take you to the midnight show tonight
I wrote fic!
Title: Drive Faster, Boy
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Ryan, Brendon, backseats, secrets.
Disclaimer: Not true at all.
Word Count: 3678
It's not like Ryan's car is anything to write home about, it's not special or new or even really that nice. It's a Pontiac Grand Am, it's the same blue as Brendon's grandmother's old couch, the seats are this weird slightly fuzzy upholstery that Brendon can't stop rubbing his fingertips against, and there are enough CDs cluttered around the front seats that Ryan could probably get half the car's resale value if he sold all of them.
Still, it's a hell of a lot nicer than Brendon's purple minivan. Of course, Spencer's battered skateboard is also nicer than Brendon's purple minivan.
These thoughts keep Brendon company as he exits the school grounds to walk home for the third day this week because his minivan is in the shop. There's a car approaching that looks an awful lot like Ryan's car, with a driver that looks an awful lot like Ryan himself. The car slows and pulls to the side of the road in front of Brendon.
"Hey," Ryan says, ducking down so Brendon can see him through the rolled-down window. "Want a ride? I've got candy."
"What kind of candy?" Brendon asks, grinning hello, and gets in.
It turns out that Ryan was lying about the candy; luckily, Brendon has half a pack of gummy bears from the school vending machine in his backpack. He pops one into his mouth, and throws another at Ryan, who has a freakish ability to catch things in his mouth. The red gummy bear lands on Ryan's tongue, and his teeth snap closed.
"You have a talented mouth," Brendon says, and then his brain catches up to him and he feels a blush ready to stain his cheeks. He wills it back. Ryan doesn't leer at him, and he doesn't volley back a lewd comment. Brendon contemplates Ryan's talented mouth in silence until Ryan cracks a smile, and then Brendon exhales. "So what are you doing here? Trying to pick up high school kids again?"
"Yes," Ryan says. "Brent wanted me to pick him up from school, but then he called ten minutes ago and said his brother was going to get him. I was already in the neighborhood."
"So you came to pick me up, how sweet," Brendon says. He bats his eyelashes at Ryan, but Ryan is unmoved. "Are you taking me home?"
"No."
Brendon waits for him to follow that up with something further, like maybe where they're actually going, but he's slowly learning that sometimes Ryan likes to play enigmatic. Or maybe he really is enigmatic, and isn't playing at all; Brendon's not sure. "Are you kidnapping me to go with you and live in the desert?"
"We do live in the desert," Ryan points out.
"We live in the suburbs," Brendon says. "The desert is that big thing with all the sand and cacti."
"I could take you to the desert and leave you there with the cacti," Ryan says. He sounds like he's considering it.
Brendon slumps down in his seat and tosses another gummy bear at Ryan. Ryan catches it between his teeth, then flicks his tongue out and curls it back into his mouth. "You're kind of weird," Brendon says.
"I think," Ryan says, as if Brendon hadn't spoken at all, "that it's time we bond."
It occurs to Brendon, as the suburbs fade out to sparser housing developments, then eventually to hardly anything at all, just miles of sand and mountains in the distance, that maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to slip into the car with this boy he's only known for a month. It's been long enough for them to practice together, for Ryan to declare them a band and Brendon to take over vocals, but Ryan's right, they haven't really bonded. They've spent a few evenings together hunched over Ryan's laptop fiddling with GarageBand after Spencer and Brent cut out for the night, but never discussed much of anything other than music. For all he knows, Ryan could be a serial killer. A really, really scene serial killer.
Ryan pulls off to the side of the road, then continues a little bit onto the entire lack of road that is the sandscape. He parks next to a cactus.
"Are you going to kill me?" Brendon asks.
Ryan looks at him. "I hadn't planned on it."
Brendon has heard more reassuring things than that in his life. "Just kidding," he says, injecting as much bravado as he can into his voice. Mostly he sounds kind of loud. "So, bonding?"
"Bonding," Ryan says decisively.
Bonding, as it turns out, is Ryan-speak for the Spanish Inquisition. He asks about Brendon's family, his childhood, his future goals, his favorite foods. Brendon tells him everything; it's not difficult for Brendon to talk about himself, as he's something of an expert on the subject. When he asks the same things of Ryan, though, Ryan just shrugs.
"It's not fair if you never say anything," Brendon complains. The sky is just beginning to dim, he's out of gummy bears, and Ryan now knows everything that Brendon has ever thought on every subject in the known universe. "You have to tell me something about you."
Ryan looks at him. Finally, he says, "I think I'm gay."
Brendon doesn't ask him anything else.
-
Brendon doesn't mention it again; Ryan doesn't mention it again. Brendon's minivan gets fixed, Ryan finally breaks up with his on/off girlfriend, they write a song, and Brendon has a sexual identity crisis. It's a quiet crisis that mostly consists of him thinking about Ryan a lot, then thinking about girls, then thinking about Ryan some more and finding those thoughts appealing. He flirts briefly with religious angst, but he's already got an addiction to Red Bull that he hides like a popstar on coke, and it's tough to get too worked up about God striking him down for gayness when his parents kicking him out for it would be the more immediate problem. Ryan acts like nothing ever happened, and Brendon's ready to convince himself that it didn't, at least until Ryan shows up at his house on a Friday night and calls Brendon from the curb to tell him to come down.
"Some people make plans before they just show up," Brendon informs him as he gets in the car. "You're my study group for Spanish, by the way, and I'll be at your house all night watching Almodovar films."
"Si," Ryan says. "Let's get milkshakes."
"And then what?"
"The night is young, Brendon. Live in the moment. We might go to the movies."
They don't go to the movies. Brendon sucks down the remainder of his strawberry milkshake and looks expectantly at Ryan, who seems to be driving nowhere in particular. Brendon's never actually seen this part of Henderson. He thinks he wasn't missing much. "So," he says.
Ryan looks straight ahead. They're about to pass a park; at the last moment, Ryan signals and turns into the lot, driving up to the edge.
"Why is that every time we go somewhere alone it starts to seem like a horror movie?" Brendon asks.
Ryan ignores him and asks, "Are you a virgin?"
"Wow." Brendon stares at him. "Are you?"
"No."
"Why are you asking me?"
"So you are." Ryan flicks his eyes over at him. "It's not a big deal, I'm just curious." He turns off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition.
"It's not actually any of your business," Brendon says, because it isn't, it really isn't, where Brendon does or doesn't stick his dick is really no concern of Ryan's, even if Brendon's been thinking dirty things about Ryan for the past week and a half.
Ryan exhales. "If I'm wrong about this, you need to tell me."
"Well, you're-" Brendon starts, and then Ryan leans across and kisses him on the mouth. He doesn't touch Brendon otherwise, but instinct has Brendon lifting a hand to cup the back of Ryan's neck, holding him in place as he parts his lips for Ryan. People don't kiss Brendon often enough for him to be well-versed in pushing someone away when kisses are offered, and even though Ryan makes no fucking sense and asks weird questions and still maybe might be ready to kill him and leave his body in the park, it's still Ryan, and Brendon's still been jerking off over him for the last nine days. He kisses back, leaning awkwardly across the center console, feeling the edge of a CD digging into his hip, the seatbelt constraining him. Ryan's mouth is warm on his and Ryan kisses well, bold like he knows what he's doing without being overeager. Brendon breathes through his nose and tangles his fingers in Ryan's hair until they break away for air.
"I think I was wrong," Ryan says breathlessly. "I don't think I'm gay."
"Awesome, okay," Brendon says, and releases Ryan, wishing suddenly and fervently that he were dead.
"No, I mean." Ryan grabs his arm, stilling him. "That came out wrong. I mean, I think I'm bi, maybe."
"Okay," Brendon says again, guardedly. It's not like he's flying the rainbow flag by any means, but he liked kissing Ryan and Ryan is a guy, so. Things seem pretty clear.
"I'm usually a lot better at this," Ryan mutters, and Brendon sees a dull flush creep over his cheeks in the shadowed light coming through the windshield. "I like you, I'm not just curious or whatever."
Brendon stares at him in surprise. "You hide it well," he says honestly.
"I was trying not to be obvious," Ryan tells the steering wheel, and Brendon feels stupidly charmed. Ryan likes him. Ryan likes him, and he likes Ryan, and this is totally amazing.
"You were not in any way obvious or even actually apparent," Brendon reassures him.
"But you're cool with this," Ryan says, looking sideways at Brendon through his bangs.
"I am cool with this." He pauses. "Can we make out some more? Also, was this a date?"
"Yes," Ryan says, and then, quieter, "and yes."
Brendon grins at him. "Cool."
-
To say they're dating would be an exaggeration, so Brendon doesn't, or he wouldn't if he ever spoke about it to anyone. Ryan starts to schedule in more and more band practices as Brendon picks up a few more shifts at the Smoothie Hut, so when they're not writing or practicing with Spencer and Brent, they pretty much just get in Ryan's car and go somewhere and park. The first night Brendon went out of his mind with nerves when they moved to the backseat, but Ryan seemed just as nervous, so all they'd done was make out and fall asleep clutching each other fully-dressed. Each stolen hour in the backseat of Ryan's car feels less and less sufficient, though, until it's been three weeks and Brendon's seriously regretting not giving it up to Ryan that first night and getting it out of the way.
They spend fifteen minutes before Brendon's evening shift with Brendon sprawled in the backseat, legs spread and pants open as Ryan curls his hand around Brendon's cock and jerks him off, ducked down in the seat so it's not completely obvious what they're doing. Even parked at the edge of the lot, Ryan's still cautious. It's broad daylight and Brendon's thrusting his dick into Ryan's hand while staring at the entrance of his workplace fifty feet away, so he's appreciating the circumspection. "When do you get off?" Ryan asks, and Brendon chokes, his head falling back against the seat as he lifts his hips into Ryan's grip.
"Did you want an exact timeframe?" Brendon says through gritted teeth.
"I meant off of work," Ryan says, smiling against Brendon's shoulder as he thrusts a little against Brendon's thigh.
"Nine," Brendon gasps. Just a few more twists of his wrist and Brendon's going to be coming all over Ryan's hand. He's excited about it.
Ryan kisses his neck. "I'll pick you up then."
"Mm," Brendon says.
"Don't get the seat again." Ryan frowns. "Maybe you could come in my mouth."
"Fuck," Brendon says sincerely, and comes on Ryan's fist.
Brendon doesn't want to go to work, he doesn't want to leave this car, he doesn't actually want to move. "My upholstery," Ryan complains, and Brendon cracks one eye open to see a streak of come on the seat.
"Well if you didn't talk dirty," Brendon says, because seriously, Ryan couldn't expect to say shit like that and not have Brendon come all over him. It was just the price he was going to have to pay for saying ridiculously hot things out loud.
"Maybe you could come on my face," Ryan offers. Brendon's dick twitches, and he tries and fails not to picture it vividly.
"Not fair, Ross."
"Maybe I'll blow you." Ryan grins, and Brendon is ready to quit his job and his life and convert to a life of sexual exploration with Ryan. It would be a good life, he thinks. They would be poor, but sated.
Brendon kisses him to forestall any further cock-stirring conversation. "You can blow me after work," he promises.
"You're too kind," Ryan says, but really, Brendon is.
-
Ryan doesn't blow him after work; he picks Brendon up and says that they're heading to Spencer's grandma's house for late-night practice. Even Brendon's wheedling doesn't convince Ryan to just pull over on the side of the road and go down, and it's a long, tense practice where Brendon's voice breaks too much and he fucks up a verse of Time To Dance often enough that Ryan gets actually mad. Ryan in his face does nothing to quell Brendon's half-hard cock in his pants; Ryan's pissiness is something of a boner-killer, but flushed and angry is also a pretty good look for him, so mostly Brendon is just sexually frustrated.
Brendon's hopeful when they get in the car afterwards, but Ryan just takes him home, and Brendon's dick remains tragically unsucked.
-
Not that Brendon spends a lot of time thinking about it, definitely not every time he closes his eyes (even just to blink) or anything, but they haven't really done much outside of kissing, just a few handjobs, frantic and fast in the backseat, groping on top of the clothes. Brendon would in fact like to get his dick sucked, and he wouldn't mind doing it to Ryan, either. There are lots of things he'd like to do to Ryan. Several of these things cross his mind when he gets a text from Ryan as he's loitering outside his locker before his first class. I'm at the gate, skip school w/ me," it reads. Brendon debates sending back a message about how Ryan hasn't called him all weekend, or that Brendon isn't a delinquent like some people, or how he better have some actual fucking candy this time, but all he manages is a quick be right there, followed by skulking off the school grounds with his hood up and his eyes darting around looking for truant officers.
"I could almost hear the Pink Panther theme, man," Ryan says, watching him cross the last few feet to the car. "How do you ever manage to sneak past anyone?"
"I did it, didn't I?" Brendon flings himself into the front seat. "Are we going to your house, or is this another magical mystery tour you're taking me on?"
Ryan says, "I thought we could go out to the desert and fuck."
Brendon blinks at him. He says, "Okay."
-
They don't go as far as usual, just far enough past the city limits that they won't be bothered. Ryan jerks his head toward the backseat, and Brendon meets him back there, taking his shirt off when Ryan does, knocking into Ryan with a little too much force when they kiss, Ryan's hand curling around his bare waist. "I haven't done this before," Brendon blurts out, and Ryan urges him down onto his back.
"If you don't like it, we can stop," Ryan says, but Brendon can see that he's already hard, and anyway he can't really imagine a world in which he doesn't like Ryan touching him. "I'll blow you first."
"Cool," Brendon says faintly, and Ryan leans down to kiss him again, working his jeans open, tugging them down and helping Brendon get them off as Brendon kicks off his shoes. He'd always pictured this being somewhat complicated, too many limbs, two cocks, and that was in a bed; in the backseat of a car, in broad daylight with nowhere to hide, it's complicated without the kindness of candlelight. He wants it, wants Ryan, and it's enough that the acute consciousness of his own naked body passes once Ryan shucks his own jeans. Ryan's small, thin all over, and it means he can fold easily enough down in the seat, hunched over so Brendon can see the long line of his spine as he takes Brendon's cock in his hand, and then into his mouth.
He slides his lips down the length of Brendon's dick, no preamble, just the pink stretch of his lips taking Brendon in, wet heat as Ryan goes down, down, down. He flicks his eyes upwards to look at Brendon, and Brendon whimpers helplessly at the sight, Ryan's big brown eyes, hollowed cheeks, lips meeting his fist curled around Brendon's cock. Ryan pulls up, dragging his tongue along the underside, and Brendon runs through a litany of things he could say to Ryan right now but professing his love when his dick is in Ryan's mouth might seem disingenuous, as much as Brendon would mean it.
Ryan pulls off, one hand tensed on Brendon's thigh, and Brendon blinks up at him. "It's good," he tells Ryan, just in case Ryan needs encouragement, just in case he doesn't understand that this is the best thing Brendon's ever felt. "It's good, I like it."
"Do you want to fuck me?" Ryan asks, and it's the effort of Brendon's life not to come right there, seeing Ryan's lower lip shining with pre-come, seeing his tongue peek out to lick it away as he looks at Brendon as if he thinks Brendon might possibly say no.
"Yeah, yes," Brendon says, barely recognizing his own hoarse voice.
He makes to lean up, but Ryan's already climbing on top of him, wedging his knee into the small space between Brendon's bare waist and the seat back. "I thought I could just -" Ryan gestures to Brendon's cock, to his own, and Brendon nods furiously.
"Yes, please do," he says, and Ryan grins faintly and positions himself right over Brendon's cock, holding it in one hand before carefully lowering himself, his grin vanishing as the head pushes into him, as gravity takes him the rest of the way down.
It's tight, Ryan's so tight inside, clenching around Brendon's dick as Brendon bites his lip, staring Ryan in the face, watching him try to adjust, grimacing at the stretch. He thinks, absurdly, of bonding, Ryan questioning him endlessly like if he knew enough he could understand Brendon better, without giving that same understanding to Brendon in return. Brendon thrusts his hips up a little, getting all the way inside Ryan, and wonders if this is Ryan's repayment of that favor.
Mostly, though, he just wonders if Ryan likes it, if the obvious pain is worth it, if Ryan needs to know he likes this as well. "Feels good," is all he can manage to say, covering one of Ryan's hands with his own, braced against his chest as Ryan throws his head back, lifting off of Brendon's cock before dropping back down. He gropes his other hand down his own body, reaching Ryan's thigh and gripping it softly, moving in to brush Ryan's balls, lower, thumb skimming over where Ryan's stretched around him, taking him in. Ryan groans at the feeling, and Brendon presses harder, rubbing over where their bodies meet, squeezing Ryan's hand before scraping a fingernail over Ryan's inner thigh and then reaching to grasp his cock.
That seems to throw Ryan's concentration off, and he stops moving up and down as much, instead just watching as Brendon strokes his cock, rolling his hips and panting, his knees gripping Brendon's waist as he works himself on Brendon's dick, hips moving in slow, grinding circles that don't so much pull the climax from Brendon as coax it out. Atop him, Ryan trembles, and Brendon tightens his grip, stroking hard and fast to get Ryan off until Ryan gasps his name and comes across Brendon's stomach and chest.
Brendon blinks at him, at the streaks of white on his skin, at the dark place where he can see their bodies still joined. Outside, the sun is shining. The clock reads nine a.m., and Brendon thinks that he never figured he'd lose his virginity this early in the morning.
Ryan doesn't collapse down onto him, even though Brendon wouldn't mind if he did; instead, he pulls off slowly and carefully, wincing a little when Brendon's cock pulls free of his body. Brendon moves backwards, letting Ryan sit with another wince, and for lack of any better ideas, he scoots close to Ryan and pulls him close for a hug. For a brief moment, Brendon fears it was the wrong move, but then Ryan wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and hugs him back. Brendon kisses his forehead, his cheek, his mouth, and Ryan leans against Brendon's shoulder.
"That was nice," Brendon says after awhile, needing to fill the silence. He feels Ryan nod against his collarbone. "Do you want to maybe go back to your house?"
"My dad's home," Ryan says. "He's an alcoholic. I don't like being there."
"Oh," Brendon says faintly. "Then let's just stay here. You know, Ross, I'm really beginning to like your car."
Ryan's hand squeezes Brendon's bare thigh, and when he pulls back to look at Brendon, he's laughing.
Title: Drive Faster, Boy
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Ryan, Brendon, backseats, secrets.
Disclaimer: Not true at all.
Word Count: 3678
It's not like Ryan's car is anything to write home about, it's not special or new or even really that nice. It's a Pontiac Grand Am, it's the same blue as Brendon's grandmother's old couch, the seats are this weird slightly fuzzy upholstery that Brendon can't stop rubbing his fingertips against, and there are enough CDs cluttered around the front seats that Ryan could probably get half the car's resale value if he sold all of them.
Still, it's a hell of a lot nicer than Brendon's purple minivan. Of course, Spencer's battered skateboard is also nicer than Brendon's purple minivan.
These thoughts keep Brendon company as he exits the school grounds to walk home for the third day this week because his minivan is in the shop. There's a car approaching that looks an awful lot like Ryan's car, with a driver that looks an awful lot like Ryan himself. The car slows and pulls to the side of the road in front of Brendon.
"Hey," Ryan says, ducking down so Brendon can see him through the rolled-down window. "Want a ride? I've got candy."
"What kind of candy?" Brendon asks, grinning hello, and gets in.
It turns out that Ryan was lying about the candy; luckily, Brendon has half a pack of gummy bears from the school vending machine in his backpack. He pops one into his mouth, and throws another at Ryan, who has a freakish ability to catch things in his mouth. The red gummy bear lands on Ryan's tongue, and his teeth snap closed.
"You have a talented mouth," Brendon says, and then his brain catches up to him and he feels a blush ready to stain his cheeks. He wills it back. Ryan doesn't leer at him, and he doesn't volley back a lewd comment. Brendon contemplates Ryan's talented mouth in silence until Ryan cracks a smile, and then Brendon exhales. "So what are you doing here? Trying to pick up high school kids again?"
"Yes," Ryan says. "Brent wanted me to pick him up from school, but then he called ten minutes ago and said his brother was going to get him. I was already in the neighborhood."
"So you came to pick me up, how sweet," Brendon says. He bats his eyelashes at Ryan, but Ryan is unmoved. "Are you taking me home?"
"No."
Brendon waits for him to follow that up with something further, like maybe where they're actually going, but he's slowly learning that sometimes Ryan likes to play enigmatic. Or maybe he really is enigmatic, and isn't playing at all; Brendon's not sure. "Are you kidnapping me to go with you and live in the desert?"
"We do live in the desert," Ryan points out.
"We live in the suburbs," Brendon says. "The desert is that big thing with all the sand and cacti."
"I could take you to the desert and leave you there with the cacti," Ryan says. He sounds like he's considering it.
Brendon slumps down in his seat and tosses another gummy bear at Ryan. Ryan catches it between his teeth, then flicks his tongue out and curls it back into his mouth. "You're kind of weird," Brendon says.
"I think," Ryan says, as if Brendon hadn't spoken at all, "that it's time we bond."
It occurs to Brendon, as the suburbs fade out to sparser housing developments, then eventually to hardly anything at all, just miles of sand and mountains in the distance, that maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to slip into the car with this boy he's only known for a month. It's been long enough for them to practice together, for Ryan to declare them a band and Brendon to take over vocals, but Ryan's right, they haven't really bonded. They've spent a few evenings together hunched over Ryan's laptop fiddling with GarageBand after Spencer and Brent cut out for the night, but never discussed much of anything other than music. For all he knows, Ryan could be a serial killer. A really, really scene serial killer.
Ryan pulls off to the side of the road, then continues a little bit onto the entire lack of road that is the sandscape. He parks next to a cactus.
"Are you going to kill me?" Brendon asks.
Ryan looks at him. "I hadn't planned on it."
Brendon has heard more reassuring things than that in his life. "Just kidding," he says, injecting as much bravado as he can into his voice. Mostly he sounds kind of loud. "So, bonding?"
"Bonding," Ryan says decisively.
Bonding, as it turns out, is Ryan-speak for the Spanish Inquisition. He asks about Brendon's family, his childhood, his future goals, his favorite foods. Brendon tells him everything; it's not difficult for Brendon to talk about himself, as he's something of an expert on the subject. When he asks the same things of Ryan, though, Ryan just shrugs.
"It's not fair if you never say anything," Brendon complains. The sky is just beginning to dim, he's out of gummy bears, and Ryan now knows everything that Brendon has ever thought on every subject in the known universe. "You have to tell me something about you."
Ryan looks at him. Finally, he says, "I think I'm gay."
Brendon doesn't ask him anything else.
-
Brendon doesn't mention it again; Ryan doesn't mention it again. Brendon's minivan gets fixed, Ryan finally breaks up with his on/off girlfriend, they write a song, and Brendon has a sexual identity crisis. It's a quiet crisis that mostly consists of him thinking about Ryan a lot, then thinking about girls, then thinking about Ryan some more and finding those thoughts appealing. He flirts briefly with religious angst, but he's already got an addiction to Red Bull that he hides like a popstar on coke, and it's tough to get too worked up about God striking him down for gayness when his parents kicking him out for it would be the more immediate problem. Ryan acts like nothing ever happened, and Brendon's ready to convince himself that it didn't, at least until Ryan shows up at his house on a Friday night and calls Brendon from the curb to tell him to come down.
"Some people make plans before they just show up," Brendon informs him as he gets in the car. "You're my study group for Spanish, by the way, and I'll be at your house all night watching Almodovar films."
"Si," Ryan says. "Let's get milkshakes."
"And then what?"
"The night is young, Brendon. Live in the moment. We might go to the movies."
They don't go to the movies. Brendon sucks down the remainder of his strawberry milkshake and looks expectantly at Ryan, who seems to be driving nowhere in particular. Brendon's never actually seen this part of Henderson. He thinks he wasn't missing much. "So," he says.
Ryan looks straight ahead. They're about to pass a park; at the last moment, Ryan signals and turns into the lot, driving up to the edge.
"Why is that every time we go somewhere alone it starts to seem like a horror movie?" Brendon asks.
Ryan ignores him and asks, "Are you a virgin?"
"Wow." Brendon stares at him. "Are you?"
"No."
"Why are you asking me?"
"So you are." Ryan flicks his eyes over at him. "It's not a big deal, I'm just curious." He turns off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition.
"It's not actually any of your business," Brendon says, because it isn't, it really isn't, where Brendon does or doesn't stick his dick is really no concern of Ryan's, even if Brendon's been thinking dirty things about Ryan for the past week and a half.
Ryan exhales. "If I'm wrong about this, you need to tell me."
"Well, you're-" Brendon starts, and then Ryan leans across and kisses him on the mouth. He doesn't touch Brendon otherwise, but instinct has Brendon lifting a hand to cup the back of Ryan's neck, holding him in place as he parts his lips for Ryan. People don't kiss Brendon often enough for him to be well-versed in pushing someone away when kisses are offered, and even though Ryan makes no fucking sense and asks weird questions and still maybe might be ready to kill him and leave his body in the park, it's still Ryan, and Brendon's still been jerking off over him for the last nine days. He kisses back, leaning awkwardly across the center console, feeling the edge of a CD digging into his hip, the seatbelt constraining him. Ryan's mouth is warm on his and Ryan kisses well, bold like he knows what he's doing without being overeager. Brendon breathes through his nose and tangles his fingers in Ryan's hair until they break away for air.
"I think I was wrong," Ryan says breathlessly. "I don't think I'm gay."
"Awesome, okay," Brendon says, and releases Ryan, wishing suddenly and fervently that he were dead.
"No, I mean." Ryan grabs his arm, stilling him. "That came out wrong. I mean, I think I'm bi, maybe."
"Okay," Brendon says again, guardedly. It's not like he's flying the rainbow flag by any means, but he liked kissing Ryan and Ryan is a guy, so. Things seem pretty clear.
"I'm usually a lot better at this," Ryan mutters, and Brendon sees a dull flush creep over his cheeks in the shadowed light coming through the windshield. "I like you, I'm not just curious or whatever."
Brendon stares at him in surprise. "You hide it well," he says honestly.
"I was trying not to be obvious," Ryan tells the steering wheel, and Brendon feels stupidly charmed. Ryan likes him. Ryan likes him, and he likes Ryan, and this is totally amazing.
"You were not in any way obvious or even actually apparent," Brendon reassures him.
"But you're cool with this," Ryan says, looking sideways at Brendon through his bangs.
"I am cool with this." He pauses. "Can we make out some more? Also, was this a date?"
"Yes," Ryan says, and then, quieter, "and yes."
Brendon grins at him. "Cool."
-
To say they're dating would be an exaggeration, so Brendon doesn't, or he wouldn't if he ever spoke about it to anyone. Ryan starts to schedule in more and more band practices as Brendon picks up a few more shifts at the Smoothie Hut, so when they're not writing or practicing with Spencer and Brent, they pretty much just get in Ryan's car and go somewhere and park. The first night Brendon went out of his mind with nerves when they moved to the backseat, but Ryan seemed just as nervous, so all they'd done was make out and fall asleep clutching each other fully-dressed. Each stolen hour in the backseat of Ryan's car feels less and less sufficient, though, until it's been three weeks and Brendon's seriously regretting not giving it up to Ryan that first night and getting it out of the way.
They spend fifteen minutes before Brendon's evening shift with Brendon sprawled in the backseat, legs spread and pants open as Ryan curls his hand around Brendon's cock and jerks him off, ducked down in the seat so it's not completely obvious what they're doing. Even parked at the edge of the lot, Ryan's still cautious. It's broad daylight and Brendon's thrusting his dick into Ryan's hand while staring at the entrance of his workplace fifty feet away, so he's appreciating the circumspection. "When do you get off?" Ryan asks, and Brendon chokes, his head falling back against the seat as he lifts his hips into Ryan's grip.
"Did you want an exact timeframe?" Brendon says through gritted teeth.
"I meant off of work," Ryan says, smiling against Brendon's shoulder as he thrusts a little against Brendon's thigh.
"Nine," Brendon gasps. Just a few more twists of his wrist and Brendon's going to be coming all over Ryan's hand. He's excited about it.
Ryan kisses his neck. "I'll pick you up then."
"Mm," Brendon says.
"Don't get the seat again." Ryan frowns. "Maybe you could come in my mouth."
"Fuck," Brendon says sincerely, and comes on Ryan's fist.
Brendon doesn't want to go to work, he doesn't want to leave this car, he doesn't actually want to move. "My upholstery," Ryan complains, and Brendon cracks one eye open to see a streak of come on the seat.
"Well if you didn't talk dirty," Brendon says, because seriously, Ryan couldn't expect to say shit like that and not have Brendon come all over him. It was just the price he was going to have to pay for saying ridiculously hot things out loud.
"Maybe you could come on my face," Ryan offers. Brendon's dick twitches, and he tries and fails not to picture it vividly.
"Not fair, Ross."
"Maybe I'll blow you." Ryan grins, and Brendon is ready to quit his job and his life and convert to a life of sexual exploration with Ryan. It would be a good life, he thinks. They would be poor, but sated.
Brendon kisses him to forestall any further cock-stirring conversation. "You can blow me after work," he promises.
"You're too kind," Ryan says, but really, Brendon is.
-
Ryan doesn't blow him after work; he picks Brendon up and says that they're heading to Spencer's grandma's house for late-night practice. Even Brendon's wheedling doesn't convince Ryan to just pull over on the side of the road and go down, and it's a long, tense practice where Brendon's voice breaks too much and he fucks up a verse of Time To Dance often enough that Ryan gets actually mad. Ryan in his face does nothing to quell Brendon's half-hard cock in his pants; Ryan's pissiness is something of a boner-killer, but flushed and angry is also a pretty good look for him, so mostly Brendon is just sexually frustrated.
Brendon's hopeful when they get in the car afterwards, but Ryan just takes him home, and Brendon's dick remains tragically unsucked.
-
Not that Brendon spends a lot of time thinking about it, definitely not every time he closes his eyes (even just to blink) or anything, but they haven't really done much outside of kissing, just a few handjobs, frantic and fast in the backseat, groping on top of the clothes. Brendon would in fact like to get his dick sucked, and he wouldn't mind doing it to Ryan, either. There are lots of things he'd like to do to Ryan. Several of these things cross his mind when he gets a text from Ryan as he's loitering outside his locker before his first class. I'm at the gate, skip school w/ me," it reads. Brendon debates sending back a message about how Ryan hasn't called him all weekend, or that Brendon isn't a delinquent like some people, or how he better have some actual fucking candy this time, but all he manages is a quick be right there, followed by skulking off the school grounds with his hood up and his eyes darting around looking for truant officers.
"I could almost hear the Pink Panther theme, man," Ryan says, watching him cross the last few feet to the car. "How do you ever manage to sneak past anyone?"
"I did it, didn't I?" Brendon flings himself into the front seat. "Are we going to your house, or is this another magical mystery tour you're taking me on?"
Ryan says, "I thought we could go out to the desert and fuck."
Brendon blinks at him. He says, "Okay."
-
They don't go as far as usual, just far enough past the city limits that they won't be bothered. Ryan jerks his head toward the backseat, and Brendon meets him back there, taking his shirt off when Ryan does, knocking into Ryan with a little too much force when they kiss, Ryan's hand curling around his bare waist. "I haven't done this before," Brendon blurts out, and Ryan urges him down onto his back.
"If you don't like it, we can stop," Ryan says, but Brendon can see that he's already hard, and anyway he can't really imagine a world in which he doesn't like Ryan touching him. "I'll blow you first."
"Cool," Brendon says faintly, and Ryan leans down to kiss him again, working his jeans open, tugging them down and helping Brendon get them off as Brendon kicks off his shoes. He'd always pictured this being somewhat complicated, too many limbs, two cocks, and that was in a bed; in the backseat of a car, in broad daylight with nowhere to hide, it's complicated without the kindness of candlelight. He wants it, wants Ryan, and it's enough that the acute consciousness of his own naked body passes once Ryan shucks his own jeans. Ryan's small, thin all over, and it means he can fold easily enough down in the seat, hunched over so Brendon can see the long line of his spine as he takes Brendon's cock in his hand, and then into his mouth.
He slides his lips down the length of Brendon's dick, no preamble, just the pink stretch of his lips taking Brendon in, wet heat as Ryan goes down, down, down. He flicks his eyes upwards to look at Brendon, and Brendon whimpers helplessly at the sight, Ryan's big brown eyes, hollowed cheeks, lips meeting his fist curled around Brendon's cock. Ryan pulls up, dragging his tongue along the underside, and Brendon runs through a litany of things he could say to Ryan right now but professing his love when his dick is in Ryan's mouth might seem disingenuous, as much as Brendon would mean it.
Ryan pulls off, one hand tensed on Brendon's thigh, and Brendon blinks up at him. "It's good," he tells Ryan, just in case Ryan needs encouragement, just in case he doesn't understand that this is the best thing Brendon's ever felt. "It's good, I like it."
"Do you want to fuck me?" Ryan asks, and it's the effort of Brendon's life not to come right there, seeing Ryan's lower lip shining with pre-come, seeing his tongue peek out to lick it away as he looks at Brendon as if he thinks Brendon might possibly say no.
"Yeah, yes," Brendon says, barely recognizing his own hoarse voice.
He makes to lean up, but Ryan's already climbing on top of him, wedging his knee into the small space between Brendon's bare waist and the seat back. "I thought I could just -" Ryan gestures to Brendon's cock, to his own, and Brendon nods furiously.
"Yes, please do," he says, and Ryan grins faintly and positions himself right over Brendon's cock, holding it in one hand before carefully lowering himself, his grin vanishing as the head pushes into him, as gravity takes him the rest of the way down.
It's tight, Ryan's so tight inside, clenching around Brendon's dick as Brendon bites his lip, staring Ryan in the face, watching him try to adjust, grimacing at the stretch. He thinks, absurdly, of bonding, Ryan questioning him endlessly like if he knew enough he could understand Brendon better, without giving that same understanding to Brendon in return. Brendon thrusts his hips up a little, getting all the way inside Ryan, and wonders if this is Ryan's repayment of that favor.
Mostly, though, he just wonders if Ryan likes it, if the obvious pain is worth it, if Ryan needs to know he likes this as well. "Feels good," is all he can manage to say, covering one of Ryan's hands with his own, braced against his chest as Ryan throws his head back, lifting off of Brendon's cock before dropping back down. He gropes his other hand down his own body, reaching Ryan's thigh and gripping it softly, moving in to brush Ryan's balls, lower, thumb skimming over where Ryan's stretched around him, taking him in. Ryan groans at the feeling, and Brendon presses harder, rubbing over where their bodies meet, squeezing Ryan's hand before scraping a fingernail over Ryan's inner thigh and then reaching to grasp his cock.
That seems to throw Ryan's concentration off, and he stops moving up and down as much, instead just watching as Brendon strokes his cock, rolling his hips and panting, his knees gripping Brendon's waist as he works himself on Brendon's dick, hips moving in slow, grinding circles that don't so much pull the climax from Brendon as coax it out. Atop him, Ryan trembles, and Brendon tightens his grip, stroking hard and fast to get Ryan off until Ryan gasps his name and comes across Brendon's stomach and chest.
Brendon blinks at him, at the streaks of white on his skin, at the dark place where he can see their bodies still joined. Outside, the sun is shining. The clock reads nine a.m., and Brendon thinks that he never figured he'd lose his virginity this early in the morning.
Ryan doesn't collapse down onto him, even though Brendon wouldn't mind if he did; instead, he pulls off slowly and carefully, wincing a little when Brendon's cock pulls free of his body. Brendon moves backwards, letting Ryan sit with another wince, and for lack of any better ideas, he scoots close to Ryan and pulls him close for a hug. For a brief moment, Brendon fears it was the wrong move, but then Ryan wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and hugs him back. Brendon kisses his forehead, his cheek, his mouth, and Ryan leans against Brendon's shoulder.
"That was nice," Brendon says after awhile, needing to fill the silence. He feels Ryan nod against his collarbone. "Do you want to maybe go back to your house?"
"My dad's home," Ryan says. "He's an alcoholic. I don't like being there."
"Oh," Brendon says faintly. "Then let's just stay here. You know, Ross, I'm really beginning to like your car."
Ryan's hand squeezes Brendon's bare thigh, and when he pulls back to look at Brendon, he's laughing.