I Will, Tonight: gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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Dec. 31st, 2011 12:58 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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bandomstuffsitTitle: I Will, Tonight
Author:ohnoscarlett
Pairing(s): Spencer/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Ryan Ross sexy times? other than that, none
Word count: 2812
Summary: Spencer and Ryan struggle with their relationship and being in two different bands. A series of phone calls around the concepts of modern love and decorative painting.
Spencer called Ryan at least once a week when they were touring. There was a lot of reasoning--well, rationalization--behind it. First, it was Spencer doing the calling because Ryan often forgot. This was the guy who would forget to pay his electric bill; he could not be counted on for a regular phone call. Second, he called only so often so that Ryan would miss him. Anticipation. That was key.
They were touring when Ryan bought the apartment in New York. Spencer was mystified. Ryan hadn’t sold the house in Echo Park where he rarely stayed, and yet he went and bought another place 3000 miles away. He couldn’t explain it. Neither, apparently, could Ryan.
“So, like, you did what?” Spencer asked, scrubbing a hand roughly through damp, shaggy hair. He needed a trim. He hoped he sounded as exasperated as he felt.
“I bought an apartment,” Ryan said crisply. “Alex was telling me--”
“Ugh,” Spencer snorted. “Greenwald. I should have known.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dude comes up with some weird-ass ideas, and you--” Spencer began.
“I can think for myself, you know,” Ryan snapped.
“Yes, you can,” Spencer agreed. “But you are also highly suggestible and like to please.”
“Never heard you complaining about it before,” Ryan grumbled.
“Ryan,” Spencer sighed. “I just don’t understand. Moving to New York--”
“I’m not moving to New York,” Ryan interrupted.
“Huh?” Spencer heard Ryan sigh softly on the other end of the line.
“I’ll have the apartment for someplace to go while you’re on the road,” Ryan tried to explain. Spencer let him continue. “I don’t like LA when you’re gone,” he said softly. “It’s cold and impersonal.”
“So you’ll go to New York. Where it’s actually cold and even more impersonal.”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Ryan chuckled. “I have a lot of friends in New York.”
“You mean you know of a lot of hipsters.”
“More or less,” Ryan said agreeably. “Conrad moved out there, you know.”
“That is not helping your case,” Spencer grumbled. “Please do not hang out with Tom Conrad. You smoke enough. And both of you already think Walker hung the moon or some shit. Putting you in the same room would not end well.”
Ryan laughed until he hung up.
***
So Ryan moved to New York. He kept insisting that it wasn’t permanent, that it was only for a couple months at a stretch. Spencer didn’t understand what the hell was going on, but Ryan was never one to be talked out of something once he had made a decision.
“I need to redecorate the living room.”
“No ‘hello’? Just leaping right in there?” Spencer asked. “Do you even have a living room?”
“Yes, I have a living room, fucker.”
“Well, places in New York can be pretty small from what I hear. Had to be sure,” Spencer replied.
“I have a living room. And it needs to be re-done,” Ryan said matter-of-factly. Spencer could practically see his nose up in the air and his arms crossed over his chest.
“Ok. Have fun, I guess?”
“You are so not helpful.”
***
“Hey, baby, what’s up?”
“I’m glad you think you’re funny,” Ryan said flatly after taking a deep breath. Spencer grinned.
“I know I’m funny.”
“Yeah. So, anyway, I’m going to paint the bedroom, and--”
“Ahahahaha, like, seriously?” Spencer cackled gleefully. He could just picture a dejected Ryan covered in paint.
“Yes.” Spencer laughed harder. “Do you think it should be--oh, never mind. I’ll talk to you later.”
Spencer couldn’t hear a click or anything when Ryan hung up on him, but he knew he had when the phone went black. He laughed until he gasped for breath and there were tears seeping from one eye, spurred on by the thought that it was so much less satisfying to angrily end a conversation if you couldn’t slam the phone down. The old days had something there. Imagining Ryan pissily jabbing at his phone just tickled him. Probably not the reaction he should have, but Ryan would get over it. Spencer would make it up to him.
***
Ryan didn’t call. Ryan generally didn’t call--that was kind of the point--but it still bothered Spencer that he hadn’t heard from Ryan for a while after his less-than-stellar reaction to the whole painting thing. Spencer continued to think it was pretty funny, but he was fairly sure that Ryan didn’t. He began to think he should probably do something about it, and it weighed on him.
Spencer fretted. It was kind of what he did: he was a worrier. Brendon, for the most part, was used to it, but when he noticed that something was bugging Spencer worse than usual, it really drove home the point and forced Spencer to action.
He dragged a bemused Brendon with him to the first home improvement store he could find. Brendon’s poorly contained laughter upon reaching the paint department told him a lot. The fact that his best friend was something of a dick was old news.
“Who?” Spencer inquired, not bothering to look up from the neat rows of color.
“Huh?”
“Who told you?” Spencer elaborated.
“Oh,” Brendon said with a nod. “Jon.”
“Jesus Christ,” Spencer muttered under his breath. “Jon? Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Yeah. I talked to him the other day. He said you fucked it up pretty good. Ryan is pissed,” he added with a chuckle.
“I get how that amuses you and all,” Spencer replied acidly. He stared kind of blankly at the array of paint chips displayed in front of him, his arms crossed and hip cocked defiantly. He stood up straighter when he realized it and tried to focus.
“Yeah, well,” Brendon waved vaguely, plucking out a red card to inspect more closely. “I mostly still just think it’s fucking hilarious that Ross is your boyfriend.” Spencer punched him in the arm.
“Sing-song is uncalled-for.”
“Real-ly?” Brendon sang obnoxiously.
“Yes. Now shut your hole and help me.”
In the end, after much arguing and just as much giggling about stupid color names--oh my god, I am so going to paint my kitchen this color! “Clam Chowder”, Spencer! “Clam Chowder”!--it came down to two. Spencer collected the chip cards and Brendon and they went back to their hotel.
In his room, Spencer got organized. Dallon barely glanced up from his laptop to acknowledge Spencer’s return. He could hear Breezy’s cheerful voice as they Skyped.
“We’ll try to keep it clean now that you’re back, Spence!” she chirped. Dallon grinned.
“I appreciate it,” Spencer replied loudly. Breezy’s wicked laughter cut off abruptly as Dallon plugged in earbuds. Out of courtesy, Spencer did the same, turning up his iPod and tuning out his roomate as best he could.
Spencer laid out the paint chips he and Brendon had chosen. He wondered for a moment if he wanted to send both of them or only one. He went with both; Ryan liked to have options. Then he wondered if he should just send them, or if he should say something about it. Spencer could practically see, oh, everyone he knew, rolling their eyes at him. Of course he should say something. Ryan liked words, too.
I saw these and thought of you. The collection is inspired by photographs, and when I saw the first one, well, like I said, I thought of you. It was a picture of New York. The second one was just funny. But it made me think of you too. A lot of things do.
--S
Then he hastily added a scribbled “I’m sorry.” at the bottom and tucked the two paint chips into the folded note.
***
“Elderberry Wine”
paint chip 1
”Fancy Pants”
paint chip 2
***
The phone buzzing under his ear woke Spencer from a deep sleep. He had been napping in his bunk, and the gentle rocking that sent him to sleep in the first place threatened to do so once more as he lay there blinking and disoriented. But then his phone buzzed again and he actually looked at it.
Call me.
It was Ryan. Spencer smirked. He would have sworn the “send” button on Ryan’s phone was broken if it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to press it to answer as well. Spencer rolled and situated himself comfortably, shifting his phone from one hand to the the other and squirming a bit before he actually called Ryan. But then it buzzed again.
Text message (2)
Spencer smiled to himself as he tapped at the screen. Ryan could be an impatient little fuck.
CALL ME. I know it’s too early for you to be in sound check.
How do you know I’m not at an interview?
It’s a driving day.
Spencer just stared at his phone for a minute. Ryan was very often completely oblivious and self-absorbed. That kind of added to his charm, in Spencer’s opinion. It wasn’t very often that Ryan surprised him, though. His palms were sweaty by the time he actually punched the number in.
“Hey,” he said softly, keeping in mind the general state of the bus, which was pretty quiet.
“Hey,” Ryan returned. Spencer rolled his eyes. He really hoped it wasn’t going to be one of those types of conversations, all monosyllables and long silences.
“So did you get my thing? My note, or whatever?”
“Yeah,” Ryan cleared his throat. “I did.”
“I guess I was kind of a jerk,” Spencer replied guiltily.
“Yeah.” Spencer flinched.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”
“I know,” Ryan interrupted. “You’re forgiven.”
Spencer sighed. “Thank you.”
“It’s ok. I may have overreacted.”
“You?” Spencer said with a smile. “Never.”
“Shut up,” Ryan grumbled, completely without heat.
“You love it.”
“Oh yeah, give it to me.” Ryan’s usual monotone delivery left Spencer gasping into his pillow as he stifled his laughter. Ryan listened silently for far longer than Spencer thought he would get away with. Ryan’s low, gravelly, “Spencer,” brought him out of it.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, breathless and wiping at his eyes.
“It’s ok.”
“So you said.”
“Yeah, well,” Ryan mumbled. “It’s just--I can’t believe you, like, actually...”
“What?” Spencer was kind of lost.
“You pissed me off, but then you went out and you actually picked out colors for me?” Ryan almost sounded hopeful. It was often hard to tell, because he insisted on being so guarded with everyone--even Spencer--but Spencer had enough practice in deciphering layers of meaning hidden within monotony, whining, and ironic disdain. Years of practice.
“I did.” He’d leave Brendon’s role out of it for now. No need to poke the tiger. “Do you... like? either of them?”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re great. I want to use them both. Maybe do all the walls lower one color and upper the other. Or maybe do an accent wall in the blue...”
“’Fancy Pants’,” Spencer said softly, but biting his lip hard so he wouldn’t laugh about it all over again. Ryan laughed instead.
“Yeah, or switch it around and do the accent wall in purple, uh... ’Elderberry Wine’. Add some romance.”
“Sure, Picasso, whatever you like,” Spencer replied.
“Don’t you want to see it?” Ryan wondered. Spencer could practically see the bottom lip starting to pout.
“I’m sure I’ll see it. You’ll take pictures, and I’ll get there... eventually.”
“I miss you,” Ryan said mournfully. It was rather more straightforward than Spencer was used to, and it took him a moment to process.
“I know,” he replied, swiftly smacking himself in the head for a classic boneheaded response. “I miss you too. It’s been too long.”
“Skyping is hard.”
“Skyping is not hard. You just have to follow the directions,” Spencer prodded.
“I don’t have time for directions. Phone is easier.”
“It is.” Spencer sighed and rolled his shoulders. He was a little stiff and could use a good, hot shower or a massage to get all the kinks out. He said as much.
“I’d do it for you, if I was there,” Ryan offered helpfully.
“I know. I’ll just have to suffer in the meantime,” he said with a smile that he hoped Ryan could hear. “Ian doesn’t have enough leverage.” He heard Ryan snicker. “And Dallon is too gentle; he’s used to Breezy and the kids.”
“What about Brendon then?” Spencer heard the hesitation, but that was ok. Things were still kind of tense between the two of them, but it was better. Spencer didn’t have to edit with either of them any more.
“I could ask him if I wanted,” Spencer said after a minute. “But I don’t. I don’t want to melt into the carpet.”
“He does give good backrubs.”
“He does,” Spencer agreed. “Maybe I’ll have to rethink that...” There was indistinct grumbling over the line. “Hmmm?”
“I just--I don’t--”
“What?”
“I don’t want his hands on you,” Ryan spit out.
“Ryan, Brendon doesn’t--”
“I know. I know. Sarah Smiles blah blah blah. But that doesn’t--” Ryan threw his hands up in frustration. Or at least that was Spencer’s theory for why the sound went all wonky and there was a flurry of clattering and rustling. Ryan signalled his return with a sigh. “I want to touch you.”
Spencer groaned.
“Ryan.”
“Spencer, please, I just--I miss you, I can’t stop thinking about you. It makes me crazy that you’re out touring and I’m here and we can’t--”
“We can’t?”
“I want to touch you so bad I can taste it. I can practically smell you,” Ryan said in a voice that dropped to a harsh whisper. Spencer’s stomach twisted painfully. The press of a firm hand did little to quench the feeling in his gut, or to the stirring between his legs.
“Ryan, I want--”
“What?” Ryan gasped. Spencer reached down to palm his hard shaft.
“I want to feel your skin,” Spencer said softly, trying to decide if he wanted to dedicate both hands or maintain the phone. “I want to feel you in my hand.” He gave himself a little squeeze. “I like the way you fit just right; it’s like you were made for me.”
“Spence, your hands, nnnngh.” Spencer liked it when Ryan got beyond words. “Oh god, your hands. I miss your hands. I want you to--yes, yes, right there.” Ryan moaned, vibrating through Spencer’s bones.
“What? Ryan, what are you--Tell me.” Spencer squeezed under the head of his cock, remembering how it looked to see Ryan’s in his hand; feel him, taste him under his tongue. “Ryan, please.”
“God, Spence, your fingers. I love it when you--” his breath hitched and his train of thought derailed.
“Tell me,” Spencer urged.
“Touch me. Everywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.” Spencer’s hand sped up. “I want to feel the rough spot right by--ah, ah, Spence, come on.”
“You’ve got one too, on your left hand, right at the tip of, yeah, and you always, like, flick,” Spencer helpfully demonstrated on himself. His toes curled, even without the guitar callous.
“You like that.”
“Yeah. I want to fuck you so hard right now.” Ryan moaned throatily in his ear. Spencer appreciated that he didn’t have to make it pretty for it to work for him. “I know we don’t, often. But right now I want to fuck you til you scream. Right on the floor, up against the door, whatever. Can’t wait to get you to a bed. Wherever. Want to be inside you when you come. Fuck you loose, then come all over you.”
Spencer was almost surprised to be coming into his fist along with Ryan a moment later. His breath sounded harsh and loud to his own ears, sure that at any moment one of the guys would fling his curtain aside and give him hell. But it didn’t happen. As Spencer and Ryan listened to one another breathe, Spencer could discern the activities going on around him. It sounded like an epic Modern Warfare battle waged up front, so he was safe.
***
Dallon and Ian jostled for space behind Spencer as they waited for Ryan’s apartment door to open. Brendon trotted up to them with hands emptied of all their coffee cups, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and a frighteningly manic glint in his eye. Spencer’s mouth and the door opened at the same time, but Spencer just shook his head as Ryan took them in, paintbrush in hand. Brendon would behave himself--as well as could be expected--and they would get Ryan’s apartment painted. Then Spencer’s band would go, and Spencer would keep his promises.
Author:
ohnoscarlettPairing(s): Spencer/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Ryan Ross sexy times? other than that, none
Word count: 2812
Summary: Spencer and Ryan struggle with their relationship and being in two different bands. A series of phone calls around the concepts of modern love and decorative painting.
Spencer called Ryan at least once a week when they were touring. There was a lot of reasoning--well, rationalization--behind it. First, it was Spencer doing the calling because Ryan often forgot. This was the guy who would forget to pay his electric bill; he could not be counted on for a regular phone call. Second, he called only so often so that Ryan would miss him. Anticipation. That was key.
They were touring when Ryan bought the apartment in New York. Spencer was mystified. Ryan hadn’t sold the house in Echo Park where he rarely stayed, and yet he went and bought another place 3000 miles away. He couldn’t explain it. Neither, apparently, could Ryan.
“So, like, you did what?” Spencer asked, scrubbing a hand roughly through damp, shaggy hair. He needed a trim. He hoped he sounded as exasperated as he felt.
“I bought an apartment,” Ryan said crisply. “Alex was telling me--”
“Ugh,” Spencer snorted. “Greenwald. I should have known.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dude comes up with some weird-ass ideas, and you--” Spencer began.
“I can think for myself, you know,” Ryan snapped.
“Yes, you can,” Spencer agreed. “But you are also highly suggestible and like to please.”
“Never heard you complaining about it before,” Ryan grumbled.
“Ryan,” Spencer sighed. “I just don’t understand. Moving to New York--”
“I’m not moving to New York,” Ryan interrupted.
“Huh?” Spencer heard Ryan sigh softly on the other end of the line.
“I’ll have the apartment for someplace to go while you’re on the road,” Ryan tried to explain. Spencer let him continue. “I don’t like LA when you’re gone,” he said softly. “It’s cold and impersonal.”
“So you’ll go to New York. Where it’s actually cold and even more impersonal.”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Ryan chuckled. “I have a lot of friends in New York.”
“You mean you know of a lot of hipsters.”
“More or less,” Ryan said agreeably. “Conrad moved out there, you know.”
“That is not helping your case,” Spencer grumbled. “Please do not hang out with Tom Conrad. You smoke enough. And both of you already think Walker hung the moon or some shit. Putting you in the same room would not end well.”
Ryan laughed until he hung up.
***
So Ryan moved to New York. He kept insisting that it wasn’t permanent, that it was only for a couple months at a stretch. Spencer didn’t understand what the hell was going on, but Ryan was never one to be talked out of something once he had made a decision.
“I need to redecorate the living room.”
“No ‘hello’? Just leaping right in there?” Spencer asked. “Do you even have a living room?”
“Yes, I have a living room, fucker.”
“Well, places in New York can be pretty small from what I hear. Had to be sure,” Spencer replied.
“I have a living room. And it needs to be re-done,” Ryan said matter-of-factly. Spencer could practically see his nose up in the air and his arms crossed over his chest.
“Ok. Have fun, I guess?”
“You are so not helpful.”
***
“Hey, baby, what’s up?”
“I’m glad you think you’re funny,” Ryan said flatly after taking a deep breath. Spencer grinned.
“I know I’m funny.”
“Yeah. So, anyway, I’m going to paint the bedroom, and--”
“Ahahahaha, like, seriously?” Spencer cackled gleefully. He could just picture a dejected Ryan covered in paint.
“Yes.” Spencer laughed harder. “Do you think it should be--oh, never mind. I’ll talk to you later.”
Spencer couldn’t hear a click or anything when Ryan hung up on him, but he knew he had when the phone went black. He laughed until he gasped for breath and there were tears seeping from one eye, spurred on by the thought that it was so much less satisfying to angrily end a conversation if you couldn’t slam the phone down. The old days had something there. Imagining Ryan pissily jabbing at his phone just tickled him. Probably not the reaction he should have, but Ryan would get over it. Spencer would make it up to him.
***
Ryan didn’t call. Ryan generally didn’t call--that was kind of the point--but it still bothered Spencer that he hadn’t heard from Ryan for a while after his less-than-stellar reaction to the whole painting thing. Spencer continued to think it was pretty funny, but he was fairly sure that Ryan didn’t. He began to think he should probably do something about it, and it weighed on him.
Spencer fretted. It was kind of what he did: he was a worrier. Brendon, for the most part, was used to it, but when he noticed that something was bugging Spencer worse than usual, it really drove home the point and forced Spencer to action.
He dragged a bemused Brendon with him to the first home improvement store he could find. Brendon’s poorly contained laughter upon reaching the paint department told him a lot. The fact that his best friend was something of a dick was old news.
“Who?” Spencer inquired, not bothering to look up from the neat rows of color.
“Huh?”
“Who told you?” Spencer elaborated.
“Oh,” Brendon said with a nod. “Jon.”
“Jesus Christ,” Spencer muttered under his breath. “Jon? Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Yeah. I talked to him the other day. He said you fucked it up pretty good. Ryan is pissed,” he added with a chuckle.
“I get how that amuses you and all,” Spencer replied acidly. He stared kind of blankly at the array of paint chips displayed in front of him, his arms crossed and hip cocked defiantly. He stood up straighter when he realized it and tried to focus.
“Yeah, well,” Brendon waved vaguely, plucking out a red card to inspect more closely. “I mostly still just think it’s fucking hilarious that Ross is your boyfriend.” Spencer punched him in the arm.
“Sing-song is uncalled-for.”
“Real-ly?” Brendon sang obnoxiously.
“Yes. Now shut your hole and help me.”
In the end, after much arguing and just as much giggling about stupid color names--oh my god, I am so going to paint my kitchen this color! “Clam Chowder”, Spencer! “Clam Chowder”!--it came down to two. Spencer collected the chip cards and Brendon and they went back to their hotel.
In his room, Spencer got organized. Dallon barely glanced up from his laptop to acknowledge Spencer’s return. He could hear Breezy’s cheerful voice as they Skyped.
“We’ll try to keep it clean now that you’re back, Spence!” she chirped. Dallon grinned.
“I appreciate it,” Spencer replied loudly. Breezy’s wicked laughter cut off abruptly as Dallon plugged in earbuds. Out of courtesy, Spencer did the same, turning up his iPod and tuning out his roomate as best he could.
Spencer laid out the paint chips he and Brendon had chosen. He wondered for a moment if he wanted to send both of them or only one. He went with both; Ryan liked to have options. Then he wondered if he should just send them, or if he should say something about it. Spencer could practically see, oh, everyone he knew, rolling their eyes at him. Of course he should say something. Ryan liked words, too.
I saw these and thought of you. The collection is inspired by photographs, and when I saw the first one, well, like I said, I thought of you. It was a picture of New York. The second one was just funny. But it made me think of you too. A lot of things do.
--S
Then he hastily added a scribbled “I’m sorry.” at the bottom and tucked the two paint chips into the folded note.
***
“Elderberry Wine”
paint chip 1
”Fancy Pants”
paint chip 2
***
The phone buzzing under his ear woke Spencer from a deep sleep. He had been napping in his bunk, and the gentle rocking that sent him to sleep in the first place threatened to do so once more as he lay there blinking and disoriented. But then his phone buzzed again and he actually looked at it.
Call me.
It was Ryan. Spencer smirked. He would have sworn the “send” button on Ryan’s phone was broken if it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to press it to answer as well. Spencer rolled and situated himself comfortably, shifting his phone from one hand to the the other and squirming a bit before he actually called Ryan. But then it buzzed again.
Text message (2)
Spencer smiled to himself as he tapped at the screen. Ryan could be an impatient little fuck.
CALL ME. I know it’s too early for you to be in sound check.
How do you know I’m not at an interview?
It’s a driving day.
Spencer just stared at his phone for a minute. Ryan was very often completely oblivious and self-absorbed. That kind of added to his charm, in Spencer’s opinion. It wasn’t very often that Ryan surprised him, though. His palms were sweaty by the time he actually punched the number in.
“Hey,” he said softly, keeping in mind the general state of the bus, which was pretty quiet.
“Hey,” Ryan returned. Spencer rolled his eyes. He really hoped it wasn’t going to be one of those types of conversations, all monosyllables and long silences.
“So did you get my thing? My note, or whatever?”
“Yeah,” Ryan cleared his throat. “I did.”
“I guess I was kind of a jerk,” Spencer replied guiltily.
“Yeah.” Spencer flinched.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”
“I know,” Ryan interrupted. “You’re forgiven.”
Spencer sighed. “Thank you.”
“It’s ok. I may have overreacted.”
“You?” Spencer said with a smile. “Never.”
“Shut up,” Ryan grumbled, completely without heat.
“You love it.”
“Oh yeah, give it to me.” Ryan’s usual monotone delivery left Spencer gasping into his pillow as he stifled his laughter. Ryan listened silently for far longer than Spencer thought he would get away with. Ryan’s low, gravelly, “Spencer,” brought him out of it.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, breathless and wiping at his eyes.
“It’s ok.”
“So you said.”
“Yeah, well,” Ryan mumbled. “It’s just--I can’t believe you, like, actually...”
“What?” Spencer was kind of lost.
“You pissed me off, but then you went out and you actually picked out colors for me?” Ryan almost sounded hopeful. It was often hard to tell, because he insisted on being so guarded with everyone--even Spencer--but Spencer had enough practice in deciphering layers of meaning hidden within monotony, whining, and ironic disdain. Years of practice.
“I did.” He’d leave Brendon’s role out of it for now. No need to poke the tiger. “Do you... like? either of them?”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re great. I want to use them both. Maybe do all the walls lower one color and upper the other. Or maybe do an accent wall in the blue...”
“’Fancy Pants’,” Spencer said softly, but biting his lip hard so he wouldn’t laugh about it all over again. Ryan laughed instead.
“Yeah, or switch it around and do the accent wall in purple, uh... ’Elderberry Wine’. Add some romance.”
“Sure, Picasso, whatever you like,” Spencer replied.
“Don’t you want to see it?” Ryan wondered. Spencer could practically see the bottom lip starting to pout.
“I’m sure I’ll see it. You’ll take pictures, and I’ll get there... eventually.”
“I miss you,” Ryan said mournfully. It was rather more straightforward than Spencer was used to, and it took him a moment to process.
“I know,” he replied, swiftly smacking himself in the head for a classic boneheaded response. “I miss you too. It’s been too long.”
“Skyping is hard.”
“Skyping is not hard. You just have to follow the directions,” Spencer prodded.
“I don’t have time for directions. Phone is easier.”
“It is.” Spencer sighed and rolled his shoulders. He was a little stiff and could use a good, hot shower or a massage to get all the kinks out. He said as much.
“I’d do it for you, if I was there,” Ryan offered helpfully.
“I know. I’ll just have to suffer in the meantime,” he said with a smile that he hoped Ryan could hear. “Ian doesn’t have enough leverage.” He heard Ryan snicker. “And Dallon is too gentle; he’s used to Breezy and the kids.”
“What about Brendon then?” Spencer heard the hesitation, but that was ok. Things were still kind of tense between the two of them, but it was better. Spencer didn’t have to edit with either of them any more.
“I could ask him if I wanted,” Spencer said after a minute. “But I don’t. I don’t want to melt into the carpet.”
“He does give good backrubs.”
“He does,” Spencer agreed. “Maybe I’ll have to rethink that...” There was indistinct grumbling over the line. “Hmmm?”
“I just--I don’t--”
“What?”
“I don’t want his hands on you,” Ryan spit out.
“Ryan, Brendon doesn’t--”
“I know. I know. Sarah Smiles blah blah blah. But that doesn’t--” Ryan threw his hands up in frustration. Or at least that was Spencer’s theory for why the sound went all wonky and there was a flurry of clattering and rustling. Ryan signalled his return with a sigh. “I want to touch you.”
Spencer groaned.
“Ryan.”
“Spencer, please, I just--I miss you, I can’t stop thinking about you. It makes me crazy that you’re out touring and I’m here and we can’t--”
“We can’t?”
“I want to touch you so bad I can taste it. I can practically smell you,” Ryan said in a voice that dropped to a harsh whisper. Spencer’s stomach twisted painfully. The press of a firm hand did little to quench the feeling in his gut, or to the stirring between his legs.
“Ryan, I want--”
“What?” Ryan gasped. Spencer reached down to palm his hard shaft.
“I want to feel your skin,” Spencer said softly, trying to decide if he wanted to dedicate both hands or maintain the phone. “I want to feel you in my hand.” He gave himself a little squeeze. “I like the way you fit just right; it’s like you were made for me.”
“Spence, your hands, nnnngh.” Spencer liked it when Ryan got beyond words. “Oh god, your hands. I miss your hands. I want you to--yes, yes, right there.” Ryan moaned, vibrating through Spencer’s bones.
“What? Ryan, what are you--Tell me.” Spencer squeezed under the head of his cock, remembering how it looked to see Ryan’s in his hand; feel him, taste him under his tongue. “Ryan, please.”
“God, Spence, your fingers. I love it when you--” his breath hitched and his train of thought derailed.
“Tell me,” Spencer urged.
“Touch me. Everywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.” Spencer’s hand sped up. “I want to feel the rough spot right by--ah, ah, Spence, come on.”
“You’ve got one too, on your left hand, right at the tip of, yeah, and you always, like, flick,” Spencer helpfully demonstrated on himself. His toes curled, even without the guitar callous.
“You like that.”
“Yeah. I want to fuck you so hard right now.” Ryan moaned throatily in his ear. Spencer appreciated that he didn’t have to make it pretty for it to work for him. “I know we don’t, often. But right now I want to fuck you til you scream. Right on the floor, up against the door, whatever. Can’t wait to get you to a bed. Wherever. Want to be inside you when you come. Fuck you loose, then come all over you.”
Spencer was almost surprised to be coming into his fist along with Ryan a moment later. His breath sounded harsh and loud to his own ears, sure that at any moment one of the guys would fling his curtain aside and give him hell. But it didn’t happen. As Spencer and Ryan listened to one another breathe, Spencer could discern the activities going on around him. It sounded like an epic Modern Warfare battle waged up front, so he was safe.
***
Dallon and Ian jostled for space behind Spencer as they waited for Ryan’s apartment door to open. Brendon trotted up to them with hands emptied of all their coffee cups, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and a frighteningly manic glint in his eye. Spencer’s mouth and the door opened at the same time, but Spencer just shook his head as Ryan took them in, paintbrush in hand. Brendon would behave himself--as well as could be expected--and they would get Ryan’s apartment painted. Then Spencer’s band would go, and Spencer would keep his promises.
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Date: 2012-01-07 09:49 pm (UTC)Paint Chip Apology is now the name of my band. Ahahahahahahahahahahaha. Awesome.
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