From Tumblr
Okay, yes, Ryan did drink the last Capri Sun on the way to the photo shoot, and, yes, he did do it maliciously, because Brendon wouldn't stop playing Guitar Hero II for five fucking minutes so that Ryan could think, but. This was so not a proportional response.
"You guys go ahead. We'll meet you in a few minutes," Brendon said.
Jon and Spencer exchanged a look which clearly conveyed, "Let's leave before all the gay sex." Ryan stared down at the guitar in his hands.
"You have twenty minutes," Spencer said. He and Jon left the room, presumably to change back into their regular clothes and head out to the parking lot. The photographer and his crew had gone a while ago, the set left intact for the next morning when they would finish up with some final shots.
When the door shut, Ryan stood up, balancing the guitar against the crazy, gigantic stuffed lion that Brendon had immediately taken a likening to upon entering the room.
"We can't do anything here," Ryan said firmly, telling himself as much as Brendon. So, yes, okay, he had a public sex kink. He was an attention whore, and besides, everyone had something, right? Still, it was totally unfair of Brendon to use it against him like this.
"Sure," Brendon said, smiling innocently in his stupid, beige sweater vest. "You can take off then. I'm just going to stay here for a while." He laid down on the bed, the leg farthest from Ryan bent and one hand splayed across his stomach. He closed his eyes and hummed to himself, something that sounded like a Fall Out Boy song.
Ryan crossed his arms over his chest, but couldn't bring himself to move away.
"Brendon, we can't do anything here," he said again, a little desperately.
Brendon opened his eyes and looked at Ryan, his tongue peaking out to trace his bottom lip. And, fuck, speaking of attention whores. Ryan was practically Patrick Stump compared to Brendon, who turned craving attention into an art form. "No, you're right," Brendon said. "I mean, after all, anyone could walk in on us."
Ryan's dick twitched in his expensive Dior pants at that image combined with Brendon's sly grin.
"Brendon, fuck," Ryan said. His throat felt thick, and the words came out heavier, deeper than he intended.
“In fact,” Brendon continued, unrelenting. “In fact, someone could be watching us right now.”
“God,” Ryan groaned. His knees bumped into the bed before he even realized he was moving.
“Come here,” Brendon said, stretching a hand up to him. His other hand moved lazily along the strip of stomach bared in the gap between his shirt and pants.
“You’re such an asshole,” Ryan said. He removed his jacket, took Brendon’s hand and let himself be pulled down on the bed. Brendon laughed and stretched up to kiss Ryan, sharp and deep and hot.
With the agility a person could only learn from growing up with fourteen brothers and, like, fifty-two older cousins, Brendon switched their positions so that Ryan was flat on his back, Brendon’s expensively-clad body pressed into his.
Ryan ran a hand under Brendon’s red shirt, feeling smooth, smooth skin as Brendon’s mouth moved lower, sucking hard on the sensitive place where Ryan’s neck met his shoulder.
“Our clothes,” Ryan said. Their borrowed, designer clothes that they were expected to wear again bright and early tomorrow morning. “We can’t…we can’t…”
“I know,” Brendon said, barely pausing in his attempt to give Ryan a hickey that was going to reduce the make up person to tears the next day.
