(no subject)
between the branches by whisperdlullaby
brendon/ryan | pg | 821 words | written for autumn_carnival 's prompt
“first kisses are supposed to be awkward and bad,” he says, and shimmies forward
until his kneecaps bump against brendon’s, “or they wouldn’t be right.”
Ryan is already at the park when Brendon arrives, perched on one of the lower branches of the large oak tree, long legs dangling off the edge, swinging in the air. He looks so small in comparison, like a child, and Brendon wishes he had a camera to capture the moment.
As if sensing his presence, Ryan lifts his head, eyes landing on Brendon. A grin spreads across his lips, the white of his teeth a stunning contrast to the emerald leaves surrounding him, rustling quietly in the summer breeze. Brendon can feel something contract and expand inside his chest.
He climbs his way up to the third branch, straddling it between his thighs and facing Ryan, sturdy and thick enough to withstand them both. “Hi.” His voice wavers without control, nerves and humiliation and excitement and dread rushing through him all at once. His mind keeps rewinding back to last night on Ryan’s porch, playing over and over again like a bad movie; from his first kiss right to the very end with Ryan giggling, cheeks enflamed, as he disappeared into his house. It had been a bad kiss, alright, too wet with teeth and noses knocking, and fumbling hands. So bad that Brendon had been exceptionally surprised when Ryan had called him, asking him to meet him at the park.
Ryan smiles, warm and genuine, and there’s something in it that soothes Brendon’s racing nerves, even if for only a moment. “Hey,” he says. “I was starting to think I had been stood up.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes, ducking his head. “My, uh, mom wanted me to uh, take out the…” he stops, lie tailing off into nothing as Ryan looks over at him, smiling in amusement and disbelief. Truth is, Brendon had left his house, walked to the end of his driveway and promptly turned back five times before he had finally gotten up enough courage to walk the rest of the way down the block.
Ryan places his hands on the branch next to Brendon’s, steadying himself as he swings a leg to the other side, facing Brendon. Across his cheekbones, there’s the faintest dash of pink, eyes wide and sparkling as he flicks them across Brendon’s in a contemplating manner. The breeze tussles his hair, strands of caramel blowing in front of his eyes, and Brendon wants to reach out and move them away. He doesn’t though, instead counting the heartbeats in his ribcage, ricocheting in his eardrums.
Brendon thinks that Ryan’s kind of really beautiful like this. Kind of really beautiful all the time; in school, when he chews on the end of his pencil, forehead scrunched together in careful concentration, or when he’s just woken up, hair messy and sleep crust at the corners of his eyes. All shades and moods and colors of Ryan are beautiful, and Brendon wonders if this is what all those love songs are written about.
“You’re kind of a dork, you know that?” Ryan asks, the corner of his lips turning up into a lopsided smile.
Brendon blushes, and murmurs, “I know that.”
Ryan’s smile widens, a single dimple appearing on his left cheek, and there’s a fondness to it, a softness to his gaze as he looks at Brendon. “You’re kind of a dork,” he repeats, tilting his head to the side, hair fanning across his forehead, “but I kind of really like it.”
He says, “Are you going to kiss me again or am I going to have to do it?”
Brendon looks up, bewildered, and flicks his eyes across Ryan’s. “You want me to?”
Ryan rolls his eyes, laughing softly. “Well, yeah,” he replies, and looks at Brendon a bit funnily, like he should know this.
“But it was awful,” he points out. Somewhere down below he can hear the laughter of children at the playground, the rusty squeak of the swings as it flies up into the cloudless, blue sky.
“First kisses are supposed to be awkward and bad,” he says, and shimmies forward until his kneecaps bump against Brendon’s, “or they wouldn’t be right.”
Brendon’s not sure he believes him, but he wants to, anyway.
Ryan leans closer, taking in every inch, and Brendon can feel his breath catch and hold in his throat. When Ryan’s lips brush against his, there’s no bumping, no fumbling or awkward giggling, just Ryan’s mouth to his, full and warm and soft.
The leaves rustle above, a soft breeze brushing against Brendon’s warm cheek, and he thinks that if there was a cliché moment out of all cliché moments, this would be it. Elementary seems so long ago, but the melody of ‘Ryan and Brendon sitting in a tree…’ runs through his mind, and he can't help but smile.
When Ryan pulls back, he links their fingers together one by one. “Second kisses are much better.” He smiles.
“I agree,” Brendon murmurs, and leans in.
brendon/ryan | pg | 821 words | written for autumn_carnival 's prompt
“first kisses are supposed to be awkward and bad,” he says, and shimmies forward
until his kneecaps bump against brendon’s, “or they wouldn’t be right.”
Ryan is already at the park when Brendon arrives, perched on one of the lower branches of the large oak tree, long legs dangling off the edge, swinging in the air. He looks so small in comparison, like a child, and Brendon wishes he had a camera to capture the moment.
As if sensing his presence, Ryan lifts his head, eyes landing on Brendon. A grin spreads across his lips, the white of his teeth a stunning contrast to the emerald leaves surrounding him, rustling quietly in the summer breeze. Brendon can feel something contract and expand inside his chest.
He climbs his way up to the third branch, straddling it between his thighs and facing Ryan, sturdy and thick enough to withstand them both. “Hi.” His voice wavers without control, nerves and humiliation and excitement and dread rushing through him all at once. His mind keeps rewinding back to last night on Ryan’s porch, playing over and over again like a bad movie; from his first kiss right to the very end with Ryan giggling, cheeks enflamed, as he disappeared into his house. It had been a bad kiss, alright, too wet with teeth and noses knocking, and fumbling hands. So bad that Brendon had been exceptionally surprised when Ryan had called him, asking him to meet him at the park.
Ryan smiles, warm and genuine, and there’s something in it that soothes Brendon’s racing nerves, even if for only a moment. “Hey,” he says. “I was starting to think I had been stood up.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes, ducking his head. “My, uh, mom wanted me to uh, take out the…” he stops, lie tailing off into nothing as Ryan looks over at him, smiling in amusement and disbelief. Truth is, Brendon had left his house, walked to the end of his driveway and promptly turned back five times before he had finally gotten up enough courage to walk the rest of the way down the block.
Ryan places his hands on the branch next to Brendon’s, steadying himself as he swings a leg to the other side, facing Brendon. Across his cheekbones, there’s the faintest dash of pink, eyes wide and sparkling as he flicks them across Brendon’s in a contemplating manner. The breeze tussles his hair, strands of caramel blowing in front of his eyes, and Brendon wants to reach out and move them away. He doesn’t though, instead counting the heartbeats in his ribcage, ricocheting in his eardrums.
Brendon thinks that Ryan’s kind of really beautiful like this. Kind of really beautiful all the time; in school, when he chews on the end of his pencil, forehead scrunched together in careful concentration, or when he’s just woken up, hair messy and sleep crust at the corners of his eyes. All shades and moods and colors of Ryan are beautiful, and Brendon wonders if this is what all those love songs are written about.
“You’re kind of a dork, you know that?” Ryan asks, the corner of his lips turning up into a lopsided smile.
Brendon blushes, and murmurs, “I know that.”
Ryan’s smile widens, a single dimple appearing on his left cheek, and there’s a fondness to it, a softness to his gaze as he looks at Brendon. “You’re kind of a dork,” he repeats, tilting his head to the side, hair fanning across his forehead, “but I kind of really like it.”
He says, “Are you going to kiss me again or am I going to have to do it?”
Brendon looks up, bewildered, and flicks his eyes across Ryan’s. “You want me to?”
Ryan rolls his eyes, laughing softly. “Well, yeah,” he replies, and looks at Brendon a bit funnily, like he should know this.
“But it was awful,” he points out. Somewhere down below he can hear the laughter of children at the playground, the rusty squeak of the swings as it flies up into the cloudless, blue sky.
“First kisses are supposed to be awkward and bad,” he says, and shimmies forward until his kneecaps bump against Brendon’s, “or they wouldn’t be right.”
Brendon’s not sure he believes him, but he wants to, anyway.
Ryan leans closer, taking in every inch, and Brendon can feel his breath catch and hold in his throat. When Ryan’s lips brush against his, there’s no bumping, no fumbling or awkward giggling, just Ryan’s mouth to his, full and warm and soft.
The leaves rustle above, a soft breeze brushing against Brendon’s warm cheek, and he thinks that if there was a cliché moment out of all cliché moments, this would be it. Elementary seems so long ago, but the melody of ‘Ryan and Brendon sitting in a tree…’ runs through his mind, and he can't help but smile.
When Ryan pulls back, he links their fingers together one by one. “Second kisses are much better.” He smiles.
“I agree,” Brendon murmurs, and leans in.