Vampirepants
Title: Vampirepants
Author: Telis (theaerosolkid)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Jon, Brendon/Jon/Ryan
Summary: Wherein Brendon is a vampire, and sex is usually helpful
Word Count: 7048
Disclaimer: It's all fake; standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: Was originally two separate parts, I merged them. Thanks to castoffstarter for saving this thing from utter suckitude, and to raye6 and notshybutsly for acting as my sounding boards. Hearts hearts.
"Well," Spencer said pragmatically. "It could be worse."
"How!?" Brendon wailed miserably. "I'm a fucking thinger! How am I thuppothed to thing when I have a motherfucking lithp!?"
Jon and Ryan were on the couch, howling with laughter.
--
"Uh, how did he end up a vampire?" the new tour manager asked tentatively. Ryan snorted.
"Partied a little too hard with the Academy guys," Brendon said sheepishly.
"Huh?"
"William Beckett's a vampire," Ryan explained. "Anyway, it's all your own fault."
"God, shut up already, I wouldn't have gone to the stupid party if I knew he was a fucking vampire, asshat," Brendon groaned. "Okay, yeah, I know, drinking that much: not the smartest idea. But come on. I didn't deserve to get turned!"
"So, are we avoiding sunlight?" the tour manager asked.
"Nah, he's fine. Just won't be as comfortable," Ryan said. "He can suck it up and deal."
"If you're not careful, I'll suck something," Brendon muttered. Ryan rolled his eyes.
"Any, erm, special requests?"
"Pig's blood, from the butcher," Brendon said. "It's okay. I guess. But, uh, better than the alternative."
"Yeah," Ryan agreed, stroking his neck. "No human blood for Brendon."
"Ohh, fuck you," Brendon yelped, staring fixedly at the steadily pumping pulse. "Ohh, I hate you, Ryan Ross. No words, okay, you need to go away and die."
"Mmmh, no," Ryan said, fluttering delicate fingers against his pale skin. Brendon pouted.
--
"Ryan, give it a break," Jon said. "He's all sad. Look at him. How can you not feel sorry for him?"
"Easily," Ryan said. "Come on, Jon, he can't feel that bad." Brendon was currently curled up into a little ball on the bed, unmoving. He was so still; Jon still forgot that he didn't need to breathe anymore.
"Look, all I'm saying is, Bill never drank pig's blood. Maybe it's not as, like, nutritious, or whatever," Jon said defensively.
"He's already a vegetarian," Ryan said with a shrug. "so he's a little deprived of vitamins anyway."
"Yeah, so why are we letting him make it worse?" Jon argued.
Ryan stared. "Are you seriously suggesting that one of us plays food for Brendon?"
"No!" Jon said. "All of us. We take turns. Bill only had to drink a few times a week, usually he just bit his groupies or whatever. It was easier for him, everyone was always drunk on tour."
Ryan's nose wrinkled up. "I don't know that I like this idea."
"I do," Brendon piped up from the bed. "I really, really like this idea. Seriously, guys, I feel like shit." Ryan hesitated.
"I don't know, Brendon," he said slowly. "Like, won't it be hard to, I don't know, stop, once you get going? Every goddamn vampire movie has that loss-of-control thing."
"It's not like we're going to do it all alone or whatever," Jon said. "It'll be a group, if he starts losing it, the others can pull him off or something. And we'll call Bill. He'll help. He feels really bad, Brendon, he just kind of lost control."
"S'okay," Brendon said, shrugging. "It's done now, right?"
"I'll talk to Spence," Ryan said, flipping his Sidekick open and heading out of the hotel room, presumably to Spencer's. "You guys call Bill." Jon nodded and stroked Brendon's back, gently, soothingly.
"Hey," he murmured.
"Um," Brendon said, sounding strained. "Could you, like, not? Because, uh. You just, like, smell really good, okay?"
"Oh," Jon said softly. He lay down next to Brendon, curled up, facing him. "Sorry."
"It's all right," Brendon said, worn out. "It's been like this ever since, you know."
"That sucks," Jon said. "S'not like you can help it, right? Walking around all day, everyone smelling all appetizing and shit."
"It's not everyone," Brendon said carefully.
"Who is it?" Jon asked, curling his hands into keep from reaching out to him. God, Jon was no good at this sitting and listening. Jon was good at holding hands and cuddling, at playing vicious games of Halo and Katamari Damacy, at drinking himself silly with a group of unhappy people, cheering them up with rude jokes and outlandish stories. He wasn't good at holding himself in check, pulling back, giving space, being quiet. He wanted so badly to reach out and take Brendon into his arms, wrap his body around him, warm him, always too cold these days, and keep him safe, tell him it was all right, over and over again.
Brendon buried his face into the mattress. "You," he mumbled, voice muffled. Jon froze. "That's what it is. I- I, everyone smells nice and Ryan and Spence smell really good but you smell like a fucking fantasy. You smell like sin." Jon felt his pulse quicken, his stomach tighten. "I want you so badly. I wanted you before, I did, but now I just can't. I- I spend all my time trying to not think of holding you down, biting you, tasting you, bruising you. Every time somebody touches you I want to rip their head off, I want to beat them to death with their own limbs, I want to mark you so nobody can ever have you, so you'll be all mine." He let out a low groan. "God, Jon, I'm so sorry, I really, I just wish that I didn't want to-"
Jon grabbed Brendon and hauled him on top of his body, kissing him hungrily, powerfully, gripping his shoulders tightly and rutting against his thigh, hard already. Brendon moaned into his mouth and pushed down against him, holding him against the bed, grinding against him, and Jon could feel him hard against his hip. He spread his legs and wrapped them around Brendon's hips, trying to bring himself closer, trying for more friction. Brendon was sucking on his tongue, and Jon could feel the sharp edges of his teeth, lengthening with excitement.
He pulled away from Brendon, gasping for breath, Brendon was breathing heavily too, and Jon shouldn't have found that as hot as he did, that he made a vampire breathe with his kisses. "You better fucking mean this," Brendon croaked. "God, I'm going to kill you if that wasn't serious."
"It was," Jon assured him, chest heaving. "Ohh, please." And he tilted his head back, inviting. Brendon stilled.
"Are you sure?" he asked, eyes wide. "I thought you said-"
"I want it," Jon said. "I want you to, I want to help you."
"No," Brendon whispered. "Let's wait, all right, please, I don't want to hurt you."
Jon kissed his nose. "You won't."
Brendon shivered. "Jon, I-"
"Please," Jon said, swallowing hard. Brendon's eyes glazed over as he stared at Jon's bobbing Adam's apple. He shook his head, clearing it, snapping back to reality.
"No," he said firmly. "I don't know what I'm doing, and neither do you, and I'm not going to risk hurting you. I can wait."
"But you don't have to," Jon argued. Brendon sighed and dropped himself onto his back, rolling away from Jon, throwing an arm up over his face.
"Call Bill already," he said tiredly. Jon crawled closer and dipped his nose to the hollow above Brendon's collarbones, nuzzling gently. "I mean it," Brendon insisted.
"Fine," Jon said resignedly. He reached for his phone.
--
"I'm still not, you know, really comfortable with this," Brendon confessed, looking up at Jon with wide eyes, dark with want.
"That's okay," Jon said. "Are you sure you want to be on your back?"
"I don't want to give myself the chance to pin you," Brendon said, sliding hands into Jon's back pockets. "You know. Just in case and all that."
"Hate to break it to you," Jon said dryly, "but if you really want to pin me, you have that nifty superhuman strength thing on your side, so I'd be kind of screwed."
"Not helping," Brendon ground out, squeezing. Jon smirked and pushed back into his hands. "C'mere." He obliged, kissing Brendon once, softly, before resting his cheek against Brendon's shoulder, baring the sweet curve of his neck. Brendon met his eyes once more before sliding his closed, leaning in, and kissing his neck gently. "Tell me if I hurt you."
"Just do it already," Jon said, impatient, stomach fluttering. Brendon growled a little and stroked his tongue across Jon's skin, tasting him, spreading saliva ("Something about it, it's like an baby painkiller or whatthefuckever," Bill had explained. "I don't know, the licking makes it nicer for whoever's getting bitten. Just get your spit to cover as much as you can, I guess."). Jon whimpered, rolling his hips against Brendon. He drew back slightly, lips just barely touching his neck, still, hot breath ghosting over the wet skin and yes, there it was. The barest pin-prick of pain, sliding sharp teeth into his flesh and ohhh. That was...surprisingly good.
For all his eagerness, Jon wasn't really expecting to like the sensation of being bitten. He didn't really think it would be terrible, exactly, but this was almost too nice, Brendon's mouth on him, drawing out his blood slowly, reverently, making soft little moaning noises into him that vibrated pleasantly across Jon's skin. God, it felt so good, and Brendon's hands slid up to cup the back of his neck, cradling him from below. He pulled back, and Jon opened his eyes. All he could see was Brendon's mouth, lips swollen and wet, smeared slightly with blood - his blood, how weird was that? - and then Brendon leaned in again, lapping at the tiny puncture wounds, reveling in Jon's taste.
"God," he breathed. "You taste so fucking good, Jon, I don't ever want anything else, all I want is just this, all the time."
"Don't stop," Jon pleaded. "Please don't stop."
"I-I don't think I can," Brendon said, fitting his mouth again over the same wounds, sharp clever teeth scoring another set of shallow little cuts into Jon's neck, sucking hard for a moment and then rolling his tongue across them, cleaning them, teasing him.
"More," Jon gasped. Brendon's grip tightened, pleasurably so.
"Jon," he murmured into his wounds, biting gently into unbroken skin. "Only a little more."
"Yes," Jon said urgently. "yes, more, now."
Brendon nipped harder, sinking his teeth in deeper than ever, still cautiously shallow, and pulled them out slowly, rubbing his lips into the blood that welled up. Jon keened a little, spreading his legs and hitching them up, pushing his crotch harder against Brendon, who arched up against him and brought his hands down to grip at his hips, helping him rock against his own hardness before pulling back at last, licking his lips, sucking in as much blood as he could. "Ohh, thank you."
"Anytime," Jon stressed. Brendon smiled up at him, grateful.
--
"So," Jon said, keeping his voice casual. "Do you bite all of us in the same place?"
He had a reason for the curiosity. Brendon never left marks - no matter how much Jon wheedled and cajoled, he was always careful to bite his own tongue or wrist and smear a little of his own blood over the wounds decorating Jon's neck. Near as Jon could tell, Brendon always bit him in the exact same spot; the soft, sloping curve of his neck, always on the right side, too.
Brendon paused in his slow sucking, pulled back a little, mouth dark with Jon's blood. "No," he said, but it sounded more like a question. "Why do you want to know?"
He wasn't embarrassed exactly, but close. He never bit them in front of each other, and almost never came to them and asked for blood, he waited for them to remind him, even when it was clear that the thirst was driving him crazy and leaving him weak. After the first time he'd passed out from forgetting to feed (Jon wasn't too sure he believed that; he knew how hard it was for Brendon to forget about the sensation of it), they all got much better about paying attention to whose turn it was.
Usually, Brendon would feed from Jon when they were lying down together, sequestered in his bunk, or, more rarely, stretched out on a hotel bed. Feeding almost always led to what Brendon teasingly referred to as 'shenanigans'.
"Just wondering," Jon said as Brendon's mouth returned to the open wounds on his neck, nursing them gently, sliding his tongue across and dipping into the punctures, "I- oh, please?" because that felt really fucking good.
Pretty great survival mechanism, Jon thought, arouse your prey. He was hard already, and Brendon chuckled a little into his skin, reaching down and palming his dick through the thin cotton of his boxers. Jon arched up into his touch, twin sensations of the sucking and the stroking taking him high, making his breath come in hot gasps.
Brendon slipped his hand into the slit, curling a sure hand around Jon's cock, stroking and squeezing in a perfect rhythm, his movements well-practiced. Jon's hands came up to cup at the back of Brendon's skull, trying for more pressure. Brendon never bit him as hard or as deep as Jon wanted, and while he appreciated the sentiment, he couldn't help wanting a little more force.
"Oh," he sighed as Brendon twisted his wrist suddenly, thumbing the head of his cock and smearing the pre-come around. He sat up, briefly, and brought his hand up to his mouth, dark red smudged around his full lips. His tongue darted out to taste.
"Mmmh," Brendon murmured. "Can't decide which tastes better." He flicked his tongue out, cleaning his mouth, licking all the blood away. Jon grunted and shifted his hips, hinting, and Brendon laughed again, low. "Give me a minute," and nicked his wrist, then leaned in and pressed the sluggishly dripping wound up against the bites at Jon's neck. When he was satisfied that the cuts had closed up, he licked the blood away.
"Does it taste different, or is everyone's the same?" Jon asked, and Brendon shot him another quizzical look.
"You're a curious little kitty tonight," he mumbled, wiping his mouth off.
"Does that bother you?" Brendon shrugged, then reached for Jon's boxers.
"I can just think of more important things for us to be doing," he said, and tugged at the waistband. "Like, I really think I should be blowing you right now."
"Okay," Jon breathed, and later cursed himself for being so easily distracted.
--
"Where do you bite Ryan?" Jon asked, still breathing hard. Brendon was lying beside him, stroking nimble fingers through his hair. He stilled, then, waiting. "Well?"
"Here," he said reluctantly, touching the inside of Jon's left wrist.
"Every time?"
"Yeah."
"And Spence?"
"Here," he said, fingers gently probing at the inside crook of Jon's right elbow.
"Every single time, the same place, for all of us?" he pushed, and Brendon let out a hard, exasperated sigh.
"Yes, every single time. What the fuck do you care about it?"
"Just curious," Jon said, nuzzling at Brendon. "Hey. I'm allowed to want to know. This is a part of who you are."
"Yeah, I know," Brendon muttered, letting his eyes slip closed.
"Hungry?" Jon asked, furrowing his brow. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Couple days ago," Brendon said shortly, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. "I don't know exactly, ask Spencer."
"You should probably," Jon said, crawling on top of Brendon, tilting his head invitingly.
"Yeah," Brendon sighed, and sat up, lapping at Jon's skin before scraping his teeth against his flesh, sucking softly, slow, building up. Jon leaned into it, feeling himself hard again already. Brendon pulled back slightly and let his teeth find purchase in unbroken skin, digging in a little deeper, sucking harder. He moaned against Jon's skin, rolling his hips, before jerking away and fumbling on the bedside table for lube. He squeezed some into his hand and wiggled a finger up inside Jon, waiting a moment before sliding another one in, spreading them, stretching him. Jon winced a little, sore, and Brendon paused. "Too soon? I don't have to-"
"No, it's fine," Jon cut him off. "Come on, one more and then I want your dick, all right?"
"You're sure?" Jon rotated his hips impatiently.
"Yes, you idiot, can we hurry up with the fucking already?" In response, Brendon slipped a third finger in.
Later, after, while Jon drowsed on the edge of sleep, he heard Brendon whisper.
"I wish you didn't like it so much."
--
Brendon was driving into him with sharp, insistent thrusts, pounding him into the mattress, a tiny bit of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. Jon's stare was fixed at that small smudge, even as Brendon's hands pinned his wrists to the headboard.
Jon tilted his head back, baring his throat. "Again."
"No," Brendon grunted out. "That's enough, stop it."
"I can take it," Jon said, bracing his feet against Brendon's back, pulling him in deeper.
"I said," Brendon hissed, tightening his grip around Jon's wrists. "no."
"I want it," Jon insisted, arching up into him.
"I don't," Brendon growled, dropping his forehead against Jon's, leaning in to kiss him, careful with his teeth. Jon moaned into his mouth, sliding his tongue to the corner, lapping at the leftover blood. Brendon flinched and pulled away. "What the fuck?" he breathed, going still.
"Huh?" Jon asked, confused. "What's wrong?"
"Did you- did you just lick your own blood?" Brendon said, voice low, eyes hard.
"I-"
"That's fucked up, Jon," he said, drawing back further, pulling away and out.
"Brendon-"
"No," he spat, turning away from Jon, burying his face in his hands. "Look, you wanna get fucked by a vampire, go give Beckett a call. You want me to fuck you, then quit with the stupid exsanguination obsession bullshit, all right?"
"Don't choke on that big scary word," Jon said, stung, and regretted it almost immediately.
"Fuck you," Brendon said from behind his hands, but it lacked venom.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay," Jon murmured, rubbing Brendon's back gently. "What if I want both? This is who you are, I like all of who you are. Even the weird parts."
"I just-" Brendon said, voice hoarse. "I don't want you to think I only want you because. You know."
"Because I'm delicious and nutritious?" Jon said, attempting humor, and that pulls a dry chuckle from Brendon.
"Something like that, yeah," Brendon said, and sat up again. Jon leaned in and kissed him slowly, thoroughly.
"Try again?" he murmured, keeping one hand firm at the curve of Brendon's neck.
"I really have had enough, though," Brendon said, sliding up Jon's body, pressing kisses to his collarbone. "I don't want to get, like, all worked up again, you know?"
"Sure," Jon said easily as Brendon pushed inside him again, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure. "Ohh, yeah."
"I like fucking you," Brendon breathed into his skin.
"I like you fucking me," Jon agreed, rolling his hips, taking Brendon deeper. "Oh, ohh, fuck, right there." Brendon let his weight fall to his hands on either side of Jon's head, bracing against him, working his hips hard, thrusting, going in hard and coming out slow.
Jon slid a hand down between their bodies, taking his cock into his hand, stroking and slipping. "Close," Brendon gasped, breathing hard, and Jon loved that, hearing him breathe again, feeling him breathe. He tilted his head up, not pausing in his own movements, and nipped at Brendon's jaw.
He sucked in a breath, sharp, and came groaning into his fist. Brendon thrust into him once more and then let out a low strangled noise and came, collapsing carefully onto Jon, who lightly trailed fingertips between his shoulderblades, leaning in to taste his sweat. "It's not just me who gets off on this," Jon said quietly. "I know you like it too."
Brendon's shoulders sagged. "Yeah," he admitted.
--
Brendon slid out of Spencer's bunk gracefully, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist.
"Hey," Jon said lazily, stretched out on his stomach in his own bunk. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," Brendon said, climbing next to Jon. "Oof. Scoot over, let me steal your body heat."
"You don't actually need it, you know," Jon groused, but shifted to his side on the far end of the bunk.
"I like it," Brendon said, pressing a soft kiss to Jon's jaw. Jon dropped his head against the pillow, opening up for Brendon. "Jon, wha- I. Jon, I just finished with Spencer."
"You never take enough," Jon murmured, nuzzling closer.
"How do you know how much I drink from Spence?" Brendon said, defensive.
"I know how much you take from me," Jon said stubbornly.
"Maybe I get more from Spence," Brendon snapped, throwing an arm up over his eyes.
"Why would you drink more from Spencer than me? That makes no sense, you idiot, I'm bigger than he is."
"Shut up," Brendon hissed. "God." Apologetically, Jon knocked his forehead against Brendon's temple.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Brendon sighed. "It's fine. Just, I mean. Come here." Jon curled up against him, kissing his neck. Brendon flipped them over, slipped a leg between Jon's, rolling his hips, pinning him gently. Jon hitched his leg up around Brendon's hip, pulling them closer together, catching Brendon's lips, licking into his mouth.
"If you're going to fuck, you should probably at least close the curtain," Ryan called out.
Brendon stuck his arm out and gave him the finger. Jon rolled his eyes and snapped the curtain shut.
"Thanks, preciousface," Ryan crooned as Brendon pushed Jon back into the mattress.
--
Jon heard a low moan from behind the curtain of Ryan's bunk, and felt his stomach tense up. He could hear whispering, soft, and crept to the edge of the bunk, trying not to breathe.
"Are you sure?" he heard Ryan whisper. "I'm fine, don't treat me like I'm fragile."
"I'm not," Brendon murmured, and then Ryan sighed.
"It's creepy how good that feels," he said quietly. Brendon mumbled something into his skin in response. Ryan moaned again, a little louder, and Jon could hear what might have been the rustling of fabric. "Ohh, yesss."
"More?" Brendon asked softly.
"Yeah," Ryan gasped. "Yeah, just- I. Nothing, never mind."
"I know," Brendon whispered and Jon heard Ryan whimper. "That's enough," he said after a long moment. "I'm good, thanks."
"All right," Ryan whispered, and Jon slipped back into the lounge, not wanting Brendon to see him standing there. He heard a soft patter as Brendon's feet hit the carpet, and looked up to see him smiling wide with a clean but slightly swollen mouth, reaching for Jon.
"Hi," he said, fluttering his eyelashes fetchingly, frisky with a belly full of blood. "Give us a kiss, darling." Jon complied, and Brendon gave him a confused look. "Hey. Something wrong?"
"Nah," Jon said, pressing up against him. Brendon's brow furrowed.
"You sure? You seem a little-"
"I'm fine," Jon said, cutting him off. Brendon flinched at his vehemence; pulled away.
"If you say so," he muttered, skeptical. Jon pulled him in for a hard kiss, hungry, grinding up against him and Brendon was still beneath him for a moment, caught slightly off-guard. Brendon's hands slid around beneath his waistband, groping and kneading at his flesh.
"Bunk?" Jon breathed.
"Yeah," Brendon murmured against his mouth, pausing to nip gently at his lower lip. "Mine," and Jon wasn't quite sure what he was referring to.
--
Ryan wandered to the couch backstage and flopped down next to Jon, rubbing at his wrist absentmindedly. Jon froze and flicked his glance to Ryan. The cuff of his stage shirt was riding up just a little, and he could see the faint edge of what might have been a bruise peeking out beneath the worn fabric.
He rotated his wrist, and the cuff slid up a little further, exposing pale skin and a splatter-pattern of bruises, darkened with small hard scabs at the center, indicative of multiple deep bites that hadn't yet healed.
Jon's stomach twisted viciously. He knew Brendon hadn't fed off Ryan for a while; the pattern went Ryan-Spencer-Jon and it had been only a spare four hours since Jon had arched up into Brendon, baring his throat and feeling sharp clever teeth sink into his skin, drawing out his blood reverently. So Brendon wasn't healing Ryan's marks.
"Sore?" he said lightly.
Ryan shrugged. "Just a little. You?"
Unconsciously, one of Jon's hands lifted to stroke at the smooth, unbroken skin of his neck. "No, all healed up," trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Oh," was all Ryan said, as his long fingers formed a ring around the marked wrist. "When was the last time he-"
"About four hours ago," Jon said abruptly, and slid headphones over his ears.
--
"I feel like shit," Brendon muttered into the pillow, a thin sheen of sweat decorating his back. Jon was curled up against him, tonguing the hard angular ridge of his shoulderblade, sucking softly at the skin, contemplating leaving a mark. Might be a good hint to Brendon.
"When was the last time you fed?" Jon murmured, hesitating only briefly. It was Ryan's turn.
"I don't know," Brendon said. "D'you?"
Of course. Four days; six and a half hours. "It's Friday? Sometime Monday, then." Brendon sighed and reached for his Sidekick.
"Should probably just get it over with," he said, flipping it open, texting Ryan, presumably. "I'll be right back, okay," he said, and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Jon's nose. He stood, shakily, and paused to grip the edge of the nightstand for support.
"Don't be stupid," Jon said steadily. "Tell Ryan to come here, you're weak right now."
Brendon waved him off. "I don't want to be a bother, you know?"
Jon felt his pulse quicken a little in anticipation. "Come on, just tell him to come here. What, you think I'm going to get grossed out?"
A long pause. Brendon regarded Jon, and then fell back to the bed, graceful despite his spindly limbs. "All right," he said slowly. "Mind sending the message for me?"
It took Ryan maybe ten minutes to take the elevator from the ninth floor to where Jon and Brendon's room was on the seventh, during which time they silently donned clean boxers and undershirts, then settled together on the bed to wait, not touching each other. Ryan had his own key card and came in slowly; tentatively, almost.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi," Brendon said, looking up. "Let it go a little too long this time."
"Yeah," Ryan murmured, reaching for the sleeve of his shirt, pushing it up, baring his wrist. The skin was free of marks - they had apparently found a few moments to heal the wounds. Brendon slid to his knees before Ryan, moving with the fluid ease of practice. He took Ryan's hand into his hands and tilted it back before he drew Ryan's wrist to his mouth, letting his tongue slip out and stroke at the smooth skin before he pulled his lips back, showing lengthened teeth a bare second before they sunk into Ryan's skin along the line of a vein, standing out in sharp relief.
Jon stared, transfixed, as both of their eyes slid shut. Ryan's head fell back and he let out a pleased little sigh. Brendon's head was bobbing a bit as he licked and sucked, making appreciative noises in the back of his throat. Jon was stunned, wondering, Is that how I look? There was a sense that Ryan was begging for more even as he just stood there, sighing and clenching his free hand in Brendon's hair; somehow his whole posture was imploring. Ryan's lips parted and his tongue poked out a bit, wetting them, and that was too much.
He needed more and Jon could sympathize with that; with trying to keep still while Brendon's sharp teeth were sliding easily past the token resistance offered by skin, trying to not seem too wanting, trying to control the longing that flooded the system as Brendon's lips latched to shallow wounds and drew life from them. Ryan needed more touch, and Jon felt suddenly obscurely guilty; ashamed, even, for his jealousy. Jon was lucky - he got Brendon thrusting against or inside him, powerfully, making him cry out, before and after and sometimes during. Ryan got nothing but his own hand and that just wasn't fair. Ryan whimpered a little, soft, bringing his free hand up to his chest and tightening the long graceful fingers into a wrist, whitening at his knuckles with stress. Brendon lifted away for a moment, pressed a slow kiss to the tender skin, licked once more, and bit again, higher up, hungrily, angling his head, and Ryan sucked in a hard breath, "Ahhhh…" in pleasure-pain.
Jon stood then, no longer content to sit and watch, cock straining at his boxers, and crossed to Ryan, curling fingers around his jaw, gently pulling him in for a soft kiss. Ryan moaned into his mouth and opened for him, dazed a little from all the heady sensation. Below them, Brendon paused. Ryan broke away, briefly, gasped, "Don't stop," and Brendon wordlessly bent his head and started working at a fresh patch of skin, sliding one hand up Ryan's arm to cup his elbow. Jon pushed Ryan's shirt out of the way slightly, started unbuckling his belt. Ryan's free hand drifted up to rest against Jon's cheek, holding him close, begging.
There was a slight rustle as they worked together to slide Ryan's jeans off, and Brendon pulled back for a moment, allowing Ryan to kick them out of the way and toss his shirt off. Jon followed suit, turning to rummage in the nightstand's drawer for the lube, waiting for Ryan to give a slight nod before he wet his fingers and knelt behind Ryan, stroking between his cheeks, parting them, biting at the inside of his thigh before pushing a finger inside. Brendon lapped at the blood welling up on the pairings of cuts at Ryan's wrist, licking his lips slowly before sinking his teeth in again, pulling a moan from Ryan's mouth.
Ryan rocked back against his hand, "More," and Jon was only too happy to comply, pushing in a second and spreading his fingers, rotating his wrist slowly, deliberately, liking the noises Ryan was making, his right hand caught between the opposing motions of reaching forward for Brendon and behind for Jon. He worked a third in and watched as Ryan tilted his head back and panted, skin shining slightly with sweat. "More," he gasped in supplication, to both of them, and they both complied.
"Ready?" Jon murmured into the pale smooth skin of Ryan's thigh, mouthing a kiss, rubbing with his cheek, feeling his stubble scrape slowly.
"Yes, now," Ryan said breathlessly. Jon guided him slowly back to the bed, and sat on the edge, slicking himself up with lube before parting Ryan's thighs and pulling him down, letting Ryan drop his weight down onto Jon's cock. Brendon let out a harsh groan, muffling it into Ryan, watching them from his knees.
Ryan sighed, shifting his hips, sliding down Jon's cock, taking him all in, agonizingly slow, and Jon cupped at his hips, pressing, asking for more. Brendon pulled away from Ryan, finally, biting the side of his tongue and laving his own blood over the open punctures before lapping the residual smears away. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and let it slide out, blood-fat and glistening.
Prowling, Brendon climbed back onto the bed. "Hands and knees," he said to Ryan, lovely and straining, pushing himself up and down over Jon's cock. Ryan hesitated, confused, and Brendon gripped at his shoulders, pulling him back. "Hands and knees," he repeated, tone authoritative.
"Yeah," Jon murmured, lifting him off and sliding back, away, keeping his hands on Ryan, guiding him again to the center of the bed, helping him down on all fours before positioning himself behind and pushing in again, thrusting in slowly.
Brendon cupped his jaw, bending down for a slow, thorough kiss. When he pulled back, he murmured gently, "I want you to suck my cock, okay?" and Ryan nodded eagerly, dazzled, trailing off into a moan as Jon slammed into him hard, enjoying the sound of his hips smacking against Ryan's ass.
Ryan opened his mouth and let one of Brendon's capable hands, resting at the top of his head, guide him down to take his cock in, sliding down, taking it. Brendon cursed under his breath, "Shit. Yeah," and Ryan moaned around his cock.
"Fuck," Jon breathed, because, Ryan, tight wet heat clenching down around him rhythmically, pushing back against him and then surging forward to take Brendon's cock deeper. He only wished he could see, could see Ryan's lips stretched wide around Brendon, wet with spit as he fucked himself between them. He flicked his eyes to the mirror on the wall, and, fuck, there they were, all three of them; Brendon's hands fisted into Ryan's hair, none too gentle, and Ryan's eyes closed as he took it from both sides, loving it. Jon could see himself, thrusting into Ryan, rolling his hips hard, keeping the pace, fucking him messily, roughly, harder, harder, deeper.
Ryan was still making those low moaning noises, muffled by his mouthful of cock, arching his back as Jon fell forward, across him, sliding his hands down to Ryan's thighs, kneading the flesh there, holding him closer. "God," Brendon breathed, "you're just taking it, I-"
"He likes it," Jon heard himself say, his voice cracked and hoarse with want as he rested his cheek against Ryan's sweating, quivering body, nuzzling at him, relishing again the scrape of his stubble. "He loves it, the blood, the fucking, the submission, all of it. I liked watching it, you have to st- ohh, you have to stop hogging us, you need to fucking share, Brendon, that was so fucking hot, watching you on your knees like that, sucking him, and now he's, he's sucking you off, fuck, yeah, that's-" and he bucked into Ryan once, twice more before coming inside him in a hot slick rush.
Jon pulled himself out and shifted to the side, kissing at Ryan's belly, taking his dick into his hand and stroking hard, briskly, trying to make him come as fast as possible, he could see in Brendon's erratic thrusts into Ryan's mouth that he was losing control quickly, hurtling towards release as he let his hands slide away from Ryan and down his torso to cup the bottom of his stomach, hovering around Ryan's forehead. Ryan arched back off of Brendon's cock, and let out a harsh, broken scream, and came in Jon's hand suddenly. Brendon's hand moved to his dick hurriedly, pumping himself raggedly, clumsily, briskly, coming hard with an uneven grunt. The first spurt hit Ryan's neck, dripping down to his collarbone; the second fell closer to his shoulder, and Ryan angled himself for the third, sighing in appreciation as it struck his chin and cheeks. He fell to his back, running his fingers over the mess, slipping them into his mouth and sucking, eyes closing again.
Brendon was breathing, turning to Jon, kissing him hungrily, hard, biting the inside of his mouth until he bled and sucking it down, slow and intent. He pulled away and locked his eyes with Jon's. Jon kissed him more gently before sliding away to wrap himself bodily around Ryan, who was lying there cleaned and sated.
"Thanks," Brendon murmured.
"Mmhfl," Ryan managed. "Sleep."
"Did I take too much?" Brendon asked, concerned, and Ryan shook his head.
"You never do," he mumbled before rolling to his side and pressing back against Jon, who smirked at Brendon and most certainly didn't flinch when he received a sharp punch to his arm.
Author: Telis (theaerosolkid)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Jon, Brendon/Jon/Ryan
Summary: Wherein Brendon is a vampire, and sex is usually helpful
Word Count: 7048
Disclaimer: It's all fake; standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: Was originally two separate parts, I merged them. Thanks to castoffstarter for saving this thing from utter suckitude, and to raye6 and notshybutsly for acting as my sounding boards. Hearts hearts.
"Well," Spencer said pragmatically. "It could be worse."
"How!?" Brendon wailed miserably. "I'm a fucking thinger! How am I thuppothed to thing when I have a motherfucking lithp!?"
Jon and Ryan were on the couch, howling with laughter.
--
"Uh, how did he end up a vampire?" the new tour manager asked tentatively. Ryan snorted.
"Partied a little too hard with the Academy guys," Brendon said sheepishly.
"Huh?"
"William Beckett's a vampire," Ryan explained. "Anyway, it's all your own fault."
"God, shut up already, I wouldn't have gone to the stupid party if I knew he was a fucking vampire, asshat," Brendon groaned. "Okay, yeah, I know, drinking that much: not the smartest idea. But come on. I didn't deserve to get turned!"
"So, are we avoiding sunlight?" the tour manager asked.
"Nah, he's fine. Just won't be as comfortable," Ryan said. "He can suck it up and deal."
"If you're not careful, I'll suck something," Brendon muttered. Ryan rolled his eyes.
"Any, erm, special requests?"
"Pig's blood, from the butcher," Brendon said. "It's okay. I guess. But, uh, better than the alternative."
"Yeah," Ryan agreed, stroking his neck. "No human blood for Brendon."
"Ohh, fuck you," Brendon yelped, staring fixedly at the steadily pumping pulse. "Ohh, I hate you, Ryan Ross. No words, okay, you need to go away and die."
"Mmmh, no," Ryan said, fluttering delicate fingers against his pale skin. Brendon pouted.
--
"Ryan, give it a break," Jon said. "He's all sad. Look at him. How can you not feel sorry for him?"
"Easily," Ryan said. "Come on, Jon, he can't feel that bad." Brendon was currently curled up into a little ball on the bed, unmoving. He was so still; Jon still forgot that he didn't need to breathe anymore.
"Look, all I'm saying is, Bill never drank pig's blood. Maybe it's not as, like, nutritious, or whatever," Jon said defensively.
"He's already a vegetarian," Ryan said with a shrug. "so he's a little deprived of vitamins anyway."
"Yeah, so why are we letting him make it worse?" Jon argued.
Ryan stared. "Are you seriously suggesting that one of us plays food for Brendon?"
"No!" Jon said. "All of us. We take turns. Bill only had to drink a few times a week, usually he just bit his groupies or whatever. It was easier for him, everyone was always drunk on tour."
Ryan's nose wrinkled up. "I don't know that I like this idea."
"I do," Brendon piped up from the bed. "I really, really like this idea. Seriously, guys, I feel like shit." Ryan hesitated.
"I don't know, Brendon," he said slowly. "Like, won't it be hard to, I don't know, stop, once you get going? Every goddamn vampire movie has that loss-of-control thing."
"It's not like we're going to do it all alone or whatever," Jon said. "It'll be a group, if he starts losing it, the others can pull him off or something. And we'll call Bill. He'll help. He feels really bad, Brendon, he just kind of lost control."
"S'okay," Brendon said, shrugging. "It's done now, right?"
"I'll talk to Spence," Ryan said, flipping his Sidekick open and heading out of the hotel room, presumably to Spencer's. "You guys call Bill." Jon nodded and stroked Brendon's back, gently, soothingly.
"Hey," he murmured.
"Um," Brendon said, sounding strained. "Could you, like, not? Because, uh. You just, like, smell really good, okay?"
"Oh," Jon said softly. He lay down next to Brendon, curled up, facing him. "Sorry."
"It's all right," Brendon said, worn out. "It's been like this ever since, you know."
"That sucks," Jon said. "S'not like you can help it, right? Walking around all day, everyone smelling all appetizing and shit."
"It's not everyone," Brendon said carefully.
"Who is it?" Jon asked, curling his hands into keep from reaching out to him. God, Jon was no good at this sitting and listening. Jon was good at holding hands and cuddling, at playing vicious games of Halo and Katamari Damacy, at drinking himself silly with a group of unhappy people, cheering them up with rude jokes and outlandish stories. He wasn't good at holding himself in check, pulling back, giving space, being quiet. He wanted so badly to reach out and take Brendon into his arms, wrap his body around him, warm him, always too cold these days, and keep him safe, tell him it was all right, over and over again.
Brendon buried his face into the mattress. "You," he mumbled, voice muffled. Jon froze. "That's what it is. I- I, everyone smells nice and Ryan and Spence smell really good but you smell like a fucking fantasy. You smell like sin." Jon felt his pulse quicken, his stomach tighten. "I want you so badly. I wanted you before, I did, but now I just can't. I- I spend all my time trying to not think of holding you down, biting you, tasting you, bruising you. Every time somebody touches you I want to rip their head off, I want to beat them to death with their own limbs, I want to mark you so nobody can ever have you, so you'll be all mine." He let out a low groan. "God, Jon, I'm so sorry, I really, I just wish that I didn't want to-"
Jon grabbed Brendon and hauled him on top of his body, kissing him hungrily, powerfully, gripping his shoulders tightly and rutting against his thigh, hard already. Brendon moaned into his mouth and pushed down against him, holding him against the bed, grinding against him, and Jon could feel him hard against his hip. He spread his legs and wrapped them around Brendon's hips, trying to bring himself closer, trying for more friction. Brendon was sucking on his tongue, and Jon could feel the sharp edges of his teeth, lengthening with excitement.
He pulled away from Brendon, gasping for breath, Brendon was breathing heavily too, and Jon shouldn't have found that as hot as he did, that he made a vampire breathe with his kisses. "You better fucking mean this," Brendon croaked. "God, I'm going to kill you if that wasn't serious."
"It was," Jon assured him, chest heaving. "Ohh, please." And he tilted his head back, inviting. Brendon stilled.
"Are you sure?" he asked, eyes wide. "I thought you said-"
"I want it," Jon said. "I want you to, I want to help you."
"No," Brendon whispered. "Let's wait, all right, please, I don't want to hurt you."
Jon kissed his nose. "You won't."
Brendon shivered. "Jon, I-"
"Please," Jon said, swallowing hard. Brendon's eyes glazed over as he stared at Jon's bobbing Adam's apple. He shook his head, clearing it, snapping back to reality.
"No," he said firmly. "I don't know what I'm doing, and neither do you, and I'm not going to risk hurting you. I can wait."
"But you don't have to," Jon argued. Brendon sighed and dropped himself onto his back, rolling away from Jon, throwing an arm up over his face.
"Call Bill already," he said tiredly. Jon crawled closer and dipped his nose to the hollow above Brendon's collarbones, nuzzling gently. "I mean it," Brendon insisted.
"Fine," Jon said resignedly. He reached for his phone.
--
"I'm still not, you know, really comfortable with this," Brendon confessed, looking up at Jon with wide eyes, dark with want.
"That's okay," Jon said. "Are you sure you want to be on your back?"
"I don't want to give myself the chance to pin you," Brendon said, sliding hands into Jon's back pockets. "You know. Just in case and all that."
"Hate to break it to you," Jon said dryly, "but if you really want to pin me, you have that nifty superhuman strength thing on your side, so I'd be kind of screwed."
"Not helping," Brendon ground out, squeezing. Jon smirked and pushed back into his hands. "C'mere." He obliged, kissing Brendon once, softly, before resting his cheek against Brendon's shoulder, baring the sweet curve of his neck. Brendon met his eyes once more before sliding his closed, leaning in, and kissing his neck gently. "Tell me if I hurt you."
"Just do it already," Jon said, impatient, stomach fluttering. Brendon growled a little and stroked his tongue across Jon's skin, tasting him, spreading saliva ("Something about it, it's like an baby painkiller or whatthefuckever," Bill had explained. "I don't know, the licking makes it nicer for whoever's getting bitten. Just get your spit to cover as much as you can, I guess."). Jon whimpered, rolling his hips against Brendon. He drew back slightly, lips just barely touching his neck, still, hot breath ghosting over the wet skin and yes, there it was. The barest pin-prick of pain, sliding sharp teeth into his flesh and ohhh. That was...surprisingly good.
For all his eagerness, Jon wasn't really expecting to like the sensation of being bitten. He didn't really think it would be terrible, exactly, but this was almost too nice, Brendon's mouth on him, drawing out his blood slowly, reverently, making soft little moaning noises into him that vibrated pleasantly across Jon's skin. God, it felt so good, and Brendon's hands slid up to cup the back of his neck, cradling him from below. He pulled back, and Jon opened his eyes. All he could see was Brendon's mouth, lips swollen and wet, smeared slightly with blood - his blood, how weird was that? - and then Brendon leaned in again, lapping at the tiny puncture wounds, reveling in Jon's taste.
"God," he breathed. "You taste so fucking good, Jon, I don't ever want anything else, all I want is just this, all the time."
"Don't stop," Jon pleaded. "Please don't stop."
"I-I don't think I can," Brendon said, fitting his mouth again over the same wounds, sharp clever teeth scoring another set of shallow little cuts into Jon's neck, sucking hard for a moment and then rolling his tongue across them, cleaning them, teasing him.
"More," Jon gasped. Brendon's grip tightened, pleasurably so.
"Jon," he murmured into his wounds, biting gently into unbroken skin. "Only a little more."
"Yes," Jon said urgently. "yes, more, now."
Brendon nipped harder, sinking his teeth in deeper than ever, still cautiously shallow, and pulled them out slowly, rubbing his lips into the blood that welled up. Jon keened a little, spreading his legs and hitching them up, pushing his crotch harder against Brendon, who arched up against him and brought his hands down to grip at his hips, helping him rock against his own hardness before pulling back at last, licking his lips, sucking in as much blood as he could. "Ohh, thank you."
"Anytime," Jon stressed. Brendon smiled up at him, grateful.
--
"So," Jon said, keeping his voice casual. "Do you bite all of us in the same place?"
He had a reason for the curiosity. Brendon never left marks - no matter how much Jon wheedled and cajoled, he was always careful to bite his own tongue or wrist and smear a little of his own blood over the wounds decorating Jon's neck. Near as Jon could tell, Brendon always bit him in the exact same spot; the soft, sloping curve of his neck, always on the right side, too.
Brendon paused in his slow sucking, pulled back a little, mouth dark with Jon's blood. "No," he said, but it sounded more like a question. "Why do you want to know?"
He wasn't embarrassed exactly, but close. He never bit them in front of each other, and almost never came to them and asked for blood, he waited for them to remind him, even when it was clear that the thirst was driving him crazy and leaving him weak. After the first time he'd passed out from forgetting to feed (Jon wasn't too sure he believed that; he knew how hard it was for Brendon to forget about the sensation of it), they all got much better about paying attention to whose turn it was.
Usually, Brendon would feed from Jon when they were lying down together, sequestered in his bunk, or, more rarely, stretched out on a hotel bed. Feeding almost always led to what Brendon teasingly referred to as 'shenanigans'.
"Just wondering," Jon said as Brendon's mouth returned to the open wounds on his neck, nursing them gently, sliding his tongue across and dipping into the punctures, "I- oh, please?" because that felt really fucking good.
Pretty great survival mechanism, Jon thought, arouse your prey. He was hard already, and Brendon chuckled a little into his skin, reaching down and palming his dick through the thin cotton of his boxers. Jon arched up into his touch, twin sensations of the sucking and the stroking taking him high, making his breath come in hot gasps.
Brendon slipped his hand into the slit, curling a sure hand around Jon's cock, stroking and squeezing in a perfect rhythm, his movements well-practiced. Jon's hands came up to cup at the back of Brendon's skull, trying for more pressure. Brendon never bit him as hard or as deep as Jon wanted, and while he appreciated the sentiment, he couldn't help wanting a little more force.
"Oh," he sighed as Brendon twisted his wrist suddenly, thumbing the head of his cock and smearing the pre-come around. He sat up, briefly, and brought his hand up to his mouth, dark red smudged around his full lips. His tongue darted out to taste.
"Mmmh," Brendon murmured. "Can't decide which tastes better." He flicked his tongue out, cleaning his mouth, licking all the blood away. Jon grunted and shifted his hips, hinting, and Brendon laughed again, low. "Give me a minute," and nicked his wrist, then leaned in and pressed the sluggishly dripping wound up against the bites at Jon's neck. When he was satisfied that the cuts had closed up, he licked the blood away.
"Does it taste different, or is everyone's the same?" Jon asked, and Brendon shot him another quizzical look.
"You're a curious little kitty tonight," he mumbled, wiping his mouth off.
"Does that bother you?" Brendon shrugged, then reached for Jon's boxers.
"I can just think of more important things for us to be doing," he said, and tugged at the waistband. "Like, I really think I should be blowing you right now."
"Okay," Jon breathed, and later cursed himself for being so easily distracted.
--
"Where do you bite Ryan?" Jon asked, still breathing hard. Brendon was lying beside him, stroking nimble fingers through his hair. He stilled, then, waiting. "Well?"
"Here," he said reluctantly, touching the inside of Jon's left wrist.
"Every time?"
"Yeah."
"And Spence?"
"Here," he said, fingers gently probing at the inside crook of Jon's right elbow.
"Every single time, the same place, for all of us?" he pushed, and Brendon let out a hard, exasperated sigh.
"Yes, every single time. What the fuck do you care about it?"
"Just curious," Jon said, nuzzling at Brendon. "Hey. I'm allowed to want to know. This is a part of who you are."
"Yeah, I know," Brendon muttered, letting his eyes slip closed.
"Hungry?" Jon asked, furrowing his brow. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Couple days ago," Brendon said shortly, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. "I don't know exactly, ask Spencer."
"You should probably," Jon said, crawling on top of Brendon, tilting his head invitingly.
"Yeah," Brendon sighed, and sat up, lapping at Jon's skin before scraping his teeth against his flesh, sucking softly, slow, building up. Jon leaned into it, feeling himself hard again already. Brendon pulled back slightly and let his teeth find purchase in unbroken skin, digging in a little deeper, sucking harder. He moaned against Jon's skin, rolling his hips, before jerking away and fumbling on the bedside table for lube. He squeezed some into his hand and wiggled a finger up inside Jon, waiting a moment before sliding another one in, spreading them, stretching him. Jon winced a little, sore, and Brendon paused. "Too soon? I don't have to-"
"No, it's fine," Jon cut him off. "Come on, one more and then I want your dick, all right?"
"You're sure?" Jon rotated his hips impatiently.
"Yes, you idiot, can we hurry up with the fucking already?" In response, Brendon slipped a third finger in.
Later, after, while Jon drowsed on the edge of sleep, he heard Brendon whisper.
"I wish you didn't like it so much."
--
Brendon was driving into him with sharp, insistent thrusts, pounding him into the mattress, a tiny bit of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. Jon's stare was fixed at that small smudge, even as Brendon's hands pinned his wrists to the headboard.
Jon tilted his head back, baring his throat. "Again."
"No," Brendon grunted out. "That's enough, stop it."
"I can take it," Jon said, bracing his feet against Brendon's back, pulling him in deeper.
"I said," Brendon hissed, tightening his grip around Jon's wrists. "no."
"I want it," Jon insisted, arching up into him.
"I don't," Brendon growled, dropping his forehead against Jon's, leaning in to kiss him, careful with his teeth. Jon moaned into his mouth, sliding his tongue to the corner, lapping at the leftover blood. Brendon flinched and pulled away. "What the fuck?" he breathed, going still.
"Huh?" Jon asked, confused. "What's wrong?"
"Did you- did you just lick your own blood?" Brendon said, voice low, eyes hard.
"I-"
"That's fucked up, Jon," he said, drawing back further, pulling away and out.
"Brendon-"
"No," he spat, turning away from Jon, burying his face in his hands. "Look, you wanna get fucked by a vampire, go give Beckett a call. You want me to fuck you, then quit with the stupid exsanguination obsession bullshit, all right?"
"Don't choke on that big scary word," Jon said, stung, and regretted it almost immediately.
"Fuck you," Brendon said from behind his hands, but it lacked venom.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay," Jon murmured, rubbing Brendon's back gently. "What if I want both? This is who you are, I like all of who you are. Even the weird parts."
"I just-" Brendon said, voice hoarse. "I don't want you to think I only want you because. You know."
"Because I'm delicious and nutritious?" Jon said, attempting humor, and that pulls a dry chuckle from Brendon.
"Something like that, yeah," Brendon said, and sat up again. Jon leaned in and kissed him slowly, thoroughly.
"Try again?" he murmured, keeping one hand firm at the curve of Brendon's neck.
"I really have had enough, though," Brendon said, sliding up Jon's body, pressing kisses to his collarbone. "I don't want to get, like, all worked up again, you know?"
"Sure," Jon said easily as Brendon pushed inside him again, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure. "Ohh, yeah."
"I like fucking you," Brendon breathed into his skin.
"I like you fucking me," Jon agreed, rolling his hips, taking Brendon deeper. "Oh, ohh, fuck, right there." Brendon let his weight fall to his hands on either side of Jon's head, bracing against him, working his hips hard, thrusting, going in hard and coming out slow.
Jon slid a hand down between their bodies, taking his cock into his hand, stroking and slipping. "Close," Brendon gasped, breathing hard, and Jon loved that, hearing him breathe again, feeling him breathe. He tilted his head up, not pausing in his own movements, and nipped at Brendon's jaw.
He sucked in a breath, sharp, and came groaning into his fist. Brendon thrust into him once more and then let out a low strangled noise and came, collapsing carefully onto Jon, who lightly trailed fingertips between his shoulderblades, leaning in to taste his sweat. "It's not just me who gets off on this," Jon said quietly. "I know you like it too."
Brendon's shoulders sagged. "Yeah," he admitted.
--
Brendon slid out of Spencer's bunk gracefully, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist.
"Hey," Jon said lazily, stretched out on his stomach in his own bunk. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," Brendon said, climbing next to Jon. "Oof. Scoot over, let me steal your body heat."
"You don't actually need it, you know," Jon groused, but shifted to his side on the far end of the bunk.
"I like it," Brendon said, pressing a soft kiss to Jon's jaw. Jon dropped his head against the pillow, opening up for Brendon. "Jon, wha- I. Jon, I just finished with Spencer."
"You never take enough," Jon murmured, nuzzling closer.
"How do you know how much I drink from Spence?" Brendon said, defensive.
"I know how much you take from me," Jon said stubbornly.
"Maybe I get more from Spence," Brendon snapped, throwing an arm up over his eyes.
"Why would you drink more from Spencer than me? That makes no sense, you idiot, I'm bigger than he is."
"Shut up," Brendon hissed. "God." Apologetically, Jon knocked his forehead against Brendon's temple.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Brendon sighed. "It's fine. Just, I mean. Come here." Jon curled up against him, kissing his neck. Brendon flipped them over, slipped a leg between Jon's, rolling his hips, pinning him gently. Jon hitched his leg up around Brendon's hip, pulling them closer together, catching Brendon's lips, licking into his mouth.
"If you're going to fuck, you should probably at least close the curtain," Ryan called out.
Brendon stuck his arm out and gave him the finger. Jon rolled his eyes and snapped the curtain shut.
"Thanks, preciousface," Ryan crooned as Brendon pushed Jon back into the mattress.
--
Jon heard a low moan from behind the curtain of Ryan's bunk, and felt his stomach tense up. He could hear whispering, soft, and crept to the edge of the bunk, trying not to breathe.
"Are you sure?" he heard Ryan whisper. "I'm fine, don't treat me like I'm fragile."
"I'm not," Brendon murmured, and then Ryan sighed.
"It's creepy how good that feels," he said quietly. Brendon mumbled something into his skin in response. Ryan moaned again, a little louder, and Jon could hear what might have been the rustling of fabric. "Ohh, yesss."
"More?" Brendon asked softly.
"Yeah," Ryan gasped. "Yeah, just- I. Nothing, never mind."
"I know," Brendon whispered and Jon heard Ryan whimper. "That's enough," he said after a long moment. "I'm good, thanks."
"All right," Ryan whispered, and Jon slipped back into the lounge, not wanting Brendon to see him standing there. He heard a soft patter as Brendon's feet hit the carpet, and looked up to see him smiling wide with a clean but slightly swollen mouth, reaching for Jon.
"Hi," he said, fluttering his eyelashes fetchingly, frisky with a belly full of blood. "Give us a kiss, darling." Jon complied, and Brendon gave him a confused look. "Hey. Something wrong?"
"Nah," Jon said, pressing up against him. Brendon's brow furrowed.
"You sure? You seem a little-"
"I'm fine," Jon said, cutting him off. Brendon flinched at his vehemence; pulled away.
"If you say so," he muttered, skeptical. Jon pulled him in for a hard kiss, hungry, grinding up against him and Brendon was still beneath him for a moment, caught slightly off-guard. Brendon's hands slid around beneath his waistband, groping and kneading at his flesh.
"Bunk?" Jon breathed.
"Yeah," Brendon murmured against his mouth, pausing to nip gently at his lower lip. "Mine," and Jon wasn't quite sure what he was referring to.
--
Ryan wandered to the couch backstage and flopped down next to Jon, rubbing at his wrist absentmindedly. Jon froze and flicked his glance to Ryan. The cuff of his stage shirt was riding up just a little, and he could see the faint edge of what might have been a bruise peeking out beneath the worn fabric.
He rotated his wrist, and the cuff slid up a little further, exposing pale skin and a splatter-pattern of bruises, darkened with small hard scabs at the center, indicative of multiple deep bites that hadn't yet healed.
Jon's stomach twisted viciously. He knew Brendon hadn't fed off Ryan for a while; the pattern went Ryan-Spencer-Jon and it had been only a spare four hours since Jon had arched up into Brendon, baring his throat and feeling sharp clever teeth sink into his skin, drawing out his blood reverently. So Brendon wasn't healing Ryan's marks.
"Sore?" he said lightly.
Ryan shrugged. "Just a little. You?"
Unconsciously, one of Jon's hands lifted to stroke at the smooth, unbroken skin of his neck. "No, all healed up," trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Oh," was all Ryan said, as his long fingers formed a ring around the marked wrist. "When was the last time he-"
"About four hours ago," Jon said abruptly, and slid headphones over his ears.
--
"I feel like shit," Brendon muttered into the pillow, a thin sheen of sweat decorating his back. Jon was curled up against him, tonguing the hard angular ridge of his shoulderblade, sucking softly at the skin, contemplating leaving a mark. Might be a good hint to Brendon.
"When was the last time you fed?" Jon murmured, hesitating only briefly. It was Ryan's turn.
"I don't know," Brendon said. "D'you?"
Of course. Four days; six and a half hours. "It's Friday? Sometime Monday, then." Brendon sighed and reached for his Sidekick.
"Should probably just get it over with," he said, flipping it open, texting Ryan, presumably. "I'll be right back, okay," he said, and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Jon's nose. He stood, shakily, and paused to grip the edge of the nightstand for support.
"Don't be stupid," Jon said steadily. "Tell Ryan to come here, you're weak right now."
Brendon waved him off. "I don't want to be a bother, you know?"
Jon felt his pulse quicken a little in anticipation. "Come on, just tell him to come here. What, you think I'm going to get grossed out?"
A long pause. Brendon regarded Jon, and then fell back to the bed, graceful despite his spindly limbs. "All right," he said slowly. "Mind sending the message for me?"
It took Ryan maybe ten minutes to take the elevator from the ninth floor to where Jon and Brendon's room was on the seventh, during which time they silently donned clean boxers and undershirts, then settled together on the bed to wait, not touching each other. Ryan had his own key card and came in slowly; tentatively, almost.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi," Brendon said, looking up. "Let it go a little too long this time."
"Yeah," Ryan murmured, reaching for the sleeve of his shirt, pushing it up, baring his wrist. The skin was free of marks - they had apparently found a few moments to heal the wounds. Brendon slid to his knees before Ryan, moving with the fluid ease of practice. He took Ryan's hand into his hands and tilted it back before he drew Ryan's wrist to his mouth, letting his tongue slip out and stroke at the smooth skin before he pulled his lips back, showing lengthened teeth a bare second before they sunk into Ryan's skin along the line of a vein, standing out in sharp relief.
Jon stared, transfixed, as both of their eyes slid shut. Ryan's head fell back and he let out a pleased little sigh. Brendon's head was bobbing a bit as he licked and sucked, making appreciative noises in the back of his throat. Jon was stunned, wondering, Is that how I look? There was a sense that Ryan was begging for more even as he just stood there, sighing and clenching his free hand in Brendon's hair; somehow his whole posture was imploring. Ryan's lips parted and his tongue poked out a bit, wetting them, and that was too much.
He needed more and Jon could sympathize with that; with trying to keep still while Brendon's sharp teeth were sliding easily past the token resistance offered by skin, trying to not seem too wanting, trying to control the longing that flooded the system as Brendon's lips latched to shallow wounds and drew life from them. Ryan needed more touch, and Jon felt suddenly obscurely guilty; ashamed, even, for his jealousy. Jon was lucky - he got Brendon thrusting against or inside him, powerfully, making him cry out, before and after and sometimes during. Ryan got nothing but his own hand and that just wasn't fair. Ryan whimpered a little, soft, bringing his free hand up to his chest and tightening the long graceful fingers into a wrist, whitening at his knuckles with stress. Brendon lifted away for a moment, pressed a slow kiss to the tender skin, licked once more, and bit again, higher up, hungrily, angling his head, and Ryan sucked in a hard breath, "Ahhhh…" in pleasure-pain.
Jon stood then, no longer content to sit and watch, cock straining at his boxers, and crossed to Ryan, curling fingers around his jaw, gently pulling him in for a soft kiss. Ryan moaned into his mouth and opened for him, dazed a little from all the heady sensation. Below them, Brendon paused. Ryan broke away, briefly, gasped, "Don't stop," and Brendon wordlessly bent his head and started working at a fresh patch of skin, sliding one hand up Ryan's arm to cup his elbow. Jon pushed Ryan's shirt out of the way slightly, started unbuckling his belt. Ryan's free hand drifted up to rest against Jon's cheek, holding him close, begging.
There was a slight rustle as they worked together to slide Ryan's jeans off, and Brendon pulled back for a moment, allowing Ryan to kick them out of the way and toss his shirt off. Jon followed suit, turning to rummage in the nightstand's drawer for the lube, waiting for Ryan to give a slight nod before he wet his fingers and knelt behind Ryan, stroking between his cheeks, parting them, biting at the inside of his thigh before pushing a finger inside. Brendon lapped at the blood welling up on the pairings of cuts at Ryan's wrist, licking his lips slowly before sinking his teeth in again, pulling a moan from Ryan's mouth.
Ryan rocked back against his hand, "More," and Jon was only too happy to comply, pushing in a second and spreading his fingers, rotating his wrist slowly, deliberately, liking the noises Ryan was making, his right hand caught between the opposing motions of reaching forward for Brendon and behind for Jon. He worked a third in and watched as Ryan tilted his head back and panted, skin shining slightly with sweat. "More," he gasped in supplication, to both of them, and they both complied.
"Ready?" Jon murmured into the pale smooth skin of Ryan's thigh, mouthing a kiss, rubbing with his cheek, feeling his stubble scrape slowly.
"Yes, now," Ryan said breathlessly. Jon guided him slowly back to the bed, and sat on the edge, slicking himself up with lube before parting Ryan's thighs and pulling him down, letting Ryan drop his weight down onto Jon's cock. Brendon let out a harsh groan, muffling it into Ryan, watching them from his knees.
Ryan sighed, shifting his hips, sliding down Jon's cock, taking him all in, agonizingly slow, and Jon cupped at his hips, pressing, asking for more. Brendon pulled away from Ryan, finally, biting the side of his tongue and laving his own blood over the open punctures before lapping the residual smears away. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and let it slide out, blood-fat and glistening.
Prowling, Brendon climbed back onto the bed. "Hands and knees," he said to Ryan, lovely and straining, pushing himself up and down over Jon's cock. Ryan hesitated, confused, and Brendon gripped at his shoulders, pulling him back. "Hands and knees," he repeated, tone authoritative.
"Yeah," Jon murmured, lifting him off and sliding back, away, keeping his hands on Ryan, guiding him again to the center of the bed, helping him down on all fours before positioning himself behind and pushing in again, thrusting in slowly.
Brendon cupped his jaw, bending down for a slow, thorough kiss. When he pulled back, he murmured gently, "I want you to suck my cock, okay?" and Ryan nodded eagerly, dazzled, trailing off into a moan as Jon slammed into him hard, enjoying the sound of his hips smacking against Ryan's ass.
Ryan opened his mouth and let one of Brendon's capable hands, resting at the top of his head, guide him down to take his cock in, sliding down, taking it. Brendon cursed under his breath, "Shit. Yeah," and Ryan moaned around his cock.
"Fuck," Jon breathed, because, Ryan, tight wet heat clenching down around him rhythmically, pushing back against him and then surging forward to take Brendon's cock deeper. He only wished he could see, could see Ryan's lips stretched wide around Brendon, wet with spit as he fucked himself between them. He flicked his eyes to the mirror on the wall, and, fuck, there they were, all three of them; Brendon's hands fisted into Ryan's hair, none too gentle, and Ryan's eyes closed as he took it from both sides, loving it. Jon could see himself, thrusting into Ryan, rolling his hips hard, keeping the pace, fucking him messily, roughly, harder, harder, deeper.
Ryan was still making those low moaning noises, muffled by his mouthful of cock, arching his back as Jon fell forward, across him, sliding his hands down to Ryan's thighs, kneading the flesh there, holding him closer. "God," Brendon breathed, "you're just taking it, I-"
"He likes it," Jon heard himself say, his voice cracked and hoarse with want as he rested his cheek against Ryan's sweating, quivering body, nuzzling at him, relishing again the scrape of his stubble. "He loves it, the blood, the fucking, the submission, all of it. I liked watching it, you have to st- ohh, you have to stop hogging us, you need to fucking share, Brendon, that was so fucking hot, watching you on your knees like that, sucking him, and now he's, he's sucking you off, fuck, yeah, that's-" and he bucked into Ryan once, twice more before coming inside him in a hot slick rush.
Jon pulled himself out and shifted to the side, kissing at Ryan's belly, taking his dick into his hand and stroking hard, briskly, trying to make him come as fast as possible, he could see in Brendon's erratic thrusts into Ryan's mouth that he was losing control quickly, hurtling towards release as he let his hands slide away from Ryan and down his torso to cup the bottom of his stomach, hovering around Ryan's forehead. Ryan arched back off of Brendon's cock, and let out a harsh, broken scream, and came in Jon's hand suddenly. Brendon's hand moved to his dick hurriedly, pumping himself raggedly, clumsily, briskly, coming hard with an uneven grunt. The first spurt hit Ryan's neck, dripping down to his collarbone; the second fell closer to his shoulder, and Ryan angled himself for the third, sighing in appreciation as it struck his chin and cheeks. He fell to his back, running his fingers over the mess, slipping them into his mouth and sucking, eyes closing again.
Brendon was breathing, turning to Jon, kissing him hungrily, hard, biting the inside of his mouth until he bled and sucking it down, slow and intent. He pulled away and locked his eyes with Jon's. Jon kissed him more gently before sliding away to wrap himself bodily around Ryan, who was lying there cleaned and sated.
"Thanks," Brendon murmured.
"Mmhfl," Ryan managed. "Sleep."
"Did I take too much?" Brendon asked, concerned, and Ryan shook his head.
"You never do," he mumbled before rolling to his side and pressing back against Jon, who smirked at Brendon and most certainly didn't flinch when he received a sharp punch to his arm.