if i didn't know, i didn't care. like i care!
Friday night ficlet time! Sometimes I forget that I don't really write fic anymore. Or that no one really cares about what happens after Francefic. Or Brendon/Ryan.
Title: lingering still
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 1100+
Rating: pg
Summary: The sun sets in dusky pink and purple hues, turning to dark blue out on the edges of the horizon, and if Ryan squints enough, he can see the winking lights of the first stars coming to life in the night sky. futurefic. coda/sequel thing to if you want peace stop fighting
Author's Notes: I left the last fic on a fairly ambiguous, note. This fixes that. Thanks go to clarityhiding and thismuchmore who made this presentable.
The sun sets in dusky pink and purple hues, turning to dark blue out on the edges of the horizon, and if Ryan squints enough, he can see the winking lights of the first stars coming to life in the night sky.
“Who knew you’d be such a romantic in your old age?” The cell reception in this part of the Lubéron is shitty, but the sarcasm is unmistakable even through the crackly white noise. Ryan sighs and sets down his glass of wine, witty epithet springing to his sharp tongue.
“Old age, fuck you. You weren’t complaining last night.”
Brendon laughs loud and clear, and Ryan can just picture him sprawled on that hideous leather couch of his, awake for all of half an hour. For someone who has intimate knowledge of Brendon’s hygiene habits, the thought is much more appealing than it should be.
“It was just phone sex, so my statement stands. You can easily fake it over the phone.”
“So you’ve been faking it all this time, and you’re still packing up everything to move here?” Ryan picks up his wine and sips it in satisfaction, allowing himself a small, “Huh,” of triumph. “You must really have a thing for me, Urie.” It isn’t a competition between them, it hasn’t been for a while now, but old habits die hard. There are some things he’s sure they might never get out of their systems.
On the other end of the line, Brendon draws a deep breath in and then exhales heavily. The rushing air over the receiver it sounds like the ocean crashing angrily against the rocks. If Ryan were any less confident than he is, he’d allow himself to worry for a moment or two that Brendon's changed his mind, had second thoughts. The tyranny of distance hasn’t been any easier in this relationship than any Ryan has had in the past, but fuck, he must be losing his touch, because he’ll never admit it, but relief floods his stomach with a single, irritated,
“Yeah, if the cab ever fucking shows up.”
When Brendon steps through the wide arrivals doors at the airport in Lyon, he looks tired and worn, like it’s taken him a whole lifetime to get here. But his eyes are bright, searching, and Ryan realises after a few moments, happy. It feels strange and for the next moment or two Ryan is certain the best course of action is to hide behind the Croatian family in front of him until Brendon passes through the doors and out of his life, but there’s a force controlling his body that pushes him out into the stream of new arrivals. The devil made me do it, he thinks, and then a pair of familiar arms go around him, a comforting weight against him.
“Hi,” Brendon says softly. Ryan’s arms shoot out in a flash, and he holds on tight.
“Oh my god, we are having all the sex ever.”
It isn’t what he meant to say, but Brendon laughs anyway and hugs him tighter. Ryan is fairly sure it should terrify him how easily all the tension drains out of his body. For all he knows, they could hug for hours, standing amongst the ebb and flow of passengers in Lyon Saint-Exupéry International Airport, like a scene out of one of those really, incredibly awful romantic comedies. Luckily for him, Brendon takes his hand and tugs, grinning.
“Come on, Ross. Ever since I saw your car, I’ve totally wanted to find out if it’s possible to fuck in the backseat.”
Ryan grins as he follows and debates mentioning their aborted attempt at blow jobs in the front seat when Brendon was last out for Ryan’s birthday, but he lets it go.
The sun is beginning to set again when they finally reach Lubéron, tumbling out of Ryan’s green Volkswagen battered and bruised and by no means satisfied. The wind buffeting through the valley brings ripe, purple clouds, ready to burst with rain. Brendon cranes his head, turning slowly, taking everything in. He laughs when the first, fat raindrop lands square on Ryan’s face.
“At least we’ll have some indoor weather,” Brendon says cheerfully, following Ryan to the house. He pauses for effect, wrapping his jacket a little tighter around himself. “Because you said you wanted to have so much sex.”
Ryan sighs as he opens the door. He can feel the amusement rolling off Brendon in waves. He sighs again, more heavily this time.
“I’ve made a huge mistake, haven’t I?”
“Yeah.” Brendon pushes inside in front of him, dumping his bags in an alcove of the long, stone hallway. He turns around and grins; that warm, inviting and always possibly dangerous grin Ryan has known, forgotten and relearned. “Come on. Mistake or no, first one to the bedroom gets a blowjob.”
They laugh and slide, slip and yell up stairs and through hallways, crash-landing almost simultaneously through the doorway and onto Ryan’s bed.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Brendon declares, gasping for air. As the victor, he tries shimmying out of his pants, but Ryan isn’t quick enough or motivated enough to move off him and they end up tangled on top of the covers, catching their breath as their eyelids begin to droop.
“Me too,” Ryan agrees with a sigh. His limbs are heavy with the exertion of an early start and six hours of driving, and his bed is soft, warm and welcoming. Idly poking at the soft bits of belly poking out of Brendon’s shirt, he wonders if they’ve passed their prime. How the fuck does a relationship work if you’re not having sex? Brendon frowns, then squirms, tugging at Ryan’s shirt.
“Hey, I’m sure we can salv-” Brendon yawns in the middle of his sentence, derailing his own train of thought. Ryan smiles and rolls over, kicking his shoes off and onto the floor.
“New plan,” he suggests, settling in next to Brendon. “Nap, then fuck?” The day has been long for both of them. The rain has already started beating steadily on the roof, the soft pittapat lulling them softly to sleep. Brendon is first to go, snoring loudly and holding Ryan’s hand. That’s going to be uncomfortable later, Ryan is sure, when his left arm will be riddled with pins and needles and he ends up with Brendon drooling on his favourite shirt. Ryan wriggles until he’s settled comfortably on the bed and closes his eyes, making a decision. For this, for now, for Brendon, he doesn’t really mind.
Title: lingering still
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 1100+
Rating: pg
Summary: The sun sets in dusky pink and purple hues, turning to dark blue out on the edges of the horizon, and if Ryan squints enough, he can see the winking lights of the first stars coming to life in the night sky. futurefic. coda/sequel thing to if you want peace stop fighting
Author's Notes: I left the last fic on a fairly ambiguous, note. This fixes that. Thanks go to clarityhiding and thismuchmore who made this presentable.
The sun sets in dusky pink and purple hues, turning to dark blue out on the edges of the horizon, and if Ryan squints enough, he can see the winking lights of the first stars coming to life in the night sky.
“Who knew you’d be such a romantic in your old age?” The cell reception in this part of the Lubéron is shitty, but the sarcasm is unmistakable even through the crackly white noise. Ryan sighs and sets down his glass of wine, witty epithet springing to his sharp tongue.
“Old age, fuck you. You weren’t complaining last night.”
Brendon laughs loud and clear, and Ryan can just picture him sprawled on that hideous leather couch of his, awake for all of half an hour. For someone who has intimate knowledge of Brendon’s hygiene habits, the thought is much more appealing than it should be.
“It was just phone sex, so my statement stands. You can easily fake it over the phone.”
“So you’ve been faking it all this time, and you’re still packing up everything to move here?” Ryan picks up his wine and sips it in satisfaction, allowing himself a small, “Huh,” of triumph. “You must really have a thing for me, Urie.” It isn’t a competition between them, it hasn’t been for a while now, but old habits die hard. There are some things he’s sure they might never get out of their systems.
On the other end of the line, Brendon draws a deep breath in and then exhales heavily. The rushing air over the receiver it sounds like the ocean crashing angrily against the rocks. If Ryan were any less confident than he is, he’d allow himself to worry for a moment or two that Brendon's changed his mind, had second thoughts. The tyranny of distance hasn’t been any easier in this relationship than any Ryan has had in the past, but fuck, he must be losing his touch, because he’ll never admit it, but relief floods his stomach with a single, irritated,
“Yeah, if the cab ever fucking shows up.”
When Brendon steps through the wide arrivals doors at the airport in Lyon, he looks tired and worn, like it’s taken him a whole lifetime to get here. But his eyes are bright, searching, and Ryan realises after a few moments, happy. It feels strange and for the next moment or two Ryan is certain the best course of action is to hide behind the Croatian family in front of him until Brendon passes through the doors and out of his life, but there’s a force controlling his body that pushes him out into the stream of new arrivals. The devil made me do it, he thinks, and then a pair of familiar arms go around him, a comforting weight against him.
“Hi,” Brendon says softly. Ryan’s arms shoot out in a flash, and he holds on tight.
“Oh my god, we are having all the sex ever.”
It isn’t what he meant to say, but Brendon laughs anyway and hugs him tighter. Ryan is fairly sure it should terrify him how easily all the tension drains out of his body. For all he knows, they could hug for hours, standing amongst the ebb and flow of passengers in Lyon Saint-Exupéry International Airport, like a scene out of one of those really, incredibly awful romantic comedies. Luckily for him, Brendon takes his hand and tugs, grinning.
“Come on, Ross. Ever since I saw your car, I’ve totally wanted to find out if it’s possible to fuck in the backseat.”
Ryan grins as he follows and debates mentioning their aborted attempt at blow jobs in the front seat when Brendon was last out for Ryan’s birthday, but he lets it go.
The sun is beginning to set again when they finally reach Lubéron, tumbling out of Ryan’s green Volkswagen battered and bruised and by no means satisfied. The wind buffeting through the valley brings ripe, purple clouds, ready to burst with rain. Brendon cranes his head, turning slowly, taking everything in. He laughs when the first, fat raindrop lands square on Ryan’s face.
“At least we’ll have some indoor weather,” Brendon says cheerfully, following Ryan to the house. He pauses for effect, wrapping his jacket a little tighter around himself. “Because you said you wanted to have so much sex.”
Ryan sighs as he opens the door. He can feel the amusement rolling off Brendon in waves. He sighs again, more heavily this time.
“I’ve made a huge mistake, haven’t I?”
“Yeah.” Brendon pushes inside in front of him, dumping his bags in an alcove of the long, stone hallway. He turns around and grins; that warm, inviting and always possibly dangerous grin Ryan has known, forgotten and relearned. “Come on. Mistake or no, first one to the bedroom gets a blowjob.”
They laugh and slide, slip and yell up stairs and through hallways, crash-landing almost simultaneously through the doorway and onto Ryan’s bed.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Brendon declares, gasping for air. As the victor, he tries shimmying out of his pants, but Ryan isn’t quick enough or motivated enough to move off him and they end up tangled on top of the covers, catching their breath as their eyelids begin to droop.
“Me too,” Ryan agrees with a sigh. His limbs are heavy with the exertion of an early start and six hours of driving, and his bed is soft, warm and welcoming. Idly poking at the soft bits of belly poking out of Brendon’s shirt, he wonders if they’ve passed their prime. How the fuck does a relationship work if you’re not having sex? Brendon frowns, then squirms, tugging at Ryan’s shirt.
“Hey, I’m sure we can salv-” Brendon yawns in the middle of his sentence, derailing his own train of thought. Ryan smiles and rolls over, kicking his shoes off and onto the floor.
“New plan,” he suggests, settling in next to Brendon. “Nap, then fuck?” The day has been long for both of them. The rain has already started beating steadily on the roof, the soft pittapat lulling them softly to sleep. Brendon is first to go, snoring loudly and holding Ryan’s hand. That’s going to be uncomfortable later, Ryan is sure, when his left arm will be riddled with pins and needles and he ends up with Brendon drooling on his favourite shirt. Ryan wriggles until he’s settled comfortably on the bed and closes his eyes, making a decision. For this, for now, for Brendon, he doesn’t really mind.