Fic: Sartorial (Ryan/Chad)
Title: Sartorial
Fandom: High School Musical (Ryan/Chad)
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This happened after queenitsy, harriet_vane, and I all noticed at the same time that Ryan's blue pants from the opening scene are rather...well, they don't hide a lot, is all I'm saying. B gave me the first line of the ficlet, and I gave her the rest.
Before playing baseball with him, Chad had never noticed that every pair of pants Ryan owned was mildly obscene. He hadn’t really noticed Ryan’s pants, period, what with all the effort he put into avoiding Sharpay and everything connected to her. If pressed to weigh in on the subject, he might have managed to recall that sometimes Ryan’s pants were pink, and that was a little unusual, really, but seriously, what was the big deal about pants?
Life was much simpler then.
Now Chad is aware - painfully aware - that Ryan has one pair of light blue pants of such a thin material that they can crease just right in front and tell you what religion Ryan is. He has a pair of white pants so sheer they answer the “boxers or briefs” question at a glance. And all of his jeans are so tight that Chad has wondered more than once if it’s certifiably insane to be jealous of an inseam.
But the most obscene thing about Ryan’s pants, Chad murmurs into Ryan’s neck as he presses him against the wall and undoes Ryan’s buttons with a determined thumb, is that Ryan wears them at all. If Chad had his way, the whisper and slide of skin against skin would last forever, uninterrupted by cotton or denim or seersucker. Ryan smiles against Chad’s mouth and says something about public indecency, but all Chad can concentrate on now is Ryan’s hands on him, and for a minute he feels like it might last forever after all.
Fandom: High School Musical (Ryan/Chad)
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This happened after queenitsy, harriet_vane, and I all noticed at the same time that Ryan's blue pants from the opening scene are rather...well, they don't hide a lot, is all I'm saying. B gave me the first line of the ficlet, and I gave her the rest.
Before playing baseball with him, Chad had never noticed that every pair of pants Ryan owned was mildly obscene. He hadn’t really noticed Ryan’s pants, period, what with all the effort he put into avoiding Sharpay and everything connected to her. If pressed to weigh in on the subject, he might have managed to recall that sometimes Ryan’s pants were pink, and that was a little unusual, really, but seriously, what was the big deal about pants?
Life was much simpler then.
Now Chad is aware - painfully aware - that Ryan has one pair of light blue pants of such a thin material that they can crease just right in front and tell you what religion Ryan is. He has a pair of white pants so sheer they answer the “boxers or briefs” question at a glance. And all of his jeans are so tight that Chad has wondered more than once if it’s certifiably insane to be jealous of an inseam.
But the most obscene thing about Ryan’s pants, Chad murmurs into Ryan’s neck as he presses him against the wall and undoes Ryan’s buttons with a determined thumb, is that Ryan wears them at all. If Chad had his way, the whisper and slide of skin against skin would last forever, uninterrupted by cotton or denim or seersucker. Ryan smiles against Chad’s mouth and says something about public indecency, but all Chad can concentrate on now is Ryan’s hands on him, and for a minute he feels like it might last forever after all.