Deprivation [s/a]
Title: Deprivation
Author: selectivelyurie
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (the one and only)
Summary: Somewhere between "Hi, I'm Brendon" and now...he and Ryan fell into this really strange relationship.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not true (or is it?)
Beta: alphabetatoast
Author Notes: This is meant to hurt. There is no happy ending, no life altering declarations of love, no tears of joy. It's the story of Brendon and Ryan growing up, growing attached and growing apart. It's messy and tragic and beautiful but hey, isn't that the epitome Brendon and Ryan?
I want to dedicate this to a few people who held my hand over this 6 month perfection period. behindthec (who has gotten really good at listening to my rambles and persuading me to turn them into fic, much like this one), my_obsession_xx (because she is my boo ♥), ivesia19 (because she loves me enough to let me submit this even if it's a bit sad), and especially to alphabetatoast (because she gets it, all of it. ♥)
For rydenrevival, because we need a little more love :)
Brendon first notices it the second night they're in Maryland.
The stress of recording is putting a strain on everything and the increased hostility causes a decrease in productivity which means Ryan's forcing them to work until the wee hours of the morning or until someone walks out for lack of a better excuse.
Spencer's walked out twice in the past four nights, mainly because he'd bitched at Ryan from one AM 'til three and managed to get Ryan's permission to leave in the form of an angry, "Then just fucking get out!" So Spencer had, and Ryan had groaned, pinched his nose in frustration and chased Spencer down the hall, said, "Please. I didn't mean it, I- Spence, you know what this record, what this band means to me. I just want it to be perfect and -" and Spencer had said, "I know, Ryan. But I'm still going to bed," and left him with the comforting thought that maybe tomorrow he wouldn't want to murder him with his kick drum pedal.
Brendon hasn't walked out yet, though he's been tempted pretty much every time Ryan opens his mouth. Brendon will sing and Ryan will stop him to criticize and Brendon will sing again and Ryan will stop him and criticize some more and it all keeps going in this pattern that ends with Brendon singing the same line for thirty minutes straight or until Ryan finally makes a horrible screeching sound and storms out of the room, yanking his hair. Once, Brendon sang a single line seven different ways and on the eighth try Ryan had started in before Brendon even got to the fourth syllable, shouting venomous, accusing comments of how Brendon obviously didn't have the talent, the drive, the heart to sing something that didn't sound like a dying cat. Brendon didn't walk out but he sang the entire chorus to Time to Dance with tears in his eyes.
As for Brent, Ryan can't talk to him without a raised voice and snide tone. It's Brent, it happens.
Everyone one is on edge and coupled with exhaustion, and by day five all Brendon wants to do is curl up into a ball in the corner of the studio and sleep for a thousand years. Somewhere between "Hi, I'm Brendon" and now - Brendon tucked into himself behind Brent's amps - he and Ryan fell into this really strange relationship. It mainly constitutes Brendon admiring the way Ryan's face scrunches up when he's written something in his notebook he doesn't like and finding himself daydreaming up ridiculously embarrassing scenarios of him and Ryan playing footsie under the lunch table. Ryan just makes awkward, vaguely sexual gestures.
Brendon's asleep when Ryan comes in, shuffling over paper littered across the floor, of ideas that weren't good enough, that will never be good enough, and Ryan slips down onto the floor and presses tight up against Brendon's side, clinging. At first, Brendon just twitches in response, body stirring into the awareness of another body so close, but then Ryan tucks his face into the side of Brendon's neck and murmurs something soft and apologetic, lips ghosting over Brendon's throat.
He doesn't mean to grumble, to sound disgruntled or slur his words together in a way that sounds like he's cranky, but he shifts and does so regardless, shrugging Ryan off in the process.
"Shh, shh. Go back t'sleep," Ryan whispers, hardly audible to Brendon's awakening senses and Ryan wiggles close again, curling a hand around Brendon's right hip and squeezes softly.
Brendon's muscles relax and he melts under Ryan's hand, snuffling something like, "Don' leave, okay? Stay," and Ryan really can't fight it when Brendon twists his fingers in Ryan's shirt, pawing, grounding him. So Ryan hums, rubs his thumb over the bone under the skin of Brendon's hip and Brendon rasps, "I'll sing better tomorrow. Promise."
Brendon falls asleep with Ryan's fingers beneath his shirt and when he wakes in the morning, Ryan is complaining to Spencer about the arctic temperature that has crept into the room. Brendon spends the rest of the day asking Ryan if he's feeling okay.
This is where it starts.
----
They need to kick Brent out of the band and Ryan is a raving bitch.
He doesn't speak to anyone about it, despite Spencer's threats to quit if the issue isn't addressed soon, and Brendon tries to steer clear of the constant glare that Ryan wears.
Spencer sits Ryan down and says, "Look. You came at me in Maryland with this whole slew of excuses as to why you were being an asshole and they all dealt with how much you wanted this band to work. Well, it's not working, Ryan. So either fucking tell him to get out or I will because this bullshit about him not showing up to sound check and making Brendon play his bass lines is getting old and I'm-"
"Jesus fuck," Ryan exclaims. "I will."
They call a group band meeting and Brendon doesn't know who to sit by. By habit Ryan is his first choice because that's comfortable, it fits and he knows all of Ryan's soft spots and exactly how he has to go about laying his head on Ryan's shoulder without Ryan shrugging Brendon off, annoyed. But Ryan is on edge and Brendon isn't quite sure how comfortable Ryan's side will be when Ryan's got his arms circled around his middle, hunched over on the couch like he's sick to his stomach. Plus, Ryan is livid.
Spencer is his next choice but he's sitting between Ryan and the armrest and Brendon knows from experience that the armrest isn't as stable as they'd like.
The only other option is Brent, but that's not going to happen considering he's slouched down in a weathered, plastic lawn chair, hair drooping in his face as if he could hide from Ryan's stare.
Ryan threads his fingers together over his knee and says, "Brent," and everything snowballs from there. There's shock and disbelief and a lot of cursing that makes Brendon flinch and insults get hurled across the room from either side and when it's all said and done, Spencer - who jumped up to defend Ryan's lyrics - has the last word and Ryan is standing at the foot of the couch, chest heaving.
Brendon is surprised they make it through the next seventy-two hours without killing each other. Brent left around hour thirteen, caught a bitter flight back to Vegas, and by hour fourteen Ryan is pacing in the front lounge of the bus with such heavy feet that Brendon can hardly hear the TV. Spencer is busy on the phone and Ryan is busy freaking the fuck out and Brendon is so shocked that they actually kicked out a member of their band that he doesn't really know what to do except try and ignore the paranoia seeping into the bus. They have another show in two days and Brendon can't play bass and fawn over Ryan at the same time. There's a look growing in Ryan's eyes that suggests he's on the verge of a meltdown.
Having an empty bunk on the bus isn't unusual seeing as Brendon is a cuddle-bug and Ryan and Spencer sometimes sit criss-cross legged in the darkness of each other's bunks and talk about best friend things Brendon wishes he knew anything about. But having a bunk that is constantly vacant is worse because it keeps Ryan up at night.
"You know it's two o'clock, right?" Brendon asks when he sits down at the table with Ryan, wiggling in beside him. "You should be sleeping."
"You're one to talk," Ryan says softly, cupping his chin resigned and digging his elbow into the table. "Besides, I can't."
Frowning, Brendon reaches up and cards his fingers through Ryan's hair, says, "Why not?"
"Stress."
Brendon nods, lays his head on Ryan's shoulder and touches Ryan's bony knee with the hand that isn't occupying his flat-ironed hair, skin slightly cooler than the warmth in Brendon's palm. "We're going to be okay," Brendon says, and maybe it is his blind hopefulness and the lingering believe that good things will happen in time, but he wants Ryan to accept it.
"Why d'you say that?" Ryan asks and Brendon says, "Because neither of us is leaving. As long as we're together, we'll be okay."
Ryan kisses him for the first time, a spur of the moment, blurt-like action that leaves Brendon with heavy eyes and a lazy grin, and the temperature variance of his and Ryan's lips is off, just a little, but it's nice. Brendon pulls Ryan out from behind the table and jerks him off slow on the couch, one hand fisting Ryan's cock, the other cupping Ryan's jaw as Brendon swallows Ryan's moans like he needs them to breathe. They spend hours talking in whispers and Brendon wills his fingertips to suck the shudder out of Ryan's pale skin, but despite how sweaty Ryan gets, his body temperature is always running a few degrees lower than Brendon's.
When Spencer shows up at Ryan's bunk when it's light outside and says they're adopting a Jon Walker from The Academy Is..., Ryan is skeptical. But Brendon's tongue and Brendon's fingers convince him to give the guy a chance and after Jon's first show with them, Ryan tugs Brendon into his bunk and sleeps for a day and a half.
----
Ryan's father dies and Brendon keeps Ryan wrapped in a blanket for an entire week.
He doesn't eat much and he sleeps even less and keeps to himself while he writes angry lyrics he'll never use, but he lets Brendon pet his hair when Spencer isn't on watch and doesn't mind when Brendon curls up around him and sings him songs about fireflies and lazy crickets. Brendon tries his hardest to make sure Ryan has something wrapped around him at all times, even if he has to sacrifice himself and snuggle close when Ryan's skin starts to shrink around him and his bones get too cold for even blankets to warm him.
Ryan only cries in front of Spencer and Brendon knows this because when Ryan starts snuffling and pushing Brendon away, Brendon goes into the front lounge of the bus and tucks himself under Jon's heavy arm, as if Jon can shield him from the loud, agonizing, pitiful sobs of pure pain and fury Brendon can hear through the thin walls. It's enough to bring tears to his eyes and if Brendon's going to crumble, he's not going to do it alone in his bed while he listens to Ryan fall apart in the next room.
Ryan and Spencer pack up and head back to Vegas for Ryan's father's funeral and Ryan doesn't give Brendon so much as a goodbye. Brendon worries and whines and moans, finds a permanent place next to Jon on the couch for three straight days and when they get back, Brendon watches as Ryan moves about the bus with hunched shoulders and a stony look, long pajama pants and too-big sweatshirts covering his lithe little body. The little sleep that Ryan had been getting before is even less now and when he does find a moment's peace, it's only a matter of time before something evil and dark creeps into his subconscious and leaves Ryan in a cold sweat, gasping in his bunk as the demons steal back away into the night.
Brendon hates falling asleep at night knowing the nightmares keep Ryan up.
He crawls up into Ryan's bunk uninvited two days after Ryan comes back from Vegas and stares at the silhouette of Ryan's face through the darkness, quiet and waiting for Ryan to make him leave. Brendon is barely registering the whites in Ryan's eyes when Ryan shifts onto his back and stares at the ceiling, chest rising and falling in time with each breath Brendon takes. They remain silent for the better part of twenty minutes, unmoving as they ask themselves a thousand questions they wish they could ask aloud. Finally, Ryan whispers, "I'm cold," into the dark, like he's talking to someone other than Brendon when Brendon knows the words are meant for him.
Brendon rolls his neck to face Ryan and doesn't say a word. The urge to touch him has never been so strong.
There's nothing but silence again and Brendon second-guesses his choice to remain silent, wonders if Ryan is going to shove him out of his bunk and tell him he's a bad friend for not adjusting the sheets so that Ryan isn't shivering. Instead, Ryan shifts and curls himself into Brendon's side, miles and miles of his cold limbs tucking in between them and his head rests on the dip in Brendon's collarbone. Brendon tingles and Ryan flinches away momentarily, but Brendon pulls him back and wraps his arms around him until they're so tangled Brendon doesn't know whose hand is on his chest. Ryan's eyelashes tickle the underside of Brendon's chin as Ryan blinks and Brendon rubs Ryan's back and counts each breath Ryan takes until they start to even out at thirty six.
"You get cold when you don't sleep enough," Brendon whispers into Ryan's hair and Ryan shivers, as if on cue. Brendon half expects Ryan to think Brendon is crazy, to ask how Brendon knows or to deny anything of the sort. But Ryan just curls his fingers into Brendon's shirt and says, "You're warm though," but it sounds like I'm okay. Brendon knows he's not.
The next night plays out the same way except this time, Brendon crawls into Ryan's bunk to chase away the nightmares tugging him in all sorts of unpleasant directions. Brendon smoothes and smoothes and smoothes Ryan's hair down until Ryan can breathe without choking and isn't clenching the hem of Brendon's shirt like it's the only thing keeping the demons at bay, keeping them from dragging him away from Brendon's cooing and murmuring. Neither of them say a word until they hear Spencer stirring in the aisle come morning and Ryan presses a kiss into Brendon's jaw and whispers, "Thank you."
It's Brendon's constant need to be with Ryan - to curl up close and hum to him until Ryan at least contemplates sleep, to feel Ryan's heartbeat beneath his palm - that keeps him crawling into Ryan's bunk most nights. There are nights when Ryan is sleeping when Brendon opens his curtains, and those are the nights Brendon worries about most, not because Ryan is sleeping, but because he won’t be sleeping for long, and Brendon is terrified of not being awake when Ryan needs to be pulled out of his horrors. And it's one of these nights - when Brendon draws back Ryan's curtains and sees him curved around his pillow, asleep - that changes everything when Ryan crawls into Brendon's bunk, face wet and lips trembling and mouths hot and needy at Brendon's lips until Brendon wakes up to the sound of his name being pushed in a whisper passed his own lips.
Brendon breathes in Ryan's breath as he stirs awake and Ryan is open-mouthed sobbing against Brendon's cheek, pleading Wake Up with every brush of his lips. Ryan only cries in front of Spencer and Brendon knows this because Spencer is the only one strong enough to handle how awful it is. And Brendon wishes he could relish the taste of Ryan without the salt of his tears tainting it all but Ryan is hurting and Brendon still doesn't know why.
He says, "Shh, hey. Hey, Ryan, what's wrong?" and is muffled only a little by the force of Ryan's lips slipping against his so desperate and a little chapped. Ryan presses his damp face into Brendon's t-shirt and slides down beside him, crying freely into his chest. And Brendon just wants to understand why Ryan is always so cold lately, why nothing Brendon seems to do changes the constant shiver in Ryan's bones or his curled in posture. Ryan cries and cries and sobs and sobs and kiss kiss kisses Brendon - frantic, reckless, hurried, hard and then so, so weak, so soft, so real and warm - until he's hiccupping and snuffling so close to Brendon's face that sometimes Brendon leans forward that fraction of an inch and kisses the tip of Ryan's nose, despite how snotty it is.
For the first time in almost a week, Ryan wakes up with heat fuzzy fingers and toes warmed by the back of Brendon's calves and later that day he and Brendon share a cherry popsicle on the roof of the bus before they're due for sound check.
----
They wrap up one tour in Chicago and Ryan spends the next two weeks with his hips aligned with Brendon's and his mouth attached to Brendon's neck.
Fourteen days. They have fourteen days to go home, relax and barely get their minds in the right place before they're going across the world and the only thing Ryan can think about is how many times he can ask Brendon 'please' with his eyes before Brendon doesn't crawl back into Ryan's bed like an answer.
They fuck. They fuck and it's rough and it's raw and it's real, and Brendon only cried the first time because Ryan had cried. He was angry and wild and just filled Brendon up so good and so much and so desperately, Make it go away, Bren and- Brendon only cried the first time because he couldn't take away the hurt welled up in Ryan's eyes. He learns though; studies the arch in Ryan's back and claws at it, watches the heat flare up in Ryan's chest and tongues it cool, examines the swelling in Ryan's lips and bites them white and throbbing. He memorizes every detail of Ryan's strategy to forget his father and the pain and Brendon lets him take everything he can from him because at least when Brendon's spread out and open for Ryan, Ryan isn't shivering cold.
Brendon has Ryan tame by the time they leave for Denmark. He's snuggly in the ways Brendon would like him to be (like when he wants Brendon to rub his scalp or when Spencer puts in Moulin Rouge or on hotel nights) and only rarely snuggly in the ways Brendon would rather not remember (like when Ryan wakes up in tears and he can't tell Brendon why because his nightmare was more of a haunting and he can't shake the feeling). Ryan isn't as awkward anymore, doesn't flinch away when Brendon wraps his arms around his middle and kisses his nose, doesn't whine when Brendon pulls him close. He's calm and alive and warm with Brendon only inches away, fingers threaded together so that Ryan can begin to memorize every pattern in Brendon's palm.
Brendon's thankful it's a hotel night that Ryan tongues an I Love You into his mouth and presses their foreheads together.
Brendon says, "What?" and Ryan says, "Since Myrtle Beach." Ryan says, "At least that's when I first-" and Brendon says, "I love you, too."
They fuck. They fuck and it's slow and it's delicious and it's real, and Brendon doesn't cry because Ryan is everywhere. He's deliberate and passionate and makes sure Brendon feels every burning inch when he pushes in, sealing Brendon's lips with murmurs of things Brendon drinks in with an eager tongue. Brendon learns Ryan all over again; his too long hair attempting to shadow eyes that are too bright for the darkness in the world, his flexing fingers and the way they're hesitant to bruise any part of Brendon's pale skin this time, his shaky breath and how he whispers Brendon's name like saying it any louder would taint everything Ryan's seen coming since the night Brendon stood on the shore in South Carolina with bright eyes and a smile, reached his hand out to Ryan and said, "C'mere."
Ryan wears a long sleeve shirt the next day and Brendon takes hold of his wrist gently and simply says, "Hey" but it's more questioning than that.
Ryan smiles with tired, reassuring eyes, kisses the corner of Brendon’s mouth, and says, "Hi." It's okay, I'm okay.
For the following days, weeks, months, lifetimes, Ryan is Brendon's Brendon's Brendon's and every day Brendon presses love into Ryan's temple, promises into his wrists, honesty onto his lips and observes Ryan's wardrobe choice of v-necks and vests with knowing smiles and a light heart. There's a warmth in Ryan's bones and a laziness pulling him like a magnet to Brendon's side constantly. Ryan will say, "S'go t'sleep," and it will be two in the afternoon, but he's usually wearing Brendon's t-shirts and Brendon's boxers and Brendon's socks, standing in Brendon's living room, tugging on Brendon's shirt collar and kissing his chin and making soft little whining noises that makes Brendon feel a rush of languid heat stretch between their bodies and before he knows it, he's been pulled into Ryan's fort of pillows and blankets and sweet mouthing on the neck and they'll sleep until it hurts. Brendon will curl Ryan's hair around his fingers and say, "We should probably, y'know, move at some point today," and Ryan will hum and press his smile into Brendon's shoulder and whisper, "Five more minutes," for the next two hours.
When they make the trip up to the cabin, Ryan pulls a sweatshirt out of his suitcase on the first day of the second week, kisses the confused wrinkles in Brendon’s forehead, and says, "It gets cold in here when you're out with Jon until the sun rises. I need something to keep me warm." The worry creeps into Brendon's skin and that night Brendon presses Ryan's hands into the bed and rocks into him until Ryan can't breathe and the chill coming in from the open window is enough to cause steam to rise from their bodies when Ryan comes apart beneath him.
And then Ryan is wearing a sweatshirt every day, all day. He curls up on the couch with Jon's coffee and sits out on the dock with Brendon's cigarettes and worries Brendon sick with Spencer's constant company.
Brendon takes Ryan by the wrist as the coals of their bonfire are smoldering out and says, "Talk to me," and pulls Ryan to his chest.
Ryan pushes away softly, grumbles, "Brendon," and Brendon tugs him back, just a little.
"Hey," Brendon says. He brushes back some of Ryan's hair, clears his face and whispers, "Hey, what's wrong with you?" The flickering shadow across Ryan's face makes his eyes hard to read.
"What are you talking about?" Ryan replies and it's harsh, a snap, defensive.
"You've hardly said anything to me all day," Brendon says softly, like he's more curious than he is upset. "And you're freezing," he adds, fingers tucked under the sleeve of Ryan's sweatshirt. "What's wrong?" he asks again and this time it's imploring.
Ryan takes his hand back from Brendon's curling fingers and crosses his arms, head bowed. "I'm fine," he says and Brendon knows the conversation is over.
"Well," Brendon says, forcing himself to swallow, to pause. "Are you ready for bed? I think Jon and Spencer want to go up the mountain tomorrow so -" but Ryan cuts him off with a gruff, "Yeah."
Brendon places his hand on the small of Ryan's back and leads him into the house, down the hall and into their bedroom. He knows Ryan falling asleep is doubtful and that worries him, that Ryan won't talk to him and won't let Brendon ask questions. But at least Brendon will fall asleep knowing where Ryan is, regardless of where he'll go when Brendon is too far gone to notice. Brendon pushes his face into Ryan's neck and breathes quietly, pine needles and burning wood soaked into Ryan's clothes and he peppers Ryan's throat with kisses and warm murmurs of I love you.
Oddly enough, Brendon wakes with miles of Ryan wrapped around him and a chin digging into his shoulder. Ryan's eyes are open and he says, "Good morning," and, "Let's get cleaned up before we leave," and, "I'll let you fuck me in the shower," and Brendon doesn't notice the chill in Ryan's fingertips until Ryan touches Brendon's cock under the heat of the water showering over them, the contrast enough to cause Brendon to gasp from more than Ryan's fingers wrapped around him.
Ryan doesn't sleep the next night either, folds himself into the sill of the window overlooking the lake outback and doesn't acknowledge Brendon when he enters the room soundlessly and rests his head in Ryan's lap. He looks up through his hair and watches Ryan watch the moon glinting off the water and curls his hand around the back of Ryan's leg, thumbing softly into the crease behind his knee. Brendon leaves moments later, when Ryan doesn't move or speak or exist as anything other than a statue, and the chill of Ryan's thighs seeps into the pit of Brendon's stomach as he curls up with Jon on the couch.
Ryan says he's ready to go home the morning after that and he doesn't talk to Brendon for a week when they get back to Vegas.
----
They record Pretty. Odd. and Ryan sucks Brendon off against every possible surface each time they're left alone in the studio.
"Jesus, fuck, Ryan. Your mouth," Brendon moans, twisting his fingers into Ryan's too short hair so hard and desperate that Ryan actually pulls off to cry out, hissing and clenching his eyes and the sight alone is enough to make Brendon come, spurting warm and wet onto Ryan's cheek and chin, Brendon's mouth slack and his hips twitching, and Ryan wraps his lips back around Brendon quickly, sucking him through it despite his resentment for Brendon ruining the collar of his shirt. Brendon apologizes, eyes haze-heavy and voice scratchy with a lingering weakness and pulls Ryan's face up to his, kissing him, tasting him, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to I love you don't be mad please." Ryan kisses him rough and punishing and wipes at his face with long fingers he curls into the corner of Brendon's mouth, alongside his tongue and Brendon moans, licking himself from Ryan's cool fingers.
Brendon doesn't see Ryan again until the week before Honda Civic and Ryan might as well still be miles away because he doesn't acknowledge Brendon at all. He talks to Spencer and to Jon and he tells Shane to remind Brendon to bring his new cords tomorrow for their four hour jam session slash rehearsal slash awkward glances seminar slash Chinese take out buffet and he leaves in his BMW before Brendon can even say the first hello of the day. Brendon texts Ryan, hey man, calls him twice over the span of three days and gives up when Ryan doesn't respond.
Their first date in California goes well, the energy and sheer excitement fueling everything that goes right on stage, but coming off is like re-entering reality and Brendon catches Ryan's hand as they're swallowed by the darkness on the side of the stage and says, "Hey." Ryan's hands are like ice. "Ryan -"
"What, Brendon?" Ryan snaps and the annoyance in his eyes surges and dies when Brendon flinches. And then softer he says, "What?"
"You- I've- You had a good show tonight," Brendon smiles and even though it's small, it's painful; each muscle that stretches his face aches as his lips spread for Ryan. This feels just like the cabin had: close and compact in the same quarters but distant in ways Brendon never wants to imagine. He hates the stop-start-stop-stop-stop of Ryan's touches and apparently his emotions, and Brendon just wants Ryan to notice him again.
Ryan's face is blank. "Thanks."
He steps around Brendon and follows after Jon's shadow but Brendon still has his wrist, tugs him back and says, "Ryan, don't-" soft and unsure. "Don't be like this, please."
"What are you talking about?" Ryan bites, prying Brendon's fingers from his arm.
Brendon looks down at his fingers for just a moment before he meets Ryan's eyes. "Your skin is -" Ryan's eyes flare and Brendon looks down again, doesn't continue.
There's a moment of silence and Ryan studies Brendon's eyes, notices that Brendon notices and clenches his jaw. Brendon knows Ryan hates it when Brendon points this out to him, as if he can't feel how sharp and painful it is when he moves, his legs like icicles and his lungs shriveled and frozen in his chest. He brushes passed Brendon without a word, passed the sweat soaked into Brendon's shirt and the heat radiating from what looks like the beginning of an amazing tour, and when Brendon finally climbs onto the bus and laments how empty Ryan's bunk is, Spencer claps him on the back and says, "Greta stole him until we head out." Brendon laughs softly, nods at Spencer and hopes the trembling in his fingers isn't as noticeable as it feels.
Two days later, they play San Diego on Brendon's birthday and after the show Ryan crowds Brendon into the corner with hot breath and freezing hands and says, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and kisses away the pout that's been fighting it's way into Brendon's smiles all day because Ryan just won't talk to him and it's Brendon's birthday and - "I miss you, Bren. I miss you and I can't sleep."
Brendon grabs Ryan's face and presses his nose to Ryan's cheek. "Ryan," is all Brendon can say through a breathy sigh as his head tips back and Ryan kisses apologies up the column of his pale throat. Ryan whispers, "'m sorry," into Brendon's jaw, eyes clenched shut, breath sticky on Brendon's neck and Brendon turns his head and presses a firm kiss to the side of Ryan's head, arms wrapping around Ryan's shoulders in a tight, claiming hug, and this is maybe the most alive Brendon has felt since the last time Ryan let himself be this close.
Brendon closes his eyes, thinks finally and lets Ryan expel a shaky breath into his ear before he eases Ryan out of his arms and curls his fingers around Ryan's, brushing his lips gently against Ryan's like he's still unsure, so unsure if this is going to start and then stop-stop-stop. Ryan opens his mouth easily and curls his tongue out to pry Brendon's hesitant lips apart. Brendon's mouth opens but Ryan doesn't surge in, just lets them breathe into each other, their noses touching softly. Ryan just wants to taste the heat in Brendon's mouth but he won't ask. Not unless Brendon offers first.
Brendon's mouth closes, swallows and parts again to breathe softly against Ryan's wet lips and Brendon nudges Ryan's nose with his. "I never went anywhere for you to miss me," Brendon whispers and it's so quiet Ryan wonders if it's because anything louder would break Brendon's voice.
Still, Ryan nods because he knows it's true, knows Brendon was always there with a hopeful smile and a curious, worried gaze and a mouth that always looked like it was curled in a question each time Ryan walked by without so much as a glance. And Ryan hates that he put something so heavy on Brendon, made him doubt and fret and cry - god, Ryan is so thankful he only saw the puffiness in Brendon's eyes yesterday morning when Brendon had shuffled out from his bunk - but he feels like he's shouldering the same weight, the doubt and the fret and the tears even, because he loves Brendon - "Since Myrtle Beach," he had said - but that's such a scary thing, no matter how comfortable Ryan feels curled up against Brendon at night, fingers skimming over Brendon's ribs and waking up the next morning with a full night's sleep thick in his mouth and knowing it's because Brendon keeps him grounded, sane. Knowing Brendon keeps him warm.
When they make it back to the bus they head straight to Ryan's bunk and Brendon lets Ryan wrap himself around him as many times as his long arms can reach and Brendon presses his face into Ryan's chest and just is. They keep curled on their sides, faces breaths apart and hands stroking hips chests shoulders jaws until Brendon leans in and claims Ryan's lips softly and it feels like a first, like starting over. Brendon watches Ryan's eyes far after they've slipped closed and it isn't until Ryan starts snuffling quietly, nuzzling closer and twisting his fingers weakly in Brendon's shirt - his stage shirt and god, does it make him feel lazy - that Brendon notices that Ryan is sleeping and the ice in his fingers are thawing out in Brendon's palm.
----
Brendon isn't ready to give up awesome hack tournaments with Phantom Planet and Ryan isn't ready to give up the easy conversations with their lead singer, but by the end of Honda Civic, Ryan's skin is warm even when he isn't sprawled out shirtless on Brendon's porch, like most days.
Brendon's head is in his lap, kissing the sticky heat on Ryan's belly with lips sweet enough to make Ryan hum lazily around the cigarette in his mouth and the post-tour tingles are settling into his bones. Brendon whispers things to Ryan's bellybutton and through a smirk, he refuses to repeat it loud enough for Ryan to hear. Ryan laughs until Brendon presses his nose into his ribs and says, "I need another Corona," and somewhere between following Brendon into the house and actually making it to the kitchen, Ryan pushes Brendon down on the couch and fucks him so slow that Brendon is practically vibrating beneath him. Brendon says, "Please, Ryan" and "Yes" and "Don't stop" and Ryan just kisses Brendon hard enough to bruise and doesn't let up on the press of their foreheads until Brendon is clawing up Ryan's shoulders, breath hitching and back arching as he comes.
"I love you," Brendon murmurs softly into Ryan's hair when Ryan comes down from his own orgasm, lying flat and lazy over Brendon as he mouths at his jaw. Brendon's lips are trembling, kiss swollen and wet, and the hairs on the side of Ryan's head stick to them when Brendon repeats, "I love you" softly against Ryan's temple. Ryan says, "I love you, too," and cards his fingers through Brendon's sweaty hair, breathing heavily into Brendon's neck.
Rockband rolls around and the autumn chill that alternates between cities puts Ryan in long sleeves and Brendon in a state of uneasiness he hasn't felt since their first time performing in front of Pete. It takes Ryan physically crawling into Brendon's lap, straddling him on the couch in the back lounge and kissing him softly, reminding, "It's freezing out, Bren. And we slept until one," for Brendon to relent just a little and laugh weakly.
Ryan noses his cheek and Brendon says, "I know. I know but I... worry about you, a lot."
Ryan smiles, so soft that Brendon can hardly feel the pull of Ryan's lips as they stretch against Brendon's cheek, "I'm happy," he whispers. Brendon feels something swell in his chest, flare and ignite and strain, and he doesn't protest when Ryan starts pawing at his shirt and kissing him sloppily on the neck. "I am," Ryan says softly, directly into Brendon's ear and Brendon says, "Okay."
Two days later Jon and Ryan are strumming guitars under the shade of a few trees beside the bus and they're singing, off tune and out of key and Jon's probably a little drunk and Ryan's probably a little high, but Jon's also giggling every other word and Ryan is smiling so hard his eyes are crinkling and Brendon misses Spencer's hack to him because he can't stop staring. Ryan strums and Jon laughs and Jon strums and Ryan laughs and Spencer says, "Dude, what the fuck? We almost made it to -" and Brendon blinks and says, "Shit, man. I'm sorry, I -"
Spencer straightens from reaching down to retrieve the fallen hacky sack and smiles when he cups Brendon's shoulder, "They're both so fucked."
Brendon chuckles and realizes that at one point in his life, he couldn't look at Ryan's smile without thinking the same of himself. But this time, now, when Ryan catches Brendon's eye in the middle of a laugh and lets it fizzle away slowly as his fingers curl to halt on the neck of his guitar - this time, Brendon doesn't do anything other than return the smile and turn to juggle the hack Spencer sends his way.
----
Brendon feels the ice in Ryan's fingers when he takes Ryan's hand and pulls him towards the dressing room the before their last show of the year.
There are calluses there, too, ones that Brendon doesn't remembers feeling this prominent on Ryan's hands since they were spending days in Spencer's grandma's basement and Ryan refused to set down his guitar. But Brendon doesn't remember settling down on the couch with Ryan and their guitars more than once in the past week because when they are together, Ryan has the tendency to pull Brendon into his lap and kiss the side of his neck with dry lips, playing with his hair and watching Cash Cab until Brendon squirms and says, "My ass is numb."
Ryan's fingers are rough with ferocious amounts of songwriting that Brendon has no knowledge of. On top of this confusion, Ryan's hand in his is causing his own palm to numb.
He can feel his stomach sink somewhere down towards his toes and he might have swallowed hard, too, but Ryan just grips his hand tighter and says, "I love you," kissing Brendon on the corner of the mouth once, firmly, before letting go completely and retreating to his corner of the room to dress. Brendon watches him closely the whole time, the curve in Ryan's back when he tosses one shirt aside and reaches down to pick up another, the tightness in his shoulders when he shrugs it on, the clumsiness of his fingers when he buttons it up. Brendon crosses the length of the room and stops in front of Ryan, reaches out as Ryan fumbles with the third to last button and wordlessly finishes the task Ryan is struggling with. Their eyes don't meet, but Brendon runs his fingers down Ryan's chest softly, trailing just enough that Ryan's breath tightens before Brendon goes back to stepping into his pants.
When the show is over, Brendon crawls across the bus floor and sits on his knees in front of Ryan. Ryan looks down at him from the couch and smiles, traces Brendon's jaw with two fingers and says, "C'mere," like it's a secret. He almost glides up Ryan's torso, lets his hands slide up Ryan's sides as he presses soft lips to Ryan's hips and stomach and chest. Ryan breathes slow and lazy and grabs strands of Brendon's hair with a soft moan.
In Ryan's ear, Brendon murmurs, "If I fuck you with my tongue -" and Ryan's eyes roll back in his head and he chokes. Brendon's eyes flutter closed and he kisses Ryan's temple gently. He swallows quietly and repeats, "If I fuck you with my tongue and get you ready, could I -?"
Ryan grips Brendon's shoulder tightly, fingers digging into Brendon's sweaty shirt and lets his head fall to the back of the couch. "Brendon, fuck," Ryan gasps as Brendon works open his pants with expert fingers, licks a stripe up the underside of Ryan's cock and presses his hands into Ryan's back, pulling him to the edge of the couch before he ducks down again and pushes his tongue into the tight ring of muscle in Ryan's ass. Ryan writhes. His legs spasm and wrap tightly around Brendon's shoulders as he arches up onto Brendon's mouth, panting, stomach fluttering and he claws at Brendon's biceps because they're the only thing he can reach. His heels dig into the ladder of Brendon's spine and it's too much and not ever, ever enough and Brendon works him open for three slow minutes before Ryan grabs Brendon by the side of the face, pulls him up to his mouth and gasps, "Please. Please," and places Brendon's heavy, warm palms on his cheeks, desperate.
Brendon cups Ryan's jaw with one hand, wraps the other around Ryan's dick and breathes hot against Ryan's neck until Ryan's back arches as he comes. When Ryan's soft whimpers subside, Brendon carries him to his bunk, tucks him under the covers and brushes back Ryan's hair. "Close your eyes," Brendon whispers, and kisses Ryan's eyelids shut.
Were the tour not ending, Ryan would continue to kiss Brendon upwards of fifty times a day. Now, as they all file back home in their own cars, Ryan shares his breath with Brendon, pressed up against his Mercedes in his driveway. With arms slung loose but possessively around Brendon's neck, Ryan doesn't think of Brendon's hands smudging his window or his neighbors glaring over their fancy fences. It's just Brendon's lips on his, licking into Ryan's mouth and curling on the roof, slow and sensual, one hand tangled in the back of Ryan's hair.
"I don't want you to leave," Ryan murmurs, twisting Brendon's too-long hair in his fingers. "Can't you stay the night?"
Brendon laughs and rubs his nose to Ryan's, "No, I have to pick up Bogart and -"
"Can I stay with you then?" Ryan asks, smiling hopefully.
Brendon feels the goose bumps Ryan's chilled fingers give him and says, "Okay."
----
Brendon's really fucking stoked to go to Africa, but Ryan sits with Jon the entire flight to Heathrow, the entire layover, and the entire flight to Capetown. Ryan is bent over his notebook, Jon is bent over his guitar, and Brendon catches Ryan’s eye somewhere over the ocean and Ryan looks away, uneasy. He looks up when Jon says something, nods his head and agrees, but Brendon notices how he tries to peer out of his peripherals at Brendon across the aisle. When they land in Capetown, Brendon pushes away the unpleasant twisting in his stomach and takes Ryan's hand as they gather their luggage. "We're sharing, right?" Brendon asks, and Ryan's lips twitch he swallows, nods. He says, "Yeah... always," and lets Brendon pick out the room when they arrive at their condo.
There are beds outside and a pool and the shower on the patio has no door, but it has a ledge and Brendon makes wiggly brows at it as they pass. "Don't get any ideas," Ryan says flatly and Brendon says, "They're not ideas if I plan to act on them." Ryan threatens to push him into the pool.
Jon and Spencer claim their own rooms, each with a huge bed and a nice, slow spinning fan above and the first thing Brendon does when he gets Ryan alone is kiss his neck and say, "I love you."
Ryan shrugs away from Brendon's mouth with a smile and flops down on the bed to take off his shoes. "Remind me again why I wore these?" and Brendon chuckles, crawls up behind Ryan, resting his chin on Ryan's shoulder and answers, "Because you're difficult."
"Ah, yes," Ryan says and turns his head into Brendon's whisper kisses and ghosting verbs. Ryan says, "I'm going to fuck you out here tonight," and then, "Are the mosquitoes really bad?" Brendon bites Ryan's ear and drags him to the pool.
Jon manages to hog Ryan for most of the night, criss-cross legged by the fire pit on the patio, guitars in their laps and lyrics on their tongues and when Brendon slinks up to the circle of heat, shadow dancing and long behind him, wraps his arms around Ryan's neck and murmurs "Lets get to the christening part of this vacation, Ross," Ryan's back straightens, "Not now, Brendon." Brendon draws back a little, a small frown darkening his fire-lit features and Ryan strums a hollow, angry note on his acoustic and asks Jon to repeat the last progression. Brendon says, "When you're ready..." and Ryan says, "Later." Ryan watches his fingers in the flickering light of the fire instead of watching Brendon go and wishes silently to himself that there were an easier way to thaw himself out.
Brendon falls asleep in an empty bed and wakes up to an even emptier feeling.
Over the next two days, Brendon watches Ryan slip further and further away and he chases after him with laced fingers and pleas of "Come to bed," and "Kiss me," and each time Ryan says "No" in a different way.
Spencer stops Ryan by the counter the morning of Brendon's birthday and chastises him in all the ways he used to when Ryan was a kid and Spencer was still the eldest, regardless of age. Spencer's always been the most mature, despite Ryan's ego's attempt to convince him otherwise. Spencer says, "You pulled this shit last year." Says, "Grow the fuck up." Says, "Who are you?" and Ryan sits against Spencer's hip the entire safari, whispers "Don't hate me," when the sky darkens and the temperature drops, and lets Spencer play the eldest like always when he throws part of his blanket over Ryan's trembling body and knocks their knees together.
The only mane Brendon worries over is the curly one in the seat in front of him and he thinks Keep quiet. Basic needs of survival, Keep your hands to yourself, keep your distance.
Everything will be fine.
----
"You're not fine."
"Brendon, I'm fi-"
"No, Ryan. You're not fucking fine, okay? You're sick. You're sick and you won't let me help you-"
Ryan's fist hits the wall like an explosion. Brendon flinches. "God dammit, Brendon. Just fucking- just shut up! Just shut up," Ryan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and huffs, "If I ever needed your help, I would have fucking asked for it."
Brendon's shoulders slump, his frame folds and Ryan doesn't move as Brendon slips slowly into the armchair in his living room. Ryan's too weak to ask for help, to admit he's wrong, to swallow his pride and extend his hand.
"I don't need you or Spencer or Jon or fucking... anyone to tell me I'm not fine because I am, okay?" If Ryan ever wanted complete sanity, he would have asked for it. "I'm sick of you telling me to sleep, of telling me what to eat, when to eat, how much to eat, of fucking... controlling me because you think I'm 'sick.' I'm not sick, Brendon. I don't need you."
This is where it stops.
"Ryan, you don't- you don't mean that," Brendon says, almost hysterically.
Ryan's a fucked up fuck up and Brendon's peeling himself off of Ryan's thousand dollar furniture, not wanting to notice the way Ryan's redecorated with booze and sin and everything Ryan swore he wouldn't be the night he slipped the lyrics of Camisado into Brendon's palm in Maryland. Ugly and scribbled on the back of a napkin he'd taken from the diner they'd eaten at, when Ryan used to crowd himself into corners of booths and push away Brendon's hand when he offered Ryan some of his fries, his soda, his affection.
"Oh, come on, Brendon. Look at us! Look! I fuck up, you fuck me and then I fuck off: this is how this works, this is how it's always worked and this is how it will always work." Brendon shakes tears from his face and takes two steps towards Ryan, pacing in front of his coffee table, one Alex bought him from a garage sale in Santa Barbara. It looks like shit. "You don't love me and I don't love you," Brendon swallows a sob and catches Ryan's hand softly. Ryan jerks away annoyed, finishes, "We just get by."
Still shaking his head, Brendon bumps streams of tears across his face as he chokes, "Don't say that," and "Shh, Ryan, please," and reaches once more for Ryan's hand. Ryan lets him take it - just two fingers - and Brendon squeezes softly. "Hey," Brendon whispers, voice shot, rough like gravel and brittle like ash. "Hey, listen to me -" He steps closer to Ryan, to the edge and dares to curl his hand around three more fingers, claims Ryan's entire left hand and says, "I'm here." Ryan's fingers twitch in his hand, cold and tense and Brendon breathes, "I'm yours."
This is where it starts.
Hot breath down the side of Ryan's neck is like a trigger and Ryan curls his free hand around Brendon's hip, pulls him in closer and kisses him slow and hard, lips of ice and lips of fire and everything melts into warm, liquid laziness that Brendon tastes on the tip of his tongue and the roof of his mouth and if Ryan ever wanted Brendon, he would have asked for him. But he didn't have to and Brendon relishes the silence because it means Ryan isn't asking, isn't screaming. Ryan isn't spewing lies.
Ryan feels like acceptance but tastes like denial.
Brendon kisses Ryan two more slow times, pecks his lips once and says, "I love you," and Ryan says, "Jon and I are leaving."
This is where it stop stop stops.
Author: selectivelyurie
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (the one and only)
Summary: Somewhere between "Hi, I'm Brendon" and now...he and Ryan fell into this really strange relationship.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not true (or is it?)
Beta: alphabetatoast
Author Notes: This is meant to hurt. There is no happy ending, no life altering declarations of love, no tears of joy. It's the story of Brendon and Ryan growing up, growing attached and growing apart. It's messy and tragic and beautiful but hey, isn't that the epitome Brendon and Ryan?
I want to dedicate this to a few people who held my hand over this 6 month perfection period. behindthec (who has gotten really good at listening to my rambles and persuading me to turn them into fic, much like this one), my_obsession_xx (because she is my boo ♥), ivesia19 (because she loves me enough to let me submit this even if it's a bit sad), and especially to alphabetatoast (because she gets it, all of it. ♥)
For rydenrevival, because we need a little more love :)
Brendon first notices it the second night they're in Maryland.
The stress of recording is putting a strain on everything and the increased hostility causes a decrease in productivity which means Ryan's forcing them to work until the wee hours of the morning or until someone walks out for lack of a better excuse.
Spencer's walked out twice in the past four nights, mainly because he'd bitched at Ryan from one AM 'til three and managed to get Ryan's permission to leave in the form of an angry, "Then just fucking get out!" So Spencer had, and Ryan had groaned, pinched his nose in frustration and chased Spencer down the hall, said, "Please. I didn't mean it, I- Spence, you know what this record, what this band means to me. I just want it to be perfect and -" and Spencer had said, "I know, Ryan. But I'm still going to bed," and left him with the comforting thought that maybe tomorrow he wouldn't want to murder him with his kick drum pedal.
Brendon hasn't walked out yet, though he's been tempted pretty much every time Ryan opens his mouth. Brendon will sing and Ryan will stop him to criticize and Brendon will sing again and Ryan will stop him and criticize some more and it all keeps going in this pattern that ends with Brendon singing the same line for thirty minutes straight or until Ryan finally makes a horrible screeching sound and storms out of the room, yanking his hair. Once, Brendon sang a single line seven different ways and on the eighth try Ryan had started in before Brendon even got to the fourth syllable, shouting venomous, accusing comments of how Brendon obviously didn't have the talent, the drive, the heart to sing something that didn't sound like a dying cat. Brendon didn't walk out but he sang the entire chorus to Time to Dance with tears in his eyes.
As for Brent, Ryan can't talk to him without a raised voice and snide tone. It's Brent, it happens.
Everyone one is on edge and coupled with exhaustion, and by day five all Brendon wants to do is curl up into a ball in the corner of the studio and sleep for a thousand years. Somewhere between "Hi, I'm Brendon" and now - Brendon tucked into himself behind Brent's amps - he and Ryan fell into this really strange relationship. It mainly constitutes Brendon admiring the way Ryan's face scrunches up when he's written something in his notebook he doesn't like and finding himself daydreaming up ridiculously embarrassing scenarios of him and Ryan playing footsie under the lunch table. Ryan just makes awkward, vaguely sexual gestures.
Brendon's asleep when Ryan comes in, shuffling over paper littered across the floor, of ideas that weren't good enough, that will never be good enough, and Ryan slips down onto the floor and presses tight up against Brendon's side, clinging. At first, Brendon just twitches in response, body stirring into the awareness of another body so close, but then Ryan tucks his face into the side of Brendon's neck and murmurs something soft and apologetic, lips ghosting over Brendon's throat.
He doesn't mean to grumble, to sound disgruntled or slur his words together in a way that sounds like he's cranky, but he shifts and does so regardless, shrugging Ryan off in the process.
"Shh, shh. Go back t'sleep," Ryan whispers, hardly audible to Brendon's awakening senses and Ryan wiggles close again, curling a hand around Brendon's right hip and squeezes softly.
Brendon's muscles relax and he melts under Ryan's hand, snuffling something like, "Don' leave, okay? Stay," and Ryan really can't fight it when Brendon twists his fingers in Ryan's shirt, pawing, grounding him. So Ryan hums, rubs his thumb over the bone under the skin of Brendon's hip and Brendon rasps, "I'll sing better tomorrow. Promise."
Brendon falls asleep with Ryan's fingers beneath his shirt and when he wakes in the morning, Ryan is complaining to Spencer about the arctic temperature that has crept into the room. Brendon spends the rest of the day asking Ryan if he's feeling okay.
This is where it starts.
----
They need to kick Brent out of the band and Ryan is a raving bitch.
He doesn't speak to anyone about it, despite Spencer's threats to quit if the issue isn't addressed soon, and Brendon tries to steer clear of the constant glare that Ryan wears.
Spencer sits Ryan down and says, "Look. You came at me in Maryland with this whole slew of excuses as to why you were being an asshole and they all dealt with how much you wanted this band to work. Well, it's not working, Ryan. So either fucking tell him to get out or I will because this bullshit about him not showing up to sound check and making Brendon play his bass lines is getting old and I'm-"
"Jesus fuck," Ryan exclaims. "I will."
They call a group band meeting and Brendon doesn't know who to sit by. By habit Ryan is his first choice because that's comfortable, it fits and he knows all of Ryan's soft spots and exactly how he has to go about laying his head on Ryan's shoulder without Ryan shrugging Brendon off, annoyed. But Ryan is on edge and Brendon isn't quite sure how comfortable Ryan's side will be when Ryan's got his arms circled around his middle, hunched over on the couch like he's sick to his stomach. Plus, Ryan is livid.
Spencer is his next choice but he's sitting between Ryan and the armrest and Brendon knows from experience that the armrest isn't as stable as they'd like.
The only other option is Brent, but that's not going to happen considering he's slouched down in a weathered, plastic lawn chair, hair drooping in his face as if he could hide from Ryan's stare.
Ryan threads his fingers together over his knee and says, "Brent," and everything snowballs from there. There's shock and disbelief and a lot of cursing that makes Brendon flinch and insults get hurled across the room from either side and when it's all said and done, Spencer - who jumped up to defend Ryan's lyrics - has the last word and Ryan is standing at the foot of the couch, chest heaving.
Brendon is surprised they make it through the next seventy-two hours without killing each other. Brent left around hour thirteen, caught a bitter flight back to Vegas, and by hour fourteen Ryan is pacing in the front lounge of the bus with such heavy feet that Brendon can hardly hear the TV. Spencer is busy on the phone and Ryan is busy freaking the fuck out and Brendon is so shocked that they actually kicked out a member of their band that he doesn't really know what to do except try and ignore the paranoia seeping into the bus. They have another show in two days and Brendon can't play bass and fawn over Ryan at the same time. There's a look growing in Ryan's eyes that suggests he's on the verge of a meltdown.
Having an empty bunk on the bus isn't unusual seeing as Brendon is a cuddle-bug and Ryan and Spencer sometimes sit criss-cross legged in the darkness of each other's bunks and talk about best friend things Brendon wishes he knew anything about. But having a bunk that is constantly vacant is worse because it keeps Ryan up at night.
"You know it's two o'clock, right?" Brendon asks when he sits down at the table with Ryan, wiggling in beside him. "You should be sleeping."
"You're one to talk," Ryan says softly, cupping his chin resigned and digging his elbow into the table. "Besides, I can't."
Frowning, Brendon reaches up and cards his fingers through Ryan's hair, says, "Why not?"
"Stress."
Brendon nods, lays his head on Ryan's shoulder and touches Ryan's bony knee with the hand that isn't occupying his flat-ironed hair, skin slightly cooler than the warmth in Brendon's palm. "We're going to be okay," Brendon says, and maybe it is his blind hopefulness and the lingering believe that good things will happen in time, but he wants Ryan to accept it.
"Why d'you say that?" Ryan asks and Brendon says, "Because neither of us is leaving. As long as we're together, we'll be okay."
Ryan kisses him for the first time, a spur of the moment, blurt-like action that leaves Brendon with heavy eyes and a lazy grin, and the temperature variance of his and Ryan's lips is off, just a little, but it's nice. Brendon pulls Ryan out from behind the table and jerks him off slow on the couch, one hand fisting Ryan's cock, the other cupping Ryan's jaw as Brendon swallows Ryan's moans like he needs them to breathe. They spend hours talking in whispers and Brendon wills his fingertips to suck the shudder out of Ryan's pale skin, but despite how sweaty Ryan gets, his body temperature is always running a few degrees lower than Brendon's.
When Spencer shows up at Ryan's bunk when it's light outside and says they're adopting a Jon Walker from The Academy Is..., Ryan is skeptical. But Brendon's tongue and Brendon's fingers convince him to give the guy a chance and after Jon's first show with them, Ryan tugs Brendon into his bunk and sleeps for a day and a half.
----
Ryan's father dies and Brendon keeps Ryan wrapped in a blanket for an entire week.
He doesn't eat much and he sleeps even less and keeps to himself while he writes angry lyrics he'll never use, but he lets Brendon pet his hair when Spencer isn't on watch and doesn't mind when Brendon curls up around him and sings him songs about fireflies and lazy crickets. Brendon tries his hardest to make sure Ryan has something wrapped around him at all times, even if he has to sacrifice himself and snuggle close when Ryan's skin starts to shrink around him and his bones get too cold for even blankets to warm him.
Ryan only cries in front of Spencer and Brendon knows this because when Ryan starts snuffling and pushing Brendon away, Brendon goes into the front lounge of the bus and tucks himself under Jon's heavy arm, as if Jon can shield him from the loud, agonizing, pitiful sobs of pure pain and fury Brendon can hear through the thin walls. It's enough to bring tears to his eyes and if Brendon's going to crumble, he's not going to do it alone in his bed while he listens to Ryan fall apart in the next room.
Ryan and Spencer pack up and head back to Vegas for Ryan's father's funeral and Ryan doesn't give Brendon so much as a goodbye. Brendon worries and whines and moans, finds a permanent place next to Jon on the couch for three straight days and when they get back, Brendon watches as Ryan moves about the bus with hunched shoulders and a stony look, long pajama pants and too-big sweatshirts covering his lithe little body. The little sleep that Ryan had been getting before is even less now and when he does find a moment's peace, it's only a matter of time before something evil and dark creeps into his subconscious and leaves Ryan in a cold sweat, gasping in his bunk as the demons steal back away into the night.
Brendon hates falling asleep at night knowing the nightmares keep Ryan up.
He crawls up into Ryan's bunk uninvited two days after Ryan comes back from Vegas and stares at the silhouette of Ryan's face through the darkness, quiet and waiting for Ryan to make him leave. Brendon is barely registering the whites in Ryan's eyes when Ryan shifts onto his back and stares at the ceiling, chest rising and falling in time with each breath Brendon takes. They remain silent for the better part of twenty minutes, unmoving as they ask themselves a thousand questions they wish they could ask aloud. Finally, Ryan whispers, "I'm cold," into the dark, like he's talking to someone other than Brendon when Brendon knows the words are meant for him.
Brendon rolls his neck to face Ryan and doesn't say a word. The urge to touch him has never been so strong.
There's nothing but silence again and Brendon second-guesses his choice to remain silent, wonders if Ryan is going to shove him out of his bunk and tell him he's a bad friend for not adjusting the sheets so that Ryan isn't shivering. Instead, Ryan shifts and curls himself into Brendon's side, miles and miles of his cold limbs tucking in between them and his head rests on the dip in Brendon's collarbone. Brendon tingles and Ryan flinches away momentarily, but Brendon pulls him back and wraps his arms around him until they're so tangled Brendon doesn't know whose hand is on his chest. Ryan's eyelashes tickle the underside of Brendon's chin as Ryan blinks and Brendon rubs Ryan's back and counts each breath Ryan takes until they start to even out at thirty six.
"You get cold when you don't sleep enough," Brendon whispers into Ryan's hair and Ryan shivers, as if on cue. Brendon half expects Ryan to think Brendon is crazy, to ask how Brendon knows or to deny anything of the sort. But Ryan just curls his fingers into Brendon's shirt and says, "You're warm though," but it sounds like I'm okay. Brendon knows he's not.
The next night plays out the same way except this time, Brendon crawls into Ryan's bunk to chase away the nightmares tugging him in all sorts of unpleasant directions. Brendon smoothes and smoothes and smoothes Ryan's hair down until Ryan can breathe without choking and isn't clenching the hem of Brendon's shirt like it's the only thing keeping the demons at bay, keeping them from dragging him away from Brendon's cooing and murmuring. Neither of them say a word until they hear Spencer stirring in the aisle come morning and Ryan presses a kiss into Brendon's jaw and whispers, "Thank you."
It's Brendon's constant need to be with Ryan - to curl up close and hum to him until Ryan at least contemplates sleep, to feel Ryan's heartbeat beneath his palm - that keeps him crawling into Ryan's bunk most nights. There are nights when Ryan is sleeping when Brendon opens his curtains, and those are the nights Brendon worries about most, not because Ryan is sleeping, but because he won’t be sleeping for long, and Brendon is terrified of not being awake when Ryan needs to be pulled out of his horrors. And it's one of these nights - when Brendon draws back Ryan's curtains and sees him curved around his pillow, asleep - that changes everything when Ryan crawls into Brendon's bunk, face wet and lips trembling and mouths hot and needy at Brendon's lips until Brendon wakes up to the sound of his name being pushed in a whisper passed his own lips.
Brendon breathes in Ryan's breath as he stirs awake and Ryan is open-mouthed sobbing against Brendon's cheek, pleading Wake Up with every brush of his lips. Ryan only cries in front of Spencer and Brendon knows this because Spencer is the only one strong enough to handle how awful it is. And Brendon wishes he could relish the taste of Ryan without the salt of his tears tainting it all but Ryan is hurting and Brendon still doesn't know why.
He says, "Shh, hey. Hey, Ryan, what's wrong?" and is muffled only a little by the force of Ryan's lips slipping against his so desperate and a little chapped. Ryan presses his damp face into Brendon's t-shirt and slides down beside him, crying freely into his chest. And Brendon just wants to understand why Ryan is always so cold lately, why nothing Brendon seems to do changes the constant shiver in Ryan's bones or his curled in posture. Ryan cries and cries and sobs and sobs and kiss kiss kisses Brendon - frantic, reckless, hurried, hard and then so, so weak, so soft, so real and warm - until he's hiccupping and snuffling so close to Brendon's face that sometimes Brendon leans forward that fraction of an inch and kisses the tip of Ryan's nose, despite how snotty it is.
For the first time in almost a week, Ryan wakes up with heat fuzzy fingers and toes warmed by the back of Brendon's calves and later that day he and Brendon share a cherry popsicle on the roof of the bus before they're due for sound check.
----
They wrap up one tour in Chicago and Ryan spends the next two weeks with his hips aligned with Brendon's and his mouth attached to Brendon's neck.
Fourteen days. They have fourteen days to go home, relax and barely get their minds in the right place before they're going across the world and the only thing Ryan can think about is how many times he can ask Brendon 'please' with his eyes before Brendon doesn't crawl back into Ryan's bed like an answer.
They fuck. They fuck and it's rough and it's raw and it's real, and Brendon only cried the first time because Ryan had cried. He was angry and wild and just filled Brendon up so good and so much and so desperately, Make it go away, Bren and- Brendon only cried the first time because he couldn't take away the hurt welled up in Ryan's eyes. He learns though; studies the arch in Ryan's back and claws at it, watches the heat flare up in Ryan's chest and tongues it cool, examines the swelling in Ryan's lips and bites them white and throbbing. He memorizes every detail of Ryan's strategy to forget his father and the pain and Brendon lets him take everything he can from him because at least when Brendon's spread out and open for Ryan, Ryan isn't shivering cold.
Brendon has Ryan tame by the time they leave for Denmark. He's snuggly in the ways Brendon would like him to be (like when he wants Brendon to rub his scalp or when Spencer puts in Moulin Rouge or on hotel nights) and only rarely snuggly in the ways Brendon would rather not remember (like when Ryan wakes up in tears and he can't tell Brendon why because his nightmare was more of a haunting and he can't shake the feeling). Ryan isn't as awkward anymore, doesn't flinch away when Brendon wraps his arms around his middle and kisses his nose, doesn't whine when Brendon pulls him close. He's calm and alive and warm with Brendon only inches away, fingers threaded together so that Ryan can begin to memorize every pattern in Brendon's palm.
Brendon's thankful it's a hotel night that Ryan tongues an I Love You into his mouth and presses their foreheads together.
Brendon says, "What?" and Ryan says, "Since Myrtle Beach." Ryan says, "At least that's when I first-" and Brendon says, "I love you, too."
They fuck. They fuck and it's slow and it's delicious and it's real, and Brendon doesn't cry because Ryan is everywhere. He's deliberate and passionate and makes sure Brendon feels every burning inch when he pushes in, sealing Brendon's lips with murmurs of things Brendon drinks in with an eager tongue. Brendon learns Ryan all over again; his too long hair attempting to shadow eyes that are too bright for the darkness in the world, his flexing fingers and the way they're hesitant to bruise any part of Brendon's pale skin this time, his shaky breath and how he whispers Brendon's name like saying it any louder would taint everything Ryan's seen coming since the night Brendon stood on the shore in South Carolina with bright eyes and a smile, reached his hand out to Ryan and said, "C'mere."
Ryan wears a long sleeve shirt the next day and Brendon takes hold of his wrist gently and simply says, "Hey" but it's more questioning than that.
Ryan smiles with tired, reassuring eyes, kisses the corner of Brendon’s mouth, and says, "Hi." It's okay, I'm okay.
For the following days, weeks, months, lifetimes, Ryan is Brendon's Brendon's Brendon's and every day Brendon presses love into Ryan's temple, promises into his wrists, honesty onto his lips and observes Ryan's wardrobe choice of v-necks and vests with knowing smiles and a light heart. There's a warmth in Ryan's bones and a laziness pulling him like a magnet to Brendon's side constantly. Ryan will say, "S'go t'sleep," and it will be two in the afternoon, but he's usually wearing Brendon's t-shirts and Brendon's boxers and Brendon's socks, standing in Brendon's living room, tugging on Brendon's shirt collar and kissing his chin and making soft little whining noises that makes Brendon feel a rush of languid heat stretch between their bodies and before he knows it, he's been pulled into Ryan's fort of pillows and blankets and sweet mouthing on the neck and they'll sleep until it hurts. Brendon will curl Ryan's hair around his fingers and say, "We should probably, y'know, move at some point today," and Ryan will hum and press his smile into Brendon's shoulder and whisper, "Five more minutes," for the next two hours.
When they make the trip up to the cabin, Ryan pulls a sweatshirt out of his suitcase on the first day of the second week, kisses the confused wrinkles in Brendon’s forehead, and says, "It gets cold in here when you're out with Jon until the sun rises. I need something to keep me warm." The worry creeps into Brendon's skin and that night Brendon presses Ryan's hands into the bed and rocks into him until Ryan can't breathe and the chill coming in from the open window is enough to cause steam to rise from their bodies when Ryan comes apart beneath him.
And then Ryan is wearing a sweatshirt every day, all day. He curls up on the couch with Jon's coffee and sits out on the dock with Brendon's cigarettes and worries Brendon sick with Spencer's constant company.
Brendon takes Ryan by the wrist as the coals of their bonfire are smoldering out and says, "Talk to me," and pulls Ryan to his chest.
Ryan pushes away softly, grumbles, "Brendon," and Brendon tugs him back, just a little.
"Hey," Brendon says. He brushes back some of Ryan's hair, clears his face and whispers, "Hey, what's wrong with you?" The flickering shadow across Ryan's face makes his eyes hard to read.
"What are you talking about?" Ryan replies and it's harsh, a snap, defensive.
"You've hardly said anything to me all day," Brendon says softly, like he's more curious than he is upset. "And you're freezing," he adds, fingers tucked under the sleeve of Ryan's sweatshirt. "What's wrong?" he asks again and this time it's imploring.
Ryan takes his hand back from Brendon's curling fingers and crosses his arms, head bowed. "I'm fine," he says and Brendon knows the conversation is over.
"Well," Brendon says, forcing himself to swallow, to pause. "Are you ready for bed? I think Jon and Spencer want to go up the mountain tomorrow so -" but Ryan cuts him off with a gruff, "Yeah."
Brendon places his hand on the small of Ryan's back and leads him into the house, down the hall and into their bedroom. He knows Ryan falling asleep is doubtful and that worries him, that Ryan won't talk to him and won't let Brendon ask questions. But at least Brendon will fall asleep knowing where Ryan is, regardless of where he'll go when Brendon is too far gone to notice. Brendon pushes his face into Ryan's neck and breathes quietly, pine needles and burning wood soaked into Ryan's clothes and he peppers Ryan's throat with kisses and warm murmurs of I love you.
Oddly enough, Brendon wakes with miles of Ryan wrapped around him and a chin digging into his shoulder. Ryan's eyes are open and he says, "Good morning," and, "Let's get cleaned up before we leave," and, "I'll let you fuck me in the shower," and Brendon doesn't notice the chill in Ryan's fingertips until Ryan touches Brendon's cock under the heat of the water showering over them, the contrast enough to cause Brendon to gasp from more than Ryan's fingers wrapped around him.
Ryan doesn't sleep the next night either, folds himself into the sill of the window overlooking the lake outback and doesn't acknowledge Brendon when he enters the room soundlessly and rests his head in Ryan's lap. He looks up through his hair and watches Ryan watch the moon glinting off the water and curls his hand around the back of Ryan's leg, thumbing softly into the crease behind his knee. Brendon leaves moments later, when Ryan doesn't move or speak or exist as anything other than a statue, and the chill of Ryan's thighs seeps into the pit of Brendon's stomach as he curls up with Jon on the couch.
Ryan says he's ready to go home the morning after that and he doesn't talk to Brendon for a week when they get back to Vegas.
----
They record Pretty. Odd. and Ryan sucks Brendon off against every possible surface each time they're left alone in the studio.
"Jesus, fuck, Ryan. Your mouth," Brendon moans, twisting his fingers into Ryan's too short hair so hard and desperate that Ryan actually pulls off to cry out, hissing and clenching his eyes and the sight alone is enough to make Brendon come, spurting warm and wet onto Ryan's cheek and chin, Brendon's mouth slack and his hips twitching, and Ryan wraps his lips back around Brendon quickly, sucking him through it despite his resentment for Brendon ruining the collar of his shirt. Brendon apologizes, eyes haze-heavy and voice scratchy with a lingering weakness and pulls Ryan's face up to his, kissing him, tasting him, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to I love you don't be mad please." Ryan kisses him rough and punishing and wipes at his face with long fingers he curls into the corner of Brendon's mouth, alongside his tongue and Brendon moans, licking himself from Ryan's cool fingers.
Brendon doesn't see Ryan again until the week before Honda Civic and Ryan might as well still be miles away because he doesn't acknowledge Brendon at all. He talks to Spencer and to Jon and he tells Shane to remind Brendon to bring his new cords tomorrow for their four hour jam session slash rehearsal slash awkward glances seminar slash Chinese take out buffet and he leaves in his BMW before Brendon can even say the first hello of the day. Brendon texts Ryan, hey man, calls him twice over the span of three days and gives up when Ryan doesn't respond.
Their first date in California goes well, the energy and sheer excitement fueling everything that goes right on stage, but coming off is like re-entering reality and Brendon catches Ryan's hand as they're swallowed by the darkness on the side of the stage and says, "Hey." Ryan's hands are like ice. "Ryan -"
"What, Brendon?" Ryan snaps and the annoyance in his eyes surges and dies when Brendon flinches. And then softer he says, "What?"
"You- I've- You had a good show tonight," Brendon smiles and even though it's small, it's painful; each muscle that stretches his face aches as his lips spread for Ryan. This feels just like the cabin had: close and compact in the same quarters but distant in ways Brendon never wants to imagine. He hates the stop-start-stop-stop-stop of Ryan's touches and apparently his emotions, and Brendon just wants Ryan to notice him again.
Ryan's face is blank. "Thanks."
He steps around Brendon and follows after Jon's shadow but Brendon still has his wrist, tugs him back and says, "Ryan, don't-" soft and unsure. "Don't be like this, please."
"What are you talking about?" Ryan bites, prying Brendon's fingers from his arm.
Brendon looks down at his fingers for just a moment before he meets Ryan's eyes. "Your skin is -" Ryan's eyes flare and Brendon looks down again, doesn't continue.
There's a moment of silence and Ryan studies Brendon's eyes, notices that Brendon notices and clenches his jaw. Brendon knows Ryan hates it when Brendon points this out to him, as if he can't feel how sharp and painful it is when he moves, his legs like icicles and his lungs shriveled and frozen in his chest. He brushes passed Brendon without a word, passed the sweat soaked into Brendon's shirt and the heat radiating from what looks like the beginning of an amazing tour, and when Brendon finally climbs onto the bus and laments how empty Ryan's bunk is, Spencer claps him on the back and says, "Greta stole him until we head out." Brendon laughs softly, nods at Spencer and hopes the trembling in his fingers isn't as noticeable as it feels.
Two days later, they play San Diego on Brendon's birthday and after the show Ryan crowds Brendon into the corner with hot breath and freezing hands and says, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and kisses away the pout that's been fighting it's way into Brendon's smiles all day because Ryan just won't talk to him and it's Brendon's birthday and - "I miss you, Bren. I miss you and I can't sleep."
Brendon grabs Ryan's face and presses his nose to Ryan's cheek. "Ryan," is all Brendon can say through a breathy sigh as his head tips back and Ryan kisses apologies up the column of his pale throat. Ryan whispers, "'m sorry," into Brendon's jaw, eyes clenched shut, breath sticky on Brendon's neck and Brendon turns his head and presses a firm kiss to the side of Ryan's head, arms wrapping around Ryan's shoulders in a tight, claiming hug, and this is maybe the most alive Brendon has felt since the last time Ryan let himself be this close.
Brendon closes his eyes, thinks finally and lets Ryan expel a shaky breath into his ear before he eases Ryan out of his arms and curls his fingers around Ryan's, brushing his lips gently against Ryan's like he's still unsure, so unsure if this is going to start and then stop-stop-stop. Ryan opens his mouth easily and curls his tongue out to pry Brendon's hesitant lips apart. Brendon's mouth opens but Ryan doesn't surge in, just lets them breathe into each other, their noses touching softly. Ryan just wants to taste the heat in Brendon's mouth but he won't ask. Not unless Brendon offers first.
Brendon's mouth closes, swallows and parts again to breathe softly against Ryan's wet lips and Brendon nudges Ryan's nose with his. "I never went anywhere for you to miss me," Brendon whispers and it's so quiet Ryan wonders if it's because anything louder would break Brendon's voice.
Still, Ryan nods because he knows it's true, knows Brendon was always there with a hopeful smile and a curious, worried gaze and a mouth that always looked like it was curled in a question each time Ryan walked by without so much as a glance. And Ryan hates that he put something so heavy on Brendon, made him doubt and fret and cry - god, Ryan is so thankful he only saw the puffiness in Brendon's eyes yesterday morning when Brendon had shuffled out from his bunk - but he feels like he's shouldering the same weight, the doubt and the fret and the tears even, because he loves Brendon - "Since Myrtle Beach," he had said - but that's such a scary thing, no matter how comfortable Ryan feels curled up against Brendon at night, fingers skimming over Brendon's ribs and waking up the next morning with a full night's sleep thick in his mouth and knowing it's because Brendon keeps him grounded, sane. Knowing Brendon keeps him warm.
When they make it back to the bus they head straight to Ryan's bunk and Brendon lets Ryan wrap himself around him as many times as his long arms can reach and Brendon presses his face into Ryan's chest and just is. They keep curled on their sides, faces breaths apart and hands stroking hips chests shoulders jaws until Brendon leans in and claims Ryan's lips softly and it feels like a first, like starting over. Brendon watches Ryan's eyes far after they've slipped closed and it isn't until Ryan starts snuffling quietly, nuzzling closer and twisting his fingers weakly in Brendon's shirt - his stage shirt and god, does it make him feel lazy - that Brendon notices that Ryan is sleeping and the ice in his fingers are thawing out in Brendon's palm.
----
Brendon isn't ready to give up awesome hack tournaments with Phantom Planet and Ryan isn't ready to give up the easy conversations with their lead singer, but by the end of Honda Civic, Ryan's skin is warm even when he isn't sprawled out shirtless on Brendon's porch, like most days.
Brendon's head is in his lap, kissing the sticky heat on Ryan's belly with lips sweet enough to make Ryan hum lazily around the cigarette in his mouth and the post-tour tingles are settling into his bones. Brendon whispers things to Ryan's bellybutton and through a smirk, he refuses to repeat it loud enough for Ryan to hear. Ryan laughs until Brendon presses his nose into his ribs and says, "I need another Corona," and somewhere between following Brendon into the house and actually making it to the kitchen, Ryan pushes Brendon down on the couch and fucks him so slow that Brendon is practically vibrating beneath him. Brendon says, "Please, Ryan" and "Yes" and "Don't stop" and Ryan just kisses Brendon hard enough to bruise and doesn't let up on the press of their foreheads until Brendon is clawing up Ryan's shoulders, breath hitching and back arching as he comes.
"I love you," Brendon murmurs softly into Ryan's hair when Ryan comes down from his own orgasm, lying flat and lazy over Brendon as he mouths at his jaw. Brendon's lips are trembling, kiss swollen and wet, and the hairs on the side of Ryan's head stick to them when Brendon repeats, "I love you" softly against Ryan's temple. Ryan says, "I love you, too," and cards his fingers through Brendon's sweaty hair, breathing heavily into Brendon's neck.
Rockband rolls around and the autumn chill that alternates between cities puts Ryan in long sleeves and Brendon in a state of uneasiness he hasn't felt since their first time performing in front of Pete. It takes Ryan physically crawling into Brendon's lap, straddling him on the couch in the back lounge and kissing him softly, reminding, "It's freezing out, Bren. And we slept until one," for Brendon to relent just a little and laugh weakly.
Ryan noses his cheek and Brendon says, "I know. I know but I... worry about you, a lot."
Ryan smiles, so soft that Brendon can hardly feel the pull of Ryan's lips as they stretch against Brendon's cheek, "I'm happy," he whispers. Brendon feels something swell in his chest, flare and ignite and strain, and he doesn't protest when Ryan starts pawing at his shirt and kissing him sloppily on the neck. "I am," Ryan says softly, directly into Brendon's ear and Brendon says, "Okay."
Two days later Jon and Ryan are strumming guitars under the shade of a few trees beside the bus and they're singing, off tune and out of key and Jon's probably a little drunk and Ryan's probably a little high, but Jon's also giggling every other word and Ryan is smiling so hard his eyes are crinkling and Brendon misses Spencer's hack to him because he can't stop staring. Ryan strums and Jon laughs and Jon strums and Ryan laughs and Spencer says, "Dude, what the fuck? We almost made it to -" and Brendon blinks and says, "Shit, man. I'm sorry, I -"
Spencer straightens from reaching down to retrieve the fallen hacky sack and smiles when he cups Brendon's shoulder, "They're both so fucked."
Brendon chuckles and realizes that at one point in his life, he couldn't look at Ryan's smile without thinking the same of himself. But this time, now, when Ryan catches Brendon's eye in the middle of a laugh and lets it fizzle away slowly as his fingers curl to halt on the neck of his guitar - this time, Brendon doesn't do anything other than return the smile and turn to juggle the hack Spencer sends his way.
----
Brendon feels the ice in Ryan's fingers when he takes Ryan's hand and pulls him towards the dressing room the before their last show of the year.
There are calluses there, too, ones that Brendon doesn't remembers feeling this prominent on Ryan's hands since they were spending days in Spencer's grandma's basement and Ryan refused to set down his guitar. But Brendon doesn't remember settling down on the couch with Ryan and their guitars more than once in the past week because when they are together, Ryan has the tendency to pull Brendon into his lap and kiss the side of his neck with dry lips, playing with his hair and watching Cash Cab until Brendon squirms and says, "My ass is numb."
Ryan's fingers are rough with ferocious amounts of songwriting that Brendon has no knowledge of. On top of this confusion, Ryan's hand in his is causing his own palm to numb.
He can feel his stomach sink somewhere down towards his toes and he might have swallowed hard, too, but Ryan just grips his hand tighter and says, "I love you," kissing Brendon on the corner of the mouth once, firmly, before letting go completely and retreating to his corner of the room to dress. Brendon watches him closely the whole time, the curve in Ryan's back when he tosses one shirt aside and reaches down to pick up another, the tightness in his shoulders when he shrugs it on, the clumsiness of his fingers when he buttons it up. Brendon crosses the length of the room and stops in front of Ryan, reaches out as Ryan fumbles with the third to last button and wordlessly finishes the task Ryan is struggling with. Their eyes don't meet, but Brendon runs his fingers down Ryan's chest softly, trailing just enough that Ryan's breath tightens before Brendon goes back to stepping into his pants.
When the show is over, Brendon crawls across the bus floor and sits on his knees in front of Ryan. Ryan looks down at him from the couch and smiles, traces Brendon's jaw with two fingers and says, "C'mere," like it's a secret. He almost glides up Ryan's torso, lets his hands slide up Ryan's sides as he presses soft lips to Ryan's hips and stomach and chest. Ryan breathes slow and lazy and grabs strands of Brendon's hair with a soft moan.
In Ryan's ear, Brendon murmurs, "If I fuck you with my tongue -" and Ryan's eyes roll back in his head and he chokes. Brendon's eyes flutter closed and he kisses Ryan's temple gently. He swallows quietly and repeats, "If I fuck you with my tongue and get you ready, could I -?"
Ryan grips Brendon's shoulder tightly, fingers digging into Brendon's sweaty shirt and lets his head fall to the back of the couch. "Brendon, fuck," Ryan gasps as Brendon works open his pants with expert fingers, licks a stripe up the underside of Ryan's cock and presses his hands into Ryan's back, pulling him to the edge of the couch before he ducks down again and pushes his tongue into the tight ring of muscle in Ryan's ass. Ryan writhes. His legs spasm and wrap tightly around Brendon's shoulders as he arches up onto Brendon's mouth, panting, stomach fluttering and he claws at Brendon's biceps because they're the only thing he can reach. His heels dig into the ladder of Brendon's spine and it's too much and not ever, ever enough and Brendon works him open for three slow minutes before Ryan grabs Brendon by the side of the face, pulls him up to his mouth and gasps, "Please. Please," and places Brendon's heavy, warm palms on his cheeks, desperate.
Brendon cups Ryan's jaw with one hand, wraps the other around Ryan's dick and breathes hot against Ryan's neck until Ryan's back arches as he comes. When Ryan's soft whimpers subside, Brendon carries him to his bunk, tucks him under the covers and brushes back Ryan's hair. "Close your eyes," Brendon whispers, and kisses Ryan's eyelids shut.
Were the tour not ending, Ryan would continue to kiss Brendon upwards of fifty times a day. Now, as they all file back home in their own cars, Ryan shares his breath with Brendon, pressed up against his Mercedes in his driveway. With arms slung loose but possessively around Brendon's neck, Ryan doesn't think of Brendon's hands smudging his window or his neighbors glaring over their fancy fences. It's just Brendon's lips on his, licking into Ryan's mouth and curling on the roof, slow and sensual, one hand tangled in the back of Ryan's hair.
"I don't want you to leave," Ryan murmurs, twisting Brendon's too-long hair in his fingers. "Can't you stay the night?"
Brendon laughs and rubs his nose to Ryan's, "No, I have to pick up Bogart and -"
"Can I stay with you then?" Ryan asks, smiling hopefully.
Brendon feels the goose bumps Ryan's chilled fingers give him and says, "Okay."
----
Brendon's really fucking stoked to go to Africa, but Ryan sits with Jon the entire flight to Heathrow, the entire layover, and the entire flight to Capetown. Ryan is bent over his notebook, Jon is bent over his guitar, and Brendon catches Ryan’s eye somewhere over the ocean and Ryan looks away, uneasy. He looks up when Jon says something, nods his head and agrees, but Brendon notices how he tries to peer out of his peripherals at Brendon across the aisle. When they land in Capetown, Brendon pushes away the unpleasant twisting in his stomach and takes Ryan's hand as they gather their luggage. "We're sharing, right?" Brendon asks, and Ryan's lips twitch he swallows, nods. He says, "Yeah... always," and lets Brendon pick out the room when they arrive at their condo.
There are beds outside and a pool and the shower on the patio has no door, but it has a ledge and Brendon makes wiggly brows at it as they pass. "Don't get any ideas," Ryan says flatly and Brendon says, "They're not ideas if I plan to act on them." Ryan threatens to push him into the pool.
Jon and Spencer claim their own rooms, each with a huge bed and a nice, slow spinning fan above and the first thing Brendon does when he gets Ryan alone is kiss his neck and say, "I love you."
Ryan shrugs away from Brendon's mouth with a smile and flops down on the bed to take off his shoes. "Remind me again why I wore these?" and Brendon chuckles, crawls up behind Ryan, resting his chin on Ryan's shoulder and answers, "Because you're difficult."
"Ah, yes," Ryan says and turns his head into Brendon's whisper kisses and ghosting verbs. Ryan says, "I'm going to fuck you out here tonight," and then, "Are the mosquitoes really bad?" Brendon bites Ryan's ear and drags him to the pool.
Jon manages to hog Ryan for most of the night, criss-cross legged by the fire pit on the patio, guitars in their laps and lyrics on their tongues and when Brendon slinks up to the circle of heat, shadow dancing and long behind him, wraps his arms around Ryan's neck and murmurs "Lets get to the christening part of this vacation, Ross," Ryan's back straightens, "Not now, Brendon." Brendon draws back a little, a small frown darkening his fire-lit features and Ryan strums a hollow, angry note on his acoustic and asks Jon to repeat the last progression. Brendon says, "When you're ready..." and Ryan says, "Later." Ryan watches his fingers in the flickering light of the fire instead of watching Brendon go and wishes silently to himself that there were an easier way to thaw himself out.
Brendon falls asleep in an empty bed and wakes up to an even emptier feeling.
Over the next two days, Brendon watches Ryan slip further and further away and he chases after him with laced fingers and pleas of "Come to bed," and "Kiss me," and each time Ryan says "No" in a different way.
Spencer stops Ryan by the counter the morning of Brendon's birthday and chastises him in all the ways he used to when Ryan was a kid and Spencer was still the eldest, regardless of age. Spencer's always been the most mature, despite Ryan's ego's attempt to convince him otherwise. Spencer says, "You pulled this shit last year." Says, "Grow the fuck up." Says, "Who are you?" and Ryan sits against Spencer's hip the entire safari, whispers "Don't hate me," when the sky darkens and the temperature drops, and lets Spencer play the eldest like always when he throws part of his blanket over Ryan's trembling body and knocks their knees together.
The only mane Brendon worries over is the curly one in the seat in front of him and he thinks Keep quiet. Basic needs of survival, Keep your hands to yourself, keep your distance.
Everything will be fine.
----
"You're not fine."
"Brendon, I'm fi-"
"No, Ryan. You're not fucking fine, okay? You're sick. You're sick and you won't let me help you-"
Ryan's fist hits the wall like an explosion. Brendon flinches. "God dammit, Brendon. Just fucking- just shut up! Just shut up," Ryan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and huffs, "If I ever needed your help, I would have fucking asked for it."
Brendon's shoulders slump, his frame folds and Ryan doesn't move as Brendon slips slowly into the armchair in his living room. Ryan's too weak to ask for help, to admit he's wrong, to swallow his pride and extend his hand.
"I don't need you or Spencer or Jon or fucking... anyone to tell me I'm not fine because I am, okay?" If Ryan ever wanted complete sanity, he would have asked for it. "I'm sick of you telling me to sleep, of telling me what to eat, when to eat, how much to eat, of fucking... controlling me because you think I'm 'sick.' I'm not sick, Brendon. I don't need you."
This is where it stops.
"Ryan, you don't- you don't mean that," Brendon says, almost hysterically.
Ryan's a fucked up fuck up and Brendon's peeling himself off of Ryan's thousand dollar furniture, not wanting to notice the way Ryan's redecorated with booze and sin and everything Ryan swore he wouldn't be the night he slipped the lyrics of Camisado into Brendon's palm in Maryland. Ugly and scribbled on the back of a napkin he'd taken from the diner they'd eaten at, when Ryan used to crowd himself into corners of booths and push away Brendon's hand when he offered Ryan some of his fries, his soda, his affection.
"Oh, come on, Brendon. Look at us! Look! I fuck up, you fuck me and then I fuck off: this is how this works, this is how it's always worked and this is how it will always work." Brendon shakes tears from his face and takes two steps towards Ryan, pacing in front of his coffee table, one Alex bought him from a garage sale in Santa Barbara. It looks like shit. "You don't love me and I don't love you," Brendon swallows a sob and catches Ryan's hand softly. Ryan jerks away annoyed, finishes, "We just get by."
Still shaking his head, Brendon bumps streams of tears across his face as he chokes, "Don't say that," and "Shh, Ryan, please," and reaches once more for Ryan's hand. Ryan lets him take it - just two fingers - and Brendon squeezes softly. "Hey," Brendon whispers, voice shot, rough like gravel and brittle like ash. "Hey, listen to me -" He steps closer to Ryan, to the edge and dares to curl his hand around three more fingers, claims Ryan's entire left hand and says, "I'm here." Ryan's fingers twitch in his hand, cold and tense and Brendon breathes, "I'm yours."
This is where it starts.
Hot breath down the side of Ryan's neck is like a trigger and Ryan curls his free hand around Brendon's hip, pulls him in closer and kisses him slow and hard, lips of ice and lips of fire and everything melts into warm, liquid laziness that Brendon tastes on the tip of his tongue and the roof of his mouth and if Ryan ever wanted Brendon, he would have asked for him. But he didn't have to and Brendon relishes the silence because it means Ryan isn't asking, isn't screaming. Ryan isn't spewing lies.
Ryan feels like acceptance but tastes like denial.
Brendon kisses Ryan two more slow times, pecks his lips once and says, "I love you," and Ryan says, "Jon and I are leaving."
This is where it stop stop stops.