bandom: cura te ipsum | pete/ryland; nc-17
Cura Te Ipsum
Pete/Ryland || NC-17 || ~3000
Sequel to Primum Nil Nocere by adellyna.
This is for adellyna for her birthday *and* a horribly delayed Secret Santa fic. She is my absolute favorite and I do not have time or space to list the many ways in which she is fabulous, so I will have to say it with porn. I’m sure no one minds. Thanks to maleyka for betaing. ♥
Cura Te Ipsum
Ryland has never really believed in fate. He doesn’t like thinking that his entire life is pre-planned and out of his control. That means that nothing he thinks really matters, because everything he’s going to do is already chosen.
As someone whose career consists of trying to help people make the right choices, or at least figure out why they made the wrongs ones in the past, fate really doesn’t do him a lot of good.
So while some people might call it fate that he literally runs into Pete, Ryland just calls it a bad decision. He should have picked another bar. Or, you know, not fucked his underage patient a year ago, but there’s not much he can do about either of those things now.
All he can do now is stare while Pete blinks, grins, and steps closer. Too close. Pete says, “Dr. Blackinton,” and slides his fingers into Ryland’s front pocket. Those are the words that come out of his mouth, but it sounds a lot like he’s saying fuck me.
Ryland says, “Pete,” in a tone that’s supposed to mean no or not now or maybe even later, but it comes out a lot more like okay. He doesn’t even take a step back, no matter how much his brain is insisting he do so.
After that, Ryland shouldn’t be surprised when he ends up right back where he was before, with Pete pressed up against a wall, their mouths sealed together and Ryland’s hand shoved down Pete’s tiny, tight jeans.
“Please,” Pete gasps into Ryland’s mouth, his hips arching off the wall, fingers digging into Ryland’s bicep.
Ryland tightens his hand and bites Pete’s lip, mumbles “C’mon,” at the same time he drags his thumb over the head. Pete shudders and makes the hottest noise Ryland’s ever heard when he comes, hot and thick over Ryland’s fingers. Ryland strokes him through it, until Pete whimpers and pulls away a little. Then he lets go and tugs Pete’s jeans up over his hips again. He watches his fingers work button and pull up the zipper, mostly because he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life and if he looks at Pete right now, he’s going to turn him around and fuck him against this wall.
When he does look up, Pete’s pupils are huge and his mouth is red and swollen and he’s somehow even hotter than Ryland remembers him being. Pete drags his hand down Ryland’s chest and grinds his palm against Ryland’s dick. He kisses under Ryland’s jaw and says “You said if we ever saw each other again we could see what happened. Take me home with you.”
Ryland can’t say no to that. He should, but he’s never wanted anyone in the sharp, aching way he wants Pete, so he just drags Pete’s hand away and tangles up their fingers. It’s been a year, Pete’s eighteen and he’s not Ryland’s patient. As completely fucking stupid as it was for him to do what he did with Pete before, there’s nothing nearly as wrong about it now.
So he takes Pete home. He gets a cab and doesn’t even pretend to protest when Pete crawls into his lap and kisses him, just wraps his hands around Pete’s hips and rocks up against him, trying to muffle the noises he’s making against Pete’s mouth.
“I think about you all the time,” Pete says. His hands are under Ryland’s shirt, splayed over his ribs. “You’re the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Ryland doesn’t admit that he thinks about Pete, too. That he still jerks off regularly thinking about the sounds Pete made when Ryland fucked him. He just kisses Pete harder and pushes up against him, until Pete’s hard again and they’re pulling up outside Ryland’s building.
He fucks Pete in the middle of his bed, with Pete spread out underneath him, hands gripping the iron bars of Ryland’s headboard. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Ryland doesn’t care about anything but the way Pete is moving with him.
Pete’s hips lift easily when Ryland slides his hands under them and pulls Pete up so he’s splayed over Ryland’s lap, his dick blood dark and shiny slick at the tip. Pete makes a noise like he’s close and Ryland says, “Don’t come,” and shoves in harder.
He keeps saying it until Pete is incoherent and writhing and the hottest thing Ryland has ever seen. Until he can feel his heart pounding in his ears and tension pulling hot and insistent in his stomach. Pete is whimpering his name, soft and desperate, when Ryland finally tells him he can come and gives up any remaining self-control.
He fucks Pete hard and deep and rough until Pete comes all over his own stomach. Ryland is thirty seconds behind him, and comes so hard he’s not sure he doesn’t black out for a second. It’s just that good.
When he manages to get his head to stop spinning, he’s sprawled facedown on the bed beside Pete, one arm draped lazily over Pete’s stomach. He pushes up on his elbow and spays his hand out on Pete’s skin, studies the contrast of his pale fingers against Pete’s much, much darker abs.
He falls asleep like that, touching Pete, and when he wakes up an hour later, Pete is gone.
***
Ryland thinks it might be done after that. They didn’t exchange phone numbers, they didn’t make plans to meet again. Hell, Pete didn’t even stick around. They just fucked. Got it out of their system.
Right.
What he doesn’t think about is that Pete knows where he lives now. So even without phone numbers or plans, Pete can still show up two days later and be sitting on the steps in front of Ryland’s building when he gets home from work.
“Hey,” Ryland says, surprised. He rolls his key ring in a circle around his finger and blinks at Pete. “What are you…?”
“Doing here?” Pete grins and pulls himself up by the stair railing. “Just, you know, was in the neighborhood. Thought you might want to buy me dinner. I hear sometimes people do that before they have sex.”
Pete is still a kid. He’s eighteen. There’s no reason he should make Ryland’s stomach flip over, but that’s exactly what it’s doing. Ryland mentally orders his stomach very sternly to settle the fuck down and grins back at Pete. “Do they?”
“Yep.” Pete leans back against the rail and pushes both hands into his front pockets. Ryland, for all his years of school and training, can’t tell it it’s a habit or if it’s because he’s nervous. “Sometimes they talk, too.”
“I figured you’d still be tired of talking to me,” Ryland says, wryly. He steps past Pete to unlock the front door of the building and waves Pete in ahead of him. “Don’t even look at the elevator. I’m pretty sure it’s just there for show.”
Pete redirects towards the stairs, but turns around and starts climbing them backwards, still grinning at Ryland. “Well, this is the kind of talking where you don’t ask how I feel about anything but the pasta and I don’t tell you about any of my childhood trauma. Think you could handle that?”
“I can try,” Ryland says. They get to the top of the stairs and Ryland gives into the urge to slide his hands over Pete’s hips and kiss him. Pete pushes up on his toes instantly and kisses him back, leaning into Ryland as Ryland walks them further down the hall to his door. “I just have to change.”
“Awesome.” Pete lets go of him when they get to the door and bounces a little on the balls of his feet while Ryland fumbles with his keys. “I’ll watch.”
***
So, Ryland takes Pete on a date.
Well, first Pete blows him against the closet door in his bedroom before Ryland even manages to get his slacks off, much less change into jeans. One second Pete is sitting on the edge of the bed, the next he’s on his knees mumbling, “You’re so fucking hot,” and dragging his mouth up the side of Ryland’s dick. Not that Ryland’s complaining.
After that, though, Ryland takes him on a date. He takes him to his favorite restaurant, a tiny hipster diner he and Alex found their first night in Chicago, when they were living together in the shittiest apartment known to man. They can both afford to live on their own now, but the food here is still amazing.
Pete reaches tentatively for Ryland’s hand when they get off the train. Ryland just smiles at him and tangles up their fingers. “How do you feel about shitty service from uninterested waiters?”
“I feel good,” Pete says. He kisses Ryland’s shoulder and Ryland’s stomach does that annoying flippy thing again.
They get a booth right away, because the staff here might be slow and uninterested, but they tend to recognize the people who come back anyway. Pete slides in beside Ryland and leans into his side, tipping his head back to look at him. “Just so you know,” he says. “I am going to put out later.”
Ryland blows at a Pete bangs, ruffling them off his forehead, then grins when Pete scrambles to flatten them down again. “What do you know, so am I.”
It’s the best date Ryland’s been on in a long time. Which makes no sense, really, what with the age difference and the whole therapist thing. It should be awkward and weird with a dash of uncomfortable, but it’s not. It’s none of those things.
They have dinner and they go to a really horrible indie movie Ryland’s college roommate produced. Then they have ice cream because Ryland doesn’t want it to end, even though he knows how it’s going to end. It’s stupid and sappy and he would expect to be shot immediately if he ever said it out loud, but he kind of just wants to hold Pete’s hand for a few more blocks before they get to the naked part.
Not that the naked part isn’t awesome. The naked part is amazing. Pete rides him in the dark, with moonlight on his skin. He slides his hands over Ryland’s chest and hazily says Ryland’s name right before he comes. Ryland doesn’t want this to end, either.
He wraps his arm over Pete’s shoulders after, when they’re tangled up and sticky and mumbles, “Stay,” against Pete’s hair. Pete doesn’t say anything back, but he kisses Ryland’s chest and is still there, sprawled half on top of Ryland, when Ryland wakes up.
They fuck in the shower, with steam and water swirling and sliding between their bodies, and make out against Ryland’s front door for ten minutes before he has to leave for work. “I’m so late,” he says, right before he drags Pete’s bottom lip between his teeth.
“I have class, anyway.” Pete kisses him again, hard, and finally pulls back. His mouth is red and swollen, which is almost enough for Ryland to say fuck it all and take him back to bed. He has clients booked all day, though, and Pete is already out the door and waiting for Ryland in the hallway.
He’s halfway to work before he realizes that he still doesn’t have Pete’s number.
***
“You’re what?” is Alex’s reaction when Ryland very, very calmly mentions that he might be kind of maybe dating a former patient.
“I’m not his therapist anymore,” Ryland says reasonably. It’s his lunch hour, which means he’s locked himself in his office to eat his sandwich in peace. Not that Alex is providing much of that. Ryland tears a corner off the wrapper and folds it into a tiny paper airplane with his phone trapped between his shoulder and his ear. “It’s totally legal.”
He doesn’t mention that Pete is eighteen and a freshman in college. Those things seem like they can wait. He doesn’t want to give his best friend an aneurysm. Usually.
“How does that even work?” Alex asks. “I mean, don’t you already know way too much about him? I don’t want to fuck anyone who knows in-depth information on how I used to wet the bed.”
“Does that mean I’m out of the running?” Ryland pouts at his phone and launches the tiny airplane into the air. It promptly veers left and lands in his coffee cup from that morning. “Because you know I’ve always hoped I’d be the one to turn you gay.”
“Fuck off,” Alex says cheerfully. “And be careful. Also, I want to meet this guy.”
“Oh, look at that, my lunch is over. I have to go be a doctor now, bye.” He hangs up before Alex can say anything else and makes a face at his sandwich. His phone beeps fifteen seconds later with a text from Alex that says, “I’m serious!”
Ryland turns the phone off and shoves it in his pocket. It’s not that he doesn’t want Alex to meet Pete ever. Just not right now. He’d kind of like to make sure this whole thing isn’t going to blow up in his face first.
***
Pete is sitting on the steps again when he gets home, all eyeliner and tiny jeans, but he’s not the same kid Ryland met a year and a half ago. He’s not as angry, his edges a little less jagged, he doesn’t seem quite as raw or haphazardly stitched up. Whatever happened after Ryland stopped seeing him, it was good for him.
“What?” Pete is making a face at him and self-consciously tugging at his bangs. Probably because Ryland’s been staring at him for forty-five seconds.
“Sorry.” Ryland braces his hands behind him on the railing and leans back. “I was just trying to decide if you got taller.”
“Half an inch.” Pete gets to his feet and closes the short distance between them, leaning up to kiss Ryland’s jaw. “I’m hoping the other half will happen one day.”
“Fingers crossed.” Ryland shifts so he can touch Pete, fingers splayed over the front of his shirt. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“Well,” Pete says. He reaches for Ryland’s hand and starts tugging him up the stairs. “I was thinking we could order some food and make out on your couch.”
So that’s what they do. The next night, they go to a show, and another one two nights later, then a movie the night after that. Before Ryland realizes what’s happening, it’s been two straight weeks of seeing and sleeping with Pete almost every night. He’s met Pete’s roommate and three of Pete’s best friends and two of Pete’s ex-girlfriends.
Also, he finally remembers to get Pete’s phone number.
***
“You seem happy,” Alex observes, on the one night that week Ryland doesn’t spend with Pete. He let Alex cook him dinner, instead. It’s some chicken dish that Ryland isn’t even trying to pronounce the name to. He’s just going to call it Fucking Awesome.
“I am.” Ryland takes another bite and, seriously. Fucking awesome. “Also, I’m going to marry you one day just so you can cook this for me every night.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Speaking of marriage. When do I get to meet your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Ryland frowns. “Not officially, anyway. And I don’t know, soon, maybe? I don’t want him to leave me as soon as you make us dinner.”
The last thing he needs right now is Alex telling him the whole list of reasons dating Pete is a bad idea. Ryland already knows each and every one of them, has mentally gone over them in extreme detail. Basically, what it boils down to is that he just doesn’t give a fuck.
“Nah. He’d probably want me to suck his dick or something and then I’d have to run screaming. Probably that’s a turn off.” Alex tops his glass off with wine and points the end of the bottle at Ryland. “You look good when you’re getting laid, though. I assume you are getting laid?”
Ryland is so getting laid.
They fuck in bathrooms at clubs and on every flat surface in Ryland’s apartment, vertical and horizontal. Ryland doesn’t think he’s exaggerating to say it’s the hottest sex he’s ever had. Pete is bendy and shameless and can’t seem to keep his hands off Ryland, no matter where they are. Ryland’s not a whole lot better, he likes that Pete is just tall enough for his head to tilt back against Ryland’s shoulder and that there’s just enough room in his jeans for Ryland to wiggle his fingers into Pete’s pockets.
He likes how his hands fit around Pete’s hips and how Pete has the dorkiest laugh known to man and doesn’t even seem to notice. He likes Pete’s eyes and Pete’s mouth and Pete’s hands and Pete’s skin.
“I like you,” he says into Pete’s ear one night, in the middle of some crappy opening band that needs a new drummer so badly Ryland’s considering just offing this one and getting it over with for them. The jail time might be worth it.
Pete turns around and beams up at him, his hands sliding easily up under Ryland’s shirt. “Good. I like you, too.”
Ryland grins back at him. “You’re the best illegal thing I ever did.”
“Yeah?” Pete bites his lip and his eyes go round and innocent. “Is that how you’re going to phrase it to my mom?”
“Oh god.” Ryland sincerely hopes he sounds half as horrified as he feels. He knows he’s going to have to deal with Pete’s parents eventually. He would just really, really prefer it be later rather than sooner.
“Relax.” Pete slides his fingers higher up over Ryland’s stomach and pushes up to kiss his neck. “I’m not going to make you come to dinner anytime soon.”
Ryland pushes his hand into Pete’s hair and tugs his head back so he can kiss him properly. “Speaking of coming to dinner, how do you feel about meeting my best friend? He’ll make dinner and everything. You can try his cheesecake and spontaneously orgasm.”
Pete kisses Ryland again and mumbles, “I’d love to,” into the space between their mouths.
Pete/Ryland || NC-17 || ~3000
Sequel to Primum Nil Nocere by adellyna.
This is for adellyna for her birthday *and* a horribly delayed Secret Santa fic. She is my absolute favorite and I do not have time or space to list the many ways in which she is fabulous, so I will have to say it with porn. I’m sure no one minds. Thanks to maleyka for betaing. ♥
Cura Te Ipsum
Ryland has never really believed in fate. He doesn’t like thinking that his entire life is pre-planned and out of his control. That means that nothing he thinks really matters, because everything he’s going to do is already chosen.
As someone whose career consists of trying to help people make the right choices, or at least figure out why they made the wrongs ones in the past, fate really doesn’t do him a lot of good.
So while some people might call it fate that he literally runs into Pete, Ryland just calls it a bad decision. He should have picked another bar. Or, you know, not fucked his underage patient a year ago, but there’s not much he can do about either of those things now.
All he can do now is stare while Pete blinks, grins, and steps closer. Too close. Pete says, “Dr. Blackinton,” and slides his fingers into Ryland’s front pocket. Those are the words that come out of his mouth, but it sounds a lot like he’s saying fuck me.
Ryland says, “Pete,” in a tone that’s supposed to mean no or not now or maybe even later, but it comes out a lot more like okay. He doesn’t even take a step back, no matter how much his brain is insisting he do so.
After that, Ryland shouldn’t be surprised when he ends up right back where he was before, with Pete pressed up against a wall, their mouths sealed together and Ryland’s hand shoved down Pete’s tiny, tight jeans.
“Please,” Pete gasps into Ryland’s mouth, his hips arching off the wall, fingers digging into Ryland’s bicep.
Ryland tightens his hand and bites Pete’s lip, mumbles “C’mon,” at the same time he drags his thumb over the head. Pete shudders and makes the hottest noise Ryland’s ever heard when he comes, hot and thick over Ryland’s fingers. Ryland strokes him through it, until Pete whimpers and pulls away a little. Then he lets go and tugs Pete’s jeans up over his hips again. He watches his fingers work button and pull up the zipper, mostly because he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life and if he looks at Pete right now, he’s going to turn him around and fuck him against this wall.
When he does look up, Pete’s pupils are huge and his mouth is red and swollen and he’s somehow even hotter than Ryland remembers him being. Pete drags his hand down Ryland’s chest and grinds his palm against Ryland’s dick. He kisses under Ryland’s jaw and says “You said if we ever saw each other again we could see what happened. Take me home with you.”
Ryland can’t say no to that. He should, but he’s never wanted anyone in the sharp, aching way he wants Pete, so he just drags Pete’s hand away and tangles up their fingers. It’s been a year, Pete’s eighteen and he’s not Ryland’s patient. As completely fucking stupid as it was for him to do what he did with Pete before, there’s nothing nearly as wrong about it now.
So he takes Pete home. He gets a cab and doesn’t even pretend to protest when Pete crawls into his lap and kisses him, just wraps his hands around Pete’s hips and rocks up against him, trying to muffle the noises he’s making against Pete’s mouth.
“I think about you all the time,” Pete says. His hands are under Ryland’s shirt, splayed over his ribs. “You’re the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Ryland doesn’t admit that he thinks about Pete, too. That he still jerks off regularly thinking about the sounds Pete made when Ryland fucked him. He just kisses Pete harder and pushes up against him, until Pete’s hard again and they’re pulling up outside Ryland’s building.
He fucks Pete in the middle of his bed, with Pete spread out underneath him, hands gripping the iron bars of Ryland’s headboard. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Ryland doesn’t care about anything but the way Pete is moving with him.
Pete’s hips lift easily when Ryland slides his hands under them and pulls Pete up so he’s splayed over Ryland’s lap, his dick blood dark and shiny slick at the tip. Pete makes a noise like he’s close and Ryland says, “Don’t come,” and shoves in harder.
He keeps saying it until Pete is incoherent and writhing and the hottest thing Ryland has ever seen. Until he can feel his heart pounding in his ears and tension pulling hot and insistent in his stomach. Pete is whimpering his name, soft and desperate, when Ryland finally tells him he can come and gives up any remaining self-control.
He fucks Pete hard and deep and rough until Pete comes all over his own stomach. Ryland is thirty seconds behind him, and comes so hard he’s not sure he doesn’t black out for a second. It’s just that good.
When he manages to get his head to stop spinning, he’s sprawled facedown on the bed beside Pete, one arm draped lazily over Pete’s stomach. He pushes up on his elbow and spays his hand out on Pete’s skin, studies the contrast of his pale fingers against Pete’s much, much darker abs.
He falls asleep like that, touching Pete, and when he wakes up an hour later, Pete is gone.
***
Ryland thinks it might be done after that. They didn’t exchange phone numbers, they didn’t make plans to meet again. Hell, Pete didn’t even stick around. They just fucked. Got it out of their system.
Right.
What he doesn’t think about is that Pete knows where he lives now. So even without phone numbers or plans, Pete can still show up two days later and be sitting on the steps in front of Ryland’s building when he gets home from work.
“Hey,” Ryland says, surprised. He rolls his key ring in a circle around his finger and blinks at Pete. “What are you…?”
“Doing here?” Pete grins and pulls himself up by the stair railing. “Just, you know, was in the neighborhood. Thought you might want to buy me dinner. I hear sometimes people do that before they have sex.”
Pete is still a kid. He’s eighteen. There’s no reason he should make Ryland’s stomach flip over, but that’s exactly what it’s doing. Ryland mentally orders his stomach very sternly to settle the fuck down and grins back at Pete. “Do they?”
“Yep.” Pete leans back against the rail and pushes both hands into his front pockets. Ryland, for all his years of school and training, can’t tell it it’s a habit or if it’s because he’s nervous. “Sometimes they talk, too.”
“I figured you’d still be tired of talking to me,” Ryland says, wryly. He steps past Pete to unlock the front door of the building and waves Pete in ahead of him. “Don’t even look at the elevator. I’m pretty sure it’s just there for show.”
Pete redirects towards the stairs, but turns around and starts climbing them backwards, still grinning at Ryland. “Well, this is the kind of talking where you don’t ask how I feel about anything but the pasta and I don’t tell you about any of my childhood trauma. Think you could handle that?”
“I can try,” Ryland says. They get to the top of the stairs and Ryland gives into the urge to slide his hands over Pete’s hips and kiss him. Pete pushes up on his toes instantly and kisses him back, leaning into Ryland as Ryland walks them further down the hall to his door. “I just have to change.”
“Awesome.” Pete lets go of him when they get to the door and bounces a little on the balls of his feet while Ryland fumbles with his keys. “I’ll watch.”
***
So, Ryland takes Pete on a date.
Well, first Pete blows him against the closet door in his bedroom before Ryland even manages to get his slacks off, much less change into jeans. One second Pete is sitting on the edge of the bed, the next he’s on his knees mumbling, “You’re so fucking hot,” and dragging his mouth up the side of Ryland’s dick. Not that Ryland’s complaining.
After that, though, Ryland takes him on a date. He takes him to his favorite restaurant, a tiny hipster diner he and Alex found their first night in Chicago, when they were living together in the shittiest apartment known to man. They can both afford to live on their own now, but the food here is still amazing.
Pete reaches tentatively for Ryland’s hand when they get off the train. Ryland just smiles at him and tangles up their fingers. “How do you feel about shitty service from uninterested waiters?”
“I feel good,” Pete says. He kisses Ryland’s shoulder and Ryland’s stomach does that annoying flippy thing again.
They get a booth right away, because the staff here might be slow and uninterested, but they tend to recognize the people who come back anyway. Pete slides in beside Ryland and leans into his side, tipping his head back to look at him. “Just so you know,” he says. “I am going to put out later.”
Ryland blows at a Pete bangs, ruffling them off his forehead, then grins when Pete scrambles to flatten them down again. “What do you know, so am I.”
It’s the best date Ryland’s been on in a long time. Which makes no sense, really, what with the age difference and the whole therapist thing. It should be awkward and weird with a dash of uncomfortable, but it’s not. It’s none of those things.
They have dinner and they go to a really horrible indie movie Ryland’s college roommate produced. Then they have ice cream because Ryland doesn’t want it to end, even though he knows how it’s going to end. It’s stupid and sappy and he would expect to be shot immediately if he ever said it out loud, but he kind of just wants to hold Pete’s hand for a few more blocks before they get to the naked part.
Not that the naked part isn’t awesome. The naked part is amazing. Pete rides him in the dark, with moonlight on his skin. He slides his hands over Ryland’s chest and hazily says Ryland’s name right before he comes. Ryland doesn’t want this to end, either.
He wraps his arm over Pete’s shoulders after, when they’re tangled up and sticky and mumbles, “Stay,” against Pete’s hair. Pete doesn’t say anything back, but he kisses Ryland’s chest and is still there, sprawled half on top of Ryland, when Ryland wakes up.
They fuck in the shower, with steam and water swirling and sliding between their bodies, and make out against Ryland’s front door for ten minutes before he has to leave for work. “I’m so late,” he says, right before he drags Pete’s bottom lip between his teeth.
“I have class, anyway.” Pete kisses him again, hard, and finally pulls back. His mouth is red and swollen, which is almost enough for Ryland to say fuck it all and take him back to bed. He has clients booked all day, though, and Pete is already out the door and waiting for Ryland in the hallway.
He’s halfway to work before he realizes that he still doesn’t have Pete’s number.
***
“You’re what?” is Alex’s reaction when Ryland very, very calmly mentions that he might be kind of maybe dating a former patient.
“I’m not his therapist anymore,” Ryland says reasonably. It’s his lunch hour, which means he’s locked himself in his office to eat his sandwich in peace. Not that Alex is providing much of that. Ryland tears a corner off the wrapper and folds it into a tiny paper airplane with his phone trapped between his shoulder and his ear. “It’s totally legal.”
He doesn’t mention that Pete is eighteen and a freshman in college. Those things seem like they can wait. He doesn’t want to give his best friend an aneurysm. Usually.
“How does that even work?” Alex asks. “I mean, don’t you already know way too much about him? I don’t want to fuck anyone who knows in-depth information on how I used to wet the bed.”
“Does that mean I’m out of the running?” Ryland pouts at his phone and launches the tiny airplane into the air. It promptly veers left and lands in his coffee cup from that morning. “Because you know I’ve always hoped I’d be the one to turn you gay.”
“Fuck off,” Alex says cheerfully. “And be careful. Also, I want to meet this guy.”
“Oh, look at that, my lunch is over. I have to go be a doctor now, bye.” He hangs up before Alex can say anything else and makes a face at his sandwich. His phone beeps fifteen seconds later with a text from Alex that says, “I’m serious!”
Ryland turns the phone off and shoves it in his pocket. It’s not that he doesn’t want Alex to meet Pete ever. Just not right now. He’d kind of like to make sure this whole thing isn’t going to blow up in his face first.
***
Pete is sitting on the steps again when he gets home, all eyeliner and tiny jeans, but he’s not the same kid Ryland met a year and a half ago. He’s not as angry, his edges a little less jagged, he doesn’t seem quite as raw or haphazardly stitched up. Whatever happened after Ryland stopped seeing him, it was good for him.
“What?” Pete is making a face at him and self-consciously tugging at his bangs. Probably because Ryland’s been staring at him for forty-five seconds.
“Sorry.” Ryland braces his hands behind him on the railing and leans back. “I was just trying to decide if you got taller.”
“Half an inch.” Pete gets to his feet and closes the short distance between them, leaning up to kiss Ryland’s jaw. “I’m hoping the other half will happen one day.”
“Fingers crossed.” Ryland shifts so he can touch Pete, fingers splayed over the front of his shirt. “What do you want to do tonight?”
“Well,” Pete says. He reaches for Ryland’s hand and starts tugging him up the stairs. “I was thinking we could order some food and make out on your couch.”
So that’s what they do. The next night, they go to a show, and another one two nights later, then a movie the night after that. Before Ryland realizes what’s happening, it’s been two straight weeks of seeing and sleeping with Pete almost every night. He’s met Pete’s roommate and three of Pete’s best friends and two of Pete’s ex-girlfriends.
Also, he finally remembers to get Pete’s phone number.
***
“You seem happy,” Alex observes, on the one night that week Ryland doesn’t spend with Pete. He let Alex cook him dinner, instead. It’s some chicken dish that Ryland isn’t even trying to pronounce the name to. He’s just going to call it Fucking Awesome.
“I am.” Ryland takes another bite and, seriously. Fucking awesome. “Also, I’m going to marry you one day just so you can cook this for me every night.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Speaking of marriage. When do I get to meet your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Ryland frowns. “Not officially, anyway. And I don’t know, soon, maybe? I don’t want him to leave me as soon as you make us dinner.”
The last thing he needs right now is Alex telling him the whole list of reasons dating Pete is a bad idea. Ryland already knows each and every one of them, has mentally gone over them in extreme detail. Basically, what it boils down to is that he just doesn’t give a fuck.
“Nah. He’d probably want me to suck his dick or something and then I’d have to run screaming. Probably that’s a turn off.” Alex tops his glass off with wine and points the end of the bottle at Ryland. “You look good when you’re getting laid, though. I assume you are getting laid?”
Ryland is so getting laid.
They fuck in bathrooms at clubs and on every flat surface in Ryland’s apartment, vertical and horizontal. Ryland doesn’t think he’s exaggerating to say it’s the hottest sex he’s ever had. Pete is bendy and shameless and can’t seem to keep his hands off Ryland, no matter where they are. Ryland’s not a whole lot better, he likes that Pete is just tall enough for his head to tilt back against Ryland’s shoulder and that there’s just enough room in his jeans for Ryland to wiggle his fingers into Pete’s pockets.
He likes how his hands fit around Pete’s hips and how Pete has the dorkiest laugh known to man and doesn’t even seem to notice. He likes Pete’s eyes and Pete’s mouth and Pete’s hands and Pete’s skin.
“I like you,” he says into Pete’s ear one night, in the middle of some crappy opening band that needs a new drummer so badly Ryland’s considering just offing this one and getting it over with for them. The jail time might be worth it.
Pete turns around and beams up at him, his hands sliding easily up under Ryland’s shirt. “Good. I like you, too.”
Ryland grins back at him. “You’re the best illegal thing I ever did.”
“Yeah?” Pete bites his lip and his eyes go round and innocent. “Is that how you’re going to phrase it to my mom?”
“Oh god.” Ryland sincerely hopes he sounds half as horrified as he feels. He knows he’s going to have to deal with Pete’s parents eventually. He would just really, really prefer it be later rather than sooner.
“Relax.” Pete slides his fingers higher up over Ryland’s stomach and pushes up to kiss his neck. “I’m not going to make you come to dinner anytime soon.”
Ryland pushes his hand into Pete’s hair and tugs his head back so he can kiss him properly. “Speaking of coming to dinner, how do you feel about meeting my best friend? He’ll make dinner and everything. You can try his cheesecake and spontaneously orgasm.”
Pete kisses Ryland again and mumbles, “I’d love to,” into the space between their mouths.