hackthis_archive | Just a little bit more.

You remember that story: Telegraph Avenue? Well,

serialkarma and I agree that at some point we have to check back in with Jamie & Ian and see what’s happening, but before that we should revisit The Arsonist and The Architect Who Loves Him. Or something like that.

The O.C.
Telegraph Avenue Coda: The Last of the Great Navigators

When Seth died and went to hell, he would blame all his bad deeds on Calvin Klein; that’s what he decided after he inadvertently dropped the last of his cold pizza in a sink full of dirty dishes and cloudy water.

He glanced down momentarily as his pizza sunk beneath the soapy depths, but decided against trying to salvage it in the interest of not getting dysentery and becoming a Kaopectate commercial.

He hadn’t actually been planning to do the dishes or anything; he’d just been sitting on the kitchen counter, next to the sink, hanging around and trying to figure out what else to eat while Ryan napped.

However, bare feet, bare legs and bare other things coming around the corner loudly proclaimed that Ryan’s nap was over, and the last bite of Seth’s pizza stuck in his throat for a long time as he tried to remember how to swallow.

He’d never been good with multi-tasking anyway, and as Ryan ambled into the kitchen, scratching his chest and nodding a hello, Seth made a muted keening noise.

It wasn’t just the bareness that caused Seth’s sudden non-verbalness; it was also the boxer-briefs. More specifically, it was Ryan wandering around in black boxer-briefs, post-nap, with his hair sticking up at odd angles and looking adorable.

Not that guys were allowed to be adorable, because they weren’t, ever.

They were allowed to be hot, which Ryan certainly was, but they couldn’t be adorable. Ever.

Right.

Even when they yawned and smiled, and then proceeded to give Seth a small coronary by opening the refrigerator door and bending over to study the contents.

Seth coughed, and a small bit of crust went flying across the kitchen. Thankfully, it didn’t go anywhere near Ryan. Trying to explain *that* would’ve been on par with trying to explain to his mom why he’d had to wash his sheets four times the first week Ryan lived in the guesthouse.

And yes, when Seth died and went to hell, he was blaming Calvin Klein. And the genius that designed boxer-briefs in the first place.

He was also blaming Ryan’s parents for giving him such great, yet criminal, genes, which in turn had given him such a great ass.

Then Seth was going to blame Ryan, because they’d been living together for *years* at this point, and Seth had seen Ryan in his underwear more times than Rosie Palm and her five friends could count. And yet, he’d never quite mastered the art of not staring.

He’d been quite good about the not groping and not drooling on himself, but how Ryan had never noticed how excited Seth got watching him in his underwear was truly a mystery of the universe. Like how Emma Frost kept her costume on without straps and how Keith Richards was still alive.

So, when Ryan turned his head and said something, Seth just nodded.

He had absolutely no idea what the hell Ryan had said, but since Ryan then went back to his exploration of the fridge, and Seth was free to stare openly at Ryan’s ass, he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Unless he’d just agreed to something insane, like agreeing to cook. But Ryan would never allow that, so it had to be something more reasonable. Like agreeing to steal a car.

Shaking off whatever doubts he had, Seth began to bang his feet against the cabinet below him and study the construction of Ryan’s boxer-briefs instead.

The seams were nice and tight, and no.

No, tight was not the direction Seth’s thoughts needed to be taking, because then he would inevitably think about sex and sucking and Ryan’s mouth stretched over his cock, and that was just asking for trouble.

They were taking things slow. Not that Seth’s dick really cared about that.

Seth had even had a dream that his cock had gone on strike from spending too much time in the company of his extreme case of blue balls. Besides, yellow lights were for going slow; *they* were pretty much at a sub-human crawl, like trying to drive with the parking break on.

It was possible, just not pleasant.

Seth cleared his throat as Ryan shifted again, and every fiber in Seth’s body cried for Argentina and the injustice of not getting laid. It had been like this almost a whole month.

The longest month *ever* as far as Seth could tell.

Longer than the month he’d been grounded after Tijuana, and his Playstation had been held hostage. Longer than the wait between LOTR installments. Longer than it had taken for Alan Moore to come out of retirement and write the next installment of Top Ten. Longer than… yeah, it was a really long time.

There had been dates and hand jobs. There had been serious frottage and gropeage and all sorts of things that ended with ‘–age’, but no blowjobs and no sex, and Seth was dying from the lack of action.

Ryan had no problem with kissing and rubbing and hand jobs, but they never seemed to get beyond the shirtless thing. And now, now Ryan was fucking taunting him with his really nice ass, wandering around in his boxer-briefs, and Seth couldn’t take it anymore.

Seth’s dick *really* couldn’t take it anymore.

One of them was going to die soon, or at the very least Seth felt fairly sure that this lack of sex was going to get him expelled from school, like in his dream about his bad technique.

Seth was positive there was a sex quota mentioned somewhere in the campus student handbook.

Right next to the invisible print requiring stupendous amounts of drinking on Thursdays and Sundays.

He coughed again, when Ryan turned around with a container of cranberry juice in his hand and crossed to where Seth sat. The closer Ryan got, the faster Seth’s feet drummed against the wooden cabinets. He was like a dog wagging his tail. It was really sad.

“Hey,” Ryan said, pausing outside of Seth’s kicking range and glancing down pointedly.

Seth immediately stopped swinging his legs, and instead began pulling at the hem of his red Von Dutch shirt.

“Hey,” he said, trying to distract Ryan while he covered up the bulge in his jeans. Sometimes being a guy sucked. The entire world could always tell what he was thinking about, and he so didn’t need to be thinking about things that sucked either.

Seth’s hands froze mid-pull when Ryan stepped right into his personal space. Actually, no. Stepping into his personal space would’ve implied that Ryan was *next* to Seth; what Ryan did was push Seth’s legs apart and step *between* them.

This effectively shorted out every cell in Seth’s brain and rendered him idiotic.

Not that that was much of a stretch.

“Hey,” he repeated, again.

“Hey.” Ryan’s lips twitched as his right arm stretched around Seth, and he leaned forward. Seth’s eyes immediately shuttered closed, and he waited impatiently for Ryan to kiss him. Not that he couldn’t have kissed Ryan, and not that he should have still gotten so excited after almost a month, but he couldn’t really help himself.

He still got excited when Ryan sat next to him on the sofa, and if they were about to make out in the kitchen, he was pretty damn excited.

After three years it was his *right* to get excited.

Except no press of lips was forthcoming, only a brush of air, and Seth was severely nonplussed to hear a cabinet door creaking open on his left. When he opened his eyes, he realized Ryan was actually reaching *around* him to get a glass.

Seth’s cock shriveled up in disappointment, and Seth wasn’t really far behind, except for the fact that Ryan was still standing there, between Seth’s wide-open his legs.

And well, yeah.

He wasn’t easy. He was desperate.

“Cranberry juice, huh?” he said, stating the obvious as Ryan watched him appraisingly. “I’ve heard that’s really good for avoiding ovarian cysts. Not that you would have cysts, since you’re a guy. Moving on.”

Ryan chuckled and pulled back. When he stepped away, Seth slid off the counter.

“So, you’re thirsty.” Seth motioned to the glass and container that Ryan was holding. “Not that that’s not obvious or anything, because you know, glass, juice, these things generally denote thirst.”

The more Seth babbled, the more amused Ryan seemed to become.

“Do you want some?” he offered, when Seth stopped waving his hands around.

“Yeah. No. No, I’m good,” Seth held up his hands and turned as Ryan crossed over to the counter and opened the bottle of cranberry juice.

The red liquid flowed and so did Seth’s ability to babble.

“That’s a good red. I like that color, you know, it’s red like my shirt,” he said, motioning to himself, and then back to Ryan. “Red’s not my favorite color though. No, that would be green. Green is good, not like “greed is good”, unless you like Wall Street. Michael Douglas was pretty good in that, and then he married Catherine Zeta-Jones, who is quite the hottie, even if she’s my mom’s age. Also, I like black, black is good, like your boxers, not that I’m looking at your underwear. A lot. I mean now. No, not now.”

Seth covered his face with his hands, and splayed his fingers to watch Ryan’s reaction. Ryan, for his part, stared so long that the juice he was pouring, overflowed and spilled on the counter.

He jumped away as Seth’s eyes widened in horror.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Seth chanted, as he dashed around the kitchen trying to grab a paper towel or a dishtowel or a napkin or anything slightly absorbent. Unfortunately, he remembered a bit late that this wasn’t Newport, and things like napkins didn’t tend to rate highly for guys who normally ate pizza or delivery.

He finally grabbed an errant copy of the The Daily Californian that yammered about The Terminator’s visit to Berkeley and lamented the whereabouts of John Connor when he was actually needed.

Moving faster than he was thinking, Seth skidded to a halt just shy of the juice puddle of the floor and slapped the paper down right next to the full glass of juice.

As the juice seeped into the black newsprint, Seth nodded in satisfaction. Finally, he was the superhero. Dick had saved Bruce, and Nightwing was going to be a member of the Justice League.

Seth was rather proud of himself for about four seconds, until he looked up and saw the spatters of juice on Ryan’s chest and the matching “we are not amused” look on Ryan’s face.

Seth blinked. A muscle twitched in Ryan’s temple.

“Huh,” Seth said. It wasn’t one of his more verbal moments.

He blinked again and licked his lips as a rivulet of juice ran down Ryan’s chest.

“We have napkins,” Ryan said, pointing to somewhere over Seth’s right shoulder.

Seth just nodded. It was kind of hard for him to hear over the roar of every hormone in his body screaming like Summer at a shoe sale. Not that he needed to be thinking about his ex-girlfriend at a time like this, what with Ryan in his boxer-briefs, and juice probably drying on his skin, and Seth’s dick about to cede itself from his body.

“You’re not listening to anything I’m saying are you?” Ryan asked.

Seth nodded haphazardly as he studied the golden hairs on Ryan’s lower abdomen.

“It’s kinda hard to listen when you’re running around in your underwear,” he retorted thoughtlessly, before attempting to swallow his tongue.

Ryan exhaled loudly, and Seth froze.

He tried to stare at his feet, or Ryan’s feet, but his eyes refused to stop staring at Ryan’s stomach, which was right above Ryan’s crotch. This was clearly a train of thought that Seth needed to avoid at all costs, except it was a really nice train. Or trail. Wasn’t that line of hair called the treasure trail? Ryan’s certainly lived up to its name.

The silence after Seth’s declaration was punctuated by a door slamming somewhere in the building, and a male voice shouting that 2:28 was close enough to 4:20 for him.

It was also around this time that Seth decided that wiggling his toes was his new favorite thing, ever, and that he never actually needed to look at Ryan again. Even though they were dating, and Ryan was pretty fucking hot, and Seth had been embarrassing himself since day one.

Technically, there was no reason for this day to be any different than any other of the 1,186 since Ryan had arrived. Except for the sex thing. And the boxer-briefs thing.

When Ryan cleared his throat, Seth winced and glanced upwards.

“So, yeah,” Seth begin.

Ryan smirked. “You have problems with my underwear, Seth?” he asked, pointedly stepping closer.

Seth shivered despite the heat generated by Ryan’s proximity. Or perhaps because of it. His heart was beating loud enough to be heard in Maui. Or Tahiti. “Not problems like you would think problems. Not like I’ve been trying to wear your underwear or steal it. Did you ever hear about that guy in the UK who used to break into people’s houses and steal women’s underwear? So, um, yeah.”

Seth raised his right hand to run his fingers through his hair, but the message got confused somewhere along the way, and he felt Ryan shudder when he reached out and ran a finger along the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

“They’re nice,” he said appreciatively, slipping one sly finger under the elastic band.

“You wear the same kind,” Ryan pointed out.

“Yeah, but they look better on you.”

“I think that’s up for debate.”

“Obviously you haven’t watched you wandering around in your underwear for three years, or even three minutes,” Seth mocked.

Ryan’s wry grin said it all.

“Okay, but you know what I mean,” Seth corrected as he slipped another finger under the elastic band. He knew Ryan was probably going to stop him at any moment and remind him about the whole slow thing, but Ryan’s skin was calling to him like some sort of junkie fix.

Crack addiction began to make a lot more sense to Seth at that moment, and he jumped slightly when Ryan’s hand came down on his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Ryan’s tone was more curious than warning, and Seth noticed that Ryan’s hand was only on his wrist, not restraining his fingers at all. He twisted slightly, allowing the pads of his fingers to brush against bare skin, and he bit his lip when Ryan inhaled sharply.

“*Seth*”

Seth glanced up at wide blue eyes, and couldn’t resist smiling. “Just touching,” he said, even as his fingers began to tug downwards.

Ryan’s grasp on his wrist tightened, and Seth paused. “*What* are you doing?” Ryan repeated.

His voice was lower this time, and Seth wasn’t a great reader of dilated pupils or whatever, but Ryan certainly seemed very interested in his answer.

Leaning forward, Seth pressed a dry kiss to Ryan’s mouth. He pulled away just enough to speak against Ryan’s mouth. “Just touching,” he said again.

Ryan’s eyes darted down to Seth’s mouth and up, once, twice, and Seth’s knees wobbled when Ryan’s tongue darted over his bottom lip.

Ryan pressed his mouth against Seth’s. “Touching, huh?”

His hand relaxed on Seth’s wrist, and his free hand cupped the back of Seth’s head. Seth nodded minutely as Ryan licked his lips and leaned forward.

Seth’s eyes flickered closed, and when Ryan’s tongue slipped between his lips he moaned appreciatively. Soft lips met his, and every fiber in Seth’s body began grooving out to bad softcore music.

Ryan’s tongue brushed against his, and Seth’s grip on Ryan’s waistband tightened. In the back of his mind, Seth heard something rip, but he ignored that when his left arm wrapped around Ryan’s waist and came in contact with all that warm, bare skin.

This time when his hand slipped beneath the waistband of Ryan’s boxer-briefs, it wasn’t deliberate, but it wasn’t like Seth was going to apologize.

He made a strangled noise when Ryan pulled away, which turned into some sort of weird whimpering when Ryan’s fingers untangled from his hair and he began yanking on the hem of Seth’s shirt.

Seth opened his eyes, found his fingers tangled in Ryan’s underwear, and reluctantly extracted himself so that he could pull his shirt over his head. He tossed it away, quickly, and moved to crowd Ryan into an available corner only to be thwarted by Ryan’s hand on his chest.

“Jeans.”

Seth blinked.

Ryan’s voice was harsh like boarding on gravel. “Take them off,” he ordered.

Seth opened his mouth and nothing came out. Then he tried to take off his jeans and his fingers couldn’t figure out how to work the button, and there was only *one*. This was the entire reason why Seth had given up on button-fly jeans, and now he couldn’t even get his off. He stumbled badly when Ryan’s fingers hooked into his belt loops pulling him forward.

“Need help?”

“You have no idea how much help I need,” Seth blathered. “I need so much help I need my own psychiatric ward. With nurses. Lots of nurses. Or just one. You would be good, ever consider the medical profession?”

Ryan smirked, and then Seth’s world went upside down as Ryan dropped to his knees and made short work of Seth’s jeans.

Seth didn’t have time to try and balance on the counter, and he didn’t even realize he was stepping out of his jeans until he was holding onto Ryan’s shoulder for balance, and he felt Ryan’s muscles shift under his hand.

After Ryan had discarded Seth’s jeans, he looked back up at Seth through blonde fringe and long eyelashes, and Seth stared back.

Ryan was on his knees in front of Seth.

Seth’s dick popped open a bottle of champagne.

And all Seth could think was that Ryan was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. Like ever.

He couldn’t believe he was picking this time to get sentimental. Wasn’t that supposed to come *after* he’d come?

Ryan licked his lips, again, and Seth shuddered when he felt warm hands running up the back of his calves. His legs twinged when Ryan’s fingers rubbed against the crease of his knee, and Seth had visions of himself passing out way before Ryan ever blew him. *If* Ryan was going to blow him. Which was not a definite. Especially considering all that ‘slow’ crap.

However, Ryan was on his knees, and he was licking his lips, and molesting Seth’s legs, and Seth was going to come in his briefs in approximately three seconds if Ryan didn’t stop right now.

“Stop,” someone who sounded just like Seth said.

Ryan’s hands froze midway up Seth’s thighs, and Seth’s cock wept.

Ryan stood up before Seth’s brain could react properly, and Seth had to physically restrain him from getting away. “I didn’t mean stop like ‘stop, you’re moving too fast’ stop. I meant stop like ‘stop, because I really don’t want to come in my pants’, and I kind of want to suck you now, and dude, I’ve been waiting for like ever. Shouldn’t I get to go first in the interest of… of me?”

Ryan shook his head.

Now was not the time for Seth to stomp his foot because he wasn’t getting his way. “Dude, I know you and Marissa had some weird celibacy thing happening because you loved her, and you thought the sex was going to mess it up. That was all very Romeo and Juliet of you, but in the 21st Century it’s okay to have sex with people who love you. Really. I heard it on Dr. Phil.”

Ryan blinked. Seth decided he would freak about the love thing later.

“It was more complicated than that,” Ryan began.

“But we’re not,” Seth insisted. “I want you. I *need* you. My hand is about to fall off!”

Ryan didn’t smile. “I think it’s pretty clear we’re not me and Marissa.”

“Exactly!”

When Ryan was silent, Seth cringed.

“Ry, it’s you and me, me and you. Us. You know this thing that we’re doing? The dating? It’s not stopping any time soon. I’m not going to spazz on you and move to Rhode Island or Boston or where ever. I’m not going anywhere, *ever*, unless you force me to go jerk off, by myself, *again*.”

The resolute look on Ryan’s face flickered for a moment, and Seth pressed his advantage.

“There is slow, and then there’s backwards,” he insisted. “No more going slow. I understand that Marissa put the mind whammy on you, and you think sex and love and whatever don’t work, but forget all that. I’m going to give you a blowjob right now, and you’re not going to stop me, because I can’t keep doing the slow thing. I’m 20; I might die without sex. Do you want Blue Balls to be listed as my Cause of Death?”

Whatever Ryan’s objections might have been, they were stifled when Seth leaned forward and nipped his lower lip. He ran his tongue over the non-existent teeth marks he’d left, and sighed in relief when Ryan began to kiss him back.

There was a moment when Seth felt Ryan’s hands sliding up his chest for several seconds, and he had a mini-episode that Ryan might push him away. In the end, however, Ryan’s fingers slid into his hair to angle his head, and a wet tongue brushed all Seth’s anxiety away.

Seth slid his hands along strong forearms and shoulders and down the finely muscled chest as his mind made several loud toasts and set off a few fireworks as it always did when he got to touch Ryan.

Seth had spent many an hour covertly, or not so covertly, staring at Ryan’s chest and he’d decided that if man were meant to be perfect, then Ryan was perfect. He wasn’t all WWF, but he wasn’t like Bob from Fight Club either.

Ryan made several strange noises as Seth’s fingers brushed over his nipples, and Seth couldn’t help running his hands over Ryan’s stomach before sliding one down over the front of his boxer-briefs and the other around his waist.

The fingers in Seth’s hair tightened as he began rubbing Ryan’s cock through the cotton barrier, and Ryan pulled away to breathe when Seth’s fingers became more insistent in their stroking.

Ryan’s “please” was easily the sexiest thing Seth had ever heard in his life, and he continued rubbing Ryan as he trailed wet kisses down the column of Ryan’s neck and over sharp collarbones.

Seth’s tongue flickered over one nipple and then the other, finding traces of cranberry juice, sweat and salt, and he moved onwards only when threats against his life began to penetrate his ears.

He licked a long line down Ryan’s stomach with the flat of his tongue, pausing to nuzzle hard abdominals and coarse blonde hair. His knees protested when they finally came to rest on the hard linoleum floor, but Seth’s cock immediately told the rest of his body to shut the hell up.

Seth now found both of his hands hooked into Ryan’s waistband, and he bit his lip and looked up at Ryan.

“Okay,” he said.

Ryan nodded. “Okay.”

It wasn’t permission or fear, it was just them checking in and making sure everything was okay.

That they were okay.

Seth’s breath caught his throat as he pulled down the black boxer-briefs slowly. He lowered his eyes until he’d pulled the cotton underwear all the way down, and when he looked back up, he tried to remember how to breathe, period.

Ryan’s hands were heavy in Seth’s hair, even though he hadn’t registered for several minutes that they were there, and Seth felt pretty sure it would be very wrong to stare, but he couldn’t quite figure out what else to do because, wow.

It wasn’t that Ryan was huge or small or uncut or anything he hadn’t seen before, even when he wasn’t supposed to be looking in the locker room, it was just that it was Ryan. Hard and wet, and waiting for *him*.

Seth had done that.

A shuddering sigh brought Seth back to the situation at hand, pun intended, and he ran his hands up the front of Ryan’s legs, carefully, his palms rubbing over knees scarred from soccer.

He wrapped his hands around Ryan’s hips, rubbing slowly with his thumbs.

Seth wasn’t sure whether his actions were to steady Ryan or himself, but he had appreciated it when Jamie’s movements had let him know what he was up to at all times, and now was not really the time to think about Jamie either.

Seth would just do what he always did: make it up as he went along.

“Spread your legs a little,” he said, his voice hoarse.

He cleared his throat, glanced up at Ryan again, and leaned forward slowly.

He pressed soft kisses to Ryan’s stomach and his outer thighs as his hands ran over warm, damp skin. Then his fingers were combing through light brown curls, and his tongue was flickering over the head of Ryan’s cock.

Ryan’s balls were heavy in his hand, and Seth wasn’t even going to pretend that he was terribly skilled at this, but he was a firm believer that enthusiasm made up for a lot. Wrapping his free hand around the base of Ryan’s cock, Seth lowered his mouth over the head and began to suck wetly.

Ryan’s curses egged him on more than anything else, and Seth bobbed his head up and down quickly, leaving obscene sucking sounds in his wake.

He tried to keep time with Ryan’s thrusts, pay proper attention to Ryan’s balls and that soft area behind them, but he only had two hands to control everything and he winced slightly when Ryan’s hands tightened in his hair.

The hands were removed quickly, and Seth pulled off in confusion.

Ryan cursed loudly.

“*Seth*”

“Hands.”

“Huh?” Ryan stared, mouth open and panting.

“It’s okay,” Seth explained, licking his lips and darting his tongue over the head of Ryan’s cock.

Ryan made a strange keening noise, and Seth smirked.

“Please, god,” Ryan said. “Please don’t stop again,” he begged.

Seth would’ve grinned, but it was a rather difficult thing to do while giving somebody a blowjob.

He continued sucking wetly, quite sure that this had to be one of the messiest blowjobs ever, but Ryan was chanting his name and that made up for a lot. And then there was tugging on his hair again, and Ryan was trying to warn him, and he didn’t really care.

He swallowed in large, greedy gulps, wiping the excess away with the back of his hand. It wasn’t necessarily the sexiest thing in the world, but whatever.

After pulling away, he sat on his haunches, licking his lips, finally able to understand why people liked having sex with their friends. As opposed to not being friends first and then getting involved. It made sense in his head, like most things tended to.

He looked up at Ryan expectantly, absently running his fingers over one of Ryan’s kneecaps, and he grinned again as Ryan stared at him openly.

Ryan’s eyes were enormous, and he was breathing through his mouth as though he’d just run a race, or run from the cops, or better yet, had a really really good blowjob.

His expression wasn’t a ‘Seth, you are in so much shit’ look or even a ‘you are the weirdest guy, ever’ look; it was clearly a ‘you are the King of Blowjobs,’ look because Seth had *skills*.

It was wrong for Seth to rest his chin on Ryan’s thigh, like a pet looking for attention, but he’d just blown Ryan, and his heart was threatening to jump out his chest and Ryan’s hair was damply plastered to his forehead. Did Seth mention the part about *blowing* Ryan?

Dude, he was not going to call Summer and brag. No.

No.

Right.

He leaned into the hand stroking his hair and smirked to himself.

“Hey.”

No, they’d already done the ‘hey’ thing. He looked upwards, belatedly wiping the smirk off his face.

Ryan’s raised eyebrow said it all. Seth was so not slick. But he had skills.

Skills made up for a lot of deficiencies.

He clambered to his feet at the tug on his hair, his knees creaking in loud protest. Clearly Seth was well trained in the language of hair pulling, but he wouldn’t actually think too hard about that one today. Maybe tomorrow.

He kissed Ryan lightly. “So.”

“So.”

Seth nodded. “Yeah.”

This time Ryan smirked. “Yeah.”

Seth stared for several seconds as Ryan’s lips twitched, and he did that nose-wrinkling thing that he sometimes did when he was being cute, but didn’t know he was being cute.

Not that Ryan was cute. No, guys couldn’t be cute.

Right.

Seth shook his head at Ryan’s quizzical look, and instead licked at the damp skin on Ryan’s shoulder and crowded against Ryan as warm fingers stroked the small of his back.

Ryan tasted good, and smelled good, and Seth had finally broken through the sex barrier. Life was good; and Seth was clearly a hippie and would soon be setting up his own commune. But only Ryan could live there with him, and he was not sharing Ryan privileges.

He didn’t even realize he was rubbing himself against Ryan until sharp teeth grazed his earlobe.

Seth’s response was cut off by a large hand cupping him through his own boxer-briefs, and fireworks began going off in the back of his mind, again.

Ryan’s voice was husky in his ear. “Like this?”

“Yurrr,” was the extent of Seth’s verbal skills, and even as his dick twitched happily in Ryan’s grasp, his conscience hit him with a huge two by four.

How the hell could he have forgotten about his cock? It wasn’t like it was a detachable limb.

Ryan was whispering something in Seth’s ear, but he was too busy digging his fingers into Ryan’s upper arms to hear anything besides “blow” and “now.”

Then there were warm hands inside his underwear that weren’t his own. Ryan’s fingers were searching and sliding over his balls and pressing against that soft spot that made Seth curse in Yiddish when he didn’t even know anything besides “putz” and “schmuck”. And then Ryan did *that* *thing*.

The thing where he removed his hand and licked his palm while Seth watched, and there was this really wet, sticky hand sliding along Seth’s cock.

Ryan began to kneel down, and Seth was going to get a blowjob, from *Ryan*, finally.

However, his dick had had enough, and Seth was still pushing his boxer-briefs down when he came all over Ryan’s hands.

Seth nearly bit his own tongue off as his underwear pooled around his ankles.

There were tiny spatters of *his* come on Ryan’s chest, and once Seth stopped shuddering and the flashing lights went away, he realized that Ryan was back on his knees, licking his fingers clean.

Seth’s dick began to twitch again, and to say it hurt was a small understatement, like saying that Tony Hawk was okay on a skateboard.

It was also at this time that Seth’s knees decided they’d done enough work for the day, and he dropped down on the floor, semi-straddling Ryan’s right leg. It was like porn of the college variety. Not that college actually had a pornography variety besides cheap or free, but how could he be expected to construct a logical argument at a time like this?

He was naked; Ryan was naked, moreover, Ryan was hot. His skin felt like the sand on the beach at midday, and Seth randomly wondered about having sex on the kitchen floor, but then he remembered his projectile pizza from earlier and let the idea pass.

“So, um, yeah.”

Seth’s mind couldn’t really function while Ryan’s tongue was carelessly flicking over his fingers.

Smirking was a really good look on Ryan, too, but Seth needed to salvage some semblance of pride or dignity or whatever it was called when he still really wanted Ryan to blow him.

He cleared his throat. “Next time. Definitely with the next time.”

Seth’s mind ran up the white flag when Ryan reached out and ran wet fingers over Seth’s mouth. His cock twitched again.

“How long until next time?” Ryan asked.

Seth shrugged. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.” He looked down at their legs entwined, and how close Ryan’s cock was to his. There was all that naked Ryan waiting just for him.

Seth’s hands began to itch with the desire to touch and grope and all sorts of things that he couldn’t do when Ryan was running around in his clothes.

“Okay, more like eight,” he corrected.

“So there’s time for a shower.”

“Why would you want to shower when we’re just going to…” Seth’s mouth shut off as his brain began running a montage featuring Ryan, wet on the beach. Ryan, wet in the pool.

Ryan, wet, period.

“A shower would be good,” he amended. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, which is um, not what we should be talking about now.”

Seth’s rambling was cut short by a quick kiss from Ryan before he gently pushed him away. “C’mon,” he said, getting to his feet and helping Seth up before heading for the bathroom. “I need a shower.”

With Seth’s eyes firmly trained on Ryan’s ass, his mouth was free to run amok. “Can I watch?”

Ryan stopped, and Seth ran right into him. His dick made a startling recovery as it brushed against Ryan’s ass.

Ryan craned his head to look back. “Just watch?”

Seth swallowed.

“I was hoping you’d –“

Seth cut Ryan off. “Wash your back? Wash your hair? I’ll wash whatever,” Seth babbled.

Ryan cocked his head to the side. “So you’ll wash the dishes?”

“Yes. No. Wait, no.” Seth’s brain put on emergency brakes and made screeching noises as it tried to figure out what train track it was supposed to be on. First, sex, and now, dishes?

This was a really strange conversation to be having naked, in the middle of the day.

“Dude, do I have to? You do remember the last time I tried to do the dishes and the reason that we only have paper plates, right, because --”

Ryan cut Seth’s rant off with a hard press of lips. “It’s getting cold out here, and I have dried cranberry juice and other stuff on my chest. Shut up.”

Seth nodded his head and made a zipping motion. “Shutting up.”

“Good.”

“Not saying anything else,” Seth amended as Ryan turned back around and headed for the bathroom.

“Great.”

“Totally non-verbal.”

“Seth.”

“Except like it would be cool to be Verbal Kint, because Keyser Soze and Kobayashi, and Kevin Spacey is hella cool like that. I want to be smart like that, when I’m done being smart like me.”

“*Seth*,” Ryan warned almost shutting the door in his face.

“I’m quiet now,” Seth insisted.

“Would a blow job shut you up?” Ryan asked.

Seth’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

Ryan smirked and opened the door. “Good. Get in the bathroom. Now.”

-the end-

Improv words: edge, red, glass, scream, ripped, jump (Sekrit message to H: I horde them you know)

Notes: The title is taken from the song by The Bluetones, a band from the UK who I love dearly. They never come to the US, so don’t ask.

Written to the tune of: DJ Shadow ‘Six Days; Zero 7 ‘Distractions’; Elbow’s Cast of Thousands LP; Coldplay ‘Shiver’ and Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick ‘The Show.’

Dedicated and thanks, as always, to

ethrosdemon and

serialkarma.

Special adoration for

semisuper, for worrying that I was missing.