
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/91935.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, Panic_At_The_Disco
  Relationship:
      Ryan_Ross/Spencer_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-06-03 Words: 3867
****** Little Earthquakes ******
by fictionalaspect
Summary
     Ryan tumbles into the room, landing on his knees and elbows on the
     carpet. He inhales heavily for a moment, and then winces as he sits
     back on his heels. "Sorry," he whispers, too-loud and fake-subtle. He
     pushes his bangs out of his eyes with one hand. "I tripped as I was
     climbing in. I thought I was going to fall off the roof."
     "Yeah," Spencer says faintly. He doesn't know what else to say. He's
     still--it's still inside him, the flared base preventing it from
     sliding in all the way. Spencer swallows.
Notes
     This was not intended to be overstimulation porn, but can be read as
     such. Thank you to
     [[info]]
desafinado and Stele for two amazing, super-helpful and lightening-quick betas.
This is unabashedly cliche. You have been warned.

In about forty-five seconds, Spencer is going to come.
He can feel the way his legs are tightening up, the strain in his lower back
and in his wrist from holding the--god, he can't even think about it. His blood
is rushing hot underneath his skin, and Spencer tilts his head back, groaning.
He didn't know it would be like this. He hadn't even really let himself think
about it, hiding the package under his bed until he could hold it in his hands
without blushing and now Spencer's just--
God, he's so full.
(The slide of the toy inside him is thick and deep, so much better than
fingers. He can feel every inch of it, warm from the heat of his body, and when
he pushes it back inside he has to grab the base of his dick and squeeze to
keep from coming.)
Spencer closes his eyes and licks his lips. His mouth is dry. He's wound so
tightly he knows he's going to be feeling this for days, in his back and legs
and ass. There's a slow, steady burn building up deep inside, and Spencer wants
it. He fucking wants it, and yeah, okay, if he'd had any doubts, this is
putting them to rest.
Spencer braces his heels against the mattress and tilts his hips up and thinks
about how good this could be, if.
If it wasn't just him in the bed, if there was someone else behind the
pressure, easing him into it, setting the pace--
There's a bang from his window.
There's a bang, and then a yelp, and then Spencer is tugging the comforter up
so fast it feels like he pulled a muscle. Panic squeezes low and tight in his
ribcage. Spencer can't breathe. Everything is shaky around the edges.
Ryan tumbles into the room, landing on his knees and elbows on the carpet. He
inhales heavily for a moment, and then winces as he sits back on his heels.
"Sorry," he whispers, too-loud and fake-subtle. He pushes his bangs out of his
eyes with one hand. "I tripped as I was climbing in. I thought I was going to
fall off the roof."
"Yeah," Spencer says faintly. He doesn't know what else to say. He's still--
it's still inside him, the flared base preventing it from sliding in all the
way. Spencer swallows. Thank god for his comforter, which is large and puffy
and covering up his hard-on. Maybe Ryan won't look too closely at his face.
Maybe he'll go to the bathroom, and then Spencer can take it out and hide it
somewhere, anywhere, oh god--
Ryan nods, and then pauses, frowning like he just realized something important.
"Wait," he says. "Wait, why are you awake?"
"No reason," Spencer replies faintly, tugging the comforter up higher.
"Why are all the lights off?" Ryan says. "I thought you were sleeping."
"Uh, you fell through my window," Spencer says, trying to will the flush off
his cheeks. Thank god it's so dark inside his room. "I woke up."
"Oh, right," Ryan whispers back. "Sorry." He reaches over and fumbles at the
bedside table, turning on the tiny light with a click. It's plastic and shaped
like a Koopa and doesn't really provide much actual light, but Spencer hasn't
gotten around to buying a replacement yet.
"Yeah," Spencer says. His hands are shaking, where they're clenched tightly
around the comforter. He's trying to stay absolutely still, but every time
Spencer shifts he can feel it, tiny sparks of lightning running up and down his
spine. Ryan just sort of stares at him for a minute, and Spencer tries to
breathe evenly and deeply.
In, and out. Breathe. In, and out, and oh, god--
"Are you okay?" Ryan whispers, peering at him in the half-light. He sounds
confused.
"Fine," Spencer grits out. "Ryan, seriously--"
"You look sick or something," Ryan says. He's frowning, like the prospect of
Spencer being sick is a confusing and unnatural turn of events. "You're all
flushed and sweaty. Shit, do you have a fever?"
"No, I--" Spencer says, and then Ryan is kicking his shoes off and sliding
under the covers, pressing one cool hand to Spencer's forehead. Spencer tries
to jerk away, but he's too late; Ryan draws his hand away with a mournful
expression.
"You definitely have a fever," Ryan whispers, concerned. "You're all hot. Dude,
should I get your mom?"
Spencer's "No!" explodes from his throat with far more force than he intended.
Ryan widens his eyes and leans back a little. He blinks at Spencer.
"Um, okay?" Ryan says.
"I just--I'm fine," Spencer grits out. He wants nothing more than to close his
eyes, to will Ryan away with the force of his mind. "Please, just, just leave
me alone, or something--"
"Oh my god, you're delirious," Ryan says. "Holy crap, I didn't know that
actually happened."
"I--what?" Spencer says.
"Spencer, it's me," Ryan says, all concerned features and wide eyes, and
Spencer is seriously going to punch him as soon as he can move without the very
real danger of coming. "It's Ryan, your best friend? You've never told me to go
away, even when I broke your skateboard. Remember?"
"Yeah, well," Spencer mumbles weakly, turning and pressing his face into the
pillow. "People change."
"Not this much," Ryan says firmly, pressing one hand back to Spencer's
forehead. He moves closer, and Spencer tries to shift away, but he's almost
falling off the side of the bed and there's really nowhere else for him to go.
"I'm going to go get your mom," Ryan says firmly. "She'll know how to fix this,
she'll--"
He breaks off in the middle of his sentence, just as Ryan's leg brushes
Spencer's upper thigh. It's a brief contact, skin on denim, the sort of thing
that would be no big deal, except for right now.
Spencer presses his face further into the pillow; there's a horrible, sinking
feeling in his stomach. He can't bear to look up and see Ryan's expression.
"Spencer?" Ryan whispers weakly, after a long moment where there's just a dead
silence. Spencer shakes his head into the pillow, refusing both Ryan's
questions and the verbal admission of his guilt. He is not talking about this.
He isn't. And if it makes Ryan run away in horror, well. It was bound to happen
sooner or later.
"You were--oh," Ryan says quietly, after a few moments have passed with just
the quiet clicking of Spencer's clock to pass the time. "Um--"
"Yes," Spencer mumbles, when he can't take it anymore. "I was. So Ryan
seriously, for the love of god, go away."
Ryan sucks in a breath. Spencer tries to stay very, very still--no sudden
movements, he thinks, mildly hysterically--and that's when he feels the gentle
press of Ryan's knee sliding against his skin.
"What," Spencer says, jerking his head up from the pillow. "Ryan, what are you
doing?"
"Uh," Ryan says weakly. He presses a little closer. Spencer jerks and tries to
move away, but his limbs are heavy and uncoordinated and the most he can manage
is a sort of awkward backwards shuffling. He ends up on his side, facing Ryan,
just as Ryan carefully inches his knee in between Spencer's legs. Spencer has
to bite his lip against the sudden friction. Ryan's leg is warm, and the denim
of his jeans is soft, just on this side of chafing. It feels good, and it takes
everything in Spencer not to roll his hips forward against the sudden pressure.
"I'm helping?"
"Ryan," Spencer hisses. "This is not a two-person operation, what the fuck."
"Yeah," Ryan says. He bites his lip, and then Spencer can feel the subtle
movement of Ryan's thigh, two inches from the base of the toy. If he moves any
closer, he's going to--fuck. Spencer tries to breathe.
"It, uh. It could be?" Ryan says, after a moment.
"Okay, no," Spencer says, and grabs onto the closest part of Ryan, which
happens to be his hip. He means to forestall any further movements, but his
fingers brush against bare skin, sliding under the thin cotton of Ryan's t-
shirt. Ryan shudders, and Spencer's fingers tighten without his permission.
"Spencer," Ryan murmurs brokenly, and then he's leaning in, pushing himself
fully into Spencer's space. Spencer's mouth drops open at the feeling, and
that's when Ryan kisses him, wet and eager.
It's almost a little too much. Spencer's skin feels like it's tingling, like
every single nerve in his body is suddenly demanding his attention. The fabric
of Ryan's T-shirt is even softer against his skin than his jeans, and his arms
around Spencer's waist are warm.
Ryan makes a soft noise and slides his hand to Spencer's hip, fingers grabbing
at him clumsily, and Spencer's brain abruptly remembers all the reasons this is
a terrible fucking idea.
"Wait," Spencer says, pulling back. His voice comes out high and breathless.
"Wait, what? Ryan, the fuck?"
"You're," Ryan mumbles, and leans in again, chasing Spencer's mouth. His
fingers are so long that the tips are just barely brushing at the hollow of
Spencer's back, even with his palm wrapped around Spencer's hip.
"That's not a sentence," Spencer points out, trying to shift away from Ryan's
hands. "You're not even--"
"No, I--" Ryan says, and then kisses him again, biting at Spencer's lower lip
and pressing his thigh directly in between Spencer's legs.
Spencer jerks at the pressure. His mouth falls open. "Spence," Ryan whispers
helplessly. "I'm sorry, fuck, I'm not trying to, you're just so--I wanted--"
"So go--jerk off--somewhere else," Spencer pants out. God, it feels so good,
the way Ryan's rubbing at him slowly, but every time Spencer pushes his hips
forward he's reminded of the feeling of fullness between his legs, of all the
reasons why they can't do this.
"Please," Ryan mumbles, his eyelashes flickering down to where they're pressed
up against one another under the covers. "I'll jerk you off, come on, you don't
even have to--"
Spencer sucks in a breath at the thought of it, of Ryan's fingers wrapped
around him. "But you don't," Spencer says weakly, giving up all pretense of
trying to fight it. He can feel a thick red blush rising on his cheeks, but
maybe if Ryan doesn't--maybe if he only jerks him off--he'll never know--
"You don't even like guys," Spencer says, all in a rush, as Ryan's fingers
slide back down his hip.
"That's still up for debate," Ryan whispers. His eyes are large and dark in the
half-light, and his hair is a mess against Spencer's pillow.
"God, I hate you so much," Spencer mumbles out, in between kisses. Ryan has one
hand on his jawline; every time they pull back to breathe, Spencer can feel the
soft puffs of air from Ryan's mouth on his lips.
"Is that a yes?" Ryan pants out, and uses his thigh to grind up against Spencer
more firmly. He's definitely hard against Spencer's stomach.
"Yeah," Spencer says. Every time Ryan rolls his hips, his spine tightens up a
little more; he can feel it in his legs, in his ass, everywhere they're
touching. His brain is all fuzzy, and it's making him careless.
"Okay," Ryan says, "Okay, awesome--"
"Ryan," Spencer says, gritting his teeth. "Less talking, more action."
"Working on it," Ryan says, and that's when his right leg slides against the
sheets. It forces his left leg farther between Spencer's legs, pressed right up
against the base of the toy.
Spencer chokes on thin air. Ryan's eyes widen, his mouth dropping open in
surprise, and all of the fear and humiliation of the past hour comes rushing
back to Spencer in one stomach-dropping moment. But he can't seem to actually
speak--god knows what he would fucking say--because Ryan's thigh is seriously
pressed right up against the base, pushing it deeper.
Oh, oh god.
"Holy shit," Ryan whispers. "Spencer, you--" He shifts a little, a different
angle of pressure against the base, and Spencer has to bite down on the fabric
of his pillow to keep from letting out a whine.
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel tears forming in the corners. "Shut
up," Spencer says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He's not going to cry
in front of Ryan. He isn't.
"Spence," Ryan breathes, and then he's shoving himself on top of Spencer, all
clumsy legs and elbows. Spencer's too shocked to do anything. Ryan's licking
into his mouth, firm and insistent, and his hands are tight on Spencer's hips.
He has one knee tucked up between Spencer's legs, right against the base, and
when that knee slips a little Spencer hears himself let out a whine.
"Tell me," Ryan mumbles, and his voice sounds strange and breathless against
Spencer's lips. "Tell me what it feels like."
"What?" Spencer says, frowning and pulling back a little. He watches as Ryan's
eyes dart down to his lips, and Spencer licks them automatically in response.
Ryan raises his eyes to Spencer's, and then slowly shifts his knee in tighter,
careful and slow. Spencer's back arches; he can feel his mouth dropping open at
the sensation.
"You like that," Ryan says, and there's an odd cadence to his voice, one that
Spencer can't quite place. Ryan inches back, just a little, and Spencer drags
in air through his teeth. Everything in his body is on fire. He's been so close
for so long, inching towards the edge and then recoiling back. His skin feels
itchy. He can smell Ryan's sweat, how he's sharp and slightly musky, and his
skin is so fucking soft under Spencer's fingers, and--
--Spencer thinks fuck it and makes his decision.
"Okay," Spencer bites out. "Okay, more, fuck. Ryan. Ryan, please, come on--"
"Tell me," Ryan says, in that same strange voice again. He presses his knee up,
and Spencer feels it again, that slow, smooth slide. Spencer whines and then
Ryan's mouth is hot against the side of his neck, teeth biting into the tender
skin.
He's making tiny noises, soft and breathless. He pulls back and digs his
fingers into Spencer's hips, pulling Spencer down more firmly onto his thigh,
and in that moment Spencer recognizes his expression. It's Ryan's own fucked up
version of awe, when he's fascinated by something, overwhelmed with it, but he
can't quite verbalize enough to say so. Spencer groans and tilts his head back,
rolling his hips against the pressure. Ryan's never--he's never looked at
Spencer like that. Spencer didn't know he wanted Ryan to look at him like that.
"Feels good," Spencer says, a little brokenly. He wants to say that it feels
amazing, that it feels like Ryan is fucking him, deep and slow, but the words
won't come.
"Just good?" Ryan says. He curls his hand around Spencer's cock, swiping his
thumb over the head, and Spencer bucks up with a cry. He's so sensitive that it
almost hurts, but below the discomfort there's a thread of bright hot pleasure,
increasingly urgent.
"It's--fuck," Spencer moans. He can't think like this. "Just--just keep--yes,
god, there, Ryan, don't move, don't--" It's like Spencer can hear himself
babbling from far away, but he can't quite control it. He can feel Ryan's hand
around his cock, slick and careful; the slow, coiling pressure traveling up his
spine; the strange sensation of Ryan's clothing against his bare skin.
Spencer's holding himself there, pulled up tight and endless and so, so ready
for it, when he feels Ryan's fingers brushing against the base of the toy.
Ryan's mouth is open and he's panting, staring down at Spencer with that same
mixture of confusion and awe. He strokes around the base of the toy, hot
fingers pressed up against sensitive skin, and Spencer bucks up into Ryan's
fist as he comes.
When he's finally back from seeking out the boundaries of the universe, his
vision still sparkles around the edges.
"Spencer," Ryan says, and his voice is low and thick, curling around the
fricatives. "Spencer, Spencer, fuck, you--"
"Ahh," Spencer says, another tiny aftershock twitching through his veins as
Ryan shifts his hand away from the base of the toy. Spencer's beyond caring;
he's starting to get uncomfortable, and after what Ryan's seen, well. He
reaches down and carefully draws the toy out, fumbling on the side of the bed
for the case. Spencer doesn't think it's even remotely sexy, but Ryan's biting
his lip as he watches, and as soon as Spencer flops back Ryan's mouth is hot
and demanding on his own. It's a race to see whose hands actually get the
privilege of divesting Ryan of his jeans. Spencer's floating in a haze, and he
wants Ryan there, too.
There's lube tangled up somewhere in the sheets, but Spencer can't be bothered.
He spits on his hand and then swipes his palm across the head of Ryan's cock;
Ryan bucks forward, one fist still skimming over the length. Spencer rubs
underneath the head, around the base, anywhere he can get his hands on.
Distantly, he feels kind of stupid--hand-jobs aren't normally a two person
operation--but Ryan's panting into his mouth, so it must be working. Spencer
can't help that he's so skin-hungry. He wants to crawl inside Ryan and never
come out.
"Spence," Ryan mumbles out, "Spence, please, you still didn't tell me."
"Tell you what," Spencer says, still biting at Ryan's bottom lip, because it's
there and he can.
"What it feels like," Ryan gasps out. "I wanted to--fuck, I wasn't just trying
to, to. I want to know."
Spencer freezes for a moment, one hand still gently massaging the head of
Ryan's cock as Ryan thrusts up into his grip. A shiver goes through him, one
that has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature in the room. Spencer
takes a deep breath and then tucks his face into the crook of Ryan's shoulder,
because he's not sure he can say it any louder than a whisper.
"Ry," Spencer says, so quiet, so soft. "Ry, you've wanted to--?"
"Yes," Ryan gasps out. "What, fuck, are you dense?"
"It's so full," Spencer says softly, after briefly considering telling Ryan
he's a dicksmack. He's pretty sure the name-calling can come later. "You're
just--full up, and it's deep, and it feels like nothing else, fuck, it's so
good--"
Ryan comes with a whine, all over Spencer's stomach. Spencer blinks for a
moment. Ryan's shaking in his arms; Spencer was only being honest.
"Fuck," Ryan says, weakly. "I lied. You're not--Next time I'm taping your mouth
shut. Jesus, Spencer."
"You asked me like, six times," Spencer says, watching raptly as the blush on
Ryan's cheeks starts to fade. He's flushed all over; his eyes are bright even
in the semi-darkness. "You're an ungrateful little bitch, you know that."
"Mmmph," Ryan says. He sits back and makes a face; they're stuck together, and
it's a little gross. "Do you have any, uh--"
"Yeah," Spencer says, and swipes his hand towards the nightstand. He catches
the tissue box with the tips of his fingers; it hovers for a moment, and then
goes crashing to the ground with a soft thunk. "Damn it."
"I got it," Ryan says. He leans over the side of the bed, and comes back with a
large handful. He starts swiping at his stomach and then moves on to Spencer.
Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He'd been planning on cleaning himself up; he
kind of wants to push Ryan away, but Ryan's sitting on his thighs. He bats at
Ryan's hand, instead, but Ryan ignores him.
"I'm not done," Ryan mutters, "Calm down, jesus."
"I just--okay," Spencer says, in a small voice. His stomach feels weird, all of
a sudden, and not just because it's still slightly damp. He doesn't know what
to do with his hands.
Ryan tosses the tissues in the corner. Spencer makes an injured noise, and
tries to shove Ryan off.
"That's disgusting," Spencer says, a little hysterically. He wants to get up
and throw them away, because he's not sure he can handle doing it in the
morning. It's not even that gross, it's just--it's evidence, and maybe Spencer
isn't quite ready to face that just yet.
"Your face is disgusting," Ryan says. He looks at Spencer for a long moment,
and then says, "Shove over."
"What?"
"Just--come on, Spencer, make some room," Ryan mumbles. He's stripping off his
t-shirt with a practiced motion, even as he fumbles around on top of the covers
for his boxers.
"I need underwear," Spencer says.
"So go get some," Ryan says. He tugs the covers out from underneath him, trying
to wiggle his way into Spencer's space. Spencer doesn't want to get up and walk
across the room to dig in his drawers--which is stupid, because Ryan has
obviously seen him naked--but he also doesn't want his mom coming in to find
him naked in the morning. He doesn't know what to do.
"Are you--you're freaking out, aren't you," Ryan says, once he's settled.
Spencer tries to breathe deeply and evenly. It doesn't work, because his voice
still squeaks a little when he says, "No, shut up."
"You're totally freaking out," Ryan says. "Should I go get you some boxers?"
"No," Spencer mumbles. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know."
Ryan, to his credit, doesn't roll his eyes at Spencer. He just sighs a little,
and then stumbles across the room to Spencer's dresser, digging around in the
top drawer until he finds something vaguely boxer-like. "Here," he says,
handing it over once he's standing next to the bed again.
"Thanks," Spencer says. He pulls them under the covers and slips them on, and
while he doesn't feel entirely normal, something settles a little in his
stomach.
"Okay?" Ryan says, and then slides back under the covers. "Uh. This is cool,
right?"
"What's cool?" Spencer says quickly. "The me thing? Or the you thing? Or the--"
"I meant me sleeping here," Ryan says. He's smiling slightly. "But, uh. Yeah.
Yes to all of the above, I guess."
"You guess," Spencer says uncertainly.
"Yeah," Ryan says. He reaches over and turns off the light, and then inches
over to Spencer's side until their shoulders are touching. "I'm really tired,"
Ryan says. He gives Spencer big, mournful eyes, and then yawns, loud and
exaggerated. It's totally dickish, but it's also so Ryan that Spencer can't
help snickering. The laughter bubbles up in his chest. Spencer feels good and
he feels weird, and yeah, maybe Ryan's right. Sleeping sounds good right about
now.
"You're a dick," Spencer says, because he can't help himself. "I'm locking my
window from now on."
"You wouldn't," Ryan mumbles. "You love me."
"Yeah," Spencer says. "Yeah, something like that." He tips his head back, and
stares at the ceiling. He'd taken most of his glow-in-the-dark constellations
down, but there's still a few scattered around his room, shining weakly with a
pale greenish light.
Ryan breathes warm and familiar next to his ear, and Spencer closes his eyes.
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