Pairings:
Ryan/Brendon, Ryan/Gabe, Ryan/Pete, Ryan/William, Ryan/Patrick, Ryan/OMC (multiple), Pete/Patrick, William/Gabe, Jon/Brendon.
Summary:
Ryan needs it. Brendon is waiting for him to settle down.
---
The younger boy was kissing along his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, smiling when he heard Pete's breath hitch. "I told you last night," the older said through gritted teeth. "I can't do this again."
"You say that every night." Ryan mused, running his hand down Pete's torso until it rested on his belt buckle.
"Patrick . . ."
"You've already cheated on him." Ryan said, as if he were explaining a vocabulary word. "Might as well get your money's worth." The heel of his hand ground down against the crotch of Pete's jeans. He knew he had won.
"Just make it fast."
"I'm always fast." Ryan said, bottom lip barely jutting out, looking slightly offended.
"Just hurry." Pete said desperately, pushing on the top of Ryan's head.
The younger boy grumbled. He didn't exactly like being pushed down toward someone's cock, even if that was his only goal for the evening. It made him feel like he was being taken for granted, and Ryan Ross was
not
to be taken for granted. Maybe what happened that night was karma.
Ryan slid down the length of Pete's body, quickly undoing the belt buckle with agile fingers. He looked up to see the elder's breath hitch in his throat before he pulled the jeans and boxers to Pete's ankles. Ryan settled himself in between his legs before opening his mouth and hollowing his cheeks.
It never took long with Pete. Seven to eight minutes normally. He'd be moaning in his throat, head rolled back, hands in Ryan's hair, tendons in his neck taut and at attention. "Fuck, Ry.
Fuck
."
Ryan swallowed, bring an arm up to wipe his lips on the back of his hand. "Good?"
Pete's body felt so heavy that he could barely move, let alone answer. He managed to nod his head and let out a string of garbled nonsense. That was when the door opened.
Ryan and Pete both turned their heads concurrently.
Patrick. Jaw set, eyes dark, face paled. He stood there breathing heavily for a moment before he spoke. "Ryan, you should go."
The younger boy stood up, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He let his hip touch Patrick's on the way out for a second longer than was probably appropriate for the situation. He heard the door click behind him before making his way to the elevator. Gabe was two floors down. He knocked once.
"Finally." the man said, opening the door immediately. Ryan fought a smile as he was pressed against the wall, lips against his neck, hands slipping under his tee shirt before moving down to undo his button and zipper. "You need lube?" Gabe asked desperately.
"No." The word was clipped and short. Gabe pushed Ryan's jeans down and the younger boy stepped out of them unperturbedly before slowly pulling off his shirt. The other man was naked except for his socks when Ryan finally dropped the fabric to the floor.
He felt himself being lifted, wrapped his legs around Gabe's waist on pure instinct before he felt the push, hot burn. He could take Gabe's cock without sound or surprise now. The first time he had actually moaned at the absolute stretch of it. Brendon still hadn't stopped teasing him about it.
Ryan watched Gabe's face intently, feeling the occasional pull of skin against the wall, staring at the sweat running down the other man's face and neck. He bit his tongue hard when he felt the hand wrap around him. It was perhaps the most predominant reason he preferred blowjobs to sex. He came just a beat after Gabe did. He fought every moan, but Gabe made up for it, swearing and groaning, panting Ryan's name against the boy's neck.
Gabe pulled out and Ryan untangled his legs, immediately putting his jeans on and tugging his shirt over his head. "See you." he said, walking out the door, leaving Gabe leaning against the wall, breathless.
Ryan checked the time on his cell phone as he walked to the elevator. Late enough to go back to the hotel room (and Brendon), but early enough to go to the bar and convince a straight guy to get blown by a boy. The former was nice but the latter was better.
If only there had been someone not forty at the bar. He pushed open his hotel room door, clearly unhappy. Brendon was watching TV. "So who'd you do tonight?"
"Your mom."
Brendon smiled. "And?"
"Pete and Gabe. Patrick caught me with Pete." Ryan sat down on the bed beside Brendon and unlaced his shoes.
The younger boy let out a low whistle. "Daaamn. What'd he do?"
"Said I should leave." Ryan kicked his shoes off. "I should blow Patrick."
Brendon laughed. "Even you can't get Patrick."
Ryan turned his head and cocked an eyebrow. "Oh really? Do I sense a bet?"
"Patrick only likes Pete." Brendon replied, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "One-man guy. Not that you'd understand that." he teased.
"Oh, shut it." Ryan said, turning and pushing at the other boy.
Brendon grabbed at him, pulling him down and tickling his side before kissing him on the mouth. Ryan responded in full, lips parting, body tightening. He moaned, relishing in the prospect of finally being able to make noise. Brendon, only Brendon.
In moments, he was naked, legs around Brendon's waist, arms around his neck, moaning, panting, swearing. A single bead of sweat running down his neck, pooling at his collarbone. "Harder, Bren." he begged.
Increased tempo, sharper thrusts, longer strokes. Brendon's sweat was dripping from his hair onto Ryan's chest. "You close?"
Ryan nodded, threading his fingers through Brendon's hair as he felt the hand stroking him. "Ohgod, ohgod, oh
fuck
! Brendon, Brendon . . ." He collapsed, exhausted, breathing labored, whimpering slightly as he felt Brendon push hard inside of him, filling the condom and moaning his name.
Afterward, when Ryan was lying in Brendon's arms, the nightly question was asked. "Are you ready to settle down?" the younger boy whispered in Ryan's ear, stroking his hair.
"Not yet." Ryan yawned, burying his face in Brendon's neck.
"Okay."
The next morning, there was a knock on the door. Brendon answered and was immediately pulled into the hallway by a very angry William Beckett. "Is Ryan in there?" he hissed.
"That depends." Brendon said. "Is he going to be alive when you get done with him?"
William pushed open the hotel room door and slammed it shut, double-locking it before walking over to the bed. Ryan stirred slightly, but didn't wake. William yanked his hair, pulling back on his head as the brown eyes popped open.
"—the fuck?"
"So you think you can just fuck my boyfriend?" William snapped.
"Actually," Ryan replied, trying to keep his voice even, "he fucked me."
"You slut." William muttered, letting go of the younger boy's hair.
Ryan sat up, looking blasé. "That's what they say. And why the fuck do you care anyway? Gabe fucks everyone. What makes me so god damn special?"
William didn't say anything for a moment. "Well, if he gets to, then I get to." he said finally.
Ryan smiled. "Be my guest." He pulled the sheet from his naked body and lay back, bending his legs at the knee, spreading them wide. So obscene, so pornstar. He was nearly making himself hard. And judging from William's expression, he wasn't the only one.
Two minutes later he was being torn into with desperately and ferocity, dark eyes staring down at him, one hand for balance, the other tugging at his hair. Shallow strokes, but hard as hell. Breaths that left moisture on his forehead, sounds that echoed off the hotel room walls.
Ryan bit the inside of his cheek when he climaxed, toes curling, resisting the urge to clench his hands into fists. It wouldn't have mattered. William squeezed his eyes shut as he came with a shudder, burying his face in Ryan's neck and choking out profanities.
When Brendon came back in, Ryan was lying in bed, gasping. "So, Will was good?"
"No more than usual." He tried to say it calmly, but he still hadn't caught his breath.
"Mhm." Brendon smirked. "Sure. I'm showering."
"Have fun." Ryan replied dully.
"We have three interviews and two photo shoots. You need to shower, too." the younger pointed out.
"Are you implying I join you?" he asked, sitting up.
"Duh."
The sounds echoed off the shower even more than the hotel room walls. And this time, of course, there were two voices as opposed to one.
Interviews were typical, boring. The photo shoots were more fruitful—at least for Ryan. He ducked into the bathroom after the second to blow the photographer.
Fingernails scraping the back of his neck, a husky accent whispering his name while cigarette smoke filled the tiny room. "I'll remember you." the man promised after. Ryan didn't doubt. They always did.
"So I guess he'll be shooting us again." Brendon said when he came out of the bathroom. Ryan stuck his tongue out, smacking the other boy's ass as he walked by.
When they got back to the hotel, Brendon fucked him into the mattress. Ryan's fingernails scraped down Brendon's back, teeth bit at his shoulder. They were both covered in sweat, dripping it onto the sheets. Ryan could feel his heart beating in his neck as he stared straight into the other boy's unyielding eyes, all but screaming when his orgasm shattered through his body.
"It's eight." Brendon said after, glancing at the clock. "Don't you have places to go, people to do?"
"Do me a favor?" Ryan asked, running his fingers across Brendon's abdomen.
"Depends on what I get."
"What do you want?"
"To blow you." Brendon answered immediately. He wasn't surprised when Ryan's eyes narrowed. Brendon had never blown him; no one had. Ryan made noises with him during sex, but he wouldn't have if Brendon didn't as well. He couldn't stand the thought of being the only one in the room to lose control.
"Fuck you. I'll get someone else to do it." Brendon tried to reach for Ryan as he pulled away and stood up, but the older boy shrugged him off. He had his clothes on in minutes (years of practice paid off) and was at the door when he spoke again. "Don't wait up for me."
He was angry. Anger implies passion. Passion implies out of control emotions. Out of control emotions are out of control. Being on your knees in a hotel room surrounded by five men with their jeans off is out of control.
Ryan couldn't remember the last time he had been out of control with someone who wasn't Brendon. He hated it.
After he got back to their hotel room, he took a shower, scrubbing at his hair and skin. Not until he felt clean; it wasn't about feeling dirty. He wasn't entirely sure what he was washing down the drain. Failure, maybe, at his lack of restraint.
