fic: thou shalt not, ryan/brendon
Title: Thou Shalt Not…
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Brendon is the pool boy who makes Ryan question everything he thinks he is.
Disclaimer: Sadly enough they’re not mine and this is just a work of fiction : (
Beta: the awesomely awesome srchxandxdstry
Word Count: 1881
A/N: So, I started writing this a few months ago for a prompt at anon_lovefest , /o\ yes I know I fail at filling prompts that’s why I never claim them xD anyway the prompt went something along the lines of; Ryan being married and or straight and here’s the result.
Ryan has always had a strong dislike for labels, mainly because they are an unforgiving burden given out by society, to be worn like a ball and chain without any hope of ever breaking the absoluteness they represent - be it good or bad. Despite Ryan’s great dislike for labels and the roles they force people to play, he has always thought of himself as a straight man. He has always slept with girls; likes to have his cock sucked and touched by soft lips and small hands, he likes having his cock buried inside a tight, wet pussy. He likes women and thus married one. He has been married for three years and he can almost fool himself into believing he still likes to have sex with his wife without thinking about someone else.
That someone else is usually another woman, usually, except recently it hasn’t been. Recently all he has been able to picture in his mind when getting off is Brendon. Brendon is the eye-candy his wife hired to clean the pool four months ago. Brendon is a music major student at UCLA; he comes in to clean the pool twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays, after his classes.
It really is too bad Ryan’s wife is always away and unable to appreciate the young boy she hired. As it is, it falls on Ryan to appreciate Brendon’s aesthetics.
Speaking strictly from an objective point of view, Ryan can admit Brendon is pretty damn hot. His perfect round ass, his cocksucker mouth, the way his muscles move under his skin when he’s cleaning the pool, even his stupid laugh. It all makes Ryan’s blood boil in his veins and his cock twitch in his trousers; it’s making him doubt just how straight he considers himself to be.
Ryan has always been brutally honest with himself and he knows he’s just in denial. He can think all he likes that the way he looks at Brendon is objectively, when he knows that it’s anything but. Ryan knows that he likes watching Brendon, he enjoys the way his body reacts and even more so he enjoys the way Brendon’s body reacts when Ryan touches him. Ryan’s just not ready to drop the Straight-and-Married label quite yet.
Ryan has always been brutally honest with himself and if he starts to tell himself the truth - that he’s not so straight and not so happy with his wife, their marriage - then he will have to do something about it. Something to remedy the caged feeling that creeps upon him every night when he slips into bed next to a stranger he barely touches and wakes up to the same stranger and they exchange fake good morning smiles and fake pleasantries and fake affection.
Sadly enough, Ryan isn’t ready to admit anything that grand to himself. For the moment he’s happy to admit that Brendon makes him want to do things he has never thought of. Even though sometimes touching Brendon is more detrimental to his staying-in-denial-thinking, touching Brendon makes his resolve dissolve more rapidly than a melting ice cube under the LA sun. And now, this moment, is a fine example.
Ryan has Brendon spread out on a lounge chair a few feet away from the now clean pool. This is probably the fifth or sixth or possibly the tenth time (Ryan stopped counting after the third time) they have done this. Ryan can’t really see any reason to stop - it’s not like he’s fucking Brendon.
The first time he had touched Brendon he tried to fool himself by thinking the way he watches and appreciates Brendon is in an artistic way. He knows better now; he knows the reason he likes touching Brendon is because it excites him; it’s a relief from the fake exchanges he has with his wife.
Ryan especially likes Brendon like this: on his back, shirt abandoned on the ground, his board shorts around his thighs preventing him from spreading his legs more. Brendon is truly stunning; he licks his full lips slowly letting his tongue trace over his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth; his eyelashes swoop down, his hips press up as Ryan takes a hold of his half hard cock.
And this, Ryan can do nothing but admit that he loves having Brendon like this. He loves the weight and heat of Brendon’s cock in his hand, he loves how all he has to do is stroke a few times paying extra care to squeeze the crown of Brendon’s cock and Brendon is fully hard and leaking in his grasp.
“Ryan.” That’s hot too. The breathy, desperate way Brendon says his name, tilts his hips up and digs his short fingernails into his legs until the nail beds drain of color and there are half moon imprints on his thighs.
Ryan’s breathing stutters; it always does when he sees the reactions he can draw from Brendon. Sometimes he even lets himself think about what it would feel like to be pressed all along Brendon on top of him, having Brendon’s strong legs wrap around his waist his heels digging into his ass wanting Ryan closer needing Ryan to be closer.
When he thinks about being inside of Brendon, how tight he would feel, how gorgeously wrecked and spent and used he would look beneath Ryan, begging him to go harder, bucking against him. Brendon’s lips moaning his name as he gets closer, the way he would tremble and anchor himself by grabbing onto Ryan’s shoulders and digging his nails in hard enough to leave bruises.
That kind of thinking always makes Ryan speed up his ministrations to Brendon’s cock. He runs his thumb over the slick head of Brendon’s cock and speeds up his strokes. The precome from Brendon’s cock making everything more slick, easier, better.
Ryan stares transfixed. The sun is hot behind his back his shadow falls across Brendon’s writhing body. Ryan shifts a little letting some of the sun light bathe Brendon’s body as well as letting the sunshine catch on his wedding band which slides on his finger, slick from Brendon’s precome.
He slows down his strokes and Brendon makes a high sound of protest. He opens his eyes and stares at Ryan before his gaze travels to Ryan’s hand around his dick. Ryan wonders if Brendon is looking at his wedding ring as well; he wonders if Brendon forgets it’s there or if he can feel the difference in texture from the feel of Ryan’s skin to the hard smooth surface of the metal around his one finger.
It only takes a small thrust from Brendon’s hips for Ryan to give his complete attention back to Brendon. He speeds up his rhythm again.
“Ryan,” Brendon breathes again, distracting Ryan from thinking about the way the sunshine gleams from his wedding band. Instead, Ryan’s eyes rake over Brendon and the way Brendon arches his back; lifting off the lounge chair in a sinuous curve that never fails to leave Ryan breathless.
“Brendon.” And if it weren’t for the fact that Ryan knows that’s not his name he would never believe that the desperate, wanton sound spilled from his lips.
The way Brendon tenses beneath Ryan’s hand means only one thing, Ryan speeds up even more wanting, needing, to see Brendon come apart. Ryan has had the good fortune of hearing Brendon play the piano; his posture and technique are breathtaking and absolutely magnificent.
It comes as no surprise to Ryan how Brendon is equally stunning when he orgasms. Brendon’s breath hitches, he bites his lip before letting his mouth fall open, the sounds of his pleasure gets caught in his throat only letting out a choked off moan, his eyes go wide, his pupils eclipse his irises and he comes with one final thrust into Ryan’s hand.
Brendon’s come gets on Ryan’s hand, down Ryan’s fingers (on his wedding ring, effectively stopping the sunshine from gleaming from the shiny surface) getting some on his own abdomen. Ryan watches and continues to stroke Brendon’s cock through his orgasm.
Ryan strokes Brendon well after the aftershocks of Brendon’s orgasm have passed. Ryan watches the way Brendon’s legs shake and his abdomen quivers until he can’t take any more of the over stimulation and he rolls onto his side to try and get away from Ryan’s hand.
With a chuckle, Ryan lets him go. Brendon is quick to turn back to face Ryan. There’s a big sated smile on his face. Brendon’s smile, it does something to Ryan; it makes him want to lean down and kiss Brendon’s lips, something he has yet to do, and more than anything it makes Ryan want to take Brendon into the house, lay him down on his bed and just watch him sleep for the sole purpose of watching his eyes flutter open when he wakes up.
These thoughts make him more afraid than anything ever has in his life. So he tears his eyes away from Brendon’s eyes and instead concentrates on Brendon’s still rapidly rising chest as he tries to catch his breath.
“You want me to,” Brendon says, one hand half way towards Ryan’s erection, which his slacks fail to conceal.
Ryan shifts back, startled, and he has no idea why. It’s not like he can fool Brendon, or himself, into believing he doesn’t want Brendon. But he still says, “I’m not gay.” Because crossing that line, letting Brendon touch him, would make everything too real, would make him have to leave his ideal, fake, life. Ryan can lie to everyone in the world but he can’t lie to himself. He won’t live in a lie but he has for so long he’s not sure he knows how not to. And for all his mental bravado, Ryan knows he’s not ready to turn his back on the only life he has ever lived just yet.
He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears Brendon laugh. It’s not his happy laugh or his teasing one or his amused one; no, this is a forced, ugly, fake sound. It makes something twist bitterly in Ryan’s gut and makes him want to reach forward and place a soothing hand on Brendon’s cheek and have Brendon lean into his touch and smile again.
That’s all it would take, one touch, and Brendon would smile again, easy and honest. Ryan wants to give Brendon that touch but he can’t and only stops himself by clenching his hands into fists, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. And those thoughts say more about Ryan’s readiness to take the first step out of his faux life and into real happiness then he cares to admit.
The angry motion of Brendon pulling up his shorts makes Ryan turn back to him. Brendon gets up from the lounge chair; picks up his shirt from the ground, slipping it on over his head.
“Whatever you say Ross,” he says before he starts to walk away.
“See you Friday,” he tosses over his shoulder. And yes, Ryan will see him on Friday and one day when he’s ready and if Brendon still wants him, he’ll see Brendon everyday for as long as Brendon will have him.