They're in Pete's office when the phone rings. Only problem is, Pete is balls deep in Ryan's ass while on the couch, not to mention that the phone is halfway across the room. At first, they ignore the phone - Ryan has his head buried in Pete's neck and Pete's moaning softly in his ear - but after it stops ringing and then rings again, Pete groans and taps his thigh to signal him to move. Ryan grumbles but he gets to his feet, thinking that Pete's just going to tuck himself in and pretend they weren't just fucking ten seconds ago, leaving Ryan high-strung for the rest of the day. But Pete surprises him; he bends Ryan over the desk while at the same time picking up the phone from the cradle.

"Keep that mouth of yours quiet, okay?" Pete whispers, sliding back in with little resistance. And then he answers the phone, strangely calm if not a little out of breath. "Hello, Pete Wentz speaking," says Pete, and Ryan has to clamp a hand over his mouth as his boss thrusts in and out, torturously slowly, holding his hips with his free hand. "Hey, sorry, I was using the bathroom...Yeah, I heard the phone and ran back." He chuckles. "Yeah, of course I washed my hands, I'm not that gross."

Ryan's only half-listening to the conversation, his eyes screwed shut as his climax begins to creep up on him. He doesn't want to come right now, because he knows how hard it is to keep quiet at that moment, but it doesn't help when Pete snakes a hand around to the base of his leaking cock, stroking gently.

"I heard something about that but I haven't had an email or anything yet...ah, okay, that would make sense...yeah, I should be free then...yeah, sounds good, I just need to put you on hold a second though so I can run that past my assistant, just in case he's already booked something for me...yeah I won't be a minute..." Pete sets the phone down and makes sure it's on hold, and then he snaps his hips so fast that a yelp spills from Ryan's mouth before he can stop it.

Pete grabs a handful of Ryan's hair, pulling him up off the desk and wrapping a hand around his waist to keep him upright. He growls into his ear, something that sounds like fuck me you feel so fucking good, but Ryan barely hears it. His pulse thunders in his ears as he bites down on his lower lip, one of Pete's hands around his throat and the other back at his cock. He can taste blood and his head is swimming, and he knows he's gonna come soon if Pete keeps fucking him like this.

"Pete," Ryan groans, his hands gripping the desk so hard that his knuckles turn white. "Fuck, I'm - I'm gonna -"

Pete's hips stutter as he buries his face into the back of Ryan's neck, moaning softly as he comes into the condom, and there's only a few seconds before Ryan comes too, somehow managing to catch it in his hand as his legs threaten to buckle. Gasping for breath, he feels Pete slip out of him, and he grabs one of the tissues on Pete's desk so that he can wipe his hands clean before he washes them. He then re-dresses before turning to face Pete, who gently grasps his chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing him softly.

"You are something else, Ryan Ross," Pete says, kissing along Ryan's cheek and down his neck, making him shiver. "You are surely going to be my undoing."

Ryan bites his lip, fighting a stupid grin and words that he'll definitely regret saying. Instead, he asks, "Who's on the phone?"

Pete pulls back suddenly, hissing shit as he takes the phone off hold. Ryan leaves the office to go and clean up, chuckling to himself. He takes his time washing his hands and tidying his hair, as well as straightening his shirt. When he returns, Pete's sitting at his desk, scribbling something into his diary. "Sorry about that," he says, as Ryan sits on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. "That was Andy."

"Stump's assistant?" Pete nods, not looking up from his diary. Ryan feigns ignorance, picking at his nails. "What's he want?"

Patrick Stump manages the Chicago branch of the company Ryan works for, and quite often he'll ring Pete's office just to chat for an hour. This is annoying in itself, but Patrick and Pete were friends in high school, apparently, and the way Pete talks about Patrick sometimes sounds like they had a little bit more than friendship in high school.

"There's a conference in Minnesota in like, two weeks." He looks up at Ryan, shrugging. "I'm sure you mentioned it but I've slept since then." He grins, and Ryan can't help but smile too. "Andy was wondering if I'd sorted out travel and where I'm staying - which I haven't, obviously - and 'Trick's gonna ring me tonight so we can organise something."

Ryan nods slowly, looking down at his lap. "Will Andy be going?"

"Nah, this is just a managers' thing. He's gotta hold down the fort with Joe, anyway. You know what those guys in Chicago are like."

"Makes sense." Ryan licks his lips, getting up from the couch. "I'll prepare an email for you to send out, let people know you'll be out of the office." He makes his way to the door, trying to avoid Pete's eyes.

"Hey," Pete says, stopping Ryan in his tracks. He gets to his feet and moves to stand in front of Ryan, gently taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "What's going on?"

Ryan squirms, feeling his face warm up. He doesn't want to admit it - mostly because it would make him look stupid, but also because he has no idea how Pete actually feels about him - but the thought of Pete and Patrick sharing a room together in Minnesota makes him feel sick with jealousy. He knows that Pete can do what he wants, because they're not together, they're just sleeping with each other, and it means nothing, but it doesn't stop him from being anxious about it. He likes Pete, a whole fucking lot.

"Nothing, I just -" he shrugs as Pete cups his cheek, making him look up into those dark eyes of his. He swallows heavily, his brain faltering as Pete's eyes search his. "I just get anxious when you're not here to run the office." It's true, but not the whole reason why his mood has changed so suddenly. "You know that Bob hates me."

Pete kisses Ryan's forehead, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. "I won't be gone for long, just a couple days, and I'm on the other end of the phone if you need me."

Ryan breathes in, inhaling Pete's familiar scent, beginning to feel calmer with each breath. "Yeah, I guess so..."

The elder of the two leans back, frowning. "There's something else."

Ryan shakes his head, gently removing himself from Pete's hold. "It's nothing, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" he nods, avoiding Pete's eyes. "You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you? I'm your boss; it's what I'm here for."

And that's the problem.

Ryan opens the office door, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down. "I'd better get back to work."

He smiles and leaves, heading to his desk, but it's hard to concentrate when he can feel Pete's confused stare boring into him. He does his best to ignore it anyway, focusing all of his concentration on his computer and trying to get these emails done. He knows he's going to have to talk to Pete about their thing before he goes to Minnesota, but...that's a problem for future Ryan.

~

Ryan can't sleep.

It's 3am, or 4am, he's not sure, and he's lying awake in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. He can't stop thinking about Pete, and the sex, and the phone call, and what will happen while Pete's in Chicago with Patrick. He's not talked to Pete since yesterday afternoon, and he finds himself missing him as he tosses and turns in bed.

He knows that he should stop having sex with his boss; that's a given. But truth be told, he doesn't want it to stop. He likes Pete, and perhaps more so, he likes feeling wanted.

He sighs, giving up on trying to get to sleep. He knows that it's not coming any time soon. Throwing the sheets back and sitting up, he slides his feet into his slippers as he opens the top drawer of his nightstand. He's not sure if it's anxiety or loneliness that's keeping him awake, or if it's any of them at all, but one thing he does know is that a joint will calm his screaming mind down. He doesn't know a lot, but he's grateful for small mercies.

He doesn't take long to roll himself a joint, using the last of his weed (he makes a mental note to call William in the next few days to get some more), and once he's ready, he slips a hoodie over his bare chest before stepping out onto the pitiful balcony that his apartment boasts. There's just enough room for him to stand, but he can forget it if he's fitting a chair out here. He doesn't mind so much though, because he can get some fresh air (or as fresh as Vegas can get) without having to hang halfway out a window. And it means he can smoke, of course. He leans against the railing and lights the joint, putting it between his lips as he digs his phone out of his pocket.

He doesn't know why he thinks it's a good idea, but once he's had a few puffs of his joint he goes into his messages and begins to read the last texts he and Brendon ever sent each other.

"You're full of self-destructive behaviors tonight, Ryan," he mutters to himself as his eyes adjust to the bright light of his phone.

He knows he should've deleted his number, he knows he should've at the very least deleted the texts when they broke up, but he didn't want to at the time. He'd liked to punish himself from time to time. And then he forgot, and then...here he is. Sad and high and lonely and missing his ex for some fucking reason.

Brendon's display name is even still B, with a crescent-moon emoji beside it.

The texts are dated two weeks before they broke up, and Ryan isn't sure what they were talking about, but they make his heart heavy all the same.

She's doing okay, I told her you sent your love. Me too baby, I miss you so fucking much

Hmm, I'm not sure, but I'm too sleepy to argue so I'll let you believe it for now

I'll let you know when I'm on my way, okay? Also I love you, you stupid ass.

Their relationship had broken down so much that Ryan doesn't even remember them being this affectionate, but it's there, clear as day. Was it the last time they said I love you to each other? Ryan's not sure, he thinks so, but he can't remember. And then he remembers something else: Brendon would've been cheating on him at the time they sent these texts. Brendon had told him he was visiting his mom, who apparently wasn't well, but what if he'd gone away with Dallon instead, lying to him?

The pot is calming down the crashing waves in his brain, but it doesn't stop him from feeling so inescapably sad that he doesn't realise he's crying until tears splash onto the phone screen.

He sobs into his hands, still clutching his phone and the joint, his shoulders shaking and his lips trembling. It's so dark and it's so quiet, except Ryan's small whimpers as he cries. He doesn't know why he's so sad, but sometimes it just hits him late at night and he's powerless to stop it. And it hurts.

He lets the tears run their course, until eventually his sobs die down to sniffles, and he wipes his face on his sleeve. He has to re-light the joint now, but he doesn't mind so much. He takes a few puffs alongside deep breaths, trying to ground himself and stop himself from getting lost in his sadness. After a few minutes, his head begins to clear again, and he checks his phone for the time: 4:12am. Okay. Work in four hours. He can do this.

He finishes the joint and then puts it out in the ashtray by the door, before hugging his hoodie tighter around himself and stepping inside. The pot has soothed him, and he begins to feel marshmallow-y as he climbs back into bed, not bothering to take the hoodie off. He opens his phone to make sure he's got an alarm set and sees that he's still on his message history with Brendon.

He swallows heavily, tears rising to his eyes once again, and he's not even aware of his fingers moving as he begins to type. He sleepily presses send, a voice in the back of my mind telling him that that was a bad idea, you dumbass, but it's too late, and he drifts off to sleep, holding his phone to his chest and thinking about the moon.