Let Them Talk
Title: Let Them Talk [s/a]
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: killinglocals in all her glory
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Everything is blurry, his entire body is shaking with endorphins, his thoughts are jumbled together and he’s scared but Ryan Ross wants to fuck him so everything is right with the world.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened. Don’t own, don’t believe.
Author Notes: I’m posting this much against the will of my lovely wife killinglocals who has made the decision that this is too ~good~ to be shared with anyone other than her. But, even though I love her, I am entirely too proud of this to not share it. Sorry Annakins.
It’s nothing but a slew of lips and tongue and teeth as hot air crowds the atmosphere and asphyxiates the two occupants in the back seat of an old, spent car. It’s dark, but the moon is cutting through the tinted glass windows, causing beams of white flittered with dust and dirt to dance above their heads. A curious hand explores new skin, vast and glowing in the moonlight, causing a strangled moan to slice through the suffocating air and there begins a new rhythm of unsteady, haggard breaths.
In the dark, the shadow of the car casts an eerie, black shadow across the rumpled sheet of desert sand but from the opposite side, the pale light of the moon reveals the entire passenger side of the car to be painted a deep blue, chipped and rusted in various places, but blue nonetheless. Sun faded, cracked and peeling is the paint, and rust clings relentlessly to the patches where the blue has dissolved, but although the exterior of the car is very old, the things taking place inside of it are extremely new and the contrast seems beautifully tacky.
A shirt is shed unhurriedly, tediously and, “Oh fuck, Ryan, stop teasing me!” shatters the heart-stilling image of whispered, slow love-making under the eyes of only the moon and stars. Perhaps even the idea of sharing a secret with a fraction of such a vast galaxy seems romantic and at the same time a bit reckless (the moon is sure not to gossip, but who knows what those billions of stars might say?) In any case, this entire hypothetical situation is sucked away with the sultry gasp that follows these fierce words and, yeah, the hush-hush scenario with the bright orbs in the sky seems a bit unimportant as hands grapple for something solid to hold on to.
Lashes flutter closed over a pair of chocolate brown irises that lull back at the precise moment a pair of soft lips ghost over exposed abdomen. Stomach muscles clench beneath a hot tongue, bathing the pale skin in sweet, slow strokes. The boy lying on his back, shirt strewn somewhere in the general direction of the front seat, arches and moans, hands still searching for that certain support. His fingers finally twist around the locks of hair before him and he gently tugs at their roots, whimpering something pathetic and panting out shallow, Ry-Ryans.
It’s cold out, nothing Las Vegas nights haven’t been in the past, and despite the obvious chill outside, a bead of sweat is forming along the forehead of the boy pinned and is trailing down his face, puddling lusciously in the dip of his collarbone. Instantly, however, a warm, insistent mouth is removing all glistening evidence from his skin and is replacing it with sloppy, rushed kisses in it’s wake.
“Tell me that this is okay,” the mouth murmurs against a sticky neck and suddenly a tongue darts out to lap at the thundering pulse point beneath the skin it is poised over. “This is okay, isn’t it, Bren?”
Coherency shouldn’t be required right now. In fact, coherency doesn’t seem possible right now. But the broken reply of, “Ryan, you-- aah ah!” is attempted but lost in a desperate moan that leaks from behind a pair of swollen lips as a hand feigning innocence wonders over the undeniable bulge between the legs of the boy on his back.
“Oh shit, Brendon,” Ryan blurts out and it’s pushed and airy and, fuck if it isn’t the sexiest thing the other boy has ever heard.
No, this isn’t okay. These two, like this, raw and enslaved by something greater than them, panting and passionate in the back seat of Ryan’s car, it isn’t okay. At least, it shouldn’t be because although nothing about this is okay, at the same time, everything is.
Brendon’s shaking hands, lost and tangled in soft hair, gently pull the mouth fraternizing with the tender flesh below his jaw to his own and once again, it’s lips, tongue, teeth. Ryan’s lips, although full and soft, are not as big as the lips of the boy currently trying to lick inside his mouth and it is because of this that their lips mold together in a way that gives Ryan shivers and makes Brendon want to kiss harder. A moan is lost within their mouths as lips open up and tongues collide and although whose throat the moan emerged from is indistinguishable, it rumbles through both of them with the same amount of stimulation.
Oblivious to everything but his painfully hard erection and the lazy movements of his mouth fused to Brendon’s, Ryan hardly notices that somewhere between a pair of teeth clamping down on his bottom lip and a hand slipping into the back of his pants, he too, has been disrobed of his shirt. How lust managed to blur this event from his memory is as mysterious as the moan one of them produced, but it doesn’t prevent him from noticing the sharp nails digging into the flesh of his ass and the buck of his hips is accompanied by a shuddered gasp. It becomes obvious within a matter of mere seconds that this motion, this quick snapping of the hips, elicits a moan so dirty from each of them that the movement is repeated once, twice, five agonizingly slow times until the remaining clothing between them seems sinful and is removed immediately. A throbbing, hard cock is hidden by the light gray fabric of Brendon’s boxers, but at the tip of this rather obvious proof of arousal is a dark, damp spot that causes the honey eyes that rest upon it to haze over with something chillingly lustful. Ryan doesn’t need to look down at his own leaking cock to know that Brendon finds it just as tempting because before Ryan’s brain has time to process all the things he can do with that cock once he’s freed it from that smoldering fabric, Brendon has already dived his hand into the front of Ryan’s boxers and reduced Ryan to a trembling, moan-choking mess.
Brendon is panting, struggling to catch his breath at the same time he’s struggling to keep up the same rhythm his hand has created with Ryan’s cock. His movements are quick, jerky and sloppy, but it all feels divine to Ryan so only breathy sounds of encouragement are heard from him. His hips begin to roll, falling into the rhythm Brendon created and everything feels so hot he thinks he might pass out from overheating. His long fingers wrapping firmly around the other boy’s wrists, stilling the sensual movement and he gargles on something similar to a moan when he notices Brendon’s fingers stretching out as he pulls his hand away, desperate to touch. A dissatisfied noise tears through Brendon’s throat and for a split second Ryan forgets that he was just about to come because really, if Brendon wants his cock that badly…
But before Brendon has time to pout and put those plush lips of his on display, Ryan has his underwear down around his ankles and has dragged his hot tongue up the length of Brendon’s shaft. The noise Brendon makes is far from disappointed. It’s a mixture of pure ecstasy, fear and the assertion that he’s losing control over everything inside of him. Ryan revels in the sound, allows it to motivate his tongue, swirling around the tip of Brendon’s head and when the taste of pre-come taints his taste buds, he gives Brendon a sound he can relish as well. Hands weave back into familiar hair and Ryan’s head is gently pushed down because fuck, Brendon just needs that extra little bit of--
“Ryan,” Brendon gasps and he repeats his name several times all while trying to keep his squirming lower half from choking the boy in question. His toes curl unbearably tight and his mouth hangs open lazily; what’s the point in having a functioning mouth when Ryan’s seems to be the only one that needs to be working at the moment? Lips slip off with a wet pop and Ryan leaves Brendon’s cock, spit slicked and fully erect and crawls up the trembling body beneath him to capture a pair of lips that look tragically unattended to.
There’s humidity clinging to the oxygen in the air and fog has begun to stain the otherwise clear windows. Sweat is dampening every inch of skin on Brendon’s body and as Ryan’s mouth works expertly along his jaw line, left hand teasing his bare hip, the only thing Brendon manages to utter is a series of short lived, helpless “Oh’s.”
They’re just boys. Just foolish, naïve boys for believing that this is where they’re meant to be: lost in each other in a world existing only in the back seats of shitty cars on cold Las Vegas nights. The stars are watching with ready mouths, hearsay on the tips of their tongues. But let them talk. In a galaxy so immense, they are only jealous they have yet to find their place.
Brendon’s name is whispered through the dense, foggy atmosphere and Ryan’s eyes, half lidded and glazed over, stare down at him with more intensity than Brendon’s head can sustain at that moment. Another whisper, this one less distinguishable due to the nuzzling below Brendon’s ear, and Brendon’s back arches; he chokes out something that begs for him to repeat because Ryan’s hand has found it’s way between Brendon’s legs and his concentration is thrown off completely. Ryan works him slow and steady and murmurs, “I want to fuck you,” in a way that makes Brendon want to cry. Everything is blurry, his entire body is shaking with endorphins, his thoughts are jumbled together and he’s scared but Ryan Ross wants to fuck him so everything is right with the world.
Ryan’s words are still echoing in his mind and Brendon is pretty sure he’s just caught his breath again when the cracked whisper of “Please?” registers and the boy being pressed into the seat is sure he’s just melted into a huge puddle of orgasmic goo.
Before he can nod his head, Ryan steals Brendon’s lips in something a kin to a plead that really is unnecessary at this point (Brendon is so far gone in the moment that saying anything but yes would be immoral) but the younger boy appreciates it greatly. Tongues intertwine with one another and desperation seems like an understatement as hands ravenously explore every expanse of skin available and Ryan needs this so bad he can hardly see straight.
It’s awkward and unrehearsed and to be quite honest, a bit embarrassing as Ryan wets two fingers generously with his saliva and presses them against Brendon’s entrance. Their breathing is labored and unsynchronized but at least the intensity of the moment hasn’t stolen them their ability to inhale, exhale. Feverishly, Brendon nods his head, chews his lip and moans as Ryan carefully pushes one digit into Brendon and he holds his breath because fucking this up now might just kill him. Observantly, he watches Brendon, whose face is placid due to Ryan’s left hand stroking gentle circles on his lower hip and Brendon swallows slowly, indicating that he’s ready for more.
The hiss of Brendon’s breath upon the intrusion of the second finger causes Ryan’s face to screw up in worry and he quickly hushes Brendon with soft, sweet kisses on his inner thigh, apologies. “It’s okay,” he breathes. Assurances. Wriggling around just a bit, adjusting to this new feeling, Brendon whimpers something pathetic and Ryan wonders, “Stop?”
It’s pained and slightly uncertain, but Brendon replies quickly with, “No, no. Please, I. Fuck, Ryan, I need this.” And Ryan slowly begins to move his fingers in and out, listening intently for protests from the boy writhing beneath him and it takes a few moments until the feeling isn’t as alien to Brendon. Eight seconds pass before Ryan’s long fingers curl inside him and Brendon shudders violently and cries, “God, right there! Yes, Ryan, right- Oh, fuck.” and his hips lift up off the worn fabric of the seat and force Ryan’s fingers to brush that bundle of nerves again. “Please.”
The helpless desperation evident in Brendon’s tone goes straight to Ryan’s cock and he rubs over that spot twice more before he removes his fingers and earns a loud whine from Brendon. Spitting into his hand, he lathers his cock in saliva, tossing his head back in pleasure as he massages himself and for a moment, Brendon watches him in absolute awe…until his own cock throbs and he can’t take this torture any longer.
Positioning himself over Brendon, Ryan aligns himself and teasingly rubs the head of his cock against the warm flesh of Brendon’s entrance. Brendon growls, animalistic and impatient, and rolls his hips so that just the tip of Ryan sinks into him and the small movement is enough to make Ryan choke on his moan with wide, shocked eyes. Brendon hums in delight and palms the top of Ryan’s hand, still resting on his hip.
Life seems to have been switched to slow motion because when Brendon feels he’s ready to take all of Ryan, every inch that he takes causes his mouth to drop open wider and wider until it’s hanging open, sucking in air like he hasn’t tasted oxygen in years. The stretch is a bit painful, but the pleasure lingers within the burn and Brendon fights to focus his eyes on the shadowed face above him, beautiful and significant in the soft glow of the moon. He feels like he’s in a dream, a swimming pool of heat and hands and haze, and a quiet moan escapes him.
“Is this okay?” Ryan asks once the windshield wipers in his mind swipe away all the lusty confusion and he can clearly see Brendon’s face, angelic and relaxed. Brendon tries not to think of the double meaning of his question and just lazily nods his head, making grabby hands at the boy hovering over him until Ryan leans forward and Brendon can grasp the back of his neck and pull him in for a loving kiss. However, every last inch of Ryan fills Brendon all at once and the moan that erupts between them is so loud and filthy that the stars gasp and giggle.
Refraining from cliché’s, Ryan stills himself for a moment, his cock completely inside his best friend, and decides not to say anything about how good Brendon feels - of course, Brendon does feel amazing (“Holymotherfuckingshit,” Ryan thinks) but if the erotic moan he just released wasn’t proof enough for Brendon then Ryan’s going to have to slut it up.
Hot breath smothers Brendon’s collarbone and his fingers are robotically flexing around the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck, hands shaking all the while.
Ryan plants his lips firmly to Brendon’s slick skin and slowly, very slowly, pulls out of Brendon before pushing back in with enough swiftness that Brendon gasps, sharp and quiet. The thick drag as Ryan prepares for another thrust causes Brendon’s eyes to flutter shut and he raises his hips to meet the pair thrusting into him. A boiling liquid is pooling in the pit of his stomach as Ryan’s pace quickens and Brendon’s head lulls backward against the seat in sheer elation. Soon the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air and Ryan’s grunting softly with every harsh snap of his hips, his fingers leaving bruises on Brendon’s fair flesh. Each thrust pushes Ryan deeper, faster, harder towards his building orgasm and nothing but low, long moans leak from Brendon’s pretty mouth until Ryan finds that spot again and a piercing cry punctuates Brendon’s hands grappling for something above his head.
“More, more,” Brendon begs, hands slipping on the foggy glass as he tries to place his palms firmly against it as a leverage to push down, opposing Ryan’s thrusts in order to hit that wonderful pocket of nerves again. Ryan’s next thrust brings pleasure, but after Brendon angles his hips, it causes Brendon’s entire nervous system to go haywire because, “Fuck, Ryan, don’t stop.”
Five consecutive thrusts slam directly at the right angle and Brendon feels he’s quickly unraveling, like a blanket with a loose thread and it’s far too late to cut the stray piece of string so that the entire blanket doesn’t come undone but it’s “Br-Brendon, oh fuck! Brendon!” and all it takes is Ryan’s explicitly loud moan for Brendon to be spilling over as well, hot spurts coating his stomach as muscles clench chaotically beneath the come streaked skin of his abdomen.
A warmth surrounds him as Ryan collapses, spent and empty, onto his shivering form and heavy kisses are littered all down his face and jaw until Ryan finds a comfortable resting spot, his head tucked between Brendon’s left ear and shoulder.
Sweaty, sticky limbs tangle together to make one uniform pile of hot, hot, heat and ragged breaths and Ryan wishes his kisses could keep up with each thundering heartbeat he feels jolt beneath the skin his lips hover over. Right now he’s planting kisses lazily, trying sometimes to plant one after every single pulse until his mind hazes over and his lips linger longer than they should and he starts over until eventually Brendon’s heart rate is slowed enough that kissing his pulse seems like feat he can conquer.
“Is this okay?” Ryan murmurs again, salty skin firm under his lips and it’s so soft and lazy that Brendon only bothers to answer him with a content hum and snuggles closer to the boy already pressed tightly against his back. A smile graces Ryan’s lips and he gazes upward, out of the hazy, fogged over window at the soft blur of the moon and through the smudged palm prints and finger swipes left by Brendon, he can clearly view the stars. “Brendon,” he croaks and runs his hand down the other boy's side. “The stars can see us.”
“So?” Brendon replies, and it sounds rather bitchy but he doesn’t mean for it to be and he looks up at the sparkling orbs.
“So aren’t you afraid of what they’ll say?” Ryan asks in a whisper, kissing Brendon’s shoulder before he glances back out at the sky.
“About what?”
“About us.”
“No.” Brendon begins writing meaningless words along Ryan’s arm, the ones that look the prettiest in cursive, like their names and ‘smile’. He even lets a bit of his humor (immaturity?) get the best of him and he innocently spells out ‘fuck’ over the already prominent words tattooed on his wrists.
Watching with fascination (and now a small smile due to Brendon’s word choice), Ryan’s eyes follow the curvature of Brendon’s finger as he loops together letters to form the words developing in his head. “Why not?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
Brendon shrugs, draws an ‘L’ in Ryan’s palm as if to answer and Ryan’s heart jumps to conclusions. Instinctively, he closes his hand, drawing his fingers in around Brendon’s index and he can feel Brendon deflate next to him. Stopping the spelling of that four letter word is, in Ryan’s mind, the equivalent of stopping the feeling that defines it and right now, he’s not quite sure what he’s feeling. So Brendon documenting it on his skin is just a reminder of his confusion.
“I wasn’t done,” Brendon says softly and Ryan wonders if his interference hurt Brendon. Fingers overlap his and pry apart his hand until his palm is face up once more and Brendon retraces the ‘L’ in the same spot he originally drew it, as if it had been smudged or erased with the creation of Ryan’s fist. Next to the ‘L’ Brendon attaches an ‘i’, curving upward to a point before dropping back down and creating a loop in the formation of the next letter, an ‘e’.
Eyebrows knitted, Ryan blinks and registers the word drawn invisibly on his hand. How it answers his question, he’s not sure, but when he opens his mouth to speak, lips parting on the back of Brendon’s neck, he realizes that Brendon isn’t quite finished. “Because,” Brendon whispers before Ryan has a chance to ask for verification. And with two more strokes of his finger, he draws an ‘X’ through the word on Ryan’s palm. “We don’t have to anymore.”
Ryan’s breath catches in his throat. Brendon smiles, closes Ryan’s fingers into a fist, kisses his knuckles.
“If the stars want to talk, let them talk.”
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: killinglocals in all her glory
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Everything is blurry, his entire body is shaking with endorphins, his thoughts are jumbled together and he’s scared but Ryan Ross wants to fuck him so everything is right with the world.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened. Don’t own, don’t believe.
Author Notes: I’m posting this much against the will of my lovely wife killinglocals who has made the decision that this is too ~good~ to be shared with anyone other than her. But, even though I love her, I am entirely too proud of this to not share it. Sorry Annakins.
It’s nothing but a slew of lips and tongue and teeth as hot air crowds the atmosphere and asphyxiates the two occupants in the back seat of an old, spent car. It’s dark, but the moon is cutting through the tinted glass windows, causing beams of white flittered with dust and dirt to dance above their heads. A curious hand explores new skin, vast and glowing in the moonlight, causing a strangled moan to slice through the suffocating air and there begins a new rhythm of unsteady, haggard breaths.
In the dark, the shadow of the car casts an eerie, black shadow across the rumpled sheet of desert sand but from the opposite side, the pale light of the moon reveals the entire passenger side of the car to be painted a deep blue, chipped and rusted in various places, but blue nonetheless. Sun faded, cracked and peeling is the paint, and rust clings relentlessly to the patches where the blue has dissolved, but although the exterior of the car is very old, the things taking place inside of it are extremely new and the contrast seems beautifully tacky.
A shirt is shed unhurriedly, tediously and, “Oh fuck, Ryan, stop teasing me!” shatters the heart-stilling image of whispered, slow love-making under the eyes of only the moon and stars. Perhaps even the idea of sharing a secret with a fraction of such a vast galaxy seems romantic and at the same time a bit reckless (the moon is sure not to gossip, but who knows what those billions of stars might say?) In any case, this entire hypothetical situation is sucked away with the sultry gasp that follows these fierce words and, yeah, the hush-hush scenario with the bright orbs in the sky seems a bit unimportant as hands grapple for something solid to hold on to.
Lashes flutter closed over a pair of chocolate brown irises that lull back at the precise moment a pair of soft lips ghost over exposed abdomen. Stomach muscles clench beneath a hot tongue, bathing the pale skin in sweet, slow strokes. The boy lying on his back, shirt strewn somewhere in the general direction of the front seat, arches and moans, hands still searching for that certain support. His fingers finally twist around the locks of hair before him and he gently tugs at their roots, whimpering something pathetic and panting out shallow, Ry-Ryans.
It’s cold out, nothing Las Vegas nights haven’t been in the past, and despite the obvious chill outside, a bead of sweat is forming along the forehead of the boy pinned and is trailing down his face, puddling lusciously in the dip of his collarbone. Instantly, however, a warm, insistent mouth is removing all glistening evidence from his skin and is replacing it with sloppy, rushed kisses in it’s wake.
“Tell me that this is okay,” the mouth murmurs against a sticky neck and suddenly a tongue darts out to lap at the thundering pulse point beneath the skin it is poised over. “This is okay, isn’t it, Bren?”
Coherency shouldn’t be required right now. In fact, coherency doesn’t seem possible right now. But the broken reply of, “Ryan, you-- aah ah!” is attempted but lost in a desperate moan that leaks from behind a pair of swollen lips as a hand feigning innocence wonders over the undeniable bulge between the legs of the boy on his back.
“Oh shit, Brendon,” Ryan blurts out and it’s pushed and airy and, fuck if it isn’t the sexiest thing the other boy has ever heard.
No, this isn’t okay. These two, like this, raw and enslaved by something greater than them, panting and passionate in the back seat of Ryan’s car, it isn’t okay. At least, it shouldn’t be because although nothing about this is okay, at the same time, everything is.
Brendon’s shaking hands, lost and tangled in soft hair, gently pull the mouth fraternizing with the tender flesh below his jaw to his own and once again, it’s lips, tongue, teeth. Ryan’s lips, although full and soft, are not as big as the lips of the boy currently trying to lick inside his mouth and it is because of this that their lips mold together in a way that gives Ryan shivers and makes Brendon want to kiss harder. A moan is lost within their mouths as lips open up and tongues collide and although whose throat the moan emerged from is indistinguishable, it rumbles through both of them with the same amount of stimulation.
Oblivious to everything but his painfully hard erection and the lazy movements of his mouth fused to Brendon’s, Ryan hardly notices that somewhere between a pair of teeth clamping down on his bottom lip and a hand slipping into the back of his pants, he too, has been disrobed of his shirt. How lust managed to blur this event from his memory is as mysterious as the moan one of them produced, but it doesn’t prevent him from noticing the sharp nails digging into the flesh of his ass and the buck of his hips is accompanied by a shuddered gasp. It becomes obvious within a matter of mere seconds that this motion, this quick snapping of the hips, elicits a moan so dirty from each of them that the movement is repeated once, twice, five agonizingly slow times until the remaining clothing between them seems sinful and is removed immediately. A throbbing, hard cock is hidden by the light gray fabric of Brendon’s boxers, but at the tip of this rather obvious proof of arousal is a dark, damp spot that causes the honey eyes that rest upon it to haze over with something chillingly lustful. Ryan doesn’t need to look down at his own leaking cock to know that Brendon finds it just as tempting because before Ryan’s brain has time to process all the things he can do with that cock once he’s freed it from that smoldering fabric, Brendon has already dived his hand into the front of Ryan’s boxers and reduced Ryan to a trembling, moan-choking mess.
Brendon is panting, struggling to catch his breath at the same time he’s struggling to keep up the same rhythm his hand has created with Ryan’s cock. His movements are quick, jerky and sloppy, but it all feels divine to Ryan so only breathy sounds of encouragement are heard from him. His hips begin to roll, falling into the rhythm Brendon created and everything feels so hot he thinks he might pass out from overheating. His long fingers wrapping firmly around the other boy’s wrists, stilling the sensual movement and he gargles on something similar to a moan when he notices Brendon’s fingers stretching out as he pulls his hand away, desperate to touch. A dissatisfied noise tears through Brendon’s throat and for a split second Ryan forgets that he was just about to come because really, if Brendon wants his cock that badly…
But before Brendon has time to pout and put those plush lips of his on display, Ryan has his underwear down around his ankles and has dragged his hot tongue up the length of Brendon’s shaft. The noise Brendon makes is far from disappointed. It’s a mixture of pure ecstasy, fear and the assertion that he’s losing control over everything inside of him. Ryan revels in the sound, allows it to motivate his tongue, swirling around the tip of Brendon’s head and when the taste of pre-come taints his taste buds, he gives Brendon a sound he can relish as well. Hands weave back into familiar hair and Ryan’s head is gently pushed down because fuck, Brendon just needs that extra little bit of--
“Ryan,” Brendon gasps and he repeats his name several times all while trying to keep his squirming lower half from choking the boy in question. His toes curl unbearably tight and his mouth hangs open lazily; what’s the point in having a functioning mouth when Ryan’s seems to be the only one that needs to be working at the moment? Lips slip off with a wet pop and Ryan leaves Brendon’s cock, spit slicked and fully erect and crawls up the trembling body beneath him to capture a pair of lips that look tragically unattended to.
There’s humidity clinging to the oxygen in the air and fog has begun to stain the otherwise clear windows. Sweat is dampening every inch of skin on Brendon’s body and as Ryan’s mouth works expertly along his jaw line, left hand teasing his bare hip, the only thing Brendon manages to utter is a series of short lived, helpless “Oh’s.”
They’re just boys. Just foolish, naïve boys for believing that this is where they’re meant to be: lost in each other in a world existing only in the back seats of shitty cars on cold Las Vegas nights. The stars are watching with ready mouths, hearsay on the tips of their tongues. But let them talk. In a galaxy so immense, they are only jealous they have yet to find their place.
Brendon’s name is whispered through the dense, foggy atmosphere and Ryan’s eyes, half lidded and glazed over, stare down at him with more intensity than Brendon’s head can sustain at that moment. Another whisper, this one less distinguishable due to the nuzzling below Brendon’s ear, and Brendon’s back arches; he chokes out something that begs for him to repeat because Ryan’s hand has found it’s way between Brendon’s legs and his concentration is thrown off completely. Ryan works him slow and steady and murmurs, “I want to fuck you,” in a way that makes Brendon want to cry. Everything is blurry, his entire body is shaking with endorphins, his thoughts are jumbled together and he’s scared but Ryan Ross wants to fuck him so everything is right with the world.
Ryan’s words are still echoing in his mind and Brendon is pretty sure he’s just caught his breath again when the cracked whisper of “Please?” registers and the boy being pressed into the seat is sure he’s just melted into a huge puddle of orgasmic goo.
Before he can nod his head, Ryan steals Brendon’s lips in something a kin to a plead that really is unnecessary at this point (Brendon is so far gone in the moment that saying anything but yes would be immoral) but the younger boy appreciates it greatly. Tongues intertwine with one another and desperation seems like an understatement as hands ravenously explore every expanse of skin available and Ryan needs this so bad he can hardly see straight.
It’s awkward and unrehearsed and to be quite honest, a bit embarrassing as Ryan wets two fingers generously with his saliva and presses them against Brendon’s entrance. Their breathing is labored and unsynchronized but at least the intensity of the moment hasn’t stolen them their ability to inhale, exhale. Feverishly, Brendon nods his head, chews his lip and moans as Ryan carefully pushes one digit into Brendon and he holds his breath because fucking this up now might just kill him. Observantly, he watches Brendon, whose face is placid due to Ryan’s left hand stroking gentle circles on his lower hip and Brendon swallows slowly, indicating that he’s ready for more.
The hiss of Brendon’s breath upon the intrusion of the second finger causes Ryan’s face to screw up in worry and he quickly hushes Brendon with soft, sweet kisses on his inner thigh, apologies. “It’s okay,” he breathes. Assurances. Wriggling around just a bit, adjusting to this new feeling, Brendon whimpers something pathetic and Ryan wonders, “Stop?”
It’s pained and slightly uncertain, but Brendon replies quickly with, “No, no. Please, I. Fuck, Ryan, I need this.” And Ryan slowly begins to move his fingers in and out, listening intently for protests from the boy writhing beneath him and it takes a few moments until the feeling isn’t as alien to Brendon. Eight seconds pass before Ryan’s long fingers curl inside him and Brendon shudders violently and cries, “God, right there! Yes, Ryan, right- Oh, fuck.” and his hips lift up off the worn fabric of the seat and force Ryan’s fingers to brush that bundle of nerves again. “Please.”
The helpless desperation evident in Brendon’s tone goes straight to Ryan’s cock and he rubs over that spot twice more before he removes his fingers and earns a loud whine from Brendon. Spitting into his hand, he lathers his cock in saliva, tossing his head back in pleasure as he massages himself and for a moment, Brendon watches him in absolute awe…until his own cock throbs and he can’t take this torture any longer.
Positioning himself over Brendon, Ryan aligns himself and teasingly rubs the head of his cock against the warm flesh of Brendon’s entrance. Brendon growls, animalistic and impatient, and rolls his hips so that just the tip of Ryan sinks into him and the small movement is enough to make Ryan choke on his moan with wide, shocked eyes. Brendon hums in delight and palms the top of Ryan’s hand, still resting on his hip.
Life seems to have been switched to slow motion because when Brendon feels he’s ready to take all of Ryan, every inch that he takes causes his mouth to drop open wider and wider until it’s hanging open, sucking in air like he hasn’t tasted oxygen in years. The stretch is a bit painful, but the pleasure lingers within the burn and Brendon fights to focus his eyes on the shadowed face above him, beautiful and significant in the soft glow of the moon. He feels like he’s in a dream, a swimming pool of heat and hands and haze, and a quiet moan escapes him.
“Is this okay?” Ryan asks once the windshield wipers in his mind swipe away all the lusty confusion and he can clearly see Brendon’s face, angelic and relaxed. Brendon tries not to think of the double meaning of his question and just lazily nods his head, making grabby hands at the boy hovering over him until Ryan leans forward and Brendon can grasp the back of his neck and pull him in for a loving kiss. However, every last inch of Ryan fills Brendon all at once and the moan that erupts between them is so loud and filthy that the stars gasp and giggle.
Refraining from cliché’s, Ryan stills himself for a moment, his cock completely inside his best friend, and decides not to say anything about how good Brendon feels - of course, Brendon does feel amazing (“Holymotherfuckingshit,” Ryan thinks) but if the erotic moan he just released wasn’t proof enough for Brendon then Ryan’s going to have to slut it up.
Hot breath smothers Brendon’s collarbone and his fingers are robotically flexing around the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck, hands shaking all the while.
Ryan plants his lips firmly to Brendon’s slick skin and slowly, very slowly, pulls out of Brendon before pushing back in with enough swiftness that Brendon gasps, sharp and quiet. The thick drag as Ryan prepares for another thrust causes Brendon’s eyes to flutter shut and he raises his hips to meet the pair thrusting into him. A boiling liquid is pooling in the pit of his stomach as Ryan’s pace quickens and Brendon’s head lulls backward against the seat in sheer elation. Soon the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air and Ryan’s grunting softly with every harsh snap of his hips, his fingers leaving bruises on Brendon’s fair flesh. Each thrust pushes Ryan deeper, faster, harder towards his building orgasm and nothing but low, long moans leak from Brendon’s pretty mouth until Ryan finds that spot again and a piercing cry punctuates Brendon’s hands grappling for something above his head.
“More, more,” Brendon begs, hands slipping on the foggy glass as he tries to place his palms firmly against it as a leverage to push down, opposing Ryan’s thrusts in order to hit that wonderful pocket of nerves again. Ryan’s next thrust brings pleasure, but after Brendon angles his hips, it causes Brendon’s entire nervous system to go haywire because, “Fuck, Ryan, don’t stop.”
Five consecutive thrusts slam directly at the right angle and Brendon feels he’s quickly unraveling, like a blanket with a loose thread and it’s far too late to cut the stray piece of string so that the entire blanket doesn’t come undone but it’s “Br-Brendon, oh fuck! Brendon!” and all it takes is Ryan’s explicitly loud moan for Brendon to be spilling over as well, hot spurts coating his stomach as muscles clench chaotically beneath the come streaked skin of his abdomen.
A warmth surrounds him as Ryan collapses, spent and empty, onto his shivering form and heavy kisses are littered all down his face and jaw until Ryan finds a comfortable resting spot, his head tucked between Brendon’s left ear and shoulder.
Sweaty, sticky limbs tangle together to make one uniform pile of hot, hot, heat and ragged breaths and Ryan wishes his kisses could keep up with each thundering heartbeat he feels jolt beneath the skin his lips hover over. Right now he’s planting kisses lazily, trying sometimes to plant one after every single pulse until his mind hazes over and his lips linger longer than they should and he starts over until eventually Brendon’s heart rate is slowed enough that kissing his pulse seems like feat he can conquer.
“Is this okay?” Ryan murmurs again, salty skin firm under his lips and it’s so soft and lazy that Brendon only bothers to answer him with a content hum and snuggles closer to the boy already pressed tightly against his back. A smile graces Ryan’s lips and he gazes upward, out of the hazy, fogged over window at the soft blur of the moon and through the smudged palm prints and finger swipes left by Brendon, he can clearly view the stars. “Brendon,” he croaks and runs his hand down the other boy's side. “The stars can see us.”
“So?” Brendon replies, and it sounds rather bitchy but he doesn’t mean for it to be and he looks up at the sparkling orbs.
“So aren’t you afraid of what they’ll say?” Ryan asks in a whisper, kissing Brendon’s shoulder before he glances back out at the sky.
“About what?”
“About us.”
“No.” Brendon begins writing meaningless words along Ryan’s arm, the ones that look the prettiest in cursive, like their names and ‘smile’. He even lets a bit of his humor (immaturity?) get the best of him and he innocently spells out ‘fuck’ over the already prominent words tattooed on his wrists.
Watching with fascination (and now a small smile due to Brendon’s word choice), Ryan’s eyes follow the curvature of Brendon’s finger as he loops together letters to form the words developing in his head. “Why not?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
Brendon shrugs, draws an ‘L’ in Ryan’s palm as if to answer and Ryan’s heart jumps to conclusions. Instinctively, he closes his hand, drawing his fingers in around Brendon’s index and he can feel Brendon deflate next to him. Stopping the spelling of that four letter word is, in Ryan’s mind, the equivalent of stopping the feeling that defines it and right now, he’s not quite sure what he’s feeling. So Brendon documenting it on his skin is just a reminder of his confusion.
“I wasn’t done,” Brendon says softly and Ryan wonders if his interference hurt Brendon. Fingers overlap his and pry apart his hand until his palm is face up once more and Brendon retraces the ‘L’ in the same spot he originally drew it, as if it had been smudged or erased with the creation of Ryan’s fist. Next to the ‘L’ Brendon attaches an ‘i’, curving upward to a point before dropping back down and creating a loop in the formation of the next letter, an ‘e’.
Eyebrows knitted, Ryan blinks and registers the word drawn invisibly on his hand. How it answers his question, he’s not sure, but when he opens his mouth to speak, lips parting on the back of Brendon’s neck, he realizes that Brendon isn’t quite finished. “Because,” Brendon whispers before Ryan has a chance to ask for verification. And with two more strokes of his finger, he draws an ‘X’ through the word on Ryan’s palm. “We don’t have to anymore.”
Ryan’s breath catches in his throat. Brendon smiles, closes Ryan’s fingers into a fist, kisses his knuckles.
“If the stars want to talk, let them talk.”