The White Lie

“OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod.” Then he screamed and Brendon stopped moving, his arm still tight around Ryan’s waist, his chocolate brown eyes terrified.

“Ry? Are you okay?”

“Hurts.” It was more of a whisper than anything, but Brendon could hear it.

“It’s gonna hurt for a little bit.” He kissed Ryan’s cheek, right in front of his ear. “Until you get used to it.”

“Have you done this before?” the older boy asked.

Brendon didn’t say anything, just started to thrust again, slower this time, longer. The pain started to ebb out of Ryan’s face. It still hurt, but not as badly.

“You can go a little faster.” the boy whispered. His hands were behind his hips on the floor, keeping his balance. He was refusing to look at Brendon, biting his lip when the pace increased. It hurt again. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.” No scream. “Tell me if you’ve done it before.” he whispered.

“Once.” Brendon’s lips on his neck that time, teeth nipping at the skin for a moment. “But I was on the bottom.”

“More.” It came out like a breath. He didn’t want to think about it, about Brendon with some other boy. And the thoughts were jarred out of his head when the thrusts were harder, faster, much more punctuated. No words this time. Breaths in a pattern, heavy breathing, the breathing turning into sharp soprano noises. And then another scream. But not necessarily blood-curdling. Maybe Brendon thought it was a scream of sexual fervor. Maybe that’s why he didn’t stop. The words were getting stuck in Ryan’s vocal cords. He finally untangled them. “I . . . I don’t know if I can t-t-take it.”

And Brendon stopped. The older boy was refusing to look at him, cheeks flushed red, though whether it was from the sex, the heat, or embarrassment he couldn’t tell. He started moving again, slower. This time he kissed Ryan’s lips. It was only a few minutes of slow thrusts before more words.

“Go faster. Like you were.”

“You said you didn’t know if you could take it.”

“I know.” Ryan finally looked at him. “I want to not know.”

Brendon stared at him like he was crazy. “What if I hurt you?”

“It’s not your fault. I want it.” He went faster, but not as fast as Ryan had asked. The older boy accepted it for about two minutes. “Faster.” He brought one of his hands up to the back of Brendon’s neck, moving the other more inward to keep his balance. “Faster, Bren, please.”

No kiss this time. But he did go faster. Just like Ryan wanted, didn’t want, needed, whatever verb made it necessary. More breathing, a few squeaks, another scream, and then more words. “Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. BrenBrenBren.”

“Tell me when you’re close.”

There was no affirmative answer, no nod of the head, nothing to even indicate that Ryan wasn’t physically deaf at the moment. Bouncing in Brendon’s lap, swearing, cursing, practically screaming, sweat dripping from his hair, down his pale skin. He leaned forward, his hand moving from the floor, wrapping both his arms loosely around the other boy’s shoulders. “BrenBrenBrennyPLEASE.”

“You close?”

Ryan nodded, not saying anything, just nodding his head like his life depended on it, profanity forcing it’s way up his throat as Brendon’s hand wrapped around his cock. Then gibberish, absolutely nothing of sense. Then another scream, louder than the others, nearly falling backward onto the floor as his orgasm ripped through his body, harsh, hard, fast. Brendon’s arm tighter around his back, keeping him from falling.

And then he tipped forward, collapsing against the other boy, breathing ragged as the other boy came inside of him, filling him, whispering Ryan’s name against Ryan’s hair, squeezing him tightly.

Later, after they had left the hotel bathroom for the hotel room, both in Ryan’s bed, not holding each other, but close enough that their shoulders were touching, watching late night television, Ryan asked him.

“Who was the first guy?”

Brendon turned and looked at him. “I lied.”

Ryan’s face was painted in confusion. “Why?”

“I thought you might trust me more if you thought I’d been in your position.”

“Oh.” The older boy lay down, reaching out to turn off the lamp. “’Night, Bren.”

“’Night, Ry.”