rating: r, language.
pairing: jon/ryan, mention of brendon/ryan
summary: jon's the most honest liar he knows, basically.
disclamier: don't own.
“I have a girlfriend, y’know,” Jon gasps and angles his thrusts upwards. He wants to make him sing; make him fucking bleed ruby, yes, please.
“Uhn— I know, just,” Ryan tries to reply (really, he does), but Jon has him pressed up tight against the brickwork wall, mouth scraping against the rough material, hands scrabbling at the grimy stones. “Only you would try moves on me in a fucking alleyway.”
“Shut up,” Jon counters, “It worked, didn’t it?”
“God,” Ryan moans, “Yeah, yeah— there.”
“I propositioned Ryan in an alley,” Jon tells Brendon one afternoon, “Is that bad?”
There’s a pause as Brendon stops digging through a cereal box (fucking Fruity Pebbles, man), and he scratches his head idly, shrugs lightly and stares Jon down.
“Been there, done that.” He smiles coyly, “Have you tried backstage, yet? That shit is gold, man.”
“Uhm,” Spencer says.
“When I first met you,” Ryan says, curled on the couch of the communal bus lounge, feet tapping against the wood trimming lining the bottom, “I thought you were straight.”
Jon pretends not to watch Ryan’s tongue slide out to swipe at his bottom lip, so hard (haha), but fails and his gaze catches Ryan’s bare feet instead.
“I was— I mean, like, I still am, but.”
“Really,” Ryan replies and it isn’t a question, just a statement. Ryan’s laughing lightly like it’s just so un-fucking-believable. Jon’s breath hitches.
“When I first met you,” Jon tries, “I thought you were a chick.”
Ryan rolls his eyes, fingers the hem of his shirt, “That’s bullshit generalization. Nice try, dude.”
“Yeah, well. Just shut up and let me fuck you.”
“See? Now I can work with that.”
Contrary to what everyone else says, Ryan isn't this cripplingly shy kid, but rather a fucking motormouth, and he’s just taking like there’s no tomorrow. And maybe after this, there isn’t. He’s currently pinned to an amp backstage (thank you, Brendon), fifteen minutes until gametime, and he’s cursing everything to hell and back. Jon tries to understand what Ryan’s saying, he really does, but it’s practically impossible and there’s more pressing matters on his mind (on his dick, really). He does make out the drawn out jesus, though.
“M’name is Jon, by the way.”
“I think I fucking know that, thanks,” Ryan snaps, and he’s really kind of cranky during sex.
Jon pants and Ryan just pushes back against him further, and he’s just driven deeper into the body before him.
“No, really. It is, didn’t you know?”
“Uh huh,” he replies, though he couldn’t care less.
“Just thought that, like, maybe you’d like to say it once in a while.”
“Fuck, Jon,” Ryan groans, because really. Who the hell makes conversation during sex? “You talk too much.”
“And you don’t take enough.”
Ryan shuts up.
“Word on the street is you’re fucking my best friend.”
Jon looks up at Spencer, squints his left eye just a bit and shrugs. “Yeah, you already knew that. I’m straight though, swear it.”
“Mmh,” Spencer nods, “Sure. Just saying. Word on the street is. Meaning: I think more than just the band knows.”
“Oh,” Jon says. “That’s cool, I guess.”
“Your girlfriend called.”
“Oh," he says. "Oh, well, shit.”
Spencer hands him his phone, “I'll be in my bunk.”
“I should’ve never left Chicago,” Jon says, thumbing the joystick of the controller held in his hands.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Brendon replies, distracted by his character getting mauled by a turtle shell. His cart goes careening off into the grass and he crashes as three carts pass him by, one occupied by Yoshi. “Aw, fuck, man. I was winning.”
“I can kick your ass at this game, y’know.”
“Mm’kay.” Brendon throws his controller in defeat as Jon’s cart passes the finish line. “I’m hungry. You up for ramen?” Brendon doesn’t wait for an answer and heads to the small nook of the bus where the food was stored.
“I’m serious, though. Should’ve never joined this, this. Orgy you call a band.”
“Orgy?” Brendon’s head becomes visible from around the corner. “You’ve fucked like, one of us. Orgies require group sex, man. Group.”
“You’ve fucked more than one of us.”
“Irrelevant.” Brendon waves his hand airily, “But never together at once.”
His eyes twinkle and Jon just blinks.
“Uhm, okay. Well, this isn’t that. I talked to Cassie, yeah?”
“Yeah, like. She was— we’re okay now, always were or whatever.”
Brendon nods thoughtfully. “Alright, if you say so.”
Because seriously. He needed to be reminded that his girlfriend was eighty kinds of awesome. Although, Jon might have forgotten to mention to his girlfriend that he was more or less fucking their guitarist. Really, though. Ryan wanted it, asked for it, fucking begged for it on some nights. She had asked about what she’d heard (and god, what an awkward conversation that was), but Jon had told her it was more of an ongoing joke running between the tour’s members. He’d talked it out for over an hour and after feeling like shit when he hung up, it was done, everything sort of back to normal and okay again.
Only, you know. It kind of wasn't.
Ryan walks in rocking sweats and a t-shirt like it was nobody's business, and Brendon catches Jon staring, laughs obnoxiously. Brendon hums to the tune of James Blunt as he stirs his noodles and Jon buries his face in his hands, Ryan ultimately confused.
“I’m really just using you, you know,” Jon tells Ryan, who is actually fucking sitting in Jon’s lap. Uhm. They never got past the ‘fucking’ part quite fully yet (They, not so much. Jon, yes), and Jon doesn’t know where the ‘let’s hold each other’ part came about. It was more like Ryan sitting and Jon fondling him as he sat, actually.
“That’s nice,” Ryan says flippantly.
“No, really. My god, what does it take for you people to believe me around here?”
“Is this like that time you tried to convince me you were straight? 'Cause that didn’t work out so much.”
“Ryan, that was three days ago.”
“Yeah,” Ryan sighs, “that was fun.”
“Oh my god, you’re— you. I don’t even know.”
Jon stops and presses his thumb into the sharp bone of Ryan’s hip instead, squeezes the flesh delicately and noses Ryan’s hair.
“Oh my god, Jon Walker, are you cuddling me?”
“What the fuck, no. Just.”
Ryan laughs noisily and pulls Jon’s face down to his own, presses their lips together slightly, just touching. “Okay,” Ryan says, lips brushing against Jon with every movement. “If you say so.”
Ryan kisses Jon for all he’s worth, once, twice, and Jon has the urge to just think, god, there’s nothing better. (Well, that's not right, he thinks instead.)
“I’m straight and I’m just using you,” Jon mumbles, helplessly and a little desperate.
“I know,” Ryan replies, and captures Jon’s lips again.
Jon just smiles against Ryan’s mouth.