30 Day OTP NSFW Challenge - Day Four - Masturbation
Author: ericasaur
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: He let himself pretend just for one minute that he could have it one day, that he could have those moans and soft sighs and smooth skin. That he could have Ryan.
Disclaimer: Fiction
masterpost
Brendon has this… problem. Like most problems that are ever-present in a teenage boy’s life, it’s sexual. And very troubling. And terrifying.
It’s not really the fact that he’s pining over his best friend/guitarist. He came to terms with that long ago. No, it’s much more complicated than that.
Brendon has a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And little did he know that when he skipped out on the coffee that one morning two weeks ago it would cause a string of events that would inevitably lead to him going to bed early when nobody else but Ryan was in the bunks. And little did Ryan know, Brendon was having trouble falling asleep that night. So because Brendon messed up his usual schedule and put everything off-balance, he heard every breath, every muffled whimper, and every rustle of the sheets that occurred in the bunk above him while Ryan jerked off.
And if you fast forward to tonight, you’ll see Brendon pretending to be asleep in his bunk while Ryan climbs up to his. You’ll also see Brendon soundlessly sliding his hand into his boxers five minutes later when Ryan’s breathing increases.
Ever since Brendon heard him, he’s had this problem. He’s knows it’s wrong and immoral and all that other shit he doesn’t care about, but it doesn’t stop him. It was an accident the first time, but then he couldn’t help himself. He started going to bed twenty minutes before Ryan and then pretending to be asleep when Ryan climbed into his own bunk.
Ryan doesn’t do it every night. Not even every other night, really. Just a few times a week. And Brendon’s not trying to be a fucking creepy stalker, that’s not what this is about. It’s more like… when Brendon heard those sounds, those fucking barely audible moans that he knew were only being subdued by Ryan biting his pillow, when he heard the rustle that he knew resulted from Ryan’s soft skin sliding through the sheets, tangling his fingers in them - when Brendon heard that, he let himself pretend just for one minute that he could have it one day, that he could have those moans and soft sighs and smooth skin. That he could have Ryan.
He knows that’ll never happen, and as pathetic and stalker-ish as it is, this is all he’s got for now. It’s almost like an addiction, a dirty little secret that he’s keeping hidden from the world because he’s so ashamed of it, and with good reason. He’s tried over and over to stop, telling himself that Ryan would feel like his privacy’s been invaded and he’d be angry and maybe even feel betrayed - but Brendon can’t. Because as soon as Ryan’s thin body hits the sheets and the steady, rhythmic sound of skin-on-fabric drifts down to him, he’s completely gone.
Nothing makes tonight any different. He waits as Ryan settles in above him and he tries to keep his breathing even. He stares up at the bottom of Ryan’s bunk and wonders if he’ll ever be able to move on, to stop carrying a torch for someone who doesn’t love him back and to get on with his life. Brendon doesn’t know why love is made out to be this wonderful, fantastic, life-changing phenomenon. It’s actually pretty fucking awful. Sure, it’s life-changing - but in the worst way. He never knew how he’d be able to tell if he was in love, but when it happened it fucking happened and he knew. Because nothing less could have caused him so much pain. No, he doesn’t think he’ll ever fall out of love with Ryan.
He was so focused on his thoughts that he almost missed the slight change in the breathing above him, the way the inhales are short and the exhales are shaky and drawn-out. He knows that means Ryan’s just started, that he’s just relaxed enough to get into it. Brendon can picture him with his head tipped back into his pillow, eyes shut and face gone with bliss as he bites his lip - all hypothetical, but Brendon has quite an imagination.
Sometimes Ryan will mumble things under his breath, and Brendon never can catch enough to make out what the words are supposed to be, obviously not being spoken for anyone else’s ears. It always sounds like the words weren’t supposed to come out, like Ryan was in so much pleasure that he couldn’t contain them and accidentally let them slip. Brendon loves hearing him murmur like that, even if he can’t decipher it.
Brendon’s hand wraps around his own cock, already hard enough to the point where it’s uncomfortable, and Ryan’s barely even started. For the most part he just slowly strokes and listens, straining his ears to catch the tiny whimpers and lilting moans that aren’t loud enough to carry. Before any of this, he’d thought about what Ryan would be like in bed. He never pictured him as being very vocal or animated, but it turns out he was wrong about that. It always seems as if Ryan’s using every ounce of willpower invested in him to keep quiet, like he’d rather be anywhere else just so he could let himself be loud, let himself moan freely and be able to writhe on the mattress without worrying about being heard.
It’s thoughts like that that makes this so intense for Brendon, because he fucking knows that Ryan is restraining himself, and the fact that there’s more he doesn’t know, doesn’t hear, appeals to his imaginative side.
Brendon covers his mouth while he fists his cock slowly in his other hand, trying not to rustle the sheets or let his hips move. That’s the hardest part - being quiet. He bites his lip so hard, not caring that he’s drawing blood, and tightens his fist on his upstrokes when Ryan starts to make small noises. God, if Brendon could make noise he’d be so fucking loud right now. He almost forgets sometimes, not only that he has to be quiet, but he sometimes literally forgets where he is, so caught up in the fantasies in his head that he temporarily loses track of reality. He stares up at the bottom of Ryan’s bunk and imagines that it’s his hand wrapped around Brendon’s dick, his long fingers sliding along just perfectly, leaving no room for improvement. He thrusts into his fist and pretends that it’s Ryan’s hand, Ryan’s mouth, that he’s up there in his bunk with him and they’re lost in soft touches and pleasured sighs. Sometimes he almost forgets to be quiet. Almost.
Ryan is starting to mumble again, and Brendon’s ears perk up, catching bits of words that sound like ‘so good’ and he’s almost certain he hears a ‘baby’ in there somewhere. His heart sinks a bit at that because he’d never given much thought to the images that fill Ryan’s head during these times. He wonders who Ryan’s referring to as ‘baby’ for a second before he decides not to care and continues to slide his hand up and down a bit faster so that he’s nearly in time with Ryan.
The whimpers grow louder and the rustling changes tempo, and Brendon knows Ryan’s about to come. He’s learned the signs by now and can always tell. Brendon closes his eyes and thinks about Ryan’s hands on him, his mouth and tongue trailing over his body, his soft touch gentle and loving, and he’s about to come. It’s just like every other time, Brendon listening to Ryan’s breathing stutter and hearing the sound that he knows means Ryan’s arching his back off the bed. And this would be like every other time, just the same, except this time Ryan says a name when he comes. A very clear, very audible name, and it wouldn’t be such a big deal if that name wasn’t-
“Brendon,” Ryan whispers through his hoarse, wrecked voice, the sounds of his hand moving slowing down and his breathing echoing down to the very person whose name just escaped his parted lips.
Brendon lies there with his eyes impossibly wide and his hand frozen in place, too shocked to even realize that he came when Ryan did. He can’t move, or breathe for that matter, because there’s no way, there is no way that Ryan just said his name. No fucking way.
Except he did. That was Brendon’s name that fell from the mouth of his own object of affection. He doesn’t even know what this means, what to think, what to do for fuck’s sake. He retracts his hand, numbly wiping it on his boxers. He feels like he’s going to pass out, or choke. And then - oh shit, he might actually choke. His throat closes up, a choking sound indeed coming from him.
“Bren…?” he hears tentatively from above him. “Hey, you okay?” the voice gets louder until Ryan is climbing down and leaning into Brendon’s bunk. “Dude,” he shakes Brendon’s shoulder to make sure he isn’t dying or something. Brendon takes a deep breath, nodding and staring wide-eyed at Ryan. Ryan starts to look a bit nervous as realization hits him. “Um… how long - how long have you been awake?” he whispers.
Brendon can’t make himself answer, partly because of fear and partly because he knows that Ryan probably didn’t even mean anything by saying Brendon’s name.
“You heard,” Ryan says so quietly Brendon barely hears it. It’s not a question, just a statement. Ryan knows he heard. Brendon bites his lip and looks away. “Fuck, I - I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Brendon, I just - look, please don’t be weird around me because of this. You’re my best friend. Fuck, I’m so sorry, you weren’t supposed to know,” he says frantically, arms clutched tensely around himself, voice breaking at the end. Brendon’s just confused, his mind trying to catch up with the words pouring from his friend.
“What - why are you apologizing? I wasn’t supposed to know what?” he interrupts, eyebrows scrunched and gaze settling on one distraught Ryan Ross.
“That I, you know,” Ryan mumbles, averting his gaze. “Feel like that… about you. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. I don’t fucking know why this is happening,” he admits, sounding panicky. And it takes a minute for Brendon to understand, to get it, but now that he does, he wants to laugh until his sides hurt and he can’t breathe anymore. Because it would just so happen, it would just be Brendon’s luck that Ryan had felt the same way about him the entire time, both of them being too afraid of rejection to admit it to one another. It makes sense, after all.
“You’re a fucking moron,” Brendon says a bit incredulously, smiling when Ryan looks genuinely surprised by the statement. “Get in here, you idiot,” Brendon huffs a laugh, holding out his blanket. Ryan looks baffled, darting his wide eyes from Brendon to the empty space before tentatively crawling in with a confused look painting his features. “You weren’t supposed to know either,” Brendon says softly, fitting his arm around the older boy’s waist and smiling a little. Ryan still looks confused, and then his eyebrows unfurl, his eyes go even wider, and the beginning of a smile appears on his face.
“You mean - ?” Ryan starts.
“Since I met you, dumbass,” Brendon rolls his eyes fondly, opening his mouth to say something else.
Whatever Brendon had been about to say is lost when Ryan hastily presses his mouth to Brendon’s, lips warm and slightly wet. Brendon sighs against his mouth because it’s even more than he ever thought it’d be. It’s perfect.
He pulls back half an inch, smiling and nosing at Ryan’s cheek. “Thank god,” Brendon murmurs. “No more jerking off to the sound of you jerking off.”
“Yeah,” Ryan laughs a little, leaning in to kiss Brendon again before stopping short.
“Wait - what?”
* * *
A/N: SO. Okay I haven't had internet for like, weeks, and I've written until like day thirteen of these, but I'm still only gonna post one at a time so it'll last longer. I'm not too crazy about this one but oh well, they get better. :) Hope you like. <33
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: He let himself pretend just for one minute that he could have it one day, that he could have those moans and soft sighs and smooth skin. That he could have Ryan.
Disclaimer: Fiction
masterpost
Brendon has this… problem. Like most problems that are ever-present in a teenage boy’s life, it’s sexual. And very troubling. And terrifying.
It’s not really the fact that he’s pining over his best friend/guitarist. He came to terms with that long ago. No, it’s much more complicated than that.
Brendon has a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And little did he know that when he skipped out on the coffee that one morning two weeks ago it would cause a string of events that would inevitably lead to him going to bed early when nobody else but Ryan was in the bunks. And little did Ryan know, Brendon was having trouble falling asleep that night. So because Brendon messed up his usual schedule and put everything off-balance, he heard every breath, every muffled whimper, and every rustle of the sheets that occurred in the bunk above him while Ryan jerked off.
And if you fast forward to tonight, you’ll see Brendon pretending to be asleep in his bunk while Ryan climbs up to his. You’ll also see Brendon soundlessly sliding his hand into his boxers five minutes later when Ryan’s breathing increases.
Ever since Brendon heard him, he’s had this problem. He’s knows it’s wrong and immoral and all that other shit he doesn’t care about, but it doesn’t stop him. It was an accident the first time, but then he couldn’t help himself. He started going to bed twenty minutes before Ryan and then pretending to be asleep when Ryan climbed into his own bunk.
Ryan doesn’t do it every night. Not even every other night, really. Just a few times a week. And Brendon’s not trying to be a fucking creepy stalker, that’s not what this is about. It’s more like… when Brendon heard those sounds, those fucking barely audible moans that he knew were only being subdued by Ryan biting his pillow, when he heard the rustle that he knew resulted from Ryan’s soft skin sliding through the sheets, tangling his fingers in them - when Brendon heard that, he let himself pretend just for one minute that he could have it one day, that he could have those moans and soft sighs and smooth skin. That he could have Ryan.
He knows that’ll never happen, and as pathetic and stalker-ish as it is, this is all he’s got for now. It’s almost like an addiction, a dirty little secret that he’s keeping hidden from the world because he’s so ashamed of it, and with good reason. He’s tried over and over to stop, telling himself that Ryan would feel like his privacy’s been invaded and he’d be angry and maybe even feel betrayed - but Brendon can’t. Because as soon as Ryan’s thin body hits the sheets and the steady, rhythmic sound of skin-on-fabric drifts down to him, he’s completely gone.
Nothing makes tonight any different. He waits as Ryan settles in above him and he tries to keep his breathing even. He stares up at the bottom of Ryan’s bunk and wonders if he’ll ever be able to move on, to stop carrying a torch for someone who doesn’t love him back and to get on with his life. Brendon doesn’t know why love is made out to be this wonderful, fantastic, life-changing phenomenon. It’s actually pretty fucking awful. Sure, it’s life-changing - but in the worst way. He never knew how he’d be able to tell if he was in love, but when it happened it fucking happened and he knew. Because nothing less could have caused him so much pain. No, he doesn’t think he’ll ever fall out of love with Ryan.
He was so focused on his thoughts that he almost missed the slight change in the breathing above him, the way the inhales are short and the exhales are shaky and drawn-out. He knows that means Ryan’s just started, that he’s just relaxed enough to get into it. Brendon can picture him with his head tipped back into his pillow, eyes shut and face gone with bliss as he bites his lip - all hypothetical, but Brendon has quite an imagination.
Sometimes Ryan will mumble things under his breath, and Brendon never can catch enough to make out what the words are supposed to be, obviously not being spoken for anyone else’s ears. It always sounds like the words weren’t supposed to come out, like Ryan was in so much pleasure that he couldn’t contain them and accidentally let them slip. Brendon loves hearing him murmur like that, even if he can’t decipher it.
Brendon’s hand wraps around his own cock, already hard enough to the point where it’s uncomfortable, and Ryan’s barely even started. For the most part he just slowly strokes and listens, straining his ears to catch the tiny whimpers and lilting moans that aren’t loud enough to carry. Before any of this, he’d thought about what Ryan would be like in bed. He never pictured him as being very vocal or animated, but it turns out he was wrong about that. It always seems as if Ryan’s using every ounce of willpower invested in him to keep quiet, like he’d rather be anywhere else just so he could let himself be loud, let himself moan freely and be able to writhe on the mattress without worrying about being heard.
It’s thoughts like that that makes this so intense for Brendon, because he fucking knows that Ryan is restraining himself, and the fact that there’s more he doesn’t know, doesn’t hear, appeals to his imaginative side.
Brendon covers his mouth while he fists his cock slowly in his other hand, trying not to rustle the sheets or let his hips move. That’s the hardest part - being quiet. He bites his lip so hard, not caring that he’s drawing blood, and tightens his fist on his upstrokes when Ryan starts to make small noises. God, if Brendon could make noise he’d be so fucking loud right now. He almost forgets sometimes, not only that he has to be quiet, but he sometimes literally forgets where he is, so caught up in the fantasies in his head that he temporarily loses track of reality. He stares up at the bottom of Ryan’s bunk and imagines that it’s his hand wrapped around Brendon’s dick, his long fingers sliding along just perfectly, leaving no room for improvement. He thrusts into his fist and pretends that it’s Ryan’s hand, Ryan’s mouth, that he’s up there in his bunk with him and they’re lost in soft touches and pleasured sighs. Sometimes he almost forgets to be quiet. Almost.
Ryan is starting to mumble again, and Brendon’s ears perk up, catching bits of words that sound like ‘so good’ and he’s almost certain he hears a ‘baby’ in there somewhere. His heart sinks a bit at that because he’d never given much thought to the images that fill Ryan’s head during these times. He wonders who Ryan’s referring to as ‘baby’ for a second before he decides not to care and continues to slide his hand up and down a bit faster so that he’s nearly in time with Ryan.
The whimpers grow louder and the rustling changes tempo, and Brendon knows Ryan’s about to come. He’s learned the signs by now and can always tell. Brendon closes his eyes and thinks about Ryan’s hands on him, his mouth and tongue trailing over his body, his soft touch gentle and loving, and he’s about to come. It’s just like every other time, Brendon listening to Ryan’s breathing stutter and hearing the sound that he knows means Ryan’s arching his back off the bed. And this would be like every other time, just the same, except this time Ryan says a name when he comes. A very clear, very audible name, and it wouldn’t be such a big deal if that name wasn’t-
“Brendon,” Ryan whispers through his hoarse, wrecked voice, the sounds of his hand moving slowing down and his breathing echoing down to the very person whose name just escaped his parted lips.
Brendon lies there with his eyes impossibly wide and his hand frozen in place, too shocked to even realize that he came when Ryan did. He can’t move, or breathe for that matter, because there’s no way, there is no way that Ryan just said his name. No fucking way.
Except he did. That was Brendon’s name that fell from the mouth of his own object of affection. He doesn’t even know what this means, what to think, what to do for fuck’s sake. He retracts his hand, numbly wiping it on his boxers. He feels like he’s going to pass out, or choke. And then - oh shit, he might actually choke. His throat closes up, a choking sound indeed coming from him.
“Bren…?” he hears tentatively from above him. “Hey, you okay?” the voice gets louder until Ryan is climbing down and leaning into Brendon’s bunk. “Dude,” he shakes Brendon’s shoulder to make sure he isn’t dying or something. Brendon takes a deep breath, nodding and staring wide-eyed at Ryan. Ryan starts to look a bit nervous as realization hits him. “Um… how long - how long have you been awake?” he whispers.
Brendon can’t make himself answer, partly because of fear and partly because he knows that Ryan probably didn’t even mean anything by saying Brendon’s name.
“You heard,” Ryan says so quietly Brendon barely hears it. It’s not a question, just a statement. Ryan knows he heard. Brendon bites his lip and looks away. “Fuck, I - I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Brendon, I just - look, please don’t be weird around me because of this. You’re my best friend. Fuck, I’m so sorry, you weren’t supposed to know,” he says frantically, arms clutched tensely around himself, voice breaking at the end. Brendon’s just confused, his mind trying to catch up with the words pouring from his friend.
“What - why are you apologizing? I wasn’t supposed to know what?” he interrupts, eyebrows scrunched and gaze settling on one distraught Ryan Ross.
“That I, you know,” Ryan mumbles, averting his gaze. “Feel like that… about you. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. I don’t fucking know why this is happening,” he admits, sounding panicky. And it takes a minute for Brendon to understand, to get it, but now that he does, he wants to laugh until his sides hurt and he can’t breathe anymore. Because it would just so happen, it would just be Brendon’s luck that Ryan had felt the same way about him the entire time, both of them being too afraid of rejection to admit it to one another. It makes sense, after all.
“You’re a fucking moron,” Brendon says a bit incredulously, smiling when Ryan looks genuinely surprised by the statement. “Get in here, you idiot,” Brendon huffs a laugh, holding out his blanket. Ryan looks baffled, darting his wide eyes from Brendon to the empty space before tentatively crawling in with a confused look painting his features. “You weren’t supposed to know either,” Brendon says softly, fitting his arm around the older boy’s waist and smiling a little. Ryan still looks confused, and then his eyebrows unfurl, his eyes go even wider, and the beginning of a smile appears on his face.
“You mean - ?” Ryan starts.
“Since I met you, dumbass,” Brendon rolls his eyes fondly, opening his mouth to say something else.
Whatever Brendon had been about to say is lost when Ryan hastily presses his mouth to Brendon’s, lips warm and slightly wet. Brendon sighs against his mouth because it’s even more than he ever thought it’d be. It’s perfect.
He pulls back half an inch, smiling and nosing at Ryan’s cheek. “Thank god,” Brendon murmurs. “No more jerking off to the sound of you jerking off.”
“Yeah,” Ryan laughs a little, leaning in to kiss Brendon again before stopping short.
“Wait - what?”
* * *
A/N: SO. Okay I haven't had internet for like, weeks, and I've written until like day thirteen of these, but I'm still only gonna post one at a time so it'll last longer. I'm not too crazy about this one but oh well, they get better. :) Hope you like. <33