Like seagulls on crack (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} beggarsnotes) wrote,@ 2009-04-25 09:56:00 |
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The Homesick [3/6]
Author Notes: Here, have the longest sex scene I have ever written. I'm off to go swimming on this fine Saturday morning! Have a good weekend. <3
Master post
Part Two
III
A Pulsating Corpse, An Honest Pulse
Spencer de-Haleyfies his room.
Her t-shirt, a few pairs of knickers. The gifts she gave him for his birthdays, their anniversaries, Valentine’s Days. Their framed picture on the nightstand. The silly little cow soft toy they bought on their impromptu trip to France. He throws it all out. It’s early December, and Spencer throws out the Christmas present he had already got her.
The only thing he doesn’t have the heart to get rid of is the first picture he ever took of her. She’s smiling widely in it, and it’s from a time before he even knew her properly. And he just... he can’t throw that out. Maybe he’ll look at it fifty years from now and reminisce. He’s not sure. But if he throws that out too, it’s like they never even existed. And that hurts nearly as much as the ruins of their love that surround him all the time.
Spencer knows that sleeping with a random girl only days after their break up was as good as him dropping an atom bomb on what had once been pure and good, and now, the melting and rotting body of their relationship is twitching on the ground.
He will always remember walking back home from that girl’s apartment on Saturday morning. He could smell her on his fingers, foreign and persistent.
Once Spencer has destroyed the omnipresence of his ex-girlfriend, he feels like he can breathe again.
“How yeh feelin today?” Ryan asks cordially when Spencer settles on the living room couch.
Spencer considers the question before saying, “Better.”
It’s only half a lie, and that’s something.
* * *
The kid that keeps hitting on Ryan is called Adam, but he smoothly says that Ryan should call him Sisky. Sisky is a local kid with a big grin and sparkly eyes to match. He wears a Super Mario t-shirt and obsessively chews gum during the seminars, and really. Ryan is in no way attracted to the kid, neither would he have the tiniest thing in common with him. Ryan isn’t sure what the boy is after – a quick fuck or an A?
Sisky lingers around after the seminar as everyone else leaves the small room on the ground floor of the Celtic Department building. Ryan buttons his jacket and looks at the kid. “Did yeh need help with somethin?”
“No,” Sisky shrugs and keeps smiling. Sisky’s stance on himself seems to be that he is completely and utterly ravishing, and everyone in the world wants him. “I was actually wondering if you’d care for a pint. It’d be on me.”
Ryan laughs slightly, grabbing his briefcase. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t have the time.” Nor the interest.
Sisky probably thinks he’s lying. “I’ll walk with you,” the kid offers without even knowing which way Ryan is heading. Sisky says how Ryan should email him if he changes his mind about that drink and then moves on to inviting Ryan to a party or another. “So where you from?” Sisky asks as they walk across campus, passing the ten-story library.
“Cork.”
Sisky’s eyebrows lift to his hairline. “You’re Irish?”
Ryan blinks at him. Doesn’t the boy have ears? Of course he’s bleeding Irish and proud of it too. He isn’t planning to tattoo ‘Éire go Brách’ on himself, but he is just as patriotic as the next guy.
“I could hear this accent in there, but I couldn’t place you anywhere,” Sisky explains, not at all apologetic. It’s at that instant that Ryan realises he has been toning down his accent in his attempt to – what, he’s not sure. Be more academic? Try to be a more convincing authority figure? Something along those lines of fitting the English ideal of sounding like a BBC anchorman.
“Well, I am Oirish, a born and bred Corkonian,” he confirms, suddenly jumping to the other end of the spectrum, and he sounds slightly ridiculous to his own ears, a bit like Mr. O’Carroll who lived down the street from them when he was a kid.
“That’s pretty sexy,” Sisky says, and Ryan lets out an uncomfortable laugh because Sisky is crossing one tutor-student line at a time.
“Well, I must be off. Remember the essay’s due next week,” he says sternly, and Sisky looks slightly put off, but nods and quickly resumes smiling.
Ryan heads for the flat, feeling disappointed in himself. Granted, he’s been living in England for a while - it’s his fifth year. And whenever he goes home, his family says he sounds English, and whenever he is here, people can usually pin him down as Irish. In other words, he is always out of place, never where he should be and always homesick. And now, his subconscious has been trying really damn hard to destroy the one defining part of his already confused national identity: his speech.
He thinks back to his great-great-great-grandfather, who died in 1916 like so many others did, fighting for a country they believed in. Ryan has been living on enemy lands for years, and he has never cared. He still doesn’t, but suddenly, he feels just a bit like a traitor.
Ryan snaps out of his thoughts when he notices large masses of people outside the new Modern Languages building. Police cars have driven all the way up to the building, and Ryan senses the restless atmosphere before he even hears the cracked voices coming through megaphones.
When he is close enough, he asks one of the students watching the commotion what’s going on. Turns out, a group of students have occupied the newly renovated ground floor of the building, refusing to leave until their demands are met. Ryan isn’t sure what the demands are and neither does the girl he asks. The megaphone keeps on yelling about ‘human rights’, ‘oppressive politicians’ and ‘sell out conformist assholes’.
“Reinforcements are coming!” the female voice shouting into the megaphone declares, and Ryan notices a group of new protestors trying to get past the police into the building to join the demonstration. “We are going to set this building on fire if you don’t let our comrades through!” the voice declares.
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters. Setting a building on fire – what is that going to achieve? It won’t change a damn – “Bleedin fuck.”
Brendon’s there. Brendon Walking Disaster Boyd Urie is amongst the people now attempting to get past the police line and into the building. What the fuck is Brendon thinking? There are police present and threats of arson, and this is not just your normal Save This Country That Has a Name You Can’t Pronounce march or demonstration. The police are shouting for everyone to step back, and the innocent on-lookers are quickly becoming aware of the suddenly escalating danger. As everyone else backs away, leaving only the protestors and wannabe anarchists, Ryan walks into the mob. Someone thinks it’s a great idea to throw a rock at one of the policemen, and all hell breaks loose as the police have had enough and practically jump on the crowd.
“You can’t take our freedom!” someone bellows, and suddenly, everyone around Ryan is fighting and pushing and shoving. Ryan is going to fucking disembowel Brendon goddamn Urie for this.
Ryan manages to find Brendon in the chaotic crowd, and Brendon is raging and jumping up and down like the rest of them, a fanatic glee in his eyes. “Brendon!” he snaps as he takes a hold of his best friend’s elbow and pulls Brendon to him.
“Ryan!” Brendon says and breaks into a grin. “Isn’t this amazing?!” he yells over the angered shouts of the fellow protestors.
“Yeh’re gonna get arrested, yeh bloody eejit! Come on!” he insists and tugs Brendon after him.
“Hey! Hey, stop it,” Brendon says and struggles free of his hold, firmly staying where he is and giving Ryan a defiant look.
Ryan sees policemen advancing in the crowd behind Brendon. They have no time for this. “We need to get out of here before this gets out of hand!”
“This is how revolutions start!”
“No, this is how yeh get a criminal record and ruin yer feckin future! Now move yer arse. Yeh’re comin home with me! Now!”
Brendon crosses his arms, and Ryan really, really can’t believe his ears when Brendon says, “Make me.”
* * *
They’re both aching all over, adorning a few bruises, and it’s really an achievement considering how skinny they both are. But Ryan’s got a bit of muscle hiding somewhere under there, and Brendon mostly cheated and resulted to dirty tricks like aiming for Ryan’s shins. Jon is just on his way out for a shift at The Nest, but he stops to hold the door open for the two guys walking in with slumped shoulders. Ryan is limping a little.
“Naw way,” Jon breathes because the first thing that comes to his mind is a group of chavs having decided to give a few fags a beating. It doesn’t occur to Jon that Ryan and Brendon did it to each other – there are only small bruises, and no real damage has been done. It’s not like either one of them actually wanted to hurt the other. Still, Ryan is deeply offended that Brendon tried hair-pulling as Ryan dragged Brendon away from the mob, away from danger. Brendon fought him every bloody inch of the way. Ryan resulted to tackling Brendon on the corner of York Street, and Brendon accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and didn’t even apologise. “Did neds ambush ye?” Jon asks worriedly.
“What?” Ryan asks, out of breath. He puts down his briefcase, happy he didn’t lose it in the commotion. His hair is a mess, and his left cheek feels a bit sore.
“Did neds get ye? White tracksuits n Burberry scarves, most likely wit bleached hair n acne?” Jon fills in, describing the average teenaged granny-beater and troublemaker.
Brendon gives Ryan a glare, and Ryan gives one back. Jon stares back and forth in astonishment before Brendon mutters, “Yeah, a few chavs. We showed them, though.”
“Yeah,” Ryan mumbles and scratches his nose.
Jon relaxes slightly, though something is off. “Right, then. Are ye sure yer okay?”
Brendon assures Jon that they’re just fine. They can take on a few badly behaving adolescents. Jon reluctantly leaves for work, telling them that Spencer is at Pete’s and that Brendon had forgotten his mobile and Patrick called, so Jon answered it and Patrick asked Brendon to get back to him. He also gives them both a quick hug if they actually were victims of homophobic hooligans – but neither Ryan nor Brendon is acting upset like Jon would expect them to be.
Once by themselves, Brendon only crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. It aches somewhere inside that has got nothing to do with the mild physical abuse. Ryan stares at him like a disappointed parent, his dark green tie askew. “One day, yeh’ll thank me for this,” Ryan whispers and walks past Brendon.
Brendon can’t hold his tongue a second longer. “Stop acting like you know what’s best for me!”
Ryan turns around slowly. “I saved yer neck. How about a tad of gratitude?”
Brendon can’t believe it. He had been at the rally with his friends, and he knows that he has never been involved in anything that has been border-lining anarchy like that, but Ryan had no damn right just dragging him out of there. It’s his life, his decisions.
Ryan looks angry. “Yeh can’t change the world. One man can’t change the world, not even twenty of yez can change it! So stop swimmin upstream. It’s wearin me out.” He turns to leave, like he can just say that to Brendon and expect it to be the end of the story.
“Not trying never got anyone anywhere! What if Gandhi had just spent the rest of his life as a lawyer? Or what if –”
“And what if Hitler had been accepted into the arts school?!” Ryan snaps back, taking steps towards Brendon. “Would that have saved the lives of millions? I don’t know! Yeh don’t know! And it doesn’t make a damn difference in the end because yeh’re not them! Yeh know what ye are, Bren? Yeh’re just a guy,” he says, ignoring how hurt Brendon looks. “Yeh’re just a guy studyin business management because it’s the only thing yer parents were willin to pay for, and yeh don’t have the guts or the bleedin courage to tell them what yeh really want to do with yer life! So don’t start with me if yeh’re angry! Look in the fuckin mirror.”
Brendon is absolutely speechless for a minute before finding his voice. He wants to say, “You don’t know a thing about it,” but because Ryan is painfully spot on, he can’t.
“You’re in no position to preach when you’re taking the easy way out yourself.”
“Easy?!” Ryan barks. His post-grad degree is anything but easy; he is putting his heart and soul into it.
“Easy! You used to be fun! We used to have such a good time together! But now, you’re this – this dull and boring person, turning yourself into what you think academics want! You had no clue what to do with your life so you just decided to do a post-grad and have been pretending it’s your damn calling ever since! It’s sucking the life out of you, and you don’t even notice! At least I know what I want, and you envy that,” Brendon says angrily, stepping closer to Ryan.
“Oh, I envy yeh? What would I envy? Gettin shitty grades and livin off of mummy and daddy’s money? Havin Patrick Stump call after me in what we both know is goin to end up with yez gettin back together just so yeh don’t have to be alone?” Ryan questions because he certainly noticed Jon mentioning that Patrick had called, and he also knows that Patrick was at the LGBT party from the pictures Jon showed him. And Ryan isn’t stupid. He knows what it means – Patrick didn’t want his sexuality to be public information, undoubtedly the biggest source of friction for Brendon and Patrick, yet now, the cap-wearing moron is partying with the sexual minorities.
“God, you’re so paranoid! I am not getting back together with him! And even if I was –”
“Aha! See?! He’s not right for yeh! He’s- borin! Borin and ordinary! If yeh think I’m borin, then Patrick is goin to make yeh suicidal! Yeh’re settlin, and yeh shouldn’t do that! Not with him, not with anythin!” Ryan snaps, the words slipping out of his mouth too fast, calling his bluff. Brendon shouldn’t settle because one of them already has. And Brendon thinks he is going after what he wants, but he isn’t, really. Brendon is doing it the wrong way.
“I’m not discussing this with you,” Brendon growls, taking a step closer. “You’re being obnoxious and infuriating,” he states, and Ryan just stares at him. Brendon didn’t realise they were standing so close to each other, but they are, with barely no space between them.
“Yeh’re infuriatin,” Ryan argues back, but it’s a bit breathy, and Brendon feels a sudden electric tension in the air. Ryan is leaning in, and Brendon can’t, he – What is Ryan doing? “Yeh’re drivin me insane.”
Ryan’s lips are on Brendon’s, his hands gripping Brendon’s hips and pulling him closer until they are flushed together. And oh. Oh. Ryan tilts his head, lips forceful and searching. It’s Ryan. It’s the guy Brendon met years ago. It’s his Ryan with all his infuriating personality traits and all his shortcomings and the way Ryan used to make him laugh like no one else could. And it’s Ryan in a way Brendon has never let himself see the other man, but suddenly, he is opening his mouth, letting Ryan’s tongue push in, wet and hot.
And it’s… It’s fucking mind-blowing, it’s –
Brendon whines, a switch in his brain clicking on. And then there is no thought in his head apart from Ryan’s tongue hungrily licking into his mouth, Ryan’s hands bruising his hips, and Brendon just wants more of it. His hands fist Ryan’s hair, and Ryan makes a sound, almost a grunt.
The kisses are starving and dirty, and now, Ryan knows what Brendon’s lips feel like, taste like. He’s always wondered in the back of his mind. Brendon’s tongue is in his mouth, brushing against his own with a wet slide. Ryan pushes Brendon backwards, letting his hands pull up the hem of Brendon’s t-shirt. Brendon just arches into it, skin velvety under Ryan’s fingertips.
They crash against the door of Brendon’s bedroom. The kisses aren’t just heated anymore. They’re burning, and Ryan sucks on Brendon’s bottom lip as Brendon frantically slides the jacket off of Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan is hard. He is making out with Brendon, and he is hard as fuck. His cock is throbbing, trapped in his trousers. And Ryan’s hand is fumbling for the doorknob of Brendon’s room with the single thought of getting Brendon horizontal and naked, but fuck.
Brendon moves to kiss Ryan’s jaw, nibbling the skin. Ryan can’t think. He can’t goddamn think with Brendon’s hands now on his belt. “What are we doin?” Ryan grasps. Brendon looks at him with shiny lips and blown pupils. Ryan’s stomach drops.
“I don’t know,” Brendon admits, his voice low and lustful. He pushes his hips against Ryan, and Ryan can feel Brendon’s erection through the layers of clothing. Fuck. “Let’s just not stop,” Brendon suggests hurriedly with want in his words, his tone just on the line of begging.
“Yeah, fine by me,” Ryan agrees hastily, and he manages to get the door open and pushes them both inside. Brendon’s jacket drops to the floor as their lips reunite, and Brendon’s managed to unbuckle Ryan by the time they get on the bed.
Everything feels heavier when Ryan’s weight is resting on Brendon. Ryan’s hips are aligned with Brendon’s, Ryan’s chest pressed to his, and Brendon loves the feel of it, the way their bodies fit. Ryan’s mouth is on his neck, lips and teeth scraping the skin. It makes warmth pulsate throughout Brendon, to feel that desired.
There’s too much clothing between them. Brendon’s loosening Ryan’s tie, tugging the shirt out of Ryan’s trousers. Ryan moves to unbutton the shirt, and he has never realised how goddamn slow of a process unbuttoning is, his fingers trembling just a little as he sits on his knees between Brendon’s legs, and Brendon is pulling his t-shirt over his head. Ryan sees Brendon shirtless on a weekly basis at least, but it’s different like this. It couldn’t be any more different.
Once shirtless, Ryan leans back down, letting his lips trail from Brendon’s collarbone to a nipple where his tongue swirls over it. Brendon makes these sounds, these surprised little gasps followed by tiny, guttural groans, and Ryan’s cock twitches. He wants to fuck Brendon. Jesus Christ, he wants to fuck Brendon. Brendon fists his hair, and Ryan loves that, loves the way Brendon shifts beneath him.
Brendon thinks Ryan’s mouth is magic. It’s hot, wet and magical. It’s everywhere and good for a great deal more than the boring bullshit Ryan is usually on about. Ryan’s mouth disappears from his skin, however, just as it gets to the soft skin beneath Brendon’s belly button. Why is Ryan stopping? Brendon makes an unhappy sound, gazing down to where Ryan is staring up at him, licking his lips. Ryan’s hands are on the fly of his jeans. Ryan looks a bit questioning.
Brendon reaches down, pushing Ryan’s hands away and unzipping himself. He lifts his hips to pull his jeans down, his boxers getting caught in the mix and moving down in a similar fashion. Brendon’s cheeks feel hot because Ryan is still there, close to his crotch, and Ryan can see Brendon’s hard and flushed cock, can see what this is doing to Brendon.
“Fuck,” Ryan breathes, and Brendon goes still, so very still, when Ryan’s fingers curl around his length. Not too hard, but lightly, just to feel. Ryan’s fingers slide down, over his balls and cupping. Brendon arches into it as he quickly kicks his jeans down to his ankles where they get stuck. He forgot that he is still wearing his red Converse shoes.
Brendon doesn’t want Ryan to stop touching him, but he is not naked. And he wants to be naked, wants Ryan to be naked. He wants to do things with Ryan he has never felt sure he’s wanted to do with other guys. Ryan is just staring at his cock, thumb swirling around the pink head with a fascinated and hungry expression.
Just as Ryan ducks down, his mouth heading for Brendon’s dick, Brendon says, “Wait, wait, let me –”
“What?” Ryan asks, unhappy. Brendon’s cock is hot in his hand, smooth and pulsating, and Ryan wants to taste and find out ways to make Brendon tremble from the work of his tongue alone.
Brendon moves to sit, feeling his face flush even more. Ryan remains on his knees, watching Brendon begin to untie the laces of his shoes. Brendon lets out a slightly embarrassed laugh, but Ryan doesn’t care. It’s only a good point, and Ryan kicks off his own shoes, hearing them hit the floor. He uses the opportunity of Brendon’s face being closer again to lift the other man’s chin. Brendon is becoming more and more pliant, his mouth opening up for Ryan instantly. Ryan can’t believe he has never kissed Brendon before. He’s seriously been missing out.
Brendon gets his shoes and socks off, now managing to get rid of the jeans and boxers. Ryan’s hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back down on the bed. Brendon obliges, and Ryan follows, lips never leaving his. Ryan slides a hand back down, greedily wrapping it around Brendon’s cock. “Shit,” Brendon whispers, his hips rolling up. Ryan is staring into his eyes and touching him, and Brendon swears his skin is burning up. Ryan’s stare is too intense.
“Lube,” Ryan says in a commanding tone. Brendon shivers. He might like Ryan being authoritative, but mostly, he’s just focused on the fact that Ryan and lube are somehow connecting in his brain. Brendon can feel Ryan’s erection pressing against his hip through Ryan’s trousers, and he pictures Ryan’s lube covered cock, and – and fuck, that’s hot.
Brendon keeps lube handy, of course he does. He rolls onto his stomach to reach for the nightstand drawer. Ryan groans behind him and cups his ass before sinking teeth onto his shoulder. Brendon goes still and moans as Ryan rubs his ass. Ryan presses himself against Brendon, hips imitating thrusts. Brendon goes fucking breathless at that, one hand fisting sheets and the other in the drawer, frantically searching for his tube of KY. His fingers move over Soldier Boy, and though Brendon has fucked himself with that on innumerable occasions, even during the most intense orgasmic frenzy, the air in the room never felt as hot and electrified like this. Ryan is pressed to his back, Ryan’s hands and lips, Ryan’s body and presence, Ryan’s cock pressing against his ass. Jesus fucking Christ.
Brendon grabs the lube, passing it to Ryan as he rolls onto his back. He spreads his legs without Ryan having to ask, and Ryan is already pouring lube onto his fingers. It’s a bit cold, a bit sticky, and Ryan has two fingers glistening from the substance quickly.
“I want to fuck yeh, but I really want to finger yeh first,” Ryan says, leaning down to leave a bruise on Brendon’s stomach.
Brendon breathes, “God, yes,” tensing up as Ryan sucks on a bit of skin near his navel, and it’s painful in the most pleasurable way. Ryan’s fingers are brushing over his entrance, and it just somehow feels so different from Brendon’s own.
Brendon is still angry with Ryan. Ryan is still an asshole who said a handful of hurtful things, and, and all of this is him just showing Ryan how he protests to Ryan’s constant interventions and, and – fuck, did Ryan say he wants to fuck him? And Brendon, he said yes, didn’t he? Brendon’s fingers wouldn’t be enough to count the number of guys who’ve told him they want to fuck him, drunken predators slurring it, or some pretty boy who thinks that Brendon wants to be fucked just because he wants to dance, and now that Ryan said it, he just agreed without even processing the words. What the hell is wrong with him, he – god, he really, really enjoys the feel of Ryan’s finger sinking into him. He can’t think with Ryan’s finger pushing in, with Ryan now mouthing his cock.
“More,” Brendon groans instantly. Ryan hums as he lets his tongue flick over the most prominent vein on the underside of Brendon’s cock.
Ryan pulls his slick finger out and pushes back with two. Brendon’s muscles are tight around his fingers, but Brendon takes it so well, and Ryan can hear from the moans that Brendon loves it. There’s something intoxicating about knowing Ryan can make Brendon sound like that with just his fingers and mouth. He rolls his tongue around the head of Brendon’s cock, the tip tasting just a bit salty. He crooks his fingers, and Brendon is shaking and pulling his hair.
“Ryan,” Brendon breathes, sounding alarmed. Ryan takes Brendon’s cock in deeper, letting his saliva get Brendon’s length wet. Ryan’s done this before, several times. His sixteen-year-old self spent weekend after weekend in a much similar position, convincing himself that he liked doing it for those guys whose last names he didn’t know. This, though. This is driving Ryan absolutely insane, his cock throbbing every time Brendon makes a pleasured sound. Ryan’s fingers are working steadily in a rhythm of in and out, in and out, crooking his fingers whenever he is deep enough. Brendon’s hips are moving with the rhythm. Ryan rotates his wrist slightly, and Brendon jerks forcedly, Brendon’s cock sliding deeper into his mouth.
“Sorry. Fuck, sorry,” Brendon breathes. He’s not actually sorry, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself either. Ryan just hums around his cock and sucks, sounding perfectly content. Brendon’s toes curl. Ryan adds a third finger, slowly pushing the digits in. The stretch burns just right, and Brendon can feel a liquid pleasure spreading through him, from all the places Ryan is touching him. Ryan’s fingers are longer than his own, push against his insides with what seems like calculated precision to make Brendon lose the last bits of his sanity, or Ryan just might be that damn good.
Ryan takes a firm hold of the base of Brendon’s cock and rubs the flat of his tongue over the swollen and shiny head. Brendon watches, awed, feeling Ryan’s tongue swirl over him. Fuck. Fuck, Ryan just is that good.
“I’m ready,” Brendon manages through ragged breathing, letting his head fall onto the pillow.
Ryan pops off, and Brendon feels the smile against his hipbone. “I know,” Ryan says, and he flicks his fingers inside Brendon as if to make a point. Brendon groans, a bit of sweat already pushing through his pores. Ryan pulls himself up, firmly keeping his fingers working between Brendon’s parted thighs, never stopping the movement. He knows Brendon is stretched well enough, but fuck. He just has to see more of this, just a bit more. He could do this forever and never get tired of it.
“Ryan, seriously,” Brendon says, now with an edge of urgency in his tone.
“Shh,” Ryan soothes him, but Ryan doesn’t fucking get it. Brendon is going to come if Ryan keeps going, and that wasn’t the plan. They have no plan, fine, but this definitely isn’t what either one of them wants. Brendon closes his eyes and lets himself thrust against Ryan’s hand, Ryan’s thumb applying pressure against his perineum. It makes Brendon’s bones melt.
Just as Brendon is sure he is going to come, Ryan pulls his fingers out, causing Brendon to make a very protesting sound instead. He’s open and stretched but empty, and goddamn, Ryan is just as infuriating in bed as he is elsewhere.
When Brendon opens his heavy eyelids, he loses his breath completely. Ryan has pulled his trousers down, and Brendon stares at the hipbones, the dark, curly hair decorating the base of the fully erected cock that curves upwards slightly. The head is shiny from where Ryan is already leaking, and Brendon feels his muscles squeeze and clench from the sight alone. Ryan doesn’t seem at all aware of how divine he looks as he focuses on getting as naked as Brendon, grabbing the lube and pouring some on his fingers.
Brendon’s never seen another guy do that to himself. Definitely not a man who is about to –
“Fucking hell,” Brendon breathes, feeling nervous, excited, horny out of his mind and completely disbelieving.
Ryan slicks up his cock, rubbing the residue over Brendon’s widened entrance. Brendon bites on his bottom lip, and suddenly, Ryan realises how fast his heart is beating. Ryan can’t remember the last time he had sex. His body is thrumming with excitement, and all those notions Ryan had of being above his primal instincts of fucking and being fucked fly out of the window. He tries not to think of how Brendon’s waited for years to finally have sex, and how Ryan is sure Brendon never thought it’d be like this.
Brendon is going to let Ryan fuck him, is waiting, and that drives Ryan absolutely insane. He guides his glistening cock to Brendon’s entrance, not taking his eyes off of it. Brendon tenses, makes a sound. Ryan firmly grips Brendon’s hip with his free hand.
Ryan presses forward, watching the head of his cock sink into Brendon slowly. Brendon’s hips thrust up, and a helpless groan escapes Brendon’s lips. Ryan’s eyes fly between Brendon’s face and back down to where they are now joined. Brendon is so fucking tight, and Ryan keeps sliding in slowly. He knows Brendon’s not used to this, has never even done this.
“Shit, Ryan,” Brendon manages, voice high-pitched. Ryan sinks in all the way, feeling his body shudder as he has his cock buried deep in the younger man. He had forgotten how good it feels, but he has to focus on Brendon. Brendon’s brows are furrowed, his eyes screwed shut, and Ryan feels guilty and worried.
Ryan leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth. Brendon jerks and lets out a helpless sound, and Ryan’s heart aches. “Shh,” he whispers, placing another kiss on Brendon. “Shh, it’s okay, baby.”
Brendon breaks out into a loud, slutty moan. “Fuck, that’s so good.”
Ryan freezes, blinking at Brendon in surprise. Brendon opens his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Did you just call me ‘baby’?” he asks through heavy panting.
“No,” Ryan denies instantly.
Brendon lets it slide, focusing on the sensation of Ryan’s cock in him, filling him up in a way he’s never been filled before. “Fuck, just – Ryan, just –”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, letting himself move. Brendon grips onto his shoulders, blunt nails digging in. The toys Brendon has used don’t compare to this – Ryan feels so hot and so good, and Brendon can’t control the speed or angle here. Ryan’s cock is pushing in and out of him, taking him, and Brendon only spreads his legs wider to have more of it and let himself be fucked.
Ryan gets a good rhythm going, and no matter what happens, he must not come before Brendon. He is not the virgin here, he has to exercise self-control and blow Brendon’s mind. Brendon is sucking on his neck, little moans and whimpers escaping, and Ryan closes his eyes and listens to their ragged breaths and the way the bed squeaks. It feels incredible, and Brendon is even moving with his thrusts. Fuck.
“Leg,” Brendon says suddenly, and Ryan opens his eyes to see what’s going on. He realises what Brendon wants, and well, okay. He was fine with missionary, but okay. He sits up a bit more, taking one of Brendon’s legs and placing it on his shoulder. The angle is different now, and Brendon’s hips rise slightly off the mattress. Brendon moans so goddamn loud and lets his head press into the pillow. Ryan watches his cock disappear in and out of Brendon, watches the sweat on Brendon’s body. Brendon’s got a hand on his cock, but he’s not stroking himself, is just touching. Ryan can’t stop watching it, any of it.
“Fuck, the other - ungh, shit – the other too, uh,” Brendon mumbles just a bit incoherently. Ryan hurriedly takes Brendon’s other leg, and once he has both of them over his shoulders, he bends Brendon over just a little. His cock slides in deeper than before, and Brendon squeezes hard around him. “That’s good, oh fuck. Don’t stop, that’s so good, that –”
Ryan usually hates it when guys just can’t shut up during sex, but not this time. He wants to hear everything, wants to hear how good he is making Brendon feel.
Brendon can’t move much, so he stays like he is. Ryan is thrusting into him fast and hard, and Brendon has never felt anything that mind-blowing before. Ryan only makes these guttural “ah” sounds when it’s particularly intense for him, sometimes even moaning.
Ryan’s just gotten a good pace going again, letting himself repeatedly plunge into the tight heat. He hears Brendon speak, but it doesn’t even register first because fuck, fuck, fuck, so goddamn good, and he can’t really pay attention to anything else.
“Ry, fuck, pull out,” Brendon repeats, and what? Wait, what?
“What?” he asks, but Brendon just looks at him from under black eyelashes, cheeks flushed and forehead sweaty. Ryan pulls out reluctantly, taking the opportunity to watch his cock reappear out of Brendon inch by inch. Brendon’s entrance is wide and glistening from lube, and fuck. That is too fucking hot.
Ryan lowers Brendon’s legs back onto the bed, unsure whether Brendon wants him to stop or not. Brendon is somehow limber enough to quickly get on his hands and knees. He looks at Ryan from over his shoulder, keeping still like an invitation, and oh. Okay. Fuck yeah, Ryan can live with this.
Ryan instantly grabs Brendon’s hips again, noticing the bruises already there. He moves to place a kiss on Brendon’s spine before taking a hold of his cock and pushing inside Brendon. Brendon groans his name, head falling between his arms. Ryan starts fucking him again, faster now, and Brendon seems to love it. Ryan certainly loves it. The air is filled with the sound of Ryan’s thighs smacking against Brendon’s buttocks, and Brendon responds to every thrust.
Ryan kisses where he can reach, digging his teeth into Brendon’s shoulder blades. His nose presses against the nape of Brendon’s neck, and from there, he can hear the way Brendon murmurs his name soft and quiet, like he’s praying. Brendon drops onto his elbows, again changing the angle slightly. Ryan reaches around Brendon to fist the younger man’s cock. Brendon is leaking onto his palm, and Ryan fucks Brendon harder.
“Ryan,” Brendon says in a way that demands attention, and Ryan replies with a groan, not stopping his hips from thrusting forwards. “Stop for a minute, just –”
God, what now? He stops, though, because he is not an asshole. Someone tells him to stop, he does.
Brendon moves forwards, pulling himself off of Ryan. Brendon turns around onto his back, licking his lips. Brendon’s hair is a complete mess. “Get on your back, I wanna ride you,” Brendon explains, and it’s only then that Ryan gets it. Brendon is trying out positions on him, leg on shoulder, both legs on shoulders, hands and knees. Brendon just looks at him with lust swirling in his eyes, and Ryan wants to ask if he’s being serious. Brendon’s obviously done his homework, but this is... Fuck, it’s Brendon’s first time, and it… Brendon is just testing out goddamn sex positions.
Brendon begins to repeat his request, having noticed how Ryan needs to be told a few times before it sinks in. To his surprise, Ryan shakes his head. Ryan grabs his ankles and pulls until Brendon is flat on his back on the bed. Ryan leans over him again, Ryan’s cock instantly sliding into him. The waves of pleasure shoot through Brendon’s entire body, and he places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder to hold onto something.
Brendon expects Ryan to move, but Ryan doesn’t. Brendon whines and moves his hips to show Ryan what he wants.
“Hey.” Ryan’s voice comes from closer than he expected. Brendon opens his eyes, and Ryan is staring down at him. Ryan doesn’t blink when he leans down, placing a soft kiss on Brendon’s lips. It’s gentler than any of the previous ones, but it leaves Brendon completely breathless. Ryan runs a thumb over Brendon’s cheek, studying his face. Ryan moves just a little, and Brendon can feel every inch of Ryan deep inside him.
“Look at me,” Ryan orders, and Brendon obeys, has to do as he is told. Ryan’s presence is suddenly inescapable, and Brendon can barely breathe with Ryan staring deep into his eyes. Brendon’s cock keeps brushing against Ryan’s stomach, and that combined with Ryan inside him feels completely overwhelming.
“Fuck,” Brendon breathes, and Ryan just watches him. It makes Brendon feel too vulnerable to his own liking, like he is unwillingly handing over a part of himself. Brendon can’t stop the fire in him from reaching new heights now, and he can feel his orgasm curling up like a ball, tighter and tighter inside him, vibrating and about to burst. “Ryan,” he manages to whisper, tone alarmed.
Ryan gazes down at Brendon, whose pupils are completely blown. Ryan hushes him and reaches between them, not looking away from Brendon once. Brendon almost hisses when Ryan begins to stroke him in time with the thrusts that are slow now, but still hard. Brendon is far gone and completely wrecked, and Ryan knows he is too, but he makes himself focus. He wants to make Brendon come, and he whispers it, letting it linger in the air between them. Brendon gasps, tugs Ryan’s hair as he pulls Ryan down, and their lips meet just as Brendon lets go.
Ryan keeps moving as Brendon reaches orgasm, breaking the kiss only to glance between them and watch the milky substance roll over his knuckles and onto Brendon’s stomach. He keeps stroking Brendon’s cock until Brendon stops coming, the spurts of white semen getting smeared between them. Brendon’s muscles are pulsating and clenching around Ryan in the aftershocks, and Ryan finally lets himself climax.
Ryan’s hot breaths wash over Brendon’s lips as Ryan jerks, and Brendon can feel Ryan emptying himself deep inside him. Brendon has never felt anything that hot in his life, and he clutches onto Ryan as they both tremble.
Ryan can’t find his voice. He pulls out slowly, as if convinced that he might hurt Brendon now, but it’s justified, he thinks, because Brendon looks so vulnerable right then. Ryan rises to sit on his knees between Brendon’s spread legs. Brendon’s chest and face are flushed, bites and bruises everywhere. Dark brown strands of hair are glued to his forehead, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen. Ryan can’t help but let his eyes dart down to see his own thick come dripping out of Brendon, where Brendon is still stretched. Brendon’s stomach is likewise covered in come, and Ryan just has never seen anyone who has looked as well-fucked as Brendon. And it’s gorgeous on him, makes Brendon glow.
Ryan wants to say it. He wants to tell Brendon that he is glowing, but he still can’t find his voice. He just... he can’t.
Brendon is staring at him, the lust fading away and being replaced with something resembling shock and realisation.
Brendon can’t find his voice either.
The deafening silence speaks for them both.
* * *
The bruises on Brendon’s hips are sore. He made a miscalculation in putting on this pair of jeans; it’s too tight a fit to feel comfortable. He keeps shifting throughout his lecture, not even bothering to take notes while the guy in the row in front of him is scribbling furiously, and Brendon is surprised the guy’s notepad doesn’t catch fire.
Fire.
Ryan.
When the lecture ends, Brendon lazily gathers his belongings and heads for the door where he bumps into Patrick. “Did you get my message?” Patrick asks with a kind smile.
Brendon blinks. “Oh! Jon said you’d called but I forgot, I uh...” Slept with Ryan instead.
“That’s alright, it happens,” Patrick says. They walk out together as Patrick invites him to a study group. Brendon’s not interested. It’s grey and miserable outside, and Patrick pulls his hat over his eyes a little. They talk about the holidays. Patrick is going back to Coventry for Christmas, and Brendon is going to Brighton where his parents are now living. They’ve always moved around because of his dad’s job – Brendon constantly switched schools, having lived in Newcastle, Leeds, Preston, London and Northampton. Brendon doesn’t have a home.
The wind blows coldly, and Brendon stops to tie his scarf around his neck. Patrick talks this and that, and it occurs to Brendon that, though he doesn’t hold a grudge, not many ex-couples are friendly like this. Spencer and Haley don’t even talk anymore. Now Patrick is inviting him to a Christmas party with one of those smiles he used to give Brendon when they dated.
Maybe Ryan was right about Patrick.
“I might have something else that night,” Brendon lies, craning his neck to wrap the scarf securely. Patrick’s smile fades, and his eyes are focused on where he just saw bruises and bite marks on Brendon’s neck. Brendon frowns, but Patrick just stutters slightly and gives him a hasty goodbye. Patrick looks over his shoulder as he goes, a hint of hurt and betrayal in his gaze. Brendon doesn’t get it.
Ryan and Spencer are watching Coronation Street when Brendon gets home. Spencer greets him warmly, but Ryan only glances at him. Brendon doesn’t mean to let his head hang so low.
Ryan hasn’t even looked at him since they had sex. Ryan won’t fucking look at him.
Brendon goes to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, chewing on his bottom lip to fight the sickening feeling inside. He is spreading marmite on a piece of toast when he hears Ryan clearing his throat. Ryan is standing awkwardly by the table, eyes fixed on Jon’s half-finished breakfast from three days ago.
Ryan shifts uncomfortably. “Bren, I...”
Ryan sounds as cold as the wind outside is, and Brendon swallows. He feels his jaw tighten. “Are you clean?”
Ryan’s head shoots up, his gaze lingering on Brendon’s angry eyes before he decides to stare at the cupboards instead. “What?”
“I had unprotected sex with you, and I’d just like to –”
“Of course I’m clean! What kind of a question is that?”
“A sensible one,” Brendon mutters, placing the slices of tomato and cucumber on his toast before putting the two pieces of bread together.
A sensible question. Ryan figures it’s about time the two of them start acting sensibly.
“I’m feckin clean,” Ryan mutters, feeling insulted. He backs away. If that is all Brendon had to say, then they are obviously done on the topic.
They are clearly done.
Glasgow Kiss
Ryan takes an early morning flight to Dublin a week before he had intended. Brendon packs his bags and leaves two days later. Spencer has one more deadline to go, and Jon isn’t driving back home until Christmas Day because the holidays are a busy time in any pub, and Jon is going to be paid extra.
Jon and Spencer end up inviting a bunch of friends over, taking over the living room with cheap red wine and three guitars. Spencer is smiling and laughing, and Jon can’t stop watching him. Spencer seems better now, about the break up and all of it. Maybe all it takes is fucking a random girl to get over the one you really loved.
Tom is there, and Jon notices Tom’s eyes roaming over Spencer’s features more than once – the ass, the strong arms, those hips – and while Jon wholeheartedly agrees, he doesn’t appreciate it. No matter how drunk or drugged up Jon is, and no matter how astounding the guy, Jon always lets the straight ones be.
“Yer barkin up the wrong tree, ye ken that, right?” Jon asks Tom when they get beer from the kitchen, listening to the rest shouting along to Yellow Submarine as Spencer plays it on the guitar.
“You always say there’s no harm in looking,” Tom points out, referring to all the times they’ve been working together, shamelessly eye-fucking customers. Jon mumbles a response that’s not much of anything. “Maybe he’s lost faith in women and wants to switch camps, you never know,” Tom says playfully, and Jon thinks that he might actually glare because Tom arches an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s jealous.”
“Jealous? Yer delusional,” Jon objects, grabbing a few more beer bottles before heading back into the living room.
Spencer takes a beer from Jon, flashing him an appreciative smile. Spencer thinks he’s becoming a really good friend with Jon, and he likes that. He only fails to realise that whenever he drunkenly hugs Jon or simply gives Jon his full attention, acting like no one else exists in the room, let alone in the world, Jon feels just a bit short of breath. And it’s strange because Jon doesn’t crush on people. He refuses to believe in that concept altogether, but there’s just something about Spencer.
Jon ends up letting one of Tom’s friends fuck him into the mattress that night.
* * *
Spencer bumps into Haley just outside the library as she is looking around, clearly waiting for someone. They both stop instantly, and Spencer can feel his insides squeeze and swirl and drop. She’s wearing her lavender jumper. He loved that jumper. Haley is holding two heavy books to her chest, hair in a careless bun with bits sticking out. Spencer still thinks she is one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.
“Hey,” he offers after an awkward pause. He doesn’t know what to say. “Kak dela?”
Haley’s brows furrow in concentration before she says an unsure, “Horosho?”
Spencer smiles. She still remembers some of the Russian he taught her. The atmosphere is tense because they haven’t talked or seen each other, apart from the time Spencer went over to get some of his stuff. Now that he sees her, he realises that he misses her. He misses talking to her, and he has weeks’ worth of things he wants to talk to her about, and he is also fighting the urge to give her a big hug. He misses her. And that doesn’t necessarily mean that he misses the kisses and the sex, though he does, but most of all he just misses her friendship.
“Busy with work?” he asks, nodding at the books.
“Yeah,” she says through a nervous laugh. “But I’m going back home for Christmas soon enough. You?”
“Leaving after the weekend. Muust attend Pete’s Chriistmas party,” he explains, and Haley smiles and nods. Spencer pauses, opens and closes his mouth. “How, uh... How ew been? Really?”
Haley goes slightly paler at that. Spencer figures he isn’t even allowed to ask anymore. Breakups are such fucking bullshit.
“I’m fine.” She’s fine. She is goddamn fine? “Really busy. You?”
“Same,” he shrugs, and they fall into silence. Don’t they have anything more to say to each other?
Someone calls Haley’s name, and Spencer recognises the guy coming up to them as one of Haley’s coursemates, the Mole Guy as Spencer refers to the guy in his brain (Spencer doesn’t feel guilty about the nickname because, well, the mole on the guy’s other cheek is pretty damn noticeable).
“Mike, hi,” Haley smiles, looking back and forth between Spencer and him. “We, uh, we were gonna go to the library to study.”
“Right,” Spencer says. Mike seems put off, giving Haley a worried and inquisitive look. Haley’s cheeks are turning rosy. What the fuck?
“So, I’ll... see you around?” Haley suggests, already backing away. “Have a good Christmas,” she adds, always remembering her manners. Mike keeps looking back to Spencer, and Spencer stands up just a bit taller. He curses under his breath and hurries home, trying not to think about it, not to think about it, not to goddamn think about it.
When he gets home and Jon gives him a questioning look, Spencer can feel the bitter taste in his mouth. “Haley’s got a thing with a guy from one of her courses.” He doesn’t say anything more than that. He only wonders if it had anything to do with their break up, if Haley’s spent all this time feeling guilty about a crush she’s harboured on Mole Guy. It makes everything so foul, ridicules the way Spencer thought she loved him – and if anyone tells him that he has already done a lot more than hang out with a potential crush under the pretence of coursework, then he will tell them to shut the fuck up because that was different.
It meant that he was moving on, not that she was. And that’s what messes him up the most. She’s moving on. She’s forgetting about him.
* * *
Jon fucks up. He blames it on the jubilant holiday atmosphere, the alcohol, Spencer’s stupid goddamn face. He blames it on Edward I for not just slaughtering every Welshman back in the thirteenth century, and most of all, he blames it on himself. They leave Pete’s Christmas party at five in the morning, their feet treading from the edge of the pavement back to the buildings as they sing Muse songs and wake up neighbourhoods.
Jon’s drunk as hell, and Spencer is drunk as hell. They get back to the flat, leaning against each other and slurring nonsense. It’s the mistletoe. Brendon put that stupid mistletoe up before he left.
“Mistletoe,” Spencer says, because it’s Spencer who notices it first. Spencer is gazing up at it, mouth slightly agape. And the word, in Jon’s mind, translates as ‘Kiss me’, so he does. He is relatively sure it’s the biggest cock up in translation history.
Jon steps forward, and Spencer looks at him to see why Jon is invading his personal space, and Jon tilts his head. If only he had missed, but he doesn’t. Bull’s-eye, even in the morning when they’re too drunk to remember their mothers’ names.
Jon awkwardly clings onto the front of Spencer’s shirt, and because Spencer’s mouth was open to begin with, Jon pushes his tongue inside. Spencer tastes like Jack Daniel’s, and Spencer’s beard scratches against Jon’s mouth and sends shivers up and down his spine. And his mind repeats a mantra of Spence, Spence, so warm, so sweet, Spence, waited so long, before his brain registers that he is kissing Spencer. Jon jumps back, their lips making a wet sound, and Spencer is staring at him with wide eyes full of shock.
“Shit, ah didnae mean tae. Fuck. Ah’m sorry. Fuck. Fucking fuck,” Jon nearly groans, shaking his head and quickly wiping his mouth. Spencer can still taste Jon, and Spencer knows that wasn’t a friendly mistletoe kiss because those types of kisses don’t usually involve tongues. Spencer just stares at Jon as his brain doesn’t seem to be coming up with anything he could possibly say.
“Fuck,” Jon repeats. He has broken his own golden rule, and it makes him feel like the disillusioned gay kid who doesn’t know what could get him punched. He learned the hard way, and he has been doing so well for years, but this... God, he feels like he is back to being fifteen and at Gavin Henderson’s house party, standing in the corner and watching his mates get shitfaced as he struggles with his inner demons that tell him that he fancies Scott Miller, and he kept saying no, god no, he couldn’t be gay, he would be so fucked if he didn’t get over his crush.
It’s nearly a decade later, and Jon is making the same mistakes. He can’t believe it.
“I, uh...” Spencer begins, brows furrowing.
Jon is still intoxicated beyond belief so he just shakes his head. “Ah need tae sleep this yin off,” he mumbles, heading for his room as fast as his feet take him. He passes out the second he gets to bed.
* * *
Jon gives Spencer his speech.
“Ah was smashed, really smashed. Ah would huv tried shaggin a street lamp in that condition, nae – naw that ah was tryin to git ye tae bed. Ah respect yir boundaries, n ah donae even look at ye like that. Ah was in the wrong n ah didnae even know what ah was doin. It didnae mean anythin, so could we just... forget aboot it?”
Spencer stares at him long and hard. Jon waits and swallows nervously.
“Okay,” Spencer says in the end.
“Aye?”
“Yeah. Whatever, we were drunk. I’ve got mates who’ve done things that make last night paale in comparison. It hardly even quaalified as a kiss.”
“Aye. Exactly.”
They give each other awkward smiles before going back to their respective bedrooms. They both sigh in relief.
The problem is, though, that it was a kiss. It was definitely a kiss.
Part Four
Author Notes: Here, have the longest sex scene I have ever written. I'm off to go swimming on this fine Saturday morning! Have a good weekend. <3
Master post
Part Two
A Pulsating Corpse, An Honest Pulse
Spencer de-Haleyfies his room.
Her t-shirt, a few pairs of knickers. The gifts she gave him for his birthdays, their anniversaries, Valentine’s Days. Their framed picture on the nightstand. The silly little cow soft toy they bought on their impromptu trip to France. He throws it all out. It’s early December, and Spencer throws out the Christmas present he had already got her.
The only thing he doesn’t have the heart to get rid of is the first picture he ever took of her. She’s smiling widely in it, and it’s from a time before he even knew her properly. And he just... he can’t throw that out. Maybe he’ll look at it fifty years from now and reminisce. He’s not sure. But if he throws that out too, it’s like they never even existed. And that hurts nearly as much as the ruins of their love that surround him all the time.
Spencer knows that sleeping with a random girl only days after their break up was as good as him dropping an atom bomb on what had once been pure and good, and now, the melting and rotting body of their relationship is twitching on the ground.
He will always remember walking back home from that girl’s apartment on Saturday morning. He could smell her on his fingers, foreign and persistent.
Once Spencer has destroyed the omnipresence of his ex-girlfriend, he feels like he can breathe again.
“How yeh feelin today?” Ryan asks cordially when Spencer settles on the living room couch.
Spencer considers the question before saying, “Better.”
It’s only half a lie, and that’s something.
The kid that keeps hitting on Ryan is called Adam, but he smoothly says that Ryan should call him Sisky. Sisky is a local kid with a big grin and sparkly eyes to match. He wears a Super Mario t-shirt and obsessively chews gum during the seminars, and really. Ryan is in no way attracted to the kid, neither would he have the tiniest thing in common with him. Ryan isn’t sure what the boy is after – a quick fuck or an A?
Sisky lingers around after the seminar as everyone else leaves the small room on the ground floor of the Celtic Department building. Ryan buttons his jacket and looks at the kid. “Did yeh need help with somethin?”
“No,” Sisky shrugs and keeps smiling. Sisky’s stance on himself seems to be that he is completely and utterly ravishing, and everyone in the world wants him. “I was actually wondering if you’d care for a pint. It’d be on me.”
Ryan laughs slightly, grabbing his briefcase. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t have the time.” Nor the interest.
Sisky probably thinks he’s lying. “I’ll walk with you,” the kid offers without even knowing which way Ryan is heading. Sisky says how Ryan should email him if he changes his mind about that drink and then moves on to inviting Ryan to a party or another. “So where you from?” Sisky asks as they walk across campus, passing the ten-story library.
“Cork.”
Sisky’s eyebrows lift to his hairline. “You’re Irish?”
Ryan blinks at him. Doesn’t the boy have ears? Of course he’s bleeding Irish and proud of it too. He isn’t planning to tattoo ‘Éire go Brách’ on himself, but he is just as patriotic as the next guy.
“I could hear this accent in there, but I couldn’t place you anywhere,” Sisky explains, not at all apologetic. It’s at that instant that Ryan realises he has been toning down his accent in his attempt to – what, he’s not sure. Be more academic? Try to be a more convincing authority figure? Something along those lines of fitting the English ideal of sounding like a BBC anchorman.
“Well, I am Oirish, a born and bred Corkonian,” he confirms, suddenly jumping to the other end of the spectrum, and he sounds slightly ridiculous to his own ears, a bit like Mr. O’Carroll who lived down the street from them when he was a kid.
“That’s pretty sexy,” Sisky says, and Ryan lets out an uncomfortable laugh because Sisky is crossing one tutor-student line at a time.
“Well, I must be off. Remember the essay’s due next week,” he says sternly, and Sisky looks slightly put off, but nods and quickly resumes smiling.
Ryan heads for the flat, feeling disappointed in himself. Granted, he’s been living in England for a while - it’s his fifth year. And whenever he goes home, his family says he sounds English, and whenever he is here, people can usually pin him down as Irish. In other words, he is always out of place, never where he should be and always homesick. And now, his subconscious has been trying really damn hard to destroy the one defining part of his already confused national identity: his speech.
He thinks back to his great-great-great-grandfather, who died in 1916 like so many others did, fighting for a country they believed in. Ryan has been living on enemy lands for years, and he has never cared. He still doesn’t, but suddenly, he feels just a bit like a traitor.
Ryan snaps out of his thoughts when he notices large masses of people outside the new Modern Languages building. Police cars have driven all the way up to the building, and Ryan senses the restless atmosphere before he even hears the cracked voices coming through megaphones.
When he is close enough, he asks one of the students watching the commotion what’s going on. Turns out, a group of students have occupied the newly renovated ground floor of the building, refusing to leave until their demands are met. Ryan isn’t sure what the demands are and neither does the girl he asks. The megaphone keeps on yelling about ‘human rights’, ‘oppressive politicians’ and ‘sell out conformist assholes’.
“Reinforcements are coming!” the female voice shouting into the megaphone declares, and Ryan notices a group of new protestors trying to get past the police into the building to join the demonstration. “We are going to set this building on fire if you don’t let our comrades through!” the voice declares.
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters. Setting a building on fire – what is that going to achieve? It won’t change a damn – “Bleedin fuck.”
Brendon’s there. Brendon Walking Disaster Boyd Urie is amongst the people now attempting to get past the police line and into the building. What the fuck is Brendon thinking? There are police present and threats of arson, and this is not just your normal Save This Country That Has a Name You Can’t Pronounce march or demonstration. The police are shouting for everyone to step back, and the innocent on-lookers are quickly becoming aware of the suddenly escalating danger. As everyone else backs away, leaving only the protestors and wannabe anarchists, Ryan walks into the mob. Someone thinks it’s a great idea to throw a rock at one of the policemen, and all hell breaks loose as the police have had enough and practically jump on the crowd.
“You can’t take our freedom!” someone bellows, and suddenly, everyone around Ryan is fighting and pushing and shoving. Ryan is going to fucking disembowel Brendon goddamn Urie for this.
Ryan manages to find Brendon in the chaotic crowd, and Brendon is raging and jumping up and down like the rest of them, a fanatic glee in his eyes. “Brendon!” he snaps as he takes a hold of his best friend’s elbow and pulls Brendon to him.
“Ryan!” Brendon says and breaks into a grin. “Isn’t this amazing?!” he yells over the angered shouts of the fellow protestors.
“Yeh’re gonna get arrested, yeh bloody eejit! Come on!” he insists and tugs Brendon after him.
“Hey! Hey, stop it,” Brendon says and struggles free of his hold, firmly staying where he is and giving Ryan a defiant look.
Ryan sees policemen advancing in the crowd behind Brendon. They have no time for this. “We need to get out of here before this gets out of hand!”
“This is how revolutions start!”
“No, this is how yeh get a criminal record and ruin yer feckin future! Now move yer arse. Yeh’re comin home with me! Now!”
Brendon crosses his arms, and Ryan really, really can’t believe his ears when Brendon says, “Make me.”
They’re both aching all over, adorning a few bruises, and it’s really an achievement considering how skinny they both are. But Ryan’s got a bit of muscle hiding somewhere under there, and Brendon mostly cheated and resulted to dirty tricks like aiming for Ryan’s shins. Jon is just on his way out for a shift at The Nest, but he stops to hold the door open for the two guys walking in with slumped shoulders. Ryan is limping a little.
“Naw way,” Jon breathes because the first thing that comes to his mind is a group of chavs having decided to give a few fags a beating. It doesn’t occur to Jon that Ryan and Brendon did it to each other – there are only small bruises, and no real damage has been done. It’s not like either one of them actually wanted to hurt the other. Still, Ryan is deeply offended that Brendon tried hair-pulling as Ryan dragged Brendon away from the mob, away from danger. Brendon fought him every bloody inch of the way. Ryan resulted to tackling Brendon on the corner of York Street, and Brendon accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and didn’t even apologise. “Did neds ambush ye?” Jon asks worriedly.
“What?” Ryan asks, out of breath. He puts down his briefcase, happy he didn’t lose it in the commotion. His hair is a mess, and his left cheek feels a bit sore.
“Did neds get ye? White tracksuits n Burberry scarves, most likely wit bleached hair n acne?” Jon fills in, describing the average teenaged granny-beater and troublemaker.
Brendon gives Ryan a glare, and Ryan gives one back. Jon stares back and forth in astonishment before Brendon mutters, “Yeah, a few chavs. We showed them, though.”
“Yeah,” Ryan mumbles and scratches his nose.
Jon relaxes slightly, though something is off. “Right, then. Are ye sure yer okay?”
Brendon assures Jon that they’re just fine. They can take on a few badly behaving adolescents. Jon reluctantly leaves for work, telling them that Spencer is at Pete’s and that Brendon had forgotten his mobile and Patrick called, so Jon answered it and Patrick asked Brendon to get back to him. He also gives them both a quick hug if they actually were victims of homophobic hooligans – but neither Ryan nor Brendon is acting upset like Jon would expect them to be.
Once by themselves, Brendon only crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. It aches somewhere inside that has got nothing to do with the mild physical abuse. Ryan stares at him like a disappointed parent, his dark green tie askew. “One day, yeh’ll thank me for this,” Ryan whispers and walks past Brendon.
Brendon can’t hold his tongue a second longer. “Stop acting like you know what’s best for me!”
Ryan turns around slowly. “I saved yer neck. How about a tad of gratitude?”
Brendon can’t believe it. He had been at the rally with his friends, and he knows that he has never been involved in anything that has been border-lining anarchy like that, but Ryan had no damn right just dragging him out of there. It’s his life, his decisions.
Ryan looks angry. “Yeh can’t change the world. One man can’t change the world, not even twenty of yez can change it! So stop swimmin upstream. It’s wearin me out.” He turns to leave, like he can just say that to Brendon and expect it to be the end of the story.
“Not trying never got anyone anywhere! What if Gandhi had just spent the rest of his life as a lawyer? Or what if –”
“And what if Hitler had been accepted into the arts school?!” Ryan snaps back, taking steps towards Brendon. “Would that have saved the lives of millions? I don’t know! Yeh don’t know! And it doesn’t make a damn difference in the end because yeh’re not them! Yeh know what ye are, Bren? Yeh’re just a guy,” he says, ignoring how hurt Brendon looks. “Yeh’re just a guy studyin business management because it’s the only thing yer parents were willin to pay for, and yeh don’t have the guts or the bleedin courage to tell them what yeh really want to do with yer life! So don’t start with me if yeh’re angry! Look in the fuckin mirror.”
Brendon is absolutely speechless for a minute before finding his voice. He wants to say, “You don’t know a thing about it,” but because Ryan is painfully spot on, he can’t.
“You’re in no position to preach when you’re taking the easy way out yourself.”
“Easy?!” Ryan barks. His post-grad degree is anything but easy; he is putting his heart and soul into it.
“Easy! You used to be fun! We used to have such a good time together! But now, you’re this – this dull and boring person, turning yourself into what you think academics want! You had no clue what to do with your life so you just decided to do a post-grad and have been pretending it’s your damn calling ever since! It’s sucking the life out of you, and you don’t even notice! At least I know what I want, and you envy that,” Brendon says angrily, stepping closer to Ryan.
“Oh, I envy yeh? What would I envy? Gettin shitty grades and livin off of mummy and daddy’s money? Havin Patrick Stump call after me in what we both know is goin to end up with yez gettin back together just so yeh don’t have to be alone?” Ryan questions because he certainly noticed Jon mentioning that Patrick had called, and he also knows that Patrick was at the LGBT party from the pictures Jon showed him. And Ryan isn’t stupid. He knows what it means – Patrick didn’t want his sexuality to be public information, undoubtedly the biggest source of friction for Brendon and Patrick, yet now, the cap-wearing moron is partying with the sexual minorities.
“God, you’re so paranoid! I am not getting back together with him! And even if I was –”
“Aha! See?! He’s not right for yeh! He’s- borin! Borin and ordinary! If yeh think I’m borin, then Patrick is goin to make yeh suicidal! Yeh’re settlin, and yeh shouldn’t do that! Not with him, not with anythin!” Ryan snaps, the words slipping out of his mouth too fast, calling his bluff. Brendon shouldn’t settle because one of them already has. And Brendon thinks he is going after what he wants, but he isn’t, really. Brendon is doing it the wrong way.
“I’m not discussing this with you,” Brendon growls, taking a step closer. “You’re being obnoxious and infuriating,” he states, and Ryan just stares at him. Brendon didn’t realise they were standing so close to each other, but they are, with barely no space between them.
“Yeh’re infuriatin,” Ryan argues back, but it’s a bit breathy, and Brendon feels a sudden electric tension in the air. Ryan is leaning in, and Brendon can’t, he – What is Ryan doing? “Yeh’re drivin me insane.”
Ryan’s lips are on Brendon’s, his hands gripping Brendon’s hips and pulling him closer until they are flushed together. And oh. Oh. Ryan tilts his head, lips forceful and searching. It’s Ryan. It’s the guy Brendon met years ago. It’s his Ryan with all his infuriating personality traits and all his shortcomings and the way Ryan used to make him laugh like no one else could. And it’s Ryan in a way Brendon has never let himself see the other man, but suddenly, he is opening his mouth, letting Ryan’s tongue push in, wet and hot.
And it’s… It’s fucking mind-blowing, it’s –
Brendon whines, a switch in his brain clicking on. And then there is no thought in his head apart from Ryan’s tongue hungrily licking into his mouth, Ryan’s hands bruising his hips, and Brendon just wants more of it. His hands fist Ryan’s hair, and Ryan makes a sound, almost a grunt.
The kisses are starving and dirty, and now, Ryan knows what Brendon’s lips feel like, taste like. He’s always wondered in the back of his mind. Brendon’s tongue is in his mouth, brushing against his own with a wet slide. Ryan pushes Brendon backwards, letting his hands pull up the hem of Brendon’s t-shirt. Brendon just arches into it, skin velvety under Ryan’s fingertips.
They crash against the door of Brendon’s bedroom. The kisses aren’t just heated anymore. They’re burning, and Ryan sucks on Brendon’s bottom lip as Brendon frantically slides the jacket off of Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan is hard. He is making out with Brendon, and he is hard as fuck. His cock is throbbing, trapped in his trousers. And Ryan’s hand is fumbling for the doorknob of Brendon’s room with the single thought of getting Brendon horizontal and naked, but fuck.
Brendon moves to kiss Ryan’s jaw, nibbling the skin. Ryan can’t think. He can’t goddamn think with Brendon’s hands now on his belt. “What are we doin?” Ryan grasps. Brendon looks at him with shiny lips and blown pupils. Ryan’s stomach drops.
“I don’t know,” Brendon admits, his voice low and lustful. He pushes his hips against Ryan, and Ryan can feel Brendon’s erection through the layers of clothing. Fuck. “Let’s just not stop,” Brendon suggests hurriedly with want in his words, his tone just on the line of begging.
“Yeah, fine by me,” Ryan agrees hastily, and he manages to get the door open and pushes them both inside. Brendon’s jacket drops to the floor as their lips reunite, and Brendon’s managed to unbuckle Ryan by the time they get on the bed.
Everything feels heavier when Ryan’s weight is resting on Brendon. Ryan’s hips are aligned with Brendon’s, Ryan’s chest pressed to his, and Brendon loves the feel of it, the way their bodies fit. Ryan’s mouth is on his neck, lips and teeth scraping the skin. It makes warmth pulsate throughout Brendon, to feel that desired.
There’s too much clothing between them. Brendon’s loosening Ryan’s tie, tugging the shirt out of Ryan’s trousers. Ryan moves to unbutton the shirt, and he has never realised how goddamn slow of a process unbuttoning is, his fingers trembling just a little as he sits on his knees between Brendon’s legs, and Brendon is pulling his t-shirt over his head. Ryan sees Brendon shirtless on a weekly basis at least, but it’s different like this. It couldn’t be any more different.
Once shirtless, Ryan leans back down, letting his lips trail from Brendon’s collarbone to a nipple where his tongue swirls over it. Brendon makes these sounds, these surprised little gasps followed by tiny, guttural groans, and Ryan’s cock twitches. He wants to fuck Brendon. Jesus Christ, he wants to fuck Brendon. Brendon fists his hair, and Ryan loves that, loves the way Brendon shifts beneath him.
Brendon thinks Ryan’s mouth is magic. It’s hot, wet and magical. It’s everywhere and good for a great deal more than the boring bullshit Ryan is usually on about. Ryan’s mouth disappears from his skin, however, just as it gets to the soft skin beneath Brendon’s belly button. Why is Ryan stopping? Brendon makes an unhappy sound, gazing down to where Ryan is staring up at him, licking his lips. Ryan’s hands are on the fly of his jeans. Ryan looks a bit questioning.
Brendon reaches down, pushing Ryan’s hands away and unzipping himself. He lifts his hips to pull his jeans down, his boxers getting caught in the mix and moving down in a similar fashion. Brendon’s cheeks feel hot because Ryan is still there, close to his crotch, and Ryan can see Brendon’s hard and flushed cock, can see what this is doing to Brendon.
“Fuck,” Ryan breathes, and Brendon goes still, so very still, when Ryan’s fingers curl around his length. Not too hard, but lightly, just to feel. Ryan’s fingers slide down, over his balls and cupping. Brendon arches into it as he quickly kicks his jeans down to his ankles where they get stuck. He forgot that he is still wearing his red Converse shoes.
Brendon doesn’t want Ryan to stop touching him, but he is not naked. And he wants to be naked, wants Ryan to be naked. He wants to do things with Ryan he has never felt sure he’s wanted to do with other guys. Ryan is just staring at his cock, thumb swirling around the pink head with a fascinated and hungry expression.
Just as Ryan ducks down, his mouth heading for Brendon’s dick, Brendon says, “Wait, wait, let me –”
“What?” Ryan asks, unhappy. Brendon’s cock is hot in his hand, smooth and pulsating, and Ryan wants to taste and find out ways to make Brendon tremble from the work of his tongue alone.
Brendon moves to sit, feeling his face flush even more. Ryan remains on his knees, watching Brendon begin to untie the laces of his shoes. Brendon lets out a slightly embarrassed laugh, but Ryan doesn’t care. It’s only a good point, and Ryan kicks off his own shoes, hearing them hit the floor. He uses the opportunity of Brendon’s face being closer again to lift the other man’s chin. Brendon is becoming more and more pliant, his mouth opening up for Ryan instantly. Ryan can’t believe he has never kissed Brendon before. He’s seriously been missing out.
Brendon gets his shoes and socks off, now managing to get rid of the jeans and boxers. Ryan’s hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back down on the bed. Brendon obliges, and Ryan follows, lips never leaving his. Ryan slides a hand back down, greedily wrapping it around Brendon’s cock. “Shit,” Brendon whispers, his hips rolling up. Ryan is staring into his eyes and touching him, and Brendon swears his skin is burning up. Ryan’s stare is too intense.
“Lube,” Ryan says in a commanding tone. Brendon shivers. He might like Ryan being authoritative, but mostly, he’s just focused on the fact that Ryan and lube are somehow connecting in his brain. Brendon can feel Ryan’s erection pressing against his hip through Ryan’s trousers, and he pictures Ryan’s lube covered cock, and – and fuck, that’s hot.
Brendon keeps lube handy, of course he does. He rolls onto his stomach to reach for the nightstand drawer. Ryan groans behind him and cups his ass before sinking teeth onto his shoulder. Brendon goes still and moans as Ryan rubs his ass. Ryan presses himself against Brendon, hips imitating thrusts. Brendon goes fucking breathless at that, one hand fisting sheets and the other in the drawer, frantically searching for his tube of KY. His fingers move over Soldier Boy, and though Brendon has fucked himself with that on innumerable occasions, even during the most intense orgasmic frenzy, the air in the room never felt as hot and electrified like this. Ryan is pressed to his back, Ryan’s hands and lips, Ryan’s body and presence, Ryan’s cock pressing against his ass. Jesus fucking Christ.
Brendon grabs the lube, passing it to Ryan as he rolls onto his back. He spreads his legs without Ryan having to ask, and Ryan is already pouring lube onto his fingers. It’s a bit cold, a bit sticky, and Ryan has two fingers glistening from the substance quickly.
“I want to fuck yeh, but I really want to finger yeh first,” Ryan says, leaning down to leave a bruise on Brendon’s stomach.
Brendon breathes, “God, yes,” tensing up as Ryan sucks on a bit of skin near his navel, and it’s painful in the most pleasurable way. Ryan’s fingers are brushing over his entrance, and it just somehow feels so different from Brendon’s own.
Brendon is still angry with Ryan. Ryan is still an asshole who said a handful of hurtful things, and, and all of this is him just showing Ryan how he protests to Ryan’s constant interventions and, and – fuck, did Ryan say he wants to fuck him? And Brendon, he said yes, didn’t he? Brendon’s fingers wouldn’t be enough to count the number of guys who’ve told him they want to fuck him, drunken predators slurring it, or some pretty boy who thinks that Brendon wants to be fucked just because he wants to dance, and now that Ryan said it, he just agreed without even processing the words. What the hell is wrong with him, he – god, he really, really enjoys the feel of Ryan’s finger sinking into him. He can’t think with Ryan’s finger pushing in, with Ryan now mouthing his cock.
“More,” Brendon groans instantly. Ryan hums as he lets his tongue flick over the most prominent vein on the underside of Brendon’s cock.
Ryan pulls his slick finger out and pushes back with two. Brendon’s muscles are tight around his fingers, but Brendon takes it so well, and Ryan can hear from the moans that Brendon loves it. There’s something intoxicating about knowing Ryan can make Brendon sound like that with just his fingers and mouth. He rolls his tongue around the head of Brendon’s cock, the tip tasting just a bit salty. He crooks his fingers, and Brendon is shaking and pulling his hair.
“Ryan,” Brendon breathes, sounding alarmed. Ryan takes Brendon’s cock in deeper, letting his saliva get Brendon’s length wet. Ryan’s done this before, several times. His sixteen-year-old self spent weekend after weekend in a much similar position, convincing himself that he liked doing it for those guys whose last names he didn’t know. This, though. This is driving Ryan absolutely insane, his cock throbbing every time Brendon makes a pleasured sound. Ryan’s fingers are working steadily in a rhythm of in and out, in and out, crooking his fingers whenever he is deep enough. Brendon’s hips are moving with the rhythm. Ryan rotates his wrist slightly, and Brendon jerks forcedly, Brendon’s cock sliding deeper into his mouth.
“Sorry. Fuck, sorry,” Brendon breathes. He’s not actually sorry, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself either. Ryan just hums around his cock and sucks, sounding perfectly content. Brendon’s toes curl. Ryan adds a third finger, slowly pushing the digits in. The stretch burns just right, and Brendon can feel a liquid pleasure spreading through him, from all the places Ryan is touching him. Ryan’s fingers are longer than his own, push against his insides with what seems like calculated precision to make Brendon lose the last bits of his sanity, or Ryan just might be that damn good.
Ryan takes a firm hold of the base of Brendon’s cock and rubs the flat of his tongue over the swollen and shiny head. Brendon watches, awed, feeling Ryan’s tongue swirl over him. Fuck. Fuck, Ryan just is that good.
“I’m ready,” Brendon manages through ragged breathing, letting his head fall onto the pillow.
Ryan pops off, and Brendon feels the smile against his hipbone. “I know,” Ryan says, and he flicks his fingers inside Brendon as if to make a point. Brendon groans, a bit of sweat already pushing through his pores. Ryan pulls himself up, firmly keeping his fingers working between Brendon’s parted thighs, never stopping the movement. He knows Brendon is stretched well enough, but fuck. He just has to see more of this, just a bit more. He could do this forever and never get tired of it.
“Ryan, seriously,” Brendon says, now with an edge of urgency in his tone.
“Shh,” Ryan soothes him, but Ryan doesn’t fucking get it. Brendon is going to come if Ryan keeps going, and that wasn’t the plan. They have no plan, fine, but this definitely isn’t what either one of them wants. Brendon closes his eyes and lets himself thrust against Ryan’s hand, Ryan’s thumb applying pressure against his perineum. It makes Brendon’s bones melt.
Just as Brendon is sure he is going to come, Ryan pulls his fingers out, causing Brendon to make a very protesting sound instead. He’s open and stretched but empty, and goddamn, Ryan is just as infuriating in bed as he is elsewhere.
When Brendon opens his heavy eyelids, he loses his breath completely. Ryan has pulled his trousers down, and Brendon stares at the hipbones, the dark, curly hair decorating the base of the fully erected cock that curves upwards slightly. The head is shiny from where Ryan is already leaking, and Brendon feels his muscles squeeze and clench from the sight alone. Ryan doesn’t seem at all aware of how divine he looks as he focuses on getting as naked as Brendon, grabbing the lube and pouring some on his fingers.
Brendon’s never seen another guy do that to himself. Definitely not a man who is about to –
“Fucking hell,” Brendon breathes, feeling nervous, excited, horny out of his mind and completely disbelieving.
Ryan slicks up his cock, rubbing the residue over Brendon’s widened entrance. Brendon bites on his bottom lip, and suddenly, Ryan realises how fast his heart is beating. Ryan can’t remember the last time he had sex. His body is thrumming with excitement, and all those notions Ryan had of being above his primal instincts of fucking and being fucked fly out of the window. He tries not to think of how Brendon’s waited for years to finally have sex, and how Ryan is sure Brendon never thought it’d be like this.
Brendon is going to let Ryan fuck him, is waiting, and that drives Ryan absolutely insane. He guides his glistening cock to Brendon’s entrance, not taking his eyes off of it. Brendon tenses, makes a sound. Ryan firmly grips Brendon’s hip with his free hand.
Ryan presses forward, watching the head of his cock sink into Brendon slowly. Brendon’s hips thrust up, and a helpless groan escapes Brendon’s lips. Ryan’s eyes fly between Brendon’s face and back down to where they are now joined. Brendon is so fucking tight, and Ryan keeps sliding in slowly. He knows Brendon’s not used to this, has never even done this.
“Shit, Ryan,” Brendon manages, voice high-pitched. Ryan sinks in all the way, feeling his body shudder as he has his cock buried deep in the younger man. He had forgotten how good it feels, but he has to focus on Brendon. Brendon’s brows are furrowed, his eyes screwed shut, and Ryan feels guilty and worried.
Ryan leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth. Brendon jerks and lets out a helpless sound, and Ryan’s heart aches. “Shh,” he whispers, placing another kiss on Brendon. “Shh, it’s okay, baby.”
Brendon breaks out into a loud, slutty moan. “Fuck, that’s so good.”
Ryan freezes, blinking at Brendon in surprise. Brendon opens his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Did you just call me ‘baby’?” he asks through heavy panting.
“No,” Ryan denies instantly.
Brendon lets it slide, focusing on the sensation of Ryan’s cock in him, filling him up in a way he’s never been filled before. “Fuck, just – Ryan, just –”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, letting himself move. Brendon grips onto his shoulders, blunt nails digging in. The toys Brendon has used don’t compare to this – Ryan feels so hot and so good, and Brendon can’t control the speed or angle here. Ryan’s cock is pushing in and out of him, taking him, and Brendon only spreads his legs wider to have more of it and let himself be fucked.
Ryan gets a good rhythm going, and no matter what happens, he must not come before Brendon. He is not the virgin here, he has to exercise self-control and blow Brendon’s mind. Brendon is sucking on his neck, little moans and whimpers escaping, and Ryan closes his eyes and listens to their ragged breaths and the way the bed squeaks. It feels incredible, and Brendon is even moving with his thrusts. Fuck.
“Leg,” Brendon says suddenly, and Ryan opens his eyes to see what’s going on. He realises what Brendon wants, and well, okay. He was fine with missionary, but okay. He sits up a bit more, taking one of Brendon’s legs and placing it on his shoulder. The angle is different now, and Brendon’s hips rise slightly off the mattress. Brendon moans so goddamn loud and lets his head press into the pillow. Ryan watches his cock disappear in and out of Brendon, watches the sweat on Brendon’s body. Brendon’s got a hand on his cock, but he’s not stroking himself, is just touching. Ryan can’t stop watching it, any of it.
“Fuck, the other - ungh, shit – the other too, uh,” Brendon mumbles just a bit incoherently. Ryan hurriedly takes Brendon’s other leg, and once he has both of them over his shoulders, he bends Brendon over just a little. His cock slides in deeper than before, and Brendon squeezes hard around him. “That’s good, oh fuck. Don’t stop, that’s so good, that –”
Ryan usually hates it when guys just can’t shut up during sex, but not this time. He wants to hear everything, wants to hear how good he is making Brendon feel.
Brendon can’t move much, so he stays like he is. Ryan is thrusting into him fast and hard, and Brendon has never felt anything that mind-blowing before. Ryan only makes these guttural “ah” sounds when it’s particularly intense for him, sometimes even moaning.
Ryan’s just gotten a good pace going again, letting himself repeatedly plunge into the tight heat. He hears Brendon speak, but it doesn’t even register first because fuck, fuck, fuck, so goddamn good, and he can’t really pay attention to anything else.
“Ry, fuck, pull out,” Brendon repeats, and what? Wait, what?
“What?” he asks, but Brendon just looks at him from under black eyelashes, cheeks flushed and forehead sweaty. Ryan pulls out reluctantly, taking the opportunity to watch his cock reappear out of Brendon inch by inch. Brendon’s entrance is wide and glistening from lube, and fuck. That is too fucking hot.
Ryan lowers Brendon’s legs back onto the bed, unsure whether Brendon wants him to stop or not. Brendon is somehow limber enough to quickly get on his hands and knees. He looks at Ryan from over his shoulder, keeping still like an invitation, and oh. Okay. Fuck yeah, Ryan can live with this.
Ryan instantly grabs Brendon’s hips again, noticing the bruises already there. He moves to place a kiss on Brendon’s spine before taking a hold of his cock and pushing inside Brendon. Brendon groans his name, head falling between his arms. Ryan starts fucking him again, faster now, and Brendon seems to love it. Ryan certainly loves it. The air is filled with the sound of Ryan’s thighs smacking against Brendon’s buttocks, and Brendon responds to every thrust.
Ryan kisses where he can reach, digging his teeth into Brendon’s shoulder blades. His nose presses against the nape of Brendon’s neck, and from there, he can hear the way Brendon murmurs his name soft and quiet, like he’s praying. Brendon drops onto his elbows, again changing the angle slightly. Ryan reaches around Brendon to fist the younger man’s cock. Brendon is leaking onto his palm, and Ryan fucks Brendon harder.
“Ryan,” Brendon says in a way that demands attention, and Ryan replies with a groan, not stopping his hips from thrusting forwards. “Stop for a minute, just –”
God, what now? He stops, though, because he is not an asshole. Someone tells him to stop, he does.
Brendon moves forwards, pulling himself off of Ryan. Brendon turns around onto his back, licking his lips. Brendon’s hair is a complete mess. “Get on your back, I wanna ride you,” Brendon explains, and it’s only then that Ryan gets it. Brendon is trying out positions on him, leg on shoulder, both legs on shoulders, hands and knees. Brendon just looks at him with lust swirling in his eyes, and Ryan wants to ask if he’s being serious. Brendon’s obviously done his homework, but this is... Fuck, it’s Brendon’s first time, and it… Brendon is just testing out goddamn sex positions.
Brendon begins to repeat his request, having noticed how Ryan needs to be told a few times before it sinks in. To his surprise, Ryan shakes his head. Ryan grabs his ankles and pulls until Brendon is flat on his back on the bed. Ryan leans over him again, Ryan’s cock instantly sliding into him. The waves of pleasure shoot through Brendon’s entire body, and he places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder to hold onto something.
Brendon expects Ryan to move, but Ryan doesn’t. Brendon whines and moves his hips to show Ryan what he wants.
“Hey.” Ryan’s voice comes from closer than he expected. Brendon opens his eyes, and Ryan is staring down at him. Ryan doesn’t blink when he leans down, placing a soft kiss on Brendon’s lips. It’s gentler than any of the previous ones, but it leaves Brendon completely breathless. Ryan runs a thumb over Brendon’s cheek, studying his face. Ryan moves just a little, and Brendon can feel every inch of Ryan deep inside him.
“Look at me,” Ryan orders, and Brendon obeys, has to do as he is told. Ryan’s presence is suddenly inescapable, and Brendon can barely breathe with Ryan staring deep into his eyes. Brendon’s cock keeps brushing against Ryan’s stomach, and that combined with Ryan inside him feels completely overwhelming.
“Fuck,” Brendon breathes, and Ryan just watches him. It makes Brendon feel too vulnerable to his own liking, like he is unwillingly handing over a part of himself. Brendon can’t stop the fire in him from reaching new heights now, and he can feel his orgasm curling up like a ball, tighter and tighter inside him, vibrating and about to burst. “Ryan,” he manages to whisper, tone alarmed.
Ryan gazes down at Brendon, whose pupils are completely blown. Ryan hushes him and reaches between them, not looking away from Brendon once. Brendon almost hisses when Ryan begins to stroke him in time with the thrusts that are slow now, but still hard. Brendon is far gone and completely wrecked, and Ryan knows he is too, but he makes himself focus. He wants to make Brendon come, and he whispers it, letting it linger in the air between them. Brendon gasps, tugs Ryan’s hair as he pulls Ryan down, and their lips meet just as Brendon lets go.
Ryan keeps moving as Brendon reaches orgasm, breaking the kiss only to glance between them and watch the milky substance roll over his knuckles and onto Brendon’s stomach. He keeps stroking Brendon’s cock until Brendon stops coming, the spurts of white semen getting smeared between them. Brendon’s muscles are pulsating and clenching around Ryan in the aftershocks, and Ryan finally lets himself climax.
Ryan’s hot breaths wash over Brendon’s lips as Ryan jerks, and Brendon can feel Ryan emptying himself deep inside him. Brendon has never felt anything that hot in his life, and he clutches onto Ryan as they both tremble.
Ryan can’t find his voice. He pulls out slowly, as if convinced that he might hurt Brendon now, but it’s justified, he thinks, because Brendon looks so vulnerable right then. Ryan rises to sit on his knees between Brendon’s spread legs. Brendon’s chest and face are flushed, bites and bruises everywhere. Dark brown strands of hair are glued to his forehead, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen. Ryan can’t help but let his eyes dart down to see his own thick come dripping out of Brendon, where Brendon is still stretched. Brendon’s stomach is likewise covered in come, and Ryan just has never seen anyone who has looked as well-fucked as Brendon. And it’s gorgeous on him, makes Brendon glow.
Ryan wants to say it. He wants to tell Brendon that he is glowing, but he still can’t find his voice. He just... he can’t.
Brendon is staring at him, the lust fading away and being replaced with something resembling shock and realisation.
Brendon can’t find his voice either.
The deafening silence speaks for them both.
The bruises on Brendon’s hips are sore. He made a miscalculation in putting on this pair of jeans; it’s too tight a fit to feel comfortable. He keeps shifting throughout his lecture, not even bothering to take notes while the guy in the row in front of him is scribbling furiously, and Brendon is surprised the guy’s notepad doesn’t catch fire.
Fire.
Ryan.
When the lecture ends, Brendon lazily gathers his belongings and heads for the door where he bumps into Patrick. “Did you get my message?” Patrick asks with a kind smile.
Brendon blinks. “Oh! Jon said you’d called but I forgot, I uh...” Slept with Ryan instead.
“That’s alright, it happens,” Patrick says. They walk out together as Patrick invites him to a study group. Brendon’s not interested. It’s grey and miserable outside, and Patrick pulls his hat over his eyes a little. They talk about the holidays. Patrick is going back to Coventry for Christmas, and Brendon is going to Brighton where his parents are now living. They’ve always moved around because of his dad’s job – Brendon constantly switched schools, having lived in Newcastle, Leeds, Preston, London and Northampton. Brendon doesn’t have a home.
The wind blows coldly, and Brendon stops to tie his scarf around his neck. Patrick talks this and that, and it occurs to Brendon that, though he doesn’t hold a grudge, not many ex-couples are friendly like this. Spencer and Haley don’t even talk anymore. Now Patrick is inviting him to a Christmas party with one of those smiles he used to give Brendon when they dated.
Maybe Ryan was right about Patrick.
“I might have something else that night,” Brendon lies, craning his neck to wrap the scarf securely. Patrick’s smile fades, and his eyes are focused on where he just saw bruises and bite marks on Brendon’s neck. Brendon frowns, but Patrick just stutters slightly and gives him a hasty goodbye. Patrick looks over his shoulder as he goes, a hint of hurt and betrayal in his gaze. Brendon doesn’t get it.
Ryan and Spencer are watching Coronation Street when Brendon gets home. Spencer greets him warmly, but Ryan only glances at him. Brendon doesn’t mean to let his head hang so low.
Ryan hasn’t even looked at him since they had sex. Ryan won’t fucking look at him.
Brendon goes to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, chewing on his bottom lip to fight the sickening feeling inside. He is spreading marmite on a piece of toast when he hears Ryan clearing his throat. Ryan is standing awkwardly by the table, eyes fixed on Jon’s half-finished breakfast from three days ago.
Ryan shifts uncomfortably. “Bren, I...”
Ryan sounds as cold as the wind outside is, and Brendon swallows. He feels his jaw tighten. “Are you clean?”
Ryan’s head shoots up, his gaze lingering on Brendon’s angry eyes before he decides to stare at the cupboards instead. “What?”
“I had unprotected sex with you, and I’d just like to –”
“Of course I’m clean! What kind of a question is that?”
“A sensible one,” Brendon mutters, placing the slices of tomato and cucumber on his toast before putting the two pieces of bread together.
A sensible question. Ryan figures it’s about time the two of them start acting sensibly.
“I’m feckin clean,” Ryan mutters, feeling insulted. He backs away. If that is all Brendon had to say, then they are obviously done on the topic.
They are clearly done.
Glasgow Kiss
Ryan takes an early morning flight to Dublin a week before he had intended. Brendon packs his bags and leaves two days later. Spencer has one more deadline to go, and Jon isn’t driving back home until Christmas Day because the holidays are a busy time in any pub, and Jon is going to be paid extra.
Jon and Spencer end up inviting a bunch of friends over, taking over the living room with cheap red wine and three guitars. Spencer is smiling and laughing, and Jon can’t stop watching him. Spencer seems better now, about the break up and all of it. Maybe all it takes is fucking a random girl to get over the one you really loved.
Tom is there, and Jon notices Tom’s eyes roaming over Spencer’s features more than once – the ass, the strong arms, those hips – and while Jon wholeheartedly agrees, he doesn’t appreciate it. No matter how drunk or drugged up Jon is, and no matter how astounding the guy, Jon always lets the straight ones be.
“Yer barkin up the wrong tree, ye ken that, right?” Jon asks Tom when they get beer from the kitchen, listening to the rest shouting along to Yellow Submarine as Spencer plays it on the guitar.
“You always say there’s no harm in looking,” Tom points out, referring to all the times they’ve been working together, shamelessly eye-fucking customers. Jon mumbles a response that’s not much of anything. “Maybe he’s lost faith in women and wants to switch camps, you never know,” Tom says playfully, and Jon thinks that he might actually glare because Tom arches an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s jealous.”
“Jealous? Yer delusional,” Jon objects, grabbing a few more beer bottles before heading back into the living room.
Spencer takes a beer from Jon, flashing him an appreciative smile. Spencer thinks he’s becoming a really good friend with Jon, and he likes that. He only fails to realise that whenever he drunkenly hugs Jon or simply gives Jon his full attention, acting like no one else exists in the room, let alone in the world, Jon feels just a bit short of breath. And it’s strange because Jon doesn’t crush on people. He refuses to believe in that concept altogether, but there’s just something about Spencer.
Jon ends up letting one of Tom’s friends fuck him into the mattress that night.
Spencer bumps into Haley just outside the library as she is looking around, clearly waiting for someone. They both stop instantly, and Spencer can feel his insides squeeze and swirl and drop. She’s wearing her lavender jumper. He loved that jumper. Haley is holding two heavy books to her chest, hair in a careless bun with bits sticking out. Spencer still thinks she is one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.
“Hey,” he offers after an awkward pause. He doesn’t know what to say. “Kak dela?”
Haley’s brows furrow in concentration before she says an unsure, “Horosho?”
Spencer smiles. She still remembers some of the Russian he taught her. The atmosphere is tense because they haven’t talked or seen each other, apart from the time Spencer went over to get some of his stuff. Now that he sees her, he realises that he misses her. He misses talking to her, and he has weeks’ worth of things he wants to talk to her about, and he is also fighting the urge to give her a big hug. He misses her. And that doesn’t necessarily mean that he misses the kisses and the sex, though he does, but most of all he just misses her friendship.
“Busy with work?” he asks, nodding at the books.
“Yeah,” she says through a nervous laugh. “But I’m going back home for Christmas soon enough. You?”
“Leaving after the weekend. Muust attend Pete’s Chriistmas party,” he explains, and Haley smiles and nods. Spencer pauses, opens and closes his mouth. “How, uh... How ew been? Really?”
Haley goes slightly paler at that. Spencer figures he isn’t even allowed to ask anymore. Breakups are such fucking bullshit.
“I’m fine.” She’s fine. She is goddamn fine? “Really busy. You?”
“Same,” he shrugs, and they fall into silence. Don’t they have anything more to say to each other?
Someone calls Haley’s name, and Spencer recognises the guy coming up to them as one of Haley’s coursemates, the Mole Guy as Spencer refers to the guy in his brain (Spencer doesn’t feel guilty about the nickname because, well, the mole on the guy’s other cheek is pretty damn noticeable).
“Mike, hi,” Haley smiles, looking back and forth between Spencer and him. “We, uh, we were gonna go to the library to study.”
“Right,” Spencer says. Mike seems put off, giving Haley a worried and inquisitive look. Haley’s cheeks are turning rosy. What the fuck?
“So, I’ll... see you around?” Haley suggests, already backing away. “Have a good Christmas,” she adds, always remembering her manners. Mike keeps looking back to Spencer, and Spencer stands up just a bit taller. He curses under his breath and hurries home, trying not to think about it, not to think about it, not to goddamn think about it.
When he gets home and Jon gives him a questioning look, Spencer can feel the bitter taste in his mouth. “Haley’s got a thing with a guy from one of her courses.” He doesn’t say anything more than that. He only wonders if it had anything to do with their break up, if Haley’s spent all this time feeling guilty about a crush she’s harboured on Mole Guy. It makes everything so foul, ridicules the way Spencer thought she loved him – and if anyone tells him that he has already done a lot more than hang out with a potential crush under the pretence of coursework, then he will tell them to shut the fuck up because that was different.
It meant that he was moving on, not that she was. And that’s what messes him up the most. She’s moving on. She’s forgetting about him.
Jon fucks up. He blames it on the jubilant holiday atmosphere, the alcohol, Spencer’s stupid goddamn face. He blames it on Edward I for not just slaughtering every Welshman back in the thirteenth century, and most of all, he blames it on himself. They leave Pete’s Christmas party at five in the morning, their feet treading from the edge of the pavement back to the buildings as they sing Muse songs and wake up neighbourhoods.
Jon’s drunk as hell, and Spencer is drunk as hell. They get back to the flat, leaning against each other and slurring nonsense. It’s the mistletoe. Brendon put that stupid mistletoe up before he left.
“Mistletoe,” Spencer says, because it’s Spencer who notices it first. Spencer is gazing up at it, mouth slightly agape. And the word, in Jon’s mind, translates as ‘Kiss me’, so he does. He is relatively sure it’s the biggest cock up in translation history.
Jon steps forward, and Spencer looks at him to see why Jon is invading his personal space, and Jon tilts his head. If only he had missed, but he doesn’t. Bull’s-eye, even in the morning when they’re too drunk to remember their mothers’ names.
Jon awkwardly clings onto the front of Spencer’s shirt, and because Spencer’s mouth was open to begin with, Jon pushes his tongue inside. Spencer tastes like Jack Daniel’s, and Spencer’s beard scratches against Jon’s mouth and sends shivers up and down his spine. And his mind repeats a mantra of Spence, Spence, so warm, so sweet, Spence, waited so long, before his brain registers that he is kissing Spencer. Jon jumps back, their lips making a wet sound, and Spencer is staring at him with wide eyes full of shock.
“Shit, ah didnae mean tae. Fuck. Ah’m sorry. Fuck. Fucking fuck,” Jon nearly groans, shaking his head and quickly wiping his mouth. Spencer can still taste Jon, and Spencer knows that wasn’t a friendly mistletoe kiss because those types of kisses don’t usually involve tongues. Spencer just stares at Jon as his brain doesn’t seem to be coming up with anything he could possibly say.
“Fuck,” Jon repeats. He has broken his own golden rule, and it makes him feel like the disillusioned gay kid who doesn’t know what could get him punched. He learned the hard way, and he has been doing so well for years, but this... God, he feels like he is back to being fifteen and at Gavin Henderson’s house party, standing in the corner and watching his mates get shitfaced as he struggles with his inner demons that tell him that he fancies Scott Miller, and he kept saying no, god no, he couldn’t be gay, he would be so fucked if he didn’t get over his crush.
It’s nearly a decade later, and Jon is making the same mistakes. He can’t believe it.
“I, uh...” Spencer begins, brows furrowing.
Jon is still intoxicated beyond belief so he just shakes his head. “Ah need tae sleep this yin off,” he mumbles, heading for his room as fast as his feet take him. He passes out the second he gets to bed.
Jon gives Spencer his speech.
“Ah was smashed, really smashed. Ah would huv tried shaggin a street lamp in that condition, nae – naw that ah was tryin to git ye tae bed. Ah respect yir boundaries, n ah donae even look at ye like that. Ah was in the wrong n ah didnae even know what ah was doin. It didnae mean anythin, so could we just... forget aboot it?”
Spencer stares at him long and hard. Jon waits and swallows nervously.
“Okay,” Spencer says in the end.
“Aye?”
“Yeah. Whatever, we were drunk. I’ve got mates who’ve done things that make last night paale in comparison. It hardly even quaalified as a kiss.”
“Aye. Exactly.”
They give each other awkward smiles before going back to their respective bedrooms. They both sigh in relief.
The problem is, though, that it was a kiss. It was definitely a kiss.
Part Four
