behindthec | If This Is A Test [1/1] | Brendon/Ryan | PG-13

Title: If This Is A Test [1/1]
Author:

lolab
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: ~860
Warnings: Slight bloodplay kink.
Disclaimer: Fiction as far as I know.
Summary: "What?" Brendon asks, not even caring he sounds a little breathless. "Need me to kiss it better?"
Dedication:

minus_four, and

ryden_fan.
Notes: Written for this. Someone tells me to objectify Ryan's hands, I'm not gonna say no, okay? I am so, so tempted to turn this into an epic fic all about Brendon's kinky, kinky little kink and how he seduces Ryan with it. Sigh. Don't let me do it. Title from TAI.

*NOTE: This fic is now #7 in the Brendon's ~Sekrit Kink series.

"God-motherfucking-damnit."

Brendon's head jerks up to see Ryan shove his notebook aside and finds himself in the midst of an unbidden sensory overload. Ryan slipping curses between curses when he's pissed is maybe, possibly, one of Brendon's secret kinks, and he's not such a pussy that he'd even deny it if asked outright. (Dear Lord, please don't let anyone ask him outright.) Then there's Ryan's hands, his hands, okay, one cradling the other, and the papercut's growing bead of bright-wet red atop his right middle finger.

That's maybe another kink, but one he totally would deny, because there's kinky, and then there's you're-a-freak-and-only-creepy-goths-will-want-to-sleep-with-you-if-they-knew.

He watches Ryan wet his lips and suck the afflicted finger into his mouth, tongue working unceremoniously over the tip, and when he releases it, the blood's flowing freely, smeared down over the whole fingertip and Ryan's glaring at it.

"Idiot," Brendon mumbles, only to find his throat parched and closed off.

Ryan snaps his head up without modifying his glare. "Fuck you, what the fuck?"

"If you get it wet, it's just gonna bleed everywhere."

"Then shut the fuck up and get me a fucking band-aid, asshole."

Brendon does him one better (in his opinion, at least), pulling himself off the couch and closing a hand around Ryan's wrist, ignoring his choked noise of protest as Brendon drags him into the tiny bus bathroom. He deposits Ryan against the wall and begins rifling through his messy toiletries bag on the counter.

"Why do I have to be here for this?" Ryan snaps.

"Because I love to hear you whine." Brendon waits until he locates a little flesh-colored strip at the bottom of his bag before looking up, smirking preemptively as he peels off the wrapper before he even catches Ryan's smirk-validating pout. "C'mere."

Ryan's face scrunches a little as he offers his hand. "I need to, like, wipe it off first."

"Yeah," Brendon agrees, his voice a little cloudy and far-off as he closes his fingers around Ryan's palm. The hand goes limp and slack in his grip, mile-long fingers curling automatically toward his own, and suddenly Brendon's dizzy.

"Dude," Ryan hisses, impatient.

Brendon can't go into this blind. He needs an anchor, something to keep him grounded, and as his gaze lifts, locking with Ryan's, he's found it.

It's hard, like trying to walk a straight line when you're drunk, but he manages to keep his own eyes on the deep amber of Ryan's as he lowers his head, mouth wet and open, and closes his lips around Ryan's finger. Ryan's pupils fucking blow, his lips parting and closing and parting, but there's no sound. At least Brendon thinks there isn't, but with the blood rushing in his ears, he can't be sure.

It takes him a second to realize Ryan isn't actually doing anything. And because Ryan logically should be jerking away and cussing him out, Brendon's totally counting this as a win and going for the kill.

Their eyes are still locked, like a mutual, unspoken challenge, as Brendon lifts his other hand to close around Ryan's, holding it in place with all ten fingers. He lets a beat pass, just for show, before ducking his head and drawing the rest of Ryan's finger into his mouth, sucking slow and deep and swirling his tongue up and down the length. Ryan's eyes falter then, thick lashes flickering, threatening to fall shut, but he catches himself, keeps them open, and they're darker this time, braver.

They're the eyes of a man determined to win.

But his breath betrays him, coming short and shallow against Brendon's face, and Brendon smirks again, lips stretching tighter as he slides his mouth back up, almost letting the fingertip pop out before sucking harder and dipping back down, and it's then, then, that Ryan's gone, squeaking something practically inaudible, but it's enough. It's defeat.

Brendon releases the fingertip from his mouth and his gaze from Ryan's, so triumphant he doesn't even bother being cocky about it, and lowers Ryan's hand to dry it off on the edge of his own shirt.

He reaches around with one hand for the band-aid, the other still gripping Ryan's wrist, and stretches the sticky strip around Ryan's finger with overblown precision and care, tucking the edges in so the blood won't seep out, and ensuring the little white pad is pressed carefully to the cut.

He looks at Ryan again when he's done and not a moment before, with Ryan's hand still clutched in both of his. Ryan's watching him like he's got death rays looming just behind his eyelids, ready to shoot out at the slightest provocation.

"What?" Brendon asks, not even caring he sounds a little breathless. "Need me to kiss it better?"

Ryan jerks his hand away, and one death ray peeks out behind flushed cheeks. "You're a freak," he spits, shuffling awkwardly past Brendon and out the door, but the words are unconvincing, weak venom masking something else, something sweeter.

Brendon stays put, waiting for his heartbeat to regulate itself, and it's a few minutes before he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He's not suprised to find his lips disturbingly red, or his his eyes shining.

He's only surprised to find he's grinning.

[fin.]

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

justranda.livejournal.com

Fucking, yes! Blood-play. *licks*

From:

lolab.livejournal.com

:D we know brendon's a kinky motherfucker. mph.

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