kreacher (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} awakeunafraid) wrote,@ 2007-07-06 21:29:00 |
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| Entry tags: | bandslash, panic! at the disco |
Date Night
NC-17; Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
for jzbell. beta by yankeesdtr
At first it’s awkward.
It’s almost like starting from scratch, even though they’ve been invading each other’s personal space on a fairly regular basis for a couple of years now. But there’s a big difference between friendship and relationship and up to this point, everything that’s been done has been for show.
Now, it’s Ryan sprawled out on the couch, sitting up a little so that there’s room for Brendon, too, the pair of them already out of the Halo tournament where Jon and Spencer are currently competing for the “Everyone Else Is My Bitch At Halo” (TM, Brendon, even though he lost and Spencer will never, ever let him hear the end of it) title.
It’s Brendon’s fingers creeping across Ryan’s palms, the tips and pads of fingertips calloused and sliding into the spaces between Ryan’s fingers, bringing their palms together, Brendon’s warm and Ryan’s much cooler. Ryan’s breath catches, he tips his head and looks at Brendon for a moment, until Brendon licks his lips and Ryan has to look away.
Spencer tackles Jon to the floor as Jon tries to continue playing, yelling “No!” and trying to squirm away. “That’s cheating, asshole!” Jon says, trying to shake Spencer off, and Spencer’s not even bothering to pretend to play anymore. He’s just trying to get Jon killed onscreen.
“You said you sucked at this!” Spencer says finally, once Jon’s character is dead and Spencer is sprawled breathless on top of Jon, their faces inches away from each other.
“I lied,” Jon says dramatically. He flutters his lashes at Spencer, but since Jon could not be construed as pretty in any situation, some of the effect of the action is lost.
“I demand a rematch,” Spencer declares, rolling off of Jon and grabbing his controller. Brendon pulls his hand out of Ryan’s and climbs off the couch, grabbing up one of the controllers.
“I call the first match!” he says, and Ryan falls over onto his side, curling up to watch them play.
Sometimes Brendon comes into Ryan’s room and stretches out on the bed beside Ryan while he’s writing, watching blank pages fill up with sharp, spiked writing. He gets bored and restless, shifts around and reaches out, pulling the pen from Ryan’s fingers and flipping the notebook shut. Ryan pretends to be pissed off, because what if he can’t go back to what he’s writing? But it’s always just his diary. Brendon would never flip shut a notebook if he thought Ryan was writing lyrics.
Brendon is tactile, he likes to touch if Ryan will stay still long enough for Brendon’s fingers to find their way underneath the edge of Ryan’s shirt, tracing across his hipbones.
“What are you even doing?” Ryan says, reaching out and pulling Brendon’s hands from underneath his shirt, reaching down and tugging at Brendon’s arm until they’re laying side-by-side with their heads on Ryan’s pillows.
“Don’t know,” Brendon says. Then it’s just his fingers creeping into the spaces between Ryan’s again.
“This is stupid,” Ryan says, because Ryan tries to be logical. Tries and fails, mostly, but tries nonetheless. “We can’t.”
“No one’s going to care, Ryan, just shut up,” Brendon says.
“It was all just an act,” Ryan says, because if they were going to do something why wouldn’t it have happened before now? Why now, after all of the staging and fooling around just to make girls scream?
“That’s a lot different from this,” Brendon says, and since when is he the logical one? Since it’s his fingers tracing over the lines of ink on the inside of Ryan’s wrists, maybe. “That’s not even. That is an act. This is real. I’m real.”
“Yeah, but,” Ryan says, and Brendon pulls Ryan’s hands up, presses his mouth to those markings, lips warm and soft and Ryan sighs because he doesn’t know how to argue with this.
Contrary to popular belief, Ryan does not sleep with boys. That’s not to say that he hasn’t kissed guys, or made out with guys, but it was a terrifying thing to think about when he was still living at home and Pete is stuck on the whole “gay from the waist up” thing. Ryan has never been with a guy.
Ryan won’t deny that he’d like to be with Brendon beyond making out. Especially now, shut away from everything (mostly) in the cabin, closed in Ryan’s room and lying on top of the blankets with Brendon’s hands slid up underneath his t-shirt, thumbs rubbing slowly across Ryan’s skin as they kiss. Ryan tilts his head, slides his fingers over the back of Brendon’s neck.
Brendon starts to shift over and someone bangs on the door.
“Spencer’s back with the pizza,” Jon yells from the other side. “Put your pants on and get your asses downstairs.”
Brendon starts laughing and presses his face into Ryan’s shoulder, before rolling off the bed, adjusting himself before bouncing out of the room. Ryan groans and covers his face with his hands.
Brendon doesn’t sleep with boys, either, though not for lack of trying.
Being in the band is his chance to see the world, to spread his wings, and to do what he wants with his life. And with his body. That’s how the list got started.
He had a little notebook that he kept shoved down in he bottom of his backpack, something he only took out and wrote in when he knew that he was alone. Which was most generally when he was in the bathroom. It was sort of weird, when he thought about it. Brendon didn’t think about it much.
The list was a few names, stacked one on top of the other, dark block letters on white paper. Most of them were scratched through.
One of the names on the list is William Beckett, and this name is marked through with particular viciousness. Beckett will forever go down in history as Brendon’s first and worst attempt to have sex with another guy.
Probably because they were both so drunk that by the time Beckett got Brendon’s pants off and got his fingers in places that God had not meant for fingers to go, he was giggling so hard that he couldn’t do anything with them. The whole mess had ended in him jerking Brendon off, sprawled out on the floor in the lounge of the bus.
Brendon wasn’t happy with that, and marked Beckett’s name off the list the next morning, his mouth tasting sour and disgusting from the night before.
The last name on the list was the only one that was not struck through. It had succeeded, in part (Brendon thought) to the fact that he had not been near as drunk, and it had not been with William Beckett.
It was a very short list.
It’s late. Ryan knows this because there’s no sound left anywhere in the cabin. Everyone else has gone to bed. He lays on his back on his bed, staring up at the shadows flickering on the ceiling from the candle on the table next to the bed. The door creaks open and Brendon shuffles in, his hair sticking up at awkward angles as he makes his way over and climbs up onto the bed beside Ryan.
“Figured you’d be asleep,” he says, and it’s clear to Ryan that Brendon, at least, has been asleep. He lays down right next to Ryan, throwing his arm across Ryan’s waist and pressing his body along the side of Ryan’s. It takes Ryan less than half a second to realize that Brendon’s probably in his room after more than just someone to cuddle with.
Besides, if he wants cuddling, he knows better than to come to Ryan for it.
“No, I haven’t been able to fall asleep,” Ryan says, and shifts a little, turns onto his side and pushes back against Brendon. He watches a little bit of a smile flit across Brendon’s face. Brendon’s eyes are already closed, like he’s going back to sleep. Ryan wonders if he should just give up and let Brendon go back to sleep. Brendon moves his hand to rest against Ryan’s hip, under the waistband of the basketball shorts he’s wearing. Ryan’s heart starts to beat a little faster.
“That’s good,” Brendon says, and his lips are warm against Ryan’s jaw as he kisses along it sleepily. “I would have woken you up, but then you would have been cranky.”
“And then?” Ryan says, letting his eyes slide shut and letting Brendon kiss over his jaw. “That would have killed your chances of getting any action?”
“Absolutely,” Brendon says.
Brendon doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about when he woke up. He lays in bed for a long time, trying to will his body to let him go back to sleep. He can hear someone wandering around out in the hallway, probably Jon, because Jon’s room is closest to Brendon’s.
Brendon remembers The List, the little notebook tucked into the bottom of his backpack, underneath candy wrappers and wadded up papers, a discarded dirty sock.
He thinks about how Jon is the last name on the list, the only one that isn’t marked out. Brendon stopped keeping the list after he slept with Jon, but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.
Brendon had worried that it would be weird, when suddenly Jon was a part of his band where he hadn’t been before. He hadn’t wanted it to be awkward, because he genuinely liked Jon as a person. He was insanely grateful when Jon had just smiled at him and acted like nothing had happened. Brendon had breathed a sigh of relief.
It wasn’t weird, with Jon, and Jon had just smiled and shook his head when Brendon had mentioned it, when Brendon had mentioned something about hooking up with Ryan.
“Why would it be weird?” Jon had asked him. “I mean, I’m not jealous. We’re still friends, you know? It happened, it doesn’t affect anything. Besides, I have a girlfriend, you can have a boyfriend.” He had winked and gone on about his business.
Brendon had sighed. He thought it was pretty lucky that the first and only guy he’d managed to hook up with was pretty much amazing.
He’d had a smile on his face for the rest of the day.
Brendon's not sure that he's ready to do anything like going all the way in this situation. Not yet, anyway, and despite the fact that he isn't, Ryan most certainly is, and it's his hands that slide into Brendon's sweatpants first.
“Ryan,” Brendon whispers, pulls Ryan’s hand free and holds onto it, sliding his free hand down Ryan’s back, pushing Ryan’s hips closer to his own, rocking his hips up against Ryan’s. He’s half hard, has been since he came into the room.
“Brendon, I want.” Ryan said, rocking his hips forward, his nails scratching across Brendon’s back. Brendon’s nails wouldn’t have scratched – they were bitten down too far. Ryan was the only one of them that didn’t bite his. Brendon was pretty sure that sometimes he even went for manicures.
“I know,” Brendon whispered, keeping their hips pressed together, shifting them slowly, rhythmically. Ryan jerks, tries to move faster.
“Please,” he says, and Brendon lets go of Ryan’s hand, slides his hand into Ryan’s shorts, kisses him roughly, bites at his lip. Ryan makes a noise in the back of his throat as Brendon’s fingers wrap around his cock. Brendon’s hand feels different wrapped around him, almost better, because his fingers are rough, calloused, and Ryan’s only ever had girls jerk him off like this.
It’s awkward, sliding his hand into Brendon’s pants and trying to jerk him off while he’s trying to thrust into Brendon’s hand at the same time. It’s awkward, and almost uncomfortable, but the only thing that would make him stop would be the fire alarm sounding.
He’s breathing hard, thrusting his hips into Brendon’s hand, wanting more than just this quick jerk off and hoping that he’s going to get it, Brendon’s palm dry and scratching across the sensitive skin. He gasps as he comes, snapping his hips forward, squeezing Brendon probably too hard and making him gasp and bite at Ryan’s lip. Ryan loosens his grip.
Brendon pulls his hand out of his shorts, slides it into his own shorts. He wraps sticky fingers around Ryan’s hand and moves Ryan’s hand for him, finishing himself off as well. He closes his eyes, pulling his hand free and wiping it on his pants. They’re gross, damp and sticky, and Brendon thinks that now he can go back to sleep.
“I want more,” Ryan whispers, and whether it’s a minute or five minutes later, Brendon doesn’t respond, except with the tiniest sound, kissing along Ryan’s jaw. Then he’s still, and his breathing starts to even out.
Ryan decides that he’s probably going to be a virgin forever.
Ryan is kicking Brendon’s ass at Halo. No, seriously, he is destroying Brendon in a very serious way. Which is really a stretch, because Ryan usually sucks pretty hardcore at Halo. They’re both on their knees, on the floor in front of the TV. Ryan’s sitting on his feet, his tongue poked between his lips, and Brendon’s up, on his knees, dodging back and forth with the controller.
Ryan throws his arms up in triumph, and passes his controller over to Jon, who sits down, crossing his legs and getting ready to demolish Ryan. Because despite the fact that Jon says he sucks at it, he’s really very good. Brendon throws himself at Ryan, tackling him back onto the floor. Ryan lets out a yelp, shocked, trying to push Brendon off as they roll across the floor and Spencer takes up Brendon’s discarded controller and starts the game against Jon.
Brendon and Ryan roll across the floor, Brendon grinning and Ryan actually laughing, actually taking part in the wrestling match for once instead of being too good for it, both of them trying to take control and pin the other to the floor.
Ryan gets Brendon pinned down, both of his hands held to the floor in Ryan’s spidery fingers, Ryan’s elbows locked and all his weight leaned forward in effort to keep Brendon on the floor, Ryan’s knees on either side of Brendon’s hips.
Brendon bucks his hips up against Ryan’s, and he’s hard, and Ryan’s eyes go wide and he loses his concentration, his arms give way and Brendon rolls them, and he’s still got a smile on his face, but this is less playful, more serious, and Ryan’s eyes are wide and scared and Jon and Spencer are right there playing Halo.
Brendon gets Ryan down on his back this time, pressing his knee between Ryan’s legs. The pressure just there makes Ryan gasp, and he fights against Brendon’s hands on his wrists and he can’t help but move against Brendon, rub against Brendon and he is so going to hell for this.
Brendon’s fingers slide up over Ryan’s wrists, fill the spaces between Ryan’s own fingers and suddenly they’re holding hands and Ryan looks at Brendon for all of thirty seconds before bucking against him again. Brendon’s not sure if he’s trying to get away, or trying to gain control. Either way, it’s better served to let Ryan roll him, to put more distance between them and Jon and Spencer. The way Spencer is already making frustrated noises, Brendon isn’t sure that they’re even going to notice that anything is going on.
Brendon pushes Ryan onto his back, grinding down against him, and he lowers his head, kisses Ryan roughly, and Ryan hisses a breath out, knowing that his lips are going to be bruised later. He rocks back up against Brendon, and they move together, hidden from Jon and Spencer by only the couch between them, Ryan’s hand pulling free from Brendon’s hand to grab at him, his hair, his t-shirt, the waistband of his sweatpants.
Brendon’s breathing hard, his nose pressed into Ryan’s cheek. Ryan pulls his other hand free and covers his own mouth, not wanting Spencer or Jon to hear him. They’re fucking humping each other on the floor with two other people in the room, and Ryan swears that he’s never been that horny in his life, but here they are, doing it.
Brendon bites Ryan’s shoulder as he comes, a mouth full of fabric and a little bit of pain and Ryan jerks his hips up, just a little bit more until he’s shaking too, tiny muffled noises slipping out from behind his hand.
Brendon reaches out and pulls Ryan’s hand away from his mouth, kisses him softly, slowly, then pushes himself up and walks out of the room. Ryan lies there, sprawled on his back on the floor for a few minutes.
When he finally gets up and goes to change, he’s glad that at least all of his sweatpants look the same and that lessens the chances of Spencer or Jon realizing what happened.
Brendon calls it a date. Ryan wouldn’t necessarily call it a date, because they’re not going to some fancy restaurant and they’re not going to a movie. They can’t, not together, not if they want to start even more rumors than there already are.
They don’t need to start more rumors than there already are.
So their date consists of Brendon dragging Ryan out of the cabin, hitting a video store and picking up takeout. They bicker good-naturedly over what movie to watch, settle on something gory and then bicker more over what kind of food to have.
Once it’s decided, they have to drive back to the cabin, which is really, truly a long drive when they’re just anxious to get back to the cabin, have dinner and make out through the movie. Brendon reaches over and rests his hand against Ryan’s thigh as they drive, and Ryan turns his face toward the window because he can’t stop smiling.
“Okay,” Brendon says, walking into the living area and planting himself in front of the television. “Get the hell out. This is official date space.”
Spencer and Jon both look at him with near-identical looks. Both looks clearly say that they think that Brendon is insane. Ryan’s face is slowly turning red, color blooming across his cheeks.
“Uh,” says Spencer. Jon seems to be speechless.
“No, seriously,” Brendon says when they don’t move as quickly as he’d like. “Get out. Unless you’re into watching two dudes make out. Then by all means.”
“No, not by all means,” Ryan finally pipes up. By this point, he’s completely horrified. If he were a different kind of boy, he might call Brendon his boyfriend. His boyfriend is humiliating him.
He’s not that kind of boy and he’s thinking about choking Brendon out.
Spencer fucking giggles and gets up off the couch, grabbing Jon by the wrist and tugging him up and out of the room. “Play nice boys,” he says, looking straight at Brendon. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Ryan cheerfully flips him off.
Halfway through the movie and after the food is done and the wrappers tossed to the side, Ryan decides that Spencer would totally, totally move in for the kill. Spencer’s that kind of boy.
One moment they’re sitting next to each other on the couch, because Brendon really, really wants to see this movie, dammit, and the next, Ryan’s kissing along the side of Brendon’s neck, along the edge of his jaw, up to his mouth and blocking his view of the television.
Brendon decides that he doesn’t want to watch the movie that badly.
His mouth opens underneath Ryan’s, letting Ryan slide his tongue in, move it along Brendon’s. Brendon brings his hands up to Ryan’s hips, maneuvering him until Ryan is straddling Brendon’s lap. Ryan makes a sort of muffled laugh against Brendon’s mouth.
“What?” Brendon asks, pulling back and looking up at Ryan.
“I’m not a girl,” Ryan says, indicating their position.
“I noticed,” Brendon says, sliding his hand over the front of Ryan’s jeans, cupping his hand around Ryan’s erection and squeezing. Ryan gasps.
“Fuck me,” he whispers, and doesn’t even think about it. Then he looks at Brendon, his eyes sort of wide and shocked.
“Get up,” Brendon says, and Ryan gets up off the couch. Brendon is up behind him, grabbing his hand, fingers sliding and locking together and Brendon’s thumb rubbing over the inside of Ryan’s wrist as they make their way into Ryan’s bedroom.
“Wait,” Brendon says, once he’s got Ryan sprawled on his back on the bed, kissing his neck and Brendon’s knee between Ryan’s legs, pressing up, just there and making Ryan want to rub against him. Ryan is going to fucking kill Brendon if he stops.
“No—“ Ryan starts.
“I just need to get –“ Brendon starts.
“I have some,” Ryan says and this time he does shift his body against Brendon’s, rubbing against him. “Please don’t. Don’t leave, don’t stop. Please.” He’ll beg if he has to.
“Okay,” Brendon says, nodding his head and he pulls away long enough to take his shirt off, tossing it to the side. He slides his hands up underneath Ryan’s, pushes Ryan’s shirt up and Ryan shifts, sits up and pulls it off and goes for the button on Brendon’s jeans, pops it and slides his hands inside. Brendon bends down and kisses him. He’s not wearing underwear, for which Ryan is grateful, but there’s still the hurdle of getting the pants off.
Brendon pulls away, gets off the bed and is out of his jeans and his socks before Ryan even really realizes what’s happening. Huh. Who would have thought it would have been that easy? He supposes Brendon has practice.
“Ryan,” Brendon says. “Take your pants off, dude.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, and arches his hips upward, unbuttons his jeans and slides them down, kicks them off on the floor and his underwear with. “Okay?”
Brendon’s eyes are a little wide and Ryan’s not sure that he’s not, well, drooling or something. He climbs back onto the bed and kisses over Ryan’s collarbone, up his neck and to his mouth. This is the first time they’ve actually been naked together, done this. Ryan is not going to let this end without Brendon fucking him. He doesn’t care who walks in.
Brendon shifts off of Ryan long enough to get the pair of them moved up so that Ryan’s head is on the pillow. He wants Ryan to at least be comfortable when he does this.
“Where’s your stuff?” he asks, his lips only far enough from Ryan’s to get the words out and hear the answer.
“Oh. There’s. Um. In the nightstand there’s a bag with. Stuff.”
Brendon leans over, tugs the drawer open and pulls out a little bag from a drugstore somewhere. He dumps it out on the bed and a little package of condoms and a tube of lubricant tumble onto sheets. Brendon picks up the lube, flicks the cap open and squeezes it onto his fingers.
He kneels between Ryan’s legs, bends down and kisses Ryan slowly.
“Hey,” he says quietly, his fingers teasing across Ryan’s entrance, smearing the cool lubricant over him. “Hey, tell me if it hurts, okay?” Brendon knows this much, and he doesn’t want to hurt Ryan. He just vaguely remembers that Jon was very, very careful with him. Brendon wants to return the favor to Ryan.
“Okay,” Ryan whispers. Brendon pushes one finger in, too fast and Ryan gasps, makes a whimpering noise in the back of his throat.
“Sorry, sorry,” Brendon whispers, and kisses Ryan softly like that’s going to make up for it. He pushes his finger in until the rest of his knuckles are against Ryan, then he pulls it back. Ryan tries to lay there and relax, wants it to not hurt because he wants this. Brendon slides the one finger back in, then out again, until Ryan’s hips start to move.
“More, please, I—“ Ryan says, and it trails off in a moan and Brendon nods his head, slides in a second finger and hopes that it doesn’t hurt as much as the first.
He watches Ryan bite his lip, but Ryan doesn’t say stop, and Brendon doesn’t realize that at this point no matter how much it hurts Ryan isn’t going to tell him to stop. He bends his fingers just the tiniest bit, enough to make Ryan yelp but not like it hurts. His body clenches around Brendon’s fingers and Brendon kisses Ryan, wants that feeling around parts of his body other than fingers.
He pulls his fingers free, doesn’t think to add a third because he’s not thinking, unwraps a condom and slides it down the length of his cock. Ryan’s eyes are closed, and Brendon watches Ryan’s face as he adds more lube, positions himself, starts to push in.
Ryan’s eyes fly open and his mouth forms an “o” of shock because it hurts, and Brendon is just pushing in. “Sorry,” says Brendon. “Sorry,” and Ryan nods his head, biting down on his lip.
“Hey, hey,” Brendon says, all boyfriend voice but low and thick because he’s turned on and Ryan is so fucking tight around him. “We can stop,” Brendon says.
“No,” Ryan gasps out, because there is no way in hell he is stopping this now. “No, don’t. Just. Just keep going.” Ryan’s sure that it will stop hurting eventually.
Brendon bites his lip and for a moment Ryan is scared that he’ll stop anyway, that he’ll pull out and he’ll just lay down beside Ryan and that will be that, they won’t ever try this again, and Ryan fucking wants it for fuck’s sake so he’s not going to let Brendon give up now. He cries out, half pleasure half pain and all surprise when Brendon pushes the rest of the way in, comes to a stop with his body flush against Ryan’s.
“Oh God,” Ryan whispers.
“Not really,” Brendon says. “Blasphemy.”
Ryan hits Brendon as hard as he can manage in the shoulder. “Ow,” Brendon says, but he laughs, leans down and kisses Ryan slowly, softly, and reaches up with one hand, slick with lube and his fingers slide across Ryan’s palm until their hands are linked together. He stays that way for a few moments, not wanting to move, afraid that he’ll hurt Ryan more than he’s already done.
“Brendon, please,” Ryan moans after a moment, because he wants more than just the stretched, near-painful feeling of Brendon buried and still inside him. “Just. Move, please.”
Brendon nods his head, lowering his face down until his mouth is against Ryan’s, kissing him slowly as he moves his hips back. Ryan makes a noise and arches his hips up, making a noise against Brendon’s lips and opening his mouth.
Brendon slides his tongue into Ryan’s mouth, along Ryan’s tongue, muffling the noises he’s making as Brendon slowly, slowly pushes his hips forward again. His fingers are digging into Brendon’s shoulders and this is the first time Brendon’s ever wished that Ryan bit his nails, because he’s pretty sure Ryan’s drawing blood.
Brendon doesn’t care.
Ryan tips his head back, moving his mouth away from Brendon’s, baring his neck, letting Brendon lean down, licking and biting across Ryan’s skin as he moved his hips, pushing himself in and out of Ryan.
“Brendon,” Ryan gasped out, moving the hand that Brendon wasn’t holding onto down, sliding it between them, long slender fingers wrapping around his own cock and stroking slowly, then faster as Brendon started to pick up. Brendon was gasping, his mouth against Ryan’s neck.
Ryan cried out, his body arching up off the mattress, gripping Brendon’s hand hard as he came, slick and sticky between them, his body tightening around Brendon, then going loose and limp. He’s breathing hard, his eyes closed and his head tipped back, his fingers still gripping Brendon’s hand.
Brendon slides the condom off, discards it beside them on the sheets -- with every intent of throwing it away later, probably after Ryan tells him how gross he is – wrapping his hand around his cock and finishing himself off, coming with a sharp gasp across Ryan’s stomach before collapsing onto his side, laying next to Ryan, pulling his hand free for the first time.
They lay there silently for a long while, the only sound in the room the whirring of the fan and their breathing.
“What happened to your back?” Spencer asks, the next morning when Brendon bounces downstairs for cereal in the kitchen. Spencer is trying to convince the coffee maker to make faster with his mind. It isn’t working.
“Huh?” Brendon says around a handful of cereal, shoved dry into his mouth before he even has a bowl.
“You have like. Bloody scratches on your back,” Spencer says slowly, as though Brendon is retarded.
“Ask Ryan,” Brendon says, grinning, sloshing milk into the bowl and walking out of the room.
When the coffee is finished, Spencer pours two cups and goes to find Ryan.
“So do I have to kill him?” Spencer asks. Ryan is leaning against the headboard, sipping his coffee. Spencer had known that he wouldn’t get any information if he didn’t bring Ryan coffee to coax him awake.
“No,” Ryan says sleepily, and he shakes his head.
“Okay, because I will if you want me to,” Spencer tells him, and Ryan shifts a little bit. He’s a little sore, but nothing he can’t handle. Nothing he doesn’t want.
“I kind of want to keep him around,” Ryan says, smiling at Spencer over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure that he’s downstairs watching cartoons and eating cereal and I could totally get him before he realized what was happening.”
“Oh my God, Spencer, shut up. I don’t want you to kill him.”
“You’re sitting funny.”
“I’m sore.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“If you move, I’m going to kill you.”
Spencer rolls his eyes, and starts to get off the bed.
“I totally mean that,” Ryan says, eyeing him.
“Yeah, I know, but I just realized you had sex in this bed and I’m kind of grossed out,” Spencer tells him, getting the rest of the way off the bed and starts out of the room as Ryan laughs.
“Hey Spence,” Ryan says, lowering his coffee.
“Yeah?” Spencer says, stopping in the doorway.
“Are you going to make breakfast?” Ryan asks. Spencer and Jon are the only decent cooks in the house, and Jon is constantly destroying breakfast food.
“Brendon’s already eaten,” Spencer says, like he doesn’t want to do it if not everyone is going to eat.
“But I haven’t,” Ryan says, and even adds a sweet little smile on the end.
“You owe me,” Spencer says, pointing at Ryan, then turning and heading out of the room. “Twenty minutes!” Spencer calls back and Ryan will have to think of a way to make this up to him.
But he’ll worry about that after coffee.
