Chapter Text
"This is a competition!" Pete barks from where he’s pacing back and forth on top of his coffee table. "And we’re in it to win!"
"Yeah!" Brendon cries from his place on the couch squished between Jon and Patrick, who exchange an amused glance behind his back.
"And do you know what we need to win?" Pete demands, ceasing his pacing and staring down at them all.
"Teamwork?" Jon guesses.
"Perseverance?" Patrick adds.
"Red Bull?" Brendon chirps in excitedly.
Pete shakes his head and jumps down from the table, pulling Brendon up and squeezing his shoulder tightly against him. "Nope. You." He points in Brendon’s chest, who looks puzzled.
"Me?"
"Who are you, Brendon?" Pete asks, and both Jon and Patrick roll their eyes.
"Um…" Brendon bites his lip and smiles. "The King of Polyester."
"Yes, you are the King!" Pete cries, shaking him slightly. "And we are the King Pins."
"Don’t inflate his ego," Patrick admonishes quietly but Pete ignores him.
"We’re going to wipe the floor with those other teams, aren’t we, King?" Pete asks, ribbing Brendon playfully.
"Yeah!" Brendon yells excitedly, grinning widely.
"Now," Pete says seriously, "you know what this means?"
Brendon shakes his head, his eyes wide and innocent.
"Absolutely no fraternizing with the enemy! They’re only trying to shake you, to win, you got that?"
Brendon nods seriously. "But I’m the King, right? So I don’t have to worry."
"That’s right!" Pete cries, hugging him tighter.
Patrick just shakes his head and exchanges another glance with Jon.
"Don’t you think we should practice instead of puffing up Brendon’s head with ideas of glory and golden crowns?"
"Golden pins," Pete corrects, grinning at them all. "But okay, Jon, if you want to practice, we will. And we’ll beat those little…" He pauses. "What are they called again?"
Jon shrugs. "They haven’t picked a name yet."
"Yeah, well, we’ll beat them and anyone else in the league too!" Pete cries, already dragging Brendon with him to the door and grabbing his bag from the floor. "So let’s go get’em!"
"Yeah!" Brendon cries as he flounces out the door after Pete, and Jon and Patrick are left to exchange one last amused glance before following after.
*
"No. No, no, no, no, no!"
"Come on, Spence." Ryan rolls his eyes. "You have to."
"I do not." Spencer makes a disgusted face and pushes away the ugly shoes Ryan is dangling in front of his face. "Who knows where that’s been. It’s disgusting."
Ryan sighs and glances at Frank and Gerard for help, but they’re just watching with amusement at the argument going on before them.
"Well, you can’t play without them."
"I’m aware of that," Spencer growls, still eyeing the shoes in disgust.
Ryan huffs and sets them down. "Fine. You can order your own shoes."
Spencer smiles. "Can they be white?"
Groaning, Ryan rolls his eyes again. "Fine. White."
Spencer’s smile widens. "And our shirts will be blue and white."
"That would work if we ever picked a name," Ryan says, turning to Frank and Gerard, who are lounging on the couch.
"I still like Gerard’s name," Frank pipes up, smiling at Gerard.
Spencer scoffs. "Spit Shine," he sneers, his tongue feeling out the words and disliking them. "Because that has no underlying message."
Frank just smiles. "Well, we could show you—"
"No," Ryan interrupts. "We don’t need a demonstration."
"Come on," Gerard says. "You get white shoes, we get the name. Deal?"
Spencer and Ryan exchange a woeful glance, but Gerard’s eyebrow is arched challengingly, and eventually, they just sigh and agree.
"Fine," Spencer grumbles. "White shoes and team Spit Shine."
Frank grins and sits back in Gerard’s arms. Spencer sighs and sits down on the coffee table, carefully pushing the ugly shoes far away from him.
"Now that that’s settled," he continues, "it’s time to talk strategy."
"Strategy?" Ryan asks, glancing at Frank and Gerard, who just shrug. "Like what?"
"Okay." Spencer looks completely serious now as he glances between the other three. "Our biggest competition is the King Pins. You know they’ve got that guy they call The King."
Ryan nods. He hasn’t actually met the team, but he’s heard talk around the alley of the guy everyone calls the King of Polyester. Gerard and Frank nod too, listening closely now; they’re all very interested in the prospect of their team.
"Well, rumor around the hot dog stand is that this King guy doesn’t like ketchup on his hot dog; he likes mustard, if you know what I mean."
Ryan rolls his eyes. "Spence, he’s not here, just say it."
"Fine, he’s gay." Spencer shrugs and leans forward conspiratorially. "And I have an idea."
There is silence following this announcement and Spencer glances around before continuing.
"This guy is the best in the league, has multiple perfect scores, and no one knows how he does it."
"So you want to get someone in and get it out of him?" Frank asks eagerly, scooting forward on the couch.
"No," Spencer says and Frank’s face falls a little. "He won’t give it up. His team captain will make sure of that. I have something else in mind." He glances at them all again. "Someone is going to seduce this King and throw him off his game, distract him all through the tournament, give us a better advantage to win if he’s all lovesick and confused."
Ryan smirks. "Spencer Smith, I never knew you were so competitive."
Spencer shrugs, though he’s smirking smugly. "We need to start soon, immediately. We need to get someone in now and start distracting him, breaking up the team."
"So what’s your plan of attack?" Ryan asks, patting Spencer on the shoulder, but Spencer merely turns to him, an eyebrow raised. Ryan stares for a second and then his mouth falls open. "No!"
"Yes," Spencer insists simply.
"Why me?" Ryan cries indignantly.
"Because Frank and Gerard can’t."
"What about you?"
"I have other things to do."
"Ordering your stupid white shoes doesn’t count," Ryan growls, staring at Spencer.
Spencer rolls his eyes. "Besides that." He pauses. "Plus, you’re a total slut and can do this."
"I am not!"
Spencer scoffs. "High school, you and Greg Daniels behind the football stands, Charles Johnson in the locker room, Sean Carrey in the band store room, James Charrington in the nurse’s sta—"
"I get it." Ryan grumbles to himself. "What if this guy is a complete jerk and ugly to boot?"
"I hear he’s pretty cute," Frank adds suddenly and Gerard nods his agreement beside him.
Ryan just scowls.
"I bet he’ll be right up your alley," Spencer says, a smug smirk on his face even as Ryan glares at him.
"Yeah, well, up yours."
*
Bill’s Bowl-O-Rama is more crowded than normal when Ryan steps inside, searching for his prey. He hates to admit it, but Spencer can be quite convincing, especially when threatening to make their whole outfits white and Freddy Murcury-esque.
The loud roll and crash of pins echoes off the walls as Ryan picks his way past the shoe-rental and to the food booth over in the far corner. He can smell bowling alley hot dogs and pizza and wonders why people would ever buy food that came pre-plastered with condiments.
He finds Bill Beckett, the owner, sitting at a dark table surveying the alley, his eyes lingering on a rowdy boy’s birthday party in the far lane. They switch to Ryan, though, as he nears, and he pushes back his long, messy hair.
"Ryan Ross," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Where’s the rest of the team?"
"Taking a break," Ryan replies simply, scanning the alley quickly. He notices the birthday party but skims over them, evaluating the groups of laughing friends, and pausing on a group of four men, one getting ready to throw. "I’m actually looking for someone."
Bill nods, his eyes matching Ryan’s gaze at the four men. "Who would that be?"
Ryan tears his gaze away and smiles at Bill, sliding into the extra chair at the table. "I hear talk of a King in our midst."
Bill’s eyes sparkle knowingly. "A King, huh? And what would royalty be doing in a two-dollar a round bowling alley?"
"He’s more a King of fabric," Ryan amends. "But I hear he’s pretty good."
Bill nods and pauses, leaning back again. "You know, Ryan, I run a respectable business."
"I’m aware," Ryan says carefully.
"And this tournament coming up means lots of good business, a lot of new clients, a lot of sales."
Ryan nods again, watching Bill closely and trying to figure out what he’s thinking before he says it.
"Scandal isn’t something that runs real deep in these things. Playing dirty isn’t the way things go, you know?"
"Uh huh." Ryan is careful not to say anything.
Bill’s eyes flick back to the group of four men, who are high-fiving the guy who just made a strike. "But tournaments do get boring." He pauses. "And healthy rivalry is always a part of it."
Ryan isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing.
Bill pauses again before pushing his chair back and standing. "A blind eye is turned to the blind." He takes a step from the table and pauses for another second. "The King’s name is Brendon and he’s the gangly brunette."
Then Bill is gone, walking back to the rental booth to help out his new clerk, and Ryan sits at the table, gazing at the four men.
His eyes fall on the man who just got the strike. He’s laughing at something one of his teammate’s said, and Ryan lets himself evaluate the boy.
He’s got messy, dark brown hair that falls into his eyes as he laughs. His mouth is wide and his pink lips stretch across his grin. He looks thin from Ryan’s distance, with a too-small tee-shirt riding up his hips when he bends over to retie his ugly bowling shoes, the same shoes Spencer scoffed at.
Ryan blinks as he watches, thinking that Frank was right; he is kind of cute.
*
Brendon can feel someone watching him as he bowls that evening, laughing and climbing all over Jon and Pete. He leaves Patrick alone even though he loves him because Patrick is weird about climbing. Brendon respects that. Only Pete’s allowed to do that.
But Brendon can feel someone’s eyes on him the entire fifth through ninth frame as he tries to bowl normally. He’s used to people watching him, but he usually knows who’s doing the watching.
They pack up that night, Pete proclaiming that they’re totally going to win the tournament because Brendon is the King and everyone should fear him. Jon and Patrick’s rolled eyes go unnoticed as they part for their separate cars.
Brendon swings his bowling bag, feeling his heavy merle-patterned ball (that he has lovingly dubbed Stella) hitting his knee alternately, not hard, but hard enough to remind him that it would hurt if he dropped it on his foot, which he has unfortunately done before. He hums to himself as he heads for his old little station wagon in the corner of the parking lot, only to blink in surprise as he finds someone leaning against it.
"Uh, hi," he says carefully, eyeing the boy leaning against the scratched red paint of the driver’s side door.
The boy smiles and runs a hand through his messy hair.
"Hi."
Brendon pauses, a little unnerved and curious about this person who was seemingly waiting for him.
"Can I help you?"
The boy smiles. "I was hoping you could."
Brendon is still confused and stops swinging his bag.
"Who are you?"
"I’m Ryan," Ryan says, pushing off the car and still smiling at Brendon. "And you’re Brendon."
"I am…" Brendon agrees slowly. His eyes fall down the boy’s body, from his face to his long fingers and past his thin torso to his sharp hips that beg to be clung to. "What do you want?"
Ryan smirks a little, biting his lower lip and secretly thrilled when Brendon’s eyes follow it. He takes a step forward. "I want you," he says simply and watches Brendon’s eyes widen.
"W-what?" Brendon stutters, amazed at this boy’s forwardness. His bag is loose in his fingers now and threatens to fall to the hard pavement, but he hitches it back up. He would never hurt Stella.
Ryan pauses a second, keeping his eyes on Brendon, a practiced smoldering look burning in their depths. He won’t admit to what Spencer says about him being a slut, but maybe it is a little true, and maybe he is the right man for this job.
"I was watching you earlier, and you have a really good technique." Ryan smiles coyly, taking another smooth step and closing the distance between him and Brendon. On the bright side, Brendon isn’t ugly. In fact, once Ryan gets close enough, he can tell that Brendon is just down-right hot.
"Uh, thanks," Brendon manages to stutter, smiling at Ryan’s sweet smile and sparkling hazel eyes. "Do you bowl?"
"A little," Ryan lies easily. "I’m not nearly as good as you."
Brendon blushes slightly and swings his bag, only hitting himself in the knee harder than he meant to and wincing slightly.
He smiles, though, clutching the bag harder. It’s a Betty Boop bag, red with Betty on the side, blowing a kiss.
Ryan laughs to himself at how easily manipulated Brendon is.
"Maybe you could show me how sometime," Ryan continues, his gaze innocent as he stares up at Brendon.
Brendon pauses, Pete’s voice ringing in his head and yelling at him that he is to never show his technique to anyone outside of his three teammates. The rule even applies for super-hot boys he meets in parking lots and practically beg for it.
"I can’t really," Brendon replies awkwardly, kicking the asphalt and staring at his feet.
"It’s okay," Ryan says, sliding up to him and lifting his chin gently. "I was just curious. I mean, I can’t get better without learning a few things first, right?"
Brendon nods slowly, letting his chin be lifted up and he stares into Ryan’s eyes.
Ryan smiles, knowing he can’t be the one to make the first move.
"I wish I could," Brendon mutters, keeping Ryan’s eyes even as his hand drops. Brendon’s hand goes for Ryan’s hand, grasping it before it can get too far.
"It’s okay," Ryan whispers again, his lips tipping upward, positioned perfectly.
Brendon nods again, feeling himself leaning forward before he even realizes, and his lips are pressed against Ryan’s. Their mouths fit together easily and both their eyes are closed. Brendon’s hand is tight around Ryan’s wrist as he kisses him, pulling away slightly and then moving forward again.
Brendon’s lips slide against Ryan’s, and Ryan waits, parting his lips slightly and inviting Brendon’s tongue inside with a coaxing flicker of his tongue.
Brendon presses forward, unsure why he wants to kiss this unknown boy so badly. His hand slides from Ryan’s wrist up his arm to his shoulder and up to his neck, cupping his cheek and angling his mouth to a better position as he kisses him harder now. His bowling bag is slipping from his hand as he moves his lips firmer against Ryan’s.
Ryan’s quiet moan is muffled by Brendon’s lips, softer and plumper than Ryan had first thought when seeing him from a hundred feet away in the dark bowling alley. Brendon’s tongue is plunging into his mouth and he’s definitely not complaining, kissing back with the same fervor, tasting the hint of apple candy, jolly ranchers maybe, on Brendon’s tongue as Brendon licks Ryan’s lips, his tongue sweeping over the roof of his mouth and sucking on his lower lip.
Ryan thinks that this wasn’t such a bad idea after all and maybe Spencer does have good ideas from time to time. If nothing else, he gets to make out with a really hot guy.
But that’s not the goal, though, and Ryan knows it. He’s aware of it.
So he pushes Brendon away, a hint of a smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth as he runs his tongue over his lips, tasting the sticky-ness of candy apple, and his sparkling eyes meeting Brendon’s, ignoring the way he’s panting slightly and how he hitches up his slipping bowling bag.
"What?" Brendon asks after a second of catching his breath, his gaze lingering on Ryan’s lips before pulling up to his eyes.
Ryan just smiles and gently disengages himself from Brendon’s hand on his cheek. "I have to go," he says simply, stepping back.
Brendon stares for a second. "Will I see you again?"
"You will." Ryan smiles and back away, turning at the corner and disappearing, leaving Brendon staring after, a dazed smile spreading across his face.
*
"Were you slutty enough?"
Ryan scowls at Spencer, who’s sitting at the end of his bed and holding up their new team shirts to his chest, tracing the stitching of his name on the little white circle above his heart.
"Well, I didn’t give him a blowjob in the middle of the parking lot, if that’s what you mean," Ryan snaps, a little annoyed.
"You should have."
Ryan scoffs. "And what are you doing for the team? What horrible sacrifice have you made? I don’t see you giving up your white bowling shoes for the greater good."
Spencer just lays down the shirt and smirks at Ryan. "I have bigger plans in mind."
"Such as?"
"Such as Brendon isn’t the only gay boy on that team."
"They all are," Ryan replies. "Bill told me."
"Okay, but he’s not the only single one."
Ryan pauses. "Double team them? Spencer, Spencer, Spencer." He tisks deviously. "What would your mother say?"
"That I should be wearing turquoise because it brings out my eyes better," Spencer says simply. "What do you think?"
Ryan laughs. "I think you and Napoleon will be very happy together."
"Ah," Spencer corrects, "but there is a difference between us. I don’t plan on losing, and certainly not at Waterloo."
"Because it’s so last season," Ryan offers, laughing.
Spencer smirks. "You just watch us win the tournament and we’ll see who’s laughing then."
*
"We’re ready. We’re totally ready!" Pete says, grinning down at his team, his eyes sweeping over a smiling Patrick and Jon and falling on a sighing Brendon. He pauses. "Bren? What’s wrong?"
"Nothing." Brendon sighs again, setting his head in his hands and gazing unseeingly at the oil painting of a bobcat on Pete’s wall.
Pete frowns but gets no help from Jon or Patrick.
"What’s going on?"
Brendon shrugs. "There’s just this boy."
Pete immediately tisks. "Ah, ah," he reprimands. "No thinking about boys at a time like this. We need to focus on the game. Visualize yourself winning. You’re the King! You’re feared by league one, admired by league two, and regarded as big competition for league three. Come on, focus!"
Brendon sighs again. "But he was so cute."
Pete grabs Brendon’s face in his hands and forces his glazed eyes to meet his. "Another couple weeks and you can daydream all you want about Mystery Boy, but not right now, okay?"
Brendon pouts slightly. "I guess. I haven’t even seen him again. I guess he doesn’t care."
"That’s a boy!" Pete cries, clapping him on the back. "You get him out of your head and concentrate on winning! We need one of your perfect scores for these games."
Brendon nods seriously, but his mind is still straying to Ryan and his soft lips and smooth tongue. He misses what Pete is saying next and loses himself in thoughts of what might happen if he were to meet Ryan again.
But he hasn’t seen Ryan since that one day at the car. He hasn’t seen him at the bowling alley or anywhere else. He’s tried to forget about him, but just finds himself obsessing more.
Frowning, Brendon tunes in just as Pete mimes crushing the competition in a very vivid manner.
*
Jon drinks a beer by himself after practice some days, after Pete and Patrick have driven off to Pete’s apartment to "unwind", and Brendon has dragged himself to his car with no sign from the mystery boy.
Jon sits in a back corner of the bowling alley, sometimes talking to Bill or sometimes just watching the people who bowl for fun, who make faces when they get a gutter ball, or do weird little victory dances when they actually hit a pin.
He finds it amusing; a sort of simple charm that playing in a league takes away. Brendon still does the weird victory dances, but it’s not quite the same.
Taking a sip of his beer, Jon notices nothing different about the alley. Bill’s been going through an unusual cleaning phase in getting ready for the tournament. The floor shines brighter than before and the house balls, the orange, purple, and blue bowling balls, have been polished as they sit on the shelves around the room.
The alley is fairly quiet, but it is a weekday. Bill’s in the back somewhere and only a few people are taking up lanes on the far side. The bumpers are up on the lanes and they’re having fun intentionally hitting the ball off of them.
Jon is surprised, then, when another person appears at his table, a glass of soda in hand, and smiles down at him.
"This seat taken?"
"Uh, no," Jon replies, smiling back at the dark-haired boy above him. The boy smiles and slides into the seat. Jon pauses. "Do I know you?"
The boy smiles, his smile coy and inviting as he takes the straw between his lips and sucks.
"Don’t think so," he says finally as he releases the straw and lets his fingers play with it. "I’m Spencer."
"Jon."
"You bowl?" Spencer asks, his fingers tracing over the straw and he licks his lips.
"A little." Jon smiles, taking another swig of his beer and setting it down with a clunk on the table. "You?"
"A little," Spencer echoes, his blue eyes glimmering under his curtain of dark hair. He leans down, flicking his tongue over the straw before taking a sip of his drink.
Jon laughs lightly, his finger running over the neck of his bottle, feeling the cool condensation. He glances at Spencer, who is now chewing on his straw, and Jon’s eyes are drawn to his mouth. He sees it curl into a smirk and glances up, meeting Spencer’s eyes.
"I haven’t seen you here before," Jon says instead, looking away from Spencer and back to the lanes.
Spencer smiles. "I come in the mornings, when I can. I work late usually."
"Not today."
Spencer smiles again. "Today’s my day off."
"And you’re spending it here?" Jon laughs and takes another drink, listening to the dull clunk of the bottle on the wooden table.
Spencer chuckles. "I heard this rumor that a really hot guy hangs around here after six."
"You must have just missed him," Jon murmurs, watching Spencer carefully. "’Cause I don’t see any unless we’re counting you, but it can’t be since you don’t hang around here after six."
Spencer’s eyes glimmer and he inclines towards Jon. "And why aren’t we including you in this? Because you look pretty hot to me."
Jon can’t help the flush rising on the back of his neck as Spencer holds his gaze. "I guess we could include me."
Spencer smirks. "I already have." And he leans forward, meeting Jon’s lips for a kiss that won’t end once their drinks are finished.
*
The phone rings four times before Brendon can stumble out of bed to grab it on his dresser across the room.
"Hello?" He stands in the middle of his room clothed in pajama bottoms plastered with Underdog (the old version – the good version). It’s nine in the morning, earlier than he’s usually up since his job is kind of sporadic. He works for a delivery company, and most days, he doesn’t start until ten.
"Hey, Brendon. It’s Ryan."
Brendon freezes as he reaches a pen on the dresser (something to distract his hands).
"Ryan?" he repeats, a smile growing as he listens carefully.
"Hi."
"Hi!" Brendon pauses. "How’d you get my number?"
"I have my ways." There’s a pause and Brendon holds his breath. "Listen, Brendon, I know you said you couldn’t teach me anything about bowling, but I was wondering if we couldn’t work something out."
"Like what?" Brendon is too overjoyed that Ryan even called to wonder what he might have in mind. If it gets them to meet again, then Brendon will agree to anything.
"Maybe we could just talk. I bet you have some great stories about the sport."
Brendon grins. "Oh, yeah!" he cries excitedly. "Do you wanna meet or something?"
"Yeah. Why don’t you come over to my house later?"
"Okay, cool." Brendon grabs the pen and scribbles down the address Ryan gives him. "I’ll see you then."
"Great."
Then Ryan’s gone and Brendon hangs up the phone, feeling his heart swelling joyfully as he collapses on his bed and hugs the pad of paper to his chest.
*
"How’s it going?" Spencer asks, watching as Frank steps up to the lane and stares hard at the little arrows on the floor.
Ryan shrugs. "He’s coming over today to talk."
"You better be doing more than that," Spencer scoffs, marking down Frank’s score as the pins fall.
"Yes, mother." Ryan rolls his eyes. "I’ll be sure to make him a very dirty boy before the night is through."
"Good for you."
"I was kidding."
Spencer shrugs. "You shouldn’t be. This is a competition, and if we want to win, we have to play dirty."
"We can play dirty," Frank pipes up, coming back from his frame and plopping into Gerard’s lap. He smiles at Ryan and Spencer before kissing Gerard’s cheek.
"Not that kind of dirty," Spencer dismisses, "although you should, Ryan, if you want this to work. Brendon needs to want you to want him."
"Pretty sure he does," Ryan mutters, getting up from his chair and picking out his ball from the three others. It’s a blush-colored ball affectionately named Zin (as in Zinfandel). Climbing onto the lane, he positions himself and throws the ball, watching it glide smoothly down to the pins. He curses to himself as he’s left with a seven-ten split.
Turning back to Spencer, he shrugs. "What do you want me to do with him?"
Spencer marks down Ryan’s score. "Make him want you, but don’t let him have you just yet."
Ryan raises an eyebrow as Zin resurfaces in the ball rack. He picks it up and glides his fingers over the smooth surface. Turning to the lane, he takes a moment to calculate and then throws.
Zin rolls quickly, a slight spin to the left as she moves. Ryan watches carefully and only lets loose a little smile as the seven pin falls and spins over to the ten, knocking it down as well. Turning back to Spencer, he spreads his arms.
"I always get what I want."
Spencer smirks and marks down the score. "Let’s make sure you do and there might be a new King to bow down to."
*
Brendon is nervous when he knocks on Ryan’s front door and stumbles back a few feet to wait. He isn’t sure what they’re going to talk about, or if any talking will actually get done at all. In fact, he doesn’t really care. He just wants to see Ryan again, to know that he is actually as hot as he remembers and his mind hasn’t been making up fantasies about some ugly boy without his permission, because it does that sometimes.
The door swings open a few minutes later and Ryan’s there, leaning against the doorframe in a pair of jeans that are slipping off his hips, and a white tee-shirt that’s nearly see-through. Brendon stares for a moment, then shakes his head sharply.
"Uh, hi," he greets Ryan.
Ryan smiles, stepping back to allow Brendon in. "Hi."
Brendon follows Ryan inside, hearing the door click shut behind him, but not paying attention.
He glances nervously at Ryan, who’s standing at the door, his hand still on the handle.
"So what did you want to talk about?"
"First things first," Ryan replies, letting go of the handle and walking around Brendon. "Do you want something to drink?"
"Uh, sure," Brendon says. "Water?"
Ryan smiles and heads for the kitchen. Brendon stares at his hips as he walks, the jeans slipping lower and revealing pale skin underneath. Ryan isn’t wearing shoes as he pads to the kitchen and Brendon stops at the doorway, unsure of what he’s supposed to do.
Ryan smiles when he glances over. "You can sit down." He nods at the living room behind Brendon.
Brendon nods quickly and moves over to a brown couch, sinking down on it. Ryan joins him moments later, setting the glass of water on a coaster on the coffee table and taking a seat on the couch despite the fact that there are several other chairs surrounding them.
Brendon takes a drink of the water and glances around, feeling more nervous than he did that morning. He knows Ryan is watching him, but doesn’t meet his gaze yet.
"So, do you know a lot about bowling?" he asks to fill the silence, his hands tight around the water glass.
"I know a little." Ryan shifts closer on the couch. "I played a lot when I was younger."
"You know, you could join a league now," Brendon offers quietly, sneaking a glance at Ryan. "It would be too late for the tournament coming up next week, but you could do it next time."
Ryan nods silently, his hand sliding forward carefully until it’s touching Brendon’s thigh lightly. "I hear it’s a good team building skill," he comments simply, as though oblivious to where his hand is.
"Um, yeah," Brendon replies nervously. "It’s also good for… for…" He stops, unable to think straight when Ryan’s hand moves again, moving over his jeans to the top of his thigh and resting warmly over the fabric.
Ryan doesn’t blink as he holds Brendon’s eyes, his lips parted slightly, his tongue flicking invitingly over his lower lip. He watches, amused, as Brendon grabs the glass from the table and takes a long drink.
Finally, Ryan pulls it away, placing it back and shifting forward.
"Brendon," he breathes quietly. "I don’t care about bowling." He ignores the fact that he’s completely lying outright to this innocent boy in front of him. "That’s not why I asked you over."
"It’s not?" Brendon is hopeful and scared all at the same time. He feels Ryan’s hand tightening on his leg and the rush of heat spreading through his body at the touch.
Ryan shakes his head, centimeters away. "It was just a lie to get you over here."
"Oh," Brendon breathes, swallowing and kind of wishing he had the water glass again, something to clutch and hide behind.
Ryan smirks and leans forward, his mouth meeting Brendon’s.
Brendon knew it was coming, but is still surprised when Ryan’s mouth opens immediately to his, licking at his lower lip. The kiss isn’t as slow as the first one; Ryan seems more aggressive, pushing his body forward until their chests are touching and Ryan’s hand on Brendon’s thigh has slid to his hips as he moves to straddle him on the couch.
Brendon doesn’t protest, moaning quietly as Ryan sucks on his lower lip and pushes him down. His hands move to Ryan’s hips, wanting to feel the creamy skin under his fingers, to push down Ryan’s slipping jeans and cling to his sharp hips.
Ryan’s mouth is hard on Brendon’s, his tongue lapping at Brendon’s plush bottom lip. His hands are sliding carefully to the belt buckle on Brendon’s jeans and pulling it apart before Brendon even realizes.
Brendon’s fingers tighten over Ryan’s hips and tug them forward as he groans softly. He can feel himself getting hard under Ryan’s light touches, his flittering fingers that press down against his prick through the rough material of his jeans.
Then Ryan’s pulling away sharply, his hands going for the button and zipper of his own jeans. Brendon watches, dazed, as the loose fabric slips down, peeled down over Ryan’s hips, and revealing pure skin underneath.
Ryan shifts back, pulling Brendon up and running a finger down the back of his neck as he presses soft kisses to his lips, down his jaw, and up to his ear. He can hear Brendon’s soft pants in his ear as he dips his tongue inside Brendon’s. He smirks and moves back, his lips sliding against Brendon’s, hot and desperate as he pulls Brendon against him. He can feel that Brendon’s hard already, and he’s not far behind.
He rolls his hips against Brendon’s, drawing a long moan from Brendon’s throat as he pulls Brendon on top of him against the couch.
His mouth is hard against Brendon’s again and his hands bunch in Brendon’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric as they kiss hard.
"Blow me," Ryan pants against Brendon’s lips, a hand slipping to Brendon’s hair as his hips rock forward against Brendon, knowing he’s hard already.
"W-what?" Brendon stutters, pulling away just barely to stare at Ryan.
Ryan is giving him his best practiced look, the one that has even the straightest guys scrambling to take off their pants. He knows how he looks with his eyes dark, his hair messy and falling into his eyes, his lips parted seductively, maybe a little slutty, but that’s the point. He runs his tongue across his lips and leans in, brushing them against Brendon’s skin as he murmurs.
"I want you to blow me," he whispers, angling his hips up and drawing a sharp gasp from Brendon. "Don’t you want to?"
Brendon’s mind is blanking, all white and fuzzy as he searches for words amongst the clouds. His mouth moves but nothing comes out, and Ryan kisses him again, pulling him up further. Brendon can feel Ryan’s hard cock through his loose jeans and wonders why it’s taking so long to find words.
"Bren," Ryan breathes, his voice light and breathy, his words echoing over Brendon’s skin and his hips drag upward, pressing needily into Brendon’s.
"Yeah, yeah, yes," Brendon finally manages to stutter before his mouth is covered by Ryan’s and he’s losing all breath as he’s kissed hard, tongues and teeth all a mess between them.
Ryan falls back, pulling Brendon on top of him and arching up into him. Panting, he pulls away, hastily shoving down his jeans and kicking them away as Brendon stares down. Ryan smirks and pulls Brendon’s face to him.
"No teeth," he murmurs, kissing him softly and letting him slide down.
Brendon feels nervous, but he’s done this before. He just wonders for a second why it’s all happening so fast. But Ryan is panting above him, reacting to his fingers that trail over his skin lightly, tracing lines down his torso. He leans forward, sliding his tongue against the flushed skin and hearing the pleased noise Ryan gives him, the encouraging tug on his hair that Ryan’s fingers have twined into.
Reassured, Brendon moves faster now, sliding his hand down to wrap around Ryan’s hard cock and giving it a few slow strokes, licking at the base and glancing up at Ryan carefully.
Ryan’s head is reclined against the couch, but his hips slip a few inches. His mouth is open and he murmurs a few words of encouragement to Brendon.
"Yeah, Bren," he breathes, carding his hand through Brendon’s soft hair. "More."
Brendon moves in, flicking his tongue over the head of Ryan’s leaking cock and hearing the sharp gasp followed by a low groan above him. He doesn’t wait before taking as much as he can into his mouth.
The heat is burning and so good as Ryan’s hips jerk into Brendon’s mouth. He can feel Brendon’s tongue sliding around the hard length, sucking lightly at first, and then starting to move easily up and down. His hand tightens in Brendon’s hair and he urges him on.
"Yeah, fuck," he groans, his eyes closed and his hips arching up slightly. Brendon’s fingers push him back down, sucking hard. "God, Bren, you’re—shi—more, yeah, just, ungh."
Brendon’s moves quickly, bobbing up and down over Ryan’s hard cock until he feels Ryan’s fingers squeeze his hair and the talking becomes more an undistinguishable mumble above him.
"B-B-Bren," Ryan pants in warning, breathing hard through his nose and closing his eyes tightly as he comes.
It’s a rush of heat spreading from his toes to his neck. He can feel the flush covering his skin and the heat pulsing in his fingers. Brendon’s tongue is still on his cock and he lets out a long sigh as he opens his eyes slowly.
Brendon slides up, smiling slightly at Ryan. Ryan smirks, and pulls him forward, their lips sliding together. Brendon smiles into the kiss and only pulls away with a slight whimper when his cock, that’s been unbearably hard for a while now, brushes against Ryan’s leg.
Ryan breaks the kiss slowly, glancing down. He takes a second to press a teasing hand into the bulge in Brendon’s jeans before whispering, "Some other time." Then he’s pushing Brendon away and rising from the couch to get a glass of water, leaving Brendon desperate and staring after.
*
Jon is not waiting for Spencer to come around again. Or at least that’s what he tells himself when he sits with his beer at the same table on the same night, watching different people bowling. Their scores are low, so low that Jon would love to see the look on Pete’s face if he ever got a score that low.
But he isn’t waiting for Spencer, hoping that he’ll come back, and maybe they’ll get to continue what they started last time. He knows what Pete would say about all of this. He’s already annoyed at Brendon for getting distracted over some mystery boy that no one but him has seen.
So Jon doesn’t tell Pete about Spencer and how he likes the way his eyes seem to sparkle even in the darkest of corners of the alley. He knows he shouldn’t be getting distracted at a time like this, but who knows. Spencer could be important, and Jon has never been one to pass up opportunities, no matter how inopportune they may be.
Jon sips his beer, then, and waits.
He’s pleasantly surprised when he turns and finds Spencer standing next to the bar, a beer in his hands this time.
Jon smiles. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stalking me."
Spencer arches an amused eyebrow as he slides into the seat next to Jon. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were waiting for me."
Jon laughs. "Not a chance."
Spencer says nothing, though the smile on his face is knowing as he lifts the bottle to his lips.
"Been practicing?" Spencer asks, glancing at the bowling lanes.
"Everyday," Jon replies. "Pete’s a real stickler. He wants us to win."
"You are going to, aren’t you?"
Jon shrugs. "Hope so. But we’ve got some tough competition."
"Oh?" Spencer asks, scooting over, his thigh barely touching Jon’s. Jon just glances down and smiles slightly.
"Yeah. There’s another team in the league that’s supposedly just as good as us."
"Are you scared?" Spencer asks, his hand moving to Jon’s thigh now and sliding up and down it.
"Not really," Jon replies. "We’ve got the King."
Spencer nods slowly. "And he’s the best?"
Jon smiles. "The best."
Spencer licks his lips and shifts forward, his hand slipping up higher for a second. Jon doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flutter shut for just a second.
"You know, I’m on a league," Spencer murmurs, his hand working slowly, sliding over Jon’s jeans, fiddling with the button.
"Yeah?" Jon asks, turning and staring at Spencer through dark eyes.
Spencer nods, his fingers getting the button undone.
"Which one?" Jon manages to ask, only biting his lip slightly as Spencer’s hand slips under his jeans.
"Ah ah," Spencer reprimands softly, using his free hand to turn Jon’s face completely towards his. "No business talk." He leans forward, drawing Jon into a kiss that matches the pace of his hand on Jon’s crotch.
Jon groans softly into the kiss, and when Spencer breaks it, grabs Spencer’s hand and pulls him up. Spencer looks surprised, but Jon just kisses him long and hard, backing away from the chairs.
"Bathroom," he mumbles against Spencer’s lips and Spencer merely smirks as they take off for the restroom in the back.
*
Brendon is pouting and sighing alternately. Jon is smiling in a sort of dazed way, and Pete is staring at both of them as though they’ve gone mad. Patrick is shining his black bowling ball (which Brendon took the liberty of naming Steve because, as he said, Stella needs a boyfriend) and not paying them any attention.
"What the hell is going on?" Pete demands, staring between the two lovesick puppies before him.
Brendon just sighs again and Jon smiles at nothing.
Annoyed, Pete grabs Brendon’s shoulders. "You’re not still thinking about that stupid mystery boy, are you?"
"His name is Ryan," Brendon mumbles into his hands that his head sits in as they perch on his knees.
"Whatever." Pete rolls his eyes. "You need to snap out of it. The tournament starts Saturday! We’ll be playing lots of teams and I need you to be on top of your game."
Brendon just sighs again and pouts. "But why did Ryan just leave like that? Doesn’t he like me?"
"I’m sure he does," Pete says dismissively.
"But I gave him a blow job and he just kind of smirked."
Pete shakes his head and rubs his forehead. No one else is helping. Patrick is humming to himself and polishing the ball while Jon watches, his eyes glazed and a permanent smile on his face.
"Just forget about him," Pete insists, ignoring the sigh he gets in response, and turning to Jon. "And what’s wrong with you now?"
"Nothing’s wrong with me," Jon replies, his smile widening as he looks up at Pete. "Everything’s great."
Pete groans. "Are you focused on winning?"
"Of course," Jon says, but the smile doesn’t fade. "Can’t wait to get back to the alley."
"Only because your boy isn’t ignoring you," Brendon points out moodily, crossing his arms and frowning.
Pete’s mouth drops open. "There’s another one?!"
Jon just grins. "His name is Spencer and he bowls."
"He bowls?" Pete asks sharply. "Like how? On a league? A team? Which one?"
Jon just shrugs. "He’s really hot."
Pete’s fists ball by his sides and he stares from one pout to the other smile. Turning to Patrick, he sighs. "Pat, help me," he whines. "You’re focused, right?"
"’Course, Pete," Patrick reassures him. "We’re completely prepared and we’re going to win. Don’t worry."
Pete nods, but sighs again as Brendon pouts harder and Jon smiles dreamily out the window.