Drabble
+Drabble: Brendon and Ryan+
There’s a dream that Brendon used to have. It was less of a dream and more of a fantasy, but it was something that he knew was never going to come true.
In the dream - fantasy - whatever, it was just him and Ryan. It was the two of them together and alone and happy about it. It would always be slightly faded around the edges - the look of this fantasy, but when the Ryan in his mind reached out to touch Brendon, it almost felt real.
Now, Brendon isn’t expecting anything like that. Both he and Ryan are far past the once ever-constant tension that clouded their early days of touring. They’ve both loved other people. They’ve fucked and fought and fled from other people, and somehow, it’s led them to this moment here.
The light seems too bright now. It’s nowhere near the soft glow of his imagination, but this way, Brendon can see every dip in Ryan’s body. He can take in every bump and bruise that his own hands have left behind.
Lying on the bed, Ryan isn’t covered by much more than the remnants of the last hour, but his body is flushed with warmth. As Brendon leans down and presses a kiss to Ryan’s chest, the skin there turns white at the pressure and then darkens again to the deep pink.
Outside, the world is still moving. People are still going about their days. No one knows about this yet. It’s just the two of them: just Brendon and Ryan. They don’t have to deal with anything else at this moment than whether or not they should shower now or just let the sweat dry on their bodies.
It’s nothing like the fantasy that Brendon once had, playing beneath his eyelids, keeping him company on long nights alone in his bunk. He and Ryan didn’t fit together perfectly. Their moments were not always in sync, but the falter of his hips against Ryan’s left bruises that Brendon traces with his fingers and kisses, listening to the hiss of Ryan’s voice - far more real than just a dream.
There’s a dream that Brendon used to have. It was less of a dream and more of a fantasy, but it was something that he knew was never going to come true.
In the dream - fantasy - whatever, it was just him and Ryan. It was the two of them together and alone and happy about it. It would always be slightly faded around the edges - the look of this fantasy, but when the Ryan in his mind reached out to touch Brendon, it almost felt real.
Now, Brendon isn’t expecting anything like that. Both he and Ryan are far past the once ever-constant tension that clouded their early days of touring. They’ve both loved other people. They’ve fucked and fought and fled from other people, and somehow, it’s led them to this moment here.
The light seems too bright now. It’s nowhere near the soft glow of his imagination, but this way, Brendon can see every dip in Ryan’s body. He can take in every bump and bruise that his own hands have left behind.
Lying on the bed, Ryan isn’t covered by much more than the remnants of the last hour, but his body is flushed with warmth. As Brendon leans down and presses a kiss to Ryan’s chest, the skin there turns white at the pressure and then darkens again to the deep pink.
Outside, the world is still moving. People are still going about their days. No one knows about this yet. It’s just the two of them: just Brendon and Ryan. They don’t have to deal with anything else at this moment than whether or not they should shower now or just let the sweat dry on their bodies.
It’s nothing like the fantasy that Brendon once had, playing beneath his eyelids, keeping him company on long nights alone in his bunk. He and Ryan didn’t fit together perfectly. Their moments were not always in sync, but the falter of his hips against Ryan’s left bruises that Brendon traces with his fingers and kisses, listening to the hiss of Ryan’s voice - far more real than just a dream.