A/N: I own nothing pertaining to the High School Musical franchise, nor do I claim to have rights to the song "Soaked".
After Hours
The hallways of East High are eerily silent that night. As Ryan recalls, he likes the sort of silence that comes with being in the school long after even the staff members have vacated the building. It is a time of preponderance for him, one of those rare moments during the day where he's granted time for reflection, for self-indulgence. Where he can escape his sister's ever-insistent demands. With the final show of their senior year right around the corner, Sharpay Evans, East High's drama queen and his twin sister is fully hyped. And a hyped up Sharpay, as Ryan knows, is a barely tolerable one.
It isn't easy, playing the part of peppy theater king when he has to deal with his heart's desire, golden boy Troy Bolton moping about because of his girlfriend's absence. Gabriella Montez, resident turbo nerd has taken up early acceptance at Stanford University a thousand miles away.
The distance that severs the primo couple has reduced the once proud pillar of East High School into a pitiful, practically zombified lump. And unlike his sister, Ryan will not resort to such petty, underhanded tactics as attempting to take advantage of the ocean blue eyed god on earth when he's in such a vulnerable state.
It simply wouldn't be fair of him to seduce the divine boy fallen from grace while his ever-so-committed significant other had undoubtedly found herself an unsuspecting Cali boy who is uncertain of his position in the social food chain to dote on, leaving her partner behind.
The blond runs one of his pale hands over the piano keys, sighing wistfully. His non-existent love life is nothing but an unresolved soap opera story arc. He's the other woman, pining in the background while the gorgeous and flawless male lead and the "average but somehow simultaneously sublime" girl go gaga over one another before the adoring public. That's how it's always been. He's a fool to hope for anything different even after he and Troy became friends over summer vacation.
It's not the intimacy he wants, but he simply can't expect anything more. Troy's too perfect. And he is the farthest thing from it.
His attention is diverted from the instrument as an unmistakable voice fills the hallways. Agonized, and wracked with raw emotion, it echoes fiercely off of the plaster walls and rows of lockers.
I'm kickin' down the walls
I've gotta make 'em fall!
Just break through them all
I'm punchin', crashin; I'm gonna
Fight to find myself
Me and no one else
Which way, I can't tell
I'm searchin', searchin'
Can't find the-
He knows the voice. The painstaking quaver in it makes his heart wrench. It's Troy. The tenor baritone that tantalizingly whispers his name in his most secretive fantasies. He realizes that the brunette athlete is venting, pouring his soul out with each word that leaves his mouth. And he's well aware that it's wrong to eavesdrop on something s personal. But it's more of a crime to let Troy suffer, right? Who knows how long he's been keeping this bottled up inside?
His head argues fiercely. You're delusional, Evans. What do you expect to gain from this?
"Nothing," he answers himself. His voice is meager and the harsh finality of the two syllables turns his stomach, but before he can think twice about his actions and carefully consider the consequences of acting on impulse, his legs reveal that they have a mind of their own. They carry him out of the room and bolting down the hall after Troy's voice.
Troy's scream signals his location. Peering into the auditorium, he spots the Wildcat star on the stage. Moving swiftly and silently down the aisle, he takes in the sight of the frazzled and distraught male. His mop of brunette hair, normally untidy, is damp and matted with sweat. Perspiration droplets trail down his sun-kissed visage and along his biceps. Under the lighting of the stage, he appears to be glowing. Ryan now knows that Troy is both internally and externally a complete and utter wreck.
Yet, his breath is nearly stolen away all the same at how unworldly beautiful the boy is.
Slowly, Troy's mind reconnects with his body. Ryan watches as everything begins to register in the athlete's head. Troy squints out past the glare of the stage lights and recognition flickers across his face. "Ryan?" There is a note of disbelief there. Troy was not expecting this. Yet, there is something else there as well.
And Ryan holds to that "something", letting it provide him with the courage he needs to keep functioning and processing.
Neither of them inquires of the reason for the other's presence.
Instead, Ryan hears himself wonder aloud, "Why are you in your jersey?"
For a brief instant, Troy falters. He lets out a humorless laugh and bitterly shakes his head. "I'm confused, Ry… I'm really…" Slowly he looks up. Ryan meets him at the bottom of the stage and as their eyes lock, the blond feels his chest tighten at what he finds there. Troy's blue eyes glisten with repressed suffering, an unvoiced sorrow that emanates from deep within his being.
Even as his heart reaches out to the revered being, wanting to offer words of consolation, a hug, his body, anything to ameliorate the boy's anguish, a violent urge steals into Ryan. Whoever has done this to you deserves incomprehensible punishment. If Gabriella is the one responsible, he would love nothing more at that moment than to deliver a slap to her cheek that would mar her pretty face for an indefinite time period.
"Lost."
As Troy utters the syllable, Ryan swallows a lump that has unconsciously formed in his throat. Gods should never be subjected to the pain of mortals, of inferiors. It's a crime beyond feasible comprehension. "There's no reason for that," he murmurs. In one graceful step, he hoists himself onto the stage, surprised but undeterred as Troy's hand closes about his own, assisting him in managing the huge step. He almost feels guilty for the slight fluttering the contact induces in his chest. "You just need a guiding hand," he finishes bashfully.
"Ryan." The two syllables of the petite boy's name hang in the air.
Ryan can feel electric pulses crackling as the atmosphere shifts. Troy looks so lost, so desperate, so needy. He can't stand seeing the other boy like this. Maybe it's not such a crime, he thinks to himself. Wanting to help… to comfort… that isn't sinful… an act worthy of damnation, is it? It's the desire to quell Troy's grief, to diffuse the agony in the depths of the oceanic pools in his sun kissed face that fuels him, he tells himself as he draws in closer.
The world tilts beneath him and their lips brush together. Fire tingles across Ryan's lips and the full of his mind is dominated by Troy. Troy… Troy… The other boy opens his mouth, crumpling against the actor's lean frame. He seeks solace, alleviation. Draping his arms about the brunette's neck and backside, Ryan absorbs as much of the strife and pain as he is able to. A soft groan exits Troy and his breath tickles the blond's mouth. He sighs softly, praying that he is a vessel sufficient of housing all of the golden boy's anguish.
Slowly, Troy's arms creep around him, clinging to him. In that instant, he becomes life-support to the recipient of adulation. The boy that is the object of fanatic worship by the majority of the populace of groveling peasants in their school. Gradually, the kiss is broken off. To Ryan's surprise and delight, Troy does not pull out of the entanglement of their bodies.
He merely snuggles into the crook of the boy's white neck. Cuddling the basketball god close, Ryan inhales and exhales slowly, the rising and falling of his chest encouraging the other boy to keep breathing. He hates himself for cherishing the moment, for basking in the afterglow. It's just a fluke. He should know better. Troy's too good for him, too pure to be corrupted. The brunette just needed consolation and he was the only one available for handling the monumental task. Troy could have turned to anyone… Couldn't he?
Ryan's lips tingle as the essence of Troy lingers. It floats on the air surrounding them. It seeps through every pore in his creamy flesh. And it flows through the veins carrying life to his heart. He knows he's screwed. All thoughts pertaining to his own self-preservation slip unwittingly from his mind. The consciousness of his entire being is centered on Troy.
Words are spoken in a steady whisper, permeating the silence that was broken only by inhalations and the beating of pounding hearts. "Keep fighting. You'll win… you always do…" It takes a few seconds for it to process that the voice producing the message is Ryan's own.
"Ryan…" Troy pulls back, leaving only enough distance between them so he can look into the blond actor's sky colored orbs. "I don't know what I would do without you. You're a lifesaver… Th-thank you." An ephemeral smile forms on his face.
Ryan's sense of time is distorted. His ability to keep an internal record of the minutes and hours that pass abandons him in the state of sweet delirium induced by their kiss. After a duration that ceases much too soon for his liking, the two of them part ways, their paths diverging as each begins to head back to his respective household. Neither is in a condition adequate for dealing with the interrogation that is most probably awaiting him the moment he crosses the threshold.
Straddling his moped, Ryan watches Troy exit the building, trying to ignore the way the other's male's denim jeans cling to his taut rear. Unable to avert his gaze, the thought crosses his mind for the second time that he is screwed. Troy, spotting him, gives him a wave and a genuine smile.
Wiggling his fingers, Ryan returns the smile. The taller boy climbs into his road worn old truck where the paint has chipped off in several places, revealing the rust underneath. The headlights flick on and the pickup pulls out of the parking lot, heading down the road. Gradually, the gleam of the taillights fades and the sounds of the vehicle dwindle off.
The blond is left alone. Removing his fedora, he places the helmet on his head. Focus evades him the entire ride home.
The house is quiet as he pads lightly in. Wordlessly he makes his way to his sleeping quarters. Falling back onto his mattress, he buries his face in the pillows, half-hoping the feather-filled sacks dressed in colored silk will absorb him. Already, he dreads tomorrow and the night is far from over. A wanton groan escapes his lips. In his mind, Troy's strong body presses against his, their hips gyrating in an ardent dance. His loins tighten, straining against the fabric of his jeans. So much for getting over Troy.
An aggravated sigh issuing from his lips, he sits up and begins unfastening his belt buckle, his fly following suite. Catering to the needs of his hormones, he is unable to alleviate the ache of his chest. Soon Ryan looses himself in the motions of his hand and the fantasy in his mind. Because that's all it is, a fantasy, right?
He bids "farewell "to Kelsi as she exits the auditorium. The girl blushes and he is uncomfortably aware of the feelings she has for him. Feelings he will never be able to requit. His discomfort amplifies as he realizes just how similar his own plight is.
He too is hopelessly devoted to one that could never love him back. As he adjusts the stack of sheet music atop the piano, his attention is diverted by a rustling behind him. A tingling sensation creeps along his spine and it is not entirely unpleasant. Ryan tells himself that it's stage crew, stowing away several props at the last minute.
"Ryan."
No one in the stage crew possesses that voice.
No one else in the world does, Ryan's brain states conclusively. It's one of a kind. One in a million. It's…
"Troy." He finishes his thought aloud, turning to face the brunette. The two of them stand opposite one another, face to face in the room where the kiss that defied Fate occurred the night before.
Troy takes a step closer, breaking the silence before it has a chance to set in. "I ended it."
The instant after these words are uttered, Ryan perceives their meaning. It's unmistakable. However, his insecurity prohibits him from trusting his gut instinct. "What?" He asks, needing to hear it again, desperate to be certain that his auditory skills have not fooled him.
"I ended it," Troy repeats, taking another step. "With Gabriella. She found someone else."
Ryan moves forward this time, his increased breath rate rattling in his chest. The two of them stare, transfixed into one another's eyes. Words hang unspoken in the air.
The basketball god is a reflection of the performer's internal state, his sculpted chest heaving, just like the night before. Only now his eyes aren't dark with the conflict churning within him. They are no longer dark with penetrating misery. No. He is a warrior. His battle has been fought and won and every heave of that beautiful chest serves to convey this.
They move together this time and in a way, it's like a dance, a waltz.
"You're just easier to…"
Ryan cuts Troy off as he takes hold of the taller boy's hands, bringing him so their pelvises touch.
One of them lets a soft groan escape his lips.
It happens a second time, neither of them questioning it.
Their lips lock passionately, searching, seeking, absorbing everything.
I want it all, Ryan tells himself, his slender fingers tangling themselves in Troy's silky locks of brown.
The world isn't spinning beneath their feet, but both feel as though they've crossed into a dimension all their own.
The break off is gradual, eyelids slowly lifting. Blue orbs come into focus; hazy, glazed, beautiful loving looks traded. Ocean and sky converge, the horizon line no longer able to divide them.
Neither boy knows how much time has passed and neither can be bothered to care.
They rest against each other, warmth radiating from their bodies. Together, they breathe softly, their inhalations and exhalations simultaneous.
It's symphonic in a strange sort of way.
Catching his breath Ryan relays, his voice full, "Let's go to my place." He is almost astonished at his directness. His lack of tact.
Troy smiles and it is a genuine smile like the one that succeeded their first kiss in the auditorium. The light from that divine smile reaches his eyes. "Alright," he says. Apparently he likes forwardness in his potential mates.
The note of delight in the brunette's tenor-baritone incites a squeal to peal out in the blond's brain.
They walk out arm in arm. Neither knows where his future will take him, but that's all right. They're soaked, drenched in their feelings for one another. In his mind, Ryan can hear the final verse of the song cultivated by Muse and Adam Lambert:
Soaked to the bone
Sink like a stone
I will take you home
It's not the first time
It's not the worst crime
Our souls will be okay
As he snuggles into Troy's warm, naked chest, both of them taking refuge beneath his silk bed sheets, Ryan finds solace and comfort. It's dark outside his window. The golden boy's nude form feels so right, so perfect against his own.
Undoubtedly, there will be ramifications to face in the morning; the first shots fired will probably be from his sister. Closing his eyes and slipping into slumber, the theater boy can't bother himself with caring. The easy rhythm of Troy's breathing is a sedative, a tranquilizer. His worries vanish, cast into oblivion.
Somehow he knows without a shadow of a doubt that their souls will be okay.
-FIN-