
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/321429.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, Panic_At_The_Disco
  Relationship:
      Ryan_Ross/Brendon_Urie
  Additional Tags:
      Hate_Sex, High_School, Angst
  Series:
      Part 11 of Unfinished,_Abandoned,_Snippets,_Bits_and_Pieces
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-16 Words: 1330
****** Tiny angry confused boys ******
by fictionalaspect
Notes
     Hatesex! As you do. It's not a dynamic I write very often, so I
     wanted to try it.
Brendon is seventeen.
Brendon is seventeen, and he's fucking fascinatedwith Ryan Ross, even with all
of the other shit he has to deal with. Brendon has too many things to think
about on a daily basis, work and school and the band and trying to figure out
how he's going to afford next month's rent, and he really doesn't have time to
be thinking about Ryan. Brendon can't figure him out. Ryan's weird, and almost
shy in person, cutting his eyes to the ground, and then he goes and posts
pictures of his ass on Livejournal. He can be a huge bitch when things don't go
his way. He doesn't really trust anyone except Spencer, which is why it's so
fucking weird that Ryan just started showing up at Brendon's apartment.
They're not even really friends;they play in a band together, and Brendon sings
Ryan's words and argues with him about chord changes, but they don't actually
talk, and they've never hung out when it's just the two of them. The first time
Ryan had shown up on Brendon's doorstep well past midnight, Brendon had blinked
and then rubbed his eyes, like he wasn't sure he was seeing correctly. Ryan had
just pushed past him and said, "I brought food," and fallen asleep on Brendon's
shitty couch like it happened all the time.
So even if they've moved beyond that, even if Brendon is now used to Ryan
sleeping on his futon three out of five nights of the week, Brendon still
doesn't know why.
-
Brendon rolls over on his side, and grimaces at the slide of his shoulder
against the sheets. They're dirty, slick with sweat and the accumulated filth
of two unwashed bodies. Brendon's doing some mental math, trying to figure out
when he gets paid and where he can subtract from to come up with laundry money,
when he feels a slight movement against the sheets.
Ryan's facing away from him. Brendon blinks in the dark, and peers closer,
straining to see without his glasses. And - yeah. Ryan's shoulders are shaking.
Brendon knows that movement, that feeling. He's spent too many nights alone and
fucking miserable to let Ryan ride this one out by himself, so he reaches out
his hand and lays the tips of his fingers on Ryan's back. He's just barely
making contact, a gentle reminder, and maybe that's why he's so surprised when
Ryan jerks and shoves his hand away.
"Fuck you," Ryan hisses at him, rolling over so he can see Brendon. "Leave me
the fuck alone, asshole. I'm fine." His voice sounds shaky.
"Okay," Brendon says, drawing back a little from the force of Ryan's anger. He
tries to modulate his voice, like he's soothing a wild animal. A wild Ryan, he
thinks distractedly, and fights the urge to laugh. "Okay. I just thought
maybe—"
"No, you don't," Ryan says. "You don't fucking know, so just lay off, okay?"
"Right," Brendon says. He listens as Ryan draws in a shaky breath, and then
decides to go for broke. "But if you told me," Brendon says carefully, "I
might—"
In response, Ryan makes a bitter, angry noise and kisses him.
It's not a nice kiss. It's too messy, too much all at once, and their teeth
click together when Ryan pushes forward. Brendon swallows and opens his mouth
to ask Ryan what the fuck is going on and Ryan slaps a hand over his mouth and
breathes out, "Shut up." He climbs on top of Brendon and then leans back down,
staring at Brendon like he's expecting Brendon to push him off. He looks like
he's bracing himself for a swing to the jaw, eyes cold and fierce. He takes his
hand away, and waits.
"You're so fucked up," Brendon says, and kisses him back. Ryan's hard against
his stomach, and Brendon presses his tongue between Ryan's lips until Ryan
opens up for him with a muffled whine. Brendon rolls his hips up and slips his
hands under Ryan's t-shirt. Ryan presses down against him, and Brendon can feel
every inch of Ryan's dick through the thin cotton of Ryan's boxers. It
shouldn't be getting him hard, but it is.
Ryan pulls away and bites at Brendon's neck, sucking a bruise into the skin,
and Brendon realizes with a sudden clarity that this is the worst possible
decision he could have made. This is going to fuck everything up between them,
absolutely everything, and so Brendon shoves his hand into Ryan's boxers and
wraps it around his dick. The skin is smooth and warm in his hand. Brendon
holds his hand there, waiting. He wants Ryan to ask for it.
"Fucking move," Ryan mutters. Brendon squeezes him, just once. He doesn't move
his hand.
"Fuck," Ryan says softly. He presses his head into the crook of Brendon's
shoulder and tries to roll his hips, but Brendon's got a firm hold on him and
there's nowhere for Ryan to go. Brendon realizes distantly that he's kind of
pissed off at Ryan, for this, for springing everything on him with no warning.
He's not giving in until Ryan does. He listens to Ryan's shuddery inhalations
until Ryan makes a quiet, pained noise and whispers, "Brendon, please."
"You don't even like me," Brendon says, and starts to move his fist. Ryan
shakes his head at Brendon's words. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to
Brendon's throat, sucking softly on the abused skin. Brendon speeds up his
hand.
Ryan comes with a strange broken gasp, like he'd been in the process of
starting to speak before his orgasm overtook him. Brendon's stomach is suddenly
warm and wet, along with his hand. Brendon feels his stomach muscles jumping;
his balls tighten up at the feeling. He tips his head back and shoves Ryan off
of him, and then reaches down to jerk himself off. He's under no illusions
about Ryan being particularly generous, which is why it's a complete shock when
Ryan pushes Brendon's hand away and closes his fingers around him.
"You don't have to," Brendon says, but it's a token protest. Ryan's fingers are
long, and he's thumbing under the head of Brendon's dick. Ryan pauses for a
moment; Brendon can't quite see his face when Ryan whispers back, "I know I
don't have to." He sounds tired, broken-down, and Brendon feels a strange surge
of longing that's entirely unconnected to Ryan's hand around his cock. Ryan has
a habit of doing that to him, of catching him unawares and making Brendon re-
evaluate all of his previous assumptions. Sometimes it feels like there's a
wall of static between them, and they're shouting through the white noise.
Brendon opens his mouth to apologize—for what, he doesn't know—and Ryan kisses
him. He slides his tongue past Brendon's lips, kissing him firmly, one hand on
Brendon's jaw. It's a strange sort of kiss, one that leaves Brendon feeling raw
and utterly exposed. He moans when Ryan pulls away.
"Shhh," Ryan says, and draws the tips of his fingers over Brendon's mouth.
Brendon kisses the tips of his fingers, helplessly, seeking more contact. Ryan
half-smiles at him, and dips his head, and then Brendon's back is arching
because Ryan is sucking on the head of his cock and it feels so good Brendon's
worried he's going to cry.
It's the first time someone has ever gone down on him.
Brendon can't think. He can't do anything other than feel, and Ryan smooths his
palms over Brendon's thighs, around his hips, under his ass. He chokes a few
times, before he figures out the hang of it. It's obvious he's never done this
before. Brendon doesn't care. It makes something strangely possessive rise up
in his chest, to think about Ryan doing this with him, and no one else.
"Ryan," Brendon chokes out. He fists his hands in the bedsheets. Ryan purrs
around him, a low, pleased noise, and Brendon gasps and comes. Ryan doesn't
pull away.
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