be patient I am getting to the point (airgiodslv) wrote,
be patient I am getting to the point

Ménage à trois

Title: Ménage à trois
Pairings: Spencer/Ryan, Spencer/Brendon, Brendon/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, snowballing, rough sex
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.
Summary: Brendon may have a legitimate reason to be angry, but this is not Spencer’s fucking fault. If anything, Ryan should be the one against the wall right now.
Notes: For Wednesday's pornothon prompts, #8, #2, and #10a, because I am nothing if not ambitious.


The lights are out, and he has the blackout curtains closed, but he still knows who it is from the whisper alone. “Ry.” He scrubs a hand over his face and reaches for the light by the bed, but Ryan is already crawling in beside him, stilling his hand.

“Jon and Brendon are still at the bar. I think they’re watching a football game.” The way Ryan says it pretty much echoes Spencer’s complete lack of understanding. He pulls Ryan closer without thinking about it, because Ryan’s fidgety and slight and Spencer can’t sleep with him twitching.

“What is it?” he asks finally.

Ryan’s voice is even closer than expected when he answers; Spencer hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes again. “I want to try something.”

Spencer is about to answer with something sleepily vague and encouraging when Ryan shifts forward, and something both familiar and unexpected presses against Spencer’s thigh. His eyes fly open so fast their lashes brush, close and intimate.

“Ryan, no,” he says automatically, ignoring the way his own cock is twitching with interest. “What about Brendon?”

“We’re not exclusive.” Ryan’s arm is around Spencer’s waist now, not insinuating itself beneath his shirt but just resting. Waiting.

Spencer has a feeling Brendon would argue that point, probably heatedly, but it’s not his fight. He thinks about asking what Ryan wants to try, but Ryan’s breath feathers over his mouth and Spencer gives in, nudging until their lips meet.

“This thing,” he asks when they break apart to breathe. Ryan has moved to his jaw, still biding his time and letting Spencer think it over, just pressing light, unhurried kisses against his skin. “Is there a reason you don’t want to try it with Brendon?”

Spencer doesn’t even attempt to figure out what Ryan and Brendon’s relationship is, at this or any other point. They’re sleeping in hotel rooms together and Ryan sometimes smiles more over coffee in the morning when Brendon laughs, and that’s all Spencer needs to know.

“I want to,” Ryan answers, and Spencer’s eyes have adjusted enough by this point for him to see him biting his lip. “I just want to do it right.”

Spencer makes a noise that sounds less surprised than he is. He’s not sure if it’s better or worse to be used as a practice run for Brendon, but then he and Ryan have been using each other like that for years, trying out the scary stuff together, like kissing and shaving and putting on condoms, so it’s not so different.

“I trust you,” Ryan says, which is completely unnecessary because Spencer already knows. He also knows how hard it is for Ryan to do something new when he’s not comfortable with it, and thinks that yeah, sex with someone as confident and brash as Brendon must be pretty fucking terrifying sometimes.

“Okay,” Spencer says, and Ryan wriggles out of his boxers at once, pulling off Spencer’s sleep shirt with careful hands. They kiss when Spencer’s head pops out of the collar, but not like lovers; it’s sweet, and he can taste the thank-you in Ryan’s mouth. “Are you going to tell me?”

Ryan eyes him from under half-lowered lashes, and Spencer’s stomach does a queasy little flip-flop of worry. He probably should have asked that before agreeing. Ryan finally sits back a little bit, his posture reassuring Spencer that he can still back out of this and Ryan won’t hold anything against him. “Snowballing.”

“Snowba—” It takes him a second, but then his jaw snaps shut as he remembers what that means. “Oh.” He clears his throat, trying to sound much cooler and more experienced than he really is, if only to put Ryan more at ease. The hands twisting in his boxer shorts have gotten more anxious. “You want me to do you?”

“I was actually hoping…” Ryan says slowly, and Spencer thinks about it, his cock poking hopefully up towards Ryan’s nervous hands, and nods.

Ryan slumps visibly in relief, hands knotting in Spencer’s boxer shorts and pulling down, setting him free and pushing off the rest of the covers. “Okay,” he says, expression setting into the familiar look of concentration Spencer has seen more times than he can remember. He’s still looking at Spencer’s cock like he hasn’t done this before, like they haven’t done this before, and then he just says again, “Okay. Yeah.”

Ryan’s blowjobs are always a little tentative, like he’s trying hard to make them perfect – which he is – and doesn’t understand that sometimes messy can be good, sometimes messy can be awesome. But Spencer doesn’t push him, just rests a hand on Ryan’s hunched shoulder because Ryan hates it when you hold his head, and rocks his hips a little until Ryan adjusts and takes him deeper.

In spite of Ryan’s best efforts, it gets a little messy at the end, and Spencer is biting his lower lip and fighting a lot of unwanted thoughts, like how he really shouldn’t have given this up to Brendon of all people, and how Brendon probably doesn’t let Ryan go this slowly, and how at any second Jon and possibly Brendon could walk through the hotel room door and he really should have thought of that one first.

Ryan sucks harder, and Spencer is about to give a warning for him to pull off when he remembers what they’re doing, and why pulling off makes the whole thing rather pointless. He laughs and Ryan looks up, and Spencer comes.

He feels Ryan struggle for a second between swallowing and choking, and then he’s got it, throat working smoothly as he milks out the rest of Spencer’s orgasm. There’s a dribble of come on the corner of his lip, smearing slowly down towards his chin. Spencer blinks until the world comes back into focus, and then crooks a finger.

It’s surprisingly hot, and more intimate than Spencer had thought something like this would be. Ryan’s tongue curls into his mouth carefully, feeding Spencer what’s in his mouth with their hands cupping each other’s faces, and it’s not something he’d be jumping at the chance to do again, but it’s not bad.

Ryan licks him clean where they’ve let some slip, and Spencer can feel the gratitude in his entire body this time, not just his kiss. “Not so bad,” Spencer says when Ryan looks at him, worried and expectant. “Are you going to try it with Brendon?”

Ryan looks speculative, shifting onto his back and into the crook of Spencer’s arm. He’s not a cuddler – another thing Spencer has trouble imagining working out when he’s in a relationship with Brendon, the human teddy bear – but he’ll stay close for a few minutes after sex, as if he feels he owes it to the person he’s just slept with. Spencer has never disillusioned him.

“I think so,” he answers, his fingers tickling Spencer’s bare hip. Then, decisively, “Yes.”

* * *

Brendon busts in when Spencer hasn’t even finished shaving, slamming the door so hard his razor drops with a plastic clatter into the sink.

“What the fuck?” Brendon asks loudly, energy crackling off of him like he’s so wired there’s nowhere else for it to go. “What the fuck?

Spencer hastily wipes his face off with a towel, but doesn’t get out more than, “Brendon, what…?” before he’s cut off.

“Don’t you dare act like you don’t know,” Brendon says, and this may be the angriest Spencer has ever seen him, ever. “Not when he came back to the room last night in your fucking boxers.”

Shit. Fuck. It had been dark last night, they’d never turned on the light. Spencer hadn’t checked close enough this morning to be sure. “How do you…?” he starts, damage control, but Brendon still isn’t letting him talk.

“I know they weren’t his. He co-ordinates with his socks, it’s ridiculous but he does, and you already know that, don’t you?” Spencer doesn’t even get a chance to speak this time before Brendon shoves him, fast and not too hard, but still enough that Spencer stumbles back and has to catch his weight on the towel bar.

“What the fuck, Brendon?” He gets the anger, he does, but it’s getting physical now and that’s dangerous. He’d known better than to believe Ryan’s ‘we’re not exclusive’ was a sentiment shared by Brendon.

Brendon crowds him against the wall, getting in his face. “I know what come tastes like, Spence,” he breathes, so close Spencer can feel his breath. “I know what he tasted like last night when I kissed him.”

He wants to say it was for you but that’s not a good move right now, Brendon is only seconds away from actually taking a swing. Publicity nightmare. Even worse for the four of them, once they’re shut in on a bus for twelve hours with nowhere to hide.

Spencer is doing his best to just stare Brendon down and not flinch, but that’s apparently not the right move either, because Brendon grabs two handfuls of Spencer’s shirt and slams him against the flimsy wall of the hotel bathroom. “Say it.”

Brendon may have a legitimate reason to be angry, but this is not Spencer’s fucking fault. If anything, Ryan should be the one against the wall right now. “Fuck you,” he spits, and throws his weight sideways rather than straight forward into Brendon, so that they go off-balance and Brendon ends up smacked into the door.

Brendon bites him. It’s so fast Spencer doesn’t see it coming until he feels it, the sharp sting of teeth and the salt-sick taste of his own blood on his lip. Brendon’s eyes are on fire. Spencer slaps him across the face.

For a second they’re both frozen in shock, Spencer licking blood from his lips in disbelief and Brendon just staring at him, eyes wide. The Brendon starts to grapple with him and Spencer hauls him up and shoves him back, again, slamming him into the door hard enough to knock his breath out.

“Listen,” Spencer growls, jamming a thigh in between Brendon’s legs, a warning that if he tries anything Spencer is two seconds away from kneeing him the balls. “He said you weren’t exclusive, so if you have a problem with that, take it up with him.”

“It’s not fucking anyone, Spence,” Brendon snaps back, still rigid beneath his hands. “It’s you.

Spencer stills. He hadn’t realized the anger directed at him wasn’t actually about Ryan cheating so much as it was jealousy of Spencer. He’s sympathetic, in a way; it’s hard to play catch-up after more than thirteen years of friendship. But his lip is still bleeding and his ass hurts from where Brendon ran him into the toilet paper dispenser, so he’s running a little short on sympathy.

It takes about ten seconds after that for him to realize that Brendon is hard. Spencer’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. “Oh, you have got some fucking nerve.”

“It’s not…” Brendon starts, but Spencer just reaches down and squeezes, pissed-off and slightly turned on, and Brendon’s head smacks back into the door with a hollow crack.

“It’s not?” Spencer echoes, and if the twist of his wrist is a little vicious, mirroring the bite of his words, Brendon isn’t complaining. He pushes into it, panting when Spencer fumbles Brendon’s zipper down and then his own, getting them both into one hand so their cocks slide together, too-dry and rough.

“Fuck,” Brendon says, scrabbling at the wall before sinking his hands into Spencer’s hair and jerking him forward. If Brendon tries to kiss him, Spencer will bite his fucking tongue, but he doesn’t; he pulls Spencer’s head to one side and sinks his teeth into the soft skin beneath the hinge of Spencer’s jaw.

Spencer just squeezes harder, and Brendon arches into his fist with a whine, saliva sliding slick and warm down Spencer’s throat from where Brendon is still clamped down. It’s going to leave a mark. Spencer grabs Brendon’s hip with his free hand, digs his fingers in hard and leaves one of his own.

“Not exclusive so it’s okay?” Spencer hisses in Brendon’s ear, finally jerking free and getting his teeth into Brendon’s earlobe, fierce and sharp. “You must care about him an awful lot.”

“I love him,” Brendon says, and then he freezes and his eyes go wide, as wide as Spencer’s must be, but one of them moves just enough, just right, and they’re both coming into Spencer’s clenched fist.

“This is so fucked up,” Spencer announces to the room in general. Brendon still looks stunned, disheveled and out of breath, his t-shirt stretched out of shape by Spencer’s hands.

Brendon yanks his pants back up and stumbles out, and Spencer closes his eyes just in time to hear the door slam.

* * *

Ryan’s sitting on the edge of the bed when Brendon finally comes back, his hands in his lap, fumbling nervously with his fingers. Brendon doesn’t slam the door, but when Ryan looks up his eyes are dark, maybe not angry but something else, still not good.

Ryan opens his mouth to say Brendon’s name and Brendon beats him to it. “Lay down.”

For a moment Ryan just stares at him, weighing the possible consequences in his mind and thinking about how many times Spencer has told him sex won’t fix anything. Brendon waits, but something in the line of his back and shoulders tells Ryan that he could turn around and walk right back out that door, and Ryan isn’t about to let that happen.

He lies down.

Brendon is already yanking off his belt when the mattress dips with his weight, Ryan can hear the jingling of the buckle. He’s not surprised, exactly, when Brendon grabs his wrists, but he’s definitely nervous.

“Don’t,” Brendon says shortly when Ryan starts to tense up and pull away. Ryan can’t relax, but he doesn’t fight, letting Brendon pull his wrists up and wrap the belt around, tight enough to pinch when he secures the buckle.

He’d be even more worried, except that he looks in Brendon’s eyes right then, and what he sees isn’t anger or jealousy, it’s a kind of desperation. Ryan shifts slightly, just enough that his arms don’t ache from the tension, and lets his legs fall open.

Brendon is breathing hard, and his fingers twitch at his sides, indecisive. Ryan holds his eyes and plays the trump card, the one that always works on Brendon no matter what; he licks his lower lip.

It’s enough; Brendon makes a strangled sound and his hands work at Ryan’s fly, getting his jeans down and off and pushing his legs further apart. He puts two fingers against Ryan’s mouth and says quietly, “Suck.”

Ryan wouldn’t, if this was going to be an angry revenge fuck, but that’s still not what’s in Brendon’s eyes. He can’t pin down what it is, exactly, but it’s honest and pleading, enough for Ryan to open his mouth and suck Brendon’s fingers inside. Brendon rubs his tongue, working his fingers in and out between Ryan’s lips, so Ryan doesn’t have to do much more than relax and take it until Brendon is satisfied.

It feels possessive and desperate at the same time, like Brendon wants something but thinks he has to take it instead of asking, and Ryan can’t tell him any differently because his tongue is wrapped around Brendon’s knuckles, tasting salt and skin.

Brendon withdraws his fingers and Ryan swallows, the inside of his mouth feeling empty and strange, and then both fingers are pushing into him without any warning and Brendon’s mouth slides down over his cock at the same time and Ryan nearly comes off the bed.

The belt around his wrists is keeping him shackled, and he’s frustrated by it and angry for a moment, jerking at the binding that’s keeping him both tethered and helpless while Brendon works over his cock. Brendon looks up when the leather snaps taut, holding his eyes, and Ryan looks right back until Brendon’s eyes slide shut and he sinks down, farther than Ryan had thought he could, far enough that the head of Ryan’s cock nudges something and he realizes with vague horror and a spiraling sense of so fucking hot that it’s the back of Brendon’s throat.

He opens his mouth and emits a strangled sound that’s intended to be Brendon’s name, and then the sucking starts in earnest, Brendon pulling back to work strong and fast over the head while his free hand jerks Ryan off at the base and his fingers crook just so, fucking Ryan with surprising gentleness in the same rhythm. Spencer is like that too, everything in tempo. Fucking drummers.

Ryan’s hips snap up when he comes, and the cry is muffled by his teeth sinking into his own forearm because he can’t reach anything else, fingers curled helplessly over his head and the sharp edges of the leather belt cutting into his wrists.

He feels Brendon’s weight settling over him before the stars clear from his vision, and Brendon’s mouth is nudging his lips apart and oh, oh. The irony is so thick he can taste it, or could if he wasn’t lapping carefully at Brendon’s mouth, taking it in and swallowing it all. Brendon isn’t as precise as Ryan had been with Spencer, but his tongue curling into Ryan’s mouth is fiercer, his hands holding tighter as they brace Ryan’s jaw, thumbs stroking his throat.

He tastes it then, what Brendon’s been trying to tell him, what’s been in his eyes since he walked through the door and even before. Ryan opens his mouth wider, swallowing his own come from Brendon’s tongue, and says it back without words.

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