Nephilim

Though it was perfectly expected, Ryan’s tone with him the next day still managed a flinch from Brendon. And he hated it too, the gleam in Ryan’s eyes when he did, because he knew he was exactly where the older boy wanted him. He should know, he knew Ryan Ross better than anyone, maybe that was the problem, he was too close.

“Jesus Christ, Brendon,” The voice sounded disappointed, as if in attempts to scold him. “You’re more stupid and predictable than I thought.”

Brendon purposely looked at his Cellular Respiration notes, as if that made him feel any better – he never even studied last night, too overwrought about what happened the previous day. Then he proceeded to hate himself for agonizing over it; what done was done.

“Come inside, it’s blazing hot out here, let’s talk,” Ryan said, gently, his tone was more of a soft request than a demand, and that’s when Brendon broke his resolve not to look up – peeking up to see if Ryan’s facial expression matched the sincerity of his tone. Of course not.

“Leave me.”

“No.” Ryan stood above him like a tower. Brendon was ashamed at his huddled, crouching form, but found himself too infuriated to protect his pride. He swiped a heavy hand at Ryan’s knees, as he had done to him all those years ago.

“I said get the fuck away from me!” He felt his fingers curl into a harsh contact against the bone in Ryan’s leg and the buckle through the brown-haired boy’s body as it hit wholly, no attempted dodge to soften its pain. Ryan emitted a full, raw groan and Brendon saw the deluge of agony upon his features as he clenched his palms and hands together in a way that left crescent-shaped sores in his hands. Blood rushed swiftly to his cheeks, his sweat becoming caustic and sharp in its scent. Brendon felt guilty. He felt sorry. His lips and teeth tightened in rebellion. He waited for the fall, the curse, the retreat.

But Ryan opened his eyes, the lapis reflecting betrayal and a harrowing strength. Tears had gathered, but they hovered on the edge of the slopes of his face. “Let’s talk.” He said again, tone shaking. His fingers shook in time with his lips; they were holding back their own temptations. Brendon found his gaze averted, embarrassed and flushed.

“I just...” he began, not sure what he wanted to say in the first place.

He hugged his knees closer, their pressing on his chest becoming too tight. His hold did not slacken. “I’m not gay.” He said finally, feeling distracted from the true problem. Though his head was screaming with a thousand more important phrases, that was the one that arose to the surface of his tongue. “I’m not gay, Ryan, I’m not.” When he repeated it, he found how much it hurt to say it. He didn’t know why. His chin burrowed itself between the mountains of his knee caps.

Ryan took a quivering step forward, legs still jerking unsteadily, face lined with a silenced torture. “Me neither.” He sunk down to eye-level with Brendon, a taut gasp slipping from him as the pain shook his senses. There was a hot hand on Brendon’s forehead.

“I’m not.” Brendon said aloud, but barely. His voice was quiet. Fingers fell from his brow to the drying texture of his lips. They keened themselves between the silky glide, over teeth, encouraging tongue. The digits had already pulled themselves away when Brendon snapped into the reality of what was happening. “What...?” He breathed, struck puzzled. His body became tight as he watched Ryan lead his saliva-drenched fingers to his own mouth and suckle Brendon’s taste into his own being.

Quivering breaths forced themselves into Brendon’s chest. When he tried to back away, he found he could not sink into the truck of the tree behind him any further.

“Your siblings are all inside.” Ryan began nonchalantly, crawling towards him. His hand rested by another. “Laughing at you even. I think you’re a bit too old for a tree house, Bren.” Somehow, his lithe body slipped through Brendon’s shut thighs. “We’re all alone.”

“No,” he heard his voice become desperate and weak. He didn’t care. He wanted out. If he got out, he’d be okay.

He felt hands between his legs again. Instead of succumbing, instead of fighting, he felt his mind wander into a place far from where he was.

Ryan kneaded the crotch of Brendon’s pants with his palms, eyes shallow and distant. His fingers felt desperate as they clawed the cloth that held Brendon’s hardness away from exposure. The rolling waves of pressure invoked a jerked moan from Brendon’s mouth, the sound filling the hollowed cave with a shatter of echoes. Ryan lifted one of his hands to the smooth, sculpted curve of Brendon’s chin, outlining the feature with his soft digits, eyes cast upon him as if he were something beautiful. His body straightened and lowered in the rhythm of his strokings, their motions quickening and becoming more and more intense while his fingertips grazed the gentle shadings on Ryan’s cheek.

Brendon’s head clouded out reason with the steam from his staggering breaths. He leaned into Ryan’s fingers, guiding them back by his mouth, hoping to encourage the suckling he had began. Instead, Ryan brushed the texture of his lips, other hand still working over the fabric intently, mouth hovering above the place of Brendon’s hot gasps. He left himself suspended above the expecting tongue, the air that pushed out of him quivering with anticipation. Brendon tried to tilt his head inconspicuously so that their lips would meet, but Ryan drew away slightly at each attempt. The sensation of their lips being so near made Brendon feel unsafe and greedy. Something within him stirred, something he had known once. The pressing upon him stopped, and was replaced by the looseness around the tightened cloth as the button and zipper to his pants were undone.

“I’m going to do you a favor,” Ryan began, his face so close, their foreheads were touching. Brendon’s cheeks bloomed crimson as the heat of the air became a scent of sweat. “But this means you’ll have to do one for me sometime too.” There were fingers slipping under the elastic of Brendon’s boxers, and as much as he tried, he only got harder.

His head felt heavy and foreign as it lifted and fell in reply.

Ryan smiled at the fever Brendon’s face was lost in, eyes never leaving his even as his hands manipulated the sorely erect member from the dampening boxers. Brendon felt his mind and gaze wander, thoughts empty while he looked upon his own painfully hard cock, its tip glistening with beads of his impatience. He was sure it was a dream; some movie he had meandered into out of bursting curiosity. But he watched as Ryan lowered his lips, moving his tongue across the spots of wetness he had gained. A full groan escaped him, hands gripping the indentions of the wooden floor to keep from screaming. His mind felt as if it were blossoming. He was beginning to think in wide bursts of color, pink and red and purple flowering into shades he had never known. He watched, panting, as Ryan gripped the parts he could not reach with his mouth and moved his fingers in time with his lips.

Brendon’s pelvis arched as he tried to push himself deeper into the hot, tight cave. When he did so, Ryan hummed a low note of submissiveness, the buzz incurred like a shock of thunder to Brendon’s nerves. A wanton yell echoed, so loud and primal, Brendon didn’t notice it was him. A limp hand fell onto the brown-haired boy’s head, pushing him down, encouraging a deeper dive.

The pair of lips upturned at Brendon’s powered reaction, and Ryan began to lace every stroke of his tongue with a gentle purr, sending shivers and sighs of ecstasy through Brendon’s body. When Brendon’s cries bordered on wails, he moved the hand he had been using to support himself down the back of Brendon’s pants. Brendon bucked against the sensation of Ryan’s fingers so close to his entrance, but when they grazed against it, he found his mouth open and the sound of pleasure reverberating about him. His yells rose in strength, growing shorter and higher and louder on par with his spasms of rapture. Ryan felt his rise grow stronger, timing out the motions until he pressed to digits into the boy’s passage. A groan of pleasure-pain rumbled deep within Brendon’s throat, but instead of denying the heated pressing into his body, he allowed, pushing back harder every time he tried to move himself further into Ryan’s mouth. Brendon found that his consciousness was bare. The colors were gone. There was only the heightening bliss racking his whole body, consuming all of him. White. He had found it. No darkness. Not anymore.

Brendon came, face taut with a final, carnal moan. He saw Ryan swallow, traces of the fluid leaking at the corners of his lips. When he drew his mouth away, a fine bridge of saliva and essence dribbled out. Ryan licked away the remains, and with his tongue still bitter with come, he pushed Brendon forward into a hard kiss. As their tastes collided, Brendon felt the flavor of his passion. It was hot and salty, like water from a sea he hadn’t heard of. It tasted too dangerous to have come out of him. He thought, for a second, if perhaps this was how Ryan always tasted. But he knew better. Their tongues had crossed before.

They pulled away from each other, gasping for breath as if they had been underwater for a long time. Ryan had a streak of moisture by his cheek where their lips had gotten careless, but he left it there, cooling along with his flushing face.

Ryan laughed, and Brendon smiled, unsure and puzzled.

“Was that your first time?” Ryan’s grin grew broader. He chuckled as if he were teasing.

A jolt ran through Brendon’s tiring body. Which did he mean? With a boy? Head? Head with a boy? God, he realized, it was all new. “Yeah,” he said with shaky disbelief. “Yeah it was.”

“I figured as much.” Ryan stood, straightening his shirt casually. “Congratulations. You’re a screamer.”

“What?” Brendon stammered, embarrassed. Ryan laughed, watching the boy’s face grow scarlet in a sudden shame. “Don’t make fun of me!” He retorted, zipping up and buttoning his pants in a frenzy. Ryan eased his chortle into something soft, offering a hand for Brendon to grasp for support.

“I didn’t mean to. It’s just nostalgia. Don’t worry about it.” Brendon took his hand and stood. Ryan swatted a playful hand across his bottom. “It was cute. Hot, even.”

“Whatever,” Brendon murmured, the line of blush bridging over his nose.

Ryan spoke, eyes focused intently on the roof.

“What do you think God thought about that?”

Brendon didn’t feel guilty. He didn’t know why. Perhaps his head was still clouded. He had a looming feeling he would feel it later, though. Things that were forbidden had a tendency to bite your conscious after time, the satisfaction covering the shame for a while, like drugs dissipating from the mind of one with a painful wound.
He shrugged, smile fading.

“I have no clue.”

Ryan heaved a small chuckle, as if amused by the answer. “Cool.”