Title: Hard to Believe in Sundays
A/N: HUGE beta thanks go to miscellanny who rocks completely, even in the face of my battle with commas.
A/N 2: posted across three entries due to LJ's ridiculously tiny post limits. It is so close to fitting in two.
Ryan shouldn't be making out with one of The Academy Is…'s techs in the dusky brown darkness behind his own fucking tour bus where everyone, anyone, could see.
Well, really, he shouldn't be making out with him at all; he and Spencer and Brent have a No Fucking Anyone On The Tour pact (Brendon is exempt because he still has a lot of catching up to do) but Jon Walker is apparently impossible to resist. He’s hot and easy to talk to, he’s warm and soft to the touch, and he's so fucking tempting that when he touched Ryan’s wrist and tipped his head outside, his meaning clear, there really hadn’t been anything Ryan could do but follow.
Jon kisses really, really well. His mouth is wide and hot, lips wet, tongue offering just the right amount of lead and follow. Ryan’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to stop doing this, can’t honestly think of any reason why he’d want to.
They're pressed up against the side of Panic's bus, Ryan’s shirt pushed up under his arms and Jon spreading his hands over Ryan’s belly. Ryan can’t help twitching and curling the muscles inwards even though he doesn’t need to, even though (or maybe because) it just makes Jon laugh and kiss him (harderdeeperlonger) more.
Jon’s cell phone buzzes up against Ryan’s inner thigh and it’s so unexpected that Ryan makes an embarrassing squeaky-startled sound.
“Sorry,” Jon says, pulling back slowly. “Sorry, let me just -” He pulls the cell out and the vibrations are getting louder, almost drowning out his ringtone, which sounds like the Wicked theme. Jesus, no wonder Brendon adores this guy.
“Hey, what - ?” Jon says into his phone. The collar of his t-shirt is stretched, fraying at the edge and Ryan runs his fingers over it, smiling when Jon shivers, and contemplates how rude it would be to help the tear along, rip Jon’s shirt open right here.
He toys with the material a little more firmly, sighing in defeat when Jon’s free hand lifts to cover his.
“Sorry,” Jon says again and Ryan realises he’s ended the call, is back talking to Ryan. “That was William; I’ve got to get back.”
Oh, fuck William Beckett, Ryan thinks but carefully doesn’t say. “Sure,” he says instead, trying to sound cool, unbothered. “Yeah, I should probably be, uh.”
“Ryan,” Jon says. He curls his fingers almost tenderly around the hand he’s still cupping against his neck, kisses the corner of Ryan's mouth. “I am sorry.” He scrubs his hand through his hair; it flops forward again a second later. “Can I get your number?”
Ryan has to work at not laughing; that’s just so fucking normal. Nothing’s been normal for so long he’d begun to forget what it felt like, but he thinks he likes it. “Sure,” he says and takes Jon’s phone to program it in.
“Awesome,” Jon says when he’s done. He wraps his hand around both the phone and Ryan’s hand for a second then squeezes Ryan’s fingers, slides the phone free and backs away. “I’ll uh-” He waves the phone. “Yeah. I will totally call you.”
Ryan smiles in the darkness; he almost believes him.
“Were you getting lucky?” is the first thing Brendon says to Ryan as he climbs up into their bus.
Ryan trips on the top step and bangs his knee. “Fuck,” he says, rubbing it. He glares at Brendon. “No, I fucking wasn’t. What?”
Spencer grins at Ryan and makes vague come here gestures with his fingers. He and Brendon and Brent are sprawled across the sofas and armchairs in the lounge, the debris of a half dozen super-sized bags of candy and chips between them. Ryan throws himself down beside Spencer, ignoring Brendon’s disgruntled “Hey!” when he has to move his legs out of the way.
“You disappeared,” Spencer tells him, rubbing consolingly at Ryan’s banged-up knee. “We were taking bets: either you were getting lucky, or you’d been eaten by a cougar.”
“Or you’d gotten kidnapped by My Chemical Romance and they were drinking your blood,” Brendon says. “That was my guess,” he adds unnecessarily.
Ryan grins. His lips are still buzzing from Jon’s stubble and he feels good and relaxed, almost like he did actually get laid and wasn’t interrupted by William fucking Beckett. “You know, I don’t think they actually are vampires,” he says thoughtfully and doesn’t bother pointing out that they’re also not on this tour; Pete only left this morning so there’s still an Essence of Mikey Way lingering everywhere he went.
“I don’t know, man,” Brent says slowly, “That Frank guy got real weird at Give It A Name when I tried to sit at their table with my garlic pizza.”
Spencer laughs. “That’s because garlic pizza is gross, dude.”
“Oh and!” Brendon says, ducking the hail of M&Ms that Brent sends Spencer's way and squashing in closer next to Ryan. “I got a peek into their fridge and it was full of bottles of blood.”
Ryan tips his head up at him. “Seriously?”
“Well, it was red. Ish.” Brendon frowns. “I guess it might have been cherryade.” He looks so put-out that Ryan can’t help grinning, ducking ducking to lay his head on Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon shifts and wraps his arm around Ryan. “Where did you go?” he asks quietly into Ryan’s hair, talking under the sounds of Spencer and Brent's rapidly escalating candy battle.
Ryan thinks about telling him; it’s not like he’s ashamed or anything. Jon’s hot and it won’t exactly be a shock to any of them that he does things with boys, but his cell phone is a heavy weight in his front pocket waiting for Jon to call and he doesn’t want to jinx it. He tucks his chin into Brendon’s chest and smiles. “Getting my blood sucked by Ray Toro,” he tells him seriously.
Brendon’s free hand comes up and rubs sympathetically at the pulse point of his jugular. “I knew it,” he says happily.
It’s just past two in the morning when Jon calls.
Ryan’s the only one still up, spread out on the floor in the back lounge because he takes up a lot of room when he’s writing and it makes him and everyone else pissed when things fall out of his bunk.
“Is this too late?” Jon asks. “You seem like the kind of guy who keeps funky hours.”
Funky? Ryan thinks. “No, no, this is cool,” he says, closing his journal and rolling over onto his back; he doesn’t know why, but his lungs feel like they need more oxygen. “William keeping you busy?”
Jon laughs. “Yeah, he keeps forgetting I’m not his personal body slave, you know.”
Ryan grins up at the ceiling. “That must be really painful for you.”
“Yeah,” Jon says. He sounds like he’s smiling around his words. “It’s really fucking sad, is what it is.”
There’s a pause and it’s comfortable enough that for once Ryan doesn’t get that anxious, tight feeling in his throat when he can’t think of anything to fill it.
“So listen.” Jon’s voice has dropped a register and Ryan’s belly tightens. “It sucks that we got interrupted before. I wanted to, uh. You’re really - ”
“Easy?” Ryan suggests, because he kind of is, at least when he gets a chance to be.
“No,” Jon says, so quickly that Ryan actually believes him. “Hot. I was going to say hot, but then I wasn’t sure if that was a bit over-eager and I descended into a tragic spiral of self-doubt so I hesitated and now you think I think you’re a slut.”
Ryan hopes the others can’t hear how hard he’s laughing; he doesn’t believe Jon knows anything about spirals of self-doubt. “Poor baby,” he says in his most patronising voice, the one that always makes Spencer smack him. “But considering I came close to blowing you in the parking lot, I’ll let you think I’m hot.”
Jon’s breath catches then speeds up. “Yeah?” he asks. “Man, I wish it’d been closer.”
Ryan pauses, thinking. Maybe getting interrupted earlier was a sign; this is probably a really dumb idea. But, “Hotel night tomorrow, right?” he hears himself ask, amazed at the words that are coming out of his mouth. “We could, uh, pick up where we left off?”
Jon blows out a long breath into the phone. “Okay,” he says slowly after a second. “I am totally holding you to that.”
With this many people invading one small hotel, it’s easier to slip away than it would be if it were just them. Spencer is deep in somewhat starry-eyed conversation with the Butcher and Brendon is playing hide and seek with Siska, hiding behind a potted plant that’s about half his size and curving his lips into a “Shhh,” when Ryan sees him. Brent is… around somewhere.
Jon’s slouching comfortably around the corner from Ryan’s room when Ryan gets to his floor, but he straightens up immediately when he sees Ryan. “Hey,” he says, holding up a hand in a half-wave. He falls into step beside Ryan. “I may have had to lie to get away from the drinking games.”
Ryan glances sideways at him, but he doesn’t seem to have had much of anything to drink. He smiles. “Surely not.”
Jon nods, mock-serious, watching with hot eyes as Ryan unlocks his door. “You, Ryan Ross, are a bad influence.”
Ryan finally gets his door unlocked and follows Jon inside, almost tripping himself up on Jon’s feet. “You bet I am,” he says, possibly growls, pushing Jon back against the closing door and kissing him hard.
And the thing is, Ryan hadn’t meant to be like this, this forward and eager. He never means to be like this and will probably cringe about it later, but apparently he’s even more tight-wound and horny than he knew and he can’t stop kissing Jon now he’s started.
Jon doesn’t act like he minds, just gets his arms around Ryan and melts back into the door. His hands go to Ryan’s hips and Ryan’s mouth moves to his neck and then they’re sliding, slow and half-controlled, towards the floor, landing in a tangled pile of hands, legs and kisses.
“God,” Jon says against Ryan’s mouth, “So fucking hot.”
Ryan winds his hands into Jon’s hair and tugs him down so he can bite at Jon’s bottom lip. “Easy,” he corrects, “Remember?”
Jon tips his head back and smirks. There’s a little spot of blood on his lip and his eyes go dark as he licks it away. “Remind me?”
Ryan struggles back to his feet, holding out his hand to pull Jon up. “Come on,” he says, his voice gone hoarse. “Bed.”
“Fuck yes,” Jon says, jumping easily to his feet and tackling Ryan back onto the bed in one impressively-coordinated move; if Ryan had tried to do that, they'd have ended up on the floor.
Ryan oofs as Jon lands heavily on top of him and Jon laughs, ducking his head to kiss Ryan’s stomach, pushing his shirt up as he goes.
It’s getting good, more good (better, God, Jon Walker’s hotness is actually killing Ryan’s brain cells) quickly, spine-meltingly good, both of Jon’s hands flat against Ryan’s hips, then stroking the shape of his cock through his jeans, their mouths caught up in a breathless, continual feedback loop of a kiss when there’s a knock at the door.
“Fuck,” Ryan says, distantly surprised by how easy it is to reclaim his own mouth.
“Ryan?” Spencer. “Unless you’re naked, I’m coming in.”
“I’m naked,” Ryan yells back automatically and maybe a little unwisely.
Jon snorts quietly and raises his eyebrows. The shape of his smile clearly says I wish.
Ryan ducks his head and doesn’t blush.
“Ryan Ross, if you’re jerking off - ” It's a stupid threat because this is the first time they’ve had separate hotel rooms in, God in ever. If Jon weren’t here, Ryan would absolutely be jerking himself off right now. Spencer doesn't get to finish it anyway, because Brendon’s suddenly in the background, cackling.
“Hey man, hey Ryan, it’s nothing be ashamed of, everyone does it,” Brendon says and it’s easy to tell how hard he’s laughing, even though the laughter itself is silent now. “Everyone without a girlfriend that is.” And okay, now Ryan’s blushing. Awesome.
But Jon just crowds up against him, kissing the curve of Ryan’s ear, which Ryan can feel burning. “Hey,” Jon whispers, “It’s okay,” and he slides down off the bed and disappears, Christ, under it.
Ryan flops down onto his stomach and stares through the dusty, under-the-bed darkness at Jon’s glowing eyes. “What are you doing?”
Jon smirks. “Hiding.” He waggles his eyebrows over the word, like it’s the coolest thing ever.
Ryan feels a stab of guilt. “You don’t need to, I - .” Except this is probably just going to be a one-time thing so honestly he’d rather the others didn’t know. Jon’s obviously picked up on that because he just tips his chin towards the door. “Answer the door, Ryan.”
So Ryan does. Spencer raises his eyebrows at Ryan and Ryan belatedly realises that he must look like he was getting off, clothes in a mess, face hot, half-hard, but as that’s kind of his cover-story he doesn’t feel too embarrassed. Maybe.
“We can come back,” Spencer says, looking torn between guilt and giggles, but Brendon’s already bouncing into the room, dropping DVDs down onto the bed.
“Sorry,” he throws back over his shoulder. “No porn.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Seriously?” he asks grudgingly, closing the door and following them back into the room; he hovers by the edge of the bed, praying no one drops anything or finds any other reason to get down to floor-level. “We watch movies every fucking evening, this is what you want to do with your night off?”
Brendon’s taken up position at the head of the bed, ass squarely in the centre of Ryan’s pillows. Awesome. “You disappeared,” he says, tipping his head to survey Ryan. “So we figured you weren’t in the mood to party.”
It’s sweet and any other night Ryan would be grateful so he can’t let himself be too much of a bastard. “Okay,” he sighs. He slides the toes of one foot under the bed and feels Jon stroke the arch of his foot like an affectionate dust-bunny. Sorry, he hopes his toes are saying. “One movie, then I’m going to sleep.”
Spencer laughs. “Sleep,” he says slowly, “Is that what they’re calling it?”
Ryan sticks his tongue out and snatches up the DVDs. “Wow,” he says dryly, “Don’t tell me one of you likes musicals.”
Brendon grins. “Come on, I haven’t seen Chicago yet and Moulin Rouge is always a classic.”
Spencer pokes him in the shoulder. “They had classic Die Hard too, but someone vetoed it.”
Thank God, Ryan thinks but doesn’t say because he knows that Spencer has a disturbing fondness for exploding helicopters. Brendon just shrugs. “Bruce Willis with hair, dude, it freaks me out.”
Ryan slips the DVD in, angling the screen just enough that Jon should be able to see it from his hiding place, but not so much that the others will notice. Hopefully.
When he turns around, Spencer is wrestling a pillow away from Brendon and dropping it down onto the floor. “What are you doing?” he asks quickly, and it maybe comes out a little shrill, hence Spencer looking at him likes he’s a crazy person.
“Sitting on the floor?” Spencer drawls slowly.
“Yeah, well, don’t.” There are worse things than your best friends thinking you’re crazy. Like them finding the dude you’ve got stashed under your bed. “You’re a guest, get on the fucking bed.”
Spencer is still blinking at him, but the bed’s big and Brendon’s winking at him ridiculously, holding out his arms, so Spencer doesn’t argue. Ryan presses play on the remote and takes Spencer’s almost-place on the floor. Jon looks up and smiles at him and Ryan makes a face which he hopes conveys how very, very sorry he is. He stretches out on the floor beside Jon and Jon reaches out and grabs his hand. Ryan is so used to Brendon’s grabbiness by now that it takes him a minute to realise that having Jon hold his hand might mean something totally different.
Above them, Brendon and Spencer are arguing over something, but then the movie starts and they go instantly quiet. Ryan smirks at Jon’s impressed eyebrow-raise, settles down more comfortably into his pillow and watches the movie.
By the time the credits roll, Jon has fallen asleep. His cheek is pressed to the back of Ryan’s hand and he’s drooling slightly on Ryan’s knuckles. It’s not endearing. Ryan has no idea why he isn’t disgusted.
“Once upon a time I was a shy young thing; Could barely walk and talk so much as dance and sing,” Brendon sings loudly, with feeling, making Ryan jump. Jon doesn’t stir and Ryan’s careful pulling his hand away.
He rolls up onto his knees and glares. “Shh.”
Brendon cuts off mid-word to blink at him, confused. “Why?”
Because the guy I’m hiding under the bed is sleeping will possibly not go down that well, so Ryan just glares harder.
Brendon clambers over Spencer and pushes his face right into Ryan’s. “Come on babe, why don't we paint the town,” he belts out. "I'm gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down." He bounces up on the bed and sings his way to a crescendo. He glances sideways at Spencer and Spencer grins before joining him for a big finish: “And all that jazz!”
It’s ridiculous, this whole fucking night has been ridiculous and Ryan drops forwards into Brendon, laughing too hard to pretend he’s not.
Brendon beams, looking stupidly pleased with himself and smacks a gross, wet kiss on Ryan’s forehead. “My work here is done,” he says grandly, rolling to his feet and pulling Spencer with him. “C’mon, Spencer Smith, let’s leave Ross to get back to what he was doing.”
“What was he-? Oh.” Spencer looks half-asleep but he still manages to smirk evilly. It’s a gift. “Unless he wants some help,” he suggests, nudging Brendon in the ribs.
Brendon perks up instantly, but luckily Ryan is strong and not averse to using his fingernails, so he gets them to the door. “Night guys,” he says pointedly, “Thanks for dropping by.” Spencer backs out, grinning, and Brendon dances after him.
“Don’t go at it all night, Ross,” he says, way too loud, “be fucking embarrassing to explain why it fell off.”
Ryan closes the door with a very definite bang and locks it firmly, before crossing back to the bed and dropping down onto his knees. Jon really does look stupidly peaceful asleep, but that’s not a good enough reason for letting the poor guy sleep all night in the dust and God-knows-what hiding under the bed.
“Jon,” Ryan says, but it comes out too soft, so he coughs and tries again. “Hey, wake up.”
Jon wakes suddenly, jerking his head up so fast that Ryan only just gets his hand between the top of Jon’s skull and the base of the bed. “Hm?” Jon asks, blinking at him.
“They’ve gone,” Ryan tells him, with a slightly wry twist of his lips. “You can come out.”
Jon laughs. “Awesome choice of words, dude,” he says, dragging himself out from under the bed. Ryan tries to help, but the angle’s all wrong and he really doesn’t want to break Jon’s arm or anything. Once he’s standing, Jon looks down at himself. There’s thick, grey dust all over the front of his Smiths t-shirt and collecting in the seams of his jeans. “Gross.”
“You should get out of them,” Ryan starts to say before his brain catches up, but then he keeps going because hell, yes, Jon should take his clothes off.
Jon grins at him slyly. “Yeah? Supposing Brendon comes back with High School Musical, or something?”
“Then Brendon can go fuck himself,” Ryan says firmly and starts tugging Jon’s t-shirt over his head.
Jon laughs, letting Ryan pulls his shirt off. Ryan gets a face full of dust and while he’s distracted by coughing up his lung, Jon decides to go on without him. When Ryan can see again, Jon is standing in front of him, totally naked, wearing a wide smile and two arched eyebrows.
Ryan swallows. Hard.
Naked, Jon’s nothing like the kind of guys Ryan normally goes for; he’s got a bit of spare flesh around his middle, thick, untamed hair between his thighs and across his chest, but it’s not like Ryan didn’t know to expect that; Jon was born scene, he doesn't need to try.
Besides it’s nice, the differences are reassuring and when Ryan reaches out and cups Jon’s cock, feels it swell against his palm, Jon doesn’t try to play it cool, just groans low and deep in his throat.
It’s honest and Ryan’s surprised to find that’s what he wants.
“Hey,” Jon says, tipping his head back when Ryan slides his fist down Jon’s cock, pumps it once, smoothly. “God. Um, hey. Can you lose some clothes?”
Ryan thinks about teasing, thinks about saying make me, but why waste the time? It takes him longer to get naked than it took Jon, half because he’s wearing more clothes but also half because his hands are shaking in ways he didn’t expect. The way Jon smiles at him when he’s done makes up for it.
“All right,” Jon says and kisses him. It’s wet and messy and this is different from usual too, this is raw and open and - straightforward. Their teeth clack together, their elbows get tangled when they reach for each other at the same time and they wind up sliding half off the bed before they can hike themselves up and onto it properly.
Ryan ends up on his back with Jon between his legs which he’s fine with, but instead of going straight for the lube, instead of making unsubtle moves towards Ryan’s ass until Ryan has to say yes or no, Jon seems happy just to roll their hips together while they kiss for what feels like hours.
Eventually, it gets faster, frantic and Jon ends up balls deep inside Ryan but by then Ryan’s desperate for it, can’t hold back his own groans and moans and pleas while Jon thrusts into him. Ryan shoves back totally fucking wantonly and it should be embarrassing, he should have more distance than this but this is Jon, this is Jon fucking him and Ryan has no distance at all.
For some reason, whoever was organising the tour schedule has given them a day off in the middle of nowhere. They tweak some things they’ve been wanting to tweak since they started playing these songs live, but they’re still done stupidly early and the evening stretches out like a dusky no man’s land in front of them.
“I’m bored,” Spencer says, and if they’ve got to the stage where even Spencer can’t entertain himself, Brendon must have exploded. Or maybe eaten Brent. Come to think of it, Ryan hasn’t seen either of them for a while.
“Read a book,” Ryan says. It’s what he’s doing, or trying to, but it’s not holding his attention so he sticks a folded receipt to mark his place and passes it over to Spencer.
Spencer turns the book over in his hands, looking at the cover which is cool and black and the most interesting part of the book so far. “Thanks,” he says, already flicking to the back page (to check that no one’s dead or miserable at the end, Ryan knows; Spencer’s done it since he started reading adult books. Ryan thinks maybe he's a little to blame for this; he made Spencer read the Regeneration series when he was thirteen, which is the last time Ryan can remember seeing Spencer cry).
Ryan’s sidekick buzzes. It’s managed to slip down the sofa and under his ass and he jumps and bites back a squeak. Spencer looks up from Ryan’s book just long enough to laugh at him then goes back to it.
Bored? Jon’s written.
Ryan bites his lip around a smile and types back:Deathly
we’re starting i never or kings or… something. want in?
Ryan thinks about it; seeing Jon is tempting, spilling his life story to The Academy is not.
There’s a gap before Jon replies and Ryan has just enough time to consider going anyway - he can sit on the TAI bus and watch Jon get wasted, he can - when he gets: meet me outside?
Ryan peeks out the window while trying to look like he isn’t – it’s a hard move to pull off. Jon’s standing in the open space between the buses, white t-shirt shining brightly in the sunlight, flipflops scuffing up the sand. He looks younger than he normally does, wholesome and safe and Ryan gets this feeling in his chest, like longing.
“Spence,” he says, standing up and toeing on his boots. “I’m going to go out for a bit, okay by yourself?”
Spencer doesn’t look up from the book, just waves his hand over his head and grunts. Ryan flicks the top of his head and jogs down the steps.
“Hey,” Jon says smiling almost as brightly as his shirt is glowing. “Want to see a movie?”
'See a movie' is most likely code for ‘make out’ and if Jon’s got a place they can do that, then Ryan’s fine with it. They haven't had a chance to fuck since that night in the hotel, but there have been fast, hard kisses and handjobs in backstage spaces, hickeys that are a bitch to hide.
Ryan really thought this would only be a one-time-thing, but something about Jon lets Ryan relax, lets him just switch his brain off and feel. Ryan can't turn that down. “Sure. What’ve you got?”
Jon grins a wide, smug smile, and pulls a crumbled scrap of paper out of his back pocket. “A movie programme,” he says, waving it at Ryan. "Got it off the Internet, want to go?”
“This place has a movie theatre?” The town they’re parked outside is tiny and dusty and Ryan wasn’t expecting more than a 7-11 and a strip-joint.
Jon drops an arm around his shoulders and starts leading him away, Ryan has to tighten his hips so he doesn’t sway into him. “A movie theatre anda Pizza Hut,” Jon tells him, like it’s the greatest thing ever. Ryan laughs.
The next movie playing is one that Ryan’s been wanting to see so he hands over the money before Jon can argue. Jon doesn’t look like he wants to argue, anyway, just buys them a massive tub of popcorn and two slurpies, giving Ryan little smiles out of the corner of his eye every now and then and Ryan wants to ask why, but he’s not really sure he wants to know.
The theatre isn’t busy, but there are a few people per row. Jon grabs Ryan’s hand and tugs him down to the centre row, standing still at the end of the row for a minute, counting seats before pulling Ryan along to what he’s apparently worked out is the exact centre.
Ryan laughs and flicks the top few kernels of popcorn at him. “Dork,” he says but Jon just stretches lazily, looking cat-like and content with his location.
“Only the best for you, Ryan Ross,” he says, picking the popcorn off his shirt and flicking it back while Ryan laughs.
No one has sat in front of them by the time the lights go down, so Ryan kicks off his boots and puts his feet up on the back of the seat in front, shifting down in his seat so the two springs he can feel attacking his ass don’t bother him so much.
After a second, Jon does the same, smiling at Ryan softly when he turns to watch.
Ryan’s heart is beating too fast, but he’s not about to show it, so he puts his hand onto the armrest between them and raises his eyebrows. It takes Jon three seconds to put down his drink and lace their fingers together and Ryan thinks he should be embarrassed about how excessively teenaged they’re being, but he never really gotten the chance to do much teenaged shit so he’s not going to give up the chance when it comes.
Usually, Ryan hates making out in movie theatres, hates missing what's happening on screen but this time, when Jon reaches over and touches Ryan’s jaw, turns his face towards him, Ryan goes easily, willingly leaning across the divide to lick casually at Jon’s mouth. Jon’s lips part to meet him and he pulls Ryan closer with hands in his hair.
By the time the movie ends, Ryan is half over the arm rest into Jon’s lap and Jon’s mouth is open and slow on his, fingers under Ryan’s shirt, curled against his skin.
The lights come up faster than Ryan was expecting and he falls back down into his seat, feeling his face heat up and very, very deliberately not looking around to see if anyone saw them.
Jon stands slowly, slurping at his drink and smiling down at Ryan while Ryan tries to get his shoes back on with lust-numb fingers.
“Great movie, huh?” Jon says loudly as they’re walking out past the crowds, bumping Ryan’s shoulder with his own.
“Mm,” Ryan says, not even listening. “Great.”
Jon laughs under his breath.
“At least Josh Harnett’s hot though,” he says when they round a corner back into the main auditorium; the lights are bright and the whole place smells of burnt popcorn.
Ryan raises his eyebrows. “You think?”
“Sure.” A casual, maybe unscripted touch to his hip. “You’re hotter though.”
All this blushing must be doing something unhealthy to Ryan’s heart, but he manages to keep his gaze level and it’s Jon’s turn to squirm.
“I swear that wasn’t even a line,” he says, slipping his left flipflop off then on then off again, apparently fascinated. “Well, okay, yes, it was a sucky line. But you are.”
Ryan grins, ducking his head. He’s still half-hard, maybe even more so and when they pass the bathrooms he’s tempted to just drag Jon in, but something about Jon makes Ryan not want to be tacky.
“Hey,” Jon says, stopping anyway. He waves his drink sheepishly. “Bathroom break.”
Ryan doesn’t really need to, but he takes a leak anyway when Jon does. He’s washing his hands when Jon comes up behind him and rests his chin on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, hand possessive and hot on Ryan’s stomach. “No one here.”
Ryan looks around, trying to act like he wasn’t already acutely aware of that. “Oh no,” he says deadpan, meeting Jon’s eyes in the glass.
Jon grins. He tiptoes his fingers down Ryan’s zipper and Ryan had just gotten his dick under control but it jerks back up against Jon’s hand so fast he can’t hold back a groan. “Oh yes,” Jon corrects, biting Ryan’s neck lightly. “I think I’m going to have to take advantage of you.”
Ryan’s heart starts hammering low in his belly. He knows he’s a teenager, he knows he’s supposed to be horny all the time, but being around Jon makes that true to a ridiculous degree. “Fuck yes,” he agrees and turns around, letting Jon tug him back into a stall, locking the door with fumbling fingers.
When they finally get back to the toursite and their own buses, Spencer’s fallen asleep with Ryan’s book over his face and Brent’s sacked out on the other sofa. Brendon looks up from where he’s silently plucking out tabs on his guitar and grins.
“You got laid,” he says, but he doesn’t ask so Ryan doesn’t tell. He wants to though, he really, really wants to.
He winks instead, proud of himself when it makes Brendon laugh, and goes to take a shower.
They’re somewhere in the middle of west Texas. It’s hotter than hell outside the bus and still kind of hellish inside even with the AC, yet Brent has somehow managed to get the flu.
Everyone else is bored and listless so they’re all crammed together in the back lounge, reading or texting or in Brendon’s case apparently counting down the seconds until he’s been quiet for the ten minutes that Brent begged for and can start talking again.
“Hey, Spence?” Brendon says.
Spencer looks up from his magazine with a half interested “Hm?” It seems to be enough for Brendon.
“Cliff, fuck or marry us three?”
From a pile of blankets and snotty tissues down the biohazard end of the sofa, Brent groans.
“Well,” Spencer says, rolling up onto his knees and smiling slowly at Brendon. “I’d totally cliff you.”
Brendon’s eyes and mouth go round with indignation. “Hey! I would make a fantastic gay life partner; I can cook!”
Spencer’s grin gets wider and meaner. “Brent can cook.”
Brendon pouts. “I’d learn to give head,” he tries. “For you.”
Spencer’s eyes track to Ryan and Ryan glares pre-emptively. Spencer raises his eyebrows. “Ryan can-” he starts anyway, but he says it slowly, giving Ryan time to smack a hand over his mouth. “It’s tempting, Bren, but sorry. Ryan, marry me?”
“Haven’t I already?” Ryan asks dryly, making Brent snort in a truly disgusting way.
“You know,” Spencer says, turning his head and surveying Brent from the floor. “I think I changed my mind; you’re not exactly screaming smoking hot one-night-stand to me here.”
“Feel my heartbreak,” Brent says, except it comes out in a jumble of flattened d’s and stuffy b’s and loses a lot of its sarcasm on the way.
“Bren?” Spencer asks. “Same question.”
Brendon bounces up, wearing the kind of smile that suggests he’s already worked out his answer. “Ryan can be my love slave because he’s tiny and therefore easily portable for long journeys. And you two, my lovely boys, can be my husbands.”
“That’s cheating,” Spencer protests. “You can’t marry two people, it’s against the rules.”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Duh, Spence, I’m Mormon.”
Brent chuckles and Ryan bites down hard on his own growing smile. “My turn?” he asks quietly, shrugging when Spencer looks up at him in surprise; Ryan knows he has a reputation for not joining in childish shit like this. “I uh.” He stops because he hadn’t been planning to say this, but he’s gotten caught up in how fucking much he loves these guys and now it seems like the only thing to say. “I’m fucking Jon Walker.”
There’s silence, then: “No, hey, no fair, you can’t bring extra people into it, that’s totally against the rules.”
“Brendon,” Spencer says softly. “Brendon, I don’t think he’s playing the game anymore.”
There’s another pause, then Brendon goes wide-eyed and actually, actually gasps. He flings himself at Ryan, sending them both back into the cushions, his arms around Ryan’s neck and one bony knee digging into Ryan’s thigh. “Oh wow,” he says, smushed up against Ryan’s cheek, “Oh wow, oh wow, that’s awesome. I love Jon; do you love Jon? No, I know, boundaries; don’t answer that, but dude - .“ He sits up, grinning and flushed. “That is so very awesome.”
Ryan laughs, hoping it comes off less shaky and relieved than it feels coming out. He settles Brendon more comfortably beside him and looks around at the other two. “Guys?” Brendon flings his legs protectively over Ryan’s lap like a shield.
Spencer seems to shake himself. “Yeah,” he says brightly and it doesn’t sound half as faked as Ryan secretly feared. “Yeah, that is awesome. Jon rocks.”
“Jon belongs to Academy,” Brent says quietly and when Ryan looks at him, the depth of his frown makes not even his swollen red nose funny anymore.
“I don’t think they like, own him or anything,” Spencer says slowly with a cautious look at Ryan.
“But he’s not us,” Brent argues, “He’s, you know, outside of all this.”
Ryan really wants to roll his eyes because duh, but he can’t because he gets it; they’ve been them, just them for a really long time. It was them that got him, got Brendon, through their respective family shits and gets all of them through littler things now and then.
He nudges Brent with his toes, aiming for his shin but not sure if he gets it through all the blankets. “We’re just fucking,” he says softly, even though he feels sick having to say it, even though it isn’t true, not really, at least not for him.
Later, when Brent has succumbed to all the Tylenol they've been forcing on him all day and the others are working their way through the CSI boxset they picked up last time they stopped, Ryan creeps away and calls Jon.
“I told the others,” he says after Jon says, "Hi," and Ryan has convinced himself to stop smiling stupidly out his window.
Jon doesn’t say told them what? or anything that might make Ryan fear he’s alone in the smiling stupidly department, just breathes softly into the phone. “Cool. How’d they take it?”
“Okay,” Ryan says, adding ish in his head. “You don’t mind?”
“Nah - .” Ryan’s memory supplies the head-duck, the soft grin that always goes with that sound. “I told Tom last week.” He pauses. “I’ll tell the others if we’re having some big coming out…thing, they’re just not always the kind of guys you want knowing the secret stuff, you know?”
“No,” Ryan says, “That’s fine. I just, I think Brendon’s probably going to try to tackle-hug you to death or something next time he sees you and I didn’t want you to be taken by surprise.”
Jon laughs. “Thanks,” he says. “I appreciate the warning.”
Ryan shifts around in his bunk until he can get his pillow up between his back and the wall, tucking his feet under the blankets. He can hear the whisper of Jon’s breathing coming over the phoneline and he tips his head back, closing his eyes.
“Hey,” Jon says softly, and in the warm darkness behind his eyes it’s easy to pretend that the words are being whispered directly into his ear, not bouncing off a satellite first. “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”
Ryan’s eyes fly open, just to check that Jon isn’t actually in the room with him. “How did you-?”
“You, uh, your breathing changes,” Jon says hurriedly and Ryan smiles and thinks about telling him that he can picture the exact spread and depth of Jon’s blush just from the curl of his words and the breathiness of his laugh.
"Talk to me," he says instead. "Keep me awake."