Give Me Just Enough, Part One
Jon shouldn't have gotten out of bed. He'd only been in it half an hour anyway, when Ryan poked his head into Jon's room and stage-whispered, "Jon, hey. I had an idea. Help me work on it, come on." He should have ignored Ryan and kept on sleeping.
But no, he'd pushed his cover back, yawning, and hadn't even put on his flip-flops to head downstairs. He shuffled slowly after a too-energized Ryan, who was talking excitedly about this verse he'd come up with while he was brushing his teeth, and how he just had to put it to music before he forgot it. And Jon knew all about that, the strains of a melody that would flit through his head just when he was on the cusp of sleep and disappear like a dream by the time he woke up.
So Jon helped Ryan with that verse, then a chorus, then another verse. They'd started writing another verse "to round things out," Ryan said, but Jon felt like he might actually fall asleep on his feet.
Ryan would have kept on going, Jon knows, but Jon had insisted.
"Seriously, Ryan Ross, it's sleepy-time," he said when Ryan started playing through the chorus for the millionth time. "I can't come up with brilliance without sleep."
His last few words came out around a yawn, and when his eyes opened again, Ryan was setting his guitar back in its stand and rubbing at his own eyes.
"You know when we wake up we're probably going to think this song is crap," Ryan said, taking a long drink and setting his beer bottle down, clinking against the abandoned ones they'd already made their way through.
"Speak for yourself," Jon said. "If I helped write it, it's gold."
Ryan smiled, face gone soft and sleepy, and Jon bumped his shoulder.
And now... Now it's late, the kind of late that means it's actually early. There's a shitload of birds outside the cabin chirping their tiny heads off, and Jon and Ryan are standing at the foot of the staircase, staring up pitifully because the steps look like they go on forever.
"You should carry me upstairs," Jon says. "It's your fault that I'm so tired I'd rather sleep on the floor than climb those."
"I can't even carry myself up those stairs," Ryan says.
They're silent, standing and staring. Jon thinks about it, figuring that if he and Ryan worked together and held on to each other on the way up, they could make it. But then again, neither of them has great balance at the best of times, and if anyone could manage to fall down the stairs and break their neck, it'd be him or Ryan.
Finally, Jon says, "Yeah, no. I'm sleeping in the guest room."
It's not really a guest room, just what they call the downstairs room that Shane stays in when he comes by and stays a few days. It doesn't have any furniture in it except a twin bed, and Jon's willing to take that.
Ryan whines softly. "Jon," he says. "No fair."
"What? You can sleep on one of the couches, Twiggy."
Ryan makes a face, because the couches are...well. They're made of some kind of hide, like. Jon has no idea. It could be buffalo, for all he knows. The point is, they feel weird and smell weirder, but at least they don't have antlers or some kind of animal head attached like a bunch of the walls in the cabin do.
Jon starts to shuffle toward the hallway, making his way to the room, until he registers Ryan's footsteps behind him. He waits until he gets to the bedroom door and turns around, blocking the doorway with his body. "What are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm coming too," Ryan says. "You just have to share."
"It's a twin bed."
"Yeah, and? You just called me Twiggy. I don't take up much space."
Jon has seen Ryan sleep, and that's a dirty, filthy lie. When Ryan's really knocked out, he can sprawl like no motherfucker Jon's ever seen.
"I'll shove you off the bed if you try to take up my space," Jon threatens, but he ruins it with a yawn.
"Whatever," Ryan says. He pushes ineffectually at Jon's shoulder. "Just go in already. I'm tired."
Jon sighs and kind of sort of shuffle-runs to the bed so he can flop down on it before Ryan, claiming as much space as he can.
"Dude, I'm not that small," Ryan complains, and pokes Jon's side with one of his bony fingers. "Move."
Jon gives up some space grudgingly, and they just barely fit on the bed together, pressed shoulder to shoulder.
"Oh, yeah. This is gonna be comfortable," Jon says.
"Fuck you. If you have the energy to talk, maybe you should channel it into climbing the stairs instead."
Jon just mumbles nonsense in response, because he honestly doesn't care that much. They've all slept in close spaces before; Jon just likes giving Ryan shit.
It's sort of cold, except where their sides are pressed together. Jon thinks about complaining about the lack of a blanket, but he falls asleep before he can bother.
He wakes up a lot warmer, mostly because Ryan is pressed along his back and the sun is shining right into the room. Jon's right at the edge of the bed, and he'd maybe be in danger of falling off, except Ryan has his arm across Jon's stomach, and he's pulled snug against Ryan's chest.
Oh, hey. Little spoon, Jon thinks muzzily. He likes spooning. It's nice.
Then, he thinks, oh, hey. That's Ryan's dick.
That wakes him up more, because Ryan's cock is pressed up against Jon's lower back, and he's at least half-hard. It's...huh. Jon stays still for a minute, listening to Ryan breathe even and deep, before he pushes his hips back just a little and feels Ryan's dick get harder against him. And whoa, yeah. It's one thing to have participated in jokes about how to tell the difference between a tripod and Ryan Ross, but it's entirely different to feel just how big they're talking. That's actually sort of frightening, because if Ryan's not even all the way hard, his cock has got to be fucking huge.
Suddenly Jon's trying to wrap his mind around what it would be like to be faced with a cock the size of Ryan's, and then he's shrugging off Ryan's arm and rolling out of bed.
Ryan snuffles and his eyes fly open. "Wha?" he asks, loud and startled.
"Going to my room," Jon says. "I don't think there's enough room in this bed for me and you and your fucking huge boner, sorry."
Jon cackles when Ryan groans and says, "Shut up, asshole."
Ryan rolls onto his back when Jon's made it to the door, and Jon glances back. Yep. Fucking huge.
"Sweet dreams," Jon says, and something hits the door just after Jon closes it. He doesn't know what Ryan threw, but he's impressed that it even hit the door. Ryan has the worst aim. Jon trudges up the stairs laughing to himself and thinking up new jokes about Ryan's cock.
The song they stayed up to write does kind of suck, but it's not unfixable. Brendon listens and says, "How about here, what if we added a bridge?"
They work on it nonstop for a few hours, Spencer twirling his sticks out of boredom when they stop to squabble over lyrics.
Jon feels his eyes glazing over a few times, staring off blankly into space, but he pulls himself back when he realizes he's kind of staring at Ryan's crotch. He looks down at his bass and concentrates on tuning strings that don't really need to be tuned, and hopes no one noticed where he was looking.
Jon can't stop thinking about it, which is stupid.
It's not that he's obsessed or anything. It's just. It's interesting to think about. Like, sometimes you just think about things, even if you don't want to.
Jon once thought about his sophomore English teacher having sex, and felt absolutely horrified for weeks afterward when she'd get dramatic and her wrinkled neck would wobble around like a turkey's wattle. It wasn't anything he'd chosen to think about, it had just materialized in his head to scar him for the rest of his life.
And even sometimes he'll have the odd thought about people he doesn't want to sleep with, like Tom. They've been to parties together where Jon was sitting on the same couch while Tom made out with some girl, and Jon would just kind of think for a minute that Tom looked like he was a good kisser. And he's heard some of his friends having sex enough that he sometimes considers how they would be in bed.
Those kinds of thoughts are nothing. Just idle curiosity.
Even when they keep cropping up day after day.
Even when you jerk off thinking about someone, it doesn't mean anything.
It maybe means something when you think specifically about their cock in your hand. Or your mouth. Or your ass.
It maybe means something when you try to think about other stuff when you jerk off, but you only end up coming when you think about those things.
It totally means something.
Because the thing is, Jon spends most of his time when he's jerking off now thinking about Ryan. And there's only so long he can think that it is the same kind of curiosity he's had before. He'd thought about Tom back in the day and had a couple of fantasies about Brendon's mouth -- because come on, who wouldn't? But those are things he can flip through when he starts going through a mental Rolodex of possible jerk-off material -- before he settles on thinking about a porno he's watched or his first really awesome blowjob, or the first time a girl had let him fuck her tits.
The point is, he's supposed to flip past that idle curiosity stuff on his way to something else, not start jerking off harder when he thinks about what it would be like to see Ryan unzip his pants, pull out his cock when it's halfway to hard, then fist himself until he gets all the way hard and Jon can see how big he really is. He definitely isn't supposed to let his mind wander down that path far enough to wonder how big Ryan would be in his hand and how much Jon might be able to fit in his mouth.
He does anyway, and it gets him off so hard. He doesn't really feel guilty afterward, just...unsettled. It's not even about the fact that Ryan's a guy, either. Because Jon and his freshman roommate at college used to get fucked up and fuck around -- even actually fucked a few times -- but it seemed different. He was in college, and it was experimenting.
And with Ryan, it seems like something he should have gotten obsessed with earlier, maybe. Because it wasn't something he didn't notice, Ryan's cock. Back when Jon was still teching for TAI, when he'd first met Panic, he remembers thinking how funny it was that an androgynous little thing like Ryan could have such a huge fucking bulge. He didn't think of it much more back then, but now he's thinking about it enough to make up for that lost time -- plus some.
Brendon sighs and leans against Jon's shoulder. "Can't you make him stop?" he asks, and Jon slings an arm around him.
"I don't think so. But he'll wear himself out soon." Jon's pretty sure he will, anyway. Ryan can't keep on going the way he has, Jon doesn't think. He has to sleep sometime, and hopefully regain his sanity.
Jon should be more concerned, but he's sort of fucked up and definitely tired, so he just sits there on the couch with Brendon and falls asleep while Spencer and Ryan argue in the background.
When he wakes up, Brendon is lying half on his chest, and Ryan's sleeping on the floor, clutching one of his guitars. Spencer's nowhere to be seen. He's probably in bed, because he's smart like that.
Jon shifts, stretching, and drops a hand to Brendon's back, smoothing down his spine to wake him up.
"Hmm?" Brendon murmurs.
"Looks like bedtime," Jon says, gesturing toward Ryan.
Brendon yawns. "Thank god. I swear he's going to drive me nuts if he doesn't stop freaking the fuck out about 'telling a story with the album.'"
"I know," Jon says, sighing. "He's going to drive himself nuts."
They lie there quietly, comfortably, for a while longer before Brendon stands up and stretches. "No offense or anything, man, but I'm going to let you deal with him if you want to wake him up. He's been a little," Brendon makes a face, "with me lately."
"Yeah, I know," Jon says. "Go to bed."
"Night," Brendon says on the way out. Jon watches him go, then turns back to Ryan.
Ryan's eyes are open, and he's watching Brendon go. Jon stays quiet until Ryan looks up at him. "He's sick of me, huh?" Ryan says.
Jon shrugs. "I think we're all a little sick of each other at this point." It's true. They haven't been getting anywhere, at least not anywhere that's working.
"I don't know," Ryan says, even though Jon didn't ask him a question. "Maybe we need to take a break or something."
"Festival," Jon counters. It's maybe a month away, and they have to have something in playing shape.
Ryan closes his eyes again. "Fuck. I want to destroy it all. Every song, every note, every last word."
"You're being too hard on yourself," Jon says. He slides off the couch and lies on the floor next to Ryan, their shoulders brushing. He doesn't have any hopes his words will make a difference, because they all feel the pressure, but Ryan gets insane about it.
Ryan doesn't say anything, and after a few minutes, Jon reaches over and pries Ryan's guitar away, sitting up. "You need to let go for a while," he says, and he strums out a couple of chords. "Write something with me."
Ryan glares up at him. "I need to let go by writing something? Great plan."
"No," Jon corrects, "you need to let go and write anything that comes to your head. Nothing planned, nothing with a purpose. Nothing to fit in with any concept. This is for us. Nobody else ever even has to hear it. Now come on."
Jon starts strumming again. "It's getting late and I'm getting sleepy," he sings. "I wanna go to bed but Ryan's getting weepy."
"Hey!" Ryan says, and Jon goes with it, sings, "Hey, hey, hey, hey," like it's a chorus.
"I can't believe I'm friends with such a fucking dork," Ryan says. At Jon's sharp look, he sing-songs, "At least he doesn't make me want to gouge my eyes out with a spork," completely out of rhythm.
"That's way too many syllables," Jon sings, then, "shit, nothing rhymes with syllable."
"Billable," Ryan supplies, and Jon laughs but keeps strumming. Ryan sits up, hair falling in his eyes. It's getting long, and it's greasy from too many days without a shower.
"My friend Ryan is a walking thesaurus," Jon sings, "hope he don't get eaten by a tyrannosaurus."
"That doesn't even make sense," Ryan says, grinning like a maniac. It's nice to see him looking like a maniac in a good way. "Thesauruses are for synonyms, not for finding rhymes."
"Shhh," Jon says. "No thinking. Singing."
Ryan starts tapping his foot, getting into it, and Jon ends up watching his mouth while he sings about the moths that swarm around the back porch light at night.
It doesn't fix their problems, but it helps, Jon thinks. He'll grab one of Ryan's guitars after Ryan's chased Spencer and Brendon away -- or they've escaped, Jon's not such which -- and they'll make stupid shit up together.
In fact, after a couple of times, Brendon and Spencer don't leave. They stick around and they all smoke up and sing nonsense. Spencer refuses to pick up a tambourine, but Brendon grabs one and starts smacking it against his ass in time.
They actually come up with something that sounds kind of cool.
"That one's not bad," Jon says. "I kind of dig it. I like how you managed to rhyme 'disestablishmentarianism' with 'who gives a fuck about that librarian.' "
"It wouldn't fit in with the album at all," Ryan says, and suddenly his mouth gets drawn tight again.
"And?" Spencer says.
Jon waits for Ryan to get defensive, because that's what he's been doing for months now, getting defensive and mean with it.
This time, though, Ryan's shoulders straighten. "Fuck the album," he says. "Let's kill it. I hate it."
"Fuck yes," Spencer says, and Jon wants to collapse from relief when Brendon gives Ryan a hug.
Ryan burns his guitar that night, over Brendon's vehement protests, but Jon hands him the lighter fluid. If Ryan needs a fresh start, Jon's all about giving him one.
They leave the cabin and take the break they all need, even if it's probably not as long as they'd like. They have a festival to play in a couple of weeks, in Milwaukee, and they don't have anything new that's even close to being done. Except for the songs they'd decided to kill.
They play one of them, and Jon feels curiously lighter after they leave the stage.
"It's like a goodbye," Ryan says philosophically. (He's been relaxed since Jon first saw him again, giving Jon an easy hug and opening with an, "I swear I've had fifty ideas for songs since we left the cabin.")
They hang around the venue for a while, catching up. Ryan has a friend with him, Donna, someone he knew in high school who lives in Milwaukee now. She's pretty and has the kind of smile that scrunches up her nose. She keeps up with Jon drink for drink and is sitting in Ryan's lap before long.
Jon's mind wanders places it shouldn't, but he's gotten pretty good over the last couple of months about getting it back on the right track.
Jon has a keycard, is the thing, and he doesn't have any reason to think using it would be a bad idea. Because he and Ryan are sharing a room during the festival, and even if he'd told Ryan it'd be a couple of hours before he'd be back, he figured Ryan and Donna would go to her place.
And you know, Jon has seen Ryan's cock. He has. You can't be in a band with a guy, on tour, even living together sometimes, without seeing him naked. Jon's seen Ryan naked, and Brendon and Spencer, too.
But. He hasn't seen Ryan naked and hard. It's...different, seeing him like that.
It's especially different when the reason he's seeing Ryan like that is because Donna's on her knees and Ryan's cock is hard because she's sucking him off.
And okay, Donna's mouth is pretty big for a chick. It's not an insult or anything, just. Her smile is wide and her mouth is big enough that she can fit her fist into it -- she showed them that trick after the show because Ryan kept telling her it was awesome and they needed to see it. But still, her lips are stretched around Ryan and her jaw is dropped wide, and holy shit, it looks like her jaw would have to be aching.
Jon should be moving. He should be saying, "Sorry," and turning around and closing the door behind him. But he's just standing there, staring stupidly as Donna pulls off and covers her mouth reflexively, and there's Ryan's dick, and it's hard and shiny wet, and Jesus Christ. It's like, porn dick, and Jon had known that, but he hadn't known.
"Um," Ryan says, and finally, Jon's eyes snap up to Ryan's face. He knows his eyes must be wide, but seeing Ryan's expression, turned on and kind of annoyed, snaps him out of it.
He manages to stutter out something like an apology and slam the door behind him. Right. Maybe he should go find Brendon or Spencer. Or maybe he should just go down to the hotel bar and get something else to drink. He could use it.
He ends up just sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet into the water. He's not even there for more than a few minutes before his cell phone buzzes with a text.
"U can come back when u want," it says. No mention of why, but Jon guesses there doesn't need to be.
He waits a while longer before he puts his flip-flops back on and heads for the elevator, just so he doesn't look like he was waiting outside the door or something.
Ryan's in the shower when he gets back anyway, so Jon turns on the TV and flips through the channels until he lands on America's Next Top Model. He watches with maybe half his attention, the other half constantly monitoring the sounds from the bathroom and wondering when Ryan's going to come out and if it'll be weird.
Ryan's kind of an exhibitionist in a lot of ways, so Jon doesn't think it should be.
When Ryan leaves the bathroom, he wanders out with his hair slicked back from his forehead, towel over his shoulders and his boxer briefs sticking to his skin in some spots that are still wet. He looks relaxed in that way Jon's come to recognize as Ryan's post-orgasm state.
"That didn't take long," Jon says.
"Huh?" Ryan asks.
"I'm just saying. It didn't take long between when I left and when you texted. Does that mean 'big dick come quick' is true?" He smirks at Ryan's affronted look, but Ryan's gotten pretty good at not defending himself when people fuck with him, like he used to when Jon first joined the band.
"I don't know," Ryan says. "Why don't you suck my cock and find out?"
Jon laughs, even though the thought makes his breathing go a little funny. "Eh. Rain check," he says.
It seems weird that Ryan must have, like, sent Donna away pretty soon after Jon walked in. It's kind of a douche move, to have a girl suck you off, then show her the door at the first possible chance.
"Did you even get her off?" Jon asks.
Ryan looks offended. "Of course. Ladies first, dude," he says. "I think she was just embarrassed that you came in. She took off so fast I'm surprised you didn't end up on the same elevator."
Jon lifts an eyebrow. "That fast?" He's trying to think how to phrase the question: So Ryan came because they got caught? Or Donna took off and he had to get himself off?
"Fuck off," Ryan says.
Jon decides not to ask. "I'm just gonna," he says, gesturing toward the shower. He jerks off under the rush of hot water, because really, either scenario works for him.
Jon gets a week in Chicago after the festival, and then it's back to Vegas to write the album. For real this time.
It still takes Jon a while to work up the courage, and it's less courage than it is the fact that they're both sort of fucked up. They've smoked a few bowls and gone through a six pack since Ryan picked him up at the airport, and Jon's feeling braver than usual, anyway, maybe because they haven't seen each other in a couple of weeks.
"This shit's boring," Jon says, halfheartedly gesturing toward the TV. "Gimme the remote."
"Get it yourself," Ryan says lazily. He kicks at the coffee table.
Jon stares at if for a second, because it does seem sort of far away down there, like it'd take an awful lot of effort to actually move and get it.
But, he decides, hopefully it'll be worth it. So he makes the colossal effort of sitting up and grabbing the remote from the table, and when he settles back on the couch, he turns his body just a bit, so he's turned toward Ryan more and his legs are sprawled wider.
He channel surfs for a few minutes, heading down the list until the flicks past HBO, then on to Cinemax, and before long, bingo. Porn.
It's got that blonde, the one with the weird little-girl voice whose name Jon never remembers, but he always recognizes her tits. They're fucking nice, fake or not. This dude is sucking on one of her nipples while he pinches the other, and yeah. This'll do.
Jon tosses the remote down on the couch between him and Ryan and grins when Ryan raises an eyebrow at him.
"I love her tits," Jon says, and Ryan just turns back to the TV, watching for a second before he nods.
"Those are nice tits," he agrees, and they sit and watch comfortably while the guy in the porno spreads her legs and goes down on her. She has a nice pussy, too -- well, she's a porn star, so duh, Jon thinks. It's shaved smooth, and it's pink and wet, and the guy seems like he's pretty decent with his mouth, because she sounds like she comes really hard, and it doesn't seem fake.
It's pretty good porn, enough that Jon's half-hard from watching. He sneaks a peek out of the corner of his eye, and Ryan's sitting still, but he's widened his legs some, so that they're sprawled wider. Jon can't tell if Ryan's hard, though, not unless he actually looked, and not just out of the corner of his eye.
He asks, "You think girls like sex or oral better?" He thinks he sounds pretty casual.
"I dunno," Ryan says after a minute. Jon chances a glance to find Ryan watching the screen contemplatively. Jon glances down, and yeah. Ryan's hard, at least partway. "Probably depends on the girl," Ryan says, and Jon looks back to the TV quickly when Ryan turns to glance at him. He's lucky Ryan moves slow and sort of telegraphs his movements when he's high.
"Hmmm," Jon hums, watching the way the girl's thighs tense and then spasm when she comes again.
"I mean, what do you like better?" Ryan asks, and Jon jerks his gaze toward Ryan in surprise. "Fucking or blowjobs?"
Jon blinks. "Dude, I'm a guy. I like it all."
Ryan laughs softly, and his eyes wander back to the TV. His right hand is resting low on his stomach, near the crease of his thigh.
Jon makes himself stop staring and asks, "What about you?"
Ryan yawns and scratches his thigh. His hand ends up even closer to his crotch. "I've liked everything I've tried," he says.
Jon laughs and hopes it doesn't sound too breathless, because the girl on the screen is on her knees now, and that guy's definitely in porn for more than his oral skills, because that's a porn dick right there, thick and long. And the girl's opening her mouth and taking it in, and Jon's getting flashbacks of finding Donna on her knees for Ryan, seeing how stretched her mouth was.
And hey, he's not half-hard anymore. He's fully hard, and it's really uncomfortable to be trapped in his jeans. Jon darts another glance at Ryan, enough to see that Ryan's got his hand pressed flat against his stomach now, and Jon decides fuck it, he's going for it.
So he shifts in his seat, spreading his legs just a little more and palming himself through his jeans, rubbing a little. Ryan looks over and laughs -- actually laughs -- before he smiles sheepishly and adjusts himself in his pants, too.
They both look back at the TV quickly, and Jon's really glad the glow from the screen is the only light in the room, because at least this way Ryan shouldn't be able to see the way Jon's cheeks are heating.
He's gotten this far, but even watching the blonde deep-throating that guy, hearing her gasp when she pulls back to catch her breath before she goes back down, Jon's not sure if he has quite enough courage.
But then there's a quiet spot, when she starts to suck the guy down and looks up at him with her mouth stretched wide, and Jon reaches for the top button of his jeans just as he hears Ryan's zipper open. Jon rubs the heel of his hand down against the base of his cock and stares at the TV hard, because he is not, not, not supposed to look at anything but the screen, and he knows it. There are rules about straight guys jerking off to porn together, and they include actually watching the porn, not the other guy getting himself off.
Jon's glad he turned his body more toward Ryan when he got the remote, though, because he can see more in his peripheral vision than Ryan probably can. He can see Ryan lift his hand and lick his palm wet before he lowers it back to his cock, and Jon jerks his jeans open the rest of the way and pulls his cock out, giving it a hard squeeze before he licks his own hand and wraps his wet palm around himself, jerking in time with Ryan before he even realizes that's what he's doing.
He doesn't really know what's going on onscreen anymore because he's just staring at it blankly, out of focus, but it must be something good, because Ryan groans quietly and starts jerking himself faster. Jon sees it out of his periphery when Ryan's head falls against the back of the sofa, and like they're magnetically drawn, Jon's eyes are immediately on Ryan. His head's thrown back and his eyes are closed, and his hand's working furiously over his cock, twisting over the head on each upstroke.
Jon's hips buck into his own grip when Ryan's hand slows a little, squeezing just under the head of his cock, and Ryan starts coming over his fingers and the hem of his shirt, stroking himself through it.
Jon has a moment to wonder if that means Ryan likes the sounds of porn, if they get him off more than the visuals of it, and he bites his bottom lip, working himself over hard and fast. He watches Ryan's hand fall away from his cock, wet with come and so fucking big and still mostly hard against his belly.
Ryan makes a small sound of surprise, and Jon looks up reflexively to find Ryan staring at him. Caught.
Jon closes his eyes and comes hard, shaking with the knowledge that Ryan's watching him like he watched Ryan.
"Huh," Ryan says after a minute that would be silent if it weren't for the porn still on the TV. Ryan sounds shocked, but when Jon opens his eyes and meets Ryan's gaze after an agonizingly long moment, Ryan's eyes are still heavy, lazy and hooded.
"Like what you see?" Ryan asks, and even though Jon's looking right at him, he can't quite get a read on whether Ryan's joking. Ryan wipes his hand off on the hem of his shirt and tucks his cock back in, then starts fastening his jeans.
As soon as Ryan's not looking at him anymore, Jon takes the opportunity to do the same. He pays more attention to buttoning his fly than he really needs to.
"Dude," Jon starts to say, but his voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. "Dude, you have to know you have a dick that looks like it's straight out of porn," he manages to say. "You could probably be a porn star if this music thing ever fell through."
"You like my cock?" Ryan asks, and Jon looks up at that -- he can't not. But Ryan's expression is flat, only vaguely curious and not giving much of anything away.
Jon's not sure what Ryan's looking for here, so he says after a too-long silence, "It's a fine cock. I'm a little jealous, even."
"Hmm. You want my cock?" This time there's a smirk, and holy loaded question.
Jon laughs uneasily and shifts in his seat. "Instead of mine? I don't know, I like mine pretty well just the way it is. I'd miss it, I think."
Ryan hums noncommittally, and Jon turns back toward the TV. The girl's getting fucked now, and she's telling the guy how much she loves his huge cock. Jon can feel his face flushing darker.
But Ryan lets it go.
"I'd fuck her," he says, and Jon just nods.
It doesn't take any time for Jon to settle in at Ryan's, but it never really does. Ryan has two spare bedrooms, and Jon takes the one that looks least dusty. There aren't any sheets on the mattress, but Jon doesn't care. He can just steal one of Ryan's blankets. He always has a bunch of them on his bed, like he's built himself a little nest.
He knocks softly on Ryan's door, but there's no answer. Then a sound comes from the kitchen, so Jon just pushes his way into Ryan's room and steals a quilt from the foot of the bed. It takes a little while to disentangle it from the afghan it's entwined with.
He goes to bed wrapped in Ryan's scent, and that's nicer than having sheets anyway.
Things sort of blur by for a while. They write some at Ryan's, some at Spencer's, some at their old practice space. They're keeping hours that are slightly better than what they kept at the cabin, but not by much. They're getting a whole hell of a lot more accomplished, though.
"I want some tacos," Jon says, only it's 3 a.m., and Ryan's refrigerator obviously doesn't have any tacos.
Ryan scratches his stomach through his T-shirt and looks in over Jon's shoulder. "I don't have any tacos," he says sadly. "I have some microwave burritos."
Jon considers, but no. He wants tacos. "We could go out and get some," he says.
"You're drunk. You stole all my beer and you're drunk," Ryan says. "You're not driving anywhere in my car."
"You didn't have anything to drink in the past couple of hours then, did you?" Jon asks, prodding Ryan's bare foot with his own.
Ryan crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to get your drunk ass tacos at three in the morning."
"I'll make it worth your while," Jon prods.
Ryan lifts an eyebrow. "You know that usually means sexual favors, right?"
"I'm a great cocksucker," Jon says, nodding. It's not really true because he's only given a few sloppy blowjobs before, but whatever.
"So you're gonna follow through on that if I go buy you tacos?"
"All that and more, baby," Jon says with an eyebrow wiggle.
"I'll hold you to that," Ryan says like it's a warning, and it should be, it really should. Jon still feels his stomach swoop a little, though.
"Tacos first," Jon says. "I don't put out for nothing."
"Tacos first," Ryan agrees.
It takes them ten minutes to find Ryan's car keys, but eventually Ryan pulls out of the garage and tells Jon to buckle up.
He maybe falls asleep in the passenger seat, because the next thing he knows, Ryan's leaning over him, unfastening his seat belt, and Jon can smell tacos. Tacos.
"Mmm, tacos," he says, and Ryan waves the bag under his nose. Jon grabs for them, but he's still a little sleep-blurred and too slow, so he has to follow Ryan out of the car and wait until they're in the kitchen to grab one and start munching away happily.
Jon eats four, but Ryan beats him -- like always -- and eats five, still finishing before Jon does.
Ryan's watching him, hands crossed over his stomach, when Jon finishes his last taco, licking off his fingers.
"What?" Jon asks.
"Just waiting for you to be ready to show me your appreciation," Ryan says.
"Jeez, I don't even get time to let my tacos settle? Slave driver."
Ryan grins and shoves the last of the taco wrappers into the fast food bag. He doesn't throw it away, but it's not like it matters. The place is already littered with pizza and takeout boxes from the past few days.
Jon yawns. Being full always makes him so sleepy. Maybe the beer and pot from earlier contributed, but he can go to bed now that he's not hungry anymore.
"Tired," he mumbles, and follows Ryan down the hallway. Ryan has two bathrooms, but the sink in the guest bathroom is broken, so Jon goes into Ryan's bathroom with him. They brush their teeth side by side, and Jon only almost spits on Ryan's hand once.
Jon waits until Ryan's done rinsing his mouth to rinse his, then puts his toothbrush back in the holder with Ryan's. "I bet your toothbrush was lonely before mine came to visit," he says. He sometimes says stupid things when he's sleepy. Or high. Or drunk. Or when he doesn't have an excuse. But Ryan just smiles sleepily, and that's one of the things Jon likes best about him. They work together.
Jon slings an arm around Ryan's thin shoulders and pulls down a little, pushing up so that he can kiss Ryan's temple. "Thanks for the tacos," he says, and pats Ryan's belly with his free hand. "You treat me right, Ross."
He starts to let go of Ryan, but Ryan holds on to his wrist and tugs until Jon's facing him. They're crowded together in the doorway to Ryan's bathroom, and it doesn't really seem weird -- it feels sort of like a dream, really -- that Ryan's leaning in toward Jon, and Jon's gripping Ryan's wrist back, so they're in some kind of weird Roman handshake. Jon tugs Ryan forward just that last little bit and Jon tips his head up just to see. Ryan's lips press against Jon's softly, minty and sweet, just briefly, and this time Ryan tugs Jon's arm.
"You should sleep in here," Ryan says. "I mean, I might have some awesome song idea tonight that I want you to help me work on."
It's pretty clearly an excuse, and a transparent one, but Jon's okay with that. "Yeah, all right," he says.
He follows Ryan, and carefully doesn't watch while Ryan sheds everything but his underwear while Jon does the same. Jon waits until Ryan crawls into his bed to climb in after him. Ryan fusses with his blankets for a little while, rearranging them so that Jon can share, and Jon smiles into the pillow.
There's plenty of room for both of them to lie without touching, not like the twin bed back at the cabin. Somehow they still end up with their feet overlapping and shoulders pressed together.
They're not spooning when Jon wakes up, but he feels comfortable and well-rested and only a teensy bit hung over.
His bladder's what woke him up, and he glances at the clock to check the time. It's been nine hours, so no wonder. Ryan's still asleep next to him, with his mouth open a little and one arm flung off the edge of the mattress.
Jon's careful getting up, even though he knows Ryan's a heavy sleeper. He wavers at the foot of the bed. He could either use the guest bathroom and go back to the guest room, or he could use Ryan's bathroom and then snuggle right back into the warmth of Ryan's bed.
The guest bathroom sink doesn't work, and you're really supposed to wash your hands after you go to the bathroom, Jon decides. So he uses Ryan's bathroom and washes his hands really well, drying them off on Ryan's ridiculous monogrammed hand towel.
He still hesitates at the foot of the bed, but only for a minute, before he slides back in beside Ryan. Ryan snuffles softly and smacks his lips, and Jon holds still so he won't wake. When Ryan stills again, Jon folds his hands under his pillow, watching Ryan's profile. Ryan looks really young when he's asleep.
Jon doesn't want to be too creepy, so he closes his eyes and decides to sleep some more. He's floating along pleasantly when Ryan shifts and turns on his side, facing Jon. Jon cracks an eye open and Ryan's blinking at him.
"Good morning," Jon says.
"Mmm," Ryan hums, then clears his throat. "You know what would make it a good morning?"
"Pancakes?" Jon hazards. He's pretty sure Ryan doesn't actually have any of the makings for pancakes in his kitchen, except maybe some eggs. But Jon thinks those might have gone bad a week ago anyway.
"That blowjob you owe me."
"Ah, wake-up sex," Jon says. "I guess I could have started while you were asleep?"
Ryan shrugs one pale shoulder, and Jon watches it against the blue sheets. He could write it off, because it's a joke, right? But they did kiss last night, and that felt real.
"I'm a little hungover," Jon says. "I don't want to gag on your cock. How about a handjob?"
"Handjobs work," Ryan says. He's half-smiling, like he could go either way. They can keep it a joke, or maybe not.
Jon takes a deep breath. Then, "Okay." He scoots closer to Ryan and reaches between them, watching Ryan's face when his palm settles over Ryan's cock and rubs against the cotton over it.
Ryan bites his lip and his eyes drop to Jon's mouth, and then he leans forward and kisses Jon, morning breath and all. It's not the same light kiss as the night before, because then Ryan's mouth is opening a little, and their tongues are meeting, touching and testing, and it takes Jon a while to remember where his hand is.
He breaks the kiss and they both look down when Jon pushes away the blankets and reaches through the slit of Ryan's boxers to pull his cock out. Ryan's half-hard and getting harder in Jon's hand, and Jon lets go just for a second so he can spit in his hand before he grabs Ryan again, pumping his cock, and watching the whole time while Ryan's cock lengthens and fills.
It's heavier in Jon's hand than his own cock would be, thicker and longer, and it feels curiously hot. Jon doesn't remember his cock being so hot, and unconsciously reaches down to cup himself with his free hand. He's going hard, of course, but before he can get his hand inside his underwear to judge the comparative heat of his own dick, Ryan's arm is tangling with his.
"Let me," Ryan says, and like Jon's going to argue with that. He lets Ryan push his underwear halfway down his ass and free his cock. He lets Ryan touch him, and he touches him back, running his thumb up the underside of Ryan's cock, tracing the thick vein there before flicking his thumb under the head.
Ryan sucks in a loud breath and lets go of Jon, just for a minute. Jon makes a protesting sound at the loss of Ryan's hand, but Ryan's just licking it, getting it wet, and when he wraps his hand back around Jon, it's better, an easier slide. Jon pushes his hips forward into it, and fucks Ryan's fist with the same rhythm he's jerking Ryan off with.
Jon's breath is uneven and loud in his own ears, watching his hand on Ryan's dick. He likes the way Ryan's stomach muscles jump when he works just the head, so he stays there for a while, then rubs his palm over the tip to get it wetter. Ryan's hand tightens on Jon's cock, tugging hard, and Jon groans.
Ryan gasps in response, and that's when Jon remembers the way Ryan's head fell back when they were watching that porn. Sound, that's right. Ryan likes the sounds.
Jon makes sure he doesn't hold them back. He lets each breath hitch as it may, and he lets out a soft, "ah," when Ryan rubs right under the head with his thumb.
Jon closes his eyes, looking away from the way Ryan's dick is moving through his fist, and presses his forehead against Ryan's. Ryan angles his head enough that he can kiss Jon again, and Jon makes a pleased sound into Ryan's mouth.
It doesn't really take long. Ryan's hand is sure and a little rough, and Jon's coming almost before he realizes he's close. Ryan's patient, and he presses a kiss against Jon's forehead and strokes Jon's hip until Jon remembers himself.
"Sorry," he says, and his voice sounds deeper than usual, so he clears his throat. "Can I..."
He trails off and just goes for it, urging Ryan onto his back and straddling his legs. He looks down and watches Ryan's hips lift off the bed while Ryan tries to speed up Jon's hand on his cock. He's holding on to Jon's forearm, smearing come and gripping hard.
Jon thinks about leaning down and taking Ryan into his mouth, because there's Ryan's cock, pushing through the circle of his fist, but it really is sort of daunting. And he doesn't know if that would be okay, anyway. Maybe. He's thinking it'd probably be okay, since they're doing this, but he's not going to push. This is good.
Ryan doesn't make much noise himself, just soft little exhales and tiny gasps that tempt Jon into leaning down to feel them against his mouth. Ryan's cock brushes against his belly, and they're kissing when Jon feels Ryan coming between them.
Jon sits back to drag in a breath, and he stares at Ryan's stomach. Ryan's cock is still mostly hard against his belly, and there doesn't seem to be especially a lot of come. Jon doesn't know why he thought there would be, just because Ryan's cock is so big.
When he looks back up, Ryan's looking back at him. They stare for a while before Jon chances a smile, and Ryan smiles back.
"Way better than pancakes," Ryan croaks out.
"I don't know," Jon says. "I could go for some pancakes."
"Shut up," Ryan growls, and pulls Jon back down into another kiss. That's nice. Jon likes kissing, especially when he knows things could have just gotten weird between them. Kissing's better than scrambling out of bed and pretending like it never happened.
Jon pulls back from Ryan's mouth and asks, "Isn't there an IHOP somewhere around here?"
Ryan pushes him off the bed, but Jon lands on his ass laughing.
It doesn't really change them. It's like an added dimension or something.
They write and they keep working on the album with Spence and Brendon. They all hang out sometimes, and other times just Jon and Ryan hang out. When they're all together, they smoke up and they fuck around with video games. When it's just Jon and Ryan, they smoke up and just fuck around. The only thing that really changes is that Jon stops sleeping in the guest room, and sometimes they end up making out or jerking each other off instead of watching TV.
They're supposed to be at Spence's in half an hour, but they're still in bed. Which, whatever. When they go to Spence's they'll probably spend at least the first hour eating and/or drinking before Brendon rolls in late. He's been helping Shane with some project, but it's cool. Besides, this is better.
Jon's gasping and rocking up to meet Ryan, and he inches his hand down between them in stuttered stops and starts before he finally makes it there and presses between them, where their skin is sliding together with Jon's sweat. He closes his hand around Ryan's cock, shuddering when Ryan throws his head back and fucks into Jon's fist.
Jon keeps his eyes trained on Ryan's face and the pleasure there, and it still makes his belly tighten, knowing he's the cause of it. He squeezes his hand possessively around Ryan's thick cock, and Ryan grunts, shoving his hips forward. Jon's dick rubs wetly against Ryan's stomach, jerking, as Jon thinks -- not for anything close to the first time -- about how that would have felt if Ryan were driving his cock into Jon's ass instead of the grip of his hand.
The thought of it, paired just with that brief friction, is enough. Jon comes in hot spurts across both their bellies, groaning, and Ryan hisses. It takes Jon a minute, shaking and shivering before his muscles seem to melt around his bones, to realize Ryan's hiss is in response to the squeeze of Jon's hand, too tight around Ryan. But Ryan just licks his lips and smiles dazedly when Jon eases his grip and almost slurs, "sorry."
"S'okay," Ryan says, pulling at Jon's wrist until he has both of Jon's hands pinned against the bed, one still sticky with come. "Probably kept me from coming when you did," Ryan says, and drops his head to suck at Jon's neck. His hips roll, and Jon moans, oversensitive and overstimulated.
It's all right, though, because it doesn't take Ryan long. He ruts forward a few more times, then his hands go tight around Jon's wrists, and he's coming over Jon's belly.
They only end up being 15 minutes late to Spencer's after all.
"Hey, so," Jon says, trying to sound casual. He's been standing in the kitchen doorway, watching Ryan in the living room for the past five minutes trying to decide his approach. He's settled on: "Are you ever going to cash in that IOU?"
"Huh?" Ryan says, glancing up from his laptop screen.
"You bought me some tacos this one time, and I still owe you a blowjob," Jon explains. They haven't done that yet. Not that what they've done hasn't been awesome, but, you know. Jon can't get it out of his mind, all the more that he wants.
"Oh," Ryan says. "Oh." He snaps his laptop closed and tosses it to the other end of the couch. "You. Yeah. We can do that. That would be. Yeah."
Jon lowers his head and smiles into his chest. He takes his time, approaching Ryan and settling at his feet. He's glad Ryan's carpet is so nice. It doesn't hurt his knees to kneel at Ryan's feet, urging Ryan forward so that his legs are open wider on the couch and he's sitting closer to the edge.
He's gotten good at getting Ryan's pants open pretty fast, but Ryan slows him by grabbing his hand and asking, "Hey, you know it was like, just a thing. You don't have to. I mean, if you don't want."
"You think I would have brought it up if I didn't want it?" Jon asks, swatting Ryan's hand aside.
"Oh," Ryan says. Then, "Really?"
"Yeah," Jon says, huffing out a laugh. He lets the smile drop, though, because Ryan's worrying his bottom lip still. "I do. I've wanted you in my mouth," Jon confesses. He feels just a bit short of breath, because yes, they are talking about Jon sucking Ryan's cock, and it still steals his breath to think of it. "Do I have your permission to suck you off?"
Ryan seems to be having trouble breathing himself, maybe, because his voice is choked and wispy when he says, "Fuck. Yes. YES." And then Ryan's fumbling with his jeans and getting them open and down fast, but Jon's sliding right between his knees faster, grabbing Ryan's dick and pumping it, watching the movement avidly from so close.
Before long, Ryan's cock is flushed and full, and the girth is almost frightening now that Jon knows it's about to be in his mouth. The head is wide, and Jon thinks, like he's thought for months, how much it might hurt to take him in if you weren't quite ready for him, or if you were tense. It's exciting in a way to think something like that, because Jon can sort of imagine how good it could be to have to ride out the stretch and adjust with that hard cock inside, keeping you too full to stop aching the whole time.
Ryan's staring down at him, he knows, because he can feel the weight of Ryan's gaze. But Ryan's patient about it -- he's probably always had to be more patient about sex than the usual guy, considering. His palms are cupping the balls of Jon's shoulders, lightly and undemanding. There's no pressure from Ryan, but Jon's wanted this, and he's waited, and now he's done looking and wants to taste.
He leans in, wrapping his hand around the base of Ryan's cock, and licks over the wide head. There's the taste of precome on his tongue when he swallows a little, his mouth watering embarrassingly before he's even really begun, and Jon moves back in for another taste, rolling his tongue over the tip before he takes in just the head of Ryan's cock, reveling in the feel of the hard-soft-warm flesh against his tongue.
He hears Ryan breathe in hard through his nose, and Ryan's fingers tense just a little on his shoulders, gripping tighter.
Jon sucks then, instead of just mouthing at Ryan's cock, and the grip on his shoulders goes tighter before relaxing again. He goes down so he can feel the weight of Ryan's dick in his mouth, and he moans at the feel, how far he has to drop his jaw to accommodate Ryan. Precome gushes against his tongue and he moans again.
"Fuck," Ryan hisses, and one of his hands abandons Jon's shoulder to cup the back of his neck. He doesn't try to force Jon further down, but when Jon goes on his own, Ryan's fingers curl into Jon's hair and grip it tight enough that Jon knows it'll tug when he starts moving in earnest.
He can't go down very far. It's a little disappointing almost, because he has to keep his hand wrapped around the base, and it seems like a waste that he can't take in more. He wishes he could deep-throat, but he's not sure how long it would take to acquire that particular skill. So he settles for pulling off of Ryan's cock and smoothing his hand up and back down the length, getting it all wet with his saliva. Then he mouths at the base, licking up the underside and getting it nice and slick so his hand will slide more easily when he sucks Ryan back in.
Ryan's pretty quiet. He's breathing a little unevenly, but mostly he just tightens and loosens his hand in Jon's hair by turns, thigh flexing underneath Jon's open palm because he's pushing forward just a little each time Jon goes down. Jon wonders how far forward Ryan would try to push if Jon let go of his thigh, let go of Ryan's cock and let Ryan hold his head still and take control. He circles just his index finger and thumb around Ryan's base and tries it, going down as far as he can, but he ends up gagging and having to pull off to cough when Ryan hits the back of his throat.
"Shit," Ryan chokes out. "Go easy, dude." He pets Jon's hair clumsily, but Jon doesn't miss the soft pressure at the base of his skull when Ryan guides him back forward, holding the base of his cock this time so Jon can rest both hands on Ryan's sharp hips while he sucks. It doesn't take long before his jaw's starting to ache and his mouth is too full of saliva. He has to pull off and swallow, and wow. That's...sort of fucking hot, seeing Ryan's cock red and wet with his spit, Ryan's hand wrapped around himself.
Jon works his jaw from side to side for a second, then fits his hand over Ryan's. "You should, uh. Let me watch you," Jon says, chancing a glance up at Ryan's face.
"Huh?" Ryan asks, and his eyes look a little glazed, so Jon smiles and demonstrates. He tightens his hand over Ryan's and drags his grip from root to tip, then back up.
"Think you've got it now?" Jon asks, and Ryan sticks out his tongue. But he does start stroking himself, slow and tight, and it's fucking hot that Jon knows it's his spit that's easing the way.
He just watches for a while, sitting back on his heels to see the way Ryan's thighs tense each time his hand works over the head of his cock, and to watch the long muscles in his forearm work and his wrist twist with each stroke. His favorite moments are when just the head of Ryan's dick is peeking out of the circle of his fist, dark against the pale skin of his hand.
But he can only sit back and watch for so long, sore jaw or not. He waits until Ryan's eyes fall closed, and then he waits a couple of tugs before he eases back forward and licks across the tip of Ryan's cock when it reappears. Jon's watching for it when Ryan's eyes fly back open, and he manages to maintain eye contact when slides his mouth down to meet Ryan's fist, Ryan watching hotly.
"Fuuuck," Ryan says, and Jon bobs on his cock a few more times before he has to pull back for a good breath.
"Hey," he says. "You think I could just suck on the head while you jerk off? My jaw kind of hurts, and it'd probably be faster that way."
"You think I'd say no to that?" Ryan asks, and Jon doesn't bother with a response. He just leans in and holds Ryan's hips down, then fits his mouth over the head of Ryan's cock, tonguing the slit, rubbing his tongue underneath the head, sucking light then harder, doing everything he can while Ryan works the shaft. Ryan's moving fast but still careful, so his hand only meets Jon's mouth a couple of times, and his cock only pops out of Jon's mouth once before Jon can suck it back in.
It doesn't take too long before Ryan's grunting a warning that Jon ignores. He sucks Ryan harder, until Ryan's coming in his mouth in hot spurts that he mostly manages to swallow. Some of it ends up leaking out of the corners of his mouth, but Jon doesn't really care, because as soon as Ryan makes an overstimulated sound, Jon pulls off and reaches for his own jeans. They feel ridiculously tight, and he has to wrestle to get them open and get his hand around his cock, pumping it hard and rough, so close just from having Ryan's cock in his mouth and making him come.
"You know, I could take care of that," Ryan says languidly. He doesn't really look like he could. He looks like his bones have gone liquid, and his hand is still holding his dick, mostly soft by now.
Jon bites his lip and jerks himself harder, and Ryan says, "Or I could just watch," and proceeds to do just that. And Jon figures that's fair, because Jon's done more than his share of watching Ryan, and it's kind of even more of a turn-on for Ryan to watch him and not do anything.
"That was hot," Ryan says. "You sucking my cock like that. It's like. Not everyone's really excited to do that, you know? The first girl I ever had sex with said fuck no, she didn't want to get lockjaw or something. My next girlfriend fucking loved it, though. I think she was a size queen."
Jon tries to give Ryan a look that says talking about ex-girlfriends right now isn't a good idea, but he mostly hopes he's already flushed enough that Ryan won't notice if he goes red over Ryan's size queen remark.
"I like how your mouth looks now. It's really red." Ryan reaches out and touches it, running his finger along the seam of Jon's lips. Jon lets his mouth fall open just a bit, and Ryan takes the invitation, pushing two fingers inside. Jon sucks them in time with the way his hand's stroking his cock.
"Did you like it?" Ryan asks. "You seemed to like it."
Jon just sucks Ryan's fingers harder, until Ryan bends his fingers and hooks them behind Jon's teeth. He tugs a little, says, "C'mere." Jon goes, Ryan's fingers pulling him forward until Jon's knees are bracketing Ryan's hips on the couch.
"I don't just want to watch anymore," Ryan says, and he brings Jon's mouth down to his own, slipping his fingers out right before their lips meet. Ryan kisses him lewdly, tongue fucking into his mouth, and Jon's so caught up that his hand stills on his cock. He's not expecting it when Ryan's hand, fingers damp from Jon's mouth, nudges Jon's hand aside, and then Ryan's jerking him off.
Jon moans into Ryan's mouth, grabbing at the back of the couch to stay upright, because Ryan's rhythm is steady and demanding, and Jon's going to come really fucking fast.
Jon ends the kiss and buries his nose in the juncture of Ryan's neck and shoulder, breathing him in and trying to hold on.
Ryan must not have the same plan, because he rubs his thumb back and forth, back and forth over the head of Jon's cock, until Jon's whole body is curved over Ryan's, like he's the center of everything.
"I was too big for Jac, you know?" Ryan murmurs. "She was a virgin. I couldn't ever get it in her because she was too tight and I didn't really know much about what I was doing then anyway, about lube and stretching, stuff like that."
And that's it. If Jon's brain were working, he'd know he shouldn't come because Ryan's talking about one of his ex-girlfriends, but he does. He comes over Ryan's hand because holy shit, it always does it for him, thinking about what it might be like if Ryan were to fuck him, how much lube they'd have to use and how stretched Jon would have to be to take him in.
So Jon shudders through it, Ryan tugging on his cock unforgivingly, until Jon's wrung out and collapses into Ryan's lap.
"I thought so," Ryan says, humming softly, comfortingly.
"Thought what?" Jon manages to ask.
"Size queen," Ryan says with a soft laugh.
"Fuck off," Jon mumbles, but he doesn't bother to move.
Jon's on a plane the next morning, set for two weeks off before they head to Abbey Road. His head feels weird and disconnected, readjusting to the real world after weeks of staying with Ryan and writing, recording and fucking around. His time in a Vegas bubble doesn't feel real by the time he lands in Chicago.