Tripping Down 12 Steps Into Malibu

Bad Shit

"I don't think I can cry anymore."

Brendon glanced over at him. Trying to hide his concern behind a disinterested expression. He learned early on in their partnership that Ryan was a man who rarely spoke how he felt. But the words he did speak of it, were usually important and unpredictable.

"Hmm?"

"I've tried crying at every one of my private sessions. And I just can't. I don't think I have any tears left after the first one because it never works."

"Baby, you're not supposed to force crying." To normal people that didn't need to be explained. But his Ryan wasn't exactly normal. "You're supposed to just cry when you feel like it."

"Jesse says that crying helps release pent up stress."

"Are you stressed?"

"Yes." He sighed in exasperation.

"Oh?"

Ryan lifted an eyebrow at the obvious suggestiveness in Brendon's tone. He didn't immediately answer. Gauging the situation fully to decide if he wanted to take part in what he was sure the younger man was offering. Brendon didn't let his own sly expression waver. He held the other man's gaze. Smirking when he noticed the darkening of his irises. Ryan decided it would be stupid to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. So he played along. Shifting back on his pillows. Spreading his legs more than necessary.

"Yeah."

"Well," Brendon trailed his finger up the skin of Ryan's arm. "I can maybe help?"

"Oh?" He mimicked. Tone and expression matching Brendon's from seconds before.

Unlike his roommate, Brendon didn't need to be convinced to dive right in. Immediately he was straddling Ryan's lap. Twirling his hips more than he needed to in order to get comfortable. Ryan's hands grabbed at his thighs. Pushing the other man down harder onto his lap. Increasing the pressure on himself.

"Close your eyes, baby."

Sultry. There was no other word he could think of to describe the way the words were whispered into his ear. Maybe there were, but the blood that should be going to his brain was being rushed else where. Ryan closed his eyes against the sensation of Brendon's lips on his ear. Kissing just in the entrance. Filling his head with the wet sound.

"Brendon, that's gross."

"But it feels nice."

"Yeah." He admitted. The sigh of disappointment aimed at himself.

"Keep your eyes closed." He instructed.

His weight shifted on top of Ryan. Plush, warm lips traced from his ear to his jawline. Leaving a wet trail that made him cold when the air hit it. He tried not to concentrate on the fact that Brendon's saliva was decorating his skin. Instead choosing to focus on the feeling of Brendon's lips that were now moving past his neck. Sucking into his sensitive skin hard enough to leave a mark.

Then Brendon's face was buried in his shirt. Breathing harder than necessary in order for his breathes to be felt through the clothes. He was no longer kissing him. He was dragging his face down his abdomen. His nose and lips causing the shirt to rise as he did. When his lips parted just above the button of his jeans, Ryan stopped him.

"Whoa there!"

"What?" He gritted out.

"Are we-" Ryan tried to control his heavy breathing.  "At that level yet?"

Brendon nipped at the flushed skin under Ryan's belly button before sitting up. His ass resting on the other man's thighs. His eyes trained on the bulge Ryan was now sporting. "You have to be at a certain level in a relationship to suck your boyfriend's dick?"

"Aww." The older man used to fingers to bump Brendon's chin up. His eyes reluctantly rose. "You used the b word."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Aren't you my b word?"

"Of course." Ryan nodded. "And you're my b word."

"Aww." Brendon was burying his face in Ryan's shirt again.

"My bitch."

"That's it." Brendon rolled off of him completely. Ryan's arm caught him around the waist before he could fall off of the small bed. "No blowjob for you."

"Hey." They both turned at the sound of Patrick in the open doorway.

"What's up?" Brendon sat up.

"Nothing." Patrick's fingers pinched at the hem of his oversized t-shirt. He shuffled from foot to foot. Refusing to meet the eyes of either man.

"You know you're not supposed to enter another patient's room, right?" Ryan teased.

"Right." He choked out a laugh. The strained sound caused Brendon and Ryan to share a worried look. Brendon stood up first. "I forgot."

"Patrick." He touched the top of his arm. Guiding him fully into the room. He peeked his head out the door to make sure the halls were empty before closing it. "What's wrong?"

"Pete relapsed."

"What?" Brendon's hand dropped. His boyfriend was by his side instantly. Hovering over the two men in case one of them fainted.

"Some new guy. Uh." He wiped his hand down the front of his face. "Mikey was his name. He came in with hidden drugs or something. Who the fuck does that, right?" He was trembling. "Who would bring drugs into a rehab center?"

"I-I don't know." Brendon kept his gaze trained on Patrick when he spoke.

"Well apparently he had a crush on Pete so he offered him some. And I-" The tears both men had been waiting for finally made an appearance on Patrick's porcelain skin. "I was in a fucking therapy session. I was whining about my problems while the love of my life needed me."

"So he's back to step one?" Ryan whispered.

Patrick glared. "He's in the fucking hospital. Dying."

"What?" Brendon swayed. Ryan grabbed his waist.

"It was bad shit."

"Oh, Patrick."

"What if he doesn't wake up?" Patrick sobbed. Wrapping his arms around himself.

Brendon stepped out of Ryan's embrace to pull him into his arms. He didn't know what else to do. He'd never felt more useless. Patrick cried into his arms. Coughing and sniffling every few seconds. From the corner of his eye Brendon saw Ryan disappear into the bathroom.