Give Me Envy, Give Me Malice, Give Me Your Attention *Ryden*

Let's Get These Teen Hearts Beating Faster, Faster

Brendon scrambled off of Ryan and sat down heavily beside him, head in his hands, still breathing hard. "I just...I need to...need to think."

Ryan stared at him in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. He was so turned on it physically hurt. There was no way they could stop right now. "You need to think?!" he said, nearly shouting. "Well, you do that then. I'll just be over here jerking off because I don't know about you, but I needto come."

Brendon's head snapped up and he looked at Ryan, a glint in his eye. An evil smile spread across his face. "That's it!"

"What's it?"

"You do you, I do me. That's not cheating." He didn't wait for an answer, just leaned back and got to work undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans.

Ryan's mouth dropped open. "Like, a friggin' circle jerk? What are we, teenagers again?" Even as he protested, his hands were going to his own belt buckle.

"If the incense fits..." Brendon pushed his jeans and boxers down, wrapped his hand around his cock, and started to stroke. "You joining me? Because you better make it fast, this isn't going to take long."

They didn't take their eyes off of each other the entire time. Neither of them could remember the last time they'd been this worked up. Breathing heavily, they stroked themselves faster, harder, until Brendon said, "I'm right fucking there..." and Ryan groaned, "Come for me," and they climaxed at the same time, spilling over their hands and onto their shirts, which they hadn't removed in their haste to get off.

Both of them dropped their heads back onto the couch, panting, recovering. "Holy. Shit." Brendon said.

"Yeah." Ryan replied. He reached for the throw on the back of the couch and handed it to Brendon. "Here. Clean yourself up, it's laundry day tomorrow anyway."

They took turns cleaning up and getting properly redressed, then sat in silence for a few minutes until suddenly Ryan started to laugh. It started as just a chuckle, but before long he was doubled over, holding his stomach, laughing like a lunatic.

Brendon stared at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised. Finally Ryan managed to sputter, "You - you fucking blamed it on the incense! You - you fucking said 'if the incense fits!' What the hell?"

Brendon started laughing too, and soon they were both gasping for breath, wiping tears from their eyes. When they finally settled down, Brendon reached for his wine glass and finished it off. "I should probably go," he said, sounding like it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Stay awhile," said Ryan. "I want to show you something."

"I think you just did."

Ryan punched his arm. "Funny, motherfucker. Come on." He stood and starting walking toward a doorway off the living room. Brendon rose and followed.

Flipping the lightswitch on, Ryan said, "Now, I know it's no 'Urielectric' studio or anything...but this is where I record."

Brendon smirked. "You fucking wise-ass. How many of my Periscopes have you watched?"

Ryan smirked back. "One or two."

*****

They spent the next two hours screwing around in Ryan's studio. Brendon was really impressed with the new songs Ryan was working on. Ryan asked for his advice on a few parts here and there, and Brendon offered it. It felt like old times, but without the bickering. It felt good.

Next thing they knew, it was 4 am. Brendon said, "I really have to go."

"I know you do," Ryan said wistfully. "Go home to that beautiful wife of yours."

Brendon stood, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "This was a really good night, Ross."

"Yeah, it was. Anyway, you know where I live now. I'll text you. Don't be a stranger."

"I don't think I could be." And that's the problem.