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For as far back as Ryan could remember, he had always been into potty humor.
Pee jokes. Poop jokes. Fart jokes. Barf jokes. Different silly words for bodily functions. Humorously described scenarios of toilets exploding due to the sheer magnitude of someone's waste.
It was certainly on the side of juvenile, but didn't target one specific group of people, nor was it mean-spirited. There was a universality to the humor, as bodily functions in and of themselves are universal.
This would almost be poetic if it weren't so crude.
But, crude without the risk of potential discomfort that sex jokes brought.
Ryan enjoyed the simplicity and the absurdity, giggling until he was crying, laughing until his sides hurt, unable to speak or regain his composure.
It always felt good, warm, to be able to laugh like that.
And if it was only when those types of jokes were being made that left Ryan feeling good and warm, he could have just chalked it up to immaturity, a mischievous inner child, a low-brow sense of humor; anything really would have served as a sufficient explanation.
But, well, he really couldn't come up with an explanation for everything else that came along with it.
"Everything else" involved him telling frequent fart jokes, compulsively and eagerly asking for details when anyone described to him a bathroom mishap, and insistently bringing said mishaps up again and again, like when Shane ate bad airport hot dogs and almost shit himself during the filming of an episode of Unsolved.
And even that wouldn't have been "bad" or "wrong," really. Maybe it made him nosy or meant he could take a joke too far (and that was sometimes true, fart jokes or otherwise). People might refer to him as "childish" or "weird" or even "gross" at worst.
But that was merely grazing the surface of it.
Things went deeper than that for Ryan.
A lot deeper.
For as far back as he could remember.
Cartoons seemed to take potty humor to an extreme; a character would let out a loud, elongated horn-like sound that they just couldn't help. All eyes would turn to them, laughter erupting from however few or many people were around the character at the time, and said character might blush, smile awkwardly, and exit stage left, or they'd be left embarrassed, humiliated, sometimes even crying, to be comforted later in their room by their friends who would tell them that it wasn't a big deal, or regaining their own embarrassing moments as commiseration.
Ryan would wear out the rewind button on his VCR replaying those scenes over and over again.
He could recall roughhousing with his friends as a senior in high school, a tangle of limbs, someone's ass brushing up against Ryan's cock by accident, that same someone letting out a fart so loud and so foul-smelling that everyone retreated as if they were at war and under attack, running to the other side of the park.
But Ryan had been the only one to *feel* it, sudden, hot, and vibrating slightly against his dick.
He barely even noticed the smell.
The friend had moved off of Ryan, sat down in the grass with his legs drawn in and his knees tucked up under his chin. His cheeks were red and his eyes were wet, like he might start crying.
Ryan remembered playfully punching his friend in the arm, saying something like "sick, dude" and how his friend had set a new record for foulest fart in their friend group.
The grin of relief that Ryan saw on his friend's face made his heart soar, knowing that he was the one to make him feel better, and it left him with a certain, tingly excitement at their secret little moment.
Ryan left the park early that day wearing his backpack on the front of his body, and holding it in place to keep it from bouncing against him as he walked home.
He knew it was weird. Who the fuck got hard from someone else farting on them?
But when he'd gotten home, he'd thrown his backpack down in the foyer, raced up the steps to his room, locked the door behind him, and shoved his hand down his pants in recent memory.
Later, as he wiped the impressive amount of shame off of his fingers, he mentally labeled this incident as a fluke. Everyone could be allowed at least one of those in their life right? Some kind of neuronal misfiring in the brain type of thing where you got horny at the wrong time?
Except that wasn't the end of it.
His curious nature got the better of him, and his nightly "self-care" routine was soon flooded with fantasies of all the various possibilities.
What would it feel like if he rested his hand right up against the crack of someone's ass while they farted? Would the fabric of someone's panties, like lace, or silk, make a difference in the sensation? Would he feel it more if they weren't wearing anything? What would it feel like if he were holding someone from behind after a day at the beach, and they farted against his cock through their swim trunks in public?
It wasn't until his second year of college, curled up on his futon in his dorm room with his earbuds plugged into his laptop (despite the fact that his roommate was visiting his parents that weekend, though it was better to be safe than sorry), that he realized his bizarre kink was actually a thing.
It even had a name.
"Eproctophilia."
(Although searching "fart kink" or "fart fetish" still pulled up the same results on Google).
People seemed to indulge in the kink in a variety of different ways.
There were videos and images of those who liked dominatrixes to fart on their faces as a form of humiliation or punishment; there were those who liked the feeling of someone farting on their cock or their cunt, who would then move to thrust desperately against the other person's ass, sometimes shifting into more standard sex positions and sometimes not; and, there was quite a large variety of content that featured people doing nothing in the video other than farting, but they would be dressed in formal attire, the sort of attire that you wore with purpose, that indicated you were going to a business meeting, or to a fancy date at a five-star restaurant.
Through extensive research, Ryan found out that while he wasn't really bothered by the scent of farts, it didn't really do anything for him either. He also realized he was much more tantalized by the thought of being on the receiving end.
He knew what it was like to feel a fart on his cock and he was absolutely certain that that was something he enjoyed. And as he watched more and more videos of people farting while dressed in professional clothing, he realized that he rather liked that as well.
There was just something about the juxtaposition of the performance involved in dressing to the nines, knowing that you were going to be looked at, knowing that you had to make a good impression, and just having all of that completely fall apart in one raw moment of helpless, unrestrained, naked humanity, that Ryan found intensely appealing.
People in those videos and images tended to appear a little embarrassed, either being mercilessly teased by their partner or whomever the other person was (which Ryan wasn't a huge fan of), or amateur married couples where one party reassured the other and then they fucked like rabbits, the latter of which seemed to turn him on the most.
It made him think of all of the times he'd seen the common trope in rom coms or other media, of people refusing to fart around new partners, until after years down the line, when farting in front of the other person no longer brought them shame.
And of course those scenes were painted in a humorous light, but was that not a relationship milestone? A time when you had built up so much trust in your partner, knowing how deeply they loved you and you loved them in return, so much so that that hidden part of yourself was no longer hidden?
And yeah, maybe Ryan was hyperbolic and a hopeless romantic or just a giant pervert but...he couldn't deny the intimacy in that. Because many people often waited to fart until they got home, feeling like they would be rude or ridiculed otherwise, the same way that they might conceal certain parts of themselves that were previously rejected or were made to feel embarrassed about, only to let loose at home about it once they walked through the door.
Despite his personal discovery, he knew there was no way in hell he'd ever be able to tell anyone about this.
Especially not his college girlfriend, whom he started dating shortly after.
She found his bathroom humor pretty repulsive, and would always elbow him with a look of disgust on her face when he made those jokes in public.
It was definitely out of the question.
After they broke up, and Ryan was a newly single man on the market, he never even dreamt of saying anything to anyone.
That remained true even when he got together with Mari, and still now, when he was married to Mari.
There were times when he wanted to, though. Not because he had any expectations of her participating (and obviously, he'd never ask her to) but, well.
Maybe they'd be laying in bed together, or standing in the kitchen while waiting for popcorn to pop, or even just stopped at a red light in the car when Mari would glance over at him, her eyes looking somehow even more beautiful than the last time he'd seen them, even if it was just moments earlier...and it made him feel like spilling out every ink-scrawled word in the book of who he was.
He'd start to feel the telltale pinpricks behind his eyes and have to tear his gaze from her before she noticed.
She didn't deserve to be subjected to the filthy inner machinations of a sexual deviant and the idea that her image of him might be tarnished forever made him feel so sick to his stomach that he couldn't even bear thinking about it.
And it's not like he could confide in his friends either. Sure, he'd talked to some of them about their sex lives before, and to them about his own, but they definitely danced around the details. Anything more and it would feel violating to all parties involved.
And if things had just remained that way, a respectable distance between his secret and those who were special to him, then everything could have remained fine and normal.
But well, you know, Malcolm's Law or whatever.
Ryan and Shane were right at the second month of their Ghost Files Live tour, their second one ever, and things would be very different this time around, more so than Ryan could have ever expected.
Mari, angel on Earth that she was, sharp as a tack as she was, had easily picked up on the fact that Ryan's feelings towards Shane were not 100% platonic, and may have not been for awhile.
He was a shit liar and couldn't deny it, but he'd rushed to assure her that he absolutely never planned on acting on it, that he meant the vows he'd written with his own hand and read to her on their wedding day with his whole heart. That had been why he had insisted on being able to see those vows every day, and why now they were lovingly preserved in a beautiful frame on their living room wall. *Their* living room wall. He had told her he would do anything and everything he could to make her happy, because she was his soulmate, his wife, and nothing was ever gonna change that.
And he fucking meant all of it.
And she had simply told him with loving eyes that she knew that because he always told her so sweetly every single day, but that Shane had been there on their wedding day too. She had reminded him that Shane had crossed Ryan's mind during the vows he shared, that Ryan had tossed a glance over his shoulder at Shane, however briefly; Mari said she knew even before then, that when you marry your spouse, you're also marrying their friends, in whatever form that may take. And for Ryan and Shane, she'd always known there was something more between the two that neither even dared to think about.
She had urged Ryan to explore, pursue, indulge in whatever it was between Shane and him, using this trip as an opportunity for them to get some alone time together, because "Shane is different" and Ryan had practically collapsed into her arms, feeling so loved and understood in that moment.
She'd also all but confirmed that Sara had expressed a similar sentiment to Shane.
Ryan had been thrilled at the time, but as he sat next to Shane on the bed of their money-saving shared hotel room, he was terrified.
And that certainly wasn't helped by the low growls of Shane's stomach ache as the other man lay next to him on his back, the palm of Shane's hand resting cautiously against his slightly swollen abdomen.
"I really shouldn't have gone for that fourth hot dog," Shane mumbled, wincing and throwing an arm over his eyes as his stomach made another gurgling sound. "How much longer until I can take some more Tums?"
"30 minutes," Ryan replied, his cheeks growing warm as he tried to fend off his kinky thoughts. "You shouldn't take too many though. Some people pop those things like candy."
"Well that's what they get for making them taste like candy," Shane muttered.
The bed shifted as Shane squirmed in discomfort, and Ryan tried his best to ignore it, to not let it tear him up inside because that was just too fucked up.
Shane then let out a particularly loud fart, a brief, sudden explosion that obliterated Ryan's current inner turmoil.
Ryan's skin flushed.
"Uh...whoops," Shane said softly, his words trailing off with an uneasy giggle.
Ryan could see Shane's cheeks turn pink where his face wasn't covered by his arm, and more than that, Ryan had been around Shane long enough to know that Shane only really spoke in that tone when he'd said or done something that he then instantly felt was too loud or too rude or too much in some way, a fumble in his efforts to try to minimize what he felt was a looming and intimidating presence.
But Ryan had never thought of him that way.
And the sudden urge to care for Shane hit him so fast and so hard that soon Ryan was moving before his brain could catch up, shifting on the bed until he was sitting by Shane's side with his legs folded, his hand hovering just above where Shane's hand was still resting on his stomach.
Shane raised the arm over his face slightly as he stared up curiously at Ryan.
Ryan's head felt like static.
Reason had abandoned him. Overthinking had abandoned him.
Ryan's entire focus had narrowed so that all he could think about was Shane, and making Shane feel better.
His normal reaction would have been to make a stupid joke, one that left the elephant in the room unacknowledged, a baton that Shane would pick up and carry, maybe out of kindness.
Or pity.
Ryan gently wrapped his fingers around the wrist of Shane's hand that lay on his stomach and slowly lowered it to Shane's side.
Shane didn't protest, didn't ask Ryan what the fuck he was doing, didn't say anything at all.
Ryan tripped over his words as he scrambled to explain. "Um, just, well, when I did, when she--when I was a little kid and my tummy was hurting, my Mom would always..."
With his body again seeming to move of its own accord, Ryan placed his hand on Shane's stomach, and gently began rubbing slow, smooth circles across it.
Ryan could hear the throb of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, feeling like it was reverberating through his whole body, his nerve endings thrumming like plucked guitar strings.
He was waiting for Shane to...well, he wasn't sure what. Say something? Do something? STOP him?
He heard Shane inhale sharply, and then let out another nervous laugh. "That feels--real nice Ryan but if you keep that up then uh, you're gonna end up hearing my ass crack another joke."
Ryan would have normally laughed at that, found it hilarious, far more amused than any normal, sane adult should be.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't because he was in the same bed as Shane, and not even for a ghost hunt this time.
He couldn't because Shane's tummy felt so warm through his shirt and against Ryan's palm, and Ryan ached with the want to slip his hand beneath the fabric and feel Shane's bare skin beneath his fingers.
Shane tensed, wincing as he let out another fart, sliding his forearm back into its place.
Ryan shuddered, unable to help it, and that made Shane's arm fly off his face as he stared up at Ryan in shock.
Ryan looked away, ashamed.
Truly, he hadn't meant to do that.
He hadn't meant to do any of this really.
Now Shane would realize what a fucking pervert he was. He would deny ever having wanted anything more with Ryan than a working relationship, and that's if he stuck around at Watcher at all. He'd pull away from Ryan, snipping away the threads of everything they'd woven together and--
"...Is this your yum Ryan?"
Ryan's head snapped up at that.
He'd been expecting anger, or disgust. Some kind of deeply woundful, negative reaction, which Ryan knew he couldn't have blamed Shane for.
But this sounded more like curiosity.
The kind that Shane had whenever he'd ask Ryan about basketball, or Call of Duty. The kind where even if Ryan was talking about something that Shane could care less about, he'd listen in earnest, asking Ryan questions, urging Ryan to tell him more, because Ryan liked those things.
Ryan's mouth felt dry as he gave two short nods.
"So how's it work?" Shane asked.
"What?" Ryan turned bright red.
He hadn't been expecting to have this conversation today.
Let alone ever.
"Oh, you know um, what do you, uh--I'm asking how you like your eggs, but I don't literally mean your eggs," Shane supplied.
Ryan merely stared at Shane for a moment.
That was a surprisingly apt analogy.
His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and his stomach tied itself in knots; he felt so foolish.
Shane was giving Ryan an opportunity, and here he was, absolutely fucking blowing it.
"Hey," Shane said softly, raising his hand to Ryan's face to gently move the pad of his index finger across Ryan's cheek, the way Ryan had done to him several times before when he was so overwhelmed with the desire to kiss Shane senseless and had to do *something* to keep himself in check.
Ryan leaned into Shane's touch, his eyes fluttering shut as Shane moved his hand to cup Ryan's face.
Shane's palm felt warm and soft, and Ryan had always known that Shane had soft hands but it was different to really know.
Shane began caressing the line of Ryan's jaw with his thumb, and Ryan felt his brain melt into a puddle.
He was supposed to be answering a question right now, wasn't he?
When Shane started tracing over Ryan's bottom lip, Ryan suddenly gripped Shane's hand with both of his, and slid backward, lowering Shane's hand from his face.
Seeing the dread in Shane's expression, Ryan gently squeezed his hand in reassurance.
"I wanna answer you first but I can't fucking think when you do that," Ryan whispered, a giggle tinkling on the end of his words.
"Oh," Shane said, like the word had been punched out of him.
Ryan took a deep breath. He began tracing over Shane's knuckles as he gathered his thoughts.
He really didn't know where to begin.
How do you put into words something you've never said out loud?
"I liked watching you," Ryan finally blurted, his face flushing.
"Do you mean...hearing?" Shane tried.
Ryan shook his head. "Watching," he repeated. "Because, you get shy when you do it in front of anyone. But right now, I'm the only one who gets to witness it. 'Cause you don't have to hide around me. It's kinda...intimate, you know?"
He willed himself to look up at Shane, expecting a knitted brow, a downturned mouth, a sour expression.
Something that indicataed to Ryan that he'd just fucked up royally.
But Shane just looked...intrigued? Okay, maybe that was a stretch, and Ryan was a bit too full of himself to think--
"Is it just the watching part or do you like the smell or--?"
Ryan let out a nervous laugh, lightly squeezing the part of Shane's hand where his thumb met his palm.
"Not just watching," he replied. "I'm kind of neutral on the smell. But...feeling them...is uhm... If I were like uh, behind you, spooning you, it's--I mean it's up against me at that point so then I feel it t-here."
He looked up to find Shane nodding. Simply listening. Simply curious.
Not judging.
Not angry.
Not disgusted.
"I like making you feel better," Ryan continued "Making you less shy about it. Making your tummy feel better. Kind of stupid and ridiculous and silly but it's not like it's harmful and um...yeah."
Shane squeezed Ryan's hand in return, pulling a little to coax Ryan to lay down next to him.
As if Ryan needed any amount of coaxing.
Shane remained laying on his back as Ryan eased down onto his side.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Shane curled his fingers around the hem of his shirt, raising it about halfway up his torso, so that his abdomen was fully on display.
The bed shifted slightly as Shane tried to make his already swollen abdomen protrude more, before sliding his legs slightly further apart.
He had laid himself out like an offering and Ryan forgot how to breathe, had to shut his eyes against the sudden wave of want that crashed over him.
Shane would truly be the death of him.
He was so close now and Ryan's heart was racing.
It wasn't as if they hadn't been this close before; he just hadn't been allowed to do anything about it before.
And now that he could, now that he was not only allowed, but basically being beckoned by Shane; it was overwhelming.
Ryan let himself look at Shane, really look at him, his eyes roving over the full length of the man that lay before him.
Impossibly long legs acted like a road to paradise, leading up Shane's slender torso and then to his face; to the warmth and affection in Shane's eyes, the sexy line of his nose, his lips that were likely incredibly soft due to Shane's Burt's Bees habit, up to his chestnut, soft-looking hair that Ryan had often admired while ignoring the itch beneath his skin that wanted to touch.
He held his breath as he slowly, cautiously reached a hand up to run through Shane's hair.
Shane let out a soft, pleased sigh and fuck Ryan knew that sound would be etched onto his brain.
"Can I kiss you first?" Ryan asked, brushing his fingertips over Shane's cheek.
Shane nodded, and when Shane turned his head, Ryan threaded his fingers through Shane's hair, leaned in, and his lips pressed feather light against Shane's mouth.
It really was soft, impossibly softer than Ryan had even imagined.
It was the most minimal of contact but being allowed to touch and kiss and explore Shane after all these years was almost more than Ryan could handle. Warmth flooded him as he slid his arms around Shane's back.
Their kisses started out soft and careful, barely there presses of their mouths, and then Shane wrapped his arms around Ryan and pulled him in tight.
Ryan was so overwhelmed that he again felt a prickling behind his eyes and he tried his best to fight it off.
Then Shane slipped his tongue past Ryan's lips and it was more than he could handle.
He thrust up against Shane, his palms moving to clutch at Shane's shoulders, trying to get as close as he could.
Shane kissed back with just as much fervor and then his stomach rumbled again.
A whimper escaped Rayn without his permission.
"Jesus Christ," Shane mumbled in awe.
"Can you...?" Ryan breathed, his chest heavy with relief as Shane turned over so that his back was facing Ryan.
Ryan immediately enveloped Shane in his arms, pulling him in close against his chest. His lips found Shae's neck, and he kissed reverently over the skin, trying to touch and kiss and nibble every last little bit of it. He began gently rubbing circles over Shane's stomach, allowing his hand to go a little lower each time.
Shane let out a little grunt and let out a huge, loud fart against Ryan's cock and Ryan cursed into his shoulder, thrusting up against Shane's ass.
It was so *warm* and the slight vibration made Ryan's cock twitch, a drip of precome soaking into his boxers.
He watched Shane curl up a little in embarrassment, could see the blush form on his neck, and when the next one Shane released was softer in sound, but more rancid in smell, that only made him thrust faster. Because holy fuck, if they were in a crowded room, no one else but Ryan would have known that Shane had just farted, just that someone had.
He heard Shane start to apologize but Ryan cut him off, growling into Shane's ear. "Don't you fucking dare."
Ryan dragged his hands down to undo the button of Shane's jeans and rip down the zipper. He stopped with his palms pressed to the outside of Shane's boxers, silently asking his permission.
"Touch, me, please," Shane whispered shakily and that was more than enough for Ryan.
Ryan shoved his hand into Shane's boxers, pulling out his cock through the opening in the front of them. The stroke of his hand synced up with the movements of his hips, and Shane was alternating between driving himself into the tunnel of Ryan's fingers, and rubbing his ass against Ryan's cock.
Ryan would have lowered his jeans and pulled himself out as well, but that meant letting go of Shane, of his newfound closeness between them, and he was absolutely unwilling at the moment.
Shane stilled for a moment and Ryan felt a small twitch of panic in the pit of his stomach, but then he heard a soft grunt and felt Shane release a long, deliberate fart against Ryan's cock.
Ryan's heart was in his throat at the mere notion that Shane was willing to go his far for him, and soon his hips were snapping wildly, his hand tightening around Shane's cock as the rest of his own muscles tightened, and soon he was coming so fucking hard that his ears started ringing a little.
Shane wasn't far behind as he bucked faster and faster into the tightening channel of Ryan's hand, muffling the shout that sounded yanked from Shane's lungs by pressing his face into the pillow and spilling over Ryan's hand.
They both remained laying on their sides as they tried to catch their breaths, although it was taking Ryan longer because he couldn't stop kissing Shane's neck and whispering words of affection into his hair.
"Wow," Shane said, letting out a chuckle as he snuggled back against Ryan.
Ryan tightened the hold he had around Shane's waist, smiling against Shane's shoulder.
"This should be the ending to our next Knott's Berry Farm trip," Shane said.
And Ryan couldn't agree more.