Nothing to do with you | Ryan/Brendon | NC-17
Nothing to do with you
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | ~ 10100 Words |
Ryan's got his own reasons.
Thank you SO MUCH to castoffstarter for such a fantastic beta. I love you like mad. Thanks also to provetheworst for listening to me bitch while I was writing this.
--
[touring]
Brendon and Ryan are tussling.
It started 15 minutes ago with Ryan sighing loudly one too many times at Brendon's attempt to sing A Whole New World in a minor key, which prompted Brendon to punch Ryan in the arm, hard, one too many times, and now they are rolling around on the floor.
Ryan is categorically terrible at wrestling. Apparently that's what happens when you grow up without brothers and with a best friend who is at least 2.5 times bigger than you are for the entirety of your childhood. Ryan may have known better than to attempt to wrestle with Spencer, but he seems to always fall under the misconception that just because Brendon is shorter than he is, it some how means that Brendon didn't actually grow up a youngest child.
So, once again, Brendon has Ryan pinned to the ground, one of Ryan's arms trapped under his own body, the other held to the ground in Brendon's strong grip. This isn't to say that Brendon generally pins him like this. Sometimes he get Ryan face down, sometimes he sits on his chest holding Ryan's arms down with his knees, sometimes he traps him against the side of whatever surface they are wrestling on- the arm of the couch, wall of the bunk, flat on the low table in the lounge.
It's the part where Ryan loses that always stays the same.
He still gets just as mad, every single time, and has taken to fighting dirty sooner and sooner into the fight. He seems to be on a desperate and continuous mission to knee Brendon in the balls. Fortunately, that was also the preferred mode of attack of one of Brendon's older sisters (maybe fortunately isn't the right word), so Brendon is remarkably adept at dodging away. Which doesn't stop Ryan from trying, time and time again, and also from using verbal harassment in the form of constantly implying that perhaps the reason that Brendon is so good at avoiding Ryan's knee is because there wasn't a very large area of manhood for him to protect.
Large area of manhood or not, Brendon's the one with Ryan pinned to the floor, and Ryan's face is just getting redder and redder as he continues bitching Brendon out and trying to squirm away.
"Dude," Brendon says. "Just give up."
Ryan lets out a colorful string of expletives, mostly about Brendon's lineage and something about intercourse with goats.
Brendon waits for him to take a breath, and says, "Just say it, and I'll let you up." Brendon knows it's stupid, two semi-grown men rolling around on the floor. But it's the longest the Ryan will let him touch him for, the closest he can get, other than the stage show, and Brendon isn't so gone that he thinks the stage show counts for anything. Not yet.
"Fucker," Ryan grits out. His hair is sticking to his forehead and he looks so disheveled and randomly young that Brendon almost lets him up. But there is a precedent to follow.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says, "what was that?"
Ryan twists his face up pitifully. "My arm is getting dislocated."
"Then talk quickly."
Ryan scowls and in one breath, with absolutely no intonation, says, "Brendon is the best and I should know better than to try to take him on because he is more awesome than I will ever be."
Brendon nods along. "And?"
"And he doesn't have a small penis; I am a lesser man for suggesting it."
Brendon grins and lets go of his grip on Ryan's arm.
Ryan rolls over to free his other arm and mutters to the floor, "Even though if we got a tape measure out, it would be pretty damn obvious who the lesser man was..." He pushes off the floor and sprints to the couch, yelling, "Place of refuge! Place of refuge!" before Brendon has a chance to grab him again.
"I'm letting that go," Brendon declares, walking to the couch. "But I get to choose the movie."
"I'm not watching fucking Spinal Tap again," Ryan says.
"Then you shouldn't have fucked with the speech," Brendon says and pushes play.
--
It's November, and there's still another month until the tour ends. The number of shows left to play is more than Brendon can fathom and less than he can bear to think about.
So he doesn't try.
--
"Delicious hamburger," Spencer says. He's not looking at Brendon, but Brendon still pauses with his handful of french fries just in front of his mouth and flips him off.
"I don't even miss it," he assures Spencer. "Meat is murder."
"Dude, you're the worst vegetarian I've ever met," Spencer says.
"Am not," Brendon says.
"Name one person who's worse."
But Brendon can't think of any examples, so technically, technically, Spencer wins that one.
"I'd be a vegetarian, but then I couldn't eat gummie bears," Ryan says.
"And then you would starve," Jon says. "So it's probably for the best."
"I still eat gummie bears," Brendon says. "Why couldn't you eat gummie bears?"
"Do you know what's in gelatin?" Ryan asks.
Brendon doesn't.
But no one will tell him.
--
They're doing an interview for a magazine, which means that a journalist is following them around for the day, to 'get to know them'. It's bullshit, basically. Brendon's even less patient that he usually is. Something about the guy sets Brendon's guard up, and Ryan doesn't seem to be doing much better. It's hard to tell how Jon's feeling, and Spencer's always snarky with the journalists.
"So, Ryan," the guy says. "How old were you when your mother left you?"
"She didn't leave me," Ryan grits out. "She divorced my dad. I was young."
Ryan's visibly shaken for the rest of the day in a way Brendon hasn't seen before.
--
Brendon scopes out the arena that they are playing that night. He smuggles a small mirror out of the bus after sound check.
"Come," he whispers to Ryan.
They sneak away from the journalist and Brendon stands guard while Ryan does his makeup in the quiet of an empty coat room.
"Okay?" Brendon asks once Ryan has finished.
Ryan nods and they walk together back to the noisy dressing room.
--
They play a fantastic show.
--
Pete invites them over for Thanksgiving. The first time he brings it up, on a conference call that started out about finalizing the accommodations for their last two weeks of touring and ends with Pete offering his house for the holiday, Brendon honestly thinks he just means for Ryan to come.
"What about you, Brendon?" Pete asks.
Brendon just laughs. It's not that he minds being alone for the holiday. Not really. Jon said that he could meet up with him after the family dinner was over, and even that was only because Brendon absolutely refused to join him for the meal. Brendon has more of a sense of the importance of family meals than he likes to admit.
--
The second time Pete mentions it, he actually calls Brendon.
"Ryan says you don't think I want you to come," he says.
"I never said that," protests Brendon.
"Good. So, you're coming?"
"Pete," Brendon says. "It's a time for family."
"Dude, Ryan's coming."
"That's different, though."
"It's not," Pete says. "I promise. I really want you to come too."
"Okay," Brendon says. He's secretly maybe a little relieved.
--
[Pete's house]
"Welcome," Pete says, flinging the door open dramatically.
Brendon's holding a large bouquet of flowers for Pete's mom and Ryan's holding a wrapped, "I <3 my daddy" sweater for Hemingway.
"Come in," says Pete, and they shuffle awkwardly inside.
--
There's enough food that it doesn't matter that Brendon doesn't eat the turkey, and okay. Maybe he still puts gravy on everything, but that hardly even counts as an animal death.
--
Ryan stays downstairs, sort of helping with dishes, and mostly hanging around and talking with Pete's mother.
"Thanks for having us," Brendon says again, sprawled across the second twin bed in Pete's room. "He seemed really happy tonight."
"Well, I was happy you came," Pete says. "Both of you."
Brendon nods.
"It's not-- We're buddies too," Pete says. "You and me."
Brendon grins at him.
"Sometimes, Ryan makes it seem. Well. Sometimes with Ryan it's like someone is just his," Pete says. "But. I mean. It's not like that with people."
Brendon doesn't really know what Pete's talking about, but he's full and happy. He rolls onto his side, and looks over at the other bed. Pete looks back and him and they lie quietly until Ryan comes back upstairs and it's time for bed.
--
[tour]
Brendon and Ryan are wrestling, but Brendon is tired and feels strung out on too much sugar and not enough sleep and he would really rather just be in his bed. He isn't putting up much of a fight and Ryan hasn't yet had to resort to attempting to kick him in the crotch. They push at each other, not even having made it down to the floor yet. If Ryan had any idea what he was doing, he'd have Brendon immobilized by now. But he doesn't.
Brendon struggles halfheartedly for a minute longer. He is seriously considering just walking away, when Ryan's sharp elbow catches him hard in the side in such a way that he is pushed backwards and falls down, landing on the flat of his back and getting the wind knocked out of him.
Brendon curls in on himself and wraps his arms around his stomach as he wheezes horribly and tries to get enough air to cough.
Fuck, he had forgotten how much this hurts.
"Shit, fuck, Brendon. Brendon? I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
When Brendon forces his eyes open again, Ryan is kneeling beside him. "Are you okay? Should I go get someone?"
Brendon shakes his head, gasping roughly and trying not to panic because even though he knows he just has to wait it out, he can't breath and it hurts like a motherfucker. He lies, with his arms and legs pulled in tight until the pressure, pain, dread, lessens and he relaxes his arms enough to wipe his palm across his face.
He looks up at Ryan, who says, "Fuck, Brendon, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to," and looks so thoroughly stricken at the sight of Brendon crumbled on the floor that Brendon wonders if Ryan had really been trying all that hard on the other occasions that they wrestled.
"It's okay," Brendon says, and fuck is his voice raw. "I know you didn't." He makes himself sit up, even though he would've liked another minute or two or twenty to lie still, and attempts a grin.
"Brendon," Ryan says, and his voice cracks almost as badly as Brendon's did. He flutters his hands, reaching out close to Brendon, but stopping before he actually makes contact.
Brendon pulls himself the rest of the way up so that they are both kneeling and leans in until Ryan knows it's okay to touch and wraps his long arms around Brendon's back. He's touching so gently, just barely holding him, and Brendon tips his head to rest against Ryan's shoulder.
"Dude, it's not a big deal," he says. "That used to happen to me all the time when I was a kid." It wasn't a big deal; it didn't even hurt all that bad. It was just the terror of being without breath and Brendon is even starting to feel pretty stupid about that.
He wraps his arms around Ryan and squeezes, because he isn't broken, and what the hell was Ryan thinking trying to give Brendon such a wussy hug?
Ryan rubs his hand over Brendon's back, still gently, and Brendon feel small compared to the wide spread of Ryan's grip. Brendon's nose is pressed into the soft fabric of Ryan's t-shirt and he realizes that he's got their bodies pressed tight together, and Ryan is still stroking his hand, and he must have lost the vanilla deodorant, because he smells good, but like a boy. Brendon's back still hurts, and Ryan's touching him so fucking softly, even though Ryan is all sharp angles in all of the rest of the places that they are touching. Brendon pushes himself away, untangling from Ryan's grip, and jumps up to his feet quickly, angling himself away from Ryan.
"I'm just," Brendon says. "Just going to have a shower now."
Still on the floor, Ryan gives him a looks of anguish and says, "Brendon, I really didn't mean to."
"I know," Brendon says quickly. "I didn't think you had."
"Do you want to just see if we can find something on TV, or something?"
"Later, maybe," Brendon says and is almost in the bathroom when Ryan says, "Don't be mad, okay?"
Brendon has to turn around and he doesn't blush, but he sees Ryan's eyes flickers down and Brendon's pants are really fucking tight, so there's no way that Ryan doesn't notice, but Brendon still says, "I'm not mad."
Brendon's stuck at the doorway for a minute, watching Ryan's face to try to gauge his response, before he realizes that maybe he doesn't even want to know Ryan's reaction and he shuts the door behind himself.
--
Brendon had been hoping that it would turn into one of those things that they forgot about afterwards. While Ryan isn't actually talking about it or anything, thank god, he's started watching Brendon all the time. Brendon can't figure out if he's trying to see if Brendon slips up again, or if he's trying to figure something out or what.
So Brendon leaves him alone.
--
The tour finally ends. Brendon had thought that maybe he'd finally go in for the big kiss with Ryan on the last show, but after all the weirdness, he decides against it.
--
Everyone goes back home to sleep through Christmas and get ready for New Years Eve.
--
[Vegas]
Brendon's so tired when he gets back to his parent's house that he can't fall asleep.
He's awake while his mom feeds him herbal tea, and asks quietly if this is some kind of drug thing and if he has to go to rehab. He tries to tell her that it isn't, but he doesn't have a reason why he can't sleep because he's never felt so tired in his entire life. There are just a small number of days before he's supposed to be performing again and as each hour drags on and he doesn't sleep, something twists up a little tighter inside of him.
On hour twenty-two with no sleep, his mom tells him that he might as well get something done in the meantime, and makes him unpack his suitcases and then pack a new one for the trip to New York.
Brendon's sorting through piles of t-shirts, trying to figure out which was the suitcase that he'd put the dirty clothes in, because none looked any cleaner than the others, not really. He finds Spencer's hoody and Ryan's jacket and Jon's t-shirt, and folds them all up and puts them on top of his dresser so that he won't forget to give them back. His mom comes in to see how he's doing, and demands that he go and return the clothing immediately, because no one likes a borrower, Brendon.
Spencer's out with his girlfriend when Brendon calls and says that he'll drop by later to pick it up. Ryan doesn't answer his phone when Brendon calls.
"I'll just. I'll go put it in Ryan's mailbox," he tells his mother.
He sits in his car and tries to remember how to turn on the radio. It's been thirty-two hours since he last slept, and that was only a quick nap at the airport. He knows he probably shouldn't be driving, but Ryan's only a short drive away. And anyway, Brendon manages to back out of the driveway without veering into any of the flower bushes, and that's more than he can often manage even when he's well rested.
He gets to Ryan's apartment, and comes to the stupid realization that he doesn't have a key to Ryan's apartment building, so he can't get inside to the mailbox anyway.
Fuck, he whispers under his breath. Well, fine. He'll just wait until someone leaves the building and ask them to hold the door for him. There's no bench, so he sits down on the concrete and leans his head against the side of the building.
--
"Brendon. Brendon," he hears and he struggles to open his eyes. Where is he? What the fuck? Something touches his hand and he jerks awake suddenly.
"Wuzzit?" he says. He blinks and pushes his glasses back up his nose, and, oh it's Ryan. "Shirt," he says and pats the ground beside him trying to figure out where he left the jacket.
"Why are you sleeping outside my door?" Ryan asks. Oh, there was the jacket. Brendon had twisted it up in his hands while he slept. "Did your parents kick you out again?" He passes the jacket over to Ryan. "Um, thanks?"
Brendon pulls his glasses off and rubs at his eyes. His ass is completely numb.
"Seriously," Ryan says. "What's going on?"
"Came to return your stuff," Brendon says, yawning loudly. "I can't sleep."
"Um," Ryan says.
"I mean I couldn't sleep. What time is it?"
"Like, three in the afternoon," Ryan says. Brendon can't remember what time he left at.
"Okay. Well, see ya," he says and rolls over onto his knee to try to stand up.
Ryan grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. "Are you okay?"
"Good," Brendon says. Brendon pulls his hands away and starts walking around the corner of the building before doubling back and heading the other way. "I think my car's that way, actually," he says. "Or wait, fuck. Where's the parking lot for your building?"
"How about you come in for a little while?" Ryan says.
Brendon is standing on his toes trying to look over a hedge to see if the parking lot is on the other side, so Ryan grabs his elbow and leads him inside.
"I probably could have waited 'til later for the jacket," Ryan says as they are waiting for the elevator.
"My mother," Brendon says by means of explanation.
Ryan nods.
--
Brendon leans against the mirrored wall of the elevator.
"Come on," Ryan says. He wraps his arm around Brendon's waist and leads him out when the doors open. "It's amazing that you've been able to hide the narcolepsy for all these years."
"I haven't slept since the airport," Brendon says. "Or, since your sidewalk, but before that it was the airport. I'm so fucking tired. I couldn't sleep in my house."
"I can see how the concrete would be a lot more comfortable," Ryan says.
Ryan's apartment is barely furnished, and most of the stuff that is there is shiny electronic equipment.
"You want something?" Ryan asks.
Brendon shrugs and sits down on his couch.
He falls asleep, sitting up, while Ryan goes to the kitchen. Ryan wakes him up when he comes back.
"Brendon," he whispers. "Brendon. Your head's going to fall off if you sleep like that."
Brendon sighs.
"Come on," Ryan says. Brendon lets Ryan pull him to his feet. Was Ryan kicking him out now? Brendon feels kind of disappointed, because apparently Ryan's apartment is the only place that he can get any sleep.
Except Ryan leads him past the door and into his bedroom.
"Huh?" Brendon manages.
Ryan coaxes him on to the bed, which is massive and at least a foot higher than normal beds.
"There you go," he says, rolling Brendon back and forth until he's gotten him under the comforters.
Brendon's asleep before Ryan's finished pulling the blinds down.
--
When Brendon wakes up it's pitch black in the room. He thinks he needs a glass of water and about twenty hours more sleep. He struggles free of the blankets, and tries to get out of the bed, but he forgets to adjust for the height of Ryan's bed and ends up tumbling down to the floor in a tremendous thump. Brendon's still sleep-languid, and it doesn't hurt all that much, but as he lies on his back on the floor, he desperately misses his bunk on the bus.
Ryan comes scurrying in.
"Did you fall out of bed?" he asks. It's hard to judge with Ryan, but he might sound incredulous.
"I was trying to get some water," Brendon says. "Seriously, your bed is too pimped out for me to handle."
Ryan leaves Brendon on the floor and returns shortly with a glass of water.
Brendon sits up and accepts it.
"Thanks," he says, once he's finished drinking. "You can probably have your bed back now. I'll head home."
"If you can't get out of bed, you can't drive," Ryan tells him. He reaches over and turns on a small lamp on a table near the bed. It barely lights the huge room, but there's enough of a glow that Brendon can help Ryan gather the blankets and pillows that fell off the bed with him and put them back.
Ryan crawls over to the other side of the bed to tuck the sheet under the corner of the mattress. Brendon vaults himself back onto the mattress, and tries to help.
"I really am awake now," he promises. He feels weird taking up Ryan's bed.
"Wanna watch some TV then?"
Ryan seems like he means it, and Brendon's given him lots of outs, so he says, "Okay."
Ryan turns on the TV and Brendon's asleep again in minutes.
--
He wakes up the next morning when Ryan gets out of bed, and follows him into the kitchen.
They eat fresh blueberries that Ryan's put into his freezer, because he refuses to eat fruits that aren't cold, and as Brendon takes a handful and sucks off the little ice crystals that have formed, he feels tired still, but also kind of soft inside.
--
Brendon goes back to his parent's house. He spends the afternoon sending text messages to everyone he knows until the tips of his fingers feel warn away.
When Jon messages back, Brendon calls him right away.
"Jon," he says happily. "Jon, Jonwalker."
"Hey-ya," Jon says. "What the heck is going on over there?"
"What do you mean?" Brendon says.
"I've gotten like four messages and two phone calls from Ryan trying to convince me that I need to come and hang out in Vegas until it's time for New Years. Is something up?"
"No," Brendon says, squishing his eyebrows together. "We miss you; I miss you. But, I think we can wait out the days."
"Okay," Jon says. "Ryan's kind of persuasive, huh?"
"I guess," Brendon says, but he's honestly never noticed.
--
Ryan leaves a voice message while Brendon's eating dinner. "You can come over again tonight, if you need to." Brendon heads over gratefully.
--
Ryan answers the door and lets Brendon in, but instead of stepping back, he stays holding the door and makes Brendon push past him. Ryan closes the door, and watches, fingers still curved around the doorknob while Brendon toes off his shoes. Brendon fidgets awkwardly in the entrance. He doesn't want to just walk into Ryan house if Ryan seems to want to hang out in the entrance.
"What's up?" he asks, sticking his hands into his pockets and then taking them out again.
Ryan tilts his head to the side and Brendon can see when his eyes sweep down his body to where Brendon's fingers are twisting into the hem of his t-shirt.
"Did you, uh. Want to rent a movie first?" Brendon asks, pulling his hand away awkwardly.
"No," Ryan says slowly, like he's considering it. Then again, "No," but firmer this time.
He pushes away from the door and grabs Brendon hand leading him over to his bedroom again. Brendon's awake this time though, and seriously, what the fuck is wrong with Ryan?
Ryan pulls him through the door, then doubles back to kick the door shut behind him, then he grabs Brendon's hips in his huge hands. He's got this look of utter concentration on his face, and Brendon's getting kind of freaked out, and also trying not to squirm in Ryan's grip.
He licks his lips before swallowing and looking up at Ryan, and that's when Ryan bends down and presses their lips together. He kisses Brendon, holding still, just a gentle pressure for long seconds. When he pulls away, tilting his head and leaning in again, Brendon raises his head and meets him half way.
It isn't still this time. Brendon reaches up to pull Ryan's head close to him, presses his mouth to Ryan's again and again until Ryan's lips part, and fuck, Brendon's wanted this for so long that it had almost faded into the background. The sky is blue, music is good, and looking at Ryan makes Brendon's hands ache with the need to touch.
Brendon's hyper-aware; the room, the space between his body and Ryan's, the sound of cars rushing under Ryan's open window. He gets his hands under Ryan's t-shirt and it's smooth, warm skin under his fingers as he rubs up and down Ryan's sides.
He knows that maybe he should stop, that definitely he should slow down, but when Ryan pulls back and looks down at Brendon, eyes half lidded, Brendon can't stop himself from dropping to his knees and pawing at the fastening to Ryan's pants.
"Can I?" he asks once he's pulled Ryan's pants down to his thighs. He rubs his cheek along Ryan's cock. His mouth is watering, and he's so close now, but he waits a minute to give Ryan a chance to say no.
Ryan doesn't.
Brendon turns his head and mouths wetly up the side of Ryan's cock until he reaches the head. He licks out, lightly, again and again until Ryan makes a little noise, then he slowly works his mouth down. Ryan's still wearing his t-shirt, and when Brendon opens his throat around Ryan's cock, his forehead presses into the fabric of Ryan's shirt.
The shock of what's finally happening still hasn't settled with Brendon. It feels to him like he's probably still just in bed, somewhere, working himself roughly, and wishing, wishing, for more.
But he can taste Ryan, and fuck, that's got to mean that it's real.
So he sucks and licks and tried to make it good for Ryan. Ryan isn't making much noise; Brendon's louder than he is, desperate and frantic around Ryan's cock. The inside of his mouth feel slimy, like maybe Ryan's leaking precome, or maybe the mucus in Brendon's throat is coating his tongue now, but it doesn't matter, because it just means that he can get all of Ryan's cock at once, have him all the way inside.
Ryan's still quiet; his hands are dangling at his sides. Brendon swallows him all the way down and works his throat, looking up at Ryan. But Ryan's eyes are closed.
Brendon pulls back, raises his hand from where it was clutching at Ryan's thigh and wraps it around Ryan's cock, working him quickly. Brendon wonders if he should drag it out, if this is the only chance he'll ever get, if he should enjoy it for as long as he can. But he doesn't want to annoy Ryan, in case Ryan doesn't like it like that. He tightens his fist, and builds up a strong rhythm, and Ryan comes. He's silent, but he doesn't pull away, so Brendon gets to suck him through it, feel his cock jerking against his tongue, pulling far enough off that he can taste him.
Brendon swallows and sits back on his heels.
Ryan rubs his cheeks and manages to stumble over to the bed where he sits down bonelessly. He still isn't looking at Brendon.
Brendon goes to the bathroom. He slashes cold water over his face and jerks off frantically into a wad of paper towel, and gives Ryan a minute to think, and when he comes back Ryan's lying on his bed, flipping through the channels.
"Anything you feel like watching?" he asks when he sees Brendon.
Brendon shrugs, standing awkwardly at the doorway until Ryan says, "Come see this," and Brendon crawls gingerly in bed beside him.
It's a huge bed; they don't touch through the night.
--
Brendon wakes up hard in the morning. He watches Ryan until he wakes up as well, and gets out of bed.
They eat breakfast together. It isn't necessarily awkward, because neither of them can ever manage much conversation in the morning.
Brendon leaves before they have time to wake up for real.
--
Brendon goes to a family dinner that night. He goes out with high school friends the next. There are only a few more days until Christmas, and after that until they head to New York, and he thinks that maybe he'll just leave Ryan alone until then.
Except that Ryan calls.
"Come over," he says.
Brendon says, "I think. I'm just going to leave you alone until after Christmas. Give everyone a break."
"No," Ryan says. "I want to see you. Come over."
Brendon stays quiet for a minute.
"I don't want everyone to go their own way, just because we aren't on tour anymore," Ryan says. "We're still a band, we have to stick together."
"Okay," Brendon says. "I'll be over later."
--
He and Ryan watch a movie. There's a bowl of popcorn between then on the couch, and Brendon is careful never to reach into the bowl at the same time that Ryan does.
If Ryan hadn't known about-- If Ryan hadn't known before, he certainly does now. Brendon doesn't know how to act. At least Ryan doesn't seem to be mad at him, doesn't seem to be disgusted.
"You going to sleep over?" Ryan asks, when the movie is done.
"No," Brendon says. "I'll just go home."
"You can stay," Ryan says.
"It's okay."
"Why not?" Ryan asks.
"I just. After what happened. I don't mean -- I'm not trying to. It doesn't have to be a thing," Brendon says, looking over to Ryan.
"Is it though?" Ryan says. "A thing for you?"
"I can deal with it," Brendon says. "I won't make it weird, I promise."
Ryan stands up and extends a hand to pull Brendon to his feet as well. He doesn't let go, and pulls Brendon along until they're in Ryan's room.
Brendon can't help himself from hoping. Maybe one more time, maybe Ryan will let him touch him, just once again.
Brendon knows that he should wait, that he shouldn't assume, but when they walk through the door, he tugs on Ryan's hand until Ryan is facing him and rises on his toes to kiss him desperately.
Ryan opens his mouth to Brendon's tongue, he's sharp and warm and still always smells so fucking good, but Brendon makes himself pull away.
He looks up at Ryan and waits.
"It's okay," Ryan says, softly. "I want to."
Brendon knows it isn't quite like that. He knows. But he can't stop himself from saying, "Will you fuck me?"
It takes Ryan a minute to react, and god does Brendon wish that he could stop the things that come out of his mouth, fuck. When Ryan does say something, it's with a look of complete determination. "I can do that," he says, sounding mostly convinced.
Brendon needs to just stop for a minute, but Ryan said yes, and he doesn't want him to change his mind. He kisses him again, while working off his pants, then jerks him until he's all the way hard. Brendon gets them both over to the bed, gets them both naked, before grabbing the hand lotion off Ryan's bedside table and pressing his slick fingers inside of himself.
Ryan fists his cock slowly, watching Brendon with something that looks like curiosity, until Brendon whimpers and pulls his fingers away, spreads his legs wider, and then Ryan's pushing inside.
It's been long enough that Brendon feels the burn, the stretch to take Ryan in, but still he can't stop his hips from working with him. He holds on to Ryan's back and tries to stop himself from begging for more, even before the pain fully crests.
"Okay," is all the Ryan says. He fucks Brendon in firm, long strokes, until Brendon cries out and comes in his fist. Ryan fucks him through it, then pulls out and jerks himself off.
--
[New York]
Brendon feels less like a rockstar and more like he's back in high school as they eat after their performance on New Years Eve.
Pete comes and sits by Brendon. They all talk for a while, until Pete whispers, "You wanna go get some air?"
Brendon nods desperately.
Pete finds them a quiet place and Brendon undoes the first three buttons of his shirt and feels like he can breathe for the first time that night.
"Nice set," Pete says.
"Thanks."
Pete sits quietly with Brendon for a while, though they are both bouncing their legs up and down frantically.
"He seems happy," Pete finally says.
"I know," Brendon says.
"And she seems really nice," says Pete sympathetically.
Brendon sighs.
Pete says, "I've got a huge suite, you can come and stay with me tonight."
"Thanks," Brendon says gratefully.
He goes over to tell the guys and say goodbye, but Ryan pulls him aside and says, "No, you can't."
"What?" Brendon asks. "Why not?"
"We're all heading back to the hotel soon; you have to come. You can't leave."
"Ryan," Brendon says and stops. He doesn't know the right way to say what he needs to, which is something along the lines of, will you please go and have fun with your girlfriend and let me go so that I don't have to watch.
"I want to see you later," Ryan says. "Just, go to your room and wait for me. I'll come, I promise."
"I already told Pete--"
"Please, Brendon," Ryan says. "I'll come quickly. You just need to wait for me where I can find you."
Pete comes up behind them, and Ryan stops talking.
"Ready?" he asks Brendon, throwing his arm around Brendon's shoulders.
"No," Ryan says. "We're having a band party. He can't go with you."
Pete frowns at Ryan, but somehow, Ryan manages to stare him down. Ryan manages to stare down Pete, who Brendon's sure can count the number of times he's heard 'no' in the last year on one hand.
Pete nods. "You can-- It's an open invite," he says. He ruffles Brendon's hair when he walks away.
--
Ryan comes to Brendon's room within forty-five minutes of their return to the hotel. Brendon doesn’t know how he got a key, but he doesn't knock, just lets himself in.
Brendon's in bed already. He's not asleep. It's not that he didn't expect Ryan to come, he just didn't want to wait like a fool in the meantime.
Ryan doesn't even kiss him, just yanks down his boxers and rolls him over quickly. He presses two fingers inside, quick and dirty, and wet, though Brendon didn't see him go to Brendon's overnight bag. He must have brought his own lube.
Ryan doesn't say anything, but he fucks Brendon hard enough that Brendon can feel it on the plane ride back to Vegas the next day, every time that he shifts in his seat. Ryan sits beside Spencer in the row ahead of him, and gives Brendon his bag of peanuts silently.
--
[Vegas]
"I wish Jon weren't so far away," Ryan says. The three of them are sitting in Spencer's backyard, taking turns throwing the squeeze toys to Spencer's dogs.
"I miss him too," Spencer says.
"I'll come up with something," Ryan says. "I'll figure out how to keep us all together."
Brendon drinks his iced tea and scratches the dog on his head.
--
Ryan calls him a couple of days later, more excited than Brendon's heard him in ages.
"I found a cabin," Ryan says.
"Awesome," says Brendon. "For what?"
"For us. We can go and write, away from everyone, and Jon will be with us."
"Um," Brendon says.
"It'll be good," Ryan says. "I told you I'd come up with something."
--
[the cabin]
The cabin isn't nearly as derelict as Ryan's lead them to believe it will be.
"Sweet," Brendon shouts to the empty house, running ahead to choose his bedroom, with Spencer chasing close behind.
--
They take their time setting up the cabin, exploring the forest around them, tiptoeing around the instruments and mostly only playing for fun.
--
"Okay," Ryan says, somewhere into week two. "I think maybe me and Spence finished some lyrics."
--
Brendon sneaks over to Ryan's room that night.
Ryan's sitting up, lights still on, reading a book. He looks up, surprised, when Brendon walks in. "Oh, what's up?" he asks.
"Nothing," Brendon says. "Just wanted to see you."
"Um, okay," Ryan says.
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, slowly.
Brendon bounces over the bed, by Ryan's feet, pinching his toes gently through the blanket. "Hey," he says, crawling up the bed, knees on either sides of Ryan's legs. "You done reading now?"
Ryan lets Brendon pull his book away and set it on the bedside table. Brendon settles into Ryan's lap, bracing himself with a hand on the pillows as he leans in to kiss him. He presses he lips to Ryan's gently, again and again, trying to coax Ryan's mouth open.
Brendon leans in further, digging his erection into Ryan's stomach. He kisses along the sharp line of Ryan's jaw, teasing under his ear with his tongue before catching the lobe with his teeth.
Ryan is mostly still beneath him, but he turns his head to give Brendon room.
Brendon scoots lower down until he's sitting on Ryan's thighs. He frowns a little as he undoes Ryan's pants. As he tugs the material away, he says, "Why aren't you-- You aren't even hard."
Ryan sighs and rubs his fingers over his cheeks. "Sorry," he says. "Just. Give me a minute here."
"What's wrong?" Brendon asks.
"I just. I wasn't expecting. I didn't know that you were coming." Ryan is still digging his fingers into his cheek. "I'm sorry," he says.
"What does that mean? You have to, what? Be prepared. I don't--" Brendon scampers off the bed. "Never mind," he says. "I don't want to know."
"Brendon, wait," Ryan says, but Brendon's already at the door, already sprinting down the hall, and Ryan's pants are still undone.
--
"Hey," Ryan whispers to Brendon the next night as Spencer and Jon are clearing the dishes from their dinner. "I'm going to come see you tonight."
"No," Brendon says, and jerks away from Ryan.
"Come on, don't be like that," Ryan says. "I'm sorry, okay? It won't happen again."
"I don't," Brendon grits out under his breath, "need you doing me any fucking favors. And I don't want to talk about this again. Ever."
Brendon has never been so embarrassed in his entire life, and given that he was a hyperactive child and still has a lot of be embarrassed about, that's saying something.
Every time he and Ryan-- Every time. And Ryan wasn't even. Ryan didn't.
And on top of that, Brendon feels like the worst kind of creep. The worst kind of friend or lover or whatever, because he hadn't even known.
Brendon grabs his plate and attempts to start a round of Bye, Bye, Bye as he carries his plate into the kitchen. "What?" he yelps as Spencer starts pummeling him with the dish towel. "Would you rather Backstreet Boys?"
--
Brendon feels pretty awkward for a few days, but he's remarkably skilled at forgetting about things that make him ashamed. Lots of practice.
He practices some awesome selective hearing when Ryan tries to talk to him, and eventually Ryan lets it go too.
--
Jon likes hiking, and everyone likes it when Brendon works off his extra energy, so he goes on a lot of hikes.
They find a spot. It's not a creek, exactly. More like a leak in the mountain where rain water trickles out. But they take turns drinking larger and larger sips each day until they are sure that the water isn't poisonous.
"You first," Brendon says, the first time they find the creek.
"What? Why me?" Jon says. "I'm bigger, if I die, you’ll never be able to carry my body back to the cabin. I don't want to be eaten by bears.”
"That's a fair point,” Brendon conceeds before taking a quick sip. He licks his lips. Then again. Then he lets out a high pitched wail, grabs his throat, and flops first to his knees, then to the ground.
Jon rolls him onto his back. He crouches down beside him, before lifting up Brendon's t-shirt and rubbing his bearded chin across Brendon's belly.
"Better than CPR," Jon says, when Brendon finally pulls his head away, gasping with laughter.
--
They bring water bottles to fill up, and Brendon labels them with masking tape, "Genu e ine Spring Water."
--
When he fights with Ryan, it goes like this:
"Stop putting the wet dishes back into the cupboard, you lazy fucker."
and:
"Leave the screen door open one more time, and I'm going to make you kill the spiders yourself."
and:
"That was a fucking major chord, not a dominant. Stop forgetting the fucking seventh."
--
Brendon has horrible blisters on his feet from all the hiking, because his shoes aren't actually designed for hiking, or walking further than to the nearest cab, really.
He walks around the house in bare feet until Spencer tells him to stop being a baby. Apparently drummers don't have a lot of sympathy for other people's blisters.
--
Brendon gets in a huge, big fight with Jon. But Spencer says he can't decide and Ryan refuses to comment either way, so it doesn't turn into an issue for the group.
And whatever, Brendon knows in his heart of hearts that an astronaut would kill a caveman any day.
Stupid Jon.
--
Pete comes to visit.
They are all on their best behavior, because Pete's awesome but he's also somewhat connected to the money that's paying for them to stay at a cabin and write their album, and they don't want to disappoint him.
They play through the two songs they have finished. Pete claps and makes a fuss, and tells them to play again. Brendon sits quietly as Ryan details his overall concept for the other songs. He only bounces his leg a little bit when Spencer and Pete start discussing what the best time of year for the release date would be. But, when Pete and Jon start with some astoundingly dry small talk about Chicago springs, Brendon can't help himself anymore.
"I beat your high score!" he yells out. Everyone turns to look at him. "At um. Wii bowling."
"You little fucker," Pete says. "Okay, where's your TV? It's on!"
--
"I think," Pete says, four hours later, "that I might have pulled a muscle, a little bit."
"Huh," Brendon asks from where he lies panting on the floor. The living room looks like a warzone, with every single pillow and blanket pulled off the couches and piled onto the floor. "Does that mean that you give up?"
"Rematch," Pete says and flops down of the flood beside Brendon, groaning loudly. "I'm not spry and flighty like I used to be. Oh, to be young again."
"I'll show you spry," Brendon says, lifting his head off the floor. He drops it down again. "Maybe some other time though."
Pete laughs. "It's just as well."
They lie in companionable silence for a couple minutes until, almost simultaneously, Pete attempts to throw a pillow into the air, using his feet, and Brendon starts singing loudly.
Brendon finishes his song, and rolls his whole body across the floor twice until he's pressed up close to Pete. "Hey," he says.
"We'll go bowling for real when you reenter civilization," Pete promises.
"If you've recovered by then," Brendon says.
"Mock the wounded."
"Where's it hurt?" Brendon asks.
Pete points to his forearm. Brendon sits up and grabs Pete's wrist, pulling the limb into his lap. "Poor baby," he says.
Pete extends his middle finger, but he lets his hand relax into a loose fist when Brendon starts running his thumb along Pete's inner arm.
"Nrg," Pete says when Brendon presses down firmly.
"Maybe I'll get a sleeve too," Brendon says as he works his fingers up Pete's arm. "I like yours."
"Hurts like a motherfucker," Pete says. He's got his eyes open now and he's watching Brendon. He reaches his free hand over to wrap around Brendon's knee.
Brendon's just started working his way back down from Pete's elbow when, "What the fuck?" Ryan asks from the doorway.
Brendon doesn't bother letting go of Pete's arm when he turns around and grins at Ryan. "I still have the high score," he gloats.
Pete's fingers tighten on Brendon's knee, but he doesn't say anything.
"--The fuck did you do to the living room?" Ryan asks.
Pete winks at Brendon before sandwiching the nearest pillow between his feet. He flicks his ankles and sends the pillow flying.
It hits Ryan in the leg.
Ryan stoops over and throws it back at them, hard, before leaving the room.
--
A car comes to pick Pete up in the early evening.
"I'll come back soon," Pete promises. "Don't despair. And don't, like, eat each other, or whatever happens when people go stir crazy from cabin fever." He winks at Brendon as he walks out the door.
--
It's close to midnight when Ryan comes into Brendon's room. He's still wearing those same sweatpants from earlier. He looks weird, almost. Brendon doesn't know what it is, but he's not worried enough to refrain from saying, "Get out. I'll talk to you in the morning."
There's a cabin rule that when someone's in his bedroom, he gets to ask them to leave if he wants. The rule was mostly to stop Brendon from interrupting Jon when he's on the phone with Cassie, or from waking Spencer up too early in the morning, but it's still a rule. And Ryan has to listen.
Except that he doesn't.
He walks over to Brendon's bed after closing the door firmly behind himself and says, "Come on. Just-- Give me another chance."
"No," Brendon says. He's tempted to get out of bed and try to push Ryan bodily from the room, but Ryan's already climbing onto the mattress.
Ryan crawls up closer and leans in to try to kiss Brendon.
"Seriously," Brendon says, jerking his head away. "I know you don't even want to, so just. Can we just please let this go?"
"I do want to," Ryan says.
"Because you had time to psych yourself up, or get ready, or whatever it is you have to do before you can stand to have me touch you."
Ryan has rolled himself mostly on top of Brendon, and he's rocking against him, one skinny thigh in between Brendon's legs and he kisses down his neck.
And Brendon knows-- But he can’t bring himself to push Ryan away. His hips press up against Ryan's leg and Ryan turns his head and then they're kissing. Ryan's making the sweetest little noises, kissing enthusiastically as he rubs his body against Brendon's.
Ryan has kicked off his own sweatpants, and he's reaching into Brendon's, when Brendon pulls back as far as he can. It isn't far, given that they're still tangled together on the bed. "Stop," Brendon says.
"I want you to fuck me," Ryan says.
It throws Brendon enough that he's distracted while Ryan pulls off his sweat pants.
"What?" Brendon says. "You don't actually want-- No."
"I got ready," Ryan says. "Please, fuck me. I can take it."
"What?"
Ryan grabs Brendon's hand and guides him in between his legs. Brendon presses two fingers inside. Ryan's gotten himself slick, but he's still tight. "You can't," Brendon says, pulling his hand away.
"I can," Ryan says. "Brendon, please. I want you to fuck me."
It sounds right. It sounds like everything that Brendon’s ever wanted to hear, and Ryan's tipping his hips forward. It's easy let his cock rub against Ryan, easy to get himself lined up. "You seriously think you want to do this?" Brendon asks.
"Yes," Ryan says.
Brendon pushes in. Ryan's tight, tight, tight around him. Brendon keeps pushing slowing, waiting for him to say no. Calling his bluff.
Ryan's eyes are scrunched tightly closed and, "Just tell me to stop," Brendon says. Ryan shakes his head. Ryan shakes; thighs trembling under Brendon’s hands as he holds him open and pushes forward.
Ryan's breathing in these quick little gasps, and Brendon leans down to bite at his lower lip. "Say stop, you fucking asshole," he tells him.
Ryan shakes his head again and lets go of his desperate hold on the pillow to press his fingers into Brendon's back, holding him closer.
Brendon ducks his head down and watches at his cock pushes in the final inch, disappears inside. Ryan's still hard. This he can stay hard for.
Brendon pulls back and pushes in minutely. He's gentle. Ryan's still like a fucking vise around him and Brendon's still waiting for Ryan to say stop.
But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything, just breathes in these huge, shuddering gasps, and shakes under Brendon's hands.
Brendon thinks that maybe he should stop anyway. Ryan's hard still, but this is fucked. Brendon slowly starts pulling out, but when Ryan notices that he isn't pushing back in, he unscrunches his face to say, "Fucking keep going, Brendon," and it's pretty hard to think when Ryan's tight around him anyway.
Brendon pushes back in.
He's slow and gentle until he can't stand it anymore, and then he fucks Ryan hard, their skin slapping together, loud in the quiet room. Ryan's breathing harshly but otherwise silent. Brendon bites his lip and pounds into Ryan. Ryan never relaxes. It's never an easier slide, and Ryan's still trembling, but when Brendon wraps his hand around Ryan's cock, he comes. Just like that.
Brendon finishes quickly too, after that.
--
Brendon feels guilty the next day and avoids Ryan as much as he can while still watching him carefully to make sure that he doesn't seem to be having too much trouble walking. He seems okay, but Brendon still feels like an asshole.
He doesn't know if it's better for him to apologize, or to pretend that it never happened. Apologizing requires talking to Ryan so Brendon goes with the latter.
They have a good day though, in spite of it. They play through another new song, and it's at the point where it actually sounds like a song now, like something that they could show somebody.
It's Ryan and Spencer's turn to make dinner, and Brendon and Jon go for a walk.
"You okay?" Jon asks.
"Yup," Brendon says, then pants a few times so that Jon will think the strain in his voice came from being out of breath.
They find a large log to sit on, and Brendon picks at the bark until he gets a splinter under his fingernail and has to stop.
"I always wanted to stay in a cabin," Jon says. " 'Cause like. After my dad left, we never really had time to go anywhere on vacation. I can't believe that Ryan found this place."
"Yeah. Ryan's quite--" Brendon starts, before settling on, "Yeah, Ryan."
--
Ryan corners him when he's hosing the mud off of his shoes a couple of days later.
Brendon startles when Ryan comes up behind him and almost soaks both of them.
"You can stop giving me the guilty looks all the time," Ryan says. "I didn't say no."
"I just. That wasn't." Brendon looks down and watches the stream of water from the hose hit the ground.
"So, we're good, right?" Ryan says, like he was the one who had anything to worry about.
Brendon nods slowly.
Jon is calling Ryan from inside the house.
Brendon sits down and runs water over the tips of his fingers until his hands are numb.
--
It's another week before Ryan comes into his room again. Brendon doesn't know what to say, so he sits on the edge of his bed and waits for Ryan to talk.
Ryan climbs behind him on the bed and wraps his arms around Brendon's waist. "I do want you," Ryan whispers into his ear.
Brendon turns in the circle of Ryan's arms, twisting his neck around until he can meet Ryan's mouth. "It's okay if you don't," he whispers into Ryan's lips.
Ryan ignores him.
--
They finish another song. Ryan records it and emails it to Pete so that he doesn't have to come down and listen in person again.
--
Brendon waits now, for Ryan to come to him.
--
Keltie comes to visit and Brendon goes on a walk by himself. The skin of one of his old blisters rubs right off, so half way back to the cabin, Brendon has to take off his shoes and walk barefoot.
"Does it hurt?" Jon asks when Brendon makes it home.
"Just what you'd expect."
--
Keltie leaves.
--
Ryan's on top of him, and Brendon can see everything. The thin hollows and tendons of Ryan's inner-thighs, the flat plains of his stomach, the sharp curve of his hips as he rocks back against Brendon. And Brendon just. Can't. There is bare skin everywhere and Brendon doesn't know where he's allowed to touch, so he settles on gripping just above Ryan's knees, splayed out, straddling Brendon. He tries to hold Ryan still, tries to ask him to stop, just for a minute because he can't. He's going to. But when he says, "Please, just--" Ryan rolls his hips and fuck if Brendon doesn't come just like that, jerking inside of Ryan and moaning out, "S-sorry."
Ryan keeps moving for a minute afterwards, and Brendon's so sensitive, Ryan still so tight, that it hurts. Brendon's face twists and he tries not to buck Ryan off.
"You came?" Ryan asks.
Brendon wishes they had turned off the lights, wishes Ryan couldn't see him, wishes he hadn't ruined things already like such a fucking teenager.
He nods.
Ryan rises off him and sits on the edge of the bed. Brendon can see the rhythmic flex of the muscles in his back.
"Come here," Brendon says. "I'll do that." He reaches out to try to pull Ryan over to him. "Ryan, c'mon. I can."
Ryan shrugs his hand off and stays where he is.
--
The closest that he comes to talking about it with anyone is when Spencer says, as they wait for Guitar Hero to load, "Ryan's kind of. He's got his own reasons for doing things."
"I know," Brendon says. And he does know. He isn't looking at Spencer, but as he waits to hear what he says next, he realizes with absolute certainty that if Spencer tells him that he needs to stop, he will. Not that Brendon's usually a fan of doing something just because he's told to, but. But.
But, Spencer knows Ryan and Spencer knows Brendon too, and if he thinks that it's not good, Brendon will believe him.
Brendon thinks that maybe he's been waiting for someone to finally tell him what to do, what the right thing to do was. He never thought that he'd miss having that in his life. And Ryan doesn't seem to know. Brendon certainly doesn't; it's gotten all twisted up inside his head. What he wants. What Ryan will give him. Ryan wants something too, but Brendon hasn't been able to figure out what it is yet. Maybe Spencer knows.
Brendon looks over at Spencer. Just say it, he thinks loudly. Just tell me.
Spencer studies him for a minute.
Please, Brendon thinks.
Spencer sighs. "It's. It's his choice though. He knows what he's doing."
Brendon frowns and Spencer shrugs helplessly.
Brendon's honestly confused for a minute, but Spencer settles back on the couch, and Brendon thinks to all the times that Ryan's brought Spencer along with him, all the places that Ryan's gone with Spencer. Maybe the best way to make sure that you never lose a friend is to join a band and take him around the world with you, far enough away that no one can pull you apart. Brendon thinks about all of the things that Spencer has because of Ryan, of Ryan forming the band, and contacting Pete, and introducing Spencer to Hayley and how maybe Ryan's given Spencer everything he wants, too. And maybe Spencer's looked for someone to tell him how to say 'no,' and hasn't found it either.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "He knows what he's doing."
Ryan walks into the room, and Spencer and Brendon stop talking, waiting to hear what he has to say.
"Dinner," Ryan says. "Jon's already at the table."
And they both follow.
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | ~ 10100 Words |
Ryan's got his own reasons.
Thank you SO MUCH to castoffstarter for such a fantastic beta. I love you like mad. Thanks also to provetheworst for listening to me bitch while I was writing this.
--
[touring]
Brendon and Ryan are tussling.
It started 15 minutes ago with Ryan sighing loudly one too many times at Brendon's attempt to sing A Whole New World in a minor key, which prompted Brendon to punch Ryan in the arm, hard, one too many times, and now they are rolling around on the floor.
Ryan is categorically terrible at wrestling. Apparently that's what happens when you grow up without brothers and with a best friend who is at least 2.5 times bigger than you are for the entirety of your childhood. Ryan may have known better than to attempt to wrestle with Spencer, but he seems to always fall under the misconception that just because Brendon is shorter than he is, it some how means that Brendon didn't actually grow up a youngest child.
So, once again, Brendon has Ryan pinned to the ground, one of Ryan's arms trapped under his own body, the other held to the ground in Brendon's strong grip. This isn't to say that Brendon generally pins him like this. Sometimes he get Ryan face down, sometimes he sits on his chest holding Ryan's arms down with his knees, sometimes he traps him against the side of whatever surface they are wrestling on- the arm of the couch, wall of the bunk, flat on the low table in the lounge.
It's the part where Ryan loses that always stays the same.
He still gets just as mad, every single time, and has taken to fighting dirty sooner and sooner into the fight. He seems to be on a desperate and continuous mission to knee Brendon in the balls. Fortunately, that was also the preferred mode of attack of one of Brendon's older sisters (maybe fortunately isn't the right word), so Brendon is remarkably adept at dodging away. Which doesn't stop Ryan from trying, time and time again, and also from using verbal harassment in the form of constantly implying that perhaps the reason that Brendon is so good at avoiding Ryan's knee is because there wasn't a very large area of manhood for him to protect.
Large area of manhood or not, Brendon's the one with Ryan pinned to the floor, and Ryan's face is just getting redder and redder as he continues bitching Brendon out and trying to squirm away.
"Dude," Brendon says. "Just give up."
Ryan lets out a colorful string of expletives, mostly about Brendon's lineage and something about intercourse with goats.
Brendon waits for him to take a breath, and says, "Just say it, and I'll let you up." Brendon knows it's stupid, two semi-grown men rolling around on the floor. But it's the longest the Ryan will let him touch him for, the closest he can get, other than the stage show, and Brendon isn't so gone that he thinks the stage show counts for anything. Not yet.
"Fucker," Ryan grits out. His hair is sticking to his forehead and he looks so disheveled and randomly young that Brendon almost lets him up. But there is a precedent to follow.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says, "what was that?"
Ryan twists his face up pitifully. "My arm is getting dislocated."
"Then talk quickly."
Ryan scowls and in one breath, with absolutely no intonation, says, "Brendon is the best and I should know better than to try to take him on because he is more awesome than I will ever be."
Brendon nods along. "And?"
"And he doesn't have a small penis; I am a lesser man for suggesting it."
Brendon grins and lets go of his grip on Ryan's arm.
Ryan rolls over to free his other arm and mutters to the floor, "Even though if we got a tape measure out, it would be pretty damn obvious who the lesser man was..." He pushes off the floor and sprints to the couch, yelling, "Place of refuge! Place of refuge!" before Brendon has a chance to grab him again.
"I'm letting that go," Brendon declares, walking to the couch. "But I get to choose the movie."
"I'm not watching fucking Spinal Tap again," Ryan says.
"Then you shouldn't have fucked with the speech," Brendon says and pushes play.
--
It's November, and there's still another month until the tour ends. The number of shows left to play is more than Brendon can fathom and less than he can bear to think about.
So he doesn't try.
--
"Delicious hamburger," Spencer says. He's not looking at Brendon, but Brendon still pauses with his handful of french fries just in front of his mouth and flips him off.
"I don't even miss it," he assures Spencer. "Meat is murder."
"Dude, you're the worst vegetarian I've ever met," Spencer says.
"Am not," Brendon says.
"Name one person who's worse."
But Brendon can't think of any examples, so technically, technically, Spencer wins that one.
"I'd be a vegetarian, but then I couldn't eat gummie bears," Ryan says.
"And then you would starve," Jon says. "So it's probably for the best."
"I still eat gummie bears," Brendon says. "Why couldn't you eat gummie bears?"
"Do you know what's in gelatin?" Ryan asks.
Brendon doesn't.
But no one will tell him.
--
They're doing an interview for a magazine, which means that a journalist is following them around for the day, to 'get to know them'. It's bullshit, basically. Brendon's even less patient that he usually is. Something about the guy sets Brendon's guard up, and Ryan doesn't seem to be doing much better. It's hard to tell how Jon's feeling, and Spencer's always snarky with the journalists.
"So, Ryan," the guy says. "How old were you when your mother left you?"
"She didn't leave me," Ryan grits out. "She divorced my dad. I was young."
Ryan's visibly shaken for the rest of the day in a way Brendon hasn't seen before.
--
Brendon scopes out the arena that they are playing that night. He smuggles a small mirror out of the bus after sound check.
"Come," he whispers to Ryan.
They sneak away from the journalist and Brendon stands guard while Ryan does his makeup in the quiet of an empty coat room.
"Okay?" Brendon asks once Ryan has finished.
Ryan nods and they walk together back to the noisy dressing room.
--
They play a fantastic show.
--
Pete invites them over for Thanksgiving. The first time he brings it up, on a conference call that started out about finalizing the accommodations for their last two weeks of touring and ends with Pete offering his house for the holiday, Brendon honestly thinks he just means for Ryan to come.
"What about you, Brendon?" Pete asks.
Brendon just laughs. It's not that he minds being alone for the holiday. Not really. Jon said that he could meet up with him after the family dinner was over, and even that was only because Brendon absolutely refused to join him for the meal. Brendon has more of a sense of the importance of family meals than he likes to admit.
--
The second time Pete mentions it, he actually calls Brendon.
"Ryan says you don't think I want you to come," he says.
"I never said that," protests Brendon.
"Good. So, you're coming?"
"Pete," Brendon says. "It's a time for family."
"Dude, Ryan's coming."
"That's different, though."
"It's not," Pete says. "I promise. I really want you to come too."
"Okay," Brendon says. He's secretly maybe a little relieved.
--
[Pete's house]
"Welcome," Pete says, flinging the door open dramatically.
Brendon's holding a large bouquet of flowers for Pete's mom and Ryan's holding a wrapped, "I <3 my daddy" sweater for Hemingway.
"Come in," says Pete, and they shuffle awkwardly inside.
--
There's enough food that it doesn't matter that Brendon doesn't eat the turkey, and okay. Maybe he still puts gravy on everything, but that hardly even counts as an animal death.
--
Ryan stays downstairs, sort of helping with dishes, and mostly hanging around and talking with Pete's mother.
"Thanks for having us," Brendon says again, sprawled across the second twin bed in Pete's room. "He seemed really happy tonight."
"Well, I was happy you came," Pete says. "Both of you."
Brendon nods.
"It's not-- We're buddies too," Pete says. "You and me."
Brendon grins at him.
"Sometimes, Ryan makes it seem. Well. Sometimes with Ryan it's like someone is just his," Pete says. "But. I mean. It's not like that with people."
Brendon doesn't really know what Pete's talking about, but he's full and happy. He rolls onto his side, and looks over at the other bed. Pete looks back and him and they lie quietly until Ryan comes back upstairs and it's time for bed.
--
[tour]
Brendon and Ryan are wrestling, but Brendon is tired and feels strung out on too much sugar and not enough sleep and he would really rather just be in his bed. He isn't putting up much of a fight and Ryan hasn't yet had to resort to attempting to kick him in the crotch. They push at each other, not even having made it down to the floor yet. If Ryan had any idea what he was doing, he'd have Brendon immobilized by now. But he doesn't.
Brendon struggles halfheartedly for a minute longer. He is seriously considering just walking away, when Ryan's sharp elbow catches him hard in the side in such a way that he is pushed backwards and falls down, landing on the flat of his back and getting the wind knocked out of him.
Brendon curls in on himself and wraps his arms around his stomach as he wheezes horribly and tries to get enough air to cough.
Fuck, he had forgotten how much this hurts.
"Shit, fuck, Brendon. Brendon? I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
When Brendon forces his eyes open again, Ryan is kneeling beside him. "Are you okay? Should I go get someone?"
Brendon shakes his head, gasping roughly and trying not to panic because even though he knows he just has to wait it out, he can't breath and it hurts like a motherfucker. He lies, with his arms and legs pulled in tight until the pressure, pain, dread, lessens and he relaxes his arms enough to wipe his palm across his face.
He looks up at Ryan, who says, "Fuck, Brendon, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to," and looks so thoroughly stricken at the sight of Brendon crumbled on the floor that Brendon wonders if Ryan had really been trying all that hard on the other occasions that they wrestled.
"It's okay," Brendon says, and fuck is his voice raw. "I know you didn't." He makes himself sit up, even though he would've liked another minute or two or twenty to lie still, and attempts a grin.
"Brendon," Ryan says, and his voice cracks almost as badly as Brendon's did. He flutters his hands, reaching out close to Brendon, but stopping before he actually makes contact.
Brendon pulls himself the rest of the way up so that they are both kneeling and leans in until Ryan knows it's okay to touch and wraps his long arms around Brendon's back. He's touching so gently, just barely holding him, and Brendon tips his head to rest against Ryan's shoulder.
"Dude, it's not a big deal," he says. "That used to happen to me all the time when I was a kid." It wasn't a big deal; it didn't even hurt all that bad. It was just the terror of being without breath and Brendon is even starting to feel pretty stupid about that.
He wraps his arms around Ryan and squeezes, because he isn't broken, and what the hell was Ryan thinking trying to give Brendon such a wussy hug?
Ryan rubs his hand over Brendon's back, still gently, and Brendon feel small compared to the wide spread of Ryan's grip. Brendon's nose is pressed into the soft fabric of Ryan's t-shirt and he realizes that he's got their bodies pressed tight together, and Ryan is still stroking his hand, and he must have lost the vanilla deodorant, because he smells good, but like a boy. Brendon's back still hurts, and Ryan's touching him so fucking softly, even though Ryan is all sharp angles in all of the rest of the places that they are touching. Brendon pushes himself away, untangling from Ryan's grip, and jumps up to his feet quickly, angling himself away from Ryan.
"I'm just," Brendon says. "Just going to have a shower now."
Still on the floor, Ryan gives him a looks of anguish and says, "Brendon, I really didn't mean to."
"I know," Brendon says quickly. "I didn't think you had."
"Do you want to just see if we can find something on TV, or something?"
"Later, maybe," Brendon says and is almost in the bathroom when Ryan says, "Don't be mad, okay?"
Brendon has to turn around and he doesn't blush, but he sees Ryan's eyes flickers down and Brendon's pants are really fucking tight, so there's no way that Ryan doesn't notice, but Brendon still says, "I'm not mad."
Brendon's stuck at the doorway for a minute, watching Ryan's face to try to gauge his response, before he realizes that maybe he doesn't even want to know Ryan's reaction and he shuts the door behind himself.
--
Brendon had been hoping that it would turn into one of those things that they forgot about afterwards. While Ryan isn't actually talking about it or anything, thank god, he's started watching Brendon all the time. Brendon can't figure out if he's trying to see if Brendon slips up again, or if he's trying to figure something out or what.
So Brendon leaves him alone.
--
The tour finally ends. Brendon had thought that maybe he'd finally go in for the big kiss with Ryan on the last show, but after all the weirdness, he decides against it.
--
Everyone goes back home to sleep through Christmas and get ready for New Years Eve.
--
[Vegas]
Brendon's so tired when he gets back to his parent's house that he can't fall asleep.
He's awake while his mom feeds him herbal tea, and asks quietly if this is some kind of drug thing and if he has to go to rehab. He tries to tell her that it isn't, but he doesn't have a reason why he can't sleep because he's never felt so tired in his entire life. There are just a small number of days before he's supposed to be performing again and as each hour drags on and he doesn't sleep, something twists up a little tighter inside of him.
On hour twenty-two with no sleep, his mom tells him that he might as well get something done in the meantime, and makes him unpack his suitcases and then pack a new one for the trip to New York.
Brendon's sorting through piles of t-shirts, trying to figure out which was the suitcase that he'd put the dirty clothes in, because none looked any cleaner than the others, not really. He finds Spencer's hoody and Ryan's jacket and Jon's t-shirt, and folds them all up and puts them on top of his dresser so that he won't forget to give them back. His mom comes in to see how he's doing, and demands that he go and return the clothing immediately, because no one likes a borrower, Brendon.
Spencer's out with his girlfriend when Brendon calls and says that he'll drop by later to pick it up. Ryan doesn't answer his phone when Brendon calls.
"I'll just. I'll go put it in Ryan's mailbox," he tells his mother.
He sits in his car and tries to remember how to turn on the radio. It's been thirty-two hours since he last slept, and that was only a quick nap at the airport. He knows he probably shouldn't be driving, but Ryan's only a short drive away. And anyway, Brendon manages to back out of the driveway without veering into any of the flower bushes, and that's more than he can often manage even when he's well rested.
He gets to Ryan's apartment, and comes to the stupid realization that he doesn't have a key to Ryan's apartment building, so he can't get inside to the mailbox anyway.
Fuck, he whispers under his breath. Well, fine. He'll just wait until someone leaves the building and ask them to hold the door for him. There's no bench, so he sits down on the concrete and leans his head against the side of the building.
--
"Brendon. Brendon," he hears and he struggles to open his eyes. Where is he? What the fuck? Something touches his hand and he jerks awake suddenly.
"Wuzzit?" he says. He blinks and pushes his glasses back up his nose, and, oh it's Ryan. "Shirt," he says and pats the ground beside him trying to figure out where he left the jacket.
"Why are you sleeping outside my door?" Ryan asks. Oh, there was the jacket. Brendon had twisted it up in his hands while he slept. "Did your parents kick you out again?" He passes the jacket over to Ryan. "Um, thanks?"
Brendon pulls his glasses off and rubs at his eyes. His ass is completely numb.
"Seriously," Ryan says. "What's going on?"
"Came to return your stuff," Brendon says, yawning loudly. "I can't sleep."
"Um," Ryan says.
"I mean I couldn't sleep. What time is it?"
"Like, three in the afternoon," Ryan says. Brendon can't remember what time he left at.
"Okay. Well, see ya," he says and rolls over onto his knee to try to stand up.
Ryan grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. "Are you okay?"
"Good," Brendon says. Brendon pulls his hands away and starts walking around the corner of the building before doubling back and heading the other way. "I think my car's that way, actually," he says. "Or wait, fuck. Where's the parking lot for your building?"
"How about you come in for a little while?" Ryan says.
Brendon is standing on his toes trying to look over a hedge to see if the parking lot is on the other side, so Ryan grabs his elbow and leads him inside.
"I probably could have waited 'til later for the jacket," Ryan says as they are waiting for the elevator.
"My mother," Brendon says by means of explanation.
Ryan nods.
--
Brendon leans against the mirrored wall of the elevator.
"Come on," Ryan says. He wraps his arm around Brendon's waist and leads him out when the doors open. "It's amazing that you've been able to hide the narcolepsy for all these years."
"I haven't slept since the airport," Brendon says. "Or, since your sidewalk, but before that it was the airport. I'm so fucking tired. I couldn't sleep in my house."
"I can see how the concrete would be a lot more comfortable," Ryan says.
Ryan's apartment is barely furnished, and most of the stuff that is there is shiny electronic equipment.
"You want something?" Ryan asks.
Brendon shrugs and sits down on his couch.
He falls asleep, sitting up, while Ryan goes to the kitchen. Ryan wakes him up when he comes back.
"Brendon," he whispers. "Brendon. Your head's going to fall off if you sleep like that."
Brendon sighs.
"Come on," Ryan says. Brendon lets Ryan pull him to his feet. Was Ryan kicking him out now? Brendon feels kind of disappointed, because apparently Ryan's apartment is the only place that he can get any sleep.
Except Ryan leads him past the door and into his bedroom.
"Huh?" Brendon manages.
Ryan coaxes him on to the bed, which is massive and at least a foot higher than normal beds.
"There you go," he says, rolling Brendon back and forth until he's gotten him under the comforters.
Brendon's asleep before Ryan's finished pulling the blinds down.
--
When Brendon wakes up it's pitch black in the room. He thinks he needs a glass of water and about twenty hours more sleep. He struggles free of the blankets, and tries to get out of the bed, but he forgets to adjust for the height of Ryan's bed and ends up tumbling down to the floor in a tremendous thump. Brendon's still sleep-languid, and it doesn't hurt all that much, but as he lies on his back on the floor, he desperately misses his bunk on the bus.
Ryan comes scurrying in.
"Did you fall out of bed?" he asks. It's hard to judge with Ryan, but he might sound incredulous.
"I was trying to get some water," Brendon says. "Seriously, your bed is too pimped out for me to handle."
Ryan leaves Brendon on the floor and returns shortly with a glass of water.
Brendon sits up and accepts it.
"Thanks," he says, once he's finished drinking. "You can probably have your bed back now. I'll head home."
"If you can't get out of bed, you can't drive," Ryan tells him. He reaches over and turns on a small lamp on a table near the bed. It barely lights the huge room, but there's enough of a glow that Brendon can help Ryan gather the blankets and pillows that fell off the bed with him and put them back.
Ryan crawls over to the other side of the bed to tuck the sheet under the corner of the mattress. Brendon vaults himself back onto the mattress, and tries to help.
"I really am awake now," he promises. He feels weird taking up Ryan's bed.
"Wanna watch some TV then?"
Ryan seems like he means it, and Brendon's given him lots of outs, so he says, "Okay."
Ryan turns on the TV and Brendon's asleep again in minutes.
--
He wakes up the next morning when Ryan gets out of bed, and follows him into the kitchen.
They eat fresh blueberries that Ryan's put into his freezer, because he refuses to eat fruits that aren't cold, and as Brendon takes a handful and sucks off the little ice crystals that have formed, he feels tired still, but also kind of soft inside.
--
Brendon goes back to his parent's house. He spends the afternoon sending text messages to everyone he knows until the tips of his fingers feel warn away.
When Jon messages back, Brendon calls him right away.
"Jon," he says happily. "Jon, Jonwalker."
"Hey-ya," Jon says. "What the heck is going on over there?"
"What do you mean?" Brendon says.
"I've gotten like four messages and two phone calls from Ryan trying to convince me that I need to come and hang out in Vegas until it's time for New Years. Is something up?"
"No," Brendon says, squishing his eyebrows together. "We miss you; I miss you. But, I think we can wait out the days."
"Okay," Jon says. "Ryan's kind of persuasive, huh?"
"I guess," Brendon says, but he's honestly never noticed.
--
Ryan leaves a voice message while Brendon's eating dinner. "You can come over again tonight, if you need to." Brendon heads over gratefully.
--
Ryan answers the door and lets Brendon in, but instead of stepping back, he stays holding the door and makes Brendon push past him. Ryan closes the door, and watches, fingers still curved around the doorknob while Brendon toes off his shoes. Brendon fidgets awkwardly in the entrance. He doesn't want to just walk into Ryan house if Ryan seems to want to hang out in the entrance.
"What's up?" he asks, sticking his hands into his pockets and then taking them out again.
Ryan tilts his head to the side and Brendon can see when his eyes sweep down his body to where Brendon's fingers are twisting into the hem of his t-shirt.
"Did you, uh. Want to rent a movie first?" Brendon asks, pulling his hand away awkwardly.
"No," Ryan says slowly, like he's considering it. Then again, "No," but firmer this time.
He pushes away from the door and grabs Brendon hand leading him over to his bedroom again. Brendon's awake this time though, and seriously, what the fuck is wrong with Ryan?
Ryan pulls him through the door, then doubles back to kick the door shut behind him, then he grabs Brendon's hips in his huge hands. He's got this look of utter concentration on his face, and Brendon's getting kind of freaked out, and also trying not to squirm in Ryan's grip.
He licks his lips before swallowing and looking up at Ryan, and that's when Ryan bends down and presses their lips together. He kisses Brendon, holding still, just a gentle pressure for long seconds. When he pulls away, tilting his head and leaning in again, Brendon raises his head and meets him half way.
It isn't still this time. Brendon reaches up to pull Ryan's head close to him, presses his mouth to Ryan's again and again until Ryan's lips part, and fuck, Brendon's wanted this for so long that it had almost faded into the background. The sky is blue, music is good, and looking at Ryan makes Brendon's hands ache with the need to touch.
Brendon's hyper-aware; the room, the space between his body and Ryan's, the sound of cars rushing under Ryan's open window. He gets his hands under Ryan's t-shirt and it's smooth, warm skin under his fingers as he rubs up and down Ryan's sides.
He knows that maybe he should stop, that definitely he should slow down, but when Ryan pulls back and looks down at Brendon, eyes half lidded, Brendon can't stop himself from dropping to his knees and pawing at the fastening to Ryan's pants.
"Can I?" he asks once he's pulled Ryan's pants down to his thighs. He rubs his cheek along Ryan's cock. His mouth is watering, and he's so close now, but he waits a minute to give Ryan a chance to say no.
Ryan doesn't.
Brendon turns his head and mouths wetly up the side of Ryan's cock until he reaches the head. He licks out, lightly, again and again until Ryan makes a little noise, then he slowly works his mouth down. Ryan's still wearing his t-shirt, and when Brendon opens his throat around Ryan's cock, his forehead presses into the fabric of Ryan's shirt.
The shock of what's finally happening still hasn't settled with Brendon. It feels to him like he's probably still just in bed, somewhere, working himself roughly, and wishing, wishing, for more.
But he can taste Ryan, and fuck, that's got to mean that it's real.
So he sucks and licks and tried to make it good for Ryan. Ryan isn't making much noise; Brendon's louder than he is, desperate and frantic around Ryan's cock. The inside of his mouth feel slimy, like maybe Ryan's leaking precome, or maybe the mucus in Brendon's throat is coating his tongue now, but it doesn't matter, because it just means that he can get all of Ryan's cock at once, have him all the way inside.
Ryan's still quiet; his hands are dangling at his sides. Brendon swallows him all the way down and works his throat, looking up at Ryan. But Ryan's eyes are closed.
Brendon pulls back, raises his hand from where it was clutching at Ryan's thigh and wraps it around Ryan's cock, working him quickly. Brendon wonders if he should drag it out, if this is the only chance he'll ever get, if he should enjoy it for as long as he can. But he doesn't want to annoy Ryan, in case Ryan doesn't like it like that. He tightens his fist, and builds up a strong rhythm, and Ryan comes. He's silent, but he doesn't pull away, so Brendon gets to suck him through it, feel his cock jerking against his tongue, pulling far enough off that he can taste him.
Brendon swallows and sits back on his heels.
Ryan rubs his cheeks and manages to stumble over to the bed where he sits down bonelessly. He still isn't looking at Brendon.
Brendon goes to the bathroom. He slashes cold water over his face and jerks off frantically into a wad of paper towel, and gives Ryan a minute to think, and when he comes back Ryan's lying on his bed, flipping through the channels.
"Anything you feel like watching?" he asks when he sees Brendon.
Brendon shrugs, standing awkwardly at the doorway until Ryan says, "Come see this," and Brendon crawls gingerly in bed beside him.
It's a huge bed; they don't touch through the night.
--
Brendon wakes up hard in the morning. He watches Ryan until he wakes up as well, and gets out of bed.
They eat breakfast together. It isn't necessarily awkward, because neither of them can ever manage much conversation in the morning.
Brendon leaves before they have time to wake up for real.
--
Brendon goes to a family dinner that night. He goes out with high school friends the next. There are only a few more days until Christmas, and after that until they head to New York, and he thinks that maybe he'll just leave Ryan alone until then.
Except that Ryan calls.
"Come over," he says.
Brendon says, "I think. I'm just going to leave you alone until after Christmas. Give everyone a break."
"No," Ryan says. "I want to see you. Come over."
Brendon stays quiet for a minute.
"I don't want everyone to go their own way, just because we aren't on tour anymore," Ryan says. "We're still a band, we have to stick together."
"Okay," Brendon says. "I'll be over later."
--
He and Ryan watch a movie. There's a bowl of popcorn between then on the couch, and Brendon is careful never to reach into the bowl at the same time that Ryan does.
If Ryan hadn't known about-- If Ryan hadn't known before, he certainly does now. Brendon doesn't know how to act. At least Ryan doesn't seem to be mad at him, doesn't seem to be disgusted.
"You going to sleep over?" Ryan asks, when the movie is done.
"No," Brendon says. "I'll just go home."
"You can stay," Ryan says.
"It's okay."
"Why not?" Ryan asks.
"I just. After what happened. I don't mean -- I'm not trying to. It doesn't have to be a thing," Brendon says, looking over to Ryan.
"Is it though?" Ryan says. "A thing for you?"
"I can deal with it," Brendon says. "I won't make it weird, I promise."
Ryan stands up and extends a hand to pull Brendon to his feet as well. He doesn't let go, and pulls Brendon along until they're in Ryan's room.
Brendon can't help himself from hoping. Maybe one more time, maybe Ryan will let him touch him, just once again.
Brendon knows that he should wait, that he shouldn't assume, but when they walk through the door, he tugs on Ryan's hand until Ryan is facing him and rises on his toes to kiss him desperately.
Ryan opens his mouth to Brendon's tongue, he's sharp and warm and still always smells so fucking good, but Brendon makes himself pull away.
He looks up at Ryan and waits.
"It's okay," Ryan says, softly. "I want to."
Brendon knows it isn't quite like that. He knows. But he can't stop himself from saying, "Will you fuck me?"
It takes Ryan a minute to react, and god does Brendon wish that he could stop the things that come out of his mouth, fuck. When Ryan does say something, it's with a look of complete determination. "I can do that," he says, sounding mostly convinced.
Brendon needs to just stop for a minute, but Ryan said yes, and he doesn't want him to change his mind. He kisses him again, while working off his pants, then jerks him until he's all the way hard. Brendon gets them both over to the bed, gets them both naked, before grabbing the hand lotion off Ryan's bedside table and pressing his slick fingers inside of himself.
Ryan fists his cock slowly, watching Brendon with something that looks like curiosity, until Brendon whimpers and pulls his fingers away, spreads his legs wider, and then Ryan's pushing inside.
It's been long enough that Brendon feels the burn, the stretch to take Ryan in, but still he can't stop his hips from working with him. He holds on to Ryan's back and tries to stop himself from begging for more, even before the pain fully crests.
"Okay," is all the Ryan says. He fucks Brendon in firm, long strokes, until Brendon cries out and comes in his fist. Ryan fucks him through it, then pulls out and jerks himself off.
--
[New York]
Brendon feels less like a rockstar and more like he's back in high school as they eat after their performance on New Years Eve.
Pete comes and sits by Brendon. They all talk for a while, until Pete whispers, "You wanna go get some air?"
Brendon nods desperately.
Pete finds them a quiet place and Brendon undoes the first three buttons of his shirt and feels like he can breathe for the first time that night.
"Nice set," Pete says.
"Thanks."
Pete sits quietly with Brendon for a while, though they are both bouncing their legs up and down frantically.
"He seems happy," Pete finally says.
"I know," Brendon says.
"And she seems really nice," says Pete sympathetically.
Brendon sighs.
Pete says, "I've got a huge suite, you can come and stay with me tonight."
"Thanks," Brendon says gratefully.
He goes over to tell the guys and say goodbye, but Ryan pulls him aside and says, "No, you can't."
"What?" Brendon asks. "Why not?"
"We're all heading back to the hotel soon; you have to come. You can't leave."
"Ryan," Brendon says and stops. He doesn't know the right way to say what he needs to, which is something along the lines of, will you please go and have fun with your girlfriend and let me go so that I don't have to watch.
"I want to see you later," Ryan says. "Just, go to your room and wait for me. I'll come, I promise."
"I already told Pete--"
"Please, Brendon," Ryan says. "I'll come quickly. You just need to wait for me where I can find you."
Pete comes up behind them, and Ryan stops talking.
"Ready?" he asks Brendon, throwing his arm around Brendon's shoulders.
"No," Ryan says. "We're having a band party. He can't go with you."
Pete frowns at Ryan, but somehow, Ryan manages to stare him down. Ryan manages to stare down Pete, who Brendon's sure can count the number of times he's heard 'no' in the last year on one hand.
Pete nods. "You can-- It's an open invite," he says. He ruffles Brendon's hair when he walks away.
--
Ryan comes to Brendon's room within forty-five minutes of their return to the hotel. Brendon doesn’t know how he got a key, but he doesn't knock, just lets himself in.
Brendon's in bed already. He's not asleep. It's not that he didn't expect Ryan to come, he just didn't want to wait like a fool in the meantime.
Ryan doesn't even kiss him, just yanks down his boxers and rolls him over quickly. He presses two fingers inside, quick and dirty, and wet, though Brendon didn't see him go to Brendon's overnight bag. He must have brought his own lube.
Ryan doesn't say anything, but he fucks Brendon hard enough that Brendon can feel it on the plane ride back to Vegas the next day, every time that he shifts in his seat. Ryan sits beside Spencer in the row ahead of him, and gives Brendon his bag of peanuts silently.
--
[Vegas]
"I wish Jon weren't so far away," Ryan says. The three of them are sitting in Spencer's backyard, taking turns throwing the squeeze toys to Spencer's dogs.
"I miss him too," Spencer says.
"I'll come up with something," Ryan says. "I'll figure out how to keep us all together."
Brendon drinks his iced tea and scratches the dog on his head.
--
Ryan calls him a couple of days later, more excited than Brendon's heard him in ages.
"I found a cabin," Ryan says.
"Awesome," says Brendon. "For what?"
"For us. We can go and write, away from everyone, and Jon will be with us."
"Um," Brendon says.
"It'll be good," Ryan says. "I told you I'd come up with something."
--
[the cabin]
The cabin isn't nearly as derelict as Ryan's lead them to believe it will be.
"Sweet," Brendon shouts to the empty house, running ahead to choose his bedroom, with Spencer chasing close behind.
--
They take their time setting up the cabin, exploring the forest around them, tiptoeing around the instruments and mostly only playing for fun.
--
"Okay," Ryan says, somewhere into week two. "I think maybe me and Spence finished some lyrics."
--
Brendon sneaks over to Ryan's room that night.
Ryan's sitting up, lights still on, reading a book. He looks up, surprised, when Brendon walks in. "Oh, what's up?" he asks.
"Nothing," Brendon says. "Just wanted to see you."
"Um, okay," Ryan says.
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, slowly.
Brendon bounces over the bed, by Ryan's feet, pinching his toes gently through the blanket. "Hey," he says, crawling up the bed, knees on either sides of Ryan's legs. "You done reading now?"
Ryan lets Brendon pull his book away and set it on the bedside table. Brendon settles into Ryan's lap, bracing himself with a hand on the pillows as he leans in to kiss him. He presses he lips to Ryan's gently, again and again, trying to coax Ryan's mouth open.
Brendon leans in further, digging his erection into Ryan's stomach. He kisses along the sharp line of Ryan's jaw, teasing under his ear with his tongue before catching the lobe with his teeth.
Ryan is mostly still beneath him, but he turns his head to give Brendon room.
Brendon scoots lower down until he's sitting on Ryan's thighs. He frowns a little as he undoes Ryan's pants. As he tugs the material away, he says, "Why aren't you-- You aren't even hard."
Ryan sighs and rubs his fingers over his cheeks. "Sorry," he says. "Just. Give me a minute here."
"What's wrong?" Brendon asks.
"I just. I wasn't expecting. I didn't know that you were coming." Ryan is still digging his fingers into his cheek. "I'm sorry," he says.
"What does that mean? You have to, what? Be prepared. I don't--" Brendon scampers off the bed. "Never mind," he says. "I don't want to know."
"Brendon, wait," Ryan says, but Brendon's already at the door, already sprinting down the hall, and Ryan's pants are still undone.
--
"Hey," Ryan whispers to Brendon the next night as Spencer and Jon are clearing the dishes from their dinner. "I'm going to come see you tonight."
"No," Brendon says, and jerks away from Ryan.
"Come on, don't be like that," Ryan says. "I'm sorry, okay? It won't happen again."
"I don't," Brendon grits out under his breath, "need you doing me any fucking favors. And I don't want to talk about this again. Ever."
Brendon has never been so embarrassed in his entire life, and given that he was a hyperactive child and still has a lot of be embarrassed about, that's saying something.
Every time he and Ryan-- Every time. And Ryan wasn't even. Ryan didn't.
And on top of that, Brendon feels like the worst kind of creep. The worst kind of friend or lover or whatever, because he hadn't even known.
Brendon grabs his plate and attempts to start a round of Bye, Bye, Bye as he carries his plate into the kitchen. "What?" he yelps as Spencer starts pummeling him with the dish towel. "Would you rather Backstreet Boys?"
--
Brendon feels pretty awkward for a few days, but he's remarkably skilled at forgetting about things that make him ashamed. Lots of practice.
He practices some awesome selective hearing when Ryan tries to talk to him, and eventually Ryan lets it go too.
--
Jon likes hiking, and everyone likes it when Brendon works off his extra energy, so he goes on a lot of hikes.
They find a spot. It's not a creek, exactly. More like a leak in the mountain where rain water trickles out. But they take turns drinking larger and larger sips each day until they are sure that the water isn't poisonous.
"You first," Brendon says, the first time they find the creek.
"What? Why me?" Jon says. "I'm bigger, if I die, you’ll never be able to carry my body back to the cabin. I don't want to be eaten by bears.”
"That's a fair point,” Brendon conceeds before taking a quick sip. He licks his lips. Then again. Then he lets out a high pitched wail, grabs his throat, and flops first to his knees, then to the ground.
Jon rolls him onto his back. He crouches down beside him, before lifting up Brendon's t-shirt and rubbing his bearded chin across Brendon's belly.
"Better than CPR," Jon says, when Brendon finally pulls his head away, gasping with laughter.
--
They bring water bottles to fill up, and Brendon labels them with masking tape, "Genu e ine Spring Water."
--
When he fights with Ryan, it goes like this:
"Stop putting the wet dishes back into the cupboard, you lazy fucker."
and:
"Leave the screen door open one more time, and I'm going to make you kill the spiders yourself."
and:
"That was a fucking major chord, not a dominant. Stop forgetting the fucking seventh."
--
Brendon has horrible blisters on his feet from all the hiking, because his shoes aren't actually designed for hiking, or walking further than to the nearest cab, really.
He walks around the house in bare feet until Spencer tells him to stop being a baby. Apparently drummers don't have a lot of sympathy for other people's blisters.
--
Brendon gets in a huge, big fight with Jon. But Spencer says he can't decide and Ryan refuses to comment either way, so it doesn't turn into an issue for the group.
And whatever, Brendon knows in his heart of hearts that an astronaut would kill a caveman any day.
Stupid Jon.
--
Pete comes to visit.
They are all on their best behavior, because Pete's awesome but he's also somewhat connected to the money that's paying for them to stay at a cabin and write their album, and they don't want to disappoint him.
They play through the two songs they have finished. Pete claps and makes a fuss, and tells them to play again. Brendon sits quietly as Ryan details his overall concept for the other songs. He only bounces his leg a little bit when Spencer and Pete start discussing what the best time of year for the release date would be. But, when Pete and Jon start with some astoundingly dry small talk about Chicago springs, Brendon can't help himself anymore.
"I beat your high score!" he yells out. Everyone turns to look at him. "At um. Wii bowling."
"You little fucker," Pete says. "Okay, where's your TV? It's on!"
--
"I think," Pete says, four hours later, "that I might have pulled a muscle, a little bit."
"Huh," Brendon asks from where he lies panting on the floor. The living room looks like a warzone, with every single pillow and blanket pulled off the couches and piled onto the floor. "Does that mean that you give up?"
"Rematch," Pete says and flops down of the flood beside Brendon, groaning loudly. "I'm not spry and flighty like I used to be. Oh, to be young again."
"I'll show you spry," Brendon says, lifting his head off the floor. He drops it down again. "Maybe some other time though."
Pete laughs. "It's just as well."
They lie in companionable silence for a couple minutes until, almost simultaneously, Pete attempts to throw a pillow into the air, using his feet, and Brendon starts singing loudly.
Brendon finishes his song, and rolls his whole body across the floor twice until he's pressed up close to Pete. "Hey," he says.
"We'll go bowling for real when you reenter civilization," Pete promises.
"If you've recovered by then," Brendon says.
"Mock the wounded."
"Where's it hurt?" Brendon asks.
Pete points to his forearm. Brendon sits up and grabs Pete's wrist, pulling the limb into his lap. "Poor baby," he says.
Pete extends his middle finger, but he lets his hand relax into a loose fist when Brendon starts running his thumb along Pete's inner arm.
"Nrg," Pete says when Brendon presses down firmly.
"Maybe I'll get a sleeve too," Brendon says as he works his fingers up Pete's arm. "I like yours."
"Hurts like a motherfucker," Pete says. He's got his eyes open now and he's watching Brendon. He reaches his free hand over to wrap around Brendon's knee.
Brendon's just started working his way back down from Pete's elbow when, "What the fuck?" Ryan asks from the doorway.
Brendon doesn't bother letting go of Pete's arm when he turns around and grins at Ryan. "I still have the high score," he gloats.
Pete's fingers tighten on Brendon's knee, but he doesn't say anything.
"--The fuck did you do to the living room?" Ryan asks.
Pete winks at Brendon before sandwiching the nearest pillow between his feet. He flicks his ankles and sends the pillow flying.
It hits Ryan in the leg.
Ryan stoops over and throws it back at them, hard, before leaving the room.
--
A car comes to pick Pete up in the early evening.
"I'll come back soon," Pete promises. "Don't despair. And don't, like, eat each other, or whatever happens when people go stir crazy from cabin fever." He winks at Brendon as he walks out the door.
--
It's close to midnight when Ryan comes into Brendon's room. He's still wearing those same sweatpants from earlier. He looks weird, almost. Brendon doesn't know what it is, but he's not worried enough to refrain from saying, "Get out. I'll talk to you in the morning."
There's a cabin rule that when someone's in his bedroom, he gets to ask them to leave if he wants. The rule was mostly to stop Brendon from interrupting Jon when he's on the phone with Cassie, or from waking Spencer up too early in the morning, but it's still a rule. And Ryan has to listen.
Except that he doesn't.
He walks over to Brendon's bed after closing the door firmly behind himself and says, "Come on. Just-- Give me another chance."
"No," Brendon says. He's tempted to get out of bed and try to push Ryan bodily from the room, but Ryan's already climbing onto the mattress.
Ryan crawls up closer and leans in to try to kiss Brendon.
"Seriously," Brendon says, jerking his head away. "I know you don't even want to, so just. Can we just please let this go?"
"I do want to," Ryan says.
"Because you had time to psych yourself up, or get ready, or whatever it is you have to do before you can stand to have me touch you."
Ryan has rolled himself mostly on top of Brendon, and he's rocking against him, one skinny thigh in between Brendon's legs and he kisses down his neck.
And Brendon knows-- But he can’t bring himself to push Ryan away. His hips press up against Ryan's leg and Ryan turns his head and then they're kissing. Ryan's making the sweetest little noises, kissing enthusiastically as he rubs his body against Brendon's.
Ryan has kicked off his own sweatpants, and he's reaching into Brendon's, when Brendon pulls back as far as he can. It isn't far, given that they're still tangled together on the bed. "Stop," Brendon says.
"I want you to fuck me," Ryan says.
It throws Brendon enough that he's distracted while Ryan pulls off his sweat pants.
"What?" Brendon says. "You don't actually want-- No."
"I got ready," Ryan says. "Please, fuck me. I can take it."
"What?"
Ryan grabs Brendon's hand and guides him in between his legs. Brendon presses two fingers inside. Ryan's gotten himself slick, but he's still tight. "You can't," Brendon says, pulling his hand away.
"I can," Ryan says. "Brendon, please. I want you to fuck me."
It sounds right. It sounds like everything that Brendon’s ever wanted to hear, and Ryan's tipping his hips forward. It's easy let his cock rub against Ryan, easy to get himself lined up. "You seriously think you want to do this?" Brendon asks.
"Yes," Ryan says.
Brendon pushes in. Ryan's tight, tight, tight around him. Brendon keeps pushing slowing, waiting for him to say no. Calling his bluff.
Ryan's eyes are scrunched tightly closed and, "Just tell me to stop," Brendon says. Ryan shakes his head. Ryan shakes; thighs trembling under Brendon’s hands as he holds him open and pushes forward.
Ryan's breathing in these quick little gasps, and Brendon leans down to bite at his lower lip. "Say stop, you fucking asshole," he tells him.
Ryan shakes his head again and lets go of his desperate hold on the pillow to press his fingers into Brendon's back, holding him closer.
Brendon ducks his head down and watches at his cock pushes in the final inch, disappears inside. Ryan's still hard. This he can stay hard for.
Brendon pulls back and pushes in minutely. He's gentle. Ryan's still like a fucking vise around him and Brendon's still waiting for Ryan to say stop.
But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything, just breathes in these huge, shuddering gasps, and shakes under Brendon's hands.
Brendon thinks that maybe he should stop anyway. Ryan's hard still, but this is fucked. Brendon slowly starts pulling out, but when Ryan notices that he isn't pushing back in, he unscrunches his face to say, "Fucking keep going, Brendon," and it's pretty hard to think when Ryan's tight around him anyway.
Brendon pushes back in.
He's slow and gentle until he can't stand it anymore, and then he fucks Ryan hard, their skin slapping together, loud in the quiet room. Ryan's breathing harshly but otherwise silent. Brendon bites his lip and pounds into Ryan. Ryan never relaxes. It's never an easier slide, and Ryan's still trembling, but when Brendon wraps his hand around Ryan's cock, he comes. Just like that.
Brendon finishes quickly too, after that.
--
Brendon feels guilty the next day and avoids Ryan as much as he can while still watching him carefully to make sure that he doesn't seem to be having too much trouble walking. He seems okay, but Brendon still feels like an asshole.
He doesn't know if it's better for him to apologize, or to pretend that it never happened. Apologizing requires talking to Ryan so Brendon goes with the latter.
They have a good day though, in spite of it. They play through another new song, and it's at the point where it actually sounds like a song now, like something that they could show somebody.
It's Ryan and Spencer's turn to make dinner, and Brendon and Jon go for a walk.
"You okay?" Jon asks.
"Yup," Brendon says, then pants a few times so that Jon will think the strain in his voice came from being out of breath.
They find a large log to sit on, and Brendon picks at the bark until he gets a splinter under his fingernail and has to stop.
"I always wanted to stay in a cabin," Jon says. " 'Cause like. After my dad left, we never really had time to go anywhere on vacation. I can't believe that Ryan found this place."
"Yeah. Ryan's quite--" Brendon starts, before settling on, "Yeah, Ryan."
--
Ryan corners him when he's hosing the mud off of his shoes a couple of days later.
Brendon startles when Ryan comes up behind him and almost soaks both of them.
"You can stop giving me the guilty looks all the time," Ryan says. "I didn't say no."
"I just. That wasn't." Brendon looks down and watches the stream of water from the hose hit the ground.
"So, we're good, right?" Ryan says, like he was the one who had anything to worry about.
Brendon nods slowly.
Jon is calling Ryan from inside the house.
Brendon sits down and runs water over the tips of his fingers until his hands are numb.
--
It's another week before Ryan comes into his room again. Brendon doesn't know what to say, so he sits on the edge of his bed and waits for Ryan to talk.
Ryan climbs behind him on the bed and wraps his arms around Brendon's waist. "I do want you," Ryan whispers into his ear.
Brendon turns in the circle of Ryan's arms, twisting his neck around until he can meet Ryan's mouth. "It's okay if you don't," he whispers into Ryan's lips.
Ryan ignores him.
--
They finish another song. Ryan records it and emails it to Pete so that he doesn't have to come down and listen in person again.
--
Brendon waits now, for Ryan to come to him.
--
Keltie comes to visit and Brendon goes on a walk by himself. The skin of one of his old blisters rubs right off, so half way back to the cabin, Brendon has to take off his shoes and walk barefoot.
"Does it hurt?" Jon asks when Brendon makes it home.
"Just what you'd expect."
--
Keltie leaves.
--
Ryan's on top of him, and Brendon can see everything. The thin hollows and tendons of Ryan's inner-thighs, the flat plains of his stomach, the sharp curve of his hips as he rocks back against Brendon. And Brendon just. Can't. There is bare skin everywhere and Brendon doesn't know where he's allowed to touch, so he settles on gripping just above Ryan's knees, splayed out, straddling Brendon. He tries to hold Ryan still, tries to ask him to stop, just for a minute because he can't. He's going to. But when he says, "Please, just--" Ryan rolls his hips and fuck if Brendon doesn't come just like that, jerking inside of Ryan and moaning out, "S-sorry."
Ryan keeps moving for a minute afterwards, and Brendon's so sensitive, Ryan still so tight, that it hurts. Brendon's face twists and he tries not to buck Ryan off.
"You came?" Ryan asks.
Brendon wishes they had turned off the lights, wishes Ryan couldn't see him, wishes he hadn't ruined things already like such a fucking teenager.
He nods.
Ryan rises off him and sits on the edge of the bed. Brendon can see the rhythmic flex of the muscles in his back.
"Come here," Brendon says. "I'll do that." He reaches out to try to pull Ryan over to him. "Ryan, c'mon. I can."
Ryan shrugs his hand off and stays where he is.
--
The closest that he comes to talking about it with anyone is when Spencer says, as they wait for Guitar Hero to load, "Ryan's kind of. He's got his own reasons for doing things."
"I know," Brendon says. And he does know. He isn't looking at Spencer, but as he waits to hear what he says next, he realizes with absolute certainty that if Spencer tells him that he needs to stop, he will. Not that Brendon's usually a fan of doing something just because he's told to, but. But.
But, Spencer knows Ryan and Spencer knows Brendon too, and if he thinks that it's not good, Brendon will believe him.
Brendon thinks that maybe he's been waiting for someone to finally tell him what to do, what the right thing to do was. He never thought that he'd miss having that in his life. And Ryan doesn't seem to know. Brendon certainly doesn't; it's gotten all twisted up inside his head. What he wants. What Ryan will give him. Ryan wants something too, but Brendon hasn't been able to figure out what it is yet. Maybe Spencer knows.
Brendon looks over at Spencer. Just say it, he thinks loudly. Just tell me.
Spencer studies him for a minute.
Please, Brendon thinks.
Spencer sighs. "It's. It's his choice though. He knows what he's doing."
Brendon frowns and Spencer shrugs helplessly.
Brendon's honestly confused for a minute, but Spencer settles back on the couch, and Brendon thinks to all the times that Ryan's brought Spencer along with him, all the places that Ryan's gone with Spencer. Maybe the best way to make sure that you never lose a friend is to join a band and take him around the world with you, far enough away that no one can pull you apart. Brendon thinks about all of the things that Spencer has because of Ryan, of Ryan forming the band, and contacting Pete, and introducing Spencer to Hayley and how maybe Ryan's given Spencer everything he wants, too. And maybe Spencer's looked for someone to tell him how to say 'no,' and hasn't found it either.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "He knows what he's doing."
Ryan walks into the room, and Spencer and Brendon stop talking, waiting to hear what he has to say.
"Dinner," Ryan says. "Jon's already at the table."
And they both follow.