Strictly Under the Influence
It'll Only Happen as Much as You Want it To
Ryan still isn't off work when Brendon gets home. Spencer's there, but that's because they're not giving long shifts to people who work at Freddie's anymore. He can't even work overtime. Originally, the house was Spencer's, so technically, he doesn't have to really pay much rent, because, really who's going to kick him out? So, right now, Ryan and Brendon have been paying the bills. Spencer feels guilty, but Brendon insists. It's the least he can do, really, Spencer lets him and Ryan stay in the house, even though he knows what almost happens sometimes. He doesn't say anything. Not that Brendon wants him to, but it's nice that he doesn't say much about the subject of his and Ryan's relationship, not that there's much there anyways.
There's a furrow set in the arch of Spencer's eyebrows as he flips channels on TV. Sighing as he sets his keys in the little bowl on the table in the foyer, Brendon walks into the living room and takes a seat beside him. He props his feet on the coffee table and looks towards Spencer. “Are they really going to close Freddie's?”
Nodding, the younger boy turns the TV off and meets Brendon's gaze. “Yeah, Bren, there's not enough customers. I need to find a job,” Spencer sighs, frustrated.
“I'd offer you a job at the bar, but we've got enough people to keep that thing open twenty-four/seven,” Brendon says.
The front door opens, then closes, and Brendon gets this weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know why, though. When Ryan walks around the corner his face crinkles up and he gets this adorable grin on his face. He asks, “Why are you always here when I get home, Brendon?”
“'Cause I'm my own boss, bitch, and I can be yours, too, if you want me to,” The dark-haired boy retorts with a seductive grin on his face. Spencer holds back a laugh as he retreats to the kitchen to avoid the daily ritual of Ryan and Brendon's “hello, I haven't seen you all day” greeting.
_
“It's weird,” Ryan says to Jon the next day, while Brendon's at work, tending to the few customers he has during the day, “I really like Brendon, and I really want him to like me. But I never wanted Jac to like me, just the fact that she did was good. But, if she didn't like me, I would have been okay with that. If [Brendon didn't like me, I think I'd try to make him like me, or something. I'm not sure.” The brunette looks to Jon for reassurance. For anything. He wants Jon to tell him he's not insane, that things will unfold. Hell, what he really wants is to know why he feels this way about a guy, nonetheless, that he hasn't really known for years on end, or even for months on end. It's all entirely new to him, and he's not sure he cares. Ryan wouldn't mind if it was just him and Brendon and the whole world for them to explore, but somehow, he never thought like that towards Jac, who was the last girl he thought he was in love with. Now, he's not sure he's not in love with Brendon. But he's not sure he is, either.
The wind blows gently through a small park in Summerlin, and the sun beats down from the center of the sky, but oddly, it's not hot. Ryan guesses it's the breeze, but he wouldn't bet on it. It's getting close to October and nice days like this, are becoming infrequent. Which bugs Ryan because although he likes the snow that comes with winter, he likes the fair days, too. He pulls his knees to his chest and is suddenly reminded of talking with his dad when his mom was still around. He remembers the late, midnight, talks they used to have about anything, and everything. And Ryan just now realizes he misses those. It's not like he can't talk to his dad anymore, he can. It'd just mean pain for him, and now that he's old enough now, his dad could claim self-defense. He would accuse Ryan of being a nasty little queer. How could he be nasty if he's only had sex twice, with the same person? Unless he counts the nights with Brendon (which don't get that far) he's only really trusted one person enough to let them that close. Said person being Jac, but not digressing, it's not that Ryan doesn't trust Brendon (he trusts him with his life) it's just that he's more than a little nervous about having sex with a guy. Two cocks? How is that supposed to work? He could ask Brendon himself, but just bringing it up makes him feel naive and innocent, which (ask anyone he's close to) he's not.
“I don't know what to tell you, Ryan,” Jon finally says. Ryan was starting to think he could use the silence as butter for his dinner tonight.
Ryan sighs, and nods, accepting the fact that he may never know what's boiling between he and Brendon.
_
“You know what, Ryan,” Brendon says that night as they sit in the living room, cuddling over a movie.
“What, Brendon,” Ryan asks looking down at the beautiful boy in his arms.
“We haven't been on an official date.”
“Why do I have a feeling we're going on one tonight whether I agree to go or not?” Ryan's insides flutter helplessly as the conversation turns for the best.
“Because we are. And you're right,” Brendon says smugly, before getting up and tugging Ryan off the couch, only to swat him on the butt to get him into his own room to get dressed. “Dressy-casual,” Brendon answers before Ryan can ask.
Shaking his head as he goes into his room to dress with a smile on his face, Ryan automatically starts to strip off the flannel pajama pants and rummage around in his closet for a pair of jeans. Upon finding a pair, he slips them on, and sighs at the consistency of the tight denim. The consistency of the snug fit. How they sculpt to fit his twig-like legs, and small, but plenty curvy bottom. Like a second skin, literally. That's how tight they are. Ryan pulls a simple black button-up shirt from a hanger and shoves his arms through the armholes and starts to button it up when Brendon bursts in.
“Hello again, sexy, I think your jeans could be tighter, or off, for that matter,” he growls playfully. Once Ryan finishes buttoning it up, he rolls the sleeves up to the crook of his elbow and flexes his muscles (what he does have) for show. “Mm,” Brendon all but purrs, “stop that before I change my mind and we decide to stay in for the night.”
Ryan smirks and throws on a pair of shoes before taking the time to look at what Brendon's wearing. A pair of equally tight grey skinny jeans cling to his irresistible lower body, not really leaving much to imagination. Not that Ryan has to imagine. He's also wearing a simple black t-shirt. Following as Brendon turns and exits the room, Ryan rolls his eyes, wondering what the younger boy has in mind.
_
A movie, maybe. A carnival, Ryan would definitely expect, but Brendon's bar? It's more than a bit confusing. Ryan isn't sure what they could do here, but, it's Brendon's idea, and if he wants to go to the bar, so be it.
The duo walk into the main room and Ryan has to cough once to get the sudden wave of smoke out of his lungs. He hasn't needed a cigarette in a while, but doesn't even think of lighting up in front of Brendon. As far as Ryan knows, he's quit. The smell of whiskey is almost overwhelming, and so is the need to have a glass. But, the last few months seem to have a purpose, and Ryan ignores the itching sensation in his chest easily. Brendon leads them behind the counter and Ryan obediently follows, like a well-trained dog.
Once they reach a somewhat crowded part of the counter Brendon turns to Ryan and says, “I'm going to teach you how to bartend.”
Part of Ryan thinks it's to see if he really needs alcohol still, and the other part thinks Brendon really wants him to learn. He takes a glass that Brendon hands him skeptically, but listens to him, nonetheless. “Okay, so first off,” the younger boy starts holding a bottle of margarita mix up, “you start with the ingredients.” He pulls alcohol, another glass, a small bowl of olives, a box of toothpicks, and margarita salt out from under the counter and sets it on the counter in front of him. Ryan watches intently as Brendon mixes the fruity drink for a lady sitting directly in front of him. He hands it to her and she smiles all flirty-like. He doesn't seem to notice, but Ryan does. Brendon says, “Okay, now you try it.”
There's a furrow set in the arch of Spencer's eyebrows as he flips channels on TV. Sighing as he sets his keys in the little bowl on the table in the foyer, Brendon walks into the living room and takes a seat beside him. He props his feet on the coffee table and looks towards Spencer. “Are they really going to close Freddie's?”
Nodding, the younger boy turns the TV off and meets Brendon's gaze. “Yeah, Bren, there's not enough customers. I need to find a job,” Spencer sighs, frustrated.
“I'd offer you a job at the bar, but we've got enough people to keep that thing open twenty-four/seven,” Brendon says.
The front door opens, then closes, and Brendon gets this weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know why, though. When Ryan walks around the corner his face crinkles up and he gets this adorable grin on his face. He asks, “Why are you always here when I get home, Brendon?”
“'Cause I'm my own boss, bitch, and I can be yours, too, if you want me to,” The dark-haired boy retorts with a seductive grin on his face. Spencer holds back a laugh as he retreats to the kitchen to avoid the daily ritual of Ryan and Brendon's “hello, I haven't seen you all day” greeting.
_
“It's weird,” Ryan says to Jon the next day, while Brendon's at work, tending to the few customers he has during the day, “I really like Brendon, and I really want him to like me. But I never wanted Jac to like me, just the fact that she did was good. But, if she didn't like me, I would have been okay with that. If [Brendon didn't like me, I think I'd try to make him like me, or something. I'm not sure.” The brunette looks to Jon for reassurance. For anything. He wants Jon to tell him he's not insane, that things will unfold. Hell, what he really wants is to know why he feels this way about a guy, nonetheless, that he hasn't really known for years on end, or even for months on end. It's all entirely new to him, and he's not sure he cares. Ryan wouldn't mind if it was just him and Brendon and the whole world for them to explore, but somehow, he never thought like that towards Jac, who was the last girl he thought he was in love with. Now, he's not sure he's not in love with Brendon. But he's not sure he is, either.
The wind blows gently through a small park in Summerlin, and the sun beats down from the center of the sky, but oddly, it's not hot. Ryan guesses it's the breeze, but he wouldn't bet on it. It's getting close to October and nice days like this, are becoming infrequent. Which bugs Ryan because although he likes the snow that comes with winter, he likes the fair days, too. He pulls his knees to his chest and is suddenly reminded of talking with his dad when his mom was still around. He remembers the late, midnight, talks they used to have about anything, and everything. And Ryan just now realizes he misses those. It's not like he can't talk to his dad anymore, he can. It'd just mean pain for him, and now that he's old enough now, his dad could claim self-defense. He would accuse Ryan of being a nasty little queer. How could he be nasty if he's only had sex twice, with the same person? Unless he counts the nights with Brendon (which don't get that far) he's only really trusted one person enough to let them that close. Said person being Jac, but not digressing, it's not that Ryan doesn't trust Brendon (he trusts him with his life) it's just that he's more than a little nervous about having sex with a guy. Two cocks? How is that supposed to work? He could ask Brendon himself, but just bringing it up makes him feel naive and innocent, which (ask anyone he's close to) he's not.
“I don't know what to tell you, Ryan,” Jon finally says. Ryan was starting to think he could use the silence as butter for his dinner tonight.
Ryan sighs, and nods, accepting the fact that he may never know what's boiling between he and Brendon.
_
“You know what, Ryan,” Brendon says that night as they sit in the living room, cuddling over a movie.
“What, Brendon,” Ryan asks looking down at the beautiful boy in his arms.
“We haven't been on an official date.”
“Why do I have a feeling we're going on one tonight whether I agree to go or not?” Ryan's insides flutter helplessly as the conversation turns for the best.
“Because we are. And you're right,” Brendon says smugly, before getting up and tugging Ryan off the couch, only to swat him on the butt to get him into his own room to get dressed. “Dressy-casual,” Brendon answers before Ryan can ask.
Shaking his head as he goes into his room to dress with a smile on his face, Ryan automatically starts to strip off the flannel pajama pants and rummage around in his closet for a pair of jeans. Upon finding a pair, he slips them on, and sighs at the consistency of the tight denim. The consistency of the snug fit. How they sculpt to fit his twig-like legs, and small, but plenty curvy bottom. Like a second skin, literally. That's how tight they are. Ryan pulls a simple black button-up shirt from a hanger and shoves his arms through the armholes and starts to button it up when Brendon bursts in.
“Hello again, sexy, I think your jeans could be tighter, or off, for that matter,” he growls playfully. Once Ryan finishes buttoning it up, he rolls the sleeves up to the crook of his elbow and flexes his muscles (what he does have) for show. “Mm,” Brendon all but purrs, “stop that before I change my mind and we decide to stay in for the night.”
Ryan smirks and throws on a pair of shoes before taking the time to look at what Brendon's wearing. A pair of equally tight grey skinny jeans cling to his irresistible lower body, not really leaving much to imagination. Not that Ryan has to imagine. He's also wearing a simple black t-shirt. Following as Brendon turns and exits the room, Ryan rolls his eyes, wondering what the younger boy has in mind.
_
A movie, maybe. A carnival, Ryan would definitely expect, but Brendon's bar? It's more than a bit confusing. Ryan isn't sure what they could do here, but, it's Brendon's idea, and if he wants to go to the bar, so be it.
The duo walk into the main room and Ryan has to cough once to get the sudden wave of smoke out of his lungs. He hasn't needed a cigarette in a while, but doesn't even think of lighting up in front of Brendon. As far as Ryan knows, he's quit. The smell of whiskey is almost overwhelming, and so is the need to have a glass. But, the last few months seem to have a purpose, and Ryan ignores the itching sensation in his chest easily. Brendon leads them behind the counter and Ryan obediently follows, like a well-trained dog.
Once they reach a somewhat crowded part of the counter Brendon turns to Ryan and says, “I'm going to teach you how to bartend.”
Part of Ryan thinks it's to see if he really needs alcohol still, and the other part thinks Brendon really wants him to learn. He takes a glass that Brendon hands him skeptically, but listens to him, nonetheless. “Okay, so first off,” the younger boy starts holding a bottle of margarita mix up, “you start with the ingredients.” He pulls alcohol, another glass, a small bowl of olives, a box of toothpicks, and margarita salt out from under the counter and sets it on the counter in front of him. Ryan watches intently as Brendon mixes the fruity drink for a lady sitting directly in front of him. He hands it to her and she smiles all flirty-like. He doesn't seem to notice, but Ryan does. Brendon says, “Okay, now you try it.”
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