Landslide
Title: Landslide
Author: Telis (theaerosolkid)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: In which Ryan is concerned and comfort is scarce, but found. For we_are_cities April 17.
A/N: This is actually an outtake from a longer fic I'm writing (apparently I can only do Brendon/Ryan in long form, whatever). As it stands now, it doesn't really fit in with the fic, but don't be surprised if you see it again in a few weeks, re-incorporated.
"This place is kinda gross," Ryan muttered, glaring at a cockroach skittering across the floor.
"Whatever," Brendon said, disinterested. They were stretched out on the fold-out couch in front of the tiny screen of Ryan's laptop. The soundtrack for The Nightmare Before Christmas was playing, but neither of them were really listening to it. Ryan had come over to brainstorm ideas for a song, bringing inspiration neatly packaged in his backpack, but once he'd opened the door, it was clear that Brendon just wasn't in a mood to be creative.
"I love that your apartment doesn't have an actual lock," Ryan said dryly, glancing up at the chair braced against the doorknob. "It's a good thing you don't have anything that's worth stealing, otherwise you'd kind of be fucked."
"Whatever," Brendon repeated.
"Seriously," Ryan started again. "This apartment sucks. It's in a crap part of town, I really think you should-"
"Dude, just shut up," Brendon snapped. "I hate it here too, you fucker, but I don't have any other options right now, okay?"
"Sorry," Ryan mumbled, "I just- I worry about you, all right? It's gotta suck, living alone."
"Yeah," Brendon said, dropping his head down to his forearms, letting his eyes slide shut. "God. I can't even wait until I graduate, we can get out of here."
"Me either," Ryan said softly. "Just think, we've got a record deal. We're going to tour with all the bands we listen to, and we're going to leave here, and we're never going to come back."
"I don't want that," Brendon whispered, disjointed. "I want to come back, I want to watch my brothers get married, I want to help my mom make Thanksgiving dinner."
"You fucking hate turkey," Ryan whispered back.
"I don't give a shit. Fuck, Ross. If this gets all fucked up, I. I have to go home and look at my parents and tell them they were right."
"You won't have to," Ryan said with the certainty that comes from plowing forward blindly, rubbing slow firm circles into the bare skin of Brendon's back.
"Mmmphh. Feels good," Brendon murmured appreciatively. Ryan sat back on his haunches and pushed the heels of his hands up and down Brendon's back, awkward a little, unsure of himself. "Mmmh, thanks, unh."
"Yeah," Ryan breathed. He pushed more of his weight into Brendon, feeling the tension smooth away under his hands. Brendon's skin was soft, smooth; his muscles taut but relaxing, gradually. Ryan bent his head, down towards Brendon, pulling in the warm smell of him, of skin and sweat and the vague tang of fruit, trying to banish the cloying stench of the filthy apartment, reminding him of disease and unhappiness.
"I'm glad you're here," Brendon mumbled into the skin of his arms.
"I know," Ryan agreed, dropping his forehead to rest at Brendon's shoulderblade, curling his hands around the small of his back, pressing tight, small circles with his thumbs. Brendon rolled over suddenly, and stared at him, meeting his gaze and holding it, steady; desperate, almost.
"I," Brendon started, and then his voice hitched. He cleared his throat, blinked hard.
"Yeah," Ryan said softly, looking down at Brendon, hands resting lightly at the gentle swell of his hips. "I- just. Yes."
Brendon surged up, suddenly, caught the back of Ryan's neck with his hand, pulling himself up, tilting his head, breathing him in, their lips just barely touching. "Is this...?"
"Yeah," Ryan said again, and kissed him, slowly, curling his fingers around Brendon's body, pressing himself closer. Brendon pressed his other hand to Ryan's cheek and kissed him harder, pushing his tongue into Ryan's mouth, whimpering a little. Ryan broke away, breathing hard, staring into Brendon's over-bright eyes. Brendon flicked his tongue out, just barely touching the curve of Ryan's lip, and he was lost again.
Ryan pushed Brendon to the bed, straddling him, grinding his hips down, cupping Brendon's shoulders. Brendon arched up into him, gripped at Ryan's back. Ryan tilted his head away, gasping for breath, "Please," and Brendon rolled them over, pressing Ryan into the mattress, pushing with his hips, delicious friction.
"I'm not-" Brendon gasped out. "I just, this isn't, I-"
"I know," Ryan said, kissing him again, swallowing his babblings.
"I can't, okay," Brendon said, pulling away again. Ryan stroked his fingers through Brendon's hair, and understood. Ryan had been running for a long time, now; rebelling easily and naturally. Brendon had not. So much of Brendon was still made up of his family, governed by their rules and restrictions, bound by their prejudices and preachings. He couldn't, not really - not yet. "It's not- I'm sorry, I, I just-"
"Shhh, no, it's fine," Ryan murmured. "Don't- no. Don't be sorry."
"Okay," Brendon breathed, and kissed him again. "Okay." He settled back against the pillows, curling around Ryan, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, every now and again sliding a tentative, experimental kiss along the skin. Ryan wrapped long fingers around Brendon's wrist and drew it up to his mouth, pressing lips to fingertips, eyes closed, sincere.
Author: Telis (theaerosolkid)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: In which Ryan is concerned and comfort is scarce, but found. For we_are_cities April 17.
A/N: This is actually an outtake from a longer fic I'm writing (apparently I can only do Brendon/Ryan in long form, whatever). As it stands now, it doesn't really fit in with the fic, but don't be surprised if you see it again in a few weeks, re-incorporated.
"This place is kinda gross," Ryan muttered, glaring at a cockroach skittering across the floor.
"Whatever," Brendon said, disinterested. They were stretched out on the fold-out couch in front of the tiny screen of Ryan's laptop. The soundtrack for The Nightmare Before Christmas was playing, but neither of them were really listening to it. Ryan had come over to brainstorm ideas for a song, bringing inspiration neatly packaged in his backpack, but once he'd opened the door, it was clear that Brendon just wasn't in a mood to be creative.
"I love that your apartment doesn't have an actual lock," Ryan said dryly, glancing up at the chair braced against the doorknob. "It's a good thing you don't have anything that's worth stealing, otherwise you'd kind of be fucked."
"Whatever," Brendon repeated.
"Seriously," Ryan started again. "This apartment sucks. It's in a crap part of town, I really think you should-"
"Dude, just shut up," Brendon snapped. "I hate it here too, you fucker, but I don't have any other options right now, okay?"
"Sorry," Ryan mumbled, "I just- I worry about you, all right? It's gotta suck, living alone."
"Yeah," Brendon said, dropping his head down to his forearms, letting his eyes slide shut. "God. I can't even wait until I graduate, we can get out of here."
"Me either," Ryan said softly. "Just think, we've got a record deal. We're going to tour with all the bands we listen to, and we're going to leave here, and we're never going to come back."
"I don't want that," Brendon whispered, disjointed. "I want to come back, I want to watch my brothers get married, I want to help my mom make Thanksgiving dinner."
"You fucking hate turkey," Ryan whispered back.
"I don't give a shit. Fuck, Ross. If this gets all fucked up, I. I have to go home and look at my parents and tell them they were right."
"You won't have to," Ryan said with the certainty that comes from plowing forward blindly, rubbing slow firm circles into the bare skin of Brendon's back.
"Mmmphh. Feels good," Brendon murmured appreciatively. Ryan sat back on his haunches and pushed the heels of his hands up and down Brendon's back, awkward a little, unsure of himself. "Mmmh, thanks, unh."
"Yeah," Ryan breathed. He pushed more of his weight into Brendon, feeling the tension smooth away under his hands. Brendon's skin was soft, smooth; his muscles taut but relaxing, gradually. Ryan bent his head, down towards Brendon, pulling in the warm smell of him, of skin and sweat and the vague tang of fruit, trying to banish the cloying stench of the filthy apartment, reminding him of disease and unhappiness.
"I'm glad you're here," Brendon mumbled into the skin of his arms.
"I know," Ryan agreed, dropping his forehead to rest at Brendon's shoulderblade, curling his hands around the small of his back, pressing tight, small circles with his thumbs. Brendon rolled over suddenly, and stared at him, meeting his gaze and holding it, steady; desperate, almost.
"I," Brendon started, and then his voice hitched. He cleared his throat, blinked hard.
"Yeah," Ryan said softly, looking down at Brendon, hands resting lightly at the gentle swell of his hips. "I- just. Yes."
Brendon surged up, suddenly, caught the back of Ryan's neck with his hand, pulling himself up, tilting his head, breathing him in, their lips just barely touching. "Is this...?"
"Yeah," Ryan said again, and kissed him, slowly, curling his fingers around Brendon's body, pressing himself closer. Brendon pressed his other hand to Ryan's cheek and kissed him harder, pushing his tongue into Ryan's mouth, whimpering a little. Ryan broke away, breathing hard, staring into Brendon's over-bright eyes. Brendon flicked his tongue out, just barely touching the curve of Ryan's lip, and he was lost again.
Ryan pushed Brendon to the bed, straddling him, grinding his hips down, cupping Brendon's shoulders. Brendon arched up into him, gripped at Ryan's back. Ryan tilted his head away, gasping for breath, "Please," and Brendon rolled them over, pressing Ryan into the mattress, pushing with his hips, delicious friction.
"I'm not-" Brendon gasped out. "I just, this isn't, I-"
"I know," Ryan said, kissing him again, swallowing his babblings.
"I can't, okay," Brendon said, pulling away again. Ryan stroked his fingers through Brendon's hair, and understood. Ryan had been running for a long time, now; rebelling easily and naturally. Brendon had not. So much of Brendon was still made up of his family, governed by their rules and restrictions, bound by their prejudices and preachings. He couldn't, not really - not yet. "It's not- I'm sorry, I, I just-"
"Shhh, no, it's fine," Ryan murmured. "Don't- no. Don't be sorry."
"Okay," Brendon breathed, and kissed him again. "Okay." He settled back against the pillows, curling around Ryan, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, every now and again sliding a tentative, experimental kiss along the skin. Ryan wrapped long fingers around Brendon's wrist and drew it up to his mouth, pressing lips to fingertips, eyes closed, sincere.