Drama (And some acting, too)
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,777
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,777
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Cinnamon
This one's pretty short, but I think maybe you'll like it... hehe. I know I did. Thanks again to Koira for the continued enthusiasm! I hope the update was fast enough for you ;D
--
Ryan was in the chorus room. The light from the glass doors leading to the parking lot was blinding. Too bright! He thought. He had just woken up, and didn’t seem to question why he had inexplicably fallen asleep on the risers at school.
He shielded his eyes against the exceedingly blue glare, and stood up a little unsteadily. The practice room, he thought. It will be dark in there. There was only a small, high-set window in the practice ensemble room set off in a corner of the chorus class. He half-stumbled over to it and opened the door.
It was dark, and peaceful, and warm, and smelled lightly of cinnamon. Mmm. There was an old upright piano against the closest wall, and stacks of unused chairs cluttering up the rest of the tiny room. Ryan sat down at the piano bench, not able to go anywhere else, and opened up the lid to the keys. He began to play.
Hmm, Chopin, he mused. I didn’t know that I knew this song. But his fingers flowed over the notes with an intense familiarity, and the song swirled and danced through the room, mixing with the warmth and the dark and the cinnamon smell. And then the door opened.
There was someone there, in the doorway, but he was only a silhouette against the harsh light from the outside room. Ryan put his hand up again to shield his eyes, glancing around them to see his visitor.
“That’s a beautiful song,” Finn said.
“Thanks,” Ryan replied, glancing back at the piano. “Chopin.”
Finn closed the door, and Ryan couldn’t see anymore. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. And he felt a sudden warmth beside him, and his heart skipped a beat. Finn’s voice was in his ear. “I don’t mind,” he told Ryan. “Not at all.”
“Chopin?” Ryan asked, dumbly. He was having trouble remembering how to say anything else. He could see now. And he definitely liked what he saw. Finn was at his side, his messy but oh-so-gorgeous brown hair hanging mere inches from Ryan’s own face, and he could smell the scent of him- musky and manly and incredibly delicious. Finn’s eyes burned in the dark.
“No,” he rasped. His voice was husky, not more than a low whisper. It gave Ryan goose bumps. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps now. “You don’t mind?” Ryan managed to choke out.
Finn reached out a hand, hesitated, and said, “Not at all.” And he pulled Ryan’s head toward his own, and he kissed him, gently at first, and then harder. Ryan reached up above his head and began to entwine his fingers into Finn’s incredibly soft brown hair.
Their mouths were moving in fast unison, breaths coming quickly, gasping, Finn fumbled around for Ryan’s shirt and pulled away for just a moment to tear his shirt over his head. Ryan’s head was spinning. Finn’s mouth was like peppermint, and his lips were so soft, and his tongue was doing things that Ryan never dreamed were possible. "Wait-" Ryan managed to get out, but Finn's mouth found Ryan's again and the question was muffled. It didn't matter. Ryan forgot about it as soon as the warm breath was back.
Finn continued the kiss as he unbuttoned his own shirt and pulled it off his shoulders. Ryan pulled away then, and looked at the taller boy. His eyes were wide and fierce, and his hair was tousled into perfect chaos. But Ryan couldn’t help but look everywhere else. Every muscle in Finn’s arms and shoulders stood out on its own. He had the definition of a Greek God. Swimming had been very kind to him.
Ryan grabbed his shoulders and began to run his hands down Finn’s chest. The skin there was warm, and a bit damp, and soft despite the hard muscle underneath. Ryan’s hands found their way down Finn’s torso, twining around each individual ab muscle, finishing by winding his way around to his back. Finn was watching him with a certain amused pride. But he was getting impatient, and he wrapped his arms around Ryan and pulled the boy’s neck up to his mouth. Ryan gasped as Finn began to trail expert circles with his tongue in the spot right behind his ear, and he could feel the tingling sensation rising in the pit of his stomach. His toes curled and he exhaled with an audible moan.
Finn was now working his tongue lower and lower, pausing to encircle one of Ryan’s nipples. He gave it a light nibble, and Ryan cried out, throwing his head back and trying not to let himself go yet, no, not yet. He could feel the tickle of his nipples hardening, feeling the pressure building up, and it was almost unbearable as Finn traced his way down to Ryan’s bellybutton and began undoing the buttons on his pants.
He could feel the throbbing ache, the pressure longing to be released, and every moment that the gorgeous boy touched him he could feel it even more. His pants were dragged down slowly, painfully around his erection, and Finn reached out to move his hands along Ryan’s hipbones, teasing him, enjoying the primal ferocity with which Ryan looked at him. Ryan couldn’t breathe. His mind was going in thirty directions all at once. He closed his eyes, hating the painful pressure and basking in the pure pleasure of it- of the heat and the smell and the feeling of a warm, amazing body next to his own, and he opened his eyes then, and was promptly licked in the face.
He closed his eyes again and scrunched up his face. Oh, please tell me I didn’t just see that, Ryan thought. He opened his eyes again, cautiously. Sure enough, Frankie, his dog, was laying beside him, staring at him, tail wagging uncertainly. “Nooooo!” Ryan shouted. “God! Whyyyyuhhhh?!” He pouted, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over his face. Frankie jumped off the bed and skipped away. God, it was only a dream. Agh! Stupid dog! I didn’t even get to the good part! Indeed, he could still feel the residual ache in his nether regions.
He tried to recall the details of the dream. It was all a blur… the images in his mind running about, dancing just out of his line of focus. They were slipping away... “UGH!” No. That was too good. I haven’t had a dream like that in… ever, he realized. What time is it? He looked at his alarm clock, the blue numbers shining too intensely in the darkness. It was 4:37. He still had two hours and twenty-three minutes until his alarm went off…
Quietly, he got out of bed, shut his bedroom door, turned his alarm clock to face the wall, snuggled back up under the covers, and remembered.
And it was good.
--
Ryan was in the chorus room. The light from the glass doors leading to the parking lot was blinding. Too bright! He thought. He had just woken up, and didn’t seem to question why he had inexplicably fallen asleep on the risers at school.
He shielded his eyes against the exceedingly blue glare, and stood up a little unsteadily. The practice room, he thought. It will be dark in there. There was only a small, high-set window in the practice ensemble room set off in a corner of the chorus class. He half-stumbled over to it and opened the door.
It was dark, and peaceful, and warm, and smelled lightly of cinnamon. Mmm. There was an old upright piano against the closest wall, and stacks of unused chairs cluttering up the rest of the tiny room. Ryan sat down at the piano bench, not able to go anywhere else, and opened up the lid to the keys. He began to play.
Hmm, Chopin, he mused. I didn’t know that I knew this song. But his fingers flowed over the notes with an intense familiarity, and the song swirled and danced through the room, mixing with the warmth and the dark and the cinnamon smell. And then the door opened.
There was someone there, in the doorway, but he was only a silhouette against the harsh light from the outside room. Ryan put his hand up again to shield his eyes, glancing around them to see his visitor.
“That’s a beautiful song,” Finn said.
“Thanks,” Ryan replied, glancing back at the piano. “Chopin.”
Finn closed the door, and Ryan couldn’t see anymore. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. And he felt a sudden warmth beside him, and his heart skipped a beat. Finn’s voice was in his ear. “I don’t mind,” he told Ryan. “Not at all.”
“Chopin?” Ryan asked, dumbly. He was having trouble remembering how to say anything else. He could see now. And he definitely liked what he saw. Finn was at his side, his messy but oh-so-gorgeous brown hair hanging mere inches from Ryan’s own face, and he could smell the scent of him- musky and manly and incredibly delicious. Finn’s eyes burned in the dark.
“No,” he rasped. His voice was husky, not more than a low whisper. It gave Ryan goose bumps. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps now. “You don’t mind?” Ryan managed to choke out.
Finn reached out a hand, hesitated, and said, “Not at all.” And he pulled Ryan’s head toward his own, and he kissed him, gently at first, and then harder. Ryan reached up above his head and began to entwine his fingers into Finn’s incredibly soft brown hair.
Their mouths were moving in fast unison, breaths coming quickly, gasping, Finn fumbled around for Ryan’s shirt and pulled away for just a moment to tear his shirt over his head. Ryan’s head was spinning. Finn’s mouth was like peppermint, and his lips were so soft, and his tongue was doing things that Ryan never dreamed were possible. "Wait-" Ryan managed to get out, but Finn's mouth found Ryan's again and the question was muffled. It didn't matter. Ryan forgot about it as soon as the warm breath was back.
Finn continued the kiss as he unbuttoned his own shirt and pulled it off his shoulders. Ryan pulled away then, and looked at the taller boy. His eyes were wide and fierce, and his hair was tousled into perfect chaos. But Ryan couldn’t help but look everywhere else. Every muscle in Finn’s arms and shoulders stood out on its own. He had the definition of a Greek God. Swimming had been very kind to him.
Ryan grabbed his shoulders and began to run his hands down Finn’s chest. The skin there was warm, and a bit damp, and soft despite the hard muscle underneath. Ryan’s hands found their way down Finn’s torso, twining around each individual ab muscle, finishing by winding his way around to his back. Finn was watching him with a certain amused pride. But he was getting impatient, and he wrapped his arms around Ryan and pulled the boy’s neck up to his mouth. Ryan gasped as Finn began to trail expert circles with his tongue in the spot right behind his ear, and he could feel the tingling sensation rising in the pit of his stomach. His toes curled and he exhaled with an audible moan.
Finn was now working his tongue lower and lower, pausing to encircle one of Ryan’s nipples. He gave it a light nibble, and Ryan cried out, throwing his head back and trying not to let himself go yet, no, not yet. He could feel the tickle of his nipples hardening, feeling the pressure building up, and it was almost unbearable as Finn traced his way down to Ryan’s bellybutton and began undoing the buttons on his pants.
He could feel the throbbing ache, the pressure longing to be released, and every moment that the gorgeous boy touched him he could feel it even more. His pants were dragged down slowly, painfully around his erection, and Finn reached out to move his hands along Ryan’s hipbones, teasing him, enjoying the primal ferocity with which Ryan looked at him. Ryan couldn’t breathe. His mind was going in thirty directions all at once. He closed his eyes, hating the painful pressure and basking in the pure pleasure of it- of the heat and the smell and the feeling of a warm, amazing body next to his own, and he opened his eyes then, and was promptly licked in the face.
He closed his eyes again and scrunched up his face. Oh, please tell me I didn’t just see that, Ryan thought. He opened his eyes again, cautiously. Sure enough, Frankie, his dog, was laying beside him, staring at him, tail wagging uncertainly. “Nooooo!” Ryan shouted. “God! Whyyyyuhhhh?!” He pouted, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over his face. Frankie jumped off the bed and skipped away. God, it was only a dream. Agh! Stupid dog! I didn’t even get to the good part! Indeed, he could still feel the residual ache in his nether regions.
He tried to recall the details of the dream. It was all a blur… the images in his mind running about, dancing just out of his line of focus. They were slipping away... “UGH!” No. That was too good. I haven’t had a dream like that in… ever, he realized. What time is it? He looked at his alarm clock, the blue numbers shining too intensely in the darkness. It was 4:37. He still had two hours and twenty-three minutes until his alarm went off…
Quietly, he got out of bed, shut his bedroom door, turned his alarm clock to face the wall, snuggled back up under the covers, and remembered.
And it was good.