Something Worth Living For {Ryden AU}

5b

Instead of going to the bathroom like I'd assumed he would, he just shrugs his jeans off (as much as you can shrug off those absurdly tight things) and slips the sweatpants on. He then takes his shirt off quite gracefully, tossing it onto the couch with his other things, and I'm far too focused on how soft his skin looks to realize that I'm staring like a creep. He yanks the dry shirt on, which fits him nicely, but not really reaching all the way down to his pants so that there's a sliver of smooth, white skin visible. I swallow.

"Brendon?" Ryan asks nervously, jerking me out of my creepy staring.

"What? Yeah, sorry. Um," I cough, going back to pulling back the blankets. "You should probably lie down. I don't want you to get sick." He smiles, obediently crawling into the bed and pulling the blanket up around him. He looks rigid, like he's afraid to be comfortable. "You need to relax," I inform him. I get an idea, and I think it might really make him feel better, but I don't want to freak him out.

"I can't," he says pathetically, looking up at me with those eyes. I bite my lip and decide fuck it.

"Turn over on your stomach," I say, motioning him to do so with my hand. He raises his eyebrows, but turns over anyway. "I give awesome back massages," I explain.

"Um," he laughs a little. My insides are twisting with embarrassment, but it will make him feel better, I'm sure of it.

I start on his shoulders, pushing my fingers into them and pressing down with my palms. When I get to his upper back, I push down hard, feeling stress knots everywhere. He makes a surprised little noise, like he isn't used to the feeling. "God, you really do need to relax," I muse. I push my fingers into a tight, tension-filled spot, rubbing it out and he groans. "Have you ever had a massage?" I wonder. He shakes his head, his face looking too bliss-ridden to actually answer. I decide that since he's never had one, I'm going to make it extra-amazing. "Hold on," I mumble, crawling off my bed and going to my desk on the other side of the room. He lets out a pathetic whine at the loss of contact and I smile. "Okay, not to sound weird again, but take your shirt off." I look up and he's biting his lip. "It'll feel ten times better," I assure him. He reluctantly slips the shirt off, setting it on the pillow and waiting.

I come back with a bottle of massage oil. No, not that kind. Ryan eyes it warily. "What's that?" he nods at it.

"Massage oil," I mutter, not meeting his eyes. He's silent, so I cough a little. "It's not- It's not for- for that," I say, a bit mortified. "It's just for massages." He looks confused.

"Not for what?" his brows furrow. My mouth closes.

"Um, never mind," I shrug, finding it weird that he didn't know what I meant. Or maybe he just isn't as dirty minded as me, whatever.

I put a little of the liquid in my palm, rubbing my hands together to warm it up. When I press my hands to his skin again, I'm surprised to find that it's heated, warm against my hands. I rub my hands up his shoulders again, kneading his muscles and relieving his overwhelming amount of tension. He has his arms crossed on the pillow with his head lying on top of them. His eyes are closed.

My hands smooth down his back, all the way down to his lower back, where I stop, pressing my fingers in there and massaging deeply. Another sound escapes his mouth this time, and it almost sounds like a moan. That sound does really odd things to me. I can't really reach the other side of his back like this, so I stop, hesitating, before saying, "I'm just gonna-" and promptly straddling his ass. My eyes widen, because I have no idea what possessed me to do that. I just keep massaging his back like nothing happened, and he doesn't say anything either.