9 Months Is a Long Time

For the first time in awhile, Ryan doesn’t get up to the ten a.m. alarm. But he’s up at six anyway. And Pete’s up, too, making coffee and trying to tame his hair and looking for the jacket he swears he hung up in the hall closet. In stark contrast to his swinging, partying nightlife, Pete is a straight-laced paralegal by day. It’s enough of an alter ego to make Clark Kent’s mouth water. And he still manages to drink his body weight in liquor every night and wake up without so much as a headache. Ryan’s jealous.

Pete looks at the clock before glancing at Ryan and pouring his third cup of coffee. “So how went it?”

The younger boy blinks, almost startled to look up and see someone else in the room. He’s always been like that, so absorbed with his thoughts he starts to think he’s in a movie rather than real life. “Huh?”

“The party? With Will?” Pete raises an eyebrow. “How did it go?”

Ryan shrugs. “It went, I guess.”

The older boy is used to short answers that aren’t answers at all from Ryan. And he’s used to waiting until he’s ready to talk. So Pete grabs his briefcase, sets his mug down on the counter, and walks toward the door. “Brendon’s clothes are in the dryer. Let him know or he’ll flip shit.” Then he’s gone.

Ryan’s still at the table, holding his own untouched coffee mug between his hands, letting the warmth of it filter through his body. He’s still lost in thought.

Pete and Ryan met three years ago, about a year after Ryan moved to LA. They were at a party and Pete spit his drink out when the other boy told him what he did for a living. “I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” he exclaimed jubilantly. “Hey, ‘Trick! ‘Trick, c’mere!”

Pete e-mailed Ryan at least three times a day in the following months and they met up at a million and three parties. Oddly enough, Pete didn’t seem that interested in fucking Ryan, just flirting and hearing about his job. When Patrick threw Pete out of their shared apartment for throwing another party in which the couch got completely ruined and the cops were called, Ryan invited him to move in and only charged him a third of the rent.

Patrick eventually forgave Pete, but the living arrangements stayed the same.

Ryan absently takes a sip of the coffee, making a face at the lukewarm temperature. And suddenly his eyes are heavy and his feet feel like lead, so he drags himself back to his room and slips away into the darkness.

Two hours later, there’s a heavy weight on top of him. And it’s wailing like a teenage girl. “Ryan, Ryan!” The weight yanks on the sheet and there is blinding light. Ryan tries to pull the sheet back, but the weight won’t let him. “Did Pete tell you where he put my clothes? I’m going to kill him. Stupid, fucking, son of a bitch.”

Brendon’s talking too-quickly, the way he always does in the morning after realizing he’s been sleeping when he could have been out annoying people with his over-the-top personality and use of colorful language. The Red Bull he drinks immediately after turning off his alarm clock probably doesn’t help either.

“They’re in the fucking dryer, Brendon. Now leave me alone, okay?” Tired, cranky, annoyed, pissed. Ryan pushes the other boy off his bed and onto the floor before yanking the covers up over his head again.

Brendon scampers from the room to pull on jeans and a wrinkled tee shirt before grabbing a Capri Sun from the fridge and hopping on the bus to UCLA.

Brendon met Ryan at school. Junior year he took a one semester class called ‘Evolution and Pornography’ and Ryan had agreed to be a speaker. They hit it off and half an hour later they found themselves in Brendon’s closet-sized dorm room, screams and moans echoing off the walls.

After three months, several phone calls, one drunk and disorderly charge, and lots of sex later, Ryan asked Brendon to move in. He charged him less than a quarter of the rent and paid for a new bed, which he moved into his study. (“What do I study anyway?”)

It’s an hour later and Ryan can’t force himself to go back to sleep. So he’s sulking under the sheets, ignoring the slightly uncomfortable warmth. He’s alone and he’s not naked. He has no work until the baby is gone, the stretch marks are gone, and he’s had at least one good night of drunk, uninhibited sex.

Eventually, lying in bed and feeling sorry for himself loses it’s enjoyment, so he’s up and walking down the hallway. His cell phone is lying on the counter, light blinking, informing him that someone in the outside world had attempted to make contact.

Ryan replies to all of them. Nothing important anyway. He needs to come down to the office and sign a paper, pay his phone bill, and remember to get milk at the store. And after he’s sent the texts, he starts flipping through his contacts to see who he can annoy to make himself smile.

His eyes land on the obvious. And if he can’t sleep, Will can’t either. Ryan sends the text and receives a response in too-timely of a manner. He frowns.

‘Wake up? Been up three hours. Nothing today. Band practice tonight. Show tomorrow. You coming?’

Ryan scowls, both at his failed wake up call and the prospect of being dragged to Will’s show. William doesn’t have to work. He comes from money and he got half a million when his grandmother died. So he started some crappy-ass alternative band called Suits. Unfortunately, according to Ryan, they were slightly big in the underground scene. He thinks they suck.

‘Maybe. What’s in it for me?’

‘Seeing me, of course. Want to do lunch?’

‘Yeah, sure. Give me an hour. Pick me up.’

‘Grouchy much?’

Ryan tosses his phone back on the countertop and opens the fridge, gulping down half a bottle of orange juice straight from the container. He needs to shower. After lunch he needs to do laundry and then do some grocery shopping. And buy new jeans. His still fit, but they’re starting to pinch slightly. He shudders at the thought of maternity clothes with elastic waistbands.

“I just won’t leave the house.” he says out loud to no one. “I’ll be fat and alone. Change the locks on Brendon.”

Lunch is at a Tai place about fifteen minutes away. Will looks a little too good for Ryan’s taste. Tight jeans, three sizes too small shirt. Standard Will, but hot all the same. And, of course, Ryan can’t help but picture him in bed the night before, moaning at the stretch of Gabe’s cock. He clears his throat and starts playing with his napkin.

Will is babbling about this piano part Patrick wrote for one of his songs. “It’s amazing. And then we had sex and I cut his dick off and sold it on the black market.” He sighs and leans forward, snapping his fingers in front of Ryan’s face. “Earth to Ryan. Wake up, Ross.”

“Huh? Wha’?” He blinks and stares at the other boy.

Will chuckles and takes a drink of his beer. “You could at least pretend to be interested.”

“Sorry. Thinking about you naked.” He shrugs and sticks out his tongue. “More interesting.”

Ryan met Will through Patrick. And, while thoroughly impressed, he’d played it off. He was used to being pursued and he was damned and determined to make Will pursue. It took almost a year. And now he’s pregnant.

“You coming tomorrow or not?” Will asks as he pulls up to Ryan’s building to let him out.

“I’ll try.” It’s the best answer he’ll give and Will knows it.

*

Brendon gets off work at six, home at six thirty. As usual, he throws himself down on the couch, kicks off his shoes, and sighs exhaustively. “Well, today sucked.” he announces loudly, then flicks his eyes to Ryan. “You could suck me. Make it better?” He bats his eyelashes ridiculously.

But, honestly, nothing sounds better at the moment. He starts to get up and Pete shoots him a weird look. “What about Will?”

“What about him?” Ryan asks dully, crossing the room and kneeling in front of Brendon, hand moving up to his zipper.

“You don’t have to.” the younger says, voice over-quick. “I didn’t mean to.”

Ryan’s jaw sets. “I’m not dating Will.” he spits out. “So do you want head or not?”

Brendon doesn’t answer. And Ryan pushes himself up, throwing his hands in the air and screaming before storming off to his bedroom. Not fair, not fair. As if it wasn’t awful enough that he was pregnant, now he’s not allowed to fool around with Brendon? “I had a three-way last night!” he yells at no one in particular before slamming the door.

Brendon looks at Pete, confused and bordering on tears. “What happened?”

“Don’t know.” Pete shrugs and tries to look composed, but he doesn’t quite manage to pull it off. “Let’s give him a minute. Order a pepperoni pizza.”

It’s Ryan’s favorite and Brendon know that if they’re moving into food bribery they must have really fucked up.

*

Ryan’s hiding under the sheets, crying, when Pete comes in with the pizza. “Ry?” he asks cautiously. “Pepperoni.”

“Not hungry.” Ryan sniffles and pulls the blankets tighter around himself.

Pete winces and sits down, puts the pizza box on the nightstand. “I’m sorry about the Will thing.” He’s not used to apologizing, especially to Ryan. The younger boy just isn’t the type that requires a lot of apologies. “It’s none of my business.” He tugs on the blanket and Ryan lets him. “Hey, don’t cry.”

The boy looks at him miserably. “It’s just a fucked up situation.” His voice doesn’t shake or crack. It’s oddly calm and very soft. “We’re not keeping it, we’re not getting married. My jean size is the only thing that’s changing.”

“I’m sorry.” Pete says again, and he means it.

Ryan nods. He eyes flick toward the sudden movement in the doorway and he smiles gently. “Are you spying?”

Brendon hangs his head and shuffles in. “Sorry.” he mumbles. “I still want you to blow me and stuff.”

Ryan laughs and Brendon climbs into the bed, burying his face in the older boy’s neck. “You’ll be hot even when you’re fat.”

“Gee, thanks, fuckwit.”

Brendon giggles, then laughs outright. “But, like, seriously, I still do want you to blow me.”

“I’ll be leaving now.” Pete says loudly.

“You don’t want to watch?” Ryan teases, forcing his bottom lip out in a mock pout.

“That’s what your DVDs are for.” Pete shoots back. Then he’s gone.

Ryan blows Brendon and it’s quite enjoyable for both of them. Ryan’s always liked the feeling he gets when he’s getting people off. Being in pornography was a natural career path for him. Afterward, he kicks Brendon out so he can jerk off.

Then he checks his email, assures Gabe there will be no repeat performances, answers a few fan emails, and texts Spencer with a one-word apology.

‘I have a girlfriend. I wasn’t particularly offended. Did you go?’

‘Yeah. Me, Gabe, and Will had a three-way.’

‘Is that good?’

‘It was weird. Will and I had lunch today.’

‘Was that good?’

‘He’s making me see his shitty band again.’

‘Do you even like him or do you just want him to like you?’

Ryan doesn’t reply.