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Prostitution Is Revolution

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Ryan was curled up on his couch strumming an old acoustic Alex had spared him when he heard to the familiar first bars of Money ringing out between his couch cushions. Zack Hall. “Hm...” He dug around for his iPhone for a moment before cutting Barrett off mid-verse. “What a delight,” Ryan drawled slowly. “How’s it hangin’, Big Man?”

“Pretty good Little Man. How about yourself, huh?”

“Much of the same. How are the guys?” Ryan had talked to Spencer maybe eight days ago, but all they’d talked about was Thai food -- he wouldn’t willingly admit how baked he was, but Spencer couldn’t point any fingers, either.

“Good. You know... tour’s over. We all just got back.”

“Yes -- I saw the spectacular bang it went out with, too. Bren gave me a link.” Ryan caught himself about to giggle. “He really outdid himself.”

“Well, you know how he gets...” Zack trailed off.

“Mhmm.....” And Ryan really did. He still shivered at the thought of all that adrenaline and sexual energy, remembering how it felt directed at him.

“About that...Ryan...I...” For the first time Ryan sensed hesitation in Zack’s voice. “The reason I’m calling. The guys have some...down time now, and they wondered if you’d be available for a job.”

“A job,” Ryan said slowly. If Zack was asking... they hadn’t done that since before... “They haven’t needed my services since the band split.” Haven’t needed me, Ryan thought venomously.

“Dude, you know there’s been no time. It’s been awkward, or you’ve been busy recording all over the place, but...” Zack lowered his voice, “one thing you’re wrong about -- they have aways needed you.” Ryan didn’t miss the phrasing. Didn’t miss how Zack said they needed him...not his services.

“Zack, I don’t...I don’t know if I’m in that line of...work anymore.” He hoped to hell Zack didn’t hear the quiver in his voice. “And what about the new guys? They know about this?”

“Well. They’re all kind of hoping...” Zack cleared his throat. Ryan smiled at how familiar that was -- about the many times he heard it before Zack put on his Listen The Fuck Up voice. “They’ll pay for the Extra Special.”

Ryan gulped. “All of them then?”

“Yeah. Is that...”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Things are...things are different.”

Zack was quiet for a long moment, and Ryan focused on the hockey game on mute -- watching them glide across the ice more elegantly than he ever did. “But some things will never change, Ryan. Them needing you is....”

“I’ll call you back,” Ryan hurried out, hitting the end call button.

Although Ryan took an hour to survey his options there had never really been a chance of him saying no.

***

 

Ryan was nervous as he went through his preparations -- which was weird. It was always a ritual that calmed him, centered him into the role. No. Not the role...His role. His place. But now it was all so different.

He’d had to beg makeup off of Z since his own MAC kit was long gone. Z in her wisdom hadn’t asked what it was for -- hadn’t batted an eyelash -- just handed over his most flattering shades and her shiniest lip gloss. Ryan’s straightened his hair with long familiar motions, painted on his face, became someone -- something he hadn’t been in a long time. And while it felt awkward and new it also felt like coming home.

Ryan wasn’t sure what to expect from them. He still talked to Spencer as much as once a week, sometimes more, catching up on family stuff, friend stuff. But they never even touched on this side of things between them -- why would they?

Brendon, well...Brendon was just Brendon and would always be just Brendon. Nothing ever changed much between them except that sometimes they talked -- and sometimes they didn’t. After months of silence they could and did come together again as if nothing had ever come between them...Hooters and talks of rug burn only two of the many odd things they had shared lately.

Ian wasn’t exactly new to him. When The Cab had first been signed Brendon and Cash had become BrendonandCash for a while. Brendon was always off skating in mall parking lots, or whatever the hell they got up to, and Ian took to hanging with the rest of them. They said he was their insurance to get Brendon back, but really he never quite ‘fit” with the Alexes the way he did with them. (Ryan suppressed a shudder at just how well Ian had fit with them.) It hadn’t surprised Ryan at all when Ian stepped in to fill his shoes.

Dallon though...Dallon was a wild card. Ryan had met him a few times. He always seemed nice, but honestly Ryan had never paid that much attention until....well, until after. Ryan had slowly started to pay attention...had watched him with the band. The only impression he got was of a bigger (so much bigger), sillier Brendon. Ridiculous talent, dorky sense of humor -- possibly without the dark edge that Ryan knew was hidden just below Brendon’s surface. Then again looks could be deceiving. Jon Walker had taught him that.

But above all else Ryan trusted Zack not to put him in a bad situation. Zack had never let him down in real life or in the game.

***

Double checking the address Zack had gave him, Ryan took a moment to assess himself before ringing the buzzer. Nerves were still constricting his chest despite the costume, and nothing would be more awkward and embarrassing than ringing the wrong door like this. Only for them. Luckily the voice that answered the buzzer was warm and familiar. “Hello?” Spencer.

“Uhm...Hi. I’m...Zack sent me.”

“Come on up.”

Ryan sighed as the door buzzed open,and he crowded into the elevator to make his way up to the eighth floor, wondering briefly whose apartment he’d been given the address to. He’d never been here before. Maybe Ian’s?

It didn’t matter though. Not really. His services were needed not his opinion on interior decorating.

He took a few moments to breathe deep and slip into his role. No more rock star. No more hipster scene musician -- just a whore here to service his best and only clients.

And he knocked.

***

The door swung open, and a hand shot out and grabbed Ryan’s arm, jerking him inside. His startled cry was muffled by the mouth on his and hands were suddenly all over him -- grasping, groping, pulling him up tight against a very naked, very erect Spencer.

“It took you long enough to get here,” Spencer panted into his mouth. “Why are you still dressed again?”

Ryan kept his smirk to himself and started to strip like a good little whore. Spencer backed away giving him a view of a nude Brendon astride Dallon’s lap, kissing him heatedly. Ryan watched as his hips gyrated in slow, delicious circles, making his mouth water. Ian was sitting near them, just as nude, stroking his cock slowly and watching Ryan with naked hunger in his eyes.

Ryan had just a moment to take in their surroundings: the room -- large and open, the furniture -- lush and overstuffed. Then Spencer literally threw him over the nearest chair. Thank god for overstuffed cushions. Generously, Spencer began to open him with his particularly skilled hands -- a rare treat.

“Damn boy. You’re tight,” Spencer jeered. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’d been saving yourself for us.” Spencer worked a little lube over his cock and slammed right in. Ryan bit his lip, but not before a pained cry slipped out. It had been a long time and, after all, these were his only clients so to speak. He felt like a virgin again with Spencer tearing up his insides, but that feeling didn’t last.

His body opened under Spencer’s thrusting, recognizing the pain as something familiar, something good even. Ryan felt himself grow hard as Spencer rocked into him again and again. There was no tenderness, no finesse -- just a fast hard fuck until he felt a familiar shudder above him and knew from experience Spencer was coming.

Spencer pulled out seconds later and lifted Ryan up, nudging him towards the couch. He eyed the three of them there to see who would go next. Brendon he knew would wait -- preferred him loose and sloppy and filled with other men’s come.

Dallon still seemed pretty happy with Brendon on his lap, too, so Ryan walked over and climbed astride Ian. Ian helpfully grabbed his hips and guided him into position over his cock, then, gripping hard, pulled him down on it.

He slid in easily and threw his head back as Ryan rode him, hard and slow like he used to like it (and judging by the bliss on his face he still did). Ryan worked up a perfect rhythm as always. His cock slid along Ian’s stomach as he rose and fell, matching the slick slide of Ian inside him. He felt the pressure building in him and knew he was getting close -- and the spark in Ian’s eyes said he was right there with him.

But then Ryan felt himself lifted into the air off of Ian, and -- most tragic of all -- Ian’s cock.

“Wha...?!” He yelped in surprise as Dallon spun him around in his arms and neatly impaled Ryan on his cock while Ian sputtered in protest on the couch behind him.

Ryan’s head spun as Dallon bounced him up and down onto his thrusting cock, arm muscles flexing deliciously as he held all of Ryan’s weight. Ryan wrapped his legs around Dallon’s waist and let himself be be manhandled, fucked, wrecked, taken apart. The sensation was like flying -- until an indignant Ian came up behind him and pushed them both back down onto the couch. “Sit the fuck down Barnum and Bailey.”

Dallon laughed and landed on his back with Ryan still astride him, and Ryan was disarmed by the almost innocent sound. They lost their rhythm for a moment, but fell quickly back into it again. Ryan was close, so close, to coming when he felt Ian pressing against his back. Ian lined himself up and pushed in alongside Dallon, timing himself with his thrusts.

“OH FUCK!” Ryan saw sparks behind his eyes at the pain and fullness of two cocks fucking into him. It was almost too much, and he had to fight to keep breathing. Before his body had time to adjust though Ian stiffened and came, slipping back out and leaving him in Dallon’s hands.

Dallon’s hands, fuck.

With one he grabbed a handful of Ryan’s hair and pulled him in for a long, dirty, wet kiss while the other reached between their bodies and jacked Ryan’s cock in sweet counterpoint to the rhythm of their fucking.

Ryan’s hips shuddered as he let loose, and Dallon milked him through his release until he cried out from too much.

Body tingling and near numb after his orgasm, Ryan barely felt it as Dallon pulsed his own release inside and then slipped out from under Ryan leaving him lying face down, slightly dazed, on the couch.

Ryan heard sounds of kissing and whispered laughter behind him. It might have lulled him to sleep (fuck it. Ryan could sleep anywhere. Anywhere) but then Brendon spooned up behind him and slipped effortlessly inside. He could hear the squelch of the come as Brendon slid in and out, but Ryan didn’t do much to help -- let the sleep pulling his eyelids shut stay there. “Oh god I’ve missed you. You filthy fucking whore.” Brendon breathed in his ear. “Missed seeing you used over and over again.”

Brendon babbled on obscenely while he pumped into Ryan, pausing only to lick a stripe up his neck or bite down on his shoulder. Then he reached underneath Ryan and grasped his still twitching cock, pulling and pressing his thumb into the sensitive slit. That forced the exhaustion out of him with a solid shove, and Ryan pulled his eyes open a little more at the burning sensation.

“OHGOD Brendon! Too much! Too much! Hurts.....oh...!” and....Ryan passed the fuck out.

When he came to he was on his back with a very anxious looking Brendon hovering over him, Spencer passing him a cold bottle of water.

“Jesus Christ! I thought we broke you.”

Ryan took a long pull of the water and then looked levelly at Brendon. “Yeah. I should charge extra for that.”