The Pool Boy
Title: The Pool Boy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third person limited, Ryan
Summary: AU. Ryan Ross is a “straight” married man. Brendon is his pool boy.
Disclaimer: If I owned any of these beautiful boys, I would never leave my bedroom. All events contained herein are fictional.
It’s not that Ryan doesn’t love his wife.
He does. He really does. It’s just that loving someone isn’t the only thing he needs. He also needs, for example, to want someone. To want someone so badly that it makes his whole body ache. He needs to slam someone against the wall and kiss someone breathless and bite someone’s lower lip.
And by ‘someone’ he means the pool boy. It sounds like the plot of a porn movie, but God. Brendon comes in every Saturday for one hour to clean the pool, and every time Ryan manages to find a way to be outside and watch. It’s the best hour of his week.
Ryan isn’t sure what it is about Brendon. Maybe it’s the way Brendon always starts working with his shirt on and strips it off after ten minutes. Maybe it’s the way Brendon’s muscles flex and twitch under his skin, or the way the sweat beads on his arms and chest and back. Maybe it’s the way Brendon always smiles and whistles to himself, even when his shoulders are turning pink with sunburn.
Whatever it is, Ryan wants him. He wants him so badly that it aches.
It’s a Saturday afternoon and Brendon has been cleaning for almost an hour. They’re alone, Ryan’s wife is out at her yoga class and she won’t be back for at least another hour. Ryan pulls two cold beers out of the refrigerator and walks out by the pool, barefoot.
“Hey.”
Brendon looks up, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. “Yeah, Mr. Ross?”
“Call me Ryan. You want a drink?”
Brendon wipes his face with his arm and takes the beer from Ryan. “Thanks man.” He grins broadly, popping the can open and taking a deep drink. Ryan watches shamelessly, his tongue running instinctively over his lower lip. “So where’s Mrs. Ross?” Brendon’s voice is casual, and Ryan tries to figure out if there’s a double meaning there. If Brendon is asking for some ulterior, sinister reason.
“She’s not home. We’re alone.” Ryan definitely has sinister reasons behind pointing that out. He takes a step closer to Brendon, reaching forward to run his hand over Brendon’s shoulder. “You’re starting to burn. Do you need sunscreen?”
Brendon cocks an eyebrow and grins at him, as if to say ‘Yeah I bet you’d love to put sunscreen on me.’ He knows now, Ryan is sure of it. Ryan isn’t embarrassed, he wants Brendon to know. Ryan doesn’t break eye contact, in spite of his instincts telling him to turn around and go back inside. He takes another step closer to Brendon.
“I’ve been watching you. Work.” Ryan’s voice is soft. He reaches forward to press his open palm against Brendon’s chest. Brendon’s eyes are still locked on his, hot and dark.
“I know.” Brendon smirks and reaches up to grip the front of Ryan’s shirt. He pulls him closer and moves to unbutton it. “Must get pretty boring, just watching me clean the pool.
“Oh. Oh not at all.” Ryan leans in and his mouth crashes against Brendon’s, hot and needy and wanting. Brendon finishes unbuttoning Ryan’s shirt and slides his hands in, warm calluses scraping against Ryan’s skin. He kisses Ryan back, tongue flicking into his mouth expertly. Ryan moans breathlessly, nibbling Brendon’s lower lip.
Brendon pulls back after a moment, leaving Ryan dizzy and hungry for more. “You’re married.” Brendon says, but he doesn’t sound angry or upset. He’s just stating a fact.
“I uh, yeah.” Ryan can’t form a coherent thought, can’t explain to Brendon about how things are different with him, how he feels.
“Are you going to leave her?”
Ryan has to think about it for a moment. He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
“Good.” Brendon is on him again, kissing him harder, pushing his tongue into Ryan’s mouth. Ryan doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t want to. As long as this is happening, he plans to revel in it and enjoy it. He slides his fingers into Brendon’s hair, gripping it and pulling him closer.
After an eternity that’s all too short, Brendon pulls back for air. “My hour’s up.” He says in a low, husky voice. “I have to go.” He places another light kiss on Ryan’s lips. “See you next Saturday.” He smirks, disentangles himself from Ryan’s arms and bends over to grab his shirt.
“Wait.” Ryan reaches for Brendon, but Brendon bats his hand away.
“Next Saturday.” Brendon’s voice is unyielding, and Ryan decides that it’s better to play by Brendon’s rules. He nods and takes a step back.
“Next Saturday.”
That night, Ryan fucks his wife harder than he has in months. She’s screaming, dragging her nails down his back, head thrown back as she gasps out his name. He needs this, needs to be in control. He bites her neck hard enough to mark, because she’s his, she’s his the way Brendon isn’t. He’ll never leave her.
Except for one hour, next Saturday. And every Saturday.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third person limited, Ryan
Summary: AU. Ryan Ross is a “straight” married man. Brendon is his pool boy.
Disclaimer: If I owned any of these beautiful boys, I would never leave my bedroom. All events contained herein are fictional.
It’s not that Ryan doesn’t love his wife.
He does. He really does. It’s just that loving someone isn’t the only thing he needs. He also needs, for example, to want someone. To want someone so badly that it makes his whole body ache. He needs to slam someone against the wall and kiss someone breathless and bite someone’s lower lip.
And by ‘someone’ he means the pool boy. It sounds like the plot of a porn movie, but God. Brendon comes in every Saturday for one hour to clean the pool, and every time Ryan manages to find a way to be outside and watch. It’s the best hour of his week.
Ryan isn’t sure what it is about Brendon. Maybe it’s the way Brendon always starts working with his shirt on and strips it off after ten minutes. Maybe it’s the way Brendon’s muscles flex and twitch under his skin, or the way the sweat beads on his arms and chest and back. Maybe it’s the way Brendon always smiles and whistles to himself, even when his shoulders are turning pink with sunburn.
Whatever it is, Ryan wants him. He wants him so badly that it aches.
It’s a Saturday afternoon and Brendon has been cleaning for almost an hour. They’re alone, Ryan’s wife is out at her yoga class and she won’t be back for at least another hour. Ryan pulls two cold beers out of the refrigerator and walks out by the pool, barefoot.
“Hey.”
Brendon looks up, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. “Yeah, Mr. Ross?”
“Call me Ryan. You want a drink?”
Brendon wipes his face with his arm and takes the beer from Ryan. “Thanks man.” He grins broadly, popping the can open and taking a deep drink. Ryan watches shamelessly, his tongue running instinctively over his lower lip. “So where’s Mrs. Ross?” Brendon’s voice is casual, and Ryan tries to figure out if there’s a double meaning there. If Brendon is asking for some ulterior, sinister reason.
“She’s not home. We’re alone.” Ryan definitely has sinister reasons behind pointing that out. He takes a step closer to Brendon, reaching forward to run his hand over Brendon’s shoulder. “You’re starting to burn. Do you need sunscreen?”
Brendon cocks an eyebrow and grins at him, as if to say ‘Yeah I bet you’d love to put sunscreen on me.’ He knows now, Ryan is sure of it. Ryan isn’t embarrassed, he wants Brendon to know. Ryan doesn’t break eye contact, in spite of his instincts telling him to turn around and go back inside. He takes another step closer to Brendon.
“I’ve been watching you. Work.” Ryan’s voice is soft. He reaches forward to press his open palm against Brendon’s chest. Brendon’s eyes are still locked on his, hot and dark.
“I know.” Brendon smirks and reaches up to grip the front of Ryan’s shirt. He pulls him closer and moves to unbutton it. “Must get pretty boring, just watching me clean the pool.
“Oh. Oh not at all.” Ryan leans in and his mouth crashes against Brendon’s, hot and needy and wanting. Brendon finishes unbuttoning Ryan’s shirt and slides his hands in, warm calluses scraping against Ryan’s skin. He kisses Ryan back, tongue flicking into his mouth expertly. Ryan moans breathlessly, nibbling Brendon’s lower lip.
Brendon pulls back after a moment, leaving Ryan dizzy and hungry for more. “You’re married.” Brendon says, but he doesn’t sound angry or upset. He’s just stating a fact.
“I uh, yeah.” Ryan can’t form a coherent thought, can’t explain to Brendon about how things are different with him, how he feels.
“Are you going to leave her?”
Ryan has to think about it for a moment. He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
“Good.” Brendon is on him again, kissing him harder, pushing his tongue into Ryan’s mouth. Ryan doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t want to. As long as this is happening, he plans to revel in it and enjoy it. He slides his fingers into Brendon’s hair, gripping it and pulling him closer.
After an eternity that’s all too short, Brendon pulls back for air. “My hour’s up.” He says in a low, husky voice. “I have to go.” He places another light kiss on Ryan’s lips. “See you next Saturday.” He smirks, disentangles himself from Ryan’s arms and bends over to grab his shirt.
“Wait.” Ryan reaches for Brendon, but Brendon bats his hand away.
“Next Saturday.” Brendon’s voice is unyielding, and Ryan decides that it’s better to play by Brendon’s rules. He nods and takes a step back.
“Next Saturday.”
That night, Ryan fucks his wife harder than he has in months. She’s screaming, dragging her nails down his back, head thrown back as she gasps out his name. He needs this, needs to be in control. He bites her neck hard enough to mark, because she’s his, she’s his the way Brendon isn’t. He’ll never leave her.
Except for one hour, next Saturday. And every Saturday.