Sex with Jenn is great. The way he fits into her curves, the way they slap-slide against his hips, chest, thighs. When she comes, she's not faking it.
But Bam thinks maybe he is.
It's morning in the kitchen. They stand together at the countertop. A glass of orange juice, pulp settled along the bottom, rests in her hand. His face inches from hers, her morning breath tickling his cheek, rumpled and streaked brown hair splayed against his pale shoulders. He smiles slightly, a smile meant only for her, but she doesn't see it or even sense it. She just keeps staring forward, trying to wake up, he supposes.
So he turns away, his contentment marred and chipped slightly, turns to his left. Ryan's standing there, bleary and unhappy about being awake. Or maybe he hasn't been to sleep yet, Bam thinks. Bam punches the nearest sleeveless arm. Ryan doesn't flinch, just shifts his eyes to Bam, keeping his face blank. But Bam sees a twinkle that's not just from the sunlight glinting off of the empty glasses in front of them. He thinks this is an all right morning after all.
There's nothing in particular to do today. Bam haphazardly hangs up a new poster, has a shower, bugs April before she goes to work, and finally decides to go outside to maybe skate, maybe just stand there in the cool autumn and watch the leaves change colors. It's one of those days. The kind where, later in the day, he'll either get people arrested or play video games and drink a few beers. Yawning, he thinks he's definitely leaning toward the second.
He hears Raab and Brandon laughing, voices loud and carrying from an open window, decides there's nothing better to do and turns back to the house to go inside. On the way, Jenn's coming out the door. She says something about shopping, and he nods like he's listening. He kisses her on the cheek, and when she moves passed he can feel a thin layer of makeup on the end of his nose and on his lips. He never thought he'd be bothered by something like that, but today's a day for subtle irrationalities. He thinks that should be a lyric in a not-lame song. Maybe he'll tell Ville when he sees him next.
Once inside, he heads towards Raab's and Brandon's voices. Not really paying attention to his feet and what's in front of him, he follows the vibrations and sounds along a wall, walking right into Ryan, who's standing in the hallway, fully awake, and now amused.
As he steps back, Bam thinks, that right now, Ryan is soft and warm, touchable and there. And dangerous, definitely dangerous. Because Bam feels something halfway between a spark and an itch, and thinks maybe he can get away with grabbing Ryan around the neck and pulling him forward, kissing him hard, tongue against tongue, and tasting smoke, yeah, but mostly something very Ryan. Something that would fill his senses, give him a high, a rush as intense as any prank or stunt pulled off successfully.
His smile is awkward, which is easily explained by his apparent ditziness and not his heated thoughts. He shrugs and rolls his eyes, pushes passed Ryan, muttering, "Fucker." Then Ryan tackles him from behind, strong arms around chest and waist. He doesn't have time to savor the feeling, the sense of home, before they both fall forward and land hard on the floor. He doesn't try to hide his real and utter joy, though, as he turns and pins Ryan's arms, which Ryan gets out of by using his legs to throw Bam off of him. Their scuffling lasts several minutes, not getting old until they've each kicked a new hole in the wall. Then, together laughing, they head to the next room to sit and pretend they don't need ice-packs. Bam nods to himself and thinks that today is a pretty okay day, and ponders new ideas for episodes of mayhem that will air on MTV.
That night, they all decide a bonfire's called for, as what the hell else was there to do?
Jenn calls, says she's going to be staying over at someone's house, or maybe a condo or duplex, or something; the interference on the call was bad, and Bam wonders if she was in Canada. Or maybe Jersey.
Someone lets Ryan get ahold of a log with fire on the end of it, and don't you know it, he's burned his hand in record time. Bam walks over, laughing, but inwardly is a little worried. There's a long patch of skin on Ryan's hand that's red and raw looking, and he's whining it up, the way he does when something isn't all that big a deal. So Bam, spontaneous and itchy again, says, "Aw, poor Dunn. Want me to kiss it better?"
Everyone laughs, including Bam and Ryan. Ryan holds out his hand, an exaggerated look of pleading. His eyes are wide and the firelight's dancing in them. He's fighting laughter... and maybe something else, something sweet.
Bam's stomach's dropped to his balls by now, but he's too much of a showman for anyone to see it. He lets loose several sympathetic nods and leans forward, pressing his lips to the flesh of the proffered hand. In the microseconds he's there and already pulling away, he knows that kissing Ryan for no reason wouldn't unsettle him the way kissing Jenn's cheek had earlier.
He thinks Ryan's thought or felt something, too, because he's got this look on his face like he's had a revelation. Bam blinks and it's gone. He lets out a smile that is completely genuine and puts as much of that spark into it as he can, before he says that Dunn's hand tastes like shit and maybe they should've paid Don Vito to do it, which starts up a round of Vito ribbing. It suits Bam, because Ryan's now standing beside him, shoulder pressed against his own. Bam knows that even though his girlfriend is going to be gone tonight, he won't be alone.
The End.