Prickly Pear | Ryan/Brendon | NC-17 | ~ 4700 words |
Prickly Pear
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | ~ 4700 words
Sometimes it's harder to remember where the line is though, when it's just the two of them.
Thank you so much to elfiepike and sociofemme for betaing! ♥♥♥
Ryan comes back from the kitchen and finds Brendon sitting on the floor, staring at his potted plant. He sets the bag of Doritos down on the table and walks over to Brendon, crouching beside him.
"What's up, buddy?" he asks.
Brendon blinks slowly. "It's like a tree made of frogs," he says.
Ryan closes one eye to squint at Brendon, then opens it and closes the other one while he squints at the plant.
"It's a cactus," Ryan says.
"No way," Brendon says. "No way that's a cactus. I grew up in Vegas; I would know."
"I grew up in Vegas too, dipshit," Ryan says. The more he looks at the plant the more he can understand what Brendon's talking about though, which is always dangerous. "It's, like, an Indian cactus, I think. Maybe that means it's special."
"Susus- Suchus-" Brendon works his tongue around in his mouth like he's trying to loosen up up. "Suchesu- that thing. Ryan, that thing." He starts snickering to himself.
"S- succu-" Ryan trails off as he starts to laugh as well. The word's all slippery and not sharp like a cactus at all. Which makes it not a very good onomatopoeia or something because murmur sounds like murmuring but is succulent supposed to feel like prickles? Man, he's not even sure.
Brendon sighs, leaning back on his hands. "Too bad we ran out of weed," he says.
"Hmm?" Ryan looks over. "Oh, yeah, right. Too bad." There's maybe another dime bag plus some in the box on the floor of Ryan's closet, but he's totally saving that just in case of emergency, so for all intents and purposes they're all out of weed.
"Do you think it's too early to start drinking?" Brendon asks.
"No," Ryan says immediately. After a pause, he says, "What time is it?" It was only like four when they started smoking, but Ryan's pretty sure it's been quite a few hours since then. Enough time to order a large pizza, have it delivered, and then eat the entire thing, anyway.
"I dunno," Brendon says. "I could call Shane and see if he knows."
Brendon pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts squinting at the screen. "Should I call his cell?" he asks Ryan. "Hey, dude, should I have my house number saved as 'home' or as 'Shane', cause, like. It is my home, but I can't call myself there; I'd only ever be calling Shane." He trails off and then bursts into laughter. He snorts and ends up sprawling back on the carpet, gasping for breath.
"What?" Ryan finally asks.
"My phone has the time!" Brendon says in between snickers. "I don't even have to call Shane!" He starts laughing again.
Ryan drags himself over to the couch, pulling himself up with his arms. He gets his torso up, then finally has to use his legs to lift his lower half up as well. Couches are lower than beds; Ryan could never have even managed to get that far up onto his giant-ass bed.
"So, what time is it?" Ryan asks.
Brendon blinks. "Huh?"
"Time for beer," Ryan agrees.
Then, he stares at Brendon until Brendon looks alarmed and says, "What?"
"Time for beer," Ryan repeats, pointedly.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "Not, for example, Time to Dance."
Ryan rolls his eyes without actually moving any other muscle in his face.
"Go get the beer," he finally says. Brendon has a really thick skull. Ryan knows this because sometimes he uses this thumb and first finger to flick Brendon on the forehead- only when Brendon deserves it, of course- and Brendon's head totally makes thick-sounding noises. Brendon's mouth made pained-sounding noises, so it was hard to tell if his head also sounded hollow. Ryan has his suspicions.
"It's your house," Brendon says.
"I'm on the couch," Ryan informs him. "Go. Go now."
"I'm on the floor," Brendon protests. Then, he frowns to himself and says, "Maybe I could... get off the floor."
"And also get the beer," Ryan says.
The beer is a really dark ale that's super carbonated. Ryan can never remember the kinds of beer that he likes when he's actually at the liquor store. He's probably been drinking a different beer every day for a month now. At least when they're on tour, there's actually someone around who keeps track of stuff like that. Like Spencer, and also Jon. Spencer is around now, but Ryan would have to go to his house to find the beer he likes, and right now Ryan's at his own house, not at Spencer's. Jon's going to come live with Ryan when they're recording. That will be much more useful. Maybe Jon can also figure out why Ryan's cable is no longer working. He's pretty sure it's a problem with the TV, not with the remote control.
This beer is good, kind of. It's good to have something to drink, but Ryan's throat is dry and the bubbles are making his throat all tickley.
He rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
Brendon is sitting on the couch now, too. Brendon's sitting, and Ryan's sprawling- though he had to pull himself up some when Brendon came back from the kitchen with his beer, because otherwise he would have gotten beer into his lungs. That's what happens when you swallow things down the wrong pipe.- so they are touching. Ryan's feet are touching Brendon's thighs.
Ryan drinks his beer and watches Brendon drink his own.
He and Brendon don't hang out all that often when they're off tour. Ryan's got his group of friends and Brendon has his own. Sometimes it's hard to be fully present in the moment when it's just him and Brendon alone together. The movement of Brendon's rib cage under the thin fabric of his t-shirt reminds Ryan of how Brendon looked sleeping on the mattress on the floor, back when neither of them wanted to go home. The curve of Brendon's wrist, the bare stretch of his neck, the fluff where his hair sticks up: he and Brendon spent a lot of years pushing and pulling and marching as close as they could get to this imaginary line that warned for Going Too Far, always pulling back before they actually crossed it.
It's easier now, the two of them together. They don't have anything to prove, and if Ryan's toes are warming from the heat of Brendon's legs, that's all it is: a point of contact between bodies, nothing that they have to prove to anyone else. Sometimes it's harder to remember where the line is though, when it's just the two of them.
Brendon swallows the rest of his beer, then belches loudly. Ryan moves his foot up to poke his toes into Brendon's stomach. He makes sure to set his own, nearly empty bottle down first, because Brendon always takes things like that as a call to arms. Before Ryan has even finished pulling his foot back, Brendon has thrown himself across the couch.
Brendon lets out something of a war cry, and then all of a sudden his bony elbows are everywhere and also Ryan can't breathe.
"Ow," Ryan says. Then, "Ack, ack," as Brendon's bony knee digs into Ryan's thigh. "Ow. Ouch." Ryan's limbs are kind of far away from his body but he still knows that he's in pain. Or wait, no. It's not that his limbs are far away from his body, it's that his body is far away from, from, his body is far away, but Brendon's body is close.
Brendon does this thing where he finishes whatever attack plan he's made, and then he just goes splat, his body all heavy and loose on top of Ryan. It's still hard to breathe, but Brendon doesn't feel like a giant sack of bones anymore, so at least it's not as painful.
Brendon is lying all stretched out on top of Ryan. His feet are on the couch, and most of his legs, too, but his torso is totally resting on Ryan's, and his head is on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan can feel where Brendon's breath hits his neck, and then he can feel every other part of Brendon as well because Brendon has gone splat.
Ryan lifts his own hand and rests it on Brendon's back. Now he can feel Brendon breathe with his hand, and where Brendon's breath hits his neck, and also he can hear him breathing, too. Brendon is breathing loudly, probably because his neck is twisted kind of funny, but mostly because Brendon is just a loud breathing person. He snuffles a lot.
Ryan stretches slightly, which shifts Brendon off to the side, just a little, and makes it easier for Ryan's chest to move. He can breathe, and he can feel Brendon breathing, and Brendon is very alive right now; they're both alive. Ryan's heart is pounding, or maybe his veins are closer to the surface than usual. He can feel the beating of his heart, and he wonders if Brendon can as well, if Brendon can feel the thubthud where their skin is pressed together. If he can feel it through the layers of their t-shirts. Can Ryan's feel Brendon's heartbeat? If he can feel Brendon's it would make sense that Brendon could feel his.
Lying all pressed to another body isn't something that Ryan likes all that often. It's a lot of touching, and a lot of sensations to try and relax into. Sometimes it's grating to be touched; Ryan likes his limbs to be his own, and he doesn't like having to fight against someone else's limbs. There are a lot of things to be aware of, like the heat of Brendon's cheek, which Ryan can feel even though his shirt. The way Brendon's arm is wrapped around his chest and tucked under his rib cage. How Brendon's back feels under Ryan's hand.
Brendon is all splat, so he's not even clinging. He's on the edge of the couch, and Ryan could tip him right over if he wanted to. Brendon might fight a little at first, just unconsciously, the way bodies do when they realize that they're falling. He might struggle at first, but it's not a far distance to the floor, and he'd land pretty softly. Ryan could tip him over the edge and Brendon would probably just stay there on the floor. Ryan has nice carpet, expensive carpet. It's thick and soft.
Instead, Ryan drags his hand down the line of Brendon's back, searching for the hem of his t-shirt, and when he finds it, he slips his fingers underneath, sliding his hand up Brendon's back again, but this time his hand is on bare skin.
Brendon's the kind of bastard who has perfectly clear skin on his back: smooth skin, warm skin. Ryan's never kissed Brendon on the mouth, but they've been in bed shirtless together; he's touched Brendon's bare back. He's palmed Brendon's ass, but there was someone else there watching, always a crowd of people who had laughed even louder than Brendon when Ryan finally made contact.
He and Brendon have made pushing boundaries into something of a routine, but now it's just the two of them on Ryan's couch, and there's no one around to appreciate the now bare stretch of skin, Brendon's shirt pushed up by Ryan's wrist.
Brendon snuffles, just like he always does, but his body moves too. Maybe he's trying to hide the movement with the sound of his breathing, but they're so close together that Ryan can feel the way his body tightens as he slowly, slowly starts to shift himself over.
Ryan lifts his head slightly, trying to see what Brendon's doing. At the same time, Brendon tilts his head up, maybe trying to sneak a peek at Ryan, and they end up meeting each other's eyes.
Brendon gasps out something like a laugh, both of them frozen awkwardly because their faces are only inches apart now.
Ryan expects Brendon to do something, like maybe to laugh for real, which would break the moment, or to lean in closer even. Just, something. Instead, he holds himself above Ryan, looking down and waiting. Ryan wonders how stoned Brendon is right now. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. He'll get giggly after a couple of beers one night, but then the next night he'll just pack it away. Year after year after year and Ryan still doesn't understand Brendon completely.
Ryan's feeling pretty relaxed, but not much more than that. He hasn't even had much to drink. Maybe it doesn't matter though, because the moment stretches on and on, and still they're both looking at each other. Ryan would have thought that Brendon would finally be the one to move, but instead it's him.
He lifts his head up all the way off the couch. Brendon doesn't come closer, but he tilts his head and it's easy for Ryan to press their lips together. There's no one watching, no roar of the crowd, but Brendon does make another little snuffling noise, and then he gasps loudly, and maybe Brendon's noisy breathing is kind of hot when Ryan's close enough to feel the way it hitches in his chest.
Brendon's lips are soft. Or, not his lips exactly, not the skin on his lips; there's something soft about his mouth. Ryan kisses him, and Brendon's mouth. Maybe if Brendon weren't all the way on top of him, and maybe if his mouth didn't feel like that, maybe then this could just be passed off as a joke between friends: a quick exchange of affection followed by a heavy round of drinking.
It doesn't feel like a joke though. Ryan's neck gets tired quickly, but Brendon follows him back down. Brendon's weight on top of him, and Ryan already has one hand on bare skin; it's hardly anything to open his mouth, to reach with his other hand and rub his palm up the back of Brendon's thigh. Brendon's body is warm and fits well, feels good stretched along his own.
They kiss, deep and wet, until Brendon pulls back, shifting on the couch. Ryan squints up at Brendon and tries to figure out what's happening. Brendon seems to be trying to find a different position; maybe his arms are tired from having to hold up his upper body. Ryan is tempted to just pull Brendon back down; he wouldn't mind more of Brendon's weight on his chest if it meant that he got Brendon's mouth back.
He moves one hand up and the other down until his hands are resting on Brendon's hips. He takes a moment to appreciate the way Brendon feels under his hands, and how their dicks line up and press together through their jeans, then says, "There's more room on the floor."
There would be even more room on his bed, but he's worried that suggesting the bedroom would be implying too much. He would rather stick with just kissing than have Brendon leave altogether. Brendon likes sex, seems to have a lot of sex, usually chimes in loudly when they're talking about sex, but sometimes he gets all quiet and randomly prim or something. Ryan still isn't entirely sure what makes him open up and what makes him go quiet.
Brendon nods his head, then slowly extracts his legs from where they're tangled with Ryan's. He rolls off the couch first, then starts pushing the coffee table out of the way so that by the time Ryan gets down as well, there's room enough for both of them.
They lie side by side now, and again there's that moment where they're just looking at each other, only this time Ryan knows that if Brendon doesn't make a move, he's going to make one himself.
Brendon squirms a little closer and Ryan leans in the rest of the way. It's overwhelming kissing Brendon, but not as sloppy as he might have thought it would be. Not as rushed, not as awkward, not as eager. Kissing Brendon now is nothing like what kissing Brendon from a couple of years ago would have been like, and Ryan isn't sure why this surprises him. Of course it's different now; Brendon's different. They're both different.
Except that it just keeps being better than Ryan thought it would be, and maybe that's where the surprise is. Or maybe it's just the fact that they're doing this at all, or - Brendon's thigh slides in between Ryan's legs and they start to rock together. Ryan stops thinking, stops trying to judge if it's better or worse or what, and just focuses on the way it feels.
Brendon pulls away - just his mouth, their thighs are still scissored together, hips still rocking - and whispers, "I don't usually do this... you know, with guys."
Ryan tries to listen to Brendon, but the friction is a little distracting. He replays what Brendon said a couple of times. He's not sure why Brendon is telling him this, except that as he replays the words, yeah, no. That's not what he would have expected Brendon to say. Ryan's been with guys. A few times before Keltie, but since he broke up with her, too.
"What does that mean?" Ryan asks. Does it mean the kissing has to stop? Ryan liked the kissing. "Are you not into this?"
Brendon shakes his head quickly, rocking his hips forward.
Ryan exhales slowly. He likes the friction.
"I was just always kind of worried about it getting out," Brendon says. That's fair; they all learned a few things after Lana.
"Probably I won't be leaking this to the media," Ryan says.
Brendon snorts, which is just another sign of how things are different now than they used to be. Brendon used to spend a lot of time nodding along earnestly, even when Ryan made a point of using his sarcastic voice. Ryan leans in and catches Brendon's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. It's just as satisfying as he had hoped it would be.
While they kiss, Ryan tries to decide if he's going to roll Brendon over then make a grab for his fly, or if he should sneak his hand down for a quick grope while they're still kissing. On one hand, if Brendon were on his back it would be easier to blow him. On the other, a little rubbing over the top of jeans is a good intermediate step, and he's still not sure if he and Brendon think this is heading toward the same finale.
He is just starting to trail his hand downward when Brendon pulls away. Ryan has a half second to think that it was good that he didn't try for more, before he realizes that Brendon is pushing him onto his back and reaching for his fly, and that is totally Ryan's plan that Brendon is stealing here.
Ryan's dick is happy to be out of his jeans, and really happy when Brendon licks his lips and starts to lean down. Brendon is tentative at first, opening his mouth around the head of Ryan's dick and tonguing the crown lightly for a long while. Ryan stares blankly up at the ceiling while he feels that throb settle low in his hips, already the urge to push forward into the heat of Brendon's mouth.
His hands rest flat on the floor, fingers digging into the carpet, until Ryan gets a new idea and starts to push himself up.
"Hey," he says, touching the side of Brendon's face. He waits until Brendon pulls off and looks up at him to says, "Do you want to, like, we could both, if you came up here."
Brendon looks confused, so Ryan just moves his own body, sitting up and shuffling down, and there really is a lot of room on the floor. He can just turn himself around and wiggle down, and then there he is, in reach of Brendon's fly.
Maybe he should have opened up Brendon's pants before turning himself upside down, and maybe it would be easier if one of them were on top instead of both of them being side by side, but in the end Ryan does get Brendon's jeans down, and they both manage to squirm into something of a comfortable position. Ryan hates being on top anyway, hates having his balls swinging in someone's face.
He likes it when he finally gets his mouth on Brendon's cock though. For all the awkwardness, at least this now feels like something they're doing together.
Brendon's upper leg is bent, his hips canting forward. Ryan can't move very quickly like this, so he sucks harder to make up the difference. Ryan holds himself still and tries to figure out the rhythm that Brendon's using so that he can follow it. Maybe Brendon's doing the same thing, because there are a lot of false starts and stops before finally they both settle into something more comfortable. Ryan doesn't think that he can come like this, but it feels good anyway.
Brendon has been spending a lot of time with his tongue teasing the head of Ryan's dick, always just on this side of too intense. When he finally slides his mouth further down Ryan's cock, Ryan can't help the way his hips jerk forward, trying to push even deeper into Brendon's mouth. Brendon starts bobbing up and down, getting a little further down each time until he goes too far. He makes a horrible gagging noise, but Ryan hips are already jerking forward. He doesn't mean to, but Brendon's throat is open as he chokes, and it feels really good. Ryan thinks, Oops, even as he groans around his own mouthful of dick.
Brendon pulls back, sputtering, and digs his knuckles into Ryan's hip, twisting hard.
Ryan winces and pulls off to rasp, "Sorry! I'm sorry."
Brendon huffs, so Ryan lifts up Brendon's dick so that he can mouth at Brendon's balls in apology. It just really is not a great angle for doing this, but Ryan does his best, opening up his mouth wide and sucking as gently as he can.
Brendon gives another cautionary twist of his knuckles, then puts Ryan's dick back into his mouth.
Sucking cock from upside down is always weird. The weight on his tongue is different, and he's always worried about scraping his top teeth along the the thick vein that runs up the base of Brendon's cock. Ryan wraps his lips around his teeth, even though that makes them ache in this weirdly itchy way.
As he slurps, trying not to drool onto his carpet, he realizes that they're lying on the floor doing this, but neither of them are actually going to come, and maybe this would be a good time to introduce hands into the situation. Really, it would have been easier just to take turns. Ryan is normally much smoother when it comes to first time sex; he puts on a bit of a show. There's just something about Brendon that brings out a recklessness in him, this feeling of invincibility. Something that makes him want to take chances because he always trusts Brendon to pull them through in the end.
He wraps his hand around Brendon's dick, even though it means that he's now more precariously balanced on his side. He gives a squeeze, then pulls down, working over slick skin, and Brendon groans, his thigh twitching. Ryan's cock jerks and Brendon sucks harder. Ryan tightens his hand and Brendon reaches for Ryan with his own and things start to fade into that thick, shimmery place where Ryan isn't acutely aware of every single movement anymore, it's just wet and tight and good.
Ryan decides that he wants Brendon to come first so he moves his mouth almost all of the way off and really works his hand, and it's not long before Brendon's body goes still, then starts to shudder. Ryan didn't think that one through because he doesn't want to wipe come off the carpet and he's totally still wearing his shirt, so in the end he lets Brendon's come fill his mouth. He spends a moment considering his options, but the nearest sink is in the kitchen and that's far away. Plus, if he just stays here, then his dick remains in close proximity to Brendon's mouth.
He swallows.
Brendon babbles softly as he comes down from his orgasm. He rubs his cheek against Ryan's thigh, his stubble prickling Ryan's skin. At least he's still right at crotch-level; he won't be able to forget about Ryan. Ryan reminds himself of this and waits patiently.
Finally Brendon mutters, "'m going, I'm going," slapping lightly at Ryan's hip, even though Ryan was hardly even moving, only tiny, tiny little forward motions with his hips that he couldn't even help.
Brendon pushes Ryan flat onto the ground and starts sucking him off again. Brendon's still mostly upside down to normal, and that is a weird angle, giving or receiving. Ryan's dick curves upwards, just a little, and now that they're not sideways, Brendon seems to be having a much easier time taking him in, so weird angle or not, Ryan comes after only a handful of minutes.
Brendon pulls his mouth away and pulls Ryan through orgasm with his hand. He doesn't have as much concern for Ryan's carpets, apparently. Or Ryan's shirt, which is where most of it ends up.
Ryan lifts his head and looks down, but he's feeling pretty boneless and a whole lot happy, so he just snorts and drops his head back onto the ground.
Brendon doesn't take his hand off of Ryan's dick right away. He doesn't touch the head, doesn't do anything to overstimulate Ryan so soon after orgasm, but he leaves his hand cupped around Ryan's cock, his thumb rubbing a soft line up and down the base. He shuffles around and rests his head on Ryan's thigh, but doesn't otherwise crowd Ryan. Ryan's hands are kind of tingly, but he thinks that maybe it would be better if Brendon were in closer reach.
Ryan pushes himself up, careful not to dislodge Brendon's head as he sits. Brendon stays where he is, but rolls onto his back, looking up at Ryan.
Ryan sits and breathes, looking down at him while Brendon stares up. Both of them are still hanging out of their pants, Ryan's shirt is all sticky, Brendon's hair is standing straight up, but it's just them on the floor of Ryan's living room, no one there to see them, so it doesn't matter what they look like.
"I keep ending up on your floor, Ross," Brendon says, finally. He says it like a joke, but there's something careful in his voice.
Ryan reaches down and smooths his fingers through Brendon's hair.
"I have a bed," he says, leaving the offer hanging in the air.
Brendon is quiet for what feels like a long time. In the stretch of quiet Ryan realizes how much he's hoping that Brendon will stay.
"Yeah, okay," Brendon says.
Ryan grins stupidly down at him, that big dumb grin that makes his eyes all squinty and his nose look all weird. Brendon smiles back though.
They climb to their feet. Brendon rubs his cheek and claims, "Your dick was sticking to my face!"
Ryan scoffs, and works on untangling his pants from around his knees. In the end, it's easier to just kick them off altogether, even though it means walking to the bedroom naked below the waist but still wearing socks. Ryan doesn't really care how dumb he looks when there's only Brendon to see.
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | ~ 4700 words
Sometimes it's harder to remember where the line is though, when it's just the two of them.
Thank you so much to elfiepike and sociofemme for betaing! ♥♥♥
Ryan comes back from the kitchen and finds Brendon sitting on the floor, staring at his potted plant. He sets the bag of Doritos down on the table and walks over to Brendon, crouching beside him.
"What's up, buddy?" he asks.
Brendon blinks slowly. "It's like a tree made of frogs," he says.
Ryan closes one eye to squint at Brendon, then opens it and closes the other one while he squints at the plant.
"It's a cactus," Ryan says.
"No way," Brendon says. "No way that's a cactus. I grew up in Vegas; I would know."
"I grew up in Vegas too, dipshit," Ryan says. The more he looks at the plant the more he can understand what Brendon's talking about though, which is always dangerous. "It's, like, an Indian cactus, I think. Maybe that means it's special."
"Susus- Suchus-" Brendon works his tongue around in his mouth like he's trying to loosen up up. "Suchesu- that thing. Ryan, that thing." He starts snickering to himself.
"S- succu-" Ryan trails off as he starts to laugh as well. The word's all slippery and not sharp like a cactus at all. Which makes it not a very good onomatopoeia or something because murmur sounds like murmuring but is succulent supposed to feel like prickles? Man, he's not even sure.
Brendon sighs, leaning back on his hands. "Too bad we ran out of weed," he says.
"Hmm?" Ryan looks over. "Oh, yeah, right. Too bad." There's maybe another dime bag plus some in the box on the floor of Ryan's closet, but he's totally saving that just in case of emergency, so for all intents and purposes they're all out of weed.
"Do you think it's too early to start drinking?" Brendon asks.
"No," Ryan says immediately. After a pause, he says, "What time is it?" It was only like four when they started smoking, but Ryan's pretty sure it's been quite a few hours since then. Enough time to order a large pizza, have it delivered, and then eat the entire thing, anyway.
"I dunno," Brendon says. "I could call Shane and see if he knows."
Brendon pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts squinting at the screen. "Should I call his cell?" he asks Ryan. "Hey, dude, should I have my house number saved as 'home' or as 'Shane', cause, like. It is my home, but I can't call myself there; I'd only ever be calling Shane." He trails off and then bursts into laughter. He snorts and ends up sprawling back on the carpet, gasping for breath.
"What?" Ryan finally asks.
"My phone has the time!" Brendon says in between snickers. "I don't even have to call Shane!" He starts laughing again.
Ryan drags himself over to the couch, pulling himself up with his arms. He gets his torso up, then finally has to use his legs to lift his lower half up as well. Couches are lower than beds; Ryan could never have even managed to get that far up onto his giant-ass bed.
"So, what time is it?" Ryan asks.
Brendon blinks. "Huh?"
"Time for beer," Ryan agrees.
Then, he stares at Brendon until Brendon looks alarmed and says, "What?"
"Time for beer," Ryan repeats, pointedly.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "Not, for example, Time to Dance."
Ryan rolls his eyes without actually moving any other muscle in his face.
"Go get the beer," he finally says. Brendon has a really thick skull. Ryan knows this because sometimes he uses this thumb and first finger to flick Brendon on the forehead- only when Brendon deserves it, of course- and Brendon's head totally makes thick-sounding noises. Brendon's mouth made pained-sounding noises, so it was hard to tell if his head also sounded hollow. Ryan has his suspicions.
"It's your house," Brendon says.
"I'm on the couch," Ryan informs him. "Go. Go now."
"I'm on the floor," Brendon protests. Then, he frowns to himself and says, "Maybe I could... get off the floor."
"And also get the beer," Ryan says.
The beer is a really dark ale that's super carbonated. Ryan can never remember the kinds of beer that he likes when he's actually at the liquor store. He's probably been drinking a different beer every day for a month now. At least when they're on tour, there's actually someone around who keeps track of stuff like that. Like Spencer, and also Jon. Spencer is around now, but Ryan would have to go to his house to find the beer he likes, and right now Ryan's at his own house, not at Spencer's. Jon's going to come live with Ryan when they're recording. That will be much more useful. Maybe Jon can also figure out why Ryan's cable is no longer working. He's pretty sure it's a problem with the TV, not with the remote control.
This beer is good, kind of. It's good to have something to drink, but Ryan's throat is dry and the bubbles are making his throat all tickley.
He rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
Brendon is sitting on the couch now, too. Brendon's sitting, and Ryan's sprawling- though he had to pull himself up some when Brendon came back from the kitchen with his beer, because otherwise he would have gotten beer into his lungs. That's what happens when you swallow things down the wrong pipe.- so they are touching. Ryan's feet are touching Brendon's thighs.
Ryan drinks his beer and watches Brendon drink his own.
He and Brendon don't hang out all that often when they're off tour. Ryan's got his group of friends and Brendon has his own. Sometimes it's hard to be fully present in the moment when it's just him and Brendon alone together. The movement of Brendon's rib cage under the thin fabric of his t-shirt reminds Ryan of how Brendon looked sleeping on the mattress on the floor, back when neither of them wanted to go home. The curve of Brendon's wrist, the bare stretch of his neck, the fluff where his hair sticks up: he and Brendon spent a lot of years pushing and pulling and marching as close as they could get to this imaginary line that warned for Going Too Far, always pulling back before they actually crossed it.
It's easier now, the two of them together. They don't have anything to prove, and if Ryan's toes are warming from the heat of Brendon's legs, that's all it is: a point of contact between bodies, nothing that they have to prove to anyone else. Sometimes it's harder to remember where the line is though, when it's just the two of them.
Brendon swallows the rest of his beer, then belches loudly. Ryan moves his foot up to poke his toes into Brendon's stomach. He makes sure to set his own, nearly empty bottle down first, because Brendon always takes things like that as a call to arms. Before Ryan has even finished pulling his foot back, Brendon has thrown himself across the couch.
Brendon lets out something of a war cry, and then all of a sudden his bony elbows are everywhere and also Ryan can't breathe.
"Ow," Ryan says. Then, "Ack, ack," as Brendon's bony knee digs into Ryan's thigh. "Ow. Ouch." Ryan's limbs are kind of far away from his body but he still knows that he's in pain. Or wait, no. It's not that his limbs are far away from his body, it's that his body is far away from, from, his body is far away, but Brendon's body is close.
Brendon does this thing where he finishes whatever attack plan he's made, and then he just goes splat, his body all heavy and loose on top of Ryan. It's still hard to breathe, but Brendon doesn't feel like a giant sack of bones anymore, so at least it's not as painful.
Brendon is lying all stretched out on top of Ryan. His feet are on the couch, and most of his legs, too, but his torso is totally resting on Ryan's, and his head is on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan can feel where Brendon's breath hits his neck, and then he can feel every other part of Brendon as well because Brendon has gone splat.
Ryan lifts his own hand and rests it on Brendon's back. Now he can feel Brendon breathe with his hand, and where Brendon's breath hits his neck, and also he can hear him breathing, too. Brendon is breathing loudly, probably because his neck is twisted kind of funny, but mostly because Brendon is just a loud breathing person. He snuffles a lot.
Ryan stretches slightly, which shifts Brendon off to the side, just a little, and makes it easier for Ryan's chest to move. He can breathe, and he can feel Brendon breathing, and Brendon is very alive right now; they're both alive. Ryan's heart is pounding, or maybe his veins are closer to the surface than usual. He can feel the beating of his heart, and he wonders if Brendon can as well, if Brendon can feel the thubthud where their skin is pressed together. If he can feel it through the layers of their t-shirts. Can Ryan's feel Brendon's heartbeat? If he can feel Brendon's it would make sense that Brendon could feel his.
Lying all pressed to another body isn't something that Ryan likes all that often. It's a lot of touching, and a lot of sensations to try and relax into. Sometimes it's grating to be touched; Ryan likes his limbs to be his own, and he doesn't like having to fight against someone else's limbs. There are a lot of things to be aware of, like the heat of Brendon's cheek, which Ryan can feel even though his shirt. The way Brendon's arm is wrapped around his chest and tucked under his rib cage. How Brendon's back feels under Ryan's hand.
Brendon is all splat, so he's not even clinging. He's on the edge of the couch, and Ryan could tip him right over if he wanted to. Brendon might fight a little at first, just unconsciously, the way bodies do when they realize that they're falling. He might struggle at first, but it's not a far distance to the floor, and he'd land pretty softly. Ryan could tip him over the edge and Brendon would probably just stay there on the floor. Ryan has nice carpet, expensive carpet. It's thick and soft.
Instead, Ryan drags his hand down the line of Brendon's back, searching for the hem of his t-shirt, and when he finds it, he slips his fingers underneath, sliding his hand up Brendon's back again, but this time his hand is on bare skin.
Brendon's the kind of bastard who has perfectly clear skin on his back: smooth skin, warm skin. Ryan's never kissed Brendon on the mouth, but they've been in bed shirtless together; he's touched Brendon's bare back. He's palmed Brendon's ass, but there was someone else there watching, always a crowd of people who had laughed even louder than Brendon when Ryan finally made contact.
He and Brendon have made pushing boundaries into something of a routine, but now it's just the two of them on Ryan's couch, and there's no one around to appreciate the now bare stretch of skin, Brendon's shirt pushed up by Ryan's wrist.
Brendon snuffles, just like he always does, but his body moves too. Maybe he's trying to hide the movement with the sound of his breathing, but they're so close together that Ryan can feel the way his body tightens as he slowly, slowly starts to shift himself over.
Ryan lifts his head slightly, trying to see what Brendon's doing. At the same time, Brendon tilts his head up, maybe trying to sneak a peek at Ryan, and they end up meeting each other's eyes.
Brendon gasps out something like a laugh, both of them frozen awkwardly because their faces are only inches apart now.
Ryan expects Brendon to do something, like maybe to laugh for real, which would break the moment, or to lean in closer even. Just, something. Instead, he holds himself above Ryan, looking down and waiting. Ryan wonders how stoned Brendon is right now. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. He'll get giggly after a couple of beers one night, but then the next night he'll just pack it away. Year after year after year and Ryan still doesn't understand Brendon completely.
Ryan's feeling pretty relaxed, but not much more than that. He hasn't even had much to drink. Maybe it doesn't matter though, because the moment stretches on and on, and still they're both looking at each other. Ryan would have thought that Brendon would finally be the one to move, but instead it's him.
He lifts his head up all the way off the couch. Brendon doesn't come closer, but he tilts his head and it's easy for Ryan to press their lips together. There's no one watching, no roar of the crowd, but Brendon does make another little snuffling noise, and then he gasps loudly, and maybe Brendon's noisy breathing is kind of hot when Ryan's close enough to feel the way it hitches in his chest.
Brendon's lips are soft. Or, not his lips exactly, not the skin on his lips; there's something soft about his mouth. Ryan kisses him, and Brendon's mouth. Maybe if Brendon weren't all the way on top of him, and maybe if his mouth didn't feel like that, maybe then this could just be passed off as a joke between friends: a quick exchange of affection followed by a heavy round of drinking.
It doesn't feel like a joke though. Ryan's neck gets tired quickly, but Brendon follows him back down. Brendon's weight on top of him, and Ryan already has one hand on bare skin; it's hardly anything to open his mouth, to reach with his other hand and rub his palm up the back of Brendon's thigh. Brendon's body is warm and fits well, feels good stretched along his own.
They kiss, deep and wet, until Brendon pulls back, shifting on the couch. Ryan squints up at Brendon and tries to figure out what's happening. Brendon seems to be trying to find a different position; maybe his arms are tired from having to hold up his upper body. Ryan is tempted to just pull Brendon back down; he wouldn't mind more of Brendon's weight on his chest if it meant that he got Brendon's mouth back.
He moves one hand up and the other down until his hands are resting on Brendon's hips. He takes a moment to appreciate the way Brendon feels under his hands, and how their dicks line up and press together through their jeans, then says, "There's more room on the floor."
There would be even more room on his bed, but he's worried that suggesting the bedroom would be implying too much. He would rather stick with just kissing than have Brendon leave altogether. Brendon likes sex, seems to have a lot of sex, usually chimes in loudly when they're talking about sex, but sometimes he gets all quiet and randomly prim or something. Ryan still isn't entirely sure what makes him open up and what makes him go quiet.
Brendon nods his head, then slowly extracts his legs from where they're tangled with Ryan's. He rolls off the couch first, then starts pushing the coffee table out of the way so that by the time Ryan gets down as well, there's room enough for both of them.
They lie side by side now, and again there's that moment where they're just looking at each other, only this time Ryan knows that if Brendon doesn't make a move, he's going to make one himself.
Brendon squirms a little closer and Ryan leans in the rest of the way. It's overwhelming kissing Brendon, but not as sloppy as he might have thought it would be. Not as rushed, not as awkward, not as eager. Kissing Brendon now is nothing like what kissing Brendon from a couple of years ago would have been like, and Ryan isn't sure why this surprises him. Of course it's different now; Brendon's different. They're both different.
Except that it just keeps being better than Ryan thought it would be, and maybe that's where the surprise is. Or maybe it's just the fact that they're doing this at all, or - Brendon's thigh slides in between Ryan's legs and they start to rock together. Ryan stops thinking, stops trying to judge if it's better or worse or what, and just focuses on the way it feels.
Brendon pulls away - just his mouth, their thighs are still scissored together, hips still rocking - and whispers, "I don't usually do this... you know, with guys."
Ryan tries to listen to Brendon, but the friction is a little distracting. He replays what Brendon said a couple of times. He's not sure why Brendon is telling him this, except that as he replays the words, yeah, no. That's not what he would have expected Brendon to say. Ryan's been with guys. A few times before Keltie, but since he broke up with her, too.
"What does that mean?" Ryan asks. Does it mean the kissing has to stop? Ryan liked the kissing. "Are you not into this?"
Brendon shakes his head quickly, rocking his hips forward.
Ryan exhales slowly. He likes the friction.
"I was just always kind of worried about it getting out," Brendon says. That's fair; they all learned a few things after Lana.
"Probably I won't be leaking this to the media," Ryan says.
Brendon snorts, which is just another sign of how things are different now than they used to be. Brendon used to spend a lot of time nodding along earnestly, even when Ryan made a point of using his sarcastic voice. Ryan leans in and catches Brendon's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. It's just as satisfying as he had hoped it would be.
While they kiss, Ryan tries to decide if he's going to roll Brendon over then make a grab for his fly, or if he should sneak his hand down for a quick grope while they're still kissing. On one hand, if Brendon were on his back it would be easier to blow him. On the other, a little rubbing over the top of jeans is a good intermediate step, and he's still not sure if he and Brendon think this is heading toward the same finale.
He is just starting to trail his hand downward when Brendon pulls away. Ryan has a half second to think that it was good that he didn't try for more, before he realizes that Brendon is pushing him onto his back and reaching for his fly, and that is totally Ryan's plan that Brendon is stealing here.
Ryan's dick is happy to be out of his jeans, and really happy when Brendon licks his lips and starts to lean down. Brendon is tentative at first, opening his mouth around the head of Ryan's dick and tonguing the crown lightly for a long while. Ryan stares blankly up at the ceiling while he feels that throb settle low in his hips, already the urge to push forward into the heat of Brendon's mouth.
His hands rest flat on the floor, fingers digging into the carpet, until Ryan gets a new idea and starts to push himself up.
"Hey," he says, touching the side of Brendon's face. He waits until Brendon pulls off and looks up at him to says, "Do you want to, like, we could both, if you came up here."
Brendon looks confused, so Ryan just moves his own body, sitting up and shuffling down, and there really is a lot of room on the floor. He can just turn himself around and wiggle down, and then there he is, in reach of Brendon's fly.
Maybe he should have opened up Brendon's pants before turning himself upside down, and maybe it would be easier if one of them were on top instead of both of them being side by side, but in the end Ryan does get Brendon's jeans down, and they both manage to squirm into something of a comfortable position. Ryan hates being on top anyway, hates having his balls swinging in someone's face.
He likes it when he finally gets his mouth on Brendon's cock though. For all the awkwardness, at least this now feels like something they're doing together.
Brendon's upper leg is bent, his hips canting forward. Ryan can't move very quickly like this, so he sucks harder to make up the difference. Ryan holds himself still and tries to figure out the rhythm that Brendon's using so that he can follow it. Maybe Brendon's doing the same thing, because there are a lot of false starts and stops before finally they both settle into something more comfortable. Ryan doesn't think that he can come like this, but it feels good anyway.
Brendon has been spending a lot of time with his tongue teasing the head of Ryan's dick, always just on this side of too intense. When he finally slides his mouth further down Ryan's cock, Ryan can't help the way his hips jerk forward, trying to push even deeper into Brendon's mouth. Brendon starts bobbing up and down, getting a little further down each time until he goes too far. He makes a horrible gagging noise, but Ryan hips are already jerking forward. He doesn't mean to, but Brendon's throat is open as he chokes, and it feels really good. Ryan thinks, Oops, even as he groans around his own mouthful of dick.
Brendon pulls back, sputtering, and digs his knuckles into Ryan's hip, twisting hard.
Ryan winces and pulls off to rasp, "Sorry! I'm sorry."
Brendon huffs, so Ryan lifts up Brendon's dick so that he can mouth at Brendon's balls in apology. It just really is not a great angle for doing this, but Ryan does his best, opening up his mouth wide and sucking as gently as he can.
Brendon gives another cautionary twist of his knuckles, then puts Ryan's dick back into his mouth.
Sucking cock from upside down is always weird. The weight on his tongue is different, and he's always worried about scraping his top teeth along the the thick vein that runs up the base of Brendon's cock. Ryan wraps his lips around his teeth, even though that makes them ache in this weirdly itchy way.
As he slurps, trying not to drool onto his carpet, he realizes that they're lying on the floor doing this, but neither of them are actually going to come, and maybe this would be a good time to introduce hands into the situation. Really, it would have been easier just to take turns. Ryan is normally much smoother when it comes to first time sex; he puts on a bit of a show. There's just something about Brendon that brings out a recklessness in him, this feeling of invincibility. Something that makes him want to take chances because he always trusts Brendon to pull them through in the end.
He wraps his hand around Brendon's dick, even though it means that he's now more precariously balanced on his side. He gives a squeeze, then pulls down, working over slick skin, and Brendon groans, his thigh twitching. Ryan's cock jerks and Brendon sucks harder. Ryan tightens his hand and Brendon reaches for Ryan with his own and things start to fade into that thick, shimmery place where Ryan isn't acutely aware of every single movement anymore, it's just wet and tight and good.
Ryan decides that he wants Brendon to come first so he moves his mouth almost all of the way off and really works his hand, and it's not long before Brendon's body goes still, then starts to shudder. Ryan didn't think that one through because he doesn't want to wipe come off the carpet and he's totally still wearing his shirt, so in the end he lets Brendon's come fill his mouth. He spends a moment considering his options, but the nearest sink is in the kitchen and that's far away. Plus, if he just stays here, then his dick remains in close proximity to Brendon's mouth.
He swallows.
Brendon babbles softly as he comes down from his orgasm. He rubs his cheek against Ryan's thigh, his stubble prickling Ryan's skin. At least he's still right at crotch-level; he won't be able to forget about Ryan. Ryan reminds himself of this and waits patiently.
Finally Brendon mutters, "'m going, I'm going," slapping lightly at Ryan's hip, even though Ryan was hardly even moving, only tiny, tiny little forward motions with his hips that he couldn't even help.
Brendon pushes Ryan flat onto the ground and starts sucking him off again. Brendon's still mostly upside down to normal, and that is a weird angle, giving or receiving. Ryan's dick curves upwards, just a little, and now that they're not sideways, Brendon seems to be having a much easier time taking him in, so weird angle or not, Ryan comes after only a handful of minutes.
Brendon pulls his mouth away and pulls Ryan through orgasm with his hand. He doesn't have as much concern for Ryan's carpets, apparently. Or Ryan's shirt, which is where most of it ends up.
Ryan lifts his head and looks down, but he's feeling pretty boneless and a whole lot happy, so he just snorts and drops his head back onto the ground.
Brendon doesn't take his hand off of Ryan's dick right away. He doesn't touch the head, doesn't do anything to overstimulate Ryan so soon after orgasm, but he leaves his hand cupped around Ryan's cock, his thumb rubbing a soft line up and down the base. He shuffles around and rests his head on Ryan's thigh, but doesn't otherwise crowd Ryan. Ryan's hands are kind of tingly, but he thinks that maybe it would be better if Brendon were in closer reach.
Ryan pushes himself up, careful not to dislodge Brendon's head as he sits. Brendon stays where he is, but rolls onto his back, looking up at Ryan.
Ryan sits and breathes, looking down at him while Brendon stares up. Both of them are still hanging out of their pants, Ryan's shirt is all sticky, Brendon's hair is standing straight up, but it's just them on the floor of Ryan's living room, no one there to see them, so it doesn't matter what they look like.
"I keep ending up on your floor, Ross," Brendon says, finally. He says it like a joke, but there's something careful in his voice.
Ryan reaches down and smooths his fingers through Brendon's hair.
"I have a bed," he says, leaving the offer hanging in the air.
Brendon is quiet for what feels like a long time. In the stretch of quiet Ryan realizes how much he's hoping that Brendon will stay.
"Yeah, okay," Brendon says.
Ryan grins stupidly down at him, that big dumb grin that makes his eyes all squinty and his nose look all weird. Brendon smiles back though.
They climb to their feet. Brendon rubs his cheek and claims, "Your dick was sticking to my face!"
Ryan scoffs, and works on untangling his pants from around his knees. In the end, it's easier to just kick them off altogether, even though it means walking to the bedroom naked below the waist but still wearing socks. Ryan doesn't really care how dumb he looks when there's only Brendon to see.