Le Monde Dans Vos Yeux // The World In Your Eyes PART TWO
[[btw, here's some visual aids for you ;)]]
Bedrom
Living Room
They made their way back slowly, taking in the crisp night air. Every now and then Ryan would find himself veering closer to Brendon on the sidewalk, and would have to correct himself back to his own space. But he kept finding himself closer and closer to Brendon. Finally, he settled on a safe distance, not completely touching, but just barely. Satisfying his need to be near him, but not allowing him to touch. He couldn’t allow himself to get close to Brendon. If he gets close, he’ll surely get hurt. Not again, not ever again.
But then, why was the only thing going through his head, the need to feel the smoothness of Brendon’s skin, or the silkiness of his hair… the softness of his lips…
They reached the golden-lit hotel, and Brendon turned on his heel.
“Thanks for showing me around…” He touched the cool metal around his neck. “And thanks for this.”
“De rein.” Ryan scratched the back of his head, the only thing his fingers-lips-wanting to do is to touch. No, no. Can’t do that.
They stood there, fairly awkwardly, just rocking on the balls of their feet and scratching the backs of their heads. Ryan’s movements were jerky… stuttering. Brendon’s showed not nervousness, but expectance.
Closer, Ryan’s body screamed. Maybe just one touch wouldn’t condemn him to an eternity of heartbreak. Just one touch of his hand on Brendon's shoulder, and his brain screams, Stop!
He settled for a compromise, and squeezed his hand over Brendon’s shoulder. “Bonne nuit.” And retreated as fast as his feet allow, leaving Brendon to walk up five floors and across the hall with a confused quirk of his lips and furrowed eyebrows.
~
“I want to meet him.” Jon yawned, and rolled his neck to straighten out any last kinks left from sleep.
Brendon slid his eyes away from his friend as quickly as they would allow. He decided to focus on some dust particles caught in the stream of morning sun, and look innocent. “Meet who?”
“Whatever boy that’s been parading you around Paris for the past three days. Don’t act like I don’t know. You’re… very readable, Brendon.” It wasn’t Jon’s words that got to Brendon, it was his posture. Head cocked, chin up, and some sly smirk playing on his lips. “What’s his name?”
“Ryan.” Well, Brendon could never win with Jon. Why fight it.
“So when do I get to meet him then? Call him and see if he’s free today.”
“He’s probably busy.”
“Only one way to find out. Call. Him.”
Brendon sighed, and dialed Ryan’s number. Jon leaned back on the sofa and looked all too proud of his winning.
“Bonjour?” Ryan’s voice answered.
“Uh, hey Ryan. It’s Brendon.”
A laugh on the other side of the line. “I know.”
Brendon’s mind briefly wondered if Ryan has caller ID, or if he just recognized his voice. He hoped for the latter. “Oh, right. Well I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with Jon and me today. We were planning on going to see the Eiffel Tower.”
Jon cleared his throat.
“And Jon kinda wants to meet you…”
“Sounds great. I have to be in to work at three, so we can head over to the café afterwards? I’ll get you guys some lunch on the house?”
“Sounds great.”
Jon grins and listened to Brendon say goodbye and hang up. “You’ve got it bad,” he said with a mocking laugh.
“Pft. Do not.”
“Yeah you do. You sighed dreamily twice, at least.”
Brendon mumbled and grabbed his wallet. “Coming or not?”
Ryan was waiting for them, as he always was. Red v-neck and black jeans. Brendon wasn’t sure if he should greet him with a hug, or what. So he settled for a grin. “Hey Ryan. This is Jon. He’s like a brother to me. We met in freshman year. Jon, this is Ryan.”
Jon held out his hand, and Brendon could see the skepticism in his face. “Nice to meet you.”
“Enchanté.” Ryan shook hands and smiled. He smiled nervously, but he smiled nonetheless.
“Well Bren, you know you can go up there, right?” Jon knew Brendon knew about this, but there’s a small part of him that loves watching Brendon get excited about something.
“You bet. Let’s go.”
But Ryan didn’t look so up for it. “I’m a little afraid of heights. I’ll meet you back down here?”
Brendon looked at him concernedly. “You sure?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Alright.” He and Jon joined an elevator with a few other people up to the top. He watched Ryan’s body grow smaller and smaller as he ascended high above Paris. High above the world.
At the top, they leaned against the railing. Brendon searched the ground below, eyes passing over busy bodies and orange colored trees. Autumn was really the perfect time to come to Paris.
And then he saw a familiar red shirted boy, sitting on a bench and looking back up towards him. He wondered if Ryan saw him too. Or if he was still looking.
He hoped Ryan wouldn’t need to keep looking for him.
Ryan looked so small. So tiny. And he understood what Ryan was saying about feeling so insignificant in comparison to everything else. But what he didn’t take into account… was he was the only one Brendon saw from so high above. He’s the only one Brendon was looking for.
“So, you’re serious then? You really do like him?” Jon said, watching Brendon stare down at Paris below.
“I really think so… yeah.”
“Why don’t you seem happy about that?”
Brendon shrugged. “I just… It’s Paris. How cliché is it to fall in love in Paris.”
“I guess it gets that reputation for a reason?”
“Maybe. But I don’t want to be predictable. We’re leaving Monday. There’s no way it can last. Why should I waste my time?”
Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “You won’t be wasting your time if you spend it with someone you care for. Don’t throw something so wonderful away just because it’s happened before to someone else. Don’t throw it away just because you’re scared of it falling apart. Live your life. Right now. Forget the rest.”
Brendon sighed. He knew Jon was right. Jon was always right. But how could he just leave… if he let himself find Ryan. If he let Ryan find him.
“Hey.” Jon smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be okay. Don’t be so scared to live. You never know what you’ll find.”
~
The three made it back to the café around two in the afternoon. Spencer took his break and introduced himself to Jon. The two made easy conversation about… whatever it was. Brendon was too busy talking to Ryan: joking about jobs, crappy supervisors, and lame best friends.
At one point, Spencer looked over and smiled, asking Ryan for a word.
Brendon leaned back in the chair, and watched Ryan from a few feet away. Spencer had pulled Ryan aside to speak muted mumbled French, far too deep in accent for him to eavesdrop. Spencer’s eyes flicked to him for a second, before fleeing back to Ryan with a grin spreading. Ryan scratched the back of his head, but Brendon couldn’t quite see his face. He imagined a blush rising to match the shade of his shirt. Spencer laughed lightly and made a face at Ryan that Brendon could only interpret as the same kind of look you’d give a toddler who was being exceptionally adorable.
Ryan shook his head and spoke loud enough for Brendon to hear. “Tais toi, Spencer.” Ryan made a face back at Spencer and turned for Brendon. “Want to go for a walk?”
And he really didn’t have to be asked twice. Brendon was up out of his seat before the imaginary question mark was placed at the end of Ryan’s sentence. “Sure.”
The sky outside had changed since they entered the café. The once burning afternoon sun was now hidden behind thick, dark thunderclouds. The light seemed to come from nowhere. Not from the sun, obviously. Not from streetlights or passing cars’ headlights. It was a light that came from nowhere and everywhere. Existing only because it could. Only because the afternoon let it.
Ryan liked the way Brendon looked almost softer. No harsh shadows casting shapes across his face, no squinting eyes trying to shield themselves from the light. Just an easy, comfortable smile, hardly there at all, but playing lightly at the corners of his lips and eyes like it’s there, just dormant and waiting.
They started walking slowly down the sidewalk. “So, did you like the Eiffel Tour?”
Brendon nodded. “Yeah. It’s really gorgeous up there.” Ryan returned his nod.
“I’m sure it is.” Small talk felt comfortable. Not awkward like it was with many other people. Just filler in the conversation when there was nothing better to say.
Ryan wondered why he felt so at ease around Brendon. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he trusted Brendon… but it was the closest he’d gotten yet. But why did the breeze carrying Brendon’s cologne seem more important than this week’s paycheck? Why did every song remind him of his laughter? And why did he care so much, if he’d barely met the boy?
The aforementioned breeze was nothing less than prominent now, catching Ryan’s senses in a web of… something. Whatever it was, Paris had never felt so alive than under the thick rain clouds and autumn wind carrying more than just air and leaves.
Truth is, Ryan didn’t ask Brendon out to walk with him on a whim. Spencer had made sure he acknowledged this.
“How long are you staying in Paris?” The question loomed in the air like the threatening, dark clouds above. Ryan watched the sidewalk pass under his shoes despite the soles of the rubber scuffing across it in protest.
Brendon seemed to question for a moment, and held up his fingers to count. “Been here… six days? It’s Friday, and the bus leaves Monday at four.”
Of course Ryan knew Brendon would have to leave for America soon. He just… had really hoped to get to know his new friend better. “Looking forward to being home in Vegas?”
Brendon shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, sure it will be nice to see all my friends again, and get back into a routine…”
Ryan watched the cars pass, and wondered why he had to go and kill the mood by asking such a question.
“But there’s some sense of adventure here in Europe. Maybe it’s because it’s different than I’m used to, but especially here…” He gestured to the orange-leaf trees and intricate buildings. “In Paris, I feel like there’s something here that’s not anywhere else.”
All he could do was nod. What was he supposed to say? Don’t leave? Stay in Paris? Stay with me? A simple nod of the head said so little, but it was all he would allow. There were no confessions to give.
His eyes fell back down to the cobblestone, now speckled with dark spots here and there, with no particular structure or thought to their placement. He looked up and stared at the clouds.
Brendon followed his eyes upwards to be met with a drop on his cheek. “I was wondering if I’d get to see the rain in France.”
But France had more than rain in store for them. Soon, as if turning on a faucet, the rain started pouring.
“Let’s, uh…” Ryan pointed to a tree on the side of the road with branches still thick with orange and brown leaves, just barely fit for shelter. He took Brendon’s wrist and pulled him out of the rain.
“Well that was surprising.” Brendon laughed and shook his head, sending beads of rain in every direction.
“Very surprising,” Ryan agreed.
The dash through the newly forming mud had left them soaking. Their jeans were heavier and dripped at the bottom onto their shoes. Ryan’s once bright red v-neck was now a dark velvet color, clinging to his frame like it needed the security, showing every toned muscle in his chest and stomach.
Brendon remembered how small Ryan had looked from his view at the Eiffel Tower, his body merely a speck in the city. Now Ryan stood before him with drenched clothes and amused lips. Full, and there, and watching him with calculating eyes.
Ryan subconsciously reached up to brush away a strand of wet, clingy hair from his face, and Brendon heard, I’m nervous. Ryan had tried to work up the courage to do something about the strange feeling in his stomach the night after Port-Neuf. Brendon bit his lip, and rolled his shoulders a little, somewhere between a shrug and a stretch. To Ryan, it sounded more like, Don’t be.
One, two, three seconds of hesitation, and Ryan steps forward, as awkward as if he was a pre-teen again, not knowing what to do at all. And he’s glad Brendon gets the hint, as he feels fingers lace with the back of his hair to pull him closer, even closer than he ever expected to get to Brendon. He presses their lips together in the softest way he could manage, there, but hardly.
It seemed fitting, in a way, that the only other sound Brendon could hear over his heart was the pounding of rain on the ground. And he realized then, that every time he was with Ryan, his senses blurred. He could see nothing but Ryan’s smile, hear nothing but Ryan’s thickly accented voice, and feel nothing but the slight brush on the back of his hand where their skin met and the lingering numbness it left. Now, with the persistent thump thump of the rain in tempo with their hearts, he felt it perfect in their own amusing and oddly cliché way.
It’s strange to Brendon, how reserved Ryan was being. Very softly touching their lips with his hands almost on Brendon’s waist, and to Brendon, it sounds more like, Can I trust you?
Something just clicks in Brendon’s mind. It’s like he’s supposed to be here. Right here, in the pouring rain and… Ryan… feels so right against his skin, he can hardly maintain the subtly anymore. He inhales sharply, and pushes against Ryan’s lips, leaving no more room for hesitance. It sounds more like, Always.
He slips his tongue to touch Ryan’s lip, testing to see how Ryan would react. But Ryan was already with him, accepting Brendon and bringing him closer still, every inch of their bodies touching.
The kiss isn’t innocent, and it’s isn’t intimate. They both just let it be what it is; sounding a lot like three words neither of them would admit was running through their heads.
A loud crash came from above, and made them jump. Ryan laughed, amused, at Brendon who was clutching his shoulders tightly. He smiled, and Brendon chuckled at himself. Scared by thunder. What was he, a girl? They were still pressed close. Close enough for Ryan to press another kiss to Brendon’s smile.
The rain still wasn’t letting up. Worse now, even. There was a rustling in the tree above, a squirrel, probably. The bothered branch then let its load of water fall onto Ryan’s head.
He yelped at the temperature shock, and shook his head, absolutely soaked. Brendon took in the water droplets on Ryan’s face, arms, neck, and Ryan shivered.
“Getting cold,” he said, and Brendon nodded.
“Want to go back to the café then?”
“Sure.” Ryan put his arm around Brendon, pretending it was just for the warmth, but Brendon knew better, and returned the gesture by lacing their fingers together.
The pouring rain hadn’t done them any favors on the way back, but left them dripping by the time they pushed through the door of the café, shivering and clinging to each other.
Spencer had finished his shift a while ago, and was conversing with Jon at one of the open tables. He saw the two come in and beamed.
“Génial,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
Jon looked up too, eyes widened. “Aren’t you two freezing?”
Brendon looked at him incredulously. “Obviously. Where’s my hoodie?” Jon motioned to the blue and brown hoodie draped over a chair next to him. “Thanks,” he said, and pulled the dry fabric around Ryan’s shoulders.
Ryan’s face was priceless, Spencer thought. Surprised, and a little disbelieving, but he took in the warmth of the dry fabric, and inched toward Brendon for warmth.
Jon and Spencer looked at them, then to each other, smiling smugly and laughing lightly.
~
Jon had mentioned his desire to check out the local bars the next day, but Brendon wasn’t interested. Instead, he called Ryan, and asked if he was free. He met Ryan for an early lunch. The café was more crowded today, seeing as it was a Friday. He waited around, chatting with Spencer for Ryan’s shift to end.
And then, Brendon had a bright idea. “Hey Ryan,” he called when Ryan emerged from behind the counter.
“Hmm?” he hummed, and untied his apron.
“There’s a piano in my suite. Want to see me play? You… mentioned you wanted to a while ago.”
Ryan grinned, and held the door open. “Sure.”
It wasn’t quite mid-afternoon yet, maybe around 11:00 am. But the sun still shone on the piano brilliantly. Reflecting off the black and white keys, and onto every surface of the room it could reach.
Brendon sat on the bench, tracing his fingers over the familiar pattern of white, black, white, and black. Ryan watched him, and leaned against the back of the sofa.
This is where he belongs, Ryan thought. Brendon looked so at home, his posture relaxed, but professional, with his back straightened, and fingers poised. Ryan could make out the subtle jut of his shoulder blades through his t-shirt.
Again, all his fingers ached to do was touch but Brendon looked like he’d forgotten him now. Fingers loomed over keys for one moment, two, then lightly set down on them, plucking out a few gentle notes. Ryan didn’t recognize the song, but he finds himself watching the sway of Brendon’s body as he rocked to the rhythm of the music. The song grew more complex, and Brendon’s fingers flew fast at times and slower at others. Ryan closed his eyes and let the melody sink into his memory. It was a sweet melody, something he thought he might hear in a lullaby.
When the notes grow more powerful, he opened his eyes to see Brendon’s face more focused than before, playing with such force and precision that it shakes Ryan, drawing his attention. A procession of quick notes, and he returned to the quietness of the beginning, letting the notes fade into Ryan’s skin.
When he looked up again, Ryan can’t think of what to say.
“Chopin,” Brendon said, smiling softly. “My favorite. It’s the second nocturne in E-flat.”
“C'est belle.”
Brendon looked around the room, suddenly feeling watched. Ryan searches for words in his head, but none seem to describe Brendon’s playing other than, “Beautiful.”
“Thanks, it’s a really nice piece.”
“You’re very talented.” Ryan walked around the sofa to sit down, and hoped Brendon would follow.
Brendon left the piano after closing the cover and pushing in the stool, of course. “Well, I’d hope so. I’ve been playing all my life.”
Ryan chuckled. “No, it’s more than that. There are people who can play the notes perfectly, but you… you know how to play them. There’s emotion behind your playing. That’s what I mean by talent.”
“Well… thanks.” Heat rose to Brendon’s face as he picked up the camera off the table.
“De rein.”
Brendon sat next to Ryan on the sofa. He started looking through his photos on the screen, flicking through the images, and deleting a couple here and there that came out blurred. Pictures from Ireland, England, pictures of Jon, pictures of him making victorious poses by old buildings and statues… Slowly, he approached the pictures from France. Slowly, the pictures stopped being so much of the buildings or scenery, and more of Ryan. There were dozens of pictures of Ryan in various candid poses. Pictures of him in his work apron, pictures of him smiling, pictures of him in the sun, in the dark, lit by the moon reflecting off the water… dozens and dozens of pictures. He almost forgot the man was sitting next to him and this very moment.
He turned his eyes slowly to the right, to catch a glimpse of the subject in his photographs. The light came directly in through the window, warming their skin. Ryan laid his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Brendon couldn’t help but raise his camera again. Aim, focus, click. The camera shutter made its soft sound. He looked at the screen, and sighed inwardly. The camera didn’t correctly capture the way the sun made Ryan’s hair shine or the soft glisten of his milky skin in the light.
Ryan raised his eyebrow, but didn’t open his eyes. Brendon stared, and changed the exposure on the camera. Aim, focus, click.
Ryan opened one eye at the second shutter noise. “Porquoi êtes-vous prendre des photos de moi?”
All Brendon could do was to roll his eyes. Seriously, Ryan should know he didn’t understand him half the time in English, let alone French. On the screen of the camera, the new photo shone more, a glow emanated from Ryan’s features. Brendon smiled at it. A perfect moment captured in time.
Ryan sighed. “Why are you taking pictures of me?”
The camera raised again in front of Brendon’s smile. Click. “Because you’re so photogenic, that’s why…” The screen loaded, and showed an amused Ryan, on the border of laughter and annoyance.
“Can I see?” Ryan asked.
“Only if you pose for me.” Brendon lowered the camera to smirk at Ryan curiously. He knew Jon would just roll his eyes and forget all about it. But Ryan… Ryan was unpredictable.
“D’accord.” Ryan shifted and sat up straighter. He lifted his chin, and smiled a smile that reached his eyes, and even as far as Brendon’s heart.
Aim, focus, click. Brendon looked at the screen. That definitely didn’t capture the undertone of the smile. He turned the camera to show Ryan, who made an approving sound.
Brendon took the camera back, and set it to manual again. Ryan grinned, and made a pout. Aim, focus, click. Ryan scrunched his nose. Aim, focus, click. Ryan laughed. Aim, focus, click…
The last photo showed Ryan’s eyes closed and his mouth opened with a grin. His collarbones showed under the neck of his navy-blue button-up. Brendon decided this was his favorite of all the pictures so far. He turned to show it to Ryan.
But Ryan didn’t seem to care to look at the screen. He kept his eyes on Brendon’s, and lifted his long fingers to the collar of his shirt, undoing one button… two… Brendon stared for a moment, and lifted the camera again hesitantly. Aim… focus… click…
He didn’t even bother to look at the screen, just lowered it and watched Ryan continue down the line of buttons until the soft shirt fell loose around his shoulders. He swallowed. Click.
Ryan shrugged off the fabric, exposing the bones of his shoulders and lean muscles of his arms, turning slightly to further expose his chest and stomach. The amusement was almost gone from his face, replaced with something Brendon couldn’t describe. Click.
Brendon’s mouth was dry. He bit his lip, and tried to keep his eyes from wandering. But that plan was soon forgotten when Ryan pulled on his belt buckle, deathly slow, and slid the belt from the loops around his jeans. Click.
With the light reflecting off Ryan’s exposed chest and shoulders, the room seemed brighter. Everything was brighter and blinding to Brendon, but he couldn’t look away. He just hid in amazement behind his camera, staring unabashed, as Ryan slid his jeans down his slightly raised hips. Click.
Brendon’s eyes trailed down the muscles of Ryan’s stomach to the lines of his hips leading down, down, down into the blue boxers loose around his thin hips. Ryan stopped, and waited for Brendon’s eyes to meet his again. The amusement was gone now, completely replaced with want-need-and Ryan reached up towards the camera to pry it gently from Brendon’s hands and set it on the table.
He guided a now tentative, shaky hand towards his own hip, using Brendon’s hand to pull the waistband downward and off, never leaving the security of eye contact.
“Si je vous donne mon monde, allez-vous me donner votre?” Ryan’s voice was deep, and quiet, hardly there at all.
Brendon didn’t even try to decipher. He just stored the sentence in the back of his mind for later. He’d worry about it later when his mind was more apt to think about language and words. Instead he leaned closer and answered whatever question was asked by pressing his lips to Ryan’s.
Ryan took this as permission. He made short work of Brendon’s shirt, pushing gently on his newly bare shoulders until Brendon was leaning back on the sun-warmed upholstery. His hands trailed undecidedly between Brendon’s face, down to his chest, and lower to the buckle of his jeans. The fabric was harder to get off than Ryan’s jeans, as the sheer touch of Ryan’s hands on his skin made Brendon’s skin shiver and pants grow tighter.
Rather quickly, compared to the speed of Ryan’s undressing, Brendon’s own boxers lay on the floor beside the other forgotten fabrics. He pressed his hand to the side of Ryan’s hip, more for security than anything else, and pulled at Ryan’s knee. Ryan took the hint, and moved his knees to straddle Brendon.
Brendon made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, and reached behind Ryan to his back, feeling the warmed skin in the light, and pulled Ryan closer. Their chests and stomachs touched lightly, and Brendon’s brain only thought one thing: “Ryan…”
It was beginning to be too much. Too much, but not enough. He wanted more. He wanted Ryan, in a way that scared him, deep in the back of his mind. But now was not the time to think of fears and insecurities. He pushed Ryan away, leaving him confused, and tore himself from the sofa.
Ryan knelt there on the sofa, as he strode over to the suitcase in the bedroom. Seeing Brendon walk away, Ryan frowned and followed, only to reach the doorway to the bedroom and be pulled into it by force. Brendon held Ryan’s wrist, and pulled them together again, tossing the lube and condom to the side.
“Please?” Brendon asked.
“D’accord.” The word this time wasn’t said with a smile, it was slurred and cut off by a press of lips, but Brendon knew what he meant. Brendon knew he was sure, and would not back out. Brendon knew he could trust Ryan.
They leaned back onto the bed when Brendon’s knees touched the edge, the perfectly smooth covers wrinkling under them. Ryan’s kissing grew more forceful, pushing any coherent thoughts out of Brendon’s mind. Ryan was the only word that remained, etching itself into his mind forever.
He found the lube, and pushed it into Ryan’s hand, scooting back to bring Ryan between his legs. Ryan took a shaky breath and opened the cap, letting the cool liquid cover his fingers. Brendon touched his face, and brought his focus back to kissing, only to be interrupted by the feeling of Ryan’s finger pushing into him, clouding his mind and stuttering the movement of his lips.
Ryan waited for Brendon to gain his composure before moving, keeping him on the edge of sanity with small movements at first, kissing away the tension in his lips, and rubbing soft circles into his skin. Brendon made a sound in attempt to tell Ryan more which was effective enough, though it didn’t come out in anything more than a whimper. He slid in a second finger, and again waited for Brendon to kiss him with any sense of control he still had.
He didn’t wait as long before adding a third finger, causing Brendon to grimace and freeze beneath his fingertips. They were still for a moment, waiting for Brendon to decide when to continue. Ryan followed Brendon’s lips, telling him when he was moving too rough, and soon Brendon’s breath hitched in his throat, followed promptly by a low moan.
If Ryan wasn’t aroused already, he was now. Brendon’s failed attempt at mumbling Ryan’s name was all he needed to pull his fingers out of Brendon and reach back to the condom and lube.
Brendon watched him carefully, biting his lip and breathing heavily, watching Ryan shiver as he slid the condom on and slicked the lube over himself. Ryan finally, finally loomed over Brendon again, with question in his eyes, asking Ready? Brendon answered his unasked question with a needy press of lips. Ryan got the message, and pushed in slowly, dragging a hiss from Brendon’s lips.
And that was it. Brendon’s trust was entirely Ryan’s now. He had complete and total power over him, and there was no turning back. There were no do-over’s. There was nothing left but everything. Ryan’s eyes held shut, until Brendon fidgeted underneath him, saying move already.
So Ryan did. He pulled out slowly, and pushed back in, establishing a slow rhythm and drawing the most endearing sounds from Brendon’s throat. Brendon clawed at Ryan’s chest with dull fingernails, and raised his hips to meet Ryan’s, pulling Ryan deeper, closer, further past the barriers than either of them were used to going.
“Brendon, si bon… merde,” Ryan choked out the words, hardly understandable at all, even to him. Brendon’s response only made Ryan lose himself more, with a loud, deep moan that filled Ryan’s ears and etched into his memory.
He buried his face in Brendon’s neck and tried with all he had to maintain a rhythm. But rhythm was the farthest from his mind with Brendon’s vocals pushing him faster.
Brendon whimpered and reached downward to touch his own aching erection, causing his head to tilt back against the mattress and his back to arch. Ryan smiled against Brendon’s damp skin, and traced his own hand down his stomach to wrap around Brendon's.
Apparently Brendon’s sense of rhythm was better than Ryan’s. Of course it was. He was a musician. Brendon helped him keep a pace, as sporadic as it was, and Ryan could feel Brendon shaking beneath him.
Ryan shook the clutter from his mind to make coherent thought, and leaned up to linger his lips by Brendon’s ear, touching just slightly. “Reste avec moi…” The whisper was liquid and flowed off his lips with more composure and sheer need than he intended.
And that was it. Brendon let go with another loud moan. Ryan felt Brendon’s shakes grow more prominent, and every muscle tighten. It was almost too much, too much and now enough, as Ryan followed suit seconds later, watching Brendon come down as well.
Ryan took the first breath he had taken in what seemed forever, and pulled out, discarding the condom. Brendon pulled at his bicep, too exhausted to speak or make any drastic movements. Ryan obliged, collapsing down next to Brendon, and taking him into his arms.
~
They lay there quietly, watching the sunset carry their worries away. But soon, Jon would be back.
“I better go,” Ryan whispered. He was close, closer than he ever thought he would get to Brendon. But he wasn’t complaining.
Brendon pouted, and almost made him forget about why he needed to go.
He chuckled lightly and kissed Brendon’s pout. “Call me? S'il vous plait?”
“Mhm. Okay.” Their voices were still quiet, like they needed to be careful, in hopes they didn’t disturb whatever power had brought them there. Brought them to the bliss they were in. Right here. Right now.
Brendon watched as Ryan stumbled across the bedroom and into the living room to find his clothes, and wondered how such a skinny man could contain so much fail. But he loved it.
Ryan came back to the bed, fully clothed, and set Brendon’s clothes next to him. He kissed his forehead and smiled. “À bientôt.”
“Bye.” And Brendon didn’t notice the cloudy tone to his voice. But Ryan did.
When Brendon woke again in the morning, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Someone should be here, but wasn’t. His mind registered Ryan.
But he realized then, that it wasn’t his mind repeating the mantra of Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. It was his heart. His heart, and also accompanied by another member further south, it called for Ryan. But he realized then… He had just done exactly what he said he wouldn’t do. Paris was too cliché to fall in… The word was too cliché. His feelings… too cliché.
What had he been thinking? Was he really in love? Did he love Ryan? He knew Jon was right. Jon was always right. But it couldn’t last. He was leaving on Monday. Monday… was two days away. He would have to get on the bus for Las Vegas and leave Ryan behind. Why should he do that to Ryan? Why should he do that to himself?
He’d already gotten in too far. But he could still turn back.
At one point, he had pulled out his French dictionary, and looked up Ryan’s words of “Si je vous donne mon monde, allez-vous me donner votre?” He sighed in confliction when the translation came up as, If I give you my world, will you give me yours?
~
Sunday afternoon, Ryan checked his phone again for the third time… in the past five minutes.
Spencer frowned from behind the register. “Maybe you should call him.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“There must be a reason he’s not calling me. There… has to be a reason.”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “So call and find out what that reason is.”
Ryan sighed and checked his phone again. No missed call. No messages. No texts. None, especially from a certain chocolate-haired-amazingly-beautiful Brendon.
“You know what, Ryan. Stop being such a girl. Man up. Go tell him how you feel.”
“I di-”
“In English.”
Ryan looked at his feet. “It’s not that easy.”
“Like hell it’s not. Listen. It’s simple. It may not be easy to trust someone. Especially if it’s you we’re talking about, but he obviously likes you. A lot. I mean, you slept with him.”
Ryan shifted his eyes to the nearby customers, a little self-conscious to be talking about his love life in public. He knew they couldn’t understand their English, but still. “If he cared about me so much, why hasn’t he called? He probably just wanted to get me in bed before he left.”
Spencer stared. “Does he really strike you as that kind of person? Do you think I’d let you be so involved with someone like that?”
Ryan only shrugged.
“Tomorrow, at eight, his bus leaves. You better be there. Or you’ll regret it forever.” Spencer knew Ryan wouldn’t do it without his prodding. Ryan never did anything good for him without being told to do so. He’d sit here at the café and sulk.
~
Brendon knew that Jon knew. Jon knew why he was sulking. He knew why Brendon didn’t feel like going out to see Paris the past couple days. But Jon wasn’t one to intrude. He had put his two cents in at the Eiffel Tower. It was up to Brendon whether or not he’d take his advice.
So on Monday morning, they packed up their bags and said goodbye to their beautiful hotel room. Brendon ran his fingers across the keys of the piano, a silent thank you and farewell.
He would miss Paris, for more reasons than one.
The morning was bitter cold. Autumn had taken the air by force, and chilled their noses and ears. They stood at the edge of the street with a few of their fellow travelers.
It had been a little over a week. Brendon didn’t want to leave… but he had to. He wished the bus would come already. Cold turkey. Like a bandaid. He closed his eyes and willed the wheels on the bus, wherever it was, to roll faster.
He was stupid. Stupid and reckless. He slept with a guy he barely knew. A guy he’d have to leave days later. How could he be so… stupid.
His mind ran though every reason he should just leave this all behind, and leave it to the beautiful memories he’d always carry with him. But to be fair, his mind also ran through every reason he shouldn’t leave.
Ryan’s smile. Ryan’s laugh. Ryan’s accent. The way he spoke French at random times in his English sentences. The way his voice flowed like liquid off his tongue. The way he felt like liquid under Brendon’s fingertips.
The reasons to stay were more than the reasons to leave.
But he’d blown Ryan off already. He’d probably sent bad signals by not calling Ryan back after Friday. It was probably too late.
He thought it was his mind playing cruel jokes when he heard his name being called. Even more of a joke when Jon nudged his elbow. He looked up at Jon, to see him nod his head across the street.
He followed his eyes to see Ryan. Ryan, standing at the other side of the street, trying to catch his breath. Ryan, with his hair a mess from nervous pulling and eyes sunken from a sleepless night.
“Ryan?” Brendon asked, confused.
Ryan looked for cars, and crossed the street in a sort of half-jog. “Brendon. S'il vous plaît. Don’t go. Reste avec moi. I…” He choked out spurts of words between breaths. Brendon could hardly keep up.
“You… want me to stay?”
“Oui. Reste avec moi. Stay with me. Please. I can’t let you leave without telling you.”
Brendon’s voice was quiet, hardly anything. Too afraid to let Ryan hear. “Tell me what…”
“Je t’aime.”
“You do?”
Ryan nodded, and swallowed past his dry throat.
“I didn’t know if it was too late…” Then, it made sense to Brendon. Reste avec moi. He remembered the words as they fell off Ryan’s lips in the heat of the moment. He was too out of it then to make sense of it. Stay with me. Ryan wanted him to stay. He loved him too. For a fleeting second, he felt terrified. What had he gotten Ryan into?
Ryan was so afraid of being small, and so afraid of the world around him; whose world was too big for him. Brendon remembered Ryan’s words. Ryan’s worries of trust.
He realized then, that there had always been something about Paris that he never had found anywhere else. Something that made it special… made it feel like home. He realized then, that the something he’d spent so long trying to place… was Ryan.
So Brendon took a breath and gathered every French word he knew. “Vouz avez tojours… été mon monde. Je n'ai que vous venez de trouver.” He hoped Ryan knew what he meant. He hoped Ryan remembered Port-Neuf.
Ryan’s eyes were disbelieving. Brendon knew his mind. He knew his insecurities. Brendon knew his weaknesses and pushed past them without a care.
“Je t'aime trop.”
There was no time. There was no time between his words and Ryan’s actions. Ryan took his bags and set them aside, pulling Brendon closer and kissing him firmly on the lips.
There was no time for words. There was no space for them. There was nothing in the world that could make them remember where they were, and why they were there. They forgot about busses, they forgot about Jon. They forgot about anything and everything that wasn’t each other.
And now it was too late. Too late to turn back, not that they’d ever dream of doing so. Brendon’s mind swims of plane cancellations. There was nothing in the world that could tear him away from Paris now. He fell in love with Paris, and a certain boy that stole his heart there.
He knew it was cliché. But some of the best things in life are. They don’t have to be generic. But a little cliché never hurt anyone.
Ryan looked softly at Brendon’s smile. And he knew then, that he wasn’t small or alone in Brendon’s eyes. And that’s all that mattered. He’d finally found where he belonged in the world, and that was right there. Standing next to Brendon in the world’s most beautiful city. The place they could both call home.