Let Each Who is Worthy Part 9

[moku_youbi]

Spencer calls in the early afternoon to say it’s safe for Brendon and Jon to come back to the apartment. Jon knows Spencer wouldn’t lie about it, but he still finds it difficult to believe that Ryan’s already okay with having them around.

“Maybe they talked,” Brendon says, but he doesn’t sound too optimistic about it. “Maybe Ryan understands.”

Jon meets his gaze at the next stoplight and Brendon answers Jon’s raised eyebrow with his own miserable frown. They don’t speak for the rest of the ride, but Jon squeezes Brendon’s hand in reassurance, so Brendon doesn’t think he’s mad or something. Jon doesn’t know how he’s managed to fall for three of the most emotionally fragile people in the world (even though, in some strange ways, Spencer’s one of the strongest, too), but it’s given him practice in dealing with these situations.

Ryan is sitting at the dining table when they come in. He’s dressed in his favourite pjs-loose drawstring pants and a sweatshirt so big it’s always slipping off one shoulder or the other-and he looks so good that Jon is tempted to taste the line of his neck with his tongue. The line of his neck that’s already been marked, actually, and Jon hopes to God that it’s from Spencer and not from some random asshole.

When the door closes, Ryan looks up from his art project, face expressionless. Brendon fidgets and grabs for Jon’s hand again, then drops it quickly, guiltily. Ryan rolls his eyes and looks away from them.

“Pete texted me. He wants us to play Tuesday at the Pavilion. We should practice until then,” Ryan mumbles.

“You-” Brendon shoots an uncertain look at Jon and then continues, “you still want us to…be in the band?”

Ryan glances up casually, but his eyes are hard and cold. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that in addition to losing my boyfriend and one of my best friends I was also losing my vocalist and bass player.”

“You didn’t,” Brendon says, voice weak and desperate. He takes a few steps forward and stops short in the middle of the room. “You didn’t lose us, Ryan, please. I still want to be-” He trails off when Ryan’s eyes flash. “I still want to sing for you. Ryan. Can we talk? I need to-”

“Unless you want to talk about the band, there’s nothing we have to say to each other,” Ryan says, and goes back to his artwork.

“So when are we rehearsing?” Jon asks. He’s willing to give Ryan a little longer before he starts getting mad back. He knows he’s the one who did wrong here, but he can’t fix it if Ryan won’t let him.

“Spence has a study group until six. When he gets back. We both have finals tomorrow, so when Brendon gets back from work we can practice then, too. We’re going to do Lying, Sins, Time to Dance, and Build God, so if you have any problems with them, get it figured out before Tuesday.”

Brendon nods dejectedly and shuffles down the hall, no doubt to get the keyboard, and Jon is torn between following him and staying behind. He moves closer to the table so he can see what Ryan’s working on. There’s a strange swirl of lines, delicate and intricate, dozens of shapes and patterns that shouldn’t work together, but Ryan has made fit.

“Ryan,” he says, “if you’re going to be mad, be mad at me. Brendon, he didn’t really-”

“Don’t,” Ryan says. “I know you’re lying.” He laughs, a humourless sound. “Is that how you think you’ll make things better? Lying to me on top of fucking my boyfriend?”

Jon takes a deep, calming breath. “I know I’ve fucked up a lot in this relationship. I’ve done so much shit I’m not proud of. Shit I never would have done before I met you and Spence. It’s a little appalling, actually-the way I planned on getting you both into bed with me, treating it like it was a game, the way I pushed you to drink and use drugs when I should have respected your decisions.

“I guess I should take that as a sign that this, what we have, is really unhealthy. But I’m ready to change that. I’m ready to try to make it better, because even though it’s unhealthy, I can’t leave this. I don’t want to. So we’ve just got to find a way to make it work.”

Ryan’s grip on his pencil is tight, his fingers turning white. “Are you done?” he asks. Jon breathes out heavily through his nose. “Okay, great. You can go now. Do whatever. As long as it isn’t around me.”

The thing is, Jon knows it should be so much worse than this. He knows Ryan should be tearing him apart with words Jon’s never even heard before and still managing to make Jon feel about two feet tall. It should be reassuring that Ryan isn’t doing that, but instead it makes Jon feel cold.

Even though Jon has a fair amount of guilt over what he’s done, he sort of feels like it’s his right to go on the offensive here. He and Ryan have been doing this for almost nine months now, and it feels like it’s time to end it. He wants to pin Ryan in place, demand his attention, and keep him there as long as it takes for Ryan to admit that he wants this as much as they do.

This is such a delicate situation, though, and Spencer’s worried if they push too hard Ryan will just shut down completely. Jon thinks Spencer’s a little too close to the situation. Spencer’s known Ryan so long and so well, but never as a lover. Jon thinks that without the right provocation, Ryan Ross is stubborn enough to never give in.

Still, he’ll defer to Spencer for now, with Brendon an emotional wreck and Ryan’s concert two days away. Jon can be patient until then. Even with everything else going on, he won’t fuck this up for Ryan.

“We’re going to talk about this,” Jon says, and Ryan doesn’t even spare him a glance. It makes Jon want to throw his hands in the air or pull at his hair in frustration. Ryan makes him feel like he’s going fucking crazy.

Brendon is in the study, sitting at the bench in front of the keyboard, making notes on the lined paper where he’s copied Ryan’s lyrics. Jon sits next to him and Brendon shifts to make room.

“You okay?” Jon asks, because he feels like his skin is too tight and coming back wasn’t a good idea. Brendon’s probably feeling even worse.

“I’ve been trying not to get sick for a week now,” he says. “I got this little cough and I told myself I couldn’t get sick because I’m on my parents’ insurance, and if I had to go to the doctor I’d have to fill out paperwork with the mission house so that the bill would get paid, and I didn’t want to have to do all of that. I mean. Not that I could now. My dad’s probably trying to get me off his insurance as fast as he can, now.”

“I could run out to the drug store. Or we could call Spence, ask him to bring something,” Jon says.

Brendon smiles, a sad little twist of his lips, and he sets aside the notebook. “Ryan got me some cough syrup. I didn’t even say I wasn’t feeling well, but I think maybe I coughed in my sleep, or maybe it was because I woke up all stuffed up.”

Jon does not like where this is going. He puts an arm around Brendon’s shoulders, bracing. Brendon shrugs it off, and lays his fingers over the keys. “I’m not going to cry,” he says. “That would fuck up my voice. I’m just worried, what if I can’t keep fighting off the cold.”

“I’ll call Spence,” Jon says. “We’ll get some Airborne and orange juice and pump you full of vitamin C.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says absently, already toying with notes from Build God. “I should probably save my voice. Not use it except to practice.”

Jon knows there’s nothing about what Brendon’s said that should make Jon feel like deflating. Like instead of getting better, everything somehow keeps getting worse. He wants to tell Brendon that he can try as hard as he wants, perform as well as possible, and it isn’t some magic trick that will make Ryan forgive them.

So he lays back on the bed and texts Spencer to pick up the things for Brendon, then closes his eyes and listens while Brendon plays. “You see the mark on his neck?” Jon asks. It’s sort of rhetorical, and Brendon’s already said he isn’t talking, so Jon isn’t really surprised not to get an answer. “Think it’s from Spence?”

He nudges Brendon with his toe and Brendon ignores him. “Think he went out and fucked someone?”

“You know,” Brendon says softly, conversationally, voice barely audible over the click of his nails on the keys and the sound from the speakers. “Ryan told me a bunch of times how much of a dick you are, and I thought, ‘that’s just impossible. Must be a different Jon Walker.’”

“Sorry,” Jon says, because he doesn’t mean to be an asshole. Least of all towards Brendon. He scoots to the end of the bed and lays his feet in Brendon’s lap, rubbing at Brendon’s thighs with his toes. He doesn’t intend for it to be arousing, but Brendon relaxes a little and smiles as he plays.

Normally Brendon’s playing would be soothing, but Jon’s mind is too wrapped up in everything else going on around them. He keeps running circles in his head, trying to figure this whole mess out, and it makes him restless.

Halfway through rolling a joint, Brendon shoots Jon a pointed look, stopping him. A half-formed thought about seeing if Ryan feels like smoking up makes Jon chuckle a little sadly and he finishes the joint and tosses it in his dresser.

Spencer comes back at six thirty and Ryan doesn’t argue when Spencer insists on making dinner before they practice. It’s almost like normal-Spencer and Brendon in the kitchen, Ryan at the table with his work, Jon watching some stupid sitcom on the TV. Except there’s no teasing and laughter from Brendon and Spencer. It’s totally quiet. Jon feels cold, alone on the couch.

“Is this how it’s gonna be?” Spencer asks, when they’re sitting around the table eating in silence. “We’re going to be the famous rock stars who sit on their bus all day never talking to each other. Just playing shows and then going our separate ways?”

Ryan puts down his fork-he wasn’t eating, anyway. Brendon ate all his food, including the veggies, probably something left over from childhood and being told to clear his plate. The rest of them have all just been playing with their food, redistributing it into different piles on their plates.

“If you’ve got a problem with it, Spence, now would be the time to say so,” Ryan says, tone mean and unaffected.

Spencer’s nostrils flare and Jon knows that look, one step from Spencer actually shouting. “I wasn’t saying that, and you know it,” Spencer says, voice tight. Part of Jon wishes Spencer would yell. “But yeah, I do think we have a problem.”

Ryan stands up, shoving his napkin down next to his plate and almost knocking over his glass. “I’ve said I’m not having this conversation. I won’t. If you don’t want to be in the band, this is it. You can leave right now. Okay? So just make up your fucking minds, but I don’t want to hear anything else about our problems.”

Jon really, really wants to step in on Spencer’s behalf, but a quick glare from Spencer stops the words on his lips. “Fine,” Spencer says. “I don’t think anyone’s talking about leaving the band…” He looks around the table and Jon meets his gaze defiantly, though Brendon and Ryan look anywhere but.

“Then let’s practice,” Spencer concludes.

Jon has always liked watching Spencer play drums. He’s sort of graceful about it, which really shouldn’t be possible. He shouldn’t look delicate when he’s banging the shit out of things, but Spencer manages it.

Tonight he’s all coiled tight, ready to strike, so it isn’t any surprise that he’s taking it out on his kit. Usually he’ll cover each drum and cymbal with soundoff pads, but the other tenants, mostly all students, have decided the best way to deal with impending finals is to get shitfaced. There are at least four different parties going on in the building, so Spencer doesn’t bother with it now.

No part of Jon expected this to go smoothly, but it’s just ridiculous, the way Ryan manages to pick apart every little thing Brendon does, how every note he plays is off, every thing he sings too sharp or not in the right rhythm.

Jon knows Ryan’s just being picky to be a bitch. Brendon’s been in Ryan’s head about the music before he was ever their singer. When Brendon picked up Ryan’s guitar and sang for them the first time, it had been obvious that he fit, better than any of them could have hoped or imagined.

But Brendon takes all the criticism with a bowed head, doing his best to fix everything Ryan has a problem with. And okay, maybe Brendon’s never been the most outspoken person, but Jon hasn’t seen him look so reserved, so cowed, since before he stopped taking his drugs.

At ten Ryan flings his guitar on the sofa in disgust and heads off down the hall to his room saying, “I’m going out.”

“I should probably go out with him,” Spencer says.

“Did you-” Brendon starts, and then falls silent. “Jon says you talked to him?”

“I’m working on it,” Spencer says with a tired smile. “Let me work on it.” He pushes Brendon’s hair back from his face and rests their foreheads together. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m gonna overdose on vitamin C and crash,” Brendon says, returning Spencer’s smile with a matching one.

Spencer quirks a questioning look at Jon. “It’s better you’re out there with him, than him being out there alone,” Jon says.

Ryan comes back down the hall, not looking much different except for a layer of eyeliner and dark blue eye shadow, and swapping his sweats for tight jeans and a slinky black top. He still looks worn-out under it all.

“Wait up,” Spencer calls.

Ryan cocks his hips and gives Spencer an impatient look but waits at the door. Spencer leans forward very purposefully, fingers under Brendon’s chin, and kisses Brendon softly, but intimately. Jon’s eyes fly to Ryan who watches them with something like helpless fascination, mouth parting slightly.

Then Spencer gets to his feet and Jon meets him halfway, hands falling to Spencer’s hips when Spencer kisses him. When they part, Brendon’s biting his lip, watching Ryan anxiously and Ryan’s staring at the floor, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Are you coming?” he asks Spencer, and goes out the door before Spencer can answer.

“Love you,” Jon says, when Spencer turns away from him, and it isn’t even that Jon planned on saying it, or that he never intended on saying it, but he’s never known when to pick the right moment, mostly because he never picks a moment. It just sort of happens.

Spencer says, “You’re an asshole, Jon Walker,” but he’s smiling and gives Jon another kiss before hurrying out after Ryan.

Brendon runs a hot bath because he says the steam will be good for his voice and Jon sits on the floor next to the tub while Brendon bathes. He watches the way the steam curls, obscuring Brendon’s face and fogging up the bathroom mirror. His fingers flick absently at the water until Brendon catches his hand and laces their fingers together.

“My sister used to sit with me like this, when I was too little to bathe by myself. She’d make up these awesome stories about other planets made up all of water with sharks you could ride and underwater mountains with cities inside.” Brendon’s eyes remained closed while he speaks, as if imagining it.

“She had a baby about a month ago. I have a nephew, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be allowed to see him,” Brendon whispers.

“Hey,” Jon says, and flicks the water with their joined hands. Brendon cracks a smile and opens his eyes just a little. “Hey, Brendon Urie.” He sits up on his knees and braces his free hand on the wall of the tub, leaning over to kiss Brendon’s upturned face. His lips are all pink and swollen from the warmth and Jon traces them with his tongue before deepening the kiss. Brendon opens for him with a sigh.

“Hey,” Jon says, pulling back a little to nuzzle Brendon’s nose with his own. “I love you.”

Brendon’s eyes sparkle, but he says, “You love everyone tonight.”

“Yeah. I pretty much always love the three of you. I thought I was so obvious about it that it didn’t need to be said,” Jon says, and shrugs.

Brendon’s smile dims and he looks down at the water lapping at his chest. Jon isn’t sure what he’s said wrong, so he doesn’t know how to fix it. “I’m ready to get out,” Brendon says, taking his hand out of Jon’s.

Jon cleans up the dishes from dinner while Brendon dries and gets ready for bed, and when he peeks his head into the study, the futon is empty. He finds Brendon in Spencer’s bed, tucked in up to his chin. “Took cold meds Spence bought. I think they have something that makes me sleepy,” Brendon says around a yawn, words garbled but mostly intelligible.

“So sleep,” Jon says. He climbs in with Brendon and Brendon immediately cuddles close, giving off heat like a fucking furnace. “Are you wearing Ryan’s shirt?” he asks, fingering the worn blue t-shirt that smells like Ryan’s deodorant.

Brendon rubs his cheek against Jon’s chest and when he speaks, Jon feels like he’s hearing the words through his skin. “I still pray every night, did you know?”

Jon shakes his head. “No,” he says, and wonders if he’ll ever get use to Brendon’s non sequiturs.

“I don’t…I mean, I don’t think I want to believe any more, even. I haven’t believed in so long, but I wanted to, Jon. I thought all this helplessness and depression and all the horrible things I felt would be fixed if I could just find my faith again and I thought if I faked it enough, the faith would just come back. I used to cry, begging God to forgive me for whatever I’d done to make him leave me, begging for him to come back and let me feel his presence again…

“Then I started wondering, had I ever felt him in the first place? I thought I had; I remembered being content when I was little. I remembered believing so completely, and loving God so much, but I wondered, was it just because I’d been told so many times that I did feel it, so I just believed it.”

Jon has always had what his parents termed healthy scepticism, and he was never really subjected to religion beyond the occasional trip with his grandparents when they babysat him. He’s never really thought about it, never been given any reason to, until now. Now he’d just like to hunt down all the people that hurt Brendon, that caused all the psychological damage, and he wants to hurt them back.

Brendon yawns again, long and drawn out. “I guess it’s just habit, but I’m sort of worried that if I don’t pray, something bad will happen. Well…something worse.” He laughs. “I never told Ryan. I thought maybe he’d think I was weak, or stupid. But now I wish I had said something. I think I underestimated him so badly.”

“You’ll make it up to him, Brendon,” Jon says. He runs his fingers through Brendon’s ever-lengthening hair, damp and sweet smelling beneath Jon’s chin.

“Yeah,” Brendon mutters, “by shutting up so I don’t fuck my voice up any worse.”

Jon chuckles and they both fall silent. It’s barely a minute later that Brendon’s out like a light.

“Your boyfriends aren’t going to be jealous, us being out together, are they?” Ryan taunts, when they step into the bar. “Or maybe they’re used to the cheating by now.”

“Quit being a dick,” Spencer says, grabbing Ryan’s elbow, tighter than strictly necessary, and leading him to a table in the back.

Ryan jerks out of his grip, unloads his coat and bag, and makes for the dance floor. Spencer stays close on his heels, grabbing his wrist before he gets very far. “What is your problem, Spence?” Ryan demands, almost shouting over the roar from the speakers.

“Just want to make sure you remember who you’re here with,” Spencer says, leaning in to speak against Ryan’s ear. He isn’t usually overly possessive in his romantic relationships, but he’s always been possessive of Ryan when he probably didn’t have the right. He feels that he has the right now.

“I didn’t ask you to come with me,” Ryan says, but he doesn’t struggle when Spencer begins to move them to the music. Spencer might not dance as much as Ryan, or enjoy it as much, but he is good at it. Better than Ryan. Ryan is a slutty dancer, making up for his lack of rhythm by plastering himself up against people and rubbing.

Spencer totally agrees with the school of thought that says dancing is like sex standing up with clothes on. He shifts his hold on Ryan, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s waist to rest gently on the subtle, almost nonexistent swell of Ryan’s ass. His fingers curl against the small of Ryan’s back, where his shirt leaves a strip of bared skin.

“I’ll do you a favour and forget you said that,” Spencer says.

Ryan drapes his arms over Spencer’s shoulders and lets Spencer take the lead. “Why should I care?” Ryan asks.

“Because if you’re nice to me, I’m going to let you fuck me,” Spencer says, and when he rolls his hips, it’s with purpose, in time to the beat.

Ryan narrows his eyes, considering. Spencer can almost hear the gears turning in Ryan’s head, weighing his own desires-along with the fact that he can be as loud as he wants trying to make Jon and Brendon feel as miserable as he felt-against the potential for disaster.

As he thinks, Ryan moves in counterpoint to Spencer. Ryan might not be the best at creating his own moves, but he’s pretty good at following Spencer’s lead. It’s just one of a few dozen ways they compliment one another so well.

“So you basically came along tonight to cock block me,” Ryan drawls.

“I’m not cock blocking,” Spencer whispers against the skin of Ryan’s throat. “I’m making it very easy for you to get laid.” He knows he could have done this last night, if he’d tried, but after Ryan’s mini-meltdown in the shower he decided it was maybe too much for one night.

“Besides, we both know you wouldn’t have fucked anyone else tonight,” Spencer says. Ryan snorts, but he doesn’t try to deny it, looking at some point over Spencer’s shoulder because he knows it’s the truth.

The song changes to something slower and Spencer lets one hand slip lower, palming Ryan’s ass and giving a little squeeze. Ryan jumps at the touch, hips pressing tight against Spencer’s and if Spencer didn’t already know Ryan was interested, there’s the proof.

“So,” Ryan says, “are you just going to keep fucking them and me both?”

“Are you going to ask me not to?” Spencer asks.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, and he’s pissed. “Have you been taking lessons from Jon on how to be a manipulative asshole?”

Spencer laughs meanly. “Like I needed to. I’ve been your friend for the past fourteen years.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan says in a pleasantly pissy tone.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Spencer says and that gets a reluctant smile from Ryan. It shuts him up, at least.

They’ve danced together before, for fun, but it’s always been safe. Spencer was always aware of the boundaries he shouldn’t overstep and he stayed well away from them. Now that he doesn’t have to anymore, the freedom is a little overwhelming.

Spencer is bold with his touches-he can tuck his fingers under Ryan’s waistband, get his leg between Ryan’s, tug at Ryan’s knee until his leg is snug over Spencer’s hip and they’re pressed close.

Ryan responds with touches of his own, first tickling at the back of Spencer’s neck, tracing the whirl of his ear. He leans closer to trace the path of his finger with his tongue, biting hard at Spencer’s earlobe, all the while rocking his hips against Spencer’s.

Anyone watching them must think they’re a couple and it seems like such a preposterous idea. They’ve been just friends-best friends-for so long that it just seems absurd to think of them any other way. The analytical part of Spencer’s brain keeps trying to suggest that maybe Ryan’s just doing this to get back at Brendon and Jon.

Then Ryan gasps against Spencer’s ear and says, “I think I’ve had enough of the club for tonight.”

“We haven’t been here a half hour,” Spencer says, and smiles where Ryan can’t see it. He thinks Ryan knows, anyway.

“Jesus,” Ryan says in disgust, “are you a cock tease, too, Spencer Smith?”

“I’m a sure thing,” Spencer says, and lets Ryan drag him off the dance floor.

The apartment is all dark when they get back and Spencer is tempted to check on Brendon and Jon, but not enough that he’ll leave Ryan alone right now. Ryan gives him a little jerk towards his bedroom before letting go of his hand.

Ryan undresses quickly, and Spencer leans against the door, letting himself watch for a minute. Of course he’s seen it all, but there will never come a time when Spencer doesn’t find the sight of Ryan naked appealing. Ryan catches Spencer looking as he’s undoing his jeans and slows down, putting on a bit of a show.

“You should probably get naked, too, if I’m going to be fucking you,” Ryan says and shimmies his hips, working out of his jeans. He’s naked beneath them and kicks them carelessly aside as he walks towards Spencer.

“Yeah?” Spencer asks. He arches his back off the wall when Ryan starts on Spencer’s belt. Ryan’s hands shake a little as he unbuttons Spencer’s pants.

“You honestly think this is for the best?” Ryan asks. He’s close enough to kiss. Spencer only needs to turn his head slightly to the left. He doesn’t.

“I don’t know what’s best,” Spencer whispers. He reaches out to stroke a hand down Ryan’s cheek and Ryan subtly turns into it, lips brushing over Spencer’s thumb. “But I know that being with you is right. And being with Jon and Brendon, and I think you know it, too.”

Ryan kisses him, and Spencer knows it’s to quiet him, but Ryan does it more gently than the night before. “I don’t want to think about them right now,” Ryan whispers. Spencer deepens the kiss, pushing back against Ryan until he gets the hint and starts backing towards the bed.

Spencer nudges Ryan to sit and Ryan does, hands braced on the comforter as Spencer finishes undressing, kicking off his shoes and pants, shucking his shirt. Ryan’s hands come up, resting lightly against Spencer’s stomach and brushing up to his hips.

“I can’t tell you how many times I thought about holding onto your hips,” Ryan whispers, “while you fuck my mouth or while I fuck you from behind, or just…” He trails off and presses a soft kiss to Spencer’s stomach, just below his belly button.

“You could have,” Spencer says. He laces his fingers in Ryan’s hair, rubbing Ryan’s scalp in the way he knows Ryan loves, that sometimes makes Ryan purr in pleasure. “You could have any time you wanted.”

“You never said anything,” Ryan says. “Whenever I got a new girlfriend, whenever I told you about the people I was sleeping with.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Spencer asks. “I never thought you’d want…with me.”

Ryan looks up from under his lashes and traces his lips lower. Spencer strains into the touch, skin on fire from the heat in Ryan’s eyes. “I think I may have seriously misjudged your perceptiveness, Spence.”

“Blow me,” Spencer whispers, twining the hair behind Ryan’s ear around his finger and pushing Ryan lower. Ryan licks his lips, grin wicked, and kisses the side of Spencer’s cock.

Spencer wants to close his eyes but he can’t. He has to see every second as Ryan opens his mouth, lips sliding over the head of Spencer’s cock and pressing close as he sucks. It’s so good it almost hurts, the sparks of sharp pleasure up Spencer’s cock and down the backs of his thighs.

Ryan’s fingers pulse on Spencer’s hips, squeezing and relaxing, urging Spencer to move. Slowly, he rocks forward. Ryan loosens his lips, taking Spencer deeper, sucking with more force.

Spencer braces a hand on Ryan’s shoulder to keep from falling over. “Fuck, Ryan, I can’t…you gotta let me sit down.”

Ryan’s eyes are smirking and he does something with his tongue that makes Spencer’s eyes roll back in his head and his knees buckle. Ryan pulls off with a wet, popping sound, replacing his mouth with his hand, jerking slow and loose. “Too much to handle?” Ryan teases.

“Shut up,” Spencer growls, smiling, and pounces. He knocks Ryan back on the sheets, kissing him, and somehow it’s become playful. Ryan twists up against him, all those pale, long limbs and slick skin sliding along Spencer’s. Spencer sort of wants to pin Ryan down and devour him. Ryan puts all his weight in his hips, urging Spencer to roll over, and Spencer gives in.

Spencer opens his legs and Ryan settles between them, their cocks lining up. Ryan breaks the kiss, nose nudging Spencer’s, and his smile is the first real one Spencer’s seen on him since Brendon and Jon messed up.

“Wanna?” Spencer asks, and tilts his hips up. He traces a toe along Ryan’s ankle, up his shin.

“Later,” Ryan says. He places a sucking kiss to Spencer’s neck and shimmies down Spencer’s body, licking and kissing down Spencer’s chest. “Right now, I think you interrupted me doing something I’d like to get back to…” He pauses at Spencer’s belly and part of Spencer wants to bring his hands up and hide himself. He’s not skinny like Ryan or trim like Brendon and Jon.

Ryan bats his hands away and nips at the skin there. His fingers brush down the crease of Spencer’s thigh, tickling, and Spencer opens his legs wider, trembling when Ryan’s fingers circle Spencer’s opening at the same time that Ryan’s mouth closes around him.

“Wait, wait,” Spencer manages, though he’s not sure that’s what he means, or if the sounds coming out of his mouth are the same as what he means them to be.

Ryan looks up, tracing his tongue over the head of Spencer’s cock and Spencer has to take a deep breath to keep from coming just like that. “Come here,” Spencer says, tugging and Ryan shakes his head. “No…just…turn around, I want.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. “Yeah?” There’s a little shuffling around and then Ryan settles down, hip pressed against Spencer’s cheek.

Spencer rolls onto his side, framing Ryan’s hips in his hands. Ryan’s cock is right there, and it’s different, having touched it last night and being faced with it now. Ryan’s longer than Jon, but not as thick, and both of them and Brendon are smaller than Spencer, though not by much. It shouldn’t be too different than touching himself, or the others, but it is, because it’s Ryan.

Ryan, who Spencer’s shared a bed with more nights than Spencer can count. Who’s Spencer’s watched sleeping, listening to Ryan’s breathing, wanting to be closer. Ryan, who’s way more experienced. Spencer’s heard the stories of what some of Ryan’s girlfriends have done.

Ryan, who swallows Spencer all the way down and starts sucking again, apparently sharing none of Spencer’s concerns. Spencer takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, just enjoying the sensation. Then he slits his eyes open and leans forward, wetting his lips before wrapping them around Ryan’s cock.

Spencer closes his hand around what he can’t get in his mouth, squeezing a little, experimenting. Ryan shifts his hips and hums around Spencer’s cock, and that seems like a good thing. A very good thing from where Spencer’s sitting, because right now, he’ll do whatever he can to get Ryan to keep doing that.

As amazing as it feels, Ryan’s mouth on him, Ryan’s fingers back between his thighs, Spencer almost wishes he could touch Ryan without the distraction. Ryan’s skin is hot and silky smooth and he tastes…

Actually, once he gets into it, Spencer finds it isn’t so difficult to focus on Ryan-on both what he’s doing to Spencer and what Spencer’s doing to him. They keep giving and taking back and forth, and Spencer doesn’t feel the usual urgency he does during sex.

It’s more comfortable, more natural, almost like an extension of the easy way they fell into being friends, how they should have easily fallen into this and even though it’s been a struggle, it doesn’t have to be any more.

When Spencer’s close, he pulls back to warn Ryan. Ryan traces a hand down Spencer’s cheek, guides him back down onto Ryan’s cock. Whispers me too, the words a buzzing sensation where Ryan’s lips touch Spencer’s skin.

Spencer thought people only came together in movies and bad romance novels, not in real life, but when he finally feels himself shaking apart, Ryan’s right there with him, moaning around Spencer’s cock, hipbones sharp in Spencer’s palms. Spencer’s never let a guy come in his mouth before, but it just seems natural to let Ryan do it now, and he feels Ryan swallowing around him.

“Jesus,” Spencer pants, laying his cheek on Ryan’s thigh. Ryan chuckles, fingers playing through Spencer’s hair. “God, I love you, Ryan,” Spencer says, and kisses the quivering muscle running up the underside of Ryan’s leg from the back of his knee.

Ryan breathes deeply, and Spencer can hear Ryan’s heartbeat calming. If they had on clothing, this could be any other time they’ve lain in bed together. Ryan’s fingers tighten in Spencer’s hair and give a little tug. “C’mere.” Spencer lets Ryan drag him around, lets Ryan wrap him up in skinny arms.

“You think we need anyone else?” Ryan asks. “You were the only person I trusted for fourteen years, and then I let Jon and Brendon in, too, and they proved you are the only one who was worthy of that trust. And this…this Spence, is really good. Why do we need them?”

Spencer lets his tongue trace idle patterns over Ryan’s collarbone, mulling it over in his head. Maybe if they’d done this before they’d met Jon, it wouldn’t even be a concern. Even now Spencer wishes that he could be content with just this, just Ryan. He thinks if Ryan said no, definitively, and told Spencer not to be with Jon or Brendon any longer, Spencer would do it.

He plans on making sure Ryan doesn’t ask that.

“I think you never would have let us have this, if not for Jon, if not for Brendon having been with you first,” Spencer says. “I wouldn’t have been bold enough to even try for it.”

Ryan sighs and lets Spencer go, rolling onto his side away from Spencer. “We have exams early.”

Spencer knows it’s probably driving Ryan crazy to hear that he’s not enough alone, but Spencer’s been giving Ryan exactly what he wants for years, until now. It’s what kept them stagnant, never moving beyond friendship. In a way, Spencer thinks it might even be partly to blame for Ryan’s continued inability to deal with things like a regular human being. Spencer’s always indulged Ryan, rather than challenging him to grow up.

“It isn’t weakness to let them back in. I know it’s hard for you,” Spencer says. “But whenever you’re ready…” He rolls closer and lays his arm over Ryan’s waist. Ryan laces their fingers together, squeezing, whether in acknowledgement of what Spencer’s said, or as warning to not say anymore, Spencer isn’t certain. He closes his eyes and waits until he knows Ryan’s asleep before he allows himself to relax enough to sleep, too.

Tuesday comes more quickly than Ryan anticipated, and when he finishes his exams for the day, his stomach is nothing but a mess of fluttering nerves. He doesn’t eat breakfast or lunch and paces around the living room waiting for everyone else to get home.

Brendon is the first back, finishing his shift at Starbucks at two. He doesn’t say anything when he comes in. He hasn’t really said anything directly to Ryan since Ryan told him not to. It should please Ryan that Brendon’s doing as he said, but Brendon barely even responds when anyone addresses him. It makes Ryan a little sick to watch, actually, even while he tells himself that Brendon deserves it.

“What are you wearing tonight?” Ryan asks.

Brendon shrugs. “I’ll wear whatever you tell me to,” he says in a low voice.

Ryan maybe feels like starting a fight, but then again, right before their show doesn’t seem like the best time for it. Instead, he goes into his room, where most of Brendon’s clothes still are, and digs around until he comes up with a combination that he thinks Pete will approve of.

Brendon comes in and sits on the edge of the bed and Ryan is worried Brendon’s going to try to have another chat, or something, but Brendon just sits there, hands in his lap, and watches as Ryan rifles through their clothes.

Maybe it’s seeing Brendon in his bedroom, and the fact that it hasn’t been so very long since they were fucking, but Ryan just wants to draw Brendon close and ask him what the matter is. Instead he tosses Brendon’s pinstripe slacks at him and says, “Put those on.”

Brendon doesn’t bother going into the bathroom or turning around and why should he, after all. Ryan tells himself to look away, but he can’t quite manage to take his eyes away. Brendon’s wearing briefs as usual and there are fading bruises on his hips, just visible over the waistband of the pinstripes when he pulls them on.

“Why did you do it?” Ryan whispers, before he can stop himself.

Brendon’s face snaps up, eyes locking with Ryan’s. “Ryan,” he says, “I was so messed up. After I told my parents about us I was just so fucked up, and I know that doesn’t excuse it. I’m not trying to excuse it. But I thought about what I had just lost, and I thought I was going to lose you anyway, eventually. I thought you didn’t really want to-I didn’t think we were going to last and I know it’s fucked up.

“I didn’t tell Jon, not all of it, because I knew he’d be angry, but I thought, ‘I’m going to lose you anyway, I might as well get it over with.’ Except I knew right away, after, that I was just using that as an excuse and I was scared, Ryan, please.”

What Ryan really wants is to say make this better, and accept whatever Brendon says or does. It’s stupid and weak. He’s never been this guy before. The girls who cheated on him in the past never got any second chances. He never even spoke to them again, after.

He thinks about Jon talking about unhealthy relationships and thinks this must be a good sign as to how unhealthy it would be to continue with Brendon. To give him another chance to hurt Ryan.

“I changed my mind,” Ryan says, and Brendon must be able to hear his heart beating, it’s so loud. He swallows and tries to make his voice come out unaffected. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care.” Brendon must be able to tell he’s lying, it’s so obvious.

“Ryan,” Brendon says, but he drops his hands to his side uselessly and stops.

“Those pants are good,” Ryan says. He pushes aside some of the things piled on his bed and fishes out a white button down and a black and silver vest. “Spence has a tie that will work with this. He gives Brendon a defiant look, silently daring him to veto the choice, or try to continue with the conversation.

But Brendon just nods, clenching the shirt and vest in his fists. “I’ll go shower.”

Spencer and Jon get home from their finals after four and then the apartment becomes a flurry of activity, both of them rushing to get showered and get dressed. Ryan closes his bedroom door and puts his iPod in the dock, turning it up loud enough to block out the outside noises.

Ryan’s been messing around with his makeup long enough that he can do it pretty quickly when necessary. Right now, he feels like taking his time. It’s almost calming, going slowly through each step-powder, first, in case he makes any mistakes, and though he usually just does his base eye colour by hand, tonight he masks it off with tape.

Blue base tonight, a fine line of black liquid lining the shape of his eye, and gold for accents and to bring out the colour of his eyes. Sometimes he draws shapes and patterns reminiscent of animals or insects, or he’ll paint his eyes in a vivid rainbow of sunset bleeding into stars. Tonight the lines are more abstract, swirls and curves like the swelling and cresting of waves. Just a touch of shading on his cheeks to bring out the structure of his face.

He dresses in plain black slacks and white shirt to balance with the vest. Jon and Spencer have given him so much shit about the vest in the past, but Ryan loves it and he’s been saving it for just this occasion. Some of the roses are misshapen from being pressed in the closet too long, but he fluffs them up a bit and it looks good as new.
He’s half expecting Jon to start teasing him when he comes out, before he remembers that with things as they currently are, Jon isn’t even speaking to him really. Which is how Ryan prefers things.

They all look awesome-just how he’s imagined-and they’re all patient while Ryan does their makeup; just eyeliner for Jon and Spencer, but blush and lip gloss for Brendon. He looks so beautiful that it’s difficult for Ryan to keep his hands to himself, but he does.

Jon’s talked to Tom about getting their stuff to the venue, so, just before six, Siska and the Butcher show up with a van and help load everything up. Ryan refuses to be impressed that Jon got two rock stars to come lug their shit around for them.

On the car ride over Brendon keeps tapping against his thigh like it’s a keyboard. He used to do that against Ryan’s skin in bed, and Ryan has to look away. Jon and Siska get into an argument about what pizza is superior and Ryan almost snaps at them to shut up before he realises that maybe he doesn’t want to make a bad impression on friends of Pete. Well, other than Jon.

Spencer grabs Brendon’s hand, stilling him, and Ryan, relieved, takes Spencer’s free hand. Brendon looks at each of them in turn, and then at Ryan’s hand in Spencer’s. Spencer lifts Ryan’s hand, pulling slightly and Ryan lets him, until he realises that Spencer means to put Ryan’s hand in Brendon’s. Ryan jerks back as if burnt, shooting Spencer a dark look, and staring out the window the rest of the way.

It’s Tuesday night and it’s early, plus there are finals going on, but the club is packed, anyway. The word of mouth in the Chicago scene is sort of infamous, so Ryan isn’t really surprised.

Inside it’s like a Decaydance/Fueled by Ramen party. There are plenty of people Ryan recognises from auditioning them or just seeing them at clubs, but mingled throughout are the members of every Chicago based band on Pete’s label, and a few of the East Coast ones, too.

Ryan’s nerves are off the chart, making him feel like his insides are going to burst, skin not thick enough to hold them in place anymore. They’re hustled backstage and he’s glad to be away from the crowd, at least for now. These are people who he knows, even if not very well. He’s terrified of this all falling apart where they can all see it.

Pete finds them backstage in a tiny room that Ryan thinks has to be a broom closet, not a dressing room. He and Jon share some complicated handshake thing and a quick hug and then Pete tugs Brendon into a bear hug and whispers something in Brendon’s ear that makes Brendon close his eyes and nod into Pete’s shoulder. Pete releases him and squeezes Brendon’s forearms like in reassurance.

Then Pete turns to Spencer, reaching out and Spencer grabs his wrist and says, “I swear to god, Pete, if you pinch my fat again, I will end you.” Pete laughs and takes his hand back and Ryan would just like to know when everyone in his band except him got to be on hugging and teasing terms with Pete Wentz.

“So,” Pete says, facing Ryan. “I think Spence promised you’d be making me wish I’d thought up your lyrics first.”

Ryan swallows and wants to kiss and smack Spencer both at the same time for saying so. He can’t think of anything to say, so he just nods once, decisively.

Pete claps his hands together. “Great. You guys are up first tonight. See you out there.”

Then comes the waiting. Jon and Spencer take care of helping out the house technicians get the stage set up, and soon members of other bands that are performing start coming and going, talking loudly with one another about Pete Wentz being in the audience. Ryan thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Are you nervous?” he asks Brendon, not because he wants to talk to Brendon, but because he can’t help it.

Brendon looks at Ryan and blinks, then looks back at the traffic bustling around in the corridor outside the door. “No,” he says, face and tone expressionless.

Ryan believes him, and wants to demand how the hell Brendon can be anything but nervous, with what’s about to follow. Instead he scowls and says, “Don’t fuck it up.” He gets up before Brendon can answer.

“Hey,” Spencer says, when Ryan sidles up to him in the wings of the stage. Spencer puts an arm around his shoulders and squeezes reassuringly. “We’ve got this.”

Jon and Brendon join them, Jon fiddling with his bass, Brendon unnaturally still, like he used to be on his meds. The lights go down and the house music dies. Suddenly, the roar of conversation is deafeningly loud.

None of them say anything as they take their places on stage. Brendon seats himself behind the keyboard, adjusting the microphone to the proper height. Ryan picks up his guitar and thinks, I’m not ready, I’m not ready, it isn’t supposed to feel like this.

Then the lights go up and silent, still, sad Brendon is gone. In his place is the bright, charismatic, glowing Brendon who sang in Ryan’s living room. “Good evening, everyone,” Brendon says, voice low and slightly playful. He trips his fingers in a quick, lively tumble of notes over the keyboard. “We’re Panic! at the Disco.”

Brendon shares a quick look with Spencer and they start the song as though they’ve practiced it a hundred times instead of a dozen. Is it still me who makes you sweat, Brendon sings and the words shouldn’t affect Ryan like they do. Brendon’s the one who cheated, Brendon’s the one who did something wrong.

Ryan almost forgets when it’s his part, opening his mouth at the last second and somehow making sound come out. He’s aware of the eyes in the crowd shifting from Brendon to him and back again, as they sing back and forth. He’s ridiculously glad when they’re finished with the chorus and the focus is all back on Brendon again.

Of course Brendon sounds good, and he plays the role perfectly, because this man playing the piano, singing these words in that sexy, dangerous voice, isn’t the same man Ryan’s spent the last two months falling in love with.

By the end of the second chorus there are people moving to the music, no longer just watching but pushing close to the stage, really listening. A sharp thrill of relief and disbelief skips over Ryan’s shoulders and through his stomach. He feels less like an automaton going through the motions, grip loosening on the neck of his guitar.

Brendon stands when the song finishes, going to the microphone set at the front of the stage and Spencer and Jon easily fall into a transition when Brendon begins to speak. “That was called Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off,” he says, and while Ryan’s pretty sure none of them get the reference, the crowd gives an approving cry.

“Yeah,” Brendon agrees, licking his lips and wiggling his brows at some of the girls in the front row and they fucking swoon. And, well, Ryan knew Brendon was sexy, but this is just sort of ridiculous.

“Any of you dancers out there?” Brendon calls, and there are more cries. He smiles, and Ryan can see what none of the crowd can, the place where the smile is stretched too tight to be happiness. Closer to misery. “This one’s for you.”

This time, when Brendon goes into shotgun wedding for the second time, there are people in the crowd shouting it back to him. They segue smoothly into Sins and that one gets the best response yet. Ryan can understand. Brendon’s only sung it a handful of times at the apartment, but he’s on tonight, scornful and scathing and downright malicious looking. He prowls across the stage, somehow managing to spit the lyrics out while simultaneously maintaining the musicality.

Ryan’s starting to sweat under the lights, but he doesn’t mind. It feels like a beginning, like he’s just warming up, and he can’t believe they only have one song left. Even with the response they’re getting, he doesn’t dare search out Pete’s face in the crowd, terrified of what he’ll see there.

Build God is the riskiest choice, Ryan knows, especially to go out on. All the others he picked for tonight because he knew hooks. This one is one of his favourites, but he knows that doesn’t mean it will be a hit with the crowd. Still, he thought it only fair to give Pete a fair representation of what he was getting.

Turns out he didn’t have a reason to worry. Maybe they’re not moving around as much, but the crowd is still pressed close to the edge of the stage, hands in the air, hanging on Brendon’s every word. It’s a little disconcerting, but there are even girls on Ryan’s side of the stage staring at him, especially when it’s his turn to sing.

“Thank you so much!” Brendon says, and he sounds so sincere. “I hope you liked what you heard.”

They’re barely off the stage five seconds before someone starts chanting for an encore. Soon it’s caught on, and it throbs behind Ryan’s ears, making him feel dizzy. He looks blindly at Spencer, then to Jon and Brendon.

One of the guys from the other band nudges Brendon. “Seriously. Go ahead.”

“But we-” Ryan says, because he hadn’t anticipated this, doesn’t know what to do.

“We can do Camisado,” Brendon says. “I can do it. Or She Had the World.”

“Northern Downpour,” Jon says. They’ve not worked with that one as much, but when Jon had first come up with the melody, Ryan had been compelled to write the lyrics, and Brendon loved it so much he’d learned all the words before Ryan even knew Brendon could sing.

“That doesn’t really fit with the others,” Ryan says, biting at his lip. The crowd is still chanting. Brendon doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to for Ryan to know he wants to sing it. “Fine. We’ll do it.”

Brendon slings his guitar over his shoulder and leads the way back on stage. The chanting stops, swallowed up by cheers. “Thanks so much, guys,” Brendon says. “This is a little different from the other stuff. A little newer. I hope you still dig it.”

He looks to Ryan to start, stepping close, watching Ryan’s fingers moving as he responds on his own guitar. Jon joins in behind them with the bass line and Brendon steps back to the microphone. This should feel like everything coming together, but Ryan’s never felt more distant from the three people most important to him.

Sure, it could be that the refrain goes on forever, but it’s still really gratifying and touching that by the end, all the audience is singing sugarcane in the easy morning, weathervanes my one and lonely. Jon and Brendon share a smile when Jon comes in with hey moon and Ryan wants to be part of that smile. He swallows over a lump in his throat and hears Spencer coming in for the last verse, voice joining theirs, sweet and imperfect.

There is a moment of silence as their voices die out, and Ryan holds his breath. Then everyone is cheering. As soon as Ryan’s off the stage, Pete Wentz is there, smiling and saying, “So, about that recording contract.”

Part Ten