Ryan's Waltz

Pete was no idiot. He knew that look. Wide eyes, like a deer. Lips, barely parted, trembling slightly and swelling from the heavy breaths. He knew what the eyes meant, what made the lips tremble. He made a soft shushing noise and brushed the hair from the boy's forehead.

"Who hurt you, Ryan?" Pete murmured gently.

The boy, of course, denied everything without a word, just an overly fervent shake of the head. His amber eyes were even wider and he was biting the inside of his cheek.

It's not uncommon, in Pete's experience, for them to deny. Even the ones that are open to the idea and not at all conservative. There's always a part of a person that doesn't want to admit the potential of their desire for vulnerability. And to be stripped naked on the receiving end of another male is one of the most vulnerable places one could be. (Which is one reason Pete avoids it.)

Ryan doesn't want to talk. Not about the question, the answer, or the weather. Instead, he reached his arms up and tangled them in the man's dark hair, pulls him down, forcing their lips together, rocking his hips up. You are not my Freud, just some pillow from Pottery Barn. Ryan knew what he did to men, what he can make them feel. And it gives him power.

Until they push him too far and his lips start to tremble.

And Pete's just flesh after all--perfectly carved and inked flesh--so he pushed the psychoanalysis to the back of his brain and returned the kiss, hardening the pressure of his lips and letting a hand slip underneath Ryan's shirt. The boy's skin was smooth as glass and thin like paper, veiling the bones underneath. So fucking easy to break.

Ryan pulled their lips apart, letting his face burrow in Pete's neck, attaching himself to the pulse he finds there. His hands slipped from the hair, pulling up on the hem of Pete's shirt. His voice somehow became a purr as his next words leave his mouth. "Wanna suck it before you fuck me."

The vulgarity of the sentence stunned Pete momentarily. What had happened to the fear that had widened the boy's eyes when they'd first laid down? How could the delicate, breakable body utter such coarseness? Not that Pete hadn't heard beautiful delicate girls whisper nasty things in his ear, but the boy was different. Ryan, despite the truth, made you feel he was innocent and new and just a simple poet caught up in a hit-and-run world.

But, Pete, as always, recovered with grace. "You better." His half smirk and Ryan's breathless chuckle later, they were both scrambling out of their clothes, desperation evident in the rush.

Ryan clung to the man for a moment, staring into Pete's eyes like he was searching for something before he lowered his head and opened his mouth. This time his lips weren't trembling.

_______Save me. Pick me up and carry me away. Put me
_______in your pocket and I'll keep you warm forever.

Ryan could have stayed in the bed all night, curled up next to Pete, except that Patrick showed up, very upset about something (which Pete assured Ryan was not him), and the man had followed Patrick out of the room. Ryan, blushing from embarrassment, pulled on his clothes and snuck outside with his cell phone.

He knew about Pete and Patrick. Everyone did. But everyone also knew that Patrick gave Pete leeway in the 'sleep with other people' department. (Pete, Ryan had deduced, was like him. He fed off human emotions and sex was his favorite buffet.) So he knew Patrick wasn't inside screaming about him. Pete must have done something stupid again, like finishing a bottle of Xanax in a week or ignoring his boyfriend's call or lying about a girl he'd slept with.

Ryan opened his cell phone and sent a text to Brendon. Slept with Pete.

The response was nearly instantaneous and sprinkled with chatspeak, which Ryan detested. U did? iz he big? rly good? u used prot rite? cuz he gets around u no.

Of course I used protection jackass. He's not that big just normal. And yeah he's good. Don't tell Spin yet. Ryan rolled his eyes, but he smiled. He told Brendon every time he slept with a guy. There was something oddly comforting about a virgin asking all the questions that made it seem like any other high school boyfriend. He could forget what it actually meant, what he actually meant to them, what usually happened before he slipped out of bed.

Ya ok i won't. don't 4get 2 bring the jacket i left last time k?

---

When Ryan woke up on an hour later, he was being tucked into Pete's bed. "But Patrick . . ." Ryan mumbled tiredly.

The older didn't say anything at first, just kissed the boy's forehead and then smoothed out the pillow under Ryan's head. "Patrick went back to his apartment." he said eventually. When the boy didn't respond, Pete gave him a reassuring smile. "It had nothing to do with you."

Ryan fell back asleep relatively quickly after that, curling against the man when he came to bed an hour later. Ryan dreamt he was climbing up to Heaven on a string of dental floss. Pete dreamt two alligators ripped his arms off and beat him to death with his own limbs. When the older woke up, he pulled a journal out of his dresser and wrote beside Ryan for the rest of the night, only leaving once for a drink and once when the boy started making sleepy noises in the back of his throat, creating need for Pete to disappear into the bathroom for twenty minutes.

_______You're my sweetest sin. Stealing golden apples from Venus.
_______Golden boy. You'll be the death of me. Lips poisoned with nectar.

Ryan didn't know what to do as far as Patrick was concerned. He liked Pete's boyfriend, rather a lot. He was really nice and awkwardly dorky, almost like Brendon. And even though Ryan knew the arrangement, he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. It made a restaurant lunch between the three of them slightly awkward the following afternoon. (Or, at least, on his end.)

He avoided Patrick's eyes, trying to keep from speaking as much as possible. When Pete flirted, he just forced a thin smile. And it continued until Pete got a call and stepped outside.

"Well, I can definitely tell you went to Catholic school for four years." Patrick said to Ryan, lifting an eyebrow. "Just tell me you don't get off on confession or you'll really be too perfect for him."

The younger boy's eyes widened considerably, both in bewilderment at the former statement and shock at the latter. "W-What do you mean?"

"Do you usually make yourself feel so guilty for no reason?" Patrick teased, taking a drink of his soda. "Chill, Ry. If I were mad about this, you'd know it."

The boy felt the color creeping up his neck and hurriedly busied himself with a nonexistent text message, causing Patrick to chuckle softly. Ryan couldn't understand why he felt a swooping in his stomach at that exact moment.

Patrick hid a smirk and signaled for the waitress, handing her his credit card and asking for some boxes. The wheels were already turning.

---

Pete stood, frozen, in the doorway. He was shell-shocked. Of all the people, Ryan? The boy was too much like him. Pete knew that. He thrived off it. But Patrick? His boyfriend had always said Pete was too much. Why would he want to double that?

"Why Ryan?" the moan croaked. His eyes darted around Patrick's study. The vintage records on the walls, the keyboard in the corner. A stack of old magazines sat on the coffee table next to a framed picture of the couple. Finally, Pete's eyes came back to Patrick, himself, leaning back in his computer chair and surveying his boyfriend with piercing blue eyes.

"Ryan can keep you happy, busy, monogamous." He stressed the last word. "I like him." Patrick shrugged. "He's honest. I like honest."

"But--"

For the first time, the younger of the pair looked angry. Not completely pissed, but just beginning to grow upset. "What's so wrong with Ryan?" he interrupted. "Or do you just not want to share?" His eyes flashed. "Because that's not what we agreed on, Pete."

"No. I-I know." The man stepped into the room and collapsed heavily onto the couch. "It's not that." Or is it? It can't be. "I just . . . I never thought you'd want him."

"You're already attached." Patrick murmured, pushing himself out of his chair and moving to straddle his boyfriend's waist on the couch. He let his hands run up Pete's smooth chest, over his shirt, speaking in a soothing voice. "So this should be easy. This is what we wanted, baby. Remember?" He leaned in, catching the man's mouth with his.

Patrick was not the exhibitionist that Pete was. He didn't even like to take his shirt off when he went swimming. So leaving the door open while he was kneeling on the floor with Pete in his mouth, knowing that Ryan was wandering the house, left a slightly unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Pete had motioned for him to shut the door, already bewildered by Patrick's actions (but not complaining). Patrick hadn't shut the door. If Ryan happened to wander by, he'd be able to look at the boy and tell what he was thinking.

It's just that neither one noticed Ryan watching from the crack in the door.

---

Ryan locked the guest bathroom and leaned against the wall, quickly undoing his jeans. He was completely hard and his cheeks flushed in shame as he wrapped a hand around himself. He knew he wasn't supposed to see the two of them like that, but it wasn't his fault they'd left the door open. It was only natural that he should go inspect the noises when he heard them. (Not that he didn't know what the moans meant, but he was only human after all.)

Curiosity killed the cat. Satisfaction brought him back.

Ryan started at the knock on the door. Two other bathrooms. There was no reason they needed to come knocking on this door. "Uh, yeah?" he choked out, trying to keep his voice even.

"Open the door." Patrick said. He hadn't seen Ryan, but he'd heard the hurried footsteps as he'd swallowed Pete's climax.

"Just a second!"

The strawberry blonde boy rolled his eyes. "I know what you're doing, Ryan." he replied calmly. "No open the door or I'll go get the key from Pete."

Ryan set his jaw, swearing inwardly. He buttoned his jeans and pulled the door open, wondering as he did why he hadn't put up more of a fight. "What the--"

Patrick put a hand on the boy's chest and pressed hard, forcing him back into the bathroom. His eyes were overbright with something Ryan recognized and didn't want to. His force of the shove and that look would have been enough to set his lips trembling if it were anyone other than Patrick.

"'Trick?" His lips may not have been trembling, but his eyes were over-wide now, framed by his dark lashes.

Patrick smiled, softer than his hand had been. "I know what you were doing." he repeated, taking a step closer and letting one of his hands press gently against Ryan's groin. "I can fuck you or blow you." he murmured in Ryan's ear. "Whatever you want." His fingers started working on the button of the jeans. "Then we need to talk." he added.

Ryan nodded weakly. "Yeah. Okay."

_______I looked backward into the mirror and everything went soft
_______around the edges before it shattered. I used the broken pieces
_______to make myself a pair of rose-colored glasses.

Ryan didn't know what to say. He felt like a gazelle being looked over by two lions. Pete was beside him on the couch and Patrick was perched on the edge of the recliner. The boy with the amber eyes stood up and walked to the sliding glass doors, peering out into the yard.

He couldn't quite wrap his head around what was being asked. Or even what was being so baldly stated. The notion itself wasn't what was terrifying. At least, not to the rational mind. Ryan's mind in regards to relationships, however, was anything but rational. He didn't date men. And two? Even if they were Pete and Patrick, statistically the potential for betrayal increased by double. So if they were each 50% less likely to betray him, that was still a combined 100% certainty he would get hurt.

"Do you want us to leave you alone for awhile?" Pete asked softly, interrupting the boy's thoughts. He was already standing up to leave.

"No." Ryan murmured, shaking his head. Then he said the four words he never though would come out of his mouth. "I need a drink." He hated himself for it, but there was nothing else he could say. People were more honest when they were drunk. Ryan knew from experience. He blinked rapidly, trying to push the memories from his head. Just looking at a beer bottle was enough to make him remember the only times his father had told Ryan he loved him in the past ten years was when he was drunk.

Pete glanced at Patrick, who barely shook his head, then went out to the kitchen to pour Ryan a run and Coke. "Why don't you come in here, Ry?" he called.

"No," the boy returned distantly, opening the door and stepped onto the porch. It was a slightly cooler day in L.A., the sun hidden behind clouds. A barely tangible breeze rippled through the air and Ryan pushed Hemingway off his feet when the dog sat on them.

Patrick glanced at the boy before following his boyfriend into the kitchen. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe . . . he's not okay with this." His eyes rested on the tumbler sitting on the counter. "I mean, we mention it and he decides to break his no alcohol vow."

Pete snorted. "You make it sound like he's a priest deciding to get laid." He picked up the glass and took a sip. "He's thinking about it, 'Trick. If he weren't, he'd have flipped out when we brought it up. He's terrified, okay? Let him breathe." He walked outside and set the glass down on the railing before dropping his hand to rest on the small of Ryan's back.

"How long have you and Patrick been thinking about this?" Ryan murmured, lifting the glass and gingerly sniffing at it. "Was there an American Idol search or some weird brain synapse thing when we fucked?"

Pete shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Uh, well. Patrick . . . he always thought that I'd be, like, more apt to settle down if I had two people to come home to."

_______My home between your thighs. White shutters. The red
_______chimney of your lips parts to speak.

Ryan was in the guestroom, playing Tetris on his laptop and trying to ignore the words from Brendon's texts repeating in his head. For the first time, he seemed to wish he had texted Spencer instead.

Dude ur gonna have the 2 hottest bfs ever! so hows pat? is he big? bigger than pete?

Ryan hadn't bothered to reply. He'd tossed his phone to the side of the bed and pulled out his laptop. Everything seemed to be spinning too quickly for him to comprehend what was going by. He could hear moans thinly veiled by the walls and put in his earphones. Subtlety was not Pete's strong suit, he'd already known, but it was becoming more and more and evident that Patrick didn't enjoy employing subtleness either.

Two against one. And he could win, he knew. They wouldn't try to trick or coerce him. They were just trying to get him to admit things he did want. And he knew it would work. Unless he left, he would end up crawling into bed with the pair of them. He wasn't so sure he didn't want to.

"Fuck." Ryan grimaced at the words ' game over' on his screen and shut the laptop. His eyes drifted to the night sky outside the window and he sighed. The idea struck suddenly and he was outside a moment later, dipping his foot into the pool before jumping in, his clothes left on the edge.

The last time Ryan had been skinny-dipping it was with Brendon. In the same pool while Pete was at a meeting about a month before. Brendon had chased him through the water and they'd kissed below the surface. Nothing else. Not that Brendon would have objected, but Ryan had decided he needed to not sleep with people in his band.

Ryan was completely submerged when he heard the splashes. And when he came up, he wasn't at all surprised to see Pete and Patrick. The latter had his blue shirt on, but other than that, they were all three stripped bare. Pete pulled the younger boy in for a hard kiss and then turned him to face Patrick, who started sucking a bruise onto his neck, fingertips pressing into his spine. Pete, under the water, started working a finger around Ryan's entrance.

"This isn't a contract." Pete whispered, hot in the boy's ear. "We don't expect anything because of this." He pressed his lips to Ryan's prominent shoulder blade as his finger slipped in.

Ryan moaned, low in the back of his throat and Pete grinned at his boyfriend from behind the boy's shoulder.

_______I made that blanket threadbare with you but the grass
_______stains still remain. Remember how safe we felt under the sky?

"They scare me." Ryan admitted into the phone. "I think, like . . . they really care." He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and the hem of the quilt between his fingers.

"Yeah. That's not why they scare you though." Spencer almost sounded bored. He knew what was going on in Ryan's head. He always did. You can't be best friends with someone for fourteen years without being able to read their mind at least a little.

Ryan's eyes narrowed despite his being alone in the room. "And what the fuck do you know?" he snarled.

Spencer sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to be a prick. But you're not worried they care. You're worried that you care." He wasn't at all surprised when the call ended suddenly.

Ryan stared at the phone in his hand, eyes blazing. Of course Spencer was right. But that didn't matter. Nothing really mattered except that need to complain to a sympathetic ear and the only option left was Spencer's mother. (And he wasn't that desperate yet.)

Pete poked his head in the room. "We're ordering Chinese, Ry. What do you want?"

"Cashew chicken." the boy answered dully, refusing to look up.

Pete frowned and stepped into the room, settling on the corner of the bed. "Are you okay?" When he received a half-hearted shrug, his hand found Ryan's shoulder. "What's wrong?" he murmured.

The boy shook his head, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. And this time the culprit wasn't fear, but the moisture standing in his eyes. "I just . . . want to be alone for a bit." he whispered thickly.

"I'll call you when lunch is here." Pete promised warily. Then he kissed the boy on the cheek and slipped out of the room.

The door hadn't quite shut when the tears slipped to Ryan's cheeks, but he waited until he heard the click before he wiped at the angrily with the heel of his hand. "Stupid fuck." he whispered, not sure if he was directing the sentiment toward Pete or himself. He grit his teeth in anger, but it was a hollow gesture. He was crying quietly a minute later.

It's not fair. Why did they have to fuck me up so badly? Why can't I just say yes?

He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn't make the words come out. Even worse than them hurting him would be him realizing he couldn't and hurting them. Ryan sniffled and wiped his nose on the corner of the quilt. Then he curled up underneath the sheets, squeezed his eyes shut, and willed sleep to claim him.

But thirty minutes later when Patrick and Pete came upstairs with lunch he was still awake. His cheeks were dry, however, and the other two steered the conversation toward safe topics like tour and the new outfits Ryan was having custom made. Pete was babbling about v-necks and the way they highlighted Ryan's throat when the words burst out of the boy like an angry jack-in-the-box.

"I want to say yes! I do. I just . . . I . . . I . . ." The heaving breaths started, trying to stop the tears from coming.

Patrick handed Pete Ryan's plate and put his hands on either side of the boy's face. "Breathe, Ry. It's okay." he whispered softly, reassuring him. "Just breathe." Pete took one of Ryan's hands in his, concern touching his features.

"I-I don't want . . . want you t-t-to think I . . ." The tears were falling new, despite Ryan's humiliation. He couldn't even bring himself to try and hide. He had to tell them. They were taking such good care of him.

"Calm down." Pete murmured. "You can tell us when you calm down. There's no rush." His free hand started rubbing circles between Ryan's shoulder blades.

Patrick sang quietly under his breath like he did for Pete when he couldn't slow his thoughts. Ryan's amber eyes followed the moving lips until his breaths began to clam. "Do you want to talk now or later?" Patrick asked, gently wiping at the boy's damp cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

Ryan hiccupped. "I want to say yes." he breathed. "I'm scared. I never dated . . . like a guy. Ever." He blushed and ducked his head down.

Pete smiled gently and Patrick kissed the boy's forehead. "I never dated a guy before Pete. No one's asking you for an answer now." he added.

"Whoever hurt you didn't deserve you." Pete added, swallowing when Ryan turned a pair of blank amber eyes on him.

"That's every guy I ever slept with." he said, voice cold.

"Including me?" Pete choked out.

Ryan shook his head, turning and leaning forward until his face was resting against Patrick's shoulder. "I dated one guy." he admitted quietly. "When I was fifteen. He broke jaw when I wouldn't put out."

"Of course you're scared." Patrick murmured. "Now, you need to sleep."

Ryan nodded weakly.

---

Ryan stayed in the guestroom for the next couple of days, not leaving except to get food or in the early hours of morning to climb into the hot tub. He wasn't rude, just distant and the other two afforded him that favor. It was on the third night that he finally broke his self-inflicted solitary confinement and quietly slipped into Pete's room.

Patrick was sleeping, but Pete was sitting up, watching YouTube videos on his laptop, one earphone in (which he pulled out when he saw Ryan). "You 'kay?" he whispered.

Ryan nodded slightly, looking confused as to what he should do. I should have waited until morning. Dumbass.

Fortunately, Pete took a hold of the situations and put his laptop down, getting up and walking into the connecting bathroom. Ryan followed, throwing himself into Pete's arms as soon as the door closed. "Everything all right, Ry?"

The boy kissed him desperately, fingers fisted in Pete's shirt. "I think that . . . that you two could save me. And . . . and I think I wouldn't have anything to be afraid of anymore?" Ryan's voice when high on the last word, but he remained calm.

Pete nodded, smiling. "You'll never have to be afraid of us." he promised. Pete opened the door and Ryan followed him, crawling into bed between the two other boys. Patrick woke up just long enough to brush Ryan's cheek with a sleepy kiss and then Ryan succumbed to dreams.

_______We dream like we kiss, weaving stars in the
_______pockets of everything we hold dear.