Rock-a-Bye Baby part 4/4
Title: Rock-a-Bye Baby part 4/4
Type: Bandom, MPreg
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, bonus side Jon/Spencer
Word Count: ~29000
Time: three months
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: This. Is pretty much completely self-indulgent. I have no excuse for myself. Be warned that there is indeed mpreg so if you really can't handle that, then you must turn away. Oh, god, if you found this by googling yourself and don't know what mpreg even is. Please leave. Please. hopefulgenius is the person I worship for her mad beta skill. Adore her. She is forever my favorite.
ETA: It has come to my attention that Rock-a-Bye Baby has been plagiarized twice now. I'd just like to encourage everyone to please notify the author any time you believe their work has been plagiarized. I also want to say thank you to the people who have notified me about these instances. It means a lot to us. Stay awesome, guys :)
Summary: "It’s a normal day in the House of Urie-Ross-Smith-Walker, more commonly known as The Bus."
Three hours.
Everyone starts filtering into the front lobby all in one rush, like they were somehow all on the same plane or something.
Ryan can’t force himself to uncurl from his chair, doesn’t really have to drive to, and no one seems to mind. They quietly ask Spencer and Jon how Brendon is and hug everyone in the room, like a somber family reunion.
It’s when Pete comes in, loud and complaining about having to leave Hemmy in a hotel room and suddenly becomes quiet when seeing everyone that Ryan realizes that this is like a funeral procession.
“Jon,” he says, “it’s like he already died.”
Jon drapes an arm across his shoulders. “Nah. You know Brendon. Drama drama drama. He’s going to milk this for all it’s worth.”
“Duh,” Pete says firmly, his bright smile a sudden, blinding force.
The room nods its agreement.
“He is our favorite drama queen after all,” William laughs. “Drama king? Queen?”
“Queen,” Ryland grins. “Brendon Urie is a queen if there ever was one. I got him a tiara for his birthday once.”
“That was you?” Spencer hisses. “He wouldn’t take it off for weeks. You should have seen the fit he threw when we wouldn’t let him wear it on stage. It would’ve done any terrible two-er proud.”
The room laughs.
Ryan smiles. “That’s Brendon.”
“Tell me about it,” Jon sighs, long-suffering. “Remember that one time..?”
***
By hour five, everyone has settled down into the waiting room. By six, the initial laughter of the stories is wearing off, along with the comfort they brought. Everyone settles into the anxiety of waiting.
They’re trying to hide it from Ryan, but he’s not blind and these people are more his family than anyone connected to him by blood. He sees Patrick stroking the back of Pete’s whitened knuckles. He sees the Alexes not paying attention to the card game they’re playing on the floor. He sees Jon and Spencer whispering, heads bent close.
***
At seven hours and forty eight minutes, a nurse comes out with dark red-brown-black splashed on her scrubs.
Cash throws up in a corner.
The nurse is talking to Ryan, but he can’t hear her. He’s too busy staring at the red-brown-black. She leaves suddenly, and Ryan looks around. No crying. Just careful, watching.
Spencer’s arm circles his waist and he says, “They’re doing everything they can.”
Ryan wishes he’d eaten something so he could join Cash in the corner. Throwing up has to be better than feeling like your stomach is at your feet.
***
Ten hours comes and goes, the clock on the wall chiming happily as eleven o’clock hits. Jon is sleeping against Spencer’s shoulder, barely upright in his chair. Spencer is softly stroking his hair, fingers sifting through it absently. Pete and Patrick are cuddled close (mostly Pete’s doing) as Pete half-heartedly plays Speed with The Cab, Gabe, and Siska. Vicky-T is trading magazines with William.
Everyone is quiet, barely talking aside from Pete’s occasional outburst when he loses. The stress of knowing too much and simultaneously knowing too little is taking its toll, and they’re exhausted.
Ryan is frayed, too scared to be tired. His hair sticks up in random places, dark lines accent his eyes.
“Ryan,” Spencer says, “Ryan, you should try to sleep.”
Ryan rests his cheek against his drawn knees, watching the card game. “There are a lot of people here, Spencer.”
Spencer presses his cheek to Jon’s head. “Yeah. Brendon, he’s always been a people person. Probably because he’s so persistent.”
Ryan hums agreement.
“He’s going to be okay.”
The clock chimes twelve.
***
“Mr. Ross.”
Ryan’s eyes flicker up at the familiar voice.
The blood smeared down Dr. Shelley’s shirt makes his stomach lurch a little.
“Mr. Ross, they’ve been transferred to Intensive Care.”
Ryan blinks widely, his head light.
Dr. Shelley smiles, the shadows of sleeplessness momentarily swallowed up in the brightness of it. “Congratulations.”
Ryan uncurls his legs, and he suddenly feels like a teenager again, all long, gangly limbs, awkward like his body doesn’t fit right. Even his voice is shaky. “Can I see them?”
She nods. “Of course.” Then she seems to notice everyone in the room and apologetically adds, “Only you for now, though. They’re both going to need rest. Follow me, Mr. Ross.”
Ryan nods, suddenly breathless. “Okay.”
***
Ryan hates seeing Brendon lying on the hospital bed, even though he knew that of course he would be. Dr. Shelley pats his elbow and smiles again before leaving him alone.
The heart monitor attached to Brendon’s finger, it’s much too loud and rings in Ryan’s ears as he steps forward. With each inch of progression, Ryan’s nerves get a little more on edge. He can see Brendon’s face more clearly now. It’s smoothed over with drugs, sickly and a little yellowed, he thinks. His hair is plastered to his forehead, stuck to his skin with dried on sweat. His mouth is chapped, badly, and his cheeks seem a bit hollowed.
“Ryan.”
Ryan jumps a little, then breathes a sigh. “Brendon. Holy shit.” He takes his hand carefully, like Brendon might break. “Holy shit, you scared me.”
Brendon’s eyes are barely open, gazing up at Ryan dazedly. He swallows hard, his throat burning around his words. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” He squeezes his hand. “How do you feel?”
Brendon’s eyes close again, and he winces on too large a breath. “Shitty. But I’ve been shittier, I think.” He opens his eyes thoughtfully. “Hm, no, never mind. This is pretty shitty.”
Ryan laughs, quiet and unstable. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Brendon shifts a little, face scrunching in pain. Ryan moves to help him, but Brendon waves him off. “No, no. I’m fine. Just.” His eyes meet Ryan’s, dark and piercing. “How’s Baby?”
Ryan bites his lip. “I haven’t seen the baby yet. Dr. Shelley said that she needed to do a quick check for vitals and stuff but then she’d come if everything was okay.”
Brendon nods slightly. “Okay.”
Ryan smoothes a hand over Brendon’s hair. “Everyone’s here.”
“Hm?” Brendon’s eyes blink slowly, heavily. “Everyone?”
“The bands,” Ryan explains. “You’ve got the entire label out there in the waiting room. I’ve been watching The Cab play every card game under the sun for twelve hours.”
“Twelve hours?”
Ryan nods. “Yeah. You were out for a long time.” He tries not to remember it, not to remember the fear or the blood that amplified it. He shudders a little and disguises it as a roll of his shoulders.
Brendon isn’t fooled. His fingers slowly reach up and slide against Ryan’s cheek, scratching against the faint stubble there. “That long, huh?”
Ryan catches his hand, his thumb delicately tracing over Brendon’s palm. “Yeah.”
“Excuse me?” They both look up, and Ryan’s heart skips a bit. The nurse from before, the one that told him that Brendon might bleed to death, is standing in the doorway with a clean pair of scrubs on and a bundle of blankets in her arms. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Brendon says quickly, squirming to sit up. He makes a pained face at the jerky movement but keeps saying, “Yes, yes, yes.”
Ryan helps him, pressing a hand to his back and shifting him up without touching his bandaged stomach. “Brendon, stop it, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Brendon grins and holds out his arms toward the nurse. “Please, can I?”
She laughs softly and hands the bundle off to him, pushing the top fold back a little.
The first thing Ryan sees are Brendon’s wide, brownie-colored eyes set in a tiny, perfect face, and his heart aches.
“Mr. Ross, Mr. Urie,” the nurse says, almost a whisper, “meet your five pound two ounce, perfectly healthy little boy.”
Brendon absolutely glows.
Ryan is not about to cry.
***
Ryan is up on the hospital bed, Brendon curled into his side. The only difference from their first trip to the hospital is that their baby is cradled protectively against his chest. Ryan’s fingers carefully trace over chubby cheeks; a tiny, perfect mouth; small, grabby hands; all ten delicate little toes.
He can’t help but feel like things have somehow come full circle.
The nurse had given them a bottle with formula and shown them how to hold the baby before leaving, explaining that he would be starving after such a hard journey. He’d greedily drunken about half of it before falling asleep in Ryan’s arms, Brendon swiping off what little milk he’d accidentally let escape onto his chin.
“He’s perfect,” Brendon whispers. “He looks just like you, Ryan.”
Ryan’s fingertips graze against the baby’s downy soft, hazelnut hair. “I was blond when I was born, Brendon.”
Brendon sniffs. “So? He still looks like you.”
“He has your eyes. And your mouth.”
“But your fingers.” Brendon’s index finger follows the gentle lines of the baby’s arm, over his hand, and down to his fingernails. “He’s perfect.”
Ryan smiles and kisses Brendon lightly. “You’re right.”
“I picked a name that I like.”
Ryan looks at him. “What?”
“A name.” Brendon smiles. “I picked one.”
At this point, Ryan is willing to let the baby be named anything, from Aladdin to George R. Ross IV. What matters is that Brendon is okay, their son is okay, and that, holy shit, Ryan’s a father.
But for appearance’s sake, Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“One part is for me because I still love your name so much, and it’s really close. The other one is kind of a tribute to the bands because… well, you’ll get it when you hear it. And then, of course, he has your last name.”
“Are you going to tell me his name or are we just going to call him ‘hey you’ forever?”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Pushy, pushy. Okay, fine.” He pauses for effect. “How about Riley Alexander?”
“Riley Alexander?” Ryan tries it on his tongue, forming the words carefully, piece by piece. It’s the writer in him that does it, that matches the flow and syllables and appreciates the fluidity of it. He leans down, hovering over the baby’s face, and presses his lips to his forehead. “Riley Alexander Ross.”
***
The first time everyone else sees Riley is in front of a big window that separates them from the babies inside. They crowd outside of it as a nurse enters and picks him up, lifting him to face the glass. His eyes are barely half open, and he swats at the dark blur of people in front of him.
Spencer finds it hard to swallow suddenly as his hand grazes over the glass, right above where Riley’s tiny feet are kicking. “He looks just like Ryan used to.”
Jon laughs. “Like Ryan still does, you mean. I’ve seen the pictures. I know.”
“Holy fuck, we have our first band baby,” Pete grins and pokes at the glass too. “This is history in the making, right here. I’m signing him as soon as he can fucking talk. Maybe before that.”
Patrick snorts. “You’d sell a CD of baby sounds?”
“Yes,” Pete says indignantly. “Because this kid is a Ross-Urie collaboration and people would buy it like crazy, you know they would. Plus, they’ll probably have him playing Bach by three years old. Gotta catch them early.”
Gabe watches intently as Riley’s face scrunches in Pete’s direction. “He’s going to be the best little cobra ever.”
Vicky-T can’t stop cooing even if she knows that she’ll feel like an idiot later.
All of the Alexes are ecstatic about sharing their name with a fifth person, even if it’s only a middle name. Five is totally an awesome number.
They crowd the tiny hospital’s hallway as they stare at the newest edition to their ever-growing family.
Spencer smiles. “Riley is never going to know what the word ‘peace’ means.”
“But he’ll be the most loved baby that ever graced the earth,” Jon replies, an arm moving around Spencer’s waist. “Ever.”
Spencer watches Riley squirm a little, making more faces in Pete’s general direction and knows that nothing could be truer.
***
Ryan is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. In no country should it even be legal to drive a baby home by yourself. There should be like. Trained baby drivers or something.
He’s going about twenty miles an hour on the highway, not caring at all about the million and a half pissed off drivers that flash him the bird. Fuck them, they have a baby and everyone else needs to slow the hell down.
Brendon is in the backseat watching Riley sleep in his car seat. He looks like he’s at the end of his rope too, checking to make sure the straps on the seat are tight enough but not too tight every few minutes.
If this amount of stress doesn’t let up soon, Ryan’s fairly sure everyone in the car is going to be dead within the week.
***
The stress doesn’t let up, but they survive the first week. And the next. And the next. It doesn’t even make sense that they’re so stressed out. Riley hardly ever cries unless he needs something or isn’t being paid any attention (Ryan blames Brendon’s influence for that one). He’s mostly calm and quiet, observant even if all the books say that he can’t see that well yet.
He already knows both of their personalities by heart, Brendon can tell. He knows that Brendon will coddle and coo over him whenever he makes a face, and he knows that Ryan can’t stop himself when he whimpers.
Riley, Brendon has concluded, is a genius. Maybe even an evil genius. It’s kind of awesome.
After a couple of days at the hospital, everyone had gone back to their respective parts of the country, but they still keep calling, demanding more and more pictures of Riley and what he’s doing now.
Jon is happy to oblige them on the picture-taking front. He’s a little disheartened by the fact that Riley refuses to work with a flash camera, but makes it through okay. He gets out his digital camera instead and takes pictures of everything that goes on in their lives, from Riley refusing to eat peach baby food (“But, Riley, it’s good for you!” Click. “For me?” Click. “It’s good! Here, I’ll show you.” Click. “What the hell, that is not peach.” Click.) to Riley playing in the sink when they give him a bath ("Aw, you have a rubber ducky?" Click. "Whoa, hey, careful with the splashing. My camera." Click. Splash. "Crap, my camera.")
Brendon’s absolute favorite picture is the one of Riley sleeping in the crook of Ryan’s arm, his cheek pressed to Ryan’s chest, his dark eyelashes fanned out against his pale skin.
He knows that every parent thinks their child is better than everyone else’s, but Riley Alexander Ross really is perfect in every conceivable way.
***
Brendon keeps up with Riley’s baby book religiously, penciling in every first Riley has. First hair cut. First time grabbing for something. First distinguishable sound that wasn’t crying. First time he slept for more than two hours at a time.
It’s when Riley quirks a smile the first time, lopsided in a way that could only have come from one person that Ryan starts making his own entries, his careful loops contrasting yet somehow fitting right alongside Brendon’s excited scrawl.
***
They’d decided months ago, with Jon and Spencer's input, that they wouldn’t ‘come out’ per se. There would be no long, glorious speeches about gay rights or about their struggle to find their place in a predominantly heterosexual world. In fact, they refused to label themselves ‘gay’. Ryan and Brendon were just that. RyanandBrendon. There was no title for that, and they didn’t want there to be.
The final verdict was that they would just act like a normal couple (after the baby was born, just to keep attention off of them for a while). They would hold hands if Ryan let Brendon get away with it, and they’d kiss if they felt like it. It wasn’t a hard choice.
What was a hard choice was figuring out how to explain Riley to the public. At first Brendon had been strictly opposed to the idea of lying to everyone and saying Riley was adopted. He didn’t want Riley to have to grow up thinking that anyone had ever not wanted him. He didn’t want to lie from the very beginning to their child.
Eventually, though, he realizes that they don’t have much of a choice. They’ll tell the public, when they’re asked and not before, that Riley was anonymously adopted, and they’ll tell Riley that it’s just a trick they’re playing until he’s old enough to understand why they can’t tell anyone the truth.
Despite the planning, though, they are absolutely not expecting it when a picture of them walking through a park holding hands with Riley in his stroller is splashed across the cover of “Star”. Brendon personally thinks it’s the ‘GAY?’ typed in big red letters over the front that makes it so shocking.
He clips the article out and puts it in a shoebox with the first Disney video he ever watched, the first song he ever wrote himself, and a copy of the record deal they’d signed as teenagers. It’s the first time they’re acknowledged as real life RyanandBrendon and he wants to remember it when he can’t even remember his own name.
***
Mail comes flooding in, both from fans and from every reporter in the world. Brendon decides that he’s going to write the fans a ‘thank you for your support’ letter no matter what they actually said and a polite letter declining all the interviews.
He writes out maybe five before he says, “Fuck it,” and cuddles with Ryan on the couch, Riley gurgling happily between them.
***
It’s four months after coming home from the hospital and Dr. Shelley calls them herself to give them the news. According to all the doctors that have been checking on Brendon every week, he’s basically all healed up, there are no signs of infection, and they are now good to go in the sex department.
As soon as they put Riley in his crib for the night, softly closing the door behind them, Brendon shoves Ryan into their room and attacks his mouth, his hands flying up Ryan’s shirt.
Ryan doesn’t even laugh, just yanks Brendon’s shirt and hoodie over his head in one jerky movement. He pushes Brendon back until the back of Brendon’s knees hit the bed and he falls onto the mattress, his stutter of surprise swallowed by Ryan’s kisses.
There’s a hectic grabbing at pants and underwear, belts being yanked out of their loops and clothes being ripped off with a flourish, then it’s just skin on skin, just Ryan and Brendon, RyanandBrendon.
Brendon’s whole body aches and burns and just wants, hums with the familiar trill of ohgodplease that he’s missed for so long. Ryan’s hands (god, his hands) slide down the lines of his body, guitar-calloused fingertips tracing out the planes of it like he’s trying to read Braille at hyper-speed. They leave hot trails in their wake, and Brendon arches up into them, whining softly (he’d probably be moaning like an eight dollar whore if they didn’t have to worry about the baby waking up).
The fingers curl around Brendon’s cock, and Brendon is going to come right now if Ryan doesn’t stop that.
“Ryan,” he gasps into his mouth, “Ryan, don’t.”
Ryan breaks the kiss, but just barely, his breath puffing harsh against Brendon’s lips. “S’okay. Won’t be the only time tonight anyway.”
Then Ryan’s kissing him again, his hand is jerking up, squeezing so tight it almost hurts. Brendon grabs desperately at Ryan’s shoulders, toes curling at the brilliant waves of white hot that flood over him. Ryan’s name tumbles from him as he comes, Ryan pulling him all the way through it.
In the morning when Brendon gets up to the soft sounds of Riley waking over the monitor, Brendon’s got no clue how many times they each came before finally passing out in a sticky, sweaty mess of tangled limbs.
He’s ninety-nine percent sure that they set a new world record or something, though.
***
Finally the day arrives when Spencer calls them and says, “I think you guys have to do an interview with someone somewhere.”
Ryan smiles at Riley as he curls his hand around Ryan’s ring finger. Riley looks up at him and giggles triumphantly. “Why? What’s up?”
“Jon and I have been doing a couple just to get people to stop talking about you guys and leave you alone, but.” Spencer sighs. “I don’t think anyone’s going to quit until they hear what happened straight from the source.”
Ryan turns to Brendon. “Spence says we need to do an interview.”
Brendon is sitting at his piano bench, watching Ryan and Riley play on the floor as he keys the possible beat to a song that’s been creating itself in his head. “We should tell them that we fell in love, got married in Spain, had crazy hot sex and got pregnant or something.”
Ryan snorts. “Or something.”
“Look, it’s not like I want to spoil your happy little lifestyle or anything,” Spencer explains, and Ryan can just see him raking his hands through his hair, probably tired and more than a little frustrated. “It’d just be easier if you guys said it. No one believes me and Jon.”
“Tell him we’ll set up something on the site.” Brendon’s eyes light up. “Hey, we could totally do a video log thing. It’d be awesome.”
Ryan rolls his eyes.
***
How Brendon convinced Ryan to set up a video camera in their living room and actually go through with the video log ideas, Ryan will never know.
Well, no, not really, but Ryan fails to see how one blowjob clouded his sense this much.
He and Brendon are sitting at their table with Riley playing in Brendon’s lap. The camera is facing them, dark and tall and so much more menacing than any piece of technology has any right to be.
Brendon kisses the top of Riley’s head and says, “Hey, pretty boy. This is your big debut. Don’t be nervous; you’re absolutely perfect the way you are.”
Riley seems blissfully unaware of Brendon, humming at his building blocks.
“Can you turn it on, Ryan?” Brendon asks, his mouth still pressed to Riley’s head. “I think he’s ready.”
Ryan takes Brendon’s hand beneath the table and squeezes reassuringly before leaning over and pressing the button. The little light on the camera flashes green; his anxiety rears up a little before he remembers that the camera is attached to the computer, and this is airing live.
He smiles. “Hi, everyone. Uh, I guess you know who we are if you’re watching this, but. I’m Ryan Ross.”
“And I’m Brendon Urie,” Brendon lifts his mouth from Riley’s head to smile widely. “We’re from Panic at the Disco, and this is our son, Riley. Riley, can you say hi?”
Riley looks up at the camera and smiles in that flirtatious way that gets every girl they see on the streets cooing.
Brendon and Ryan look at each other and smile. For one of the first times since he heard the word ‘pregnant,’ Ryan’s nerves are fine.
Type: Bandom, MPreg
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, bonus side Jon/Spencer
Word Count: ~29000
Time: three months
Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: This. Is pretty much completely self-indulgent. I have no excuse for myself. Be warned that there is indeed mpreg so if you really can't handle that, then you must turn away. Oh, god, if you found this by googling yourself and don't know what mpreg even is. Please leave. Please. hopefulgenius is the person I worship for her mad beta skill. Adore her. She is forever my favorite.
ETA: It has come to my attention that Rock-a-Bye Baby has been plagiarized twice now. I'd just like to encourage everyone to please notify the author any time you believe their work has been plagiarized. I also want to say thank you to the people who have notified me about these instances. It means a lot to us. Stay awesome, guys :)
Summary: "It’s a normal day in the House of Urie-Ross-Smith-Walker, more commonly known as The Bus."
Three hours.
Everyone starts filtering into the front lobby all in one rush, like they were somehow all on the same plane or something.
Ryan can’t force himself to uncurl from his chair, doesn’t really have to drive to, and no one seems to mind. They quietly ask Spencer and Jon how Brendon is and hug everyone in the room, like a somber family reunion.
It’s when Pete comes in, loud and complaining about having to leave Hemmy in a hotel room and suddenly becomes quiet when seeing everyone that Ryan realizes that this is like a funeral procession.
“Jon,” he says, “it’s like he already died.”
Jon drapes an arm across his shoulders. “Nah. You know Brendon. Drama drama drama. He’s going to milk this for all it’s worth.”
“Duh,” Pete says firmly, his bright smile a sudden, blinding force.
The room nods its agreement.
“He is our favorite drama queen after all,” William laughs. “Drama king? Queen?”
“Queen,” Ryland grins. “Brendon Urie is a queen if there ever was one. I got him a tiara for his birthday once.”
“That was you?” Spencer hisses. “He wouldn’t take it off for weeks. You should have seen the fit he threw when we wouldn’t let him wear it on stage. It would’ve done any terrible two-er proud.”
The room laughs.
Ryan smiles. “That’s Brendon.”
“Tell me about it,” Jon sighs, long-suffering. “Remember that one time..?”
***
By hour five, everyone has settled down into the waiting room. By six, the initial laughter of the stories is wearing off, along with the comfort they brought. Everyone settles into the anxiety of waiting.
They’re trying to hide it from Ryan, but he’s not blind and these people are more his family than anyone connected to him by blood. He sees Patrick stroking the back of Pete’s whitened knuckles. He sees the Alexes not paying attention to the card game they’re playing on the floor. He sees Jon and Spencer whispering, heads bent close.
***
At seven hours and forty eight minutes, a nurse comes out with dark red-brown-black splashed on her scrubs.
Cash throws up in a corner.
The nurse is talking to Ryan, but he can’t hear her. He’s too busy staring at the red-brown-black. She leaves suddenly, and Ryan looks around. No crying. Just careful, watching.
Spencer’s arm circles his waist and he says, “They’re doing everything they can.”
Ryan wishes he’d eaten something so he could join Cash in the corner. Throwing up has to be better than feeling like your stomach is at your feet.
***
Ten hours comes and goes, the clock on the wall chiming happily as eleven o’clock hits. Jon is sleeping against Spencer’s shoulder, barely upright in his chair. Spencer is softly stroking his hair, fingers sifting through it absently. Pete and Patrick are cuddled close (mostly Pete’s doing) as Pete half-heartedly plays Speed with The Cab, Gabe, and Siska. Vicky-T is trading magazines with William.
Everyone is quiet, barely talking aside from Pete’s occasional outburst when he loses. The stress of knowing too much and simultaneously knowing too little is taking its toll, and they’re exhausted.
Ryan is frayed, too scared to be tired. His hair sticks up in random places, dark lines accent his eyes.
“Ryan,” Spencer says, “Ryan, you should try to sleep.”
Ryan rests his cheek against his drawn knees, watching the card game. “There are a lot of people here, Spencer.”
Spencer presses his cheek to Jon’s head. “Yeah. Brendon, he’s always been a people person. Probably because he’s so persistent.”
Ryan hums agreement.
“He’s going to be okay.”
The clock chimes twelve.
***
“Mr. Ross.”
Ryan’s eyes flicker up at the familiar voice.
The blood smeared down Dr. Shelley’s shirt makes his stomach lurch a little.
“Mr. Ross, they’ve been transferred to Intensive Care.”
Ryan blinks widely, his head light.
Dr. Shelley smiles, the shadows of sleeplessness momentarily swallowed up in the brightness of it. “Congratulations.”
Ryan uncurls his legs, and he suddenly feels like a teenager again, all long, gangly limbs, awkward like his body doesn’t fit right. Even his voice is shaky. “Can I see them?”
She nods. “Of course.” Then she seems to notice everyone in the room and apologetically adds, “Only you for now, though. They’re both going to need rest. Follow me, Mr. Ross.”
Ryan nods, suddenly breathless. “Okay.”
***
Ryan hates seeing Brendon lying on the hospital bed, even though he knew that of course he would be. Dr. Shelley pats his elbow and smiles again before leaving him alone.
The heart monitor attached to Brendon’s finger, it’s much too loud and rings in Ryan’s ears as he steps forward. With each inch of progression, Ryan’s nerves get a little more on edge. He can see Brendon’s face more clearly now. It’s smoothed over with drugs, sickly and a little yellowed, he thinks. His hair is plastered to his forehead, stuck to his skin with dried on sweat. His mouth is chapped, badly, and his cheeks seem a bit hollowed.
“Ryan.”
Ryan jumps a little, then breathes a sigh. “Brendon. Holy shit.” He takes his hand carefully, like Brendon might break. “Holy shit, you scared me.”
Brendon’s eyes are barely open, gazing up at Ryan dazedly. He swallows hard, his throat burning around his words. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” He squeezes his hand. “How do you feel?”
Brendon’s eyes close again, and he winces on too large a breath. “Shitty. But I’ve been shittier, I think.” He opens his eyes thoughtfully. “Hm, no, never mind. This is pretty shitty.”
Ryan laughs, quiet and unstable. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Brendon shifts a little, face scrunching in pain. Ryan moves to help him, but Brendon waves him off. “No, no. I’m fine. Just.” His eyes meet Ryan’s, dark and piercing. “How’s Baby?”
Ryan bites his lip. “I haven’t seen the baby yet. Dr. Shelley said that she needed to do a quick check for vitals and stuff but then she’d come if everything was okay.”
Brendon nods slightly. “Okay.”
Ryan smoothes a hand over Brendon’s hair. “Everyone’s here.”
“Hm?” Brendon’s eyes blink slowly, heavily. “Everyone?”
“The bands,” Ryan explains. “You’ve got the entire label out there in the waiting room. I’ve been watching The Cab play every card game under the sun for twelve hours.”
“Twelve hours?”
Ryan nods. “Yeah. You were out for a long time.” He tries not to remember it, not to remember the fear or the blood that amplified it. He shudders a little and disguises it as a roll of his shoulders.
Brendon isn’t fooled. His fingers slowly reach up and slide against Ryan’s cheek, scratching against the faint stubble there. “That long, huh?”
Ryan catches his hand, his thumb delicately tracing over Brendon’s palm. “Yeah.”
“Excuse me?” They both look up, and Ryan’s heart skips a bit. The nurse from before, the one that told him that Brendon might bleed to death, is standing in the doorway with a clean pair of scrubs on and a bundle of blankets in her arms. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Brendon says quickly, squirming to sit up. He makes a pained face at the jerky movement but keeps saying, “Yes, yes, yes.”
Ryan helps him, pressing a hand to his back and shifting him up without touching his bandaged stomach. “Brendon, stop it, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Brendon grins and holds out his arms toward the nurse. “Please, can I?”
She laughs softly and hands the bundle off to him, pushing the top fold back a little.
The first thing Ryan sees are Brendon’s wide, brownie-colored eyes set in a tiny, perfect face, and his heart aches.
“Mr. Ross, Mr. Urie,” the nurse says, almost a whisper, “meet your five pound two ounce, perfectly healthy little boy.”
Brendon absolutely glows.
Ryan is not about to cry.
***
Ryan is up on the hospital bed, Brendon curled into his side. The only difference from their first trip to the hospital is that their baby is cradled protectively against his chest. Ryan’s fingers carefully trace over chubby cheeks; a tiny, perfect mouth; small, grabby hands; all ten delicate little toes.
He can’t help but feel like things have somehow come full circle.
The nurse had given them a bottle with formula and shown them how to hold the baby before leaving, explaining that he would be starving after such a hard journey. He’d greedily drunken about half of it before falling asleep in Ryan’s arms, Brendon swiping off what little milk he’d accidentally let escape onto his chin.
“He’s perfect,” Brendon whispers. “He looks just like you, Ryan.”
Ryan’s fingertips graze against the baby’s downy soft, hazelnut hair. “I was blond when I was born, Brendon.”
Brendon sniffs. “So? He still looks like you.”
“He has your eyes. And your mouth.”
“But your fingers.” Brendon’s index finger follows the gentle lines of the baby’s arm, over his hand, and down to his fingernails. “He’s perfect.”
Ryan smiles and kisses Brendon lightly. “You’re right.”
“I picked a name that I like.”
Ryan looks at him. “What?”
“A name.” Brendon smiles. “I picked one.”
At this point, Ryan is willing to let the baby be named anything, from Aladdin to George R. Ross IV. What matters is that Brendon is okay, their son is okay, and that, holy shit, Ryan’s a father.
But for appearance’s sake, Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“One part is for me because I still love your name so much, and it’s really close. The other one is kind of a tribute to the bands because… well, you’ll get it when you hear it. And then, of course, he has your last name.”
“Are you going to tell me his name or are we just going to call him ‘hey you’ forever?”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Pushy, pushy. Okay, fine.” He pauses for effect. “How about Riley Alexander?”
“Riley Alexander?” Ryan tries it on his tongue, forming the words carefully, piece by piece. It’s the writer in him that does it, that matches the flow and syllables and appreciates the fluidity of it. He leans down, hovering over the baby’s face, and presses his lips to his forehead. “Riley Alexander Ross.”
***
The first time everyone else sees Riley is in front of a big window that separates them from the babies inside. They crowd outside of it as a nurse enters and picks him up, lifting him to face the glass. His eyes are barely half open, and he swats at the dark blur of people in front of him.
Spencer finds it hard to swallow suddenly as his hand grazes over the glass, right above where Riley’s tiny feet are kicking. “He looks just like Ryan used to.”
Jon laughs. “Like Ryan still does, you mean. I’ve seen the pictures. I know.”
“Holy fuck, we have our first band baby,” Pete grins and pokes at the glass too. “This is history in the making, right here. I’m signing him as soon as he can fucking talk. Maybe before that.”
Patrick snorts. “You’d sell a CD of baby sounds?”
“Yes,” Pete says indignantly. “Because this kid is a Ross-Urie collaboration and people would buy it like crazy, you know they would. Plus, they’ll probably have him playing Bach by three years old. Gotta catch them early.”
Gabe watches intently as Riley’s face scrunches in Pete’s direction. “He’s going to be the best little cobra ever.”
Vicky-T can’t stop cooing even if she knows that she’ll feel like an idiot later.
All of the Alexes are ecstatic about sharing their name with a fifth person, even if it’s only a middle name. Five is totally an awesome number.
They crowd the tiny hospital’s hallway as they stare at the newest edition to their ever-growing family.
Spencer smiles. “Riley is never going to know what the word ‘peace’ means.”
“But he’ll be the most loved baby that ever graced the earth,” Jon replies, an arm moving around Spencer’s waist. “Ever.”
Spencer watches Riley squirm a little, making more faces in Pete’s general direction and knows that nothing could be truer.
***
Ryan is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. In no country should it even be legal to drive a baby home by yourself. There should be like. Trained baby drivers or something.
He’s going about twenty miles an hour on the highway, not caring at all about the million and a half pissed off drivers that flash him the bird. Fuck them, they have a baby and everyone else needs to slow the hell down.
Brendon is in the backseat watching Riley sleep in his car seat. He looks like he’s at the end of his rope too, checking to make sure the straps on the seat are tight enough but not too tight every few minutes.
If this amount of stress doesn’t let up soon, Ryan’s fairly sure everyone in the car is going to be dead within the week.
***
The stress doesn’t let up, but they survive the first week. And the next. And the next. It doesn’t even make sense that they’re so stressed out. Riley hardly ever cries unless he needs something or isn’t being paid any attention (Ryan blames Brendon’s influence for that one). He’s mostly calm and quiet, observant even if all the books say that he can’t see that well yet.
He already knows both of their personalities by heart, Brendon can tell. He knows that Brendon will coddle and coo over him whenever he makes a face, and he knows that Ryan can’t stop himself when he whimpers.
Riley, Brendon has concluded, is a genius. Maybe even an evil genius. It’s kind of awesome.
After a couple of days at the hospital, everyone had gone back to their respective parts of the country, but they still keep calling, demanding more and more pictures of Riley and what he’s doing now.
Jon is happy to oblige them on the picture-taking front. He’s a little disheartened by the fact that Riley refuses to work with a flash camera, but makes it through okay. He gets out his digital camera instead and takes pictures of everything that goes on in their lives, from Riley refusing to eat peach baby food (“But, Riley, it’s good for you!” Click. “For me?” Click. “It’s good! Here, I’ll show you.” Click. “What the hell, that is not peach.” Click.) to Riley playing in the sink when they give him a bath ("Aw, you have a rubber ducky?" Click. "Whoa, hey, careful with the splashing. My camera." Click. Splash. "Crap, my camera.")
Brendon’s absolute favorite picture is the one of Riley sleeping in the crook of Ryan’s arm, his cheek pressed to Ryan’s chest, his dark eyelashes fanned out against his pale skin.
He knows that every parent thinks their child is better than everyone else’s, but Riley Alexander Ross really is perfect in every conceivable way.
***
Brendon keeps up with Riley’s baby book religiously, penciling in every first Riley has. First hair cut. First time grabbing for something. First distinguishable sound that wasn’t crying. First time he slept for more than two hours at a time.
It’s when Riley quirks a smile the first time, lopsided in a way that could only have come from one person that Ryan starts making his own entries, his careful loops contrasting yet somehow fitting right alongside Brendon’s excited scrawl.
***
They’d decided months ago, with Jon and Spencer's input, that they wouldn’t ‘come out’ per se. There would be no long, glorious speeches about gay rights or about their struggle to find their place in a predominantly heterosexual world. In fact, they refused to label themselves ‘gay’. Ryan and Brendon were just that. RyanandBrendon. There was no title for that, and they didn’t want there to be.
The final verdict was that they would just act like a normal couple (after the baby was born, just to keep attention off of them for a while). They would hold hands if Ryan let Brendon get away with it, and they’d kiss if they felt like it. It wasn’t a hard choice.
What was a hard choice was figuring out how to explain Riley to the public. At first Brendon had been strictly opposed to the idea of lying to everyone and saying Riley was adopted. He didn’t want Riley to have to grow up thinking that anyone had ever not wanted him. He didn’t want to lie from the very beginning to their child.
Eventually, though, he realizes that they don’t have much of a choice. They’ll tell the public, when they’re asked and not before, that Riley was anonymously adopted, and they’ll tell Riley that it’s just a trick they’re playing until he’s old enough to understand why they can’t tell anyone the truth.
Despite the planning, though, they are absolutely not expecting it when a picture of them walking through a park holding hands with Riley in his stroller is splashed across the cover of “Star”. Brendon personally thinks it’s the ‘GAY?’ typed in big red letters over the front that makes it so shocking.
He clips the article out and puts it in a shoebox with the first Disney video he ever watched, the first song he ever wrote himself, and a copy of the record deal they’d signed as teenagers. It’s the first time they’re acknowledged as real life RyanandBrendon and he wants to remember it when he can’t even remember his own name.
***
Mail comes flooding in, both from fans and from every reporter in the world. Brendon decides that he’s going to write the fans a ‘thank you for your support’ letter no matter what they actually said and a polite letter declining all the interviews.
He writes out maybe five before he says, “Fuck it,” and cuddles with Ryan on the couch, Riley gurgling happily between them.
***
It’s four months after coming home from the hospital and Dr. Shelley calls them herself to give them the news. According to all the doctors that have been checking on Brendon every week, he’s basically all healed up, there are no signs of infection, and they are now good to go in the sex department.
As soon as they put Riley in his crib for the night, softly closing the door behind them, Brendon shoves Ryan into their room and attacks his mouth, his hands flying up Ryan’s shirt.
Ryan doesn’t even laugh, just yanks Brendon’s shirt and hoodie over his head in one jerky movement. He pushes Brendon back until the back of Brendon’s knees hit the bed and he falls onto the mattress, his stutter of surprise swallowed by Ryan’s kisses.
There’s a hectic grabbing at pants and underwear, belts being yanked out of their loops and clothes being ripped off with a flourish, then it’s just skin on skin, just Ryan and Brendon, RyanandBrendon.
Brendon’s whole body aches and burns and just wants, hums with the familiar trill of ohgodplease that he’s missed for so long. Ryan’s hands (god, his hands) slide down the lines of his body, guitar-calloused fingertips tracing out the planes of it like he’s trying to read Braille at hyper-speed. They leave hot trails in their wake, and Brendon arches up into them, whining softly (he’d probably be moaning like an eight dollar whore if they didn’t have to worry about the baby waking up).
The fingers curl around Brendon’s cock, and Brendon is going to come right now if Ryan doesn’t stop that.
“Ryan,” he gasps into his mouth, “Ryan, don’t.”
Ryan breaks the kiss, but just barely, his breath puffing harsh against Brendon’s lips. “S’okay. Won’t be the only time tonight anyway.”
Then Ryan’s kissing him again, his hand is jerking up, squeezing so tight it almost hurts. Brendon grabs desperately at Ryan’s shoulders, toes curling at the brilliant waves of white hot that flood over him. Ryan’s name tumbles from him as he comes, Ryan pulling him all the way through it.
In the morning when Brendon gets up to the soft sounds of Riley waking over the monitor, Brendon’s got no clue how many times they each came before finally passing out in a sticky, sweaty mess of tangled limbs.
He’s ninety-nine percent sure that they set a new world record or something, though.
***
Finally the day arrives when Spencer calls them and says, “I think you guys have to do an interview with someone somewhere.”
Ryan smiles at Riley as he curls his hand around Ryan’s ring finger. Riley looks up at him and giggles triumphantly. “Why? What’s up?”
“Jon and I have been doing a couple just to get people to stop talking about you guys and leave you alone, but.” Spencer sighs. “I don’t think anyone’s going to quit until they hear what happened straight from the source.”
Ryan turns to Brendon. “Spence says we need to do an interview.”
Brendon is sitting at his piano bench, watching Ryan and Riley play on the floor as he keys the possible beat to a song that’s been creating itself in his head. “We should tell them that we fell in love, got married in Spain, had crazy hot sex and got pregnant or something.”
Ryan snorts. “Or something.”
“Look, it’s not like I want to spoil your happy little lifestyle or anything,” Spencer explains, and Ryan can just see him raking his hands through his hair, probably tired and more than a little frustrated. “It’d just be easier if you guys said it. No one believes me and Jon.”
“Tell him we’ll set up something on the site.” Brendon’s eyes light up. “Hey, we could totally do a video log thing. It’d be awesome.”
Ryan rolls his eyes.
***
How Brendon convinced Ryan to set up a video camera in their living room and actually go through with the video log ideas, Ryan will never know.
Well, no, not really, but Ryan fails to see how one blowjob clouded his sense this much.
He and Brendon are sitting at their table with Riley playing in Brendon’s lap. The camera is facing them, dark and tall and so much more menacing than any piece of technology has any right to be.
Brendon kisses the top of Riley’s head and says, “Hey, pretty boy. This is your big debut. Don’t be nervous; you’re absolutely perfect the way you are.”
Riley seems blissfully unaware of Brendon, humming at his building blocks.
“Can you turn it on, Ryan?” Brendon asks, his mouth still pressed to Riley’s head. “I think he’s ready.”
Ryan takes Brendon’s hand beneath the table and squeezes reassuringly before leaning over and pressing the button. The little light on the camera flashes green; his anxiety rears up a little before he remembers that the camera is attached to the computer, and this is airing live.
He smiles. “Hi, everyone. Uh, I guess you know who we are if you’re watching this, but. I’m Ryan Ross.”
“And I’m Brendon Urie,” Brendon lifts his mouth from Riley’s head to smile widely. “We’re from Panic at the Disco, and this is our son, Riley. Riley, can you say hi?”
Riley looks up at the camera and smiles in that flirtatious way that gets every girl they see on the streets cooing.
Brendon and Ryan look at each other and smile. For one of the first times since he heard the word ‘pregnant,’ Ryan’s nerves are fine.