starts stroking absentmindedly at his back, feeling the ridged bumps of his spine. Brendon tilts his head back, looking up at Jon, biting his lip, as though considering something. Jon blinks down at him, until suddenly Brendon sits up and kisses him.
It's not a rough overeager kiss, like you might expect from Brendon; neither is it sloppy or overenthusiastic. Brendon's movements are remarkably controlled, his mouth just pressing gently against Jon's, tongue flicking out slow and deliberate, sliding between Jon's slightly parted lips. His hands, calloused from drums and guitar, come up to cup Jon's face, thumbs rubbing light circles over Jon's cheekbones.
Jon tenses up, tries to pull away. Brendon just presses himself closer, an increase not in force but intent. Jon manages to twist away, whisper-gasping, "Ryan --"
"Ryan won't mind," Brendon whispers back, his lips still brushing Jon's. "Jon -- do you? I mean." He pulls back, sits up straight.
"What are you asking me?" Jon asks tightly, keeping his hands to himself.
Brendon leans in again, closer, "I just -- Jon, this isn't anything, like. I mean. I just kind of wanted, you know."
And it's stupid, it shouldn't make any sense, but it does, Jon knows what he was saying; understands the curiosity and the need and the trust implicit in the request, both in its verbal and nonverbal manifestations. Brendon kisses him again, a question on his mouth, and Jon kisses back this time. When Brendon pulls away, Jon tries to smile at him, and manages something approximating a weak grin before Brendon kisses him again, harder this time. Jon lets his eyes slide closed, lets his hands rest at Brendon's shoulders, gripping as gently as he can bring himself to, licking up into his mouth carefully at first. Brendon lets out a soft little noise, then climbs into Jon's lap, straddling him and grinding down. Jon moans at the heat of Brendon pressing down and drops his hands to Brendon's hips, digging fingertips in. Brendon gasps and dips his head down so that his forehead rests against Jon's shoulder, breathing more heavily. Jon kisses the exposed strip of Brendon's neck, following the smooth line of his tendon.
Jon flicks his tongue out before latching down and sucking hard at the pale curve at the base of Brendon's throat, drawing another low sound, tasting the vibrations and the salt of his sweat as one. Jon can feel the rippling of tendons and muscles as Brendon arches up into the sensation, tipping his head back and baring more skin. Brendon's fingers twist in Jon's shirt, not making any move to pull it off, just gripping at it.
And this is -- is probably a bad idea, new guy in school getting too involved too quickly before he even knew the score. Even that's just bullshit, really, Jon knows exactly what the score is; he's seen Brendon and Ryan, he didn't even need the tense introduction from Spencer, "They're kind of --", he'd figured it all out by himself. They're something, defining it would be stupid and it all sounds so political and juvenile outside the simplicity of stating they're together, those three little syllables holding significance Jon can't quite comprehend.
But what they're doing right now, slow and appreciative making out, this isn't for Brendon what it is for Jon. Jon's an easy guy, he likes touching and tasting, he likes the slipslide of a mouth against his, likes the blunt stretching pressure of penetration, likes the ease of sinking into another body, feeling heat and breathing the same air; for Brendon, this is a mission statement, this is who he is, this is Brendon standing up and declaring a preference, exploring and redefining himself.
In the same way that Jon doesn't think about these things, Ryan is likewise quiet -- he knows what he wants, and what he wants right now is Brendon, and for the time being, Brendon is his. Although neither Jon nor Ryan is particularly interested in quantifying the facets of their desire, their desires are separate. Jon likes sex, simply enough, and is willing to overlook the complexities of which body parts he's dealing with in order to get to that point, that moment of shared satisfaction. From what Jon can tell, Ryan likes people and hasn't ever thought that sex was anything other than the crude physical joining of two bodies.
At this moment, though, Jon's not thinking of any of this, he's just kissing Brendon, sucking at his bottom lip before leaning back to look at him, post-show sweat gleaming over his skin, mouth lush and swollen. Jon reaches up and thumbs at Brendon's chin, sees his eyes wide and dark. Before he can ask how much Brendon wants, he's being kissed again, Brendon's pushing his tongue into Jon's mouth and threading fingers into Jon's hair.
"Brendon," he hears, quietly spoken from the bathroom door. Jon jerks, shoves Brendon away on pure instinct. Brendon lands on the floor, an inelegant pile. Ryan's standing at the bathroom door, cheeks flushed from the hot water and the residue of makeup smudged around his eyes, over-bright. Brendon's looking up at Ryan from his vantage point on the floor, and Ryan moves to the table where his bag is set up, methodically packing up his toiletries before thumbing his Sidekick's screen open. The cli-cli-clik of the wheel is an imprecise metronome rhythm against Brendon's loud uneven breaths, and Jon shifts to the side, uneasily.
The pattern's broken when Ryan speaks up again, still speaking softly, "Jon, you should probably take your shower now."
He doesn't look at Brendon when he gets up and heads to the bathroom, and knows that Brendon's not looking at him either.
*
When Jon gets out of the shower -- he takes a long one, actively fighting against thinking -- he sees Brendon sitting placidly on the couch, listening to his iPod. Jon hesitates at the door, glancing at Ryan sitting next to Brendon, typing away at his Sidekick.
He clears his throat. "Shower's free."
Brendon doesn't move, and Jon considers saying it louder, but Ryan nudges at Brendon's leg with his foot, and Brendon jumps up and heads into the bathroom, dropping his iPod into Ryan's bag as he goes.
"I'm not mad at you," Ryan says, not looking up from his phone. Jon freezes.
"Okay," he says carefully. "That's good."
"It's all right," Ryan says. "I get it."
No, I don't think you do, Jon thinks, but he doesn't say anything, just bites his lip and nods.
"Brendon's an adult," Ryan tells him. Jon is, in fact, aware of this. "Just, I don't know, be clear."
"Clear on what, exactly?" Jon asks. He's not trying to be antagonistic, but this is -- that whole thing with Brendon was probably a really stupid idea, and there's now this issue with the fact that they're not only friends, but the most fucked-up kind of co-workers, and he's the New Guy, he has to keep that in mind, he can't go breaking patterns he didn't have a hand in making --
"On what you want from him," Ryan says sharply. "If you're just fucking around, that's fine, but --"
"That's it," Jon says, frustrated. "I just -- it's not a big deal, okay?" Ryan's jaw clenches at this, but he still doesn't look up from his phone.
"Yeah, okay, whatever."
Jon sighs. "Ryan, I mean. I don't know how to convince you."
"You don't have to convince me of anything," Ryan says coolly. "I wasn't there, Jon, I can't form an opinion about -- about something I didn't see."
"Is that what it is?" Jon asks softly. "What, Brendon can only fuck around if you're there?"
Ryan flinches. There's a moment of harsh uneasy silence, until Ryan flips his screen shut, the sound effect disruptive. He finally stares right at Jon, the sudden eye contact a challenge. "I don't really think you get it," he says, and his voice is so -- it's so blank. The complete lack of inflection is leaving Jon clueless: attack or back the fuck off? Get out while he still can? They found a replacement bassist once, they can do it again.
These are the rationalizations and questions that pound at Jon's skull, worse than any hangover, and it's Ryan's voice that breaks him out of his reverie.
"Saying Brendon's 'allowed' to fuck around -- " he practically spits the phrase out " -- if I'm there is implying there's rules to this thing with us, and that's stupid. I just. It's fucking around for you, but. It's not for me."
"Oh," Jon says quietly. And -- all right, he's not stupid, he figured out a lot so far, but the knowledge that something as relatively minor as what had gone on earlier would put Ryan in this state of tight control, gloss that veneer of cold disinterest over his actions and speech -- it's a little much. There's involved, and then there's involved. Ryan, it seems, might place a little more stock in sex than he admits in person.
Of course, Jon should've seen that, he really fucking should have. Ryan is most honest in his lyrics, and nobody who's familiar with their album has missed his scathing tirade against an unfaithful girlfriend. Jon's starting to get it for real, now; Ryan knows precisely what sex is to him and what it means to him but on that same level, he knows that his blasé attitude isn't exactly shared with the world at large.
"So, just." Ryan says, and Jon has no idea what he means, and he says as much. Ryan sighs. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not going to give you permission or whatever, because if I do, that means that I'm saying to you that I have the actual -- the ability to give approval or permission or -- or something. And I don't. So, I just don't know what you want from me."
"You're kind of making a big deal out of this," Jon says. "It was stupid, something we did once, and, okay, it was dumb, so we just won't do it again, all right?"
"Not that easy," Ryan says sharply. "You're going to not hook up with Brendon because you think I don't want you to. I'm not -- I'm not going to be that guy."
"Well, you don't want me to hook up with Brendon," Jon points out.
"Not really, no."
"Then -- maybe -- all of us?" Jon blurts out. Ryan looks at him like he's just grown an extra head and puked the masticated bodies of newborn kittens out of it.
"Threesome, Jon?" Ryan says, and it's almost accusatory.
"If you're up for it," Jon manages. "Just -- me and Brendon, and you, so that's."
Ryan's quiet for a long moment, biting at his bottom lip. Jon stays still, not sure which response he's hoping for.
"Yeah, okay," Ryan says softly. "No stupid rules. This isn't television. I'm not going to say what you can and can't do."
"Cool," Jon says right away. This is -- they're going to do this. It's going to happen, and then it'll be over, and it'll be good and everything can go back to normal (a normal they haven't actually quite defined, but maybe, maybe this can help, maybe it'll all be okay, maybe they can figure their shit out already), and nobody will have the obligation or the ability to feel guilty or excluded.
He sits down, finally, next to Ryan, who regards him calmly. Jon wishes at that moment for an ounce of Ryan's serenity, but chooses instead to inch closer and drop a hand clumsily to Ryan's jaw, cupping and tilting his face. Ryan lets him do so, keeps eye contact throughout, but makes no move to do absolutely anything at all. Jon takes a deep breath and leans in, kisses him slowly, a stumbling imitation of Brendon's gently authoritative kisses.
Ryan is clearly having none of it.
Ryan kisses him back harder, biting at his mouth and tipping them over so Jon is poised over his body, trying to support his weight on his forearms, on either side of Ryan's head. Ryan pulls him down harder, slips a thigh between Jon's legs and grinds up hard, rolling his hips in a fluid motion that leaves Jon gasping, ducking away and rutting down against Ryan's small slim form, not even kissing now, just breathing into Ryan's mouth and letting Ryan suck at his tongue, flick his own up between Jon's lips.
It's so different from Brendon that he can hardly reconcile the idea of the two of them together anymore; Ryan's insistence with Brendon's almost lazy movements. Ryan's hands skitter down his back before stroking back up hard, bracing his knuckles against Jon's back and scraping up. Jon arches into it, feels tracks of harsh pleasure score their way through his shirt.
Ryan lets out a low groan as Jon drops his head again and kisses him with bruising force, and gives as good as he gets, thrusting up at Jon's body, demanding.
They go on like this for minutes or maybe hours until Ryan pushes him away, breathing hard with kiss-wet lips and ruffled hair. "That's enough for now."
Jon stares at him, uncomprehending; he's hard already and while it seems stupid now to think that they would do anything about that at this moment, exactly, he still feels somewhat cheated, and Ryan raises his eyebrows. "Somehow I think a repeat is a bad idea."
"Yeah, okay," Jon says, clearing his throat. "D'you mind if I --" he gestures towards the door. He's not sure he wants to be here for Ryan's explanation. It might have been his idea, but this situation is rapidly getting more and more out of his control, and he's uncertain about his ability to hand the proverbial reins over to Ryan with an audience, even if it's just Brendon.
"Run along," Ryan says, sounding vaguely amused. Jon envies his composure.
*
They get to the hotel for the night and Brendon's practically bouncing on his feet, careful not to touch either of them. Jon sort of understands what he's going for, trying to reassure Ryan by not touching Jon that their relationship was the more important one here -- and Jon is honestly glad that Brendon's taking steps to appeal to Ryan's odd, twisted sense of Fair -- and trying to reassure Jon that he's not just some replaceable toy for them to play with by not touching Ryan.
All in all, though, there's no getting around the definition of what is, at its core, an awkward arrangement. None of them are entirely certain about how exactly this is supposed to work -- the sex, first of all, what are they going to do, precisely, Jon wonders. Then there's the question of what happens after, if they're going to do this again. And how do you decide something like that? Do you judge the third person based on their performance, or do you allow them a gimme for nerves?
Jon really wishes he could switch his mind off.
*
At first, it's relatively straightforward, setting aside their things. It's already very late, and normally Jon's attitude would be to say, Fuck it, and just go to sleep, skip masturbation or screwing or whatever, but they have a reasonably late wake-up call the next day and -- well. This is something with a certain degree of immediacy to it, really, and Jon's not going to pass up on it.
Brendon gets his bags put away quickly, and Jon follows suit. Ryan takes his own time with things, leaving Jon and Brendon to stand and not look at each other. Ryan glances at Brendon and arches an eyebrow, and that seems to be it, their cue to continue or begin or pick up where they left off.
Jon's heart skips a beat, as stupid and lame as it is as Brendon crosses to him. It's not as nice a feeling as all those supermarket romance novels make it sound -- it's painful, almost; sharp. Still, it's hard to focus on the discomfort in his midsection when Brendon's leaning in and cupping warm rough hands around his neck, kissing him gently.
It's the same as before, Jon is pleased to discover, Brendon's still slow and deliberate and thorough, tasting Jon and drawing out harsh pleased sounds. I didn't think I made sounds like that, Jon thinks, and is lost again as Brendon presses their hips together, feels how small Brendon is, really, and rests his hands at the warm swell of Brendon's hips. Brendon's almost whimpering a little now, needful and clingy even as he makes it clear that this is his kiss, it's his mouth Jon is swiping his tongue into, it's his taste that will linger.
Brendon pulls back and drops to his knees, almost too quickly, like he'd practiced it -- not in front of a mirror, maybe, but certainly in his own mind, and tugs at Jon's belt. "I want to suck you off," he says quickly.
And Jon thinks he might understand this, that Brendon is taking matters into his own hands, that while Ryan's gotten involved, this is still his experience, he's the one who will be getting Jon off. Jon glances up at Ryan, sees his expression. He's still fucking stoic, his features arranged into a pattern that's just completely unreadable. There's something flickering in his gaze, something dark and incomprehensible to Jon, and he brushes his fingertips at Brendon's hair, gently, "Yeah, all right," knowing the rehearsal that probably went into that simple phrase.
Brendon's hands might be shaking, or he might just be clumsy, but either way it takes him a while to get the belt undone and the jeans opened. Jon waits patiently, and Ryan makes his way casually to the nearest bed and sprawls out, watching in a disconcertingly casual way. Brendon finally manages to get everything arranged the way he wants it, shoving Jon's pants and boxers down to his ankles -- here Jon steps away to kick his clothing to the corner. He's mostly hard already (still, from earlier, if he's honest) and Brendon doesn't waste any time, licking his palm before wrapping it around the base of Jon's cock, stroking intently, firm pressure. Jon sighs, watching Brendon lick at his mouth, suddenly completely and irrationally eager. Brendon parts his lips and takes the tip of Jon's cock into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the underside as he sucks his way down cautiously.
It's clear that he hasn't really done this all that much, the hesitance in his movements both endearing and pleasurable, and it's an effort for Jon to hold himself back. This is -- this is good, so far, almost surprisingly so, as though the intangible concept of it were something he didn't think the reality could live up to. But, happily, it does, the wet heat of Brendon's mouth around him, lips stretched tightly around his cock as he sucks, soft soft hard, rhythmic, and Jon allows his hips to thrust just a little.
Brendon takes it easily enough, but seems uncertain about what to do with his hands, precisely. Gently, he cards his fingers through Brendon's hair, trying to encourage without babying him, and Brendon hums a bit, absentmindedly. Jon sighs, lets his eyes slip closed. Brendon's hands find their way to his hips, resting lightly. He pulls back and licks at the head, working his way down to the base and curling his tongue around, and Jon curses a bit, bucks, and the movement sends his cock bumping against Brendon's cheek.
"Need some help?" Ryan drawls from the bed.
"If you're offering," Brendon says archly. Jon looks over his shoulder at Ryan, sees him curled casually over the cheap plasticy cover, and Brendon pushes him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he buckles, falling and nearly hitting Ryan, who's apparently rolled to his feet on the other side of the bed.
"Pushy," Jon says, but lies down. Brendon crouches on one side of him and takes his cock back into his mouth, sucking more easily now, getting more of the length into his mouth. Jon closes his eyes again, lost in the sensation, the simple fact of it, Brendon's mouth wrapped around him, suckling diligently. He feels the mattress dip as Ryan joins them, then, and feels Ryan's fingertips trailing up and down the sensitive insides of his thighs. Ryan dips his head down and laps delicately at the base of Jon's cock, and Jon gasps hard at that. Brendon slides off, quickly, glancing at Ryan.
"Sharing is caring," Ryan says sardonically, and Brendon's face crumples in on itself in confusion. Ryan grabs the back of Brendon's neck and hauls him in for an almost vicious kiss, brutal, and Brendon goes with it, lets Ryan push against him and fuck his tongue between swollen lips. Brendon almost falls to his back, almost takes Ryan with him, but Ryan doesn't allow it, pulls him upright again and Brendon follows, ducks back down to lick at the head of Jon's cock. Ryan joins him, and they kiss around the tip, tongues sliding against each other and against Jon, and he can't stop the harsh moan that escapes him at that moment.
"Ohh, fuck," Jon manages, stunned at how breathy and loose he sounds. "Ohh, ohh." He can't seem to stop making these stupid noises, propped up on his elbows as they attend to him. Ryan sucks Jon's cock into his mouth, knocking Brendon aside and taking him all the way to the base, and it's fucking incredible, tight and wet, all the way inside and Ryan's not even gagging, just -- just taking it like he was made for this, like it all comes easily to him.
When he pulls off, Jon practically mourns the loss, lets out a muffled grunt. "Well," Ryan rasps, sitting up and looking down at Brendon. "Were you going to suck him off or not?"
Brendon flinches again, but gets back to it, and it's better than before, like he's got something to prove, and maybe he does, but Jon doesn't mind at all, can't mind, not with the way Brendon's throwing himself into this, and his head's spinning with it all.
Ryan slithers up his body, fits his mouth at Jon's throat before kissing him again, hard and dirty, barely even kissing properly, just licking hard and biting Jon's lips between his teeth, tugging and it almost hurts, okay, it does actually hurt but it's just another sensation, just like Ryan's hand sliding easily across his chest to scratch at his nipple through the rough cotton of his t-shirt, and that shouldn't feel good, it really shouldn't, but it's a counterpoint to the way Brendon's twisting his hand at the base of his cock, sucking his way up and down in a maddeningly fast pattern, the way Ryan's kissing him like he's fighting him and it's too much and all he can think of is more more more please more more more more more but he's afraid to ask or demand because he's the New Guy, all right, he's the replaceable part, and this -- this is -- this was maybe a very bad idea --
-- and Jon's choking as he comes with a shaky cry. Ryan swallows the sound like Brendon doesn't swallow his come and it's Ryan's turn to be jerked away. Jon has no idea how he manages to get his eyes open, but he does, somehow, he manages, and he's glad that he does because he sees Brendon kissing Ryan open-mouthed, roughly, can see from the way Brendon's working his jaw that he's passing Jon's release into Ryan's mouth.
"Swallow," Brendon grunts against Ryan's mouth. "Swallow."
Ryan's eyes open wide and he tries to pull away, but Brendon anchors him in place and presses himself harder to Ryan, and Ryan goes with it, winces and swallows, his throat working.
The transfer was imperfect; their mouths are messy with it and Brendon kisses him again, licking around Ryan's lips for more and Ryan does the same, grabbing for Brendon's shoulders. Brendon works with the motion and pins Ryan down hard, rolling his hips. They're panting and moaning and grappling, it's more like wrestling than fucking. They're not even taking the time for actual penetration, Jon can see through the haze of orgasm that they're just rutting against each other, it's just the bucking movements of their hips and rough kisses -- Ryan's trying for something coarser, trying to hurt, almost, and Brendon's not going with it at all, he's pulling back again and again with sharp little teasing kisses, brutal like jabs of a knife before pulling up and grinding down hard, dipping back for another viciously quick, sucking kiss.
Ryan moans, long and low, broken, and Brendon finally gives Ryan what he wants, biting kisses as he thrusts down against him. Jon's trying to watch, really he is, but there's something dark and visceral here, something -- he's not meant to see this, this is their relationship changing and evolving, the shifting politics of two incomplete people comprehensively joined.
Ryan arches up into the onslaught, wraps long slim legs high around Brendon's waist and the jagged movement of their bodies reaches a truly frenzied pace; Jon tries to close his eyes, and right when he thinks he might be able to manage it, Ryan cries out and spasms a little, coming. Brendon grunts and thrusts his hips a few more times, hard unforgiving movements, and then he's fixing his teeth at Ryan's shoulder, biting and groaning.
There's a sort of deafening silence, then. As a musician Jon has not ever been able to conceive such a thing, the idea that silence could be as powerful as sound, but here it is and he's lost.
That's the easiest way to explain it. He is lost.
Jon forces himself to roll to his feet and walk to the bathroom, makes himself wet a washcloth and carry it to the bedroom. He stands, shifting his weight to and from each side of his body, suddenly feeling more exposed than before. He realizes, somewhat absurdly, that he never took his shirt off and that both Ryan and Brendon are fully clothed.
"I'm going to take a shower now," Brendon says quietly, and he stands up, unsteady on his feet. Ryan looks up at him and for the first time that night, Jon can read the look on his face.
He just doesn't want to.
*