Boy Of The Ball ~ A Ryden AU

Brendon (3)

I can feel myself beginning to perspire as I walk into the gardens, George on my heels. Anxiety prevails, once again.

But I cannot help it. George... No, Ryan, as he wishes to be addressed, makes me scared.

He also makes me thrilled beyond comprehension. Elated, really.

But no matter.

We reach a secluded area, behind some delicate shrubbery, and I turn to face the other man.

Perfection. Pure, utter perfection. Maybe not perfection, actually. His eyes are a bit too big for his face, his skin peppered with a few blemishes.

But I do not want perfect. I want him.

His soft hair curls in his face, and his honeyed eyes scan my form scornfully. I do not blame him, considering how things concluded the last time we conversed.

He moaned as I sucked the tender skin of his neck, a dark purple bruise blooming on his flesh. "Oh, Brendon!" He trilled, his voice high and clear as a bell in his arousal, and it sent shivers down the small of my back.

"I love you!" He whimpered as I ran my tongue over the mark.

What?

I pulled back, my lips parting. "Excuse me?" I spluttered, and I could feel my face heating up.

His eyes hosted a shadow of uncertainty, and then he petulantly stuck out his chin.

"I said I love you. And I do. I love your formality in everything. I love your dry humor. I love your crooked smiles, and your beautiful eyes. And I think you love me, too." He said, surprisingly calm.

I did love him.

Oh, I did. I loved everything about him, George Ryan Ross. But he was a man, and he was a servant. And I knew what I must do.

"You are a fool." I spat, injecting vemon into every syllable. "I could... I could never love a man. No, you serve your purpose quite well, Ryan. I use you as a distraction. For pleasure. That is all." I said, forcing a cruel smirk onto my handsome features, even though I could physically feel my heart splitting.

Ryan's face contorted into pain. "That is all I am to you?" He whispered, and I lean into his face, letting our noses touch. I felt vulnerable. Could he hear my thoughts? Could he feel my arousal?

"You... are nothing."

"May I help you, your highness?" He asks, his tone stiff and formal.

"Cut the shite, Ryan." I growl, stepping forward and grabbing his thin arm.

His expression remains rigid. "My title is George." He says sharply, and my face falls.

"Ryan..." I say, batting my eyes and grazing my fingers across his cheekbone. He visibly relaxes, as if my touch molds him into a trance.

How flattering.

However, it doesn't last. He stiffens, pulling away.

"What? What could you possibly want?" He cries, looking distraught. "You ruined me. Ruined! What more shall you claim of me?"

I shake my head. "No. No. You claim me." I whisper, and his brow furrows.

"Pardon?"

I inhale slowly. Glancing at the sky, I imagine God, or Jesus, or whoever it may be up there, staring down at me.

Forgive me. For I have sinned. And I shall carry on.

"I love you. And I want you to run away with me."

(This is rushed, but I've been neglecting this book, so.)