behindthec | If You Knew What I Know [Day 12 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]

Title: If You Knew What I Know [Day 12 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]
Author:

lolab
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Kink du Jour: Oh lord: fisting, felching, facials, biting, breathplay, and revisited kinks from the series. w00t!
Word Count: ~5,700 words of smut. Merry fucking Christmas. XD
Disclaimer: Fiction as far as I know.
Summary: In the space of a mere few heartbeats, the debate in his mind is rampant, and he realizes this isn't just about Ryan trusting him; this is a test of him trusting Ryan.
Notes: Vignette 12 of 12; Bden's ~Sekrit Kink Series based on email/IM/comment requests from this fic (now #7 in the series). One a day through Christmas: here is my holiday gift to my friendslist. ;)

Please visit the master post for a list of all 12 vignettes. You can read them independently, but they are connected, so it's much better to read them in order.

(Sorry it's an hour late; Pete graciously let me sleep in today! :P)

This vignette has a visual aid, thanks to minus_four, who claims it aided her greatly while reading this. ;) May I also recommend this picspam. Um. Yeah.

Previously in kinkland...

It only takes one blink before Brendon finally realizes he's been an idiot for four years, trusting Ryan with his life and his career and his heart and everything in between, when he comes back to his room and finds him by the window, eyes glued to an old, crumpled sheet of notebook paper clutched in shaking hands.

What's amazing is how well Brendon can pretend because he's been doing it for years.

For a few moments, he can pretend he has no idea what's in Ryan's hands. It could be any old piece of paper. Ryan uses lots of paper, all the time.

And for a second that's enough, and he can focus elsewhere -- like the fact that Ryan has fucking decorated their hotel room, a string of lights taped awkwardly to the windowsill, a tacky twelve-inch tree, lights and all, sitting atop the nightstand.

But Ryan's staring so hard at him he can't keep pretending, not under those eyes.

Ryan blinks. "So it's true."

Brendon never knew the monotone could carry that much emotion.

Still in panic mode, he shifts focus again, squeezing his hands into fists to keep his voice even. "The fuck are you doing in my suitcase?"

"Borrowing socks. Fucking talk to me."

Brendon blinks, twice, willing himself to count to ten but only making it to four. "That. Is private."

"Between who, you and the entire fucking label?!"

"I -- how did you -- "

"I hear things, Brendon, Jesus!" He slams the paper down on the desk by the window. "They're not the most secretive bunch, okay?!"

"I -- " Brendon steps back, steps forward, gives up. "You had no right to -- this is none of your business, Ryan!"

"Yeah, you know what? You're right. It's not. I don't want to know." He's across the room in three long strides, sweeping his room key off the dresser and there's so much no in this scenario Brendon doesn't even know where to begin.

"Ry. Ryan." Ryan submits, stops at the door with one hand still gripping the doorknob on principle, and turns around, his face wrecked and heartbreaking and Brendon just doesn't get it. "I -- Jesus, why do you look so... hurt, and angry?"

"I -- " Ryan shakes his head, like he can't believe it. "Why are you so stupid?"

"The fuck, Ryan? I -- Jesus! It's not like I'm picking up strangers in strip clubs, these are our friends, people I trust! Every last one of those experiences has been good, I don't regret a single one, so why?! Why do you care who I fuck or how?"

"Fuck that, you're gonna start asking questions now? Then I get to ask questions."

"Fine! Ask! You want to know if I use protection? Yeah, I do. You want to know if I've been tested? Every six months like clockwork, okay? You want to -- shit, Ryan, I don't -- you want to know what Spencer looks like when he comes? What'll have Bill eating out of the palm of your hand? What the fuck do you want to know?"

"I want to know why not me, god damn it! I want to know why I'm not good enough! I want to know what the stars mean next to the ones you haven't crossed out yet!"

His eyes are so dark, flashing so bright it's almost enough to distract Brendon from the words, but at the least it slows their impact, leaving him in a numb state of shock as they sink in, slow quicksand, all-consuming.

"Please," he chokes, pitifully small past the lump in his throat and the swell of tears in his eyes. "Please don't ask me that."

"Fuck you." Ryan releases the doorknob with an angry jerk of his wrist. "If it wasn't about me, you'd tell me."

And it's those eyes again, so hard on him Brendon can feel their weight, bearing down, reducing him to helpless surrender, the same state he's always been in around Ryan, always and forever, and he knows he's lost, trapped, that the only way is down, and he's done fighting gravity.

His head drops, eyes on the floor. "I. The ones that aren't crossed off are -- I didn't -- fuck, okay. I didn't trust anyone else. I didn't... want anyone else. I never wanted anyone else since the day I met you. I -- I wanted you."

He looks up on the last word, desperate for a reaction, even if it's the one he's fearing, but Ryan's face is blank, wide-eyed.

"Ry -- god, shit, I -- I'm sorry. I can't help how I feel about you. I'm sorry. This wasn't like, some creepy ruse to get in your pants, I just -- I knew I could never share that stuff with anyone else, with... anyone I wasn't in love with. I didn't want to do any of it with those other people, I just -- never thought you'd..."

"I. No," Ryan starts, shaking his head, his forehead wrinkled as he steps forward. "No, it doesn't -- that's bullshit, it doesn't make sense, there's stuff that's starred but crossed off, I..."

Brendon sighs. "I pretty much figured out I didn't have a chance with you, so I just. Kind of. Gave up waiting. I... Jon was right, I was just trying to forget you. But. I couldn't."

He doesn't know why Ryan keeps getting closer but it's happening, he's all up in Brendon's space the way he never is, and Brendon's trying to brace himself for anything, a slap, a fucking punch, more yelling. Ryan's good at yelling.

But his voice is scarcely audible when he says, "You're so fucking stupid, Brendon."

"I know. I mean -- " He looks up to find Ryan closer than ever, enough for Brendon to feel his breath, so close he could move inches and they'd be -- oh god. "I am?"

Ryan blinks, and it's only then Brendon realizes the shine in his eyes wasn't just emotion as a tiny wet streak drips down his cheek. "I -- I thought you were fucking with me this whole time, I was sure I scared you off for good, that first time, in my room, when..."

"Oh, god, Ryan, no -- " But Ryan's eyes are shut, tension gripping him and Brendon takes his hands and squeezes tight because every Brendon Urie instinct is screaming for him to. "You thought -- I -- Ryan, I -- fuck, the look on your face, and all I wanted to do was get on my knees and I thought you'd never speak to me again and oh, god, fuck, shit --"

"JesusBrendonplease, can you just be kissing me already, please -- "

It's happening before his brain's registering it, him surging forward with his hands reaching to cup Ryan's face, Ryan's mouth on his finallyfinallyfinally, and there's a flash of disappointment that he's too shocked to even process those first sensations, the end of the four-year wait for that hot weight of Ryan's tongue pushing into his mouth, his hips crashing against Brendon's, sharp and so fucking present, the way Ryan's fingers are gripping his waist, so long they can reach from his hipbone to his ass, holding him in place so tight Brendon knows he'll have bruises, is fucking counting on it.

It's strange, how everything melts from his consciousness like it never happened -- all the others, every bit of the past, the hiding and escaping and trying so hard to fill his mind with anything but Ryan, anything but the pain, and now he can barely remember his own name, let alone anything that happened before they kissed.

They kissed. They're kissing. Ryan's kissing. him.

And yeah, okay, he's fourteen.

He's kind of surprised they haven't made it to the bed yet, still stationed in the middle of the room minutes later, fighting for breath and sharing it, mouths separating only to meet again, harder and sweeter and rougher and gentler all at once, and he's sure he's going to die from the little noises Ryan's making, from the way his body feels under Brendon's hands, all soft and pliant and nothing at all like he'd expected, not tentative, not withdrawn, not tense. Not anymore.

"Hey," Ryan breathes into his mouth, "hey."

"Hey. Hi." And he's vaguely aware Ryan's trying to say something, but Ryan's hands are tangled in his hair and pressed flat against his chest and he's fast losing the ability to think.

"Hey," Ryan whispers again, low and sexy as fuck, a tiny smile teasing his lips. "What do you want? Right now, what do you want?"

A grin threatens to split Brendon's face, so he stops it the only way he can and kisses him again. "I -- I don't know. Like, suddenly I don't feel the need to... do anything anymore." He laughs, nervous, because after everything, it's so strange to say it and have it be true. "I could just kiss you all night, serious."

"...Yeah?" He doesn't miss the little flash across Ryan's face, melty and just, smitten, before his eyes darken again and he tightens his grip in Brendon's hair. "Okay, or like, maybe you could fuck me."

"I -- shit, yeah -- I. Okay. Yeah."

"Yeah."

Ryan's pulling him back toward the bed, and yeah, Brendon was wrong. Fucking is good. Fucking is really good and really, totally necessary.

They don't even "make it" to the bed; the bed's a complete accident. It's kissing and kissing and peeling off shirts and more kissing until finally the back of Ryan's legs hit the edge of the mattress and he folds, dropping down, and when Brendon takes a step back to look at him, he's not sure how he's supposed to last till the fucking.

Ryan's leaned back, legs spread, his ass just barely on the edge of the mattress, arms behind him for support, fingers twisted in the bedspread. Brendon tries not to think how fucking hot it is to have him like this, beneath him, looking up at him like Brendon's the most arousing thing he's ever seen. The angle's perfect and it'd be so easy to step forward and let Ryan's fingers start fumbling with his fly, and his mind's swirling with memories of the bus kitchen, of the most confusing, mind-blowing midnight of his life.

But it hits him, then, that that's not what he wants. What he wants, needs, now, is Ryan in his mouth, solid and heavy and reminding him that yes, this is real.

He drops to his knees, and Ryan's surprised gasp is reward enough as Brendon starts working his jeans open, easing them down just enough get his hand around Ryan's length, and Jesus, length being the operative word here because, yeah. The rumors are true. Awesomely true.

"What?" Ryan gasps, half annoyance and half knowing amusement, flipping his head to get the hair off his face, and Brendon realizes he's staring.

He grins, caught; resolves to keep staring. "Nothin', Ross."

"You look a little worried there."

And ohhh, fuck, he'd be ready to slap that smug tone right out of Ryan's voice if it were any other moment, but seeing as he's about to blow Ryan's brains out (hey, it's not ego if it's fact), he can tolerate.

"Nah, man, I'm good."

"Yeah?"

"I dunno, you tell me," he says, and takes Ryan into his mouth, slipping down to the base without blinking an eye.

It's worth it; Ryan just keens, gasping these delicious little noises, his body melting as he twists one hand in Brendon's hair, the other holding himself up. Brendon keeps his hands loosely on Ryan's hips, just to brace himself, but not pressing down, wanting Ryan to know it's a thousand kinds of okay if he wants to jerk forward and fuck his mouth, that Brendon can take it, and sure, it's one part showing off but six parts wanting to make Ryan feel better than he ever has his whole goddamned life.

It works on both accounts, because Ryan seems equally surprised as he is lost in it, reduced to full-body trembles as his hand tightens in Brendon's hair and his hips start to stutter erratically as Brendon works him through it, and Brendon doesn't even know how he's managing any skill here because he's pretty sure his head's going to explode once it sinks in that he's got Ryan in his mouth, whimpering beneath him and babbling a whispered chorus of curses under his breath. He's so far gone himself it takes him a second to hear --

"Bren -- Bren -- hey -- can I -- "

He looks up to see Ryan's pupils blown and lips flushed as he slides a shaky hand from Brendon's hair to trace across his face, and -- oh.

And yes.

He pulls off quick, fast replacing his mouth with his hand and saving the rhythm as he brings Ryan to the edge. His eyes fall shut and mouth drops open as he hears Ryan cry out, and then it's everywhere, hot and thick across his cheeks, his lips, some shooting straight into his mouth, down his chin and throat as he tries to lap up as much as he can. Suddenly there's frantic movement under his hands and Ryan's pulling him up, forward, and before he can process, it's, fuck, Ryan's tongue he feels, equally hot and wet, licking at his face, cleaning him off, Ryan's hands firm on the back of his neck to hold him in place, and all Brendon can do is will himself not to come on the spot.

Ryan licks into his mouth when he's done, insistent and desperate and Brendon doesn't accept; he attacks, shoving Ryan back to the mattress and climbing onto him, forcing his way back into Ryan's mouth until he's claimed as much of his release as he can, and Ryan just lets him.

It's kind of awesome just to study Ryan's face, after, because it's almost like seeing a stranger. Ryan's never looked anything close to this for him, completely open and messy and sated. "Sated" almost makes Brendon laugh, because this is so only the beginning.

"Hi," he says.

Ryan smiles. "Hi. Do I want to know who taught you that?"

"If you tell me who taught you."

Ryan chuckles. "Jack Marin."

"I -- oh."

"Hey, no." Ryan shifts until they're better suited for conversation, side by side with limbs entwined, and strokes a hand across Brendon's face. "It wasn't -- we weren't. Like, I just asked him to. I wanted to learn."

Brendon nods. It's no use being jealous now. "Okay. Um, thanks Jack?"

Ryan grins and traces a finger across his lips. "Your turn."

Brendon grins back. "Gerard."

"Gerard Way?!"

"Yeah, ya jealous?"

"I -- kinda, yeah!"

They laugh, together, because it's just ridiculous how much none of it matters now.

Brendon sighs, faking smugness. "Yeah, he was totally awesome about it. Very patient and... thorough."

"You're a slut," Ryan announces, pressing kisses to his lips between the words. "A big gay slut."

"Speaking of sluts," Brendon whispers lazily. "Hi, you came on my face."

"Um." And fuck if that isn't fucking irresistible, Ryan flushing crimson and ducking his head. "I. Yeah. Is that..."

"Fuck yeah it is. You gonna tell me about the rest of your kinks?"

"Um. I... I don't really... I don't know," he hesitates, brushing his thumb back and forth across Brendon's hip.

"Dude. You've seen my fucking list. It's not fair to get shy now."

"Um." He looks up, lip trapped between his teeth, blush intact, and takes a breath. "Uh. Well. I mean... you already know about, uh, the hair thing. And -- uh, biting, biting is good. I like leaving marks -- or getting them. And, uh, I really like your ass, like, a lot, so, um, I plan on spending a lot of time with it and I, uh, I love teasing and I can hold out for hours so watch out and, oh, toys are cool, and fingering's pretty awesome, you could probably make me come just from that without ever touching my dick, and, uh, I dunno how you feel about breathplay, but -- "

"Ryanifyoudon'tstoptalkingmydick'sgonnaexplode."

Ryan's eyes double in size. "I -- fuck, sorry."

"No. It's -- good. God. I just."

"You should really fuck me now."

"Yeah, I should."

And that's it. They've got all the time in the world to be slow, later, but right now it's all immediacy as Brendon moves to pull Ryan's pants down the rest of the way, tossing them aside before kissing his way back up his legs, and he's not sure what he's expecting to see until he doesn't see it.

He traces his fingers gently over the pale, baby-soft skin of Ryan's inner thigh, over a single long-faded mark, and meets Ryan's eyes.

"I thought you'd have more scars," he says softly.

Ryan shrugs. "I didn't -- like -- it wasn't a... thing. I just did it a couple times. It was kind of a cool outlet, but... turns out writing's better."

Brendon can't not smile at that, at how far Ryan's come, how far they've both come, and how despite how they've changed, their feelings for each other haven't.

He moves up the bed until their faces are level, lowering himself to draw Ryan into a long, deep kiss before climbing off and fishing through his suitcase for lube and a condom, dropping both onto the bed and chucking his own pants in the process.

He settles back against Ryan, and. Huh. "Um."

And yeah, there's never an easy way to ask this question, but luckily Ryan's a step ahead of him. "Yeah, I have," he smiles. "Just. Go slow. Been awhile."

Brendon nods. He wants to ask who, when, how many times, was it good, did you think of me, but at the same time he doesn't, because he hardly has reason to judge and like everything else now, the past doesn't matter, at least not beyond how it's contributed to now. Because now is all that matters, all that ever will.

He slicks up three fingers, coating them generously, breathing hot air onto them to warm the liquid and presses one gently against Ryan's entrance, circling carefully before pushing inside. As much as he wants to watch, study the line of his finger as it disappears into the tightness, his eyes stay locked to Ryan's face, watching every tiny shift in his features, every blink, every breath.

But Ryan says "More," without hesitation, and Brendon relaxes. He adds a second, stretching him gently, scissoring them and and pushing deeper until Ryan gasps hard, grabbing hold of Brendon's free wrist and squeezing tight.

"Good?" Brendon asks.

"Jesus, yeah, more."

Ryan's enthusiasm, his fucking desperation, is probably going to kill Brendon, but what a way to go. He adds a third and it's tight this time, so tight he knows he must be hurting him, but Ryan just keeps breathing, shallow and harsh, his face relaxed when he finally nods.

It's confirmation enough for Brendon, and he quickly wipes his hand on the sheet, reaching for the condom, when he feels Ryan's hand on his wrist, again, long fingers making a tight, full circle -- and really, fuck, that is a feeling he could definitely get used to.

Ryan's eyes are sharp, nervous, but he doesn't falter. "You're clean, right?"

Brendon blinks. "I. Yeah."

"Me too."

And. Oh.

Brendon gets the feeling this night is going to have a lot of Oh's.

"Okay?" Ryan prompts.

"No, yeah, yes. Fuck."

"God, just, come here," Ryan says, and Brendon loves how the tone borders on whiny because it's just so Ryan, but he goes willingly, letting Ryan pull him down until their bodies are aligned, until Ryan lifts his legs to hook around Brendon's waist and, fuck, right, that's happening.

It hasn't been that long, maybe, a couple months, but it feels like it's been forever the way it overwhelms him, the tightness, the heat, the -- hell, maybe it's just Ryan. He holds his breath as he pushes in, and he hasn't done that since the first time. He bites his lip, a strangled little noise escaping his throat, and that hasn't happened since the first time, either. This might as well be the first time, for all he remembers now of any encounters ever.

He tries to go slow but Ryan's got his legs hooked around him and yanks him down, hips and torso and mouth all at once, their lips crashing as Brendon feels himself buried to the hilt, and he keeps thinking, slow, slow, but Ryan's already moving, already urging them into a rhythm, and Brendon's body responds before his mind.

"Ryan," he breathes, a question and statement and prayer all together, but Ryan just says "I know," and Brendon thinks, this, this is why I fell in love.

Ryan keeps him close with a hand on the back of his head, pulls him down so he can get his mouth on Brendon's skin, trailing sharp, sucking little marks all the way up his neck, teeth clamping down hard at random intervals, teasing with little licks over the bruised skin, and Brendon moans into it, tilting his head so Ryan can have all he wants. And Ryan apparently wants a lot, more than Brendon even realizes, but he's about to figure it out.

All it takes is Ryan murmuring "I'm not gonna break, god damn it," for Brendon to speed up his thrusts, feeling Ryan match him at every one, hips crashing, his head tipping back as Brendon pounds into him harder, testing, but Ryan never stops, never tells him no, never looks close to wanting anything but more, and finally Brendon has to pull back enough to see his face because he can't not watch this.

He doesn't know what makes him do it, shift his weight to one hand and bring his other to trail across Ryan's chest, across each nipple, up higher until his fingers are drawing little lines up and down his throat, stuttering across the swell of his Adam's apple, his breath just fucking gone at the sight, because Ryan seriously has the most gorgeous neck he's ever seen. It's happened before he realizes it, his hand stretching to mold itself gently around the curve of Ryan's throat, just touching, not pressing, but the simple positioning of it has Ryan's eyes shooting open like bullets, just as hard and just as fast, and Brendon's ready to jerk his hand away but suddenly Ryan's is right there against it, holding it in place, pressing down until Brendon can feel the muscles and tendons in his throat clenching, working, and this. Okay. He's in over his head, and this wasn't even on his list.

Ryan breathes, "I'll tell you when," presses Brendon's hand down tighter, closer, and slowly removes his own hand. It's that instant, the second the contact is lost, when Brendon finds his hand alone and in control, and the surge of power is less of a rush, more just terrifying. Ryan's not just giving him control, he's asking Brendon to take it, to take him, and this isn't some amateur round of powerplay, this is Ryan's life, literally in his hands.

The rush sets in when Ryan's eyelids flutter and he jerks his hips, reminding Brendon of the rhythm he's supposed to be keeping, and Brendon renews his thrusts, stops holding back, lets his hand sink further into the delicate curve of Ryan's throat, as slow as he can manage in case his cue comes to stop, but Ryan must trust him a fuck of a lot because there's no cue at all, and Brendon finally stops on his own, holding his hand in place without going any further, and he knows it's enough, hard enough that Ryan couldn't breathe if he tried, and part of him wants to panic, jerk away and freak the fuck out, but Ryan asked for this, is just that desperate for Brendon to know how much he trusts him.

In the space of a mere few heartbeats, the debate in his mind is rampant, and he realizes this isn't just about Ryan trusting him; this is a test of him trusting Ryan, trusting him to follow through, I'll tell you when; about trusting him to trust Brendon; about Brendon trusting himself. And that's when he sees it in Ryan's eyes, what he's waiting for; it's then he realizes he hasn't been waiting for Ryan's hand to clamp over his and stop him by force, but that Ryan's been waiting for him to see, to read his eyes and know, from that alone -- and Brendon can't even let himself think what would happen if he hadn't managed it, because Ryan trusted him enough to know he would.

The instant it hits him, his hand is gone, jerking back, and Ryan's gasping for air, choking a little on the sudden flow of oxygen, but his arms circle tight around Brendon and pull him down, flush against one another, and the moment Brendon feels Ryan's cock press into his stomach, Ryan's coming, hard and relentless between their bodies, and Brendon spills right over the edge with him, their moans caught in each other's mouths.

He wants the moment to last, to just freeze, silent and drawn-out and still, but he can't help the words spilling out as he presses the softest of kisses to Ryan's throat, dizzy from the high and slow to come down.

"Okay?" he whispers. "God, fuck, Ryan, you -- are you -- "

"Shh," Ryan whispers back. "Shh. Perfect. It's perfect. You're perfect."

His hand's at the nape of Brendon's neck, stroking the damp hairs that curl toward the bottom, the other hand flat against Brendon's back, holding him in place, and Brendon buries his face in Ryan's neck. It's hot and clammy and he can't breathe very well, but it's the only place he wants to be, feeling Ryan's slowing pulse beating against his forehead, real and safe and here.

It's awhile before he can bear to break the contact, but he finally pulls out, slow, takes Ryan's waist in his hands as he slides down his body, listening to Ryan's pleased little whimpers as he presses kisses everywhere he can reach. He keeps going further and further, not even realizing where he's going until he's there, his mouth at Ryan's hole, and he's surprised for a moment at how wet it is until he realizes, oh fucking yeah, and welcome to uncharted territory, hello.

He pulls back a moment just to let his eyes soak it up, and it's got to be one of the most fascinating things he's ever seen, his own come dripping from Ryan's ass, glistening, hot and wet, and he's not sure he could stop himself even if Ryan asked. But Ryan doesn't, just presses down until Brendon leans in and extends his tongue, lapping up as much as he can.

"Jesus, Brendon, fuck!"

Yeah, that about covers it.

Whatever weirdness comes with the taste is overshadowed tenfold by the noises Ryan's making, by Brendon's awareness of how intimate this is, how he could never do this with anyone else ever, and the rush has him surging forward, holding Ryan open with two fingers as he slips his tongue inside, cleaning the walls and sucking up as much as he can, tasting himself and Ryan together, as one, and just the thought makes his head reel.

He's slowing down, finally content he's gotten as much as he can, tonguing small, soothing circles around the rim, when Ryan starts pawing at him.

"Get up here, Jesus."

Brendon goes, collapsing beside him and moving until they're smushed together, legs tangled and foreheads touching.

"You're fucking amazing," Ryan tells him.

Brendon tries to laugh, agree, return the compliment, anything, but just kind of chokes.

Ryan grins. "Still alive, tiger?"

"I. Yeah. Think so."

Ryan shuffles closer, his lips hovering by Brendon's ear. "I know there's something else you want."

Brendon wants to say You're all I want, cheese fully intact, until he feels Ryan's hand slipping down his back and cupping his ass in no uncertain terms.

Brendon says, "Ohgodholyshit" and arches back into Ryan's hand like a cheap whore, because it's Ryan's hand.

"Can I?" Ryan whispers.

Brendon only nods, because that's about as much control as he has left over his body.

"Okay," Ryan breathes, and it sounds like it's mostly to himself. "Okay." And he's moving slowly, disentangling their bodies and easing Brendon to his hands and knees before reaching for the lube. "Do you -- how do you -- "

This position's easiest, he's heard, so he nods. "This is good. Like. I want to see you but -- I've never done this, and."

"And we kind of need you to be able to walk again this century," Ryan says, his voice smiling.

Brendon laughs, breathless and wrecked, as he folds his arms, letting his forehead rest against them. "Yeah."

"'Kay." One of Ryan's hands strokes a soft rhythm into his back, reassuring, before he uncaps the lube. It's almost like being blindfolded again, not being able to see what's coming, relying on sound and touch.

On trust.

It's easy with the first finger, and the second, and it feels amazing, Ryan simply taking his time, exploring, like he's trying to memorize Brendon inside, and his fingers are so long it's a virtually effortless search for his prostate, and once Ryan's found it, he lets his fingers brush across it on every fucking stroke until Brendon's shaking underneath him, before Ryan finally lets up.

"Don't come apart on me just yet," he smiles into the taut skin at Brendon's lower back, and Brendon shivers.

"Then stop making it feel so good, asshole."

Ryan giggles softly at the ease of their banter, the familiarity, before adding a third finger, pushing it in tight against the other two, and this is the most Brendon's ever had, but still somehow, now, it doesn't feel like enough, and he wants to push back, beg for more, anything. But he knows, from this point on, he's giving this over to Ryan, is going to let him choose his own pace, offer him the same level of trust he's given Brendon.

"Okay," Ryan finally whispers, and his own voice is starting to shake a bit. "I'm gonna -- are you -- "

"Yeah."

"Just tell me if -- " And it's agonizingly slow as he shifts his hand, pulls out slightly and twists it enough to slip his pinkie inside, and Brendon can feel himself stretching against Ryan's knuckles, and yeah, it hurts. Maybe more than he'd thought.

"Okay, stop."

Ryan does.

"Don't pull out, just. Gimme a minute."

Ryan lowers his head to rest on Brendon's back, nods against him, bringing his other hand down to curl around Brendon's cock, and. Holy hell, why hadn't Brendon thought of that?

"Fuck, Ryan, Jesus -- keep going."

"You sure?"

"Yeah... yeah."

His body's in limbo, unable to decide what to concentrate on, the pain or the pleasure, one of Ryan's hands working his cock and the other working him open, and before he can even focus, he feels Ryan's thumb tuck into his palm and the widest part of his hand is pressing against his entrance, stretching him more than he'd ever thought possible, and it feels like drowning.

"Okay," Ryan whispers, and he sounds as breathless as Brendon feels.

"Keep going."

He does, slow as fuck, swiping his thumb over the head of Brendon's cock as he finally pushes his hand in all the way, curling it slowly into a fist.

"OhgodRyanohfuckinggod."

"Is it -- "

"Good. So good. God, so fucking... Ryan."

"Shh. I've got you. Hey. 'S'okay, I've got you."

And he does, Ryan does, his chest pressed flush against Brendon's back, sweat dripping down between them, one arm snaked around and bringing him off with slow, deliberate strokes, his other hand all the way inside, moving just enough to kill the pain with blinding sparks of pleasure.

Ryan's voice is hot and liquid as he whispers, "Come for me," and it's so unexpected that Brendon just does, not thinking, not focused, just spilling into Ryan's hand as his insides clench hard around Ryan's fist. He gasps, rough and ragged, but it's Ryan who cries out, a low, keening moan that sends stars shooting behind Brendon's eyes.

Ryan allows them both a few steadying breaths before pressing a kiss between his shoulderblades. "Try to relax, okay?"

It hurts worse coming out than going in, but Brendon's still too fuzzy to process it much, barely even registering Ryan's quick whisper of "Wait here" as he disappears into the bathroom. Brendon can hear the water running and Ryan's back before he knows it, a warm washcloth in hand as he begins to clean them both off, gentle and focused.

Minutes later, when it's just them, just bodies and arms and legs and lips pressed together, Brendon finally starts to breathe.

"So," Ryan says, ducking his head to nip lightly at Brendon's chin. "You done with your soul-searching shenanigans?"

Brendon laughs, loud and clear, pulling Ryan tight against him. "I can't believe you just said shenanigans, Ross. That's so lame."

"You're avoiding."

It's mildly accusatory enough to be Ryan, and Brendon grins. "I found what I was looking for."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And even though their lips aren't touching, Brendon can feel the smile as Ryan tips his forehead until it meets Brendon's.

"I love you."

Brendon says, "I love you too," and suddenly Ryan's lyrics are back in his head.

This was no accident. Not a dream, not a fluke; just an old-fashioned love story.

Just a therapeutic chain of events.

fin.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE. ILY ALL.

P.S. By request, here is Brendon's original list (after some Wiki research, that is). ;)

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