Counting Down The Days 'Til You're Walking
Through My Door
Brendon first met Ryan on a Tuesday. He had a pop quiz in his last period
U.S. History class, and the teacher only gave them out on Tuesdays. It kind of
negated the “pop” part, but Brendon assumed that was because Mr. Markinson
realized the whole class would fail if they didn’t know they had to actually do
their homework on Monday nights. Anyway, the point was it was a Tuesday.
Brent invited him over during Biology and when Brendon arrived, he introduced
him to his “two friends in this band, just something we’re messing around with
or whatever.” One was a serious looking guy in a black t-shirt and jeans, and
the other a lanky girl with dark, shoulder-length hair, wearing a Blink 182
shirt and a newsboy cap covering her eyes.
“This is Spencer and Ryan,” Brent said, pointing to each person in turn.
Brendon had enough time to wonder, what kind of name is Ryan for a –
before she looked up and, wow, totally not a girl after all.
Brendon’s first thought was whoops, followed closely by I’m so glad I
didn’t say that out loud, and then, after he had actually looked at him,
oh, *god.*
He liked to refer to that day, in his more emo moments, as Black Tuesday.
***
They met Pete Wentz on a Friday, and Ryan changed his clothes three times
before deciding on something to wear. Brendon hated Pete immediately. Well,
hated in that more abstract way where he really wanted to be him and also
kind of owed him his entire life.
***
They met Patrick the following Sunday, and yeah, okay, that was just awesome.
***
“What’s up with Ryan?”
“Huh?” Brendon said, blinking out of his GTO haze and glancing at Brent.
“Ryan,” Brent repeated. “He seems kind of depressed.”
“Wow, that’s so unlike him,” Brendon answered as he concentrated on killing two
angry drug lords and a pimp.
“Shut up, asshole,” Brent laughed, punching him in the arm and making him miss
his next shot. “I mean more so than usual, which is, you know, saying
something.”
It was, actually. Brendon paused the game and turned to Brent, interest piqued.
“Did you ask Spencer?”
“Yeah, but he’s being all…” Brent waved his hand in the air as he searched for
the right words, “Spencer about it.”
“I’ll never understand why you don’t write our lyrics,” Brendon said absently,
the sarcasm coming out on autopilot as he considered that. “His dad?”
Brent frowned. “I don’t think so. I mean, we’d know if he was in the
hospital again, right?”
“Probably,” Brendon said. He tossed Brent the controller and pushed off the
couch. “Play for me. I’ll be back.”
Brendon tapped his knuckles on their bedroom door before opening it. He’d
noticed Spencer and Ryan go in together what felt like twenty minutes ago, but
what his watch told him was actually five hours. He was surprised, but not
overly so, having experienced worse PS2-induced bouts of missing time in the
past.
(He swore, though no one would believe him, that once during winter break he
started playing at around noon on a Monday and when he looked up again it was
still noon, except it was also Wednesday. Whatever, though. Brendon
totally beat his high score in Burnout 3 during that session, so he knew the
truth.)
Inside the bedroom, Ryan sat tucked into the corner of his bunk, legs pulled up
under his chin. His eyes were rimmed red and even his hair looked more desolate
than usual. Spencer was perched on top of their cluttered desk, his feet resting
on the battered leather chair and his hands paused mid-gesture as he turned to
look at Brendon.
“Hey,” Brendon tried cautiously.
“Hey,” Spencer replied, arms dropping to his sides.
“So Brent’s pretty worried,” Brendon said.
Spencer sighed. “Come in.”
Brendon closed the door behind him with a quiet snick. He glanced over at
Ryan, who had his cheek pressed against one bony knee, and then back at Spencer.
“What…?”
“Not right now,” Spencer interrupted.
“Okay, okay,” he said, then after a moment, “Okay. Right.” He disregarded
Spencer’s warning look and walked across the room to climb onto Ryan’s bed and
snuggle close, curling an arm around his shoulders.
Spencer opened his mouth, probably to curse a pox upon Brendon’s family or
something, when Ryan spoke up for the first time, voice rough.
“It’s fine, Spence.” Ryan let out a shuddery breath and then lifted his head off
of his own knee to lay it gently against Brendon’s shoulder.
“Okay,” Brendon said again, and held on.
***
Later that night after they had all gone to sleep with nothing to show for the
day but tense silence and about a million unanswered questions, Brendon woke up
to someone shaking his shoulder.
“Wha…Ryan?” he asked, his eyes struggling to focus in the dark.
“Move over,” Ryan said, pushing the same shoulder for emphasis.
Brendon scooted as far back as he could on his tiny twin bed and lifted the
comforter. Ryan crawled in, bending his long limbs to fit around Brendon’s own.
“Here,” Brendon whispered, offering Ryan one of his pillows.
“Thanks,” Ryan said, just as quietly.
They laid facing each other, and once Brendon’s eyes adjusted, he could see how
worn out Ryan looked.
(Almost two weeks later, on a Thursday afternoon, Ryan would hand him a rough
version of what would eventually become “Lying…” By then, Brendon would have
already pieced together what had happened through the snippets of information
Ryan and Spencer offered and his own cunning use of subterfuge: mainly
eavesdropping on as many conversations as he could and stalking Ryan’s
LiveJournal. By then, too, he would have had time to get over the initial shock
- holy shit, Ryan’s dating someone? – and ruthlessly quash the surge of
selfish pleasure - not anymore he isn’t - to accept the sheets of music
with little outward reaction.)
At that moment, though, Brendon was in the dark, literally and figuratively, and
could only ask, “How are you?”
“Tell me a story, Brendon,” Ryan said.
Brendon’s brain froze, too sleep deprived and acutely aware of Ryan’s presence
to comprehend the words. “Um…huh?”
“Tell me a story,” he said again, and shifted so that his head was against
Brendon’s collarbone.
“Brent and Spencer are asleep.” He tried, but he couldn’t stop himself from
placing a hand against the warm skin on the back of Ryan’s neck.
“So tell it softly,” Ryan answered.
Brendon thought about it for minute and then asked, “What kind of story?”
“A fairy tale,” Ryan said.
“A fairy tale, hmmm…” Well, if Brendon was nothing else, he was a master
bullshitter. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived two boys…”
“What were their names?”
“Ah, their names, good question,” Brendon said. “I’m glad you’re paying
attention. Their names were…Ryan and Brendon.”
Ryan huffed a laugh against his throat and Brendon felt the tickle of Ryan’s
eyelashes when they fluttered closed. “So what happened to them?”
“As I was saying,” Brendon whispered primly, “In a land far, far away, lived two
boys named Ryan and Brendon. They were both…dukes and much beloved
throughout the countryside…” Brendon kept talking, weaving a tale about Sir
Spencer the gallant knight and Brent, the street-smart merchant with the heart
of gold, until his throat started to burn. He took a break to catch his breath
and watch the slow rise and fall of Ryan’s back under his hand. “Ryan?”
“I’m listening,” came the soft reply, the only thing Ryan had said in what felt
like hours. “Keep going.”
Brendon cleared his throat, ignored the burn, and continued, “Well, obviously
King Peter was angry when he realized that someone had stolen his favorite
hoodie – the one emblazoned with the national seal of the bartskull, no less -
so he called Prince Patrick and the fearsome Clandestine warriors to find the
culprit and have him punished…”
***
The next day, Brendon was sure he had been quiet enough the night before until
breakfast when Spencer kept shooting him death glares. Spencer was just…look,
Brendon loved the guy, he did. He was a great musician and great friend, and the
way he tried to protect Ryan was sweet, even admirable – most of the time. But
like, if this whole rock star thing didn’t pan out, Brendon thought Spencer
could get a job as a mafia kingpin or ninja assassin, no problem, that’s how
potent the death glare was.
***
It was some time during the back half of the Nintendo Fusion Tour and,
ironically, a Sunday when Brendon walked into the Fall Out Boy dressing room and
saw Pete on his knees in front of Patrick. When Brendon told Ryan about it
(running backstage to find him and gossip like a little girl), he
discovered he had apparently had some misconceptions about Pete Wentz,
particularly in regards to the epic romance between him and his lead singer.
After that, Brendon declared a truce between him and Pete and ended their
year-long feud. Pete didn’t seem to notice.
***
When Ryan’s father died, he didn’t say anything. Literally, he didn’t speak for
two days, not even to Spencer. Brendon, who found talking cathartic, felt
twitchy and out of sorts in the silence. Every word spoke by the three of them
was whispered or muttered under breath.
It was the most painstakingly horrible forty-eight hours of his life.
He didn’t let himself think about it too closely when he slipped into Ryan’s
bunk the night before they were going to fly out to Vegas. Once inside and faced
with Ryan’s blank, miserable face, Brendon realized he might have made a
mistake.
“Um…” he said, at a loss. Ryan stared at him. “You don’t have to say anything.
Never mind, it was stupid, I’m gonna – ”
Ryan laid a hand on his chest, stilling him. “No, stay,” he said. After the
radio silence of the last two days, the words popped like gunfire.
“Yeah?” Brendon asked. He placed a tentative hand on Ryan’s hip and felt
gratified when Ryan shifted into the touch. “Yeah, okay, so. When we last left
our heroes, they were banding together a group of loveable misfits to save
Ramenville from the nefarious schemes of Lex Luthor and the Joker.”
***
Brendon met Rebecca at Lollapalooza in August. She drove from Wisconsin to
Chicago for the weekend to see the Chili Peppers, Flaming Lips and Sonic Youth,
but especially to see
Sleater-Kinney’s second to last show before their planned break up. She had
no idea who Brendon was when he introduced himself, which was simultaneously
awesome and a huge blow to his ego.
They’d exchanged cell phone numbers and wet kisses outside the venue, and that
fall when they started the Nothing Rhymes with Circus Tour she took a semester
off to join them.
She had natural red hair and a great laugh and these breasts that…god.
Brendon loved her breasts. Like, really, really loved them. He loved cupping
them in both hands and running his thumbs in slow, steady circles around her
nipples, adding the slight scratch of a nail every few turns, until her breath
was heaving and her eyes were wide and desperate. Occasionally, she’d humor him
and let him jack off between them, let him come all over her chest. Those were
the best times.
It gave him hope because if it turned out he was a breast man that meant it
wasn’t all about Ryan, right? That it wouldn’t always be about him.
She told the dirtiest jokes and could quote the same stupid movies that he
loved, and he felt like a complete and total douche bag about 75% of the time he
was around her. He should have been happy. He should have been delirious
with it, because this girl was awesome.
He shouldn’t have been imagining long, rough fingers when she touched him or
sharp angles where there were only soft curves.
He definitely shouldn’t have shied way from going down on her, because god knew
she did it for him enough. He fingered her instead, and he didn’t think that she
minded or even noticed, because Brendon taught himself to be really good at it.
Sometimes, when he was playing the keyboards, he’d catch her watching his hands
move, a dark flush creeping across her skin.
He had learned how to get her off fast and hard when there wasn’t time, or to
stretch it out, make it last, make her crazy for it when there was.
Every push of his fingers into her felt like an apology, every careful nudge of
her clit and every kiss pressed to the inside of her thighs expressed all the
things he should have said, but didn’t.
***
The day they broke up was a stormy, miserable Monday on the tail-end of
November, and they were in Denver. Aside from the weather conditions, it was
probably the smoothest break-up in the history of the human species. One minute
they were playing Halo 2 and the next, she paused the game and looked at him,
her eyes serious.
“I’m going home,” she said.
Brendon’s breath caught for a second before he let it all out in a rush and
said, “Okay.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?
“You’re breaking up with me.”
“Yes,” she said, and then added, “I’m sorry.”
“Sure,” he said, easily enough, and kissed her.
They fucked on the couch, and when Brendon dipped his fingers inside her
panties, he made it viciously slow, made her pant and twist until his whole hand
and the cushion under them were slick with her juices. She let him rub off on
her without complaint and wrapped her small hand around his dick, urging him on.
Afterwards, they laid naked together, legs tangled, and she said, “I’m still
leaving.”
“I know. I’ll miss you.” It was true.
“You were a shitty boyfriend,” she said.
Brendon laughed sadly and said, “Yeah, I know.”
***
The show sucked that night. Really, hardcore sucked. Brendon was like dead
weight up there. Ryan and Jon tried to pick up his slack, but it was no use. He
stepped off the stage feeling worse than when he stepped onto it.
***
When Ryan slid into his bunk, he wasn’t as surprised as he probably should have
been.
“I want to sleep, Ross,” he complained, turning away.
“Then sleep, Urie,” Ryan countered, wrapping an arm around Brendon’s waist. His
hand brushed the bare skin of Brendon’s stomach and Brendon allowed himself the
luxury of leaning into the touch. “I’m going to tell you a story.”
“The continuing adventures of Ryan and Brendon?” Brendon asked, smiling despite
himself.
“Yes,” Ryan said. “Do you remember where we left off?”
“It was a while ago,” Brendon felt compelled to point out.
“True, but we didn’t talk about Jon, the charismatic head of Prince William’s
court.”
“I can’t believe I left that out.”
“You were young and didn’t know any better. You also left out the story about
when some local scoundrel snuck into the palace, stole King Peter’s nude
self-portraits and displayed them in the center of the village for all the
townspeople to see.”
Brendon snickered and felt Ryan’s answering grin pressed between his shoulder
blades.
“How did Prince Patrick feel about that?”
“He thought it was hilarious, of course.” Ryan kept speaking and Brendon let his
low, soothing monotone lull him into sleep.
***
“Becky broke up with me,” he said, leaning his head on Jon’s shoulder. “Turns
out I kind of suck.”
“Her loss,” Jon said after a second.
Brendon barked a short laugh. “It’s really not.”
***
The next few days were like some form of sexy, frustrating Chinese water
torture. Ryan would slip into his bed after everyone was asleep and he would be
right there, touching Brendon with his long fingers and smelling
like himself and whispering in his ear. Brendon started jerking off twice in the
shower every morning, even though it made Spencer pound on the door for him to
hurry his ass up.
***
Friday morning, Brendon woke up with Ryan’s body draped over his; Ryan’s bony
hips digging into his own, Ryan’s arm snug around his waist, Ryan’s leg wedged
between both of his. It was distressingly pleasant.
“Ry…Ryan,” he whispered, and then when there was no answer, “Ryan, you have to
get up.”
It was still early…probably…hopefully. There was a chance, anyway, that Spencer
was still asleep.
***
He wasn’t asleep. Brendon spent several minutes in his bunk after Ryan left
planning the best course of action, deciding at last to play it as cool as
possible. After all, he’d been dumped. Even if he had deserved it (and
god, he totally had), he liked Rebecca and being dumped sucked. No one
else would watch The Goonies with him or do the Diane Court lines from
Say Anything to his Lloyd Dobbler. Plus…breasts. Not to be a pig about it or
anything, but he would really miss her breasts.
The point being, Spencer would most likely spare him from the third degree and
let this one go.
Nodding to himself, and happy with his conclusions, he left his bunk and headed
to the front of the bus to forage for some breakfast-type food. The other guys
were already there, piled onto one couch and watching T.V.
“Hey,” Brendon said, rubbing a hand through his disheveled hair.
“Morning,” Jon said.
Spencer glanced up from his Sidekick to give Brendon a half-smile. “Hey. There’s
hot water on the stove.”
“Cool,” Brendon answered, eyeing Spencer’s smile suspiciously before deciding
that it was genuine.
As Brendon poured some into a mug, Spencer asked, “So what’s going on?”
Brendon sighed. Apparently he wasn’t getting out of it, after all. He
concentrated on making his tea. “Ryan comes into my bunk at night, but nothing
happens, okay? It isn’t anything weird, he tells me this story we made up about
us as, like, fairy tale characters, which, yeah, does sound weird, but it’s a
thing between us. It’s hard to explain.”
When he finished his speech, he dared to glance over at the couch and saw all
three of them staring at him, wide-eyed. Ryan was actually frozen with his cup
paused halfway to his mouth.
Spencer was the first to speak. “I meant, uh, in general?”
The hand holding the mug slipped and splashed hot tea on his arm and hands.
“Oh, shit!” Brendon shouted, jumping back and hooking his foot on a chair,
sending them both sprawling to the floor. So much for playing it cool.
He hastily stood up, wiping the cooling tea off his skin, and looked back at the
others as they watched him with horrified fascination. “Did that just happen?”
“Brendon – ” Ryan began when he took his hand off of his mouth.
Jon walked over to Brendon and inspected his red skin. “Maybe you should run
cold water over that or something.”
“It’s fine,” Brendon said through grit teeth. It wasn’t fine, his skin was on
fire.
“All right, well. I’m just gonna…” Jon gestured towards the back.
“Yeah, me too,” Spencer said, standing up and hustling them both through the
door.
Brendon watched them with an eyebrow raised. “Subtle.”
“Brendon,” Ryan said again, and Brendon felt his face flush. “Brendon.” He
sighed explosively. “Brendon, jesus, it’s starting to blister. Just…” He grabbed
Brendon by the elbow to the sink and ran the cold tap a moment before guiding
Brendon’s hands under the spray.
Brendon hissed at the shock of the icy water hitting his burnt skin and then
hummed with pleasure, his tense shoulders relaxing.
“So, I’m freaking you out,” Ryan said.
“No, you aren’t,” Brendon answered.
“You gave yourself second degree burns.”
“I’m very clumsy,” Brendon insisted.
Ryan looked at him skeptically and mused, “What I don’t understand is that you
drape yourself over me all the time.”
“But that’s me being friendly, and not, you know…you,” Brendon explained lamely.
“What the hell does that mean? You don’t want me touching you?”
Brendon covered his eyes with a wet hand. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.
Believe me, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Then what are you saying?” Ryan leaned against the counter with an air
of studied nonchalance that Brendon knew meant he was hurt but didn’t want to
show it.
Brendon took a step forward, instinctively, at that look and stuttered out,
“It’s different with you, come on, Ryan. You’re not…You know it’s always – ”
been you, and over his dead body would he say that out loud. His life
was not an episode of The O.C.
“Well, that clears it up,” Ryan said, pushing off the counter to move away from
him. “I won’t try to make you feel better again, don’t worry.”
Brendon reached out and grabbed his wrist in one hand. “No, don’t be that way.”
“Let go of me, Urie,” Ryan hissed, trying to wrench his hand out of Brendon’s
grasp.
“Then stop trying to…Ryan, god!” Brendon used his hold on Ryan’s wrist to yank
him forward, into Brendon, and clamped his other hand around the back of Ryan’s
neck to crush their mouths together.
As far as kisses went, it kind of sucked, and was not Brendon’s best showing.
The angle was awkward – what with Ryan being an unwilling participant – and
Brendon’s heart was racing too fast for him to do anything more than hang on for
one long, desperate second.
Ryan pushed away from him and stepped back, his expressive eyes wide as saucers.
“What the fuck was that, Brendon? Your girlfriend dumps you so you jump the
first person to cross your path?”
Brendon crossed his arms over his chest and glared, feeling his face heat up in
humiliation. “No, fuck you, fuck you, whose been coming into whose bed every
night?” Ryan reared back as if he’d been punched. “Look, you asked, okay? You
wanted me to explain, so you can’t get pissed off when I do.”
In front of him, Ryan’s expression softened, and he touched two fingers to his
lips. “Because of this?”
“Why do you think Becky left? So whatever, fine, fuck you, we can forget it. It
never happened.” This time Ryan grabbed Brendon’s wrist as he tried to storm
past. “God, what? What else could you possibly want to talk about?”
“One week.”
That was random enough to stop Brendon mid-rant. “Um, what? Are we doing
favorite Barenaked Ladies songs now?”
Ryan gave a small smile. “You just broke up with your girlfriend and I’m no
one’s rebound fuck.”
“You’re not – !”
“So I’m giving you one week to get over her.”
Brendon swallowed hard. “And then what?” he asked, his voice strangled. Ryan
smirked, and Brendon knew he had to feel the way Brendon’s pulse was racing
under his fingers. “One week?”
“One week,” Ryan confirmed.
“But I’m over her now,” Brendon said, trying to will Ryan into believing it
using the power of his mind and his best earnest expression.
Ryan closed the distance between them and kissed Brendon again, and, okay,
that was the right angle. Brendon returned the kiss enthusiastically, one
hand slipping under the loose material of Ryan’s t-shirt and the other going
around Ryan’s shoulders. He had enough time to think, It worked! before
Ryan was pulling back and away from him.
“One week,” Ryan said, panting slightly and dragging his tongue across his
bottom lip.
“Ryan Ross, that’s just mean!” Brendon exclaimed as Ryan danced away,
laughing, from his attempts to reel him back in.
***
After a few days, Brendon started to realize that Ryan got off on the waiting.
Brendon, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly known for his patience.
***
He crawled stealthily into Ryan’s bunk and grinned when Ryan rolled his eyes. He
was all the way against the wall already, though, which meant he was totally
expecting Brendon.
“Hi,” Brendon said.
“Hi.”
“So we should have sex now.”
Ryan bit his lip, and Brendon knew he was holding back a smile, the jerk. “No.”
“Can we make out?”
“One week.”
“Look, what if you just laid there, and I kind of, you know, stuck my hand down
your pants?” He tumbled out of the bunk at Ryan’s hard push and landed on his
back. “Ow!”
“Having some problems, Brendon?” Jon asked, from the top bunk, laughter evident
in his voice.
“Go back to sleep, asshole.”
Ryan poked his head over the side of the bunk. “Are you okay?”
Brendon thought about shouting I’m sexually frustrated!, but considered
his position and chose instead to keep the tattered remains of his dignity
intact. “Yes,” he grudgingly admitted. “No thanks to you.”
“Good night, Brendon.”
***
“I want to have sex with you.”
“I know.” Ryan barely looked up from what he was writing.
“’Dear diary,’” Brendon sing-songed, “’today I was a total cocktease even though
I’m desperate for Brendon’s manly body.’”
Ryan snorted. “Five days.”
***
Brendon walked out of the bathroom and into the lounge wearing only a towel. He
stretched his arms over his head and then casually took a seat on the couch next
to Spencer and Ryan.
Ryan choked on the apple he was eating, and at first Brendon thought it was out
of lust, but then he saw that Ryan was just laughing at him.
“Ryan Ross, we need to have sex immediately!” he cried.
“Dude!” Spencer said, waving his sandwich in the air and looking scandalized,
“Not while I’m eating! Or ever!”
Brendon waved him off. “Whatever, Smith, go have phone sex with your girlfriend.
Oh, hey!”
“We’re not having phone sex,” Ryan said before he could even ask.
“I could run outside and call you!”
“No.”
“You’re no fun at all,” Brendon pouted.
The door to the lounge opened and Jon walked in, a basketball tucked under his
arm. “Hey, Urie, looking good,” he said before falling back onto a chair.
“Thanks, Jon! Hey, do you want to have sex with me?”
“I don’t think so,” Ryan said, sitting up straighter on the couch.
Brendon beamed.
***
“The thing is,” Brendon said, settling close to Ryan on the couch, “I really
want to jerk you off.” Beside him, Ryan stilled. “That’s probably the first
thing I’m going to do. I’ve been thinking about our first time a lot, and I keep
coming back around to touching you.” He hooked his chin over Ryan’s shoulder and
nudged a hand under his shirt. “I’m so good with my hands, you have no idea.”
He could see the heavy rise and fall of Ryan’s breathing and the spots of red on
his cheeks as Ryan listened.
Moving his mouth next to Ryan’s ear, he murmured, “I’m over her. You’ve waited
long enough. Let me get you off, please.”
There was a long silence, and Brendon practically held his breath in
anticipation – seriously, that was his best material right there – before Ryan
calmly stood up and walked out of the room without a word. When he came back a
moment later, his iPod was plugged into his ears. Brendon groaned and fell back
against the cushions.
***
Brendon couldn’t say what day it was. Even though it felt like he waited a year,
in retrospect, he didn’t think Ryan held out the whole week. He couldn’t recall
the exact day that Ryan grabbed him by his jacket after a show and dragged him
into the tiny bathroom inside their dressing room.
“Are we doing it now?” Brendon asked after they’d locked the door. “Are we
having sex?”
“Yes,” Ryan said, fumbling with the buttons of Brendon’s fly.
“Right here?” he asked, and when Ryan’s hands stilled, hastened to add, “I’m not
complaining! More, just…clarifying. Here? For the sex?”
“If you stop talking,” Ryan said.
Brendon frowned. “Ryan, that’s not very fai – mmph!”
He remembered the spectacular blowjob that followed, of course, because, Ryan’s
mouth. In a hotness ultimate death match, Ryan’s mouth would beat Becky’s
breasts, no problem, even if Ryan didn’t take that comparison in the
complimentary way in which it was intended when Brendon told him so.
Brendon made it up to him a few minutes later when he pulled Ryan’s dick out of
his pants and stroked him off, nice and slow. He could have gone down on him in
return – wanted to – but his desire to show off won out in the end. Turned out
he was just as good at handjobs as he was at fingering. Awesome.
“Told you,” Brendon whispered while Ryan panted and bucked against the
skin-warmed tile of the wall, “magic fingers, Ross. It’s like my super power.”
He ran a thumb over the head and watched with satisfaction as Ryan squeezed his
eyes shut, his face screwed into a look of painful arousal.
“Fuck, Brendon,” Ryan groaned, laughing breathlessly. “Yeah, yeah, like that.
Just like – oh, oh, oh god –“
Anyway, though, he couldn’t remember if that was a Wednesday or a Saturday or
what, but whatever. It didn’t really matter.
***
I created a girlfriend for Brendon because I'm not comfortable writing
the real person, and also because it suited my story better.
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