One-Night Stand Forever - [Ten]
A mouthful of stringy, tangled material had Ryan spluttering and flailing around in heavenly sheets. He blinked his eyes open hastily and took in the room he was in. It was colossal, nearly the size of his house, but when he spotted the Willy Wonka poster he had given William last Christmas, he groaned.
The boy next to him stirred.
"What the fuck!" Ryan exclaimed. Sitting up, he tugged a few lingering hairs from his mouth, tossing them onto the plush carpet beneath the bed. "William! Please get a haircut!"
William's words arrived from tired vocal chords. "Gabe likes to run his fingers through it."
The younger boy grimaced at the idea of William being intimate with another human being. He felt incestual just thinking about it.
With a very pronounced, "Hmph!", Ryan slid out of the covers and padded to William's bathroom to switch the shower on. As he waited for the water to warm up, he removed the pair of gray sweatpants he had slept in. When he stood up to step out of them completely, he caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror by the sink.
He was humongous; like a disfigured camel with only one hump.
His penis stood erect beneath his belly and he hummed under his breath, evaluating the night's dreams, but only recalling one in which he and Brendon played laser tag. He scowled at his reflection and took off for the shower.
Once under the spray of perfectly heated water, Ryan glanced down at his protruding stomach sympathetically.
"Sorry, Baby," he muttered, a feeling of early regret settling low in his abdomen. But the sensation was speedily devoured by one of relief as spindly fingers trailed down his chest, purposely avoiding his bump in an attempt to keep the creature inside forever unknowing of their sinful intention. It was undoubtedly too soon for "the talk".
Behind closed eyes, Ryan mentally berated himself for thinking of his unborn child's teen years at such a time, and went on to wrap his hand around his cock.
His entire body jerked sporadically. He blushed at his lack of control despite the fact that he was alone.
The water assisted the slide of his palm as he stroked, every so often slowing the pace to massage his thumb on the tip.
Suddenly, the memory of Brendon touching him flooded his mind, and unfortunately, that was the only image available. Though he was desperately fighting to get it out, it provided even more pleasure to his already buzzing body, and he was forced to place his left hand on the wall to remain standing.
The thin digits circling his erection transformed into shorter, thicker ones which expertly rubbed the length. Within a few moments, they were replaced by full, wet lips and pale, hollowed cheeks. Ryan bucked his hips again and again, a tingling sensation pumping through every inch of his form, intensifying with each movement of his hand.
When a pair of seemingly innocent brown eyes were added to the concoction his imagination had built up, Ryan came. He rode out his orgasm, dirtying the tile of William's shower, and allowing the picture in his head to fade until it vanished entirely.
Still trembling, Ryan chanced a look at his stomach. "I really am sorry."
The guilt worsened an hour later when he heard William squeal, "Oh my fucking god! There's spunk in my shower!" Regardless, he couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Holy shit!" his friend wailed, emerging from the bathroom followed by a trail of steam. The pink towel wrapped around his head was struggling to remain upright while he shouted at Ryan. "I can't believe you would... do that in my shower! You owe me an apology, Mr. Ross."
Ryan's eyes were fixated on the Tv, and his hands, on the Playstation controller. He let out a few sound effects to feign unfaltering concentration. From the corner of his eye, he saw William place his hands on towel-clad hips.
"I will get revenge," he threatened. The boy lying on the bed remained indifferent.
Ryan's continuing ignorance finally set him off and he trotted over to the schoolbag resting on the oak desk. The other boy watched with curiosity as he retrieved his iPhone, played with it a bit, and then brought the phone to the ear hidden by a moist curl of brown hair.
"Oh, Hi! Brendon?"
The character from the game could be heard receiving a fatal, gory punishment from attacking zombies. The controller was now untouched and next to Ryan's knees.
"Yeah, hey, it's William. Well, I'm sure you know that Spring Break is next week, but my family and I are going to Jamaica. Obviously, we're going to be out of the house, so I was just wondering, are you going anywhere?"
And Ryan knew exactly what Will was doing. He had a sudden urge to jump, attack his friend and capture the phone, but past experience had taught him that those actions would solely result in a rather annoyed person on the other end of the line. He simply had no desire to irritate Brendon; the boy was moody.
"Oh! Good! You're not!" William sang. He shot a look at Ryan. He had indeed attained revenge. "Seeing as you live in the neighborhood and Ryan can't go home, we both think it would be best if he stayed with you."
Light brown eyes nearly seethed venom, and at that moment, the pregnant boy wouldn't have cared if a dark, fiery pit swallowed his best friend whole. He would do everything in his power to stay away from Brendon's. Sure, they had established a truce, but the insults spat back and forth between them that evening had made it ineffective.
Brendon always had to be right and so fucking superior, and Ryan couldn't stand it. But breathing within proximity of him for a week? The boy would be placed in jail before reaching 17.
Will's cheery voice cut into Ryan's ears. "Oh, that's just perfect! I'll bring him over on Sunday, after your church service, of course. Ta-ta!"
The boy on the bed took the laughter threatening to erupt from his mouth (because Brendon? Church? Seriously?) and swallowed it down, only to make way for a bunch of curse-filled word vomit aimed directly at his half-naked friend. William stood in place with crossed arms, accepting every blow with a smirk, and when Ryan ran out of breath, he made his way into the closet to get dressed.
But with one final gulp of air, Ryan shouted, "I'm not staying with Brendon Urie! You can drug me, tie me up, and drag me, but I will find a way to avoid it even in my comatose state!"
Sunday morning, a forest green duffle bag was being dropped on the floor in front of an unmade twin bed.
"You've got to be kidding me," Ryan said. His face scrunched up in repugnance at not only the sight of Brendon's room, but the indication that he would be required to sleep on the floor. It only took a soft kick on the inside of his stomach for Ryan to inform the boy next to him, "I'm not sleeping on the floor."
Brown eyes narrowed, thick eyelashes hovering around them, pink lips pursed. Perhaps it was the white collared shirt or the black slacks, but Brendon appeared well-put together for once. "No fucking duh, Ross. You're carrying my kid, which is why you're sleeping on the bed."
Ryan eyed the worn and wrinkled clothing gathering in piles atop the sheets. Brendon noticed.
He stepped forward and began snatching shirts and pants, tossing them all around the room. When the bed was clear, he turned back to Ryan.
"There."
The other boy nodded his approval, and then, out of general curiosity, asked, "Where are you going to sleep?"
The Urie's were clearly attempting some sort of world record for having children. Ryan had missed being trampled by a mere few inches when walking through the front door, so he had no doubt that Brendon would be staying with one of his siblings.
But Brendon gestured to a sleeping bag barely visible under a sneaker, a math textbook, a rubber snake, a collection of Super Mario games, and something that closely resembled Play-Doh.
"There's not even a carpet in here!" Ryan exclaimed. "Your room is the basement, if you haven't noticed."
Brendon shrugged and tussled his hair. His hand flew down to his leather belt and he undid it quickly, pulling his pants down and revealing a pair of black boxer briefs.
Ryan hadn't realized his gaze was straying until the other boy teased, "You want some, Ross?" Shapely hip bones were exposed as Brendon thrust his groin into the air.
"Oh my god!" Ryan groaned. He turned away. "Just because I've messed with you once doesn't mean I want to do it again," he mumbled.
A chuckle was emitted from behind him, along with a haughty, "If I remember correctly, I got you off twice."
With malice lacing his voice, Ryan retorted.
"That was completely nonconsensual!"
He whipped around to glare at the other boy and was met with a picture that would be forever embedded in his mind: an entirely nude Brendon. Before he could control them, hazel eyes flew to the other's flaccid cock.
Brendon grinned a Cheshire grin. Ryan went pliant.
"Well, well, well," the younger boy purred. Bare feet shuffled across the cluttered foor and stopped directly in front of Ryan's Converse. A steady hand reached out to palm at Ryan's jeans.
He was growing hard, and Brendon's naked form, taunting him, touching him; it wasn't helping.
Tepid breath swam along his jawline, whispering a, "Is this nonconsensual, Ryan?" The hand worked faster.
Ryan had to brace himself with a hand on Brendon's shoulder. He tried to work up the courage to push the other away, to force the movement out of his arm, but instead it dripped into his feet, lifting him up on his toes to better grind into the cupped palm on his erection. Eyelids fluttered and pink lips parted and Ryan gasped, a tremble squirming its way through his being.
"Say no, Ryan. Say fucking no," Brendon panted.
Desperate to remain coherent, Ryan searched for the word in his brain. He picked it out and allowed it to transfer to his mouth, where it only escaped his lips in a guttural moan. He despised himself in that moment. He hated that he couldn't resist it, resist Brendon.
But who could blame him? He was a teenager, he was pregnant, and he had another person rubbing him off. He was starved of self-control.
"Fuck," Ryan groaned. Bitten fingernails dug into the skin of Brendon's shoulder, but a mop of velvety chestnut hair soothed the indents.
Despite the sting of his reddened skin, Brendon continued to satisfy Ryan's leaking cock with varying rotations of his wrist, rolling his hand until a throaty moan resounded through the walls of the basement and his fingers detected the moisture gathering along the inseam of Ryan's pants.
As the boy hanging off of him drank in breaths of air, Brendon leered.
"You can't say no, you see," he sang. "You're a fucking whore."
Each word hit Ryan's ears with an impact greater than all before it. He could barely believe what he was hearing.
At the same time, he told himself not to be surprised; this was Brendon Urie.
A slight shove came from the other boy and Ryan was propelled backward until the entirety of Brendon was again in clear view. This time, he spun around and made his way to the bed, sitting cross-legged and pulling a Rolling Stone magazine from the confines of his duffel bag.
With a hand holding up his chin, he murmured, "I can't believe I have to stay here for a week."
"It's not my fault you begged us not to tell the cops anything," Brendon mentioned from behind him. "You can go home if you want."
Ryan hummed.
It was true. He had sprinted into the hall to meet William before he opened the door for the cops and had speedily rambled that he promised and swore he would stay with the boy for whatever amount of time, as long as they told the police that everything was fine.
When Will had pulled open the door and dramatically said, "I'm so sorry! My dad was wasted when he called you earlier. I tried to stop him, I did!" Ryan hadn't expected that it would result in his best friend abandoning him to go to some tropical paradise and leave him in Hell.
"Well, I'm going," Brendon stated.
"Whatever," Ryan droned.
He didn't care. Honestly, at that moment, Brendon could have threatened to leap off of a bridge and Ryan wouldn't be fazed. Sure, he'd be losing out on highly critical child support, but he would gladly give up 50 hours of each week to work just to hear that there was no chance of ever seeing Brendon again.
The door clicked as it opened. It didn't close.
"If my parents happen to come in or if you get hungry and need to go upstairs, stick to the story: your extremely successful boyfriend is on a business trip, taking over his dad's company."
The door shut.
The boy next to him stirred.
"What the fuck!" Ryan exclaimed. Sitting up, he tugged a few lingering hairs from his mouth, tossing them onto the plush carpet beneath the bed. "William! Please get a haircut!"
William's words arrived from tired vocal chords. "Gabe likes to run his fingers through it."
The younger boy grimaced at the idea of William being intimate with another human being. He felt incestual just thinking about it.
With a very pronounced, "Hmph!", Ryan slid out of the covers and padded to William's bathroom to switch the shower on. As he waited for the water to warm up, he removed the pair of gray sweatpants he had slept in. When he stood up to step out of them completely, he caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror by the sink.
He was humongous; like a disfigured camel with only one hump.
His penis stood erect beneath his belly and he hummed under his breath, evaluating the night's dreams, but only recalling one in which he and Brendon played laser tag. He scowled at his reflection and took off for the shower.
Once under the spray of perfectly heated water, Ryan glanced down at his protruding stomach sympathetically.
"Sorry, Baby," he muttered, a feeling of early regret settling low in his abdomen. But the sensation was speedily devoured by one of relief as spindly fingers trailed down his chest, purposely avoiding his bump in an attempt to keep the creature inside forever unknowing of their sinful intention. It was undoubtedly too soon for "the talk".
Behind closed eyes, Ryan mentally berated himself for thinking of his unborn child's teen years at such a time, and went on to wrap his hand around his cock.
His entire body jerked sporadically. He blushed at his lack of control despite the fact that he was alone.
The water assisted the slide of his palm as he stroked, every so often slowing the pace to massage his thumb on the tip.
Suddenly, the memory of Brendon touching him flooded his mind, and unfortunately, that was the only image available. Though he was desperately fighting to get it out, it provided even more pleasure to his already buzzing body, and he was forced to place his left hand on the wall to remain standing.
The thin digits circling his erection transformed into shorter, thicker ones which expertly rubbed the length. Within a few moments, they were replaced by full, wet lips and pale, hollowed cheeks. Ryan bucked his hips again and again, a tingling sensation pumping through every inch of his form, intensifying with each movement of his hand.
When a pair of seemingly innocent brown eyes were added to the concoction his imagination had built up, Ryan came. He rode out his orgasm, dirtying the tile of William's shower, and allowing the picture in his head to fade until it vanished entirely.
Still trembling, Ryan chanced a look at his stomach. "I really am sorry."
The guilt worsened an hour later when he heard William squeal, "Oh my fucking god! There's spunk in my shower!" Regardless, he couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Holy shit!" his friend wailed, emerging from the bathroom followed by a trail of steam. The pink towel wrapped around his head was struggling to remain upright while he shouted at Ryan. "I can't believe you would... do that in my shower! You owe me an apology, Mr. Ross."
Ryan's eyes were fixated on the Tv, and his hands, on the Playstation controller. He let out a few sound effects to feign unfaltering concentration. From the corner of his eye, he saw William place his hands on towel-clad hips.
"I will get revenge," he threatened. The boy lying on the bed remained indifferent.
Ryan's continuing ignorance finally set him off and he trotted over to the schoolbag resting on the oak desk. The other boy watched with curiosity as he retrieved his iPhone, played with it a bit, and then brought the phone to the ear hidden by a moist curl of brown hair.
"Oh, Hi! Brendon?"
The character from the game could be heard receiving a fatal, gory punishment from attacking zombies. The controller was now untouched and next to Ryan's knees.
"Yeah, hey, it's William. Well, I'm sure you know that Spring Break is next week, but my family and I are going to Jamaica. Obviously, we're going to be out of the house, so I was just wondering, are you going anywhere?"
And Ryan knew exactly what Will was doing. He had a sudden urge to jump, attack his friend and capture the phone, but past experience had taught him that those actions would solely result in a rather annoyed person on the other end of the line. He simply had no desire to irritate Brendon; the boy was moody.
"Oh! Good! You're not!" William sang. He shot a look at Ryan. He had indeed attained revenge. "Seeing as you live in the neighborhood and Ryan can't go home, we both think it would be best if he stayed with you."
Light brown eyes nearly seethed venom, and at that moment, the pregnant boy wouldn't have cared if a dark, fiery pit swallowed his best friend whole. He would do everything in his power to stay away from Brendon's. Sure, they had established a truce, but the insults spat back and forth between them that evening had made it ineffective.
Brendon always had to be right and so fucking superior, and Ryan couldn't stand it. But breathing within proximity of him for a week? The boy would be placed in jail before reaching 17.
Will's cheery voice cut into Ryan's ears. "Oh, that's just perfect! I'll bring him over on Sunday, after your church service, of course. Ta-ta!"
The boy on the bed took the laughter threatening to erupt from his mouth (because Brendon? Church? Seriously?) and swallowed it down, only to make way for a bunch of curse-filled word vomit aimed directly at his half-naked friend. William stood in place with crossed arms, accepting every blow with a smirk, and when Ryan ran out of breath, he made his way into the closet to get dressed.
But with one final gulp of air, Ryan shouted, "I'm not staying with Brendon Urie! You can drug me, tie me up, and drag me, but I will find a way to avoid it even in my comatose state!"
Sunday morning, a forest green duffle bag was being dropped on the floor in front of an unmade twin bed.
"You've got to be kidding me," Ryan said. His face scrunched up in repugnance at not only the sight of Brendon's room, but the indication that he would be required to sleep on the floor. It only took a soft kick on the inside of his stomach for Ryan to inform the boy next to him, "I'm not sleeping on the floor."
Brown eyes narrowed, thick eyelashes hovering around them, pink lips pursed. Perhaps it was the white collared shirt or the black slacks, but Brendon appeared well-put together for once. "No fucking duh, Ross. You're carrying my kid, which is why you're sleeping on the bed."
Ryan eyed the worn and wrinkled clothing gathering in piles atop the sheets. Brendon noticed.
He stepped forward and began snatching shirts and pants, tossing them all around the room. When the bed was clear, he turned back to Ryan.
"There."
The other boy nodded his approval, and then, out of general curiosity, asked, "Where are you going to sleep?"
The Urie's were clearly attempting some sort of world record for having children. Ryan had missed being trampled by a mere few inches when walking through the front door, so he had no doubt that Brendon would be staying with one of his siblings.
But Brendon gestured to a sleeping bag barely visible under a sneaker, a math textbook, a rubber snake, a collection of Super Mario games, and something that closely resembled Play-Doh.
"There's not even a carpet in here!" Ryan exclaimed. "Your room is the basement, if you haven't noticed."
Brendon shrugged and tussled his hair. His hand flew down to his leather belt and he undid it quickly, pulling his pants down and revealing a pair of black boxer briefs.
Ryan hadn't realized his gaze was straying until the other boy teased, "You want some, Ross?" Shapely hip bones were exposed as Brendon thrust his groin into the air.
"Oh my god!" Ryan groaned. He turned away. "Just because I've messed with you once doesn't mean I want to do it again," he mumbled.
A chuckle was emitted from behind him, along with a haughty, "If I remember correctly, I got you off twice."
With malice lacing his voice, Ryan retorted.
"That was completely nonconsensual!"
He whipped around to glare at the other boy and was met with a picture that would be forever embedded in his mind: an entirely nude Brendon. Before he could control them, hazel eyes flew to the other's flaccid cock.
Brendon grinned a Cheshire grin. Ryan went pliant.
"Well, well, well," the younger boy purred. Bare feet shuffled across the cluttered foor and stopped directly in front of Ryan's Converse. A steady hand reached out to palm at Ryan's jeans.
He was growing hard, and Brendon's naked form, taunting him, touching him; it wasn't helping.
Tepid breath swam along his jawline, whispering a, "Is this nonconsensual, Ryan?" The hand worked faster.
Ryan had to brace himself with a hand on Brendon's shoulder. He tried to work up the courage to push the other away, to force the movement out of his arm, but instead it dripped into his feet, lifting him up on his toes to better grind into the cupped palm on his erection. Eyelids fluttered and pink lips parted and Ryan gasped, a tremble squirming its way through his being.
"Say no, Ryan. Say fucking no," Brendon panted.
Desperate to remain coherent, Ryan searched for the word in his brain. He picked it out and allowed it to transfer to his mouth, where it only escaped his lips in a guttural moan. He despised himself in that moment. He hated that he couldn't resist it, resist Brendon.
But who could blame him? He was a teenager, he was pregnant, and he had another person rubbing him off. He was starved of self-control.
"Fuck," Ryan groaned. Bitten fingernails dug into the skin of Brendon's shoulder, but a mop of velvety chestnut hair soothed the indents.
Despite the sting of his reddened skin, Brendon continued to satisfy Ryan's leaking cock with varying rotations of his wrist, rolling his hand until a throaty moan resounded through the walls of the basement and his fingers detected the moisture gathering along the inseam of Ryan's pants.
As the boy hanging off of him drank in breaths of air, Brendon leered.
"You can't say no, you see," he sang. "You're a fucking whore."
Each word hit Ryan's ears with an impact greater than all before it. He could barely believe what he was hearing.
At the same time, he told himself not to be surprised; this was Brendon Urie.
A slight shove came from the other boy and Ryan was propelled backward until the entirety of Brendon was again in clear view. This time, he spun around and made his way to the bed, sitting cross-legged and pulling a Rolling Stone magazine from the confines of his duffel bag.
With a hand holding up his chin, he murmured, "I can't believe I have to stay here for a week."
"It's not my fault you begged us not to tell the cops anything," Brendon mentioned from behind him. "You can go home if you want."
Ryan hummed.
It was true. He had sprinted into the hall to meet William before he opened the door for the cops and had speedily rambled that he promised and swore he would stay with the boy for whatever amount of time, as long as they told the police that everything was fine.
When Will had pulled open the door and dramatically said, "I'm so sorry! My dad was wasted when he called you earlier. I tried to stop him, I did!" Ryan hadn't expected that it would result in his best friend abandoning him to go to some tropical paradise and leave him in Hell.
"Well, I'm going," Brendon stated.
"Whatever," Ryan droned.
He didn't care. Honestly, at that moment, Brendon could have threatened to leap off of a bridge and Ryan wouldn't be fazed. Sure, he'd be losing out on highly critical child support, but he would gladly give up 50 hours of each week to work just to hear that there was no chance of ever seeing Brendon again.
The door clicked as it opened. It didn't close.
"If my parents happen to come in or if you get hungry and need to go upstairs, stick to the story: your extremely successful boyfriend is on a business trip, taking over his dad's company."
The door shut.