Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/714366.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, Panic!_at_the_Disco
  Relationship:
      Ryan_Ross/Spencer_Smith/Brendon_Urie
  Character:
      Spencer_Smith, Ryan_Ross, Brendon_Urie
  Additional Tags:
      AU, True_Blood_AU, Vampires, Blood_Drinking, Threesome_-_M/M/M, Loss_of
      Virginity
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-09 Words: 5733
****** Courtship for <Dummies> Vampires ******
by mokuyoubi
Summary
     True Blood AU in which Brendon is oblivious, Spencer is stupid, and
     Ryan is impatient. And there is lots of biting, and sex. Sort of one
     of those “five times” fics, except I apparently can’t write that
     many, because it would have turned into about a billionty words.
Notes
     This is actually part of a much more epic fic that I plan on writing
     some day, and this is set sort of right in the middle of that fic.
     It’s pretty self-contained and should make sense on its own, but
     there are references to actions or characters that have much more
     importance in the greater scheme of things. All you really need to
     know is that Brendon has still be kicked out of home and is living
     alone, and Ryan and Spencer are the Kings of Nevada.
     For those uninitiated in True Blood: the US is split into four clans,
     each of which is split into sections ruled by Kings or Queens. The
     King and Queen have a human and vampire court. The role of King or
     Queen is given to the oldest vampire in the area. V is the street
     name for vampire blood, which is an illicit drug among humans.
The first time it’s late, and Brendon is half-asleep stretched out on the sofa
with his feet against Ryan’s thigh and his head in Spencer’s lap. He closed at
work and there was a late night smoothie rush or some shit, and he’s just
exhausted. Spencer’s fingers tangle idly through Brendon’s hair, and though it
still shocks him sometimes, Brendon’s never felt so safe and content as he does
with here, with Ryan and Spence.
There’s some Norwegian movie playing—way too artsy for Brendon to appreciate,
even if he could understand what was being said. When he blinks his eyes open,
Spencer’s staring down at him with an odd expression. It takes a minute for
Brendon to realise that Spencer’s staring at his neck. He can’t help the way
his pulse speeds up at that, and both Spencer and Ryan notice it, he can tell,
in the subtle changes in their posture. Spencer licks his lips, gaze never
wavering. Ryan lays a hand on Brendon’s ankle, under the hem of his pant leg,
fingers curled tightly against bare skin.
“You…” Brendon says, and has to stop, swallow hard, and try again. “If you
wanted, you could.”
Spencer’s eyes flick to Brendon’s and there’s a sort of…feral gleam in them
that Brendon’s never seen before. Spencer’s fingers squeeze Brendon’s hair and
give a tug, just a little one, just enough to make Brendon arch his neck, make
the vein there stick out. Spencer traces a nail over the skin, and Brendon
shivers.
Brendon’s sure he’ll say no. Spencer has this thing about drinking directly
from humans. Over the course of their friendship, Brendon’s only ever seen him
drinking TruBlood. According to Ryan, even before it was available for sale,
Spencer would only drink human blood from a glass.
Though Spencer’s never given a reason, but Brendon has theories. Spencer is so
fastidious, always so perfectly put together, and there’s something undignified
about sinking one’s teeth into another person’s skin. Particularly a person who
is considered inferior.
Then there’s the intimacy of the act. Ryan bears Spencer’s marks—Brendon’s
caught fleeting glimpses of them at the collar of his shirt and watched them
fade into nothing over the course of an evening. And even though Ryan readily
drinks from their human court, it seems so impersonal. Spencer wouldn’t be so
casually detached about it.
Brendon’s about to say something—retract the offer, or make a joke of it, or
just fucking leave, because he’s made a huge ass out of himself—when Spencer
reaches out and wraps a hand around Brendon’s wrist. “Not your neck,” he says,
though he’s still looking at it.
“Oh—okay,” Brendon manages to breathe. His arm feels so fucking heavy and he
watches with wide eyes as Spencer brings it against his mouth. He just inhales,
lips tickling the skin, and Ryan’s fingers creep slowly up Brendon’s leg, and
Brendon’s skin buzzes.
Spencer doesn’t ask if Brendon’s sure, which is probably for the best, because
right now Brendon isn’t sure of anything. When Spencer parts his lips and his
fangs come out, Brendon has a moment of paralysing fear—of pain, of the chance
that he’s been misreading this entire relationship they’ve built. Then
Spencer’s breaking the skin, and it feels nothing like it had with Heath in the
alley.
Heath was violent and Brendon was terrified, felt the life draining out of him
with every heartbeat, knew with certainty that he was going to die, and he’d
never been in so much pain in his life, felt like his insides were being ripped
out through his throat.
Spencer couldn’t be any different. There’s a sharp sting and then a gentle
throb of heat and pain that’s too close to pleasure, and then Spencer starts
sucking. A moan tears out of Brendon’s throat, completely against his will, and
he feels himself blushing, but he can’t help it. His entire body is alight with
sensation and his cock is hard and straining against his zipper. He twists and
pulls at his wrist and says, “No, stop it, stop,” and Spencer lets him go at
once.
Ryan’s staring blatantly at them, dots of blood welling up on his lip from
where he’s bitten them, and Brendon can’t hear anything over the roaring in his
ears. “I’ve. I’m sorry,” Brendon says, and flails around awkwardly, getting to
his feet. “I’m sorry, you’re not—it wasn’t—” he stops, because he doesn’t know
what to say.
He’s the stupid human that’s fallen for them. Them, Spencer and Ryan who are
ancient and have only ever loved one another for over a thousand years, who are
an anomaly by vampire standards, to have been exclusively faithful, and here he
is throwing himself at them. They have to see through him now, how hard he is,
and he wonders if they’ll ever speak to him again, or if they’ll pity him, and
pretend it never happened.
Brendon doesn’t stick around to find out, and neither of them tries to stop
him. Ryan just watches him with an unreadable expression and Spencer doesn’t
look at him at all.
*
The second time it happens is weeks later, and Spencer and Ryan have taken the
latter route of acting as though it was all in Brendon’s head. Brendon knows
better, had the mark on his wrist for days and wore a thick bracelet to keep it
hidden at work—he didn’t want to draw attention with bandages. A few days later
Ryan and Spencer picked him up at the mall and they went out to the movies, and
no one mentioned it at all, though Brendon thought he caught Spencer staring at
his bracelet more than once.
This time they’re at a club at the top of some fancy hotel downtown. Brendon
marvels at the things Spencer and Ryan get away with just by being Spencer and
Ryan, because there’s no way Brendon should allowed here, and yet. Spencer
keeps buying him sodas and Ryan keeps putting liquor in them, and Spencer keeps
getting exasperated and taking the glasses away.
Brendon can’t stop giggling. “I’m only sipping them, Spencer,” he says, laying
his head on Spencer’s shoulder, and then he says Spencer’s name again,
stretching out the r, because it’s interesting.
“Give me that,” Spencer says, snatching another glass out of Brendon’s hand,
but he’s trying not to smile.
“You’re the one who brought me here,” Brendon points out, and gets distracted
by the way the lights on the balcony refract.
“I’m getting you water,” Spencer says. “If Ryan gives you anything, don’t drink
it.”
Brendon nods obediently and keeps nodding after Spencer has sighed and turned
away. It’s a funny thing, nodding. Ryan sidles up to him and gives him a
strange look, but nothing to drink. “Spencer thinks you’re a bad influence,”
Brendon tells him.
“Spencer is a wise, wise man,” Ryan says. He grins broadly and even though his
fangs aren’t out, his teeth look sharp and dangerous.
“You’ve brought me to a club. I demand that you dance with me,” Brendon says,
and holds out his hands.
Ryan lets out a put-upon sigh, but he takes Brendon’s hands and drags him out
to the dance floor. The tiles are frosted glass and change colour in time to
the music. The effect is kind of dizzying, and Brendon holds onto Ryan’s
shoulders tighter than is probably necessary, but Ryan doesn’t protest.
It’s hot even so long after sunset, and Brendon’s sweating, but Ryan’s cool to
the touch. Brendon’s often wondered what that’s like for the humans vampires
take as lovers, if it’s ever too cold. Here on the dance floor it feels
delicious. Brendon mumbles something to that affect and Ryan quirks an amused
brow at him.
“What’s funny?” Spencer asks. He has this way of reading Ryan’s moods even when
Ryan’s face is completely blank. He gives Brendon the water bottle and Brendon
gulps from it greedily. It spills down his chin in his hast, down his neck and
wets his shirt.
“Brendon thinks I’m delicious,” Ryan says.
“I didn’t say that,” Brendon protests. Spencer’s gaze flicks to him, the water
beading on his neck. Brendon feels himself blushing; he wonders like he has a
million times over the past few weeks, if he’ll ever get Spencer to bite him
again, if Ryan could be persuaded even if Spencer could not.
“But he is,” Spencer says. He cosies up behind Ryan, rolls their hips together.
Brendon’s never wanted to try V. Even now the idea is vaguely frightening, but
he can see their veins, vibrant blue under pale, pale skin, and something
Brendon is drawn, entranced. He has to close his eyes to the sight.
Bass pulses through the dance floor, and it’s easy for Brendon to lose himself
in the music. He tries not to think about anything but the beat and the way his
body moves with Ryan’s. Doesn’t imagine what they must look like together when
they’re alone, in bed. Spencer fucking Ryan, mouth fixed to his throat.
When he opens his eyes, Ryan is watching his face, like he knows what Brendon’s
been thinking. Brendon clears his throat, straightens his back a little. “I’m
dizzy,” he says, “and I’m seriously sweating like crazy, it’s gross.” He tries
to pull away, but Ryan holds fast.
Ryan leans down and noses at Brendon’s cheek as if to see for himself. Brendon
can’t imagine that it’s very pleasant, the mix of sweat and booze, but Ryan
hums in pleasure and says, “Intoxicating.”
Brendon has just enough time to wonder if Ryan’s making a joke before Ryan
ducks his head and sinks his fangs into the skin over Brendon’s collarbone.
Brendon’s whole body sways into Ryan’s, and when Ryan begins to suck, Brendon’s
hips jerk where they’re pressed to Ryan’s.
The sky spins above Brendon’s head, and the alcohol makes it that much
stronger, or maybe it’s because of where Ryan’s bitten him. Either way he
stumbles. Ryan’s arms tighten around him, strong and sure, one around Brendon’s
waist, the other up his back, hand cradling his head.
Ryan isn’t as gentle as Spencer and he takes more, quicker. Each long mouthful
he draws feels like strings being drawn under Brendon’s skin, neither painful
nor comfortable. Brendon makes a small sound, not quite a protest—he worries
stopping will mean never getting this again, but it’s too much, and some of the
other club goers are watching, and Brendon just wants to rub against Ryan’s
body and let Ryan take and take and take.
Spencer growls—actually growls, a low animal sound that rumbles from his
chest—and when Brendon looks, his fangs are out. He’s baring them at Brendon,
and Brendon has to remind himself that no matter what he wants to give, it
isn’t his place to offer.
Ryan pulls away and Brendon feels like he’s lost something. It’s dangerous, how
much he wants them. Ryan’s mouth is stained red with Brendon’s blood. Spencer
grabs him by the chin and jerks his head back to kiss him. Brendon’s never seen
them kiss like this. Hungry is the best word for it, the way Spencer licks the
blood from Ryan’s mouth and Ryan sucks on Spencer’s tongue, chasing the taste.
They’re biting each other, mixing their blood and his. So close to them,
Brendon imagines he can smell the tang of blood in the air, can almost taste
it. There are about a million reasons why it would be a bad idea to lean
forward, lap at the place where their mouths meet, but the alcohol clouds
Brendon’s thoughts. It’s difficult for him to reason and the world is spinning.
He feels something tickling on his chest and looks down to see his shirt going
sticky with his blood, and then he’s swooning like some fucking Victorian
damsel which is ridiculous.
Spencer pulls away from Ryan and practically carries Brendon to a table by the
dance floor. Brendon slumps into a chair gratefully. Ryan takes the seat beside
Brendon and laces their hands together. He gives Spencer a meaningful look and
Spencer goes to the bar. He comes back with two grey pills that he presses into
Brendon’s palm.
“You’re not used to it,” Spencer says, “Those will make you feel better.”
Brendon takes them and the water Spencer hands him. All the while, Spencer’s
eyes are fixed on the bite mark on Brendon’s collarbone.
“Are you angry at me?” Brendon asks, and his words come out all slurred.
Spencer’s gaze snaps up to meet Brendon’s and he frowns. “Angry?” he repeats,
and there’s something weird about his voice, but Brendon’s too dizzy to really
think about it. “I’m not angry,” Spencer says. He doesn’t explain any further,
but all the same Brendon feels a weight lift from his chest.
“Let’s go home,” Ryan says. He stands and gets an arm under Brendon’s to help
him up. “Louis will make you something high in protein and you can sing that
mermaid song at him.”
Brendon smiles and presses his face into Ryan’s shirt as they walk, trusting
Ryan to steer him. He’s trying to get them updated on pop culture, but Ryan
still mostly doesn’t get a lot of it. Brendon finds it stupidly endearing, and
he hums Les Poissons under his breath on the ride back to the mansion.
*
The third time, it’s nine-thirty on a Monday night, but the mall is staying
open late for this ridiculous Christmas in July thing, so Brendon has to wait
another half an hour before he can take off. They’ve been empty for the past
two hours, and he’s zoned the entire store twice, pushed all the reshop, and
refolded a table of jeans just to pass time.
His collarbone itches where the shirt covers Ryan’s bite, and he has to keep
fighting the urge to scratch it. He’s been picking at the damn thing for days
and it’s tender and red. It’s never going to heal properly at this rate, but
that doesn’t stop Brendon from scratching.
He’s contemplating remerchandising the women’s tank tops when Tim elbows him in
the side and says with a sneer, “Your friends are here.”
Brendon can’t help the bright smile that breaks on his face. He looks, and Ryan
and Spencer are doing that creepy thing where they stand outside the store and
just stare at him. Brendon gives them a cheerful wave and beckons. He’s always
glad to see them, but in particular when he’s working at The Gap. They freak
the fuck out of his co-workers. Brendon hates these co-workers.
Ryan browses the tables near the front while Spencer strolls up to the counter
and completely ignores Tim’s glare. “We have tickets to a show at ten,” Spencer
says. He looks around the store pointedly. Carol is texting in the cubby by the
changing room and Angie’s using her fingers to evenly space hangers on the
racks. He gives Tim a cool look. “Surely you could let Brendon leave early,
just this once.”
Tim’s too much of a bitch to say anything to Spencer’s face, and Gracie’s
talked to him more than once about being more polite to the Kings of Nevada. So
Tim just grits his teeth and gives Spencer a fake smile and says, “Just this
once.”
In the limo, Brendon bounces on the leather seat and asks, “So, what show are
we seeing?” Ryan and Spencer take him to the coolest and weirdest shit—operas,
ballets, circus, all night movie marathons.
Ryan smirks, “There’s no show. Spencer lied.” He nudges Spencer with his knee
and Spencer gives one of those heart-stopping smiles that make Brendon melt.
“Are you trying to get me fired?” Brendon asks.
“It’s part of our on-going ploy to convince you to become our kept boy,”
Spencer says.
Brendon rolls his eyes and looks out the window, because it’s only partly a
joke, and a sore subject besides, given the circumstances of how they met.
Brendon doesn’t have a whole lot of pride, but he still can’t stand the thought
of them caring for him out of some sense of obligation or charity. He already
lets them do so much.
He undoes the first few buttons of his shirt to get at the bite mark and rubs
at the skin around the holes. He’s trying really hard to stop scratching
because he ends up ripping off the scabs. There’s an awkward silence, and then
Spencer clears his throat. “William’s throwing a party, or the fair is on,” he
says.
They end up at the fair. There’s a really crummy portable putt-putt golf course
and they have to wait in line behind a group of young, loud vampires until the
leader catches sight of Spencer and goes quiet and still. They disappear after
that, nodding politely at Brendon, which is just bewildering. Sometimes it hits
Brendon just how powerful Ryan and Spencer, how frightened of them he should
be. But Spencer keeps hitting his ball so hard it ricochets off the boarders,
and Ryan just misses his altogether, and Brendon just can’t be scared of them.
Later Brendon gets sickly sweet lemonade and cotton candy, and gets
inexplicably nasty looks from the vendors. They sit in the back of the
bleachers while Ryan bemoans the existence of country music. Brendon lays his
head against Spencer’s shoulder and laughs until his stomach aches.
It’s almost two in the morning when they head out, and Brendon doesn’t want to
go home yet. School will be starting again soon, and then the time that he’ll
have with Ryan and Spencer will be cut dramatically. They invite him back to
the mansion, and of course he accepts. On the ride home, he notices that he’s
left the top several buttons of his shirt undone to expose the bite, and that
might explain a lot of the looks he got. He thumbs at it, and Ryan makes a low
noise that catches Brendon’s attention, but when he looks Ryan is staring out
the window.
The night is sultry, and when they arrive at the mansion, Brendon can hear
people in the pool in the back. He has always been intensely curious about the
human court that Ryan and Spencer keep, but he’s never questioned it when he’s
lead straight into the underground levels of the mansion, where the only other
humans allowed are Louis and Zack. Brendon wonders if the others know about him
at all.
They play Rock Band, Ryan and Brendon taking turns between vocals and guitar
while Spencer dominates the drums. Brendon is too kind to point out (more than
five or six times) that it’s because Spencer can’t play the guitar for shit,
but really Ryan on drums is a work of comedic genius so brilliant that it hurts
to watch.
It’s only been twenty minutes when Spencer slams his drumsticks down and says,
“Jesus Christ, Brendon, you’ve got to stop doing that!”
Brendon feels his eyes go wide, mouth open to sing, but the words are
forgotten. After a second he realises he’s absently scratching his bite and
that it’s bleeding, just a little, oozing around the edges. “S—sorry,” he
stutters, and then scratches again because it itches, and he doesn’t mean to,
but Spencer stands up suddenly, looming over him, and Brendon forces his hand
down to his lap. “Sorry.”
Spencer does that growling thing again that sends thrills of fear and desire
down Brendon’s spine. He grabs Brendon roughly by the shoulder and hauls him to
his feet, shoves his face against Brendon’s throat and draws a deep breath.
“You make it really difficult to take things slowly.”
Brendon doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Spencer’s mouth brushes
softly against Brendon’s jaw, and it’s impossible to think. “Wh—what things?”
he asks.
Ryan makes an annoyed sound and Spencer draws away to look Ryan in the eye. “I
told you we weren’t being obvious enough,” Ryan says, unimpressed by Spencer’s
glower.
“Because attacking him in a dance club without even asking is really the best
way to declare your intentions,” Spencer shoots back.
“Guys?” Brendon asks meekly.
Ryan sets aside the guitar and steps close to Brendon’s other side, picking up
his hand and lacing their fingers together. “All the dinners, the shows, the
gifts,” Ryan says, and gives Brendon an almost shy smile that Brendon can’t
really process. “We were wooing you. We want you to be our consort.”
“We thought, when you offered yourself, that you understood. That you were
accepting,” Spencer says. His tone is stilted. “And when you left…”
“Oh.” Brendon looks back and forth between the two of them, his mind racing,
trying to make sense of it, but still sort of stuck on consort. Because that’s
serious. That isn’t something offered because of guilt or to repay a debt. “Oh.
I—you were proposing to me?” He can’t really help his incredulous tone.
“I told you,” Ryan repeats.
“Seriously,” Brendon says, and nods at Spencer. “Seriously, not obvious. You
were so the opposite of obvious.” Spencer gives him a dark look and Brendon
hurries on to add, “And just for the sake of clarity, let me make things really
obvious. I am so wooed.”
Ryan’s fingers tighten around Brendon’s, and Spencer nails dig into Brendon’s
shoulder, and Brendon’s heart rises into his throat. “Also, I think things have
been taken slowly enough. I’ve been so fucking crazy for you two for mo—”
Spencer kisses him, hard enough to bruise, and Brendon hears his fangs sliding
out a second before he feels the skin of his lip breaking.
It isn’t the same as before, maybe because Spencer just lets the blood well up
on its own before licking it away. It doesn’t make Brendon’s entire body
buzz—that’s Spencer’s kiss, rough and consuming. Someone’s hand is in Brendon’s
hair, urging his head back and he feels Ryan’s mouth cold and clever on his
throat. His fangs are out and skim over the surface of Brendon’s skin without
cutting, and the sensation makes Brendon tremble. It makes him feel vulnerable
and delicate, and he wouldn’t have thought of that as a turn on, but apparently
it is.
“Do you know what a tease you’ve been?” Ryan whispers and nips gently at
Brendon’s ear. “Going around smelling of desire all the time.” His hands dart
between their bodies, quickly undoing the remaining buttons on Brendon’s shirt
and spread it open. Brendon lets Ryan ease it off his shoulders, distantly
hears it fall to the ground in a swish of fabric. Ryan’s mouth presses to the
bite on Brendon’s chest, and the itching stops.
Spencer draws away and Ryan darts in quickly to take his place. His kiss is
slow and filled with promise; he’s gentler than Spencer, which is surprising,
his kiss more searching than possessive. He would have thought it would be the
other way around—everyone says the sire is the more dominant of a pair, but
Ryan has always seemed more submissive, so maybe it makes sense.
They lead him down to the second level of the basement, where he’s never been
before. It’s cool and dark, with wall sconces glowing softly along the hall.
Brendon knows this is a big deal. Even before knowing Spencer and Ryan he read
a lot of information of vampires, and since he’s read even more, and they don’t
take just anyone to their resting place.
Brendon hasn’t seen the vast majority of the mansion, and the first level of
the basement is casual, but this—this is what Brendon’s always thought of, when
he heard the word mansion. Their bedroom is sort of overwhelmingly opulent,
with hardwood and plush rugs and a chandelier that glitters in the light. The
bed is set back in a recess in the wall, framed with golden scrolls and a
canopy that makes Brendon think of the forest.
Ryan draws him to stand at the side of the mattress and starts to work on
Brendon’s pants. He’s nervous, it’s really ridiculous, because he’s wanted this
for what seems like forever. But they have centuries of experience on him, and
their bodies are perfect in the way no human’s can be. Brendon’s just a scrawny
sixteen year old virgin.
The slacks drop to the floor and Ryan looks up at Brendon with that look of
his, like he knows what Brendon’s thinking, and his mouth is slightly open.
“Come here,” Ryan says and tugs on Brendon’s hips, lays him down on the sheets.
He slides onto the floor between Brendon’s knees and Brendon is very aware of
his erection tenting his boxers, how absurd he must look, and his thighs tense
when Ryan puts his hands there.
“It’ll hurt more if you don’t relax,” Ryan murmurs, lips brushing the inside of
Brendon’s knee.
The bed dips with Spencer’s weight as he settles on the other side of the
mattress. Brendon tilts his head back and there’s something reassuring about
the look on Spencer’s face, the way he draws a hand down Brendon’s cheek. Then
Ryan bites him, high on his inner thigh.
“Oh my god,” Brendon breathes. His hips try to lift but Ryan holds him down
effortlessly and sucks hard. “Please,” he says, and he isn’t even sure what he
wants or needs. Spencer lifts his arm, places a chaste kiss to the inside of
his wrist, up his forearm to his elbow and finally sets his teeth to skin on
the tender flesh just under the curve of his bicep.
This, this is too much. They aren’t even taking that much blood, but it’s that
same sensation of his veins like strings, being drawn, tickling under his skin,
except it’s so much stronger. He moans, and then he can’t stop, babbling pleas
and their names, and anything. Ryan pulls away, presses a kiss to the bite, and
tugs at Brendon’s boxers, and Brendon doesn’t even care about the embarrassment
anymore, just lifts his hips to help.
Spencer takes one last sip from his bite and moves away as well. Brendon
watches him shrug out of his shirt, revealing lots of smooth, pale skin that
Brendon wants to lick all over. Spencer ducks close, gives Brendon a fast, hard
kiss and then moves down his jaw. He makes small, glancing cuts down Brendon’s
throat and licks at them with little swipes of his tongue.
Brendon’s whole body jumps when Ryan bites him again, without warning, this
time at the lower curve of his stomach. Brendon buries a hand in Ryan’s hair,
holding him in place. The pain is still sharp and bright, but maybe he’s
getting used to it, because it just makes him harder. Ryan’s shoulder is right
there and Brendon shifts his hips and rubs against him, and Ryan doesn’t stop
him, just sucks harder.
Spencer bites down again at the curve of Brendon’s neck, and Brendon realises
why Spencer didn’t do that the first night when he’d offered. It’s stronger and
more painful than anywhere else, like Spencer’s fangs have hit something deep
and essential, and there’s that same sensation from when Heath bit him, of
being turned inside out, only without the fear. He hears himself sobbing
Spencer’s name and his fingers squeeze tight in Ryan’s hair, and he’s coming so
fucking hard he can’t see or even breathe.
In the aftermath, they are suddenly tender, placing kisses over the bites,
stroking over his skin. When Brendon opens his eyes, they’re sitting on either
side of him, leaning over him to meet in the middle and Spencer’s licking
Brendon’s come from Ryan’s skin. Brendon’s mortified and painfully aroused, and
he isn’t sure which is stronger, because he just came on Ryan. He wonders if he
should apologise. Ryan wraps a hand around Spencer’s throat and pushes him away
enough to get at his mouth and then he's licking past Spencer’s lips, like he’s
chasing the taste.
Spencer draws away to lie down at Brendon’s side. He lays an arm over Brendon’s
chest, thumb idly tracing along the curve of Brendon’s rib. “I want to fuck
you,” he says, voice low and close to Brendon’s ear. Ryan’s watching them with
an openly hungry expression and his hand skates low on his own stomach, slips
past his waistband to touch himself. “And I want you to fuck Ryan.”
Brendon is so, so on board with that plan.
*
It isn’t as painful as Brendon thought it would be, or maybe his concept of
pain is just skewed. By the time Spencer actually begins to push inside he’s
been licking Brendon open for what feels like fucking hours, and Ryan just
keeps taking bloody kisses from Brendon’s mouth.
Brendon’s already come twice—the second time in Ryan’s mouth, which was so much
better than on his shoulder—and between that and the blood loss, Brendon
doesn’t think he could tense up if he wanted to. Spencer is slick and so much
bigger than the three fingers he got inside, and Brendon moans as he takes it,
delights in the sharp sting and the drag of skin on skin.
Spencer’s holding back, Brendon can tell. His arms tremble where he’s propped
himself up and he goes slowly, gives Brendon time to adjust. Brendon tells him
it’s okay, that he can go faster, harder, but Spencer shakes his head and gives
Brendon a lingering kiss. “Later,” Spencer promises.
*
The fourth, fifth, and sixth time pass in a blur of really awesome sex. They
take a lot of blood and offer their blood in return to help him recover faster,
but Brendon demurs. He doesn’t mind the idea of a psychic connection to them,
but it’s so fast, he needs time to adjust to the idea. The important thing is
that Brendon knows it will happen, with absolute certainty. Someday, he’ll
drink from them and someday even further away, they’ll turn him.
So Spencer gives him a bottle of pills and Brendon resigns himself to being
perpetually woozy. It isn’t so bad, really, kind of like being drunk, and Louis
makes him lots of delicious food that helps. Sometimes when they’re fucking
him, it’s like he’s floating, and when he comes it’s like being brought back
down to earth. It’s an addictive feeling.
By the time Brendon emerges from that haze and has recovered enough to think
about it, he’s lost track of all the times they’ve drunk from him. When he gets
up from the bed for longer than ten minutes for the first time in what feels
like days, his legs are weak but he manages to make it to the bathroom on his
own.
The tub looks like marble and is sunk into the ground. It’s easily big enough
for the three of them, and Ryan fills it with steaming water and bubbles.
Brendon waits, staring at his reflection in mute wonder. His skin is paler than
he’s ever seen it or known it could be, and he’s covered in their bites. He can
tell which of them has left which just by the shape and size—Ryan’s fangs are
slightly closer together, and he bites more roughly, leaving larger wounds.
Spencer’s are mostly small dots spaced further apart. There are some they’ve
both taken from—on his hipbone, on his chest above his heart, and several under
his chin and down his neck.
He catches Ryan’s eye in the mirror, and Ryan looks…nervous, is the best word
for it. Brendon turns and kneels on the ground beside him, kisses away the
expression. He takes Ryan’s hand and presses his fingers against the raised
scar near the back of his neck. “You should bite me here,” he murmurs. “You and
Spencer both, and don’t let it heal right.” If he’s going to bear anyone’s
mark, it should be theirs.
Ryan kisses him again, harder, a desperate whine rising up in his throat. It
makes Brendon dizzy, how much power he has with them, how he can reduce them to
this with just words. He breaks the kiss and drops his chin to his chest,
baring Heath’s scar.
That first second of teeth breaking skin gets Brendon instantly hard, even
though he’s gotten off more times than can count in the past few days. He
wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. As Ryan drinks, he draws Brendon nearer,
reclining and pulling Brendon down over him. His thighs frame Brendon’s hips,
and the offer is obvious.
Brendon fumbles Ryan’s dressing gown apart and finds Ryan still slick from
Spencer fucking him earlier. In just these few short days, Brendon’s learned a
lot about what Ryan and Spencer like. Ryan is rough with them, and he likes
them to be rough with him in turn. Brendon doesn’t bother stretching Ryan with
his fingers, just lines up and thrusts in hard.
Ryan pulls away from Brendon’s neck with a moan. His cheeks are flushed from
the blood, his skin warm to the touch. Brendon kisses him; he’s getting used to
the coppery flavour of his own blood on their mouths. He bites down on Ryan’s
lip just to hear him groan and fucks him hard enough to move them across the
floor.
Brendon’s still got a short of shamefully low endurance, and when he comes
Ryan’s still hard, rubbing his hips against Brendon’s. Brendon goes down on him
and hooks two fingers inside, pressing where Spencer’s shown him to make Ryan’s
thighs tighten around Brendon’s shoulders. Ryan weaves his fingers through
Brendon’s hair and holds him down when he comes. Brendon swallows and sits back
on his heels, meeting Ryan’s lazy, pleased smile with a dark look.
“You like it,” Ryan says. Brendon arches a brow, but he can’t really argue with
that. Ryan’s smile widens and he pushes himself up on one arm, leans in to lick
the drying trail of blood down Brendon’s chest.
Brendon hums and tips his head back in submission. He sees Spencer come into
view, watching them with a speculative expression. Brendon gives him a sunny
smile. “You were supposed to be cleaning up, not making more of a mess,”
Spencer teases.
“Don’t be jealous, Spence,” Brendon says. He draws a toe up the inside of
Spencer’s ankle. Strokes a finger down the line of his own throat. “There’s
still plenty left for you.”
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