Ryden Oneshots 【2】

I Read The News Today

.:. Rating : Explicit .:.

Summary: '60s PWP. Enough said.

Brendon was sitting in the middle of my living room floor making a God's Eye with bright purple and green yarn. His hair was beginning to get long again, curling slightly around his ears, and he would have looked like Paul McCartney, if Paul was a million times sexier.

"Bonjour, mon amour," I whispered as I came up and kneeled behind him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He laughed. "You're even a poet in French, Ry," he commented, not taking his eyes off of his craft.

"Well, you're just talented everywhere," I replied, gesturing at the beautiful piece of art in his hands. "I have to be able to compete somehow."

"You know exactly where I'm talented," he muttered seductively, tying off the yarn and turning his head to press his lips to my cheek.

"Yeah, and you're not half as bad at taking photos as I thought you'd be."

He reached around to dig his fingers into my side, making me squirm away from him. "I am amazing at taking photos, fuck you. At least I know my way around a darkroom, unlike someone I know."

I took the God's Eye from his hand and set it on the coffee table before pushing him down on the floor, straddling him. "Let's go back to the part where you're talented again."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then no more pot for you, man."

He gasped in mock horror. "No, you can't do that!"

"Hmm, I can and I will," I replied, leaning down to suck on his neck.

He made a small noise in the back of his throat. "Alright, alright. But we should totally smoke first."

I chuckled at him, standing. "You're such a sucker for my Jane."

"I'll suck your Jane, alright," he crooned, sitting up and licking the tip of his finger coyly.

I rolled my eyes at him and he just burst into giggles. "Whatever, man."

I turned towards the record player stand and opened the box that lay next to it, retrieving a small bag of weed and my bowl. "You're turn to pack," I told Brendon as I handed the stuff to him.

He diligently went to work as I moved over to where we kept all the records, painstakingly alphabetized, all of them cleaned before and after every playing. Pulling out Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, I cleaned it on autopilot before turning it over to side two and setting it in the player, placing the needle at the beginning.

Brendon looked up as the first few notes rang out and rolled his eyes at me. "You little Beatlemaniac," he muttered before putting the pipe to his lips and lighting it.

"Everyone else is doing it," I replied, pressing my lips to his as he moved the pipe away, letting him exhale into my mouth.

"Yeah, like five years ago," he argued as I took my turn, hitting it hard.

I handed the pipe back to him and held the smoke in my lungs until I couldn't anymore, letting it all out in a rush. "So? The Beatles are still around, aren't they?" I questioned him, my voice raspier than before.

"Yeah, true," he replied, smoke curling out of his nose as he passed the pipe back. My pipe was small, and there were only a few hits left, so I took two and let him have the rest.

"So, where were we going with this again?" I asked, letting out the smoke of my last hit against his neck, mouthing just under his ear.

"Sex, if I'm not mistaken."

"Was that my idea?"

"I think so," he replied, his voice strained as he tried to talk without letting out any air. "Not sure."

"Well, we're both fairly intelligent," I reasoned, my hand roaming to the front of his jeans and palming his half hard cock. "Could have been either of us."

He let out his last hit and laid the pipe on the coffee table next to his God's Eye from earlier before pushing me down to the floor on my back and climbing on top of me. "Stop talking."

I complied, welcoming his tongue when he pressed our mouths together, his hands working between us to get our pants off. I pulled my shirt off as he shoved my jeans down and quickly removed his clothes as I kicked my jeans off the rest of the way.

We both let out small moans as he pressed his bare cock against mine, our lips falling together once more. He rolled his hips in small circles against mine, his hands roaming over my naked torso. The marijuana in our systems was making out movements slow and sloppy, time seemingly going fractions of its normal speed.

I finally grabbed his hand and brought it to my mouth, sucking in three of his fingers.

"What are you doing?" Brendon whispered, his hips still grinding against mine.

I pulled his hand out and guided his hand between us. "I want you inside of me, Brendon."

He groaned against my neck, teasing his fingers around my hole but not pushing in. "We're gonna get arrested for this someday."

"No one will ever know, just do it."

He let out a shaky breath and pushed one finger inside of me. I knew without opening my eyes that Brendon was squinting over at the front door to make sure it was locked before he pushed in a second, carefully stretching me. Not that I really needed it, I was so relaxed from the pot already.

"Come on, B."

He pushed in a third for a moment just as a precaution before pulling them out, leaving behind an almost painful freling of emptiness, made all the more intense by the combination of weed and anticipation. He slicked his cock with saliva then before positioning himself at my entrance and pushing in slowly.

My skin tingled pleasantly where his fingers dug into my hips and I wrapped my long limbs around him, urging him on with my heels against his lower back. He set a lazy pace, both of our brains fuzzy from smoking, both of us content with simply moving and feeling, our breaths sounding much too loud over the music.

"Ryan...," he whispered in my ear, running a hand through my curly, shoulder length hair, tugging slightly. "Fuck, Ry, you feel so good."

I arched my back, letting my fingernails trail up his back, letting all the sensations wash over me at once. Brendon was all around me, surrounding me, suffocating me, but I didn't really care. The already intimate act felt so much more so under the influence, all my senses seemingly heightened tenfold.

"Faster, B. Please..."

He sped up his pace a little, shifting his angle slightly to hit my prostate hard, and I maimed shamelessly, gripping his shoulders tighter. His breaths started coming out as soft grunts, sweat beginning to form all over his lean body, turning everything into a hot, sticky mess.

Skin slid over skin, fingers gripped bruises yet to be formed, and hot breaths were exchanged between lingering lips. The taste of salty sweat, the feel of warm skin, the musky scent of man, the sounds of sex, of love; it all formed a picture without images, a song without music, a story without words. It was passion, it was love, it was something a little bit less than perfect, but perfection in itself.

It was us.

"I love to turn you on," Brendon whispered, several minutes too late to go with the song, but it was special anyway, fitting.

He was pounding into me, slamming into my prostate with every thrust, and I couldn't hold on, coming between us with a soft cry. He buried his face in my neck as I shuddered, my muscles clenching around him, and I could feel him come inside of me, could feel his moan deep in my chest.

"Fuck," he muttered against my collarbone, panting heavily. "I love you so much, Ry."

"Je t'aime aussi," I breathed into his hair, holding him tight. "Je t'aime."