DAMN YOUR KISS; ryden

Chapter Ten: Of Course You'll Be Distracted When I Spike The Punch

His heart was hammering like you couldn’t believe, his skin covered in sweat as he twisted in the sheets, a hangover with the fists of Donkey Kong himself beating in his skull. Try as he might, his eyes were glued shut and a moan escaped his dry lips, aching throat.

He never wanted to swallow a drop of alcohol again.

Where was he? He had no idea. Yet, he felt like he should. He was in an actual bed, that much was obvious. He hadn’t been in one in so long that it both unnerved and delighted him. The sheets were thin, cotton. For someone who ran hot when they slept.

Try to think back.

He remembered the morning after the night before. Ryan, sleeping at the opposite end of the couch to him, arm hanging off the side and grazing the floor, face half-mashed into the arm of the couch, body front down. His hair was a rumpled, fingers-ran-through-it mess, and he was snoring lightly. And completely naked.

Brendon had boxers on, and one sock, but nothing else. His own hair, when he’d put a hand to it, was also dishevelled, and fluffy-feeling in the way it stood up.

He remembered getting up, grabbing his jeans and shirt and other sock. Hiding in the bathroom until he heard noises an hour later of Ryan awaking. Heard him call out his name. Twice. Three times. Get up and made a noise of getting dressed. Knocked on the bathroom door with a soft rap of knuckles. “Brendon. I want to speak to you.”

Brendon said nothing.

Ryan sighed. Left. Left out the front door. He heard the engine of his car start up and drive away.

Let out a breath.

Got dressed.

Found the one bottle of Jack left.

Finished the amber liquid just as Spencer and Dallon showed up.

Blank.

A Great, big blank.

Blank, blank, blankety blank.

Waking up on this bed.

“Hrrrngggh.”  He groaned again, giving up on trying to open his eyes, twisting so he pushed his face on the pillow. He hoped it was damp from his sweat, and not because he’d drooled on it. He hugged the sheets to his chest.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Oh no.

Oh, God no.

He remembered now. Saying he was tired. That he wanted to go home. Oh, he hadn’t meant this home. Or had he?

Leave he wanted to say.

Her hand stroked down his damp hair, around the curve of the skin around his ear. Sighed in that soft, dainty way she had. “You were so out of it, you know that?”

He knew it.

“When Dallon dropped you off, and after you threw up on my feet, my new shoes-”

Woops.

“You just fell into bed, and were blotto. Totally gone to the world.” She sighed again. “Except form that brief moment you woke up enough to ask me to give you a blow job.”

Oh no.

He must have groaned again, because her fingers patted his back soothingly. “I declined of course. I may be a lot of things, and make a lot of mistakes, but a hussy that takes advantage of a man so out of his own head, I am not.”

Thank heavens.

“When you feel ready, and once you’re decent, come on through. I’ve made blueberry pancakes. Your favorite, remember?”

He made another grunt, this one of agreement.

“And then, we’re finding you a place. For real. No more crashing on the studio couch, no more crashing in here when you decide to get smashed. Stability. You need it.”

He could kiss her.

Except he really didn’t want to.