The Fever
Title: The Fever
Author: crayola123
Rating: Very very NC-17
POV: Third.
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross. Original, huh?
Summary: “You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” he admits, and God, he is now gayer than gay. He will burn for this. He doesn’t care.
Disclaimer: I own the story. No more :(
Author Notes: This can be seen as either a standalone, or a follow-up to Last Call. Very very smutty. But hey! What can you do?
Part One: Last Call



Part Two: The Fever

The hotel looks the same as when he left about an hour ago. It’s short, and squat, and bland as can be. There’s nothing to it, nothing special. Certainly nothing romantic. It’s the dregs of the earth, the morose pile of bricks that only the desperate would choose to go to – and it’s all Brendon can afford. Ryan is under his arm, still, he’s still there, pressed against him warm and familiar – yet it’s strange, crossing the threshold into the foyer, this boy showing affection to him so blatantly. Brendon fights the urge to blush and throw it all away for the shame of saving face. He doesn’t want this, but he wants it more. The girl at reception doesn’t look up when they go past, and Brendon’s glad.

They pull apart on the stairs, Ryan using the banister on the left, Brendon the right. The floor is tiled and beige and shining, and Brendon can see his reflection in it – worried, and embarrassed, and wrong.

“Fuck,” he hisses, under his breath, and feels Ryan’s eyes on him, searching.

The door to his hotel room is looming at him with all the decisions he knows he has to make between now and 2.3 seconds away. He is shitting bricks and oh God, he doesn’t half deserve this.

“You okay?” Ryan says; his voice is muted and his expression is unsure. He laces his hand around Brendon’s forearm and attempts to pull him closer. Brendon allows himself to be folded into the other boy and hugged like a brother, and worries and doubts and wishes that he didn’t feel this way. When he looks at Ryan he sees everything he wants and more, but he’s scared, oh, so scared, about what will happen after and in-between. The silence is what scares him most, because he doesn’t know how to fill it and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s not ready, but Ryan is. And Ryan cares about him and puts up with so much shit from him, and maybe this is what they need to say sayonara to this place and welcome in their future. Maybe, somewhere, he needs this as much as Ryan does, and maybe all that will come of this will be good. Maybe.

He breathes, shaky, and smiles, false, and pecks at Ryan’s lips, because when he does that he doesn’t think. He doesn’t want to think but his fucking brain won’t shut the fuck up- and why the hell can’t he open this godforsaken door?

He manages it, eventually, Ryan smirking against his cheek, all curled around him like a cat, all limbs and warmth and smiles. Brendon isn’t sure when Ryan stopped being pissed at him and when exactly they decided that this is where they were heading. It doesn’t matter; they’re here now, and the only direction left is forward.

They step inside as one, Ryan still pressed against him, close enough to be just another layer of skin. He’s smiling, stupidly, a dazed kind of grin; it’s unnerving, Brendon thinks, the way Ryan’s adoring gaze never leaves his face. There’s pressure, now – he can feel it like a weight around his shoulders, heavy – but oh, he wants him, he does--

“Fuck,” he says for the second time, and kicks the door shut. There’s a hunger in his eyes now, a fever, burning and glowing – Ryan, Ryan, Ryan--

Ryan is currently pawing at Brendon’s jacket, damn near whining, because God, he’s just wanted this for so long now and this is just too perfect for words. Nervous Brendon seems to have politely stepped to one side, at least for now, and Ryan would like to take this moment to thank God, Jesus and his mother for that. He can smell Brendon with every breath, and fuck it – this is what he gets for being ditched all fucking day, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get his reward within thirty seconds of now.

Ryan tugs at the sleeves of Brendon’s jacket, insistent, his mouth and nose bumping to Brendon’s, breathing heavy. The material slithers away and is kicked to the floor, forgotten, and Ryan thinks that the smouldering heat in Brendon’s eyes should be made fucking illegal. His hands are running up and down the other boy’s arms because he can’t get enough, and fuck the questions and fuck their friendship – he needs this now.

“Bren,” he hisses, and catches the taller boy’s chin and brings him down for a heady kiss. He tastes good, fresh and new and exciting -- Ryan sighs against his lips and lets his hands roam, Brendon’s fingers flickering around him like moths to a flame.

Brendon’s brain has gone into whirlwind mode, because seriously, how the fuck did this happen? It’s awfully confusing, and far too complicated for this time of night, so he pushes it to one side and lets Ryan fold around him and block it all out. His heart is pounding ten to the dozen, but Ryan’s touches are soft and sure, and his kisses are determined. He tastes sweet, and his lips are wet, and the way he’s clinging on to Brendon for dear life makes him want to just hold him tight and never let go. He kisses back, with fervour, and lets his hands come to rest at the small of Ryan’s back.

It’s moving too slow, Ryan decides to himself – and when exactly did he become the one who got to decide things like that? He guesses somewhere between the ditching and the kissing, and hey, he’s down with that. Or something.

In order to shut his brain the fuck up, Ryan runs his hand up Brendon’s chest, curling it around his neck and delving deeper into his mouth. Brendon returns the gesture with even less hesitance, and Ryan thinks to himself, score, closely followed by, I’m a nerd. He smiles against Brendon’s lips and goddamn it, the bed is now calling to him like a motherfucking needle to an addict. Need you, Ryan thinks desperately, and tries to convey it with his lips and tongue.

Brendon thinks that the way Ryan smiles against his mouth is the cutest thing that there ever fucking was. Seriously, that boy could make the straightest of guys weak at the knees. Mine, is the first thought that comes to mind after this, and it hits him like a punch to the gut. It shocks him; Brendon is not the possessive sort, fuck that shit, and yet…

He pulls back first, gasping for breath, and yeah, Ryan must have gills hidden in there somewhere to kiss like that. “Bed,” is all he manages to gasp, and walks Ryan backwards toward it without losing touch once.

Ryan feels a buzz in the very pit of his stomach at the commandment, and thinks, thank God. He loves the way their hips bump together as he is manoeuvred towards the bed, and the feel of Brendon’s breath across his cheek. He’s still clinging to the other boy, point blank refusing to let go for love nor money, and pecks at his lips simply because… well, because he can’t help himself. “God,” he says it more as a sigh than anything else, and lets his fingers busy themselves with the next annoyance – clothing.

He tugs at Brendon’s shirt - a fucking asswipe of a thing that has too many buttons and clings in all the right the places. He whines and tugs some more, seriously considering just tearing the damn thing to pieces. “Fuckin’-“

Brendon laughs and covers Ryan’s hands with his own. “Don’t,” he says, forcefully, and leads Ryan’s fingers to each blood-boiling fastening, “I like this shirt. Stop being a little bitch.” He’s grinning, and oh, that’s not good, that’s not good at all.

Ryan furrows his brow and considers beating Brendon into a mushy pulp, but decides that really? He would prefer to get into bed with him. Now, please. “You’re a dick,” he says, for the second time today, and crushes their lips together hard enough to bruise. It’s all teeth and touch, and there’s a fist in Brendon’s hair and woah – is this, seriously, Ryan Ross doing this?

The kiss steals Brendon’s breath away, and he pulls back, lungs straining, mouth and nose bumping to Ryan’s cheek as he pushes him back. Their breath thrums through the air, and Brendon feels sparks up and down his spine with every twist of Ryan’s fist in his hair. “Fuck,” he hisses, and kisses him again, hips leaning into Ryan’s as he clutches at the other boy’s shoulders, “You’re a fucking nerd, Ross, seriously-“

Jesus Christ, why is Brendon trying to hold a fucking conversation with him? Now, of all times? Ryan simply makes a very complicated ‘mmrrph’ noise in reply, muffled against Brendon’s lips, now swollen, and tugs the annoying-as-fuck clothing from his shoulders. Brendon bears down on him, and suddenly there’s a mattress against the back of his knees, and woops, down he goes.

Brendon lands on top of him, and it’s all the wrong angle, an elbow in his chest and a knee bashing his hip, but he doesn’t care. He may well have a bald patch by morning from that fucking hand in his hair, but Jesus. Ryan’s kisses are like heroin, and he can’t get enough. The hands fluttering his shoulders and back feel simply divine and Ryan is way overdue to remove some goddamn clothes, thankyou.

Ryan whines as Brendon lands on him, but fuck, it just feels so fucking right to have him against him and above him and all around him, that it doesn’t even matter that right now, it’s kind of hard to breathe. He can feel the muscle in Brendon’s back and drags his fingers across the skin; he can’t get enough, he can never get enough--

Brendon’s fingers must be – God, they must be insured for several thousand dollars or something, coz Jesus, they make a far better job of removing Ryan’s t-shirt than Ryan did with Brendon’s. His skin comes alive beneath his touch, those long fingers running up his sides and those lips practically eating his face right off. And he needs him, now, he needs him so bad that it hurts--

“Brend-” Ryan breathes the word against the other boys’ chin as Brendon goes to work on his neck; biting at the skin hard enough to bruise, tongue flicking out to soothe and send shivers up Ryan’s spine. “Get your fucking pants off now, you bastard,” Ryan hisses, and he smiles and slides his hands from Brendon’s shoulders to his waist.

Brendon admires the mark on Ryan’s neck, strangely proud, and wonders for a moment when exactly he turned from a human to a fucking animal. “Yessir,” he mutters into the nape of Ryan’s neck, the collarbone beneath his lips begging to be marked to match. Later, he tells himself, and yes, Brendon Urie has officially lost his straight.

He takes Ryan’s hands in his own, small and soft, and leads them to the button and zip. It’s fucking hot, he thinks, the way that Ryan’s chest dips in as he strains for air, and the way his hands move with a mission over the fastening of his pants. His skin is on fire, and how could he have doubted this, ever?

“Fuck,” he hisses as Ryan whines and shifts so that he can shimmy the jeans over Brendon’s hips. Ryan’s fingers curl around the bone and he pauses to squeeze, delicious. Brendon is smiling, he can’t stop, and he kisses at Ryan’s neck as the smaller boy removes the tight-ass pants. They’re too fucking tight – fuck skinny jeans they can burn in hell – but Ryan manages, save but a few squawks and swears of frustration.

“Never wear those pants again,” Ryan mumbles to Brendon’s jaw, and pulls him back down on top of him to kiss his breath away.

Brendon grins against his lips and puts his hand to Ryan’s cheek to kiss him properly. “Okay,” he replies, because right now, he’ll do whatever Ryan fucking wants. “You’re not naked enough,” he notes, and that’s just too fucking hilarious for words. He sniggers against Ryan’s mouth and the smile on Ryan’s lips is cute as hell, and yep, Ryan is definitely wearing too much clothing.

He makes short work of Ryan’s jeans because hell, Ryan’s a skinny fuck, and the denim’s pretty loose as it is compared to his own. He breathes, content, once the clothes are removed to some forgotten corner; all he cares about now is this boy and this feeling and those lips.

Ryan would take this moment to point out that, erm, wow he likes not being in control, if his dick’s anything to go by. He kisses Brendon hard, because hell, it feels fucking amazing, and the rock of hips to hips makes him whine with desire. Fuckfuckfuck, he thinks to himself because he’s the quiet one, and this will not do, this will not do at all. He breathes in Brendon’s skin and sweat and clings to his sides; his hips rock and God, it feels amazing. “How’re we gonna do this?” he pants, because he has to know, and clutches at Brendon’s face with curled fingers.

Brendon thinks that um, yeah, Ryan may be cute and quiet and kind of really small -- but the best fucking thing about him would have to be those soft little sounds he makes, and the sound of his breath, heavy, and Jesus - why hasn’t he seen this side of him before? He can’t stop touching him – doesn’t want to, ever – and he never, he never even considered he’d end up like this, here, now, but… but it’s beyond perfection and he loves it.

But then Ryan’s words are trickling through his ears like treacle, thick, and he’s stiffening up because fuck, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. “I-“ he begins, and looks at Ryan as if seeing him for the first time, “I… don’t know.”

Shit, bad move, Ry. Nervous Brendon is back with a bang and Ryan bites his tongue and curses himself forever. The wild look in Brendon’s eyes tells him what’s going through his mind and fuck. Just… fuck. He reaches forwards, slow and gentle, and clutches at Brendon’s forearms and leans in close and tries to make it better. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, honest, and pecks at his lips, “Neither do I.” He smiles, sweet, and strokes a hand up Brendon’s cheek, because yes, he is a fucking girl.

Brendon takes one look at his friend and knows that he can’t say no. It’s downright impossible to turn down that face, he knows it now like he knew it the first time they met, and, well. So be it. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and his eyes catch the inflamed bruise on the side of Ryan’s neck and thinks, there’s no going back now. “I’m probably gonna fuck this up. Just so you know.”

Ryan resists the urge to slap that stupid worry out of Brendon’s stupid skull, but doesn’t, because he no longer wants this, he needs it. “Stop being such a stupid fuck,” he teases, because it’s Brendon, and he can, “and fuck me already.”

Brendon damn near chokes on his tongue at the words, but then Ryan’s kissing him and Jesus, how fucking weird is this? He snorts back a laugh, and clutches at Ryan’s shoulders and neck, and leans him back. He can do this. He can do this. I can do this.

They don’t have anything to make this work; no handy bottle of lube because, really? Who does that? Brendon bears down on Ryan and he sinks back into the mattress and lets his control ebb away from him. He sighs, comfortable and happy, and breaks their contact for but a moment to deal with the practicalities of the situation. “Uh… condom?” he asks and goddamn it, Ryan Ross does not blush. Ever. Um.

Brendon looks at him a moment as if he’s just grown an extra head before slowly shaking his head. “Uh… no. Sorry.” Nice one, Bren. You really thought this one through, didn’t you? “Is it… um… safe, without?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan mumbles in reply, nibbling his bottom lip to pieces. Brendon feels so right, and they’re so far gone, he doesn’t want to stop now. Doesn’t think he can. He kisses him again, almost absentmindedly, and the friction between them sends the slender strends of rationality out the window. “I don’t care.” And then his leg is wrapping round Brendon’s and they’re back to that kissing business, and yeah, too late.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, Brendon’s brain is warning, wrong, dangerous, don’t do it, but his dick is another matter. Every touch is shooting straight to it, and Ryan isn’t helping anything, and okay, this is it. He shuts off all thought and goes into sensation mode, and Christ, it’s heaven. “On your knees,” he breathes to Ryan’s ear, and his own voice really shouldn’t be hot… but right now it is.

Ryan shudders some, and kisses those lips once, twice more, before grunting and shifting so that he’s on his stomach. Brendon’s fingers find his hips, fumbling, and pull his underwear off with purpose. Ryan’s breath hitches as fingertips press into the bone and he’s dragged upwards slightly so that he’s on all fours. Now, please, God, I can’t wait any longer--

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Brendon reiterates as he presses down against Ryan’s bent frame – so small, so frighteningly frail-looking, “but I’ll do my best.” He wraps one arm around Ryan’s chest, pulling him to, tight, and kisses at his neck. “You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” he admits, and God, he is now gayer than gay. He will burn for this. He doesn’t care.

Ryan shudders and whines at the position, all he has to take his mind off this and him is the white expanse of sheets and duvet, and that just doesn’t help in the slightest. “Fuck,” he murmurs to himself, and then Brendon’s leaning right over him and he can feel everything. Their skin sticks and slides together, and he can feel the press of the other boy’s erection against the back of his leg. Ohh, Jesus Christ--

He shivers at the words and can a feel a blush grace his cheeks. His body thrums like a livewire with exhilaration and heat, and he needs it, needs it, needs it, his own cock un-cared for and full between his legs. Shit.

Brendon gingerly sucks on his index finger – it’s not enough fucking lube and he doesn’t know what to do – and reaches around, fumbling. This is so fucking weird it’s not even funny, and kind of gross too, so why is it making his dick twitch like a fuckin' mad thing? He’s sick, sick in the head, but here goes nothing --

He pushes it through that tight ring of muscle, and it’s all burning, burning heat. Ryan makes a very complicated noise, somewhere between a gurgle and a yelp, and Brendon can feel the throb of his muscles as they contract around his finger. It’s so fucking odd, but he moves it around a bit, slowly, pushing in deeper and hooking round, coz that’s what you’re meant to do, right?

Ryan groans and tries his hardest not to freak out at the burn and the ache and relax because he asked for this. He pushes his face into the sheets and tries to keep quiet, but he just can’t, and as Brendon pushes deeper, the sensation changes. The fingertip curls once and suddenly it’s aching, slow pleasure seeping through his pelvis like a fucking oil spill. “Oh Jesus-!” he exclaims, because it’s new and frightening, but it feels amazing at the same time. “Mmrph,” he tells the sheets, and scrunches his eyes up to nothing.

Okay, so he did something good, Brendon thinks to himself as Ryan moans into the bed. The sound goes straight to his dick and this is just taking too fucking long now. Careful, still, he pushes in the second, twisting and pressing to that nub whenever he finds it. Ryan is now mumbling a constant stream of vowels as if he has fucking rabies or something, his chest heaving alarmingly as he strains for breath. Brendon keeps his palm flat on Ryan’s chest, and he can feel the thud of Ryan’s heart mere centimetres away. It’s intimate as hell, and Brendon bends and pushes closer to kiss at his shoulders and spine, sweaty and smooth to the touch. “You’re amazing,” he acknowledges, and it’s the truth.

Ryan’s brain has officially disintegrated and gone on holiday to fucking Venus (Uranus, haha) or some shit, because he can string neither a sentence nor thought together coherently. He’s going insane, that swollen, maddening ache burning through his insides like lava, igniting every sense and every feeling ‘til he feels like he’s going to burst. He’s desperate, and moaning, and this is not Ryan Ross. Ryan Ross does not come undone like this. Ever.

Brendon thinks he’s doing okay; the reaction he’s receiving simply couldn’t be more perfect. He’s damn near shaking with need – he needs it so bad – and he pushes in the third finger with less care than he probably should. He fucks Ryan with the three – in, twist, out – until he can take it no longer. The sounds bleeding through his addled brain and shooting to his dick end as he pulls back, Ryan slipping slightly at the sudden loss of contact. He needs to fuck him before his sense and reason return, and the throbbing of his cock tells him now’s a really great time to do so.

Ryan bends more, taut as a bowstring, hovering somewhere between insane and desperate. Brendon’s hand burns at his chest, Brendon's body pushes at his until there's nothing else fucking left, and Brendon's breath blows into his ear, hot and heavy and ragged with moans. "Bren, Bren, oh my GOD--" he manages to gasp when he finds the breath. He wriggles, needing more now, please more, and it's so fucking wrong he can barely stand it. He blocks it though, blocks it all except touch, taste, sensation, how it feels to be here, swollen and needy and giving in to his desire. Something seems to explode in his brain as he does, and he moans heavily into the thick air, head twisting for some more contact. His lips bump to Brendon's chin, then his cheek, asking for a kiss, asking for more. "Bren..." And he's fucking whining, whining like a needy dog, but it doesn't matter because oh God-

Ryan sounds like he's about to fucking lose it, writhing beneath him before they've even started, and Brendon thinks that this is when Ryan is at his most beautiful. He clutches handfuls of the other boy's skin, hovering over him, covering him, possessing him, and Brendon thinks that he might just die of happiness as Ryan's whine crawls through his ears. "Shh," he hushes into the sweaty nape of Ryan's neck, and holds his body close, "Shh. It's alright..." He can feel Ryan shuddering beneath him, can almost taste the need swirling through the air, hot and obscene and impossible to ignore. He aches as Ryan twists and turns, desperate for more, and feels his cheek sting where chapped lips press there, wet and sloppy and begging. "Ryan..." He doesn't know what else to say, what to feel, because everything is snowballing too fucking fast for him to keep up. He clutches at Ryan, and keeps him pressed tight and close because it feels so fucking good, and doesn't plan to let go, ever.

"Bren, Brendon, pleeease--" Ryan's voice is a keening moan now, his body jerking between sagged and taut, his hands aching from holding him up for so long. He's itching for touch, cock hanging heavy and uncared for between his legs, elbows shaking from the strain, and if Brendon doesn't do something soon he's going to topple right the fuck over. "Brendon, need you, need you now, oh GOD-" He doesn't care that he's begging like a cheap whore because Brendon is right fucking there and the hot breath ghosting his shoulders and neck is enough to drive him wild. "Need you NOW, pleeease."

Brendon kisses at Ryan's neck and lets him beg, because it sounds too fucking hot to stop. He presses Ryan ever tighter to him with one hand, and runs the other over the pale expanse of jutting bones and sweaty skin, stretched tight over straining muscles that are threatening to give up the fight. He tongues Ryan's ear, and lets Ryan's words bleed through his ears, and knows that they'll still be ringing there tomorrow when Ryan will have gone. "Shh," he reiterates softly, even though he wants anything but, and lets Ryan slip away from him just a touch. Ryan replies with a squirm and a hiss, and Brendon knows that he's taking longer than he should. He just...he just doesn't want to fuck this up... he can’t... "Calm the fuck down, Ryan, shit."

Ryan merely shakes his head because that's fucking impossible for him right now, not with Brendon's heart thudding in his ears and Brendon's cock pressed hard to the back of his thigh. He needs this, needs this now, and he wishes that Brendon would stop playing games and just do it. "Can't," he growls simply, hair plastered to his forehead and wisping up at the back, "Can't. Bren-"

Brendon mouths more at the skin all around Ryan's neck and shoulders and feels the boil in his stomach reach breaking point. He will never get tired of the way Ryan sounds when he moans his name, will never get fucking tired of Ryan, he decides. "You're like a fucking drug," he scolds into the shell of Ryan's ear, and can taste the sweat and desperation on his tongue. "Fucking addictive." And it is a bad thing, he thinks to himself, as he lets his hands slide to Ryan's waist, lets his lower half move more into position, because Brendon doesn't think that there's a rehab centre for Ryan-addiction, meaning that Brendon's pretty much screwed. He hisses at the realization, and bites down on Ryan's shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to elicit another whine, high-pitched and cloying. It pounds through his head and makes all his muscles ache, and suddenly he can't hold off a moment longer. "Are you ready?"

"I'm sorry-" Ryan whimpers, and pushes back and up into all the little touches that are teasing him. He doesn't think he can last another second without Brendon inside him, and he balls up his fists and inhales in ragged gasps, and prays for Brendon to stop screwing with his head, for once in your fucking life. "Fuck, Brendon, will you just- Please-!" He hates the position Brendon has put him in, not being able to see his face, or grab his hands; he has no control and he fucking loves it, but right now he really wishes that he didn't; it's not helping the situation in the slightest. The movement of Brendon's hips as he shifts somewhere behind him, and the sudden chill of space between their bodies as Brendon gets in position makes his heart speed up about a gazillion points, so fucking desperate it's not even funny. "You suck," he gasps shrilly, head bent and eyes squinting as sweat-soaked curls of his own fucking hair fall in the way. "I'm fuckin' dying here."

Brendon takes that as a yes, and presses a thumb to each of Ryan's hipbones, squeezing just a little in a way that definitely says, mine. He presses to, feeling the twitch of Ryan's asshole, the whine that racks Ryan's body vibrating in his ears. "Don't die," he hisses into the curve of Ryan's back, nudging just the head of his swollen cock at the tight ring of muscles, clenching with anticipation. "I'm not done with you yet." And that's just about the only warning Ryan gets before he's pushing in, all the way. He gasps at the heat and the tightness, and the way Ryan howls and arches up like a wave out of water.

Ryan's ass burns with three different types of hurt, and his fingers rip shreds in the sheets. Ithurtsithurtsithurts is soon replaced by ohmyGOD, as Brendon pulls Ryan back to him, close, tight, no space between them, and delivers a rock of his hips that sends Ryan's mind all asunder. "Oh my fucking GOD, Bren-!"

Brendon moans, Ryan twitching like a mad thing beneath him, and this, this is perfection, right here, right now. Ryan is salty and sweaty to the touch and they move together in synchrony. There is no-one here to stop them and Brendon thinks that even if there was, he wouldn't. Couldn't. It feels too good and it feels too right and Brendon knows now that he has been missing out on this, on Ryan, for too fucking long. "Fuck-"

Ryan's skin is burning under Brendon's hands, pressed tight to him. His breathing is desperate and ragged and he's not going to last, this isn't going to last, it never will. He tries to imprint it all in his brain in case...just in case... but he can't. It's moving too fast and his brain is chugging slowly into the direction of completely useless anyway, so he's fucked before he can even really try. "Brennn," he whines, because he needs it, needs it now, the press of Brendon to him completely overpowering everything else. They are joined, as one, and nothing has ever felt better.

Brendon loves the way his name sounds when Ryan says it, and he grunts and thrusts into the other boy's body harder, his own breath laboured and his guts twisted in two. The growing ache in his pelvis is warning him that it's not long now, so he ducks his head and fucks Ryan for all he's worth because who knows, this could be the first and last time. After this it could be over.

It's never over.

Ryan's fingers curl into the bedlinen, and he bites his lip, holding back as best he can. It's no use, and he knows it, and he gasps harder and moans and silently begs Brendon to help him on his way. The silent plea is almost instantly answered and suddenly there is a hand helping his weeping prick with slick, brisk strokes. The light from the street outside flicker on their bodies, dousing them in an orange glow, and Ryan grunts and presses his head to the mattress. Now, he thinks. Say it now. But he doesn't know what to say and he doesn't know how he feels and oh fuck, there he goes-

Ryan topples, short-circuiting a little of the intimacy, but sending the pleasure levels rocketing skywards. Brendon moves with him fluidly and with no interruption in the pace or intensity, and soon every drive is hitting Ryan's prostate dead on. The sound melting like lava from Ryan's tongue would put anyone else to shame, obscene and rude and utterly filthy, and if Brendon needed even the slightest encouragement to give Ryan the best fuck of his goddamn life, they would more than cover it. Ryan pants into the sheets surrounding him and grips at the mattress, throat billowing with moan after moan, and suddenly it's too much. "OhmyGod, Brendon," he gasps as his cock shudders and twitches in his friend’s palm, and they both know what that means.

"I know," Brendon hushes, tongue to Ryan's ear, and squeezes his hand, delighting in the gasps and shudders it results in, "It's okay, Ryan. I know." And he takes him by the hips, and steadies the thundering of his heart, and watches Ryan's bony spine curve and the noises bleeding through the air rise in volume. He takes it all in, savours it, lets it's taste linger on his tongue... and then he merely takes Ryan. He takes him and he fucks him to within an inch of his fucking life and tries to tell him through all his actions and all his movements all the things he'll never be able to say. And it's worth it, all the doubts and the questions and the head-fucking responsibilities, as Ryan arches beautifully beneath him, and cries out his ecstasy to the ceiling. Brendon breathes against sweaty skin and savours every shudder, every twitch of boiling heat around his cock, every desperate intake of breath. And finally, he lets go, too. And nothing has ever felt better.

The only sound for a long, heavy moment is their breathing, hoarse and ragged as if each has just completed a marathon. Slowly, Brendon pulls himself upright with a groan, and pulls out. He heaves himself to one side, hand sliding up Ryan's sticky, aching side. "Christ," he hisses, and draws a hand over his face to rub the sweat and hair from his eyes.

Ryan raises his head slightly, his body thrumming with such an intense tiredness that it would scare him if he had the energy to properly think about it. He whimpers a little, and shifts, and glances sideways at Brendon, sat now to his left, bent over and gleaming. He doesn't have any words to say, doesn't think there's anything to say.

Oh fuck, this is the part he hates. Brendon looks back at Ryan, looking half-drowned and half-dead and fucking stunning. "We should do this again sometime," he mumbles, too exhausted to think what that means for him or them. He's smiling.

Ryan's heavy breath hitches a moment, before he breaks out into a heady grin. "Anytime you want," he replies, before leaning his forehead back into the pillows, sated, drained and on top of the world.


Enjoy This Drive.