Fic: With All Your Heart. Brendon/Ryan. NC-17.
Can I interest you in some current canon angst? Good! Here's some!
Title: With All Your Heart
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: March 2009. Brendon and Ryan try to fix each other.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction.
Beta: Thanks Jessa!
Warning: Off-screen drug use.
Brendon decides it's time to sleep after he meets the business end of his third bottle of Coors Light. It helps that VH1 ceased the I Love The 70s marathon he'd been mainlining to switch over to Behind The Music. Not that Brendon's taking it as a sign, by any means. Plenty of bands have trouble figuring out a direction for a new album; it doesn't mean that they're going to break up, even if two of them want to go one way and the other two want to go another way. It doesn't mean anything, Brendon thinks, and stabs at the remote's power button with a little more vehemence than is strictly necessary.
It's when the TV goes dark and silence sets in that he hears the tapping start. He looks around his bedroom, but there's no obvious source of the sound. The tapping gets louder. Brendon turns to look at the window, and shouts in surprise.
On the other side of the window, Ryan screams, trips backward, and falls down.
Brendon blinks.
After a second of shuffling around outside, Ryan's face reappears through the window. He starts dusting himself off as Brendon watches. When Ryan's jacket is apparently adequately clean, he looks back at Brendon. Then he waves.
"Really?" Brendon asks his bedroom. It doesn't respond, so he accepts it as fact that Ryan is standing outside his fucking window, and gets up.
When Brendon opens the window, Ryan says, "Hi." He's standing half on one of Brendon's rosebushes, which didn't used to be broken. "I got bit by some thorns." He blinks down at his hands, and when he holds them up, Brendon sees dirt and streaks of blood.
"Shit," Brendon says, surprised, "Come in, come in."
Brendon had meant through the door, maybe, like normal people, but Ryan just puts his hands on the windowframe and hauls himself up like it doesn't even hurt. Brendon has to catch him when he stumbles, and Ryan leaves handprints on Brendon's t-shirt, dirty and red. He quivers as he tries to right himself, and Brendon has to hold him up.
"Jesus, how much blood did you lose?" Brendon asks, trying to keep Ryan steady as he guides him to the bathroom. Ryan doesn't answer, doesn't say anything until Brendon's got him in the bathroom, pushed up against the sink, hands braced on the counter. "Ross, you're shaking," Brendon says, pausing to look at him. He smooths his hands over Ryan's shoulders, ducks his head so Ryan will look at him.
When Ryan finally does, Brendon could kill himself for being so oblivious. Ryan's glassy-eyed, his pupils blown, and this is familiar, Brendon knows this, he's been there. There's a smudge of blood under his nose, and Brendon doesn't know if it's from a nosebleed or from touching his face with bloody hands. Brendon bites his lip, and Ryan doesn't say anything at all, so at least he knows Brendon isn't stupid. Brendon looks at him until he can't anymore, and then he busies himself searching for peroxide under the counter.
"Tell me you were at least at a party," Brendon says to his cabinet as Ryan taps his fingertips against the ledge of the counter. He finally finds the peroxide in the back, along with some cotton balls. It'll have to do.
"I was at least at a party," Ryan says obediently. He blinks up at Brendon through his eyelashes when Brendon stands.
"Why'd you leave?" Brendon asks. Ryan holds out his hands, palms up like he's showing he's unarmed. Brendon wets a cotton ball and carefully drags it over one of Ryan's palms. He can't even take any pleasure in it when Ryan hisses at the sting.
"I got bored. I wanted to see you." Ryan bites his lip, squirming a little when Brendon presses a little harder than necessary. The cuts aren't awfully deep, but there are a lot of them; Ryan must have tried to grab onto the rosebush to keep from falling.
"And the front door didn't seem like the way to go?"
"Oh." Ryan swallows and licks his lips. "I didn't think about that."
"Yeah, you don't think about much lately, do you?" Brendon can't help asking.
"I thought about you, didn't I?" Ryan says, sounding hurt. "Come on, Brendon, please."
Brendon stares at Ryan's hands, swiping cotton over each cut, again and again until the peroxide stops bubbling and the bleeding's mostly stopped. Ryan's palms are streaked with cuts, and they'll hurt like a bitch tomorrow, Brendon can tell. But he's guessing that Ryan's not feeling too much right now.
Ryan's chewing on his lip when Brendon looks him in the face, teeth digging into his lower lip over and over. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, biting his lip until it swells, and before Brendon really realizes he's doing it he's got his hand on Ryan's face, thumb on Ryan's mouth, stopping him. Ryan's hand on his stops him from jerking away, Ryan's fingertips dragging over his knuckles, pulling him closer until he's cupping Ryan's cheek, watching as Ryan turns his head and drags his lips over Brendon's wrist, his palm, the bases of his fingers. Ryan flicks his tongue over the silver ring Brendon's wearing, and his eyes slip shut like he likes the taste of metal.
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Brendon asks, but his voice is lower than he'd like it to be, hushed, and he doesn't take his hand away.
"I'm sorry," Ryan murmurs, his lips brushing Brendon's hand, warm and soft, penitent. "I'm sorry everything's so weird lately, I'm sorry I'm." He swallows, but doesn't finish, just turns his cheek further into Brendon's touch, nuzzling in, threading his fingers with Brendon's and holding him there.
"I don't know how to fix this," Brendon says, hating the desperation in his voice, hating the truth of it, hating how good it still feels, Ryan touching him like this, anything Ryan gives him.
"Don't worry about the band," Ryan says, slipping off the counter into Brendon's space. He releases Brendon's hand, and Brendon lets it slide around the back of Ryan's neck like it belongs there, so familiar. Always so fucking familiar, always them, in the beginning and the middle and now, and even though Brendon knows what follows the beginning and middle he refuses to let himself think about what this is for them. He refuses. It can't be. They've survived breakups and girlfriends and stopping and starting again and they'll survive this, whatever this is. They have to.
"I'm not worried about the," Brendon starts, but he's cut off by Ryan's mouth on his, hot and soft and sudden, Ryan's hands on his face, Ryan's body against his. Ryan backs him up against the bathroom door and Brendon can't help but moan, pulling Ryan closer, pulling him in.
Ryan crowds him toward the bedroom and it's like a thousand times before all at once. They've done this angry, done it hurt and sad, done it desperately and done it high god knows how many times. The first time they did coke together it was fucking transcendent, even if Brendon couldn't quite handle the comedown. The comedown clearly isn't something Ryan's worried about anymore; that makes one of them not worried about Ryan.
When they get to the bed Ryan pulls him down on top, trying to shrug off his clothes on his back and mostly failing. He makes a small pained noise when he tries the buttons of his shirt, clearly having already forgotten he fucked his hands, and Brendon bats them away, working at Ryan's clothes and then guiding him up so he can get out of them. Once Ryan's gotten his shirt he settles back down, and even through the thin moonlight coming through the window it's obvious he's lost weight, his waist thinner than usual, ribs standing out more starkly. Brendon stares down at him, knowing the horror is showing on his face but unable to stop it.
"What?" Ryan says, a trifle defensively. He keeps his hands on Brendon's pants, tugging at the waist of his jeans now that Brendon's stopped helping.
"You look sick, you know that right?" Brendon says. He presses his thumbs to Ryan's ribs, the spaces between them, slipping over each painful line of bone.
"So fuck me on my hands and knees then, if you don't want to look at me," Ryan snaps, flushing a dull red and struggling with Brendon's zipper.
Brendon tenses with the sudden need to hit him, anything just to make Ryan pay fucking attention and understand what he's saying. The first touch of Ryan's hand to his cock brings him out of it, and instead he grabs Ryan's wrists and pins him to the bed. Ryan bucks up mutinously beneath him, glaring, and Brendon tightens his grip until Ryan goes limp under him.
"Please, Brendon," Ryan says, his voice soft, quiescent. He shifts his hips up, letting Brendon feel the press of his cock, still hard, bumping against Brendon's. "I'm okay, I promise."
"You're not," Brendon says, "you're not okay, this isn't okay."
"It is." Ryan arches up under him, rubbing against Brendon slow and hot, and it's not fair, it isn't, it isn't right that Ryan knows exactly how to turn him on, that Ryan can always turn him on, no matter what's going on between them, no matter how fucked up things are. Brendon fucking hates that Ryan still has this power over him; the only thing that makes it better is knowing that Ryan feels it too, in at least some small way. He keeps coming back. He will keep coming back, and Brendon never lets himself think otherwise. "It will be. Just kiss me. Please, will you kiss me?"
Brendon will. He always fucking will.
Ryan sighs when Brendon leans in and presses their mouths together, letting himself rest most of his body weight against Ryan. Ryan opens for him so easily, and Brendon loves him like this, loves him any way at all. Brendon feels Ryan start to shake again and he knows that Ryan was holding it back, trying to hold himself together to convince Brendon he was alright. Ryan's fingers tremble when Brendon releases his wrists, and he touches Brendon like he can't get enough, like he wants to map every inch of Brendon's skin with his fingertips. When he pushes at Brendon's clothes, Brendon leans back and takes them off, rolling onto his side as they both push their pants down and off. It hasn't been all that long since Brendon's last seen Ryan naked, but it always feels like it's been too long.
Ryan reaches greedily for him once they're both completely bared, and Brendon slips his arms around Ryan's waist and kisses him hard, tangling their legs together and gasping against Ryan's mouth when their cocks bump. Ryan licks into his mouth and arches in close like he can't feel enough of Brendon at once, and Brendon knows what he wants, what he always needs when he gets like this.
When it's weed Ryan likes a lazy fuck, likes Brendon on top of him riding his cock, when they're rolling they mostly just rub against each other. When he's drunk Ryan likes to suck cock and when he's sober Ryan likes fucking Brendon against walls and in the shower and wherever else it strikes his fancy to get his dick out. But when he's coked up Ryan likes to get fucked fast and hard, which coincides pleasantly with Brendon's usual urge to fuck Ryan until he can't see straight.
It's been a long fucking time since they did it like this together but Brendon doubts much has changed. When Ryan tugs at him, pulling Brendon on top and spreading his legs, Brendon knows for sure it hasn't. Brendon slides his hands down Ryan's back to his ass, and Ryan squirms under him like he wants it right then and there, his hands tensing on Brendon's upper arms.
"Hey," Brendon says. He leans down and kisses Ryan again, and Ryan gasps against his mouth when he slips his fingertips between Ryan's cheeks, stroking up and down as Ryan trembles and rubs against him, Ryan's cock hard and thick between their stomachs.
"Please, I need," Ryan whispers, and the desperation in his voice stings Brendon. Ryan reaches up, cupping Brendon's face, stroking his cheekbones, kissing the corners of his mouth, and Brendon needs this too, oh god, he needs Ryan more than he's ever needed anything. Brendon swallows and pulls back, hating the broken noise Ryan makes when he does.
Brendon reaches for his night table, taking lube and condoms out of the drawer and trying to think through the fog that touching Ryan always puts him in. When he takes the lube in hand, Ryan looks to the side and grabs his wrist.
"No condoms, please?" Ryan asks.
And yeah, okay, they don't always use them, because Brendon's never had unprotected sex with anyone but Ryan and Ryan's always said the same, but now. Fuck, Brendon hates that he's not sure he can trust Ryan now. God knows Brendon's made some stupid decisions when he was drunk or high, and Ryan's obviously not been in the best of shape lately. He looks from the condoms to Ryan's pleading face and doesn't know what to say.
"I'm clean, I swear," Ryan says, "I've been safe, you know I'm always safe."
"Ryan, I barely even know you anymore," Brendon says, and Ryan's face falls. "I don't even know what you're doing lately."
"I know what I'm doing," Ryan says, sitting up. "Fuck, Brendon, why can't you just trust me?"
"You had to be fucking high just to come over here!" Brendon says, and he's startled to hear that he's almost shouting. "You barely show up for practice, we can't figure out anything for the next record! You spend all your time drunk or high out of your mind! You hardly even talk to me anymore, I don't know what the fuck your problem is!"
"My problem is you!" Ryan yells back. "Fucking christ, Brendon, I love you! Isn't that enough?"
Brendon stares at him, at Ryan's flushed cheeks, his heaving chest, his body still naked, cock still hard as he glares at Brendon. His hands tremble on the sheets, and Brendon has no fucking clue what to say, because he loves Ryan too. And it isn't enough.
Ryan's face crumples, and Brendon kisses him before he can see Ryan cry. It's the only answer he can give.
Ryan kisses back like he's drowning, plastering himself to Brendon's body and holding on tight, and Brendon lets the momentum take him down, Ryan's hand curling around his cock as his back hits the bed. Ryan strokes him, grabbing a condom and fumbling to open it, and Brendon closes his eyes as Ryan slips the condom down his cock, fingers returning a second later wet with lube. Brendon wants to be inside Ryan so badly he's aching, and the slick slide of Ryan's hand on his dick is almost too much, almost.
"Ryan," Brendon gasps, and Ryan just stares down at him, taking in a shaky breath as he moves to straddle Brendon. Ryan's always liked it a little bit rough, liked giving pain and getting it, but he's not even stretched at all, and Brendon's fingers dig into Ryan's sharp hipbones as Ryan lifts himself up, poised over the head of Brendon's dick and then lowering himself until Brendon can feel the press of Ryan's hole, small and tight and just barely wet, rubbing back and forth until Ryan swallows and bears down and takes Brendon's cock inside.
"Fuck, fuck," Ryan whispers, an edge of pain there that Brendon knows isn't just because it's hurting him. He keeps his eyes on Brendon's as he slips downward, taking more and more of Brendon inside, until he's fully seated on Brendon's cock.
It's hard to think, let alone speak with that tightness around him, almost painful as Ryan starts to move, raising himself up and down by inches. Still, Brendon grits his teeth and manages, "I don't want to hurt you."
Ryan's hands tense on Brendon's chest, and he bites his lip, clenching down on Brendon's cock as he rides him, slow and intense. "Maybe I want it to hurt," Ryan says, and Brendon stares back at him and knows that Ryan will only ever take it how he thinks he deserves it, and he hates Ryan and loves him and wants him so much that he almost understands.
"It doesn't have to," Brendon says anyway, and curls a hand around Ryan's cock, loosening his grip enough to let Ryan fuck his fist.
"Yes," Ryan says, "it does." He tightens his thighs around Brendon's waist, leaning back and fucking himself on Brendon's cock exactly like he wants, and Brendon looks up at him, hurting and still so gorgeous like this, and lets Ryan have what he needs, knowing that he always will.
Ryan likes it fast and hard like this, when he's in control. He works himself on Brendon's dick, moving his hands over Brendon's chest like he can't help but touch him, and Brendon thrusts up as best he can to meet him, keeping his hand on Ryan's cock and trying to help him find his release. Ryan leans down to kiss Brendon and Brendon kisses back, moaning as Ryan clenches around him, then hissing in pain as Ryan bites his lip and comes over Brendon's fist.
He's so close, almost there, and Ryan pulls back enough to get a good look at him, grinding down on Brendon's cock and staring like he wants to be sure he never forgets how Brendon looked like this, right here and now. It's Ryan's stare that pulls Brendon over the edge just as much as it's Ryan's body, and Brendon holds Ryan's hips down as he thrusts up one last time and finishes, finally going still.
Ryan pulls off of him, valiantly trying and failing to hide his wince, and Brendon looks away so he won't have to see the hurt on Ryan's face. He attends to the condom, taking a little longer than necessary to throw it away. When he looks at Ryan again, Ryan's looking at his hands.
"How do they feel?" Brendon asks, trying to force some lightness into his tone. It almost works.
"They sting," Ryan says.
"Maybe next time try the door," Brendon ventures. "At least then you'd only fall back onto the grass."
"Or the concrete." Ryan shrugs. When he looks at Brendon, Brendon can't meet his eye.
"So," Brendon says, because probably they need to talk. Even though Brendon's not entirely sure what he wants to say.
Instead, Ryan's phone rings. He looks at Brendon again and then gets up to answer it, shamelessly naked as he pulls it from his pants pocket. "Hey," Ryan says into the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just went for a walk. What? It's a nice time for a walk. Yeah, I'll be back soon. Don't leave without me." He hangs up. "I'm gonna go, that was Alex," he tells Brendon.
"Oh." Brendon tugs the sheets up around his waist. "You know, you could stay here. Or I could drop you off at home, or whatever."
"No," Ryan says. He turns his back to Brendon and starts to dress. Brendon watches his naked back, the too-prominent line of his spine. He wonders if Ryan's just going to go back to the party like nothing happened. "Look, I'll let myself out, okay? Through the front door this time."
"Okay," Brendon says, even though it's not.
When Ryan's fully dressed, he turns back to Brendon, his face blank. "I'll see you later."
"Yeah." Brendon stays where he is as Ryan leaves the room. A few seconds later, his front door slams. Through the still-open window, he can hear Ryan walking away.
Brendon stands, feeling strangely numb. In the moonlight he can see Ryan's handprints on the windowsill, and smudges of red on his own chest from where Ryan touched him.
He closes the window, and the sound of footsteps fades.
Brendon's alone.
Title: With All Your Heart
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: March 2009. Brendon and Ryan try to fix each other.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction.
Beta: Thanks Jessa!
Warning: Off-screen drug use.
Brendon decides it's time to sleep after he meets the business end of his third bottle of Coors Light. It helps that VH1 ceased the I Love The 70s marathon he'd been mainlining to switch over to Behind The Music. Not that Brendon's taking it as a sign, by any means. Plenty of bands have trouble figuring out a direction for a new album; it doesn't mean that they're going to break up, even if two of them want to go one way and the other two want to go another way. It doesn't mean anything, Brendon thinks, and stabs at the remote's power button with a little more vehemence than is strictly necessary.
It's when the TV goes dark and silence sets in that he hears the tapping start. He looks around his bedroom, but there's no obvious source of the sound. The tapping gets louder. Brendon turns to look at the window, and shouts in surprise.
On the other side of the window, Ryan screams, trips backward, and falls down.
Brendon blinks.
After a second of shuffling around outside, Ryan's face reappears through the window. He starts dusting himself off as Brendon watches. When Ryan's jacket is apparently adequately clean, he looks back at Brendon. Then he waves.
"Really?" Brendon asks his bedroom. It doesn't respond, so he accepts it as fact that Ryan is standing outside his fucking window, and gets up.
When Brendon opens the window, Ryan says, "Hi." He's standing half on one of Brendon's rosebushes, which didn't used to be broken. "I got bit by some thorns." He blinks down at his hands, and when he holds them up, Brendon sees dirt and streaks of blood.
"Shit," Brendon says, surprised, "Come in, come in."
Brendon had meant through the door, maybe, like normal people, but Ryan just puts his hands on the windowframe and hauls himself up like it doesn't even hurt. Brendon has to catch him when he stumbles, and Ryan leaves handprints on Brendon's t-shirt, dirty and red. He quivers as he tries to right himself, and Brendon has to hold him up.
"Jesus, how much blood did you lose?" Brendon asks, trying to keep Ryan steady as he guides him to the bathroom. Ryan doesn't answer, doesn't say anything until Brendon's got him in the bathroom, pushed up against the sink, hands braced on the counter. "Ross, you're shaking," Brendon says, pausing to look at him. He smooths his hands over Ryan's shoulders, ducks his head so Ryan will look at him.
When Ryan finally does, Brendon could kill himself for being so oblivious. Ryan's glassy-eyed, his pupils blown, and this is familiar, Brendon knows this, he's been there. There's a smudge of blood under his nose, and Brendon doesn't know if it's from a nosebleed or from touching his face with bloody hands. Brendon bites his lip, and Ryan doesn't say anything at all, so at least he knows Brendon isn't stupid. Brendon looks at him until he can't anymore, and then he busies himself searching for peroxide under the counter.
"Tell me you were at least at a party," Brendon says to his cabinet as Ryan taps his fingertips against the ledge of the counter. He finally finds the peroxide in the back, along with some cotton balls. It'll have to do.
"I was at least at a party," Ryan says obediently. He blinks up at Brendon through his eyelashes when Brendon stands.
"Why'd you leave?" Brendon asks. Ryan holds out his hands, palms up like he's showing he's unarmed. Brendon wets a cotton ball and carefully drags it over one of Ryan's palms. He can't even take any pleasure in it when Ryan hisses at the sting.
"I got bored. I wanted to see you." Ryan bites his lip, squirming a little when Brendon presses a little harder than necessary. The cuts aren't awfully deep, but there are a lot of them; Ryan must have tried to grab onto the rosebush to keep from falling.
"And the front door didn't seem like the way to go?"
"Oh." Ryan swallows and licks his lips. "I didn't think about that."
"Yeah, you don't think about much lately, do you?" Brendon can't help asking.
"I thought about you, didn't I?" Ryan says, sounding hurt. "Come on, Brendon, please."
Brendon stares at Ryan's hands, swiping cotton over each cut, again and again until the peroxide stops bubbling and the bleeding's mostly stopped. Ryan's palms are streaked with cuts, and they'll hurt like a bitch tomorrow, Brendon can tell. But he's guessing that Ryan's not feeling too much right now.
Ryan's chewing on his lip when Brendon looks him in the face, teeth digging into his lower lip over and over. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, biting his lip until it swells, and before Brendon really realizes he's doing it he's got his hand on Ryan's face, thumb on Ryan's mouth, stopping him. Ryan's hand on his stops him from jerking away, Ryan's fingertips dragging over his knuckles, pulling him closer until he's cupping Ryan's cheek, watching as Ryan turns his head and drags his lips over Brendon's wrist, his palm, the bases of his fingers. Ryan flicks his tongue over the silver ring Brendon's wearing, and his eyes slip shut like he likes the taste of metal.
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Brendon asks, but his voice is lower than he'd like it to be, hushed, and he doesn't take his hand away.
"I'm sorry," Ryan murmurs, his lips brushing Brendon's hand, warm and soft, penitent. "I'm sorry everything's so weird lately, I'm sorry I'm." He swallows, but doesn't finish, just turns his cheek further into Brendon's touch, nuzzling in, threading his fingers with Brendon's and holding him there.
"I don't know how to fix this," Brendon says, hating the desperation in his voice, hating the truth of it, hating how good it still feels, Ryan touching him like this, anything Ryan gives him.
"Don't worry about the band," Ryan says, slipping off the counter into Brendon's space. He releases Brendon's hand, and Brendon lets it slide around the back of Ryan's neck like it belongs there, so familiar. Always so fucking familiar, always them, in the beginning and the middle and now, and even though Brendon knows what follows the beginning and middle he refuses to let himself think about what this is for them. He refuses. It can't be. They've survived breakups and girlfriends and stopping and starting again and they'll survive this, whatever this is. They have to.
"I'm not worried about the," Brendon starts, but he's cut off by Ryan's mouth on his, hot and soft and sudden, Ryan's hands on his face, Ryan's body against his. Ryan backs him up against the bathroom door and Brendon can't help but moan, pulling Ryan closer, pulling him in.
Ryan crowds him toward the bedroom and it's like a thousand times before all at once. They've done this angry, done it hurt and sad, done it desperately and done it high god knows how many times. The first time they did coke together it was fucking transcendent, even if Brendon couldn't quite handle the comedown. The comedown clearly isn't something Ryan's worried about anymore; that makes one of them not worried about Ryan.
When they get to the bed Ryan pulls him down on top, trying to shrug off his clothes on his back and mostly failing. He makes a small pained noise when he tries the buttons of his shirt, clearly having already forgotten he fucked his hands, and Brendon bats them away, working at Ryan's clothes and then guiding him up so he can get out of them. Once Ryan's gotten his shirt he settles back down, and even through the thin moonlight coming through the window it's obvious he's lost weight, his waist thinner than usual, ribs standing out more starkly. Brendon stares down at him, knowing the horror is showing on his face but unable to stop it.
"What?" Ryan says, a trifle defensively. He keeps his hands on Brendon's pants, tugging at the waist of his jeans now that Brendon's stopped helping.
"You look sick, you know that right?" Brendon says. He presses his thumbs to Ryan's ribs, the spaces between them, slipping over each painful line of bone.
"So fuck me on my hands and knees then, if you don't want to look at me," Ryan snaps, flushing a dull red and struggling with Brendon's zipper.
Brendon tenses with the sudden need to hit him, anything just to make Ryan pay fucking attention and understand what he's saying. The first touch of Ryan's hand to his cock brings him out of it, and instead he grabs Ryan's wrists and pins him to the bed. Ryan bucks up mutinously beneath him, glaring, and Brendon tightens his grip until Ryan goes limp under him.
"Please, Brendon," Ryan says, his voice soft, quiescent. He shifts his hips up, letting Brendon feel the press of his cock, still hard, bumping against Brendon's. "I'm okay, I promise."
"You're not," Brendon says, "you're not okay, this isn't okay."
"It is." Ryan arches up under him, rubbing against Brendon slow and hot, and it's not fair, it isn't, it isn't right that Ryan knows exactly how to turn him on, that Ryan can always turn him on, no matter what's going on between them, no matter how fucked up things are. Brendon fucking hates that Ryan still has this power over him; the only thing that makes it better is knowing that Ryan feels it too, in at least some small way. He keeps coming back. He will keep coming back, and Brendon never lets himself think otherwise. "It will be. Just kiss me. Please, will you kiss me?"
Brendon will. He always fucking will.
Ryan sighs when Brendon leans in and presses their mouths together, letting himself rest most of his body weight against Ryan. Ryan opens for him so easily, and Brendon loves him like this, loves him any way at all. Brendon feels Ryan start to shake again and he knows that Ryan was holding it back, trying to hold himself together to convince Brendon he was alright. Ryan's fingers tremble when Brendon releases his wrists, and he touches Brendon like he can't get enough, like he wants to map every inch of Brendon's skin with his fingertips. When he pushes at Brendon's clothes, Brendon leans back and takes them off, rolling onto his side as they both push their pants down and off. It hasn't been all that long since Brendon's last seen Ryan naked, but it always feels like it's been too long.
Ryan reaches greedily for him once they're both completely bared, and Brendon slips his arms around Ryan's waist and kisses him hard, tangling their legs together and gasping against Ryan's mouth when their cocks bump. Ryan licks into his mouth and arches in close like he can't feel enough of Brendon at once, and Brendon knows what he wants, what he always needs when he gets like this.
When it's weed Ryan likes a lazy fuck, likes Brendon on top of him riding his cock, when they're rolling they mostly just rub against each other. When he's drunk Ryan likes to suck cock and when he's sober Ryan likes fucking Brendon against walls and in the shower and wherever else it strikes his fancy to get his dick out. But when he's coked up Ryan likes to get fucked fast and hard, which coincides pleasantly with Brendon's usual urge to fuck Ryan until he can't see straight.
It's been a long fucking time since they did it like this together but Brendon doubts much has changed. When Ryan tugs at him, pulling Brendon on top and spreading his legs, Brendon knows for sure it hasn't. Brendon slides his hands down Ryan's back to his ass, and Ryan squirms under him like he wants it right then and there, his hands tensing on Brendon's upper arms.
"Hey," Brendon says. He leans down and kisses Ryan again, and Ryan gasps against his mouth when he slips his fingertips between Ryan's cheeks, stroking up and down as Ryan trembles and rubs against him, Ryan's cock hard and thick between their stomachs.
"Please, I need," Ryan whispers, and the desperation in his voice stings Brendon. Ryan reaches up, cupping Brendon's face, stroking his cheekbones, kissing the corners of his mouth, and Brendon needs this too, oh god, he needs Ryan more than he's ever needed anything. Brendon swallows and pulls back, hating the broken noise Ryan makes when he does.
Brendon reaches for his night table, taking lube and condoms out of the drawer and trying to think through the fog that touching Ryan always puts him in. When he takes the lube in hand, Ryan looks to the side and grabs his wrist.
"No condoms, please?" Ryan asks.
And yeah, okay, they don't always use them, because Brendon's never had unprotected sex with anyone but Ryan and Ryan's always said the same, but now. Fuck, Brendon hates that he's not sure he can trust Ryan now. God knows Brendon's made some stupid decisions when he was drunk or high, and Ryan's obviously not been in the best of shape lately. He looks from the condoms to Ryan's pleading face and doesn't know what to say.
"I'm clean, I swear," Ryan says, "I've been safe, you know I'm always safe."
"Ryan, I barely even know you anymore," Brendon says, and Ryan's face falls. "I don't even know what you're doing lately."
"I know what I'm doing," Ryan says, sitting up. "Fuck, Brendon, why can't you just trust me?"
"You had to be fucking high just to come over here!" Brendon says, and he's startled to hear that he's almost shouting. "You barely show up for practice, we can't figure out anything for the next record! You spend all your time drunk or high out of your mind! You hardly even talk to me anymore, I don't know what the fuck your problem is!"
"My problem is you!" Ryan yells back. "Fucking christ, Brendon, I love you! Isn't that enough?"
Brendon stares at him, at Ryan's flushed cheeks, his heaving chest, his body still naked, cock still hard as he glares at Brendon. His hands tremble on the sheets, and Brendon has no fucking clue what to say, because he loves Ryan too. And it isn't enough.
Ryan's face crumples, and Brendon kisses him before he can see Ryan cry. It's the only answer he can give.
Ryan kisses back like he's drowning, plastering himself to Brendon's body and holding on tight, and Brendon lets the momentum take him down, Ryan's hand curling around his cock as his back hits the bed. Ryan strokes him, grabbing a condom and fumbling to open it, and Brendon closes his eyes as Ryan slips the condom down his cock, fingers returning a second later wet with lube. Brendon wants to be inside Ryan so badly he's aching, and the slick slide of Ryan's hand on his dick is almost too much, almost.
"Ryan," Brendon gasps, and Ryan just stares down at him, taking in a shaky breath as he moves to straddle Brendon. Ryan's always liked it a little bit rough, liked giving pain and getting it, but he's not even stretched at all, and Brendon's fingers dig into Ryan's sharp hipbones as Ryan lifts himself up, poised over the head of Brendon's dick and then lowering himself until Brendon can feel the press of Ryan's hole, small and tight and just barely wet, rubbing back and forth until Ryan swallows and bears down and takes Brendon's cock inside.
"Fuck, fuck," Ryan whispers, an edge of pain there that Brendon knows isn't just because it's hurting him. He keeps his eyes on Brendon's as he slips downward, taking more and more of Brendon inside, until he's fully seated on Brendon's cock.
It's hard to think, let alone speak with that tightness around him, almost painful as Ryan starts to move, raising himself up and down by inches. Still, Brendon grits his teeth and manages, "I don't want to hurt you."
Ryan's hands tense on Brendon's chest, and he bites his lip, clenching down on Brendon's cock as he rides him, slow and intense. "Maybe I want it to hurt," Ryan says, and Brendon stares back at him and knows that Ryan will only ever take it how he thinks he deserves it, and he hates Ryan and loves him and wants him so much that he almost understands.
"It doesn't have to," Brendon says anyway, and curls a hand around Ryan's cock, loosening his grip enough to let Ryan fuck his fist.
"Yes," Ryan says, "it does." He tightens his thighs around Brendon's waist, leaning back and fucking himself on Brendon's cock exactly like he wants, and Brendon looks up at him, hurting and still so gorgeous like this, and lets Ryan have what he needs, knowing that he always will.
Ryan likes it fast and hard like this, when he's in control. He works himself on Brendon's dick, moving his hands over Brendon's chest like he can't help but touch him, and Brendon thrusts up as best he can to meet him, keeping his hand on Ryan's cock and trying to help him find his release. Ryan leans down to kiss Brendon and Brendon kisses back, moaning as Ryan clenches around him, then hissing in pain as Ryan bites his lip and comes over Brendon's fist.
He's so close, almost there, and Ryan pulls back enough to get a good look at him, grinding down on Brendon's cock and staring like he wants to be sure he never forgets how Brendon looked like this, right here and now. It's Ryan's stare that pulls Brendon over the edge just as much as it's Ryan's body, and Brendon holds Ryan's hips down as he thrusts up one last time and finishes, finally going still.
Ryan pulls off of him, valiantly trying and failing to hide his wince, and Brendon looks away so he won't have to see the hurt on Ryan's face. He attends to the condom, taking a little longer than necessary to throw it away. When he looks at Ryan again, Ryan's looking at his hands.
"How do they feel?" Brendon asks, trying to force some lightness into his tone. It almost works.
"They sting," Ryan says.
"Maybe next time try the door," Brendon ventures. "At least then you'd only fall back onto the grass."
"Or the concrete." Ryan shrugs. When he looks at Brendon, Brendon can't meet his eye.
"So," Brendon says, because probably they need to talk. Even though Brendon's not entirely sure what he wants to say.
Instead, Ryan's phone rings. He looks at Brendon again and then gets up to answer it, shamelessly naked as he pulls it from his pants pocket. "Hey," Ryan says into the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just went for a walk. What? It's a nice time for a walk. Yeah, I'll be back soon. Don't leave without me." He hangs up. "I'm gonna go, that was Alex," he tells Brendon.
"Oh." Brendon tugs the sheets up around his waist. "You know, you could stay here. Or I could drop you off at home, or whatever."
"No," Ryan says. He turns his back to Brendon and starts to dress. Brendon watches his naked back, the too-prominent line of his spine. He wonders if Ryan's just going to go back to the party like nothing happened. "Look, I'll let myself out, okay? Through the front door this time."
"Okay," Brendon says, even though it's not.
When Ryan's fully dressed, he turns back to Brendon, his face blank. "I'll see you later."
"Yeah." Brendon stays where he is as Ryan leaves the room. A few seconds later, his front door slams. Through the still-open window, he can hear Ryan walking away.
Brendon stands, feeling strangely numb. In the moonlight he can see Ryan's handprints on the windowsill, and smudges of red on his own chest from where Ryan touched him.
He closes the window, and the sound of footsteps fades.
Brendon's alone.