How a Resurrection Really Feels

5

Brendon's wrists hurt. Jon always ties them together a bit too tight, but sometimes corporal punishment is for the good of the soul. He, for one, needs to be punished.

The basement is dark and quiet, but Brendon is all but bored. He is incredibly busy. His shoulders are killing him from having slept on the chair one night after the other, except for the night spent on Ryan's floor. But Brendon is very persistently not thinking about what happened in Ryan's room, or at least he's trying to. If he forgets what happened, then maybe God will somehow overlook it too.

But God can't be fooled like that, so Brendon resorts to praying. He has a lot of that to do.

He has apologized a million times already that his weak and treacherous body reacted the way it did, with arousal, when it was caused by another man, and it was premarital, and it was with a pagan. Brendon's not entirely sure if Ryan would classify as a pagan, but he might, and it just makes it even worse. Brendon then moves onto praying for Spencer, who has been overtaken by a strong fever. Jon is looking after him, entrenched in Spencer's room. Brendon went there earlier to bring them both dinner, and Spencer was pale and covered in sweat, hallucinating, and Jon said he would manage to feed Spencer the soup on his own.

What if Spencer dies? Brendon hopes to God Spencer doesn't die.

And this launches Brendon on another round of praying because he is clearly messed up. He has given it plenty of consideration and he has come to the conclusion that he should hate his captors. According to all logic, he should wish them all dead, or as dead as he dares as a Christian. But he doesn't. He thinks they are nice guys with big, scary bikes – he has heard them talking about the metal horses, and that's what they call them – and they have their guns and sinful lives, but Spencer can be kind of funny, and Ryan is kind of pretty, and Jon is solid somehow. Jon seems like the kind of guy who would be amazing to have on your side.

And it's not like they are bad guys, really. They haven't beaten him or anything. Sure, they threaten to kill him every day, but they haven't done so yet, and they are stranded in the middle of nowhere for reasons unknown. The other day Ryan said that they have never kidnapped anyone before, so these are extreme circumstances for them and Brendon both. They didn't mean to kidnap Brendon. They are all victims of circumstance. Neither can his captors cook or clean, so Brendon can't help feeling sorry for them.

He mostly wishes he had met them under different circumstances. They all could have been friends.

It'd be nice to have friends.

But Brendon is going back home in two days, and that will put an end to his torment. He wonders if the guys will manage, but they have to. Brendon has to get out of here before the bikers do permanent damage to his eternal soul. They are clearly already turning him into a homosexual, and Brendon can't have that. He can convince himself that wearing a dress for its nice top is fine, he can convince himself that finding Barry Noble to be incredibly handsome is also just fine and simply a normal observation, but he can't talk his way out of Ryan's hand on his half-hard dick.

He is so going to hell with all those heretics and reprobates.

Brendon twists in his chair uneasily at the thought. He needs to leave and go home, rejoin his family. He can see it now, how his mother will cry tears of relief, how his father will rush him to the church because it has been days since his last confession, how everyone will gather around him to hear stories of his time in captivity. Maybe everyone will finally pay attention to him.

And they will all be so, so happy to have him back.

Brendon smiles at the thought and feels a bit better. A rat scurries across the basement floor, and Brendon eyes it calmly. He's used to the rats by now. He'll have to tell Jon to let Monster down here sometime.

Brendon hears steps above, and he looks up, hopeful. The basement door creaks open, and Brendon feels happy even as he feels terrified, unsure of what will follow. He's been doing penance for hours now, so it'd be a nice change to wash the dishes or maybe finally try and clean the windows. It's an ambitious task, but he's up for it. Just something to do with his hands.

Corporal punishment.

The basement door closes. Ryan descends the stairs slowly, and Brendon's stomach churns. Not the person he was hoping for. He would actually choose Fifty-Two Walker over Ryan right now.

Ryan stops at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the railing. "Hi. Keeping busy?"

"Being tied up takes up a lot of time," Brendon mutters, realizing he is doing that thing again that always gets him in trouble at home, when he speaks out of place and can't hold his tongue. This time, though, he isn't being thoughtless. He is simply hoping to kill the conversation and push Ryan into leaving. Ryan is staring at him with that devouring look of his that makes Brendon's skin heat up.

"So the big day is in two days, huh?" Ryan says, slowly walking over. "Going back home to sweet ol' Resurrection. Church. Sisters' dresses..." Ryan walks behind him, but Brendon keeps his eyes on the wall ahead of him, determined to resist the urge to follow Ryan with his eyes. "If it were up to me," Ryan suddenly whispers right next to his ear, and Brendon flinches, his heart beginning to beat faster, "we'd keep you right here."

"You- You can't do that!" he exclaims, panicking at the prospect of not getting back home. "You promised!"

"Would it really be that bad?" Ryan asks slowly, voice low. "I thought that you and I were finally getting along rather nicely."

Ryan's fingers brush the nape of his neck, moving to his hair and fisting it. Brendon's head snaps back, his entire body tensing up, and he shouldn't like the rough way in which Ryan is handling him. He definitely shouldn't, so why does the basement feel so hot all of a sudden?

"If I scream, Jon and Spencer'll hear," Brendon rushes out frantically.

Ryan's nose is now brushing against his ear, Ryan's lips almost touching his skin. "Why would you scream, baby? I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

Ryan actually kind of is, what with the touching and calling him 'baby'. No one's ever called Brendon that before, and he figured that if someone did, it'd sound sweet and romantic, not dirty and gritty like it just did.

"See, you're leaving soon, and I think we've got some unfinished business," Ryan states slowly, his good, uninjured hand now slowly moving from Brendon's shoulder to his chest. Brendon swallows audibly. "Spencer's sleeping, Jon is watching him sleep, so I don't think anyone will come looking for us any time soon."

"H-How is Spencer doing?" Brendon manages to ask to distract himself from everything that's happening.

"I don't know," Ryan says indifferently.

"How can you not know? Aren't you worried? It could be serious, it –"

"Spencer will be fine. He was fine the last time too. Really, Bren, don't let that ruin the moment for us."

"What moment?" Brendon asks desperately, but then Ryan is already sucking on his earlobe hungrily. Brendon gasps. Ryan's actions go straight to his cock. It's pathetic and appalling how his body responds to stimulation so easily, but it has never received any before.

"God, you're hot," Ryan rasps, and then he's moved to sit on Brendon's lap, ass resting on Brendon's thighs, feet on the floor on his sides. Ryan nudges closer, his good hand in Brendon's hair, the arm of his injured hand slung around Brendon's neck, keeping him in place. Brendon jerks against his restraints: the wrists bound together behind his back and tied to the back of the chair, and his ankles wound to the chair legs. Ryan just smiles wickedly, and Brendon is panting now from the effort of not panicking while willing himself not to react to the man invading his personal space.

"You left me in a bit of a hard spot, hard being the operative word there, by the way," Ryan goes on playfully, clearly enjoying himself. Brendon is close enough to see all the different shades of brown in Ryan's eyes, the long eyelashes, and the slight stubble on his chin. "It'd be a shame for us to part when we're both so unsatisfied."

Brendon finally finds his voice. "I don't want what –"

"Oh, please," Ryan says impatiently, his good hand instantly flying down between them and straight between Brendon's legs. Brendon groans involuntarily, slightly panicked by how much he likes that. "You're getting hard already."

"Well, it's your fault! I'm catching it!"

"Catching what exactly?"

"The gay!" he says exasperatedly, and Ryan blinks at him once, twice before bursting out laughing. It's not funny. They're talking about his immortal soul here, and his mortal life too since his father has warned him that people who are gay die sooner because God punishes them. Brendon doesn't want to die, and he definitely doesn't want to go to hell.

"The gay?" Ryan repeats playfully, and even though Ryan isn't staring at him with those predatory eyes that Brendon definitely doesn't like – he really doesn't at all, you hear that, God? – it doesn't stop Ryan from running his hand all over his arm and neck. "You say it like it's a disease."

"It is. Father told me so," Brendon explains, exasperated as he needs this to stop. "You catch it and then God punishes you and makes you physically ill and then you die and go to hell! Please, Ryan, just leave!"

Thinking about it all scares him, and he feels like bursting into tears because it's hard to fight the temptation when he seems to be full of dirty physical impulses and sinful thoughts.

"Cutie," Ryan murmurs, leaning closer to lick his sweaty neck. "You caught the gay before you even met us." Brendon shivers from the way Ryan's lips tickle his skin as he speaks.

"N-No, I did –"

Brendon can't continue as he chokes on a grunt. Ryan is biting his neck, simultaneously sucking on the skin, his warm and wet tongue pressed against his skin. Ryan bites hard but it doesn't hurt. It's not unpleasant at all, and that makes Brendon even more nervous.

"Don't you worry, baby," Ryan whispers to his ear, voice hoarse. "I've caught it and I'm not dead. See?"

Ryan fists Brendon's hair, forcing Brendon to meet his eyes. Yes, Brendon sees that Ryan is very much not dead, and he tries not to think about Ryan's words. But that gaze is there again: Ryan's eyes are dark, almost black, and Brendon really doesn't want to look at him. There's a battle, no, a war in his head because Ryan is clearly gay, and yet he's healthy and alive, so maybe Brendon won't die if... No, no, no, he can't fall into that trap. Even if Brendon doesn't die instantly, he will go to hell once he does.

Ryan inches closer to him, and Brendon can't help getting more aroused with every passing second. He hates himself for being so weak, but he can't control it. He's getting painfully hard, and Ryan moves his hips, creating friction because Ryan obviously wants to send him to hell.

Brendon lets out a moan, not loud, but it echoes in the emptiness of the basement. He feels dirty when he hears himself, so dirty that he presses his lips firmly together. He doesn't want to hear himself sounding like those blasphemous prostitutes his father has talked about.

"Don't hold yourself back," Ryan tells him, and he doesn't moan but his voice sounds as dirty as Brendon's sounded a second before. Ryan rubs himself against Brendon and groans, "Fuck, this is so good." He reduces the distance between them to practically nothing. "Spencer said I'm not allowed to lay a hand on you, though."

"Yo-You should listen to him," Brendon stutters, closing his eyes and thinking ohgodohgod ohgod.

"You think?" Ryan asks conversationally. Brendon nods vigorously. "Well, if you say so." Ryan's voice sounds so wicked that Brendon doesn't actually believe him. Then he opens his eyes and – and oh.

Ryan has unzipped himself with one hand, now reaching into his jeans slowly, making a show of it. Brendon doesn't want to see, doesn't want to know. He –

Ryan slowly pulls his cock out. Brendon forgets what he was thinking.

Ryan's cock is bigger than his own, longer and thicker, fully erected and right there, flushed red and hard. Ryan is slowly letting his long fingers dance on it, and Brendon can't look away. He has never seen anything as hot in his life, not that he has ever seen much to begin with, but this? This?

"It's rude to stare," Ryan says quietly, a bit of a smirk in his tone. Brendon manages to look up into Ryan's eyes. "Luckily for you, I kinda like being watched," Ryan adds, and Brendon freezes as he feels Ryan pressing the head of the erection against his stomach. Brendon has to look. There is no way he cannot look.

Ryan starts a slow rhythm, his injured arm wrapped firmly around Brendon's neck, anchoring himself to where he is. The head of Ryan's cock is in the tight circle of Ryan's fist, moving slowly but surely, and the head keeps brushing against Brendon in the limited space between them. Brendon's own cock is throbbing against his thigh, his mouth dry, his skin on fire from watching another guy touch himself.

"You like watching, don't you?" Ryan rasps quietly, letting go of his cock to lick his palm before rubbing the spit onto himself, and now Ryan's cock glistens at the tip. It's good Brendon's hands are bound because right now Brendon would love to touch, feel the smooth, shiny skin against his hand, burning hot and sinful and –

Oh god, this is so wrong. But just as Brendon is about to freak out again, Ryan groans, "Fuck, you make me so hard," and Brendon's world stops.

He has power over Ryan. He is desirable, he is wanted. Brendon's head is swimming with all of it, his tied down body burning up as Ryan jerks himself off on his lap. Brendon is panting even though he's not doing anything, but there's so much heat between them, in them, and Ryan moves down to suck and kiss his neck again. Brendon leans into it, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of Ryan's mouth on him, hungry bites and lingering kisses. He feels the rhythm of Ryan's strokes vibrating against his body, and even though he doesn't have direct visual of Ryan masturbating because his eyes are closed, he can see Ryan touching himself in his head. He has a feeling that he will be able to see it in his head even years from now.

It's embarrassing him – what Ryan is doing is completely unheard of, and even if you considered putting your hand down there and touching places, then you would make sure no one ever knew about it. You wouldn't do it in front of someone. Never.

There has to be something wrong in Ryan's brain.

But Brendon knows something like this won't happen again in his life and neither will he be able to erase the memory from his head, so he suppresses the shame and embarrassment he feels for Ryan because apparently Ryan is forgetting to. He wants to watch. God, he wants to watch so badly.

Brendon looks down between them again, and Ryan is stroking himself more vehemently as his mouth keeps working on Brendon's neck. With Ryan's mouth so close to his ear, the little choked noises that Ryan lets out are louder and more arousing than they otherwise would be. They're practically pounding into Brendon's head.

Brendon gives in and rests his forehead against Ryan's chest. He instantly gets a better view as his eyes are cast downwards between them.

The light is not the best down in the basement, but Brendon can still see perfectly how Ryan's hand is stroking his hard-on, and Brendon can't even react. He feels dizzy and hypnotized by Ryan's repeated movements, and he is overtaken by want, lust and fascination, having never seen a cock except his own. He has never seen anyone do this before, including himself. He was vaguely aware that he could make the problem go away with some manual labor, but he always managed not to by thinking about God and His wrath. Ryan is clearly an expert when it comes to this kind of thing.

The only thing in his head is Ryan's long and thick cock and the way Ryan fists it. He can't take his eyes off of the tip of Ryan's cock that disappears into his fist when Ryan moves his hand up, but then reappears when he moves down. The head is shiny from the milk-like substance leaking from the slit, and lust sets in Brendon's stomach as he figures out what it is. It's that.

"Fuck, Brendon," Ryan grunts against his neck, sounding desperate.

"Oh, God," Brendon whispers, feeling like he's dying, pressing his face harder against Ryan's shoulder.

His cock twitches against his thigh. Ryan is desperate, and Brendon is making Ryan feel that way. It's too much to bear. They are so close that when Ryan fists his cock, his hand painlessly punches Brendon's stomach, and his movements start lifting his shirt up.

Brendon loses his breath completely when he feels the head of Ryan's hot cock press against his bare stomach. He gasps loudly, wishing he wasn't tied up so that he could move forward to feel it better. His skin feels wet from where Ryan's brushed against him.

"Shit, you like that?" Ryan asks him, and Brendon doesn't answer, but Ryan stops touching himself.

Brendon stares at Ryan and he tries not to focus on the other man's completely exposed and aroused cock, fully erected right there between their stomachs. Ryan starts unbuttoning Brendon's top with a lot of difficulty as he's doing it with one hand.

"Ryan, don't," Brendon pleads, out of breath, but Ryan chuckles.

"I would rip your shirt off but Spencer would start asking questions. Let's just make this a little better for us both."

Ryan opens the shirt completely. Brendon feels the shame returning, but just for a second, as now Ryan's fingers are dancing over his bare chest, digging into the skin until he's almost scratching him. "God, you're fucking hot," Ryan growls, and Brendon's heart beats faster, making him dizzier. He arches his neck, panting and, in a sudden movement, Ryan pulls him back in with the help of the arm around his neck, reducing the distance between them to nothing.

"Ryan," Brendon chokes, feeling Ryan's length pressing fully against his bare stomach.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

Brendon says nothing. He can't because he's too busy being driven insane. Ryan takes a hold of his cock again but now doesn't wrap his fist around it. Instead he keeps it in a loop with just his thumb and forefinger. The underside of his dick rests completely against Brendon's stomach when Ryan starts stroking himself faster and faster, twisting his wrist to keep his hand on his own side, only leaving his nimble fingers to brush against Brendon's stomach temporarily but evenly giving some space between his cock and Brendon's stomach.

Brendon moans, not really knowing why anymore. Maybe it's because of his own erection, painful to the point that he wants to cry, or because of the way Ryan's cock is being jerked off against him, or because Ryan is panting and slightly fisting his hair with his injured hand, or at least trying to.

"Shit, you're so into this," Ryan breathes out, increasing the speed of his movements.

Ryan's cock starts pulsating over Brendon's skin. Ryan grunts, and suddenly Brendon can't feel the hot contact of Ryan's cock anymore as Ryan inches back slightly.

"Brendon," Ryan moans hurriedly. "Brendon, look at me."

Brendon shakes his head no, he doesn't want to anymore. Ryan's bad hand clumsily nudges his head, forcing him to look down. Ryan is fisting his cock furiously, hips moving up to fuck his fist, muscles of his legs trembling over Brendon's thighs until Brendon hears his name coming from Ryan's mouth in a cry.

His name echoes in the empty room as Brendon watches Ryan's cock shooting come onto his bare chest and stomach, hot and white streaks that cause explosions in Brendon's brain. Ryan breathes erratically; his body is trembling, and Brendon's is too. Ryan keeps stroking himself until he's completely done. Brendon stares at the splashes of Ryan's come dripping down his skin.

He's going to hell. Right now, he's okay with that.

He breathes, not in relief because he's still too hard, but at least Ryan is done. He has sinned enough to have damnation now guaranteed, and there's nothing that he can ever do to clean his soul. But, just in case there is some hope for him yet, he doesn't want anything worse to happen to ruin his chances.

Ryan's come starts getting cold on his hot skin, and the contrast makes him shiver. It doesn't help getting rid of the boner that he still has. Maybe Ryan won't notice it.

"That was fucking good," Ryan finally speaks, straightening his back and meeting his eyes.

Brendon stares at him angrily. He's mad at Ryan, and even if Ryan is grinning at him, Brendon is not amused. In a matter of minutes Ryan took care to ruin his soul, and Brendon worked hard all his life on being a good son, a good brother and a good Christian. On top of everything, he is still hard, and he has never touched himself. He often ends up waking up with soiled sheets, but at least he hasn't given into the horror of self-pleasuring. But now that he is in this sorry state, he might consider doing it if he wasn't tied up and Ryan wasn't there. After all, now he knows how it's done.

Ryan moves his fingers over Brendon's chest, touching his skin and the cooling come, looking at the mess, clearly pleased with himself. He takes Brendon's shirt and presses both halves of it against Brendon's wet skin. Brendon shivers. The come sticks to the fabric, dark stains starting to show on the dirty lavender, and Ryan casually starts working on the buttons.

Once Ryan has buttoned his shirt, Brendon swallows, thinking maybe it's over now, this whole ordeal, or as over as it can be with Ryan's come still on him, drying onto his skin, remaining as a reminder that makes it impossible to forget.

Ryan is smiling a crooked, little smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. He grinds against Brendon slightly, and Brendon muffles a groan.

"What should we do with you, then?" Ryan asks, and Brendon feels relieved when Ryan stands up, getting off his lap. Ryan's softening cock is now, however, eye level with him, and he tries not to look at it, and tries not to lick his lips at the sight of it. Ryan tucks himself in with one hand, but isn't able to zip up again. Ryan doesn't seem bothered with his fly open like that, though. "God, you're hard," Ryan whispers roughly.

Brendon feels embarrassed. He was hoping Ryan just magically wouldn't notice. His cheeks and neck are probably bright red – he can feel the heat there. His body is so weak.

Ryan moves closer again, reaching down, and Brendon tenses up. Ryan's hand hovers over his crotch, as if intending to cup his erection but not quite daring to. "Not to lay a hand on you," Ryan whispers, apparently more to himself than him.

"P-Please just- just go," Brendon grits out. His boner will go down eventually, but Ryan staying is not helping with it. Ryan got what he wanted, didn't he? To humiliate Brendon, to drive Brendon out of his mind with sinful want... Brendon is hard and trembling because of another man – Ryan's won. If he has any decency, he will leave Brendon to lick his wounds.

"I've got you, baby," Ryan says softly, and Brendon assumes that Ryan will now let him sob against Ryan's chest about how God must hate them both, which actually might make him feel better, but instead Ryan drops onto his knees. Brendon's stomach flares up with a hungry flame from Ryan pushing his legs apart and inching closer, licking his lips and eyeing the bulge in his pants. There's a wet spot on the fabric from where Brendon's cock is leaking.

Brendon spontaneously tries to move – away, away, no, no, Ryan being down there cannot mean anything good – but he can't. "Just relax, lovely," Ryan says soothingly, but his voice is heaving with want.

Brendon doesn't want to see or know, so he closes his eyes and tilts his head backwards, trying to find some kind of place in his head where he can escape to. He keeps his eyes so tightly shut that it almost hurts. His sick imagination is telling him that this definitely seems like it might go down that atrocious road he has heard shocked whispers about – nothing more. Even married couples are not allowed to practice this kind of perversion because carnal relations are only for reproduction, and this, getting on your knees for someone, this –

Brendon feels the top button of his pants popping open, and he has to see what's happening. He catches Ryan pulling the zipper down with his teeth, and Ryan is grinning widely like he is having the best of times. Ryan has his hands behind his back, and then he just dips his head down. Brendon jerks from the hot breath, the lips and teeth, and he doesn't mean to lift his hips in order to help, he certainly doesn't mean to, but he does. His pants and underwear slide down a few inches, but it's enough as Ryan's tongue is suddenly on the base of his cock, which is still mostly trapped in the underwear.

Brendon's entire body shivers from the contact. Ryan's teeth pull on his underwear, inching the fabric down, the tip of his nose pressing against Brendon's length. Brendon's breathing hitches when his cock finally gets freed, his erection practically bouncing from the confines of the clothing. Cool air hits his sensitive skin, and he is hard enough for his dick to point proudly upwards, tip already wet and glistening.

"Fucking hell," Ryan practically growls, and then his tongue is running along the underside. Brendon whines pathetically, trying to struggle against the restraints. It's useless; there is no escape. Even married people shouldn't do these kinds of acts. Sex is not about pleasure; it's about the miracle of life and creating more of God's children. And this is so far from it, this is –

"Ryan," Brendon blurts out when Ryan closes his mouth around the tip. "You don't have to, you – Oh, oh God, that's –"

Ryan doesn't have to – he clearly wants to.

Ryan is sucking his cock, hands still obediently behind his back, head moving in Brendon's lap. Ryan's mouth is wet and warm, and Ryan's tongue is pushing against his hot flesh, licking hungrily. He keeps pulling back to rub his lips over the swollen, red head, and Brendon dies a little whenever Ryan does that.

He didn't know anything could feel this good. No wonder it's a sin because anything that feels this absolutely divine – melting his spine, sending jolts of electricity from his crotch to all of his limbs, his body thrumming with lust and imminent release – must be wrong.

"You even taste innocent," Ryan rasps, voice heaving with awed want, and Brendon whines, his treacherous hips thrusting upwards. He is gone for good, so he'd at least like to go to hell for a finished job than something they left half-done.

Ryan's tongue swirls around the tip of his erection, and then he swallows down most of the length, applying wet and hard suction. Brendon's body is on fire from it, never having felt stimulation like that. Ryan sucks once, twice –

He comes before he can even register it, hips snapping, body jerking and jerking. His now swollen and plump lower lip bleeds from him biting on it too hard to keep quiet. The restraints around his wrists dig into his skin painfully, but the pain mixes with the pleasure somehow.

It all goes blank for a while, and nothing exists except for the intense pleasure clouding his mind, and he never wants it to stop, just wants it to last, Ryan's mouth on him, sucking him, pleasuring him – God, Brendon wouldn't care about the consequences if he could just feel this forever, this explosion of –

"Damn, I must be good. You lasted for, what was that? A minute and a half?"

Brendon blinks, coming back to earth, but it's hazy. He can't think. His brain won't work. His body feels so relaxed now, but it's still buzzing from what just happened.

Ryan is wiping his swollen and red mouth, smirking up at him. "I won't tell anyone about your lack of stamina. We'll keep it a secret."

Brendon feels horrified as he realizes that Ryan was expecting him to not come yet. He doesn't know it was meant to last longer than that. Oh God. He sinned and he wasn't even any good at it.

"This might be cheating," Ryan says as he tucks Brendon away using his hands, and Brendon's cock is only now softening, but it tries to get hard from the mere feel of Ryan's fingers on it. Ryan zips him up the best he can before standing up.

Brendon doesn't know what to say. He can't even look at Ryan. He is too mortified and embarrassed to.

"You look so well fucked," Ryan muses to himself, and Brendon doesn't want to know how flushed he is, how much of a sinner he looks right then. Ryan just shrugs, clearly in some happy place that is not this basement where the two of them threw their undying souls to Satan. "Now I'm a bit hungry."

That's all Ryan is thinking about?

Ryan walks to the bottom of the stairs. "You're welcome, by the way," he winks before he ascends, and Brendon's body is still coming down from its first full-blown orgasm that has completely wrecked everything Brendon thought he knew about this world and himself.