Ryan hasn’t heard from Jon for two weeks and he is worried just the tiniest bit. It’s not like he can’t get through several days without talking to him. Only, it’s nothing like Jon. When he is staying in Chicago he tends to text Ryan everyday or send him e-mails full of pictures of Jon’s pets, clouds and whatever random thing he has found interesting enough to take a photo of. The texts aren’t even proper messages; there are more like clusters of random sentences, making more or less sense to the reader. Nonetheless, it’s some sign of life. Ryan will text back with something equally out of blue and they’re good. But now, there is nothing. Not a single photo of Clover or Marley, not a single message.
Ryan called him the last Monday, but their conversation was pretty short, if one could call it a talk. Jon just picked up, told him he can’t really talk at the moment because Cassie just came and hung up. Even if Ryan felt a little hurt with his friend’s attitude, he didn’t say a word. After not seeing her boyfriend for three weeks Cassie was probably longing for him. Plus, Ryan had a vague notion about things not being very smooth between Jon and her. During those three weeks the other month when Jon was in Los Angeles and they were working on a few new songs, he got several calls from Cassie, which usually ended with them arguing on the phone. As Ryan didn’t feel comfortable in such situations, he would always retreat from the room as inconspicuously as possible and come back later when things settled down. Jon was always acting like nothing happened, so Ryan didn’t ask. It wasn’t his business anyway.
A couple of weeks ago Jon went back to Chicago, kept his usual flow of e-mails and text messages going and then all of sudden stopped calling whatsoever. Which has led Ryan to this point; standing in his kitchen, his back against the counter, staring at his cell. He ponders whether it would be right to make a call or not. He doesn’t want to appear importunate and he is perfectly aware that after all this time spent together Jon could be a little sick of him. Everyone needs some time alone once in a while. But at the same time he misses his friend, although he is reluctant to admit it even to himself. Eventually, he just sighs and dials up Jon’s number.
One tone, two, three, four... Just when he is about to hang up, Jon picks up.
“Hi,” he sounds tired.
“Hi, man,” Ryan scratches his neck with his free hand. “What’s up?”
The answer is at least a bit off-putting, but Ryan continues, trying his best not to sound concerned. “Haven’t hear from you in a while,” he says as nonchalantly as he can.
“Yeah, sorry. Things been kinda hectic.”
“Something happened?” Here goes pretending being uncaring.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Jon,” Ryan knows his friend too well to buy a brushing-off answer like that. If everything were okay, Jon would be already babbling happily at him about the latest movie he has seen and that Ryan absolutely has to watch it.
Jon is quiet for a while. Ryan is about to poke him verbally again, when the other man eventually speaks.
“Cassie broke up with me a week ago.”
“Oh.” It’s definitely not what Ryan was expecting and to be frank, he doesn’t know what to say.
He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, but finally sets on a cautious: “How... how you’ve been coping with that?” He can’t see the other man, but it’s almost too easy to imagine Jon shrugging dismissively.
“I’m okay. Life goes on.”
Ryan thinks about something appropriate to say, ‘Things are gonna be okay eventually’ or something along the lines, when Jon adds: “Chicago is awful at this time of year, you know?”
Switching the phone from one hand to the other, Ryan sighs softly. “Jon... Come to L.A.”
There’s some shuffling at the other end of the line. “Are you serious?”
Ryan nods in the direction of his cupboard. “There’s sun in L.A. There’s a spare bedroom in my house. There’s beer in the fridge. Come.”
“And the pets?” Jon’s voice is still careful, measured, but with a tiny spark of hope now.
Waving his hand dismissively, Ryan replies. “Bring them along.”
He can hear a soft whoosh of air in the receiver, as if Jon was inhaling deeply. “Okay. Text me with details?”
“Mhm,” Ryan hums his agreement and says goodbye, pushing the red button on his cell. He just stays like that for a while, gazing through the kitchen window at nothing in particular, suddenly pensive.
Hobo steps slowly into the kitchen, the sound of her tiny claws clinking against the tiles giving her away before Ryan can even see her. She sits down in front of Ryan and twist her head to the side, looking at him expectantly. He gazes down at her and smiles: “Guess what? Marley and the cats are visiting! Are you excited?”
She barks at him and waggles her tail, eyes glinting.
Ryan smiles wider. “Me too.”
And just like that, three days later, Jon arrives at Ryan’s doorstep, overstuffed travel bag in one hand, cat transport box and Marley’s leash in the other. Ryan ushers him in, takes in his tousled hair, dark circles under his eyes, long-untrimmed beard, then simply pulls him up to his chest and wraps his arms around the other man's torso. Jon just lets him.
The first evening is just them and the dogs on the couch in Ryan’s living room, and a lot of beer. Maybe too much, Ryan thinks when he wakes up the next morning with his legs tossed over Jon’s lap, who is curled up on the other side of the couch, his head pounding. Hobo and Marley are whining pitifully, trotting in place suspiciously and he doesn’t want to deal with wet spots on the carpet atop of everything. He lets them out on his way to the kitchen where he gets two bottles of water and two aspirins. Jon wakes up just as Ryan comes back to the room, rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips. With a grateful smile, he accepts the bottle and takes starts drinking, swallowing the pills between sips. He still didn’t tell Ryan much last night, but enough for Ryan to get a general picture of what had happened. Ryan tried to be as supportive and understanding as he could, humming agreement in the right places and patting Jon’s back several times, even if a bit awkwardly. He knows Jon will look better after a few nights of decent sleep and a long bath. He hopes he will also be better inside, as time goes by. In the meanwhile, Ryan is going to be the best friend and host as he can be.
He sets the half-empty bottle on the coffee table. “Breakfast?” he asks.
Jon shakes his head. “Nah, maybe later.” He stops to sniff his armpit, his face scrunching up comically. “Eww. Shower first.”
Ryan nods seriously. “Before you stink all over my couch,” ducking down with a snort when Jon tosses a cushion at him.
It takes them just a week to fall into an easy pattern of living in Ryan’s house. They’re kind of used to this; after all, it’s not the first time Jon stays over at Ryan’s. It mostly resembles any other time when Jon came over for a round of writing or recording. They wake up late, eat something, take the dogs for a walk. If they are in the mood, they try to write some new songs. Usually it consists of strumming their guitars in a random way, hoping they stumble upon a nice melody or throwing stupid rhymes and half finished lyrics at each other. In the evenings they set out in the living room with take outs and a movie, sometimes for a few rounds of Xbox playing. They have met with Alex, Nick and Andy two times since Jon’s arrival. Ryan can see that it was good for Jon; the possibility of spending time with his friends, to laugh and talk about trivial stuff, to unwind. Still, they don’t go out too much, because Jon doesn’t seem to feel entirely comfortable in public. One minute he is calm and relaxed, smiling easily at his surroundings, but then a song catches his ear or he spots a piece of clothing or an object, anything that reminds him of Cassie. In a matter of seconds he gets quiet and retreated, stirring his drink or tracing his finger over the tabletop mindlessly and Ryan knows it’s time to head home.
Jon has taken the spare bedroom. There are his shoes in the hall, his toothbrush in the bathroom and twice as much dishes to wash (or rather garbage to throw out, as usually the only meal they actually make themselves is breakfast). Somehow, Ryan doesn’t mind.
Ryan is sitting on his bed with his back propped against the headboard and his laptop placed on his outstretched legs, when Jon walks into the bedroom wearing only his jeans, the ones that are old and tattered, with a stain above the right knee. Ryan lets out an embarrassing hiccupping sound, his fingers slipping over the keyboard. That must be because of Jon creeping up on him like that; he has seen the other guy shirtless plenty of times when they were still in Panic and it is nothing to get jumpy about.
He quirks an eyebrow at the guitarist. “I know we’re in California, but is it really this warm?”
Jon gives a half-shrug, his hand burrowed into his pockets. “I think I’ve run out of clean clothes.”
Ryan makes a quit counting in his head. It’s been almost two weeks since the other man came over. “I’m not really surprised. One can only bring so many clothes and you came with only one bag. Time to do laundry, I reckon.”
“I think so. Um... Maybe you could help me? I’m sure you have to wash your things too.”
“Yeah, that’s true, but you see, I’ve got these e-mails I need to answer? Like, tons of them. Seriously, dude, I don’t remember the last time I checked my mailbox.” Ryan is the worst liar ever. He scratches his leg, trying not to glance on his laptop screen where he has the You Tube site open and bends his knees to make sure Jon can’t see it. Spencer would see through this lie immediately and make Ryan move his skinny, lazy ass and help. But Jon isn’t Spencer, he can’t read Ryan that good, so he just stands there, looking a bit lost. “I’m sure you can handle a little laundry on yourself, right?”
“Um, yes, sure,” Jon says, toeing the carpet with his foot.
“Awesome!” Ryan’s already focused back on his laptop, when he calls after Jon. “Oh, and could you do mine too? All dirties are in the basket in the bathroom.” After that, he’s gone for the world instantly.
Two hours later Ryan stands in the bathroom, his hands clutching a beige paisley shirt, still slightly damp. Well, at least he’s holding something that once was his beige paisley shirt. Now it’s covered in pinkish blots.
“What...” Ryan stares at the piece of clothing in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, Ryan!” Jon looks at him, apprehensive, like he is waiting for the other guy to burst out any second and is already planning his escape. “I just put it into the washing machine and turned it on, have no idea how it could happened!”
Ryan shoots him a cautious glance, then walks up to the washing machine and takes the rest of the laundry out. Slowly, he holds up one of Jon’s t-shirts. A bright red one. Jon looks puzzled.
“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t know you aren’t supposed to wash this with other clothes?”
“Um... I’m not supposed to?”
Even a basilisk would squeak and run under Ryan’s murderous glare. Jon is only more confused.
“What? Cassie always did it! When we were on tour I would just gave my clothes to Spencer or any other of you who happen to go to the laundromat.”
“And before? You weren’t with Cassie forever!”
“It feels like it,” Jon slumps a little. “Before I still lived with my mom.”
Ryan snorts, some of the anger ebbing away. “I can’t believe it. You’ve never done your laundry by yourself?” Certain circumstances made him to start taking care of such matters when he was eleven, so he can’t really wrap his mind around it. He shakes his head. “You should’ve told me.”
Jon's eyes dart away, a delicate shade of pink coloring his cheeks. “I didn’t want to appear like a complete looser who’s not even able of washing his dirty pants.”
Casting a last glance at the destroyed shirt, Ryan tosses it in the corner. It’s good for nothing better then a rag anyway. “Well, it’s not so difficult. You just have to remember to sort the clothes beforehand, okay?” He tugs at Jon’s arm. “C’mon, I’ll show you how.”
When Jon crouches next to Ryan on the tiles, he still looks sheepish. “Fuck, I’m really sorry because of your shirt. I’ll buy you a new one, okay? And a hat.”
“Okay, okay,” Ryan says but he is smiling. Surely he’s not the one to refuse an offer of free clothes, is he?
When Jon sleeps in Ryan's bed for the first time, it’s an accident. All of their songs are practically complete and they will go to the studio any day now. Ryan decides it is the time to celebrate. He rummages through his cupboards and drawers until he finds a bag of weed he knows he hid somewhere before. They smoke it in Ryan’s room, laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, laughing and talking nonsense. Smoking always makes Jon giggle stupidly, and Ryan, pretty light-headed himself, lays his head down on the other man’s chest because the giggles make these funny rumbles inside Jon and Ryan can laugh too. They fall asleep like that, still in their shirts and pants.
Waking up isn’t awkward. While still in their former band, the four of them would often wake up after weed nights squashed on one hotel bed, limbs tangles in the weirdest combinations. Ryan makes strong coffee for both of them and Jon makes sure their toasts won’t burn.
Three days later, they are in Ryan’s bedroom again, watching a movie, because the cats took up the couch in the living room and Jon didn’t have the heart to make them go away. He falls asleep halfway through the movie, and Ryan notices it only when he starts to snort softly. Despite calling Jon a softie, when Ryan was bickering about having to use the much smaller TV set ‘just because of your stupid cats, Jonny Walker’, he can’t bring himself to shake up Jon either. Instead he pulls the comforter from underneath his body as carefully as he can and covers the other man up, curling up next to him.
The next evening Jon leaves the bathroom after he took a shower, lost deeply in his thoughts, and it’s only when he halts in front of a bed and meets Ryan’s questioning look, he realizes he went to the wrong room.
“Um, sorry. I must’ve spaced out.”
Ryan puts away the book he is reading and shrugs. “Whatever. You can stay. I mean, all beds are the same. No point for walking back to the end of the hall again. I... Yeah.” He pulls the covers away and Jon mirrors his shrug. No point indeed. He crawls into bed beside Ryan and soon they are both sound asleep.
The following morning Ryan wakes up with his head on Jon’s chest and his arm wrapped around Jon’s waist. It does feel a bit odd then, but Ryan decides not to think about it. It’s just his friend, right?
He doesn’t think about it in the evening either, when Jon comes into his room and gaze at him self-consciously. He just nods his approval and that’s about it.
Waking up together, often tangled around each other, still feels weird, but they don’t discuss it. Whoever gets up first makes breakfast (usually it’s Jon, because Ryan rarely can move his lazy ass before 10 a.m.), then they let out the animals and go to the living room, watching stupid breakfast programs and munching at their cereals. Clover and Dylan have practically made the right end of the couch theirs, as Ryan and Jon usually fit in the left one. It makes them sit really close, but hey, mornings tend to be crispy even in Los Angeles, okay? Sharing body heat is inevitable.
Jon is sprawled on the couch, watching a documentary about red pandas on Animal Planet, when Ryan plops down next to him, grabs the remote and changes the channel without a word.
“Hey!” Jon sounds indignant. “I was watching that!”
“Mmm. And I want to watch this show.”
“You can’t just change the channel like that!” Jon tries to snatch the remote from Ryan’s grasp, but Ryan shifts it swiftly to the other hand and extends his arm far past Jon’s reach, eyes never leaving the screen.
“Shhh,” Ryan swats Jon’s fingers away and turns the volume up.
Jon’s eyes narrow to slits and it’d look pretty dangerous if Ryan bothered watching him instead of the TV. “You twiggy selfish brat,” he murmurs and launches himself at the unsuspecting singer. They tumble on the couch together. Ryan tries to squirm away, but Jon plays dirty, jabbing his fingers in between Ryan’s ribs. With a pained squeak, Ryan let’s go of the remote and Jon holds the object high above his head with a triumphant, “Ha!”
“Fine!” Ryan growls and stomps out into the backyard. Jon snorts with a slight annoyance at this demonstration of childish behavior, changing the channel back to Animal Planet; the panda documentary is still on. He leans back against the back rest, getting comfortably. After half a minute, he risks a glance in the direction of the glass door to the backyard, but he can’t spot Ryan from his place. He shrugs and fixes his eyes back on the screen. He gazes towards the door again after another minute, and again, and again, until he can’t focus on the program anymore. Placing the remote on the coffee table he stands up and walks into the backyard.
“Ryan, come on!”
Hobo walks into the bedroom and looks up at Jon expectantly, who is sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptop propped on his tights. When he doesn’t acknowledge her, she hops up on the bed and nudges his hand. Jon turns away from the computer and smiles at her, scratching her behind the ear.
“What’s up, girl?”
The dog waggles her tail but before Jon can say anything more, a loud clatter comes from downstairs. He raises his eyebrow and stands up, patting his thigh.
“Let’s go and check what your master came up with again, shall we?”
He goes down the steps, calling out when he is still on the stairs. “Everything’s okay?”
“Sure!” Ryan’s voice calls back. “Just dropped a saucepan.”
Jon peaks into the kitchen, only to see the counters covered with pans, pots and various ingredients, Ryan bustling around. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Cooking,” Jon repeats in astonishment.
“Yes. I don’t remember when I’ve eaten something home-made the last time.”
Jon has never seen Ryan complaining on take-out food before, but he doesn’t comment on that.
“Huh. Okay. Want some help?”
“No, I’m good. Will call you when it’s ready.”
“All right. I’ll take the dogs out.” He whistles and goes out to the backyard, Hobo and Marley on his heels.
Playing with dogs is one of Jon’s favorite things to do and he doesn’t even notice when about forty minutes pass by. Suddenly, he stops in the middle of throwing a ball and wrinkles his nose, the air smelling distinctively of something burnt. He drops the ball on the ground and goes back inside.
The kitchen is full of smoke, some of it already gone through an open window. Something lays in a sticky heap on the floor, looking suspiciously like smashed eggs. Empty packets and dirty spoons litter the counter. Ryan stands at the sink, coughing and trying to wave away the smoke with one hand, while he turns on the tap with another and pours water on smoking frying pan.
At first Jon just stands there, eyes wide, taking in the mess, then he bursts out laughing, startling Ryan who drops the pan into the sink. He laughs and laughs until his eyes are watery and his sides hurt. Finally, he stops, wiping tears with his fingertips, while Ryan just keeps standing there, looking half between miserable and offended.
Jon steps up to Ryan, grinning. “Cooking idea didn’t turn out well?”
Ryan huffs, looking aside. “It would, if this stupid pan hadn't heat up so fast.” Then he jumps, when Jon’s fingers touch his face.
“Flour,” Jon explains, holding up his hand, tinted with white powder. “You’ve got flour on your nose.”
“Guess we’re gonna have sandwiches for dinner? I’ve wasted half of the fridge's content.” Ryan has the grace to look ashamed.
“No such luck.” Jon grins again and when Ryan meets his eyes, he adds. “Go and clean yourself up, I’ll tidy up here a bit and then we can go to find some nice restaurant. I’m paying.”
Ryan’s smiles and it grows wider and wider until he’s fully grinning. On the spur of the moment he gives Jon a bone-crashing hug. “You’re the best, Jonny Walker.”
“Well, I’m aware of it. Now, go,” he says and pushes Ryan out of the kitchen.
Recording the album is in full swing and they come back home late more and more often, with no energy to do anything more than a quick shower, retreating to bed as soon as possible and falling asleep almost instantly.
On one of those nights they’re laying under the covers already, the light off and Ryan is half sleeping when he hears a quiet, “Ry?”
It’s so soft he could ignore it and pretend he didn’t hear it but he answers anyway. “Yeah?”
“I’m not overstaying my welcome, am I?” Jon sounds insecure and a little... afraid? “It’s nearly two months since I’ve came here. I know we’re still busy recording, but if you want to, I can move out to a hotel, or maybe crash at Andy’s...”
“Jon.” Ryan’s voice is muffled by his pillow, but on the contrary to Jon’s, it’s strong and confident. “You can stay as long as you want, I like you being here. Sleep now.”
“Spencer just called,” Ryan announces as he steps into the room.
Jon perks up. “Yeah?”
“He and Brendon just came back from their tour, they want to drop by tomorrow.”
“Awesome,” Jon’s smile is wide and sincere. “I haven’t seen them for ages.”
“Me too. And I think we should cook something for this occasion.”
“Ryan,” Jon starts to laugh.
“Okay, okay!” Ryan raises his hands up in surrender, but he’s smiling too.
“Now, it’s actually a good idea. Only, it’ll be much safer and more efficient if I cook, and you can help me.”
“Oh really?” Ryan’s eyebrows go up. “You can cook?”
“You didn’t know? I’m an awesome cook. Cassie made laundry, I sat in the kitchen,” Jon says with a wink and Ryan realizes there’s not a trace of sadness or disappoint anymore when he mentions his ex-girlfriend.
Jon’s already in the kitchen, peering into the fridge and opening the cupboards. “We have to go shopping tomorrow. We’ve ran out of food again!”
The next morning they are in a nearby grocery store, strolling lazily between the aisles and putting into the cart whatever catches their eyes and they think it might be useful. Engrossed in their activity, none of them spot Nick, who comes out on the other end of the aisle.
“I don’t know why I’m always the one who pushes the cart!” Jon complains mockingly, feigning irritation.
“Because I don’t have enough meat on my bones, therefore I can’t perform such hard tasks. It’s beyond my power!” Ryan answers in his best dramatic tone, putting another item into the cart.
Jon laughs and smacks Ryan up his head with a pack of macaroni. In revenge, Ryan elbows him in the side.
“Hi guys,” says Nick, when they are almost level with each other.
“Oh, hi,” Jon seems to be a bit startled.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Ryan snaps. He isn’t really upset, he just doesn’t like when people ask such stupid and unnecessary questions wasting his time. Nick is already used to Ryan's moods, so he isn’t put out by his behavior.
“We’re shopping,” Jon says instead. “Brendon and Spencer are coming over tonight and we though it’d be nice to cook something.”
Nick nods his acknowledgment, his face unreadable. They chat for a while and then part, Jon and Ryan heading one direction and Nick another. But he doesn’t start walking at instant; he stands there, watching his two band mates, lips turned up in tell-tale smirk.
This time, with Jon’s lead, making dinner is successful. Spencer and Brendon arrive shortly after they finish the preparations. They spend a nice evening, telling each other funny stories and catching up at what’s going on in their lives. Every now and then, Brendon and Spencer share a pointed look and Ryan means to ask them about it, but in the end it slips his mind. There’s wine for dinner and Brendon’s favorite tequila afterwards. Although they’re not really drunk, but rather pretty tipsy, Ryan wants to fetch another bottle stashed in the fridge, but Spencer refuses.
“We may not have to drive home tonight, but we'll still have to be able to tell the taxi driver directions. You know Brendon is a light-weight.”
“I’m not!” exclaims Brendon, glaring at Spencer.
“You are,” Spencer objects, patting his shoulder soothingly.
“Well,” Ryan interjects before Brendon can start arguing, even if is voice is slightly slurry already. “You can always crash here, I don’t mind.”
“You only have two bedrooms,” Spencer points out.
Ryan waves his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. Jon sleeps in my bedroom anyway, so...” He cuts off, realizing how this statement sounds. Jon blushes, embarrassment coloring his ears red.
Brendon breaks into huge grin. “So I was right after all! But you should’ve tell us, guys, share the joy.” He winks at them conspiratorially.
“I don’t get you,” Ryan mumbles, reddening as well.
“It’s not the way it appears to be,” Jon says.
“We’re not... We don’t sleep with each other,” Ryan explains. “We’re just share the bed.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow. “And the reason for that is...?”
“Um... no reason?” Jon is rather lost.
“You’ve made dinner together,” Brendon puts out helpfully.
“And were grocery shopping,” adds Spencer.
“Ryan, you would normally murder anyone who destroyed your clothes.”
“You don’t have to put up with Ryan’s mood swings and sulking, Jon, but you still do this.”
“I still don’t get you,” Ryan folds his arms in front of his chest stubbornly.
“Well, in that case I think we should leave you alone to think about it. Come on, Brendon. Thanks for the nice evening, guys.” Sharing mad grins, the two of them bid their farewells and leave the house, leaving Jon and Ryan on their own.
They clean up in silence, not looking at each other, careful not to brush against one another when they wander to and from between the kitchen and the living room, collecting plates and glasses. It’s awkward, in a way it has never been between them, and Ryan can’t stand it. As soon as the last plate is placed in the dishwasher, he grabs the bassist’s arm.
“Yes?” Jon’s voice is cautious, guarded, and he seems not to be able to look into his friend’s face.
“I’ve been thinking... What if they’re right? What if this is what these stupid Nick-smirks were about?”
Ryan's palm slips lower and he takes Jon’s hands in his own. Jon tenses noticeably but doesn’t pull away. “Look at me.” When he does, Ryan continues. “I invited you here to help you deal with the break-up. It was supposed to be the same way like every other time you stayed here for a week or two. But it wasn’t. Maybe because you’re not with Cassie anymore, maybe because I started to look at you in a different way. A less... less friend-like way,” he stumbles over the words, but keeps carrying on, “I don’t know. But... I wanted to ask you. We’re almost done with the recording now but I... I want you stay. Longer. Much longer.”
Jon stares at Ryan intently and Ryan doesn’t dare to break the eye contact or let go of Jon’s hands. Eventually, Jon shakes head. “I can’t.”
Ryan’s stomach does a shaky, sickening movement and drops down. “Jon...”
“I can’t,” Jon repeats but to Ryan's astonishment he starts to smile. “I can’t, because as you pointed out to me that one time, I’ve brought only one bag with me, and very little clothes. I have to pack up properly.”
Ryan’s eyes light up, thought he still has to make sure.
“But... you’ll come back then?”
Jon nods, sincerely. “I will. I you want me to.”
He mirrors Jon smile. “I’d love you to.”
Jon slips his hands out of Ryan’s only to wrap one around the other man’s waist and another around his neck. Ryan pulls him close to his body, bracing himself against the counter and their lips meet, first slowly, exploring unknown territories, then more confidently. Their mouths part, tongues intertwining and it’s too awesome for words, so Ryan just fists Jon’s shirt in his palm and moans quietly into the Jon’s mouth, enjoying the scratchy feeling of Jon’s beard against his smooth cheek.
A sound of someone clearing his throat interrupts them suddenly. They separate reluctantly and above Jon’s shoulder Ryan spots Spencer, grinning so wide it must hurt.
“I forgot my wallet.” He lifts up the forgotten item. “I see you guys solved your problems already. See you later then. Play safe!” With that he leaves, doors shutting after him.
Ryan rests his forehead against Jon’s shoulder and laughs loudly, feeling Jon snickering against his neck. Somehow, he feels very happy.