Catalyst

Ryan had gone for a drive that day. He’d been doing that a lot lately, but today’s was especially hard on the car. He had to fill up the tank more than once since he never liked to take the time to put more than ten dollars in the car. He’d gone through more than a pack and a half of cigarettes. And he’d nearly gotten in two fender-benders, flipped off six times.

So when he pushed the door open two hours later, he wasn’t exactly pleased to see Brendon sitting on the couch looking le pissé. He was completely ready to open his mouth and snap out some bitter retort before the first words had even been thrown, but he stopped short when he saw his video camera sitting on the coffee table in front of his boyfriend.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked, trying to mask his utter panic.

Brendon barely looked up. His voice was low, trying hard not to be angry. “I think,” he began, licking his suddenly dry lips, “that if you’re going to make sex tapes of us, you could at least tell me.”

Brendon was wrong, of course. His appearance in the recordings was nothing more than a catalyst, a necessary cameo. Of course he’s wrong. Ryan thought cynically. Brendon’s not perceptive enough to string together more than ‘you seem sad’.

“I think,” Ryan spat out angrily, “that if you’re going to go through my shit, you should ask for permission.” He crossed the carpet and snatched the video camera from the table, then stomped down the hallway, slamming their bedroom door behind him.

The door didn’t lock. They’d been meaning to replace the doorknob, but hadn’t gotten around to it. So Ryan sat on the bed and waited for the door to be thrown back open, for Brendon’s livid face to appear, and for them to scream and fight and eventually one of them would cry. But five minutes went by without a sound.

Too much silence. Ryan screamed—loud, animalistic—and snatched a glass of water of the nightstand before hurling it at the wall as hard as he could. Then he sat, leaning forward, braced on his arms, his breaths coming out heavy and labored. Nobody ever expected him to be prone to such destructive “temper-tantrums” and he considered that more of a strength, than a weakness. It’s easy to destroy someone who underestimates you.

And sometimes it came down to it. Their destruction or his. Generally it was if they got too close to finding everything out. I’ll never tell. Not to any one of you. Ryan’s eyes flicked to the doorway. Not even you.

Brendon flinched from his spot on the couch when he heard the shatter of glass from their bedroom. It wasn’t like he’d been looking for something incriminating when he went through the camera. He had simply seen it on the desk and decided to see what Ryan had recorded. And how did I not notice a camera recording while we were fucking? He’d been facing the other way, true, but certainly a normal person would have noticed.

Questions just sort of echoed back and forth inside his head. Do I seem like such a prude that I wouldn’t like it? Is it some sort of sick game? And didn’t he learn anything from Pete?

How many times had he recorded them having sex? Brendon pulled on a fistful of his hair, before sighing and standing up. Well, they were going to have to talk about it sooner or later.

Ryan’s muscles were tensed all along his neck and shoulders when the door opened. The camera was sitting on the bed. Brendon had shoes on, but he watched where he stepped anyway, not wanting to hear the crunch of glass under his feet. He sat behind Ryan on the bed, gently running his fingertips over the other boy’s spine.

“Want to tell me why?” Brendon whispered.

“No.”

“You should have told me.”

“It wasn’t about you.” Ryan snapped, turning around, slightly hurt.

Which took Brendon aback. What did Ryan have to be hurt about in the situation? “Unless I’m mistaken, I’m in those fucking videos.” He sounded pissed now, but Ryan met his glare with one of his own. “In my fucking bed,” Brendon pressed on, “fucking my boyfriend.”

“And you think you’re the first?” Ryan laughed. Condescending at first, mocking, cruel, teasing. And then louder, more hysterically. His chest started to ache, but there was no stopping it. He fell forward, his face in Brendon’s shoulder, still laughing. And then he was sobbing. Tears, certainly, but the choking sobs tearing from his body. Hardly giving him space between enough to breathe.

And then, suddenly, he was done. He sat up and Brendon just stared at him, slightly terrified that Ryan had finally lost it completely. “Are you, uh, Ry . . .”

The boy wiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. “They were shitty videos anyway. You can’t see my expression worth a damn.”

Brendon let those words permeate for a moment. And when they did, the obviousness of the situation hit him like a tidal wave. Of course it wasn’t about him. “How long?” he murmured.

Ryan blinked, biting his bottom lip as if he were trying to remember. But there was no effort necessary. That memory was as vivid to him as if he still had it on film.

The boy’s eyes were wide open, his legs spread wide open, his mouth wide open in an obscene ‘O’. And the camera light was blinking, recording the wide shot.

“I was fifteen. Seventeen the first time with someone else.” Ryan’s voice was subdued. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. A sinking feeling in his gut because he’d just confessed, and the weight of someone knowing was going to drag him down and eventually he and Brendon would have to break up because he wouldn’t be able to take it? Or a feeling of release and lightening because now Brendon knew and maybe everything would be okay, somehow?

Brendon sighed and let his eyes fall to the video camera. He reached for it, fully aware of Ryan’s steady gaze following his movements. Brendon flipped out the LCD screen and hit the power button, zooming in on Ryan’s eyes. Wide, big. Possibly apprehensive? “So take your clothes off then.” he said. “Let’s do this.”

“Brendon.” Ryan shook his head.

“You want expression?” Brendon stared at him. “I’ll fucking get expression. Now get your clothes off.”

He zoomed out for the full shot and then in, trying to get everything. Ryan’s hands fumbling with his jeans. The shirt being pulled over his head, leaving his hair slightly messy. Toes wiggling in the socks he hadn’t taken off. The face, the eyes, the nervousness painted all over him.

Brendon hit the pause button, standing up to quickly work off his clothes, then picking the camera up again. He put his hand on Ryan’s chest, pushing him back on the bed. Lube slicked over two fingers and then pressed in. Recording the mouth, the moans, the briefest wince, the arching of the back when Brendon curled his fingers to hit Ryan’s prostate dead on.

It was hard to hold the camera and his balance while pressing in. Difficult for him to focus on more than one thing during sex, period, because Brendon was the type of guy who just wanted it. He wanted sex, wanted it to be the only thing he thought about during sex. And then after, once they’d both come, there’d be time to think about everything else again. But he managed, for Ryan. And, while completely unnerving, there was something rather arrousing about seeing those eyes staring at him through the LCD screen.

He varied everything. Speed, depth, squeezing Ryan’s hip, stroking him, not-t00-hard slaps on the ass. Just trying to see every expression he could. And after awhile, realization hit him as to exactly what he was doing. What he was getting off on. The same things Ryan wanted so desperately to see. And maybe, just maybe after all, this would be okay. And the fight, if one could call it that, would be forgotten.

“Want to come.” Ryan panted, looking at the camera and not Brendon as he said it.

“You gonna come, baby?” Brendon purred back.

“Harder.” And so Brendon fucked him harder, feeling Ryan’s hand twisting around his own cock. (Thank God, because that would have been entirely too much for him to manage on his own.) He caught the panting, the twisting, the arching. All bringing both of them, closer and closer and closer and . . .

Ryan’s eyes were wide open for the release. Staring at the camera, but somehow (and perhaps just wishful thinking on his part) staring at Brendon through the lens. And then Brendon let the camera fall, pressing in deep and swearing, eyes squeezed tightly shut, as he came. He could feel Ryan’s hands on the side of his face, hear soft words, but he couldn’t make them out. Just noise, comforting though.

After Brendon pulled out, he collapsed face down on the bed. Ryan turned the camera off and shut the screen, placing it inside their top dresser drawer. Then he crawled back into the bed, running a hand along Brendon’s bare back. “Thank you.” he whispered.

He managed a clumsy ‘you’re welcome’ as Ryan curled up into his side. And within minutes, they were both asleep.