Kiss Like No One's Watching (Love Like Everyone Is) [s/a]
Title: Kiss Like No One's Watching (Love Like Everyone Is)
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: moceanu
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Ryan and Brendon have this thing.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't believe.
Author Notes: So me and ivesia19 were talking one day about how Ryan and Brendon basically plan out days to tease us with their gay. This ensued.
For ivesia19, because she is made of awesome and 1 billion Urie smiles.
♥
Ryan and Brendon have this thing.
Ryan likes to call it appeasing the masses, Brendon calls it fun, both of them find it comfortable.
And this thing, it tends to make appearances in pictures, videos, songs (a whole album’s worth, if they’re being honest), magazine articles, blogs, that one time on TRL when they may or may not have been biting opposite sides of the same balloon during commercial break, their choice of dress, interviews, an entire fucking tour.
This thing, Ryan and Brendon like to think of it as elusive or ambiguous and in most cases, they’re spot on about its ability to confuse spectators.
However, there are some days that this thing becomes more prominent than on others and they both feel a bit lighter not having to be subtle.
This thing, it’s empowering, it’s effortless, it’s right.
This thing is their obvious gay.
----
It’s usually early morning when they start their planning. These days, they’re not like most days. They’re special and occur spontaneously, but sometimes they can both sense them approaching through the way their looks grow longer and the inch of space between their fingers begins to seem like miles. It just takes one of them finally relenting to the distance they put between each other so often. Sweet, sweet rebellion.
It hardly ever happens, but if Ryan is the first to wake, he lulls Brendon into consciousness with soft kisses on his temples and breakfast in bed. If it’s Brendon -- and god, Ryan loves it when it’s Brendon --, he coaxes Ryan into reality with his mouth around his dick in what Ryan thinks is the most delicious way Brendon could ever say Good Morning.
Ryan will never admit it, but there have been times that he’s feigned sleep in order to receive one of Brendon’s special morning blowjobs. He loves getting head, could probably get it any second of the day if he just asked Brendon, but there’s just something about how Brendon’s mouth moves mere moments after he’s woken up, lazy and slow and unhurried and Ryan quite fancies getting violated by Brendon’s mouth while he’s sleeping. It’s a pleasant way to start the day.
This morning, much to Ryan’s delight, Brendon is the first to wake. It doesn’t take Ryan long to buck into consciousness, begin trying to comprehend how wonderful the sensation flicking over his cock is as he fights uncaringly for his hold on those last few moments of sleep. When Brendon opens his mouth wide, sucks as much of Ryan is as he can manage and Ryan feels himself touching the back of Brendon’s throat, that’s when Ryan’s eyes fly open and he grapples for the sheets helplessly, shuddering.
Panting already and trying so, so hard to keep his hips anchored on the bed so as not to choke Brendon, Ryan laughs in disbelief -- it’s not that he can’t believe he’s getting morning head again, it’s that he still has yet to fathom how talented Brendon is with his mouth -- and relaxes a bit, dropping his head back on the pillow with a low moan. His long fingers stretch down and encouragingly curl through Brendon’s hair, the smile on his face sated and blissful and warm, and Brendon hums graciously at the contact, mouth full of Ryan.
Brendon works him, composed and leisurely, relishing the taste building on the back of his tongue. His hands trace patterns and nothings and everythings along Ryan’s waist, hips, thighs and he notes the goosebumps that linger in his hand’s wake as they smooth over his bare skin.
All it takes is a few more bobs of Brendon’s head and the swipe of his tongue over the head of Ryan’s cock and Ryan’s fingers tighten around the hair in his reach as Brendon tries his hardest to swallow up the fruits of his labor.
Ryan comes down from his stupor with satisfied moans and deep gulps of air and Brendon kisses the inside of his thigh, lovingly.
They’re all sleepy smiles as they stare at each other and Ryan licks his lips, eyeing the small dollop of come lingering on the edge of Brendon’s mouth and he beckons him to the head of the bed with a curling finger. Crawling up Ryan’s tingling body, Brendon makes momentary pit stops to suck, lick, nibble at any patch of skin he finds tantalizing and by the time he reaches Ryan’s mouth, he’s sure he’s marked Ryan’s entire abdomen. They kiss, languid and soft and Ryan moans enjoyably when he tastes himself on Brendon’s tongue, curling his fingers around Brendon’s biceps.
“Mmm,” Brendon hums, goofy grin and heavy, half open eyes. “Good morning.”
Ryan mimics Brendon’s smile and kisses him once more before carding his fingers through Brendon’s hair and murmuring, “So, how gay do you think we should be today, babe?”
Brendon sucks on the bottom of Ryan’s chin and says, “I don’t know. Why don’t you get me off and we’ll see how things progress?”
Ryan feels Brendon’s lips scratch against the small amount of stubble under his chin and he smiles, then obliges.
----
It’s funny, really, how this thing of theirs, their obvious gay, started out.
Brendon had joked around in Ryan’s lap one night after a one of their first shows, twirled long locks of honey hair around his fingers and said, “We should totally make out on stage.”
Ryan, he had laughed at first, kissed Brendon for good measure and allowed his heart to stop thundering before he cocked his head and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”
“Think you should what?” Spencer had said coming out of the bathroom after claiming first shower.
“I think me and Ryan should make out on stage,” Brendon relayed, “It’d be hot.”
“Um, no,” Spencer had said. “We’re just starting out, you guys. We can’t risk losing fans over it.”
“If they’re only in it for my ass,” Brendon said and wiggled in Ryan’s lap suggestively. “Then they’re not any fans I want at our shows.”
Spencer had shrugged and said, “Sorry, boys. But they’re paying the bills right now. Once we get on our feet, we’ll have more level headed fans but until then…” He waved his hand vaguely in some sort of gesture that the conversation was over and went into the corner to use his phone.
That next day, Ryan presented Spencer with the script that would carry them through their first headlining tour and said, “It’s a story.”
Spencer only smiled and decided not to point out that it was more like a guaranteed way for them to grope each other each night disguised by a cleverly worded storyline and angst out the ass.
----
Ryan hooks his chin over Brendon’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his middle. “I think,” he says and tucks a kiss behind Brendon’s ear. “If you wear that shirt, I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands to myself.”
Brendon smirks and pushes the last button through the hole and smoothes out the light wrinkles in the front of his shirt. “I’m pretty sure that’s the point today, Ry.”
Ryan chuckles, low and dark and slides his hands across Brendon’s stomach, inching the fabric of Brendon’s white cotton shirt up slowly, so slowly that when he finally ghosts across the warm flesh just above Brendon’s jeans, he’s surprised to feel how the itching in his fingers dissolves away. Brendon sighs, light and relaxed, and drops his head back on Ryan’s shoulder, eyes closed. Ryan’s smile parts across Brendon’s throat when he kisses the skin there and Brendon hums, content.
“You know,” Brendon says, and Ryan relishes in how the vibrations of Brendon’s voice tickle his lips. “I don’t understand why everyday can’t be like this.”
Ryan kisses a statement of, “I know,” against the column of Brendon’s throat and closes his eyes, imagining.
“If everyday we could be like this,” Brendon continues, “Comfortable and ourselves. That I could hold your hand without having to fear the repercussions and that we could be together in the open instead of waiting for the day that we can’t take it anymore.”
In his mind, Ryan agrees. He wants to be able to be with Brendon, to be Brendon’s, without dealing with the consequences of going public. Sure, they could emerge from Ryan’s house with the title of RyanandBrendon, but not without some kind of backlash or chaotic whirlwind of gossip to face soon after. Of course, there would be fans, friends, family that would accept them, be happy for them (and/or quite possibly throw glorious parades and parties), but there’s always that if. What if?
It’s safer like this, letting the world get a taste one day at a time and then retracting back into themselves before people are able to take a second glance. Safer being normal for a few hours and having the ability to brush off a lingering touch as concern rather than love. Safer testing the waters of the unknown instead of diving head first.
It’s safe to wait until they’re ready.
“But it’s okay,” Brendon exclaims brightly and Ryan has never not adored how easily Brendon can brush of negative things in his life and replace them with bright eyes and a grin that makes Ryan’s knees weak. He turns around in Ryan’s arms and pushes Ryan up against the large mirror mounted on the wall of Ryan’s closet, the reflective glass almost reaching from ceiling to floor. His voice drops considerably and he says, “Because when we get home tonight, I’m going to fuck you into every surface in this house.”
Ryan groans when Brendon pecks him lightly on the cheek, an apologetic compensation for him slapping away Ryan’s greedy hands, suddenly extremely preoccupied with removing Brendon’s shirt.
----
If their stage show isn’t enough to prove that Ryan and Brendon’s relationship is far from platonic, then the copious amount of incriminating evidence that spanned from that era of their lives to the present day, is.
Say, for example, all of those time that Brendon groped Ryan in public (or fucking sniffed him in the credits of their first ever DVD), all of the interviews that may or may not have made Jon and Spencer feel awkward, all of the meet and greets that got pretty fucking interesting, and of course, who could forget, the infamous Audrey and Jac AIM scandal.
Needless to say, the boys love being playful. Sure, most of the time their flirting is played up for the fans, but there are those few times that sincerity becomes their weakness.
Once, during a magazine interview, Brendon inadvertently came out after being asked where he could see himself personally and musically in five to ten years, and of course, he made a joke out of it for show; what the printed words couldn’t show was the huge smile on Ryan’s face.
Another time, Brendon and Jon were doing an interview with 99x and Brendon felt the need to deep throat his microphone on a whim. Ryan, who had happened to see a video of this feat later on youtube, was insistent that is was merely a trick of the camera. That night, just to prove that his cock sucking abilities were in no way enhanced by the magic of film, Brendon got Ryan off three times with his mouth alone.
During a past show of theirs, Brendon managed to creep out most of the venue, himself included, after he played a short ditty on the piano. When Ryan grew puzzled by the unfamiliar tune, Brendon announced he’d written it the previous night while he was peeking into Ryan’s bunk. He hadn’t meant to say it, but Ryan asked and it’s just so comfortable with Ryan and it’s so natural on stage and shit, yeah. It just “came out, Ryan.” After the show, when Brendon tried to explain this, Ryan only laughed at his choice of words, said, “I see that,” and kissed Brendon breathless.
And maybe, most of their momentary mistakes are because of Brendon. They get it: Brendon displays his emotions on his face and wears his heart on his sleeve and it’s not that Brendon’s not trustworthy with secrets, he’s just so damned readable. When Ryan tells him as much, scolds him playfully for his recklessness, Brendon likes to remind Ryan of all the times that he has slipped up,too while he’s kneading Ryan through his jeans.
To them, it’s all a game of cat and mouse, a dangerous dance around the outskirts of a fire they’re not quite ready to walk through. Besides, nothing makes the sex better than the delicious adrenaline still coursing through their veins at the thrill of almost being caught.
----
The drive to Starbucks to meet Spencer and Jon doesn’t last long, especially with Brendon practically crawling over the console between them just to snuggle into Ryan’s side. Ryan, he likes to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel while he’s driving and not on Brendon. However, his eyes and hands are naturally drawn to Brendon so the whole coordination thing he should have while operating a motor vehicle is shot all to hell when Brendon tickles feather light fingers over Ryan’s abdomen and purrs into his neck. The drive is a short one because it becomes evident that a higher speed means a quicker arrival and that equals BrendonBrendonBrendon just that much sooner.
They have an interview scheduled at one, and it’s already half past noon but Jon needs his morning coffee even this far into the day, so they opt to meet up in one location and make a group transportation to the interview being held in the dressing room of the venue they’re playing tonight. It’s not a big show, just a small, hometown gig for everyone (hometown to everyone except Jon, but he’s come to consider Vegas as his home away from home) and it isn’t even until seven. However, they figured they might as well get the interview out of the way and use the good three hours between the end of the it and sound check to smoke some of the weed they got from Travis when he visited last weekend.
When they finally sit down for questions, Brendon’s fingers ache when he notices Ryan choose a seat next to Spencer, leaving the drummer to act as a cruel barricade to the overwhelming surge of abandonment Brendon feels.
He knows it’s silly, Ryan’s literally two feet away and he had completely held Brendon’s hand the entire way from Starbucks until they entered the room, thumbing his knuckles and humming, and it’s fucking stupid for Brendon to feel so left alone. But the absence of Ryan’s warm fingers between his makes his hands feel cold and clammy and he swallows down the swell of sadness curling up his throat. Ryan winks at him subtly when he notices Brendon’s fingers twitch forward after him, just the slightest twitch that no one but Ryan would understand the meaning of. The meaning of “Not just yet” and “Come back, fingers”.
Brendon smiles weakly and the interviewer, a small brunette woman, welcomes them and begins with the questions.
“So how are you guys doing today?” she asks, bright and cheery and they all beam back at her. It’s the typical way to start an interview, but the courtesy is nice.
“Good, good,” Ryan answers, bobbing his head. “We actually just got Starbucks,” he says and gestures to Jon who raises his cup with a flourish, as if advertising his former business of employment. “Cause we just rolled out of bed thirty minutes ago.”
The interviewer laughs politely, when Spencer yawns in agreement and Jon hums around the edge of his cup. Brendon smiles and says, “Yeah, we’re the laziest people we know.”
“None of us ever want to get up,” Jon interjects, swallowing his coffee. “The past few months have been amazing, touring and stuff. But now that we’re home, getting each other out of bed is almost impossible. We’re all having to play alarm clock to everyone.”
“Especially Ryan,” Brendon adds. “He takes a lot of coaxing and sweet-talking.”
Ryan fights off a smile, thinking, “Or dick-sucking,” and coughs.
The interviewer doesn’t raise her eyebrow or really take any notice at all to Brendon’s suggestive smirk and it’s a damn shame this interview isn’t being recorded because the moment is priceless. She moves on to the next question with a jostle of her tape recorder forward: “So you’ve got a small show tonight. I’ve been told it’s nothing really extravagant, just a little thing you guys set up to keep the creative juices flowing, am I correct?”
Jon clears his throat and says, “Yeah, yeah. We, uh-- The guys called me up in Chicago last week and said they were wanting to do a little gig so that we didn’t get rusty. We’ve been back from tour for two months now, and you’d think that isn’t enough time to you know, completely forget how to play your instrument. But even a few days without playing my bass and I feel lost.”
“It’s hard sometimes, with Jon so far away, to function properly as a band. I mean, we’ve been writing a lot lately and it’s not the same when Jon’s not here to contribute,” Ryan says.
“So what you’re saying is that it’s difficult for you four as a band to maintain that closeness needed to write good music when one of you is on the other side of the country?” the interviewer clarifies.
“Yeah,” Jon says. “I love Chicago, there’s no other place like it. But if home is where your heart is then my home is with this band here in Vegas. I can’t tell you how many times Brendon has called me at like, four in the morning Chicago time just so he can sing me the snippet of this song they’ve all been working on. Like, yeah, Brendon. It’s great, but I’m sleeping, you know?” Brendon chuckles at this because really, he’s called Jon at ungodly hours in the morning numerous times. Sometimes just to say hello, I miss you.
“The distance takes something away from the writing process that we’re all supposed to be a part of, together,” Spencer finalizes and everyone nods in concurrence.
“And you just said you’ve been writing? Can you tell us anything about how that is coming along? The style and feel of it?”
“Well,” Ryan begins, crossing one long, bony leg over the other. The threads his fingers together on his knee and says, “Mostly we just write about what makes us happy: music, our friends and family, loved ones--”
“Weed,” Brendon thinks about throwing in, but refrains.
“I guess just our lives in general,” Ryan summarizes. “I don’t think any of us are truly unhappy with anything.”
“Yeah,” Brendon agrees, bright eyes dancing and teeth blinding white. “We’re all pretty gay, to be honest.”
----
As the infectious melody of their song slowly melted into a symphony of cellos and violins and trumpets and Ooh ooh oohs, Ryan was all smiles and tinted cheeks and the only thing he found himself doing was gravitating towards Brendon, almost floating towards where he sat on the piano bench.
There were too many colors and too much sound and endless sweets and the strange scent of fresh cotton tingling every inch of his senses and the only thing that actually made sense was the almost woozy path he was taking in the direction of the brown hair swaying with the music. Before he knew it, he had his arms wrapped around Brendon, fingers splayed loosely over the warm fabric of Brendon’s pajamas and everything seemed to stop being so overwhelming and bright and just slow down into this almost molten-like oozing sensation of home.
Brendon hadn’t looked shocked or surprised or questioning in the least, yet Ryan was sure he hadn’t been expecting it since he himself didn’t know what he was doing until he actually did it. But Brendon just smiled back at him, like he knew Ryan would eventually make that journey and he had been waiting patiently for him, and just threw his arm around Ryan’s waist and pulled him close.
The neck of Ryan’s guitar jutted out across Brendon’s chest and when Brendon leaned his head back into the side of Ryan’s torso, just below his arm, and looked up at Ryan with a lazy grin, it was all Ryan could do to keep from leaning down and pressing their mouths together, anything to calm the tightening in his chest.
Brendon slipped a single finger beneath the hem of Ryan’s pajama top and dabbed lightly at the warm flesh it opened up to him and instantly Ryan was sitting next to him on the piano bench, plastered to his side and swaying them to the last dying breaths of their song.
When they watched the final version of the video for Nine In The Afternoon, Brendon squeezed Ryan’s hand when they appeared on screen together, relaxed and open for all the world to see. Ryan’s heart swelled a little more.
----
The minute they leave the interview room, Brendon presses Ryan up against the cold brick wall just behind the door and kisses bruises onto his lips. When he breaks away, it’s wet and sloppy but Ryan doesn’t mind because he’s too concerned with regaining his balance.
“So you read the shit on the internet?” Brendon asks, breathless, staring into Ryan’s face with an intensity that makes Ryan’s head spin.
Ryan swallows. “What?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you danced around that question about those stories our fans write about us,” Brendon accuses, taking a light nip at Ryan’s neck.
Ryan grunts out a laugh and says, “I admit nothing.”
And Brendon kind of just melts into this gelatin mold that happens to be the same dimensions of his body before he presses his entire figure, toes to nose, against Ryan’s and growls, “I am going to fuck you so good tonight.”
Ryan shudders and when Spencer and Jon pass by rolling their eyes, Brendon clears his throat, takes Ryan’s hand up and pulls him after the other half of their band.
----
Jon and Spencer know. Ryan’s sure they’ve most likely always known, probably even before him and Brendon knew, but they decided to officially tell them on the bus last spring when Jon walked in on Ryan, spread out and squirming for Brendon to take him deeper, please, please. Ryan was a bit embarrassed, wanted to stop and go try to compensate for just why they hadn’t mentioned anything along the lines of “And oh, yeah. We’re fucking.” But Brendon refused to not finish and Ryan found it very hard to argue when Brendon made this mouth-watering noise and his nose brushed against the dark curls of hair at the base of Ryan’s cock.
When Ryan and Brendon finally pulled themselves out of the back lounge, having discussed their situation and come to a mutual agreement, they found Jon on the couch in the front and said, “Jon, we--”
“Dude, it’s cool. Spencer told me,” Jon cut in nonchalantly.
“Wait, Spencer--? He knows?”
“What? When did he tell you?”
They stared bemused at their bassist.
Jon shrugged, “Last night, when I was choking on his cock.”
----
At the show that night, Brendon makes a big show out of Ryan’s guitar.
Says that it’s new (but it’s not), that it was really expensive (which it probably was, but it was a gift from Pete so there’s no telling), that it makes sexy rock and roll sounds when you strum it, and he does all of this while down on his knees in front of Ryan, toying mindlessly with the body of the guitar (but really he’s just trying to get close to Ryan’s dick and Ryan’s all too impressed by his nerve).
Ryan, he knows Brendon was born to out-gay him and he lets a small moment of jealousy take him because Brendon’s flamboyancy can be taken for his eccentricity, where as Ryan’s earns him a raised eyebrow and a lot of criticism. But today, it’s okay if he’s looked upon oddly or if he’s chewed up and spit out by a few of his fans because he’s supposed to be being himself, comfortable and natural around Brendon. And if that constitutes Ryan kissing Brendon on the cheek a little more often than usual for their set, then so fucking be it.
Of course, Ryan is better with words, therefore he’s a bit better at subtlety than Brendon is. However, after singing Ryan’s words for night upon nights for years now, Brendon’s come to understand the hidden meanings in Ryan’s words. When Brendon discovered the meaning behind half of the lyrics on Pretty. Odd., Ryan couldn’t walk normally for a good week.
After Folkin’ Around, the song that directly follows Brendon’s stunt, Ryan steps up to the microphone and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the song you just heard was written by our very own, Mr. Brendon Urie.” He pauses and lets the crowd scream and flail and scream their “I love you”s. “He wrote that song shirtless in my backyard, and it was really hot.”
Brendon adjusts his own microphone and looks over at Ryan, smirking. “Yeah, it was hot outside, wasn’t it?” Brendon covers immediately after he hears the catcalls from the audience. The way he feeds off Ryan’s energy is unrivaled.
Ryan shrugs and says, “This next song is a little something I wrote back in the day when I all I thought about was girls and sex.”
Brendon looks up from tuning his guitar to quickly add, “Now it’s mostly just sex.”
----
The day they decided they needed to have these days to be themselves, to be a couple in public without throwing it in people’s faces, was the day that Ryan first wore a paisley print shirt.
Brendon’s always had a thing for flowers: they way they look, the way they smell, the way some of them are really classified as weeds, but still manage to look beautiful. And Ryan knew this, yet couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the reason why Brendon had been staring at him with those strange eyes all day.
They got out of the clutches of the press twenty minutes too soon for Pete’s liking but Ryan was sick of going over the same questions, only reworded and bent in the direction the press wanted them to answer, so he made up a bullshit excuse about needing to go pack up their stuff at the hotel and they headed out.
They did go back to the hotel, but they didn’t pack. They weren’t leaving for the next city until four, Zach had said, and it was only one when Ryan decided to bail. He had a throbbing headache and he was frustrated with the questions he’d been forced to answer and he just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for the next three hours and pack last minute, as usual. However, just as they had trudged through the lobby and stopped at the front of the elevator, Brendon held Ryan back when he went to step onto the same lift as Jon, Spencer and Zach.
“What?” Ryan had said, confused and a little slow.
“Let’s take the next one,” Brendon suggested softly.
“Bren,” Ryan whined. “I have a headache.”
Brendon circled his fingers around Ryan’s wrist and said, “C’mon, Ry,” in his most pitiful tone.
Before Ryan went to protest, Brendon slid his fingers in between Ryan’s and when Ryan looked up from their hands, the others had already taken the lift up. He sighed, but the doors reopened relatively quicker than he assumed they would and revealed an empty elevator. Tugging him inside, Brendon pressed the correct floor and Ryan noticed how he’d dropped his hand when the doors had parted. Just as the doors were sliding shut, a man with a briefcase slipped in hurriedly and apologized for holding the lift even longer as they waited for the doors to pause and then continue closing. Brendon smiled an understanding at the man and moved over to Ryan standing in the corner.
“Hey,” Brendon whispered, tugging Ryan’s shirt in greeting. Ryan looked up from the floor and smiled but when Brendon leaned in to give him a small kiss, he turned his head away. “Ryan, what’s--?”
“Not here, Brendon,” Ryan scolded, backing further into the corner. He shifted his eyes warily in the direction of the man opposite them and frowned.
“Baby,” Brendon purred, and not in that seductive way either. In that way that suggested he was tired and pleading. He stepped forward and dropped his head onto Ryan’s shoulder, kissing the throat just within his reach.
Hissing, Ryan said, “Brendon, stop. We’re not alone.”
“I’ve hardly touched you all day,” Brendon said sadly, forehead pressed into Ryan’s shirt and Ryan could practically feel Brendon’s fingers flexing and clenching, impatient to feel. “And you look so good in that shirt, I just--” Brendon sighed light and through his nose and whispered, “I just want to touch, that’s all.”
Ryan didn’t sense any hint of lust or desire in Brendon’s voice, just a need to feel closer to someone, anyone, Ryan. So he relented just a little, pulled Brendon in just a little, and felt his headache soothe just a little. It was then that he realized he could make both of their troubles go away if he could ease up. Just a little.
----
They’re finishing up Mad As Rabbits and Brendon’s smooth echo of the last ‘love’ is bouncing off the rafters and reverberating back into Ryan’s ears, and Ryan has a brief moment where he personifies Brendon and himself as bats, using echo-location to find their way through the world. If that were at all reasonable, Brendon would be the voice and Ryan would feel the rhythm, just like always.
Brendon catches the back of Ryan’s neck with one of his free hands and they’re sharing the center microphone so they’re close enough to know the sensation of their lips meeting is just a few inches away. There’s Brendon’s breath on his cheek, hot and wet and smelling of Corona and leftover spearmint and it’s so tantalizing Ryan battles with himself to keep from licking the taste out of his mouth the minute he inhales it.
Unconsciously, Ryan sails through their rendition of Na-na-nas and Goodbyes, and Brendon smiles around his words in a way that makes Ryan jealous of his ability to sing and look completely charming while doing so. As the last crash of Spencer’s symbols resonate through the venue and Jon speaks into his mic with a throaty, ecstatic voice telling people to drive safely and come back soon, Ryan kisses Brendon sloppily on the cheek, so close to Brendon’s lips it’s mouthwatering.
Brendon tugs out Ryan’s earpiece and murmurs, “So, so good,” and the words Brendon spoke in the hallway after the interview hit Ryan so hard his knees buckle slightly. In just a few seconds, a dark cloud swept over Brendon’s bright, sunshine eyes and Ryan knows those clouds when he sees them, recognizes them in the sky as a foreboding to a storm and the association of the two is something that sets Ryan’s skin ablaze.
----
After the interview he and Ryan did with Friends or Enemies, Brendon grew surprisingly curious about the whole “fan fiction” business. He’d heard of it before, wondered exactly how you write fictional stories about real people, but never researched it. Once he found some alone time, however, he realized they could be found in a maximum of three mouse clicks.
Brendon, he vividly remembers the very first fan fiction he read (might possibly have the link to it saved within a folder within a folder within a folder on his desktop computer) and if he were being completely honest, he would admit he took a thing or two away from it. But he certainly wouldn’t admit to Ryan that he’d actually read one; bad karma, you know.
In the story, the gloriously descriptive, smutty story, his character was awkward and shy and so Mormon it made Brendon want to hurl. Apparently the fans liked to exaggerate exactly how sheltered he was growing up, when really, if they wanted to have a decently accurate fic, they would have included the numerous times he was busted for hot boxing his mini van or lighting up in the school’s bathroom.
But in this story, he was tragically religious and saint-like and doing everything in his power to live for God and not let anyone thwart him in his mission to become a leader in the church. And then he met this kid named Ryan who was the complete polar opposite of Brendon and his innocent conduct. This Ryan kid, he was apparently angelic and perfect, yet tragic and completely impossible to understand…until it came to picking the lock on Brendon’s abnormally stubborn metaphorical chastity belt, that was something that became strikingly obvious the first time the two characters met. Ryan wanted to corrupt Brendon in the worst possible way and Brendon was ridiculously brainwashed into thinking that it was morally wrong to do the things Ryan was begging him nightly to do, even though it “felt nice and right.”
Now, Brendon had to admit, the wording and structure of the piece was quite good. Overall, it was mostly just aesthetically pleasing. However, once Ryan’s character finally managed to corrupt Brendon’s character, the words became more pleasing to his cock rather than his eyes. The words before him intensely described how Ryan fucked Brendon’s scared little boyish self into the couch in Ryan’s basement on an evening Brendon was supposed to be spending at church.
When Brendon’s eyes stopped scanning the words, they dropped into his lap and it was only then that he realized he’d made a mess in his jeans without even so much as touching himself. The mouse was sweaty and his left hand was clutching something desperate onto the edge of the computer desk and Brendon had officially read his first slash.
It was traumatizing in the most orgasmic way.
He read another the next night, and two more the night after that and it became such an addiction, he almost didn’t answer Ryan’s phone call for actual sex because he was too busy reading about their fictional sex on the internet (outrageously hot fictional sex, to be exact).
When Brendon answered the phone, Ryan questioned why he was so breathless and hoarse sounding. Brendon had swallowed hard, panted a bit more and said, “Do you remember us joking about making that sex tap on FOE a few months back? Y-yeah, yeah that. Um, I’m coming over, get your camera ready.”
Ryan didn’t push the issue, just pushed out a suddenly mangled, “Jesus, fuck. Okay,” and hung up. Brendon drove the entire way to Ryan’s house with a hard on and a mind full of explicit images.
----
The drive back home from the venue is surprisingly calm. On the surface at least. Inside, Brendon’s stomach is twisting in that agonizingly impatient way it always does when he’s going out of his mind to debauch Ryan. Internally, Ryan is writhing in his own skin, desperate to be writhing beneath Brendon. They’re both torturously hard and so anxious to get to Ryan’s driveway (“At least the driveway, Brendon.”), the apprehension is smothering.
Brendon beats Ryan in a race to the front door, a race Ryan wasn’t aware he was participating in, and manages to get halfway to the bedroom before Ryan beckons after him in the most sultry voice Brendon has heard in a while. Brendon pauses, looks over his shoulder and lets his eyes memorize the exact curve, outline, strain of Ryan’s cock pressing into the zipper of his jeans. He sucks back a groan at the sight because no matter how many times he sees it, it will never not be excruciatingly desirable.
Brendon raises a challenging eyebrow and says, “You better be naked when you get in here,” before walking slowly into Ryan’s bedroom, hips like a pendulum.
Ryan isn’t naked when he enters his bedroom and when he notices Brendon, he really resents his clothing. Brendon’s halfway there in removing his clothes, has his shoes and pants banished to a remote part of the room and is working methodically on the buttons of his shirt, back to the door. Ryan creeps up behind him as quietly as he can and kisses heat in between Brendon’s shoulders just as he drops his shirt to the floor.
Brendon’s pout is evident when he says, “You’re not naked,” and Ryan hums, shaking his head and tongues the flesh on Brendon’s back. He works his way down Brendon’s spine without so much as a sound from Brendon but when he drops to his knees and tugs down the hem of Brendon’s boxers just enough to expose the top of his ass, the way his tongue licks a solid stripe between the meeting of Brendon’s cheeks is enough to make Brendon hiss and toss his head back.
Ryan presses his smirk into the dimples in Brendon’s lower back before pivoting him, licking every inch of skin in his rotation. Brendon’s hands thread loosely through Ryan’s hair and he sighs when Ryan cups his hip in one hand and his ass in the other. Ryan laps slowly at the expanse of skin just above Brendon’s pelvis and pinches an area of his hipbone between his teeth. It isn’t until Ryan drops his head and mouths at Brendon’s glaringly obvious cock that Brendon garbles something incoherent and yanks Ryan’s hair in surprise.
Ryan groans, pleased and Brendon murmurs hazily, “Bed, now,” and tugs his hair once more for good measure.
Brendon slaps away Ryan’s lithe fingers when he attempts to remove his clothes and Ryan stares up at him from his back with dark eyes, pupils blown and dissolving any color that should be noticeable in his eyes. “Let me do it,” Brendon says gently, a confusing gesture given his previous actions. Ryan relents and Brendon strips him unbearably slow and lasting and by the time he’s peeling off Ryan’s boxers, Ryan’s clawing at Brendon’s shoulders for friction.
“Brendon, please. Just--” Ryan twists into the sheets, arching up to suck dark marks into Brendon’s neck and Brendon caresses the warm, silky skin in the crease of Ryan’s thigh, fingers dancing. “Touch me, baby, please,” he pleads, breath sticky on Brendon’s damp throat.
Brendon backs down Ryan’s body, ass sticking up high in the air and he looks up at Ryan, eyes heavy lidded and lashes long and tongues the head of Ryan’s leaking cock experimentally.
Whimpering, Ryan chokes out his gratitude and begs Brendon to continue. Brendon ducks his head once more and wraps his lips around him, swirls his tongue and laps up the taste of Ryan. When he pulls away and Ryan whines, Brendon says, “I believe you had your share of that this morning.”
“But you’re so good, Bren,” Ryan moans, wrapping his long leg around Brendon’s shoulder and urging him back down with his heel, asking. “Don’t stop.”
“Mmm,” Brendon purrs and crawls back up the miles of Ryan’s skin. “I have other plans,” he says smirking.
“Do these plans involve you in your boxers? Because if not, can you please remove them?” Ryan says and it’s sarcastic enough to make Brendon chuckle.
“You can,” Brendon quips and Ryan digs his nails deep into Brendon’s ass as retaliation. The sensation causes Brendon’s back to arch, resulting in his hips dipping down into Ryan’s and eliciting corresponding moans.
“Christ, Brendon. Take them off,” Ryan growls and after that remarkable friction Brendon is not up for anymore teasing, so he obeys.
Before Brendon can even think of lubricating his fingers, Ryan’s sucking them greedily into his mouth, lathering the pads of his fingers generously and slipping his tongue between the slats of Brendon’s digits. Brendon makes a sound that boarders on a whimper and he has to pull back his fingers before Ryan’s mouth ruins everything too soon. He takes a moment to compose himself before he ventures back down Ryan’s long torso and presses one wet finger into Ryan without warning.
Ryan cries out, grapples for the sheets and digs his heels as far into the mattress as he can, rooting himself to the spot. He grits his teeth because it burns but it’s so unexpected that if he doesn’t cage his moans behind his teeth he’ll end up going hoarse.
“You like that?” Brendon gnashes and twists his hand, curling his finger up inside. Ryan shudders and Brendon adds another, a little more unhurried this time, and relishes in the way Ryan grinds down onto his hand. He coils his fingers deep and searching and brushes over a certain spot that rips a howl out of Ryan’s throat. Brendon’s clouded eyes flash lightning and the rumbling growl in his chest stops in his throat. He presses it again and Ryan’s legs jerk as he scrambles immobile on the sheets, as if he’s trying to escape the pleasure that’s threatening to make him lose all self control.
His eyes are rolling in his head and he’s so disoriented with want he only manages to make grabby hands at Brendon as he gasps out, “Bren, I. I c-can’t, I. Please, you.”
Ryan’s coherency is always lost during sex. For someone so good with words, Brendon would like to think he could write songs with the things he spouts off while Brendon’s grinding into him. But it’s a rarity that Ryan ever gets so inarticulate and jumbled that he seems scared.
Brendon withdraws his fingers and coos, “Shh, baby. I’ve got you,” pressing his lips firmly against Ryan’s and Ryan clings to him like he’s the last unclaimed door floating in the wreckage of the Titanic.
He pushes in slow, rubbing circles into Ryan’s hips with every inch and he lets Ryan grow accustomed to his temporary insanity. His legs shake harsher every rotation of Brendon’s thumb and his mouth drops open once Brendon is buried as deep as he can go. He stills and Ryan’s eyes flitter open lazily, fixating on the blurry brown mop of hair that becomes sharper with every blink. When he can distinguish the individual beads of sweat on Brendon’s forehead, he smiles languidly and swallows.
Brendon curls his lips up and brushes back some of the hair sticking to Ryan’s forehead. “Hey,” he soothes and Ryan closes his eyes peacefully. “You okay? I lost you there for a minute.”
Nodding, Ryan licks his lips and rasps, “Sorry.”
Chuckling breathlessly, Brendon leans down slowly to kiss Ryan’s freshly wet lips and murmurs, “Ready?”
They start up a measured pace, rocking against each other gently at first and then with growing insistence. Ryan, he’s regained most of his control again, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going out of his mind with pleasure. And Brendon’s hips are snapping so rhythmically, he thinks that if he hadn’t taken a moment to bring Ryan back into reality, they could have actually made music together.
Brendon drives his hips deep, harsh and rough and the long drag out and the steady push in has Ryan keening, tangled in the sheets. He snakes his hands up Ryan's sides and presses his arms into the mattress, rubbing thumbs over the words inked onto Ryan's wrists. The angle shifts slightly and Ryan's mouth goes slack and his eyes roll back in his head, only a quick, quiet gasp escaping his parted lips. Brendon thrusts in again, harder and following the same angle, and Ryan yelps, eyes flying open and hyper-aware of ever sensation tickling his skin.
Knowing he's found what he was looking for, Brendon continues to dive as far into Ryan as possible, hitting Ryan's swear spot on each thrust. Ryan struggles to free his hands from under Brendon's weight and the all too overwhelming ecstasy boiling in the pit of his stomach renders his limbs useless.
From Ryan’s lips tumbles a litany of “Oh”s and “Jesus. Fuck”s and he arches up, hips bucking wildly to meet the oncoming collision. Brendon dips down and bites, "So, so good," onto Ryan's lips and his stomach brushes Ryan's leaking cock.
With the next slam in, Ryan's adrenaline propels the muscles in his arms to overpower Brendon and his fingers clench desperately at the warm flesh of Brendon's ass, stilling him deep and perfect and filling Ryan deliciously.
Brendon groans and Ryan wants to lick the sound from his mouth as his nails leave crescent moons in Brendon’s flesh and he comes with a moan that shudders through his whole body.
A sudden tingling warmth creeps over Brendon, up his toes and legs and back and all the way up to his nose and to the end of his fingers and his hips stutter and twitch and he buries his head into the side of Ryan’s neck and comes, mouth open and hot against the flesh there. He plants sweet promises and lullabies beneath Ryan’s ear and plasters against the top of him until they both stop shaking.
Brendon takes Ryan’s mouth in his and kisses him soft and deep and breathes, “So, so good,” once more before nuzzling his cheek.
Ryan takes one, two, three deep breaths, realizes this is all he ever wants and whispers, “I love you.”
And they’ve said it to each other before, but it’s not necessarily an everyday thing. It’s mostly just an unspoken understanding between them and while Brendon loves the way it feels coming off his tongue, he loves showing Ryan with his tongue even more. However, the way Ryan just said it, deliberate and soft, it’s different than usual and Brendon lifts his head to look at him.
“Yeah?” he rasps.
Ryan’s eyes smile but his lips don’t and those are Brendon’s favorite Ryan smiles because they’re secret and only for him, so he kind of takes it as an evident agreement and then Ryan says, “You know that sex tape we made a while back?”
“The one we filmed on your kitchen table?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Brendon wonders. “If you want to watch it you’re going to have to give me a few minutes to breathe here--”
“Let’s leak it.”
Brendon’s heart stops. “W-what?”
“On the internet. Let’s do it tomorrow,” Ryan suggests.
Brendon looks at Ryan like he’s unsure how to react. “Why?”
This time Ryan’s smile bursts through to his mouth and his eyes twinkle in a way that reminds Brendon of Christmas and warmth and home.
“I’m ready,” Ryan says and kisses Brendon like no one’s watching, only now with a heart strong enough to carry on when someone is.
FIN
Special thanks to rydenevidence, ivesia19, and the ever lovely moceanu.
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: moceanu
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Ryan and Brendon have this thing.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't believe.
Author Notes: So me and ivesia19 were talking one day about how Ryan and Brendon basically plan out days to tease us with their gay. This ensued.
For ivesia19, because she is made of awesome and 1 billion Urie smiles.
♥
Ryan and Brendon have this thing.
Ryan likes to call it appeasing the masses, Brendon calls it fun, both of them find it comfortable.
And this thing, it tends to make appearances in pictures, videos, songs (a whole album’s worth, if they’re being honest), magazine articles, blogs, that one time on TRL when they may or may not have been biting opposite sides of the same balloon during commercial break, their choice of dress, interviews, an entire fucking tour.
This thing, Ryan and Brendon like to think of it as elusive or ambiguous and in most cases, they’re spot on about its ability to confuse spectators.
However, there are some days that this thing becomes more prominent than on others and they both feel a bit lighter not having to be subtle.
This thing, it’s empowering, it’s effortless, it’s right.
This thing is their obvious gay.
----
It’s usually early morning when they start their planning. These days, they’re not like most days. They’re special and occur spontaneously, but sometimes they can both sense them approaching through the way their looks grow longer and the inch of space between their fingers begins to seem like miles. It just takes one of them finally relenting to the distance they put between each other so often. Sweet, sweet rebellion.
It hardly ever happens, but if Ryan is the first to wake, he lulls Brendon into consciousness with soft kisses on his temples and breakfast in bed. If it’s Brendon -- and god, Ryan loves it when it’s Brendon --, he coaxes Ryan into reality with his mouth around his dick in what Ryan thinks is the most delicious way Brendon could ever say Good Morning.
Ryan will never admit it, but there have been times that he’s feigned sleep in order to receive one of Brendon’s special morning blowjobs. He loves getting head, could probably get it any second of the day if he just asked Brendon, but there’s just something about how Brendon’s mouth moves mere moments after he’s woken up, lazy and slow and unhurried and Ryan quite fancies getting violated by Brendon’s mouth while he’s sleeping. It’s a pleasant way to start the day.
This morning, much to Ryan’s delight, Brendon is the first to wake. It doesn’t take Ryan long to buck into consciousness, begin trying to comprehend how wonderful the sensation flicking over his cock is as he fights uncaringly for his hold on those last few moments of sleep. When Brendon opens his mouth wide, sucks as much of Ryan is as he can manage and Ryan feels himself touching the back of Brendon’s throat, that’s when Ryan’s eyes fly open and he grapples for the sheets helplessly, shuddering.
Panting already and trying so, so hard to keep his hips anchored on the bed so as not to choke Brendon, Ryan laughs in disbelief -- it’s not that he can’t believe he’s getting morning head again, it’s that he still has yet to fathom how talented Brendon is with his mouth -- and relaxes a bit, dropping his head back on the pillow with a low moan. His long fingers stretch down and encouragingly curl through Brendon’s hair, the smile on his face sated and blissful and warm, and Brendon hums graciously at the contact, mouth full of Ryan.
Brendon works him, composed and leisurely, relishing the taste building on the back of his tongue. His hands trace patterns and nothings and everythings along Ryan’s waist, hips, thighs and he notes the goosebumps that linger in his hand’s wake as they smooth over his bare skin.
All it takes is a few more bobs of Brendon’s head and the swipe of his tongue over the head of Ryan’s cock and Ryan’s fingers tighten around the hair in his reach as Brendon tries his hardest to swallow up the fruits of his labor.
Ryan comes down from his stupor with satisfied moans and deep gulps of air and Brendon kisses the inside of his thigh, lovingly.
They’re all sleepy smiles as they stare at each other and Ryan licks his lips, eyeing the small dollop of come lingering on the edge of Brendon’s mouth and he beckons him to the head of the bed with a curling finger. Crawling up Ryan’s tingling body, Brendon makes momentary pit stops to suck, lick, nibble at any patch of skin he finds tantalizing and by the time he reaches Ryan’s mouth, he’s sure he’s marked Ryan’s entire abdomen. They kiss, languid and soft and Ryan moans enjoyably when he tastes himself on Brendon’s tongue, curling his fingers around Brendon’s biceps.
“Mmm,” Brendon hums, goofy grin and heavy, half open eyes. “Good morning.”
Ryan mimics Brendon’s smile and kisses him once more before carding his fingers through Brendon’s hair and murmuring, “So, how gay do you think we should be today, babe?”
Brendon sucks on the bottom of Ryan’s chin and says, “I don’t know. Why don’t you get me off and we’ll see how things progress?”
Ryan feels Brendon’s lips scratch against the small amount of stubble under his chin and he smiles, then obliges.
----
It’s funny, really, how this thing of theirs, their obvious gay, started out.
Brendon had joked around in Ryan’s lap one night after a one of their first shows, twirled long locks of honey hair around his fingers and said, “We should totally make out on stage.”
Ryan, he had laughed at first, kissed Brendon for good measure and allowed his heart to stop thundering before he cocked his head and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”
“Think you should what?” Spencer had said coming out of the bathroom after claiming first shower.
“I think me and Ryan should make out on stage,” Brendon relayed, “It’d be hot.”
“Um, no,” Spencer had said. “We’re just starting out, you guys. We can’t risk losing fans over it.”
“If they’re only in it for my ass,” Brendon said and wiggled in Ryan’s lap suggestively. “Then they’re not any fans I want at our shows.”
Spencer had shrugged and said, “Sorry, boys. But they’re paying the bills right now. Once we get on our feet, we’ll have more level headed fans but until then…” He waved his hand vaguely in some sort of gesture that the conversation was over and went into the corner to use his phone.
That next day, Ryan presented Spencer with the script that would carry them through their first headlining tour and said, “It’s a story.”
Spencer only smiled and decided not to point out that it was more like a guaranteed way for them to grope each other each night disguised by a cleverly worded storyline and angst out the ass.
----
Ryan hooks his chin over Brendon’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his middle. “I think,” he says and tucks a kiss behind Brendon’s ear. “If you wear that shirt, I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands to myself.”
Brendon smirks and pushes the last button through the hole and smoothes out the light wrinkles in the front of his shirt. “I’m pretty sure that’s the point today, Ry.”
Ryan chuckles, low and dark and slides his hands across Brendon’s stomach, inching the fabric of Brendon’s white cotton shirt up slowly, so slowly that when he finally ghosts across the warm flesh just above Brendon’s jeans, he’s surprised to feel how the itching in his fingers dissolves away. Brendon sighs, light and relaxed, and drops his head back on Ryan’s shoulder, eyes closed. Ryan’s smile parts across Brendon’s throat when he kisses the skin there and Brendon hums, content.
“You know,” Brendon says, and Ryan relishes in how the vibrations of Brendon’s voice tickle his lips. “I don’t understand why everyday can’t be like this.”
Ryan kisses a statement of, “I know,” against the column of Brendon’s throat and closes his eyes, imagining.
“If everyday we could be like this,” Brendon continues, “Comfortable and ourselves. That I could hold your hand without having to fear the repercussions and that we could be together in the open instead of waiting for the day that we can’t take it anymore.”
In his mind, Ryan agrees. He wants to be able to be with Brendon, to be Brendon’s, without dealing with the consequences of going public. Sure, they could emerge from Ryan’s house with the title of RyanandBrendon, but not without some kind of backlash or chaotic whirlwind of gossip to face soon after. Of course, there would be fans, friends, family that would accept them, be happy for them (and/or quite possibly throw glorious parades and parties), but there’s always that if. What if?
It’s safer like this, letting the world get a taste one day at a time and then retracting back into themselves before people are able to take a second glance. Safer being normal for a few hours and having the ability to brush off a lingering touch as concern rather than love. Safer testing the waters of the unknown instead of diving head first.
It’s safe to wait until they’re ready.
“But it’s okay,” Brendon exclaims brightly and Ryan has never not adored how easily Brendon can brush of negative things in his life and replace them with bright eyes and a grin that makes Ryan’s knees weak. He turns around in Ryan’s arms and pushes Ryan up against the large mirror mounted on the wall of Ryan’s closet, the reflective glass almost reaching from ceiling to floor. His voice drops considerably and he says, “Because when we get home tonight, I’m going to fuck you into every surface in this house.”
Ryan groans when Brendon pecks him lightly on the cheek, an apologetic compensation for him slapping away Ryan’s greedy hands, suddenly extremely preoccupied with removing Brendon’s shirt.
----
If their stage show isn’t enough to prove that Ryan and Brendon’s relationship is far from platonic, then the copious amount of incriminating evidence that spanned from that era of their lives to the present day, is.
Say, for example, all of those time that Brendon groped Ryan in public (or fucking sniffed him in the credits of their first ever DVD), all of the interviews that may or may not have made Jon and Spencer feel awkward, all of the meet and greets that got pretty fucking interesting, and of course, who could forget, the infamous Audrey and Jac AIM scandal.
Needless to say, the boys love being playful. Sure, most of the time their flirting is played up for the fans, but there are those few times that sincerity becomes their weakness.
Once, during a magazine interview, Brendon inadvertently came out after being asked where he could see himself personally and musically in five to ten years, and of course, he made a joke out of it for show; what the printed words couldn’t show was the huge smile on Ryan’s face.
Another time, Brendon and Jon were doing an interview with 99x and Brendon felt the need to deep throat his microphone on a whim. Ryan, who had happened to see a video of this feat later on youtube, was insistent that is was merely a trick of the camera. That night, just to prove that his cock sucking abilities were in no way enhanced by the magic of film, Brendon got Ryan off three times with his mouth alone.
During a past show of theirs, Brendon managed to creep out most of the venue, himself included, after he played a short ditty on the piano. When Ryan grew puzzled by the unfamiliar tune, Brendon announced he’d written it the previous night while he was peeking into Ryan’s bunk. He hadn’t meant to say it, but Ryan asked and it’s just so comfortable with Ryan and it’s so natural on stage and shit, yeah. It just “came out, Ryan.” After the show, when Brendon tried to explain this, Ryan only laughed at his choice of words, said, “I see that,” and kissed Brendon breathless.
And maybe, most of their momentary mistakes are because of Brendon. They get it: Brendon displays his emotions on his face and wears his heart on his sleeve and it’s not that Brendon’s not trustworthy with secrets, he’s just so damned readable. When Ryan tells him as much, scolds him playfully for his recklessness, Brendon likes to remind Ryan of all the times that he has slipped up,too while he’s kneading Ryan through his jeans.
To them, it’s all a game of cat and mouse, a dangerous dance around the outskirts of a fire they’re not quite ready to walk through. Besides, nothing makes the sex better than the delicious adrenaline still coursing through their veins at the thrill of almost being caught.
----
The drive to Starbucks to meet Spencer and Jon doesn’t last long, especially with Brendon practically crawling over the console between them just to snuggle into Ryan’s side. Ryan, he likes to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel while he’s driving and not on Brendon. However, his eyes and hands are naturally drawn to Brendon so the whole coordination thing he should have while operating a motor vehicle is shot all to hell when Brendon tickles feather light fingers over Ryan’s abdomen and purrs into his neck. The drive is a short one because it becomes evident that a higher speed means a quicker arrival and that equals BrendonBrendonBrendon just that much sooner.
They have an interview scheduled at one, and it’s already half past noon but Jon needs his morning coffee even this far into the day, so they opt to meet up in one location and make a group transportation to the interview being held in the dressing room of the venue they’re playing tonight. It’s not a big show, just a small, hometown gig for everyone (hometown to everyone except Jon, but he’s come to consider Vegas as his home away from home) and it isn’t even until seven. However, they figured they might as well get the interview out of the way and use the good three hours between the end of the it and sound check to smoke some of the weed they got from Travis when he visited last weekend.
When they finally sit down for questions, Brendon’s fingers ache when he notices Ryan choose a seat next to Spencer, leaving the drummer to act as a cruel barricade to the overwhelming surge of abandonment Brendon feels.
He knows it’s silly, Ryan’s literally two feet away and he had completely held Brendon’s hand the entire way from Starbucks until they entered the room, thumbing his knuckles and humming, and it’s fucking stupid for Brendon to feel so left alone. But the absence of Ryan’s warm fingers between his makes his hands feel cold and clammy and he swallows down the swell of sadness curling up his throat. Ryan winks at him subtly when he notices Brendon’s fingers twitch forward after him, just the slightest twitch that no one but Ryan would understand the meaning of. The meaning of “Not just yet” and “Come back, fingers”.
Brendon smiles weakly and the interviewer, a small brunette woman, welcomes them and begins with the questions.
“So how are you guys doing today?” she asks, bright and cheery and they all beam back at her. It’s the typical way to start an interview, but the courtesy is nice.
“Good, good,” Ryan answers, bobbing his head. “We actually just got Starbucks,” he says and gestures to Jon who raises his cup with a flourish, as if advertising his former business of employment. “Cause we just rolled out of bed thirty minutes ago.”
The interviewer laughs politely, when Spencer yawns in agreement and Jon hums around the edge of his cup. Brendon smiles and says, “Yeah, we’re the laziest people we know.”
“None of us ever want to get up,” Jon interjects, swallowing his coffee. “The past few months have been amazing, touring and stuff. But now that we’re home, getting each other out of bed is almost impossible. We’re all having to play alarm clock to everyone.”
“Especially Ryan,” Brendon adds. “He takes a lot of coaxing and sweet-talking.”
Ryan fights off a smile, thinking, “Or dick-sucking,” and coughs.
The interviewer doesn’t raise her eyebrow or really take any notice at all to Brendon’s suggestive smirk and it’s a damn shame this interview isn’t being recorded because the moment is priceless. She moves on to the next question with a jostle of her tape recorder forward: “So you’ve got a small show tonight. I’ve been told it’s nothing really extravagant, just a little thing you guys set up to keep the creative juices flowing, am I correct?”
Jon clears his throat and says, “Yeah, yeah. We, uh-- The guys called me up in Chicago last week and said they were wanting to do a little gig so that we didn’t get rusty. We’ve been back from tour for two months now, and you’d think that isn’t enough time to you know, completely forget how to play your instrument. But even a few days without playing my bass and I feel lost.”
“It’s hard sometimes, with Jon so far away, to function properly as a band. I mean, we’ve been writing a lot lately and it’s not the same when Jon’s not here to contribute,” Ryan says.
“So what you’re saying is that it’s difficult for you four as a band to maintain that closeness needed to write good music when one of you is on the other side of the country?” the interviewer clarifies.
“Yeah,” Jon says. “I love Chicago, there’s no other place like it. But if home is where your heart is then my home is with this band here in Vegas. I can’t tell you how many times Brendon has called me at like, four in the morning Chicago time just so he can sing me the snippet of this song they’ve all been working on. Like, yeah, Brendon. It’s great, but I’m sleeping, you know?” Brendon chuckles at this because really, he’s called Jon at ungodly hours in the morning numerous times. Sometimes just to say hello, I miss you.
“The distance takes something away from the writing process that we’re all supposed to be a part of, together,” Spencer finalizes and everyone nods in concurrence.
“And you just said you’ve been writing? Can you tell us anything about how that is coming along? The style and feel of it?”
“Well,” Ryan begins, crossing one long, bony leg over the other. The threads his fingers together on his knee and says, “Mostly we just write about what makes us happy: music, our friends and family, loved ones--”
“Weed,” Brendon thinks about throwing in, but refrains.
“I guess just our lives in general,” Ryan summarizes. “I don’t think any of us are truly unhappy with anything.”
“Yeah,” Brendon agrees, bright eyes dancing and teeth blinding white. “We’re all pretty gay, to be honest.”
----
As the infectious melody of their song slowly melted into a symphony of cellos and violins and trumpets and Ooh ooh oohs, Ryan was all smiles and tinted cheeks and the only thing he found himself doing was gravitating towards Brendon, almost floating towards where he sat on the piano bench.
There were too many colors and too much sound and endless sweets and the strange scent of fresh cotton tingling every inch of his senses and the only thing that actually made sense was the almost woozy path he was taking in the direction of the brown hair swaying with the music. Before he knew it, he had his arms wrapped around Brendon, fingers splayed loosely over the warm fabric of Brendon’s pajamas and everything seemed to stop being so overwhelming and bright and just slow down into this almost molten-like oozing sensation of home.
Brendon hadn’t looked shocked or surprised or questioning in the least, yet Ryan was sure he hadn’t been expecting it since he himself didn’t know what he was doing until he actually did it. But Brendon just smiled back at him, like he knew Ryan would eventually make that journey and he had been waiting patiently for him, and just threw his arm around Ryan’s waist and pulled him close.
The neck of Ryan’s guitar jutted out across Brendon’s chest and when Brendon leaned his head back into the side of Ryan’s torso, just below his arm, and looked up at Ryan with a lazy grin, it was all Ryan could do to keep from leaning down and pressing their mouths together, anything to calm the tightening in his chest.
Brendon slipped a single finger beneath the hem of Ryan’s pajama top and dabbed lightly at the warm flesh it opened up to him and instantly Ryan was sitting next to him on the piano bench, plastered to his side and swaying them to the last dying breaths of their song.
When they watched the final version of the video for Nine In The Afternoon, Brendon squeezed Ryan’s hand when they appeared on screen together, relaxed and open for all the world to see. Ryan’s heart swelled a little more.
----
The minute they leave the interview room, Brendon presses Ryan up against the cold brick wall just behind the door and kisses bruises onto his lips. When he breaks away, it’s wet and sloppy but Ryan doesn’t mind because he’s too concerned with regaining his balance.
“So you read the shit on the internet?” Brendon asks, breathless, staring into Ryan’s face with an intensity that makes Ryan’s head spin.
Ryan swallows. “What?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you danced around that question about those stories our fans write about us,” Brendon accuses, taking a light nip at Ryan’s neck.
Ryan grunts out a laugh and says, “I admit nothing.”
And Brendon kind of just melts into this gelatin mold that happens to be the same dimensions of his body before he presses his entire figure, toes to nose, against Ryan’s and growls, “I am going to fuck you so good tonight.”
Ryan shudders and when Spencer and Jon pass by rolling their eyes, Brendon clears his throat, takes Ryan’s hand up and pulls him after the other half of their band.
----
Jon and Spencer know. Ryan’s sure they’ve most likely always known, probably even before him and Brendon knew, but they decided to officially tell them on the bus last spring when Jon walked in on Ryan, spread out and squirming for Brendon to take him deeper, please, please. Ryan was a bit embarrassed, wanted to stop and go try to compensate for just why they hadn’t mentioned anything along the lines of “And oh, yeah. We’re fucking.” But Brendon refused to not finish and Ryan found it very hard to argue when Brendon made this mouth-watering noise and his nose brushed against the dark curls of hair at the base of Ryan’s cock.
When Ryan and Brendon finally pulled themselves out of the back lounge, having discussed their situation and come to a mutual agreement, they found Jon on the couch in the front and said, “Jon, we--”
“Dude, it’s cool. Spencer told me,” Jon cut in nonchalantly.
“Wait, Spencer--? He knows?”
“What? When did he tell you?”
They stared bemused at their bassist.
Jon shrugged, “Last night, when I was choking on his cock.”
----
At the show that night, Brendon makes a big show out of Ryan’s guitar.
Says that it’s new (but it’s not), that it was really expensive (which it probably was, but it was a gift from Pete so there’s no telling), that it makes sexy rock and roll sounds when you strum it, and he does all of this while down on his knees in front of Ryan, toying mindlessly with the body of the guitar (but really he’s just trying to get close to Ryan’s dick and Ryan’s all too impressed by his nerve).
Ryan, he knows Brendon was born to out-gay him and he lets a small moment of jealousy take him because Brendon’s flamboyancy can be taken for his eccentricity, where as Ryan’s earns him a raised eyebrow and a lot of criticism. But today, it’s okay if he’s looked upon oddly or if he’s chewed up and spit out by a few of his fans because he’s supposed to be being himself, comfortable and natural around Brendon. And if that constitutes Ryan kissing Brendon on the cheek a little more often than usual for their set, then so fucking be it.
Of course, Ryan is better with words, therefore he’s a bit better at subtlety than Brendon is. However, after singing Ryan’s words for night upon nights for years now, Brendon’s come to understand the hidden meanings in Ryan’s words. When Brendon discovered the meaning behind half of the lyrics on Pretty. Odd., Ryan couldn’t walk normally for a good week.
After Folkin’ Around, the song that directly follows Brendon’s stunt, Ryan steps up to the microphone and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the song you just heard was written by our very own, Mr. Brendon Urie.” He pauses and lets the crowd scream and flail and scream their “I love you”s. “He wrote that song shirtless in my backyard, and it was really hot.”
Brendon adjusts his own microphone and looks over at Ryan, smirking. “Yeah, it was hot outside, wasn’t it?” Brendon covers immediately after he hears the catcalls from the audience. The way he feeds off Ryan’s energy is unrivaled.
Ryan shrugs and says, “This next song is a little something I wrote back in the day when I all I thought about was girls and sex.”
Brendon looks up from tuning his guitar to quickly add, “Now it’s mostly just sex.”
----
The day they decided they needed to have these days to be themselves, to be a couple in public without throwing it in people’s faces, was the day that Ryan first wore a paisley print shirt.
Brendon’s always had a thing for flowers: they way they look, the way they smell, the way some of them are really classified as weeds, but still manage to look beautiful. And Ryan knew this, yet couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the reason why Brendon had been staring at him with those strange eyes all day.
They got out of the clutches of the press twenty minutes too soon for Pete’s liking but Ryan was sick of going over the same questions, only reworded and bent in the direction the press wanted them to answer, so he made up a bullshit excuse about needing to go pack up their stuff at the hotel and they headed out.
They did go back to the hotel, but they didn’t pack. They weren’t leaving for the next city until four, Zach had said, and it was only one when Ryan decided to bail. He had a throbbing headache and he was frustrated with the questions he’d been forced to answer and he just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for the next three hours and pack last minute, as usual. However, just as they had trudged through the lobby and stopped at the front of the elevator, Brendon held Ryan back when he went to step onto the same lift as Jon, Spencer and Zach.
“What?” Ryan had said, confused and a little slow.
“Let’s take the next one,” Brendon suggested softly.
“Bren,” Ryan whined. “I have a headache.”
Brendon circled his fingers around Ryan’s wrist and said, “C’mon, Ry,” in his most pitiful tone.
Before Ryan went to protest, Brendon slid his fingers in between Ryan’s and when Ryan looked up from their hands, the others had already taken the lift up. He sighed, but the doors reopened relatively quicker than he assumed they would and revealed an empty elevator. Tugging him inside, Brendon pressed the correct floor and Ryan noticed how he’d dropped his hand when the doors had parted. Just as the doors were sliding shut, a man with a briefcase slipped in hurriedly and apologized for holding the lift even longer as they waited for the doors to pause and then continue closing. Brendon smiled an understanding at the man and moved over to Ryan standing in the corner.
“Hey,” Brendon whispered, tugging Ryan’s shirt in greeting. Ryan looked up from the floor and smiled but when Brendon leaned in to give him a small kiss, he turned his head away. “Ryan, what’s--?”
“Not here, Brendon,” Ryan scolded, backing further into the corner. He shifted his eyes warily in the direction of the man opposite them and frowned.
“Baby,” Brendon purred, and not in that seductive way either. In that way that suggested he was tired and pleading. He stepped forward and dropped his head onto Ryan’s shoulder, kissing the throat just within his reach.
Hissing, Ryan said, “Brendon, stop. We’re not alone.”
“I’ve hardly touched you all day,” Brendon said sadly, forehead pressed into Ryan’s shirt and Ryan could practically feel Brendon’s fingers flexing and clenching, impatient to feel. “And you look so good in that shirt, I just--” Brendon sighed light and through his nose and whispered, “I just want to touch, that’s all.”
Ryan didn’t sense any hint of lust or desire in Brendon’s voice, just a need to feel closer to someone, anyone, Ryan. So he relented just a little, pulled Brendon in just a little, and felt his headache soothe just a little. It was then that he realized he could make both of their troubles go away if he could ease up. Just a little.
----
They’re finishing up Mad As Rabbits and Brendon’s smooth echo of the last ‘love’ is bouncing off the rafters and reverberating back into Ryan’s ears, and Ryan has a brief moment where he personifies Brendon and himself as bats, using echo-location to find their way through the world. If that were at all reasonable, Brendon would be the voice and Ryan would feel the rhythm, just like always.
Brendon catches the back of Ryan’s neck with one of his free hands and they’re sharing the center microphone so they’re close enough to know the sensation of their lips meeting is just a few inches away. There’s Brendon’s breath on his cheek, hot and wet and smelling of Corona and leftover spearmint and it’s so tantalizing Ryan battles with himself to keep from licking the taste out of his mouth the minute he inhales it.
Unconsciously, Ryan sails through their rendition of Na-na-nas and Goodbyes, and Brendon smiles around his words in a way that makes Ryan jealous of his ability to sing and look completely charming while doing so. As the last crash of Spencer’s symbols resonate through the venue and Jon speaks into his mic with a throaty, ecstatic voice telling people to drive safely and come back soon, Ryan kisses Brendon sloppily on the cheek, so close to Brendon’s lips it’s mouthwatering.
Brendon tugs out Ryan’s earpiece and murmurs, “So, so good,” and the words Brendon spoke in the hallway after the interview hit Ryan so hard his knees buckle slightly. In just a few seconds, a dark cloud swept over Brendon’s bright, sunshine eyes and Ryan knows those clouds when he sees them, recognizes them in the sky as a foreboding to a storm and the association of the two is something that sets Ryan’s skin ablaze.
----
After the interview he and Ryan did with Friends or Enemies, Brendon grew surprisingly curious about the whole “fan fiction” business. He’d heard of it before, wondered exactly how you write fictional stories about real people, but never researched it. Once he found some alone time, however, he realized they could be found in a maximum of three mouse clicks.
Brendon, he vividly remembers the very first fan fiction he read (might possibly have the link to it saved within a folder within a folder within a folder on his desktop computer) and if he were being completely honest, he would admit he took a thing or two away from it. But he certainly wouldn’t admit to Ryan that he’d actually read one; bad karma, you know.
In the story, the gloriously descriptive, smutty story, his character was awkward and shy and so Mormon it made Brendon want to hurl. Apparently the fans liked to exaggerate exactly how sheltered he was growing up, when really, if they wanted to have a decently accurate fic, they would have included the numerous times he was busted for hot boxing his mini van or lighting up in the school’s bathroom.
But in this story, he was tragically religious and saint-like and doing everything in his power to live for God and not let anyone thwart him in his mission to become a leader in the church. And then he met this kid named Ryan who was the complete polar opposite of Brendon and his innocent conduct. This Ryan kid, he was apparently angelic and perfect, yet tragic and completely impossible to understand…until it came to picking the lock on Brendon’s abnormally stubborn metaphorical chastity belt, that was something that became strikingly obvious the first time the two characters met. Ryan wanted to corrupt Brendon in the worst possible way and Brendon was ridiculously brainwashed into thinking that it was morally wrong to do the things Ryan was begging him nightly to do, even though it “felt nice and right.”
Now, Brendon had to admit, the wording and structure of the piece was quite good. Overall, it was mostly just aesthetically pleasing. However, once Ryan’s character finally managed to corrupt Brendon’s character, the words became more pleasing to his cock rather than his eyes. The words before him intensely described how Ryan fucked Brendon’s scared little boyish self into the couch in Ryan’s basement on an evening Brendon was supposed to be spending at church.
When Brendon’s eyes stopped scanning the words, they dropped into his lap and it was only then that he realized he’d made a mess in his jeans without even so much as touching himself. The mouse was sweaty and his left hand was clutching something desperate onto the edge of the computer desk and Brendon had officially read his first slash.
It was traumatizing in the most orgasmic way.
He read another the next night, and two more the night after that and it became such an addiction, he almost didn’t answer Ryan’s phone call for actual sex because he was too busy reading about their fictional sex on the internet (outrageously hot fictional sex, to be exact).
When Brendon answered the phone, Ryan questioned why he was so breathless and hoarse sounding. Brendon had swallowed hard, panted a bit more and said, “Do you remember us joking about making that sex tap on FOE a few months back? Y-yeah, yeah that. Um, I’m coming over, get your camera ready.”
Ryan didn’t push the issue, just pushed out a suddenly mangled, “Jesus, fuck. Okay,” and hung up. Brendon drove the entire way to Ryan’s house with a hard on and a mind full of explicit images.
----
The drive back home from the venue is surprisingly calm. On the surface at least. Inside, Brendon’s stomach is twisting in that agonizingly impatient way it always does when he’s going out of his mind to debauch Ryan. Internally, Ryan is writhing in his own skin, desperate to be writhing beneath Brendon. They’re both torturously hard and so anxious to get to Ryan’s driveway (“At least the driveway, Brendon.”), the apprehension is smothering.
Brendon beats Ryan in a race to the front door, a race Ryan wasn’t aware he was participating in, and manages to get halfway to the bedroom before Ryan beckons after him in the most sultry voice Brendon has heard in a while. Brendon pauses, looks over his shoulder and lets his eyes memorize the exact curve, outline, strain of Ryan’s cock pressing into the zipper of his jeans. He sucks back a groan at the sight because no matter how many times he sees it, it will never not be excruciatingly desirable.
Brendon raises a challenging eyebrow and says, “You better be naked when you get in here,” before walking slowly into Ryan’s bedroom, hips like a pendulum.
Ryan isn’t naked when he enters his bedroom and when he notices Brendon, he really resents his clothing. Brendon’s halfway there in removing his clothes, has his shoes and pants banished to a remote part of the room and is working methodically on the buttons of his shirt, back to the door. Ryan creeps up behind him as quietly as he can and kisses heat in between Brendon’s shoulders just as he drops his shirt to the floor.
Brendon’s pout is evident when he says, “You’re not naked,” and Ryan hums, shaking his head and tongues the flesh on Brendon’s back. He works his way down Brendon’s spine without so much as a sound from Brendon but when he drops to his knees and tugs down the hem of Brendon’s boxers just enough to expose the top of his ass, the way his tongue licks a solid stripe between the meeting of Brendon’s cheeks is enough to make Brendon hiss and toss his head back.
Ryan presses his smirk into the dimples in Brendon’s lower back before pivoting him, licking every inch of skin in his rotation. Brendon’s hands thread loosely through Ryan’s hair and he sighs when Ryan cups his hip in one hand and his ass in the other. Ryan laps slowly at the expanse of skin just above Brendon’s pelvis and pinches an area of his hipbone between his teeth. It isn’t until Ryan drops his head and mouths at Brendon’s glaringly obvious cock that Brendon garbles something incoherent and yanks Ryan’s hair in surprise.
Ryan groans, pleased and Brendon murmurs hazily, “Bed, now,” and tugs his hair once more for good measure.
Brendon slaps away Ryan’s lithe fingers when he attempts to remove his clothes and Ryan stares up at him from his back with dark eyes, pupils blown and dissolving any color that should be noticeable in his eyes. “Let me do it,” Brendon says gently, a confusing gesture given his previous actions. Ryan relents and Brendon strips him unbearably slow and lasting and by the time he’s peeling off Ryan’s boxers, Ryan’s clawing at Brendon’s shoulders for friction.
“Brendon, please. Just--” Ryan twists into the sheets, arching up to suck dark marks into Brendon’s neck and Brendon caresses the warm, silky skin in the crease of Ryan’s thigh, fingers dancing. “Touch me, baby, please,” he pleads, breath sticky on Brendon’s damp throat.
Brendon backs down Ryan’s body, ass sticking up high in the air and he looks up at Ryan, eyes heavy lidded and lashes long and tongues the head of Ryan’s leaking cock experimentally.
Whimpering, Ryan chokes out his gratitude and begs Brendon to continue. Brendon ducks his head once more and wraps his lips around him, swirls his tongue and laps up the taste of Ryan. When he pulls away and Ryan whines, Brendon says, “I believe you had your share of that this morning.”
“But you’re so good, Bren,” Ryan moans, wrapping his long leg around Brendon’s shoulder and urging him back down with his heel, asking. “Don’t stop.”
“Mmm,” Brendon purrs and crawls back up the miles of Ryan’s skin. “I have other plans,” he says smirking.
“Do these plans involve you in your boxers? Because if not, can you please remove them?” Ryan says and it’s sarcastic enough to make Brendon chuckle.
“You can,” Brendon quips and Ryan digs his nails deep into Brendon’s ass as retaliation. The sensation causes Brendon’s back to arch, resulting in his hips dipping down into Ryan’s and eliciting corresponding moans.
“Christ, Brendon. Take them off,” Ryan growls and after that remarkable friction Brendon is not up for anymore teasing, so he obeys.
Before Brendon can even think of lubricating his fingers, Ryan’s sucking them greedily into his mouth, lathering the pads of his fingers generously and slipping his tongue between the slats of Brendon’s digits. Brendon makes a sound that boarders on a whimper and he has to pull back his fingers before Ryan’s mouth ruins everything too soon. He takes a moment to compose himself before he ventures back down Ryan’s long torso and presses one wet finger into Ryan without warning.
Ryan cries out, grapples for the sheets and digs his heels as far into the mattress as he can, rooting himself to the spot. He grits his teeth because it burns but it’s so unexpected that if he doesn’t cage his moans behind his teeth he’ll end up going hoarse.
“You like that?” Brendon gnashes and twists his hand, curling his finger up inside. Ryan shudders and Brendon adds another, a little more unhurried this time, and relishes in the way Ryan grinds down onto his hand. He coils his fingers deep and searching and brushes over a certain spot that rips a howl out of Ryan’s throat. Brendon’s clouded eyes flash lightning and the rumbling growl in his chest stops in his throat. He presses it again and Ryan’s legs jerk as he scrambles immobile on the sheets, as if he’s trying to escape the pleasure that’s threatening to make him lose all self control.
His eyes are rolling in his head and he’s so disoriented with want he only manages to make grabby hands at Brendon as he gasps out, “Bren, I. I c-can’t, I. Please, you.”
Ryan’s coherency is always lost during sex. For someone so good with words, Brendon would like to think he could write songs with the things he spouts off while Brendon’s grinding into him. But it’s a rarity that Ryan ever gets so inarticulate and jumbled that he seems scared.
Brendon withdraws his fingers and coos, “Shh, baby. I’ve got you,” pressing his lips firmly against Ryan’s and Ryan clings to him like he’s the last unclaimed door floating in the wreckage of the Titanic.
He pushes in slow, rubbing circles into Ryan’s hips with every inch and he lets Ryan grow accustomed to his temporary insanity. His legs shake harsher every rotation of Brendon’s thumb and his mouth drops open once Brendon is buried as deep as he can go. He stills and Ryan’s eyes flitter open lazily, fixating on the blurry brown mop of hair that becomes sharper with every blink. When he can distinguish the individual beads of sweat on Brendon’s forehead, he smiles languidly and swallows.
Brendon curls his lips up and brushes back some of the hair sticking to Ryan’s forehead. “Hey,” he soothes and Ryan closes his eyes peacefully. “You okay? I lost you there for a minute.”
Nodding, Ryan licks his lips and rasps, “Sorry.”
Chuckling breathlessly, Brendon leans down slowly to kiss Ryan’s freshly wet lips and murmurs, “Ready?”
They start up a measured pace, rocking against each other gently at first and then with growing insistence. Ryan, he’s regained most of his control again, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going out of his mind with pleasure. And Brendon’s hips are snapping so rhythmically, he thinks that if he hadn’t taken a moment to bring Ryan back into reality, they could have actually made music together.
Brendon drives his hips deep, harsh and rough and the long drag out and the steady push in has Ryan keening, tangled in the sheets. He snakes his hands up Ryan's sides and presses his arms into the mattress, rubbing thumbs over the words inked onto Ryan's wrists. The angle shifts slightly and Ryan's mouth goes slack and his eyes roll back in his head, only a quick, quiet gasp escaping his parted lips. Brendon thrusts in again, harder and following the same angle, and Ryan yelps, eyes flying open and hyper-aware of ever sensation tickling his skin.
Knowing he's found what he was looking for, Brendon continues to dive as far into Ryan as possible, hitting Ryan's swear spot on each thrust. Ryan struggles to free his hands from under Brendon's weight and the all too overwhelming ecstasy boiling in the pit of his stomach renders his limbs useless.
From Ryan’s lips tumbles a litany of “Oh”s and “Jesus. Fuck”s and he arches up, hips bucking wildly to meet the oncoming collision. Brendon dips down and bites, "So, so good," onto Ryan's lips and his stomach brushes Ryan's leaking cock.
With the next slam in, Ryan's adrenaline propels the muscles in his arms to overpower Brendon and his fingers clench desperately at the warm flesh of Brendon's ass, stilling him deep and perfect and filling Ryan deliciously.
Brendon groans and Ryan wants to lick the sound from his mouth as his nails leave crescent moons in Brendon’s flesh and he comes with a moan that shudders through his whole body.
A sudden tingling warmth creeps over Brendon, up his toes and legs and back and all the way up to his nose and to the end of his fingers and his hips stutter and twitch and he buries his head into the side of Ryan’s neck and comes, mouth open and hot against the flesh there. He plants sweet promises and lullabies beneath Ryan’s ear and plasters against the top of him until they both stop shaking.
Brendon takes Ryan’s mouth in his and kisses him soft and deep and breathes, “So, so good,” once more before nuzzling his cheek.
Ryan takes one, two, three deep breaths, realizes this is all he ever wants and whispers, “I love you.”
And they’ve said it to each other before, but it’s not necessarily an everyday thing. It’s mostly just an unspoken understanding between them and while Brendon loves the way it feels coming off his tongue, he loves showing Ryan with his tongue even more. However, the way Ryan just said it, deliberate and soft, it’s different than usual and Brendon lifts his head to look at him.
“Yeah?” he rasps.
Ryan’s eyes smile but his lips don’t and those are Brendon’s favorite Ryan smiles because they’re secret and only for him, so he kind of takes it as an evident agreement and then Ryan says, “You know that sex tape we made a while back?”
“The one we filmed on your kitchen table?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Brendon wonders. “If you want to watch it you’re going to have to give me a few minutes to breathe here--”
“Let’s leak it.”
Brendon’s heart stops. “W-what?”
“On the internet. Let’s do it tomorrow,” Ryan suggests.
Brendon looks at Ryan like he’s unsure how to react. “Why?”
This time Ryan’s smile bursts through to his mouth and his eyes twinkle in a way that reminds Brendon of Christmas and warmth and home.
“I’m ready,” Ryan says and kisses Brendon like no one’s watching, only now with a heart strong enough to carry on when someone is.
FIN
Special thanks to rydenevidence, ivesia19, and the ever lovely moceanu.