Ryden Oneshots

Hot Hot Heat

.:. Rating : NC-17 .:.
:))))

Summary: So maybe it was weird, that they were sitting on Ryan’s double bed in nothing but their boxer briefs and eating cherry popsicles, but they didn’t care. All they knew is it was fucking hot, like the hottest day of the summer, and there was no air conditioner or osculating fans because the town was in the middle of a black out. A black out that started in the middle of the afternoon, the hottest part of the day, and coincidently right in the middle of a Nevada heat wave.

So maybe it was weird, that they were sitting on Ryan’s double bed in nothing but their boxer briefs and eating cherry popsicles, but they didn’t care. All they knew is it was fucking hot, like the hottest day of the summer, and there was no air conditioner or osculating fans because the town was in the middle of a black out. A black out that started in the middle of the afternoon, the hottest part of the day, and coincidently right in the middle of a Nevada heat wave.

Their parents had gone to the church immediately, like the good catholic folk they were, to hand out bottled water and other black out essentials to those in need, which, in a black out with no electricity or running water, was pretty much everyone in town.

When Brendon realized it wasn’t just a short power outage he immediately made his way across the street to Ryan’s house, which after doing for 15 years he could pretty much find the way blindfolded. He definitely wasn’t going to spend his day alone lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, or at least not in this heat. If he were going to be hot and bored, he was going to be hot and bored with Ryan.

Walking across the scorching black pavement he mentally scolded himself for deciding to go bare foot. When he barely reached the top of the concrete steps before the door was pulled open with Ryan standing on the other side. “You’re parents gone to help the ‘needy’?” He asked accenting the word needy with finger quotations.

“Yeah. Yours?”

“Same.” Ryan shrugged and moved aside so that Brendon could slip passed him and into the house.

---

Their parents hadn’t come back to check on them to make sure they hadn’t died from a heat stroke or anything, they didn’t even come back to see if the boys were hungry. But it didn’t matter anyway, because by supper time they were on a frozen liquid diet, having made their way through a whole box of freeze pops and making a serious dent in a box of popsicles. The grape flavoured ones got eaten first because they had learned, from many half empty boxes of purple popsicles, that no one really enjoyed that kind. Though it hardly mattered, it was so hot they didn’t care what the flavour as long as it was cooling them off.

Every window in the house was open so the evening desert air could blow through and relieve them of the sweltering heat. Ryan’s room seemed to have the best breeze coming in, that’s why they chose to stick it out there opposed to any other room.

So there they were, sitting side by side with their bare backs against the partially cool wall, eating red frozen treats. It wasn’t totally apparent how they shed nearly every layer of clothing, but it was kind of gradual, shirts peeled off first, then jeans shimmied off and tossed in the small pile of sweaty clothes. Maybe it wasn’t weird because they had been friends forever and it was pretty much the same as just wearing shorts, except tighter and a little more revealing. Or maybe it wasn’t weird because, well, why should it be?

“It’s too hot!” Brendon exclaimed, for the hundredth time that hour, and broke his newly retrieved popsicle in half so it was easier to devour.

Ryan proceeded to do the same with his popsicle and didn’t bother to respond, because by now ‘I know’ had become more than redundant.

After breaking his cherry flavoured goodness, Brendon quickly plunged it into his mouth and sucking slowly he revelled in the coldness that bit at his warm tongue, deciding right then and there that popsicles were pretty much the best thing in the world. He pulled in a quick breath as a sweet red bead of juice dripped onto his bare chest and started rolling down toward his stomach, stopping when it ran too thin to go any further. Tactfully he angled the wooden stick upwards so that the sticky liquid would run down the melting shaft and into his awaiting mouth. With his unoccupied hand he wiped the sticky pink line that threatened to stain his pale milky skin, wishing he had a washcloth because he hated the tacky feeling it left on his skin.