On Sunset Strip

Ryan finds a boy on Sunset Strip. He's a little awkward looking with red glasses and he keeps checking over his shoulder while he smokes his Pall Mall like he expects someone he knows to appear at any moment. He gives Ryan a shy smile.

Brendon finds a boy on Sunset Strip. He's really skinny and too pretty and he's wearing eyeliner with his My Chemical Romance tee shirt. He pulls out his phone to act like he's not there alone, but his eyes are dancing around the people so Brendon knows he is and when the amber eyes finally light on him, he gives a hesitant smile.

Ryan approaches Brendon and asks for a cigarette and Brendon can tell just by a glance that he doesn't smoke. He considers saying no because it's just going to be a waste of a cigarette, uninhaled smoke lost to the night. But he can't say no to most people, let alone a too pretty boy with eyes like toffee.

"Thanks." the boy says softly, letting the other light it for him. "I'm Ryan."

"Brendon."

The situation is just as generic as their names Ryan thinks as he tries not to cough. "You meeting someone?"

"No."

And Ryan respects the boy named Brendon with the red glasses at that moment because he would never admit he comes to the Strip alone to get lost in the lights and the people. "I'm supposed to meet someone, but I think he's blowing me off."

Brendon lets him have his lie. It seems important to him with the casual tone and the eyes flickering around for the briefest of moments. Anyone else might be fooled by Brendon is more skilled at people-watching than the too-thin boy is with his lies.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Brendon asks.

Ryan hesitates. "I don't drink." It's the truth.

Brendon laughs and Ryan feels a Christmas morning warmth tingling in his fingertips. "Would you like to accompany me while I get one then?"

"All right." Ryan agrees even though they both know neither of them are legally old enough to.

Brendon walks with a purpose and Ryan knows he's heading toward a specific bar. He probably has a 'deal' with a bartender and Ryan tries not to picture Brendon on his knees with sweat on his forehead because his jeans are way too tight to conceal an erection.

Brendon gets a beer from a bartender that winks at him and Ryan gets a water. Then they disappear to a table in the darkness. Ryan can only hear the music and his heart thumping in his throat. He wants to ask Brendon to dance but he's a really bad dancer.

As soon as a slow song comes on, he gives Brendon soft eyes, but the boy is already standing up and pulling Ryan by his hands to the dance floor. Brendon's hands end up on Ryan's waist and Ryan thinks the other boy's eyes are like chocolates.

Brendon leans in so his lips are tickling Ryan's ear. "I think you're really beautiful." He blushes and even harder when he feels the kisses feathering along his neck. He's smart enough to know where this going but inexperienced enough to let the questions echo around in his brain.

Are they going to do it here? At Brendon's house? At his house? How late does his dad work tonight again? What's the expiration date on the condom in his wallet? Is his deodorant wearing off? What underwear did he put on today? Is that Brendon's hand on his ass?

And then they're drinking each other up and not really caring who can see. Brendon's lips are perfect Ryan thinks and Brendon's really liking that thing Ryan does with his tongue. "We should get out of here." the boy in the eyeliner breathes. "I drove. Come on."

He's already a few steps away when he realizes the boy with the glasses isn't next to him. He turns and Brendon is still standing, looking apprehensive and a little scared. This is when Ryan knows he's not the only one internally fumbling with inexperience. He holds out his hand. "Come on." And after a final hesitation, Brendon takes it.

They run down the sidwalk, hand tightly clasped, laughing like they've lost their minds. They bump into people, shouting out numerous apologies. And when they get into Ryan's car, they're drinking each other up again and eating now, too. Ryan knows how to apply just the right amount of pressure with his teeth.

Eventually and too soon, he starts the car. Neither of them say anything for a good ten minutes while a Fall Out Boy CD plays. "Where are we going?" the boy with the glasses asks.

"I don't know." Ryan mumbles. "Where do . . . I mean, I just . . . I've never done this before." he finishes, almost apologetically.

My parents are home." Brendon tells him, his voice squeaking on the last word.

"I think my dad's working late."

"Okay."

It's awkward now and Ryan hates it. But, of course, they had to decide. The necessary words are a weight and an anchor and a reminder that this will probably never happen in his lifetime again. At least not this way, with this feeling.

Brendon tries not to twist his fingers as he stares out the window, throwing glances to Ryan from the corner of his eye. He's about to lose his virginity to a boy whose last name he doesn't know.

The lights are off at Ryan's house and he breathes a small sigh of relief. Brendon follows him silently to the front door while the boy fumbles with his keys.

Inside, Ryan drops his stuff in a chair and locks the door behind Brendon, taking him by the hand and pulling him back to the bedroom. It's a twin bed, but it's not really uncomfortable with them lying on their sides, kissing soft like the pillows.

Ryan's hands move to Brendon's jeans almost of their own accord and the boy with the glasses gives the tiniest backward jerk of his hips. When their eyes meet, the ones behind the lenses look a little scared. "It's just . . ." Brendon's breathing is jagged. "It's just . . . I never . . . I don't know if . . ." His voice trails off and he redirects his gaze to the wall behind Ryan's head.

"We don't have to," the boy with the eyeliner hurriedly assures him, almost sighing in relief. "We can just . . . play it by ear." He kisses Brendon again, letting it linger. "Or just . . . whatever. No expectations."

"I think you're beautiful still."

Ryan smiles and they keep kissing, lips dancing like they were made for it. Their angles fit together so well. Ryan's sharp and pointy and Brendon's a little more soft around the edges, with hands that fit perfectly on the other boy's waist and hips. It's three by the time either of them look at the clock and the boy with the glasses swears.

"Shit." His eyes are slightly panicked. "I should go."

Ryan pulls him back down before he really sits up. "You could stay. My dad won't care. I'll just tell him you're a friend from school. He probably won't notice anyway." The last part is mumbled and Ryan looks almost ashamed after he's said it.

"My parents'll kill me."

"They'll kill you anyway, right?" Ryan tries.

Brendon bites his bottom lip. "Yeah . . . unless. Unless they haven't noticed I'm gone." He's hopeful at that. His parents usually don't notice he's gone. And it's Friday so there's no seminary or church the next day.

The boy with the eyeliner, sighs, but not in a way that's meant to make Brendon feel guilty. They both know what he's thinking, trying to hold on desperately to a moment they'll never get back. "If I . . . If I gave you my number. You'd call me, right?" he asks.

Brendon smiles, reaching up to twist his fingers in Ryan's hair. "Totally."

He nods. "Then I guess I should get you home so you can call me."

It's not until they're in the car that they really talk again. And it's the boy with the glasses that speaks this time. "Thanks, by the way."

"Well, I wasn't going to make you call a cab."

Brendon laughs. "No, I mean for being nice. About the . . . whole thing. I just. I don't wanna sound like a chick, but I don't really want it to be a one night stand, y'know? For the . . . first time." He sounds embarrassed and he won't look at Ryan.

But the boy with the toffee eyes nods knowingly. "I've never had a one night stand." he admits in an undertone.

And Brendon seems to relax a little at the admission.

Ryan gives Brendon a scrap of paper with his number scribbled on it. He's parked at the end of the block. And then the boys kiss one more time before Brendon crawls out of the car. As he's sneaking up the lattice work to get to his bedroom, the paper works its way out of his pocket, but he doesn't notice.

Not until the next day after he wakes up and realizes it's gone. And then Brendon lets hot tears of frustration run down his cheeks. He wipes at them hastily when he hears footsteps in the hallway, his mom telling him lunch his ready. He tells himself he'll go back to the Strip and Ryan'll be there.

But it's two weeks before he can sneak out again and then another two weeks after that. A few guys hit on him and the smoke from his cigarette starts to burn his eyes. He never really realized how dirty Vegas was.

The street lights don't burn as brightly anymore. And when Brendon leaves for the last time he doesn't notice the boy with the eyeliner just stumbling out of the bar where they danced that night. If he had, he wouldn't have gotten in the cab. And if he hadn't gotten in the cab, the driver probably wouldn't have been in the intersection at exactly the wrong time. And then he wouldn't be dancing with death, slipping in out of consciousness, not realizing it's his mom holding his hand.