1Disclaimer: Dammit...so annoying...standard disclaimers apply.

A/N: Ok, I never thought I'd be writing a Ryella. Hell, I don't think I've ever even read one, but I was sitting in the bathtub tonight and all of the sudden I was like "What can I do to fuck with Disney shows even further...oooh, I know." So here's what I have concocted. A dark little Ryella. How fun. Ryan may be perceived as OOC, but that is only if you don't pay attention to what I wrote. Not for the Troyella lovers, but read it anyways. I like flames. Teehee, chestnuts roasting on some nice little flames, baby.

Warning: DARK.

All For The Taking

The room is dark.

The smoke from his cigarette curls around him, burning his eyes and seeping into his lungs. He leans heavily against the tiled wall of the school cafeteria, the coolness of it almost in complete contradiction to his burning skin.

He waits.

It's late and here he is, standing in the school cafeteria. It always pays to know the janitor.

His breathing is slow and easy as his eyes adjust to the room around him. Tables are stacked in corners along with chairs, and he is sure that he can almost hear the echo of laughter that is usually brought during lunch time. God, how he hates this place. The classes. The building. The people. Every little detail about East High seems to seep under his skin to taunt him and remind him of just how much he despises this hell hole. At least the smoke from the cigarette gets rid of the stench.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A smirk pulls his lips as he recognizes the familiar sound of her heels hitting the tiled floors.

She had come.

Not that he had any doubt that she would.

It is a victory to hear that sound, to know that she couldn't stay away. He sees her silhouette standing in the doorway of the cafeteria, the smoke begins to circle around her, dancing lazily across her skin as if drawn to her.

She coughs and he smiles.

"I didn't know you smoked." She declares shortly, after recovering from inhaling the unwanted fumes.

"Most don't." He continues to lean against the wall, ignoring the annoying ache in his arm, as he watches her. He discards his cigarette, crushing it beneath his foot. For what seems like minutes she stands there, waiting for her eyes to adjust, pulling nervously at the sleeves of her modest shirt. She fidgets and shuffles on her feet, and he checks this off as a silent victory, because even though it is obvious from her demeanor that she doesn't feel right about being here, there she stands.

"Are you just going to continue to stand there?" He inquires, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

"Oh," Is all she can manage to say as she jumps slightly from the sound of his voice, before silently beginning to make her way towards him. Her approach is slow, as if she is almost frightened by him, and he impatiently reaches out, latching onto her arm and spinning her until she is firmly pressed up against the wall. Her breath escapes her, and she refuses to look into his eyes as she chews mercilessly on her bottom lip.

"So, how's the boyfriend?" He asks nonchalantly, though the underlining meaning is ever present. This catches her attention, and she turns to him sharply, the guilt evident in her dark eyes.

"Don't" She speaks softly, and a smile spreads across his lips.

"Alright, I didn't want to talk about him anyways." He drawls slowly, his hot breath caressing her face. "Though I do have to wonder what he would think about you being here."

Her bottom lip trembles as her eyes dart nervously around the room, she is searching for something to change the topic, and he knows it. Her eyes settle on his clothes. A plain black T-shirt and dark denim jeans.

"You look so different when you dress like that." She states quickly, her words coming out rushed and breathless.

"What, do you miss the colorful, button up shirts?" He inquires, his amusement evident in his tone.

"N-No, you just look different is all." She stammers, and a small gasp escapes from her lips as she feels his fingers begin to trace small designs against the hollow of her neck. His fingertips play lower until they reach the collar of her shirt and he dips them slightly lower until he feels her tense.

"Don't be nervous, Gabriella." He coos, leaning in close to the sensitive skin of her ear, his lips brushing across her as he feels her noticeable shiver beneath him. "You know, we all have our little parts we play."

He feels her nod, and he wonders if she actually understands the meaning of his words. He continues on, his fingers lacing through the loop holes of her jeans, pulling her by the hips closer against him, a not-so-unpleasant sound forming in her throat as he does so. "I, for example, play a very interesting role. The flamboyant little rich boy. The guy who's always there to be the lap dog to his bitch-sister's wishes. The fag." He draws out the last word, before pressing his lips lightly to the smooth skin of her neck. "But I know that isn't true, and I guess you do too."

"You don't have to be like that you know? You could just be you." She tells him seriously, and he hopes to God that this isn't going to be another little lecture about how he should just be himself, and that people would like him for the who he is.

"But where's the fun in that? I have a place in school. I have a reputation. People already know who I am, what does it matter if there perception of me is a little off? Besides, you play a role too."

"Excuse me?" Her voice is genuinely confused and she looks up into his face, searching for the meaning to his words.

"You prance around school as the cute little princess, as the perfect little girlfriend, and yet here you are, pressed up against a wall by someone who is not the glorified Troy Bolton." He begins to run his palms suggestively up the sides of her body and she shivers uncontrollably once more. She pulls away from him, as if to detach herself from the sin that she is committing.

"Why do you even do this?" She asks suddenly, he tone pleading, almost desperate. He cringes at her voice, but forces any trace of guilt that he might feel away. He does not answer but instead entwines his hands into the black curls of her hair, pulling her lips against his in a searing kiss. She does not push him away, and he hadn't expected her to. He runs his tongue along her bottom lip, asking for entrance into the hot walls of her mouth. She complies and he wastes no time in deepening the kiss. His teeth sink into the skin of her bottom lip , and a moan escapes from her to be lost in between their lips. He smirks against her mouth and relishes in the feel of her. Being with Gabriella Montez, touching her like this, is like holding innocence in his hand, watching as it flutters around, then crushing it fully between his fingers. He's ruining her and he is fully aware of it. He knows the answer to her question. He knows exactly why he does this. It's all because of him. It's all because of Troy Bolton. Let Sharpay have her vengeance in the open, he prefers a more silent approach. He prefers something a little more effective.

So Troy took away his life when he stepped onto that stage. So he found it hard to suppress his anger and stay friendly. So he hated everything about the fucking East High God.

He knows where to hit him where it really hurts. He knows what Troy Bolton really loves in life. Basketball doesn't matter. The musical doesn't matter. Only Gabriella Montez matters to troy Bolton.

Let Troy have the stage, he has something a little more valuable pressed beneath him.

"Say my name." He commands as his teeth latch onto the sensitive skin of her collarbone.


He smiles.

Winner take all.