Heels Over Head [2/3]
Title: Heels Over Head [2/3]
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Drug abuse
Pairing: Established Jondon; Rywalk
POV: 3rd, omniscient
Summary: Brendon and Jon have been together for a little over a year. Brendon's been fooling around with Ryan for about the same amount of time. Split-fic.
Word Count: 3,007 [this part]; 9,038 [total]
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: phoenix_vixen
Author Notes: Second part!
Part 1 | Part 3 | Playlist | The Mix
"Brendon called again."
Jon looked up from slipping his flip-flops off at the door. "Is he...?"
Ryan shook his head, handing Jon his cell phone. He had gotten into the habit of leaving it with Ryan when he wanted some peace and quiet.
Jon sighed and flopped down on Ryan's couch. It had been nearly a month since they left Panic and Brendon was still calling every day, his voice pained and teary. He was desperate; at least, that's what Ryan and Jon chalked it up to. Jon stopped answering his phone two weeks ago.
"I'm tired of him calling all the time."
"You think I like it?" Jon retorted, watching Ryan walk over to sit down next to him on the couch. "He was supposed to be the one, you know?" Jon sighed, tilting his head back against the cushions. "He wasn't just pretty, wasn't just a good fuck, he was sweet and funny. He was..."
"He was supposed to be yours."
Jon rolled his head to look at Ryan. "Sorry."
"No, no. I should be sorry, Jon. I knew what we were doing was wrong, I even tried to stop him, but everything seemed like it was okay. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for all of this and if I caused you to dislike me in any way-"
"Ryan. Really. For the million and first time, I'm not mad at you." Jon slumped further into the couch. "I'm mad at myself. I couldn't give him what he wanted."
"If it makes you feel any better, I couldn't either. Otherwise he would have left your ass for good."
Jon glared at Ryan, but there was no heat in it.
"Yeah, I know, I'm an asshole, everyone tells me that. Hit me," Ryan added, baring a skinny shoulder.
Jon lightly punched Ryan in the arm, laughing a little. "You're a punk, Ross."
"You sound like your mother."
Laughing, Jon ruffled Ryan's hair, making him squawk indignantly. Ryan fended Jon off and they sat back in comfortable silence, contemplating everything all at once.
"What you said at the airport," Ryan muttered finally, looking straight at Jon. "...Would you really take him back if he actually did love you?"
"No," Jon answered confidently, staring off into space. "I don't want him back, at least not anytime in the near future. He needs to grow up and get his shit together. He's still a kid, and I honestly don't think he can handle an adult relationship just yet."
"Brendon was barely legal when we got big. He had billions of teenage girls fawning over him. It was his dream come true, to be a rock star." Ryan snorted a little at the thought, shaking his head. "He was invincible, he was Superman. He could do anything, everything. It went to his head."
"And I never saw it," Jon concluded quietly.
"You were just as blinded," Ryan reasoned, turning to look at Jon directly. "You adored the spotlight just as much as he did. You just never let it keep its hold on you."
"Doesn't make me the better person."
Ryan sighed heavily. "No, I guess not." He reached out to push Jon's bangs out of his eyes. "Stop being so hard on yourself."
Jon looked up and met Ryan's eyes, wide and concerned, beautiful as always, with an unconscious hint of innocence that seemed out of place in such a mature person. "I need a shower," Jon announced then, averting his eyes and standing.
Ryan nodded but didn't move otherwise, staring down at his hands as Jon left the room.
***
"You tried calling again, didn't you?"
Brendon sniffled from where he was curled up in the fetal position on his bed and stifled a sob, not even trying to hide his face from Spencer anymore. Spencer had seen him cry so much in the past month, Brendon didn't even care what he looked like.
"Brendon, you need to give him time," Spencer repeated for what felt like the billionth time, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You need to give yourself time."
Time heals the wounds that truth created.
"I c-can't live without him, Spence," Brendon stuttered weakly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I n-need him."
"No, you just don't want to live without him. Give him a couple of months to cool off, take some time to get over yourself -- and would you stop crying like a little girl? Jesus, Brendon."
Brendon took a few deep breaths to calm himself down again, wiping his wet cheeks. "He won't even t-talk to me now, who says h-he'll talk to me in a couple of m-months?"
"You've upset him, Brendon, he has every right to ignore you." Even though Spencer thought 'ignore' was a harsh word for what Jon was doing, it was as true as anything else.
Brendon's breath hitched again and Spencer sighed, knowing why Ryan and Jon left him with Brendon but wondering how they could put him through this. Being Brendon's cheer-up committee was a tough, full time job. Probably even more stressful than being a celebrity, and that was saying something.
"Come here," Spencer ordered softly, pulling Brendon into his lap and prying the cell phone from his sweaty hand. "You know I hate seeing you like this," he muttered, petting Brendon's hair and letting him cling to his shirt.
"I've b-been such a dick to him," Brendon whimpered against Spencer's neck. "But I've t-tried to fix things." He paused for a moment, and Spencer could feel his neck getting wet from Brendon continuing to cry. "I really do love him, S-spence."
He wasn't just saying it.
Spencer sighed again, hugging Brendon tighter and resting his cheek on Brendon's head. "I know, B."
***
Ryan giggled stupidly as he watched Jon attempting to figure out the lighter.
"Fuck you, Ross."
"You are so fucked up right now," Ryan cackled, closing his eyes to make them stop moving.
Jon finally got his hand to work around the tiny plastic lighter, firing up the bong they had been passing back and forth for who knew how long.
"So, no, really. This is how you deal with your problems."
Jon passed the bong over. "'S worked for eight years so far. Don't judge me." He lit the bong for Ryan since he still had his eyes closed.
Ryan shook his head, his skinny little chest puffed out with all the smoke he was holding in his lungs. "Not judging you, man," he exhaled, a cloud of white forming in front of his face. "Just saying it's a shitty way to deal with your problems."
"I don't see you complaining," Jon mocked him, taking the bong back. "Last hit, man."
Ryan giggled again and fell over onto Jon's shoulder, opening his eyes again. "Yeah, well..." His eyes were still moving sporadically, flitting all over the place. "Shotgun it with me."
Nodding, Jon lit the bong, hitting it hard. He set the bong and the lighter on the coffee table afterwards and pulled Ryan close, sealing his lips over Ryan's.
Ryan let his eyes fall closed again as he inhaled Jon's secondhand smoke, holding on to it for a moment after Jon pulled away before letting it out through his nose. It burned a little, but he was too high to care.
"Your lips are really soft," was all Ryan could think to say, bringing a hand up to absently touch his own lips.
Jon grabbed Ryan's wrist and pulled his hand out of the way, leaning in to press his mouth to Ryan's once more, this time pushing his tongue between Ryan's lips. Ryan made a soft noise, gripping the front of Jon's shirt, and kissed back eagerly.
"So, what is this," Ryan asked a little breathlessly when Jon pulled back, "a new way to deal with your problems?" Ryan's eyes were open again, suddenly still and trained on Jon, his pupils blown wide.
"I want you to show me what Brendon wants from me," Jon whispered, and if Ryan hadn't have known any better, he would have thought Jon was completely sober in that instant. "I want you to tell me what to do." Ryan had never seen so much pain in someone's eyes, so much darkness.
You still love him, Ryan didn't say.
Is this a good idea? Ryan didn't ask.
You might not like this, Ryan didn't warn him.
"Are you sure?" Ryan asked instead, not daring to move a muscle.
"I need to know, Ryan," Jon begged. "Please."
Ryan nodded, standing up unsteadily and helping Jon to his feet as well. They made for the closest bedroom as fast as they possibly could with a head full of pot, and started shedding clothes as soon as they made it in the door. They each took a moment to admire the other once they were both naked before Ryan stepped forward and caught Jon's lips in a slow, sloppy kiss. Jon pulled Ryan's waist in so that their hard cocks brushed together, trailing his mouth across Ryan's jaw and down to his neck.
"God, Jon," Ryan muttered, gently but firmly pulling Jon's head back by his hair. "Get on the bed," he commanded softly, letting his hands linger as he took a half step backwards. Jon looked like he was about to argue, so Ryan added, "Just trust me."
Ryan could see the point where Jon let his mind give in; his eyes went dark and his muscles relaxed even more than they already were, his cock twitching in anticipation. He crawled up onto the bed and laid back against the pillows, watching Ryan expectantly.
Ryan easily found a condom and some lube, joining Jon on the bed and settling between his legs. Jon probably knew exactly where this was going but he was calm, relaxed.
'Resigned' wasn't the right word, but it was the first word that came to mind.
Ryan ran his hands up Jon's thighs, suddenly getting cold feet about fucking Jon Walker, of all people, and really, this was not the best time to start feeling guilty.
"Come on, Ry," was all Jon had to say to get Ryan to ignore his conscience and coat his fingers in lube, eventually pushing all four fingers into Jon one at a time. When Ryan felt that he wouldn't hurt Jon, he rolled the condom on carefully, coated his cock with lube, and gently guided himself in. Jon moved to grip Ryan's wrist where he was holding himself up with one arm, his breath hitching at the sensation of Ryan's cock filling him so completely.
Ryan hastily exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding when his hips met the back of Jon's thighs, moving his other hand to brace himself over Jon. He was tight, for sure tighter than Brendon had ever been, but there were no signs of pain on Jon's face, just a vague combination of pleasure and awe.
"Ryan, god...," Jon muttered, trailing the hand that was around Ryan's wrist up his arm and into his shaggy mop of hair, pulling him down so that he was resting on his elbows and kissing him fiercely.
Sighing into the kiss, Ryan slowly pulled out before pushing back in at the same speed, setting a leisurely pace. Jon brought his free hand up to grip Ryan's shoulder, pulling Ryan's head back so that he could breathe.
"Fuck, Jon. We should have thought of this a long time ago."
"You should have smoked up with me a long time ago," Jon countered, sounding more stoned than ever.
Ryan snuck a hand down to Jon's hip before trailing it down his thigh. "I was the one who had to babysit you all and make sure you didn't smoke yourselves to death," he argued, pulling Jon's leg up around his waist, the new angle allowing Ryan to sink in a little further.
Jon didn't reply, instead letting his head fall back against the pillows, closing his eyes and moaning brokenly. "R-ryan..."
***
Ryan woke to the phone ringing, still pot-drowsy with a pair of warm arms wrapped around his chest. He blindly reached out for the phone vibrating on the night stand and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Ryan? Why do you have Jon's phone?"
Ryan grumbled sleepily, running a hand over his face. "I just picked up whichever one was ringing."
"I've been calling your phone for the past hour, where are you?"
Ryan opened his eyes and inspected his surroundings; apparently, he was in Jon's room, in Jon's bed, with Jon snuffling quietly into the back of his neck.
"In Jon's room."
"You slept in Jon's bed last night?"
"Hmm, I guess so. We smoked a bit last night and then-" Ryan froze, suddenly realizing he and Jon were both naked, the whole night before coming back to him in a rush. "Oh. Oh, shit."
Ryan could just hear Spencer glaring at him. "Ryan, you didn't."
"Oh god, Spence... I-I think I did."
"You motherfucker," Spencer hissed, and if Ryan could think properly, if he could have moved at all, he would have been running, fast. "First you fuck up their relationship, and then you go take advantage of Jon?"
"Spencer, I can explain-"
"No, no, you stay where you are. I want to yell at you to your face."
"Spence-"
The other end of the line went dead, and all Ryan could do was hang up and put the phone down.
Jon stretched lazily, woken up by the sound of someone's voice, and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Ryan. "Ryan, what are you-? Oh, fuck." Jon obviously remembered faster than Ryan did.
"My sentiments exactly. Spencer called and he's pissed. I think he's coming to kill me, Jon."
Sighing disbelievingly, Jon rolled out of bed and dug through the pile of clothes near the door, finding Ryan's boxers first and throwing them at him before finding his own and pulling them on.
"Fuck, what are we going to do?"
With his hand on the door, Jon turned back to Ryan. "We tell him the truth," he answered flatly, although he looked a bit disturbed at the thought.
"Dude, Spencer's gonna kick my ass. I don't stand a chance."
Jon ran a tired hand over his face, taking a deep breath and letting it back out. "Just... get your shorts on, I'll deal with this."
Ryan complied as Jon made his way down the hallway, halfway to the door when the furious knocking started. Answering it, he found a certain red-faced, six foot tall brunette drummer with a score to settle. Ryan wasn't kidding.
"Don't think you can stand in my way, Walker."
"Will you at least listen to me before you go yelling at Ryan for no reason? We were high as fuck last night and-"
Spencer tried to barge through Jon, but Jon caught his arm and wrestled him to the floor, not without plenty of yelling and name-calling from Spencer. Ryan came down the hall to inspect the damage, staying hidden around the corner.
"We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Spencer."
Spencer struggled, nearly throwing Jon off, but he held his ground. "Get off of me."
"Are you going to listen to me?"
Spencer huffed but let his muscles relax. "Whatever," he muttered, still irritable.
Jon stood and helped Spencer to his feet, leading him into the living room to sit down. He still looked fairly angry, sitting on the far end of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest and sporting his best bitchface, but Jon figured he wouldn't snap as long as Ryan wasn't there.
"Look, Spence. Don't blame this on Ryan, okay? We were high and I-I started it. I fucked up and I know that, so if you want to punch me, go ahead. Just... leave Ryan out of this."
Spencer sighed, uncrossing his arms and letting his face relax into a neutral expression. "It's just... you guys have no idea what I go through with Brendon every day... He's pretty low as it is... If he finds out about this..."
"You aren't going to tell him?" Jon asked warily, not noticing Ryan approaching from behind him.
Spencer shook his head, looking up at Ryan wearing only his boxers and a frightened expression on his face. "It's not my place. If either one of you want him to know..." He laughed humorlessly. "Don't make me have to watch him more than I already do."
Ryan and Jon both gave Spencer confused looks, but he simply stood and waved them off.
"Sorry, I forgot. He's not your problem anymore."
"Spencer," Ryan called after him as he started to walk to the door. He followed him and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "We love Brendon as much as you do. What's going on?"
Spencer couldn't meet either of their eyes, staring at the floor instead. "He's... very depressed. I can hardly get him out of the house anymore."
"Brendon's been depressed before," Jon tried helpfully. "He'll pull out of it soon."
"This is different," Spencer replied, more to Ryan than Jon. "I don't know how to help him this time."
Ryan's eyes widened a little. "God, Spencer, he's not-"
"I have to go," Spencer interrupted, but answered Ryan with his eyes. "He should be waking up soon."
Ryan stared after his best friend as he walked out the front door, completely frozen in horror.
"Ryan?"
Ryan's breath hitched and he nearly fell to his knees, Jon catching him before he hit the floor.
"God, Ryan, what...?" Jon babbled, turning Ryan around to face him.
"He's suicidal, Jon," Ryan half-sobbed, half-whimpered, clutching at the front of Jon's shirt. "And it's... it's my fault."
All Jon could do was stare at the wall as he let Ryan cry on his shoulder.
-----------------------------------------
A/N: More of my work here.
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Drug abuse
Pairing: Established Jondon; Rywalk
POV: 3rd, omniscient
Summary: Brendon and Jon have been together for a little over a year. Brendon's been fooling around with Ryan for about the same amount of time. Split-fic.
Word Count: 3,007 [this part]; 9,038 [total]
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: phoenix_vixen
Author Notes: Second part!
Part 1 | Part 3 | Playlist | The Mix
"Brendon called again."
Jon looked up from slipping his flip-flops off at the door. "Is he...?"
Ryan shook his head, handing Jon his cell phone. He had gotten into the habit of leaving it with Ryan when he wanted some peace and quiet.
Jon sighed and flopped down on Ryan's couch. It had been nearly a month since they left Panic and Brendon was still calling every day, his voice pained and teary. He was desperate; at least, that's what Ryan and Jon chalked it up to. Jon stopped answering his phone two weeks ago.
"I'm tired of him calling all the time."
"You think I like it?" Jon retorted, watching Ryan walk over to sit down next to him on the couch. "He was supposed to be the one, you know?" Jon sighed, tilting his head back against the cushions. "He wasn't just pretty, wasn't just a good fuck, he was sweet and funny. He was..."
"He was supposed to be yours."
Jon rolled his head to look at Ryan. "Sorry."
"No, no. I should be sorry, Jon. I knew what we were doing was wrong, I even tried to stop him, but everything seemed like it was okay. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for all of this and if I caused you to dislike me in any way-"
"Ryan. Really. For the million and first time, I'm not mad at you." Jon slumped further into the couch. "I'm mad at myself. I couldn't give him what he wanted."
"If it makes you feel any better, I couldn't either. Otherwise he would have left your ass for good."
Jon glared at Ryan, but there was no heat in it.
"Yeah, I know, I'm an asshole, everyone tells me that. Hit me," Ryan added, baring a skinny shoulder.
Jon lightly punched Ryan in the arm, laughing a little. "You're a punk, Ross."
"You sound like your mother."
Laughing, Jon ruffled Ryan's hair, making him squawk indignantly. Ryan fended Jon off and they sat back in comfortable silence, contemplating everything all at once.
"What you said at the airport," Ryan muttered finally, looking straight at Jon. "...Would you really take him back if he actually did love you?"
"No," Jon answered confidently, staring off into space. "I don't want him back, at least not anytime in the near future. He needs to grow up and get his shit together. He's still a kid, and I honestly don't think he can handle an adult relationship just yet."
"Brendon was barely legal when we got big. He had billions of teenage girls fawning over him. It was his dream come true, to be a rock star." Ryan snorted a little at the thought, shaking his head. "He was invincible, he was Superman. He could do anything, everything. It went to his head."
"And I never saw it," Jon concluded quietly.
"You were just as blinded," Ryan reasoned, turning to look at Jon directly. "You adored the spotlight just as much as he did. You just never let it keep its hold on you."
"Doesn't make me the better person."
Ryan sighed heavily. "No, I guess not." He reached out to push Jon's bangs out of his eyes. "Stop being so hard on yourself."
Jon looked up and met Ryan's eyes, wide and concerned, beautiful as always, with an unconscious hint of innocence that seemed out of place in such a mature person. "I need a shower," Jon announced then, averting his eyes and standing.
Ryan nodded but didn't move otherwise, staring down at his hands as Jon left the room.
***
"You tried calling again, didn't you?"
Brendon sniffled from where he was curled up in the fetal position on his bed and stifled a sob, not even trying to hide his face from Spencer anymore. Spencer had seen him cry so much in the past month, Brendon didn't even care what he looked like.
"Brendon, you need to give him time," Spencer repeated for what felt like the billionth time, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You need to give yourself time."
Time heals the wounds that truth created.
"I c-can't live without him, Spence," Brendon stuttered weakly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I n-need him."
"No, you just don't want to live without him. Give him a couple of months to cool off, take some time to get over yourself -- and would you stop crying like a little girl? Jesus, Brendon."
Brendon took a few deep breaths to calm himself down again, wiping his wet cheeks. "He won't even t-talk to me now, who says h-he'll talk to me in a couple of m-months?"
"You've upset him, Brendon, he has every right to ignore you." Even though Spencer thought 'ignore' was a harsh word for what Jon was doing, it was as true as anything else.
Brendon's breath hitched again and Spencer sighed, knowing why Ryan and Jon left him with Brendon but wondering how they could put him through this. Being Brendon's cheer-up committee was a tough, full time job. Probably even more stressful than being a celebrity, and that was saying something.
"Come here," Spencer ordered softly, pulling Brendon into his lap and prying the cell phone from his sweaty hand. "You know I hate seeing you like this," he muttered, petting Brendon's hair and letting him cling to his shirt.
"I've b-been such a dick to him," Brendon whimpered against Spencer's neck. "But I've t-tried to fix things." He paused for a moment, and Spencer could feel his neck getting wet from Brendon continuing to cry. "I really do love him, S-spence."
He wasn't just saying it.
Spencer sighed again, hugging Brendon tighter and resting his cheek on Brendon's head. "I know, B."
***
Ryan giggled stupidly as he watched Jon attempting to figure out the lighter.
"Fuck you, Ross."
"You are so fucked up right now," Ryan cackled, closing his eyes to make them stop moving.
Jon finally got his hand to work around the tiny plastic lighter, firing up the bong they had been passing back and forth for who knew how long.
"So, no, really. This is how you deal with your problems."
Jon passed the bong over. "'S worked for eight years so far. Don't judge me." He lit the bong for Ryan since he still had his eyes closed.
Ryan shook his head, his skinny little chest puffed out with all the smoke he was holding in his lungs. "Not judging you, man," he exhaled, a cloud of white forming in front of his face. "Just saying it's a shitty way to deal with your problems."
"I don't see you complaining," Jon mocked him, taking the bong back. "Last hit, man."
Ryan giggled again and fell over onto Jon's shoulder, opening his eyes again. "Yeah, well..." His eyes were still moving sporadically, flitting all over the place. "Shotgun it with me."
Nodding, Jon lit the bong, hitting it hard. He set the bong and the lighter on the coffee table afterwards and pulled Ryan close, sealing his lips over Ryan's.
Ryan let his eyes fall closed again as he inhaled Jon's secondhand smoke, holding on to it for a moment after Jon pulled away before letting it out through his nose. It burned a little, but he was too high to care.
"Your lips are really soft," was all Ryan could think to say, bringing a hand up to absently touch his own lips.
Jon grabbed Ryan's wrist and pulled his hand out of the way, leaning in to press his mouth to Ryan's once more, this time pushing his tongue between Ryan's lips. Ryan made a soft noise, gripping the front of Jon's shirt, and kissed back eagerly.
"So, what is this," Ryan asked a little breathlessly when Jon pulled back, "a new way to deal with your problems?" Ryan's eyes were open again, suddenly still and trained on Jon, his pupils blown wide.
"I want you to show me what Brendon wants from me," Jon whispered, and if Ryan hadn't have known any better, he would have thought Jon was completely sober in that instant. "I want you to tell me what to do." Ryan had never seen so much pain in someone's eyes, so much darkness.
You still love him, Ryan didn't say.
Is this a good idea? Ryan didn't ask.
You might not like this, Ryan didn't warn him.
"Are you sure?" Ryan asked instead, not daring to move a muscle.
"I need to know, Ryan," Jon begged. "Please."
Ryan nodded, standing up unsteadily and helping Jon to his feet as well. They made for the closest bedroom as fast as they possibly could with a head full of pot, and started shedding clothes as soon as they made it in the door. They each took a moment to admire the other once they were both naked before Ryan stepped forward and caught Jon's lips in a slow, sloppy kiss. Jon pulled Ryan's waist in so that their hard cocks brushed together, trailing his mouth across Ryan's jaw and down to his neck.
"God, Jon," Ryan muttered, gently but firmly pulling Jon's head back by his hair. "Get on the bed," he commanded softly, letting his hands linger as he took a half step backwards. Jon looked like he was about to argue, so Ryan added, "Just trust me."
Ryan could see the point where Jon let his mind give in; his eyes went dark and his muscles relaxed even more than they already were, his cock twitching in anticipation. He crawled up onto the bed and laid back against the pillows, watching Ryan expectantly.
Ryan easily found a condom and some lube, joining Jon on the bed and settling between his legs. Jon probably knew exactly where this was going but he was calm, relaxed.
'Resigned' wasn't the right word, but it was the first word that came to mind.
Ryan ran his hands up Jon's thighs, suddenly getting cold feet about fucking Jon Walker, of all people, and really, this was not the best time to start feeling guilty.
"Come on, Ry," was all Jon had to say to get Ryan to ignore his conscience and coat his fingers in lube, eventually pushing all four fingers into Jon one at a time. When Ryan felt that he wouldn't hurt Jon, he rolled the condom on carefully, coated his cock with lube, and gently guided himself in. Jon moved to grip Ryan's wrist where he was holding himself up with one arm, his breath hitching at the sensation of Ryan's cock filling him so completely.
Ryan hastily exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding when his hips met the back of Jon's thighs, moving his other hand to brace himself over Jon. He was tight, for sure tighter than Brendon had ever been, but there were no signs of pain on Jon's face, just a vague combination of pleasure and awe.
"Ryan, god...," Jon muttered, trailing the hand that was around Ryan's wrist up his arm and into his shaggy mop of hair, pulling him down so that he was resting on his elbows and kissing him fiercely.
Sighing into the kiss, Ryan slowly pulled out before pushing back in at the same speed, setting a leisurely pace. Jon brought his free hand up to grip Ryan's shoulder, pulling Ryan's head back so that he could breathe.
"Fuck, Jon. We should have thought of this a long time ago."
"You should have smoked up with me a long time ago," Jon countered, sounding more stoned than ever.
Ryan snuck a hand down to Jon's hip before trailing it down his thigh. "I was the one who had to babysit you all and make sure you didn't smoke yourselves to death," he argued, pulling Jon's leg up around his waist, the new angle allowing Ryan to sink in a little further.
Jon didn't reply, instead letting his head fall back against the pillows, closing his eyes and moaning brokenly. "R-ryan..."
***
Ryan woke to the phone ringing, still pot-drowsy with a pair of warm arms wrapped around his chest. He blindly reached out for the phone vibrating on the night stand and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Ryan? Why do you have Jon's phone?"
Ryan grumbled sleepily, running a hand over his face. "I just picked up whichever one was ringing."
"I've been calling your phone for the past hour, where are you?"
Ryan opened his eyes and inspected his surroundings; apparently, he was in Jon's room, in Jon's bed, with Jon snuffling quietly into the back of his neck.
"In Jon's room."
"You slept in Jon's bed last night?"
"Hmm, I guess so. We smoked a bit last night and then-" Ryan froze, suddenly realizing he and Jon were both naked, the whole night before coming back to him in a rush. "Oh. Oh, shit."
Ryan could just hear Spencer glaring at him. "Ryan, you didn't."
"Oh god, Spence... I-I think I did."
"You motherfucker," Spencer hissed, and if Ryan could think properly, if he could have moved at all, he would have been running, fast. "First you fuck up their relationship, and then you go take advantage of Jon?"
"Spencer, I can explain-"
"No, no, you stay where you are. I want to yell at you to your face."
"Spence-"
The other end of the line went dead, and all Ryan could do was hang up and put the phone down.
Jon stretched lazily, woken up by the sound of someone's voice, and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Ryan. "Ryan, what are you-? Oh, fuck." Jon obviously remembered faster than Ryan did.
"My sentiments exactly. Spencer called and he's pissed. I think he's coming to kill me, Jon."
Sighing disbelievingly, Jon rolled out of bed and dug through the pile of clothes near the door, finding Ryan's boxers first and throwing them at him before finding his own and pulling them on.
"Fuck, what are we going to do?"
With his hand on the door, Jon turned back to Ryan. "We tell him the truth," he answered flatly, although he looked a bit disturbed at the thought.
"Dude, Spencer's gonna kick my ass. I don't stand a chance."
Jon ran a tired hand over his face, taking a deep breath and letting it back out. "Just... get your shorts on, I'll deal with this."
Ryan complied as Jon made his way down the hallway, halfway to the door when the furious knocking started. Answering it, he found a certain red-faced, six foot tall brunette drummer with a score to settle. Ryan wasn't kidding.
"Don't think you can stand in my way, Walker."
"Will you at least listen to me before you go yelling at Ryan for no reason? We were high as fuck last night and-"
Spencer tried to barge through Jon, but Jon caught his arm and wrestled him to the floor, not without plenty of yelling and name-calling from Spencer. Ryan came down the hall to inspect the damage, staying hidden around the corner.
"We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Spencer."
Spencer struggled, nearly throwing Jon off, but he held his ground. "Get off of me."
"Are you going to listen to me?"
Spencer huffed but let his muscles relax. "Whatever," he muttered, still irritable.
Jon stood and helped Spencer to his feet, leading him into the living room to sit down. He still looked fairly angry, sitting on the far end of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest and sporting his best bitchface, but Jon figured he wouldn't snap as long as Ryan wasn't there.
"Look, Spence. Don't blame this on Ryan, okay? We were high and I-I started it. I fucked up and I know that, so if you want to punch me, go ahead. Just... leave Ryan out of this."
Spencer sighed, uncrossing his arms and letting his face relax into a neutral expression. "It's just... you guys have no idea what I go through with Brendon every day... He's pretty low as it is... If he finds out about this..."
"You aren't going to tell him?" Jon asked warily, not noticing Ryan approaching from behind him.
Spencer shook his head, looking up at Ryan wearing only his boxers and a frightened expression on his face. "It's not my place. If either one of you want him to know..." He laughed humorlessly. "Don't make me have to watch him more than I already do."
Ryan and Jon both gave Spencer confused looks, but he simply stood and waved them off.
"Sorry, I forgot. He's not your problem anymore."
"Spencer," Ryan called after him as he started to walk to the door. He followed him and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "We love Brendon as much as you do. What's going on?"
Spencer couldn't meet either of their eyes, staring at the floor instead. "He's... very depressed. I can hardly get him out of the house anymore."
"Brendon's been depressed before," Jon tried helpfully. "He'll pull out of it soon."
"This is different," Spencer replied, more to Ryan than Jon. "I don't know how to help him this time."
Ryan's eyes widened a little. "God, Spencer, he's not-"
"I have to go," Spencer interrupted, but answered Ryan with his eyes. "He should be waking up soon."
Ryan stared after his best friend as he walked out the front door, completely frozen in horror.
"Ryan?"
Ryan's breath hitched and he nearly fell to his knees, Jon catching him before he hit the floor.
"God, Ryan, what...?" Jon babbled, turning Ryan around to face him.
"He's suicidal, Jon," Ryan half-sobbed, half-whimpered, clutching at the front of Jon's shirt. "And it's... it's my fault."
All Jon could do was stare at the wall as he let Ryan cry on his shoulder.
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A/N: More of my work here.