stephanometra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stephanometra) wrote2008-12-17 07:49 pm
stephanometra) wrote2008-12-17 07:49 pm
it's thursday somewhere, right?
Because I can't wait any longer, and I didn't think you'd mind. Ryan/Brendon/Spencer, porn.
***
"So help me God, Carden, if you're keeping him here against his will, or if he's injured and you could have prevented it, I will tear you in half," Ryan promises, his tone even and deadly, only just loud enough for Brendon to hear him from his hiding-place at the top of the stairs, and Brendon swears that he can feel his still heart stutter in his chest.
"I think," William says slowly, "that it would be best for you to find companions who are somewhat less...hostile."
Brendon blinks. "What?"
William gives him a nakedly disapproving look, you know better than to play the fool with me. Brendon has always hated that look, hated it when he got it from his parents and his teachers, and he still hates it now. He quashes his immediate impulse to snarl back.
"I am certain that you heard every word of Master Ross's little display in the foyer," William says. "It is no longer in the best interests of this family for you to cultivate his acquaintance."
His point thus made, without waiting for Brendon to acknowledge the words, William sweeps out of Brendon's suite, his coattails flaring dramatically in his wake.
Brendon stares after him, feeling numb. William can't do that to him, not when Brendon has more than proved that he is capable of both taking care of himself and of safeguarding the best interests of the clan. William has no right to speak to him like Brendon is little more than a child whose taste in companions fails to meet with a loving parent's approval.
"Fuck that," he says aloud in his empty room. William doesn't own him; the clan doesn't own him. If Spencer and Ryan cared enough about Brendon to come looking for him—if Ryan was angry enough at Michael's insouciance for Ryan's bloodlust to come to the fore—then Brendon can hardly do any less, especially not merely in deference to William's ego.
He might have been willing to deny his feelings before, but he can't any longer; he just hopes they will forgive him for running away.
The taxi drops him at the end of Ryan and Spencer's street, and Brendon has to force himself not to run down the block to their house; any attention from humans at this late an hour is attention that he doesn't want, and Ryan will hear him coming. He doesn't want to run, for fear that Ryan will assume something is wrong—there isn't anything wrong, not anymore.
He takes their porch steps two at a time, and Ryan opens the door as soon as Brendon reaches it, before Brendon can even think of ringing the bell.
"You're late," Ryan says by way of welcome, too polite to verbalize the implied you little shit. There's color high on his cheeks—he must have eaten on his way home—but he looks terrible otherwise: his hair is a mess, like he's been nervously messing with it, and his bottom lip is swollen red from the touch of his teeth.
Brendon is fairly sure he's never loved any sight more. "You came for me," he says softly.
Ryan blinks slowly, like Brendon has somehow confused him. "Did you think we wouldn't?" he asks.
"He didn't think," Spencer says from inside the house, pushing the door open a little father so he can glare at Brendon over Ryan's shoulder. One of his hands curls protectively around Ryan's wrist, and no, now he's never loved any sight more.
"I didn't," he agrees. "I'm sorry." He tries to damper his happiness a little, to rein his emotions because he knows he overwhelms Spencer sometimes, but he knows he's not doing a very good job from the way Spencer's lips twitch, the way his eyes soften.
Ryan doesn't smile. "You should be," he says neutrally as he steps back enough to let Brendon into the house.
Brendon throws himself at Ryan before the door is even shut, his lips seeking Ryan's, his hands desperate to touch Ryan's skin. "I am," he murmurs against Ryan's mouth, moaning a little when his fingers slip under Ryan's shirt and find his skin hot. Ryan didn't just eat; he must have gorged himself, and now he's radiating that stolen warmth. "I really, really am."
Laughing, Ryan opens easily for Brendon's tongue, his stomach muscles quivering at the cool touch of Brendon's fingers against his belly. He slides a hand into Brendon's hair and gently tugs him back so Ryan can look at him, eyes dark and amused when Brendon meets his gaze. "Good," Ryan says, in that same tone he's always used when Brendon has done something right, when he wants Brendon to know he's pleased.
Brendon grins, almost obscenely happy, and then Ryan surges forward until he's pinning Brendon against the wall of the foyer, one hand splayed in the center of Brendon's chest and the other still tangled in his hair.
"Good," he says again, and then he kisses Brendon almost savagely. His teeth slice into Brendon's lower lip as he forces his leg between Brendon's, using the difference in their heights to force Brendon up onto his toes even as Brendon moans helplessly and grinds his half-hard dick down on the lean, hard muscle of Ryan's thigh.
Ryan makes greedy little sounds low in his throat as he sucks on Brendon's split lip, keeping the cuts open with the force of his kiss, and it goes on and on, neither of them impaired by the need for oxygen. Brendon's focus narrows to the brutal sweetness of Ryan's mouth on his, the heat and pressure of Ryan's body holding him down, and pushing back against the frantic roll of Brendon's hips. Fuck, they've only been at it for thirty seconds, but Brendon's waited so long for this, wanted so much, that he's going to come his pants if Ryan just keeps—
Spencer clears his throat, loudly, and Ryan pulls away, licking distractedly at the smear of Brendon's blood on his own upper lip, looking almost dazed with lust.
Brendon shivers at the sight. "I want," he starts.
"I know what you want," Spencer says, his voice smooth and low and fucking criminally hot, and Brendon moans. He can't keep his favorite habitual fantasy from springing to the forefront of his mind in all its Technicolor glory, the same tableau that made Spencer demand that Brendon learn to keep his private thoughts private: Brendon on his hands and knees, shaking as Ryan takes him, forcing him to take Spencer's cock deeper into his throat. Spencer smiles, dark and predatory, when he catches the thought.
"Spencer," Brendon whimpers.
"Yes," Spencer says, and shoulders Ryan aside so he can push Brendon back against the wall, just the way Ryan had a moment earlier. He leans down, tasting the blood clinging to Brendon's lips with a gentle flick of his tongue before sealing his mouth against Brendon's. But where Ryan was violent, Spencer is just thorough, stroking his tongue over Brendon's, slow and deep and insistent, like he's trying to learn everything there is to know about Brendon solely from the texture of his mouth.
Spencer laughs at that thought and eases back with another kittenish lick to the largest of the cuts on Brendon's lip. "This is the only thing about you that we don't already know," he says, smiling as he reaches up to hold Brendon's face in his hands.
And fuck, maybe that should scare Brendon, that he doesn't have any secrets from them, that he can't have any secrets from them, but the thought just makes him moan louder, open wider for Spencer's tongue when he dips his head again.
But Spencer's lips don't linger on his; he noses along Brendon's jaw, breathes Brendon in. His hands skate down Brendon's body to cup his ass, and Brendon drops his head back, baring his throat, watching Ryan through slitted eyes as Spencer sucks a livid bruise into the side of Brendon's neck. Ryan stares back, eyes wide and hungry, and Brendon's hands twitch against Spencer's shoulders, wanting to reach for Ryan. He thinks, wildly, that he doesn't know how to deal with this, with loving and being loved and wanting and being wanted so much, that he won't be able to handle it.
"You will," Spencer promises, as Ryan crowds against his side and leans forward to bite at Brendon's mouth again.
Making a soft, pleased noise, Spencer drags his tongue over the mark he left on Brendon's neck, almost like he's preparing to feed, but he doesn't bite; he just hauls Brendon's hips against his in a rough, filthy grind and then lifts Brendon up off the floor, holding him in place with his hips until Brendon takes the hint and wraps his legs around Spencer's waist. He steps back, and Brendon whines at the loss of Ryan's mouth, but it's not much of a complaint, not when Spencer is turning towards the stairs and carrying Brendon up toward Ryan and Spencer's bedroom, Ryan close enough on his heels that Brendon's feet brush against his stomach.
Spencer drops Brendon unceremoniously on the bed with enough force that Brendon ends up sprawled on his back. Swallowing hard, Brendon spreads his legs a little and waits for Spencer and Ryan to join him, but for a long, hot moment all they do is look, Ryan's chin hooked over Spencer's shoulder, Spencer's hand on Ryan's forearm as Ryan toys with the buckle of Spencer's belt.
He fights down the urge to fidget or beg and just stares back, matching the hungry intensity in their eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he arches his back, knowing that the hard line of his cock is obvious in his trousers and the tilt of his head is screaming submission. He's waited two years for this; he can wait a little longer while they look their fill.
The only sound in the room for almost a full minute is the whisper of Ryan's fingers slowly undoing Spencer's belt.
"Strip," Spencer finally says, just as Ryan pushes his hand into Spencer's pants, and Brendon shivers as he jumps to obey, kicking off his shoes and skimming out of his clothes. He starts to fold his shirt—some habits are hard to ignore, even when Brendon wants so much he's dizzy with it, so much that he can't make his hands cooperate because all they want to do is reach for Ryan and Spencer—but Spencer stops him, shakes his head once and directs, "Hands and knees."
As soon as he's got Spencer's pants off, Ryan quickly sheds his clothes and kneels on the bed next to Brendon, watching intently as Brendon rolls over and raises up on all fours. Brendon groans when Ryan touches him, running a possessive hand over the curve of Brendon's ass. "You want both of us," Ryan says, pressing his fingers into Brendon's crease, stroking lightly over his entrance.
It isn't a question, but Brendon moans and nods anyway, pushing back into the touch; Spencer clucks his tongue and says, "Greedy," as he climbs onto the bed at Brendon's head. He passes Ryan a small bottle over Brendon's shoulder and then tilts Brendon's face up with two gentle fingers under his chin, locking his eyes on Brendon's as Ryan drips the sweet-smelling oil over Brendon's hole.
"Fuck, yes, always," Brendon moans as Ryan slides a finger into him. He forces himself to keep his eyes open, to keep looking up at Spencer, because he knows without being told that that's what Spencer wants. "Always wanted—"
Spencer stops his words by sliding his thumb over Brendon's lower lip, lingering on the tender just-healed marks from Ryan's teeth and then pushing inside just enough to press against Brendon's teeth. "I know," he says, eyes flicking away from Brendon's for just a moment in a quick glance at Ryan. "He'd have begged you for it the first time he saw you, Ryan, did you know?"
Ryan answers by roughly pushing a second finger in alongside the first, and Brendon cries out, shifting his weight so he can grope for his cock. He wraps his fingers tight around the base so he doesn't come, needing to wait for them, wait until they're taking him together. He stares up imploringly at Spencer, taking gasping breaths of air he doesn't need. "Please," he begs, licking sloppily at the pad of Spencer's thumb, trying to keep his balance as he shudders. "Please, I can't wait."
"You've waited enough," Ryan agrees, and then yes, fuck, finally, he slips his fingers free and replaces them with his cock.
There's no teasing, no hesitation, just the thick, blunt press of Ryan sliding inside, fucking him open. He isn't gentle, and it hurts, but Brendon has been waiting for this for so long that even the intensity of the stretch is the kind of pleasurable that makes his skin feel oversensitive and tight. He doesn't dare move his hand on his dick, afraid the slightest movement will push him over the edge, until Ryan stills behind him, his hips pressed tight against Brendon's ass.
Ryan is huge inside him, hot, filling Brendon like he belongs there. But as good as that feels—and fuck, it's so, so good—Brendon only feels full, not complete.
He curls his tongue deliberately around Spencer's thumb, tracing the tip of his tongue over the whorls of the print, and then cranes his neck a little to take the digit in, sucking softly. Lowering his eyelids just enough to be coy, he looks up at Spencer through his lashes as he delicately tongues the thin, sensitive skin between Spencer's thumb and forefinger.
"Christ," Spencer hisses, eyes fixed on Brendon's mouth. He strokes his thumb roughly over Brendon's tongue as Brendon thinks please, please, want you, and then Spencer's eyes soften. "You've got us," he says, opening Brendon's mouth with gentle pressure from his thumb. Holding Brendon still with his fingers still curved lovingly around Brendon's jaw, Spencer wraps his free hand around his cock and guides himself into Brendon's mouth.
Brendon goes down eagerly, taking Spencer so fast and deep that Spencer doesn't even have a chance to slide his thumb free before Brendon is swallowing around the head of his cock. And this—both of them deep inside him, filling him, making him theirs—this is what Brendon wanted, what he's imagined in exquisite detail almost since the first time he met them, but his imaginings fell pathetically short of how consumingly good it actually feels. If Spencer weren't buried in his throat, Brendon would moan; all he can do now is spread his knees farther apart on the bed, writhing with pleasure as Ryan and Spencer both begin to move.
He lets his eyes fall shut, loses himself in their rhythm. Ryan's grip on his hips is almost punishing, tight enough to bruise, like he's afraid Brendon is going to try to get away from him. Brendon doesn't mind the thought of bruises in the shape of Ryan's hands bracketing his hips, however briefly they'd stay, but he arches his back a little more, sinks a little deeper into his position, offering himself up so that Ryan knows that Brendon isn't going anywhere.
"He knows," Spencer says. Brendon's sure that Spencer's talking to him, but when Brendon opens his eyes and looks up, Spencer's looking at Ryan.
"What do I know?" Ryan asks, grinding his hips against Brendon's hard enough that Brendon chokes out a desperate noise around Spencer's dick.
"That Brendon isn't going to run away again." Spencer reaches down to touch Brendon's cheek, almost tender compared to the insistent, ungentle way he's fucking Brendon's mouth. Brendon tries to moan again, but Spencer's next thrust stops the sound.
Letting go of Brendon's hips, Ryan pulls halfway out and touches the small of Brendon's back, then trails his fingers down over Brendon's tailbone to touch him where they're joined. He strokes over the slick, stretched-wide skin as he pushes forward again, like he wants to feel it from the outside as he slides back inside, and God, Brendon doesn't think he was made to feel this good. "Oh, yes," Ryan says, his tone even. "I do know that. He's ours, after all."
"Ours," Spencer agrees, touching Brendon's bottom lip again, and Brendon's eyes fly wide open in surprise as Ryan's next hard, purposeful thrust sends Brendon tumbling into orgasm, his thighs shaking as he streaks Spencer and Ryan's sheets with come.
"Sweet fucking—Brendon," Ryan groans. He clamps his hands down on Brendon's hips again, thrusting in fast, shallow strokes as Brendon clenches and shakes through the aftershocks.
"Yeah," Spencer says. "Yeah, he'll—shit, Bren, he can't even think straight, he's so close, wants you so much." He slides his hands into Brendon's hair, holding him still as his own hips stutter in their rhythm. His eyes keep flicking between Brendon's mouth and Ryan, like he can't decide which of them he'd rather be looking at, what he'd rather see.
Spencer chokes out a laugh as soon as Brendon has that thought. "Because I can't, not with—God, Ryan, do it—"
Ryan cries out, a high, sweet sound, and Brendon shudders as he feels the first hot, slick spurt of come inside him. But then Spencer yanks hard on his hair and shoves in deep enough for Brendon to feel the press of Spencer's pubic bone against his lips, and—fuck, Spencer's coming, too, emptying himself down Brendon's throat, and that's not fair; Brendon wanted to taste him.
Almost immediately Spencer rocks back a little, pulling back enough that the last splash of his come lands on Brendon's tongue, and when Brendon moans his appreciation he barely recognizes his own voice; his throat is scraped raw, and he sounds it. His thighs ache, and Ryan is still buried to the hilt in his ass. He feels oversensitive, exhausted, used—and if he could, he'd stop time, stop his body from healing so he could feel like this forever.
Spencer snorts. "I promise, Bren, healing at human speed after Ryan takes you that hard with so little preparation is really, really not as enjoyable as you think it is."
"I told you to tell me to stop if it hurt," Ryan says, a long-suffering lament. He slowly, carefully pulls out, stroking the curve of Brendon's ass when Brendon makes a soft, bereft sound.
"If I'd wanted you to stop, I would have said," Spencer replies, and then he edges around Brendon so he can lean in and kiss away any further protests Ryan might want to offer.
Brendon suspects that this is an argument they've had many, many times, and always to the same conclusion; he ducks his head a little, smiling so wide that it actually hurts his face.
"Hey," Spencer says, gently touching Brendon's shoulder.
Brendon flops over onto his side, neatly avoiding the wet spot, and looks up to see Spencer smiling down at him. "Hey," he replies.
Ryan and Spencer both lie down next to him, Spencer throwing a leg over Brendon's hips and climbing over him to press against his back, Ryan stretching out along his front and curling a possessive hand around Brendon's hip as Ryan leans in for a kiss.
"No," Spencer says, and Brendon blinks, stiffening a little but not pulling away from Ryan's mouth. That wasn't in response to anything Brendon was thinking, and Spencer quickly kisses his shoulder in reassurance. "Absolutely not. You have a voice for a reason."
What, Brendon thinks. It's not easy to project anything coherent when Ryan is sucking on his lower lip like that. Brendon is proud of himself for managing it.
"Oh, for—he doesn't want to stop kissing you long enough to tell you that he wants to suck you off." Spencer pauses. "Suck you off while I fuck you, and he wants to do it now, when you're still wet with his come. Fuck, Ryan, that's filthy."
Groaning low in his throat, Brendon breaks away from Ryan's mouth and tucks his face against Ryan's neck. "Oh, God."
He feels Ryan press a smirk against his cheekbone. "Say yes," Ryan says.
Brendon smiles into Ryan's skin, so happy that he can hardly remember ever being anything else. "You say that as though I would ever tell you no."
***
Happy birthday, Mehgan. ♥ ♥ ♥
***
"So help me God, Carden, if you're keeping him here against his will, or if he's injured and you could have prevented it, I will tear you in half," Ryan promises, his tone even and deadly, only just loud enough for Brendon to hear him from his hiding-place at the top of the stairs, and Brendon swears that he can feel his still heart stutter in his chest.
"I think," William says slowly, "that it would be best for you to find companions who are somewhat less...hostile."
Brendon blinks. "What?"
William gives him a nakedly disapproving look, you know better than to play the fool with me. Brendon has always hated that look, hated it when he got it from his parents and his teachers, and he still hates it now. He quashes his immediate impulse to snarl back.
"I am certain that you heard every word of Master Ross's little display in the foyer," William says. "It is no longer in the best interests of this family for you to cultivate his acquaintance."
His point thus made, without waiting for Brendon to acknowledge the words, William sweeps out of Brendon's suite, his coattails flaring dramatically in his wake.
Brendon stares after him, feeling numb. William can't do that to him, not when Brendon has more than proved that he is capable of both taking care of himself and of safeguarding the best interests of the clan. William has no right to speak to him like Brendon is little more than a child whose taste in companions fails to meet with a loving parent's approval.
"Fuck that," he says aloud in his empty room. William doesn't own him; the clan doesn't own him. If Spencer and Ryan cared enough about Brendon to come looking for him—if Ryan was angry enough at Michael's insouciance for Ryan's bloodlust to come to the fore—then Brendon can hardly do any less, especially not merely in deference to William's ego.
He might have been willing to deny his feelings before, but he can't any longer; he just hopes they will forgive him for running away.
The taxi drops him at the end of Ryan and Spencer's street, and Brendon has to force himself not to run down the block to their house; any attention from humans at this late an hour is attention that he doesn't want, and Ryan will hear him coming. He doesn't want to run, for fear that Ryan will assume something is wrong—there isn't anything wrong, not anymore.
He takes their porch steps two at a time, and Ryan opens the door as soon as Brendon reaches it, before Brendon can even think of ringing the bell.
"You're late," Ryan says by way of welcome, too polite to verbalize the implied you little shit. There's color high on his cheeks—he must have eaten on his way home—but he looks terrible otherwise: his hair is a mess, like he's been nervously messing with it, and his bottom lip is swollen red from the touch of his teeth.
Brendon is fairly sure he's never loved any sight more. "You came for me," he says softly.
Ryan blinks slowly, like Brendon has somehow confused him. "Did you think we wouldn't?" he asks.
"He didn't think," Spencer says from inside the house, pushing the door open a little father so he can glare at Brendon over Ryan's shoulder. One of his hands curls protectively around Ryan's wrist, and no, now he's never loved any sight more.
"I didn't," he agrees. "I'm sorry." He tries to damper his happiness a little, to rein his emotions because he knows he overwhelms Spencer sometimes, but he knows he's not doing a very good job from the way Spencer's lips twitch, the way his eyes soften.
Ryan doesn't smile. "You should be," he says neutrally as he steps back enough to let Brendon into the house.
Brendon throws himself at Ryan before the door is even shut, his lips seeking Ryan's, his hands desperate to touch Ryan's skin. "I am," he murmurs against Ryan's mouth, moaning a little when his fingers slip under Ryan's shirt and find his skin hot. Ryan didn't just eat; he must have gorged himself, and now he's radiating that stolen warmth. "I really, really am."
Laughing, Ryan opens easily for Brendon's tongue, his stomach muscles quivering at the cool touch of Brendon's fingers against his belly. He slides a hand into Brendon's hair and gently tugs him back so Ryan can look at him, eyes dark and amused when Brendon meets his gaze. "Good," Ryan says, in that same tone he's always used when Brendon has done something right, when he wants Brendon to know he's pleased.
Brendon grins, almost obscenely happy, and then Ryan surges forward until he's pinning Brendon against the wall of the foyer, one hand splayed in the center of Brendon's chest and the other still tangled in his hair.
"Good," he says again, and then he kisses Brendon almost savagely. His teeth slice into Brendon's lower lip as he forces his leg between Brendon's, using the difference in their heights to force Brendon up onto his toes even as Brendon moans helplessly and grinds his half-hard dick down on the lean, hard muscle of Ryan's thigh.
Ryan makes greedy little sounds low in his throat as he sucks on Brendon's split lip, keeping the cuts open with the force of his kiss, and it goes on and on, neither of them impaired by the need for oxygen. Brendon's focus narrows to the brutal sweetness of Ryan's mouth on his, the heat and pressure of Ryan's body holding him down, and pushing back against the frantic roll of Brendon's hips. Fuck, they've only been at it for thirty seconds, but Brendon's waited so long for this, wanted so much, that he's going to come his pants if Ryan just keeps—
Spencer clears his throat, loudly, and Ryan pulls away, licking distractedly at the smear of Brendon's blood on his own upper lip, looking almost dazed with lust.
Brendon shivers at the sight. "I want," he starts.
"I know what you want," Spencer says, his voice smooth and low and fucking criminally hot, and Brendon moans. He can't keep his favorite habitual fantasy from springing to the forefront of his mind in all its Technicolor glory, the same tableau that made Spencer demand that Brendon learn to keep his private thoughts private: Brendon on his hands and knees, shaking as Ryan takes him, forcing him to take Spencer's cock deeper into his throat. Spencer smiles, dark and predatory, when he catches the thought.
"Spencer," Brendon whimpers.
"Yes," Spencer says, and shoulders Ryan aside so he can push Brendon back against the wall, just the way Ryan had a moment earlier. He leans down, tasting the blood clinging to Brendon's lips with a gentle flick of his tongue before sealing his mouth against Brendon's. But where Ryan was violent, Spencer is just thorough, stroking his tongue over Brendon's, slow and deep and insistent, like he's trying to learn everything there is to know about Brendon solely from the texture of his mouth.
Spencer laughs at that thought and eases back with another kittenish lick to the largest of the cuts on Brendon's lip. "This is the only thing about you that we don't already know," he says, smiling as he reaches up to hold Brendon's face in his hands.
And fuck, maybe that should scare Brendon, that he doesn't have any secrets from them, that he can't have any secrets from them, but the thought just makes him moan louder, open wider for Spencer's tongue when he dips his head again.
But Spencer's lips don't linger on his; he noses along Brendon's jaw, breathes Brendon in. His hands skate down Brendon's body to cup his ass, and Brendon drops his head back, baring his throat, watching Ryan through slitted eyes as Spencer sucks a livid bruise into the side of Brendon's neck. Ryan stares back, eyes wide and hungry, and Brendon's hands twitch against Spencer's shoulders, wanting to reach for Ryan. He thinks, wildly, that he doesn't know how to deal with this, with loving and being loved and wanting and being wanted so much, that he won't be able to handle it.
"You will," Spencer promises, as Ryan crowds against his side and leans forward to bite at Brendon's mouth again.
Making a soft, pleased noise, Spencer drags his tongue over the mark he left on Brendon's neck, almost like he's preparing to feed, but he doesn't bite; he just hauls Brendon's hips against his in a rough, filthy grind and then lifts Brendon up off the floor, holding him in place with his hips until Brendon takes the hint and wraps his legs around Spencer's waist. He steps back, and Brendon whines at the loss of Ryan's mouth, but it's not much of a complaint, not when Spencer is turning towards the stairs and carrying Brendon up toward Ryan and Spencer's bedroom, Ryan close enough on his heels that Brendon's feet brush against his stomach.
Spencer drops Brendon unceremoniously on the bed with enough force that Brendon ends up sprawled on his back. Swallowing hard, Brendon spreads his legs a little and waits for Spencer and Ryan to join him, but for a long, hot moment all they do is look, Ryan's chin hooked over Spencer's shoulder, Spencer's hand on Ryan's forearm as Ryan toys with the buckle of Spencer's belt.
He fights down the urge to fidget or beg and just stares back, matching the hungry intensity in their eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he arches his back, knowing that the hard line of his cock is obvious in his trousers and the tilt of his head is screaming submission. He's waited two years for this; he can wait a little longer while they look their fill.
The only sound in the room for almost a full minute is the whisper of Ryan's fingers slowly undoing Spencer's belt.
"Strip," Spencer finally says, just as Ryan pushes his hand into Spencer's pants, and Brendon shivers as he jumps to obey, kicking off his shoes and skimming out of his clothes. He starts to fold his shirt—some habits are hard to ignore, even when Brendon wants so much he's dizzy with it, so much that he can't make his hands cooperate because all they want to do is reach for Ryan and Spencer—but Spencer stops him, shakes his head once and directs, "Hands and knees."
As soon as he's got Spencer's pants off, Ryan quickly sheds his clothes and kneels on the bed next to Brendon, watching intently as Brendon rolls over and raises up on all fours. Brendon groans when Ryan touches him, running a possessive hand over the curve of Brendon's ass. "You want both of us," Ryan says, pressing his fingers into Brendon's crease, stroking lightly over his entrance.
It isn't a question, but Brendon moans and nods anyway, pushing back into the touch; Spencer clucks his tongue and says, "Greedy," as he climbs onto the bed at Brendon's head. He passes Ryan a small bottle over Brendon's shoulder and then tilts Brendon's face up with two gentle fingers under his chin, locking his eyes on Brendon's as Ryan drips the sweet-smelling oil over Brendon's hole.
"Fuck, yes, always," Brendon moans as Ryan slides a finger into him. He forces himself to keep his eyes open, to keep looking up at Spencer, because he knows without being told that that's what Spencer wants. "Always wanted—"
Spencer stops his words by sliding his thumb over Brendon's lower lip, lingering on the tender just-healed marks from Ryan's teeth and then pushing inside just enough to press against Brendon's teeth. "I know," he says, eyes flicking away from Brendon's for just a moment in a quick glance at Ryan. "He'd have begged you for it the first time he saw you, Ryan, did you know?"
Ryan answers by roughly pushing a second finger in alongside the first, and Brendon cries out, shifting his weight so he can grope for his cock. He wraps his fingers tight around the base so he doesn't come, needing to wait for them, wait until they're taking him together. He stares up imploringly at Spencer, taking gasping breaths of air he doesn't need. "Please," he begs, licking sloppily at the pad of Spencer's thumb, trying to keep his balance as he shudders. "Please, I can't wait."
"You've waited enough," Ryan agrees, and then yes, fuck, finally, he slips his fingers free and replaces them with his cock.
There's no teasing, no hesitation, just the thick, blunt press of Ryan sliding inside, fucking him open. He isn't gentle, and it hurts, but Brendon has been waiting for this for so long that even the intensity of the stretch is the kind of pleasurable that makes his skin feel oversensitive and tight. He doesn't dare move his hand on his dick, afraid the slightest movement will push him over the edge, until Ryan stills behind him, his hips pressed tight against Brendon's ass.
Ryan is huge inside him, hot, filling Brendon like he belongs there. But as good as that feels—and fuck, it's so, so good—Brendon only feels full, not complete.
He curls his tongue deliberately around Spencer's thumb, tracing the tip of his tongue over the whorls of the print, and then cranes his neck a little to take the digit in, sucking softly. Lowering his eyelids just enough to be coy, he looks up at Spencer through his lashes as he delicately tongues the thin, sensitive skin between Spencer's thumb and forefinger.
"Christ," Spencer hisses, eyes fixed on Brendon's mouth. He strokes his thumb roughly over Brendon's tongue as Brendon thinks please, please, want you, and then Spencer's eyes soften. "You've got us," he says, opening Brendon's mouth with gentle pressure from his thumb. Holding Brendon still with his fingers still curved lovingly around Brendon's jaw, Spencer wraps his free hand around his cock and guides himself into Brendon's mouth.
Brendon goes down eagerly, taking Spencer so fast and deep that Spencer doesn't even have a chance to slide his thumb free before Brendon is swallowing around the head of his cock. And this—both of them deep inside him, filling him, making him theirs—this is what Brendon wanted, what he's imagined in exquisite detail almost since the first time he met them, but his imaginings fell pathetically short of how consumingly good it actually feels. If Spencer weren't buried in his throat, Brendon would moan; all he can do now is spread his knees farther apart on the bed, writhing with pleasure as Ryan and Spencer both begin to move.
He lets his eyes fall shut, loses himself in their rhythm. Ryan's grip on his hips is almost punishing, tight enough to bruise, like he's afraid Brendon is going to try to get away from him. Brendon doesn't mind the thought of bruises in the shape of Ryan's hands bracketing his hips, however briefly they'd stay, but he arches his back a little more, sinks a little deeper into his position, offering himself up so that Ryan knows that Brendon isn't going anywhere.
"He knows," Spencer says. Brendon's sure that Spencer's talking to him, but when Brendon opens his eyes and looks up, Spencer's looking at Ryan.
"What do I know?" Ryan asks, grinding his hips against Brendon's hard enough that Brendon chokes out a desperate noise around Spencer's dick.
"That Brendon isn't going to run away again." Spencer reaches down to touch Brendon's cheek, almost tender compared to the insistent, ungentle way he's fucking Brendon's mouth. Brendon tries to moan again, but Spencer's next thrust stops the sound.
Letting go of Brendon's hips, Ryan pulls halfway out and touches the small of Brendon's back, then trails his fingers down over Brendon's tailbone to touch him where they're joined. He strokes over the slick, stretched-wide skin as he pushes forward again, like he wants to feel it from the outside as he slides back inside, and God, Brendon doesn't think he was made to feel this good. "Oh, yes," Ryan says, his tone even. "I do know that. He's ours, after all."
"Ours," Spencer agrees, touching Brendon's bottom lip again, and Brendon's eyes fly wide open in surprise as Ryan's next hard, purposeful thrust sends Brendon tumbling into orgasm, his thighs shaking as he streaks Spencer and Ryan's sheets with come.
"Sweet fucking—Brendon," Ryan groans. He clamps his hands down on Brendon's hips again, thrusting in fast, shallow strokes as Brendon clenches and shakes through the aftershocks.
"Yeah," Spencer says. "Yeah, he'll—shit, Bren, he can't even think straight, he's so close, wants you so much." He slides his hands into Brendon's hair, holding him still as his own hips stutter in their rhythm. His eyes keep flicking between Brendon's mouth and Ryan, like he can't decide which of them he'd rather be looking at, what he'd rather see.
Spencer chokes out a laugh as soon as Brendon has that thought. "Because I can't, not with—God, Ryan, do it—"
Ryan cries out, a high, sweet sound, and Brendon shudders as he feels the first hot, slick spurt of come inside him. But then Spencer yanks hard on his hair and shoves in deep enough for Brendon to feel the press of Spencer's pubic bone against his lips, and—fuck, Spencer's coming, too, emptying himself down Brendon's throat, and that's not fair; Brendon wanted to taste him.
Almost immediately Spencer rocks back a little, pulling back enough that the last splash of his come lands on Brendon's tongue, and when Brendon moans his appreciation he barely recognizes his own voice; his throat is scraped raw, and he sounds it. His thighs ache, and Ryan is still buried to the hilt in his ass. He feels oversensitive, exhausted, used—and if he could, he'd stop time, stop his body from healing so he could feel like this forever.
Spencer snorts. "I promise, Bren, healing at human speed after Ryan takes you that hard with so little preparation is really, really not as enjoyable as you think it is."
"I told you to tell me to stop if it hurt," Ryan says, a long-suffering lament. He slowly, carefully pulls out, stroking the curve of Brendon's ass when Brendon makes a soft, bereft sound.
"If I'd wanted you to stop, I would have said," Spencer replies, and then he edges around Brendon so he can lean in and kiss away any further protests Ryan might want to offer.
Brendon suspects that this is an argument they've had many, many times, and always to the same conclusion; he ducks his head a little, smiling so wide that it actually hurts his face.
"Hey," Spencer says, gently touching Brendon's shoulder.
Brendon flops over onto his side, neatly avoiding the wet spot, and looks up to see Spencer smiling down at him. "Hey," he replies.
Ryan and Spencer both lie down next to him, Spencer throwing a leg over Brendon's hips and climbing over him to press against his back, Ryan stretching out along his front and curling a possessive hand around Brendon's hip as Ryan leans in for a kiss.
"No," Spencer says, and Brendon blinks, stiffening a little but not pulling away from Ryan's mouth. That wasn't in response to anything Brendon was thinking, and Spencer quickly kisses his shoulder in reassurance. "Absolutely not. You have a voice for a reason."
What, Brendon thinks. It's not easy to project anything coherent when Ryan is sucking on his lower lip like that. Brendon is proud of himself for managing it.
"Oh, for—he doesn't want to stop kissing you long enough to tell you that he wants to suck you off." Spencer pauses. "Suck you off while I fuck you, and he wants to do it now, when you're still wet with his come. Fuck, Ryan, that's filthy."
Groaning low in his throat, Brendon breaks away from Ryan's mouth and tucks his face against Ryan's neck. "Oh, God."
He feels Ryan press a smirk against his cheekbone. "Say yes," Ryan says.
Brendon smiles into Ryan's skin, so happy that he can hardly remember ever being anything else. "You say that as though I would ever tell you no."
***
Happy birthday, Mehgan. ♥ ♥ ♥