Crash Into Me [Ryden standalone PG]
Title: Crash Into Me
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: First-Ryan
Disclaimer: Hasn't happened so far as I know.
Summary: Sometimes, persistence pays off. Ryan can't resist forever.
A/N: A short little thing I wrote almost a year ago... betad by silverdragon87.
*
You’re crashing into me like a wave against a long since crumbled shore. The soil is gone and any plants have been washed away long ago, leaving only the hard stone surface that keeps the entire thing from caving in. But you keep crashing.
I can’t stop when you slam into me, tearing at the slippery stone surface, trying so hard to break underneath. You’re sure that if you can just find a crack in the surface, there will be something soft underneath.
It’s been three years since you started, but the rock has remained solid. You think it’s working, the way you snuggle up to me on the bus, your head against my chest and your lips upturned into a smile. You think I don’t mind when your hand rests lightly on my thigh.
After shows, you think I like the way you jump on me, hanging off my shoulders as you yell exuberantly. You’re crashing, but it’s not hard enough.
I don’t budge and the rock surface remains solid and impenetrable. You don’t think so. You think the patronizing smile I give you means you’ve found the crack and can worm your way in. You think when I roll my eyes it means I’m laughing at you. You think that if you can just keep it up for long enough, I’ll realize the stone is more like sand.
It’s not sand.
Your constant presence, always happy, always bouncy, always there, is grating on the rock. You think when I yell at you to leave me alone it’s code that I don’t want to be alone. You think it’ll make it better by jumping on my lap and singing a childish nursery rhyme into my ear.
When I push you off and you fall onto the floor, you just grin like it doesn’t matter. A kiss on the cheek later, you’ve flounced out of the room.
You think you can wear me down, like the water that carved out the Grand Canyon. You think persistence is the key to changing the way I am, to carve into the stone, force your way in.
So when you wake me up every day with a grin and a cup of coffee, you think you can see the way the rock is carved changing just a little. It’s not. It takes more than a cup of coffee, even if it is Starbucks, to change the rock’s surface.
You think I think you’re trying to annoy me. I do. You think I need to relax and you’re idea of that is dragging me out into the desert late at night to watch the stars. You think I like lying on top of a car hood and staring at the sky, the only sound being distant coyotes, howling to the moon.
The kiss you press to my cheek that night doesn’t change the way the stone’s formed.
You’re always watching over me, like the sun that beats down every afternoon, burning into my neck. Your stare is intense like the sun, the one-hundred degree heat that it reaches in the desert always turned in my direction like that will do something other than drench my clothes in sweat.
You think that by watching, you’ll learn. You think I won’t notice. I do. You think when I turn from your gaze it means I’m thinking about you. The stare is blazing. You think when I tell you to fuck off, I don’t mean it. You think the burning gaze will do something more. You want to protect me, from the fan girls, from the media, from the world.
I don’t need protection but you think I do. So you’re always watching, always looking for that crack in the stone, the way to change the shape.
You think you can change me. You can’t. You think I like the way you’re always with me, even when the others have left. You think I don’t mind that you hang back, that you cuddle up next to me on the couch, hands idly stroking the guitar you have in your lap. You think I enjoy the detached notes that waver in the air before dying the moment you still the string.
The chord lingers in the air for a second, running into the stone wall and echoing against the cold rock, searching for a crack. There is none. It’s gone when your finger presses down.
Your smile lights up the room and the intensity of your gaze burns like the sun on a hot summer afternoon. Your fingers glide across the strings like a piano player, strumming the melodies into the silent room.
You think my sigh is content. You think that by shifting closer, you’re finally finding that opening into the rock fissure. Your hand lying against mine is not your way in. It won’t change the way I form. The light pressure of your fingers against my palm won’t carve out the stone.
The kiss pressed to my fingers doesn’t dent the rock. The way you stare at me doesn’t make sweat rise on my neck. You think when I look away, I’m afraid.
You’re crashing into me like a wave that won’t stop. Even the seagulls know it’s useless as the wave crashes against the solid rock of the cliff. They make their nests there because it will never crumble.
Your hand in my hair doesn’t make me falter. The burning gaze on me isn’t enough to break through that rock wall. Your lips on mine make me stop.
The rock wall is solid and enduring, but the seagulls take flight. Your hand on my cheek and your tongue in my mouth is a rupture.
When you shift into my lap, the wave is crashing harder than ever before, slamming into the cold stone. The gulls are gone, their nests left to weather the crashing waves.
Your hand on my neck, your eyes closed, the burning gaze is gone and it’s cool. But inside, it’s not. It’s hot and coiled and impossible to straighten out. It’s boiling and tumbling and it’s causing a rupture, a crack in the perfect veneer of the rock.
Your body against mine, your hips grinding down, the way your lips slide against mine is not affecting me. It’s not. I think you’re crazy. I think you think I’m enjoying it, the way that moan escapes. I’m not.
I think I’m strong. I’m the rock and you’re the river. Rock beats the river. Doesn’t it?
Wrong. River beats the rock. There is a crack and it’s too late to close it. You know. I know you know.
You’re crashing and the rock is crumbling.
**
FIN
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: First-Ryan
Disclaimer: Hasn't happened so far as I know.
Summary: Sometimes, persistence pays off. Ryan can't resist forever.
A/N: A short little thing I wrote almost a year ago... betad by silverdragon87.
*
You’re crashing into me like a wave against a long since crumbled shore. The soil is gone and any plants have been washed away long ago, leaving only the hard stone surface that keeps the entire thing from caving in. But you keep crashing.
I can’t stop when you slam into me, tearing at the slippery stone surface, trying so hard to break underneath. You’re sure that if you can just find a crack in the surface, there will be something soft underneath.
It’s been three years since you started, but the rock has remained solid. You think it’s working, the way you snuggle up to me on the bus, your head against my chest and your lips upturned into a smile. You think I don’t mind when your hand rests lightly on my thigh.
After shows, you think I like the way you jump on me, hanging off my shoulders as you yell exuberantly. You’re crashing, but it’s not hard enough.
I don’t budge and the rock surface remains solid and impenetrable. You don’t think so. You think the patronizing smile I give you means you’ve found the crack and can worm your way in. You think when I roll my eyes it means I’m laughing at you. You think that if you can just keep it up for long enough, I’ll realize the stone is more like sand.
It’s not sand.
Your constant presence, always happy, always bouncy, always there, is grating on the rock. You think when I yell at you to leave me alone it’s code that I don’t want to be alone. You think it’ll make it better by jumping on my lap and singing a childish nursery rhyme into my ear.
When I push you off and you fall onto the floor, you just grin like it doesn’t matter. A kiss on the cheek later, you’ve flounced out of the room.
You think you can wear me down, like the water that carved out the Grand Canyon. You think persistence is the key to changing the way I am, to carve into the stone, force your way in.
So when you wake me up every day with a grin and a cup of coffee, you think you can see the way the rock is carved changing just a little. It’s not. It takes more than a cup of coffee, even if it is Starbucks, to change the rock’s surface.
You think I think you’re trying to annoy me. I do. You think I need to relax and you’re idea of that is dragging me out into the desert late at night to watch the stars. You think I like lying on top of a car hood and staring at the sky, the only sound being distant coyotes, howling to the moon.
The kiss you press to my cheek that night doesn’t change the way the stone’s formed.
You’re always watching over me, like the sun that beats down every afternoon, burning into my neck. Your stare is intense like the sun, the one-hundred degree heat that it reaches in the desert always turned in my direction like that will do something other than drench my clothes in sweat.
You think that by watching, you’ll learn. You think I won’t notice. I do. You think when I turn from your gaze it means I’m thinking about you. The stare is blazing. You think when I tell you to fuck off, I don’t mean it. You think the burning gaze will do something more. You want to protect me, from the fan girls, from the media, from the world.
I don’t need protection but you think I do. So you’re always watching, always looking for that crack in the stone, the way to change the shape.
You think you can change me. You can’t. You think I like the way you’re always with me, even when the others have left. You think I don’t mind that you hang back, that you cuddle up next to me on the couch, hands idly stroking the guitar you have in your lap. You think I enjoy the detached notes that waver in the air before dying the moment you still the string.
The chord lingers in the air for a second, running into the stone wall and echoing against the cold rock, searching for a crack. There is none. It’s gone when your finger presses down.
Your smile lights up the room and the intensity of your gaze burns like the sun on a hot summer afternoon. Your fingers glide across the strings like a piano player, strumming the melodies into the silent room.
You think my sigh is content. You think that by shifting closer, you’re finally finding that opening into the rock fissure. Your hand lying against mine is not your way in. It won’t change the way I form. The light pressure of your fingers against my palm won’t carve out the stone.
The kiss pressed to my fingers doesn’t dent the rock. The way you stare at me doesn’t make sweat rise on my neck. You think when I look away, I’m afraid.
You’re crashing into me like a wave that won’t stop. Even the seagulls know it’s useless as the wave crashes against the solid rock of the cliff. They make their nests there because it will never crumble.
Your hand in my hair doesn’t make me falter. The burning gaze on me isn’t enough to break through that rock wall. Your lips on mine make me stop.
The rock wall is solid and enduring, but the seagulls take flight. Your hand on my cheek and your tongue in my mouth is a rupture.
When you shift into my lap, the wave is crashing harder than ever before, slamming into the cold stone. The gulls are gone, their nests left to weather the crashing waves.
Your hand on my neck, your eyes closed, the burning gaze is gone and it’s cool. But inside, it’s not. It’s hot and coiled and impossible to straighten out. It’s boiling and tumbling and it’s causing a rupture, a crack in the perfect veneer of the rock.
Your body against mine, your hips grinding down, the way your lips slide against mine is not affecting me. It’s not. I think you’re crazy. I think you think I’m enjoying it, the way that moan escapes. I’m not.
I think I’m strong. I’m the rock and you’re the river. Rock beats the river. Doesn’t it?
Wrong. River beats the rock. There is a crack and it’s too late to close it. You know. I know you know.
You’re crashing and the rock is crumbling.
**
FIN