FicWad

“Hola baby!” Brendon sings, as he dances into Ryan’s bedroom and winks. “Ready to study?”

Ryan laughs and the pen that had been stuck between his two front teeth falls onto the notepad on his lap. He uncrosses his legs and they dangle over his bed.

“I don’t get why you want to study in summer; it’s insane. You’re insane.” He jokes and Brendon pulls a stupid face; a crossed eyed-lips twisted-cheeks-puffed kind of a face that makes Ryan snort with laughter.

“You know that Mr. Wentz is sure to ask us about our summer, secretly noting every incorrect use of a capital letter and his much too beloved comma.” Brendon tells Ryan, dropping his satchel next to his wardrobe and turning to make sure the kick he presented the door with, has closed it properly.

“I like Pete; he’s a good English teacher.” Ryan replies, placing his notepad and pen on his bed and making for Brendon. Brendon chuckles and, when Ryan captures his chin in one of his large hands, sighs. “Besides, if he hadn’t stuck us together in that tent last September, who knows where we’d be right now.” Ryan smiles.

“I still think it’s fucking creepy that you call him by his first name.” Brendon says plainly and he means it. Despite knowing he and Mr. Wentz have a very close relationship- whatever that might mean- Ryan probably shouldn’t be addressing him as “Pete,” and frankly, it’s no wonder Brendon used to tease him about having a crush. He probably didn’t have a crush, mind you, but it was an easy topic to bring up when the two boys fought or even argued.

“I still think it’s creepy you used to get hard when we got into fist fights.” Ryan mocks, as his hands curl around Brendon’s waist and pull him into a romantic hug. Brendon blushes. His eyes wander up and down Ryan’s face and his tone changes.

“But honey,” He whines. “If a really hot, sweaty boy does all he can to be on top of me, grunting so hard and moaning over me, what am I supposed to do?” His tone takes a sharp and sudden turn into an aroused corner and he tugs the back of Ryan’s neck closer to kiss hm. Ryan lets Brendon kiss into him, push into him, groan into him, but then he moves back and his face is smothered by a sense of power that he adores. He smirks at Brendon and tells him they should probably study, seeing as that’s what he came here to do.


*


They really had intended to study. They’d laid out all the books and pieces of tattered poetry that Ryan had lying around in his room and found spare paper to write on. They really, really were going to study. But there was something about the way Ryan was lying on his front; heels dancing in the air and knees pressed into the carpet, hands cupping his face and eyes fixed on Shakespeare’s Hamlet, that looked so precious. Brendon needed to take advantage of the situation. He climbed onto Ryan’s back and rubbed his fingers into Ryan’s shoulders to relax him. When Ryan hummed and rolled his head happily, Brendon pressed a little harder and ducked down to kiss Ryan’s face or neck or ear; any part of him he could get his lips on. He kept kissing until Ryan had turned over beneath him, so now, they’re engaged in intense foreplay, instead of reading the book Ryan’s head is resting on.

Brendon licks at Ryan’s tongue, hungrily. His whole body moves with the kiss as it deepens and then shallows again. He gets lost in the frantic tugging and breathing and pushes into Ryan’s wrists with his thumbs a little too hard; there will be purple smudges there later and Ryan will complain about them, but for now, in this heated moment, it’s okay. The two move in time with each other as they kiss and after a while, Brendon’s hands are forced away from Ryan’s arms, because Ryan begins to tug at the buttons of Brendon’s shirt. Once unbuttoned, it falls awkwardly over Ryan’s sides, until Brendon sits up and drags Ryan’s torso up with him. Ryan sighs happily when their faces are in line again and he can see nothing but the blur of Brendon’s dark eyes staring at him.

“I’m ready.” Brendon purrs, wet lips curled up in a smile and eyebrows raised slightly in anticipation of the response.

Ryan’s heart skips a beat. “Are you sure?” He asks, lacing his fingers together behind Brendon’s back. “Because we don’t have to-” He tries, but Brendon dives forward and kisses Ryan again, determined.

“I’m ready.” He repeats and tugs at strands of hair on the base of Ryan’s neck. “I love you. I want to do this and I want to do this with you.”

Ryan hums and shuts his eyes for slightly longer than the standard blink. He draws lines up and down Brendon’s back and kisses him again. The kisses start off soft and rather sweet, but soon turn into feverish lapping. Ryan drags the shirt hanging over Brendon’s shoulder to his elbows and Brendon pulls Ryan’s tee upwards; balling it up in his fist and suspending it below Ryan’s chest until Ryan moves his arms over his head. Brendon lifts the tee-shirt over Ryan’s head and then shakes off his own shirt, before clambering to his feet and holding his hand out for Ryan to take. As soon as Ryan’s standing, he’s being moved to his bed, thrown onto it and climbed onto again. He isn’t sure if Brendon’s being overly assertive because he’s excited or because he wants to hurry up and get this over with before something changes his mind, but Ryan won’t ask if he’s ready again, because, in all honesty, he’s been waiting for this for almost a year. He thinks back to the first time he ever suggested it and just how easy it was for Brendon to say no and there is no way he’s giving Brendon a chance to remember it also. Brendon jerks the button on Ryan’s jeans open and rolls off the bed to stand and undo his pants.

“Bottom drawer in the wardrobe.” Ryan instructs and Brendon’s head swings around; confused and looking for confirmation of what he’s supposed to be doing. When none comes, he rolls his eyes and darts over to the wardrobe. From the drawer he retrieves an almost entirely full plastic tube- eventually, because it was very well hidden. He kicks the drawer shut again and makes for Ryan, who’s slipped out of his underwear already and watching Brendon lustfully. Brendon bites down on his lip and eats away at the flesh, while shaking hands press down on Ryan’s bed; one on either side of Ryan’s face.

“If this hurts too much, tell me.” Brendon whispers, as his face grows paler and somewhat blank. Suddenly, he’s not so sure about this- or rather he is, but he’s nervous and terrified of making a mistake. Ryan knows what he’s doing and God, if Brendon makes a fool out of himself right now, he’ll never forget it.

Ryan nods impatiently, licking his lips. He shuts his eyes and braces himself.


*


Sunlight’s streaming through his blinds already when Ryan’s eyes shake open. With Brendon’s body still draped over his and the late summer morning in full swing, he’s far too warm. He tries to slip out of the duvet quietly, but every muscle in his body aches. Especially the insides of this thighs and his ass. He hisses softly and surrenders to the heat of the Sunday morning. His feet are sweating though, so he kicks the duvet a little in the hope that it’ll free his body up to his ankles. It doesn’t, so he sighs and pats his chest, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes flick open sharply when- after a long thought train that began at Nothing- he remembers that school will be starting tomorrow.

He will be a senior.

He will have to wear a Senior’s Badge.

He will have to be an example to all the homophobic babies that toddle through the school doors, Monday morning.

Great.


*


Maybe Ryan falls back asleep, or maybe he just lays there for an hour, but it doesn’t feel like long before Brendon’s stirring in his sleep, mumbling something unfathomable and twitching his fingers. His eyes suddenly shoot open and he lifts his head sharply. He makes an almost “huh” noise and Ryan shushes him.

“Morning,” Ryan soothes, kicking the duvet away from his body and smiling at it triumphantly. “How did you sleep?”

Brendon props a pillow against the headboard and sits up against it. “Amazing, you’d never believe the dream I had last night.” He jokes, watching Ryan fish around on his bedroom floor for his jeans. When he finds them, he pulls out an expensive lighter and a half empty deck of cigarettes. (Or half full, depending on whether or not you’re an optimist or a pessimist. Normally Ryan’s a negative person, but he’d probably have to say “half full” today, because it’s already turning into the best day of summer.) He opens the drawer of his nightstand and finds an ashtray at the back of it, underneath some music magazines and sits it against the wooden top of the table.

“Huh.” He says, as he lifts the crumpled and completely empty tube from next to the ashtray and inspects it. He shrugs and throws it into the drawer, before shutting it and turning to Brendon, who chuckles proudly to himself, despite his blushing embarrassment and his inability to look at Ryan just yet.

“Should have planned that out a bit better,” Brendon mutters, smiling. “Could have had some fun this morning.”

Ryan holds smoke at the back of his throat and snorts. “Maybe you could have! My ass is killing me.”

Brendon gives him a quick bemused look and Ryan exhales, rolling his eyes. “My everything is killing me.” He replies, smiling again and twiddling his thumbs around the duvet. “How are things, by the way?” Brendon practically whispers; completely unsure of how this question will go down with Ryan.

Ryan thinks for a moment, then inhales the last of his cigarette, stubs it out, blows smoke up at the ceiling and replies.

“Good. When I’m with you.” He curls into Brendon; resting his head on Brendon’s breastplate and holding onto his waist. There’s a long pause before he finally tells him things are only good when they’re together.

“Be with me all the time then.” Brendon suggests, stroking Ryan’s hair and trying to work out if that little whimper Ryan just made was the beginnings of him crying or not. “Every night could be like last night, every morning like this. You could move into my apartment, I mean, it’s small but there’s enough room for the two of us.”

“Baby, I- I don’t know.” Ryan quakes and Brendon nods.

“Just a thought.” He tells him, smiling because Ryan didn’t say no straight away. Technically he didn’t say no at all.


*


“What the fuck is this?” Ryan’s dad barks at him, the second he walks though the front door. Ryan had almost forgotten about him. He’d let Brendon stay in his house- in his bed- all night and the thought hadn’t even occurred to him that his dad might return. He smiles though, because after he drove Brendon home, he thought about Brendon’s proposal some more and almost ran two red lights day dreaming about it.

“That, father, is lubricant.” He patronizes; utterly unconcerned about how his tone might shift the conversation.

“Mmm, nah. No it’s not. It’s empty is what it is. Why is it fucking empty?” His father spits back at him.

“I believe,” Ryan smiles, stepping forward and walking towards the stairs. “Empty means that it was all used up at some point.” He says, skipping up the stairs without a care in the world. His father stands stunned; paralyzed at the foot of the stairs, until Ryan emerges from his room with an overflowing black rucksack on his back and a jacket in the other.

“You’re not going out.” His dad barks. “For one, you’re grounded and for another, you’ve school in the morning.”

Ryan laughs, shaking his head. “Nope, I’m leaving. School, home; the whole sha-bang. Except the car, I’m taking the car; can’t have you drinking and driving now, can we?” Ryan hears the cracking of knuckles behind him and his nostrils flare. This is all too familiar; it’ll be good to change. Starting right now.

“And don’t you dare touch me you fucking alcoholic psycho.” Ryan spits, slamming the front door and sprinting to his dad’s car.