fic: In nobody's eyes but mine, pt. 4
In nobody's eyes but mine, pt. 4
Panic! at the Disco, Ryan & Brendon & a groupie. Explicit. In progress. 2,500 words. Etc.
previous parts all tagged here.
this section is actually where the whole story started, at least in my head, but it never would have gotten past that without deliberatehips. also i suppose this week at least i should thank mr. urie for making me spend wayyyy too much time thinking about what it feels like for a girl.
4.
There are two girls at the party, not quite interchangeable. One is a little too much like Audrey, snickers sharply when she should giggle, and Ryan rests an arm on Brendon's shoulder and turns his back to her.
Cockblock much? Brendon mouths, a stage whisper breezing against Ryan's cheekbone, and Ryan stares back blankly. One girl is better than two, if he's going to do this.
The other one is an inch taller than Brendon in her stilettos, and her breasts are shoved up into a neat shelf on which Brendon is currently trying to balance his drink. "No, wait," he says, "I have excellent balance, you just have to stand still."
"That's not really my strong suit," she says. "Believe me, I do much better when I can move around a little."
She winks and Brendon, predictably, giggles and sloshes more of his drink down her shirt. "Oh shit, here, let me, let me just get that for you," he says, licking down her throat, and she tilts her head to give him better access. After multiple Jack & Cokes Brendon is as sloppy a flirt as he is hyper, every thoughtless bit of desire shining right through his skin.
"What's your name again?" Ryan asks, and tries to sound like he's having so much fun he just forgot.
The second to last thing Jac said to him, right before she summoned her most impressive verbal acuity and told him to fuck off and die, was that he was capable of watching a girl stab herself in the heart while still looking like he couldn't decide what to order at Starbucks. She should have quit while she was ahead. That was the hardest to shake, even after a week of hiding in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why he'd ever been so fucking stupid as to think she was any different.
Eventually Brendon dragged him out to the lounge and buried him alive under stupid chick flicks and hot chocolate, like he was following some fucking advice he'd read in Cosmogirl. "Are we still sad?" Brendon asked, head on Ryan's shoulder and feet tucked under his thighs.
Brendon hadn't been sad at all, not that Ryan could tell. By the time he'd goaded Audrey into breaking up with him, unable or uninterested in keeping his mouth shut about every idiotic thing available for him to do on a tour surrounded by thousands of girls, Brendon had mostly been relieved. "Who's ready to be single again?" he crowed, taking a running leap off a stage during soundcheck like he was fucking unbreakable, and then Ryan had to listen to Jac bitching once more about how his best friend was an asshole.
His arm slips off Brendon's back and the girl says, "I'm Alex." He wishes he'd known that before, or that she at least went by Lex or Alexi or something. Not that he's planning to scream out her name, but by the third time someone joked that Ryan and Jac sounded like a couple of fags, he was long over the whole girls with boy names thing.
"Ryan," he says. Maybe she'll think he's shy.
She rolls her eyes, dark lashes sweeping in an arc. "Oh, I know." She raises one perfect brow. "Ryan the ringleader," she says, and he doesn't have any idea what that's supposed to mean, but he says, "Well, everyone knows Brendon's name," and slips an arm along his waist. Brendon snorts a laugh, staring into his cup as he swallows what's left of his drink, and Alex stares steadily at Ryan, head cocked slightly. She's appraising their value, assessing his offer.
The first time after a show that a groupie stuck her tongue in his mouth and shoved her hand into his boxers, Ryan had been surprised. (Not surprised like Brendon had been, Brendon who had bounded back to the van with a dull glow and a dizzy, "You guys, this is exactly the kind of trouble my parents thought I would get into in a rock band, and it's about fucking time I proved them right," and "Fuck, I don't know, I mostly just stood there," and "It's not like I'm going to ask her to prom, Ryan, Jesus, get that stick out of your ass.")
Ryan had just watched Almost Famous too many times, is all, and he had this stupid fucking idea that -- whatever, he'd seen girls at shows with too much makeup and barely any clothes rub up against burly security guys like it was going to get them somewhere, but he hadn't realized it actually worked like that, that they'd do anything you want and never even expect to be a part of anything real.
But there is always still some calculation, for groupies or for girlfriends. Are you a big enough band? Are you the guy who stands in the back of the pictures? Are you worth a fuck or just a quick handjob? Anything is better than no good story to take back to her friends, but nothing is for sure. Two might not be better than one.
Alex puts her hand over Ryan's where it curves around Brendon's hip. "Do you guys have a minibar?"
"We do, it's glorious," Brendon says. "Want to see?"
Ryan had spent one hotel night with Spencer, in the wake of Jac, and Spencer had done nothing but sigh and ask Ryan if he was sure he didn't want to talk. Or he'd start sentences about his new girlfriend and then stop because apparently Ryan might cry at the thought of anyone being less than miserable. It made him long for Brendon's smothering. Anyway they're used to sharing a room now.
Brendon follows Ryan to the elevators, pulling Alex along behind him, and if it occurs to him that three's a crowd he doesn't let on. "Hotel party," Brendon says, grinning wide as he hits the button for their floor.
In the room, safely delivered to intermission, Alex heads for the bathroom and Brendon flops on one bed. Ryan mixes them weak drinks while Brendon fucks with the cord connecting his iPod to the clock radio, and when Alex comes back the acidic smell of hairspray follows her. She dances a little, swaying to the music, and Brendon jumps up to join her.
Ryan leans against the dresser and watches as she relaxes into it, recalibrating her performance for an audience of two. Even Brendon's show is smaller, more controlled, like he's actually concentrating on being seductive, now that it's all but a sure thing. He pulls her close, thrusting up softly, dirty dancing in a teen movie, and she throws back her head, long dark hair flowing like they're underwater. Brendon seems so content, so happily in love with the moment, that Ryan almost swallows his plan and walks out the door. This isn't, it's not about just getting what he wants, what he's wondered. It's about offering an answer, a hint of one, an idea.
Then Alex nods over her shoulder. "Come here," she says to Ryan, and Brendon closes his eyes against her neck and holds her tighter. So Ryan goes and stands behind Alex, letting her do the work to move them closer until the song ends and he can step away. Brendon blinks and looks to where Ryan had been standing before, eyes flicking back and forth like he'll find a trail of bread crumbs.
The music shifts, faster now, more intent. This is Brendon's make-out mix, labeled accordingly in his playlists, and Ryan's fucked to it so many times he could practically time his orgasm to its progression. He raises his eyebrows to remind Alex whose turn it is.
She shrugs and says, "Want to play strip poker? Though I guess you guys would have an unfair advantage, being from Vegas and all." She doesn't look like she expects to lose.
Brendon fumbles off his shirt, smirking as his head reappears, hair pushed up in the back. "Or we could just strip. Look, it's your turn!"
Alex laughs, light and fake, and won't even rest a finger on the hem of her blouse until Ryan sighs and tugs his own off.
"I never win anyway," he says, and Brendon nods and says, "That's true, Ryan sucks at poker, you'd think with his dad working at a casino he'd at least manage to stay in the game, but really he's got the worst fucking poker face I've ever seen. It's like he never knows when to just stop --"
Ryan says her name, as soft and as sweet as he can in the sudden silence, Brendon's jaw so slack it could cast shadows, and she reaches for Brendon's belt.
"-- playing," Brendon finishes lamely as she slides her hand inside his slacks. Ryan can see the bulge of her fingers as she strokes him, and Brendon's eyes flutter shut for a second before flying wide open again. "Ryan," he says, hoarse.
"Yeah," Ryan answers, and he sounds just as bad off already.
Alex says, "I'm going to suck both your cocks at the same time." She smiles, preemptively proud, and flicks her hair back over her bare shoulder. "But you have to at least take off your own pants and stand a little closer together, okay?"
Brendon hisses a tight breath in but he doesn't say no, he doesn't say stop. He doesn't ask what they're doing. Ryan takes five steps, kicking off his shoes and unzipping as he goes, and by the time he's there Brendon has done the same and Alex is down to her bra and underwear. She kneels neatly, a beauty queen's dignity in her straight spine. She leaves her heels on, though, like a porn star.
He and Brendon are standing close to each other, but not touching, not until her hot breath skates over Brendon's dick and he flinches, flailing an errant knee into Ryan's leg. Alex looks up then. "I get to use my hands," she says, "but not you." Brendon shakes his head in agreement and Ryan holds his palms up, the picture of innocence. But when she starts in earnest, tongue strong and slick along the side of his cock, he catches himself reaching out and ends up with one folded arm perched on Brendon's shoulder, almost all his weight on the side closest to Brendon's hip.
Brendon's skin is hot, already damp with sweat, and Ryan feels a sympathetic flush on the back of his neck. She bobs down and back again on Brendon, then on Ryan, then back again, and every time she switches she draws them a little nearer, until Brendon's whole side is pressed to his. No matter who she's got her mouth on, it looks almost the same from up there except how when she sucks Brendon's cock, Ryan's twitches on its own, dark and slick with spit against his stomach before she grabs it again for his turn.
The ragged edges of Brendon's nails press hard into Ryan's collarbone now, their chests turned inward even as their hips stay angled out, their legs arranged in a half-circle around Alex on the floor as she speeds up, always keeping her hand on one of them while her lips are on the other. She doesn't hold onto them anywhere else, her right arm braced the floor for balance, and her sheer precision, her efficiency, amazes Ryan.
He wonders how many cocks you have to suck to be this good at it, to know just where to add pressure, just when to pull back. He probably wouldn't be any good at it, if he were the one on his knees, if it was his mouth on Brendon's cock, his hand cupping the curve of Brendon's ass to hold him even nearer as he swallowed and tilted his chin back, letting Brendon touch his cheek, letting Brendon fuck his mouth however he wanted, as hard as he could.
"Oh fuck," Brendon says, and Ryan looks down to see what Alex is doing now but it's the same, just more of the same mind-fucking-blowing blowjob of the century. When he raises his eyes again Brendon's staring right at him, balanced on a shaky ledge somewhere between hysteria and self-hatred and no, no, they aren't here for that, that's not what they're doing. Brendon's chin is quivering like he might cry and he says Ryan's name, rough and confused.
"Yeah," Ryan says, squeezing the back of Brendon's neck, and then Alex pulls off and wraps her hand around them, around both their cocks, together, and oh fuck, the sticky smooth skin of Brendon's dick and his own as they slide together forces a dark whine from his throat.
Brendon starts talking then, like he always does when he finally stops thinking about whether he should be having sex and just loses himself to it. "That feels so fucking good," he says, "fuck, yeah, yeah, your hand and -- Ryan, Jesus, this is," and Ryan says, "Yeah, yeah, it is," and then Alex licks over the slit of his cock, her tongue swirling from his to Brendon's and, "Fucking Christ," Brendon says, "she's really going to --" and then she does, somehow, her lips sliding over both heads at once, and she doesn't take them in deeply but it doesn't fucking matter, she's got both their cocks in her mouth and Ryan can feel, fuck, he can fucking feel the head of his dick rubbing against Brendon's, he can feel them leaking together as she pulls away before doing it again, a slightly different angle, her hand squeezing them tight, her thumb sweeping along the undersides as she swallows down just a bit, just a fraction, just enough that Ryan loses it fast, gasping as he comes.
He'd fall over as he slides out of her mouth except Brendon holds on, his fingers clamped brutally around Ryan's shoulder. Ryan watches as Alex takes Brendon in deep, her cheeks hollowed out, and then Brendon's lips are touching his ear and he says, "I can feel your fucking come on my dick, Ryan, it's --" and Ryan says, "Brendon," but it's more breath than word, and Brendon's so close, Ryan can tell, he's biting his lip and he's stopped talking and Ryan says, "Yeah, come on," and Brendon's entire body shivers and then his hand is on Ryan's jaw and his tongue is in Ryan's mouth and they're, fuck, they're kissing, Brendon's kissing him, hungry and desperate and Ryan closes his eyes and Brendon's coming, Ryan can feel his back tense and let go again and, oh fuck.
Brendon groans as his teeth close on Ryan's lip, so demanding, and Ryan's so fucking desperate for more he might cry, he can feel every muscle in his body and maybe Brendon's too, and this is, this is nothing like he thought it would be, and Brendon pants against his mouth and says his name again, a little lost again, and Ryan says, "I'm right here," and kisses Brendon back.
[ part 5]
Panic! at the Disco, Ryan & Brendon & a groupie. Explicit. In progress. 2,500 words. Etc.
previous parts all tagged here.
this section is actually where the whole story started, at least in my head, but it never would have gotten past that without deliberatehips. also i suppose this week at least i should thank mr. urie for making me spend wayyyy too much time thinking about what it feels like for a girl.
4.
There are two girls at the party, not quite interchangeable. One is a little too much like Audrey, snickers sharply when she should giggle, and Ryan rests an arm on Brendon's shoulder and turns his back to her.
Cockblock much? Brendon mouths, a stage whisper breezing against Ryan's cheekbone, and Ryan stares back blankly. One girl is better than two, if he's going to do this.
The other one is an inch taller than Brendon in her stilettos, and her breasts are shoved up into a neat shelf on which Brendon is currently trying to balance his drink. "No, wait," he says, "I have excellent balance, you just have to stand still."
"That's not really my strong suit," she says. "Believe me, I do much better when I can move around a little."
She winks and Brendon, predictably, giggles and sloshes more of his drink down her shirt. "Oh shit, here, let me, let me just get that for you," he says, licking down her throat, and she tilts her head to give him better access. After multiple Jack & Cokes Brendon is as sloppy a flirt as he is hyper, every thoughtless bit of desire shining right through his skin.
"What's your name again?" Ryan asks, and tries to sound like he's having so much fun he just forgot.
The second to last thing Jac said to him, right before she summoned her most impressive verbal acuity and told him to fuck off and die, was that he was capable of watching a girl stab herself in the heart while still looking like he couldn't decide what to order at Starbucks. She should have quit while she was ahead. That was the hardest to shake, even after a week of hiding in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why he'd ever been so fucking stupid as to think she was any different.
Eventually Brendon dragged him out to the lounge and buried him alive under stupid chick flicks and hot chocolate, like he was following some fucking advice he'd read in Cosmogirl. "Are we still sad?" Brendon asked, head on Ryan's shoulder and feet tucked under his thighs.
Brendon hadn't been sad at all, not that Ryan could tell. By the time he'd goaded Audrey into breaking up with him, unable or uninterested in keeping his mouth shut about every idiotic thing available for him to do on a tour surrounded by thousands of girls, Brendon had mostly been relieved. "Who's ready to be single again?" he crowed, taking a running leap off a stage during soundcheck like he was fucking unbreakable, and then Ryan had to listen to Jac bitching once more about how his best friend was an asshole.
His arm slips off Brendon's back and the girl says, "I'm Alex." He wishes he'd known that before, or that she at least went by Lex or Alexi or something. Not that he's planning to scream out her name, but by the third time someone joked that Ryan and Jac sounded like a couple of fags, he was long over the whole girls with boy names thing.
"Ryan," he says. Maybe she'll think he's shy.
She rolls her eyes, dark lashes sweeping in an arc. "Oh, I know." She raises one perfect brow. "Ryan the ringleader," she says, and he doesn't have any idea what that's supposed to mean, but he says, "Well, everyone knows Brendon's name," and slips an arm along his waist. Brendon snorts a laugh, staring into his cup as he swallows what's left of his drink, and Alex stares steadily at Ryan, head cocked slightly. She's appraising their value, assessing his offer.
The first time after a show that a groupie stuck her tongue in his mouth and shoved her hand into his boxers, Ryan had been surprised. (Not surprised like Brendon had been, Brendon who had bounded back to the van with a dull glow and a dizzy, "You guys, this is exactly the kind of trouble my parents thought I would get into in a rock band, and it's about fucking time I proved them right," and "Fuck, I don't know, I mostly just stood there," and "It's not like I'm going to ask her to prom, Ryan, Jesus, get that stick out of your ass.")
Ryan had just watched Almost Famous too many times, is all, and he had this stupid fucking idea that -- whatever, he'd seen girls at shows with too much makeup and barely any clothes rub up against burly security guys like it was going to get them somewhere, but he hadn't realized it actually worked like that, that they'd do anything you want and never even expect to be a part of anything real.
But there is always still some calculation, for groupies or for girlfriends. Are you a big enough band? Are you the guy who stands in the back of the pictures? Are you worth a fuck or just a quick handjob? Anything is better than no good story to take back to her friends, but nothing is for sure. Two might not be better than one.
Alex puts her hand over Ryan's where it curves around Brendon's hip. "Do you guys have a minibar?"
"We do, it's glorious," Brendon says. "Want to see?"
Ryan had spent one hotel night with Spencer, in the wake of Jac, and Spencer had done nothing but sigh and ask Ryan if he was sure he didn't want to talk. Or he'd start sentences about his new girlfriend and then stop because apparently Ryan might cry at the thought of anyone being less than miserable. It made him long for Brendon's smothering. Anyway they're used to sharing a room now.
Brendon follows Ryan to the elevators, pulling Alex along behind him, and if it occurs to him that three's a crowd he doesn't let on. "Hotel party," Brendon says, grinning wide as he hits the button for their floor.
In the room, safely delivered to intermission, Alex heads for the bathroom and Brendon flops on one bed. Ryan mixes them weak drinks while Brendon fucks with the cord connecting his iPod to the clock radio, and when Alex comes back the acidic smell of hairspray follows her. She dances a little, swaying to the music, and Brendon jumps up to join her.
Ryan leans against the dresser and watches as she relaxes into it, recalibrating her performance for an audience of two. Even Brendon's show is smaller, more controlled, like he's actually concentrating on being seductive, now that it's all but a sure thing. He pulls her close, thrusting up softly, dirty dancing in a teen movie, and she throws back her head, long dark hair flowing like they're underwater. Brendon seems so content, so happily in love with the moment, that Ryan almost swallows his plan and walks out the door. This isn't, it's not about just getting what he wants, what he's wondered. It's about offering an answer, a hint of one, an idea.
Then Alex nods over her shoulder. "Come here," she says to Ryan, and Brendon closes his eyes against her neck and holds her tighter. So Ryan goes and stands behind Alex, letting her do the work to move them closer until the song ends and he can step away. Brendon blinks and looks to where Ryan had been standing before, eyes flicking back and forth like he'll find a trail of bread crumbs.
The music shifts, faster now, more intent. This is Brendon's make-out mix, labeled accordingly in his playlists, and Ryan's fucked to it so many times he could practically time his orgasm to its progression. He raises his eyebrows to remind Alex whose turn it is.
She shrugs and says, "Want to play strip poker? Though I guess you guys would have an unfair advantage, being from Vegas and all." She doesn't look like she expects to lose.
Brendon fumbles off his shirt, smirking as his head reappears, hair pushed up in the back. "Or we could just strip. Look, it's your turn!"
Alex laughs, light and fake, and won't even rest a finger on the hem of her blouse until Ryan sighs and tugs his own off.
"I never win anyway," he says, and Brendon nods and says, "That's true, Ryan sucks at poker, you'd think with his dad working at a casino he'd at least manage to stay in the game, but really he's got the worst fucking poker face I've ever seen. It's like he never knows when to just stop --"
Ryan says her name, as soft and as sweet as he can in the sudden silence, Brendon's jaw so slack it could cast shadows, and she reaches for Brendon's belt.
"-- playing," Brendon finishes lamely as she slides her hand inside his slacks. Ryan can see the bulge of her fingers as she strokes him, and Brendon's eyes flutter shut for a second before flying wide open again. "Ryan," he says, hoarse.
"Yeah," Ryan answers, and he sounds just as bad off already.
Alex says, "I'm going to suck both your cocks at the same time." She smiles, preemptively proud, and flicks her hair back over her bare shoulder. "But you have to at least take off your own pants and stand a little closer together, okay?"
Brendon hisses a tight breath in but he doesn't say no, he doesn't say stop. He doesn't ask what they're doing. Ryan takes five steps, kicking off his shoes and unzipping as he goes, and by the time he's there Brendon has done the same and Alex is down to her bra and underwear. She kneels neatly, a beauty queen's dignity in her straight spine. She leaves her heels on, though, like a porn star.
He and Brendon are standing close to each other, but not touching, not until her hot breath skates over Brendon's dick and he flinches, flailing an errant knee into Ryan's leg. Alex looks up then. "I get to use my hands," she says, "but not you." Brendon shakes his head in agreement and Ryan holds his palms up, the picture of innocence. But when she starts in earnest, tongue strong and slick along the side of his cock, he catches himself reaching out and ends up with one folded arm perched on Brendon's shoulder, almost all his weight on the side closest to Brendon's hip.
Brendon's skin is hot, already damp with sweat, and Ryan feels a sympathetic flush on the back of his neck. She bobs down and back again on Brendon, then on Ryan, then back again, and every time she switches she draws them a little nearer, until Brendon's whole side is pressed to his. No matter who she's got her mouth on, it looks almost the same from up there except how when she sucks Brendon's cock, Ryan's twitches on its own, dark and slick with spit against his stomach before she grabs it again for his turn.
The ragged edges of Brendon's nails press hard into Ryan's collarbone now, their chests turned inward even as their hips stay angled out, their legs arranged in a half-circle around Alex on the floor as she speeds up, always keeping her hand on one of them while her lips are on the other. She doesn't hold onto them anywhere else, her right arm braced the floor for balance, and her sheer precision, her efficiency, amazes Ryan.
He wonders how many cocks you have to suck to be this good at it, to know just where to add pressure, just when to pull back. He probably wouldn't be any good at it, if he were the one on his knees, if it was his mouth on Brendon's cock, his hand cupping the curve of Brendon's ass to hold him even nearer as he swallowed and tilted his chin back, letting Brendon touch his cheek, letting Brendon fuck his mouth however he wanted, as hard as he could.
"Oh fuck," Brendon says, and Ryan looks down to see what Alex is doing now but it's the same, just more of the same mind-fucking-blowing blowjob of the century. When he raises his eyes again Brendon's staring right at him, balanced on a shaky ledge somewhere between hysteria and self-hatred and no, no, they aren't here for that, that's not what they're doing. Brendon's chin is quivering like he might cry and he says Ryan's name, rough and confused.
"Yeah," Ryan says, squeezing the back of Brendon's neck, and then Alex pulls off and wraps her hand around them, around both their cocks, together, and oh fuck, the sticky smooth skin of Brendon's dick and his own as they slide together forces a dark whine from his throat.
Brendon starts talking then, like he always does when he finally stops thinking about whether he should be having sex and just loses himself to it. "That feels so fucking good," he says, "fuck, yeah, yeah, your hand and -- Ryan, Jesus, this is," and Ryan says, "Yeah, yeah, it is," and then Alex licks over the slit of his cock, her tongue swirling from his to Brendon's and, "Fucking Christ," Brendon says, "she's really going to --" and then she does, somehow, her lips sliding over both heads at once, and she doesn't take them in deeply but it doesn't fucking matter, she's got both their cocks in her mouth and Ryan can feel, fuck, he can fucking feel the head of his dick rubbing against Brendon's, he can feel them leaking together as she pulls away before doing it again, a slightly different angle, her hand squeezing them tight, her thumb sweeping along the undersides as she swallows down just a bit, just a fraction, just enough that Ryan loses it fast, gasping as he comes.
He'd fall over as he slides out of her mouth except Brendon holds on, his fingers clamped brutally around Ryan's shoulder. Ryan watches as Alex takes Brendon in deep, her cheeks hollowed out, and then Brendon's lips are touching his ear and he says, "I can feel your fucking come on my dick, Ryan, it's --" and Ryan says, "Brendon," but it's more breath than word, and Brendon's so close, Ryan can tell, he's biting his lip and he's stopped talking and Ryan says, "Yeah, come on," and Brendon's entire body shivers and then his hand is on Ryan's jaw and his tongue is in Ryan's mouth and they're, fuck, they're kissing, Brendon's kissing him, hungry and desperate and Ryan closes his eyes and Brendon's coming, Ryan can feel his back tense and let go again and, oh fuck.
Brendon groans as his teeth close on Ryan's lip, so demanding, and Ryan's so fucking desperate for more he might cry, he can feel every muscle in his body and maybe Brendon's too, and this is, this is nothing like he thought it would be, and Brendon pants against his mouth and says his name again, a little lost again, and Ryan says, "I'm right here," and kisses Brendon back.
[ part 5]