
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2772596.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      カーストヘヴン_|_Caste_Heaven
  Relationship:
      Karino_Kouhei/Azusa_Yuuya
  Character:
      Karino_Kouhei, Azusa_Yuuya
  Additional Tags:
      Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Light
      BDSM, Dubious_Consent, Angst, Strangulation, Multiple_Orgasms, Love/Hate,
      Rough_Sex, Breathplay, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Established_Sexual
      Relationship, Sexual_Slavery
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-14 Words: 1520
****** Walk the Line ******
by RubyFiamma
Summary
     Azusa can't see straight anymore, everything's a grey blur but at the
     center is Karino and he's the only thing in focus.
                                 Walk the Line
===============================================================================
                                        
Karino's hand wraps tighter around his neck and it's a little enthralling, if
Azusa is honest with himself. The flex of his fingers that allow him a breath
and then take it away feel so good against his throat, teasing and hating.
Azusa flirts with death the way he used to flirt with Karino. He finds it kind
of ironic and occasionally regrets treating Karino that way, but it was all for
his own benefit; he didn't think exploiting Karino's feelings would ever get
him here, spread out underneath Karino and struggling to breathe; thoroughly
fucked and wallowing in destitute. 
He can't understand it but he almost likes the way Karino makes him feel and
that makes him sick.
Karino thrusts deeper, he's so far inside that Azusa feels like he's being
consumed by him; his body already carved in the shape of Karino. It's
disgusting, he's so deep Azusa can almost taste the tip of his cock at the back
of his throat.
He feels raw and used and Karino fucks him well and at this point he's so
exhausted that he can barely keep his head up or find the energy to moan but
warbled sounds escape his bruised and broken mouth despite it all. Through his
choking sobs he sounds like he's
begging, more! more! Use me, Karino... Hurt me, Karino. Somewhere deep in his
psyche this is exactly what Azusa wants but the overwhelming urge to have the
upper hand cancels it out.
"Ka- Karino..." The name easily slips off his lips now, and Karino gets this
expression on his face when he says it; it's cruel and leering but his eyes
have a different look, it's sad and pathetic. Something Azusa can't put a name
to but part of him wants to bask in that nameless emotion forever, he can
delude himself into thinking that it means something different than what he
knows. It makes him angry, because it's only pity that pools deep in
Karino's green eyes and Azusa doesn't need anyone's fucking pity. He was a King
once, a long reigning King and he will turn the tide once
more, just you fucking wait Karino.
He can't hold Karino's gaze anymore, he's angled just so and his grip squeezes
around Azusa's throat, it's cutting off his air supply and he'd claw at
Karino's hands if his own weren't tied behind his head. Azusa's eyes roll to
the back of his head and his lids slide shut and he can hear the guh! guh! he
sputters out while Karino drives into him, harder and deeper with every thrust.
He's hard again and feels like he's going to come, that familiar heat
unraveling in the pit of his stomach, but he swears he doesn't have anything
else in him to release. He's already slick with sweat and his own come and he
feels dirty and debauched but part of that turns him on
too. When your body gets used to it, your mind starts to follow too...
He can tell Karino is close, his movements have become erratic and painful and
Azusa can't breathe. Partly from Karino's hand stretched across his throat but
also because he's drowning. He's sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of
lechery and further away from the dream of being King again. It's like he can
see it all shimmering on the surface above him but it's far beyond his grasp.
This pressure in his chest doesn't have a name; it's like he's wrapped in
chains tied to an anvil that continues to sink and no matter how much he
scrabbles he can never break free.
"A-Azusa... Azusa," Karino moans and his hand slips from Azusa's neck and into
his hair. Azusa takes in a giant gulp of breath, so much at once that it
scorches his lungs.
Karino leans close and Azusa can smell him, cologne and musk with just a little
sweat and it's become the truth. The smell of Karino makes Azusa wet, makes
Azusa crave for his touch and the rougher the better.
He strokes Azusa's hair, kisses his forehead and Azusa can't stand it, can't
stand when Karino is gentle because that means emotions and he's not familiar
with that one. He thrives on fear and envy and greed. He doesn't want Karino to
be nice, he doesn't want to feel anything for this fucking sick bastard but
it's too late.
"Azusa... Such a pretty little bitch," Karino whispers in his ear.
It's too late because Azusa has already fallen.
He feels Karino's muscles tense and go taut, he feels Karino's cock spasm
inside him; hot liquid heat filling him for the nth time today. And with the
imagery of himself being reused over and over replaying on his mind like a bad
hentai film it's in short succession that his toes are curling and his back is
arching and he's coming all over himself and Karino, and Karino's given name
unexpectedly slips out in a harsh breath. 
It makes Karino freeze and Azusa would if he could, but his legs have become
putty in Karino's hands. They're splayed out so loosely, so easy and they
quiver and tremble with the aftershock of multiple orgasms and abuse. They're
numb and sore and he can see the mottled purple bruises left in his pale skin
by Karino's fingertips and the angry red welts on the insides of his thighs
left behind by Karino's teeth. 
When Azusa cracks an eye, Karino is staring at him wide eyed and open mouthed
but he doesn't say a word. It's in that look that gives Azusa some sort of
hope. If Karino really feels a way about him, he will exploit that when he can
to work himself back up to the top and salvage some pride he has left. He will
use Karino until he's dried up and no good and he says this in his head with
conviction but when Karino leans down to kiss his mouth, warm and soft against
his cracked lips, his heart pulses so quick that it makes Azusa dizzy and
breathless.
He mewls into Karino's mouth and he doesn't mean to make these sounds but his
body betrays him, Karino's imprint already seared into it's memory. His tongue
traces a familiar path along Azusa's palate, along the seam of his lips and
it's so excruciatingly languid and gentle Azusa has half a mind to bite it off
but can't bring himself to because he enjoys it too much.
When Karino pulls away it's only far enough that his warm breath skims Azusa's
jawline and Asuza's hates it, hates this intimacy; it makes him want to scream.
"U-untie m-me, you b-bastard," Azusa spits out. He means it with venom but it
comes off listless and wanton. He can't even find the energy to speak and his
lungs ache from prolonged expansion with stagnant air trapped inside. His
breath hasn't steadied yet, it's still shallow and ragged and just the sound of
himself soweak is enough to make Azusa want to throw up in his own mouth and
choke on the spittle, put himself out of this fucking misery. 
"Azusa," Karino murmurs with a smirk. He's still inside him and Azusa is
burning up, so hot that he itches, like Karino's touch on his flesh is the
result of a million angry fire ants scrawling across his skin. "I'm not
finished with you yet."
Azusa doesn't say anything, he can't say anything because right now he doesn't
have a choice. He will play the game with Karino; it's only until he gets his
hands on the King again and this time Azusa swears won't succumb to Karino, he
won't let the fucker use him this way. He'll get his revenge, he just has to be
patient.
"I... I hate you," is all Azusa manages and it makes Karino snort, because even
he knows the truth. That there's a fine line between love and hate and Azusa
has already blurred them so much that he doesn't know where either begins.
Azusa knows that somewhere Karino has too, with his cruel kindness and taunting
caresses, and they walk that line in the grey matter together, despite their
ulterior motives.
When Karino kisses him again, he swallows Azusa's breath like he's swallowed
his soul. Azusa kisses back, matches the slow pace of Karino's rough tongue
against his and loses himself. It's times like this he feels he's hit the
bottom of the ocean where it's murky and cold and there's no light but Karino
and the pressure is just going to crush him. But when Karino unties his hands,
Azusa wraps them around his neck and his fingers finds purchase in Karino's
soft hair. They kiss like they're lovers but they fuck like they hate each
other and Azusa really wouldn't have it other way. Perhaps happiness might be
at the end of the line or maybe only pain but either way Azusa embraces it
because in a world that he has no corner of shelter in, Karino's arms are his
own perilous heaven.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
 amazement at
the scenery. “All big eyes and open mouth.”
“Shut up,” Ryan says automatically, and they walk out a little further. Crystal
and Jackie are making snowballs just around the side of the house and Spencer
watches them out of the corner of his eye, wary of sneak attacks. “Don’t you
think it’s weird,” Ryan says, and Spencer drags his attention back to him, “How
one country can have so many different – I mean, it was hot in Vegas.”
“Not hot,” Spencer says, arguing for the sake of it. “And I mean. It’s a pretty
big country. And we drove for twelve hours.”
Ryan turns to him, nose scrunched up and looking a little annoyed. “Stop
pretending like you don’t get it,” he says crossly, and Spencer’s shoulders sag
a little. He smiles at Ryan and Ryan rolls his eyes.
Then Crystal and Jackie come tearing around the corner with clumsily formed
snowballs and start hurling them with varying degrees of success at them, and
they have to fight back. Spencer always thought snowball fights were a little
bit cliché in movies and surely people didn’t have them that frequently, but he
realises pretty quickly that the reasonthey’re in so many movies is because
they’re awesome. The snow stings sharp against his face and every once in a
while Crystal and Jackie will get in a good throw that slams hard against his
chest. Mostly he and Ryan are winning, until Ryan gets overexcited in a way
disturbingly similar to Brendon and climbs onto Spencer’s back, winding long,
skinny arms around his neck and throwing snowballs atop his “mighty steed,”
Crystal puts in, giggling.
After that, Spencer and Ryan lose pretty fast.
                                       *
The house has varying levels of reception on different levels; Ryan spends an
uncomfortable half hour crouched in the corner of their bedroom, not daring to
move a centimetre in case he disturbs the texts being sent to and fro, while
Spencer sprawls on his bed and tries not to laugh, having neglected to tell him
that the room next door has perfect reception. He goes in there a while after
lunch anyway, with Ryan trailing after him, and calls Brendon.
Brendon picks up with, “You fucking assholes, I still can’t believe you took
off without me.”
“Hey, it’s not our fault your parents think Christmas is a family time,”
Spencer protests, and Brendon makes a grumbly noise that makes Spencer giggle
and put the phone on speaker so Ryan can hear.
“My whole house is disgusting,” Brendon informs them. “It looks like Santa’s
entire household threw up in here.”
“Brendon?” Ryan says. “I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, dude, but
Santa’s not real.”
“Ha, ha, fuck you,” Brendon says cheerfully. “I’m pretty close to strangling
myself with some tinsel, Ross, don’t play cutsie with me. You guys have no idea
how lucky you are to have a normal family.”
Spencer winces and turns to Ryan automatically. Ryan’s lips are pressed
together tight, his face white, and Spencer swallows hard. From the phone,
Brendon’s voice sounds tinny and a little annoyed.
“Don’t, Ryan,” he says. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s Christmas, and you’ve got
Spencer. Okay?”
There’s silence for a moment and then Ryan nods jerkily and says, “Okay.”
                                       *
They go out into the snow early the next morning, before the twins have
descended upon the front yard to inflict snowball fights and deformed snowmen
on it. The snow is already quite thick on the ground and continues falling
slowly around them. It catches on Spencer’s eyelashes and prickles against his
skin, and Spencer remembers reading somewhere that the sensations for extreme
heat and extreme cold are the same, travel the same nerve pathways, and only
feel different because you learn to distinguish them by context as a child. He
can’t remember the book, which makes him think it was probably Ryan who read
it, and just told him.
Ryan’s shoulders are hunched up and he’s frowning slightly as he walks; he’s
pretty silent when Spencer talks about school, about Brendon and Brent ditching
their last class and coming to Spencer’s school and somehow managing to
convince the receptionist that they were Spencer’s cousins, that Spencer had to
go home immediately for a family emergency. Ryan smiles in all the appropriate
places but doesn’t really say anything, and he still looks young, he still
looks exactly the same as he did in high school, only now he doesn’t have any
stories about his day at school to tell in return.
Spencer wants to ask if Ryan wishes he was living at the dorms instead of
driving to college every day, but he knows whyRyan isn’t in the dorms and he’s
not sure if it’s the best thing to bring up. The topic is a bit too depressing
for vacation, Spencer decides, and this vacation is going to be awesome. When
Ryan’s not at college and Spencer’s not at school they both always seem to have
work to do, and it’s almost as if the only time they see each other these days
is band practice. It’s not just that, Spencer knows, but it’s so much less than
it used to be and he can’t lie and pretend he’s not secretly glad to have Ryan
all to himself for a couple of weeks, up here in the snow, far away from the
stress of school and the band and Ryan’s dad.
Maybe Ryan gets wind of his thoughts anyway because he says, slowly, “It’s
still so weird that I’m at college, you know. It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Mmmn?” Spencer prompts, and pushes his hair out of his eyes, squints at Ryan.
Ryan has his hands in his pockets, is standing a little way away with his
shoulders hunched up against the softly falling snow. The whole landscape is so
much whiter than Spencer is used to, and in his black hoodie and jeans Ryan
looks clear-cut and detached from the ground he is standing on, like he’s been
photoshopped in.
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I guess because I’m still living at home.”
“Are you going to stay?” Spencer asks, a little tentatively. “I mean, for all
of college?”
“I hope,” Ryan says slowly, “that I don’t have to go for much longer. The band,
you know. But if it doesn’t – if I decide to keep going, then. I don’t know. I
hope not. But I guess it depends on my dad.”
“Okay,” Spencer says, and he walks closer to Ryan, making crisp sounding noises
with each tread. Ryan turns and smiles at him, and Spencer breathes out a mist
into the air. He says, “You’re doing really good,” and Ryan shrugs, but looks
slightly pleased. He seems even paler than normally out here in this white
world, skin thin and fragile-looking. He’s still moving in that slow, tired way
but the bags under his eyes are less noticeable today, and Spencer is fiercely
glad that Ryan’s here with them, that Spencer can make sure he’s okay for a
while.
“It’s really fucking cold,” Ryan says, and smiles. Spencer unwinds his scarf
from his neck and hands it over.
                                       *
Spencer walks in and Ryan’s curled up in the corner of their room that gets
reception, phone presses to his ear. He looks quiet and content and when
Spencer walks in he looks up and smiles, mouths Brendon. Spencer nods and goes
to his bag, starts searching through for the book his dad wanted to borrow.
“Fuck yeah,” Ryan says and laughs, and Spencer stops looking in favour of
watching Ryan for a moment. Ryan’s grinning and he has both hands curled around
the phone, pressing it to his cheek like it’s something special.
When Brent first brought Brendon to practice, Brendon had been small and
terrified and practically vibrating with energy and anxiety to please, and
Spencer’s first thought had been oh God, Ryan’s gonna eat him alive. Brendon
seemed like a whole bunch of things packaged into one person in order to annoy
Ryan, and Spencer had been tense the whole first practice.
Only somehow, Ryan had likedBrendon. He’d given up staring in shocked horror at
Brendon halfway through the practice, declared that Brendon was a really good
musician and should definitely be part of the band and then proceeded to
befriend him. He spent as much time in Brendon’s personal space as Brendon did
in everyone else’s, and headed out with him or brought him over nearly as much
as he did with Spencer.
Spencer had asked him about it eventually, curious and off-guard and maybe a
tiny bit jealous at this new, amazing friend, and Ryan had shrugged. “He’s just
really nice,” Ryan had said. “Don’t you think so?”
“Yeah,” Spencer said. “Yeah, but like, no offence, he’s not usually the kind of
guy you’d want to hang out with.”
“I know,” Ryan said. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and looked
almost anxious. “I think that’s my loss on some levels, probably. But also…” He
stopped, looking a little embarrassed, and Spencer waited.
“He’s really lonely, Spence,” Ryan said finally. “I like him and I’m not going
to do anything ‘cos I feel sorry for someone, but he’s – he’s really fucking
lonely, and Brendon shouldn’t be. I mean. I don’t know why people don’t want to
be his friend or whatever. He’s a really awesome friend. It’s not fair.”
“It’s not,” Spencer had agreed, and that had been that.
Spencer stands up with his book and walks out of the room. He closes the door
to Ryan laughing and saying, “Yeah, miss you too.”
                                       *
“So,” Ryan says, sprawled out on the floor next to Spencer, tapping his hand
along with the music. They’ve commandeered the portable CD player, sneaked it
up from the twins’ room while they were out building forts in the snow, and
Pete Wentz is screaming quietly in the background, low enough that it won’t
piss Spencer’s parents off.
“So?” Spencer wonders, a little confused because they’re halfway through a
conversation about what the best Blink 182 album so far is, and Spencer is
about to pull out his trump card for Enema. He’d be annoyed except for how used
he is to Ryan’s wandering mind, how quickly Ryan loses his train of thought,
and really, it’s easier to just go with it.
“New Year resolutions,” Ryan says decisively, and snaps his fingers. “Go.”
“Dude,” Spencer says, “It’s still four days until Christmas. Aren’t you a bit
ahead of yourself?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, “but, like. You’ve gotta have good ones in place.”
“Oh?” Spencer yawns, turning his head so that it’s muffled slightly by his
shoulder. “What are yours, then?”
“I’m gonna give up smoking,” Ryan says promptly, which is ridiculous, because
Ryan has, like, three cigarettes a year and usually only when he wants to
impress someone. Spencer tells him so and Ryan exhales, says, “But it makes my
breath stink when I do.” He kicks his heels against the floorboards and adds,
“Okay, then, how about – getting the band going properly. And, like, stop
dating girls who’ll cheat on me, I guess.”
Spencer bumps his shoulder against Ryan’s in a way that would probably be a lot
smoother and effortlessly manly except he’s on his back, and he has to squirm
awkwardly around on the floor to do it. Ryan tilts his head and smiles at him,
though, small but there. “Your turn,” he says.
“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “The band?”
“That’s mine,” Ryan says.
“It’s not yourband,” Spencer protests.
“No,” Ryan agrees, “but it’s myresolution. Get your own.”
“Umn,” Spencer says. “Well, get a date maybe.” He tips Ryan a leery wink and
puts on a decrepit voice, a cross between his grandma and Kermit the Frog,
croaks, “The kids tell me getting laid is nice.”
Ryan laughs. He says, “Okay, okay, so we get you a girlfriend.”
“Um,” Spencer says, uncomfortably. “Or, like. Whatever.”
Ryan screws up his forehead for a moment, in his hang on, I’m thinkingway, and
Spencer shifts slightly, already regretting talking. He adds quickly, in a
rush, “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I can get one myself, but thanks for all your
expertise, dude—”
“Wait,” Ryan says slowly, and Spencer wishes for the first time in years that
he’d sometimes have a bit of damn cadence in his voice. “So, uh. You’re gay?”
“No,” Spencer says quickly, and then stops. “I think I’m – I think bi, maybe?
Because, it’s not like I don’t like girls. Girls are awesome. I just – I
haven’t even, with a guy. I just think maybe I’d like to. Or whatever. Or—”
“Spencer,” Ryan says calmly, “You’re babbling.”
“Right,” Spencer says, and laughs stupidly, stilted in the room. “Sorry. I’ll
just. Let’s pretend we never had that conversation.”
“Okay,” Ryan says easily, and then he raises himself on one elbow and shifts
his weight onto his side, leans down and kisses Spencer matter-of-factly on the
lips, a dry peck that lasts for a second before he’s moving back. Spencer gapes
up at him; the gap of space between them is suddenly much larger than it seemed
a few seconds ago, now that Spencer knows exactly how close Ryan can be.
Ryan doesn’t say anything, just blinks down at him, the slightest bit of smug
contentment in his lopsided smile. Spencer wonders why he is eternally destined
to be the idiotic sounding one in this exchange and then thinks fuck itand
says, voice just a little unsteady, “Ryan?”
“It’s the perfect idea,” Ryan says, and slumps back down onto his back, his
whole arm pressed up against Spencer’s. Spencer tells himself, firmly, that he
is not a thirteen year old girl, and there is no reason for his insides to get
all squirmy on him. This is Ryan. “Because, okay, I’ve been,” he pauses, cheeks
slightly flushed, and he doesn’t look Spencer in the eye when he says,
“wondering too, a bit. But, I mean, it’s – it’s not like you can talk to other
guys about it and work stuff out that way, and the internet’s kind of…
scarring, and this way—”
“Ryan,” Spencer says. “Are you asking me to be, like, your gay sex buddy?”
Ryan rolls onto his stomach and smirks down at Spencer, eyes bright. “Well,” he
says. “I was going to offer to teach you how to kiss, but hey, sure.”
“I can so kiss,” Spencer says belligerently. “I am a good kisser! How was I
supposed to prove that before, that was like a grandmakiss.”
“Whatever,” Ryan scoffs. “As if you’ve ever been kissed, dude—”
“I have,” Spencer says fervently. “I told you. Katie Brooks, at—”
“Sara Gleason’s party, I know,” Ryan finishes, bored. “Fascinating how you
managed to make out with someone at the one party I didn’t go to with you.”
“Shut up,” Spencer says, and punches Ryan weakly in the arm. “I did.”
“Okay, fine,” Ryan says, and he shifts closer, looking straight down into
Spencer’s face. Spencer can feel Ryan’s breath fanning out against his cheek.
“Have you ever kissed a guy?” Spencer swallows, and Ryan laughs softly. “Yeah,”
he says. “Exactly.”
Spencer says, faintly, “I don’t know where you think I’d—”
“I haven’t, either,” Ryan says quietly. “We’ll work it out. It’s always better
if we do shit together, you know that.”
“Yes,” Spencer says automatically, because that’s the one thing he doesn’t have
to over-think. He hesitates and says, “So we’d just—”
“Figure stuff out,” Ryan finishes. “Yeah. I think – that would be cool, right?”
“Right,” Spencer says. He rolls onto his stomach too, shifting slightly so that
their faces are tilted together. Ryan looks at him almost curiously and Spencer
bites his lip without thinking about it because the concept of this is so weird
and it feels so normal, and then his stomach does this slow, warm roll when
Ryan’s eyes drop to his mouth. He wonders if Ryan's been looking already, and
then feels dumb.
Ryan says, “So,” and Spencer wonders if he should close his eyes. Ryan is very,
very close, and he’s been this close before without Spencer thinking twice
about it, but before he didn’t notice those flecks of hazel in Ryan’s eyes.
“Dinner time!” Spencer’s mom yells up the stairs. “That means now, Jaclyn!”
Spencer breathes out in a rush and grins, and Ryan stands up and smiles too,
offering him a hand up.
“Okay, so,” Ryan says, tugging him to his feet.
“Dinner,” Spencer says.
“And then?” Ryan looks slightly unsure for a moment, shifting his weight from
foot to foot.
“Hey,” Spencer says, and shrugs. “We’re on vacation. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“Awesome,” Ryan says, and then, “I’m starving,” and they go down the stairs two
at a time, shoving at each other to get in front, breathless and laughing.
                                       *
Dinner is strange, at first; Spencer feels too aware of Ryan sitting next to
him, their arms very carefully not touching, and he wonders if he is meant to
show some sort of affection that he doesn’t normally, if his parents can tell,
can somehow look at them and just know, which is ridiculous but not entirely
out of the realms of possibility for his mom. After a while, though, Ryan says
something that is entirely stupid and Spencer has to kick him in the shin and
tell him so, and then it’s back to normal, Ryan’s elbow bumping against his
when they eat because they’ve both always been kind of bad with cutlery, gangly
and awkward now in ways disturbingly similar to when they were five years old.
After dessert, Spencer washes the dishes and Ryan dries. Spencer says, in a low
voice, “So what, you want to—”
“When your family is asleep,” Ryan says, and smiles a little, in the corner of
his mouth. “Or we’ll be freaked the whole time that they’re listening.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says slowly, and then smirks a little bit, catching Ryan’s eye.
“Or,” he says, “We could just go up after we’ve done this, and turn some music
on and keep the door closed.”
Ryan blinks, makes a considering face. “Well,” he says. “Or that.”
Ryan’s just putting the last few dishes away, though, when Crystal and Jackie
dance through the kitchen, waving a DVD over their heads. “Look what I’vegot,”
Crystal sing-songs, thrusting it under Spencer’s nose. “Your favourite.”
“Okay,” Spencer says firmly. “Desperately Seeking Susan is notmy favourite
movie, I just—”
“You’re in love with Madonna,” Ryan says sadly. “It’s okay, Spencer. Tell me
the truth. I can handle it.”
Spencer grins. “Like you can talk,” he says. “You’re obsessed with, like, every
single one of her outfits, which is more than a littlebit—”
“They’re cool outfits!” Ryan protests.
“They are,” Jackie agrees a little dreamily, seemingly undisturbed that her
opinion concurs with that of an eighteen year old guy’s. “You guys gonna come
watch, or what?”
Ryan and Spencer exchange a look. Spencer says, hesitantly, “We were going to…”
“Madonna, Spence,” Ryan says, eyes bright and dancing, and Spencer throws his
hands up in the air.
“Right,” he says. “Of course. Lead the way.”
He and Ryan and the twins squeeze up together on the lounge for optimum viewing
position of the television, and Jackie produces a huge duvet, presumably stolen
from one of the bedrooms, to spread over them all. Ryan sits with his legs half
over Spencer’s lap, head bent down to his shoulder, and it’s so normal that
Spencer kind of questions if their conversation before dinner even happened.
They put on Romeo and Juliet after Desperately Seeking Susan is done, and the
twins go to bed before Juliet dies. Spencer asks if Ryan wants to head upstairs
too when he catches him yawning, but Ryan shakes his head, says you can’t just
watch oneBaz Luhrmann film, which is cue for Spencer to put Moulin Rouge on yet
again.
He wonders if maybe Ryan’s changed his mind, if he doesn’t want to do the
whole… experimenting thing after all, if he’s worried about it messing up their
friendship or if Spencer’s incredibly unattractive or something. Then Ryan
shifts and mumbles something warm and contented in Spencer’s neck, and Spencer
realises that despite the twins’ vacated positions on the couch, they’re still
squeezed together.
Spencer rearranges himself just slightly, enough that he can stretch his legs
out behind Ryan. He closes his eyes for a moment when Christian jumps on top of
the elephant’s head, just for a second, and when he opens them again the TV
screen is blue, the room dark and Ryan is asleep next to him, arm heavy on
Spencer’s chest. His jeans are still new enough to be a little uncomfortable to
sleep in, and his dick is half-hard, which could be embarrassing in the
morning, but Spencer can’t quite bring himself to move. He closes his eyes and
goes back to sleep.
                                       *
They wake up late the next morning, the time on the DVD player blinking 10:48
in red at them. Spencer yawns and straightens his cramped back, jostling Ryan
as he does so, and Ryan makes small, pitiful noises that indicate his
displeasure at being woken up. Spencer knuckles sleep out of his eyes and says,
“Morning.”
“Mmmph,” Ryan says, and sits upright slowly, clutching at his neck and
groaning. “Oh my God,” he says. “This must be what dying feels like.”
“Yeah, intense neck stiffness,” Spencer says dryly. “That’s what they tell me.”
Ryan groans again and Spencer rolls his eyes. “Breakfast?” he suggests.
“Yup,” Ryan says, and pulls himself upright, padding off towards the bathroom.
“Make me some toast!” he yells over his shoulder and Spencer flips him the bird
but heads into the kitchen and puts four pieces of bread in the toaster anyway.
Spencer’s dad wanders in while they’re eating. He says, “Your mother and I are
taking the twins grocery shopping in town in about twenty minutes. Do you guys
want to come?”
Spencer looks up and goes to make a well? face at Ryan only to find Ryan
already watching him. His eyes are slightly darker than usual, his face blank,
and Spencer’s throat is suddenly dry. “Uh,” he says, picking up his coffee and
sipping from it in what he hopes is a casual way and not an I think my best
friend is propositioning meway. “Nah, I don’t really think being trapped in a
car with the twins for another long drive sounds like much fun.”
His dad cuffs him over the back of the head lightly but laughs and says, “Okay.
It’s a forty minute drive into town, so we’ll be a couple of hours. I think
we’re going to explore a bit. Don’t burn the house down.”
Spencer says, “Jeez, okay,” and finishes his toast, reaches out and takes
Ryan’s plate without checking to see if Ryan’s done too. He puts them on the
sink and says, “So, I guess we’ll just hang out.”
“Uh-huh,” his dad says, settling at the table with the paper open. Ryan looks
at Spencer and Spencer looks at Ryan and then they just walk out of the room
and up the stairs, not saying a word until they’re halfway up the first flight
and Spencer starts laughing.
“What,” Ryan says, but his eyes have gone all big the way they do when he
doesn’t get a joke but doesn’t want anyone to know. “What, what,” and Spencer
keeps laughing until Ryan’s mouth twitches and he thumps Spencer in the
shoulder softly, says, “Dick.”
“Whatever,” Spencer says. They pause outside Crystal and Jackie’s bedroom,
because Hanson is blaring at an obnoxiously loud volume from the CD player
they’ve clearly stolen back from Ryan and Spencer’s room. Spencer makes a face
and then bangs the door twice. “Hey!” he says. “Dad says you guys are going
into town now!”
“We’re just getting ready!” Jackie bellows back at the door and Spencer shrugs,
turns away. Ryan is already going up the stairs and when Spencer gets into
their room Ryan’s standing kind of awkwardly, watching him with this half-
smile. Spencer closes the door, and the room is suddenly a lot smaller.
“Uh,” Spencer says. The girls’ music is still clearly audible, drifting up
towards them, and someone wailing in the background can you tell me who will
still care? isn’t exactly helping Spencer’s sudden attack of nerves. “So.”
“So,” Ryan repeats, and scratches his head a bit. He walks towards Spencer and
Spencer turns to him, so they’re facing each other, still a few feet apart.
Spencer scratches at his wrist in order to do something with his hands and Ryan
shuffles his feet in this weird, childlike way he hasn’t done since he was six.
Spencer says, “This is stupid. If we just—”
“Get it over with, yeah, yeah,” Ryan says, and they both step forward a little
awkwardly. Ryan doesn’t look like he’s going to move so Spencer leans in, opens
his mouth and then loses his courage, settling for pecking Ryan on the mouth
like Ryan had last night, only he accidentally makes an embarrassing smoochy
noise like his great aunt when he does so. Ryan blinks at him and Spencer turns
bright red.
“Uh,” Spencer says.
“That was it?” Ryan asks, brow furrowed. “That was like, your amazing kissing
technique? Dude, I’ve got to tell you, if that’s what you did to Katie Brooks,
it doesn’t count as making out.”
“Shut up,” Spencer says, cheeks stupidly hot, and temper rising slightly. Why
does he have to be the one to do all the work, seriously. “You had your eyes
open, you were fucking staring at me. You freaked me out.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, sounding confused. “Well, okay.” He shuts his eyes and waits;
Spencer blinks at him a couple of times and then starts giggling. The whole
situation is kind of funny, and downstairs he can just hear his sisters singing
along with plant a flower, plant a rose and yeah, forget funny, Ryan standing
there all glum-faced with his eyes closed is fucking hilarious.
“What,” Ryan says, and opens his eyes to glare at Spencer. “See, what was
that—”
“Sorry,” Spencer says, between giggles, “Sorry, you just looked really – mmf.”
Ryan has his mouth pressed clumsily against Spencer’s, open and still. He’s not
moving at all and it’s just kind of wet, and maybe a little bit suffocating.
Spencer breaks away and screws up his nose. “Dude, okay, that was worse than
mine.”
“I don’t know,” Ryan says awkwardly, his cheeks are slightly pink. “I’m kind of
– it’s weird. Being with you. I don’t know, maybe this was a bad—”
Spencer says, “Hey, come on, I thought we were gonna help each other out,” and
then he surges forward without thinking and kisses Ryan hard, banging his mouth
up against Ryan’s and pushing him backwards into the wall. He’s still not
entirely sure what he’s doing but it suddenly seems a lot cleverer to at least
pretend he does, or fake it until something turns out right, and maybe it’s a
really good idea because Ryan’s mouth is warm under his and Ryan actually
kisses back, hands coming up to clench in Spencer’s shirt and drag him closer.
Spencer puts his hands on Ryan’s hips and Ryan makes this small, unexpected
noise and opens his mouth and oh hey, there’s Ryan’s tongue.
It’s weird, and Spencer keeps getting these little shocks like, Ryan Ross just
bit my bottom lip, and Ryan Ross has his hand in the back pocket of my jeans,
but also it’s kind of amazingly awesome and this is proper making out, against
a wall with Ryan licking into his mouth and breathing raggedly, chest rising
and falling rapidly against Spencer’s. Spencer squirms closer and their
foreheads bump and he accidentally knocks his teeth against Ryan’s, but Ryan
just makes the smallest, grumpy noise and then pulls him closer.
Spencer is just congratulating himself on what an entirely perfect idea this
was (conveniently forgetting that it was actually Ryan’s) when Ryan pulls away
and squints suspiciously at Spencer. He asks, voice rough, "Did you time
kissing me with the chorus?"
"Oh my God," Spencer says.
“No, really,” Ryan says, and rocks his hips hard against Spencer’s very
deliberately, just once. Spencer can feel himself getting hard and he drops his
head slightly, cheek brushing against Ryan’s, breathing against Ryan’s neck and
doing his best to ignore his best friend’s stupidity. Ryan just grins slightly
though – and Spencer feels the edge of it against his face, oh God oh God – and
kisses Spencer again. Spencer hums out approval and Ryan’s mouth slides away,
hot and wet on the corner of Spencer’s mouth when he mumbles, “So, like, are
pop boybands your kink? Do you need me to wear a blond wig?”
"Oh my God," Spencer repeats, and pushes Ryan closer to the wall, kissing him
hard and messy, a little sloppy (fuck, he thinks, fuck, he really has no idea
what he's doing) and Ryan licks into his mouth, tilts his chin up, one arm
going around Spencer’s back, fingers digging in hard through his shirt.
"Mmmbop. Doo-bop," Ryan whispers against his mouth, and starts laughing
uncontrollably, which is both uncomfortable and weird and amazingly awesomewhen
Spencer can feel the vibration against his face, what the fuck. "Doo-bop. Doo."
"Shut the fuck up," Spencer says, and kisses him again to make sure he does.
Ryan’s breathing hard against Spencer’s mouth and when Spencer rocks forward
again he can feel Ryan’s dick, hard against him and he grinds their crotches
together and Ryan gasps and shit, yes, that’s awesome.
Downstairs, the music switches off abruptly, Ryan freezes, jolting his body up
awkwardly against Spencer’s, and Spencer topples over. For a moment everything
is horribly, horribly still, and then Crystal shouts up, “Bye, Spence! Bye,
Ryan!” and the twins’ footsteps clatter down the stairs and away from them.
Neither Ryan nor Spencer move until faintly, they hear the front door slam and
the car start up.
Then Ryan looks down at him and raises an eyebrow. “You kinda fell over there,”
he says slowly, with a tinge of disbelief as if he’s not sure what to do when
presented with this much mocking material.
“Shut up,” Spencer grumbles, and pulls himself to his feet. Ryan’s mouth is red
and swollen and his hair is sticking up everywhere and Spencer stares at him
and then laughs a little shakily, and Ryan grins back at him, big and warm like
he hasn’t smiled in months.
“See?” he says. “I told you this’d be a good idea.”
                                       *
It’s still a good idea, still a pretty fucking awesome idea, twenty minutes
later when Spencer has Ryan trapped beneath him on the bed, his hands tangled
in Ryan’s hair, tongue in Ryan’s mouth, and their hips lining up with every
rough push together. His dick is almost painfully hard and he can feel Ryan’s
against him, feels it every time they rub together in this slightly offbeat,
strangled rhythm they’ve got going. Ryan is panting into his mouth and Spencer
keeps making these embarrassing noises, sounds that are involuntary and not
anything as sexy as porn (the good porn, anyway). They catch in his throat and
Ryan swallows them, kissing him sloppily, his hands roaming, unable to settle,
up against Spencer’s back and then under his shirt and then sliding into the
back pockets of his jeans, tugging him down against Ryan again.
Spencer’s not sure how they ended up this way, whether there was a definite
decision made for Ryan to be underneath him and whether this is how it’s going
to be for – for other stuff, too, if they do that, because they didn’t make any
definite plans about what to do and what not to and what was appropriate or
what was just too gay (Spencer’s kind of sure by now that he himself is pretty
gay, and he thinks the fact that both of them are is what the whole idea is
about, but Ryan can be decidedly contradictory at times). Even the thought of
actual fucking is enough to make Spencer’s mind go fuzzy, and he’s not sure if
he’d actually care what his particular role in that would be. Still, though, he
decides against making comments like, ‘so, you’re the girl now or what’.
There’s a high chance Ryan might hit him if he said that.
Ryan winds a leg up around above Spencer’s and curls it over, pulling Spencer
close. They’re not doing anything very elegant, nothing particularly smooth or
even grown-up about the frantic way they’re rubbing against each other now,
denim against denim and beneath that Ryan’s cock against his, but it’s still
the best thing Spencer’s ever done in his life and he laughs breathlessly
against Ryan’s mouth, mouth stretching into a stupid grin. He pulls back just
enough to see that Ryan’s smiling back at him, hair falling over his eyes, not
needing an explanation, never needing an explanation because he’s Ryan. Spencer
forces his brain to get it together enough to be slightly coherent, and forces
out the word, “This,” through his teeth. Ryan nods frantically, grinds up
against him again and then makes this noise, this impossible, tiny noise that
Spencer’s never heard before, like a mewl that dies in Ryan’s throat, rough and
small and possibly the hottest thing Spencer’s ever heard.
He lowers his head slightly and Ryan’s sinking back onto the bed, breathing
hard, mouth open and red and hips still jerking up slightly. Spencer pushes
down against Ryan one last time and then he’s coming too, sparks darting up his
spine, mouth making wet, noiseless shapes against Ryan’s neck, and Ryan curls
one hand in Spencer’s hair and drags him close. They lie there for a moment,
underwear sticky and breathing ragged, and then Ryan forces out a shuddering
breath and releases Spencer, pushing him up.
“Off,” he says. “My leg’s got pins and needles. Ow, fuck.”
Spencer blinks at him, eyes slightly hazy, grinning stupidly. He says, “You are
so gross. In our pants?”
“Couldn’t be bothered taking them off,” Ryan says, shrugging his shoulders.
“I’m going to have a shower, though.” He stands up and makes a face, hopping on
one leg.
“I’m all sticky,” Spencer says mournfully. “Shower, yes.”
“Shotgun,” Ryan says quickly, and Spencer glowers at him for a moment before he
remembers the second bathroom.
“Okay, whatever,” he says, and Ryan goes over and rummages in his suitcase,
crying out triumphantly and waving a pair of clean boxers over his head.
Spencer rolls his eyes and then steps closer. “Hey,” he says. “Hey.”
“What?” Ryan asks, standing up, and Spencer leans forward and cups his hand
around the back of Ryan’s head, pulls him in and kisses him. Ryan kisses back
and then pulls away, says, “Yeah, yeah. Come on, shower. You want to smell of
spunk when your parents get home?”
“Fuck you,” Spencer says cheerfully, and Ryan makes an impatient noise and
turns around, bony shoulders hunched up, but Spencer can see him smiling.
“Shower,” he says firmly, and disappears out the door. Spencer runs his hand
through his hair and waits a minute before going out and down the stairs, spare
jeans and underwear tucked under his arm. He turns the hot water on in the
bathroom before getting undressed, knows that it takes a while to heat up, and
peers at himself in the mirror while the water runs.
Hullo Spencer-Who-Has-Had-Sex,-Sort-Of, he thinks, and then laughs at how
stupid the inside of his own head sounds. Really, dry humping can’t be
considered proper sex, but they both came, they totally both had actual Orgasms
with a capital O, and it wasn’t because of their own hands, so Spencer is… sort
of not a virgin now, he guesses. Maybe, like, a half-virgin, although he
supposes that Ryan would tell him virginity is kind of an absolute state; you
either are one or you’re not.
Spencer grins brightly at himself anyway and draws a smiley face in the mist
fogging up the mirror as the water gets hot. He strips off his clothes, making
a face when he peels off his underwear (because, yeah, seriously, gross) and
climbs into the shower. The general coldness of the weather here makes hot
water so much more appreciated and Spencer hums out approval, closing his eyes
and tilting his face up to the spray.
After a while, he realises that he can’t just stand around under the shower all
day, and he reaches for the soap, washing himself off. He’s more thorough than
usual, careful not to neglect his ass or pubes and even though he can’t really
think about why he’s doing that without his cheeks heating up (or his dick
twitching, and seriously, being a teenage guy kind of sucks sometimes) he wants
to be clean, at least.
By the time he’s dry and dressed again (which takes somewhat longer than usual;
he ends up jerking off in the shower again, head tilted back against the wall
and remembering kissing Ryan, Ryan’s angular hips arching up against his, the
noises Ryan made) Ryan’s already downstairs, washing his boxers in the laundry
sink. Spencer blinks at him and Ryan smiles.
“Come on,” he says. “They’ll have to be dry by the time your parents get back
or they’ll start wondering stuff.”
“Right,” Spencer says, and follows Ryan’s lead. It’s weird to remember that
they still have at least two hours before Spencer’s family gets back, and it’s
certainly weird to spend some of the time washing underwear at a sink with
Ryan, their elbows jostling, but afterwards they lay them in front of the fire
and settle down to watch Oprah, which Ryan inevitably gets addicted to during
any school vacation. Ryan is more relaxed than usual, sprawling languidly
across the couch and resting his chin on Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer ends
up dozing off in the middle of the show, just as the two couples start
screaming at each other.
When he wakes up his family is home and their underwear is gone; Ryan winks at
him and leans over the back of the sofa, lets Spencer’s sisters ramble about
how amazing the holiday decorations are.
Spencer’s phone buzzes in his jeans pocket, and he opens it to find a message
from Brendon: how ur vacation going, dickface?
fucking awesome, Spencer texts back fervently, and beams.
                                       *
Ryan pulls out his acoustic that night after dinner and entertains Spencer’s
sisters by playing as many of their favourites as he can, sitting on the floor
with his legs crossed. When they ask, he sings along with his head bowed over
the guitar and his hair falling over his face, in his low, rusty voice and
Spencer hums along, takes up the choruses with him so that he doesn’t feel too
inadequate, because Spencer knows that internally, Ryan is comparing every note
to the way Brendon would sing it. Ryan is one of the most arrogant people
Spencer knows, and it pisses him off to no extent some days, but Ryan also has
an equally annoying thing where if he recognises someone is a lot better than
him at something, he immediately decides he is no good at the thing in question
whatsoever. It’s been a while since Spencer’s heard Ryan singing deliberately,
rather than just joining in with the radio or humming absently to himself in
the mornings.
His parents disappear to some corner of the house and so it’s just the kids
that night, Spencer sprawled out on the couch and tapping his foot in time to
Ryan’s music, making small, pained noises when Ryan wanders out of time. At
around half past eleven, Jackie asks sleepily what’s going on with their band,
and Ryan looks up and meets Spencer’s eyes and smiles, and Spencer’s stomach
does this slow roll that didn’t use to happen when Ryan smiled at him.
“It’s good,” Spencer says, and then laughs stupidly. “Ryan’s been talking to –
you know Pete Wentz?”
“From Fall Out Boy?” Jackie breathes, leaning forward and wrapping her arms
around her knees. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, and nods a little jerkily. “On, like, instant messenger and
stuff? He likes our music. He said maybe, when me and Spence get back from this
vacation, he’ll fly down and see us play.”
“Wow,” Crystal says. “That’s really – wow. How come you never told us, Spence?”
“I told Mom and Dad,” Spencer says, and shrugs. Ryan laughs unexpectedly and
shifts closer to the couch, butting his head against the side until Spencer
blinks down at him in confusion and puts his hand on Ryan’s head, pets absently
at his hair.
“Spencer’s a pessimist,” Ryan says. “He doesn’t believe it’s gonna happen.”
“I do too,” Spencer protests, because he does. He tugs Ryan’s hair in
punishment and says, “I’m just more cautious than you. Brendon would be out
partying every night like he’s already a rockstar if we went by your version of
events.”
“Like Brendon even knows how to party,” Ryan says, and Jackie giggles while
Crystal glares (she’s had an enormous crush on Brendon since he first came over
to Spencer’s house).
“Don’t be mean to Brendon,” Spencer says, pushing his hands up above his head
as he stretches and yawning. Ryan doesn’t say anything, just picks up his
guitar and starts playing Boys Will Be Boys, and he’s quiet again for the rest
of the night. When they finally head up to bed he brushes his teeth for ages
until Spencer’s almost asleep by the time he comes in, the bathroom light next
door switching off, and he moves quietly through the bedroom, slipping under
his covers without a sound.
“Night,” Spencer says, words slurring as he tries to wake himself up enough to
talk, but Ryan only mumbles a half-hearted goodnight back at him and rolls
over. Spencer wonders vaguely and irritably if he’s somehow gotten pissed at
something, but in the morning he’s only the usual level of grumpy, and when
Spencer’s dad gets annoyed at Spencer for drumming absently on the breakfast
table Ryan laughs, eyes bright.
“He can’t help it,” Ryan says, and starts humming the melody that accompanies
the beat, picking up All The Small Things from where Spencer left off.
                                       *
They’re making out again, late that night with Spencer’s bedside table’s lamp
for light and his family sleeping downstairs. It’s as good as Spencer
remembers, them biting at each other’s mouths, rougher than Spencer would have
expected kissing was, only this time Ryan is on top. He straddles Spencer’s
hips and leans down slightly to meet where Spencer is half-sitting up on his
elbows, and it’s slower this time, Ryan touching him in a surer, easier way,
like he knows what he’s doing all of a sudden. It’s not that simple, Spencer
knows, and not for Ryan, either, because he can feel the way Ryan shudders,
whole body vibrating, when Spencer slides his mouth away from Ryan’s and bites
at his collarbone, drags his mouth over Ryan’s throat (always careful not to
leave marks, because fuck, Ryan mysteriously getting hickeys in the middle of
nowhere wouldn’t have been the easiest thing in the world to explain to his
parents).
Ryan pushes his hands up under Spencer’s t-shirt and Spencer breathes in
sharply at Ryan’s cold fingers on his stomach, his hips. Ryan breaks away from
his mouth and whispers raggedly, urgently, like it can’t wait a second, “Come
on, your shirt, take it off,” and tugs at the bottom of the cloth until Spencer
lifts his arms and lets Ryan pull it off.
Thinking about people looking at him like this before has made him
uncomfortable, aware of the pudge of his belly and how pale his skin is, but
Ryan’s seen him shirtless hundreds of times and the only difference now is the
way Ryan is looking at him, eyes raking over Spencer’s skin, dark and hungry
and it’s weird, this is all weird, it hasn’t stopped being weird, but Spencer
doesn’t mind Ryan looking at him at all.
Spencer breathes, “Now you,” and Ryan looks surprised, as if he’d forgotten
that he was still wearing anything at all. He curls his fingers in the hem of
his worn t-shirt (hoodie long since discarded, neither of them really caring
about – or even noticing – the crappy heating in their room) and pulls it up,
and it’s clearly not intended to be sexy at all, more impatient than anything
else, but Spencer’s breath catches in his throat all the same.
Ryan gets tangled up in the old Fall Out Boy shirt, material twisted around his
head and while he struggles free Spencer leans forward and runs his hands over
Ryan’s skin, drops his head and mouths lightly at Ryan’s nipple. Ryan gasps out
a mixture of Spencer’s name and a curse word, arching his back and Spencer
licks once, deliberately, before Ryan is completely free of his shirt and
bearing down on Spencer to kiss him furiously, mouth hot and fierce.
Spencer breathes out, “We’re gonna get all gross again, aren’t we,” and Ryan
hums quiet, pleased agreement against his mouth. Spencer considers this for a
moment and says, “You know we’re not gonna be able to shower. It’ll wake
everyone else up.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, and pulls away, scrunches up his mouth the way he does when
he’s thinking, only it looks very different now that his lips are red and
swollen and his hair is sticking up at ridiculous angles. I did that, Spencer
thinks, and has to bite back the stupid urge to giggle. “Hey,” Ryan says,
“Maybe it’ll be easier if,” and then his fingers are on Spencer’s zip, quick
and nimble, tugging his jeans down and freeing his cock.
Spencer gapes up at him but Ryan’s already busy, pushing down his own jeans,
and then he’s pulling Spencer up towards him with a steely hand around
Spencer’s bicep and kissing him again. He wriggles closer on Spencer’s lap and
suddenly he’s touchingSpencer’s dick, fingers dry and hot and long, and Spencer
lets his head loll back and groans, disturbingly loud in the quiet night. Ryan
shushes him but he’s breathing hard and Spencer jolts, suddenly, because Ryan
is rubbing his own dick up against Spencer’s, curling his hand around both of
them and moving as best he can.
It’s dry and just a little too tight at first, caught between satisfying and
uncomfortable, and Ryan makes a face and then lifts his palm up, offers it to
Spencer. Spencer stares blankly at him and Ryan rolls his eyes, says,
“Whatever, that could have been totally hot if you’d gotten with the program,”
and then licks his own palm, and when he wraps it around their dicks again it’s
slick and perfect. Spencer groans, thrusting his hips up and that makes Ryan
mumble something to himself and move too, until they settle into an awkward
kind of rhythm.
Brendon likes to talk about Ryan’s freakishly big hand span and make vague
innuendos about it, but even so it’s not quite enough and after a little while
Spencer moves to help him, wrapping his hand around them too so that their
fingers are overlapping and they’re both breathing hard, thrusting up into each
other’s and their own grip. It’s hot and intense and such a strange mix of
someone’s skin so close to yours and feeling the same things in different ways,
and pretty soon Spencer’s rhythm starts to get sloppy and he has to tilt
forward to muffle the sounds he’s making in Ryan’s shoulder.
All of a sudden it’s too much, Ryan touching him and his own hand and both
their dicks and his mouth still warm and tingling slightly from kissing before
and the sight of Ryan so close and so unlike what he’s always been for Spencer,
and Spencer grunts something incoherent out and comes, all over both their
hands and his own stomach. Ryan’s hand speeds up, sliding more with the sticky
mess of Spencer’s come, and through the haze of his orgasm Spencer recognises a
sound. It’s utterly bizarre in some ways that he can distinguish it, that he
knows so certainly and so irrevocably what Ryan sounds like when he’s coming,
but it’s there and Spencer knows it and he’ll always know it. He tilts forward,
presses his lips clumsily against the corner of Ryan’s mouth so that Ryan comes
with Spencer kissing him.
Everything is still for a moment; Spencer goes to ease Ryan off of him but Ryan
reaches out, curves a hand around Spencer’s neck and tugs him forward so that
their foreheads are touching. Their breathing sounds together in the golden
glow of the small lamp on Spencer’s bedside table, and Spencer is not entirely
sure what Ryan wants so he stays still and quiet with Ryan’s hand firm on his
neck. Eventually Ryan sighs and looks up and smiles, goes a little cross-eyed
trying to look properly at Spencer this close. Spencer laughs and Ryan clambers
off his lap, and Spencer marvels about how quickly the strange, awkward grace
that descends upon Ryan when he’s arching up under Spencer’s hands disperses,
especially when Ryan trips getting off the bed and lands heavily on his ankle,
grimacing and hopping around for a while.
Spencer doesn’t laugh. Spencer’s brain is still a happy haze that cheers loudly
(and, Spencer hopes, inwardly) every time it thinks about his dick and Ryan and
Ryan’s hands and the bed and the room and the whole damn vacation. He doesn’t
really understand how quickly Ryan can change from the guy panting under his
hands, making those fucking noisesto his half-dressed best friend again,
hopping around on one foot because he has low pain tolerance. Maybe Ryan could
give him tips, because Spencer’s brain clearly needs several minutes to start
working properly again.
Ryan says, “I’m just gonna go and,” and makes a helpless gesture at his
stomach, which has dried come on it. Spencer blinks at it and wonders whose it
is and then thinks, with a slow curl of warmth in his stomach, probably both of
us. Ryan rolls his eyes at him and Spencer rolls his eyes back, stands up and
follows Ryan into the bathroom, where they wash their hands and swab gingerly
with damp toilet paper at each other’s stomachs.
“So,” Ryan says, and Spencer laughs for no reason at all.
“So, yeah,” he says back, and Ryan makes an exasperated noise and hits him
lightly on the shoulder.
“Let’s go to bed,” Ryan says. “I’m tired.”
“Me too,” Spencer says and yawns, closing his eyes. He moves to turn his face
into Ryan’s shoulder, maybe tuck his face into Ryan’s warm neck and be still
again for a moment, but Ryan is already padding back into their bedroom.
Spencer follows him and Ryan smiles sleepily from under the blanket on his twin
bed.
“Goodnight,” Ryan says. Spencer switches out the light.
                                       *
Christmas Eve dawns grey and cold and snowing again, and Ryan and Spencer lie
in bed for a long time after they’ve woken up, huddled up in their separate
beds and talking. Ryan pulls all his quilts around him so that he’s just a
ruffled mess of hair peering bright-eyed out from under the covers and Spencer
laughs at him while Ryan screws up his nose and looks bewildered and like a
cross between a young child and a small, fuzzy kitten. Spencer is pretty sure
most seventeen year old guys don’t use the word ‘adorable’ about their eighteen
year old best friends, so he doesn’t, but he thinks it accidentally and then
feels stupid.
They talk about music and Brent’s hopeless crush on his cute geometry teacher
(“Gross,” Ryan says, making a face, and “She’s pretty young, apparently, for a
teacher,” Spencer tells him, but Ryan insists, “Gross,”) and Ryan’s ex-
girlfriend and what a bitch she was. Spencer tries talking about school for a
while but Ryan makes a face at him and says, quietly, “I don’t see why you have
to go to school, anyway, you should just hang out with me,” and he doesn’t
laugh when Spencer does, so Spencer drops the subject.
After a while, Spencer tells Ryan that they should get up, and Ryan makes a big
deal about Spencer fetching him thick socks and a hoodie and Spencer’s scarf
before he’ll crawl out from under the covers. Spencer says, “Princess,” but
does it anyway, and Ryan smiles at him when he pulls on the various layers, and
slides out of bed still smiling.
“Breakfast!” Spencer says. “I think I can smell bacon, come on.”
“Hey,” Ryan says, and catches his wrist when Spencer goes to walk away. Spencer
turns back to him and blinks, and Ryan leans forward and kisses him. His mouth
is warm and neither of them have brushed their teeth yet, so they don’t notice
each other’s morning breath, and Spencer kisses him back and doesn’t wonder
about how this is the first time they’ve done this without the possibility of
it leading to them getting off. Spencer blinks at him when they break apart and
Ryan smiles a little tentatively. “Merry Christmas,” he says.
“S’not Christmas yet,” Spencer feels obliged to point out.
“I know,” Ryan says, and they go downstairs.
                                       *
Spencer’s family takes them out around lunchtime that day to Pike’s Peak to
look at the Christmas Village, and they spend most of the day there. Spencer
sticks closer to Ryan than usual because he gets a bit weird around Christmas
even when he’s with Spencer and far away from his dad, and it pisses Spencer
off that Ryan’s Christmases are usually so unfailingly shitty and there’s still
not much he can do about it.
Ryan bad at remembering how cold it is, too, and they’ll take their jackets off
in a warm store or restaurant and then Ryan will forget to put it on again when
they get outside. Spencer shoves it at him until Ryan starts to laugh and
forgets to put it on deliberately the next time, and Spencer would probably be
more annoyed except he keeps noticing how red Ryan’s mouth looks in his cold
face. He didn’t use to have this problem, but he figures orgasms that are not
from his own hand are a fair enough price to pay for getting irritating urges
to kiss Ryan all the time, and he doesn’t jump too much when Ryan leans over
and presses his cold nose against Spencer’s neck.
A little bit before dinner, Brendon calls, and Spencer drops back from the
group, leaving the twins to entertain Ryan for a while. “Hey,” he says, and
Brendon echoes him and then falls quiet again. He sounds a little bit lost,
unsure as to why he called, and Spencer feels absurdly guilty for leaving him
behind.
“Have Brent and his family left?” he asks, and there is the inevitable pause
while Brendon nods before remembering that Spencer can’t see him.
“Yup,” he says. “Down to the unreachable cabin thing, yet again. I’m all alone,
Smith. What are you going to do about it?”
“Mail you some eggnog?” Spencer suggests. “Although, like. The post office
would probably kill me. Can you imagine the leakage?” Brendon laughs shortly
and doesn’t say anything else and Spencer hesitates and then asks, carefully,
“Are you okay?”
A lifetime of being best friends with Ryan Ross has kind of taught him not to
say it that obviously, but Brendon’s not Ryan and in some ways he’s easier to
figure out – Spencer doesn’t have to dance carefully around him at the risk of
him getting furious or, worse, more upset, in any case. He waits and Brendon
breathes out a little shakily and Spencer really, really wishes he could pull
Brendon close and give him a hug, pay him back for some of the effortless
comfort Brendon’s always giving everyone else.
“Um,” Brendon says, and then laughs loudly and obnoxiously. “Fuck, yes, I
guess? I just… I don’t know how long this is going to last.”
“What’s going to last?” Spencer asks.
“Me living with my family, I guess,” Brendon says quietly. “I think… I don’t
think I can stand it much more. Lying about the band and about doing a mission
and about believing in motherfucking God, and we have to go to church tonight
and tomorrow and I don’t know how when I can’t, when I can’t—”
“I know,” Spencer says, even though he doesn’t. If both of you know it’s a lie,
Ryan had told him once, it doesn’t matter. Spencer thinks there’s some pretty
flawed logic in that, and a possible reason why so many other kids in Vegas
hate Ryan with a passion, but it’s applicable in this situation. “I know,
Brendon. Just. Wait it out, okay, I know it sounds awful, but when me and Ryan
get back we’ll sort it, we’ll help you out.”
“Yeah,” Brendon says. He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “Sorry, man,
I’m totally going all emo on you. Don’t tell Ross, he’ll be pissy with me for
stealing his crown.”
“Ryan is the Emo Princess,” Spencer agrees solemnly, and looks up to see Ryan
watching him with a pinched expression. Spencer rolls his eyes and Ryan turns
away, back to Crystal’s high-pitched imitation of a girl in her class.
“Exactly,” Brendon says. “Anyway. I’ve got to go. Thanks for talking.”
“Brendon,” Spencer begins.
“Bye!” Brendon says quickly, and hangs up.
Spencer sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket, catches up with Ryan and
his family. He falls into step with Ryan and says, “So, when we get back, we’re
going to have to do something about Brendon.”
Ryan looks at him and says, “How’s that going to make a difference to usual?”
Spencer blinks at him. “Huh?”
“You’re always doing something about Brendon,” Ryan says. He shrugs his
shoulders when Spencer asks him what that’s supposed to mean, and doesn’t look
properly at Spencer for the rest of the trip.
They get home late that night, ten o’clock with the girls already sleeping on
each other’s shoulders in the car. Spencer’s mom says, “Straight to bed, get a
good night’s sleep or you’ll be too tired out to enjoy tomorrow,” and Ryan
heads up the stairs immediately, locking himself in the bathroom.
Spencer corners him in their bedroom when he gets back. “Hey,” he says. “Hey,
are you mad at me or something?”
Ryan stares at him, eyes wide and surprised, but his mouth is in a thin,
determined line and he doesn’t fool Spencer for a second, even when he says, in
his best confused voice, “No?”
“Okay, whatever,” Spencer says, and backs him against the wall, kisses him.
Ryan goes very still and then breaks away deliberately.
“I’m tired,” he says. “I don’t feel like being your right hand, tonight.”
Spencer wants to snap, don’t be such a fucking asshole, but Ryan looks slightly
upset, under all the sleek bitchiness, and Spencer’s been wanting him all day.
He breathes in and doesn’t speak until he’s sure he’s going to sound calm and
in control, and then he says, “That’s okay, you don’t have to. I’ll just blow
you, alright?”
Ryan’s mouth actually drops open, his eyes getting huge. “What?” he stammers,
and it’s the first time Spencer’s properly shocked him in years.
“I’m curious,” Spencer says, and it isn’t a lie. Ryan just keeps staring at him
and Spencer drops to his knees, hits them a little hard and winces, looking up
at Ryan. He unzips Ryan’s fly and then says, “That’s okay, right?”
“Fuck,” Ryan breathes. “Yes. Jesus, Spence, you’re so—”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer says meaninglessly, and pulls Ryan’s cock out of his
underwear, licks tentatively at the head.
Ryan’s head falls back against the wall and he whispers, “Confusing.” Then he
stops talking.
For some reason Spencer starts thinking about the first time he swore in front
of his mom, which is stupid and irrelevant and proves exactly how dumb his
brain is. But: he was twelve, and it wasn't even that he was angry, just that
his mom asked how the movie he and Ryan went to see was and he said "fucking
awesome" without thinking about it. His mom's eyes narrowed and her mouth got
all tight and pinched like when she was really angry, but her voice was kind of
soft and resigned when she said, "Mind your language please, Spencer," like
she'd been waiting for him to swear, like she'd been expecting it, and it had
made Spencer feel weirdly guilty, more so than he would have been if she'd
yelled. He's not sure why he starts remembering it, except maybe that it's kind
of boring on his knees like this, mouth stretched around Ryan's cock, and his
mind wanders, or maybe because it had left the same not entirely unpleasant but
still faintly uncomfortable prickle at the base of his spine, like he was
growing up without meaning to.
Ryan makes that noise, the mewling one that gets stuck in his throat, and curls
his fingers in Spencer's hair.
                                       *
Spencer wakes late on Christmas morning, which seems impossible, because the
twins are usually bouncing on his bed by eight at the latest. Presents are a
family affair and his sisters are not averse to waking him up in order to open
things sooner, but Spencer doesn’t wake until eleven, and his door is still
closed and peaceful.
Ryan is gone, though, the covers thrown off of his bed, and Spencer blinks
blearily. He stretches lazily, lets sleep seep away slowly and jerks off, then
goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and texts Brendon to see if he’s
holding up all before going downstairs. When he gets there, Ryan, Crystal and
Jackie are sitting close together on the couch with blankets pulled up to their
nose watching Love Actually. Spencer blinks at them all and then, when none of
them pay any attention to him, pads off into the kitchen.
His mom looks at his pillow-creased, inquisitive face and giggles a little bit.
“They’ve been watching movies all morning,” she says. “We’ve already been
treated to Titanic and half a series of Friends.”
Spencer stares at her. “Why?”
“Ryan said we should let you sleep,” Crystal informs him, sneaking up behind
him. “So we did. Can we open presents now?”
The whole family goes back to the living room and Spencer settles next to Ryan
on the couch. Ryan looks at him warily and Spencer gives him an unimpressed
stare before leaning in and licking his ear. Ryan squawks, clapping a hand over
his ear and yelping, “Dude, gross,” in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, but
he leans back comfortably against Spencer afterwards and Spencer knows they’re
okay.
He hadn’t been sure, last night. Ryan had barely gotten a hand into Spencer’s
jeans before he came and they’d both gone to bed without looking at each other
much. It’s all too easy for Spencer to remember what Ryan’s dick tastes like,
the strange, almost musky sex-smell of it, and that makes something squirm in
his gut, a cross between turned on and vaguely terrified. He hadn’t really
liked the act itself, but he’d liked Ryan’s reactions, and he’s not sure what
that’s supposed to mean. The ground between them feels like shifting terrain
all of a sudden.
Crystal dumps a package badly wrapped in newspaper in his lap, and Spencer
tears it open to find the sneakers he’d been secretly coveting (they had a lot
of glitter; Spencer thought it was probably not the most manly thing to
advertise that he wanted), a burned copy of the new Sum 41 album and Ryan’s
English notes from the year before. Spencer looks up and grins and Ryan ducks
his head, says, “You’re welcome.”
                                       *
Spencer’s been waiting for it, but it’s not until after lunch that Ryan gets up
and says, “I’m gonna call my dad.”
“Okay, hon,” Spencer’s mom says. “Say hi to him from us, won’t you.” Ryan nods
and Spencer gets up to follow him out of the room, feels his mom watching them
go. Sometimes Spencer’s insanely grateful for how well she knows Ryan, how
easily she can manage him. The line of Ryan’s back is already slightly looser.
They go and sit in the more formal dining room, and Spencer perches on the
table, kicking his legs absently while Ryan dials. Ryan looks at him and
Spencer hesitates, bites his lip.
“I can go, if you want,” he says.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Ryan tells him. He turns slightly when his dad picks up,
though, and lifts one shoulder a little bit. Spencer can only see half his face
when he mumbles, “Hi. It’s Ryan. Yeah.”
Spencer looks out the window. It didn’t snow last night, and the ground is
going slightly mushy, but the clouds are gathering ominously above and Spencer
doesn’t think the twins are going to be disappointed by the lack of a White
Christmas. It’s too cold, though; Spencer casts a look at Ryan in his thin
sweatshirt and thinks they should have brought the blanket from the lounge with
them, pulled it around their shoulders and sat close.
“No, it’s good,” Ryan says. “The house is really cool. I don’t know, stuff. I’m
not.”
Spencer doesn’t really like listening to Ryan talk to his dad on the phone, is
the thing. When it’s in person, Ryan never talks to his dad with Spencer nearby
that long and they tend to leave pretty soon (which is good, because Spencer
never quite lost his five year old timidity of the older George Ross) but Ryan
always spends a while on the phone, like he feels duty-bound to keep talking.
He also says ‘no’ too much.
“We might go to church tonight,” Ryan says. “Spencer’s sisters like the
nativity. Crystal and Jackie. It’s alright. I know you don’t, I don’t care,
it’s just alright.” He skims his foot across the floor and rubs his cheek
against his shoulder, and his voice drops too low for Spencer to hear for a
while, until he makes an exasperated sound and tilts his head up. “I knowI
will. I spoke to the school. Dad, I already told you all this. No, I’m not. No.
No.”
Spencer stands up and crosses the floor to him, presses his cheek against
Ryan’s back and breathes in. Normally, normally he couldn’t do this, but he
figures sex is probably a pretty good excuse for a lack of appropriate
comforting boundaries.
Softly, Ryan says, “Of course I don’t. Please don’t—no, okay. Yeah. Merry
Christmas. No, I know. I know. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Do you want
me to – well, you call then. Okay. No.”
He draws in a breath and nods, making mindless agreeable noises for a while.
Then he pulls his shoulders up and says in a fast, defensive rush, “Yeah. Bye.
I love yo—” and Spencer is close enough to hear the line go dead.
Spencer says, “Wanna go for a walk?”
They go outside and walk away from the house, out to the far left of the parked
car and the road. Ryan is quiet and Spencer sticks close to him, their
shoulders bumping if one of them missteps a little in the unstable snow.
Finally they come to the edge of the property and Ryan climbs up onto the
fence, sitting on the bar on top with his back to the house. It’s just tall
enough that his feet don’t touch the ground. Spencer pulls his hoodie sleeves
over his hands when he climbs up and is grateful that the temperature has risen
enough that the metal isn’t sufficiently cold enough to make them stick to it.
He’s heard horror stories.
Ryan breathes out a foggy cloud and then laughs quietly, a little surprised and
a fair bit self-deprecating, which Ryan doesn’t do very often. Spencer looks at
him and Ryan says, “I always fucking expect him to – it’s stupid.”
“You’re allowed to expect,” Spencer tells him, and shrugs. “It’s not your
fault.”
“It would be easier,” Ryan says, “if it was.”
Spencer touches for lack of anything concrete to do; reaches up and puts his
hand on Ryan’s neck, hidden under his hair, smoothes slightly greasy strands.
His mom has a way of doing it that is mindlessly comforting and Spencer doesn’t
think he has the knack, because there’s nothing mindless about this at all, not
when he’s still unsure about how things are different and how things are the
same. Spencer is pretty sure that he’s not allowed to kiss Ryan right now, that
the places and times he is, in fact, allowed to kiss Ryan are laid out in firm
black timetables in Ryan’s head where Spencer can’t comprehend them, because
these things make sense for Ryan in a way that they can’t for Spencer.
He thinks, though, that he is allowed to pet at Ryan’s hair in a way that most
best friends don’t, and Ryan leans back into his palm for a moment. His
eyelashes flutter against his skin when he blinks very rapidly and Spencer
realises that the bags that are generally under Ryan’s eyes are gone, that his
skin is not too pale, that he looks more rested than he has in months. Spencer
grins and takes his hand away.
“So,” Spencer says. “You realise the twins are going to be very disappointed if
you don’t let them give you a make-over with the stuff they gave you.”
“I’ve been wearing eyeliner for months now,” Ryan complains. “You’d think
they’d have a bit of faith in my abilities.”
“Well, instead they thought purple eye shadow was an appropriate Christmas
gift,” Spencer says. “You gotta ask yourself what kind of image you’re
presenting.”
Ryan laughs and turns his face towards Spencer, rests his forehead on Spencer’s
shoulder. “The other day my dad walked in on me trying this – this thing with
mascara?” he says. “I just wanted to see what it looked like and it was stupid
so, whatever, I didn’t even look like a chick. Just, a baby animal or
something, it was ridiculous. But this lookmy dad gave me, it was fucking
awesome. It was like, at that moment, I’d failed him in every possible way.” He
starts laughing and after a beat, Spencer joins him.
“Man,” Spencer says. “That’s brilliant. Jeez.”
“You should’ve seen it,” Ryan says. “I was like, fuck. Now he reallythinks I’m
gay.” Spencer doesn’t know what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything, and
Ryan glances at him, before repeating uneasily, “You should’ve seen it.”
“I feel like I’ve witnessed enough of your humiliating experiences over the
years,” Spencer says airily. “You can have them all on your own, now. You’re a
big boy.”
“Still,” Ryan says, and his voice is serious again, now, all traces of laughter
gone. “I never see you anymore.”
“You see me plenty,” Spencer says.
“Band practice,” Ryan counters. “That’s all. You’re always at school or I’m at
college or it’s work or homework or what the fuck ever, and my dad’s all crazy
about me doing well at college and shit and he won’t let me just hang out like
we used to—”
“Ryan,” Spencer says. “Ryan, we’re on a five week vacation right now.”
“And then we’ll go home,” Ryan continues, jaw tight. “And it’ll be you, and
Brent and Brendon, and me, and we’ll all be in these fucking different places,
but at least you and Brent and Brendon are in the samedifferent places.”
“Christ,” Spencer says. “Are you pissed at me for being friends with Brendon?
You’refriends with Brendon, unless allowing yourself to be cuddled all the
fucking time is your idea of enmity—”
“I don’t give a fuck who you’re friends with,” Ryan says, and he’s trembling a
little, with anger or the cold. “And I dolike Brendon. I’m just saying, I never
see you anymore. I thought, maybe if I, if I give you something and make you
need me like I – like I – I fucking never see you, Spence. That’s all.”
Spencer sighs and runs his hands through his hair, tugging just enough that it
hurts, propping his elbows on his knees. He’s not sure whether he’s angry or
frustrated or confused, but he knows he doesn’t want to fight. He says, “I’m
sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ryan says bitterly. “It’s not anyone’s fault, I just, I
can feel this. Ending. Or leaving, or something, and I don’t want it to.”
“Jesus, Ryan,” Spencer says. “What, are you expecting me to get up and abandon
you or something?”
“I’m always expecting something,” Ryan says, voice sullen. “You said I was
allowed to.”
Spencer’s head hurts, not up to following Ryan’s circular thoughts, his wild
leaps of logic. He looks at Ryan in his thin fucking sweatshirt and thinks
things were probably easier when he didn’t know what different parts of Ryan
tasted like, when he didn’t know what it felt like to have Ryan touch him with
a dark, curious intent in his eyes. Then again, it’s Ryan; maybe they weren’t.
He unzips his hoodie and hands it over. He’s wearing a sweater underneath and
so he shakes it under Ryan’s nose after Ryan gives him the first sceptical
look, and Ryan takes it and pulls it on over his shoulders. He curls his hands
up in the sleeves and Spencer makes an exasperated sound, leans over and zips
it up.
“You’re my best friend,” Spencer says. “Don’t be an asshole.” Ryan sidles
closer and Spencer wraps an arm around his shoulder, tugs him in. Ryan pushes
his nose against Spencer’s neck and Spencer laughs, surprised and breathless.
“Fuck,” he says. “Your nose is cold.”
“Sorry,” Ryan murmurs, and doesn’t move.
                                       *
The day passes slowly. Christmas is always an anti-climax, Spencer thinks,
after the months of anticipation leading up to it; after the presents and the
big lunch it’s all over, even when they do go to the nativity play that night.
Nothing momentous ever really happens.
It’s a comfortable day, at least, and it’s nice to have Ryan there without
first having to watch him come grey-faced and apologetic through the door,
mumbling some excuse about dropping off presents while his dad met up with work
colleagues. One year Spencer’s family had changed their mind at the last minute
and gone to have lunch at his grandma’s house, and when they’d gotten back at
eight that night Ryan had fallen asleep on the porch, leaning against their
front door. Spencer had thought he was going to be sick for a moment with guilt
and directionless fury, and his mom hadn’t been able to stop herself from
reaching out to Ryan all night, smoothing her hand over his hair, patting his
elbow. Ryan hadn’t acknowledged it, not really, but when she asked if he wanted
to stay the night he got out of his chair with awkward fourteen year old
clumsiness and hugged her. Spencer remembers her eyes, wide and startled, and
misting with tears.
The twins drag out their mattresses after dinner and put them in front of the
TV, and Ryan and Spencer claim the couch. They watch the Christmas specials
that are on for a while until it gets too nauseating, and then they move on to
the stack of DVDs next to the cabinet. Halfway through the third Harry Potter
movie (Jackie’s choice) Spencer’s phone buzzes against his thigh with a text
from Brendon; xmas officially over, everyone asleep. how was yr day??
It’s past one in the morning and Crystal and Jackie are barely awake. Spencer
touches his fingers lightly to Ryan’s elbow and says, “I’ll be right back.”
He calls Brendon when he gets up to the room, pushing his back into the corner
Ryan spent the first day sitting in. Brendon sounds tired but cheerful and much
better than he was yesterday; he talks excitedly for about ten minutes about
the awesome new video game he got and how he and his brother spent about four
hours after church today trying to beat it. “I have to play with it on mute,
now,” he says mournfully. “Everyone’s sick of the music, and it means I can’t
hear bad guys sneaking up on me. Assholes.”
Spencer asks, “You had a good day, then?”
“It’s Christmas, Spencer Smith,” Brendon says. “Are you seriously asking me
that? Tis the season to be jolly!”
“Brendon,” Spencer says, and Brendon laughs a little regretfully.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “It’s good, Spence. I’m sorting things. I don’t… I’m
going to work stuff out.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Spencer tells him.
“You will not,” Brendon says, heaving a despairing sigh. “You’re gone for
another month, and Brent doesn’t come back until January, and I am still all
alone. How the hell are you going to make up to me for this cruel desertion?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” Spencer says. “I’m not sure if I have the resources, to be
honest. Do you have any suggestions for me?”
“You could try song format,” Brendon says grandiosely. “I will accept payment
of pseudo pop-punk, if you are so inclined.”
Spencer laughs. “Payments of what? Are you having a conversation or working on
English assignment?”
Brendon has a suspiciously giggly coughing fit and then croons down the line,
“You promised me starry night skies, they just remind me of your shiny bright
eyes—”
“Brendon,” Spencer warns. “Oh God, no. Please.”
“You do have shiny bright eyes, Spence, you shouldn’t be ashamed of them,”
Brendon tells him gleefully and then continues, “I’m missing your voice at
night time, the sepa-separation seem-seems a sad crime.”
“I’m talking to you right now!” Spencer protests.
Brendon skips over a couple of lines and launches into the chorus with gusto.
Spencer gives up complaining and sits on the line laughing so hard his stomach
hurts. Brendon’s voice wobbles theatrically with emotion now and again and
Spencer can imagine the flamboyant gestures he’s making.
“Come on, Spencer,” Brendon interrupts himself with. “I would like you to cheer
me up now, please. That’s what friends are for.”
“Singing Hellogoodbye?” Spencer wonders, but nevertheless agreeably adds, “The
miles of air and road and land, that separate me from all my plans, we’re
havin’—” before he’s laughing too hard to continue.
“Havin’, havin’, havin’ fun,” Brendon finishes and then pauses meaningfully.
“Well?”
“But something, something tells me I miss someone,” Spencer sings, and Brendon
cracks up laughing. Spencer grins and raises his chin, and then he notices Ryan
leaning against the closed door and watching him, face unreadable in the
shadows of the room. Something tight and angry curls in his stomach and he
feels his mouth go into a fierce, defiant line, because there’s something about
the way Ryan’s looking at him that makes Spencer want to throw a punch for the
first time in forever.
“Hang on a sec,” he tells Brendon and then covers the mouth of the phone with
the palm of his hand. He keeps his voice carefully light when he leans forward
and says, “What’s up?” He doesn’t know why he’s this wary, really, only that
he’s pissed off with Ryan because it seems like Ryan is about to be pissed off
with him, and Spencer doesn’t understand.
Ryan is quiet and calm, though, and all he says is, “I thought I could pay you
back for that blowjob, last night.”
Spencer swallows, hard. From the earpiece of his phone Brendon says his name,
tinny, and Spencer presses it to his ear and garbles, “Gotta go, seeya.” Ryan
looks briefly, terribly triumphant and then Spencer stands up and it’s just
Ryan, half-smiling, beckoning his finger so that Spencer walks towards him
without even thinking.
                                       *
Spencer trips slightly with his jeans pushed unceremoniously down to his
ankles, and lands heavily on the bed. Ryan cocks his head to the side and then
says, “Hey, yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea,” and then he’s pushing Spencer back
until Spencer’s resting against the headboard and Ryan is lying between
Spencer’s legs. He tugs Spencer’s boxers down and looks up at Spencer for a
moment, a quick, uncertain flick of his eyes. Spencer wonders if maybe he’s
meant to say something hot, or maybe something reassuring, if Ryan needs
something from him right now, but then Ryan ducks his head and takes Spencer’s
cock in his mouth straight away, no hesitation like Spencer had last night, or
at least not showing it.
There’s a crack and a sharp throb in Spencer’s head, and he realises he’s let
his head fall back hard against the headboard, but can’t bring himself to care.
Ryan’s mouth is hot and wet and all the things Spencer would expect Ryan’s
mouth to be, and also around his dick, which is not a thing Spencer has
generally thought of before the past week.
Spencer bucks his hips up helplessly and Ryan makes a disgruntled choking
noise, flattens an arm across Spencer’s stomach and pushes him back down.
Spencer mumbles out something vaguely close to an apology but Ryan just lowers
his eyes, eyelashes fluttering against his skin, and bobs his head as best as
he can. He looks slightly obscene from Spencer’s angle, mouth stretched and red
and wet, spit flecking his chin, and Spencer would really like this to last
longer than another minute, so he lowers his head and closes his eyes.
After a moment, Ryan pulls off and Spencer makes a low whining noise in his
throat, opens his eyes to see what’s going on. Ryan says, “Hang on, just—” and
sucks his own fingers into his mouth, licking and generally being like a
slightly clumsy, underage porn star between Spencer’s legs. Once Ryan’s hand
and fingers are shiny and wet he goes back down, taking Spencer’s cock in his
mouth, and this time he slides his hand around the base, touching where his
mouth can’t reach.
Spencer is panting and concentrating very hard on not bucking up into Ryan’s
throat when Ryan takes his hand away, and suddenly he feels Ryan’s fingers
pressing wet against his asshole, circling slowly, spreading spit across his
skin. Something lodges in his throat, anxiety and anticipation, and he stutters
out, “Wait, Ryan, what—”
“Calm down,” Ryan says, pulling off, breath ghosting across Spencer’s cock.
Spencer groans and pushes his hips uselessly upwards. “I’ll stop if it hurts,
okay?”
“Okay,” Spencer breathes. He pauses and then adds, “Just – come on, asshole,
don’t stop, come on—”
Ryan sucks at the head of Spencer’s cock and pushes the tip of his finger into
Spencer’s ass, and Spencer makes a strangled yelp, hands flying to the sheets
and clenching in them. Ryan pulls off again and says, “Okay?”
“Feels weird,” Spencer says, eyes squeezed shut, and makes a rough noise when
Ryan pushes his finger in further. He kicks off his jeans as best he can
without kneeing Ryan in the face and tries to spread his legs more, and Ryan
pulls his boxers down below his knees.
“Better?” Ryan asks.
“Um,” Spencer says, and makes a strangled noise when Ryan crooks his finger. “I
– I guess, still pretty fucking weird.”
“Um,” Ryan says, and then, more decisively, “Okay, wait.” He slides his finger
out (Spencer gasps) and shuffles down a little further and then pushes at
Spencer’s legs, until he pulls his knees up and spreads his legs more, pushing
his hips upward. Then he spreads Spencer’s cheeks with his hands and leans in,
licks a long stripe down across Spencer’s asshole and towards his balls.
“Oh God,” Spencer says. “Fuck, what are you doing—”
“Bad?” Ryan asks, anxiously, and Spencer laughs stupidly.
“Fucking weird,” he says for the millionth time. “Don’t – don’t stop.”
He opens his eyes then and jolts, because Ryan’s staring right at him, looking
half-pleased and a bit startled and strangely awed. He flushes when he sees
Spencer looking and ducks his head, and then he pushes with his tongue at
Spencer’s ass and this is so, so bizarre and so, so awesome. Spencer groans and
Ryan laps slightly at it, and then Spencer says, “Ryan,” and Ryan pushes his
tongue in and moves quickly to dig his fingers into Spencer’s hips and stop him
from arching off the bed.
He settles down comfortably, licking in and twisting his tongue and Spencer
tries to concentrate on breathing properly. It’s wet and strange and kind of
disgusting and it’s also hotter than anything Spencer has ever been able to
imagine, and when Ryan works his finger in again it’s not as weird as before,
it’s just better. He says, “Fuck, Ryan, please, Ryan, please,” without even
knowing what he’s asking for, and Ryan makes this hungry little noise and
Spencer feels the fucking vibration of it against his skin. He opens his eyes
and twists his head and can see that Ryan’s rutting frantically against the
cover, hand trembling a little on Spencer’s ass and it occurs to Spencer,
suddenly, what he wants.
“We should fuck,” he gasps out, pushing back onto Ryan’s finger and tongue. “We
should, you should fuck me, I want you to,” and Ryan pulls his mouth away and
comes. Spencer is about to get seriously pissed off because come on, Ryan was
kind of busy there, and now his finger is just sitting limp inside Spencer and
he’s blinking up in a dazed way, and then he remembers that he’s got his own
hands, and he’s barely got one curled around his cock before he’s coming,
turning his head to bite into the meat of his shoulder so that he doesn’t wake
anyone up by being too loud.
By the time he’s coming down, vision clearing, Ryan has shimmied out of his
jeans and crawled up beside him, propped up on one elbow and studying Spencer
intently. Spencer blinks at him and Ryan asks, quiet and nervous all of a
sudden, “Did you mean it? What you just—”
“Umn,” Spencer says, feeling his cheeks heat up. He sits up and pulls his
boxers up, smearing his hand rather ineffectually through the come on his
stomach and then reaching down to wipe it off on an abandoned sock. He very
carefully does not look at Ryan when he says, “Yeah? I mean, I hadn’t thought
about it. Uh, before. But like – if you want to – if it’s not too weird – then
like, yeah. I’d like it, I think. But only if you want to.”
“I want to,” Ryan says, and then he’s on top of Spencer, kissing him hard and
sloppy, teeth knocking together. Ryan’s mouth tastes a bit strange, sort of
unpleasant, and Spencer tries not to get too grossed out – he thinks it
probably wouldn’t be very nice to ask Ryan to brush his teeth. Ryan breaks away
and smiles widely down at Spencer, breathing hard, repeats, “I want to.”
“Well,” Spencer says, and starts grinning. Ryan tiptoes his fingers along
Spencer’s belly, pushing his t-shirt up, and Spencer starts laughing. “We can’t
do it now, freak,” he says. “I mean, we need stuff, right? Like, uh, lube.
You’re not fucking me with spit, oh my God.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ryan says. “And like, condoms too.”
Spencer screws up his mouth thoughtfully. “Isn’t that for chicks?” he says.
“And if you have a disease or something? We don’t have diseases.”
“I dunno,” Ryan says honestly. “I’m pretty sure you’re meant to wear one? And
better—”
“Safe than sorry, yeah, yeah,” Spencer says. “We’ll have to wait then, I guess.
Till the shops open, like, after New Years.”
Ryan glares. “Can’t we find stuff here?”
“Dude, we’re not going looking for stuff in my parent’s bathroom,” Spencer
says. “I would die of the horror. I like to imagine they’re just really good
friends.” Ryan laughs and Spencer narrows his eyes. “Don’t mock me, man. It
could be true. We don’t have any proof.”
“I kind of think you and your two siblings are proof,” Ryan says.
“Shut up,” Spencer tells him. “Anyway, they wouldn’t have lube, so.”
“I’m pretty sure you can just use, like, lotion or something,” Ryan says, and
Spencer shakes his head.
“What if it had some weird chemical and we didn’t know?” he says. “Fucking ow.
No, we’ll just suck it up. It’ll be alright, we can wait.”
“Okay, fine,” Ryan says, and then he shoves at Spencer until he can pull the
blankets out from underneath him and up over them. Spencer blinks at him and
Ryan turns slightly pink in the dim light, says, “Whatever, I’m fucking
exhausted, youswitch beds.”
“No,” Spencer says, “I’m alright.” He switches off the lamp and rolls over
until his front is pressed up all along Ryan’s back, lies completely still
until Ryan relaxes and they both fall asleep. It’s the first time they’ve
shared a bed in years, barring the times they fall asleep on the couch, and
though the bed is a single, they both fit pretty well together in it. Spencer’s
oddly comforted by this knowledge, and by knowing what it’s like to wake up in
the middle of the night with Ryan curled up against his chest, mouth open and
breathing against Spencer’s collarbone.
Plus in the morning Ryan wakes him up with a hand job, which is a pretty
awesome way to start the day.
                                       *
The days seem to speed up after Christmas. Normally, Spencer would be annoyed
at a vacation stealing away from him, but Ryan has taken to stealing up behind
him and mumbling in his ear about things he wants to do once they finally get
Stuff, and Spencer’s counting down the days until the 3rd of January, when
Spencer’s mom says the store will probably be open again.
(Spencer runs his hands through his hair, blinking tiredly at himself in the
mirror – he and Ryan hadn’t slept last night until three and though he doesn’t
regret it, he wishes he hadn’t woken up so early. Then Ryan’s face is behind
his, hooking his chin over Spencer’s shoulder and stepping close behind him,
pushing his hips up against Spencer’s ass. Spencer swallows hard and Ryan tucks
his head, eyelashes low and dark on his cheeks, and murmurs into his neck, “I
think I’m going to fuck you slowly, first time. I don’t wanna ruin it after all
the waiting, so I’ll go in slow, and wait until you ask before we move. Okay?”
Spencer doesn’t speak, just stares transfixed at them in the mirror, until Ryan
laughs softly and pads away.)
On New Year’s Eve, Crystal and Jackie plead with their parents until finally
the whole family is given official permission to climb up through the tiny
storage room down the hall from Ryan and Spencer’s room and onto the roof. It’s
an old habit, from years of sitting up high to watch the fireworks, and while
there’s nothing to see this year it would seem wrong to spend the hour before
midnight in any other way.
Ryan’s been over for enough New Year’s Eves to feel comfortable, too, and he
perches next to Spencer, rugged up in about eight sweaters. Crystal and Jackie
dare each other to walk closer and closer to the edge, laughing and bright-
faced up in the cold night, and Spencer’s mom keeps half an eye on them and
half on her husband as they talk in low voices, heads bent together.
Eventually, Spencer’s dad starts off the countdown and at midnight Spencer
laughs out loud for no reason at all and Ryan grabs at his hand unexpectedly.
Spencer turns his head and Ryan’s grinning at him, baring his teeth, and he
digs his nails into Spencer’s palm. Spencer thinks that he’ll feel the marks
all night and he curls his frozen fingers around Ryan’s, squeezes back.
Ryan lets go so as to give Crystal an awkward hug but when Spencer’s dad says,
“So, resolutions, everyone?” his hand creeps to Spencer’s lower back, splaying
out against Spencer’s hoodie. The tips of Ryan’s fingers press against him just
slightly and Spencer bites his lip.
“Do well in the last year of school, I guess,” he says, and his dad nods. Ryan
doesn’t move his hand.
                                       *
“Mom?” Spencer says tentatively, Ryan lingering behind him. “Mom, we were
wondering if it’s okay to go into town?”
Spencer’s mom swings around frowning. “What for?” she says. “I went shopping
yesterday. I’m pretty sure the fridge will burst if you try and fit anymore in
it.”
“Um, yeah,” Spencer says. “But like, we both just got this crazy craving for
cookie dough.”
Ryan makes a squeaky noise behind him, pressing his mouth against Spencer’s
shoulder to muffle it. Spencer elbows him when his mom’s not looking – it’s a
genuine craving that Spencer gets every now and then, so whatever, it’s not
that hilarious.
Spencer’s mom makes an exasperated noise. “You can’t just make some? I don’t
know how I feel about you two taking the car alone.”
“Mom,” Spencer says. “It’s not the sameif you make it. Anyway, we’ve got our
licenses. And you think Ryan’s a good driver!” She puts her hands on her hips
and Spencer says, quickly, “We’ll pay for it and all!”
“Yeah?” she asks dryly. “Who’s going to pay for my gas?” But she reaches for
the keys as she says it and hands them over. Spencer grins.
“Thanks,” he says. “You want anything while we’re there?”
“No, we’re fine here,” she says. “Let Ryan drive, okay. I still don’t trust
you.”
“You cut me to the bone,” Spencer says solemnly, and then turns and drops the
keys in the waiting hand of a smirking Ryan. “Shut up,” he says, nudging him.
“See you in a couple of hours, mom!”
“If you’re not back in two and a half,” she begins, warningly, and Spencer
rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “We’ll call, it’s all good. Bye!”
It’s a forty-five minute drive into town. Spencer brings a couple of CDs for
the ride but they turn the volume down three songs into Enema of the State,
Ryan launching into a story about this dude from his English Lit class. It’s as
normal as ever, and every now and then Spencer thinks we’re going to buy
condomsand starts giggling. Ryan just looks at him, darkly amused, hands
relaxed on the wheel.
They pull over at the first supermarket they see. Spencer walks in nervously as
though expecting his grandmother or ancient science teacher to pop out of
nowhere and inquire what he’s doing, but it’s mostly empty and the bored
employees themselves barely glance at them.
Spencer knows where condoms generally are and they find it easily enough and
then stand there snickering helplessly for about ten minutes. Ryan looks at
Spencer and says, voice dull as he can make it, “Chocolate or strawberry?” and
Spencer almost collapses, hanging onto Ryan’s shoulders and laughing
helplessly. Ryan says, “I’ve heard you can get ‘em with rhinestones. We
shouldn’t settle for anything ordinary,” and Spencer chokes, struggling for
breath.
Eventually he composes himself and turns back, surveying the shelf with a weird
amount of interest (still habitually glancing around for other people, in case
they have to scuttle down a few steps and pretend to be avidly interested in
tampons). He says, a little sheepishly, “Dude, there’s like, hundreds.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “It’s alright, I know the ones,” and he swipes a packet off
the shelf easily enough, turning and heading up the aisle. Spencer blinks at
him.
“Oh, right,” he says. “I forgot. You’ve, like, had sex.”
“With girls,” Ryan says, and shrugs.
Spencer looks away, slightly uneasy. He knows Ryan’s slept with girls, of
course, he’s generally the one Ryan tells, but he feels suddenly conscious of
his own total lack of experience. At least Ryan vaguelyknows what he’s doing.
Ryan looks sideways at him, uncertain, and Spencer rolls his eyes at himself,
nudges Ryan in the ribs with his elbow.
It takes them a little longer to track down the K-Y, and when they do Ryan
grabs two tubes. Spencer raises an eyebrow and Ryan actually goes a little
pink, says, “Well, we don’t know how much we’re gonna need, right?”
“Trying to get lucky, Ross?” Spencer asks, and Ryan bumps his hips into
Spencer’s and grins weirdly, biting his bottom lip while he does it. His teeth
leave a little white imprint and Spencer is startled by a sudden urge to lean
forward and soothe it with his mouth, kiss it better. He scrunches up his
forehead, surprised at himself, and then hurries to catch up where Ryan’s
heading towards the checkouts.
“Hey, hey, wait,” Spencer says, grabbing Ryan’s elbow and starting to laugh
again, stupid, for no reason. “We have to buy cookie dough, remember? Or Mom’ll
guess something’s up.” They head back in, giggling like schoolgirls, and
Spencer picks out one of the big tubes of it and then makes disgusting gestures
with it until Ryan is red-faced and breathless with laughter.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” he says. “Stop, it’s already gonna be bad enough when
the chick at the counter sees we’re buying, like, lube and condoms and cookie
dough.”
“Fuck,” Spencer says, running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even think
of that, they’re gonna think we’re total fucking perverts.”
“Spencer Smith,” Ryan says sternly. “Just exactly what are you going to do with
that cookie dough, young man?”
It’s cheap and gross and immature but Spencer can’t stop laughing, and the girl
at the check out does indeed give them strange looks. She’s in her early
twenties with about five piercings and the edge of a tattoo peeking out from
under the black work shirt, impossibly cool. When she hands over the bag and
the change she raises an eyebrow and says, “You boys have fun,” and that sets
Spencer off again, laughing uncontrollably behind his hand while Ryan does that
thing where he’s trying to look hot, giving her a disinterested look and
combing his hands back through his hair, and that makes Spencer laugh even more
as Ryan hurries him away, slowly turning red again.
“What, what,” Ryan says while Spencer laughs harder.
“Dude, nothing,” he wheezes eventually. “Just, you were hitting on the girl
selling us lube?”
Ryan thumps him in the arm, hard, and puts on Hot Fussonce they’re in the car,
glaring at Spencer. The car’s freezing, so Spencer ignores him in favour of
turning up the heat.
They’ve been driving for about ten minutes, though, when Spencer realises that
Ryan is pushing the speed limit as much as he can. “Hey, watch it,” he says,
knowing the consequences if they get a speeding ticket in his parents’ car, and
then it suddenly occurs to him whyRyan’s driving so fast. He can’t help the
grin that spreads over his face, or the way it turns into a smirk when he says,
“Ryan, you know we won’t be having sex immediately upon arrival, right?”
“What?” Ryan snaps, head swivelling to look at him. Spencer laughs.
“Dude, my whole family is there,” he says. “And awake. You’re not fucking me
while they’re even in the house.”
Ryan makes an outraged face. “Not even if they’re asleep? You let me suck you
off when they’re asleep!”
“It’s different,” Spencer says. “I don’t wanna – dude, no, I’d just be too
creeped out the whole time. We’ll have to wait until they all go out again.”
“But that could be days,” Ryan says, and Spencer shrugs.
“Tough luck.”
Ryan looks furious for a moment, and then he smirks and sets his jaw and the
next thing Spencer knows the car is swerving down a small road and pulling over
to the side.
“What are you doing?” Spencer asks, staring, and Ryan grabs the plastic bag
from Spencer’s feet and crawls into the back.
“C’mon,” he says, and then, when Spencer hesitates, “Come on.” Spencer follows
and Ryan grabs his sweatshirt and tugs him through the gap between the seats,
so that Spencer stumbles and almost falls onto the floor. He ends up half on
Ryan’s lap, and then Ryan’s kissing him, sliding his tongue into Spencer’s
mouth and threading his hands through Spencer’s hair, and generally being
really fucking dirty.
His hands are on Spencer’s pants before Spencer’s even gotten an idea of what’s
going on, unzipping him and tugging at the waistband frantically. Finally
Spencer pulls away and says, “No, Ryan, come on, no.”
“Why not?” Ryan challenges, eyes dark.
“Because I have principles,” Spencer snaps. “Because you’re not fucking me in
the backseat of my parent’s car in the middle of nowhere, oh my God, who do you
think you are, Ryan Ross? Seriously!”
“It’s okay,” Ryan says, wriggling out of his pants. “You can fuck me first. I
don’t mind.”
Spencer’s pretty sure that doesn’t actually leave his principles unchallenged,
but his brain has apparently blown up and all he can do is stare. Ryan makes a
huffy, impatient noise and then he’s urging Spencer up onto his knees, and
pulling his jeans and boxers down, and then there is a crumple of their clothes
tossed over into the front seat and they’re kissing again, cocks hard and
pressing together.
“Okay?” Ryan says finally, fingers digging into Spencer’s hips, and Spencer
nods.
“I don’t know,” he says uncertainly. “How to do it, I mean. I don’t think—” he
pauses, considering, but he’s pretty sure there’s no room for him to sprawl
between Ryan’s legs and lick him open, like Ryan did.
Ryan says, “It’s okay, I can – I know how. You put the condom on,” and he
tosses the box at Spencer. Spencer gets occupied for a minute ripping off the
packaging and opening the box, and then Ryan makes this shaky little moan and
when Spencer looks up he’s got a finger inside himself, his eyes slipping shut.
“Fuck,” Spencer whispers, and then repeats it for good measure. Ryan pushes
another finger in and breathes in raggedly, rocking his hips up and then down
on his own fingers and Spencer is so fucking hard, not quite sure how his life
got this awesome. Ryan keeps his eyes mostly closed, like he’s a little
embarrassed to look back at Spencer, but he moves with a certain surety, and
Spencer can’t help but say, voice kind of wobbly, “I thought you hadn’t done
this before?”
Ryan opens his eyes and his cheeks turn pinker then they already are. “To other
people,” he breathes, and then his wrist twists slightly as he slides a third
finger in and he bites down hard on his lip, rocking onto it.
Spencer watches, transfixed, and then Ryan’s words catch up on him. “You’ve
done this to yourself?” he asks, mouth open and staring because oh God, Ryan
fingering himself, Ryan alone on his bed making those noisesand twisting
against the sheets, free hand thrown out carelessly. Spencer can’t breathe
properly.
Ryan nods quickly and then wriggles against the uncomfortable upholstering of
the car and breathes, “Spencer, come on, come on, put the fucking condom on,”
and Spencer remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, rips the silver package
and rolls it on over himself carefully, trying not to think of the sixty-year
old teacher he had who once showed them on a banana. He remembers something he
read once and reaches for the abandoned tube of lube, smears some more out and
spreads that over his cock. He knows that condoms have lube on them but it
doesn’t feel like enough, and Ryan looks so tight, clenching around his
fingers.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, Ryan, m’ready, are you, do you—”
“Yes,” Ryan breathes, sliding his fingers out. He puts one foot on the floor of
the car and hooks the other around Spencer’s waist, and Spencer shifts
slightly, wriggling up until he can press the tip of his cock up against Ryan’s
hole. Ryan breathes in a staggered inhalation and Spencer thinks THIS IS IT in
capital letters, and then he shifts his hips forward and loses his balance,
almost toppling over to the side.
Ryan props himself up on his elbows and blinks at him and Spencer flushes,
steadying himself. He says, “I can’t fucking – I’m going to fall over,” and for
once in his life Ryan doesn’t make fun of him, just nods.
“Switch,” he says, sitting up, and Spencer stares at him in confusion but lies
down anyway. Ryan shifts him over until he can put his knees on either side of
Spencer, and then he takes Spencer’s cock in his hand and pulls himself up over
it. Spencer gets it, finally, and he tilts his head back and moans when Ryan
positions himself over Spencer’s cock and slides down onto it, ass tight and
hot and clenching around Spencer. It’s almost too tight, for a moment, and then
Ryan releases a breath and sits still for a moment, taking in deep breaths with
Spencer’s cock all the way in and fuck, fuck, it’s so good but Spencer wants to
move.
He forces himself to stay still, though. Ryan’s cock isn’t as hard as it was
before and his face is slightly white. Something twists in Spencer’s chest and
he reaches out aimlessly and says, “Hey. Hey, Ryan. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, and then with the hand that isn’t steadying himself on the
backseat he reaches forward and laces his fingers through Spencer’s. It’s a
little awkward, holding his arm up so as to hold Ryan’s hand but Ryan relaxes,
and then he starts to move, a little hesitantly and then more confidently and
Spencer can barely breathe.
He tilts his hips up, unsure what exactly he’s searching for, and then Ryan
groans, throwing his head back and says, “Fuck, Spencer, so fucking good,” and
rolls his hips when he shifts down again, making Spencer call out something
meaningless and incoherent. And okay, Spencer was so, so right about not doing
this in the house, because they’re both making dumb, loud noises and Spencer
doesn’t think anyone listening could mistake this as anything but sex.
It’s weird. Spencer doesn’t think it could be anything else, losing his
virginity to his best friend in the backseat of a car, and this whole thing
they’ve been doing is kind of incredibly weird, always has been, but it’s also
amazing. Eventually Ryan says in this bitchy, breathless voice, “Spence,
fucking touchme,” and Spencer moves his free hand to Ryan’s cock and then it’s
even better, because Ryan gets almost frantic, pushing himself up and down with
his knees, head lolling back on his shoulders.
“Ryan,” Spencer chokes out eventually, when he can feel the heat in the pit of
his stomach and his cock building uncontrollably. “Ryan, I’m gonna come—”
“No, wait, not yet,” Ryan says, and starts moving even faster which doesn’t
exactly help Spencer with the not coming thing. Ryan bucks up harder into
Spencer’s grip on his cock and rolls his hips when he’s coming back down and
it’s good, oh, it’s really fucking good, and when Ryan squeezes his hand where
it’s clutching Spencer’s, Spencer thrusts up hard one last time and comes. Ryan
makes a small, disappointed noise and Spencer somehow has the presence of mind
to keep jerking Ryan off, until he comes with a garbled noise all over
Spencer’s fist.
There’s quiet for a moment, and then Ryan pulls off of Spencer’s cock and gets
his hands free, pulling the condom off and making a face before tying it up.
“Where are you gonna,” Spencer mumbles weakly, and then Ryan winds down the
window and chucks it outside and Spencer blinks at him, astounded. “That’s
disgusting,” he says and Ryan laughs hoarsely and winds the window back up. He
almost falls down over Spencer and picks up Spencer’s hand again, clutching it
tight in a slightly sweaty grip.
“We’re kind of gross,” Spencer whispers, and Ryan bends down, sucks Spencer’s
fingers that have his come on it into his mouth, licks it off with these tiny,
content noises. Spencer blinks down at him, wide-eyed. “You’re a freak,” he
whispers.
“Doesn’t taste so bad,” Ryan mumbles, and then goes back to sprawling over
Spencer like a dead weight. On the car stereo, Brandon Flowers is singing about
dreamy eyes and everything being alright.
Spencer feels like he drifts off for a while there, Ryan clinging onto his
hand, bare legs tangled together, and when he stirs back to consciousness he’s
aware immediately of two things: that Ryan is awake, breathing wetly into his
collarbone, and that they have to go home soon or Spencer’s mom will worry.
Their pants and underwear are still in the front, and Spencer thinks
disbelievingly that they didn’t even get naked properly, both wearing their
shirts.
“We’d better get going,” Spencer says, and Ryan nods against his chest.
“You’re gonna have to drive,” Ryan says, sitting up. Spencer follows him
automatically and they’re sitting close together again, noses almost brushing.
“Why?” Spencer asks, and Ryan smiles. It’s a strange smile, not one that he’s
used to seeing on Ryan; shaky and pleased and unsure all at once.
“My legs have gone all wobbly,” Ryan says, and Spencer stares at him, bright-
eyed, heart stuck in his throat.
                                       *
They get back and Spencer’s mom looks up, rolls her eyes, and says, “Did you
get lost?”
“Uh,” Spencer says, and looks away, tries not to flush. He tosses his mom the
keys for the car and puts the cookie dough away, and then goes upstairs, too
conscious of the plastic bag stuffed in his hoodie pocket. Ryan’s waiting up
there for him and he takes one look at Spencer’s face and bursts out laughing.
“Did you think she’d be able to tell from your face?” Ryan asks, and Spencer
glares at him. Ryan laughs harder. “You totally did, didn’t you? You thought
your hair would be a – a more mature shade, or there’d be a certain airin your
walk—”
“There’s a certain air in yourwalk,” Spencer retorts, and Ryan rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, you try having a dick up your ass and walking normally,” he says, and
Spencer bites his lip. Ryan had shuffled around uncomfortably in the front seat
until he got settled with his legs propped up on the dashboard, and Spencer had
wanted to apologise but hadn’t been sure whether he was supposed to, or how to,
or whatever. Ryan looks at him and his gaze softens, unexpectedly warm. “Hey,”
he says, and reaches out to touch Spencer’s arm. “Hey, hey. I liked it,
alright? Don’t guilt yourself out. It was awesome.”
“Yeah?” Spencer asks tentatively, and Ryan smiles crookedly back at him.
“Yeah, Spencer Smith,” he says. “You’re a sex god, you rock my world,” and his
voice is dry and drawling but his eyes are sincere and clear, fixed on
Spencer’s face.
                                       *
Spencer doesn’t really notice until the next day, which he admits is a bit dumb
because Ryan crawled into bed with him in the middle of the night, mumbled
something about being cold and told Spencer to go back to sleep. He wakes up
and Ryan’s curled up against his back like a monkey or Brendon or something,
and he has to lie there and blink a bit before he can even work out what’s
going on.
Maybe he takes so long to figure it out because Ryan acts perfectly normal, but
after dinner that day they’re watching a movie and Spencer realises Ryan has
barely left his side, even to go to the toilet, all day. He touches Spencer
more, too, fingers poking at Spencer’s ribcage or arm slung casually around his
shoulders and now, he’s produced a blanket from somewhere and is curled up
against Spencer’s side watching Friends.
Spencer scratches idly at Ryan’s back and Ryan hums, contented, folding closer
towards him. His eyes are half-closed, Spencer notices, glancing down at him,
sleepy and barely watching the TV, and Crystal and Jackie are whispering and
giggling on the other sofa, which means they’re probably discussing how dorky
Ryan and Spencer are or planning some foul mischief.
“Hey,” Spencer says, a little bit concerned despite himself. He keeps his voice
low, but Ryan makes a vaguely affirmative sound and Spencer asks, “Are you
okay?”
Ryan opens his eyes slowly and stretches a little bit, slow and luxurious, like
a cat. Spencer can feel Ryan’s body moving against his side, his leg, and he
swallows hard, but Ryan doesn’t appear to notice.
“Yeah,” Ryan says, almost curiously. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Spencer doesn’t really know how to say you’re being really clingy todaywithout
sounding like a bitch about it, or like he minds (which he doesn’t), so he just
shrugs. “I dunno,” he says. “Just checking.” Ryan exhales a huffy kind of laugh
against Spencer’s shoulder and then goes back to watching the TV.
Onscreen, Courtney Cox is shouting about something. Spencer raises his hand,
carefully, and pushes it gently through Ryan’s hair and Ryan practically purrs,
leaning into the touch. That night, he doesn’t wait for Spencer to fall asleep
before hopping into bed beside him.
                                       *
Ryan gives him a blowjob and fingers him at the same time and Spencer finds
himself getting used to this, the strange, almost intrusive feeling of Ryan’s
fingers inside him being kind of awesome as well. Ryan’s cock is different from
his fingers, though, seems like too much and afterwards, when Spencer has
returned the favour and they’re slumped across each other on the bed, he blurts
out, “Did it hurt a lot?”
Ryan raises himself on one elbow, blinking lazily at Spencer in the blue light.
“What,” he says, “Being fucked?”
Spencer’s cheeks go a bit red despite himself; he’s pretty sure Ryan’s blunt
just to get a rise out of him, judging by the way he smirks, and he rolls his
eyes before he says, “Yes, dickface.”
“Sort of,” Ryan says easily, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers
in a way that, quite honestly, looks ridiculous. “It’s a weird… it’s like, it
hurts, but it feels good at the same time.”
Spencer wishes, a little bit, that he could be as comfortable talking about sex
as Ryan. Then again, Ryan’s had more practice than him. Spencer says, “I didn’t
get really how – how it could, but then—”
“Fingers, yeah,” Ryan says. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling
and in the dim light of the room, Spencer thinks Ryan’s cheeks are slightly
pink when he says, “I’m not sure if everyone. Would. But for me, it was one of
the weirdest but also… best things I’ve done, I guess. It felt really. I really
liked it.” He takes in a sharp breath and puts his hands behind his head, and
Spencer looks at the hard line of Ryan’s cock through his boxers and rolls
over, tugs Ryan’s boxers down again.
“You’re just saying that,” he says, wrapping a wet hand around Ryan’s cock and
enjoying the strangled gasp that follows, “Because it was me.”
“No,” Ryan says. He arches up into Spencer’s grip but keeps his eyes fixed on
his face, clear and truthful. “No, I’m not. And if you’re like – if you don’t
want me to fuck you, that’s, I don’t mind, because I liked it.”
“I want you to,” Spencer says, and Ryan nods, eyes falling shut.
                                       *
Brendon calls and Spencer uses the opportunity to get out of doing the dishes,
sneaking away and leaving Ryan to the mercy of the twins. Brendon rambles on
about how bored he is, how Brent doesn’t come back for another two days and
Brendon is still all alone.
“Basically,” Spencer says, “You’re a wuss.”
“I am not,” Brendon tells him, affronted. “I’m braving the lonely waters of
Summerlin all by myself. I don’t see what’s wussy about that.”
“Besides the fact that the most dangerous thing in Summerlin is your next door
neighbour’s dog?” Spencer reminds him, and Brendon sighs.
“You don’t appreciate my pain,” he says. “Anyway, it’s a scary dog. What’s
going on up in Colorado?”
“It’s snowing,” Spencer says. “There’s been snow like, the whole time. It’s
pretty awesome. Apparently even the locals are saying it’s the most there’s
been in years.”
“Sweet,” Brendon says. “You taking photos?”
“My mom has a camera permanently attached to her face,” he answers. “Ryan’s
getting really skittish.”
“Bullshit,” Brendon says, laughing. “Ryan loves getting his photo taken, don’t
lie to me.”
“It’s not good for his image to admit it, though,” Spencer says, grinning.
“It’s not good for his image to do anything vaguely fun,” Brendon says, and
he’s teasing, Spencer knows he is, because Brendon and Ryan have been known to
go on midnight escapades to playgrounds or have contests to see who can eat and
drink the most while standing on their heads, but he stiffens anyway, falls
silent. Brendon’s quiet for a moment, waiting for the response, and then he
says, “Spence? I was kidding.”
“I know,” Spencer says. “Sorry.”
Brendon says, “Only usually, you would have laughed or something.”
“Jeez, Brendon,” Spencer says. “I’m not mad.”
“I know you’re not,” Brendon says easily. “I’m just… Is everything okay, down
there?”
“Everything’s fine,” Spencer tells him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Spence,” Brendon says.
“Right.” Spencer squishes the phone between his shoulder and his ear and rubs
tiredly at his face, knuckling the sleep out of his eyes. Brendon is quiet down
the line, breathing and waiting, and Spencer thinks a little irritably that it
wouldbe now that Brendon suddenly acquires the ability to be patient.
"Do you ever think," Spencer says, "That you know someone so well that they
can't like, can't--"
"Change?" Brendon offers.
"No," Spencer says. "No, that's fine, it's just, you don't think there's any
chance that youand them can change.”
“I think it’s kind of important that you have to be able to,” Brendon says.
“Change with them, I mean. You don’t want to have a relationship that’s still
based on building mud pies when you’re thirty, you know.”
Thirty is such a long way away, Spencer thinks, only a year less than half of
his life already, the whole thing lived over again, and he still doesn’t want
to imagine it without Ryan. Spencer says, “Maybe that didn’t… that’s not
exactly what I meant. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s okay,” Brendon says.
“It’s like,” Spencer tries again, “When someone you know too well starts
reacting in like… a different way and you don’t know how to deal with that.”
“Alright,” Brendon says, slowly. He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “If
it… I think you’ll work it out, you know. You’ve known Ryan a long time. I
don’t think you know him toowell at all.”
Spencer’s head hurts. “Who says we’re talking about Ryan?” he asks, striving
for lightness, and is rewarded when Brendon laughs. “Crystal’s been really
annoying, lately.”
Brendon launches into a story about how the other day, Kara and her son were
over and Brendon was halfway to the local record store when he realised that
Adam was trailing behind him, dressed only in a Superman cape. Spencer leans
back against the wall and thinks maybe Brendon’s wrong, maybe he does know Ryan
too well of all a sudden.
                                       *
It’s a week before Spencer’s parents announce that they’re taking Crystal and
Jackie out to the closest town before they go stir-crazy, asking if Spencer and
Ryan want to come along. Ryan says, “Man, I’m beat, I think I might just hang
out here,” and Spencer says, “I’ll keep you company.”
When they leave, Ryan hooks an arm around Spencer’s neck to kiss him and
Spencer leans in close. They’re the same height, almost, and Spencer’s still
growing; he thinks soon he’ll be taller than Ryan. Ryan is smiling against his
mouth and it’s not a very good kiss (weird, that Spencer knows now what a good
kiss is), but Spencer’s heart is hammering in his chest all of a sudden, fierce
and unrelenting and bruising against his ribs. He thinks suddenly that maybe
something’s gone wrong, or just unplanned (which is the same thing) and he
wants to ask but doesn’t know how. That’s a weird kind of feeling to have
around Ryan.
Instead he pulls away and says, “Come on, then,” and Ryan laughs, breathless
and exhilarated. Spencer’s head is whirling, Ryan’s groping a little clumsily
at his dick through his jeans and Spencer takes a step forward, lets Ryan lead
them up two flights of stairs and into their bedroom.
They strip quickly and Spencer realises with a cold shock it’s the first time
they’ve seen each other properly naked, not with their backs turned or talking
through a cracked bathroom door or even shirts on in the backseat of Spencer’s
parents’ car, and he stops to stare for a moment, fingers tripping down Ryan’s
narrow ribs. Ryan looks self-conscious and awkward again but Spencer kisses
him, hands on Ryan’s bare hips and Ryan smiles.
Time speeds up; Spencer tries to keep his thoughts reasonably clear but it’s
hard, Ryan like a small force of nature around him, kissing and biting and then
his fingers inside Spencer, that odd, painful feeling that shifts when Spencer
isn’t paying attention. Ryan’s eyes are dark and huge and he licks around his
fingers again, sucks Spencer’s dick for a minute before sitting up and shoving
at his shoulder.
“I think,” Ryan says, cautiously, “I think it’ll be better if you’re on your
stomach or knees or something—”
“Okay,” Spencer says, and wants again to ask Ryan if it hurt, even though he
knows it’s just stupid nerves this time. He rolls over onto his stomach and
then shifts upwards, up onto his knees and his elbows, and Ryan is behind him,
forehead resting against his back, breath hot against the knob at the top of
Spencer’s spine.
“Ready?” Ryan breathes. The tip of his cock is pressing against Spencer’s hole
and Spencer nods mindlessly, Ryan’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking
firmly as he pushes in. It hurts, it hurts, Spencer gasps and slips further
down onto his arms and Ryan stops halfway in, voice ragged when he says,
“Spence?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, voice choked. “Yeah, keep going, yeah,” and Ryan moves,
pushes in and it still hurts but it’s good, beneath that, the sting fading and
thousands of weird, tiny sparks of pleasure that surprise Spencer. His cock is
still hard against his stomach and Ryan rubs his fingers over the head, makes a
surprised, rough noise when Spencer pushes back onto his cock. The colours in
the bedroom seem sharp and distinct, the blind halfway up so that the cold
winter light floods in, and Spencer pants and whimpers despite himself, moving
mindlessly, wishing he could see Ryan’s face.
It doesn’t hurt that much anymore, it feels pretty fucking amazing even though
Ryan is clumsy, rhythm faltering, and Spencer makes embarrassing noises into
the pillow, grateful and frightened that it’s Ryan, this is all Ryan. He
thinks, abruptly, we’re too young for this, and then that gets blocked out with
RyanRyanRyan, until he realises he’s not thinking Ryan’s name, he’s saying it,
a low, mumbled litany that makes Ryan answer him, a groaned yes. Spencer thinks
it doesn’t matter that they never said the question – he and Ryan don’t need
to, not really.
Afterward, Ryan rolls off of him and the bed, does something with the condom.
Spencer lies boneless on the mattress until Ryan comes up and kisses him, a
little sloppy, their noses bumping awkwardly.
“You okay?” Ryan whispers.
“Yeah,” Spencer says. He still feels dazed, smiling crookedly up at Ryan.
“Yeah, I get what you mean, now. Fucking awesome.”
Ryan grins at him. He touches Spencer’s cheek quickly and says, “Are you about
to pass out?”
“Umn,” Spencer says. He stretches tentatively; his ass twinges a bit but not as
bad as he was expecting, and really he feels kind of boneless and sleepy.
“Possibly? That’s pretty lame, huh?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says. He’s still grinning. “Plus, you should probably shower
first. Don’t want your mom to find you all debauched.”
“Urgh, Ryan, please,” Spencer says, but he climbs up off the bed, shifting
awkwardly a little. He says, “Mind if I go first?”
Ryan pauses, shifting his weight to one foot. “Or,” he suggests, tentatively,
“We could just, like. Together.”
“Oh,” Spencer says. He blinks but then shrugs, says, “Yeah, sure, c’mon.”
They pull boxers on for the trip downstairs, and Spencer perches on the closed
toilet lid while Ryan fiddles with the temperature for about a million years.
Spencer normally turns both hot and cold halfway round and hopes for the best
but when he voices this opinion Ryan gives him a vicious glare and ignores him.
“Alright,” Ryan announces finally, climbing out of his boxers. Spencer steps in
behind him, a little awkward for no particular reason, and Ryan grins at him
under the water, stepping back enough to make room. Spencer smiles back at him,
oddly shy, and reaches for the soap.
“I think,” he says, conversationally, “Mom and Dad are going to kill us if they
ever get a water bill for this month.”
“Oh, man,” Ryan says, voice choked like he was trying to hold back laughter.
“Yeah. They’ll think we’ve gone—”
“—crazy or something,” Spencer finishes. “I think I’ve been underwater for
like, half of the trip.”
“I don’t think a shower counts as underwater,” Ryan says. “Or else your skin
would be all gross and pruney.” He holds out a hand and Spencer passes him the
soap. He considers brushing his teeth but decides against it; Ryan’s in his way
and he doesn’t want to accidentally spit foam all over Ryan’s feet. Ryan gets
grumpy about the dumbest things.
“Even so,” Spencer says. “I’m cleaner than I’ve ever been before. It’s starting
to freak me out.”
Ryan looks down at him a little disapprovingly. “You would be,” he says,
stretching over Spencer’s head. “Except you never fucking wash your hair.”
“I do, too,” Spencer protests, trying not to laugh. “You don’t have to
condition every day—”
“You’re such a liar,” Ryan says, mouth twitching. He squeezes some shampoo out
into the palm of his hand and then beckons Spencer closer. The lines of his
face are all soft, blurred in the steam fogging up the glass doors of the
shower. Spencer comes closer warily, out of the heavy spray, and Ryan pushes
his hands into Spencer’s hair, lathering up the shampoo.
Ryan’s not particularly gentle; he scrubs at Spencer’s scalp and drags his
hands mercilessly through knots, but when he scratches with a strange affection
behind Spencer’s ears Spencer can’t help tilting closer towards him. He keeps
his eyes closed to avoid the shampoo and feels warm and comfortable, his dick
hard again but not particularly urgent, and Ryan washes his hair.
Eventually Ryan shoves at Spencer’s chest, pushing him back under the water,
but he steps close and follows him, fingers working the shampoo out of his
hair, catching in the wet tangles. Ryan’s humming something, a little
breathless and awkward with the water pouring around them, and Spencer can’t
make out the tune under the sound of the shower but it’s weirdly comforting,
Ryan’s rough notes.
Ryan slides his fingertips along Spencer’s neck, squeaky clean, and Spencer
opens his eyes. Ryan is very, very close, wet eyelashes and hair falling over
his face and he keeps his hands at Spencer’s neck, bringing them up enough to
cup Spencer’s chin when he kisses him. Spencer wraps his hand around Ryan’s
dick and Ryan makes a small, contented noise, rocking his hips up into
Spencer’s grasp, then takes his hand away from Spencer’s face to reciprocate
the gesture. The sound of the shower and the busy, humming noise in Spencer’s
ears blocks out anything they might say to each other, but Spencer tilts his
head forward and mouths silent words against Ryan’s shoulder all the same,
elbows bumping under the hot water.
                                       *
The next morning, Spencer wakes up alone in his bed with Ryan snuffling lightly
into his own pillow a few feet away. It takes him a few minutes of blinking at
the ceiling before he works out what’s going on; he’d fallen asleep last night
with Ryan tapping a lazy pattern out across his ribs, after the third orgasm of
the day (the stupid part of Spencer’s brain sent out a feeble, sleepy cheer)
and it’s disorientating to wake up without Ryan slumped heavily against his
side.
He crawls out of bed and glances at Ryan, but he’s still fast asleep so Spencer
leaves him be and pads downstairs. It’s not until he’s making himself a
sandwich for lunch that Ryan emerges, yawning and knuckling sleep out of his
eyes.
“Morning,” Spencer says, but Ryan just lifts one shoulder and shuffles towards
the fridge.
Spencer says, “I’m making a sandwich. You want one?”
“What’s on it?” Ryan asks, peering at him. He rubs at his eyes, pushing hair
out of the way.
“Leftovers from Christmas lunch, mostly,” Spencer says. “I think Mom bought
some avocado at the shops too, if you want that.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, looking pleased. He steps away from the fridge and up to
Spencer, looking at the avocado on the sideboard with soft, lingering delight.
“Yes, please.”
“Freak,” Spencer says, reaching for the avocado and scrunching up his nose as
he slices into it. Ryan has fucking weird taste in food, especially sandwiches.
Ryan says, “Thanks.” He leans against the counter and gives small, quiet
answers to Spencer’s attempts at conversation; not grumpy, Spencer doesn’t
think, just distracted. When Spencer holds out the finished sandwich Ryan
smiles slowly at him, and leans in.
“Dude,” Spencer says, half-giggling, “My mom’s in the next—” but then he stops,
because Ryan isn’t kissing him, has just leaned in enough to rest his forehead
against the side of Spencer’s head and breathe in against his cheekbone. One of
his hands rests on Spencer’s stomach, just gently.
“Ryan?” Spencer asks, a little uncertainly. “You okay?”
Ryan snaps back upright, face blank. “Fine,” he says, and takes the sandwich.
“Thanks.” Then he walks away.
                                       *
Spencer hears the front door slam after lunch and catches a glimpse of Ryan
walking past the window, shoulders hunched and head ducked down, so he heads
into the lounge by himself for a while. The twins are up in their room and his
dad is on the phone next door while his mom washes the breakfast and lunch
dishes, and it’s kind of nice to just be alone for a little while.
He’s stretched out on the couch with the book Brendon lent him before they went
away when Ryan reappears. He sits up a little bit to wave hi but Ryan doesn’t
really respond, just looks at him and then comes and sits down on the other end
of the couch, back straight and oddly formal. Spencer lies back down, shifting
a little uncomfortably (his ass is still kind of sore) and mostly ignores Ryan
– the book is really good, he’ll give it to Ryan after he’s done. Ryan doesn’t
say anything, but after a few minutes he pokes absently at Spencer’s foot.
“Quit it,” Spencer says comfortably. He raises his sock-clad feet and dumps
them in Ryan’s lap, but Ryan only sits still for a minute before he stands up
suddenly, Spencer’s feet sliding down. “Hey,” Spencer says, a little irritably,
and Ryan rolls his eyes at him before wandering out of the room.
Ryan looks fidgety, unsettled and freaked in his own skin the way Spencer’s
only seen him get on occasion. Normally, Spencer would follow him, work out
what was wrong through a careful mix of silence and bugging him and non
sequiturs, but all of a sudden today he feels surprisingly vicious. Like he
wants to start a fight, or just a quiet, tinge of cruel pleasure at the idea
that Ryan’s lost the calmness in the way he’s moved and talked for most of the
holidays. If Spencer thinks about it, he’ll admit that he’s a little
embarrassed, too. He let Ryan fuckhim, he really likedit, pushed back into it,
and it’s not so much the fact that a guy did that – Spencer’s not gay
andhomophobic – as it is that Ryan did it. Spencer doesn’t know, really, what
that’s supposed to mean.
Spencer sighs and tilts backwards again, stretching out to rest his feet on the
armrest and reaches for his phone. There’s a message from Brent that says hey
happy late xmas u guys having funand Spencer replies to it absently, mind
drifting. He waits for a moment and then sends another one, saying have you
seen bden? is he okay, and only feels a little bit guilty for talking about
Brendon behind his back.
He can’t get back into his book, though, and Brent doesn’t respond immediately,
so he ends up texting Brendon again, whats up. Brendon responds almost
immediately with not much. u? Spencer blinks at the screen, wonders how to say
things or whether he even should, whether it’s betraying Ryan, and eventually
texts back, yeah, not much.
Ryan comes back in, arms folded across his chest, eyes dark. He looks straight
at Spencer and Spencer is wary almost immediately but doesn’t show it, lying
back and fiddling with his phone. Ryan says, “What are you doing?”
His phone buzzes; ross still weird?? Brendon writes and Spencer swallows, looks
up. “Texting Brendon,” he says.
Ryan makes a huffing, impatient noise and asks, "Jesus, don't you do anything
elseanymore?" His voice is even and unreadable but his eyes are dark, mouth
twisted in a furious line. Spencer blinks at him, caught off-guard with a frown
and a faint smile lingering around his mouth, waiting for Ryan to laugh and
admit how stupid he’s being, explain it, but Ryan just glares back at him, and
then walks out of the room. He slams the door behind him and the last glimpse
of his face that Spencer gets tells him that Ryan knows exactly how ridiculous
he’s being, and just doesn’t care. Spencer sighs and sends back, y.
He picks the book up and tosses it on the floor, a little more violently than
he needs to. Fucking, fucking Ryan – Spencer feels angry and frightened, wants
to reach out and grab something, grab anything, make things make sense again.
He doesn’t understand why Ryan is suddenly allowed to be angry with him, what’s
with his sudden hypocrisy when it comes to Brendon. Next to him, the phone’s
screen lights up again and Spencer reads, listen to bono.
He blinks for a moment and then answers, dude from u2 right? idk him. Brendon
wouldhave to pick now to be cryptic, and Spencer runs his hand through his
hair, thinks about going home and leaving the suddenly oppressive atmosphere of
the house behind. Outside, he can hear Jackie and Crystal yelling to each other
about something, high-pitched and excited, and he wants to go and shout at them
to shut the fuck up, wants to tell his dad to turn the radio down in the
kitchen and his mom to stop laughingso goddamn loud, wants everything to be
still and quiet, just for a little while, just until his head stops reeling.
His phone goes off again; Brendon says, you n ryan have to listen to something
other than fob and blink one of these days you knowand then, barely thirty
seconds later and before Spencer has had an adequate time to think of something
appropriately bitchy to respond with, its alright its alright its alright/she
moves in mysterious ways.
"What," Spencer says, and leaves the word hanging there without a question
mark, a force, a declaration, something curious and confused and strong,
everything the past few weeks have been. "What."
                                       *
They live in different rooms for most of the day. When Spencer’s mom asks he
shrugs, makes it incidental, makes it “we can’t follow each other around all
the time,” but it’s not completely true. This is calculated, Spencer knows,
deliberate and it means he sees Ryan’s shadow more than he’s used to.
Ryan emerges for dinner and sits quietly next to Spencer. He’s got his thinking
face on, eyes glazed over and twirling his fork absently in the air when he’s
not eating with it, and Spencer’s family look at him mostly with amusement.
Spencer feels itchy and too obvious in front of him, like Ryan can read every
move he makes with simple, condescending understanding, far away and safe
locked up in his own head. It makes him want to yell or pick a fight only he
knows his parents wouldn’t get it, would tell him off.
Ryan goes to bed early, for him, but Spencer stays up and watches a movie with
Jodie Foster in it with his mom and dad. He doesn’t go up to bed until half
past twelve, nearly three hours since Ryan left, but when he opens the door and
sneaks in, Ryan sits up.
“Hey,” Spencer says, warily. He’s not sure if he’s ready for a confrontation
yet, and Ryan looks fierce and unhappy in the darkness.
“Hey,” Ryan returns. He slides out of bed, and stretches his hands behind his
back awkwardly; his sweatshirt rides up a bit, revealing a thin stripe of skin
between his boxers and the shirt. Spencer clasps his hands together, cracks his
knuckles.
“So,” Spencer says, because there’s not any point pretending they’re not
fighting just because they haven’t said anything, but Ryan crosses the floor
too fast for him to say anything else, clutching mindlessly at Spencer’s
shoulders and shoving him up against the door. Ryan kisses him fierce and
sloppy, mouth biting and sucking and pressing at Spencer’s as though Ryan
wasn’t sure what he wanted to do first, and Spencer wants to tell Ryan how much
shit they’re in, how much trouble this is going to be, but he doesn’t. Ryan’s
hands are on his jeans, unbuttoning them and shoving them awkwardly down and
Spencer just, doesn’t.
                                       *
Spencer’s pretty sure it’s not healthy, but they go on like that for three
days, ignoring each other all day and avoiding being in the other’s presence
and then at night, Ryan will kiss him, mouth hot and desperate, and Spencer
feels the whole thing as a dirty little secret all of a sudden when he didn’t
before.
They’ve never fought like this before, which sounds too obvious in Spencer’s
head, but it’s not even just because of the sex (fuck, Spencer though, this was
such a bad idea, one of their worst) – it’s like they’re pretending
everything’s fine. They’ve never done this before, they always, always fight,
and Ryan inevitably gets sullen and cruel and Spencer goes nuclear, slamming
doors and shouting until his face has gone an embarrassing shade of red. Now,
they just don’t speak. Spencer wonders if they even know how to, anymore.
On Wednesday night, Spencer goes to bed and falls asleep in an empty room. He’s
woken up, though, to Ryan crawling in next to him and the radio clock on the
bedside table flashing 3:17 at him in the blurry dark.
“Hey, what,” Spencer mumbles, trying to wake up, and Ryan presses all up along
Spencer’s body and kisses him and Spencer realises, sparks darting up his
spine, cheeks flushing warm, that Ryan’s naked.
“Spence,” Ryan whispers, and then he’s urging Spencer to sit up, tugging his
shirt off of him and kissing him, hunched over Spencer, arms dangling awkwardly
over Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer attempts to breathe in and it comes as a
gasp, and Ryan hums, satisfied.
“Dude, I don’t – what?” Spencer manages, and Ryan ducks his head, shoving at
Spencer’s hips until he lifts them enough for Ryan to drag his boxers down.
Spencer’s half hard already and Ryan strokes his dick, fingers wet and
slippery, and Spencer breathes, “Ryan.”
“You wanna fuck?” Ryan whispers, ducking his head to kiss Spencer again.
Spencer breathes out harshly and their teeth knock in the dark. “Come on,” Ryan
says, “Come on, fuck me, I want you to—”
“Jesus,” Spencer says. “No. Everyone’s here.”
“They’re asleep,” Ryan hisses. “They’re asleep and I, I can be quiet, we can be
quiet, please, Spence, I can’t sleep.”
Spencer shudders, body cold and hot all over, and he whispers, “Have you got
stuff?” Ryan presses a condom and lube into his hands and god, Spencer didn’t
even notice Ryan holding them.
“Quickly, quickly,” Ryan murmurs, and Spencer’s fingers shake when he tries to
open the packet, it takes him two tries. Ryan won’t stop kissing him, mouth
lingering on Spencer’s jaw, biting just soft enough that it won’t leave a mark
on his neck, tugging at Spencer’s earlobe with his teeth (which Spencer always
thought was a cheesy, dumb sort of move, but fuck, now he gets why people do
it).
Finally he gets the condom on and reaches for the lube, smearing some over his
cock and then reaching for Ryan, but Ryan shakes his head. “It’s alright,” he
says, as they wriggle around, Ryan lying back on Spencer’s pillow and pulling
his knees up, legs spread wide, while Spencer tries not to stare. “It’s
alright,” Ryan repeats, “I already did it, I’m ready.”
“Fuck,” Spencer whispers, and lines himself up, supporting himself over Ryan
and trying not to lean, not to slump against him as is the temptation. He’ll
crush Ryan, and it won’t be very useful for moving, either.
Ryan blinks up at him and nods just once, and Spencer pushes in. His cock
slides in easily enough, so Ryan did, Ryan lay on the bed a few feet away from
him and slid slick fingers into his ass, and thought about Spencer, wanted
Spencer to fuck him. Spencer lets out a low groan and Ryan twists on the bed
beneath him, face tight and strained as Spencer tightens his fingers in the
sheets and pushes in all the way inside, Ryan’s ass clenching around him until
he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.
“Move,” Ryan whispers, frantic, and then he shifts his legs up, wrapping them
around Spencer’s waist, ankles hooked together. “Move, Spencer,” and Spencer
does, quiet as he can, biting back curses, trying to keep the only sound their
twin, noisy breathing and the occasional, slightly disgusting (but also weirdly
hot) noise of Spencer’s cock in Ryan’s ass, skin slapping together or the
slick, gross noises the lube makes.
Ryan has his own hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off, thumb
sweeping across the head, and Spencer would help him out with that, he would,
except he’s still trying to get his balance right and also he’s still really
fucking pissed at Ryan. He doesn’t know why Ryan thinks this is going to solve
anything; he doesn’t even know if Ryan does think that, in the first place.
Somewhere along the line Ryan became strange and unknown, incomprehensible to
Spencer.
“Fuck,” Ryan chokes out, and Spencer watches the rhythm of his hand go jerky
until Ryan whimpers and rolls his hips up, closer to Spencer, coming all over
his stomach. His ass tightens around Spencer’s cock and Spencer garbles out
something incoherent and follows Ryan, collapsing over them.
Ryan lies still for maybe a minute before shoving at Spencer’s shoulder. “Hey,”
he says, voice even. “You’re squashing me.”
Spencer orders his brain to start working again and rolls to the side, half-off
the bed. Ryan gets up off the bed awkwardly, and Spencer watches the stiff way
he moves and thinks maybe I was too rough, fuck, was I too rough?and is he
angry? Ryan crosses to his own bed and pulls back the covers, crawling in and
rolling onto his stomach.
Spencer stands up too, pulls off the condom and ties up the end. He crosses the
floor to the wastebasket and thinks he’ll have to remember to empty it tomorrow
before anybody but them notices. Standing there, by the window with the blind
pulled down too far to let in any starlight, he says, despite himself, “Ryan?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, voice muffled, face turned away from Spencer. “Thanks.
Goodnight.”
“Night,” Spencer says. His stomach clenches. His bed is warm, at least, and
Ryan didn’t leave a wet spot.
                                       *
The next morning, Ryan is still there. He’s dressed and leaning against the
window, blind pulled up, hands curled around the sill, and the light flooding
through makes Spencer blink and sit up slowly, pushing hands groggily through
his hair.
“Hey,” he says, voice thick.
“Morning,” Ryan says, voice low. Spencer crawls out of bed in his boxers,
looking for the t-shirt discarded on the floor, and finds his hoodie instead,
pulling that on. It still doesn’t feel dressed enough, compared to Ryan in his
jeans and sweater, but it’ll have to do.
“So,” Spencer says, meaninglessly. Ryan turns around and there are dark shadows
under his eyes that make Spencer stare; didn’t he get anysleep last night? Ryan
looks squarely back at him, chin tilted up defiantly, and folds his arms over
his chest.
“So,” he echoes mockingly, and something unpleasant curls in Spencer’s stomach.
“Jesus, Ryan,” Spencer says sharply, and sits down on his bed. “Seriously, what
the fuck is your problem?”
Ryan narrows his eyes, dark with poorly concealed anger. “I don’t have a
problem,” he says.
“Clearly you do,” Spencer says, “and I’m fucking sick of avoiding it.”
“How canyou?” Ryan spits. “You’re alwaysthere, I turn around and you’re always
fucking there, I can’t get any fucking space—”
“Oh, right,” Spencer says, hot anger burning in his chest. “Yeah, because I
forgot about how I crawled into your bed last night and begged you to fuck me.”
Ryan freezes and Spencer smiles, grimly pleased. He’s maybe a tiny bit ashamed,
enough that he knows he’ll feel guilty about this later, but right now it’s too
satisfying, Ryan’s argument blown to bits and his composure with it.
“I,” Ryan starts, uncertainly, and then stops.
He stares at Spencer almost helplessly and Spencer smiles again, feels it
tighten cruelly around his teeth, sharp in the edges. “Yeah, whatever,” he
says. “You’ve been fucking weird since we started this whole thing and I’m not
even sure if I wanna deal with it anymore—”
“So don’t,” Ryan says, harshly. “It was a bad idea. You think I don’t know
that? It was a terrible fucking idea and I don’t know why I thought it would
work with you.”
Spencer blinks at him, mouth open. “Oh, gee, thanks, Ryan,” he says, buying
time, long enough for his ears to start buzzing, his thoughts to start
functioning properly again.
“No,” Ryan says, quietly. He looks down at the floor and breathes out loudly;
Spencer watches his chest move, his shoulders slump. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean
that. I just think—”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, voice sounding strange to his own ears. “Yeah, maybe
you’re right. Maybe like… we shouldn’t have messed around with things when we
didn’t… know what was going to happen.” It sounds ridiculous once he’s said it,
not what he meant at all, but Ryan nods, gaze on the floor.
“Um,” Ryan says. Spencer wishes Ryan would just look at him, but he doesn’t,
just adds, “Yeah, I mean. We don’t want to mess anything up. With the band and
stuff, too, it would suck if it finished before we were even famous enough to
get on Behind The Music.”
The fucking band, Spencer wants to say, but he just nods, says, “This stuff
never turns out well, anyway. We should… stop while we’re ahead. Or whatever.”
“Okay,” Ryan says. “Okay, so, we’ll be fine.”
“Sure,” Spencer tells him. “Yeah, sure, we’re good.”
“Okay.” Ryan looks up and pushes hair out of his eyes, says, “I’m glad, then.”
Spencer shifts uncomfortably and then stands up, says, “D’you wanna, like…” He
takes a few steps forward, awkwardly, and then attempts a grin, says, “Hug it
out?”
“You’re so lame,” Ryan breathes, but he meets Spencer across the floor and
Spencer hugs him tentatively, hands overlapping on Ryan’s back, Ryan curving
around his shoulder. Spencer had intended it to be a short hug, didn’t want to
make things even more awkward than they were, and it isawkward but he stays
anyway, the moment lingering on in the quiet morning.
Ryan says in a low voice, in Spencer’s ear, “You’re my best friend,” and
Spencer nods, and kind of wants to cry.
                                       *
A week and a half left of vacation, and Ryan sits silently next to Spencer,
stiff against his side. They’ve spent the past few days seemingly trying to
prove to each other that everything’s fine, sticking close, doing everything as
normal as they can manage it. Spencer hates it, wants to either pick another
fight (except they’re not fighting, now, they fixed that) and drag up every
stupid annoying quirk Ryan has, throw them in his face until Ryan grits his
teeth together and turns white, or, worse, maybe, kiss him again.
It was a mistake, Ryan said, and Spencer knows it was, yes, but he doesn’t know
how to undo it, now. Ryan flinches every time Spencer touches him but insists
on sitting close, and Spencer’s not stupid, he knows what Ryan’s doing; trying
to reclaim some old friendship, some old sense of them as a pair that seems
fleeting in hindsight, and long gone. Spencer doesn’t know if finding it again
is even remotely possible.
When Ryan’s not sitting next to him like a morose, wooden puppet, he’s off on
the phone with Brendon. Spencer still thinks Ryan was an asshole about the
Brendon thing, doesn’t even understand why he was, and it’s discomforting to
realise that hewants to snap at Ryan about calling Brendon all the time, too.
Seriously, though, it’s like, constant. Spencer tries calling Brent a few times
when Ryan’s hunched over the phone in an empty room, murmuring quietly and
shooting sharp, and then falsely apologetic, looks over his shoulder when
Spencer appears, but Brent’s busy a lot, out with his other friends, and
Spencer feels hot, unnecessary anger building up in him again. Brendon calls
him a few times and Spencer knows that he’s rude on the phone, and that Brendon
sounds hurt, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop being so cruel.
“Stop it, Spence,” Brendon says eventually, sounding tired and pissed off. “I’m
sick of this fucking – I don’t know what’s going on up there, but there’s no
way you can blame it on me, okay?”
“I’m not blaming anything on you,” Spencer says, and then adds, snidely, “You
don’t have the slightest idea, anyway.”
“I have some idea,” Brendon mumbles, and then, when Spencer’s only response is
a scoffing sound, he says, “Can’t you just. Spence, can’t you fix it?”
“I haven’t doneanything,” Spencer says.
“Yeah,” Brendon agrees, sounding slightly amused, and a little bit
condescending. Spencer wants to punch him in the face. Like Brendon is some
crazily wise guru, seriously. “That’s what Ryan says, too.”
“Oh, well if Ryansays so, then he must be right,” Spencer says. “Why don’t you
call him up, again? You and him could have some more deep and meaningful—”
“Fuck’s sake, Spence,” Brendon cuts in. “I’m not getting any of the fun of your
vacation, I don’t see why the fuck I have to suffer through the shitty times
with you.”
“You don’t,” Spencer says, and he almost adds except for how you won’t leave
Ryan alone, and then thinks better of it. It’s not Brendon he’s angry at, not
really. He breathes in, breathes out, and says, “Sorry.”
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “Whatever, Spencer. I’ll talk to Ross ‘cos at least he’s
pitiful rather than just fucking aggressive. See you later.”
“Wait,” Spencer says, before he can think about it, “What the fuck does
pitifulmean—”
“I’ll talk to you later, Spencer,” Brendon says, firmly, and hangs up. Spencer
holds the phone to his ear a moment longer and then tosses it to the floor,
hoping stupidly for a crack or a smash, but all it does is bounce.
“Motherfucker,” he says.
                                       *
Jackie comes down with a mild cold and immediately proclaims that she has the
plague, and possibly Ebola (“Um,” Ryan says, “Do you even know what Ebola is?”
and Spencer’s mom laughs and Crystal giggles a little guiltily, and Spencer
stares at the discoloured patch on the wall) and promptly retires to bed with
the portable DVD player and chicken soup. Crystal spends the ensuing two days
talking about how boredshe is, until Spencer’s mom starts to look very stressed
and Ryan checks rooms twice before entering so as to avoid the possibility of
being roped into yet another badly played game of Poker, and finally Spencer’s
dad points at Spencer with a wooden spoon and says, “You.”
“Me?” Spencer says, glancing around instinctively.
“Go take your sister outside,” his dad says, “before we murder her and blame it
on you. Teenage boys are unstable, you know.”
“Dad,” Spencer says, but his dad sends him a threatening look and Crystal looks
up at him with huge, pleading eyes, and he goes to fetch his hoodie and scarf
and gloves, grumbling the whole time.
They get outside and Crystal declares that she wants to make a snowman, and
Spencer can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon, at least. They start
piling up snow, breathing hard with cheeks flushed pink from the snow, and
Crystal’s nose is starting to go red on the end, like an elf, and Spencer
thinks that maybe his sister isn’t so bad some of the time, after all.
Despite nearly five weeks in Colorado, though, they’re still not very used to
snow, and the snowman is starting to come out decidedly on the weird side.
Crystal won’t stop giggling and patting anxiously at the side that is starting
to slope suspiciously towards the ground, and Spencer concentrates on kicking
around under the piles of snow for stones for the eyes.
It’s a little on the scrawny side for a snowman, but Spencer thinks it’s pretty
okay, considering they’re still relative newcomers to the whole winter
wonderland theme. Crystal finds a long, thin stick and starts snapping it into
little pieces to make eyelashes with, and they take a step back together to
survey it before going searching for things to make a mouth and nose with.
“Huh,” Spencer says. It’s weirdly familiar.
Crystal bursts out laughing. “Oh my God,” she says, “It looks like Ryan.”
It does, in a crazy, snowman-ish kind of way; they made the body too thin and
Crystal had snapped the sticks she found for arms in half, attempting to make
elbows, and as a result the arms dangle loosely at its side. The huge eyes with
long eyelashes don’t help the general impression, and Crystal almost falls
over, she laughs so hard.
“Okay, fine,” Spencer says, “But he still needs stuff.”
“Yeah, wait,” Crystal says, and races inside. Spencer sees her reflection in
the lounge before she dashes back out with one of Ryan’s abandoned newsboy
caps, and she tugs it on a jaunty angle while Spencer goes looking for some
more stones that he presses in at a weird angle for a mouth, the corner
twisting unhappily downwards.
“That’s mean,” Crystal says, but she goes inside to get a small piece of carrot
(“Ryan doesn’t have a big, pointy one,” she tells him, mouth twitching) for a
nose.
They stand back after their done, puffing and triumphant, breath living a mist
in their air, and Crystal puts on a funny voice. “Look at me,” she says,
pitching her voice as low as she can and removing any trace of emotion from it.
“I’m Ryan Ross, The Snowman.”
“I’m so emo,” Spencer adds, mimicking her tone, “that none of the other snowmen
will play with me. In summer, I will not melt, as my heart will keep me icy
cold.”
“You’re so mean,” Crystal says again, and then the front door shuts and they
both turn around to see Ryan coming slowly across to them. Crystal starts
giggling helplessly, and Spencer copies her despite himself – the sight of
Ryan, unsure and solemn against the white, makes his stomach do the same,
unhappy, twisting thing he’s getting used to, but he also looks enough like his
snowy twin for Spencer to start laughing again.
“What is it?” Ryan asks, caught off-guard and bewildered when he reaches them.
He looks helplessly at them, then at the snowman, as if maybe the snowman will
be able to tell him the joke. Spencer chokes at the thought, laughing harder.
“What is it?” Ryan says again, more confused than ever. He looks back at the
snowman. “Why is it wearing my hat?”
Crystal squeaks, falling forward, and Spencer hangs onto her shoulders, trying
to keep them both upright. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side, waiting until
their laughter finally trails off, and when Spencer looks up at him again
Ryan’s head is cocked sideways, mouth open and pink in the cold. He’s hit by a
sudden want, and puts his hands in his pockets, as if they don’t know what his
head knows and might, accidentally, reach out.
Crystal opens her mouth to explain, but Spencer cuts over her. “Nothing,” he
says, voice cool. “Don’t worry about it.”
Ryan nods, eyes on the ground.
                                       *
That night, though, it’s clear that Ryan’s managed to work himself up into a
bad mood again, about that or about something else or anything. Spencer doesn’t
care anymore. He very nearly thinks, I don’thave to care anymore, but that’s
wrong, because he and Ryan didn’t break up or anything because they weren’t
together. He’s still Ryan’s friend. Friends care about each other.
“Spencer,” Ryan says impatiently. “For the hundredth time, would you pleasepass
the fu— the potatoes.”
Spencer blinks innocently at him, chewing with his mouth full and open, the way
Ryan hates, and then he shoves the potatoes over with particular vehemence,
knocking them hard against Ryan’s bony elbow. Crystal regards them warily over
the table and looks like she wishes she’d asked to eat in her room with Jackie
instead; Spencer’s parents, luckily, are ignoring them, talking quietly to each
other.
“After dinner,” Spencer says to Crystal, “Want to watch The Italian Job with
me?”
Ryan exhales loudly and with an enormous sense of superiority. Spencer hates
that he can tell.
He turns, slowly. “Problem with that?”
“Only that you’ve seen that movie a million times,” Ryan says, rolling his
eyes. “And it’s really fucking sad that you think that’s, like, quality or
something. Although I guess you wouldn’t know better. Hey, dude, do you even
pay attention to the plot? Or are you too busy checking out Charlize Theron’s
cleavage?”
Spencer gapes at him.
Ryan, unconcerned, continues blithely. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit
sick to watch it with your baby sister, then? I mean,” he says, voice low and
fast, “if you’re goingto jerk off—”
Spencer punches Ryan hard in the arm, grinding his knuckle in, and making Ryan
cut off with a hiss of pain, face screwing up for a moment. It hurt, Spencer
knows, and it would have hurt more if Spencer had punched Ryan in the face,
which was the other course of action open to him (except for his parents and
sister sitting right there).
“I hate you,” he whispers, while Crystal stares at them both, mouth open and
looking upset. “I hate you so fucking much—”
“Oh, how that pains me,” Ryan says. “Please let me go cry myself to sleep.” He
slams up to his feet, finally attracting Spencer’s parents’ attention and says,
fierce and intent, like he wants them to believe it, “Thanks for the meal,”
before storming out of the room.
Spencer’s family stares at him. Spencer swallows hard.
“So,” he says, eyes resting on Crystal. “The Italian Job?”
                                       *
Spencer’s mom makes him and Crystal wash the dishes, first, and Spencer’s a
little worried a lecture is going to come, but she doesn’t say anything, just
lets them go off and watch their movie. Afterward (and it’s a good movie,
whatever, Ryan doesn’t know what he’s talking about, it’s funny and clever and
Spencer likes Matt Damon) Crystal goes to bed, yawning, and for lack of
anything better to do, Spencer does, too.
He pauses outside their room, though, because the door is ajar and light is
filtering through. He can hear Ryan’s voice too.
“No, I know,” Ryan says. “I do, Brendon, I.” Quiet, and Spencer puts his hand
on his stomach, hopes he’s not breathing too loud. Ryan sounds so fucking
tired; Spencer wonders if he’s been talking to Brendon the whole time. Ryan
says, “I just like… I want to. And all the time, it’s always fucking— yeah. And
then I miss you, too.”
Spencer turns around and goes down the hallway as softly as he can, trying not
to feel like a huge creep in his own – holiday house. Or whatever.
Downstairs, his mom is sitting at the kitchen table playing solitaire by hand.
She’s the only person Spencer knows who still does that, who even remembers how
to deal it out when there’s not a computer doing it for you, and she’s really
good at shuffling, too. Crystal and Jackie are good at card games as well;
Spencer takes after his dad, and is mostly just very good at losing
spectacularly. (“We’re a disgrace,” his dad will say, “A disgrace to all of Las
Vegas. How dare we live in this city and fail at gambling as much as we do?” He
looks at Spencer solemnly, says, “I married your mother for her card skills,
Spence.”) (Spencer doesn’t know why he keeps thinking about stupid, irrelevant
things, mind bleary and confused, wandering aimlessly from place to place.)
“Hey, kid,” she says when he appears in the doorway, looking up and smiling.
“What’s up?”
“Not much,” Spencer says. He shifts from foot to foot, asks, “Can I have a hot
chocolate?”
“Sure,” she says. “Powder in the cupboard to your left. Make me one, too? The
kettle should be full.”
“Okay,” Spencer says. He goes about making the cups as methodically as
possible, measuring out the heaped teaspoons and trying to pour the water up to
the exact height. It’s stupid, and he knows his mom is watching him, knows his
mom is all too perceptive when guessing that he’s upset about something, but he
can’t quite bring himself to look at anyone right now. Getting teaspoons of
cocoa just right is a good enough way as any to force himself to steady his
fingers.
“Thanks,” his mom says when he brings the cups over. Spencer shrugs and goes to
leave, moving slowly, but she pulls him back like he knew she would, asking,
“You want to sit down awhile with me?”
“Sure,” Spencer says. He sits next to her, hunched around his cup, and she
reaches out and smoothes her hand over his shoulder, rubbing mindlessly at the
tight knot of muscles.
“You’ve gotten yourself upset over something,” she tells him, voice warm, and
Spencer laughs stupidly, almost choking on it. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Spencer hates it when people call him pet names. He shrugs it off, though,
says, “Nothing. I’m just. I’m really sick of Ryan.”
“You’ve been in his company a lot these past few weeks,” she agrees. “It’s
natural to get tired of someone always being around, I think.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”
“Have you guys been fighting?” she asks.
“Um,” Spencer says. He knows the answer (yes, yes, and now I don’t know how to
stop) but not how to explain it. “Sort of. It’s weird. It’s like he won’t admit
it.”
“He’s always been stubborn,” she says, and Spencer laughs mirthlessly down at
his drink. She adds, thoughtfully, “So are you, which is probably where you two
come to blows.”
“Not my fault if he’s being a – a jerk,” Spencer says, and she nods, makes a
sympathetic sound. Spencer knows that his mom loves Ryan with this weird,
fierce passion; when he was little, and his mom used to catch them fighting,
rolling around on the ground and throwing misguided punches, she used to smack
him and send him to his room and then get Ryan bandaids, and he used to think
that maybe she loved Ryan more, that she wished he was her son, and not
Spencer. It took him ages to realise that really, she did it because it was the
other way around, and because Ryan never had anyone on his side. Still, it’s
nice now to not have her stick up for Ryan immediately.
They drink in silence for a few minutes and then Spencer says, “I think I
should go to bed. I’m tired.”
“Go to bed, then,” she says, smiling at him.
“I can’t,” he says, a little petulantly. “Ryan’s talking to Brendon. Ryan’s
alwaystalking to Brendon when I want to sleep, it’s fu— it’s really annoying.”
“Brendon’s probably lonely,” his mom says.
“Yeah,” Spencer says. “I’m not angry at Brendon.” He looks at the table, finger
tracing figure eights on the plastic surface, and admits, “I don’t even know
what to – it’s like he doesn’t likeme anymore.”
"Spencer," his mom says gently, and pushes his hair behind his ear, hand
lingering on the curve of his cheek, "You know Ryan's gay, right?"
Spencer stares at her, mouth falling open, mind racing. How could she know
that? Has she heard them? Has she seenthem, oh God, did she walk in and then—
but what a weird way to announce that she knows, why wouldn't she come out with
areyou gayor so, you boys are having underage sex under my roof now or— no,
seriously, how does she even knowthat— and what the fuck is he supposed to say?
He settles on blinking at her and asking, voice wavering a little, "What?"
"Well," she says, and she lets her hand drop away but holds his gaze, eyes the
same as his staring straight at him, like she knows every minute working of his
head. "It’s not that simple, I mean… Possibly bisexual, I don't think he's
entirely worked it out yet. It's confusing for him right now. You understand
that, don't you?"
"Mom," Spencer says weakly, "How do you knowthis?"
"He told me," she says. "About a year ago. I don't think he knew who else to
talk to. I'm telling you now because – it isa confusing time, Spencer, and I
don't want him telling you, if he ever does, only to have your reaction be a
little... off-putting. I know you wouldn't do it deliberately."
"Mom," he says, "Mom—”
"Also," she says, soft and firm, voice cutting easily over his, "because you're
his best friend, and it's easy to get mixed up about things. Just be careful of
him, that’s what I’m saying."
"Be careful of what?" Spencer says.
"Not to mess his head up," she says easily, and curls her arm around Spencer's
neck a little bit, leans forward and kisses his forehead. "You're a good kid,
Spence, and a good friend. Be nice to Ryan. That's all."
                                       *
Spencer goes to bed nearly an hour later, after his mom has convinced him to
watch an episode of The West Wing with her (he doesn’t really know the show
that well, but he’s seen enough episodes around the place with her to have a
vague idea of who the characters are). He hesitates at the top of the stairs,
because there’s light still glowing around the crack of their bedroom, but when
he takes a few loud, firm steps down the passage the light switches off, and
the room is dark when he gets inside.
Ryan is curled on his side, blankets pulled up over his shoulder, face half-
turned into the pillow. Spencer would have known he was only pretending to be
asleep even if he hadn’t seen the light go off, just through Ryan’s deep,
exaggerated breaths – Ryan’s never been a very good actor – but he doesn’t say
anything, just gets into his pajamas as quietly as he can, as if waking Ryan up
is a possibility.
He almost, almost wishes Ryan was asleep, so that maybe he could – could sit
beside him for a moment, and pretend that they were friends again and that when
Ryan would wake up he could say I can’t sleepand Ryan might tell him a story,
or might just lie awake and talk drowsily about stupid, everyday things until
he boredSpencer to sleep. Or maybe he could ask, why did you tell my mom and
not me?and were you scared? of me? how?
If Ryan was asleep, Spencer thinks, he could probably get away with crawling in
next to him, pressing up against Ryan’s back. In the morning he could try and
wake up first and sneak away, or pretend he’d started sleepwalking, or maybe
even that he was really tired when he went to bed and accidentally hopped in
with Ryan without even thinking about it.
Ryan breathes in a deep, staggered breath and mumbles something soft and funny
sounding under his breath, because Spencer’s told him in the past that Ryan
talks in his sleep. Ryan doesn’t talk like that, all groggy and cute, but
Spencer doesn’t bother telling him that. He gets into his own bed and goes to
sleep.
That night, he dreams about being hot; humid jungles or just Vegas on a really
hot day, lying sprawled out spread-eagled on his bed in boxers with an icy
pole, complaining about the weather. On the floor, from the mattress he drags
out when he stays over, Ryan writes him postcards that say the sky is so lovely
hereand you would like the snow, I thinkand you should come visit, and refuses
to believe Spencer when Spencer tells him they’re both here, stuck in the
endless, oppressive heat.
                                       *
Spencer comes down warily the next morning to find Ryan in the kitchen getting
breakfast. Ryan looks up at him, and says, quietly, “Morning.”
“Hello,” Spencer says. He scratches his elbow, and Ryan stares at his feet.
“I was kind of an asshole,” Ryan says, half-whispers, really.
“Um,” Spencer says, caught off-guard. “That’s okay. Me too, I guess. Sorry.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.” He turns back to the counter, says,
“Would you like some cereal?”
“Yes, please,” Spencer says, and notices that Ryan’s already gotten two bowls
out, sitting there before Spencer even came in. He shakes the last of the Lucky
Charms into a bowl and adds just the right amount of milk before he pushes it
over to Spencer, and Spencer knows how to tell when Ryan’s really sorry, and
when he’s faking it. He wants to touch Ryan, anywhere, but that didn’t go down
so well last time. Instead, he just says, “Thank you.”
Ryan shrugs, eyes fixed on his own breakfast. “Anyway,” he says, “this whole
thing has been really dumb. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“No,” Spencer agrees. He says, “We should just be more…” and then trails off,
not sure what he wants them to be more, not sure if ‘more’ isn’t where they got
into trouble in the first place.
“Amiable?” Ryan suggests, and then laughs a little when Spencer makes a face.
That’s good, Spencer thinks, it’s good that he can laugh.
“You read too fucking much,” Spencer grumbles, and Ryan looks properly at him
for the first time. “Why d’you have to read so much, I never understand a word
you say.” It’s a lie, of course, but Ryan likes backhand compliments and
Spencer likes Ryan.
“It is too long ago,” Ryan says in his quoting voice, half-smiling, half-
regretful. “I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Spencer says. He takes a breath and says, “The snowman, the
snowman yesterday was you.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Crystal told me after.”
“Okay,” Spencer says, and they sit down and eat breakfast together.
                                       *
Spencer thinks it’s bound to be weird, anyway, changing again, he was stupid
not to expect a bit of strangeness when they stopped doing stuff and this is
how it’s meantto be. Soon it will all be over, anyway – the vacation winding
its way to a close, which is weird, because it wasn’t that long ago that it
felt like they still had months alone, just them up alone in the snow. Time
sped up again, though, and now it’s almost time for everything to go back to
normal – soon they can go back to Vegas and spend some time that’s not in each
other’s company, and get the band going again, and hang out with Brent and
Brendon and everything will be fine, everything will be more than fine.
For now, though – Spencer’s never dated anyone, but in his quieter, lonelier
moments he can admit this sort of feels like getting dumped. It’s hard to look
Ryan in the eye, all of a sudden, and Spencer can feel his heart beating too
fast whenever Ryan walks into a room. It’s good then, Spencer thinks dully,
that they ended this whole… idea as quickly as they did, because Spencer
clearly is some kind of freak who gets invested in things that don’t mean
anything really fast.
They’re not actively fighting anymore, at least. They don’t really talk
anymore, not about anything that matters, but they can sit in the same room and
not be at each other’s throats. The atmosphere of the house, at least, feels a
little more tense, and Crystal stops looking so wary whenever she walks into a
room that contains both of them.
Spencer calls Brent a few times, and tries to explain what’s going on without
actually saying what they did, which is almost impossible. He wonders if
Brendon knows the whole story, if Ryan told him. He hopes not on the most basic
level, but deep down it’s almost like a bit of confirmation; if Brendon knows,
Ryan told him, and that means it hasn’t been awarded a sense of importance in
Spencer’s head alone.
He’s really sick of thinking about it.
Brent says, “No, seriously, dude, you alright? You sound really down.”
“I’m tired,” Spencer says. “It’s like… I want to go home. I miss my own bed.”
“Yeah,” Brent says, “I know the feeling. It’s not that long now though, Spence.
What, a week?”
“About that,” Spencer agrees, rolling onto his back. “I don’t know, man. It’ll
be good to be back.”
“It’ll be good to have you back,” Brent says, and Spencer can hear his grin.
“It’s been weird, you and Ryan gone. I think Brendon’s going crazy.”
“I think Brendon would have gone crazy this Christmas even if we were there,”
Spencer confides in a low voice, and Brent is silent for a moment.
Finally, he sighs. “Yes,” he says. “Yeah, I think his family are giving him… a
hard time. Not on purpose, but just, they don’t like the band—”
“It’s not like we’ve been practicing,” Spencer interrupts. “That’s a bit
harsh.”
“Brendon told them about Pete Wentz coming down in February,” Brent says. “I
think before they thought it was just Brendon having fun with some friends, you
know? Now it’s real, and they want Brendon to do a mission and stuff and he
doesn’t even – I don’t think he even believesin that stuff anymore.”
“Yeah, me either,” Spencer says. “Fuck, okay, we’ll have to sort something
out.”
“What can we do?” Brent asks, sounding dispirited and unhappy and Spencer
shakes his head wordlessly, stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t know, anymore.
                                       *
Jackie is feeling well enough to be up and about again, and Crystal decides a
celebration is in order, so the twins and Ryan and Spencer crowd down in the
living room one night for a dance movie marathon. Spencer actually kind of
likes the inevitable awesome dance scenes at the end, and Ryan pretends he
doesn’t but totally does, so it’s an alright way to spend an evening.
By the time they’ve gotten through Center Stage and Honey, Spencer’s enjoying
himself enough to allow Crystal to drag him to his feet while Jackie loads the
next movie to do an impromptu and ridiculous waltz, while Ryan laughs on the
couch. They finish out of breath and grinning stupidly at each other, and when
Spencer turns around to bow Ryan’s smile has faded, a little, lingering on his
face almost by accident, and his eyes are dark and unreadable, fixed on
Spencer.
Spencer flushes and sits back down a little uneasily, too conscious of the very
little space between them. He pulls the blanket back up over himself to hide
the goosebumps breaking out on his arms, says, “I want some sulky Julia Stiles,
now.”
“Oh, no, come on,” Ryan says. “If we want sulky Julia Stiles, we watch 10
Things I Hate About You, not fucking Save The Last Dance.”
“10 Things I Hate About You isn’t a dance movie,” Crystal says smugly, and
presses play. Ryan rolls his eyes and groans, slumping further down on the
couch, but Spencer knows Ryan’s secret love for this movie, so whatever.
They’re quiet for a long time, apart from Jackie, who still laughs out loud at
the lame jokes, nearly ten viewings in. After a while, though, Ryan rests his
cheek in his hand and sighs.
"I never get that," he says, eyes fixed on the screen. "How they can just...
how he just kisses her goodnight like that, and then, like, leaves. I don't get
it."
"What's not to get?" Crystal wonders from her spot next to Spencer. "It's
romantic. Look how pretty she looks."
"Yeah," Ryan says. "Yeah, like, it's romantic and stuff, but I don't think I
could. Stop. Like, they love each other, and stuff? Why does she just go
inside?"
"It's complicated," Jackie says decisively. "Like, with her mom dying? And how
Derek's friends don't like her? I like it, I think it's sweet."
"Maybe," Ryan says, ruefully. "I just. I don't think I could stop."
Spencer stands up and walks out of the room. He lies on his bed and stares at
the ceiling and feels small and cold and stupid, and his tongue feels heavy in
his mouth and his skin feels prickly-hot and aching, hurting him. He wonders
what kind of corner they've backed themselves into. He wonders how slow, how
fast these last few days can go. In his head, Ryan says, It’s always better if
we do shit together.
The door opens and then Ryan closes it behind him. He walks towards the bed and
climbs up on it and kisses Spencer, propping himself over Spencer's body so
that his back is arching uncomfortably and his neck is going to have a crick in
it. Spencer sighs and Ryan takes it as an invitation and sucks Spencer's bottom
lip into his mouth. His breath tastes a little bit stale but his mouth is warm
and Spencer can feel the beginning of a headache.
"What are we doing, Ryan," he says eventually, too flat to be a question, and
Ryan shifts further away and looks at him with bright eyes.
"Dunno," he says. Spencer kisses him.
                                       *
They don’t fuck. They don’t do anything at all, really, except Ryan lies down
next to Spencer, warm all along his side, and pulls the blankets up over both
of them, until they’re blinking at each other in the semi-dark, the glow of the
lamp through the material giving Ryan an unearthly appearance. They lie on
their sides facing each other, noses touching, and Ryan kisses him and kisses
him and kisses him, and Spencer feels tired and useless and sad, and also kind
of easy. He doesn’t say no, though, and eventually he closes his eyes, and Ryan
squirms closer and they fall asleep like that, mouths open and just barely
touching.
Spencer wakes up in the middle of the night to Ryan shifting above him, pushing
his way out from the blankets. Spencer forgets to think for a moment, just
tightens his grip on Ryan’s elbow and makes a small, unhappy noise, and Ryan
freezes, looks down at him.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m just turning out the lamp.”
“Oh,” Spencer says, cheeks flushing in the dark. Ryan lowers himself back down;
he’s wearing a t-shirt, and he shivers, hair on his arms standing up from the
cold. Spencer drags the quilt back up over both of them.
“There’s really not enough room,” Ryan whispers. “For both of us, I mean.”
“It’s mybed,” Spencer points out. He waits, tense, but Ryan doesn’t move, just
nods, head shifting on the pillow. Spencer kisses him again, and when he breaks
away Ryan gives him a small smile, one of those insufferable ones that suggest
he comprehends so much more than Spencer, that usually make Spencer angry and
now just make him resigned.
“You always – I thought we weren’t doing this,” Spencer says after a while,
because Ryan’s still watching him, eyes big and focused, and Spencer can’t
sleep if Ryan’s doing that.
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “We decided. Only you just kissed me.”
“You kissed me first,” Spencer says hotly, and Ryan laughs a little and props
himself up on one elbow.
“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Yes, you did,” Spencer tells him. Ryan doesn’t do anything he doesn’t mean,
Spencer thinks. Ryan always, always knows exactly what he’s doing.
“No, I didn’t,” Ryan says. He sighs and rolls over, his back to Spencer, and
Spencer rolls to face the other side. Just as he’s drifting off to sleep,
though, he feels Ryan roll back over, and then Ryan’s arm around his waist,
anchoring him. Spencer doesn’t dream about anything, that night.
When he wakes up again Ryan’s face is pressed between Spencer’s shoulder blades
and he’s snuffling slightly, which is Ryan’s weird form of snoring, which means
that Spencer’s going to have a gross patch of dribble on his t-shirt. The clock
reads half past ten, already, and Spencer crawls out of bed, changes his shirt
and jeans (which, ow, sleeping in them is really fucking uncomfortable and
Spencer’s an idiot) and then goes downstairs.
Jackie looks up from her toast. “You alright?” she asks.
“Fine,” Spencer says, a little startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You left suddenly last night,” she says, shrugging. “I thought maybe you might
have felt sick.”
“I think I might have avoided your death plague, thanks,” Spencer says, amused,
and then feels the smile drop from his face when he looks up to Ryan standing
in the doorway.
“Morning,” Ryan says, cautiously, and goes over to make himself some coffee.
Spencer watches, and then catches himself and looks away, back at the newspaper
that Crystal’s left open at the comics.
“Morning, Ryan,” Jackie says, cheerfully. “You sleep well?”
Ryan drops the teaspoon in the sink with a loud clattering noise. Spencer
blinks, and Crystal stares. Ryan flushes red.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Thanks.”
Spencer says, meaninglessly, “I want orange juice,” and goes to get it from the
fridge. On the way past, he accidentally brushes past Ryan and Ryan flinches,
jumps away from him. Spencer’s chest tightens, and his throat with it. That’s
the way it’s going to be, then, he thinks. Fine, whatever. They had a… lapse in
concentration, or whatever.
“Sorry,” Ryan says. Spencer shrugs. Ryan makes a small frustrated noise and
glances at Jackie, who’s getting up and walking out of the room, calling out
for Spencer’s mom. Ryan says, “Spencer. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Spencer says. “Doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”
“Fine,” Ryan says. “Fine, yeah, I will.”
                                       *
The day passes quietly. It’s the second to last full day they’re spending in
the house, anyway, and Spencer’s mom gets them to spend some of the day up in
their individual rooms, packing up and getting ready to leave. Ryan and Spencer
have managed to strew their stuff all the way across the room, so it’s probably
a good idea, but it’s a little awkward, especially with Ryan’s bed neatly made
up and not slept in and Spencer’s covers still pulled back from where Ryan came
downstairs.
Spencer puts Take This To Your Grave on loud enough that they don’t have to
talk, and they work in silence, occasionally chucking some of the other’s
clothes towards their side of the room. Towards the end, Spencer sneaks
downstairs with the wastebasket to empty it in the big trash can outside, along
with some newspaper to strew over the top. He doesn’t want anyone in his family
looking at exactly what he and Ryan have been disposing of lately.
When he gets back upstairs, Ryan’s made his bed and turned the music off, and
pulled his phone out. Spencer hesitates at the door and then says, before he
can help himself, “Calling Brendon?”
“No,” Ryan says, looking up at Spencer strangely. “My dad. He left a message
last night, I missed the call.”
“Oh,” Spencer says. He stands awkwardly in the doorway a moment longer and then
asks, “Want me to stay?”
Ryan shrugs. “Sure, if you want to.” He pulls out the phone and presses a
number on speed dial, puts it against his ear. Then he looks up at Spencer and
says quickly, “Thanks,” and Spencer closes the door, comes into the room and
sits cross-legged on his bed.
“Hey, it’s me,” Ryan says. “Yeah, I saw, I – I missed it, sorry. We were
watching movies. I think Center Stage. It’s about ballet, Spencer’s sisters
picked it. No, I, Dad, come on, I wasn’t.”
Spencer props his elbows on his legs and his chin in his hands, and Ryan paces
impatiently across the room, settling at the windowsill with the phone squeezed
between his ear and shoulder, hands curled around the frame. His back is
hunched and Spencer can see the curve of his spine through his sweatshirt, can
see the bumps of his bones. He wants to reach out and touch, wants to cross the
room and press right up against Ryan, chin fitted over his shoulder, hips to
his ass. Ryan said sorry, though, and I didn’t mean to, and Spencer stays right
where he is.
“Yeah, we get back in two days,” Ryan says. “I don’t think we’ll be home until
late, though. It’s okay, I’ve got a key, I can let myself in. No, Dad, I don’t
need you to – it’s alright. Because I don’t want to. Because Spencer’s family
is probably sick of me now, Dad, I don’t need to spend another night with them
– yes. Yes, I told you. I don’t need you to wait up for me, really, I don’t
mind.”
Spencer closes his eyes and sets his jaw. He’s glad, he thinks viciously, he’s
glad Ryan can let himself in, he doesn’t wantRyan to spend another night in the
same room as him. The sooner he gets rid of Ryan for a while, the better. He’s
going to go home and ignore Ryan for a week. Maybe two.
“Yeah, I missed you,” Ryan says, voice low. “I’m not – no, Dad, I’m not lying.
Because you’re at work, you’re at work or you’re busy or – anyway. It’ll be
good to see you again. Come on, I’m not gonna go back to college and ignore
you, I fucking livewith you.”
Spencer winces, and the line of Ryan’s back tightens. He puts his arms around
himself, hands clasping at his own elbows, nails digging in through the cloth.
His nails are jagged, Spencer knows, felt them drag on his skin not that long
ago. Ryan should stop biting them.
“Sorry,” Ryan says. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll see you then. Bye.”
He hangs up and turns around, chin tilted up, mouth set, and Spencer regards
him blankly. He could say anything, ask if Ryan wants to go get lunch, tell him
he’s welcome to stay one more night with them if he wants, but he stays silent.
He’s sick of helping Ryan out. After a moment, Ryan lets out a noisy breath and
turns around, walks out the door and downstairs without looking back. Spencer
sits still on the bed and listens to the echoes of his footsteps.
                                       *
Spencer wakes up early the next morning to a freezing cold room. It’s snowed
again overnight, and there’s a fresh layer of white over everything outside
when he looks out the window. It’s only seven in the morning, so as of yet it’s
unmarred by the inevitable excitement of fresh snowmen and forts to make when
Crystal and Jackie wake up (snow on the last day, he knows they’ll be stupidly
triumphant), but as Spencer looks out the window he suddenly sees a line of
footprints.
A little further away, small and almost out of sight, but nonetheless
unmistakeable, is the dark figure of Ryan sitting on the fence.
Spencer stares for a moment and then he hisses something furious and determined
and incomprehensible even to himself, and snatches up his hoodie from the
ground. He gets dressed quickly with fierce, determined movements, yanking his
jeans up and lacing his shoes with tight knots that are probably going to prove
difficult to undo later today.
He goes downstairs as quickly and quietly as he can, and Ryan’s left the front
door unlocked, so he slips outside easily. It’s even colder out there, and
despite his hoodie and scarf Spencer takes in a surprised breath, shoving his
hands into his pockets. He gets halfway towards Ryan before Ryan notices him,
jolting on his precarious position on the fence, and then peering over his
shoulder to stare at Spencer, face blank. Spencer decides now is a good enough
time as ever to start yelling.
“I’m so fucking sickof you!” he shouts across the space between them. He’s
walking quickly, and he can see Ryan’s eyes widen. “Can you please, please tell
me what’s going on? Or even just what you wantfrom me, that would be really
good, because right now I can’t decide if you want to be my best friend or my
worst enemy and I’m getting really fucking sick of all your bullshit.”
Ryan shifts around the fence, sliding off and onto the ground, leaning back
against it. He says, raising his voice just enough for it to carry to Spencer,
“What?”
Spencer makes a helpless, furious noise and waits until he’s close enough for
them to talk properly, clenching his fists in his pockets and squinting at
Ryan. Ryan’s wearing a pullover that’s far too thin – fucking typical, Spencer
thinks.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” Spencer tells him, voice harsh in the cold
morning. “You keep fucking messingwith my head and I’d just, I really want
things to go back to normalexcept you’re such a fucking freak that apparently
you can’t even be my friend anymore!”
“Jesus, Spencer,” Ryan says, voice hard. “You take everything – it’s like the
whole world is against you, seriously. Grow up, for fuck’s sake, stop being
all, oh, why me—”
“That’s pretty rich, coming from you,” Spencer says, through gritted teeth.
“At least I can accept when I’ve screwed up!” Ryan shouts. “At least I can – I
can admit it, I can say when I’ve gone wrong and I did, but you wanna put all
the blame on me and, and you did it too, Spencer! I don’t remember forcingyou
to fuck me!”
Spencer takes a step back involuntarily because he wanted to yell, wanted to
heap all his anger on Ryan, but he isn’t sure he wanted to talk about that. He
blinks at Ryan and Ryan laughs coldly, says, “Yeah, see, there you go. You
can’t even dealwith it. Your extremely mature method of getting past fucking
meis to pretend it never happened.”
“What?” Spencer says, incredulous. “Ryan, you’re the one who – who kissed me
the other night and then ignored it all again the next morning—”
“You said it didn’t matter,” Ryan says, fast and low. “You said it didn’t
matter, and I should forget about it.”
“Yousaid you didn’t mean to,” Spencer counters. “That night, that night you
said you didn’t mean to, and you fucking apologised.”
“I said I didn’t meanto, not that I didn’t wantto!” Ryan explodes, and then
they both fall silent. Spencer stares at him and Ryan draws in a deep,
shuddering breath, turns away.
“Ryan,” Spencer says. His voice sounds hoarse; he flushes, clears his throat,
tries again. “Ryan, you said it was a bad idea and that we were messing
everything up.”
“Because it was, sort of,” Ryan says, dully. “You brought it up. What did you
want me to do, kick a tantrum about you… finishing stuff?”
Spencer’s heart is doing weird things, looping and jumping in his chest. He
says, “Don’t give me that, you broke it off as much as me. And, you went all
weird. At the end. It was like you hated me, or something.”
Ryan sighs and turns away, leans on the fence. He says, almost whispers, “You
kept talking to Brendon. Brendon’s… I knowBrendon’s gay and you said, you said
at the beginning that you wanted a boyfriend. A date. That’s what the whole
thing was about.”
“Wait,” Spencer says, mind racing. “You were – you were jealous? Of Brendon?
But I was – it was you and me! We were doing stuff!”
“Stuff,” Ryan echoes. He won’t look at Spencer. “Sex. Just say the fucking
words, Spencer, seriously.” He takes a breath and says, “That’s what you
wanted. I wanted you. So.” He shrugs his shoulders, whispers, “It would have
been – I was waiting, for it to be over, anyway.”
There’s something stuck in Spencer’s throat. He walks closer, looks at Ryan’s
scrawny shoulders and says, “But I. I mean. Me, too.”
Ryan turns around slowly. Spencer can count his eyelashes, this close up.
Ryan’s mouth is parted slightly and he says, “Spence, don’t – don’t do this.”
“You said it was a mistake,” Spencer tells him, quietly. “You made me so – I
thought you’d hated it for ages or something, didn’t want, didn’t want
meanymore.”
“I,” Ryan says, voice rough. He clears his throat, eyes huge and frightened and
fixed on Spencer’s face, tries again with, “I always.”
Spencer manages a small smile. “Yeah?”
“From – well, from like… this holidays,” Ryan admits. He reaches out
tentatively and very, very slowly, pushes some of Spencer’s hair back behind
his ears. Spencer breathes out a mist in the cold air and Ryan smiles
hesitantly back at him, says, “You’re a really good lay, Spencer Smith.”
“I’m flattered,” Spencer says. He swallows hard and says, “You said it would
mess with the band—”
“Fuck the band,” Ryan says, surprising both of them with his ferocity. He
flushes, cheeks pink, and says, “Spence, I never – you think I want the band
more than you? You think I want, want anything more than—”
“I was hoping not,” Spencer says, and leans closer to press his mouth against
Ryan’s. Ryan’s hands tighten in his hair and he opens his mouth, licks into
Spencer’s, and God, Spencer loves kissing Ryan, Spencer really, really loves
kissing Ryan. He grabs at Ryan’s hips, tugs him in closer and Ryan gasps,
pressing closer to Spencer, squirming up close all along his front.
They break away and Ryan says, breathless, words stumbling awkwardly from his
tongue, “I want, I want, Spence.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says. He unzips his hoodie and takes it off, holds it out.
“Here. You’re going to freeze.”
                                       *
“Is that the last of the bags?” Spencer’s dad shouts. “Last chance to look,
everyone! Quick, up and down the house, we can’t turn back if you realise
you’ve forgotten something halfway!”
Spencer groans – his legs ache from trooping up and down the stairs all
morning, and he thinks he’s carried sixty million bags down to the car at the
very least (fucking Ryan, who always manages to find the lightest things to do
trips down the stairs with – their pillows, seriously). Ryan wanders behind
Spencer now, too, as if waiting for Spencer to spot things and pick them up
before Ryan can.
There isn’t really anything, though, especially not on the floor where they
slept, where Spencer and Ryan did the most thorough cleaning job of their
lives. Spencer’s mom had been very impressed by their sense of responsibility
about cleaning up their own messes, including airing out the room and washing
the sheets and vacuuming, and Spencer had decided it was much better to work a
bit harder and reap all those brownie points, rather than having their mom come
up to help out. The room, after all, still kind of reeked of sex.
Ryan looks under the beds, helpfully, and Spencer leans back against the door
and watches him for a moment, grinning. When Ryan crawls back out, Spencer
waggles his eyebrows at him and says, “Nice view, thanks, Ross,” and Ryan
flushes pink and then makes an exasperated noise.
“Maturity, Smith,” he says. “We’ve had this discussion, remember,” but he comes
when Spencer beckons him over, stands on Spencer’s toes with a little bit of
malicious glee and lets Spencer kiss him. Spencer kisses soft and warm, tugging
Ryan closer towards him, and Ryan makes small, content noises, then nips at
Spencer’s lip a little grumpily, clearly remembering that he’s supposed to be
annoyed.
They break away before either of them can start to get too into it (travelling
with a boner is no one’s idea of a good time), and Spencer’s breathing is only
a little bit fast. His heart still races in his chest every time Ryan gives him
that shy, uncertain smile, though, like knowing they’re doing something –
something sort of serious changes the way Ryan looks at him. Then again,
Spencer supposes that makes sense.
“Are you gonna be sad?” Ryan asks. “To go, I mean.”
“Um, a little, I guess,” Spencer says. “The cold weather’s been pretty awesome,
and it was cool to have a White Christmas. I’m going to spend a whole day all
by myself though, man. It’ll be glorious. And so nice not to be faced with your
morning grumpiness every day.”
“And your bad breath,” Ryan agrees. He smiles crookedly, says, “We’ve got to go
back and fix Brendon, though.”
“Help Brendon,” Spencer corrects. “I think he’s going to be okay, really. The
band needs a guitarist and a drummer though, I’m thinking.”
“Pete Wentz is coming down in three weeks,” Ryan says, quietly. “We haven’t
practiced for a long time.”
“We’ll be ready,” Spencer says, firmly. “We’re gonna get out of Vegas, Ryan. I
promise.”
“Yes,” Ryan says. He looks out the window and says, “I’m glad. I liked the
snow.”
Spencer reaches out and touches the side of Ryan’s face, fingers lingering on
his cheek. Ryan turns back to him, almost surprised looking, and Spencer slides
his hand up against Ryan’s face, cool against Ryan’s cheek. Ryan turns into it,
nuzzling against his palm for a moment, and Spencer’s heart still jumps, every
time.
“Boys!” his mom yells from downstairs. “Time to go, come on!”
“Time to go,” Spencer echoes, and Ryan steps away from him, leads the way
downstairs. Spencer follows him, and as his family are waiting by the door he
doesn’t let his gaze linger on the back of Ryan’s neck, the straight line of
his back. It’s nice to know, though, that he could.
In the car, he and Ryan get consigned to the very back for the first half of
the trip, which sucks, because the space is kind of constricted and it cramps
Spencer’s legs. He watches Crystal and Jackie settle into the middle seats and
thinks with sudden horror and disturbing amusement, we had sex there, and
despite himself he starts giggling.
Ryan looks at him, bright and amused, and brings a warning finger up to his
lips, making exaggerated shushing gestures. Spencer giggles harder, ducking his
head and pressing his smile against his knees.
They pull out of the driveway and it’s weird, living in a place for six weeks
and knowing you might never come back. Spencer’s not overly sad, though – the
house was cool, yeah, but it’ll be good to be home. He hooks his seatbelt to
the side and Ryan follows suit, both of them trying to be comfortable.
They talk for the first hour or so, but Ryan falls quiet after a while and
Spencer notices that he looks kind of sleepy, shuts up too. After a while,
Spencer notices out of the corner of his eye as Ryan surreptitiously unbuckles
his seat belt and slumps sideways, and he starts off on Spencer’s shoulder and
ends up on Spencer’s lap, cheek pressed to Spencer’s thigh, snoring softly
against the denim of his jeans.
Another hour in and Ryan says, quite clearly, “Brendon, shut the fuckup,”
before falling silent again.
Spencer’s mom laughs and Jackie says, “Oh, is he talking in his sleep again?”
She and Crystal peer over the seats at them, and then squint at them.
“Spencer,” Jackie says, “Why is Ryan in your lap?”
“Because,” Spencer says, a little defensively. Jackie and Crystal exchange a
look and start giggling.
“Oh my God, that is so sweet,” Crystal coos, in an over-the-top, high-pitched
voice. “Does anyone have a camera?”
“Sosweet,” Jackie echoes. “Seriously, Spencer, you two are so weirdsometimes.
Is he, like, your boyfriend or something?”
“Shut up,” Spencer says, hand resting on Ryan’s head, combing through his hair
absently. “He’s sleeping.”
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