Crush (With Eyeliner)
by Sara

"Shh, hold still, it'll be alright," Brendon said, and normally Jon trusted him, because Brendon was a good guy who had his heart in the right place and they were friends and everything, except that right now Brendon had Jon's arms twisted up behind his back and he was whispering hot in Jon's ear and Ryan was coming toward them with a determined look, and more importantly-

"It's just not my thing," Jon said desperately, "I'm sorry, I wish I could be into it, but I'm not that kind of guy!"

"Spence didn't think he was either," Brendon murmured as Ryan tilted Jon's chin up, thumb sliding over the edge of his jaw. Jon squirmed. "We convinced him."

Jon glanced over to where Spencer was reclining on the couch, looking magnificently unconcerned, which was easy enough when one wasn't being manhandled by one's bandmates. Brendon's hand was sliding down to Jon's hip, steadying him as Ryan got up close.

"You'll like it," Brendon whispered, "I promise."

Jon struggled, and Ryan said, "I have a sharp thing pointed at your eye," and if that was supposed to make Jon not struggle it was really not working because oh god get it away, but Ryan just squinted at him and uncapped the eyeliner.

And, okay, this was peer pressure, right, and Jon really didn't have to take it, and, "Oh for christ's sake," Spencer snapped, "Just do it, already."

Ryan shrugged, and set his fingertips to Jon's temple, sliding lower and carefully drawing a thin black line along Jon's eyelashes.

"I'm going to look like a fucking moron," Jon said, sagging back against Brendon, resigned.

"You're going to look hot," Brendon said, his lips brushing Jon's neck, "Now shut the fuck up and hold still."


It wasn't like he hadn't expected this. Three days in he'd walked into the dressing room to find that his sensible black shirt had grown ruffles, and Brendon just gave him a big-eyed look and said, "That is so *weird*. Try it on!" and Jon had sighed, because Brendon was pretty much the polar opposite of subtle, but he had sincerity going for him in spades and the grin that Ryan shot him when he walked out wearing it was dangerously close to heart-melting. Spencer, of course, had just cut him a look that managed to convey that all was going according to plan (the accompanying malevolent laughter was silent, but implied).

He still felt like he'd gotten off lucky with regard to the main tour clothes, although he sometimes thought the roses on his shirt were spontaneously breeding in the middle of the night, like velvety gremlins springing up whenever Ryan stood near something unadorned for too long.




"Come on."


"Just like, gold!"


If there was one thing Jon Walker prided himself on, it was his ability to say no when he needed to.

If there was one thing Brendon Urie prided himself on, it was his ability to never, ever hear it.

Also, his pouty "love me" face.

Jon looked at the floor. "I'm already wearing the black liner. Isn't Ryan enough for you to play with? Do you need to scribble on me too?"

"Hey!" Brendon said.

Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon's waist, leaning his chin on Brendon's shoulder. "I like it when you scribble on me. It's pretty."

"You're pretty," Brendon said, smiling at him. Ryan kissed him on the cheek. Jon sidled away.

That night, Ryan came out on stage with little red hearts outlined in gold scrawled across his cheek in fluttery lines. They matched the ones that Jon had seen Ryan tracing along Brendon's hip, and during I Write Sins Brendon kissed Ryan on the cheek right under the lowest heart, which had wandered down to the edge of Ryan's mouth.


Right. There was also that.

Jon knew of The Gay, sure, from years on the Chicago scene. He knew of the bromance and the fauxmos and William and Pete and anyone that got within a fifty-yard radius of either of them, thereby being sucked into their force field of No, It's Cool, Kissing Boys Is Hilarious, Really, Come Here. But that was just fucking around (as far as he knew). Brendon and Ryan were like, boyfriends.

Or something.

He'd even asked Spencer, once, what they were, and all he'd gotten was a drawled out, "A couple of dorks?" which was fair, since when he'd asked Ryan and Brendon had been in the middle of an argument regarding which was the superior pop song ("Since U Been Gone has way better lyrics!" "Please, Baby One More Time is a classic and you know it!"). The next time he'd asked, they'd been making out on the couch while Spencer flipped through a magazine across the room, and Spencer had glanced up at Jon and then over at the couch and said, "They're kissing," like it was obvious, and Jon decided to go find something more responsive to ask questions of, like maybe a nice brick wall.

(Not that he hadn't tried going to the source, first. But Brendon had just grinned and fluttered his eyelashes and said that Ryan promised to make an honest man out of him soon as they hit the Canadian border, and Ryan had looked up from tuning his guitar and said, "Not until you learn to cook," and by the time Jon gave up and left they'd moved onto an argument regarding whether or not making toast counted as cooking, especially since you always burn it, Brendon.)

And it would have been cute and funny and maybe even a little sweet, except that in Atlanta Jon got lost in the venue and ended up peering into the wrong dressing room or, possibly, the right one, because in the flickering dusty flourescent lights he saw Brendon leaning up against a cracked dressing table, Ryan on his knees in front of him giving what looked and oh god, sounded, like a very enthusiastic blowjob.

Jon blinked, and did not shut the door, because Brendon was thrusting into Ryan's mouth, one hand tangled in his hair, and Ryan had one hand gripping Brendon's hip and the other jerking himself off. And Jon liked them a lot, they were good guys and good friends, and he didn't need to see Brendon's mouth parted like that, his eyes closed as he directed Ryan's movements, didn't need to hear Ryan moaning around Brendon's cock. The seconds ticked by and Jon's shot at a swift horrified exit pretty much disappeared because here he was, still standing, still watching Ryan suck Brendon off, and any moment now Brendon would open his eyes and catch him there and it would be bad, right, so he should leave.

Brendon's hips snapped forward, his hand tightening in Ryan's hair, and his eyes opened, locking with Jon's for possibly the longest second and a half in the history of measured time. Jon turned and ran.


"Dear Seventeen Magazine," Brendon read, propping up Greta's copy on his knee, "I walked in on my bandmates fucking the other day and got totally caught and then ran away so I could jerk off to it. What should I do now?"

"Are there choices?" Ryan asked. He sat astride Spencer's lap, carefully smudging his eyeliner. Spencer's hands were settled on his hips, casually, and Jon was so fucking busted.

Spencer looked over at Jon (who was putting on his own liner in a mirror across the room, thank you), a curious tilt to his head as Ryan drew swirling patterns in white at the corners of his eyes. "Did you jerk off? Really?"

He had, actually, but geez. "Um," he said.

"Option A: re-evaluate sexuality," Brendon continued. He glanced at Jon. "Well, you can pick more than one option. B: group sex."

Jon poked himself in the eye with the eyeliner pencil.

"Threesomes aren't group sex," Ryan pointed out, eyeing his work critically. Spencer batted his eyelashes, then moved his hands to Ryan's ass and pushed him backwards onto the couch.

"Like you're all going to fuck without me?" Spencer said, hiking Ryan's legs up around his waist. "That would be unfair."

"Fairness is important," Brendon murmured, watching with interest as Spencer felt up his boyfriend (or whatever, what was this gay orgy of a band anyway?). "You know, I can do the liner for you if you're having trouble," he added, addressing Jon but still watching Spencer and Ryan.

Spencer ran his hand down Ryan's side, noting, "Not ticklish there anymore?" Ryan shook his head, and Spencer dug his fingers into Ryan's waist, making Ryan squirm against him. Jon was tearing up a little, and everyone was hitting on him, and it was weird.

"Hey," Brendon said, coming up behind him and taking the pencil. "It's cool, alright? We're just screwing with you." He angled Jon to the side, wiping away the wetness and drawing a thin careful line. "Just having fun."

Fun like group sex with your bandmates? Jon absolutely did not ask.

On the couch, Ryan moaned.


Ryan's thighs were hot where they were straddling him, the muscles shifting every time he moved, and his fingertips were gentle on Jon's face as he carefully drew- something. Jon couldn't see. His hands felt large on Ryan's hips, and sometimes Ryan would grind in a little, like he wasn't aware he was doing it, even though Jon totally knew that innocent look was just a front to mask the fact that Ryan was actually a dirty little slut.

"You hot?" Ryan murmured, a question which really had no appropriate answer, so Jon just shook his head, even though he was obviously blushing. He figured talking was just not a good plan at this point, since it led to things like him saying yes, unthinking, when Ryan offered to do his makeup, even though he'd seen how Ryan did it, and of course it wouldn't be any different for him ("Because otherwise I can't balance right," Ryan explained earnestly, as he pushed Jon back against the couch and climbed on top of him).

Spencer strolled in, Brendon behind him, and Jon tried to twitch away, feeling suddenly guilty, caught. Ryan just made a little annoyed noise, though, and moved a hand to Jon's lower back, pressing their bodies closer together and it was going to be really awkward in a second if Ryan didn't stop squirming. Jon closed his eyes, clutching at Ryan's back, and he heard soft laughter as Spencer and Brendon approached, until Spencer was leaning casually up against him, draping his arms around Jon's neck, and saying, "Me next."

He opened his eyes again, a little scared to, actually, but all he saw was Brendon kissing Ryan on the cheek, and it was very sweet, really, and not at all incredibly hot sitting there between all of them, Ryan on his lap and Spencer pressed up behind him. Jon was used to Brendon and his unselfconscious grabbiness, and Ryan's casual affection, but Spencer was sort of his own little island, most of the time. He could feel Spencer's amused grin against his neck, and it was nice, really, to be included, to be a part of them and their weird little dynamic.

"Finished," Ryan announced, with one last critical swipe at the rise of Jon's cheek, and then Brendon's hands were circling Ryan's waist from behind, pulling him back onto his lap, and Ryan just went with it, laughing when Brendon dipped him. Ryan's legs were still half-around Jon's waist, and the movement pulled him forward, until he had his hands braced on the couch on either side of Ryan's hips, watching as Brendon kissed Ryan, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his ass.

Definitely nice, and not, say, uncomfortably hot watching Ryan open for Brendon, tilting his mouth up like he'd been wanting to be kissed, needing it, and Jon felt absurdly guilty because he could have kissed Ryan, if Ryan needed it so badly, and why hadn't he? He was such a bad friend. Spencer pressed up behind him, sliding his hands to Ryan's thighs and Ryan's legs tightened around Jon's waist, and they had a show to put on, fuck, Jon was definitely not watching his own hands move to Ryan's hips and push up his shirt to touch his skin.

There was a knock on the door, and someone said, "Five minutes, guys," and Jon thought maybe he could do stuff in five minutes, and then he thought what?! as Spencer said, "We're still not ready," and fuck, fuck.

Ryan did Brendon's makeup, and Jon was left to carefully put on Spencer's, which was difficult when Spencer kept looking at him like he knew something Jon didn't, like possibly where Jon's rational brain had disappeared to. Jon's hands were shaking, and Spencer gripped his wrist, lightly, steadying him. Jon smudged each line with his thumb, and wished he had any fucking clue what was going on.


Ryan went to his knees in front of Jon onstage that night, head tilted up and playing to him, grinning.

Later that night, Jon jerked off in the bathroom to the sounds of Brendon and Ryan fucking in Brendon's bunk.


Things went on as usual, though; Brendon still sucked at video games but insisted on playing anyway, Spencer still spent a lot of time reading philosophy books and making Jon nervous by eyeing him speculatively over a copy of Animal Farm, and Ryan still kept adding roses to Jon's shirt whenever Jon wasn't looking. Ryan decided they should all be a deck of cards one night, and drew hearts at the corners of Jon's eyes, diamonds in a line down Brendon's cheek, spades along Spencer's fingers, with a matching complex swirl of tiny clubs on his own cheek drawn by Spencer's steady hand.

Photographers squished them together onto tiny red velvet couches and Jon thought wistfully back to the days of personal space, then got distracted by the press of Brendon's thigh along his. He called William, and after half an hour managed to say something weak regarding his missing heterosexuality and William suggested he check Ryan's pants, which wasn't helpful, because Ryan's pants were so tight you probably couldn't fit anything in there other than Ryan's, um. William's laughter was loud and raucous and prolonged, and his advice was: "Fuck him!" Jon said that not everything could be solved by fucking Ryan, although Spencer and Brendon never seemed to have any problems, so maybe the theory had merit- "Fuck him," William repeated. "By the way, I'm telling Chicago you're totally gay now. Bye!"

Jon sighed.

One night, Brendon came up behind Jon and sang an entire verse of Build God pressed up against Jon's back, kissing Jon's cheek when he was done, and it was totally just fucking around onstage, right, because Brendon was Mr. Stage Presence now, except that he did the same thing to Ryan, only with more thrusting and some microphone sharing, and afterwards Ryan and Brendon ran off to the dressing room and locked it before they could get in.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Jon asked, kicking at the door. It sounded like they were breaking furniture in there, but not in an ostentatious way, just in the way that Ryan was probably on his back on the table getting fucked hard, and so things were getting knocked off of it.

"Entertain ourselves?" Spencer suggested mildly, leaning against the wall facing Jon, his hip cocked out and shirt undone at the collar, and Jon really hadn't been like this when he was eighteen. Not even William had been like this, and Spencer didn't even appear to be trying.

"Open the fucking door!" Jon said, and Spencer laughed at him, definitely at him.


"The thing is," Jon told the mirror, "I really like you guys. You're good friends, and we get along, and if we have group sex I think it might mess up the whole dynamic, and there'll be jealousy, and it'll break up the band, and that would. Suck."

"I'm straight," Jon tried, and even the mirror wasn't buying it.

"Once you get more than three people, isn't it an orgy then?" Jon asked. "I thought you guys weren't into the rock star lifestyle. I thought all you guys did was read books. I signed on to play bass and read books, this wasn't in the contract."

"How the fuck do you even have an orgy with your friends? Are there rules you have to follow? Isn't it complicated enough with just two people? Are you all fucking, or what? Where are we supposed to find a bed big enough?" he wondered aloud. "Why did I think it would help to practice a speech in front of the mirror?"

"Hey," he said finally. "I do kinda look good in eyeliner."


Brendon wandered out to the lounge, barefoot and in a pair of jeans that were making only a passing effort to stay up on his hips. "Hey," he said sleepily.

Jon looked up from where he was lying on the couch. Actually, it was something more of a process than that; he started at the waist of Brendon's jeans, paused at the straight downward tilt of his hipbones, followed the faint outline of his abs slowly upward to his collarbones, and paused again at the line of his neck, where he thought he saw the faint shadow of teeth marks. By the time he got to Brendon's mouth Brendon was looking back at him, eyebrow raised.

"Scoot over," he said. "Ryan's kicking." He crawled onto the couch beside Jon and slid a leg between his, settling in half-draped across Jon's body.

"I'm straight, you know," Jon felt compelled to point out.

"Uh huh," Brendon muttered, and fell back asleep.


They got interviewed by a teenie magazine, and questionnaires were passed around for them to fill out. All of them listed Jon as their favorite member of Panic! At The Disco, except for Jon, who finally got tired of trying to think of something clever and wrote down that he didn't play favorites, and then drew a picture of a girl in clown makeup that ended up looking kind of like Amanda from the Dresden Dolls.


Spencer kissed him at an industry party they'd been dragged to, after they'd lost Ryan and Brendon to some fawning magazine editors and decided to find someplace to sit down. The someplace turned out to be the back garden, and Jon was just starting to feel like he'd stepped into a Jane Austen novel when Spencer turned toward him and set his fingers to the side of Jon's face and kissed him slowly but with intent, not forceful necessarily but definitely not like any girl Jon had ever kissed. He kissed like a guy, Jon thought. He also thought he sort of liked it.

"Don't overthink it," Spencer advised. "If you stop to think then you have to think about everything," he continued, and Jon touched his wrist, brushed the cuff of his designer jacket, and then put an arm around him, because seriously, Spencer was eighteen.

"You're a good kisser," Jon told him.

"You can think that," Spencer said, leaning into him a little. "That's allowed."


"Spencer said he kissed you," Ryan said, climbing onto Jon's lap and settling in, "does that mean you'll fuck me now?"

"Jesus christ," Jon said, alarmed. The shy, tortured thing was so clearly a front. "What about-" Well, actually, he thought he'd gotten a pretty good read on his and Brendon's relationship by that point. It seemed to revolve a lot around sex. Sometimes, possibly, with Spencer. "How are we even supposed to do this?"

Ryan looked interested now. "I like it best on my back. Brendon likes me on my hands and knees, and Spencer likes it when I ride him. What are you into?"

"Maintaining my sanity," Jon said. "Is this going to fuck up the band? Because I like this, man. I want to keep doing this."

Brendon walked into the lounge, and Jon dropped his hands from Ryan's hips, as if that would make it any less incriminating.

"I thought we were going to wait 'til later to proposition him," Brendon said, folding his arms.

"I got bored," Ryan said. "Tell him fucking me isn't going to break up the band."

"Fucking him's not going to break up the band," Brendon told Jon. "We'll be one big happy naked family. With a picket fence. Couldn't you have at least waited until we got to the hotel?" he asked Ryan. "I got the room with the king size bed and everything. I was going to get champagne. It was going to be a seduction."

"What if I'd said no?" Jon asked, batting Ryan's hands away from the waist of his jeans, because this was an important point here. He wasn't, like, a done deal.

"You weren't gonna say no," Brendon said. "I'm keeping the champagne, I don't care."

Spencer wandered out from the bunks in an unbuttoned white shirt and loose jeans. "I thought we were gonna wait 'til the hotel to fuck him," he muttered. "I was gonna make out with him against the wall and then drag him into your room so we could all fuck there."

Jon opened his mouth to protest, but then Ryan was kissing him, hands fisted in Jon's collar, grinding down in his lap and Jon brought his arms up, wrapping them around Ryan because it was as hot as he'd thought it would be, hotter maybe, and his hands slid down to Ryan's ass and yeah, he was pretty much a done deal.

Jon tipped Ryan onto his back on the couch, taking care to make sure they didn't stop kissing. Brendon ran up front to tell the driver to go faster.


So you're thinking of having a foursome, Jon narrated to himself, because maybe a sardonic inner monologue would distract him from the fact that Spencer was following behind him on the way to their room, Spencer who had scraped his teeth along the back of Jon's neck on the bus as he was kissing Ryan, Spencer who had mumbled, "You think he's a good kisser, you should see him suck cock," into Jon's ear like that was a thing that people ever said out loud. It took him three tries to get the keycard in right, not helped by Ryan and Brendon slipping into the adjoining room and Brendon mouthing, "Hurry," at him like Jon was really going to drag his ass on this one.

He got in and tossed his suitcase onto the bed and Spencer was already getting his own shirt off, pushing his hands under Jon's shirt and lifting until Jon raised his arms and let Spencer take it off, and Spencer's hands were pressing into his lower back, grinding their hips together, and Jon felt like he hadn't had sex in about six years. Spencer grabbed Jon by his belt and pulled him to the connecting door, pushing through and oh god, Brendon and Ryan were already naked, Jon didn't know how they'd even made it through the door. Their suitcases were discarded along with their clothes and Ryan was on his back, arching up into Brendon's touch, his hips bucking as Brendon's fingers moved within him, and sure, Jon knew, intellectually, that they did this, he knew empirically from hearing it, he knew instinctively from imagining it multiple times in the last few weeks but god, none of that quite compared with seeing it, seeing Ryan's fingers clutching Brendon's shoulders, his lips parted on little gasps, hips shifting, riding Brendon's fingers.

"Let's get on the bed," Spencer murmured into Jon's ear, and Jon let Spencer push him forward until he was sitting on the bed, and Spencer just wrapped around him from behind, slipping his arms around Jon's waist and leaning against him as they watched Brendon fucking Ryan with his fingers, going deep and Jon didn't even want to blink because that might mean missing a single second and he didn't think he could stand that. Brendon parted Ryan's thighs further and moved between them, hiking Ryan's legs up around his waist and Jon didn't know what to look at first, Ryan's face as Brendon pushed into him, the first thrust of Brendon's cock into Ryan's ass, Brendon biting his lip as he moved, gripping Ryan's hips tightly.

Spencer pressed hot up against Jon's back, and he was undoing Jon's pants, working at the button and zipper, leisurely as Brendon fucked Ryan slowly, making Ryan writhe under him, fucking gorgeous and hot and, "You can fuck him, too," Spencer whispered, getting one hand in and stroking Jon's cock, so hard already, "he likes taking more than one, but Brendon always likes to be the first."

"And the last," Brendon gasped out, and fuck, he was beautiful too, flushed red and staring into Ryan's eyes as Ryan pushed back against him.

"And sometimes in the middle, too," Spencer murmured. Jon could feel Spencer grinning against his neck, and Spencer wasn't speeding up at all, just stroking Jon slow, breath wicked hot against Jon's neck, his ear, teeth sharp when he bit, making Jon jerk against him. "Brendon likes to fuck."

"Really," Jon managed, and it almost sounded like his normal voice, almost sounded like he had a coherent thought in his head. Possibly that had been the last one. "Fuck, I want."

"Brendon, don't be greedy," Spencer said, and Brendon squeezed Ryan's hips, making him gasp, and then pulled out and roughly slammed back in, leaning in and fucking Ryan hard, never touching Ryan's cock, and Ryan just arched up and took it, blindly reaching out until he touched Jon's knee, then held onto him, Spencer's hand settling on top of his.

Brendon held Ryan down, rocking his hips a few more times, before coming with a groan. He pulled out, and Jon was reaching for Ryan already, but Spencer held him back, murmuring, "Wait," and Jon was suddenly aware of the press of Spencer's cock against his back, hot and hard, and he tilted his head, kissing Spencer hungrily as Spencer murmured against his lips, telling Ryan to get up on his hands and knees.

When Spencer let him go Jon looked over and saw Ryan, jittery, waiting, biting his lip as Brendon stretched out on the bed, watching them. "Go on, take him," Brendon said, "both of you."

"Please," Ryan said, and Jon touched his hip, got up on his knees and slid his cock along the crack of Ryan's ass once before positioning the head and pushing in, and fuck, oh god, he was so tight, even after Brendon fucking him, so hot and tight and wet and he just spread his legs wider when Jon started to thrust almost immediately, open and eager and Jon closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. "Oh yeah, god, harder," Ryan moaned, and Jon pulled out almost all the way before thrusting in again, roughly, and he felt the bed shift and when he looked again Spencer was in front of Ryan, guiding Ryan's mouth to his cock, meeting Jon's eyes as he threaded his fingers through Ryan's hair and pushed his head down to take him in further.

Brendon watched them, stroking himself lazily. "He likes it when it hurts," he told Jon. "Don't be careful with him." Jon felt his hips twitch automatically, fucking harder into Ryan's ass, and he watched Brendon watching them use Ryan, and it felt good, it felt fantastic, Jon wanted to lock the door and stay in here and never leave.

Spencer had one hand twisted in Ryan's hair, directing him, up and down, the soft sounds of sucking interspersed with each slap of Jon's hips against Ryan's ass when he went deep. Ryan's moans were muffled by his mouthful of Spencer's cock, and Spencer's eyes were on Jon, watching as he fucked Ryan, and he smiled when Ryan thrust his ass back onto Jon's cock, making Jon groan out loud.

"I did it first, you know," Spencer murmured, and oh fuck, this wasn't going to last long if Spencer started talking dirty again, "and he's still as tight as he was back then, seventeen and just as much of a slut as he is now, just needed someone to bring it out in him." He gripped Ryan's hair and thrust forward into Ryan's mouth, and no, this wasn't going to take much longer, not with Spencer talking and Ryan shaking and whimpering and Ryan's ass clenching around Jon's cock, not much longer at all. "You should have seen how eager he was, said please and everything, sucked me off and then rubbed up against me until I pushed fingers into his ass, until I turned him over and fucked him. It was my first time too, actually."

"That is so sweet," Brendon said, and Spencer flicked him in the shoulder without missing a beat, letting Ryan off his cock to gasp for air before going back down.

"Shut up, I'm talking," Spencer said.

"Don't stop," Jon gasped, because why the hell not, he could say that, and Spencer huffed a laugh out, losing control of his rhythm for a second. Ryan made an annoyed noise, pushing back against Jon hard, and Jon held onto his hips, thrusting into him, pushing him forward to take in more of Spencer's cock just as Spencer thrust into his mouth, and for a split second Ryan was stuffed full, Jon's cock balls deep in him and Spencer down his throat, and Brendon muttered, "Fuck, yeah," and Jon was glad they could all agree on that.

"You have to fuck his mouth, too," Spencer said conversationally, "he deepthroats, all the way. Practice," he said, pushing Ryan's hair off his face and smiling down at him, like he was proud of that, and Jon had a moment of considering just how fucked up all of this was before Ryan clenched around him and he lost his concentration again, focusing only on hot tight wet Ryan, fuck. "And Brendon can do it, too," Spencer continued, "if he ever shuts up for more than five seconds," and Jon had to moan at that, because fuck, Brendon's mouth around his cock, that was a nice thought, he hadn't even kissed Brendon yet and that was something that needed fixing as soon as possible. Clearly Jon hadn't thought this through; doing this might still destroy the band, if only because he wasn't sure he ever wanted to bother doing anything with these guys again that wasn't this, all the time, please.

He set his forehead to Ryan's shoulder, kissed along his shoulderblade, and then thrust in one final time, coming hard into Ryan's ass, and Ryan just groaned around Spencer's cock, pushed back against Jon, taking him in. When Jon finally pulled back, exhausted, Brendon was there to take his place, stopping to kiss him first, his hand on the back of Jon's neck, kissing him roughly, and Jon was definitely embracing the non-straight lifestyle if it meant kisses like this, and fucking Ryan, and Spencer and Brendon and all three at once and oh god, what was his life, what did it even matter so long as he had this.

Spencer gasped, thrusting into Ryan's mouth one last time before coming, and Jon watched Ryan's throat work to swallow and felt his cock stirring again as Brendon pushed back into Ryan's ass, finally touching Ryan's cock, and Ryan just leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the sheets and taking it. Spencer crawled up to where Jon was and Jon reached for him first, reached to touch, needing the contact, needing it to not stop. "This is gonna be fine, right," Jon said, his hands on Spencer's skin, "this'll be cool tomorrow? We can do it again?"

"Anytime you want," Spencer promised.

Jon reached out, touching Brendon's hip, because he could, running his fingers down Ryan's side until Ryan reached for him, squeezing his hand as he came, and Brendon just kept fucking him, pushing into Ryan's lax body as he breathed out, looking at Jon. Ryan was shifting, sore by the time Brendon came again, and he wrapped himself around Jon's other side, one hand touching Spencer as Brendon spooned up against him.

Spencer was warm against him, and Ryan stayed close, Brendon half-draped over him and they were altogether taking up maybe one-quarter of the enormous bed, but Jon wasn't complaining. This had been a good idea, he decided. Joining the band, eyeliner, group sex, these had all been good ideas. Clearly Spencer, Brendon, and Ryan were to be trusted. Well, maybe not Brendon. Or Spencer, sometimes, like when he read too much Marx and his eyes got all gleamy. Or Ryan, when he asked for something he thought you might try to deny him.

"Go to sleep, Jon," Spencer whispered, and kissed him on the cheek.

Well, they'd been right on everything so far. Jon exhaled, and closed his eyes.