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Fic: Stay a Long Time
I spent my weekend reading picture books. There was a lot of thinking about picture books, and writing about picture books, and studying picture books. I found some new favorites! I formed some opinions! I read some more picture books! I found some of them very touching!
And then this happened.
Brendon/Ryan. 1,418 words.
Non-explicit. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iuliamentis and strangecobwebs for aiding and abetting!
Brendon loved Ryan, and Ryan loved Brendon back.
Stay a Long Time
Brendon loved Ryan, and Ryan loved Brendon back. Brendon spent months thinking about it, wondering and planning and agonizing, but in the end it was simple. One night when they were in a hotel, Brendon paused in the bathroom doorway--heading in to take his shower, as Ryan was heading out--and pressed his mouth to Ryan's.
After a moment, Ryan said, "Oh."
His face looked naked, pink-cheeked and freshly-scrubbed. His hair was still wet. Ryan's eyes were deep and brown, but no wider than usual. Ryan wasn't shocked.
"I mean it," Brendon said.
Ryan nodded. His lips were pinker than his cheeks, wetter than his hair. "I know. And you'll still mean it after you take a shower."
From the way Ryan didn't wrinkle his nose, or point out how badly Brendon needed the shower, Brendon knew Ryan meant it too.
***
It was simple, but simple wasn’t the same as easy. Love had been almost easy, when it was just love--but from the moment Brendon dropped his towel and crawled into Ryan's bed in that hotel room, this was more than just something they felt. This was something they were doing, even if they only did it alone and in the dark, where no one else could see. Where they couldn't even see themselves, most of the time.
Brendon and Ryan held hands sometimes where anyone could see, but only in exactly the way they used to. In front of Spencer and Brent, they played out the same old flirtations in the same practiced ways they always had. It was familiar, but it wasn't easy. It was harder to play to an audience of two than an audience of two thousand, even if some of the lines were the same.
When Brendon talked to his mother on the phone, he mentioned Ryan exactly as much as he mentioned Spencer (both of them more than he mentioned Brent) just like he always had. He kept count sometimes, making tick marks with a pencil on the top of his bunk. One for Spencer, one for Ryan, two for Spencer, two for Ryan, one for Brent...
When Ryan talked to his father on the phone, Brendon was careful to be somewhere else.
When Ryan dated a girl, Brendon dated one too.
***
For a while, Brendon waited to see if Ryan would say that he loved Brendon--even though Brendon knew he did--because saying it seemed important. It was true all the time, in the light and in the dark, in front of everyone and when even they couldn't see what they were doing. It wasn't always obvious, but it was true, and it seemed like the kind of thing someone should say, just to make sure it was clear.
It took Brendon a while to realize that Ryan wouldn't say it, because even if Ryan was the one who came up with words, Brendon was the one who spoke them. Ryan was always waiting for something to reply to. Ryan had been brought up to speak when he was spoken to.
They weren't very good words. Short, clichéd. They didn't encompass either the simplicity or the difficulty of this thing that Brendon and Ryan felt and did. Brendon wasn't a writer. His words were almost never the right ones.
Ryan's words were always righter than Brendon could fathom. Ryan's words rolled off Brendon's tongue like that was what it was there for (that and one or two other things, but mostly that). Brendon's words might be the wrong ones, they might be too little or too much or not what Ryan wanted. Brendon wasn't sure, and there was no way to be sure without trying.
One night--not even a well-chosen night, just sitting in the back lounge playing video games while Spencer took a nap and Brent talked on the phone in his bunk--Brendon looked sideways at Ryan's face, the twist of his mouth that showed he was concentrating. His eyes were narrowed and dark as he focused on the game.
Brendon said, "I love you."
Ryan frowned and paused the game. His eyes slid past Brendon, to the open door, toward Spencer and Brent and Zack and the driver, and then came back and met Brendon's gaze. He seemed to be concentrating just as hard on Brendon as he had on the TV screen. There was enough light to see by, enough for them to see each other and for anyone else to see them, but they were alone enough.
"I love you, too."
Brendon smiled and scooted a little closer to Ryan. He'd said the right thing after all.
Ryan smiled too, and unpaused to the game, and the night bumped along like always, rolling down the dark road in the pool of the TV's light.
***
Brendon waited a while longer, because the next thing he wanted to say wasn't as simple. The next thing was riskier; he didn't know if Ryan would believe him, let alone feel the same. Brendon waited and waited and waited, until another night in another hotel. He and Ryan were in bed, alone together, drifting toward sleep at last.
The lights were off, and the covers were pulled high enough to hide them. They couldn't see one another, but there was nothing they needed to see. They lay close together, knees and feet bumping every time either of them moved, their hands resting against bare skin.
Brendon waited until only their breath moved between them. He waited until even Ryan's breathing was small and slow, until Ryan might be asleep. That made it easier, the slender chance.
Brendon spread his fingers across Ryan's ribs and felt them rise and fall under the weight of his hand, Ryan's breathing steady and safe in his grasp.
"It's not because I'm afraid," Brendon said.
Under his hand, Ryan's breath stopped. Brendon's fingers tightened, fitting into the soft spaces between Ryan's ribs--as though he could keep Ryan from taking his next breath, saying his next words.
But Ryan had his own hands to use. His touch glanced over Brendon's elbow and shoulder, palm settling against Brendon's cheek.
"I know."
Brendon breathed in sharply and realized he'd stopped. He felt Ryan breathe again too, quick jumps under his hand. Brendon felt light, free of the words he didn't have to hold back, and he laughed a little. "I mean, I'm scared. But that's not why."
Ryan's thumb rubbed at the corner of Brendon's mouth, digging into his smile like it was somewhere Ryan wanted to be. Brendon could hear Ryan smiling too, when he spoke. "No, I know. Me too. But that’s not why."
Brendon did things that scared him all the time: He'd said I love you, he'd said this. He'd let Ryan fuck him for the first time, and (scarier) he'd fucked Ryan for the first time. He waited every day for someone to see what was right in front of them, to look at him and Ryan and see. He waited every day to hear what his parents would say about their son who turned his back on Heavenly Father for this, for Ryan.
And Brendon didn't even want to think of the scary things Ryan did--Heavenly Father might forgive, someday. Brendon didn't think Ryan's father would.
"I think you're brave, though," Ryan said, while Brendon couldn't think of anything but being scared. "Being brave isn't about not being scared. It's about being scared and doing it anyway."
Ryan punctuated the words with a kiss, quick and breathless. Brave words. Brave kiss.
Brendon raised his hands to Ryan's cheek, pushing him back just enough to get his own words out, breathed against Ryan's lips. "I think you're the bravest person I know."
Ryan tried to kiss him for that at the same moment Brendon tried to finish with a kiss, and their teeth clicked together hard, and the kiss was rougher than Brendon meant it to be. Ryan didn't seem to mind.
But they were tired, and it was late and dark and quiet, and the kiss slowed and stilled, until nothing moved between their mouths but their breath.
"We can just stay, then," Brendon said softly. "We can stay just like this."
It was a question, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to ask it like one--but Ryan nodded his answer, and scooted closer to Brendon, under the blankets in the dark.
"Just like this," Ryan murmured. "We can be brave together."
And then this happened.
Brendon/Ryan. 1,418 words.
Non-explicit. Thanks to
iuliamentis and strangecobwebs for aiding and abetting!Brendon loved Ryan, and Ryan loved Brendon back.
Stay a Long Time
Brendon loved Ryan, and Ryan loved Brendon back. Brendon spent months thinking about it, wondering and planning and agonizing, but in the end it was simple. One night when they were in a hotel, Brendon paused in the bathroom doorway--heading in to take his shower, as Ryan was heading out--and pressed his mouth to Ryan's.
After a moment, Ryan said, "Oh."
His face looked naked, pink-cheeked and freshly-scrubbed. His hair was still wet. Ryan's eyes were deep and brown, but no wider than usual. Ryan wasn't shocked.
"I mean it," Brendon said.
Ryan nodded. His lips were pinker than his cheeks, wetter than his hair. "I know. And you'll still mean it after you take a shower."
From the way Ryan didn't wrinkle his nose, or point out how badly Brendon needed the shower, Brendon knew Ryan meant it too.
***
It was simple, but simple wasn’t the same as easy. Love had been almost easy, when it was just love--but from the moment Brendon dropped his towel and crawled into Ryan's bed in that hotel room, this was more than just something they felt. This was something they were doing, even if they only did it alone and in the dark, where no one else could see. Where they couldn't even see themselves, most of the time.
Brendon and Ryan held hands sometimes where anyone could see, but only in exactly the way they used to. In front of Spencer and Brent, they played out the same old flirtations in the same practiced ways they always had. It was familiar, but it wasn't easy. It was harder to play to an audience of two than an audience of two thousand, even if some of the lines were the same.
When Brendon talked to his mother on the phone, he mentioned Ryan exactly as much as he mentioned Spencer (both of them more than he mentioned Brent) just like he always had. He kept count sometimes, making tick marks with a pencil on the top of his bunk. One for Spencer, one for Ryan, two for Spencer, two for Ryan, one for Brent...
When Ryan talked to his father on the phone, Brendon was careful to be somewhere else.
When Ryan dated a girl, Brendon dated one too.
***
For a while, Brendon waited to see if Ryan would say that he loved Brendon--even though Brendon knew he did--because saying it seemed important. It was true all the time, in the light and in the dark, in front of everyone and when even they couldn't see what they were doing. It wasn't always obvious, but it was true, and it seemed like the kind of thing someone should say, just to make sure it was clear.
It took Brendon a while to realize that Ryan wouldn't say it, because even if Ryan was the one who came up with words, Brendon was the one who spoke them. Ryan was always waiting for something to reply to. Ryan had been brought up to speak when he was spoken to.
They weren't very good words. Short, clichéd. They didn't encompass either the simplicity or the difficulty of this thing that Brendon and Ryan felt and did. Brendon wasn't a writer. His words were almost never the right ones.
Ryan's words were always righter than Brendon could fathom. Ryan's words rolled off Brendon's tongue like that was what it was there for (that and one or two other things, but mostly that). Brendon's words might be the wrong ones, they might be too little or too much or not what Ryan wanted. Brendon wasn't sure, and there was no way to be sure without trying.
One night--not even a well-chosen night, just sitting in the back lounge playing video games while Spencer took a nap and Brent talked on the phone in his bunk--Brendon looked sideways at Ryan's face, the twist of his mouth that showed he was concentrating. His eyes were narrowed and dark as he focused on the game.
Brendon said, "I love you."
Ryan frowned and paused the game. His eyes slid past Brendon, to the open door, toward Spencer and Brent and Zack and the driver, and then came back and met Brendon's gaze. He seemed to be concentrating just as hard on Brendon as he had on the TV screen. There was enough light to see by, enough for them to see each other and for anyone else to see them, but they were alone enough.
"I love you, too."
Brendon smiled and scooted a little closer to Ryan. He'd said the right thing after all.
Ryan smiled too, and unpaused to the game, and the night bumped along like always, rolling down the dark road in the pool of the TV's light.
***
Brendon waited a while longer, because the next thing he wanted to say wasn't as simple. The next thing was riskier; he didn't know if Ryan would believe him, let alone feel the same. Brendon waited and waited and waited, until another night in another hotel. He and Ryan were in bed, alone together, drifting toward sleep at last.
The lights were off, and the covers were pulled high enough to hide them. They couldn't see one another, but there was nothing they needed to see. They lay close together, knees and feet bumping every time either of them moved, their hands resting against bare skin.
Brendon waited until only their breath moved between them. He waited until even Ryan's breathing was small and slow, until Ryan might be asleep. That made it easier, the slender chance.
Brendon spread his fingers across Ryan's ribs and felt them rise and fall under the weight of his hand, Ryan's breathing steady and safe in his grasp.
"It's not because I'm afraid," Brendon said.
Under his hand, Ryan's breath stopped. Brendon's fingers tightened, fitting into the soft spaces between Ryan's ribs--as though he could keep Ryan from taking his next breath, saying his next words.
But Ryan had his own hands to use. His touch glanced over Brendon's elbow and shoulder, palm settling against Brendon's cheek.
"I know."
Brendon breathed in sharply and realized he'd stopped. He felt Ryan breathe again too, quick jumps under his hand. Brendon felt light, free of the words he didn't have to hold back, and he laughed a little. "I mean, I'm scared. But that's not why."
Ryan's thumb rubbed at the corner of Brendon's mouth, digging into his smile like it was somewhere Ryan wanted to be. Brendon could hear Ryan smiling too, when he spoke. "No, I know. Me too. But that’s not why."
Brendon did things that scared him all the time: He'd said I love you, he'd said this. He'd let Ryan fuck him for the first time, and (scarier) he'd fucked Ryan for the first time. He waited every day for someone to see what was right in front of them, to look at him and Ryan and see. He waited every day to hear what his parents would say about their son who turned his back on Heavenly Father for this, for Ryan.
And Brendon didn't even want to think of the scary things Ryan did--Heavenly Father might forgive, someday. Brendon didn't think Ryan's father would.
"I think you're brave, though," Ryan said, while Brendon couldn't think of anything but being scared. "Being brave isn't about not being scared. It's about being scared and doing it anyway."
Ryan punctuated the words with a kiss, quick and breathless. Brave words. Brave kiss.
Brendon raised his hands to Ryan's cheek, pushing him back just enough to get his own words out, breathed against Ryan's lips. "I think you're the bravest person I know."
Ryan tried to kiss him for that at the same moment Brendon tried to finish with a kiss, and their teeth clicked together hard, and the kiss was rougher than Brendon meant it to be. Ryan didn't seem to mind.
But they were tired, and it was late and dark and quiet, and the kiss slowed and stilled, until nothing moved between their mouths but their breath.
"We can just stay, then," Brendon said softly. "We can stay just like this."
It was a question, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to ask it like one--but Ryan nodded his answer, and scooted closer to Brendon, under the blankets in the dark.
"Just like this," Ryan murmured. "We can be brave together."