The second my eyes open the next morning, I want to die. I feel like I've been hit by a bus, then thrown off a cliff to be eaten by vultures.

My head pounds, my body aches and it feels like my stomach is coming alive.

I want to cry.

However, I don't really have the time to because my stomach gurgles and I can feel hot vomit rising up my throat. I cover my mouth, make a mad dash over Ryan's legs, across my room and into my bathroom. Unfortunately, I'm a few seconds too late, and end up puking a little on the floor, a lot on the toilet lid and whole lot more in the actual toilet.

This is so not cool, on so many levels.

So, I sit there and puke... for a long time, a really, really long time. Just crying and whining and moaning while puke comes pouring out of my mouth. And the sad thing is, after awhile, it's no longer substance that comes up just... liquid. Completely, and totally, all alcohol... with maybe a mix of coffee.

Ryan eventually comes stumbling in, yawning, and then just sits down beside me, resting his back against the cabinet doors, completely unaffected by the fact that I'm puking my brains out.

I have enough time between vomiting to look up at him, but then I groan, and then stick my head back into the toilet bowl and puke some more.

He just looks at me, completely expressionless and unsympathetic. Finally, he goes, "Drank too much, huh?"

I go to shoot him a confused, shocked look, because what? There's no way he could have known I was drunk last night, I was acting perfectly normal by the time he got home - okay, maybe not perfectly normal, but pretty much. I could just be sick. I go to ask him a shocked 'what are you talking about?' but my puke cuts me off.

Ryan doesn't even flinch. Not even a little.

When I'm finally done a few minutes later, I flush the toilet and Ryan hands me a wad of scrunched up toilet paper. As I'm wiping the puke off my face and the toilet lit and the floor, grimacing, Ryan stands up and fills up the glass used for rinsing our mouth after brushing our teeth, with tap water and hands it to me.

"Thanks," I mutter, avoiding his gaze as I take some water into my mouth, swish it around, and then spit in the toilet.

"So, how was it?" he asks.

I swallow my mouthful of cool water. I figure he's talking about my drinking last night, not my puking. "I wasn't - " I start, but he gives me the look (the same one my dad gave me last night), so I sigh, defeated, knowing there's not even a point in lying to Ryan, and go, "Fine, okay. I drank last night, but..." I rub my pounding forehead and realize there's nothing I can say but apologize. "I'm so sorry, Ry. If I would have known I never would ha - "

"I know," he says, cutting me off. "I know, that's why I'm not mad. I can't be, because you didn't know. Sure, it was stupid, but..." he gives me a lame shrug, "it's not like I can control you."

I look up at him, lip in between my mouth, with probably the guiltiest look on my face possible. Of course, just because I'm me and because the world hates me, the first time getting drunk had to be last night. Of course.

I slowly get up, clutching my stomach that's still twisting and turning (but hey, at least it doesn't feel like it's coming alive anymore). I put the cup on the counter, and then wrap my arms around his neck, but still giving him the courtesy of not shoving my puke face in his. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "But I promise you that when you told me all that last night, like about your mom and dad, I was barely drunk, if at all. So... I remember."

"I know," he answers.

"So... then, how'd you know that I was at all?"

He pulls away from me, but keeps his hands on my waist as he looks me straight in the eye like, really, Brendon? "I'm your boyfriend, Bren," he points out, tilting his head to the side. "I think I'd notice when you're acting a little off. I wasn't sure, I mean, like, I didn't think you were really; the thought just kind of crossed my mind. But then the puking... well more like the projectile vomiting pretty much confirmed it."

I let out a small laugh, but it only makes my head and stomach hurt more. "What an appropriate time to get drunk for my first time, huh?"

Ryan shakes his head, and gives me a tiny, forced smile. "Yeah, well..." He bites onto his lip, and then nods over to the sink. "Brush your teeth, okay? I want to kiss you."

"Really?"

He frowns, and then lets out a small, but more genuine laugh. "This is surprising, why?"

I drop my arms from his shoulders, shrug and then pull away from him, moving over to grab my toothbrush and do as he said.

When I'm finished brushing my teeth, he's waiting for me on my bed, lying down on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

So, I practically gallop over and jump on top of him (or as much as my hangover will allow me) before falling down on my back beside him, resting my hands on my stomach.

He smiles, before leaning overtop of me, dropping his own hand to my stomach, slipping it up under the material of my shirt and slowly beginning to rub small circles into my bare skin. I shiver, and he smiles wider, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips.

I kiss back, snaking my hand around the back of his head, pulling him further into me allowing me to deepen the kiss, slipping some freshly washed tongue. God, it's been too long since we've kissed like this. We should never go this long again, it should be a crime.

He slides his hand further up my stomach, up to my ribs, fingers splaying up just brushing against my nipple. Two seconds later, he's pulling away, giggling.

"What?" I ask, pouting, lips tingling.

He giggles some more then goes, "I'm scared you're going to puke in my mouth."

"No, no, no," I cry, grabbing onto his forearms, pulling him back down into me. "I won't. I'm all puked out. Come on, Ry," I beg, throwing in some more pout. "You can't do this. It's been too long!"

He laughs, and pecks me another kiss. "I didn't say I was going to stop, I just said I'm scared."

I lean up; reattaching his lips back to mine, and really don't beat around the bush before stuffing my tongue back into his mouth. He slips his leg in between mine, pressing his crotch into mine and we moan at the exact same time into each other's mouths.

"Sex?" I ask, already somewhat breathless.

He wrinkles his nose. "I don't know, Bren... is that a good idea?"

"When is sex ever a bad one?" I point out with a smirk.

"Well, it is when you're hung-over and just puked your brains out," he replies.

I pout some more, leaning up to press a kiss to the side of his mouth before murmuring, "I'll be fine. Just be gentle."

He sighs, defeated, even though I know it's not like he was actually not going to have sex with me, I mean, he's just as sex-deprived as I am. Okay, so it's been a week, but still. Shut up. That's a long time for us.

I pull his shirt over his head, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above his nipple before I go to sit up, pulling off my own shirt and he goes to shimmy out of his boxers. I smirk and drool a little once Ryan's boxers are on the floor, and his glorious penis is there for me to see, because oh my god, too long. Too long. I want to kiss it.

Ryan leans over me, making his said, glorious penis, rub against my thigh, as he leans over to pull out a condom and lube and I slide out of my own boxers. Then he stops, looks over at me, and smiles. "We don't need a condom anymore, do we?"

I take a moment before shaking my head, face hot.

He smiles wider, drops the condom back into the drawer. My heart tingles, and my penis throbs, and my stomach jumps, because I've never been fucked without a condom before in my life. I've never had someone in me without a piece of rubber between us. I've never had some come inside me before.

He must notice my inner freaking out, because he leans down and presses a kiss to my lips while murmuring, "It's great." Then, he purses his lips together and goes, "well, when you're not freaking out about... STD's and things. Which, you wont be."

He lathers his fingers with lube (cherry flavored and scented, it's new!) then crawls in between my legs before slipping his hand between my thighs, and pressing a finger to my entrance. He teases me at first, kissing me while running his finger along the ring of muscle.

I whine. "Ryan, do it!"

He smiles, and pushes in.

I whimper, and push myself into his finger, wanting more. Too, too, too, too long. Too long, seriously. "You either need to hurry up or just skip the finger thing all together and just get in me right now," I cry, digging my fingernails into his sides just to prove my point.

He moans into my neck, twisting his finger around before immediately adding a second. "So hot," he mumbles, hot breath stinging my skin.

I whine some more.

He twists and curls his fingers inside of me for about, thirty seconds, just brushing past my prostate before he pulls out. I'm rock hard between my thighs, and pressing against his abdomen.

He squirts more cherry lube into his hand before tossing it onto the ground, then rubbing it onto himself, moaning at the cool feeling. I'm just lying their moaning like a poor, deprived whore. "Come on, Ryan!"

He smiles, and grabs onto my right leg, hooking it onto his waist. "I'm going to go slow, okay?" he says as he lines himself up. "And I swear, if you puke on me..."

"I won't, I won't," I say quickly and breathlessly. And I swear, if he doesn't get in me in two seconds, I will die.

Then, his phone starts ringing on the bedside table (he doesn't have a cool ringtone like me) and he stops, just seconds before pushing into me, and looks at it, like he's actually considering answering it.

"Ryan!" I cry. "Ignore it!"

He sighs, and thankfully, he listens, grabs onto my hips and slowly pushes in. I moan, dropping my head back against the pillows, grabbing on tight to his biceps. "Yes," I breathe out.

He nibbles onto my chin as he grabs onto my other leg, bringing it up to his waist. "Is that okay?" he asks. "Do you feel alright?"

"Yes, Ryan," I groan, frustrated, squeezing my legs together around his waist. "I feel fine."

He smiles against my jaw, before kissing up to press a kiss to my lips, rocking back into me. "Mm, so good," I moan, pushing back into him, pushing my tongue against his teeth.

He tilts his hips a little, then pushes back into me, and, "Yessss, holy mother," I moan, loudly. He's gotten so good at this prostate finding thing.

"Sh, you're so loud," he hisses, digging his fingers into the back of my thighs.

"I know," I pants, biting my lip. "But I can't help it. It's just so good."

He smirks, rocking back into me, hitting the exact same amazing, and wonderful place. He runs his teeth along my neck, long and hard enough to create a mark, before he runs his tongue back along it.

Once he's created a steady rhythm, he snakes his hand in between our bodies and grabs a hold of my leaking cock, slowly beginning to pump up and down, matching it with the same rhythm as he slides in and out of me.

I don't know if I want to cry or scream, but my legs are starting to feel a little numb so I know I'm close. I lick at Ryan's mouth, and concentrate on the feeling of him rocking in and out of me - nothing in between - and the feeling of my orgasm building up in the pit of my stomach.

His thrusts start to pick up, becoming a little more hard and rushed, and I know he's close to. I grip onto his back, splaying my hands against his hot, damp skin and moan, loud. When I come, my brain actually goes a little fuzzy and maybe even black for a second or two. I think I even try to swear, and say Ryan's name, but it just comes out as a big mesh of meaningless nothing.

My hearts thumping, and he's still pounding into me, making my head even more fuzzy. And I've already come, but I just don't want him to stop, ever. Eventually he does though, coming deep inside me, filling me. And shit, I didn't think it could get any better.

He manages to get some coherent words out himself, because I catch, "Brendon, mother of goodness and great fucking, shit."

Mm, yeah. What he said.

Once he's caught his breath, he pulls out of me, and I can feel his warm come drip in between my thighs and just, deep sigh. We're drenched with sweat, and panting, hard. And, wow.

He takes a few minutes, laying half on top of me as we pant and gasp for air, sweaty chests rising and falling. And my god, I'm still seeing stars.

Eventually, he pecks me a kiss before leaning over and grabbing onto his phone, then falls down on his back beside me, going through his call log. "It's my dad... from the house," he says, frowning.

Yeah, if that doesn't ruin the post-sex then I don't know what does. "He's home already?" I ask between heavy breaths.

He shrugs. "I guess so. I mean, they don't keep you in too long for alcohol poisoning anyway. They just pump your stomach, keep you in overnight then send you home. Not without suggesting AA first, which my dad, of course, always rejects." He sighs, and puts his phone back down on the nightstand.

"You're not gonna call him?"

He shakes his head and curls up next to me. "No. Not right now, anyway. Maybe later or something. I don't really get what he has to say to me, I mean, he said everything he had to last night." He rolls his eyes, and lets out another soft, muffled sigh.

My heart's still pounding against my chest. "What'd he say?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. The usual. Just him being a complete and utter asshole as always."

"Right," I say, of course.

We're quiet for a few minutes, until Ryan slides up my body, pressing his lips to my jaw, just under my ear. "I'm happy we're okay now, Bren." He smiles.

"Me too," I reply, squeezing on his elbow.

And god am I ever.