Author: Amory Vain PM
They'll have to tell everyone about their relationship eventually. Troy/Ryan; warnings for nonexplicit references to sex and partner-betrayal.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Angst - Troy B. & Ryan E. - Words: 342 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 11 - Follows: 1 - Published: 06-30-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5180024
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Coming Clean [[300 Words]]
High School Musical
References to sex, partner-betrayal.
"It's better because it's secret," he breathes, his mouth pressed hot against your ear. "I don't want to share you with them." His hands are flat on your back and you've heard this all before, heard it every time you protest this secrecy, these lies. But—
"It's okay, Troy," you gasp, absolving him in your rush to move those hands someplace lower, better, more—and you know you'll be angry about this later. He's a coward, Troy is, whatever your classmates think of him.
He'll never change, whatever he says, but you're used to taking what you can get.
"I want to tell them," Troy blurts suddenly, propping himself up on his elbow beside the other boy. He looks down, leans in to press his mouth to the corner of Ryan's. "I shouldn't have to hide you."
"No," he gasps, "You can't! We can't, Troy." Because whatever Troy'd be willing to endure from his team, from his girlfriend, Ryan's got his sister—
He thinks of Sharpay and all he feels is guilt. He never meant it to be like this, but she won't know that. She'll watch his fingers twined with Ryan's and see betrayal.
"Not today, anyway. Please."
"I'll tell Gabriella tomorrow," he promises, kissing a line across your jaw, "after our date."
"Okay," your fingers are clumsy on the buttons of his fly. "I'll figure out how to tell Sharpay."
"Yes," he groans, whether at your words or the pressure of your fingers you can't tell. "We'll tell everyone."
"We can dance together at rehearsals," you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. You can smell Gabriella's perfume on his skin.
"Kelsi will write us a song." He groans and curls around you, hands tangling in your hair.
"Yes, tomorrow." You have this conversation every time you meet.