[fanfiction] Active Connection
I was awake for like. Five hours yesterday.
Fandom/Pairings: High School Musical; Ryan/Troy, vague mentioning of Ryan/Chad if you squint
Rating: R, because c'mon it was written for a kink meme!
Pre-Notes: You may or may not recognise this from tweendom_anon - it was called Eight Count, if that helps any. :] Not quite the same fic now, but similar and for my un_love_you claim.
Disclaimer: Well, if I did own it I'm thinking millions of children would have had a vastly different childhood experience with it.
Summary: It's probably more than a little evil, but misleading is one of Ryan's specialities.
----Active Connection
“Can I have this dance?”
There was not a single person in East High that did not innately understand why Ryan wore pink pants, sometimes leaned in too close when he was talking to Chad (when he talked to Chad), liked hats, was so damn good at choreography, actually enjoyed clothes shopping and colour-coordinated with his sister of his own free will. It was not a secret locked up in a closet. It was not a secret in a glass viewing case. It was pure and simple fact to everyone.
Or so Ryan thought.
“But,” Troy whined almost frantically, “you're easier to dance with than she is!”
Tilting his head to a carefully inquisitive forty-five degree angle, Ryan surveys Troy. Either he was really as much of a dumbass as Chad said he could be sometimes or that was a very unsubtle hint that with Gabriella gone, his right hand just wasn't cutting it and Sharpay scared the ever-loving shit out of him, so he turned to the next best thing: her twin brother.
Or maybe it was just a really strange off-hand comment. Ryan really hoped it was just a really strange off-hand comment. It was going to be a very tough rehearsal if it wasn't.
“Don't worry about it so much,” Ryan says to Troy as he pushes him gently toward Sharpay, “just dance.”
Troy gives Ryan that pitiful face he makes when Gabriella dumps him (again). Ryan just shakes his head. Dealing with Sharpay has rendered him immune to 95% of all pitiful looks. Since Troy is absolutely not a girl (the basketball team has reported this to Ryan) and Ryan doesn't even particularly like him, Troy's attempt falls well into that 95% of looks.
Somehow, Ryan can't feel bad when Troy steps on Sharpay's toes-even if he doesn't want to see his sister crash and burn, it doesn't mean that he doesn't want her to suffer every once in a while. This is the perfect opportunity for that, especially since Troy isn't very good at dancing with anyone. Ryan uses his skills to force Troy into perfection. Gabriella just has superpowers or something. Maybe Troy only danced well with pretty girls he was wholly attached to. Ryan had never bothered to ask Gabriella to divulge her secrets of Troy-taming because he didn't really want to know. Somehow, he managed to successfully keep the thought out of his head for the rest of practice.
In his experience, boy-taming was only achieved in one way: sexual favours. Well, and generous bribes but bribes were a kind of sexual favour in his book so there really wasn't a difference and why was Troy Bolton walking over to him? Even under the new status quo that wasn't really quo.
“You know,” Troy says casually, “I really meant what I said earlier.”
Ryan slings his bag over his shoulder and says with complete confidence: “I know.”
And then he walks away, because for what it's worth he really likes Gabriella. If he ever had to procreate, he'd pick a girl like Gabriella or Kelsi to do it with.
Troy follows him and really it's cool with Ryan that Troy insists on breaking status quo but. He's not going to be some substitute and break poor Gabri-Ryan's lips curve into a truly evil smirk. On second thought, getting something that Sharpay wants . . . Boys are toys to be played with and Ryan has always had this thing for getting to things Sharpay wanted before she could. He was the first to get a licence (just for having it, he didn't really like driving), the first to get a boyfriend (however short lived) and adding first to get Troy to his ever-growing list of triumphs outweighs any fluffy feelings for Gabriella. He is an Evans, and to an Evans getting what they want is practically an instinct.
So Ryan does something ridiculous. He stops and waits for Troy to catch up. And when Troy is caught up, Ryan places a hand on his hip.
“You fishing for a repeat performance, Wildcat?”
The funny thing about having a sister that just so happens to be your twin is that you can do all sorts of strange things-like walk and dance in high heels, like do make-up, like do hair, and like imitate (within reason) a more feminine tone. It still has that edge to it-the same edge Ryan used with Chad all the time when he challenged him to do whatever the challenge of the week was-but on the whole, it rather resembled Gabriella's voice if Gabriella ever decided to shed her goody-two-shoes act and become a dominatrix. Admittedly, Ryan didn't normally have to imitate anyone but his sister on a regular basis so it wasn't even close to perfect. But-if the way Troy's breath hitched was any indication-it was good enough.
Ryan raised an eyebrow and Troy made a noise that could be considered the vocalisation of a fish out of water. It was a really, really good thing Ryan wasn't actually attracted to Troy in the first place because that sound probably would have put him off.
“Maybe?”
It's sort of pitiful how little poise Troy can keep in the face of someone with more balls than him. It's also pitiful that the one currently wearing the bejewelled hat is the one with more balls. Troy must really not have a backbone-this must be the secret to Gabriella's firm (some might say it was a death-grip) hold on Troy's heart (and possibly his soul too).
“Sharpay won't be home for another two hours at least.”
Ryan shrugs like none of this really matters to him and wasn't the weather nice before turning to keep walking. Troy follows, like the puppy dog he is. Absent-mindedly, Ryan wonders if that's because he has no backbone or because he's so depressed over Gabriella that nothing matters. He decides it's clearly the Gabriella side of things and is suddenly glad he looks nothing nothing like her in the same way that he was glad he so resembled Sharpay. It had made Zeke easier to snare.
One, two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven and eight. Regardless of the fact that there is no tango in the choreography for the musical anywhere, that is what they are dancing. Because warning lights equal red lights equal El Tango de Roxanne equal tango-it made sense before they started dancing. At least Ryan thinks it did. Right now, he's really only concerned with fact that Troy is holding him close and in a really esoteric way, this is almost better than sex for him. Almost.
The almost is why, when Troy's lips press hesitantly to his on the dip, Ryan is first reminded of Jason and then returns to the current situation to deepen the kiss. He just hopes that Troy is less closeted than Chad-Ryan really would rather not have a repeat of that panic and fluster. Troy, to his credit, does not chicken out. Ryan takes this as a good sign and traces a nonsensical pattern along Troy's side before dancing his fingers along the waistband of Troy's jeans.
As the pair straightens, Ryan leads Troy into a reverse tango leading to the couch that his mother dumped into the dance studio when she found Ryan passed out on the floor. He was grateful for it at that moment-just as he was grateful that he could tango backward in the first place (regardless of the fact that he still couldn't do it in heels).
When the back of his knees bump the couch, Ryan pulls Troy down on top of him and kisses him again. The kiss is the opposite of the previous kiss-this one clarifies exactly what Ryan wants from Troy and gives him once last chance to back out. He doesn't and Ryan neatly adds Troy to the notches on his bedpost (and the tally of things he's gotten to before Sharpay) before carefully nudging Troy so that he's lying down and Ryan is straddling him. It's a little awkward, but the couch itself is a little awkward.
Ryan bends down to kiss Troy, holding himself up with one elbow and ghosting the other hand down Troy's chest before sneaking under his shirt and lifting it. While he's adjusting himself so he's free to use both hands to lift Troy's shirt, Ryan pauses to press a kiss to Troy's neck and leave a mark. There has to be proof of this conquest, of course. Troy can deal with the aftermath later-he doesn't seem to be complaining much as it is. In fact, Troy eagerly assists Ryan in helping get his shirt off and moans freely when Ryan rewards him for his participation. Scooting backwards a fraction, Ryan places his hands on Troy's hips and slides them toward each other so they meet at the button of Troy's jeans. There is a pause-a thinking pause, not a awkward one-before Ryan presses down ever so slightly.
“Stay.”
Swiftly, Ryan gets off the couch and drops to his knees, bent forward and reaching for something under the couch. Troy shifts to see or assist or something, but the hand Ryan kept splayed across his stomach keeps him from moving too much. A moment after, Ryan is back in his previous position. There is a plastic box, open, by the couch that contains a variety of things. Importantly, it contains condoms and lube. Unimportantly, it contains a chocolate bar and emergency money.
“Honey,” Ryan says sweetly, “how do you want to do this?”
Troy gives him the blank stare he sometimes gives Gabriella when she tries to explain something to him and he just. Doesn't get it. Ryan shakes his head internally-outwardly he leans down to whisper into the shell of Troy's ear.
“Do you want me to fuck you or do you want to fuck me? Your choice,” Ryan adds huskily, “because I'm not complaining about either.”
And then, just for good measure, he kisses Troy again. This sparks something in Troy, because suddenly there are hands on Ryan's hips pulling him down. Somehow, they awkwardly switch positions. Figures. There's something about jocks (or at least East High's basketball team) that makes them all want to be in control. Ryan is fine with that for reasons they would never understand-because while they have the power in that moment, they really have no power at all in the big picture. They've been played played played by Ryan in a sharp and twisting move against his sister. In the end, Ryan still has the power.
He muses on this while Troy unbuttons Ryan's shirt (carefully, Ryan notes, as if it were made of silk) and pushes it aside. Using some creative flexibility and thanking God for yoga, Ryan removes the shirt and tosses it somewhere. It doesn't matter where, he'll clean up later. Right now, Ryan is working on Troy's jeans. And (because he can't resist) once Troy's pants and boxers are pushed down and his cock is freed, Ryan sits up and takes it into his mouth without asking permission. Troy would give it anyway-Ryan knows that the basketball team functions like any other group of people. Someone had to have told the teams about which Evans twin that would spread their legs for just about anyone (not exactly a true statement, but whatever) and what he could do with his mouth.
There was an 85% chance it wasn't even an exaggeration, depending on what Troy heard. Ryan hums absently, taking note that Troy is already whimpering-his right hand must have fallen really short. Ryan abruptly abandons Troy to twist and grab something from the plastic box. When he returns to Troy, Ryan smoothly rolls a condom down Troy's cock. With his mouth.
It's just a party trick he learned from some otherwise hideous porn movie. He's actually ridiculously fond of what it does to boys, which is probably why he does it so often. Troy seems fond of what it does to him, so no foul on that end. Good. Ryan pulls away and takes Troy's wrist, pulling it up to his mouth so he can suck on Troy's fingers. There's little need to waste lube when this works just as well. Removing Troy's fingers, Ryan looks at him pointedly.
“Tab A to Tab B. Those go in my ass-think of it like a pussy, if it makes you feel better.”
Troy hesitates, before doing as he's told. Ryan lifts his hips ever so slightly to help him. Troy does reasonable well, and it earns a (theatric) moan from Ryan. He lets Troy continue what he's doing for a few moments before getting impatient. He's more patient than Sharpay, but he's still an Evans. He flails for a moment before getting a hold on the bottle of lube and lubing Troy's cock with one swift hand motion.
“Fuck me. Fuck me now.”
It sounds kind of raw and desperate-exactly the way it should be, but only part of it is acting. Troy's quick to please, though, which is good. He seems to be afraid of hurting Ryan, which is slightly ridiculous because Ryan is not fragile and he doesn't mind a little pain-he minds a lot of pain though, because the memory of spraining his ankle in fifth grade is still fresh in his mind. It hurt a lot and Ryan wasn't fond of that-besides, he couldn't dance.
Which is really what this is all about. It's always been about the dancing. It's about the dancing now, it's about the dancing then and it's about the dancing that never will be. Because this is not the start of a beautiful relationship-Ryan knows this, even as he kisses Troy and rolls his hips. It's just another move in a never-ending game of chess between him and Sharpay. People are the pieces and and the more pieces you steal, the better you score. Ryan is winning. And not just because he's got Troy panting moaning feeling wanting more more more. No, that's just a bonus. Ryan is really winning because he got there first. He's making Troy fall apart and he's not Sharpay.
Because he's not Sharpay, because he's not Gabriella, because he's not a girl at all-because he's not anything or anyone but Ryan Ryan Ryan, he can meet Troy thrust for thrust. And the sound that makes-the sound of skin on skin-is the music they dance to. That's what it all boils down to: a dance. Troy is just another dance Ryan wants to master. It's the kind of dance that's only good for one show, once it's mastered then there isn't anything else to do with it but take the trophy it wins and stick it on a shelf.
Somewhere during it all, Troy remembers that Ryan has needs too and wraps a hand around Ryan-which just makes him more desperate and it's really not acting now. No, it's real because Ryan has never been able to keep himself out of the game. Sharpay is good at that-and maybe it's different for girls-but Ryan can't do it. He likes sleeping with them, he likes kissing them, he likes making their hearts flutter, he likes that he's the reason they blush. Because they always blush.
Troy is blushing now, under the sheen of sweat that he's worked up. Somehow, like this, Ryan appreciates Troy more. It's still not attraction, no. Troy is still as only mildly attractive as he was before, but in such a state of vulnerability Ryan can appreciate why Gabriella breaks up with him so often. He can appreciate that side of it. Maybe he'll feel bad about this later, but probably not. They're not together anyway, because both sides are too scared weak tired angry hurt. For people who break the status quo so easily, so frequently . . . Why can't they just take a leap of faith? A thousand miles isn't so far. Three thousand is more. God, Ryan wishes three thousand was not such a big number in the way he wishes that bridges were fire-resistant. But it doesn't matter either way. It really doesn't.
What matters is that Troy is coming and pretty soon after, so is Ryan. Spent, they lie like that for a minute before Troy pulls out and ties off the condom. Pants go back on before Troy crashes on the couch at Ryan's suggestion. Dancing is hard work and they both deserve rest.
It's worth it when Sharpay pokes her head into the room and screeches. Troy wakes up, asking what happened in a voice thick with sleep. Ryan shushes him.
“Nothing happened, honey,” Ryan says softly, “Go back to sleep.”
----
Postit-Notes: Man, I should really learn how to write sex like. Without large tangential sections that make no sense. That would probably help a lot.
Fandom/Pairings: High School Musical; Ryan/Troy, vague mentioning of Ryan/Chad if you squint
Rating: R, because c'mon it was written for a kink meme!
Pre-Notes: You may or may not recognise this from tweendom_anon - it was called Eight Count, if that helps any. :] Not quite the same fic now, but similar and for my un_love_you claim.
Disclaimer: Well, if I did own it I'm thinking millions of children would have had a vastly different childhood experience with it.
Summary: It's probably more than a little evil, but misleading is one of Ryan's specialities.
----Active Connection
“Can I have this dance?”
There was not a single person in East High that did not innately understand why Ryan wore pink pants, sometimes leaned in too close when he was talking to Chad (when he talked to Chad), liked hats, was so damn good at choreography, actually enjoyed clothes shopping and colour-coordinated with his sister of his own free will. It was not a secret locked up in a closet. It was not a secret in a glass viewing case. It was pure and simple fact to everyone.
Or so Ryan thought.
“But,” Troy whined almost frantically, “you're easier to dance with than she is!”
Tilting his head to a carefully inquisitive forty-five degree angle, Ryan surveys Troy. Either he was really as much of a dumbass as Chad said he could be sometimes or that was a very unsubtle hint that with Gabriella gone, his right hand just wasn't cutting it and Sharpay scared the ever-loving shit out of him, so he turned to the next best thing: her twin brother.
Or maybe it was just a really strange off-hand comment. Ryan really hoped it was just a really strange off-hand comment. It was going to be a very tough rehearsal if it wasn't.
“Don't worry about it so much,” Ryan says to Troy as he pushes him gently toward Sharpay, “just dance.”
Troy gives Ryan that pitiful face he makes when Gabriella dumps him (again). Ryan just shakes his head. Dealing with Sharpay has rendered him immune to 95% of all pitiful looks. Since Troy is absolutely not a girl (the basketball team has reported this to Ryan) and Ryan doesn't even particularly like him, Troy's attempt falls well into that 95% of looks.
Somehow, Ryan can't feel bad when Troy steps on Sharpay's toes-even if he doesn't want to see his sister crash and burn, it doesn't mean that he doesn't want her to suffer every once in a while. This is the perfect opportunity for that, especially since Troy isn't very good at dancing with anyone. Ryan uses his skills to force Troy into perfection. Gabriella just has superpowers or something. Maybe Troy only danced well with pretty girls he was wholly attached to. Ryan had never bothered to ask Gabriella to divulge her secrets of Troy-taming because he didn't really want to know. Somehow, he managed to successfully keep the thought out of his head for the rest of practice.
In his experience, boy-taming was only achieved in one way: sexual favours. Well, and generous bribes but bribes were a kind of sexual favour in his book so there really wasn't a difference and why was Troy Bolton walking over to him? Even under the new status quo that wasn't really quo.
“You know,” Troy says casually, “I really meant what I said earlier.”
Ryan slings his bag over his shoulder and says with complete confidence: “I know.”
And then he walks away, because for what it's worth he really likes Gabriella. If he ever had to procreate, he'd pick a girl like Gabriella or Kelsi to do it with.
Troy follows him and really it's cool with Ryan that Troy insists on breaking status quo but. He's not going to be some substitute and break poor Gabri-Ryan's lips curve into a truly evil smirk. On second thought, getting something that Sharpay wants . . . Boys are toys to be played with and Ryan has always had this thing for getting to things Sharpay wanted before she could. He was the first to get a licence (just for having it, he didn't really like driving), the first to get a boyfriend (however short lived) and adding first to get Troy to his ever-growing list of triumphs outweighs any fluffy feelings for Gabriella. He is an Evans, and to an Evans getting what they want is practically an instinct.
So Ryan does something ridiculous. He stops and waits for Troy to catch up. And when Troy is caught up, Ryan places a hand on his hip.
“You fishing for a repeat performance, Wildcat?”
The funny thing about having a sister that just so happens to be your twin is that you can do all sorts of strange things-like walk and dance in high heels, like do make-up, like do hair, and like imitate (within reason) a more feminine tone. It still has that edge to it-the same edge Ryan used with Chad all the time when he challenged him to do whatever the challenge of the week was-but on the whole, it rather resembled Gabriella's voice if Gabriella ever decided to shed her goody-two-shoes act and become a dominatrix. Admittedly, Ryan didn't normally have to imitate anyone but his sister on a regular basis so it wasn't even close to perfect. But-if the way Troy's breath hitched was any indication-it was good enough.
Ryan raised an eyebrow and Troy made a noise that could be considered the vocalisation of a fish out of water. It was a really, really good thing Ryan wasn't actually attracted to Troy in the first place because that sound probably would have put him off.
“Maybe?”
It's sort of pitiful how little poise Troy can keep in the face of someone with more balls than him. It's also pitiful that the one currently wearing the bejewelled hat is the one with more balls. Troy must really not have a backbone-this must be the secret to Gabriella's firm (some might say it was a death-grip) hold on Troy's heart (and possibly his soul too).
“Sharpay won't be home for another two hours at least.”
Ryan shrugs like none of this really matters to him and wasn't the weather nice before turning to keep walking. Troy follows, like the puppy dog he is. Absent-mindedly, Ryan wonders if that's because he has no backbone or because he's so depressed over Gabriella that nothing matters. He decides it's clearly the Gabriella side of things and is suddenly glad he looks nothing nothing like her in the same way that he was glad he so resembled Sharpay. It had made Zeke easier to snare.
One, two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven and eight. Regardless of the fact that there is no tango in the choreography for the musical anywhere, that is what they are dancing. Because warning lights equal red lights equal El Tango de Roxanne equal tango-it made sense before they started dancing. At least Ryan thinks it did. Right now, he's really only concerned with fact that Troy is holding him close and in a really esoteric way, this is almost better than sex for him. Almost.
The almost is why, when Troy's lips press hesitantly to his on the dip, Ryan is first reminded of Jason and then returns to the current situation to deepen the kiss. He just hopes that Troy is less closeted than Chad-Ryan really would rather not have a repeat of that panic and fluster. Troy, to his credit, does not chicken out. Ryan takes this as a good sign and traces a nonsensical pattern along Troy's side before dancing his fingers along the waistband of Troy's jeans.
As the pair straightens, Ryan leads Troy into a reverse tango leading to the couch that his mother dumped into the dance studio when she found Ryan passed out on the floor. He was grateful for it at that moment-just as he was grateful that he could tango backward in the first place (regardless of the fact that he still couldn't do it in heels).
When the back of his knees bump the couch, Ryan pulls Troy down on top of him and kisses him again. The kiss is the opposite of the previous kiss-this one clarifies exactly what Ryan wants from Troy and gives him once last chance to back out. He doesn't and Ryan neatly adds Troy to the notches on his bedpost (and the tally of things he's gotten to before Sharpay) before carefully nudging Troy so that he's lying down and Ryan is straddling him. It's a little awkward, but the couch itself is a little awkward.
Ryan bends down to kiss Troy, holding himself up with one elbow and ghosting the other hand down Troy's chest before sneaking under his shirt and lifting it. While he's adjusting himself so he's free to use both hands to lift Troy's shirt, Ryan pauses to press a kiss to Troy's neck and leave a mark. There has to be proof of this conquest, of course. Troy can deal with the aftermath later-he doesn't seem to be complaining much as it is. In fact, Troy eagerly assists Ryan in helping get his shirt off and moans freely when Ryan rewards him for his participation. Scooting backwards a fraction, Ryan places his hands on Troy's hips and slides them toward each other so they meet at the button of Troy's jeans. There is a pause-a thinking pause, not a awkward one-before Ryan presses down ever so slightly.
“Stay.”
Swiftly, Ryan gets off the couch and drops to his knees, bent forward and reaching for something under the couch. Troy shifts to see or assist or something, but the hand Ryan kept splayed across his stomach keeps him from moving too much. A moment after, Ryan is back in his previous position. There is a plastic box, open, by the couch that contains a variety of things. Importantly, it contains condoms and lube. Unimportantly, it contains a chocolate bar and emergency money.
“Honey,” Ryan says sweetly, “how do you want to do this?”
Troy gives him the blank stare he sometimes gives Gabriella when she tries to explain something to him and he just. Doesn't get it. Ryan shakes his head internally-outwardly he leans down to whisper into the shell of Troy's ear.
“Do you want me to fuck you or do you want to fuck me? Your choice,” Ryan adds huskily, “because I'm not complaining about either.”
And then, just for good measure, he kisses Troy again. This sparks something in Troy, because suddenly there are hands on Ryan's hips pulling him down. Somehow, they awkwardly switch positions. Figures. There's something about jocks (or at least East High's basketball team) that makes them all want to be in control. Ryan is fine with that for reasons they would never understand-because while they have the power in that moment, they really have no power at all in the big picture. They've been played played played by Ryan in a sharp and twisting move against his sister. In the end, Ryan still has the power.
He muses on this while Troy unbuttons Ryan's shirt (carefully, Ryan notes, as if it were made of silk) and pushes it aside. Using some creative flexibility and thanking God for yoga, Ryan removes the shirt and tosses it somewhere. It doesn't matter where, he'll clean up later. Right now, Ryan is working on Troy's jeans. And (because he can't resist) once Troy's pants and boxers are pushed down and his cock is freed, Ryan sits up and takes it into his mouth without asking permission. Troy would give it anyway-Ryan knows that the basketball team functions like any other group of people. Someone had to have told the teams about which Evans twin that would spread their legs for just about anyone (not exactly a true statement, but whatever) and what he could do with his mouth.
There was an 85% chance it wasn't even an exaggeration, depending on what Troy heard. Ryan hums absently, taking note that Troy is already whimpering-his right hand must have fallen really short. Ryan abruptly abandons Troy to twist and grab something from the plastic box. When he returns to Troy, Ryan smoothly rolls a condom down Troy's cock. With his mouth.
It's just a party trick he learned from some otherwise hideous porn movie. He's actually ridiculously fond of what it does to boys, which is probably why he does it so often. Troy seems fond of what it does to him, so no foul on that end. Good. Ryan pulls away and takes Troy's wrist, pulling it up to his mouth so he can suck on Troy's fingers. There's little need to waste lube when this works just as well. Removing Troy's fingers, Ryan looks at him pointedly.
“Tab A to Tab B. Those go in my ass-think of it like a pussy, if it makes you feel better.”
Troy hesitates, before doing as he's told. Ryan lifts his hips ever so slightly to help him. Troy does reasonable well, and it earns a (theatric) moan from Ryan. He lets Troy continue what he's doing for a few moments before getting impatient. He's more patient than Sharpay, but he's still an Evans. He flails for a moment before getting a hold on the bottle of lube and lubing Troy's cock with one swift hand motion.
“Fuck me. Fuck me now.”
It sounds kind of raw and desperate-exactly the way it should be, but only part of it is acting. Troy's quick to please, though, which is good. He seems to be afraid of hurting Ryan, which is slightly ridiculous because Ryan is not fragile and he doesn't mind a little pain-he minds a lot of pain though, because the memory of spraining his ankle in fifth grade is still fresh in his mind. It hurt a lot and Ryan wasn't fond of that-besides, he couldn't dance.
Which is really what this is all about. It's always been about the dancing. It's about the dancing now, it's about the dancing then and it's about the dancing that never will be. Because this is not the start of a beautiful relationship-Ryan knows this, even as he kisses Troy and rolls his hips. It's just another move in a never-ending game of chess between him and Sharpay. People are the pieces and and the more pieces you steal, the better you score. Ryan is winning. And not just because he's got Troy panting moaning feeling wanting more more more. No, that's just a bonus. Ryan is really winning because he got there first. He's making Troy fall apart and he's not Sharpay.
Because he's not Sharpay, because he's not Gabriella, because he's not a girl at all-because he's not anything or anyone but Ryan Ryan Ryan, he can meet Troy thrust for thrust. And the sound that makes-the sound of skin on skin-is the music they dance to. That's what it all boils down to: a dance. Troy is just another dance Ryan wants to master. It's the kind of dance that's only good for one show, once it's mastered then there isn't anything else to do with it but take the trophy it wins and stick it on a shelf.
Somewhere during it all, Troy remembers that Ryan has needs too and wraps a hand around Ryan-which just makes him more desperate and it's really not acting now. No, it's real because Ryan has never been able to keep himself out of the game. Sharpay is good at that-and maybe it's different for girls-but Ryan can't do it. He likes sleeping with them, he likes kissing them, he likes making their hearts flutter, he likes that he's the reason they blush. Because they always blush.
Troy is blushing now, under the sheen of sweat that he's worked up. Somehow, like this, Ryan appreciates Troy more. It's still not attraction, no. Troy is still as only mildly attractive as he was before, but in such a state of vulnerability Ryan can appreciate why Gabriella breaks up with him so often. He can appreciate that side of it. Maybe he'll feel bad about this later, but probably not. They're not together anyway, because both sides are too scared weak tired angry hurt. For people who break the status quo so easily, so frequently . . . Why can't they just take a leap of faith? A thousand miles isn't so far. Three thousand is more. God, Ryan wishes three thousand was not such a big number in the way he wishes that bridges were fire-resistant. But it doesn't matter either way. It really doesn't.
What matters is that Troy is coming and pretty soon after, so is Ryan. Spent, they lie like that for a minute before Troy pulls out and ties off the condom. Pants go back on before Troy crashes on the couch at Ryan's suggestion. Dancing is hard work and they both deserve rest.
It's worth it when Sharpay pokes her head into the room and screeches. Troy wakes up, asking what happened in a voice thick with sleep. Ryan shushes him.
“Nothing happened, honey,” Ryan says softly, “Go back to sleep.”
----
Postit-Notes: Man, I should really learn how to write sex like. Without large tangential sections that make no sense. That would probably help a lot.