Forgiveness in Sunlight
the warm embrace of holding
Ryan rolls over, swearing under his breath, head pounding. He pulls the blanket over his head, trying to block out the sunlight. And then he feels an arm around his waist and teeth at his ear. "You feelin' okay?" a voice asks with a chuckle. Ryan feels like a rock has been dropped in the pit of his stomach, gastric acid sent out in ripples.
"Bren?"
There's another chuckle, lower in the boy's throat. "Were you expecting someone else?" he teased.
The answer isn't yes, but it's not no either. Ryan wasn't expecting anyone, let alone his ex-boyfriend, draped over him. Ryan wishes he could remember last night, what he'd said. He must have said something to have Brendon curling into him like this.
You're such a bastard, Ross.
"What did we do last night?" Ryan asks instead, letting it mean whatever Brendon wants. Sex, pills, conversation, shots of whiskey.
The younger boy kisses his shoulder blade. "Does it really matter?" he murmurs.
Ryan thinks about that for a moment, really thinks about it. Brendon rarely has points that Ryan would consider to be worthy of consideration, but this would be one of them. He takes it all in. No questions, no answers. Not knowing, not needing to know. Just here, with arms around him, lips on his skin. And it's Brendon. He feels like he's time traveled back by a few years.
"No," he says finally, letting himself relax into the touch (finally). "Not really."
The sentiment seems to be lost when he has to push himself out of the bed and run for the bathroom to throw up whatever he ingested last night, but Brendon's hair pulling his hair back makes him think maybe he's managed to not fuck something up for once.
"Bren?"
There's another chuckle, lower in the boy's throat. "Were you expecting someone else?" he teased.
The answer isn't yes, but it's not no either. Ryan wasn't expecting anyone, let alone his ex-boyfriend, draped over him. Ryan wishes he could remember last night, what he'd said. He must have said something to have Brendon curling into him like this.
You're such a bastard, Ross.
"What did we do last night?" Ryan asks instead, letting it mean whatever Brendon wants. Sex, pills, conversation, shots of whiskey.
The younger boy kisses his shoulder blade. "Does it really matter?" he murmurs.
Ryan thinks about that for a moment, really thinks about it. Brendon rarely has points that Ryan would consider to be worthy of consideration, but this would be one of them. He takes it all in. No questions, no answers. Not knowing, not needing to know. Just here, with arms around him, lips on his skin. And it's Brendon. He feels like he's time traveled back by a few years.
"No," he says finally, letting himself relax into the touch (finally). "Not really."
The sentiment seems to be lost when he has to push himself out of the bed and run for the bathroom to throw up whatever he ingested last night, but Brendon's hair pulling his hair back makes him think maybe he's managed to not fuck something up for once.