Ryden Oneshots

What He Had

“You asshole,” Brendon says, but the words don’t have any venom in them. Instead Brendon sounds a bit breathy.

“You on your bed yet?”

There’s a pause, like Brendon is debating what to do. Then he says, “Give me a minute.”

Ryan hears muffled voices – Brendon probably trying to cover up the mouthpiece of the phone – and he realises that Brendon must have left whatever room he was in to talk to him. He hears Spencer’s voice – fuck, if Spencer knew he’d kill them both – and then he hears a female voice, and yeah, Brendon’s got someone getting him off too.

Then it gets quiet, but he hears steps, then shuffling, and then Brendon’s voice is back. “I’m listening.”

Ryan whines at the back of his throat a little because no, he needs to do the listening. “Just talk to me. Anything. Bren, your voice, I just –”

“Jesus, you’re desperate,” Brendon says, tone a bit awed. Ryan moans to confirm the fact. He spent half the set trying not to think of Brendon. He mostly failed and was increasingly even harder. Fuck, he’s not been this hard in forever. “God, alright,” Brendon rushes out, his voice a bit rough. Ryan can hear it echoing – a bathroom. Not the bedroom, like Ryan’s not worthy or invited. Like this is all they’re entitled to, and the sad thing is that Brendon’s probably right. “Remember when we were at the cabin,” Brendon begins, breaths already heavy and irregular. Brendon’s jerking off. Ryan’s been keeping his fist loose around his cock, but now he tightens his hold, waits for the telltale hitch in Brendon’s breath to know when Brendon squeezes the tip, and then he adjusts his rhythm to it, knowing they’re now jerking off to the same beat.

“Yeah,” he goes on, encouraging. He’s rocking into his hand impatiently. He’s been so close for so long, and he still hasn’t had release.

“That time I let you bareback...”

“Fuck, yeah,” he groans, not even trying to hide how much the memory still turns him on. Things got a bit out of hand that night, and they ended up bruised. God, he got off on marking Brendon. Claiming his territory. Coming inside Brendon repeatedly. He remembers all of it, and how it wasn’t enough to keep them together. They knew it but didn’t care. “You were so into it, Bren.”

Brendon groans at the other end. “God, I was. You pinned me down to the bed, and fuck, it had been a while since we – Because you had been –” Because Ryan had been trying to play the perfect boyfriend. “God, I was so tight, but I just wanted you inside so bad that I didn’t care, I –”

Ryan’s cock is throbbing, and he remembers when he pushed into Brendon, how he laughed into Brendon’s shoulder and said Brendon felt like a virgin right then, though he knew full well from personal experience that Brendon wasn’t. Far from it.

Ryan grins to himself. “You liked it when I called you a slut.”

“Fuck,” Brendon breathes out, sounding far gone. Ryan feels disappointed that they never got to explore that fully – he’d love to know just how far Brendon’s kink of getting called names goes. Now he’ll never find out.

“You’re acting like a slut for me right now,” he then notes, and Brendon bites back with, “Fuck you, Ross, you’re the one who called me.”

“Been thinking about you,” he admits. “All the things we’ve done. Fucking you. The sounds you make when you come. You’ve no idea what it does to me, you’re –” And then he breaks off because he moans, and his hand on his cock is frantic now, quick, quick strokes, pre-come leaking, cock twitching, and he’s so close to coming, so fucking close.

“Ryan, stay with me,” Brendon says, but Ryan’s so far gone that he can’t really manage it. The muscles of his legs are trembling, his balls are so tight, the hand clutching the phone is sweaty, and he can’t, he just – “God, you sound so hot right now, fuck,” Brendon rushes out.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

“Yeah? You gonna come?” Brendon asks demandingly, and he moans agreeingly, and Brendon presses, “Gonna come for me, Ryan?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” he moans. He will be so ashamed of this later, when he thinks that he’s given Brendon one more on him. Brendon’s voice is mixed with low, guttural groans that Ryan would recognise anywhere. “You?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m so close.”

Ryan feels fire scorching his insides. It’s like they’re trying to find some unity in a world where they only split apart and fraction further. At least they can come together. Get each other off. At least there’s this.

Ryan licks his lips, head tilting backwards and slamming against the wall, and he closes his eyes, stroking his cock fervently. “I’m gonna come, Brendon, oh shit, I’m gonna come so hard.”

And then he does, no longer unable to stop it. He spills onto his palm, semen slipping between his fingers, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps stroking himself through it, milking out every drop of come, and it gets on his pants, on his crotch, fuck, he’s a mess but it’s so good – he comes with all of his body, muscles vibrating, skin tingling, in a way he hasn’t since, fuck, since he last slept with Brendon, most likely. And he doesn’t hold back but groans into the phone, letting Brendon hear. And when Ryan thinks he’s done, he hears Brendon reaching climax, Brendon getting himself off in the bathroom of his house as his best friend and girlfriend wonder where he went, and Ryan’s cock twitches, and he manages to shoot more onto his palm, two white streaks of come from the sound of Brendon getting off.

“Fucking hell, you still sound so hot when you come,” Ryan says, his voice hoarse. That hasn’t changed. Some things never will. He looks at his dirtied hand and tries to tear a piece of toilet paper with it. His legs feel so weak, his mind clouded. The piece of toilet paper gets stuck to his palm and doesn’t rip off from the rest of the roll, and he’d really need both of his hands here. “You okay?” he asks Brendon. He remembers always having to ask that because Brendon was always so out of it after an intense orgasm, blissed out on the bed or floor or wherever they were, and Brendon always clung onto him when he was coming down, like Brendon needed to hold onto him somehow. He thinks that’s what he’ll remember the most years down the line. The way Brendon wanted them to tangle together.

Now there’s an entire country between them. Most of the time it feels like it’s not enough.

“Ryan, this...” Brendon’s voice is weak. “Fuck, what am I doing?”

Ryan feels sick. He hoped that it’d take at least twenty odd minutes for the regret, shame and anger to kick in.

“I only called because I had to,” he says. “You know how I get when it happens. I’m not in control. I can’t –”

“Shut up, Ryan.”

He does. He’s not sure if it’s because Brendon hates him for coming up with excuses, trying to free himself of blame, or because Brendon knows even Ryan doesn’t really believe what he says.

“You can call me. But never for this.”

Ryan lets the words settle in his guts. “Okay.”

Brendon hangs up. Ryan drops his phone, not giving a shit if it breaks, and his ear feels hot from pressing the phone to it. His hand trembles when he rubs his face. Toilet paper is still glued to his other hand, and he’s got come drying on his skin, his cock is slowly softening – now, thanks a lot, doing that twenty minutes ago would have been appreciated – and he pictures Brendon zipping himself up, washing his face, and then Brendon just stands there, leaning over the sink, looking at his reflection and wondering how the hell he is expected to go downstairs and face his loved ones now.

Because Ryan’s not. A loved one, that is.

Ryan misses him in spite of everything.

That’s all.