Ryden Oneshots

Exchanging Body Heat

.:. Rating : R .:.

Summary: Dirty talk can work better than expected.

Brendon can have a dirty mouth when he wants to.

“I wanna see you under me, Ryan,” Brendon growls from the passenger seat. “I wanna feel your muscles tense against my palms.”

Ryan swallowed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Brendon, stop.”

“You don’t say that often.”

Ryan kept his eyes on the road. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brendon was slouching, legs spread with a knee against the car door. He probably had one hand’s splayed fingers over his mouth, one presumably just past inside his lower lip.

“Brendon, I just want to go out to dinner,” Ryan pleaded. “You know, the one you asked me out to.”

“Food’s boring. I wanted to taste something better.” The other hand makes its way to Ryan’s thigh, tracing patterns through his jeans with fingers light enough to make shivers scurry up his spine.

Ryan could feel his face burn. His knuckles had turned white.

“Aww, you embarrassed, Ross?” Brendon teased with a sinful tongue as he slipped his hand between Ryan’s thighs, thumb just inside the waistband of his jeans.

“Brendon, we’re meeting people. We have a double date. We need to—”

Ryan sucked in a breath, the pitch wavering in his throat. Brendon traced patterns over where the zipper lay.

“Mm,” he continued as he saw Ryan adjust himself, swatting away Brendon’s hand. “Apparently so,” Brendon said, ignoring Ryan’s comment. He didn’t bear look but he could almost hear Brendon grinning smugly. He felt like his face might catch on fire, and as he came to a red light he imagined what their windshield must look like: Ryan’s tight, rigid frame; Brendon’s narrow eyes and secretive smirks.

“Brendon, I think you’d be doing something you’ll come to regret,” Ryan tried as he went forward once the light changed.

A growl: “But you won’t.”

Ryan swallowed.

Brendon pressed his fingertips against Ryan’s jeans, tracing harder. It wasn’t much, but enough for Ryan’s palms to ache from gripping the steering wheel, his gritting teeth the loudest thing in his ears.

Three blocks away, just three blocks. They would be there in—

Ryan presses his back against the seat, locking his elbows. Brendon’s fingers are inside his boxers, ghosting over what’s important. His knuckles are straining the material, making the waistband bite into his hips. “Brendon.” It comes out on air alone, so breathy he wonders if it’s even audible.

Brendon ventures further and further, until—

Ryan accidentally slams on the acceleration, causing them to speed through a red light.

“Ooh, easy there.” It’s jovial and rumbly, sitting low in his throat. It sounds accessible to Ryan. He can kiss it out, pry it from his throat and taste it himself.