secret love, and the fastest way to loneliness. [11/13]
TITLE: secret love, and the fastest way to loneliness.
AUTHOR: therecordskipsx
RATING: Ranges from PG13 to R/NC17 eventually. Maybe.
POV: Third, omniscient.
PAIRING: Eventually Ryan/Brendon...who else? I like my comfort zone, thank you.
SUMMARY: AU, in which Ryan is half in denial and picks up transgendered hookers, and Brendon is a not-so-much transgendered whore.
DISCLAIMER: Oh please, honey.
A/N: The end is nigh, hold onto your hats! Title credit to This Providence ♥ Chapter title goes to Brand New. Oh, and this chapter is where the 'love' bit of the title sort of comes into play. Are you stoked? 'Cause I am!
Brendon wakes up to Ryan’s weight leaving the bed suddenly, seeming to catapult off the mattress, and he opens his eyes and all he sees is dark ceiling, stained and stucco. He’s not sure what time it is, and he’s about to check, but suddenly it doesn’t matter much anymore.
He can hear Ryan, coughing and heaving, and he gets up and shuffles across the carpet into the bathroom, poking his head around the door warily.
“Ry...Ryan, are you alright?”
Ryan slumps against the wall, chuckling.
“You’d think, you’d think I would have learned last time.”
Brendon sighs and pads across the tile, sitting beside Ryan on the cold floor.
“Well, what would have been the fun in that, now?” he says, poking Ryan in the shoulder, and Ryan groans and rests his head on his arms.
“I hate whiskey,” he says bitterly, and Brendon laughs.
“Well, then you shouldn’t drink it anymore, huh?”
Ryan rolls his head to the side and looks up at Brendon through his hair.
“Yeah,” he says, as though the idea has just occurred to him, just danced into his brain at that very second. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Brendon says, smiling. “I’m always right.”
Ryan just puts his head back on his arms and sighs.
“Hey, hey Brendon?” he says, muffled by his arm.
“Mm?”
“You mean what you said earlier?”
“’Bout what, Ry?”
“Quitting,” Ryan says.
“Oh, quitting,” Brendon sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I did.”
Ryan rolls his head to the side to look at him again, a smile fluttering on his mouth.
“Good, good,” he says, and Brendon nods.
“Yeah, we can quit the things that hurt us together.”
Ryan smiles and leans against the wall, closing his eyes and swallowing.
“Sure, right after I’m done dying,” he sighs, and Brendon laughs and rests his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“You’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine,” he says.
And maybe Ryan believes him, just a little.
----------
After a while, when Ryan’s sure he’s not going to puke again, they stumble-trip-fall back into the bed, half asleep and laughing at their clumsiness. And really, when they land tangled together and twisted in the sheets, it’s not half as awkward as it should be.
Not even when they’re half on top of each other and Ryan’s hair is tickling the side of Brendon’s face, breath sliding satin down his neck. Not even when Brendon starts playing idly with the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck, because they’re both too tired to even care.
And lying there, foggy and content, Brendon replays his own words, we’ll both be fine, and maybe, just maybe, he starts to believe it.
Maybe.
----------
Waking up is like death, Brendon thinks, because the warmth of Ryan’s body slides away from his and there’s a moment where he’s sure, he’s so fucking sure, that Ryan is going to freak out and oh, God.
But he doesn’t, he just yawns and slides against the blanket, stretching his arms, and turns his head to look at Brendon, eyes lidded and dark and smudged with yesterday’s eyeliner. There’s a long moment where time stretches thin, and everything slows down, and Brendon’s just about to fucking snap because Ryan is stretching him out like a rubber band, taut and ready to break.
“Thanks,” Ryan says, sudden, and takes a deep breath. “Really.”
And all the tension rushes out of Brendon’s body, flies away when Ryan looks at him like that and smiles, all pillow creases and sleepy eyes.
And then, Ryan shifts forward a little and brushes his lips briefly over Brendon’s, just a whisper of a kiss, and lays his head back down on the pillow, eyes still locked with Brendon’s, cheeks flushing.
“I don’t want to be afraid,” he murmurs, and Brendon smiles, propping himself up on his elbow.
“Then don’t be,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, moving his hand to rest on the skin of Ryan’s stomach, feather-light, and Ryan takes a deep breath and lets it out, long and shuddering.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he says, and God, Brendon’s hand is burning through his skin, and this, this is...fuck. Brendon is all sleep and smouldering eyes, calloused fingertips and patience, and Ryan is nerves and shadows, nerves and shadows.
“Do you trust me?” Brendon whispers, silk on Ryan’s skin, and Ryan just nods, swallows, nods again. “Is it alright if I kiss you, then?”
And part of Ryan wants to scream, to run away, to do anything but this. But there’s another part, a part that’s growing and spreading like an infection, a part that says it over and over again, yes, God yes, please, yes. He can’t even talk, he can’t even breathe, so he just nods, just nods and swallows his nerves, and lets it happen.
Lets time slow down as Brendon moves closer, fuck, and holds down his fear and lets their lips come together, and God, this is alright, yeah. Brendon doesn’t push it, just keeps his hand on Ryan’s skin, thumb stroking his hipbone absently, and kisses him slow, so slow, because as much as he wants to fucking jump him, he knows he needs patience, bucket loads of it.
And it’s different than in the kitchen a few days ago, something shatters in Ryan’s head and his insides twist and heat up, catching fire, and he burns, burns everywhere. And he doesn’t even think twice when Brendon’s tongue flicks hesitantly along his lip, doesn’t even think twice before opening his mouth and putting his hand on the back of Brendon’s neck, closer, closer, now.
Brendon just makes this little noise, appreciative and low, and moves closer, hovering over Ryan, rough fingertips sliding down his side, and he’s never, never been kissed like this, like the fate of everything he’s ever known hangs in the balance of the way his lips move, and he feels like he’s going to catch fire, going to burst, going to fall desperately in love and never be able to climb out.
His lips slide down, grazing sensitive skin under Ryan’s chin, and Ryan tips his head back and lets out a long breath, fingers sliding up to tangle in Brendon’s hair while lips teeth tongue bruise his neck. Ryan can’t understand, doesn’t even want to, how he’s been ignoring this his whole life, ignoring this gnawing feeling in his gut, pretending he didn’t need this from someone. No, not just someone, not just anyone, not some girl, not some whore, not just...
And then Brendon’s lips are finding his again, and everything spirals away, and there’s just the two of them locked together on the messy bed, dust falling through sunbeams across their skin, and everything Ryan never knew he needed, fingertips and lips and teeth and skin, and even if it’s not sex, because it’s not, it’s still like falling at terminal velocity.
And it’s a long, long time before either of them dares to stop, to breathe, to move, to shatter the moment.
It’s a long, long time after that when Ryan’s heartbeat slows to normal and his skin stops tingling, and even after that when Brendon goes home reluctantly, promising to come back soon, very soon, because he doesn’t think he can stand to stay away.
And Ryan lies on his bed, still wondering how, why, he’d been hiding from this for so long.
He falls asleep with the burn of Brendon’s fingers still imprinted in his skin, the taste of him still on his lips, forever imprinted in his brain.
He falls asleep, God forbid, with a smile on his face and a flame burning in his chest, face buried in the pillow that still smells like Brendon’s shampoo.
Yeah, he thinks. Maybe, just a fraction of a maybe, everything is going to be alright.
Part Twelve.
AUTHOR: therecordskipsx
RATING: Ranges from PG13 to R/NC17 eventually. Maybe.
POV: Third, omniscient.
PAIRING: Eventually Ryan/Brendon...who else? I like my comfort zone, thank you.
SUMMARY: AU, in which Ryan is half in denial and picks up transgendered hookers, and Brendon is a not-so-much transgendered whore.
DISCLAIMER: Oh please, honey.
A/N: The end is nigh, hold onto your hats! Title credit to This Providence ♥ Chapter title goes to Brand New. Oh, and this chapter is where the 'love' bit of the title sort of comes into play. Are you stoked? 'Cause I am!
Brendon wakes up to Ryan’s weight leaving the bed suddenly, seeming to catapult off the mattress, and he opens his eyes and all he sees is dark ceiling, stained and stucco. He’s not sure what time it is, and he’s about to check, but suddenly it doesn’t matter much anymore.
He can hear Ryan, coughing and heaving, and he gets up and shuffles across the carpet into the bathroom, poking his head around the door warily.
“Ry...Ryan, are you alright?”
Ryan slumps against the wall, chuckling.
“You’d think, you’d think I would have learned last time.”
Brendon sighs and pads across the tile, sitting beside Ryan on the cold floor.
“Well, what would have been the fun in that, now?” he says, poking Ryan in the shoulder, and Ryan groans and rests his head on his arms.
“I hate whiskey,” he says bitterly, and Brendon laughs.
“Well, then you shouldn’t drink it anymore, huh?”
Ryan rolls his head to the side and looks up at Brendon through his hair.
“Yeah,” he says, as though the idea has just occurred to him, just danced into his brain at that very second. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Brendon says, smiling. “I’m always right.”
Ryan just puts his head back on his arms and sighs.
“Hey, hey Brendon?” he says, muffled by his arm.
“Mm?”
“You mean what you said earlier?”
“’Bout what, Ry?”
“Quitting,” Ryan says.
“Oh, quitting,” Brendon sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I did.”
Ryan rolls his head to the side to look at him again, a smile fluttering on his mouth.
“Good, good,” he says, and Brendon nods.
“Yeah, we can quit the things that hurt us together.”
Ryan smiles and leans against the wall, closing his eyes and swallowing.
“Sure, right after I’m done dying,” he sighs, and Brendon laughs and rests his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“You’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine,” he says.
And maybe Ryan believes him, just a little.
----------
After a while, when Ryan’s sure he’s not going to puke again, they stumble-trip-fall back into the bed, half asleep and laughing at their clumsiness. And really, when they land tangled together and twisted in the sheets, it’s not half as awkward as it should be.
Not even when they’re half on top of each other and Ryan’s hair is tickling the side of Brendon’s face, breath sliding satin down his neck. Not even when Brendon starts playing idly with the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck, because they’re both too tired to even care.
And lying there, foggy and content, Brendon replays his own words, we’ll both be fine, and maybe, just maybe, he starts to believe it.
Maybe.
----------
Waking up is like death, Brendon thinks, because the warmth of Ryan’s body slides away from his and there’s a moment where he’s sure, he’s so fucking sure, that Ryan is going to freak out and oh, God.
But he doesn’t, he just yawns and slides against the blanket, stretching his arms, and turns his head to look at Brendon, eyes lidded and dark and smudged with yesterday’s eyeliner. There’s a long moment where time stretches thin, and everything slows down, and Brendon’s just about to fucking snap because Ryan is stretching him out like a rubber band, taut and ready to break.
“Thanks,” Ryan says, sudden, and takes a deep breath. “Really.”
And all the tension rushes out of Brendon’s body, flies away when Ryan looks at him like that and smiles, all pillow creases and sleepy eyes.
And then, Ryan shifts forward a little and brushes his lips briefly over Brendon’s, just a whisper of a kiss, and lays his head back down on the pillow, eyes still locked with Brendon’s, cheeks flushing.
“I don’t want to be afraid,” he murmurs, and Brendon smiles, propping himself up on his elbow.
“Then don’t be,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, moving his hand to rest on the skin of Ryan’s stomach, feather-light, and Ryan takes a deep breath and lets it out, long and shuddering.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he says, and God, Brendon’s hand is burning through his skin, and this, this is...fuck. Brendon is all sleep and smouldering eyes, calloused fingertips and patience, and Ryan is nerves and shadows, nerves and shadows.
“Do you trust me?” Brendon whispers, silk on Ryan’s skin, and Ryan just nods, swallows, nods again. “Is it alright if I kiss you, then?”
And part of Ryan wants to scream, to run away, to do anything but this. But there’s another part, a part that’s growing and spreading like an infection, a part that says it over and over again, yes, God yes, please, yes. He can’t even talk, he can’t even breathe, so he just nods, just nods and swallows his nerves, and lets it happen.
Lets time slow down as Brendon moves closer, fuck, and holds down his fear and lets their lips come together, and God, this is alright, yeah. Brendon doesn’t push it, just keeps his hand on Ryan’s skin, thumb stroking his hipbone absently, and kisses him slow, so slow, because as much as he wants to fucking jump him, he knows he needs patience, bucket loads of it.
And it’s different than in the kitchen a few days ago, something shatters in Ryan’s head and his insides twist and heat up, catching fire, and he burns, burns everywhere. And he doesn’t even think twice when Brendon’s tongue flicks hesitantly along his lip, doesn’t even think twice before opening his mouth and putting his hand on the back of Brendon’s neck, closer, closer, now.
Brendon just makes this little noise, appreciative and low, and moves closer, hovering over Ryan, rough fingertips sliding down his side, and he’s never, never been kissed like this, like the fate of everything he’s ever known hangs in the balance of the way his lips move, and he feels like he’s going to catch fire, going to burst, going to fall desperately in love and never be able to climb out.
His lips slide down, grazing sensitive skin under Ryan’s chin, and Ryan tips his head back and lets out a long breath, fingers sliding up to tangle in Brendon’s hair while lips teeth tongue bruise his neck. Ryan can’t understand, doesn’t even want to, how he’s been ignoring this his whole life, ignoring this gnawing feeling in his gut, pretending he didn’t need this from someone. No, not just someone, not just anyone, not some girl, not some whore, not just...
And then Brendon’s lips are finding his again, and everything spirals away, and there’s just the two of them locked together on the messy bed, dust falling through sunbeams across their skin, and everything Ryan never knew he needed, fingertips and lips and teeth and skin, and even if it’s not sex, because it’s not, it’s still like falling at terminal velocity.
And it’s a long, long time before either of them dares to stop, to breathe, to move, to shatter the moment.
It’s a long, long time after that when Ryan’s heartbeat slows to normal and his skin stops tingling, and even after that when Brendon goes home reluctantly, promising to come back soon, very soon, because he doesn’t think he can stand to stay away.
And Ryan lies on his bed, still wondering how, why, he’d been hiding from this for so long.
He falls asleep with the burn of Brendon’s fingers still imprinted in his skin, the taste of him still on his lips, forever imprinted in his brain.
He falls asleep, God forbid, with a smile on his face and a flame burning in his chest, face buried in the pillow that still smells like Brendon’s shampoo.
Yeah, he thinks. Maybe, just a fraction of a maybe, everything is going to be alright.
Part Twelve.