Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Teenage Kicks
A lot of you are gonna hate me for this, but I made Ryan a slut for one chapter and I really only had two options of how to do that...
5Ambiance
Ryan hangs up the phone and stuffs clothes into his drawers and wardrobe. He tries to tidy the room the best he can, in the shortest space of time he can, but he’s feels more natural amongst possessions and mess; a room that feels lived in. The company will arrive in a few minutes; Jon’s driving them in the car and he likes to drive faster than is advised. Before he opens his bedroom door to slink downstairs and greet his guests, he slings open the window, in the hope that the smoke from the barely-lit cigarette resting on the rim of a glass ashtray, will drift into his back garden and Brendon won’t complain. Yes, oh yes, he had been invited again, not that Ryan had any say in the matter. Spencer had enjoyed the company at lunch the week before apparently- this was of course a day in which Ryan couldn’t make it out. He’s intended to lie and tell Spencer he was sick, but as luck would have he, he ended up being quite violently sick after a night fighting with his dad and stubbornly drinking his self stupid, just to prove a point, so he couldn’t go to lunch even if he’d wanted to.
Spencer is the first through the door, running behind Ryan as protection from being tickled by Jon. Spencer grabs Ryan’s hips and swings him in front of him like a shield, causing Ryan to hiss in absolute agony and keel over his lower half. He digs his nails into his knees as he comes to terms with the euphoric feeling and his eyes widen when he straightens up again. Okay, so the wound may be a little bit infected from the splinter, but Ryan is sure he simply overreacted due to shock. The three boys stand motionless and slightly fearful; Spencer is anything but the strongest of the group, in fact, Jon, a boy who is about ninety percent declawed kitten, is more capable of hurting someone than Spencer is. Ryan fakes an exaggerated stretch of his arms above his head and catches Spencer off guard in a head lock. Before his arms move down, his hips are exposed, just for a second, so Brendon- who was secretly idolizing Ryan’s physique- observes a bruised area around a reddened, what could be, cut on Ryan’s left hip.
“Jon: fridge. Spencer: let’s go.” Ryan chuckles, then releases Spencer’s head, but leaves his arm over his shoulder, as they waltz upstairs. Brendon hovers in the hallway for a minute, before darting up the staircase after Ryan and Spencer.
Ryan’s room isn’t anything of what Brendon would imagine; it’s all old vinyl’s and guitar equipment and scattered clothes and heaps of comics. There’s a rather dusty, record player on a chest of drawers and a laptop by the foot of Ryan’s bed. There’s a wardrobe with a large crack down the front of the door, which, apparently, is new, because Spencer asks Ryan about it. Ryan waves his hand dismissively, as he retrieves his cigarette and lies back on his king-sized bed. Spencer sits against the edge of it, cross legged and swaying in happiness and unfazed when Ryan rests his ankles on his shoulders. Brendon traces the outline of the record player in amazement; he loves old music players like this. He thinks about the possibility of Ryan’s room actually being bigger than his entire apartment, with enough clutter to fill it twice.
Jon closes Ryan’s bedroom door with his hips when he appears, humming a Beatles tune, because he has four dripping cold beers in his hands. He sets the down carelessly on the chest of drawers, next to Brendon and digs around his pocket for a bottle opener. He tosses two towards Spencer, who catches them effortlessly and moves to lie next to Ryan on the bed. Jon cracks open two of the beers, then flips the metal opener behind him for Spencer to catch. The catch is flawless in Brendon’s view; Spencer doesn’t even sit up, he simply lifts his hand and the bottle opener flies into his grasp. He opens his and Ryan’s drinks and the chink the bottle necks together in a miniature toast.
*
After five beers, Ryan and Spencer can easily make out. They’ve known each other longer than anyone else they know, and Spencer is straight, so Ryan doesn’t feel guilty whenever it happens. It isn’t a big deal and they don’t talk about it, because they don’t need to. Jon’s the only one who’s ever mentioned it. (Once, he told them to just hurry up and fuck each other so everyone could move on with their lives. Ryan joked about being willing to do just that, so long as it could be in Jon’s car and Jon hasn’t trusted them in his car without him, since.)
Jon and Brendon are in Ryan’s kitchen, on a drunken hunt for more alcohol. Ryan stands, deciding to aid their search, when Spencer tugs at his sleeve, to sit Ryan back down, next to him.
“Something’s wrong.” Spencer analyzes and Ryan sighs.
“I don’t even know Spence, everything’s a mess. My family life- home life, love life, I’m falling way behind in school and then, there’s no one to talk to, so I have to deal with it all in my head.” Ryan replies. Spencer twists his mouth into an empathetic frown.
“You can talk to me.” He tells Ryan, swinging his leg over Ryan’s lap to sit on him and putting both hands on either side of Ryan’s face. Ryan refuses his gaze and folds his arms out of stubbornness, but when Spencer leans in to plant a drunken kiss on Ryan’s lips, he stops pouting, to kiss back. When they break apart, Spencer’s hands roam down Ryan’s arm gently and Ryan turns his palms up for Spencer to hold. Their fingers interlock and Spencer squeezes Ryan’s hands to reassure him, because he can see that he really can’t talk to him about everything that is wrong. He sighs and leans in again, pressing his lips against Ryan’s for a few seconds and closing his eyes. He knows, as well as anybody, that asking a million times won’t get him any closer to knowing what Ryan has on his mind; if Ryan wants to talk about it, he will and Spencer will be the first to hear it. That’s the way it’s always been. Ryan shuts his eyes and his tongue tries its way into Spencer’s mouth. It’s greeted by a familiar taste and a shy tongue, which is hesitant as to how vigorous it should be. Ryan wants to moan when Spencer pushes a little into his lap, unintentionally, but he knows he shouldn’t, so he swallows the forming sound down. He frees his hands and takes a hold of Spencer’s hips, to keep him sitting in the same place, then guides Spencer’s top half down with him, as he lies on his back. Spencer hums softly into Ryan’s mouth, then sits up, draws vertical lines down Ryan’s chest and stops at the button of his jeans. Ryan chuckles; propping himself up onto his elbows and cocking his head to the side.
“Spence, what are you doing?” He asks playfully. Spencer shrugs and continues to rock his hand up and down Ryan’s length. “You’re far too drunk for your own good, my friend.” Ryan laughs, tossing his head back and letting out a filthy growl. He supposes it was really only a matter of time before something like this happened, why not now?
*
“Okay. Jon?” Brendon asks, holding onto his ankles and bouncing his knees off the floor. Jon laughs, shaking his head.
“Not even if you paid me and Spencer is totally lying, he would.” He replies and Spencer stops laughing to gasp at him.
“Ryan? Would you fuck anyone in this room?” Brendon asks, staring into his eyes. Ryan thinks about it; tries to imagine it. He pictures Brendon on his hands and knees, head thrown back and hair in Ryan’s hand. He pictures gripping a hold of Brendon’s waist and burying himself deep inside him.
“Yes; definitely.” He answers, staring back at Brendon and smiling at the thought. He takes a large gulp of beer and closes his eyes; quietly embarrassed by Brendon’s blushing. Jon shares that he’s surprised Ryan hasn’t already and Ryan points his bottle at him.
“That reminds me- if you’re sleeping on my bed tonight you have to use the spare duvet.”
Jon narrows his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “You were alone five minutes, how is that even possible?”
Spencer giggles and watches Ryan drink. “I’m a drummer; I’m good with my hands.” He shrugs, sounding far too pleased with himself and Ryan almost spits out the beer he was drinking, from laughing. Brendon stares down at his hands and ceasing the bouncing. Suddenly, he really regrets his own being there and he starts to feel a little sick. How could Ryan sound so casual about that kind of thing? He might even be almost jealous of Spencer right now. When Spencer realizes Brendon is the only one who hasn’t answered the question and asks him it; beaming and thinking nothing of his admitting to jerking Ryan off minutes ago, Brendon casts him an unpleasant look and tells him that of course he wouldn’t. Then, he dismisses himself and storms down the stairs to find his bag.
*
When Ryan reaches his living room entrance, he watches Brendon pace; hands clasped and holding the back of his head and face pointed towards the ceiling. It takes him a good few minutes to notice Ryan’s looking at him, but when he does, his arms drop to his sides and crunch into fists.
“Will you drive me home?” He asks, with his teeth gritted.
“No.” Ryan tells him plainly. “Will you come back upstairs and apologize?”
Brendon’s eyebrows shoot up his face and his nostrils flair. “Excuse me, why the fuck should I apologize!? You’re the one who’s fucking people when your friends are in the next room, you apologize!” He walks towards Ryan; eyes fixed on the wall behind them. How dare he scrounge around for an apology? Ryan steps into the room, just as Brendon’s shoving him back out of it and turning away, because he can’t even bare to look at Ryan right now.
“I had no idea you even- cared.” Ryan says softly, shutting the door and reaching his hand out to catch Brendon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think.” He feels guilty for allowing something to happen and despite being extremely drunk, he feels a clear wave come over him; like things all make sense to him now. He spins Brendon around to face him, as Brendon’s insisting he doesn’t care and holds onto the back of Brendon’s head, smiling. “Come here.” He says, pulling Brendon’s face to his shoulder and hugging him. Brendon’s hands ball up pieces of Ryan’s tee-shirt, at the small of his back and pull him in tight. The scent of Ryan hounds Brendon’s nose and he’s trying not to think about the fact that it’s a familiar and easy smell and this is becoming a familiar an easy way to be with Ryan. When their hug ends, Ryan leaves his arms around Brendon’s waist and he refuses to let him go. He kisses Brendon on the lips briefly and presses their foreheads together.
“I’m sorry, okay? Nothing will happen with Spencer and me as long as you and I are- nothing will happen.”
Brendon nods, breathes in deep, smiles and allows Ryan to lead him back upstairs.
*
Brendon can’t believe that a few months ago, he and Ryan had hated each other so much. A few months ago, it was hard to imagine ever not hating each other, let alone this.
The kitchen flooring creaks under Ryan as he gets up from his knees, wipes his mouth and watches Brendon’s eyes flicker back into the room. Brendon can barely move; he feels euphoric and has a funny feeling that he’s on the brink of falling over, or passing out. Ryan takes a lustful bite from Brendon’s neck as he fixes him into his jeans and re-buttons them for him.
“You have to go.” He mutters and Brendon whines. “You have to do that homework you were meant to be helping me with and my dad might be home soon.” He kisses Brendon; deep and harsh and desperate, then tells him he’ll call him later.
Spencer is the first through the door, running behind Ryan as protection from being tickled by Jon. Spencer grabs Ryan’s hips and swings him in front of him like a shield, causing Ryan to hiss in absolute agony and keel over his lower half. He digs his nails into his knees as he comes to terms with the euphoric feeling and his eyes widen when he straightens up again. Okay, so the wound may be a little bit infected from the splinter, but Ryan is sure he simply overreacted due to shock. The three boys stand motionless and slightly fearful; Spencer is anything but the strongest of the group, in fact, Jon, a boy who is about ninety percent declawed kitten, is more capable of hurting someone than Spencer is. Ryan fakes an exaggerated stretch of his arms above his head and catches Spencer off guard in a head lock. Before his arms move down, his hips are exposed, just for a second, so Brendon- who was secretly idolizing Ryan’s physique- observes a bruised area around a reddened, what could be, cut on Ryan’s left hip.
“Jon: fridge. Spencer: let’s go.” Ryan chuckles, then releases Spencer’s head, but leaves his arm over his shoulder, as they waltz upstairs. Brendon hovers in the hallway for a minute, before darting up the staircase after Ryan and Spencer.
Ryan’s room isn’t anything of what Brendon would imagine; it’s all old vinyl’s and guitar equipment and scattered clothes and heaps of comics. There’s a rather dusty, record player on a chest of drawers and a laptop by the foot of Ryan’s bed. There’s a wardrobe with a large crack down the front of the door, which, apparently, is new, because Spencer asks Ryan about it. Ryan waves his hand dismissively, as he retrieves his cigarette and lies back on his king-sized bed. Spencer sits against the edge of it, cross legged and swaying in happiness and unfazed when Ryan rests his ankles on his shoulders. Brendon traces the outline of the record player in amazement; he loves old music players like this. He thinks about the possibility of Ryan’s room actually being bigger than his entire apartment, with enough clutter to fill it twice.
Jon closes Ryan’s bedroom door with his hips when he appears, humming a Beatles tune, because he has four dripping cold beers in his hands. He sets the down carelessly on the chest of drawers, next to Brendon and digs around his pocket for a bottle opener. He tosses two towards Spencer, who catches them effortlessly and moves to lie next to Ryan on the bed. Jon cracks open two of the beers, then flips the metal opener behind him for Spencer to catch. The catch is flawless in Brendon’s view; Spencer doesn’t even sit up, he simply lifts his hand and the bottle opener flies into his grasp. He opens his and Ryan’s drinks and the chink the bottle necks together in a miniature toast.
*
After five beers, Ryan and Spencer can easily make out. They’ve known each other longer than anyone else they know, and Spencer is straight, so Ryan doesn’t feel guilty whenever it happens. It isn’t a big deal and they don’t talk about it, because they don’t need to. Jon’s the only one who’s ever mentioned it. (Once, he told them to just hurry up and fuck each other so everyone could move on with their lives. Ryan joked about being willing to do just that, so long as it could be in Jon’s car and Jon hasn’t trusted them in his car without him, since.)
Jon and Brendon are in Ryan’s kitchen, on a drunken hunt for more alcohol. Ryan stands, deciding to aid their search, when Spencer tugs at his sleeve, to sit Ryan back down, next to him.
“Something’s wrong.” Spencer analyzes and Ryan sighs.
“I don’t even know Spence, everything’s a mess. My family life- home life, love life, I’m falling way behind in school and then, there’s no one to talk to, so I have to deal with it all in my head.” Ryan replies. Spencer twists his mouth into an empathetic frown.
“You can talk to me.” He tells Ryan, swinging his leg over Ryan’s lap to sit on him and putting both hands on either side of Ryan’s face. Ryan refuses his gaze and folds his arms out of stubbornness, but when Spencer leans in to plant a drunken kiss on Ryan’s lips, he stops pouting, to kiss back. When they break apart, Spencer’s hands roam down Ryan’s arm gently and Ryan turns his palms up for Spencer to hold. Their fingers interlock and Spencer squeezes Ryan’s hands to reassure him, because he can see that he really can’t talk to him about everything that is wrong. He sighs and leans in again, pressing his lips against Ryan’s for a few seconds and closing his eyes. He knows, as well as anybody, that asking a million times won’t get him any closer to knowing what Ryan has on his mind; if Ryan wants to talk about it, he will and Spencer will be the first to hear it. That’s the way it’s always been. Ryan shuts his eyes and his tongue tries its way into Spencer’s mouth. It’s greeted by a familiar taste and a shy tongue, which is hesitant as to how vigorous it should be. Ryan wants to moan when Spencer pushes a little into his lap, unintentionally, but he knows he shouldn’t, so he swallows the forming sound down. He frees his hands and takes a hold of Spencer’s hips, to keep him sitting in the same place, then guides Spencer’s top half down with him, as he lies on his back. Spencer hums softly into Ryan’s mouth, then sits up, draws vertical lines down Ryan’s chest and stops at the button of his jeans. Ryan chuckles; propping himself up onto his elbows and cocking his head to the side.
“Spence, what are you doing?” He asks playfully. Spencer shrugs and continues to rock his hand up and down Ryan’s length. “You’re far too drunk for your own good, my friend.” Ryan laughs, tossing his head back and letting out a filthy growl. He supposes it was really only a matter of time before something like this happened, why not now?
*
“Okay. Jon?” Brendon asks, holding onto his ankles and bouncing his knees off the floor. Jon laughs, shaking his head.
“Not even if you paid me and Spencer is totally lying, he would.” He replies and Spencer stops laughing to gasp at him.
“Ryan? Would you fuck anyone in this room?” Brendon asks, staring into his eyes. Ryan thinks about it; tries to imagine it. He pictures Brendon on his hands and knees, head thrown back and hair in Ryan’s hand. He pictures gripping a hold of Brendon’s waist and burying himself deep inside him.
“Yes; definitely.” He answers, staring back at Brendon and smiling at the thought. He takes a large gulp of beer and closes his eyes; quietly embarrassed by Brendon’s blushing. Jon shares that he’s surprised Ryan hasn’t already and Ryan points his bottle at him.
“That reminds me- if you’re sleeping on my bed tonight you have to use the spare duvet.”
Jon narrows his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “You were alone five minutes, how is that even possible?”
Spencer giggles and watches Ryan drink. “I’m a drummer; I’m good with my hands.” He shrugs, sounding far too pleased with himself and Ryan almost spits out the beer he was drinking, from laughing. Brendon stares down at his hands and ceasing the bouncing. Suddenly, he really regrets his own being there and he starts to feel a little sick. How could Ryan sound so casual about that kind of thing? He might even be almost jealous of Spencer right now. When Spencer realizes Brendon is the only one who hasn’t answered the question and asks him it; beaming and thinking nothing of his admitting to jerking Ryan off minutes ago, Brendon casts him an unpleasant look and tells him that of course he wouldn’t. Then, he dismisses himself and storms down the stairs to find his bag.
*
When Ryan reaches his living room entrance, he watches Brendon pace; hands clasped and holding the back of his head and face pointed towards the ceiling. It takes him a good few minutes to notice Ryan’s looking at him, but when he does, his arms drop to his sides and crunch into fists.
“Will you drive me home?” He asks, with his teeth gritted.
“No.” Ryan tells him plainly. “Will you come back upstairs and apologize?”
Brendon’s eyebrows shoot up his face and his nostrils flair. “Excuse me, why the fuck should I apologize!? You’re the one who’s fucking people when your friends are in the next room, you apologize!” He walks towards Ryan; eyes fixed on the wall behind them. How dare he scrounge around for an apology? Ryan steps into the room, just as Brendon’s shoving him back out of it and turning away, because he can’t even bare to look at Ryan right now.
“I had no idea you even- cared.” Ryan says softly, shutting the door and reaching his hand out to catch Brendon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think.” He feels guilty for allowing something to happen and despite being extremely drunk, he feels a clear wave come over him; like things all make sense to him now. He spins Brendon around to face him, as Brendon’s insisting he doesn’t care and holds onto the back of Brendon’s head, smiling. “Come here.” He says, pulling Brendon’s face to his shoulder and hugging him. Brendon’s hands ball up pieces of Ryan’s tee-shirt, at the small of his back and pull him in tight. The scent of Ryan hounds Brendon’s nose and he’s trying not to think about the fact that it’s a familiar and easy smell and this is becoming a familiar an easy way to be with Ryan. When their hug ends, Ryan leaves his arms around Brendon’s waist and he refuses to let him go. He kisses Brendon on the lips briefly and presses their foreheads together.
“I’m sorry, okay? Nothing will happen with Spencer and me as long as you and I are- nothing will happen.”
Brendon nods, breathes in deep, smiles and allows Ryan to lead him back upstairs.
*
Brendon can’t believe that a few months ago, he and Ryan had hated each other so much. A few months ago, it was hard to imagine ever not hating each other, let alone this.
The kitchen flooring creaks under Ryan as he gets up from his knees, wipes his mouth and watches Brendon’s eyes flicker back into the room. Brendon can barely move; he feels euphoric and has a funny feeling that he’s on the brink of falling over, or passing out. Ryan takes a lustful bite from Brendon’s neck as he fixes him into his jeans and re-buttons them for him.
“You have to go.” He mutters and Brendon whines. “You have to do that homework you were meant to be helping me with and my dad might be home soon.” He kisses Brendon; deep and harsh and desperate, then tells him he’ll call him later.
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