Fic: Still Motion
The fic that I almost abandoned due to USB stick fail, here it is! I mildly fretted about whether to post this to DW or LJ, and then just tossed a coin.
Ryan/Spencer
NC-17, warning for mild D/s themes
~5’000 words
Muchas gracias to 
dimmingdivine, who is awesomely awesome, and about as speedy as Gonzales. Also, this story is obviously fake.
>> Spencer is strong enough now to hold both of Ryan’s wrists down with just one hand. <<
Still Motion
____________
Spencer is strong enough now to hold both of Ryan’s wrists down with just one hand.
It’s a realization Ryan thinks he could have lived without, and happily, at that. Unfortunately, it’s also a realization that’s rather difficult to push aside with Spencer hovering above him, a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he keeps Ryan trapped against the floor. “My choice.”
“Fuck you,” Ryan says uselessly.
“Dude, not right here. Think of Brendon’s innocent baby ears.” Jon’s tone is mild. He sets the remote control aside to reach for a handful of chips while Brendon gives him a lazy finger.
“’m older than Spencer, so shut up, Jon Walker.”
“Make me,” Jon says.
Ryan’s attention is drawn back to Spencer – not that it ever really went away, given how Spencer’s weight is pressing him down, or with the tight grip Spencer’s fingers have around Ryan’s wrists, fuck—Ryan’s attention is drawn back to Spencer when Spencer leans down, head tilted. There are hardly more than two inches between their mouths. “You lost,” Spencer says.
“You suck,” Ryan replies.
Spencer laughs and rolls off him. It takes a few seconds before Ryan’s chest feels normal again.
--
It’s really, really unfair, but once Ryan started noticing, it’s like he can’t. fucking. stop.
Spencer’s hands move around a lot. He’s not as obvious about his restlessness as Brendon – who shifts and twitches more than even Ryan does – but Spencer twitches with his hands. More often than not, he’s twirling a pen in his hands, silently drumming his fingers against his thighs, playing around with his phone. Sometimes, Ryan watches, and then he blinks and looks away quickly.
Another thing Ryan notices is how often they touch. None of them is shy about physical contact; Brendon in particular is happiest when he’s leaning on someone, and Jon loves to touch skin when he’s high, which is fairly often. Spencer and Ryan, though, it’s…
It’s like this:
The steady, familiar sound of the engine underneath Ryan’s feet, a barely noticeable vibration that hums in his bones. He’s not quite sure why he’s awake, only that he is even though the windows reveal a landscape still clouded by the night. When he opens the fridge door, the light disorientates him.
Blindly, he gropes for the milk and nudges the door shut with his hip. The only cereal they have left is Brendon’s special animal-shaped cereal that his mother sends him once in a while. There’s enough left that Brendon will never know. Ryan shakes some into a bowl, adds milk, and then he shuffles over to the window and begins eating with his forehead resting against the cool pane.
He doesn’t turn around at the sound of bare feet on the linoleum floor, nor does he startle at the sudden warmth along his back, at Spencer’s hand slipping underneath his sleep shirt to settle on his stomach, right above his bellybutton.
“Hey,” Ryan mumbles, leaning back into the weight.
“Hey.” Spencer props his chin on Ryan’s shoulder and he has to bend down slightly to do it. Ryan doesn’t know why the simple fact makes the engine’s gentle vibration flare in his bones. He keeps himself still.
For a while, neither of them speaks. They’re breathing together, watching the darkness outside, the occasional black silhouette of a tree flashing by.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Ryan says eventually.
“Nah.” Spencer shifts, his hips pressing against Ryan’s ass for a moment. It’s nothing. It happened a million times before. Probably. “Was awake already.”
“Oh.” Ryan nods and lifts the spoon to his mouth before he pauses. “Want some?”
“Brendon’s?”
“Uh-huh.”
Spencer laugh is soft, puffing out against Ryan’s cheek. “Alright, sure. If he notices, it’ll be two against one. That should improve our chances for survival.”
“He’ll never know,” Ryan says.
They’ve been sharing silverware, glasses, food and plates since they were little kids. Ryan repeats that fact in his head when Spencer’s hand leaves his stomach to wrap around his wrist instead, guiding the spoon so that Spencer barely needs to move his head.
Spencer’s thumb is resting on Ryan’s pulse point. Ryan hopes Spencer won’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
--
The barbecue is Jon’s idea. They’ve got nowhere to be for the next twenty-four hours, and after nearly two months of touring, they welcome any opportunity to spend time someplace that isn’t a bus, hotel or backstage area. After sending Brendon to talk Zack into it, it still takes the better part of an hour before the bus veers off the highway onto a smaller road, then a tiny one, and finally halts on a gravel path at the edge of a forest.
Jon and Zack disappear under the trees to gather up firewood while Spencer spreads blankets on the dirty patch of grass beside the bus and Brendon digs through their fridge for something edible. Ryan decides his very own role in this whole scheme is to stretch out on the blankets as soon as Spencer’s got them straightened out.
Lying on his back, the forest is hardly visible on the edge of his vision. The sky seems to go on forever. He crosses his arms behind his head. “Need a cushion,” he tells Spencer.
“You need some manners,” Spencer replies. His tone is amused. “If others are working, less selfish people help.”
Ryan yawns. “You’ve been talking to your mom again.”
“Well, I’ve done more than talking with your mom,” Spencer says without any heat. He sprawls on his back beside Ryan, close enough for their hands to touch. Ryan catches a hint of the cheap aftershave Spencer bought at a truck stop earlier, because he ran out of his usual brand. The scent has a slightly bitter taste, mingling with the smells of warm grass and dusty blanket all around them.
Ryan closes his eyes against the too-bright sky and decides that there’s no reason for things to change. No reason at all.
He shifts around so he can rest his head on Spencer’s stomach. It’s not as soft as it used to be when they were younger, and Ryan still remembers how Spencer self-consciously shifted away each time Ryan even just poked him. Now, Spencer only snorts. “Found your pillow?”
“Stop talking.” Ryan turns so his cheek is resting on the worn cotton of Spencer’s shirt, warmth seeping through the cloth. “I prefer my pillows immobile.”
“Just don’t try punching my stomach into shape,” Spencer says. “I’m not that kind of pillow.” His voice rumbles against Ryan’s ear.
“No punching,” Ryan promises.
Spencer’s hand settles in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, tugging occasionally as he rubs small circles into the base of Ryan’s skull. Some of the sleepy stupor dissipates, but Ryan keeps his breathing even and doesn’t move, not in the slightest.
He’s grateful for the excuse when Brendon drops a plastic bag onto the gravel beside them. Sitting up, Spencer’s hand falling back onto the blanket, Ryan glances over at the forest, then quickly at Spencer’s face. Spencer’s eyes are shut and he’s smiling, just faintly, and for once, it’s an expression Ryan can’t quite read.
“We don’t have any decent food to roast,” Brendon says gravely. “At least I found some marshmallows. They’re totally past their sell-date, though.” He collapses beside Spencer, wiggling his way onto the blanket. Ryan looks away from the easy way Brendon moulds himself to Spencer’s side. It’s just Brendon. There’s no reason to be jealous.
And anyway, Ryan isn’t jealous. Jesus fucking Christ.
“You can be our taster,” he tells Brendon
Brendon’s answering grin is so cheesy only he could pull it off. “Baby, you know I will happily give my life for you.”
“Noted.” Spencer’s voice is dry, and Ryan laughs despite himself. He sinks back down and makes a valiant, if useless, attempt not to think about it anymore.
--
It’s just after the sun has set and they’re nearly out of firewood, the Western edge of the sky still bathing in its pink-hued afterglow while darkness rapidly spreads. Ryan is contemplating the different colors of the flames, blue to orange to yellow to a near-white, when the tip of Spencer’s sneaker nudges his hip.
Ryan tilts his head back to look at Spencer, standing so that one half of his silhouette is sharply outlined by the fire’s brightness. Spencer’s sneaker nudges Ryan’s thigh. “Hey,” Ryan protests.
“C’mon.” Spencer grins down at him. “Help me gather more wood.”
“In a dark forest?” Jon puts in. “Dude, you sure that’s a good idea? You know Ryan manages to fall on his face even in plain daylight.” Brendon snickers into his hot chocolate. Zack snorts. They’re assholes, all of them.
“I think I can handle Ryan,” Spencer says. He sounds clearly amused, and Ryan only forgets to be offended because Spencer’s eyes are warm, bright.
Ryan glances away from Spencer’s face and down at his own hands. There’s no reason to feel nervous or special because Spencer singled him out. Spencer singles him out all the time, and Ryan is comfortable on his stomach, the blanket soft under him. “What’s in it for me?”
Spencer appears to consider it. “Moulin Rouge at the hotel later. And I won’t crack even a single tiny joke about your crush on Ewan McGregor.” He offers Ryan a hand to pull him up, and Ryan accepts it.
“My crush on him is nothing compared to your crush on Luke Skywalker.”
“I told you, it’s all about Leia in chains.” Spencer laughs softly, fingertips sliding over Ryan’s palm as he lets go. He doesn’t even seem to notice. “Luke’s just a bonus.”
After lying on his stomach for a couple of hours, standing up makes Ryan sway for a moment. He mindlessly grips Spencer’s waist to regain his balance. “Sure, whatever you say. I know you really just want Luke’s light saber.”
“Don’t we all?” Brendon asks.
“I do,” Jon says.
Zack spears a marshmallow. “Nah, man, I’d rather have his spaceship.”
“Anyone got a flashlight?” Spencer asks calmly. His posture suggests he’s way above rising to Ryan’s bait.
“Kitchen.” Zack leans forward to hold his marshmallow into the shrinking flames. “Cupboard under the sink.”
Spencer’s hand fleetingly settles on Ryan’s waist. “Be right back,” he says, and Ryan hates how he automatically turns his head to watch Spencer go. He wrenches his gaze away quickly, before anyone can make a stupid remark about, hey, don’t you just love to watch him leave, Ross?
Spencer returns within a matter of minutes, brandishing the flashlight like a trophy. “Found your light saber?” Ryan asks before he can think better of it.
“Sure did.” The firelight paints Spencer’s face in a warm orange, his teeth flashing in a grin. “If you behave, I might let you touch it, even.”
Sometimes, Ryan finds it hard to believe he never noticed just how thick they lay on the innuendo. This sort of thing, it’s been tossed back and forth between them since they hit puberty. There’s no sensible explanation for how it suddenly burns in Ryan’s chest, distraction enough for him to miss his chance at a comeback – yeah, I know you’d love that, or I’d make it so good for you, baby, or even just you wish.
Spencer doesn’t, though. He doesn’t wish.
Ryan nods his head towards the dark, looming wall of trees. “Let’s go.”
“Right beside you.” True to his words, Spencer falls into step when Ryan sets off after a glance at the fire and the group of people huddled around it. Their driver appears to be sleeping, Zack roasting yet another marshmallow while Jon is rolling a cigarette.
Ryan faces forward again. Imprints of the flames’ brightness make spots dance through his vision. “You got sparks in your eyes, too?” he asks Spencer.
As far as clarifications go, his question could use some, but Spencer huffs out a breath. “Yeah. Like fireflies.”
“Fairies.”
“You’re a fairy.”
“Wow, now that was witty.”
Spencer’s only reply consists of a faint snicker, and then they’re under the trees, darkness wrapping around them. It’s cooler in here, the air much more humid, and Ryan thinks he should have grabbed his hoodie. A twig breaks under his foot.
Spencer flicks on the flashlight with an audible click, and for a moment, Ryan blinks into its beam before Spencer angles it away, down at the ground, all contrasts white-washed. The conversation from the fire is barely audible anymore, only the excited cadence of Brendon’s voice ringing out brightly.
“Let’s look for dry wood,” Spencer says. He points the flashlight so that Ryan can easily make out his next steps while the ground before Spencer is less clearly illuminated. “With damp wood, there’s always too much smoke.”
“Who died and made you outdoor-savvy?” Ryan asks.
“Outdoor-savvy enough for you, Ross.” Spencer bends down to pick up a thick branch, turning it over in his hand before dropping it back down. The light sways slightly with the motion. “Too damp.”
Ryan doesn’t mean to stumble and prove Jon right, he really, really doesn’t, but seemingly out of nowhere, the stump of a tree appears in front of him. With the unsteady illumination, he just doesn’t see it in time. Instinctively, he puts out his hands to break the fall – and lands against Spencer’s chest, Spencer stumbling back half a step, but his arm firm around Ryan’s middle.
“Um,” Ryan says eloquently. His brain is making softly confused noises.
Briefly, just for a fleeting second, Spencer’s arm tightens around him, Spencer’s whole body warm against Ryan’s front. “Told Jon I could handle you,” Spencer says.
He steps back, and Ryan clears his throat. Something about his balance still feels off.
--
By now, Ryan is pretty much convinced the bartender’s ignoring him. The club isn’t that packed, it’s just an average weeknight, so there really is no reason for Ryan to wait several minutes, both elbows on the counter and an expectant expression on his face, seeking eye contact. It’s particularly unfair considering the girl that squeezed in beside him only had to wait for a minute or so, is already walking away with a drink by the name of Knock Out. Maybe the bartender dislikes Ryan’s shirt.
He’s about to give up and steal from Jon – or ask Zack, because no one dares ignore Zack – when another body slides into the space that Knock Out Girl just vacated, pressing against Ryan’s side. While the physical closeness might be dismissed as necessary, Ryan is pretty sure it’s not necessary when a hand brushes over his ass. He inches his head to the side and finds a guy in his mid-thirties smirking at him.
Before Ryan can even begin to show an appropriate reaction, another body slides in behind him, crowding him against the bar. He leans back into Spencer without even thinking about it. Spencer’s arm comes up around his chest, pulling him closer, Spencer’s hips flush against his ass. It’s… fuck.
“Sorry,” Spencer says, voice loud over the music, and Ryan doesn’t immediately realize Spencer isn’t talking to him. “Guess you have to find someone else.”
Ryan watches as the man’s eyes narrow before he gives a dismissive shrug, pushing away from the bar. He’s gone within a matter of seconds, and still Spencer doesn’t pull away. Ryan swallows against his tight throat. There isn’t enough air in the small room. He turns his head enough for his nose to nudge Spencer’s cheek. “You know I can take care of myself, right?”
Spencer’s smile is brilliant. “You’re too nice. It would have taken you half an hour to explain to the guy that no, you’re really not interested.”
Ryan raises a brow. “Who says I wasn’t?”
“I do.” They’re so close that Spencer’s reply ghosts warm across Ryan’s mouth. It might be a trick of Ryan’s feverish imagination – wishful thinking, whatever – but he thinks he feels Spencer’s arm tighten momentarily, a tiny nudge of Spencer’s hips against his ass. Then Spencer steps back, still smiling when Ryan turns around. The edge of the counter digs harshly into the small of his back, grounding.
“Zack’s trying to round us up, by the way,” Spencer says. “Early call tomorrow, and he doesn’t feel like dragging our whiny asses all the way to the bus while we’re nursing hangovers.”
“Seriously, why didn’t he become, like, a sergeant or something?”
“He’s got us. We’re way better than a group of stubborn soldiers.” Spencer laughs, fingers closing around Ryan’s wrist. They do this all the time when they’re trying not to lose each other in the crowd, a remnant of Spencer’s mother always telling them to stick together. Except…
Except it never used to make Ryan’s pulse speed up like that, helpless and stupid.
There’s a good chance Spencer will miss it over the pounding of the bass. Ryan doesn’t think he could deal with any questions. He’s always been a bad liar, and even when he tried, Spencer always knew how to see right through him. It borders on a miracle that Spencer hasn’t noticed Ryan’s recurring shortness of breath just yet. “Hey,” Spencer says suddenly, halting his steps as he turns to face Ryan. They’re on the edge of the dance floor; the flickering strobe light and moving bodies are oddly dizzying. “Hey,” Spencer repeats, leaning closer until his lips are almost brushing Ryan’s ear. “You okay?”
“Fine, great,” Ryan replies quickly, too quickly. He draws a sharp breath, his mouth too dry. “Sure, I mean. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason.” Spencer’s lips skid over Ryan’s jaw, and then he pulls back, fingers still firmly clasped around Ryan’s wrist. Ryan can’t get enough air into his lungs. When Spencer nods his chin towards the table they claimed earlier, Ryan manages only a meek smile, but he follows. Of course he does.
--
“Too tired for subtitles,” Spencer says.
“It’s dubbed.” Ryan peers at the remote control in Spencer’s hand. “Dubbed means no subtitles.”
“Then it’ll be exhausting, depressing, pretentious or otherwise not what I’m in the mood for.”
“Oh, come on. Just because I want to watch a German movie?”
“It’s a German movie about existential angst.” Spencer crosses his legs, bare ankles sinking into the soft hotel carpet. It’s one of the better places they’ve stayed at, definitely, and for all that the room isn’t big, the beds are okay and there’s even a balcony. Also, the pictures on the wall are simple, if slightly nondescript. Compared to the last hotel that had pictures of kitschy baby girls and boys holding hands, this is a step up.
“It won the Oscar for best foreign film,” Ryan tries again.
Spencer smiles down at the remote control, then back up at Ryan. “No. Escape from New York it is.”
“We’ve seen that, like, fifty times.”
“Three, at the most.”
“Broaden your horizons, Smith.”
“Yeah. Sometime when I’m more awake, maybe.”
Ryan sighs and leans back on his elbows, kicking out his legs. “Should have roomed with Jon. Jon never fights me for TV control.”
Spencer snorts. He tosses the remote control up in the air, catches it again in one hand. “First one to say uncle?” he offers.
Ryan’s going to lose. He knows he will; he never wins against Spencer anymore, not since Spencer’s growth spurt hit, not when Spencer’s daily routine requires him to spend a couple hours banging away on his drums. Ryan rolls to his knees. “Prepare to go down.”
Spencer uncrosses his legs and sets the remote control aside, shifting forward. “Is this your scary face?”
Ryan lunges without warning – or at least he’d like to think so. But maybe a twitch of his stomach muscles gave him away, or maybe Spencer found his clue in the set of Ryan’s shoulders. Either way, Spencer is ready for it, using Ryan’s own momentum to bring both of them down to the floor, Spencer on top. The sudden change in his plan has Ryan gasping for breath before he attempts to push off the floor and roll them over. Surprisingly, it works. For two seconds, he’s straddling Spencer, knees bracketing Spencer’s hips, his hands gripping Spencer’s upper arms. “Say uncle,” Ryan demands.
Spencer’s hands settle on his ass, and then there’s this glorious moment when Spencer thrusts up while pulling Ryan down, friction hot between them. Ryan’s grip loosens as he exhales through his teeth.
“Uncle,” Spencer whispers. The next thing Ryan knows, he’s on his back again, arms trapped above his head as he looks up at Spencer’s triumphant grin. Spencer’s hair is sort of framing his face, the first button of his shirt undone, and Ryan shouldn’t be thinking of beard burn, shouldn’t let himself concentrate on Spencer’s aftershave. Humiliation is burning thick in his stomach.
Spencer’s thumb suddenly digs into Ryan’s wrist, right at the pulse point, and it’s mindless, completely reflexive when Ryan’s hips buck up. He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Conducting an experiment.” Spencer sounds happy about it.
“How about you find someone else for that?”
There’s a long pause while everything seems frozen, entirely still. Spencer’s weight is heavy on Ryan’s thighs, his fingers warm and safe around Ryan’s wrists, and Spencer isn’t cruel, he isn’t, at least not with Ryan, so if he has any clue what he’s doing, he’ll pull away right the fuck now.
He doesn’t, though. Instead, he leans down until their foreheads are touching. “I’d rather not.”
“Not what?” Ryan asks tonelessly. He can’t remember how to move.
“Find someone else,” Spencer says, and then, “Look at me. Hey.”
There’s something new in Spencer’s voice. It’s not—It’s—Spencer face is so close it’s blurring in Ryan’s vision, clear blue eyes smiling, and Spencer hardly ever does that, smiling with just his eyes, but when he does, it’s just as breathtaking as when his whole face lights up with joy. Ryan is pretty sure he’s staring back scared and small, not attractive in the least.
Spencer rubs their noses together. “Yeah, I thought so.” His voice is still filled with that new edge, or maybe Ryan has started listening only just now.
“What—” he begins.
He’s cut off when Spencer braces himself with one arm across Ryan’s chest and bends his head to kiss the corner of Ryan’s mouth. He doesn’t pull away after it, not really, lingers close enough for Ryan to feel as well as hear it when Spencer says, “This.”
Ryan swallows thickly. His hands are starting to tingle from being trapped above his head. He wouldn’t change their positions even if he could. “D’you know what—”
“Pretty sure I do,” Spencer interrupts, and then he slides his forearm up Ryan’s chest, higher until it’s resting at the base of Ryan’s throat. He’s watching Ryan’s face intently, eyes focused as he applies a hint of pressure, not much, just enough for Ryan to know Spencer is there, to remind him he’s trapped with both hands pinned against the carpet and Spencer’s forearm keeping him in place.
Ryan tilts his hips up, and immediately, the pressure across his throat increases, if only marginally. He exhales and sinks into the carpet, allowing his muscles to relax, and when their gazes meet, Spencer doesn’t look worried anymore. “Pretty sure I do,” he repeats. There’s a smug, pleased tilt to the line of his mouth, and more than anything else, it’s what lets Ryan know this is okay. It really, really is.
“You’re gonna do something about it, then?” he asks, flexing his hands in Spencer’s grip. Spencer’s arm eases up on Ryan’s throat at the same time as Spencer grinds down, hard, and there isn’t much Ryan can do but lie under him, his mouth falling open as he fights not to buck up into it. Their jeans make an odd chafing sound when their hips rub together.
“Maybe,” Spencer says. He dips his head and Ryan would arch up to meet him, but Spencer’s forearm is still across his throat. All he can do is part his lips when Spencer kisses him, quick and soft at first, then again with more purpose in it, sucking Ryan’s bottom lip between his teeth before Spencer exhales, inhales, and then pushes his tongue into Ryan’s mouth as if proving a point. Ryan doesn’t fight him in the least. In fact, he can hardly think past the rough heat of Spencer’s tongue stroking over his, can’t do anything but let Spencer take over. Vaguely, Ryan is aware he’s making weird, kind of choked noises in the back of his throat, and when Spencer pulls back a little, he’s panting.
It’s probably only a second of staring at each other before Spencer grinds down again, rocking his hips against Ryan’s with a wicked twist at the end.
Ryan lets his eyes fall shut and lifts his ass off the floor, just an inch or so, to change the angle. He thinks he can feel Spencer’s erection slide against his, hard through the denim, and they should probably move this up to the bed and get naked, because getting naked would be pretty damn amazing, but Spencer doesn’t show any inclination to loosen his hold and anyway, Ryan doesn’t think he could work up the strength to move, doesn’t think he could stop when nothing matters but Spencer above and around him, taking him over completely, finally, finally. Spencer’s breaths are sharp against Ryan’s chin, and behind Ryan’s lids, everything is bright and beautiful.
Spencer lifts off, and Ryan almost shakes with frustration. He bites his tongue to keep from making a sound.
For a short moment, there’s nothing. Spencer still keeps Ryan’s hands pinned against the carpet, but his arm across Ryan’s chest is gone, the weight of his body removed. Then blunt fingers dig into Ryan’s thigh. “Leg,” Spencer grits out. His voice is dark and certain. “’Round my waist, come on.”
Ryan obeys instantly and oh, fuck, it’s even better like this, with his legs spread almost painfully wide and Spencer sinking between them, grinding down so hard Ryan slides a few inches on the carpet. His shirt chafes against his shoulder blades. His muscles are starting to cramp. His chest aches from drawing sharp, hurried breaths, and it’s glorious.
Spencer bites his chin. “Eyes. Open.”
Ryan has just enough brain capacity left to wonder if this is how Spencer talks during sex, shortened commands, omitting verbs, and then he’s hit with the realization that it’s Spencer, talking during sex. Ryan forces his eyes open, stares at Spencer staring at him, and when he comes, it’s with his entire body straining up, legs tight around Spencer’s waist despite the firm hold Spencer already has on him.
He’s gasping for air, still shaking faintly by the time Spencer releases his wrists and gently brings Ryan’s legs down. They’re trembling from the earlier effort, are still trembling when Spencer rolls off. He comes to lie on the carpet, close, braced on one elbow and facing Ryan. “Fuck,” Spencer mutters. He unzips his jeans quickly, and Ryan feels rather dizzy as he watches Spencer pull his cock out, stroking with an edge of urgency, his gaze never leaving Ryan’s face. Spencer’s cock is thick and flushed, precome smeared across the head.
“Do you want. Um,” Ryan begins hesitantly.
Spencer shakes his head, says, “No, fuck, so hot,” and then he thrusts his hips forward into his own fist, the tip of his cock nudging against Ryan’s stomach. He repeats the move, and when he comes, it’s over Ryan’s shirt and jeans. Ryan is pretty sure he shouldn’t find it hot. It’s Spencer, though, so Ryan’s spent cock attempts an interested twitch in his pants even though he’s not fifteen anymore.
Ryan twists closer the moment Spencer throws an arm over his chest. His shirt is damp and sticky against his stomach, and his jeans are disgusting both inside and out. With their breathing evening out, the hotel room feels suddenly quiet and too large. There’s a pause, and Ryan’s chest is burning from a different lack of oxygen.
Spencer’s voice is low, as if to accommodate for the change in atmosphere. “Let’s skip the movie.”
“Bed?” Ryan suggests. There are two beds in here. He thinks he knows Spencer well enough to be sure they’ll only need one, but… But, yeah. This isn’t exactly familiar territory. Ryan thinks he’ll see bruises around his wrists tomorrow, and that shouldn’t be hot, either. Probably.
“Don’t even think you’re going to need a bed of your own,” Spencer says. His head has dropped to Ryan’s shoulder, so Ryan can’t make out his expression.
“I wasn’t.”
“Your pulse quickened again. Dead give away. Always.”
Ryan’s voice is feeble. “Fuck off.”
“No.” Spencer presses his smile against Ryan’s throat. “And you know we have to talk about this, right?”
Talk about this. Talk about how this has been building up between them for weeks or maybe years, how they had sex and how it was a start. Talk about how they’ll share a bed and maybe, no, no, probably, definitely—How they’re going to do more in the morning, kiss and have sex. And how there’s still the night and morning after.
It suddenly sounds quite simple.
In delayed response, Ryan hums something pleasant and agreeable. That sort of thing was never enough to pacify Spencer, but it doesn’t mean Ryan’s given up trying.
“Seriously.” Spencer sits up, leaning over Ryan. He’s frowning. “Like, we need a safe word, and just, I mean. Generally. It doesn’t always have to be…” His hand slides up Ryan’s chest, thumb coming to rest against the side of Ryan’s throat, and Spencer only babbles when he’s nervous. He isn’t nervous often; Ryan remembers only a handful of other incidents. When Spencer met Haley was one of them, and then, when he tried to explain why they broke up, that was another. “I mean,” Spencer continues, “I don’t always need this, you know? I’m not always… I like vanilla sex, too.”
“Did you just say vanilla sex?” Ryan grins slightly, can’t help it. It’s just such a Spencer thing somehow, to be nervous now that Ryan’s clothes are starting to show white stains, now that things have changed irrevocably.
“Hey.” Spencer’s frown deepens. “I did some research. Unlike someone who just, like, fell into this and probably never thought to consider what it means, and—”
Ryan cuts him off by tangling his fingers in Spencer’s hair and dragging him down into a kiss. Spencer makes a strangled sound and kisses back, leaning on Ryan, warm and heavy and utterly, utterly there. It just might be the most effective way Ryan has found to shut Spencer up. He should use it more often. “Talking later,” Ryan says, then strains up to lick at the corner of Spencer’s mouth, pulling back to add, “Talking tomorrow. Right now, you should fuck me.”
Spencer is silent for the time it takes Ryan to exhale once, slowly. Then Spencer smiles, and it’s brilliant and brightens his eyes, and Ryan can’t remember why he was worried about this, ever. “Tomorrow,” Spencer says. He probably means to make it sound like a threat. It comes out like a promise.
--
Ryan’s thighs hurt when he wakes up. His wrists ache faintly as well, and there’s a twinge in his ass when he shifts. He blinks his lids open and yawns into the brightness.
They didn’t draw the blinds last night, so the morning sun is filtering into the room, throwing an odd pattern on the carpet. Spencer is still asleep, plastered to Ryan’s back, one leg between both of Ryan’s. It’s hot, and somewhat itchy, and the bed is too small for two people.
Ryan shifts back against Spencer’s chest, closes his eyes and decides to go back to sleep.
=== .finis. ===