Summary: In between one day and the next, Ryan Ross comes to a few realizations.
Pairing: Ryan Ross/Spencer Smith
Rating: R (mostly for language)
Original Story: Let Us Be Three by fiddleyoumust
Notes: Just for the record, I wanted Ross to realize that he wasn't alone, but it sounds a little more possessive in the fic than I expected. Many thanks to my wonderful betas - seimaisin and universeunfold.
Dead Giveaway (The Realization Remix)
Spencer's staring at the wall again.
Well, Ryan notes, not at the wall per se. Even from across the room Ryan can tell Spencer's not really seeing anything that's in front of him. After a moment, a small little smile crosses Spencer's face and he licks his lips slowly, like he's tasting the remnants of some left over flavor. Ryan's really fucking curious as to what Spencer's thinking.
"Spence?" Ryan's voice sounds loud in the room even though Third Eye Blind is blaring from the stereo in the corner, "You okay?"
"Wha-?" There's a tinge of pink across the tops of Spencer's cheeks when he glances over, and Ryan suddenly remembers the conversation a few days ago, the one where they'd told Brendon exactly who'd taken Spencer's virginity. Spencer blushes all over, he knows.
Anyway, old news. And none of Ryan's business anymore.
"Ryan? Are you okay?" Spencer's smirking at him, eyebrow raised. His eyes are clear and focused now, and Ryan feels kind of foolish all of a sudden.
"Yeah, yeah-," he glares down at the paper in from of him, "-just fuckin' hate calculus. Numbers suck."
Spencer snorts, "If you'd have paid attention the first time around..." Ryan can hear him turn back around to his study guide. This time when Ryan looks over, Spencer's scribbling an answer. He stares a bit until Spencer growls at him.
He looks back down at his own paper and sighs. Numbers really do suck.
An hour or so later, Ryan finishes the last problem with a grand flourish. He's about to say something stupid like 'WINNAH!' when he looks over at Spencer. Who's staring at the wall again.
Ryan watches as Spencer reaches up, brushing his fingers across his lips. Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "Okay, what the fuck’s up with you, Spence?"
Spencer startles, jerking around in his chair to glare at Ryan, "Fucking what, Ry? What the hell?"
"You're acting all," Ryan flails a hand about,"you know-"
"Way to be articulate, jackass. I'm not acting all-" Spencer imitates his hand motion, " 'you know'. Whatever the fuck that means. Aren't you supposed to be our lyricist? We're never gonna get anywhere being all-" another hand flail "-with your inability to actually say what you mean. Oh wait-"
It's interesting, Ryan notes. Spencer's being really, really defensive with only minimal provocation. That means he's really-
"That's what I meant by all the-" more hand flailing. He nearly knocks the pencil can off the desk, but that's not really his fault, "You're all twitterpated."
Spencer looks like Ryan's grown a second head, "Twitterpated? What are you? Five? You've been hanging around Bren-" Spencer trips a little on the name, "-Brendon too much, Jesus." The barely-blush is back, under the smattering of freckles along his nose and cheeks.
Ryan has a moment of blinding clarity. A smile stretches across his face.
"Spencer James Smith." His cheeks are starting to hurt.
"Spencer James Smith the Fifth, you sly fuckin' dog."
"No, really, Ryan, shut the fuck up."
A thought hits Ryan and he frowns abruptly, "Wait, this better not fuck up the band, asshole."
"There's nothing to fuck up the band with, asshole." Spencer rolls his eyes, but the blush still hasn't receded. "Now shut the fuck up so I can study."
Ryan's left staring at the line of Spencer's back, the air silent except for the music in the corner and the raucous tumbling of his own thoughts.
The thing is, well, it'd be hot.
Ryan admits, here in the dark with his hand wrapped around his cock, that it's extremely hot thinking about Spencer and Brendon together. Their hands. God, their mouths .
Spencer's breath snuffles in the dark, rolling over in his sleep and Ryan remembers last year. Spencer underneath him, all his trust in Ryan. The sounds in the dark, the feel of his skin under Ryan's hands. Ryan thinks of that, of Brendon in the same situation. Spencer shifts again, hand falling over the side of the bed. Moonlight streams across the room and Spencer's fingers twitch. They kind of look like they're reaching for Ryan.
He comes, teeth deep in the heel of his hand to stifle his voice so as not to wake Spencer.
Ryan's voice is abrupt in the quiet air and he watches from the doorway as Spencer startles on the bed, head jerking towards him. There's an ache in Ryan's fingers, the wood digging into his palms from his grip on the door frame. He watches Spencer's eyes flicker over his hands, knows what he's seeing.
"You ran off pretty quick this morning, " Spencer turns back to the book in front of him, "Mom made pancakes, you missed out."
"We should probably be able to get all the way through Boys Will Be Boys tonight, providing Brent can remember the damn bass line." He flips a page.
Dammit, Spencer can be an asshole.
"Tell me." He's startled at the level of command in his voice, not used to speaking to Spencer that way.
But Ryan didn't sleep at all last night.
Even though Spencer still won't look up, Ryan can tell exactly when he starts thinking about whatever happened between him and Brendon. It's there in the tell-tale pink that spreads across his cheeks again, in the way Spencer's breathing shifts. Ryan watches Spencer's fingers tighten around the cover of his book and makes himself move toward the bed. He just stands there, watching as Spencer avoids his gaze.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he says quietly, "Remember when he first joined? God, all those things I told you? His mouth, jesus." He listens to Spencer's breath catch, but doesn't look, "I bet he looks good with his mouth on you, Spence. Did you get that far? Did he suck you off?"
"Fuck." The words are soft, breathed out on a quiet moan.
"Thought about that last night, you know, while you were sleeping. Thought about the two of you, about you fucking Brendon, about his mouth on both of us. His mouth, Spence, it's so fuckin'-"
"Hot. God, it's so hot, Ryan, you have no idea-" Spencer's words practically stumble over themselves, like he can't control them, "and when you touch his back, it's like. He melts, like he wants to be part of your body, and god, that sounds kind of horrible, but you're the one with the words. And seriously, it's like a year ago all over again, I can't stop want-" The words end abruptly and Ryan's brain quits being lost in the imagery that Spencer's painted to hearing what's being said. He looks over, but Spencer's chin is on his chest, his eyes down.
"Spence?" Nothing. He tries again, "Spencer."
Ryan watches teeth dig into a pale pink lip, and for the second day in a row, has another moment of blinding clear realization.
The band, sure, but more than that, he's got Spencer.
There's a split second of utter stillness before he scrambles over Spencer, knees on either side of his hips -god, he remembers these hips- and watches startled, brilliant blue glance up. Leaning down, he hesitates millimeters away from Spencer's mouth. Spencer exhales softly and tilts his chin up, lips meeting Ryan's.
At the touch of Spencer's hands to his hips, Ryan does a little melting of his own.
Ryan can see the line of tension in Brendon’s back, the white of his fingers on the doorknob. He slides off the bed, feels Spencer tremble as skin drags across skin, and makes his way across the floor. He steps into Brendon’s space, hears the catch of breath and knows.
Ryan pushes the door closed.