Live in Denver! Ryan Ross + Brendon Urie x f! photographer! reader
where reader is a concert photographer on her first real big girl gig. she's never heard of the band before, but once she's into the thick of it, she realizes that what goes around comes around, and they've come back around to haunt her.
contents: mfm pairing, threesome, ryan has a dirty mouth, brendon fails to be a gentleman, ex best friends, , melophilia, fingering, p in v sex, head (giving and recieving), EIFFEL TOWER
When you decided to finally grow up and get a big girl job, the first thing that came to mind definitely wasn't photography or journalism, and it most certainly was not concert photography. Half way into your second year of college, though, the money ran out. And you still needed to pay for school.
Enter: Your New Job! Congrats, kid! (You're being paid, promise).
It was a swanky little setup, being honest. You'd go around Colorado taking pictures at clubs or bars or stadiums and then turn em' back around for a quick buck from the hands of some rich and cozy PR guys who set you up in the first place. It was a real nice gig. You got to go to free concerts and play with cameras- who could complain about that?
Tonight though, you'd finally have something to complain about. It was a hot summer night in Denver, the middle of your break, and your boss called you up- LATE by the way- to head up to some gig at the Filmore. Just lovely. Of all the places to be.
You didn't get much from him about who you'd be seeing or what they want from you, just that they blew too much cash on renting the place out, renting recording gear, and paying the band to actually hire a "real photographer" for support.
You were told to dress up, though, which is something you'd never been required to do for one of these gigs. You thought it was oddly charming, even though you'd been cursing the day you'd accepted the job- dress up or dress down, you didn't like anyone stealing your sunlight from you.
Doubly so since the theme was circus. You were sort of lost for words, first the boss tells you "day of" to head to a job site, then you're forced to slog through costume shops and thrift stores to find something you can swallow as adequate enough to pass for a circus themed outfit, THEN you only have- what? 30 minutes to get ready and get to the Filmore?
You almost threw in the towel entirely, you're a photographer! Why the hell should you dress up?
You told yourself you'd do anything for a tip and then smacked yourself in the face for your backwards reasoning. What, come on, you needed the money!
Even if that meant finding a magician's costume....Totally not just because that's all they had, but totally because you wanted to dress as a magician. It was something cheap, something that showed an unfortunate amount of skin.
It was one night, one job, you could take the embarrassment. You were the best photographer the joint had, which wasn't saying much at all.
When you got there, show doors had already opened up and people had flooded the inside. That was a no go. You already knew the front wasn't going to be the best option to get to where you needed to go, especially not since you had gotten there late.
Before turning to schlep yourself over to the side of the building, you caught a glimpse of the backlit sign that displayed the name of the band that was playing tonight.
You felt a welt in your throat.
You'd definitley heard OF the group, hell, you remember that you tried to listen to their music. Your shitty Skull Candy headphones fried the stuff every time you tried to listen, though, so all bets as to what they actually sounded like were off to you.
Thinking about the name, specifically, and where you remember hearing it from- before tonight- before the iPod- eluded you. It made you nervous.
It felt important but you had forgotten it entirely. Oh well.
The instructions you were given were....vague at best. They told you to go to the "door around the back" next to where some vans were, and tell them you were with the photography company. This way you could get the backstage photos the band paid for. They did NOT tell you that there was a video crew on standby you'd have to contend with at the backdoor.
You clicked your tongue, it really was one thing after another.
More time loss. Great. If you didn't pick up the pace you'd be shooting yourself and your boss in the foot. After bickering with the doorman and assuring him that no you weren't a fan and yes you were actually a professional who was contracted to be there, you were let inside.
To be honest, the costume didn't help you with that at all.
It was a lot quieter backstage than up by the front door. Even from outside you could hear the roar of the crowd as they battled at the merch stand and made their excited little ways to the concert hall floor. Here though, in these plainly painted halls, it was near silent- save for the whirring of the ventilation and the creaking of equipment being wheeled back and forth.
You were looking for their dressing room, something about getting photos of them before the show for some zine. It sounded easy enough. The deceptively large backstage maze of hallways wasn't making it so easy though.
You were just lucky enough to stumble right past a door with a star on it and the band's name taped to it. Great!
You knocked on the door. Once. Hard. There was no answer.
"Excuse me!", you shouted through the cheap panel, "I'm one of your photographers tonight! m'Here to get your photo...."
You heard a loud "oh, shit!" from behind the door, the sound of someone tripping and falling, laughter, and footsteps approaching the door. You took these valuable seconds to straighten yourself up- fixed your hair, tried to make your costume more conservative, and adjusted your camera bag. It was good enough.
There was a beat of silence, and then the door swing open. A man, well, boy, in a white vest and jacket with what were definitely women's pants that fit him oh so snugly stood in front of you.
Your eyes met. He looked familiar. Really familiar.
You knew this man, and it took your breath away. Not with butterflies, but with moths that chewed through the sinew that held your chest closed. You felt years of resentment and sorrow snap and flood your abdomen.
"Brendon?", you said. You didn't mean for this to be a question, your voice wavering, betraying your command. You didn't know whether to laugh, or be angry, or cry.
"Y/n.", he breathed, "You take photos now?" He was already trying to lighten the crushing mood.
You cleared your throat. Your voice was louder and firmer now, like a flag being pushed by a starboard wind. "Yes. I'm one of your photographers for tonight."
You heard a laugh and a shout from behind Brendon, who was taking up the entirety of the slender doorframe. "Tell her she's the ONLY photographer tonight. Everyone else out there's on video...all two of em'..." You'd never heard that voice before.
Brendon snorted and stepped aside to let you into their dressing room.
"We only have a couple of minutes before showtime, so let's just make this quick", he said. He looked at everything except for you.
You stepped into the cramped room. All of the guys were in here? It was like a closet.
"I know that look", another man with thick brown hair said, "I thought the same thing, lady, the room's microscopic" You pursed your lips and nodded.
"Yeah, it is. Can't believe you guys are stuck in here....", You laughed. You shifted your camera bag up to be in front of you, starting to open her up. All of the boys were dressed up in some vaudevillian kits. This made you feel a lot better about your own, mildly similar outfit.
Brendon smacked his hands together, rubbing them, scheming. "So...y/n", he started, "That guy with the combover is Spencer. He's our drummer."
There was a loud gasp and a shout from the boys- something about "his hair just looking like that"- and Brendon spoke over it.
You nodded along to his words, adjusting the aperture and ISO of your cam, pointing it in random directions, at random objects, and between the boys in the room, two of whom- Spencer and someone else you didn't quite know yet- were sitting down.
"Next to him is Jon, our bassist. He's a real biscuit", Brendon laughed. Jon slapped the air, as if shy and flustered.
You aimed your camera across the room to the corner, where another boy was doing something in the mirror. You couldn't see his face, just the back of his head framed by his hair.
"And, well", Brendon continued, "You, ah, already know Ryan."
You froze. Just for a second. Then melted back into the monotony of taking photos. Ryan. Of course. Ryan and Brendon are Panic!
Suddenly you remembered where you'd heard that name from before.
"That I do, bub. That I do. Hello Ryan.", you said, as steeled as possible. You wanted to keep it professional so bad. You couldn't risk one emotional slip, it would likely kill you and then get you fired.
Ryan flinched at the sound of your voice. "Is that fucking Y/n?"
He was somewhere between amused and disturbed in his inflection, and nobody could tell the difference. They all probably thought he was teasing someone "in the scene".
You bit back a sigh and swallowed back the bubbling guilt that rose in your throat like bile. Every nerve inside of you was firing at max, and all you could do was try to control the shakes and at least feign the attempt to make the time worth their cash.
You barked out your orders, getting them ready for their pictures. One, two, full group photo, candids of them fiddling with their clothes, compositions of Ryan doing his makeup, Brendon making faces into the camera.
Those fifteen minutes felt like you'd had your feet chained to a cinder block and had then been pushed over the side of the boat, crushed by the hundreds of atmospheres of pressure at the bottom of the sea.
When it was finally over, that's when it had just began. You were stuck between the barricade and the stage to take your photos. Not the best angle, but you could work around it. It was the best you were going to get.
When the show started, it dawned upon you how this was everything the boys had ever wanted. You were, once upon a time, intended to be there with them. Panic! At the Disco sounded so familiar when it was briefed to you today because this was at the very core of your lofty idealism from when you were still a stupid highschooler riding the waves of things you didn't understand.
You didn't understand how complicated things get when they're significant.
Now, your ex best friends were on stage singing to hundreds of people like they'd been destined for it.
And they were doing it so, so well.
Brendon's voice rang with an aire of mystique and passion, supported by the expert and invasive instrumentation of Ryan's music. Music which, much like the man, evaded conformity and conducted itself with confidence and sensuality, and convalesced in a psycho sexual vaudevillian eargasm.
Ryan's orchestration and composition of the songs rang familiar with the songs he'd play for you way back when, and his fingers hammering on the fretboard tossed you back to the days when you'd sit in his garage with Brendon, throwing ideas at the wall for when you hit it big. The music dug its fingers into your skin and gnawed at the soft spot in your soul. It ripped through sinew and bone, forcing your attention to the brunette on guitar.
The boys had stage presence.
And the set and dancers? No wonder they couldn't afford a real photographer. It was magnificent. It sold to you, and made you realize that no, nothing rhymes with circus. You felt like you'd been dropped into a carnival, a dark congregation, and your outfit made you blend right in.
It made for amazing photos.
The snap, snap, snapping of your camera lens gave you an intimate look to the show, and helped you choke back the feelings that were overpowering you before. You felt lighter behind the camera.
You entered "flow state" - as the younger crowd calls it- around the halfway point of the show, during a song you knew too well. Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.
This rendition of the song was new to you, and to the audience, and it felt to you like the music was trying to hijack your body and transform you into someone else. Brendon's whiny voice, Ryan's interjections, the boys were playing musical chess and you never learned the rules.
Yes, it was still those two boys who made you sweat. They were the ones you thought about in bed, when the lights were dim, you were alone, and your fingers were just ghosting a touch onto your skin. You missed them, your friends. You missed their company.
You were sweating now in your tight magician costume.
Through your camera lens, you felt your eyes bore holes into the men on stage. Brendon's brown corduroy pants hugged his thighs and hips, everywhere that mattered, with his waistband sitting just high enough that the tiny gap between where it ended and his shirt began a beguiling and nebulous zone of erogeny.
Ryan was a powerhouse of his own. Fully clothed, roses embroidered into his jacket, his clothing choice gave the illusion of a serial romantic. Pants that extended and emphasized his already tall frame drew your eyes to the rocking of his hips and the lolling of his head, the slight parting of his lips, the rolling of his eyes as his fingers worked up and down his fretboard. It was more erotic than if he'd stripped naked to perform. It was like he'd been possessed by the spirit of his own music.
You were embarrassed by the jackhammering of your pulse through your veins, the sweat dripping down your forehead.
A thought along the lines of being the friction in their jeans crossed your mind, you buried it with the feelings you couldn't quite place. Which was all of them. Standing here, you couldn't tell what you were feeling, if you liked it, or if you hated it and yourself.
When intermission came, you took it as a sign to go to the bathroom to try and clear your head, missing all of the action outside. You had to get your head on straight if you were going to survive the next half hour.
The show went on. Each song lulled you into a different fantasy, where you were time and again forced to reckon with the fact that the two people who meant the most to you dropped into your life like ghosts stuck in the walls of a haunted house, and you were the unlucky buyer.
In your daze, you filled your SD card. You thought that ought' to make it worth their money. That was your goal, after all.
When the curtain dropped at the end, you understood that as your sign to leave. Escape before the ghosts of your past could stop and pull some sort of meek dialogue out of you. You already felt like shit for getting hot and bothered at the sight of them weak in the knees, performing a raw and bare version of themselves.
Back in the hallway you started in, you were ready to make a beeline through the maze back to the door. You prayed you'd get lost and fade into the beige paint of the walls, never to be seen again, like the phantom of the opera. You were ready to get out of the Filmore.
Until you felt a hand gently wrap itself around your wrist to stop you.
"You leaving already?", Brendon asked. There was a layer of sweat shining on his forehead. Ryan was off behind him massaging the cramps out of his fingers.
"Well, yeah...I need to get the photos taken care of, it's a bit of a process. Just gotta call it a night, y'know?", You laughed. Dryly. You pulled the first excuse you could think of out of your ass and convinced absolutely nobody. Brendon and Ryan knew you well enough to know when you were lying.
"Really? WE were just hoping to talk...to you. For a bit", Brendon smiled. His voice was shot from the show.
Ryan barked from behind him- "Come on, y/n. You can't say no it's been so long since we've seen you." The boys were now standing side by side in the hallway.
They used to have you wrapped around their fingers when you guys were seniors, and now you were living that one song that says something along the lines of seasons changing but people not. You, under little pressure, agreed to talk.
You wanted to say no, to cry and scream and punch them and kiss them and drop to you knees to beg for forgiveness and apologize for yelling and say it was a misunderstanding but all that came out of your mouth was the ghost of an "ok" and a silent nod.
You ended up back in the dressing room you'd taken their pictures in before. It was a lot more habitable without everyone in it, and it looked to you like some of the stuff that had been in here before had been taken out and moved somewhere else.
Brendon motioned you do sit, so you did.
Ryan didn't sit, he stayed standing, leaning on a blackbox desk with his arms crossed. Brendon plopped onto the couch beside you, arms dropped onto his legs. Fists balled. He cleared his throat roughly.
"So.....", you started, glancing between the two boys.
"I'm sorry." Brendon blurted.
You felt like you'd just been hit by a truck. The string that narrowly held your sorrow and regret together tonight snapped and sent everything you'd been feeling careening over the edge and into the depths of oblivion below.
"It wasn't right. How we treated you before we all split up...", Brendon finished.
"What?", you repeated, even more confused than the first time.
"Yeahhhhhhhh", Ryan began, standing up straight, "We definitely could've approached it with more....mm...tact."
Your jaw dropped a bit before you immediately shut your mouth. 2 years of no contact. 2 years of blaming yourself. All it took was one night for them to forget? Did they regret it at all?
"I mean...It's not all your fault", You laughed, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, "I mean I was a bit of, uh."
"A bitch?", Ryan suggested.
Brendon dropped his head into his hands and sighed a long, deep, exasperated sigh. "Seriously dude?"
"No he's right, I could've been better....but hey, we all could've been.", You said, twiddling with your fingers. You decided to take the quiet time to remove your camera bag from around you.
There was a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable silence.
Ryan nodded. He cleared his throat to do what he thought would be a good old man impression. "High schoolers are so stupid"
You and Brendon burst out laughing. You didn't expect that from him, and you didn't think someone who's 20th birthday was only a month away to be the one to say it.
"Yeah they're dumb enough to leave cars unlocked around their family members, what dunces", you laughed, slapping your knee. This joke- albeit made at your own expense- made Brendon laugh harder than he had already been. Which led to a coughing fit. Which then made Ryan cough because he was laughing at Brendon's coughing fit.
Making a joke about why your friendship ended was never something you thought you'd ever do. You never even thought you'd get over that robbery in the first place. Your trunk was unlocked in front of your own home, with your own family members beside it. Why would you think they'd blame you for their own theft?
Why did they think you moved away?
Why didn't Ryan and Brendon believe you when you told them you didn't take it? That you didn't lose it? That you could replace their amps?
It didn't matter anymore, but it still stung.
You sighed, head aching from laughter, high on the endorphins that came with whatever this reunion was, dizzy with the consideration of the past present and future, and spoke- foolishly- jokingly- familiarly to someone you'd known inside and out.
"Woah there pretty boys, don't pass out on us."
They both stopped dead. Brendon was no longer coughing, Ryan was no longer laughing, and the room stalled to silence.
"What did you say?", Ryan asked. Firmly.
"You said something, what was it."
You felt your heartbeat rattle inside of your ribcage. Ryan had always been intense, but this sudden change got you lost in the fog you thought had just cleared between you guys.
"Oh, it was nothing important...", You laughed, embarrassed, nervous, surprised by the sudden switch, "Just saying like 'oh! don't choke prettyboys!' I thought...Did I not always used to say-"
Brendon interrupted you. "You think we're pretty, Y/n?" The hand he had in his lap went onto the couch behind you, and he used it to lean himself closer to you, egging you on.
"Well I mean like I said I always used to say-", you were sputtering out some defense for yourself.
"Relax, y/n. We're fucking with you", Ryan stood up straight and walked over to the couch, sitting in the unoccupied space next to you.
"Or are we?" He was now leaning over you, just how Brendon was.
"I don't ah, remember you being so ballsy back in the ol' days, Ryan...." You were deflecting hardcore, and made the mistake of gesticulating while you spoke. He took one of your hands from the air and put it on his face.
"Really?", Brendon laughed, "He's always been this way are you serious?"
You were, you actually didn't remember.
Ryan's eyes were now locked onto yours. They pierced through his elaborate makeup, hiding in the shadow of his bangs.
"Someone should remind you how things were then."
With that he connected your lips and his. His lips were softer than they'd looked. You'd always wondered how this would feel. The kiss was brief, just a second. A blip.
"I've always wanted to fucking do that", Ryan whispered. Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, butterflies twisting around in your stomach.
"Me too....", you barely got the statement out, completely and utterly breathless.
You heard Brendon chuckle behind you before one of his hands pulled your chin to face him. He raised his brows at you and smiled.
"You're much cuter flustered than I remember, Y/n", he chimed. Your head was spinning.
Brendon's lips made their way onto yours, too. He was much more feverish in his manner than Ryan was. His lips were hungry and quickly found themselves moving from your lips to your face to your neck, nipping at the flesh exposed by your evening costume.
You crane your head back, nerves on fire with the touch, touch you hadn't felt in a long time, from anyone, let alone someone like Brendon.
Brendon pulled his lips apart from yours, a smile played across his face. You could tell he was already amused by what'd been happening.
"Relax, Y/n", he kissed the tip of your nose before looking over to Ryan, who had stood up and pulled his rose covered vest off, leaving him in his white button up shirt and pants.
"I know you've thought about fucking us before, Y/n", Ryan said, leaving all tact behind to turn right into the explicit, "You didn't do too good a job hiding it"
Your head shot to Brendon, who nodded.
"So, what do you say? For old times sake?", Ryan kneeled on the floor in front of you. He was a cross between desperate and amicable, someone who both wanted to serve and be served.
"Lock the door....", you said, turning your head away. Before long Brendon had already jumped up to get the door shut and locked away. Nobody would be coming to bother you for a long, long time.
He took a seat beside you, running a hand through your hair, pecking you on the lips, and grabbing one of your hands- placing it over the newly forming bulge under his pants.
Then Ryan's hands wrapped around your thighs, gently spreading them, the short skirt of your magician costume doing barely anything to shield your panties from view.
He looked between them and your eyes, smiling up at you.
"Good taste, I like the f/c"
He pulled them down, leaving you bare under your costume. Brendon leaned over to pull you into a kiss, partially to shut you up for what was coming next, partially because he loved the way your lips danced with his like they'd known each other their whole lives. Lovebirds, ain't they?
Bare, Ryan planted kisses on the insides of your thighs, rubbing circles in them with his thumbs. You sighed into Brendon's mouth, rubbing his cock through his pants.
Ryan kissed his way up to your heat, which had already been dampening during the show, doubly so when they were teasing you in here. He gave one long lick up your slit, landing at your clit, wrapping his tongue around the bud and pressing up against it.
Your back arched, pushing you deeper into your kiss with Brendon, your sounds drowning and dying on the barrier between your lips and his.
"Fuck...", he groaned, eating you like you were his last fucking meal. With one of his hands, he stroked up your thigh to your core, gently burying a finger inside of you. This new stimulation pulled a mewl out of you. You felt Brendon unbutton his pants and didn't wait to snake your hand into the new territory.
Stroking Brendon with one hand and keeping yourself attached to the face of the Earth with the other, you felt Ryan add another finger, curling them up inside of you as he pumped them in and out, tongue still working your clit.
Brendon pulled his lips off of yours, kissing your cheek. "Hey, hey, I'm here, lemme hear you."
Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you leaned your head back against the cushion, hand twitching in his pants, as you choked back your moans- fearful of making too much noise. You bit your lip and looked between Brendon and the door with your teary eyes, hoping he'd get the memo.
He did, nodding along with a mouthed "oh". He got up to walk over to the small speaker setup. Ryan didn't even notice that he'd moved- he was taking you body and soul, buried to the knuckles inside of you, not caring much to break for air as he ate you out, and ate you out good.
Brendon played whatever music he could find on the iPod plugged into the speaker. It was Spencer and Jon's backing tracks to keep them on beat while practicing their respective lines. All that was playing was guitar and piano. It was dark and melodramatic. With all of you still in your costumes, it felt like you were someone else somewhere else, and the music was helping to jerk your soul out of your body through your cunt.
When Brendon came back to you, he set his cock free from his underwear, where you'd more easily be able to stroke him. His hand guided you along.
Ryan's name got choked up in your mouth as you felt his fingers curl up against the soft fleshy spot inside of you that made fireworks go off behind your eyes. With every pump, every flick of his tongue, he got you close and closer to your undoing. God, they were bad for you.
This music was easing you along, too. During the concert proper the hymns and harmonies were giving you full body goosebumps. Now, the raw instrumentation was pulling you along the chain of it all.
You felt yourself get pulled apart and put back together again as your first orgasm shook through your body, making your legs fight to come together despite Ryan's head being between them. With his hands he held them apart, dragging himself from between them- as much as he didn't want to. His lips were glistening.
He propped himself up, coming up to kiss you and chuckling at how your tongue fought with his despite the fact it had just been all over your cunt.
He cupped your chin, pulling your faces apart. "God, fuck Y/n how I wish I could keep you all to myself...."
Brendon laughed. Ryan was rock hard in his pants. Something had to give.
"C'mere", Brendon flicked his hand for you to shift over to look at him. He had one of his knees on the couch, bringing him closer to your level, while the other leg was straight, and kept him propped up and standing. You crawled over to him, ass in the air, and stopped in front of him- looking up to him through your lashes.
He was taken aback for a second before falling back into himself, grabbing your chin and putting a finger in your mouth- you swirled your tongue around it and Brendon clicked his tongue in response, raising his stiff cock to your lips.
You opened your lips and invited it in, dragging your tongue along the underside- dragging a hiss out of Brendon in return. One of his hands tangled itself in your hair, and pulled your head closer to the base of his cock. You put a hand on his hip for stability.
Behind you, you could feel Ryan place his own hands on your hips, lining up his now freed cock with your hole. It took you all of two seconds to realize what was about to happen.
Ryan eased himself into you, groaning out into the air, which was drowned out by the music. You yearned to hear his voice do more than sing.
Slowly, he pumped himself in and out of you, cock massaging your insides in the same delicious way his fingers had just been.
All urges to whine and cry out were choked by you working your tongue along the length of Brendon's shaft. He was lovingly, ever so gently, ever so desperately fucking your face with that pretty cock of his.
Both of the boys rutted into you from either side, curing ails you didn't know present and plunging you down the course of overwhelming pleasure. Your insides were still shining with the afterglow of your previous orgasm, and Ryan working your body with his cock, while massaging your sides with his hands was making you squirm under him.
He rutted his hips into you with hard, precise, fast strokes, cursing under his breath and whining when it felt good. Beads of sweat made his makeup start to streak down his face, white, black, and purple mixing where they bled.
Brendon had one of his hands over the hand you had on his hip, moving it to feel under his shirt. He needed you to touch him more than you already were. Rocking himself in and out of your mouth wasn't enough. He needed more of you. As much of you as he could get before his climax.
He sucked in air through his teeth. "Shit, y/n..."
He felt his climax reaching for him in the brief moments of you wrapping your tongue around his shaft, flicking his tip with your tongue, teasing him with your mouth.
His grip in your hair tightened the closer he got- trying not to hurt you, but buckling under the pleasure rippling through his body, the sensation of your fingers trailing across his abdomen.
Ryan could feel his cock twitching inside of you as his climax threatened to wash itself over him, but he was determined to get you off before anything became of him at all.
He grabbed a fistful of your ass.
"Fuck, y/n...God, you're so fucking....", He tried to stammer out a sentence before choking back on his own groans. He took a hand off of your body to adjust his shirt, raising it's hem up and out of the way of you two's fluids.
You felt your body readying itself again, stomach full and ripe with anticipation as your cunt shot waves of pleasure through your body, up your spine, through your nervous system, lighting it up like a switchboard on a holiday.
Ryan's pumps grew sloppy, long, and disjointed as he fought against his orgasm, rutting himself with more tact to try and hit your soft, spongy center.
His undoing was inevitable, and he came. Hard.
With a whimper and a choked back moan, he pulled out, cock resting against your inner thigh, shooting his own fluids down your leg. You felt his hand reach for your clit, he was breathlessly chasing your own high.
The circles he was rubbing into you made you push your hips down against his hand, moving your head faster in tandem with Brendon's own thrusts fucking your face. You were so motivated now, you were so close.
The thread snapped, and you and Brendon's orgasms followed soon after- cum filling your mouth, and your own fluids dripping down your legs, mixing with Ryan's load.
The music was still playing, overpowering the heavy breathing of you three. Brendon withdrew from your mouth, and you swallowed back the salty liquid before being pulled up into an embrace.
Ryan stepped over to turn the music off.
Silence fell over the room.
He was walking with a slight overcompensating step from leaning on one of his knees, and you already knew you'd be sore from the waist down in about three hours.
You couldn't wait to see what your own walk would look like.
"Holy fuck", Brendon said, rubbing circles in your back.
"Yeah,", Ryan added, "Fucking crazy, right?"
You laughed, this was all too unserious.
"So now what?", You asked. Mostly as a joke.
"Well", Ryan started, pointing at you, "We gotta get you out of those fucking clothes, they're a mess. I'm sure I have something for you."
You nodded. Great place to start.
"Then??", Brendon asked, releasing you to follow Ryan over to a small duffel bag of clothes and sweaters.
Ryan was bent over rummaging through the clothes, voice hoarse.
"Then we can go get something to fucking eat. Last time was, what? At 3 before the show? I'm starving."
He tossed you a pair of jeans, a belt, and a hoodie.
"I'm sure you two are starving, too."
He was right. You hadn't thought about it but you were really hungry.
There was still something weighing on your mind. Holding Ryan's clothes in your hand, getting ready to walk to the bathroom to clean yourself up from the wildest sex you'd ever had- which, mind you, just happened with your best friends, a question sat on the tip of your tongue.
The boys both turned to look at you.
"What'm....exactly are we? Or is this? Like...What happens now. With us."
Brendon and Ryan looked at each other, then looked at you.
"We can be whatever you want...", Brendon said, plainly.
"Or whatever you need, whenever you need it", Ryan added.
You'd never....heard that answer before. You nodded along to the words.
"Don't sweat it, sweetheart", Brendon chimed, nudging you with his elbow, "Just think about it and then decide what you wanna do...."
He gave you a half cocked wink and you couldn't tell if he was being serious.
"We forgive you for the stolen parts, and we missed you...So, take it at your leisure. We'll be around...", Ryan said, pulling on a new shirt. He threw one at Brendon's head, getting it stuck around his face.
For the first time in a long time, you had a good night in Denver.
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PHEWWWW..... well that was fun!
how do you feel about some panic one shots????? love you so so so so so much sorry i was gone heres some porn with plot !!!!!!!!
