Sequel: Sick Boy ›
Sick and Sain
Chapter 11
[A/N: The joke was, “But it’s better if I do.” It was to stupid to keep in.]
It was set. Gerard would leave the next evening. He would be out—free—but it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like he was going to his death, to his demise, to his downfall. Doomsday. Dead! Why was he letting Ryan convince him to leave? To make him happy. All he wanted was for Ryan to be happy. It was crucial for Ryan to be happy. But he would get him somehow. He would stalk Brendon Urie until he got Ryan out. He would break in, he would murder someone, he would do anything to get back his love. His one and only. Dearly beloved. Be loved. Being love. Ryan was love.
“So…” came a shy voice from the doorway behind him. Gerard jumped. He was packing up his stuff—not that he had much—but he had enough. T-shirts, jeans, some shoes and drawings. Stacks and stacks of drawings. Of the sun, of Mikey. Of superheroes. Dogs. Cats. Ryan. Lots of Ryan. Sitting. Standing. That one—that one he had drawn that first day he had seen Ryan. Long necked, big eyes, staring off towards nothing. Unaware of the watchful artist taking into account his every perfection and flaw. Our flaws are what make us human. This was not a human perception of Ryan Ross—it was divine, flawless. It was somewhat godly, or immaculate.
“Oh,” Gerard muttered, “Hey.”
Ryan came over to his side, slipping a hand around his waist and picking up his divine portrait, “Is this me?”
“What?” Gerard said, shoving a shirt into his bag, “Oh. Yeah.”
Ryan turned to Gerard, pulling their hips together so their lips were closer than ever, “It’s beautiful.”
Gerard gulped, here came the nerves, “You’re beautiful.”
Ryan blushed, “So are you.”
Gerard kissed Ryan softly and quickly on the lips, “I think you’re a wonderful person Ryan.”
In turn, Ryan kissed Gerard, “I think you’re the sweetest person I know Gerard.”
Gerard’s turn, “You have nice lips.”
Ryan. “I love your hair.”
This time Gerard just grinned, “You are so gay.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”
“Shhh,” Gerard muttered, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Ryan’s, “Be quiet and just listen.”
“For what?”
“Just…everything.”
And so they stopped. And listened. The movement of the air. The shout of a deranged man down the hall. Scampering of feet. Slamming of doors. An airplane overhead. The world was alive and moving but Ryan and Gerard were to far within themselves to notice. They were inside each other as one, together. Possessing the world at possession’s simplest form—two people, in love, together. One sick. One sane. Or rather, sain. Sick and Sain.
“It’s beautiful,” Ryan muttered as he felt the soft skin on his forehead change to warm lips. He found his own coming in contact with a white, pale, soft neck, and his hands in warm hair. His eyes were closed, he had lost track of his tongue and his legs and as he moved up to the mouth, then down again, he felt a fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, pulled it off then did the same to Gerard. Gerard. The name was like a prayer. The boy was like the god you prayed to.
Skin on skin. Ryan’s skinny chest against Gerard’s arms, fingernails ripping at the back and then a stinging sensation as they pressed up against a wall in the corner. Ryan felt Gerard’s hands through his hair, down his neck, his back, across his stomach, to his belt buckle. The metal made a soft clink as it fell to the ground and unsure of himself as always, not sure if he was doing the right thing or not, Gerard moved on to the zipper and button. Ryan smiled. Kissed Gerard’s exposed torso. Took down those pants.
Left in underwear, it was pulled to the bed. Ryan sat atop Gerard, lying there, triumphant, king of everything. His skin was sweaty, his lips were on the verge of bleeding and he was scared shitless. But he was a part of something now. A beautiful something. Something the world could identify with but not be a part of. No. This life, this love, this—sensation, it was all for Ryan and Gerard. Like a song, a prayer, music. And sex. Love.
Gerard stalled for a moment, pulling Ryan off of him with a muttered explanation. Protect. Save. He pulled the necessary requirements from his bag. Why he had them—he didn’t know. Last tour maybe? It didn’t matter. His mind raced, but he shut his thoughts out. The last thing he needed at a point like this was his brain. Now he turned back to Ryan and looked. A smile. Perfect.
It was set. Gerard would leave the next evening. He would be out—free—but it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like he was going to his death, to his demise, to his downfall. Doomsday. Dead! Why was he letting Ryan convince him to leave? To make him happy. All he wanted was for Ryan to be happy. It was crucial for Ryan to be happy. But he would get him somehow. He would stalk Brendon Urie until he got Ryan out. He would break in, he would murder someone, he would do anything to get back his love. His one and only. Dearly beloved. Be loved. Being love. Ryan was love.
“So…” came a shy voice from the doorway behind him. Gerard jumped. He was packing up his stuff—not that he had much—but he had enough. T-shirts, jeans, some shoes and drawings. Stacks and stacks of drawings. Of the sun, of Mikey. Of superheroes. Dogs. Cats. Ryan. Lots of Ryan. Sitting. Standing. That one—that one he had drawn that first day he had seen Ryan. Long necked, big eyes, staring off towards nothing. Unaware of the watchful artist taking into account his every perfection and flaw. Our flaws are what make us human. This was not a human perception of Ryan Ross—it was divine, flawless. It was somewhat godly, or immaculate.
“Oh,” Gerard muttered, “Hey.”
Ryan came over to his side, slipping a hand around his waist and picking up his divine portrait, “Is this me?”
“What?” Gerard said, shoving a shirt into his bag, “Oh. Yeah.”
Ryan turned to Gerard, pulling their hips together so their lips were closer than ever, “It’s beautiful.”
Gerard gulped, here came the nerves, “You’re beautiful.”
Ryan blushed, “So are you.”
Gerard kissed Ryan softly and quickly on the lips, “I think you’re a wonderful person Ryan.”
In turn, Ryan kissed Gerard, “I think you’re the sweetest person I know Gerard.”
Gerard’s turn, “You have nice lips.”
Ryan. “I love your hair.”
This time Gerard just grinned, “You are so gay.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”
“Shhh,” Gerard muttered, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Ryan’s, “Be quiet and just listen.”
“For what?”
“Just…everything.”
And so they stopped. And listened. The movement of the air. The shout of a deranged man down the hall. Scampering of feet. Slamming of doors. An airplane overhead. The world was alive and moving but Ryan and Gerard were to far within themselves to notice. They were inside each other as one, together. Possessing the world at possession’s simplest form—two people, in love, together. One sick. One sane. Or rather, sain. Sick and Sain.
“It’s beautiful,” Ryan muttered as he felt the soft skin on his forehead change to warm lips. He found his own coming in contact with a white, pale, soft neck, and his hands in warm hair. His eyes were closed, he had lost track of his tongue and his legs and as he moved up to the mouth, then down again, he felt a fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, pulled it off then did the same to Gerard. Gerard. The name was like a prayer. The boy was like the god you prayed to.
Skin on skin. Ryan’s skinny chest against Gerard’s arms, fingernails ripping at the back and then a stinging sensation as they pressed up against a wall in the corner. Ryan felt Gerard’s hands through his hair, down his neck, his back, across his stomach, to his belt buckle. The metal made a soft clink as it fell to the ground and unsure of himself as always, not sure if he was doing the right thing or not, Gerard moved on to the zipper and button. Ryan smiled. Kissed Gerard’s exposed torso. Took down those pants.
Left in underwear, it was pulled to the bed. Ryan sat atop Gerard, lying there, triumphant, king of everything. His skin was sweaty, his lips were on the verge of bleeding and he was scared shitless. But he was a part of something now. A beautiful something. Something the world could identify with but not be a part of. No. This life, this love, this—sensation, it was all for Ryan and Gerard. Like a song, a prayer, music. And sex. Love.
Gerard stalled for a moment, pulling Ryan off of him with a muttered explanation. Protect. Save. He pulled the necessary requirements from his bag. Why he had them—he didn’t know. Last tour maybe? It didn’t matter. His mind raced, but he shut his thoughts out. The last thing he needed at a point like this was his brain. Now he turned back to Ryan and looked. A smile. Perfect.