In My Linen (You Are Skin Again) [s/a]
Title: In My Linen (You Are Skin Again)
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: moceanu
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: All he wants to do is kiss every square inch of Brendon’s body, wants his lips to be as feather light and almost nonexistent as when Brendon is writhing beneath the sheets for that ghosting stimulation.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own. Title belongs to The Matches, 'Clouds Crash'.
Author Notes: So this is 'The dsajfiaofalsdj! Fic' I mentioned a few weeks ago. Not sure if it's exactly what I wanted, but I'm pretty satisfied with it. For moceanu because she's growing up ;_;
The first time Ryan caught Brendon masturbating, right hand thrust down the front of his Spiderman boxers while his left hand braced him against the cracked and wobbly sink in the bathroom of the studio in Maryland, panting heavily with his back arched, eyes closed and bottom lip clenched harshly between his teeth and whimpering through the last strains of building pressure in his low stomach as his orgasm spilled over his hand - that had been pretty awkward.
The second time Ryan caught Brendon masturbating, legs spread wide and open on the bed of their shared hotel room as his left hand fisted his leaking cock rhythmically and his right hand thrust two fingers deep into his ass, searching for something his facial expression concluded he hadn’t found, not until his digits pushed in once more and he let out a mangled cry, coming hard with a sharp breath - that had been even more awkward.
But the third time - this time - has to top them both. Because this time, instead of feeling awkward, Ryan feels the breath leave him.
He heard the quiet moans when he’d gotten up to get water two minutes prior; they’d sounded innocent enough to pass them off as one of Brendon’s pathetic sleepless nights, when he’s simply got too much energy and there aren’t enough hours in the day to burn it off, so he just whines until he falls into sleep. And Ryan, aware of Brendon’s strange dependency on being included on everything possible, had taken a few extra steps down to Brendon’s door to invite him downstairs for something to drink.
They had instituted a law, back when they were all in the cabin together, that locking doors was prohibited. Jon, who had clearly been high at the time, had said, “Dude, let’s ban the locks. We’re a band, we’re friends, we’re brothers. If we lock up the doors, what’s next? Locking up our hearts?” And Brendon, who had been equally as high, had agreed wholeheartedly and playfully punched Ryan with an, “Ooh! Ross, if you don’t watch out, Jon’s going to be a bigger hippie than you!”
But despite the fact that they had all been high when the law was established, Brendon has an abnormally good memory when he’s baked and ever since then, he’s obeyed the rule with a firm belief that “if we don’t follow rules set by the band, then we’re not all in it together.” (Of course, Spencer had said, “Fuck the band rule! I don’t want to be “all in it together” when I’m trying to fuck my girlfriend. I love you guys, but I’m not sure Haley’s up for that kind of stuff,” and Brendon had pouted, so Spencer caved and made sure Haley knew that if, at any point during sex, Jon stumbled in looking for his bong, to keep going and ignore the fact that they were all obscenely immodest human beings.)
So naturally, Brendon’s diehard obedience meant the door was unlocked and Ryan’s loyalty to Brendon’s outrageous dependency meant he’d pushed the door open quietly. And that’s when Ryan was met with what has to be the most awkward time he’s ever caught Brendon masturbating.
Ryan stands frozen in the doorway, unable to move from the roots that have seemingly pulled him to the ground as he stares, bewildered and amazed at the sight before him. Through the glowing strip of moonlight slicing through the window on the far wall of Brendon’s room, Ryan can dimly see the outstretch of Brendon’s pale chest peeking out over the top of the sheets that cover the lower half of his torso, all the way down to his shins. His erection is visible against the fabric covering his waist and his head is thrown back into the pillow, digging into it, his throat exposed, Adam’s Apple twitching beneath the flesh there and his hips are swiveling in this slow, dragging way that makes Ryan’s own throat constrict. The soft focus of Ryan’s wide eyes catches sight of Brendon’s discarded boxers on the floor at the foot of the bed; Brendon whimpers into a moan and Ryan notices that he’s now bracing himself against the door frame.
Now, the reason Ryan feels that this tops his list of the most awkward times he’s caught Brendon masturbating, strangely isn’t because he caught Brendon, or anyone for that matter, masturbating. He’s a guy, it happens. And it’s not because Ryan finds himself extremely turned on or the fact that he can’t seem to look away from his best friend getting off. No, all of the reasons this should be awkward don’t quite add up in Ryan’s books and that probably makes things a bit peculiar, but Ryan simply cannot move.
No, Ryan is certain that catching Brendon in such a bare, raw situation such as this isn’t because his own erection starts straining against his boxers or because he’s turned on by his best friend; it’s because Brendon’s hands are stretched out wide on the bed, palms sinking into the mattress and fingers clenching the sheets. He’s not touching himself at all.
Ryan finds that his mind races through different explanations as to how Brendon could masturbate without touching himself. They range from the excuse of Brendon’s frequent wet dreams to (oh god) Brendon possibly using a toy, but when Brendon clenches out a quiet, “Fuck,” Brendon doesn’t have an excuse and Ryan is positive, that despite Brendon’s wild, slightly whorish nature, he doesn’t own any toys. Ryan takes a brief moment to be concerned with the fact that he knows the status of Brendon’s sex toy experience and can’t decide if it’s his fault for being obsessed with the boy’s existence or Brendon’s fault for being so unashamed.
And then Ryan notices Brendon’s swiveling hips again, rubbing against the soft material he’d purchased days ago at Target and it hits him all in a rush: Brendon dragging Ryan along to shop for things for his new house; Brendon skipping over to the bedding section, fingering every exposed material possible, curling his fingers around the soft, loose cotton of Jersey knit sheets, frightening Ryan with the way he practically moaned over how “orgasmic” they felt and rubbing them against his face with closed eyes and a content purring sound.
Brendon’s low moaning grows quicker and his breathing heavier and he comes with a soft whimper, wrapped in warmth and soft comfort. His fingers twist into the sheets until he’s spent and before he has a chance to notice Ryan’s silhouette in the doorway, Ryan retreats back to his room and jacks off fast and dirty, moaning around the fist in his mouth.
It takes him five minutes after he comes to notice that his mouth is even drier than it was when he woke up.
----
The next morning, Ryan is appalled by Brendon’s audacity to act as if he hadn’t done filthy, unspeakable things wrapped up in his bed last night, regardless of whether or not he was aware of Ryan’s presence. Actually, it occurs to Ryan that there have probably been many mornings just like this - Brendon walking in all sleepy with his hair in disarray and his boxers crooked on his hips, yawning - that he’d gone oblivious to Brendon’s actions the night before. The thought makes his stomach clench in a deliciously uncomfortable way.
Brendon scrapes a chair along the kitchen floor when he goes to sits down and rubs his eye beneath the rim of his glasses. He yawns again and stretches, back popping slightly, making him whimper in surprise and relief and Ryan stops mid-bite of Cheerios to observe.
“G’mornin’,” Brendon grumbles, still knuckling his eye, having irritated it now. Ryan hums around his spoon and finishes chewing his cereal. “Sleep well? I know that air mattress isn’t the greatest thing ever but…”
“Yeah, I slept fine,” Ryan says a bit too quickly. “How about you?” He bites the inside of his cheek and tests, “How are your new sheets treating you?”
Brendon’s smile seems a bit too revealing when he says, “They’re amazing. Like, I cannot get over how soft they are. It’s sinful, really.”
Ryan almost chokes on his next bite.
----
Ryan hears it around one in the morning, the soft, breathless noises bleeding through the walls and it’s just not fair, seriously. It’s faint and he has to strain to hear it, but the anticipation for that next sweet moan is enough to make him so hard he feels like crying.
He manages to make it all the way to Brendon’s door before he palms himself and the moan he lets out is unexpected and filthy. Momentarily, he’s embarrassed by how worked up he is but then Brendon lets out this stream of helpless gasps and Ryan is totally missing out on Brendon’s orgasm.
Damn it, he knew he waited too long.
Brendon’s still making these noises, these quiet, whimpering noises that are just borderline indecent and Ryan’s curiosity has always gotten the best of him. He opens the door as furtively as possible and stills immediately when the sheets on Brendon’s bed ruffle and the bed creaks as Brendon shifts up onto his elbows.
He thinks, Well, shit just as Brendon squeaks out, “Ryan?”
Ryan’s throat feels like a kink in a water hose, twisted tight and blocking anything from coming out.
Brendon shuffles on the bed again, the last remnants of his panting dissolving into even breaths. “Ryan, is that you?”
Someone untangles the passage of Ryan’s airway and he chokes out, “Hey.”
Brendon audibly deflates a little and sighs, “Jesus Christ, I thought someone was coming to rape me.”
Ryan’s mind doesn’t let him wander past the drawn out Well… that is his initial thought.
“Wh-what are you doing up?” Brendon stutters out, noticing the tension in the room after Ryan doesn’t reply. A single pale thigh is slightly visible beneath the sheet shielding Brendon’s body and something primal takes hold of Ryan’s instincts and he feels a twist in his gut, sharp and hot. He takes a step forward and he hears Brendon gulp five feet away.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ryan answers, dismissive only because his mind can’t concentrate on anything other than that stretch of exposed skin. “You sounded-” He swallows, twists his tongue away from the words so fucking sexy and finishes, “-like you were having trouble sleeping, too, so I.”
They’re both shocked when Ryan’s shins hit the edge of the bed and Ryan realizes his legs have carried him all this way without him knowing it.
Brendon stares up at him with wide, searching eyes, blinking away the darkness as he tries to peer through the black around them. “You what?” he asks, small.
“I, uh. I came to see if you were okay. I didn’t know if it was a bad dream or-” Ryan’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he runs it along his teeth. “-or if you were just restless or.”
“I’m fine.”
Ryan nods enthusiastically, realizes Brendon’s eyes are straining to see Ryan through the shadows and stutters, “Yeah, no. I- I figured you were okay, I just. I wanted to make sure.”
Brendon breathes in, out. “Thanks.”
Ryan’s pulse is hammering and he mumbles, “Yeah, don’t- don’t worry about it.” He stands there, towers over Brendon’s bed silently and Brendon continues to stare up at him, expectant. The moon is washing through the window again, not as bright as last night, but enough to illuminate the room in a filmy glow. Brendon’s leg shifts and Ryan takes it as his cue to leave. “Well, g’night, Bren,” he says and without thinking, leans down to place a kiss on Brendon’s forehead.
They’ve done this before. Simple kisses on the forehead, gestures of comfort and understanding. But this time is different because Brendon’s skin tingles against Ryan’s lips, warm and alive beneath a light sheen of sweat and Ryan just can’t help but to let his lips linger longer than necessary, can’t help the way they shift over to the left after a moment or the way his right hand finds itself curled around Brendon’s bare shoulder. He kisses soft, just above Brendon’s right eyebrow and the heat tickling his lips is enough to make him open his mouth in the slightest way, kissing Brendon’s head slow and unsure, especially when Brendon tenses.. It’s just a few dabs before his mouth is resting high on Brendon’s cheekbone and when Ryan’s mouth dips down to the gentle crease on the side of Brendon’s nose, Brendon can smell the light hint of toothpaste, hot and dizzying.
Brendon’s body is as stiff as a board and Ryan can feel his thick eyelashes blinking quick and frantic against his forehead. Ryan kisses the corner of Brendon’s mouth and the fluttering falls to a stop.
Tilting his head a fraction of an inch, Ryan plants another kiss onto Brendon’s slightly parted lips and when his own mold around the far corner of Brendon’s bottom lip, soft and inviting, Brendon’s entire body sighs. Brendon’s fingers curl gently around the sheets within reach and Ryan’s hand cups Brendon’s face delicately, fragile and terrified that any fast movements might spook Brendon. Unfortunately, the burning contact of Ryan’s hand, the gentle caress of his thumb stroking beneath Brendon’s eye, it causes Brendon to tug at the sheets weakly, asking for a shield from the things that could potentially be dangerous about this situation.
And it frustrates Ryan.
Because all he wants to do is kiss every square inch of Brendon’s body, wants his lips to be as feather light and almost nonexistent as when Brendon is writhing beneath the sheets for that ghosting stimulation.
He wants to tease.
In a move he does without thinking, he drops his hand from Brendon’s shoulder and places it over Brendon’s hand wrapped around the covers. It’s reassuring and imploring and Brendon’s fingers twitch up into Ryan’s palm. He curls one finger beneath Brendon’s index finger, prying; curls two fingers under Brendon’s middle finger, testing; curls three fingers under Brendon’s ring finger, asking. And when he curls four fingers under Brendon’s palm, he’s kissing soft thank yous against Brendon’s mouth, appreciative of the trust he’s been given.
Ryan’s knee skids up the side of the bed and presses into the edge, bending and putting weight onto the mattress. He weaves his fingers through Brendon’s and Brendon takes the initiative to grasp Ryan’s other hand, whether uncertain or needing, Ryan isn’t sure, but it opens him up to a world of possibilities.
Beneath him, Brendon feels the light cotton scratch on his back, on his calves and now the backs of his hands as Ryan presses them gently into the mattress, the bed dipping down as he crawls in, mouth never leaving Brendon’s. He kisses slow and calming and Brendon’s lips melt against his the instant Ryan’s cock brushes against his stomach. His sheet has somehow been pushed down to the sharp jut of his hipbones and Ryan’s dick is warm on his cool stomach, throbbing just slightly.
Brendon’s fingers flex in Ryan’s grip and when Ryan moves his mouth down Brendon’s chin, across his throat and back up his jaw to his ear, Brendon can feel his dick slowly becoming hard again.
Ryan whispers, “Just lie still, okay?”, lips tickling the shell of Brendon’s ear. Ryan’s hips shift and Brendon feels the fabric slip down another inch, a light chill hitting the newly exposed skin. Brendon gulps and Ryan chases at his thundering pulse with feather light lips.
And that’s it: the way Brendon chokes just a little on a whimper, it destroys the wall of self control Ryan forced himself to build up three years ago in that Maryland studio bathroom and he kisses something sloppy onto Brendon’s jaw before sitting back on his haunches and staring down at Brendon’s heaving chest, releasing Brendon’s hands.
Seeing Brendon from this angle is strange, not unpleasant, but definitely new and the sight is refreshing: Brendon’s lips, kiss swollen and red, eyes blown wide and hair disheveled. Ryan drinks in the contour of his collarbone and the smooth planes of his chest, resists the urge to run his fingers over Brendon’s ribs and bites his lip. He fingers the edge of the sheet covering Brendon’s waist and Brendon’s eyes flutter shut, anticipating. Ryan hunkers down, presses his smirk into Brendon’s hip and relishes in the sharp hiss that escapes from behind Brendon’s teeth when his tongue flits over the heated skin. He leaves one, two, three open mouthed kisses in a vertical line down Brendon’s pelvis and when his lips meet the cottony texture of Brendon’s bed sheets, he clenches the edge of it between his teeth and begins crawling backwards down Brendon’s body, eying Brendon with nothing but lust until Ryan’s feet and half of his shins are hanging off the bed, having pulled the blanket down to Brendon’s knees.
Ryan’s breath is a bit staccato and short as it hits the side of Brendon’s leg, sticky and hot. It bounces off the skin there and Ryan presses his lips against the inside of Brendon’s knee. He kisses up, up, up, and mouths at the smooth crease of Brendon’s leg and when he noses at the dark curls of hair just to the side of his face, Brendon groans, cock twitching awake again. Brendon’s hands are fisted in the sheets, clenching hard and grounding and Ryan’s mouth dances over to the very base of Brendon’s semi-soft dick. He mewls and Brendon can feel the vibrations sharp and jolting.
He thinks, judging by the patience Ryan is displaying, that Ryan has the willpower not to wrap his lips around Brendon’s cock, thinks Ryan will just bypass his erection and continue on the direction he intended. But when Ryan’s lips start mouthing their way up the side of Brendon’s cock, Brendon doesn’t think anymore, just gasps. He moves slow, Ryan does, trails his mouth hot and specified up Brendon’s hardening shaft and when he finally reaches the tip, he kisses it lightly before trailing back down the other side just as slow. Brendon’s hips buck up off the mattress when Ryan reaches the opposite side he started on because now he’s completely hard again and the stimulus is that much more toe curling.
Ryan gazes up at Brendon through dark eyes, hovering over Brendon’s cock almost protectively. He waits, and when Brendon finally catches his eye, Ryan’s tongue flicks out and laps at the pre-cum gathering at the head. Brendon chokes on his own breath.
“Jesus, fuck! Ryan, you- Oh my god, you-” Brendon babbles incoherently and Ryan smirks before ducking down to suck on Brendon’s left hip. Ryan kisses a wet, deliciously tedious row of heat along Brendon’s low waist, hums when his Adam’s Apple grazes over Brendon’s cock and nuzzles his face into Brendon’s side playfully when Brendon groans at the tremor it sends through him.
Nipping softly at the flesh of Brendon’s waist, Ryan murmurs, “You taste so good, Jesus,” and it’s breathless enough to make Brendon explode a little inside. Just, the way Ryan’s voice is low and scratchy, slightly shaky and coated in a whole lot of lust. Brendon finds it hard not to arch his back in need when Ryan’s teeth and tongue graze over the center of his abdomen, just above his bellybutton, shuddering.
Brendon’s hands are sweating and Ryan moves to position his right knee in between Brendon’s legs and just when he thinks Ryan’s thigh is going to brush his dick, Ryan’s mouth clamps down tenderly around his nipple. Every incoherent noise imaginable escapes Brendon when Ryan’s tongue swirls lazily around the hardening flesh and when Ryan’s long, fragile fingers play piano across his ribs, Brendon’s mind flies through thousands of words related to the chills that speckle his body to accompany the beautiful melody Ryan plays.
Thankfully, Ryan savors Brendon’s ability to actually speak, so he doesn’t move over to take Brendon’s other nipple in his mouth, simply moves on, slow and deliberate until he’s sucking delightedly on the skin stretched over Brendon’s collarbone. It feels so warm, so sweet and innocent yet so dangerously intoxicating that Brendon can’t help but let go of the soft fabric atop the mattress and curl his fingers around the even softer fabric of Ryan’s shirt, mouth hanging open. His shirt is loose, comfortable and familiar and Brendon let’s one hand skim underneath to tickle the warm flesh of Ryan’s waist. Ryan reaches down to palm Brendon’s hip, fingers flexing like a cat relaxing and moans, just a little.
And that’s when Brendon notices the tenderness fogging the edges of everything.
Ryan’s hands are skimming and brief, his kisses gentle and sincere and even in the way he mewls as his tongue tastes it’s way up Brendon’s neck, it’s honest and light.
When Ryan’s teeth pinch the lobe of Brendon’s ear, they tug with a question lodged behind them and Ryan says, “Brendon.”
Brendon comes with an arched back and choking moan and when his hips stutter against Ryan’s, Ryan muffles his own orgasm into the side of Brendon’s neck, lapping at the clenching muscles there. As Brendon’s body stops trembling, Ryan’s mouth trails over to Brendon’s quivering lips and presses a firm, sealing kiss there. A hot tongue licks inside Ryan’s mouth and Brendon whimpers, just a little shocked, when Ryan’s tongue flicks back slowly.
It’s a slow dance, rhythmic and bold and Ryan is pleased to notice Brendon take the initiative to nibble on Ryan’s lower lip for a moment before kissing down his chin and nuzzling into his neck with a satisfied sigh.
And maybe Ryan isn’t sure if Brendon fits into his side like the missing piece of a puzzle, or if he smells like happiness and sense of content Ryan’s yet to inhale.
And maybe Brendon’s still trying to decide if the warm settling in his bones is realization rather than exhaustion, or if Ryan’s mouth quite possibly ruined the luxury of his new sheets forever.
But then all the different variations of their millions of streaming emotions don’t matter, because the second Ryan curls himself around Brendon, tangling their legs together and draping his arm over Brendon’s waist, they both feel the same overwhelming surge rush into their lungs, like a breath of fresh air, and Brendon pulls Ryan in closer.
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: moceanu
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: All he wants to do is kiss every square inch of Brendon’s body, wants his lips to be as feather light and almost nonexistent as when Brendon is writhing beneath the sheets for that ghosting stimulation.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own. Title belongs to The Matches, 'Clouds Crash'.
Author Notes: So this is 'The dsajfiaofalsdj! Fic' I mentioned a few weeks ago. Not sure if it's exactly what I wanted, but I'm pretty satisfied with it. For moceanu because she's growing up ;_;
The first time Ryan caught Brendon masturbating, right hand thrust down the front of his Spiderman boxers while his left hand braced him against the cracked and wobbly sink in the bathroom of the studio in Maryland, panting heavily with his back arched, eyes closed and bottom lip clenched harshly between his teeth and whimpering through the last strains of building pressure in his low stomach as his orgasm spilled over his hand - that had been pretty awkward.
The second time Ryan caught Brendon masturbating, legs spread wide and open on the bed of their shared hotel room as his left hand fisted his leaking cock rhythmically and his right hand thrust two fingers deep into his ass, searching for something his facial expression concluded he hadn’t found, not until his digits pushed in once more and he let out a mangled cry, coming hard with a sharp breath - that had been even more awkward.
But the third time - this time - has to top them both. Because this time, instead of feeling awkward, Ryan feels the breath leave him.
He heard the quiet moans when he’d gotten up to get water two minutes prior; they’d sounded innocent enough to pass them off as one of Brendon’s pathetic sleepless nights, when he’s simply got too much energy and there aren’t enough hours in the day to burn it off, so he just whines until he falls into sleep. And Ryan, aware of Brendon’s strange dependency on being included on everything possible, had taken a few extra steps down to Brendon’s door to invite him downstairs for something to drink.
They had instituted a law, back when they were all in the cabin together, that locking doors was prohibited. Jon, who had clearly been high at the time, had said, “Dude, let’s ban the locks. We’re a band, we’re friends, we’re brothers. If we lock up the doors, what’s next? Locking up our hearts?” And Brendon, who had been equally as high, had agreed wholeheartedly and playfully punched Ryan with an, “Ooh! Ross, if you don’t watch out, Jon’s going to be a bigger hippie than you!”
But despite the fact that they had all been high when the law was established, Brendon has an abnormally good memory when he’s baked and ever since then, he’s obeyed the rule with a firm belief that “if we don’t follow rules set by the band, then we’re not all in it together.” (Of course, Spencer had said, “Fuck the band rule! I don’t want to be “all in it together” when I’m trying to fuck my girlfriend. I love you guys, but I’m not sure Haley’s up for that kind of stuff,” and Brendon had pouted, so Spencer caved and made sure Haley knew that if, at any point during sex, Jon stumbled in looking for his bong, to keep going and ignore the fact that they were all obscenely immodest human beings.)
So naturally, Brendon’s diehard obedience meant the door was unlocked and Ryan’s loyalty to Brendon’s outrageous dependency meant he’d pushed the door open quietly. And that’s when Ryan was met with what has to be the most awkward time he’s ever caught Brendon masturbating.
Ryan stands frozen in the doorway, unable to move from the roots that have seemingly pulled him to the ground as he stares, bewildered and amazed at the sight before him. Through the glowing strip of moonlight slicing through the window on the far wall of Brendon’s room, Ryan can dimly see the outstretch of Brendon’s pale chest peeking out over the top of the sheets that cover the lower half of his torso, all the way down to his shins. His erection is visible against the fabric covering his waist and his head is thrown back into the pillow, digging into it, his throat exposed, Adam’s Apple twitching beneath the flesh there and his hips are swiveling in this slow, dragging way that makes Ryan’s own throat constrict. The soft focus of Ryan’s wide eyes catches sight of Brendon’s discarded boxers on the floor at the foot of the bed; Brendon whimpers into a moan and Ryan notices that he’s now bracing himself against the door frame.
Now, the reason Ryan feels that this tops his list of the most awkward times he’s caught Brendon masturbating, strangely isn’t because he caught Brendon, or anyone for that matter, masturbating. He’s a guy, it happens. And it’s not because Ryan finds himself extremely turned on or the fact that he can’t seem to look away from his best friend getting off. No, all of the reasons this should be awkward don’t quite add up in Ryan’s books and that probably makes things a bit peculiar, but Ryan simply cannot move.
No, Ryan is certain that catching Brendon in such a bare, raw situation such as this isn’t because his own erection starts straining against his boxers or because he’s turned on by his best friend; it’s because Brendon’s hands are stretched out wide on the bed, palms sinking into the mattress and fingers clenching the sheets. He’s not touching himself at all.
Ryan finds that his mind races through different explanations as to how Brendon could masturbate without touching himself. They range from the excuse of Brendon’s frequent wet dreams to (oh god) Brendon possibly using a toy, but when Brendon clenches out a quiet, “Fuck,” Brendon doesn’t have an excuse and Ryan is positive, that despite Brendon’s wild, slightly whorish nature, he doesn’t own any toys. Ryan takes a brief moment to be concerned with the fact that he knows the status of Brendon’s sex toy experience and can’t decide if it’s his fault for being obsessed with the boy’s existence or Brendon’s fault for being so unashamed.
And then Ryan notices Brendon’s swiveling hips again, rubbing against the soft material he’d purchased days ago at Target and it hits him all in a rush: Brendon dragging Ryan along to shop for things for his new house; Brendon skipping over to the bedding section, fingering every exposed material possible, curling his fingers around the soft, loose cotton of Jersey knit sheets, frightening Ryan with the way he practically moaned over how “orgasmic” they felt and rubbing them against his face with closed eyes and a content purring sound.
Brendon’s low moaning grows quicker and his breathing heavier and he comes with a soft whimper, wrapped in warmth and soft comfort. His fingers twist into the sheets until he’s spent and before he has a chance to notice Ryan’s silhouette in the doorway, Ryan retreats back to his room and jacks off fast and dirty, moaning around the fist in his mouth.
It takes him five minutes after he comes to notice that his mouth is even drier than it was when he woke up.
----
The next morning, Ryan is appalled by Brendon’s audacity to act as if he hadn’t done filthy, unspeakable things wrapped up in his bed last night, regardless of whether or not he was aware of Ryan’s presence. Actually, it occurs to Ryan that there have probably been many mornings just like this - Brendon walking in all sleepy with his hair in disarray and his boxers crooked on his hips, yawning - that he’d gone oblivious to Brendon’s actions the night before. The thought makes his stomach clench in a deliciously uncomfortable way.
Brendon scrapes a chair along the kitchen floor when he goes to sits down and rubs his eye beneath the rim of his glasses. He yawns again and stretches, back popping slightly, making him whimper in surprise and relief and Ryan stops mid-bite of Cheerios to observe.
“G’mornin’,” Brendon grumbles, still knuckling his eye, having irritated it now. Ryan hums around his spoon and finishes chewing his cereal. “Sleep well? I know that air mattress isn’t the greatest thing ever but…”
“Yeah, I slept fine,” Ryan says a bit too quickly. “How about you?” He bites the inside of his cheek and tests, “How are your new sheets treating you?”
Brendon’s smile seems a bit too revealing when he says, “They’re amazing. Like, I cannot get over how soft they are. It’s sinful, really.”
Ryan almost chokes on his next bite.
----
Ryan hears it around one in the morning, the soft, breathless noises bleeding through the walls and it’s just not fair, seriously. It’s faint and he has to strain to hear it, but the anticipation for that next sweet moan is enough to make him so hard he feels like crying.
He manages to make it all the way to Brendon’s door before he palms himself and the moan he lets out is unexpected and filthy. Momentarily, he’s embarrassed by how worked up he is but then Brendon lets out this stream of helpless gasps and Ryan is totally missing out on Brendon’s orgasm.
Damn it, he knew he waited too long.
Brendon’s still making these noises, these quiet, whimpering noises that are just borderline indecent and Ryan’s curiosity has always gotten the best of him. He opens the door as furtively as possible and stills immediately when the sheets on Brendon’s bed ruffle and the bed creaks as Brendon shifts up onto his elbows.
He thinks, Well, shit just as Brendon squeaks out, “Ryan?”
Ryan’s throat feels like a kink in a water hose, twisted tight and blocking anything from coming out.
Brendon shuffles on the bed again, the last remnants of his panting dissolving into even breaths. “Ryan, is that you?”
Someone untangles the passage of Ryan’s airway and he chokes out, “Hey.”
Brendon audibly deflates a little and sighs, “Jesus Christ, I thought someone was coming to rape me.”
Ryan’s mind doesn’t let him wander past the drawn out Well… that is his initial thought.
“Wh-what are you doing up?” Brendon stutters out, noticing the tension in the room after Ryan doesn’t reply. A single pale thigh is slightly visible beneath the sheet shielding Brendon’s body and something primal takes hold of Ryan’s instincts and he feels a twist in his gut, sharp and hot. He takes a step forward and he hears Brendon gulp five feet away.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ryan answers, dismissive only because his mind can’t concentrate on anything other than that stretch of exposed skin. “You sounded-” He swallows, twists his tongue away from the words so fucking sexy and finishes, “-like you were having trouble sleeping, too, so I.”
They’re both shocked when Ryan’s shins hit the edge of the bed and Ryan realizes his legs have carried him all this way without him knowing it.
Brendon stares up at him with wide, searching eyes, blinking away the darkness as he tries to peer through the black around them. “You what?” he asks, small.
“I, uh. I came to see if you were okay. I didn’t know if it was a bad dream or-” Ryan’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he runs it along his teeth. “-or if you were just restless or.”
“I’m fine.”
Ryan nods enthusiastically, realizes Brendon’s eyes are straining to see Ryan through the shadows and stutters, “Yeah, no. I- I figured you were okay, I just. I wanted to make sure.”
Brendon breathes in, out. “Thanks.”
Ryan’s pulse is hammering and he mumbles, “Yeah, don’t- don’t worry about it.” He stands there, towers over Brendon’s bed silently and Brendon continues to stare up at him, expectant. The moon is washing through the window again, not as bright as last night, but enough to illuminate the room in a filmy glow. Brendon’s leg shifts and Ryan takes it as his cue to leave. “Well, g’night, Bren,” he says and without thinking, leans down to place a kiss on Brendon’s forehead.
They’ve done this before. Simple kisses on the forehead, gestures of comfort and understanding. But this time is different because Brendon’s skin tingles against Ryan’s lips, warm and alive beneath a light sheen of sweat and Ryan just can’t help but to let his lips linger longer than necessary, can’t help the way they shift over to the left after a moment or the way his right hand finds itself curled around Brendon’s bare shoulder. He kisses soft, just above Brendon’s right eyebrow and the heat tickling his lips is enough to make him open his mouth in the slightest way, kissing Brendon’s head slow and unsure, especially when Brendon tenses.. It’s just a few dabs before his mouth is resting high on Brendon’s cheekbone and when Ryan’s mouth dips down to the gentle crease on the side of Brendon’s nose, Brendon can smell the light hint of toothpaste, hot and dizzying.
Brendon’s body is as stiff as a board and Ryan can feel his thick eyelashes blinking quick and frantic against his forehead. Ryan kisses the corner of Brendon’s mouth and the fluttering falls to a stop.
Tilting his head a fraction of an inch, Ryan plants another kiss onto Brendon’s slightly parted lips and when his own mold around the far corner of Brendon’s bottom lip, soft and inviting, Brendon’s entire body sighs. Brendon’s fingers curl gently around the sheets within reach and Ryan’s hand cups Brendon’s face delicately, fragile and terrified that any fast movements might spook Brendon. Unfortunately, the burning contact of Ryan’s hand, the gentle caress of his thumb stroking beneath Brendon’s eye, it causes Brendon to tug at the sheets weakly, asking for a shield from the things that could potentially be dangerous about this situation.
And it frustrates Ryan.
Because all he wants to do is kiss every square inch of Brendon’s body, wants his lips to be as feather light and almost nonexistent as when Brendon is writhing beneath the sheets for that ghosting stimulation.
He wants to tease.
In a move he does without thinking, he drops his hand from Brendon’s shoulder and places it over Brendon’s hand wrapped around the covers. It’s reassuring and imploring and Brendon’s fingers twitch up into Ryan’s palm. He curls one finger beneath Brendon’s index finger, prying; curls two fingers under Brendon’s middle finger, testing; curls three fingers under Brendon’s ring finger, asking. And when he curls four fingers under Brendon’s palm, he’s kissing soft thank yous against Brendon’s mouth, appreciative of the trust he’s been given.
Ryan’s knee skids up the side of the bed and presses into the edge, bending and putting weight onto the mattress. He weaves his fingers through Brendon’s and Brendon takes the initiative to grasp Ryan’s other hand, whether uncertain or needing, Ryan isn’t sure, but it opens him up to a world of possibilities.
Beneath him, Brendon feels the light cotton scratch on his back, on his calves and now the backs of his hands as Ryan presses them gently into the mattress, the bed dipping down as he crawls in, mouth never leaving Brendon’s. He kisses slow and calming and Brendon’s lips melt against his the instant Ryan’s cock brushes against his stomach. His sheet has somehow been pushed down to the sharp jut of his hipbones and Ryan’s dick is warm on his cool stomach, throbbing just slightly.
Brendon’s fingers flex in Ryan’s grip and when Ryan moves his mouth down Brendon’s chin, across his throat and back up his jaw to his ear, Brendon can feel his dick slowly becoming hard again.
Ryan whispers, “Just lie still, okay?”, lips tickling the shell of Brendon’s ear. Ryan’s hips shift and Brendon feels the fabric slip down another inch, a light chill hitting the newly exposed skin. Brendon gulps and Ryan chases at his thundering pulse with feather light lips.
And that’s it: the way Brendon chokes just a little on a whimper, it destroys the wall of self control Ryan forced himself to build up three years ago in that Maryland studio bathroom and he kisses something sloppy onto Brendon’s jaw before sitting back on his haunches and staring down at Brendon’s heaving chest, releasing Brendon’s hands.
Seeing Brendon from this angle is strange, not unpleasant, but definitely new and the sight is refreshing: Brendon’s lips, kiss swollen and red, eyes blown wide and hair disheveled. Ryan drinks in the contour of his collarbone and the smooth planes of his chest, resists the urge to run his fingers over Brendon’s ribs and bites his lip. He fingers the edge of the sheet covering Brendon’s waist and Brendon’s eyes flutter shut, anticipating. Ryan hunkers down, presses his smirk into Brendon’s hip and relishes in the sharp hiss that escapes from behind Brendon’s teeth when his tongue flits over the heated skin. He leaves one, two, three open mouthed kisses in a vertical line down Brendon’s pelvis and when his lips meet the cottony texture of Brendon’s bed sheets, he clenches the edge of it between his teeth and begins crawling backwards down Brendon’s body, eying Brendon with nothing but lust until Ryan’s feet and half of his shins are hanging off the bed, having pulled the blanket down to Brendon’s knees.
Ryan’s breath is a bit staccato and short as it hits the side of Brendon’s leg, sticky and hot. It bounces off the skin there and Ryan presses his lips against the inside of Brendon’s knee. He kisses up, up, up, and mouths at the smooth crease of Brendon’s leg and when he noses at the dark curls of hair just to the side of his face, Brendon groans, cock twitching awake again. Brendon’s hands are fisted in the sheets, clenching hard and grounding and Ryan’s mouth dances over to the very base of Brendon’s semi-soft dick. He mewls and Brendon can feel the vibrations sharp and jolting.
He thinks, judging by the patience Ryan is displaying, that Ryan has the willpower not to wrap his lips around Brendon’s cock, thinks Ryan will just bypass his erection and continue on the direction he intended. But when Ryan’s lips start mouthing their way up the side of Brendon’s cock, Brendon doesn’t think anymore, just gasps. He moves slow, Ryan does, trails his mouth hot and specified up Brendon’s hardening shaft and when he finally reaches the tip, he kisses it lightly before trailing back down the other side just as slow. Brendon’s hips buck up off the mattress when Ryan reaches the opposite side he started on because now he’s completely hard again and the stimulus is that much more toe curling.
Ryan gazes up at Brendon through dark eyes, hovering over Brendon’s cock almost protectively. He waits, and when Brendon finally catches his eye, Ryan’s tongue flicks out and laps at the pre-cum gathering at the head. Brendon chokes on his own breath.
“Jesus, fuck! Ryan, you- Oh my god, you-” Brendon babbles incoherently and Ryan smirks before ducking down to suck on Brendon’s left hip. Ryan kisses a wet, deliciously tedious row of heat along Brendon’s low waist, hums when his Adam’s Apple grazes over Brendon’s cock and nuzzles his face into Brendon’s side playfully when Brendon groans at the tremor it sends through him.
Nipping softly at the flesh of Brendon’s waist, Ryan murmurs, “You taste so good, Jesus,” and it’s breathless enough to make Brendon explode a little inside. Just, the way Ryan’s voice is low and scratchy, slightly shaky and coated in a whole lot of lust. Brendon finds it hard not to arch his back in need when Ryan’s teeth and tongue graze over the center of his abdomen, just above his bellybutton, shuddering.
Brendon’s hands are sweating and Ryan moves to position his right knee in between Brendon’s legs and just when he thinks Ryan’s thigh is going to brush his dick, Ryan’s mouth clamps down tenderly around his nipple. Every incoherent noise imaginable escapes Brendon when Ryan’s tongue swirls lazily around the hardening flesh and when Ryan’s long, fragile fingers play piano across his ribs, Brendon’s mind flies through thousands of words related to the chills that speckle his body to accompany the beautiful melody Ryan plays.
Thankfully, Ryan savors Brendon’s ability to actually speak, so he doesn’t move over to take Brendon’s other nipple in his mouth, simply moves on, slow and deliberate until he’s sucking delightedly on the skin stretched over Brendon’s collarbone. It feels so warm, so sweet and innocent yet so dangerously intoxicating that Brendon can’t help but let go of the soft fabric atop the mattress and curl his fingers around the even softer fabric of Ryan’s shirt, mouth hanging open. His shirt is loose, comfortable and familiar and Brendon let’s one hand skim underneath to tickle the warm flesh of Ryan’s waist. Ryan reaches down to palm Brendon’s hip, fingers flexing like a cat relaxing and moans, just a little.
And that’s when Brendon notices the tenderness fogging the edges of everything.
Ryan’s hands are skimming and brief, his kisses gentle and sincere and even in the way he mewls as his tongue tastes it’s way up Brendon’s neck, it’s honest and light.
When Ryan’s teeth pinch the lobe of Brendon’s ear, they tug with a question lodged behind them and Ryan says, “Brendon.”
Brendon comes with an arched back and choking moan and when his hips stutter against Ryan’s, Ryan muffles his own orgasm into the side of Brendon’s neck, lapping at the clenching muscles there. As Brendon’s body stops trembling, Ryan’s mouth trails over to Brendon’s quivering lips and presses a firm, sealing kiss there. A hot tongue licks inside Ryan’s mouth and Brendon whimpers, just a little shocked, when Ryan’s tongue flicks back slowly.
It’s a slow dance, rhythmic and bold and Ryan is pleased to notice Brendon take the initiative to nibble on Ryan’s lower lip for a moment before kissing down his chin and nuzzling into his neck with a satisfied sigh.
And maybe Ryan isn’t sure if Brendon fits into his side like the missing piece of a puzzle, or if he smells like happiness and sense of content Ryan’s yet to inhale.
And maybe Brendon’s still trying to decide if the warm settling in his bones is realization rather than exhaustion, or if Ryan’s mouth quite possibly ruined the luxury of his new sheets forever.
But then all the different variations of their millions of streaming emotions don’t matter, because the second Ryan curls himself around Brendon, tangling their legs together and draping his arm over Brendon’s waist, they both feel the same overwhelming surge rush into their lungs, like a breath of fresh air, and Brendon pulls Ryan in closer.