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Veridical (Coinciding with future events or apparently unknowable present realities)
{Panic! At The Disco RPS, Fall Out Boy RPS, The Academy Is... RPS. NC-17. Ryan/Pete, Ryan/William, Ryan/Brendon, Ryan/Jon, Ryan/Spencer. 100% untrue. For Rae in the second DYW fic exchange.}
It started with Pete. It made perfect sense that it started with Pete, it always started with Pete, but Spencer still kind of thought maybe, if it started with anyone, it should have been him. Not that he’d ever say that to Ryan. Or Pete, for that matter. He might have said something to Patrick, late at night as the street lights painted everything orange and black, flickering, and he felt something large and empty knock against his ribs, but when it came to it he just listened instead.
Either way, it didn’t matter. It all started with Pete, when Ryan met Pete, when Ryan started lining his eyes and dilating his pupils and writing about sex. Spencer charted the progress as he waited for coffee to percolate, as he stared into the bathroom mirror and saw himself looking back, as he felt every atom of the three feet of air, some of it containing a section of Brendon’s leg and hips and torso, between him and Ryan. He measured the distance while pretending to scan the rest of the room; a few inches of the air circling around his body, then a whole foot of blank space, then a patch of air Brendon was standing in, then another clear foot of space, and then the particles hit and bumped against Ryan’s shirt, against his chin and his jaw as he smiled and sipped his drink, against his smoky eyes locked on Pete’s.
Spencer looked away and catalogued the exact timbre and cadence of Ryan’s laugh.
Ryan was breathless, that first time. Called Spencer, breathless, and Spencer had to wonder, how long after because his voice had sounded still stretched. He said, “Spencer. Spence.” and that was all he’d really needed to say.
“It went okay then.” Spencer flicked rubber band after rubber band across the room, trying to hit a spot on the wall, indistinguishable from the rest of it. The phone was wedged between his ear and his shoulder and it was uncomfortable and hot and slippery and he kept having to adjust it to hear properly.
“Yeah. He fucked me, it was awesome.”
Spencer made a face. “I don’t want to know,” he lied, flicking another across the room and missing. The pad of his thumb and half way between the joints on his index finger smarted.
Ryan ignored him. “It kind of burned at first, but in a good way. It was like nothing else, Spence. You should try it some time.” Shouldn’t Ryan’s lungs have caught up with the rest of him by now? It was like he was sucking for breath.
“Yeah right. Are you seriously telling me I should try gay sex?” Spencer squinted at the invisible target on the wall. He’d hit it three times so far, and he was running out of rubber bands. He’d either have to get up and retrieve them, or substitute.
“It’s really good,” Ryan told him, insistent and relentless and Spencer missed his next shot completely.
“So this gay thing, maybe it’s not a phase?” Spencer attempted to carefully pick his words, but he was in doubt as to how much attention Ryan was actually paying at this second in time. His breathing was slowing now, but still, he didn’t sound any less like he’d just been fucked six ways to Sunday.
“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “I could just do this, seriously. It’s that good.”
“I get it, Ry. You’re like the poster boy for gay,” and Spencer shut his eyes and thought the way he’s going, that may be the truest thing I’ve said all year. “Who needs girls when you’ve got Pete Wentz, right?”
Ryan laughed, and there wasn’t much sound in it. His breath surrounded the speaker, and Spencer’s phone slipped a little against his ear. He almost expected to feel breath stirring against his earlobe, the sound was so loud, so close. “Exactly. Spence, I’ve got to go, Pete’s coming back.”
“I’ll buy you a rainbow flag,” Spencer told him, and hung up. He dropped the phone on the bed and flung his last rubber band against the wall with such force it snapped against his fingers. He sucked at the stinging skin, throwing the broken strip of elastic at the waste paper basket.
The second time, Ryan texted him and it read Just got fucked again. Want to hang out tomorrow? Spencer forced himself not to reply for at least half an hour. First he typed Next time make that sound less like an invitation, Ryan, but erased it after a pause of three seconds. He replaced it with Sure. We going to work on the album? Spencer’s phone beeped with Ryan’s reply inside of ten minutes. Maybe. Brent’s busy, Brendon’s at school. Want to just hang?
Spencer, at that point, decided to give up.
Pete invited all of them up to LA, and Spencer wondered if he and Brent were really wanted, because Patrick wanted Brendon for the vocals on that song and Pete wanted Ryan for fuck knows what (or, more accurately, for fucking) but the other two were … the other two.
It was the fourth, or maybe fifth time, and Spencer watched them while they were all in the hot tub, Ryan with his hands on Pete’s waist, Pete kissing at the corner of Ryan’s mouth, and it was a little like a gayfest in here, what with Pete and Ryan, and all of them being almost naked. Spencer was aware of the water molecules separating him and the orgy part of this naked gay orgy. Andy was between he and Pete, and Brent was between he and Andy, but there was clear water all the way to Ryan. Spencer felt the bubbles making their way through it, an invisible line, hydrogen and oxygen atoms clinging to the edges of it in formation. Two two one, two two one, clear path, two two one. He looked away, laughed at something Brendon said, felt Patrick shift slightly closer with the movement of the water.
Pete and Ryan left first, Ryan stumbling a little, and Spencer automatically and unconsciously reached out to catch him. But he was across the room and Pete righted him and put a hand where Ryan’s back met the curve of his ass and they left. Brent tittered, Andy rolled his eyes, and Spencer felt unaccountably cold and aware of the wall. Patrick just started up a conversation about the merits of their new equipment versus their old stuff.
Spencer tried to pretend he wasn’t listening for sounds coming from any other rooms.
Fifteenth time, and Ryan was walking strangely, and when Brendon pointed this out, Ryan just looked over at Pete and grinned. Spencer held one hand up before Pete could open his mouth and said, “Yeah, we don’t really want to know, okay?”
It was two weeks later when Ryan crawled into Spencer’s bunk in the middle of the night. Spencer woke when he felt a sharp elbow dig into his waist. “Hey,” he said, tongue thick against the roof of his mouth. He cracked one eye open.
“Sorry,” Ryan muttered, settling. Spencer had to shift over to avoid being squashed up completely against him.
“Ryan, what are you doing?” Spencer whispered, feeling it was an important detail to clear up. He rubbed at his sleep-crusted eyes with one knuckle.
“Pete –” Ryan stopped. “Not going anywhere,” he mumbled, and Spencer inched closer to hear.
“What?” he asked. There was a full minute of outstretched seconds that pressed on his spine, one by one, like extra vertebrae.
“He uh,” Ryan began at last, clearing an obstruction in his throat, “he – it’s best if we don’t, you know.” He trailed off into silence.
Spencer let it stretch for a moment. “He broke up with you?”
Ryan made a movement that was very probably a shrug. It was hard to tell, his entire body being pressed as it was to the mattress. “You know how it happened? That first time?”
You missed the word ‘Do’ off the start of that first question, Spencer wanted to say. Instead, he said, “No.”
Ryan sighed. “Neither do I, really. I mean, I wanted it, but it kind of happened fast.” He licked his lips, just a small movement, but Spencer felt it like it had sent shockwaves across to him. “But it wasn’t – I guess there wasn’t much to break up. We were just,” he shrugged more eloquently this time, “I don’t know. Fooling around, I guess.”
Spencer looked at him. They were three point seven inches apart, so he had to squint a little. “Bullshit.”
Ryan didn’t say anything. He pushed his face into the pillow, and Spencer blinked at the ceiling of the bunk for a minute, listening to the muffled breaths beside him.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked at last, because he wasn’t going to sleep now, and he knew that silence.
“You don’t mind?”
You always ask that, and I never do, and it doesn’t matter if I did anyway. “No.”
Ryan was silent for another eighty-five and a quarter seconds. “I liked the feel of it,” the syllables broke the air. It stirred around them, molecules of gas clinging to each other. The sound made its way to Spencer like it was crowd surfing.
“Of what?” This was the point in the conversation that needed prompts, Spencer could see that.
“When he was fucking me,” Ryan whispered, and pressed a portion of his hips and the palms of his hands flat on the bed. “I liked that it … I felt kind of full, when he went in as far as he could go. And I liked it when he fucked me hard, that was. It felt really good, Spence.”
You are not in my bed, in the middle of the night, whispering to me about how hard you like to be fucked, Spencer thought desperately. Because I am not fifteen any more and this is not another thing to jerk off to.
“It felt like. I don’t know.” Ryan traced a wandering pattern on the pillow with his fingertips, one point four oh three inches from Spencer’s head. “Like, when I was holding onto the headboard and just being really thoroughly banged and I could hear the springs creaking under my back like they’ll break any minute, it was like I was really alive, like I really felt everything. Every cell in my body, everything, and it was all alive, I felt alive.”
Spencer forced his eyes open again and wished Ryan didn’t have these bouts of being perfectly articulate in the hours of the morning that really should be reserved for the insides of eyelids.
“And now,” and Ryan stopped. Spencer realised he had to move, and briefly touched the side of his hand to Ryan’s arm.
“It’s not the end of the world, Ry,” he whispered, platitude, another fraction of an inch closer. “You’ll find someone else.”
“Right.” Ryan gave him a half smile, head leaning against the pillow, partly turned to face him, and Spencer imprinted the image on his frontal lobe. “It’s only Pete, right?”
“Right,” Spencer nodded firmly, and pulled Ryan two point one inches closer to press his lips quickly into the hair above his ear.
Ryan smiled and slid his eyes closed. “Thanks, Spencer. Knew I could count on you.”
“Yep,” was all Spencer could say before Ryan fell asleep. He looked calmer. The air around him settled, and Spencer wanted to stir it again, brush one fingertip over Ryan’s sleeping form, ear neck shoulders spine. He resisted, turning onto his back and closing his eyes.
After Pete, and a couple of months where Ryan wore more and more eyeliner, they were on a new tour and Spencer took one look at William and knew he’d be next. He noticed the slink of William’s hips, the way his lips curved up when he looked at Ryan, and the way Ryan leaned against surfaces and gave William his best come fuck me eyes.
Ryan met Spencer on the way down to breakfast in the first hotel they stayed in, and gave him a loose-mouthed grin before leaning right near his shoulder (three breaths and a trip over an uneven carpet away) and murmuring, so only he could hear, “William fucked me last night.”
“Oh?” Spencer tried not to choke on his own breathing.
“Yeah.” Ryan leaned away again and looked … Spencer suddenly had a flash of an image, Ryan’s face slacker and even more satisfied, and wondered if that was what he looked like right after. “It was even better than with Pete.”
“Oh?”
Ryan leaned in and whispered, “William really likes to fuck,” and total satiation crackled through his voice.
“Oh?” Spencer had a feeling he might never be able to say anything else but that one, sloping, curious word.
Ryan just smiled at him, and Spencer squashed the impulse to calculate the angle of his mouth. (Fifty degrees, ten degrees, sixty degrees.) They didn’t speak as they entered the dining room, decided on food, and sat down with it.
“So you and William, now?” he asked when twenty-six bars had passed. Or was it two minutes and sixteen seconds?
“Maybe,” Ryan shrugged.
So casual, so – Spencer grasped for the word, felt the space where it should be, and decided just to leave it.
William, it turned out, was more interested in sitting in Butcher’s lap than fucking Ryan again. Ryan was too busy leaning up against Brendon as they came off stage to notice. The hot lights made beads of sweat run into Spencer’s eyes, dropping off his eyelashes, and only Brent noticed. Ryan stretched muscles in his back, and Brendon’s grin turned up a few notches; he slipped an arm around Ryan and they disappeared.
“That was quick,” Spencer muttered. Brent shot him a look, threw it to the place the retreating backs had been, and shrugged.
“Not really,” he said, pushing through the crowd. Spencer thought about it; smiles tipped and every excuse to touch and okay, maybe it wasn’t so quick. He still ignored the buzz of his phone four hours later, cold away from the lights. He checked it in the morning; Brendon’s great in bed. I’m sore. See you at breakfast.
He thought about not eating, or just grabbing something on their way out, but his stomach was growling and all it would get him was hungrier. So he got up, but when he arrived downstairs he saw Ryan and Brendon sitting together, almost in each other’s laps, and steered away. He sat next to Jon, who was eating alone.
“You’re not going to sit with them?” Jon asked him, indicating the way he had come.
“They look like they don’t need a third wheel,” Spencer replied, examining his eggs. “Do you think these are cooked all the way through?”
Jon joined his examination of them. “It’s hard to tell,” he concluded. “Try some, and if you don’t die, they’re probably alright.”
“Yeah, very helpful.” Spencer prodded at them with his fork, then abandoned them for the toast.
Ryan and Brendon spent most of that day in the back lounge of the bus, sitting on the couch, kissing. Every time Spencer passed the door he heard the movements, heard Ryan moaning something into Brendon’s mouth, caught a glimpse of Brendon’s hands in Ryan’s hair. He hurried on to the kitchen or the bathroom or back to the front lounge.
It was the middle of the night in a new country, and Spencer’s phone vibrated loudly near his ear. He jerked awake, fumbled to pick it up, and squinted. “Ryan?” he croaked, holding it what he hoped was the right way up.
“Spencer.” Ryan was whispering. Ryan was, surely, in Brendon’s bunk, which he’d been sleeping in for six weeks now and was twelve yards away, so why was he calling?
Spencer cleared his throat. “What are you doing?” It wasn’t what he’d expected to ask, but it was what came out.
“I’m, uh. I’ve just, I was going to tell you earlier but things just kind of happened and.”
“What?” Spencer felt something tight at the back of his head.
“Well, me and Brendon, it’s nothing serious, you know, we said that … uh, this morning, and uh. We’re just having fun,” he added, like it would clarify anything, like it mattered.
“Yeah?” Spencer prompted as Ryan fell silent.
“I just had sex with Jon,” Ryan whispered.
“Oh.” Spencer paused for five seconds. He measured it in beats.
“We’re just.” Ryan sounded like he was deflating. “Having fun,” he finished.
Spencer heard a movement near his bunk, and shifted to make room. A shape loomed out of the darkness until it was Ryan, who was shirtless and putting his phone in his pocket, and Spencer heard the dull buzz of the dial tone in his ear and hung up.
Ryan slipped into the half of Spencer’s bunk he’d left free. “I,” he said, quiet, not looking at Spencer, not waiting for a start to this new conversation, “I like giving blowjobs. I like … it’s like that alive feeling of being fucked, only I’m not making any sounds, except maybe humming, but I can see and hear and feel what it’s doing to – to the guy. And it’s like, everything’s alert, everything’s.”
You are not telling me this, you’re not here talking about giving head, you’re not. A dizzying sense of familiarity.
“Jon was,” Ryan stopped and started, “I liked it. I – I like Jon, he’s great, and he’s. I sucked him off, and right before he – he pulled out and I felt it, all over my face. It was,” he closed his eyes and turned a smile to Spencer, “warm. When Brendon does that, sometimes he licks it right off my cheeks,” and he stopped. “Jon was, then he fucked me, and I liked it. I liked it,” Ryan repeated, as if it would help, and Spencer swallowed six times before his mouth was anything but dry.
“Ryan,” he said, whispered, reaching one fingertip to touch Ryan’s cheek, smearing strands of his genetics across the skin.
Ryan’s eyes fluttered shut. “They never want,” and he stopped. He moved marginally closer, his chest shivering as if it had a stutter. “Spencer, if I slept with you, if you fucked me and I did all the things you like, it wouldn’t just be screwing around.”
Spencer forced himself to breathe in and out. In and out. He concentrated on expanding and contracting his lungs, the flow of air, the squeezing of blood through his body propelled by his heart, slowing its rate. When he felt it safe to remember how his mouth worked again, he whispered, “Have you talked to Brendon?”
Ryan picked at the sheet under his hands. “Not since this morning.”
“Maybe you should.” Three breaths two inches one hand reaching.
Ryan kissed him. A clumsy movement. A desperate slant to his mouth. Spencer kissed him back, surer, no less desperate. “Fuck me, Spence,” Ryan whispered against his lip, and Spencer fought total meltdown.
“Why?” An effort, squeezed out. Breath didn’t go with it, but instead collected at the back of his throat.
“I want you to,” Ryan answered. “Please,” he added, high against the roof of his mouth.
“This is about Brendon,” Spencer gulped in air and shifted it out again.
“No,” Ryan whispered.
“It is,” Spencer repeated, but he couldn’t pull away, two point three atoms from not caring.
Ryan gripped his shoulders, rolled him on top, arched up into him. Every movement perfectly deliberate. Spencer exhaled a whimper.
“No,” Ryan reiterated, and kissed him again, harder, pressing upwards. “Fuck me, Spencer, please.” He arched his neck as Spencer dipped his head to trail his tongue over the skin there. “I want you to fuck me.”
Spencer groaned and snapped his hips forward, connecting through fabric. Ryan arched up and hissed softly.
“Yes,” he whispered, and “please, Spencer, please.” He reached into his pocket and tugged out a packet.
Spencer covered Ryan’s hand with his own. “Suck me off first,” he whispered, and Ryan kissed him, fierce, before rolling him over onto his back and sliding Spencer’s boxers and his own pants down. He sank until he was settled between Spencer’s legs, breathing softly to stir the coarse hairs.
“Spencer,” he breathed, flicked his tongue out. Spencer’s fingers tangled in Ryan’s hair, and he didn’t care any more because Ryan was going down on him, Ryan was using his hands and his tongue and his mouth and he fucking gave head like a pro. Spencer slowly fucked his mouth and lost brain cells as entire sections of the structure of it collapsed. The parts that were still fifteen years old and in a perpetual state of masturbation over exactly this image were left with only wreckage; the parts that controlled maintaining friendships and thinking ahead were reduced to a few pathetic supporting beams and a whole lot of rubble.
Ryan pulled off half a second before Spencer came, and closed his eyes against the spurt, the tip of his tongue still connected, directing it, and another section of Spencer’s brain buckled. Ryan closed his mouth around again and swallowed and Spencer twitched.
“That was your first,” Ryan breathed as he crawled quickly upwards, cheeks pink, eyes alight, and Spencer could see it, knew what he meant by alive.
“Yes,” Spencer whispered, pulling him closer.
“Fuck me,” Ryan pleaded against his mouth. “I want to be your first, again.”
“Ryan,” Spencer exhaled, and kissed him, rolling them over, settling.
Ryan pushed his hand between their bodies, softly taking Spencer’s cock in his hand, just holding it. Spencer felt the undersides of his fingers against the skin. Ryan kissed him, kissed over his jaw, bit lightly at his neck, slowly and softly pulled and gently pressed with his fingertips and palm until Spencer felt himself starting to get hard again. He arched and licked at Ryan’s bottom lip, pushing up into his hand.
Ryan rolled the condom still closed in his other hand over him, careful to touch with the lengths of his fingers and the pad of his thumb. Spencer’s toes curled and his calves curved inward. Ryan grappled with his discarded pants for a moment before producing a small bottle, squeezing some of the lube onto his fingers and slathering it over the condom. Spencer felt the pressure and thrust gently into it.
Ryan took one of Spencer’s hands and squeezed out some lube onto his fingers. “Two, at first,” he said, and Spencer swallowed.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, but his fingertips were teasing, almost there, and Ryan moved and pushed down on them in answer. Spencer groaned and buried them to the knuckles. He pulled them out, pushed them back in, and added a third finger. His thrusts were gentle, and Ryan bit his lip and lifted his hips.
“Harder,” he breathed. “Fuck me, Spence.”
Spencer pulled his fingers out and pushed his cock in, one swift movement until he was buried to the balls. Ryan clenched around him and another brain structure fell in. “Ryan, oh fuck, Ryan,” Spencer panted. He pulled out and thrust in harder.
Ryan pulled Spencer down by the back of his head and kissed him hungrily. “Harder,” he whimpered into it. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and slammed in hard enough to send them an inch further up the pillows. “Yes,” Ryan exhaled, his face relaxing against Spencer’s shoulder. “Harder.”
Spencer held his hips and pounded into him, concentrating, drinking in the feel of Ryan around him, the sounds Ryan was making, the curve and angle of his back, the sensation of fucking Ryan, of living this. Then Ryan’s mouth was on his and he closed his eyes and forgot to concentrate, forgot everything but fucking Ryan as hard as physically possible. Ryan whimpered, high-pitched in his throat, and growled, low against his mouth, and the rest of Spencer’s brain shut down operations until further notice.
Ryan came with a silent spurt, sticky against their stomachs, mouth hanging open. Spencer watched him, and Ryan opened his eyes as the last twitches went through him, looked at Spencer, and kissed him through the last of it. Spencer came five beats later, groaning “Ryan” against his top lip, biting at it.
Piece by piece, he relaxed. Ryan ran his hands up and down Spencer’s back, and Spencer pulled out to dispose of the condom. He leaned down and licked at the come on Ryan’s belly, which made him twitch and sigh. A contented sound.
Spencer lay next to him, and Ryan reached for him, curled around. They tangled their bodies, and Spencer decided just to sleep, for now.
“Spence?” Ryan whispered, two and five eighths seconds after Spencer slipped into a doze. “That was all,” he ran his fingertips over Spencer’s arms, “about you.”
Spencer sank into sleep before he could reply.
Brendon looked up when they emerged from Spencer’s bunk the next morning. “Ryan –” he started, but stopped when he saw their hands, fingers nestling, palm to palm. “I,” he tried again.
Spencer kissed Ryan’s cheek and went to the bathroom. He didn’t look back. They were sitting on Brendon’s bunk when he returned, heads close together, talking in whispers. He hovered awkwardly for a moment or four, then went past them in search of breakfast.
Ryan caught up with him in the front lounge. “Spencer –”
“Ryan, was that just,” Spencer swallowed his mouthful of cereal, “was last night just fooling around?” Because you said it wouldn’t be.
Ryan shook his head.
“What about Brendon?” he asked, carefully.
“I don’t,” Ryan circled around the words he wanted, swooped, dived. “I, we’re not, I won’t sleep with him any more.”
“Because of me?” Heart thump, heart thump, lungs expand and contract.
“Yes. Spence, I want –”
Spencer nodded, upwards sharp, downwards quick. “I want,” he echoed, and Ryan moved closer. Spencer put his bowl on the table, and Ryan settled half across his thighs.
Jon came in an hour later and saw them kissing. He found Brendon in the back lounge and said, “So the guy I had sex with last night is up there making out with someone who wasn’t even who he was rebounding with me on.” Brendon raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” he said. “Are you surprised?”
Jon thought for a minute. “Maybe not, I guess.”
Brendon gave him a smile and held out one inviting arm. “Care to join me on the couch of temporary wallowing?”
“Just as long as it doesn’t end up being the couch of rebound sex. Again. Because I think technically, if you’re both on the rebound with me, that makes me part of the break-up.”
That made Brendon pause for a second. “Can it be the couch of comfort sex, but not really rebound sex? Because I was hoping to at least make out with you by the end of this tour.”
Jon considered this, regarding Brendon thoughtfully.
“Yeah, alright,” he said at last.