Fighting the Flow
Title: Fighting the Flow
Author: qtlymakingnoise
Rating: R (non-graphic sexual content)
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (Brendon/Sarah, Brendon/Shane, Brendon/Audrey, Ryan/Jac, Ryan/Z, other minor pairings)
Summary: Brendon is stubborn and Ryan is confused; the push and pull of power in a dysfunctional relationship, and the difficulties involved.
Word Count: ~9000
Disclaimer: I own none of the people involved in this story, and none of it actually happened.
Author Notes: Loads of thanks to ivesia19 for being a makeshift beta and looking over this for me. Written for the Album Anticipation at rydenrevival.
After
When Brendon thinks about it, he's really not surprised that he and Ryan have had such a tumultuous relationship. All the highs and lows make sense, in hindsight. Granted, in the midst of heartbreak and conflict, he didn't really see it that way; he couldn't really see the way that their relationship, their time together, as fucked up as it was, made sense.
Before
Ryan is a bitch. Brendon remembers that, first and foremost, of his first rehearsal with what would become Panic!. Ryan has hair that was too long, too greasy, pants that are too loose, and a stare that's more holier-than-thou, you-know-I'm-judging-you, than it had any right to be. His voice is meek, flat, and expressionless, and when he tries to show Brendon a few opening chords for one of his songs, his fingers shift to the wrong fret on more than one occasion.
Spencer seems friendly enough, giving Ryan occasional glares if Ryan let his tone become too snappish. Brent seems awkward and apologetic that he had brought Brendon to Bitch-Central. Brendon doesn't know how to tell him that he doesn't really mind- at least he would have something to laugh at later tonight, maybe a good story to tell his parents over the dinner table.
When the practice (Brendon wanted to laugh when they called it that; they were a shitty garage band that would probably go nowhere, so practice seemed a little bit like jumping the gun) ends, Ryan dismisses him with curt nod, Spencer with a cordial smile and a handshake (which, seriously, were they forty?), and Brent with a ride home in his beaten down, rusty Ford and an apologetic stare.
Brendon gets out of the car and forgets about the bitch with the shaky hands and greasy hair until Ryan calls him and tells him that they would appreciate his presence at the next practice. Brendon manages to hide his snort over the crackly phone line and agrees.
--
So when, two weeks later, Ryan has his hands down the back of Brendon's pants and is groping at the skin of his ass cheeks, Brendon could honestly say that he's surprised. Maybe his hands were shaky on the fretboard, but they are steady as his ragged fingernails trail across his skin, leaving a stinging pain that Brendon moans at. Ryan lets out a gasp as Brendon's hips buck, biting onto Brendon's shoulder (still covered with an old, faded Blink-182 shirt), and Brendon grimaces at the sharp burn, pulling back and leaning down until he is biting at Ryan's collarbone. He aims to leave a bruise.
Brendon can see the drumstick from where he had chucked it across the room (Not at Ryan, just near him, in his general vicinity) when Ryan had made one snide comment too many about how Brendon could put a little more effort into the band, please, like maybe showing up to practice on time. (Which, okay, he was like, ten minutes late, and his mom wouldn't let him leave, so it's not like it was his fault.) Brent and Spencer had thrown up their hands and walked out, tired of their constant back-and-forth bickering.
(After the second "practice", Brendon had become fed up with Ryan and his hair flips, because honestly, if you have to flip your hair so often and in such a bitchy fashion, maybe it's time for a hair cut, you fucktard. He had lost his patience with Ryan's constant criticisms of no, no, you have to do it like this, you're doing it wrong, do it right, goddamnit, and started to fight back. He was in the band, too, now, whether Ryan liked it or not, and he wasn't going to be pushed around.)
After the door closed behind their rhythm section, Ryan had just started yelling, screaming, and Brendon had yelled back until he was hoarse, until his voice broke in an embarrassingly high-pitched noise; and then Ryan had stopped, suddenly, as if he had been startled into being quiet. He rushed forward, pushing Brendon against a wall, forcing his mouth against Brendon's, opening it with a fierce tongue and sharp bites, until Brendon started to kiss back, started to push back against Ryan's chest until they were on Spencer's grandma's couch, Brendon on top and biting at his collarbones while Ryan scratches the hell out his ass.
--
After Brendon is kicked out for skipping church and three D's on one report card, he realizes how screwed he is. He's a senior in high school with only summer jobs with his dad under his belt. Suddenly he has a job to find, an apartment to get, rent to pay, a band (which he was now the lead singer of, thanks very much) to front, and classes to pass. Maybe when his mom had given him an ultimatum ("Clean up your act, Brendon, go to seminary and bring those grades up, or you're no longer welcome with us." "Fine. Fuck you, then."), he hadn't thought through his decision very well.
He couch-surfs for a week or so, alternating between Spencer (who had the most comfortable couch and the best food), Ryan (where he had to sleep on the floor, and the air always smelled bitter, like wine that had dried in the bottom of a glass), and Frank (his closest friend from before the band, who gave him awkward smiles and had the best water pressure) , until he manages to lie his way into a shitty apartment with a broken heater and three deadbolts on the door. There is a single room and a futon that is stuck in the horizontal position, so at least he doesn't have to worry about finding a cheap bed.
Ryan stays the night, sometimes, when the air at his house becomes too foul to stand anymore, and Brendon lets him share his futon. Ryan grudgingly buys gallons of milk, in return, and gives Brendon dry handjobs, because he likes it if Brendon hisses a little. Brendon always makes sure to pay him back with interest, in the form of a purple hickey, high enough where he couldn't hide it with a shirt, even if he wanted to.
--
Brendon watches Ryan and Pete laugh at each other, smiling widely, and he can't help but wonder: what the fuck was so funny? He hasn't seen Ryan laugh like that, or make eyes at someone like that, not even after Brendon had let Ryan fuck him, even if he had demanded to be on top, to ride him. He wonders what has Ryan's eyes crinkling like that and what Pete had done that was so special to warrant Ryan putting his arm around his shoulder, so companionably, so casually, like that was where it belonged.
Brendon takes a sip out of his beer (Pete had bought it for them, since they were all still underage, but when Ryan had shaken his head and declined his drink quietly, Pete had set his down, as well, pushing it away) and turns back to another boy Pete had introduced them to named William, who has long limbs and long hair, a grin just mischievous and cat-like enough to catch Brendon's interest.
Brendon quickly calculates how much he's had to drink (only two and a half beers, and it's not like he's a lightweight, so he should be okay) and smirks. "So, William. Ever have a minor fuck you?"
William's smile only gets bigger as he shifts in his seat, as though in anticipation, and says, "No, but I'll try anything once."
Brendon takes William's hand and leads him into one of Pete's guest rooms, passing Ryan and wiggling his hips just enough to be obvious. He pretends that he can't feel Ryan's gaze on him as he presses William against the door before stumbling through it and slamming it behind them.
--
After Brendon's one night stand with William, Ryan doesn't talk about anything but Pete for two weeks. Brendon has a migraine after the first day and spends his time constantly on the verge of snapping Ryan's shiny new sidekick in half, if it doesn't shut the fuck up with the vibrating and the tapping of keys. He spends every free minute in his bunk, away from Ryan and the recording equipment and the other guys who didn't seem to get that he had a headache, okay, and maybe he wasn't up for recording at the moment.
The apartment they shared is small, and it seems even smaller with Ryan's "Pete said it sounds better if we record drums, bass, vocals, then guitar, so they're in sync" and "Pete says that you should be drinking lemon tea with honey every day, like Patrick does" and "I was talking to Pete, and he said that..."
Brendon manages to grit his teeth and bear it, ignore his migraine and keep on with recording, until one day, in the middle of tracking a song tentatively titled The Beckoning Conductor, Ryan stops him, ignoring the producer's objections, and says "I sent a sample of vocals to Pete, and he said that it sounds like you're-"
"Like I'm what, Ryan? Please, please, tell me what Pete fucking Wentz thinks, since I haven't heard enough about him since we got here, and obviously his opinion matters more to me than anything else in the entire fucking world!" Brendon yells, screams really, and it takes a moment to feel bad, to feel anything but his pure, unadulterated rage.
Ryan's face grows stony, his body gone still, until he whirls around dramatically and leaves the room, retreating without a response.
Brendon feels himself deflate, and cues the producer to start the track on his headphones again.
--
Once the album is released, and they're sent out on tour, things pick up. Brendon doesn't have to lie in his bunk, in the same apartment, in the same damn town in fucking Maryland. Now, he can travel in his bus across the entire fucking country. He can drink, smoke, fuck all that he wants. If he doesn't want to listen to Ryan bitch or Spencer sigh or Brent grumble, he can just. Leave. He can move to a different bus, or a different part of the bus, or leave the venue and go on a walk. His entire life is on wheels, transient, and there's a crazy, uncontrollable freedom in that.
Ryan gets pissed when he leaves the venue or the bus without telling anyone, glares and purses his mouth in annoyance for hours, until they're alone. Then, he pushes Brendon against the wall and gropes harshly, biting his lip and pulling, gripping tightly. Brendon gives as good as he gets, until they're fucking and Brendon could feel Ryan's anger in his bruises and hear them in his grunts and groans, touch them in the tense muscles of his shoulders.
It's only worse when Brendon shows up to the venue from a trip out, still wet and loose from the stranger he had let fuck him. Ryan pounds into him harder then, bites until he beaks skin or Brendon cries out in pain. Ryan's muscles get tighter and Brendon's hips have more bruises, but the bus keeps on moving, and the shows keep on coming.
--
By the end of the first tour, Brendon's ready for a break. The novelty of touring has worn off, and the freedom that he had taken advantage of so liberally at first has become too much responsibility.
But the thing is, he doesn't have a place to go. His apartment had been rented out to someone else, and he can't bring himself to move back into his parent's house again. Spencer's is out of the question; he deserves time with his family, away from the band, and Brent just says "No." When Brendon turns wide eyes onto Ryan, he sighs and shrugs. That's more than enough answer for Brendon.
Ryan has a nice apartment, comparatively speaking. There's only one bedroom, but it is separated from the living room and kitchen by an actual hallway that branches off into the bathroom and the bedroom. Brendon drags his suitcase in, drops it almost immediately in front of the door, and heads straight for the bedroom. He collapses onto the queen-sized bed, and lets his eyes rest, feeling the solid ground beneath him and appreciating the stillness of the ground, the stagnancy of the air. The mattress bounces as Ryan collapses down next to him, pushing him over enough that they aren't touching.
When Brendon wakes up, fully dressed and over the blankets, he's curled into Ryan's side, hand curved into a passive fist on his chest. Ryan is holding Brendon's back, pulling him closer, and Brendon can only take a deep breath and luxuriate in the feeling for a moment before he's drifting off again.
--
They have a show in Vegas that week, and Ryan introduces Brendon to a girl named Jac, with blond hair and clothes so scene that it hurts. She brings a girl named Audrey, hair dyed blond and black, alternating stripes, and he watches as they interlock pinkies and seem to speak without words. Jac kisses Ryan deeply, looks at Brendon as if she's daring him to object, and then nudges Audrey over to him.
Audrey smiles, a sweeter smile than he had expected, and asks him if he wants to get out of there. He agrees, and they end up fucking on the couch in the green room, because Brendon thinks she looks too delicate to do it against the wall. She's soft and curvy in a way that Ryan never was, and that feels foreign in his hands. He doesn't dislike it, actually he enjoys most of it, except for the high-pitched sounds she makes as he presses in, the way her moans seem fake and irritatingly feminine.
Ryan enters the green room twenty minutes after they finish, Jac trailing behind him, looking as disheveled as Brendon feels. The show they play that night is jumping, on beat but still frenetic, and they fuck as soon as they get off stage. Brendon sleeps in Ryan's bed that night, naked beneath the covers and just barely brushing against Ryan with every deep breath.
--
They become something of a group, the four of them; Jac, Ryan, Brendon and Audrey. They double date and hang out together, make plans with one of them, the unspoken invitation to the rest obvious.
It's a regular night of bowling, except for that this time, Jac and Audrey kiss each other goodnight, and Brendon and Ryan watch, then turn to each other, raising an eyebrow, then nodding in agreement. They all fuck, Brendon gripping onto Ryan's cock as he goes down on Audrey, while she makes out with Jac, then switching it up, Ryan fucking Jac as she gropes at Audrey's breasts, heaving with breath as Brendon pounds into her from behind, and another variation, Brendon riding Ryan as Jac and Audrey stroke and kiss each of them.
It's a clusterfuck of an orgy, with clear divisions in relationships, borders drawn and tested and defended. Ryan and Brendon end up falling asleep together, and neither wake up when Jac and Audrey leave.
Jac breaks up with Ryan the next day, and Brendon dumps Audrey when he finds out.
--
When they find out they're going to Europe for a tour (which is insane, really, fucking Europe) and Brent groans and whines about how they just got back - he'd really like to not have to leave so quickly, and then doesn't show up for a concert the next week. They make a decision pretty damn quickly about what to do. Salvation comes in the form of Jon Walker, who doesn't mind playing bass, even though he's really a guitar player, and puts up with Brendon's hysteria on the night that Brent doesn't show up.
The night they tell Brent that he's out of the band, Ryan begs Brendon to fuck him, and he doesn't even come. He tells Brendon that he didn't even really want to come, that wasn't the point, and they fall asleep in Ryan's bed, the curtains open and letting the faint moonlight and the artificial streetlights stream in.
--
The European tour goes smoothly, devoid of drama from missing members, but overflowing with thick accents thanking them for their music and crowds of rounded vowels and sharp consonants singing Ryan's lyrics back to him. Brendon befriends a photographer named Shane and they end up deciding to become roommates. Brendon's actually looking forward to having a home to go back to.
Jon settles into the band seamlessly, so that they don't notice where Brent should be; they can only observe where Jon is. He doesn't comment on Brendon's Red Bull intake, or Spencer's frequent hip-cocks, or Ryan's penchant for being a bitch to new people, or in the mornings, or when he's tired, or when it's been too long since a fuck, or when he hasn't had a chance to write.
He doesn't comment on how Brendon and Ryan always share a hotel room, when they're lucky enough to get one, and he doesn't comment on how their clothing is often mixed up together, so Ryan will be wearing a shirt that is Brendon's, jeans that are his, and boxers neatly labeled with BU in the waistband. He doesn't say anything about the times he catches them sitting closely together on the couch, speaking lowly into each other's ears, and he doesn't say anything about the grin that spreads across Brendon's face when Ryan goes out of his way to do something nice for him, or the way Ryan will blush when Brendon kisses his cheek bashfully and hands him a small present from the nearest corner store.
Jon doesn't comment on the bruises that dot the pale surface of Brendon's arms and hips, or the handprints marked in purple around Ryan's wrists. He doesn't say anything about the times he walks in on Brendon and Ryan kissing, teeth biting and nipping harshly.
Brendon knows this isn't because he doesn't notice, but rather because Jon doesn't consider it his business. Brendon is really glad that Jon joined them when he did.
--
They come back from the European Tour and immediately embark on The Summer Tour, their very first headling tour. Brendon is sometimes so shaken and taken aback by their success that he has to pinch himself, has to have Ryan confirm that they're headling a national fucking tour, with shows sold out months in advance, before he accepts that it's real.
They fall into the habit of performing during the stage show, making it theatrical and sexy: Brendon shaking his hips onto Ryan's leg, gripping his neck as they sing into the microphone, and it all becomes long, drawn-out foreplay. Little touches throughout the day. They all build together, all the way up till after the performance, when they'll finally seal the deal. It's not always rough, anymore, which Brendon can appreciate. Sometimes, it's light touches, just barely fleeting over his skin, or sometimes it's a heavy hand, weighed down with emotion and affection. Sometimes, Brendon pushes into Ryan until he's whining and pushing back, and other times, Ryan enters Brendon and takes his breath away.
Then Ryan's dad dies, and everything changes.
--
Ryan starts wearing his make-up thicker and stops touching Brendon. The stage show stops being the prelude to sex that makes Brendon feel full in the most intense way and starts being the only time of day that Brendon gets to touch Ryan. Ryan doesn't bother to meet Brendon's eyes anymore, and Brendon can feel the beginning of a sharp pain in his heart, the fissure of something he didn't know was able to be broken; he didn't know he had enough invested.
Brendon finds himself falling in the habit of disappearing again, leaving the venue and just walking. He doesn't fuck any strangers this time, and it takes him three hour-long walks to realize that he hadn't had sex with anybody but Ryan since Audrey. More than that, he hadn't wanted to. That night, after the show, he gets spectacularly drunk with Jon and cries himself to sleep.
The next morning, he sees his swollen eyes in the mirror and decides to snap the fuck out of it. He washes his face, and goes to put on some Queen as he sorts through his laundry, separating his clothes from Ryan's.
--
They're booked to perform at the VMAs, and Brendon knows he should be excited. He knows he should be over the moon that they were nominated, but, try as he might, he can't bring himself to be anything more than mildly looking forward to it. Brendon chooses not to notice how much shallower he feels, has felt since Ryan pulled away. He remembers the days when Ryan had greasy hair and could barely play his own songs, but his touch was sure and steady. He remembers the days that every time they had sex, it was rough fucking.
Brendon notices a small blond girl noticing Ryan; he notices Ryan noticing her back, and as he rehearses the dance, learns his steps and cues, he fights back the bile that manages to make it's way up this throat.
They perform, and all Brendon can remember is his shaky voice and the dancers spinning around him and Ryan. When the winner of their category is announced, somebody jumps up and steals their microphone. He lets it happen, takes the microphone back when he's finished, and proceeds to thank everybody responsible for their success. They're ushered backstage, and Ryan makes his way straight for the blond, and Brendon can't really feel anything but vague hurt.
--
Keltie becomes a fixture. Ryan starts to loosen at the shoulders, where he was still tight from Brendon's days of whoring around on their first tour, and Brendon can't really hate Keltie. She's sweet, and she teaches Brendon how to pole dance and lap dance and tango.
Shane takes pity on him one of the long nights in the cabin and drives with him to a club. There are flashing lights and sweat slick bodies, and Brendon ends up fucking him in the bathroom. He's tall, broad shouldered, and lets Brendon press him against the stall and pound into him. Brendon is so drunk, and he's not sure he'll remember Shane's name, so he bites his lip when he comes, groans into the back of his neck and pulls out, blowing him after he turns around and pushes at Brendon's shoulder.
When they come out of the bathroom, Shane runs to coat check to collect their belongings . He hands Brendon his coat and says, "It's time to go, Brendon." Brendon nods, and lets Shane take his forearm and pull him out of the club. They make the hour-long drive back to the cabin, and Brendon passes out on the couch as soon as he gets home.
He wakes up early the next morning, hungover and sore in his hips and thighs, and sees that someone has covered him with a blanket. He stumbles into the kitchen for some aspirin and coffee, and sees that Ryan has already awoken. He's sitting at the breakfast booth, curled up, sipping his coffee. He nods at the coffee maker, and a mug is already brought down next to three small pills. He pops them, washes them down with a scalding gulp of coffee, and nods a thanks at Ryan. Brendon notices that Ryan's gaze fixates on a spot on his neck, and he feels a tender bruise, sucked onto his skin by Shane the previous night.
He turns his back and heads down the hallway into his room. He lays down face first and lets himself fall back asleep.
--
Keltie leaves the cabin the next day, and Brendon tries to be sad to see her go. He's sure that Ryan is, and he knows that Spencer and Jon will miss her. When Ryan is driving her to the airport, and Spencer and Jon are out by the lake, Shane blows him against the counter, making Brendon come so hard that he knocks over a stack of plates and breaks a glass. Ryan comes in as Brendon is tucking himself back into his pants and trying to sweep up the sharp shards of glass that decorate the floor.
Brendon is busy trying to avoid slicing his foot open when he feels Ryan's presence still standing in the doorway. Shane is sitting on the counter, and Brendon doesn't notice the streak of come across Shane's cheek until Ryan points it out with a quiet "You've got a little... just there." and gestures at his own cheek. Brendon picks up a chuck of glass and feels it cut open the sensitive palm of his hand.
--
Ryan spends more time in his room, and Brendon tries not to take note. Instead, he tries to focus on the way that Shane plays with his hand as they watch a movie together, or how Shane takes time to kiss him slowly, warming him up to anything fiercer than a gentle peck. Shane is always so gentle, so caring with him.
Ryan comes out of his room after three days with a song called True Love and it makes Brendon's stomach hurt to sing it. The lyrics are saccharine sweet and simplified, like they have to be stripped down to their core to make them honest. Shane takes pictures the entire first time he sings it and smiles afterward saying, "I've now documented an important part of history," and he winks.
--
Pete comes to visit them in the cabin, and he brings a suitcase full of illicit drugs. They spend a day stoned out of their mind, shotgunning bong hits off each other, and Brendon tries not to re-commit the feeling of Ryan's lips against his to memory. Jon and Ryan take mushrooms the next day and won't stop giggling. Spencer, Shane, and Brendon drop acid, and Brendon can't stop wondering at how connected he feels with everything, how Shane is always touching him, even when he isn't, and how he can feel Ryan's eyes on him, even when he's blinking, and how Spencer is always thinking, even when he's tripping.
They all snort coke together, the day after that, and Brendon hates it. Ryan and Jon seem to like it more, but Spencer and Brendon abstain the next time it's offered.
Brendon's favorite is the weed, and Shane doesn't mind getting high with him and fucking slowly, sluggishly, until everything is intense and shocking to the touch despite the dulling effects of the drugs. He feels safe, and it isn't until the verge of sleep that Brendon can feel the itch in his skin again, that something isn't as it should be.
--
Shane and Brendon settle into a routine of sex and living together; they have their own separate rooms, but more often than not, they sleep in Shane's, which is the biggest. Shane is often touring with them, and by the time they're on the Honda Civic Tour, Brendon figures that he's in some sort of a relationship with him. They always share a hotel room, and Shane has a bunk on the bus. Brendon wonders if maybe that's what being content is, happening so slowly that you barely even realize. Maybe that's what love is like; it sneaks up on you so quietly that you don't even notice, it's so subtle that Brendon can't even be sure he feels it.
--
Alex Greenwald is on the Honda Civic Tour, too, which Brendon didn't anticipate. He didn't anticipate his wicked grin and the way that his deadpan humor appealed to Ryan. He didn't anticipate walking in on them fucking over the arm of the couch on their tour bus. He didn't anticipate witnessing Ryan cheating on Keltie and then having the balls to get pissed at Brendon when he asks if Keltie knows.
He didn't anticipate the sharp pains in his chest that were supposed to have gone away or at least dulled, by then.
--
He didn't anticipate the blind rage that took over in Chicago.
Shane is off visiting friends, and Ryan and Brendon end up partnered in a hotel room for the first time since their first headlining tour. When he'll think about it later on, he'll notice that Ryan didn't do anything to set him off that night. Brendon's just angry, full of passion and rage and other emotions he won't have the fortification to articulate for years.
So he holds Ryan down and fucks him hard. He thrusts into Ryan until his own muscles burn with effort and Ryan is whimpering. He doesn't bother to pull out before he comes, and he doesn't bother to use a condom. Instead, when he's finished, he unwraps his hands from around Ryan's wrists and thinks about the bruises that would be there tomorrow, thinks about the bruises that circled his own wrists for so long. He pulls out and walks the few steps to his own bed, leaving Ryan naked and shivering, still hard, to clean up and take care of himself.
Brendon wishes he could feel sorry, but as the anger ebbs away, all that's left is exhaustion. He dreams about broken glass on stages and falling down the stairs without anybody to catch him.
--
The next night is almost the same, except that Brendon caught up with Ryan in the shower this time. Ryan comes before Brendon, this time, and Brendon watches as his come circles the drain. He tries not to think about all the places Ryan has been and who has been inside him and who he has been inside. He doesn't want to have to start using a condom, though he knows that would be the smart thing to do.
Maybe he just likes knowing that try as Ryan might, he'll never be able to wash Brendon all the way off of him.
--
Ryan starts to come back to the bus tweaking from the coke he probably shared with Alex. Brendon fucks him those nights, too, makes sure to do it even harder, so that Ryan will feel it tomorrow, even if he doesn't remember it clearly. With every thrust, he wonders why not me, why push me away, why am I not good enough, does this hurt yet and he swears I will hurt you until you know how it feels, you will regret this, fuck you for thinking you can control me.
Brendon is just thankful that Shane is either really, really forgiving, or really, really dumb.
--
On the Rock Band Live Tour, they fight almost as much as they fuck. Shane had decided to stay home for that tour, do some photography work outside of the band, widen his portfolio. Brendon gave him a kiss on the forehead and a wish of luck before they left and wondered if Shane would still be waiting when he came back.
Ryan is tweaked every night, and Brendon has to wonder where he even finds a reputable drug dealer in the cities they're in. Their shows are lackluster and boring, and Brendon can feel himself start to dread going on stage every night.
He blames Ryan for that; he resents him for taking away all the good things that have ever happened to him. And he lets Ryan know it.
"Fuck you! You don't get everything! You can't have the drugs and the band and Keltie! Have you told her about Alex yet? Have you told her about me? Or what about Kate? Or what about that other fucking blonde, Z or Q or some fucking letter because she's just so goddamn original, so fucking unique that she can't even have a name! She needs a letter!"
"It's none of your fucking business, Brendon!"
"Fuck you, it is my business! You're in my band, and you're ruining it! We're falling apart, and it's all your fucking fault!"
"My fault? It's my fault? I'm not your fucking scapegoat, Bren, you can't blame everything on me! Take some responsibility for your actions for once in your goddamn life and admit that you had a part of it, too! I'm not bringing this band down singlehandedly, so I'll be fucked if you get to blame all of this shit on me!"
Brendon takes an angry step forward and stretches his hand out, prodding Ryan roughly in the chest, watching as his glazed eyes took a second to react, barely energized for the argument from his drug-induced haze. "You have no fucking right," Brendon says, leaning his head forward enough to capture Ryan's mouth in a hate-filled kiss.
He wonders for a moment if he should be upset at how he could only feel hate in regards to Ryan now; if he should hurt at how completely their relationship had deteriorated. As he bites Ryan's tongue hard enough to taste copper, he decides that no, he shouldn't. It's not like there really was a relationship in the first place.
--
The tour ends, and Ryan and Jon disappear off together. Spencer starts to sleep in Brendon's guest room, and they don't talk about Ryan and his growing coke habit or Jon's distance from them.
Shane had left him, which Brendon figures he should be upset about it. He is upset, in the way you are when a good friend stops speaking to you but you don't know how to make it better. Brendon's sure that he could fix it if he tried hard enough, if he sweet-talked and promised and manipulated, but that's not the kind of person Brendon wants to be. He doesn't want to be like Ryan, who uses people until they weren't good enough anymore, then tosses them aside.
Brendon's not going to be used again, and he's not going to make things worse for Shane than he already had. Shane can leave with the dignity Brendon can only wish he possessed, and Brendon's glad for him.
--
Keltie breaks up with Ryan on Valentine's day, and Brendon tries not to feel triumphant and vindictive.
--
When Spencer came back from a lunch meeting with Ryan, shrugged off his coat and sank into the couch like there was nothing else holding him up, Brendon knew it was over. He can feel his muscles tense and shake, can feel quaking in every fiber of his being, and he wonders if he can physically withstand heartbreak like this.
It's on a whole other caliber than his heartbreak from just Ryan. There was still a friendship there after Ryan started to pull away, and they had Jon's firm, guiding hand to steer them in the right direction. Now, the music is gone, their relationships are frayed and broken, and Brendon doesn't even know if he's going to be able to stay in the music business without his band.
He cries, right there in front of Spencer, and Spencer puts his arm around his shoulders and lets Brendon break.
--
Brendon meets a girl named Sarah at a concert, and she's sweet enough. He's more than lonely enough. They end up going back to her place and screwing. Brendon falls asleep shortly after and doesn't manage to sneak away before she wakes up, and he finds himself in a relationship.
He decides that this is already better than his thing with Shane, because at least he knows what it is going into it. And there's no Ryan to distract or tempt, so he has to be doing something right. Right?
--
Brendon's not a complete dick, is the thing, so eventually, he decides that he has to become emotionally invested in Sarah. So he does. He writes her a song and tries to forget about all the things that Sarah is not, and focus in on the good things about her, like the way she makes him pancakes every Saturday. He really like pancakes, and so he will really like Sarah.
Spencer watches with a slightly disapproving glare, and Brendon can't decide if it's because he's in a dysfunctional relationship again or if because he's in a dysfunctional relationship with somebody who isn't Spencer's ex-best friend. Brendon knows that Spencer is still protective over Ryan, doesn't like when the press bashes on him and Jon. Spencer is hurting, and Brendon does his best to make it better, but honestly, it's taking all of what Brendon has to get by. He doesn't know how much he can spare for Spencer.
Then Brendon and Spencer catch wind of the AP interview they gave, where Jon covered their name in mud, said they didn't want to put in the effort to making their own music and songs.
Brendon gets pissed, gets angrier than he has that first night Ryan came back tweaked out and Brendon had to fuck him. Spencer is right there with him. They spend that night writing lyrics that won't ever make it to the album that they will write, and when Sarah calls him, he presses ignore until she stops.
--
After awhile, the anger fades, and Brendon is left with melancholy, bittersweet, hurt all over again. Spencer and Brendon keep making music, and they don't bother to listen to Ryan and Jon's new album. Sarah is really great for all of this, holding his hand when it starts to shake and letting him yell when he occasionally needs to yell. They move in together, and Brendon gets used to waking up to her face.
--
When Ryan shows up at his door at midnight, Brendon hasn't seen or spoken to him in three months. Their album in on the verge of being released, and The Young Veins have been on hiatus for a while. Brendon tries not to draw comparisons about how Ryan treats bands like he treats relationships, disposable after one use, maybe two.
Ryan isn't high or tweaking or drunk. He's soft around the edges, like Brendon hasn't seen in a while, and his hair is long and curly. He's wearing a polo t-shirt and dress pants, and Brendon feels woefully underdressed in his pj pants and thick-rimmed glasses. His chest is bare, and he shivers at the breeze that passes through his open door.
"Hey, Brendon," Ryan says, quiet and understated. There's inflection there, which is more than Brendon could've expected two years ago.
Brendon opens his door, ushering Ryan in, and Brendon wonders why he's making it so easy- Ryan fought tooth and nail to be out of Brendon's life and grasp, and now that he is, he's trying to get back in? He has a girl upstairs, a sweet one who cares about him, but he's still letting Ryan in the door, letting him sit on the couch and examine the picture that Sarah had set on the side table. It's of the two of them in Disneyworld, smiling and holding each other like a young couple should. Ryan sets the picture back down carefully and leans back into the cushions.
"What are you doing here?" Brendon finally has to ask, because Ryan's making himself comfortable on the couch, looking for all the world like he belongs there. Brendon remembers picking out furniture for this house when he bought it, remembers Ryan critiquing patterns and shapes from over his shoulder.
"Did you know that Z and I broke up?" Ryan asks. Brendon shrugs and nods, because yes, he had caught wind of the gossip. The label and management misfits make for good gossip, even if everybody likes to pretend like they don't know them.
Ryan folds his hands over and over, a habit that he had even when Brendon first met him. Brendon remembers his bitchy glare, and tries to decide if he liked the glare more or less than the hazy stare that had become more prominent in those last few months, before the frayed string holding them together had snapped.
"She was cheating on me. Screwing Alex Greenwald." Brendon bites his lip at the irony, tries to hold in his comment about how karma's a bitch, that he's surprised it's only now circling back to bit him in the ass. "It's okay. You can laugh. I know it's funny in a really shitty, morbid way."
Brendon doesn't laugh. Instead, he sinks down onto the couch, close enough to Ryan to touch him, and listens to Ryan breathe.
"I'm not heartbroken, you know," Ryan says, after a few moments of silence. "I wasn't in love with her. She was just fun. Something to keep myself entertained. She could make me laugh." Brendon feels a weight gather and drop in his stomach as he realizes that nothing has changed. Ryan is still a manipulative dick, self-centered and egotistical, just like a rock star should be. He didn't know that he was still hoping until after it had been extinguished.
But Brendon is different now; maybe he's not as volatile, but he is certainly still as stubborn. He was never afraid to stand up to Ryan, and once upon a time, he thought that was what Ryan liked about him. Now he knows that Ryan doesn't really know when to stop, and even after he's been taken down a peg, he's just waiting for an opportunity to gain the ground he lost.
"That is such a shitty thing to say, Ryan Ross. People aren't your playthings, you're not a kid anymore, and the fact that you screw with other people's emotions is so fucked up. It speaks volumes about your character, Ross." Brendon spits this out quietly, keeping his head raised and maintaining eye contact with Ryan. He is done cowering and fighting for power. That game they always played- who could be on top, who could leave the most bruises, who could take control with the least amount of words- was too complicated, and Brendon knows that maybe, if it had been simpler, Ryan and Brendon could've been together and still had the band. Brendon wouldn't be sharing a bed every night with a woman who tried too hard, and Ryan wouldn't be fucked up on some inhibitor most nights.
"She never thought we were more than what we were. Z wasn't you, Brendon. She didn't set unrealistic expectations and then cry when I didn't meet them."
"Unrealistic expectations? Ryan, I never asked you to be anything but yourself. Fuck, I didn't even ask for fidelity or your trust. If anything, I set my sights too low. You can be so much more than some douchebag screw-up."
Ryan looked up, lifting his chin, adapting that haughty, I'm-right-you're-wrong look that Brendon was so accustomed to. "See, right there! This, this douchebag screw-up, that's who I am. And you're too fucking stubborn for me! You're too much work! You don't ever let things slide, and it kills me!"
"First of all, Ryan, lower your fucking voice. Sarah's asleep upstairs, and I'm not gonna screw her up like I did Shane. Secondly, of course I'm stubborn. It's like you've never met me before. I don't let shit slide because you don't deserve it, Ryan, and you need to fucking learn how to let other people take charge for once in your goddamn life," he hissed. "You make everything more complicated than it has to be. I loved you, Ryan, whether you wanted to see it or not, and you fucked that up."
"Stop putting everything on me, Brendon! We're right where we left off, aren't we? It's not all my fault, okay? I was fucked up, and scared, and you were so goddamn confusing! It's not like I woke up and thought how many ways can I hurt Brendon today? I just wanted my head to stop whirling and to have space to breathe. You were suffocating me."
Brendon could feel his shoulders slump as the fight left him in a rush. There was nothing to gain from this argument, and his head was starting to hurt like it hadn't for almost two years.
"If this is all you came to say, Ryan, you can leave now. I got the message loud and clear." Brendon ignores how weak and tired his voice sounded. He's not used to having his voice taken away, and he feels cold with how defenseless he knows he is.
Brendon sees Ryan shake his head out of the corner of his eyes. "That's not what I came to say."
"Okay, then. Say what you came to say, and then leave."
"I wasn't ready, then. I wasn't ready for you to be there, all the time. I am now."
Brendon could see the clear hazel of Ryan's eyes, could see his hands and the way they were turning over and over as he fidgeted. He could see where the callouses had turned yellow from nicotine, and where he had bitten at his nails, until they were jagged and uneven. Brendon remembers the feeling of those nails digging into his flesh, Ryan's mouth, soft or fierce against his, or his tongue lapping at the red, raised marks his nails had left behind.
Brendon also remembers angry fucks with Ryan tripping on cocaine and screaming matches that end in merciless thrusting and the feeling of Ryan loose around him, still wet from Alex earlier.
"You need to leave, Ryan. You're too late, and it doesn't really matter anymore, if you're ready."
Ryan swallows, so loudly that Brendon can hear it, like he's trying to hold back emotion, or something, which is bullshit. Brendon doesn't remember a time that Ryan had enough emotion toward Brendon to hold back, so why the fuck would he start now?
"Brendon, I'm telling you that-"
"You're telling me that now that it's convenient for you, now that you have nothing to lose and everything to gain, now that I'm finally settling down into a life that makes me feel just a little comfortable, now is when you want me. Well, fuck you, Ryan. I'm not a whore, you can't beckon and dismiss me whenever you feel like it. You need to leave."
Ryan lets out a shaky, measured breath as he stands up, and Brendon immediately follows suit. He doesn't want to be seen on a lower level, doesn't want to give Ryan any more advantages than he already has. "You can see yourself out," he says as he turns to go upstairs, to crawl back into bed with Sarah and quietly hyperventilate himself into exhaustion. Brendon isn't too keen on leaving Ryan alone in his house, but he's not sure how much of a choice he has; his hands are already shaking, and his chest is already starting to heave.
--
Spencer stops by the next day, tells him that Ryan stayed the night with him last night. Brendon pretends to be surprised and asks after his welfare. Spencer says that Ryan wanted to stay with him for awhile, that he had just forgotten to pay his bills again. Brendon can see how this is a plausible story, and a little corner of his mind lets himself wonder if maybe Ryan came to him because Brendon had a history of being easy for Ryan Ross, where Spencer did not, and it would be simpler to manipulate Brendon into letting him stay. If that was the case, it was a wasted effort; Spencer was also a little easy for Ryan Ross's affections, and let him stay almost unquestionably.
With Ryan's house out of commission, his friends hesitant about picking between Z and Ryan, and a collective laziness, Ryan just sort of falls into their group again. He makes his peace with Pete with a nod and a text message, and both Dallon and Ian tease him mercilessly for his hipster tendencies, which Ryan grudgingly finds humor in. Sarah remains the lone dissenter in their group; even Brendon has settled into the mindset of seeing Ryan almost every day, after the first two weeks. She makes no secret of her distaste for ugly patterned clothing or messy hair-cuts, and her sharp, snide, not-so-subtle comments leave the room full of tension when she let one slip. She makes it a point to always be touching Brendon, holding his hand or sitting on his lap, making it clear that he is her territory.
Ryan watches with eyes that were slightly pitying (at least, that was how Brendon chose to interpret it), and occasional raised eyebrows. Sometimes, there would be a sad sort of tilt to his head that Brendon found familiar in the bitterest ways, from when there were black ravens on his face and three feet of distance between them.
But Brendon has to give Ryan credit; he doesn't bring up the night of fruitless arguments and hissed accusations, and he doesn't let it slip to Spencer, at least not that Brendon can tell.
--
But the thing is, as good as Sarah has been to him, Brendon's never felt anything more than mild attraction and thankfulness for her.
And now that he thinks about it, there are actually a ton of different things about Sarah that he doesn't like; that he hates actually. And they aren't even trivial things, like that she leaves the toothpaste on the counter instead of putting it away (which she does) or that she never puts more soda in the fridge when it gets low (which drives him crazy). They're the big things, like that she is such a pushover; she lets people walk all over her, almost without reservation, Brendon especially. Or that she won't contribute her opinion when they're discussing something important. Or that she doesn't seem to be concerned about bad things that are happening in the world or their country, as long as they don't directly affect her. He wonders how he fell into step with somebody so superficial when his entire life's work is about looking beyond the obvious and finding the nuances and meanings in the music he writes.
Ryan starts to sit closer on the couch, starts to touch a little more liberally, offers to share headphones for “This new band I found, Brendon, they're still pretty small, from this town in fucking Alaska, and it's sounds like the bastard child of funk and reggae, you'll love it.”
--
Brendon notices little things about Ryan again, like that his smile is wider than it ever used to be. He has laugh lines and crinkles around his eyes from taking too much joy out of life, and while before, he used to be still and stiff, now he's loose and at ease, like he doesn't have anything to worry about.
He's as slender as ever, but his face is rounder all around, and his elbows no longer look like they could cut glass. He wears beaded bracelets that hang over his tattoos and cover just enough to leave a hint of mystery as to what they're saying.
Ryan makes jokes more often, jokes that are about genuine enjoyment, not just dry irony or sarcasm. His laugh isn't as bitter, and his attitude seems to have softened.
All in all, he's just not much of a bitch anymore.
--
So, two weeks after Brendon finally relaxes around Ryan, about a month after Ryan starts hanging around them again, Brendon can honestly say that he's not surprised to find Ryan sucking gently on his bottom lip, fingers holding firmly, but not too tightly, to Brendon's hips. His hands are just as steady as they had been seven years before, when they gripped at his flesh, but they didn't dig in this time, didn't try to cause Brendon pain. Brendon brings his head up for air, feeling Ryan going to suck on the skin between his shoulder and his neck, just starting to let it ache before he soothed the pain away with a gentle tongue.
Brendon can see the book on the floor, where he had set it after he had pulled in from Ryan's grasp and sat in his lap, earning his attention, he can see the picture on the side table of him and Sarah in Disneyworld, and he can see the band picture from just before their first headlining show. He remembers when that picture was taken, how Ryan had been gripping Brendon's hand so tightly behind their hips, how his hand had been shaking as he applied the make-up to his cheekbones. He remembers the slick feeling of the silk Rose Vest and how much he hated that hip-tie, how it was always a bitch to untangle and get out of the way.
He lets his hands wander down to find Ryan's and entwines their fingers, holding them together as tightly as Ryan had done back then, and brings his mouth down to kiss Ryan again, slow and sweet, like it hadn't been for ages.
--
Sarah hadn't been too happy when she found out. But, people-pleaser that she was, Brendon had just said earnestly, “This is what would make me happy, Sarah, and I'm sorry that I hurt you, but I need to do this for myself.” And sure, he feels a little bit like a dick, but he had never belonged with Sarah, and he had never really been with Sarah, not the way he had been with Ryan.
Spencer only raises an eyebrow and sighs, like he's thinking not this shit again. Brendon wants to let him know that it's really not that shit again; it's different, and he knows it in the way that the itch beneath his skin had subsided, finally, and in the way his breath had settled into a rhythm again.
After
When Brendon really stops to think about it, he and Ryan have a pretty fucked-up relationship. They each had heartbreak for each other and latent resentments and grudges better left forgotten. But past all the difficulties they had gotten through, they still fit together, as tight and compact as they had the first time Brendon had let himself relax enough to fall asleep in Ryan's arms.