[fanfiction] Body Knowledge
Fandom/Pairings: High School Musical; Ryan/Skater Kid (Rory)
Rating: R for Really Goddamn Drunk
Pre-Notes: Sooooo . . . Yeah. It's a high school full of people, I can make some up. Even if this kid isn't entirely made up. For my un_love_you claim of Ryan Evans. :]
Disclaimer: Disney and I have an understanding-I play with them and then I put them back when I'm done. That's it!
Summary: It's not unexpected, the way they know each other's bodies before their lips have even met, but it's still a little strange.
----
Body Knowledge
“And with every step together, we just keep on getting better.”
Parties are always a bad idea, so Ryan's not entirely sure why he's at a party in the first place. It's not like he knows anyone there-Jason doesn't count, because Ryan really only knows Jason's body and that's not much of a relationship at all. In fact, he's still not sure why Jason invited him to the party in the first place (clearly, this is Jason's fault because if he hadn't been invited then he wouldn't have accepted). Jocks, Ryan has learned, do not think in ways normal humans can understand.
There is a red plastic cup hanging from his fingers and Ryan wonders who these people got to buy them beer-not that it's of decent quality or taste, but it's beer nonetheless and if Ryan is going to be at a party where he doesn't know anyone, then he is going to get smashed enough to make out with a guy and not give a fuck anymore. Well. Not that he had to be drunk to make out with a guy and not give a fuck, but it made it easier sometimes. Besides, everyone else was pretty tipsy and though Ryan was good at acting, he doubted he could act drunk enough to fool anyone. It wasn't exactly his forte.
A boy with greasy, curly, dirty-blonde hair sits down next to Ryan, holding an identical red cup. He's wearing some sort of shell necklace and a muscle tank with some sort of eagle flying out over the sunset graphic. Ryan only knows it's a muscle tank because there is a very tantalising strip of shoulder visible between the edge of the tank and where the boy's green jacket has slipped a little off his shoulder. Ryan wants to push the jacket down further and attack that shoulder with kisses and attention. He must be pretty drunk.
“Rockin' party,” the boy says, “right, dude?”
“Yeah,” Ryan responds absently, “really rockin'. I think I need more beer.”
“Me too, bro.”
There should be big, giant, flashing, neon signs telling Ryan that something awful is going to happen if he lets the boy hold onto his wrist for very much longer. Ryan has very few inhibitions to begin with, and alcohol strips them all away until Ryan just acts. Doesn't think, doesn't stop, just does.
But the boy's hands are warm and Ryan really doesn't want to pull himself away, so he lets himself be pulled into the kitchen where all the alcohol is. He also lets the boy pour him a cup of beer (which he supposes is almost breaking one of the rules, but he can't be bothered to care). They stand and drink their alcohol in silence and it occurs to Ryan that he is really, really, really drunk. He can still see that strip of shoulder-it's a little less than ten inches away from him-and he still really wants to ravish it. Or maybe he just wants to ravish the boy-the line is a little blurry because of the alcohol.
“Hey,” Ryan says, impressed with how sober he sounds, “what's your name?”
“Rory,” the guy says with this dorky smile Ryan finds very attractive, “you?”
“Ryan,” he almost purrs.
It has to be a testament to how fucking drunk they both are that Rory doesn't even think it's weird when Ryan leans over and kisses him. The red plastic cup that used to be in Ryan's hands is on the countertop they're leaning against and his hands are on Rory's hips. They are making out in a kitchen Ryan isn't even sure who owns because Jason invited him to a party he shouldn't have been at and the only think Ryan can think is how good it would feel if they happened to be making out and not wearing clothes.
But that thought is interrupted because they have to pull back for air and gasp it in-it's probably kind of unattractive, but Ryan isn't even noticing. All he's noticing is the heat in Rory's eyes.
Ryan leans in and whispers in Rory's ear, “You know a place where we can be alone?”
“Yeah,” Rory answers.
Then, Ryan's wrist is in Rory's hand and he's being pulled somewhere. They're in a bedroom and Ryan doesn't even bother asking whose bedroom it is-he just locks the door before pushing Rory's jacket off and placing barely-there kisses along his shoulder. It was some sort of sensitive spot, because Rory let out a moan. Ryan smirked against his skin before moving away so he could pull the (kind of garish-Ryan still had fashion sense when he was drunk) muscle shirt off and throw it somewhere. Hopefully somewhere they would be able to find it later. Ryan lets his hands wander, humming softly to himself before Rory pulls him forward for a kiss. Ryan pulls away and Rory protests, but Ryan's already on his knees and looking up at Rory. There's some sort of unspoken exchange between them before Ryan unbuttons Rory's pants and yanks them down. He's a little more careful with the boxers, but only just.
The cock is in his mouth before Rory has a chance to react. Ryan hums-because he hums when he's drunk. He's a sing-y drunk, which is why his parents don't let him have champagne at events anymore. Being a sing-y drunk isn't such a bad thing in this case though because it's drawing delicious noises out of Rory as Ryan bobs up and down. He carefully files away those noises in the section of his brain where he keeps such things and keeps a quick and fast pace. Rory's hand is resting on his head now and his fingers are curling into Ryan's hair, tugging insistently. Ryan complies because he has no reason not to. He likes it a little rough anyway-too many people treat him like he's made of porcelain. He's not.
Ryan's hurt himself playing baseball, he's hurt himself dancing. He's not always a perfect, graceful ballerina-he slips and falls just like everyone else. Ryan moans around Rory's cock when he tugs just right. Rory shuts his eyes tight-he's breathing heavily and Ryan has done this enough now to realise when his fun is going to be cut short of he doesn't stop, so he pulls off Rory's cock and ignores the protests as he stands and fumbles in his back pocket for his wallet. To placate Rory, Ryan kisses him, hard and wanting. Rory presses against him and Ryan retrieves what he wants from his wallet. He pulls away from the kiss to whisper in Rory's ear-because this affords him the opportunity to lick along the shell of it.
“I want you to fuck me. Now.”
It's probably kind of impressive that Ryan manages almost perfect enunciation, being as drunk as he is, but this doesn't even occur to him. All that matters is that he's ripping open the little foil packet and pushing the condom down Rory's cock, whispering into his ear and leading him toward the bed. Rory is unbuttoning Ryan's shirt and pushing it past his shoulders. When they reach the bed, Ryan quickly loses his pants.
“Lube,” Ryan gasps-Rory's exploring the areas that make Ryan's control falter.
Rory only makes a sort of assenting noise and grabs something out of a drawer. Ryan doesn't even register that there shouldn't be any reason Rory should know there was lube in the drawer, because Rory's got his fingers up Ryan's ass and wrapped around his cock. It's kind of overwhelming and it's been a long time since Ryan's been fucked by someone who doesn't have to be led through the process-it's kind of nice, actually. Refreshing. Novel.
But it's also really, really unnecessary. Ryan kisses Rory and pulls away, looking straight at Rory.
“Fuck me hard, fast and now.”
There's light (and mostly drunk) laughter as Rory flips Ryan over and touches their foreheads together. He kisses Ryan-gently!-before thrusting in. Ryan groans against Rory's mouth, arching up and wanting more more more. This isn't so much a game as carnal desire. A tango to end all tangos.
They are still and adjusting for a moment before they move. It's in perfect harmony-like there is no doubting that one is only an extension of the other-and Ryan is gasping moaning wanting feeling thrusting. They both breathe in short, ragged bursts and their hands are a little everywhere. In hair, on skin, trailing down, brushing across, exploring, pressing.
Ryan's mouth is to Rory's ear as Rory fucks him and he whispers everything that comes to mind. Harder faster more more more touch me like-ah! Just like that. Fuck me, darling, fuck me. Rory. Rory, Rory, Rory . . . More faster fuck that's good.
He finally runs out of words when he runs out of brainpower to form them. Then, he can only gasp and arch into Rory-there is no space for anything else. Rory kisses him just as he comes and then they're both limp and boneless. Rory manages to pull out and tie off the condom before collapsing and lying next to Ryan. Ryan runs a hand through Rory's hair and his eyes flutter closed. He's a little sleepy and spent and ten minutes won't hurt anyone-especially since Rory is telling him it's okay to sleep, okay to rest.
He drifts asleep and is settling against Rory when he hears a very, very familiar, high-pitched scream. Groggily, Ryan drags himself awake and asses the situation. Rory's giving him a little bit of a strange look, but Ryan pulls his pants back on just as Sharpay bangs against the door.
“RYAN, GET OUT HERE. This place is awful and disgusting-what were you even thinking, coming here?”
She says more, but Ryan's headache makes him tune her out to clutch his head and sway for a second. The alcohol is kind of kicking him in the ass. He's aware of Rory's holding out his shirt and Ryan takes it with a smile.
“Sorry. My sister is a little overprotective.”
Rory slaps him on the back and tells him it's okay as Ryan buttons up his shirt. He steals one last kiss before opening the door to calm his sister down.
----
Postit-Notes: I should. Not have been writing these so quickly and/or easily.
Rating: R for Really Goddamn Drunk
Pre-Notes: Sooooo . . . Yeah. It's a high school full of people, I can make some up. Even if this kid isn't entirely made up. For my un_love_you claim of Ryan Evans. :]
Disclaimer: Disney and I have an understanding-I play with them and then I put them back when I'm done. That's it!
Summary: It's not unexpected, the way they know each other's bodies before their lips have even met, but it's still a little strange.
----
Body Knowledge
“And with every step together, we just keep on getting better.”
Parties are always a bad idea, so Ryan's not entirely sure why he's at a party in the first place. It's not like he knows anyone there-Jason doesn't count, because Ryan really only knows Jason's body and that's not much of a relationship at all. In fact, he's still not sure why Jason invited him to the party in the first place (clearly, this is Jason's fault because if he hadn't been invited then he wouldn't have accepted). Jocks, Ryan has learned, do not think in ways normal humans can understand.
There is a red plastic cup hanging from his fingers and Ryan wonders who these people got to buy them beer-not that it's of decent quality or taste, but it's beer nonetheless and if Ryan is going to be at a party where he doesn't know anyone, then he is going to get smashed enough to make out with a guy and not give a fuck anymore. Well. Not that he had to be drunk to make out with a guy and not give a fuck, but it made it easier sometimes. Besides, everyone else was pretty tipsy and though Ryan was good at acting, he doubted he could act drunk enough to fool anyone. It wasn't exactly his forte.
A boy with greasy, curly, dirty-blonde hair sits down next to Ryan, holding an identical red cup. He's wearing some sort of shell necklace and a muscle tank with some sort of eagle flying out over the sunset graphic. Ryan only knows it's a muscle tank because there is a very tantalising strip of shoulder visible between the edge of the tank and where the boy's green jacket has slipped a little off his shoulder. Ryan wants to push the jacket down further and attack that shoulder with kisses and attention. He must be pretty drunk.
“Rockin' party,” the boy says, “right, dude?”
“Yeah,” Ryan responds absently, “really rockin'. I think I need more beer.”
“Me too, bro.”
There should be big, giant, flashing, neon signs telling Ryan that something awful is going to happen if he lets the boy hold onto his wrist for very much longer. Ryan has very few inhibitions to begin with, and alcohol strips them all away until Ryan just acts. Doesn't think, doesn't stop, just does.
But the boy's hands are warm and Ryan really doesn't want to pull himself away, so he lets himself be pulled into the kitchen where all the alcohol is. He also lets the boy pour him a cup of beer (which he supposes is almost breaking one of the rules, but he can't be bothered to care). They stand and drink their alcohol in silence and it occurs to Ryan that he is really, really, really drunk. He can still see that strip of shoulder-it's a little less than ten inches away from him-and he still really wants to ravish it. Or maybe he just wants to ravish the boy-the line is a little blurry because of the alcohol.
“Hey,” Ryan says, impressed with how sober he sounds, “what's your name?”
“Rory,” the guy says with this dorky smile Ryan finds very attractive, “you?”
“Ryan,” he almost purrs.
It has to be a testament to how fucking drunk they both are that Rory doesn't even think it's weird when Ryan leans over and kisses him. The red plastic cup that used to be in Ryan's hands is on the countertop they're leaning against and his hands are on Rory's hips. They are making out in a kitchen Ryan isn't even sure who owns because Jason invited him to a party he shouldn't have been at and the only think Ryan can think is how good it would feel if they happened to be making out and not wearing clothes.
But that thought is interrupted because they have to pull back for air and gasp it in-it's probably kind of unattractive, but Ryan isn't even noticing. All he's noticing is the heat in Rory's eyes.
Ryan leans in and whispers in Rory's ear, “You know a place where we can be alone?”
“Yeah,” Rory answers.
Then, Ryan's wrist is in Rory's hand and he's being pulled somewhere. They're in a bedroom and Ryan doesn't even bother asking whose bedroom it is-he just locks the door before pushing Rory's jacket off and placing barely-there kisses along his shoulder. It was some sort of sensitive spot, because Rory let out a moan. Ryan smirked against his skin before moving away so he could pull the (kind of garish-Ryan still had fashion sense when he was drunk) muscle shirt off and throw it somewhere. Hopefully somewhere they would be able to find it later. Ryan lets his hands wander, humming softly to himself before Rory pulls him forward for a kiss. Ryan pulls away and Rory protests, but Ryan's already on his knees and looking up at Rory. There's some sort of unspoken exchange between them before Ryan unbuttons Rory's pants and yanks them down. He's a little more careful with the boxers, but only just.
The cock is in his mouth before Rory has a chance to react. Ryan hums-because he hums when he's drunk. He's a sing-y drunk, which is why his parents don't let him have champagne at events anymore. Being a sing-y drunk isn't such a bad thing in this case though because it's drawing delicious noises out of Rory as Ryan bobs up and down. He carefully files away those noises in the section of his brain where he keeps such things and keeps a quick and fast pace. Rory's hand is resting on his head now and his fingers are curling into Ryan's hair, tugging insistently. Ryan complies because he has no reason not to. He likes it a little rough anyway-too many people treat him like he's made of porcelain. He's not.
Ryan's hurt himself playing baseball, he's hurt himself dancing. He's not always a perfect, graceful ballerina-he slips and falls just like everyone else. Ryan moans around Rory's cock when he tugs just right. Rory shuts his eyes tight-he's breathing heavily and Ryan has done this enough now to realise when his fun is going to be cut short of he doesn't stop, so he pulls off Rory's cock and ignores the protests as he stands and fumbles in his back pocket for his wallet. To placate Rory, Ryan kisses him, hard and wanting. Rory presses against him and Ryan retrieves what he wants from his wallet. He pulls away from the kiss to whisper in Rory's ear-because this affords him the opportunity to lick along the shell of it.
“I want you to fuck me. Now.”
It's probably kind of impressive that Ryan manages almost perfect enunciation, being as drunk as he is, but this doesn't even occur to him. All that matters is that he's ripping open the little foil packet and pushing the condom down Rory's cock, whispering into his ear and leading him toward the bed. Rory is unbuttoning Ryan's shirt and pushing it past his shoulders. When they reach the bed, Ryan quickly loses his pants.
“Lube,” Ryan gasps-Rory's exploring the areas that make Ryan's control falter.
Rory only makes a sort of assenting noise and grabs something out of a drawer. Ryan doesn't even register that there shouldn't be any reason Rory should know there was lube in the drawer, because Rory's got his fingers up Ryan's ass and wrapped around his cock. It's kind of overwhelming and it's been a long time since Ryan's been fucked by someone who doesn't have to be led through the process-it's kind of nice, actually. Refreshing. Novel.
But it's also really, really unnecessary. Ryan kisses Rory and pulls away, looking straight at Rory.
“Fuck me hard, fast and now.”
There's light (and mostly drunk) laughter as Rory flips Ryan over and touches their foreheads together. He kisses Ryan-gently!-before thrusting in. Ryan groans against Rory's mouth, arching up and wanting more more more. This isn't so much a game as carnal desire. A tango to end all tangos.
They are still and adjusting for a moment before they move. It's in perfect harmony-like there is no doubting that one is only an extension of the other-and Ryan is gasping moaning wanting feeling thrusting. They both breathe in short, ragged bursts and their hands are a little everywhere. In hair, on skin, trailing down, brushing across, exploring, pressing.
Ryan's mouth is to Rory's ear as Rory fucks him and he whispers everything that comes to mind. Harder faster more more more touch me like-ah! Just like that. Fuck me, darling, fuck me. Rory. Rory, Rory, Rory . . . More faster fuck that's good.
He finally runs out of words when he runs out of brainpower to form them. Then, he can only gasp and arch into Rory-there is no space for anything else. Rory kisses him just as he comes and then they're both limp and boneless. Rory manages to pull out and tie off the condom before collapsing and lying next to Ryan. Ryan runs a hand through Rory's hair and his eyes flutter closed. He's a little sleepy and spent and ten minutes won't hurt anyone-especially since Rory is telling him it's okay to sleep, okay to rest.
He drifts asleep and is settling against Rory when he hears a very, very familiar, high-pitched scream. Groggily, Ryan drags himself awake and asses the situation. Rory's giving him a little bit of a strange look, but Ryan pulls his pants back on just as Sharpay bangs against the door.
“RYAN, GET OUT HERE. This place is awful and disgusting-what were you even thinking, coming here?”
She says more, but Ryan's headache makes him tune her out to clutch his head and sway for a second. The alcohol is kind of kicking him in the ass. He's aware of Rory's holding out his shirt and Ryan takes it with a smile.
“Sorry. My sister is a little overprotective.”
Rory slaps him on the back and tells him it's okay as Ryan buttons up his shirt. He steals one last kiss before opening the door to calm his sister down.
----
Postit-Notes: I should. Not have been writing these so quickly and/or easily.