FicWad

“You weren’t at school today.” Brendon observes, climbing into Ryan’s car and frowning, as he notes that Ryan doesn’t even turn his head as a greeting. His eyes are fixed entirely in front of him; at the stretch of road that leads away from the front of their school. He thinks he hears the sound of Brendon’s seat belt clicking into place, perhaps he’s wrong, but he takes no time to check, as he instantly drives away from people he knows. It takes Brendon a while to notice that Ryan isn’t just staring at the road, for safety’s sake, but actually, he’s angry- more so than usual. Brendon’s eyes scan the whole of the boy driving; he’s wearing an old pair of jeans, which are ripped at the knee a little and faded to white in places. He’s also wearing Brendon’s hoddie- he’d given him it to walk home in a few nights back, because they’d gone out to see a late night screening of a movie and Ryan hadn’t anticipated colder weather at night- and a navy shirt. The strange thing is, Ryan isn’t wearing any makeup and it isn’t until he wipes his fringe across his face, that Brendon sees a purple smudge around his left eye.

“Is that a black eye?” Brendon panics.

“Shut up.” Ryan snaps back, keeping his eyes on the road as they speed down a busy street.

“Where are we going Ryan?”Brendon asks timidly, as they take a sharp, unexpected turn. Ryan ignores him, frustrated that he won’t keep quiet, moves one hand from the wheel to his lap and tightens it into a fist. Brendon takes the hint and ceases the questions.

“I think you should drive us to my apartment. I know you’ve never been inside before, but if you’re good, we could change that.” Brendon says slyly, putting his hand over Ryan’s and rubbing it. “Besides,” he continues, sliding his hand over Ryan’s crotch and tracing him with his fingers, “I owe you one for last week.”

“Why do we need to go to your apartment for that?” Ryan asks, gritting his teeth, because he really isn’t in the mood for this kind of thing. Brendon stares at Ryan’s portrait, lustfully, then bites his lip and shifts in his seat. He unclips himself from his seat belt and pulls Ryan out of his jeans impatiently, as he rocks his hand up and down. It happens so suddenly, that Ryan doesn’t notice the switch straight away, but Brendon’s suddenly wrapping his mouth around Ryan’s head and moaning wetly against him. Ryan thinks that it must be difficult for Brendon to do this at the angle he is, but realizes that it’s probably more difficult to drive while this is happening; he’s grateful for the traffic lights switching to red at the slowest junction he knows. Using one hand and his mouth, he lights a cigarette from a deck in his hoodie pocket and rolls down the window slightly to tip his arm out of it a flick cigarette ash into the wind. He does his best to keep as quiet as he can, while Brendon moans and sucks and spits and licks, until he starts to feel dizzy and the pleasure become far too intense. He lets out a filthy growl and thanks Brendon for what he’s done. When Brendon raises his head and moves back into place, in his seat, he speaks.

“So, can you tell me what’s wrong now?” He asks and Ryan clears his throat. He can’t believe that Brendon would suck a guy’s dick, just to get information out of him. IT’s practically blackmail.

“I thought I told you to shut up?” He spits back and Brendon inhales angrily. He breathes out a shaky “fucking hell” and Ryan barks at him to tell him what his problem is.

“My problem, Ryan,” Brendon hisses, swinging his full body around to face the driver, who is inhaling another puff of an almost entirely burnt away cigarette. “Is that you are a nightmare. I’m not just some slut you can fool around with a treat like shit. I’m not-” He pauses, not wanting to finish.

“You’re not what, Brendon?” Ryan asks, knowing fine well what Brendon wanted to say, and practically daring him to finish it. His blood starts to swell around his veins and he’s pretty sure he’d like to bring the car to a sudden halt and send Brendon flying through the front window. But if he did that, the car would be ruined and his dad would know he’d been driving it.

“Nothing.” Brendon mutters, slumping back down in the chair and folding his arms across his chest, in what could be the beginnings of a tantrum. As Ryan dares him to tell him, he finds himself feeling sick; the taste of Ryan suddenly filling his throat up and choking him. He coughs into his hand and swears at Ryan for making him choke.

“What the fuck? I didn’t make you choke, you big pussy. Did I ask you to do that? No! You’re just a big massive faggot who loves having cock in his mouth!” Ryan screams.

“Oh yeah, real mature Ryan.” Brendon sneers, rolling his eyes and breathing heavy. “You know, I really do hate you.”

“I’m sure.” Ryan laughs, flicking his cigarette butt out the window and fixing his jeans back together. When they next pull up against a red light, he asks Brendon what he was going to compare himself to and they fight about whether or not it was important, until finally, Brendon snaps.

“Fine! I was going to say, you can’t treat me like shit because I’m not Spencer!” He screams and Ryan laughs, tonguing the inside of his cheek.

“You think I treat Spencer like shit?” He asks, emotionlessly and Brendon tells him he does. “Well, you’re wrong. Wanna know why Brendon?” Ryan spits out. “I would never treat him like shit, because he’s my best friend and I love him. You, on the other hand, are just a pain in my ass.” Brendon looks at Ryan in amazement and maybe, he might be a little bit jealous again. Maybe he doesn’t like how much more important Spencer is to Ryan than he is, but he’s sure he means something.

“What sort of a person makes their best friend jerk them off, huh?” He asks violently and Ryan tells him to get out. “Hit a nerve have I?” Brendon jeers.

“Get the fuck out of my car.” Ryan replies. Brendon almost wishes he had shouted it, because his voice quiet and angered is somehow, much more frightening. Nevertheless, he scampers out of the car and watches Ryan speed away, as cars around him screech and curse that he’s switching lanes and driving far too fast.

*

Spencer resents the knowledge that the knock on his door at three-thirty in the morning, will, undoubtedly, be Ryan, drunk and angry. He tries to creep down his stairs as quietly as he can, so to avoid waking his parents, but Ryan’s banging on the front door will probably do a fine job of exactly the opposite. When he opens the door, Ryan is leaning against the door frame, wearing a leather jacket, with a lit cigarette between his teeth.

“Honey, I’m home.” Ryan slurs, somehow sly, despite his drunken state. Spencer rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his bare chest. Ryan hums and bites down of his lip; scanning Spencer’s body and focusing on his unimpressed expression. “You look so sexy when you’re mad at me.” Ryan blurts out, too drunk to even know if he really believes that. Then, he leans forward and attacks Spencer’s mouth with a wet tongue; trying desperately to feel the back of his throat, it would seem. He wraps an arm around the back of Spencer and fingers that curl around a cigarette, try to curl around his ass, as Ryan pulls Spencer closer and groans loudly into his mouth-sending vibrations across Spencer’s teeth.

“Ryan- move! Get off and shut up; you’ll wake my parents up.” Spencer whispers, almost hissing and pushing Ryan back onto the outside of his door. Then, he sighs and takes a firm hold of Ryan’s hand and guides him upstairs. Ryan fumbles with the cigarette as they creep up to Spencer’s bedroom and, when they reach Spencer’s bedroom; he stubs it out on a piece of paper.

“Ryan did you just- what the fuck- that was my homework!” Spencer murmurs, but Ryan is unfazed; he simply shuts Spencer’s door and locks it, before swiveling on his toes to see Spencer and moving his hands in circle motions while he does so. Spencer asks Ryan what’s happened, but Ryan ignores him. He walks towards Spencer and kisses into him. He groans hungrily in his mouth and pushes them onto his bed, making a loud squeaking sound when they land.

“Ryan- Ryan, get off me.” Spencer gasps, as Ryan works his hands over Spencer’s body. “Dude, I’m- I’m not into you like that. I know- you’re like family, this is so wrong.” He grumbles, as Ryan moves his hands away from Spencer’s legs and across his hips.

“So? I’m not into you either, besides, I have a boyfriend and-”

“You have a what?!” Spencer yaps and Ryan repeats himself. “How could you do this when you have a boyfriend? Ryan, for fuck’s sake; have you no loyalty?!” Spencer growls, pushing Ryan to a standing position and sitting up, angrily.

“What?” Ryan stutters, genuinely confused. “He’s a total nightmare. I hate his guts.”

*

“Okay, don’t freak out, okay? Okay, did you tell anyone that you’re dating someone?” Spencer panics, pushing his palms into Ryan’s chest and trying to ground him. Ryan drops his satchel to the ground and stops dead; staring behind Spencer’s shoulder at his own locker. There, in shaky, red, spray-paint letters, is the word faggot. Ryan stares through the space between Spencer and Jon’s shoulders and grits his teeth.

“Ryan, it wasn’t either of us, who else knows?” Jon asks, watching the nostrils of Ryan’s nose flare up, like a dragon. Ryan tells him they’re the only people who know, but his words are sharp and difficult to understand, because he’s biting his tongue. Suddenly, he spots Brendon and throws his arm out to point in his direction.

“You! You cock sucking, son of a bitch!” He barks, dropping his bag and making for Brendon, who also drops his bag and sprints away from Ryan. It doesn’t take Ryan long to catch up with him- much less time than it used to. When he catches Brendon’s collar, Ryan throws him against a wall and spews insults at him. He turns as if to walk away, but when he hears Brendon sigh, his blood boils and he’s angry again. He swings his body around and punches Brendon in the gut. Brendon’s retaliation forces blood to run from Ryan’s nose and down to his chin. Ryan should wipe his face really, but he doesn’t; he licks his lips rid of blood and leaves the rest of his skin red.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Did I leave a bitter taste in your mouth or something?” Ryan sprays and Brendon shakes his head, eyes watering a little from the shock. “I can’t believe you’d do that! How could you do that to me?” Ryan finishes.

“I’m sorry, okay, I am!” Brendon screams back, trying to stand on his own two feet and forget the wall behind him, but Ryan shoves him into the wall again and his back lands against it with a thud. “Yeah, okay, ouch.” Brendon whispers.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Did that fucking hurt?” Ryan demands. He wipes the fresh stream of blood from his nose, for the third time, with the back of his hand, then throws it to his side. He shakes it next to his hip and a couple of small blood splatters fall near to the puddle he’d spat out minutes ago.

Just as Brendon’s apologizing again, a spindly girl appears from a door beside them, hair scraped into a pony tail at the bottom of her head and shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. She has a pair of long silver earrings dangling next to either side of her square face. Heavily lined, blue eyes narrow at them, then freshly glossed set of lips open and she speaks.

“Keep it down would you? Some people are trying to fucking study here. Weirdo.” She says, sounding superior and hinting at Brendon. Ryan throws both hands to his hips and clenches them.

“Hey!” He yells, staring her down. “Don’t talk to my boy like that!” The girl’s mouth opens in surprise and she sulks away, a little embarrassed and even more so, a little afraid of Ryan.

For a second, Brendon smiles. Despite being angrier than he has been in a long time, Ryan actually stuck up for Brendon, because he’s his boy. All of a sudden, everything is so clear to Brendon; perfect images flicker in his mind. Images of holding hands, curling up on a sofa together, cinema dates, dinner dates, falling asleep with Ryan in his arms. It isn’t until Ryan swings around to Brendon a second time- looking, somehow, more infuriated than before- that Brendon realizes now is not the time to admit his epiphany. He jumps up straight and then, almost instinctively, runs to the end of the corridor and out the door.

In hindsight, he should never have vandalized Ryan’s locker, but his defense is that Ryan is a temperamental bitch nearly all of the time and he was upset, which is more than Ryan can use as an excuse.

*

As soon as Ryan has called after Brendon and chased him around the corridor, Spencer clicks. He looks at the locker and, recalling Brendon’s reaction to his finding out he and Ryan had made out a few weeks ago, figures everything out.

“Mother fucker.” He whispers, turning to Jon and explaining his theory, “Ryan and Brendon! Can you fucking believe it?”

“I think it’s cute- they fit well.” Jon says, clasping his hands together and sighing. Spencer stares blankly at him, mouth dropped open, waving his hands in front of Jon’s face.

“Uh… Hello?! Did you not just see what happened? Ryan is seriously pissed at him. Not cute- terrifying. Come on.” Spencer insists, grabbing hold of Jon’s hand in his own and with his other, scoops up Ryan’s bag. As they jog down the corridor, Jon hooks his free arm under the strap of Brendon’s bag and lifts it.

“Don’t talk to my boy like that!” Spencer and Jon hear, just as they’re poking their heads around the corner to see their friends. Jon squeals softly, proving he still finds this cute and Spencer smacks the back of his head with his free hand. Somehow, they managed to keep their fingers locked through the jogging and now the watching. Jon squeals for a second time- this time pretending to be in pain from the smack- and the boys duck their heads out of sight, because they think they see Ryan turn to them. What they actually saw, was Ryan watching the obnoxious girl storm off and eventually, pass Spencer and Jon in their hideout. Jon watches the girl leave and elbows Spencer in the ribs, raising his eyebrows.

“She’s disgusting.” Spencer hisses back, so Jon lowers his head, like a dog when you take away its bone. “Oh, come on Watson, they’re off again.” he jokes, tightening his grip on Jon’s hand and dragging him around the corner.

“I hope you know, if I had to be one, I’d be Sherlock, not Watson.” Jon agitatedly responds, letting Spencer move him.

*

“Brendon! Will you just stop? God damn it!” Ryan calls, stopping dead on the grass and waiting for Brendon to do the same. His nose has stopped bleeding now, he’s thinking clearer and he’s calmed down considerably. “Just tell me why the fuck you did that?” Ryan pleas, so Brendon stops.

“I-I don’t know.” He stutters and Ryan snorts, before telling Brendon he must have had a reason. Brendon’s fuse shortens and suddenly he blurts out an almost explanation. “I don’t know alright?! I was mad at you, you’re a temperamental- you don’t let me in. I just have to accept you’re going to be a dick to me sometimes? No. I can’t. I just wanted- I don’t even know what I wanted.”

“Temperamental?!” Ryan screams back. “Brendon… God, I just don’t know what to do. Everything is fucked and then there’s my dad and he thinks I’m a faggot and- fuck, I can’t!”

Brendon steps back. He’s always suspected it, maybe even known for sure; the bruises, his new found tolerance for his own blood, his speed and reflexes increasing. Ryan’s been hurt before, plenty of times. Brendon thinks back to the day Spencer hit him. He thinks about the moment he saw Ryan, before he began yelling that he hadn’t touched him, he could have sworn Ryan was crying- or had been shortly before.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I had no idea.” Brendon sooths, inching forward to Ryan, hoping he can comfort him. He wants to hold him, kiss him; prove he isn’t alone. He wants to make everything better for Ryan. Spencer and Jon have almost made it to Ryan’s space, when he bursts into tears.

“No, Brendon. Whatever this was, it’s done now. Just- don’t come anywhere near me alright?” He croaks, then turns and walks briskly away, hand cupping his mouth and tears streaming down his face. He pushes past Spencer and Jon- it’s only when Ryan does this that their hands separate. Jon stretches out to pull Ryan back, but Ryan shrugs him off and mutters something that might have been the word no. Brendon calls out to Ryan, but he’s ignored. Spencer walks towards him and throws an arm around his shoulder.

“He’ll calm down.” He reassures Brendon and Brendon whimpers.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

Brendon frowns; his eyebrows fall down his face and his mouth twitches. He sort of wants to cry, sort of wants to scream and lash out at Ryan. No, not Ryan- he’s got enough of people doing that right now. Spencer pats his chest and tries his hand at comforting, until Brendon licks his lips.

“I love him.” He whispers weakly and Spencer casts Jon an open mouthed look. Jon isn’t surprised and Spencer’s gaze simply confirms to him that, if he were one, he’d be Sherlock, not Watson, because Spencer would clearly be the dumbass sidekick.