The First Five Times [ryan/brendon][s/a]
Title: The First Five Times
Pairing/Character(s): Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The first time it happens they’re both seventeen. Brendon, just barely, and Ryan, almost eighteen. Ryan doesn’t know why, but they’re laying in his backyard, on a plastic tarp, and it’s dark. Spencer and Brent are further out back, around a fire that, legally, shouldn’t be there. Brendon’s breath is quiet, only a couple of inches from Ryan.
Warning: Very, very, extremely cheesy ending. I just wanted a happy ending for once!
Beta: camatie
Word Count: 7,892
A/N: I finally wrote something, yay. It's really exciting. I don't know, not much to say, but it was initially inspired by The First Five Times by Stars, which is a great song, and it just ended up being really long. Again, watch out for the cheesy ending! The majority of this is before the split. Any mistakes left are all mine, feel free to point them out~
The first time it happens they’re both seventeen. Brendon, just barely, and Ryan, almost eighteen. Ryan doesn’t know why, but they’re laying in his backyard, on a plastic tarp, and it’s dark. Spencer and Brent are further out back, around a fire that, legally, shouldn’t be there. Brendon’s breath is quiet, only a couple of inches from Ryan.
Ryan looks over and Brendon’s eyes are closed shut, loosely. His hands are splayed out at his side.
Ryan moves, just barely, careful and frowning as the tarp rustles. Brendon doesn’t flinch, doesn’t open his eyes - he just lays still, his breathing still coming soft and quiet.
Ryan leans over Brendon’s body without really thinking about it, touching the side of his face.
The moment their skin touches, Brendon opens his eyes.
“Hi,” he says, still quiet, barely a breath, and Ryan chokes on his own words. He can’t move his hand, can’t move his body, in fact, and Brendon’s just lying there, staring at him with a soft smile. Ryan lets go of anything that might have been giving him normal thoughts, and makes a decision that will change his life permanently. He presses his mouth to Brendon’s, and a firefly lights up besides them, landing on the tarp and then the light goes out. They both close their eyes, maybe just because they know that’s what they’re supposed to do (Ryan remembers the last time he kissed Morgan and how three hours later her actual boyfriend (he says actual because he felt incredibly duped) sent him a very mean text message, and how that kiss had become one of the worst moments of his life) and Ryan feels Brendon sigh against his mouth.
“Sorry,” Ryan whispers as he rolls off of Brendon, still lying still. He stands and hastily trots over to Brent and Spencer, making up an excuse to them that Brendon is sleeping. His voice echoes through the grass and Brendon begins to cry, quietly enough that they can’t hear him.
--
The second time happens on their first tour, in a van, in the back of a van, in the dark. Brendon stumbles (over what, they never try to find out) and then there’s a Shit, sorry and a Fuck, you’re heavy, followed by Brendon gasping and Ryan hissing, then - Ryan puts his arm around Brendon’s neck as Brendon’s knee digs into Ryan’s thigh.
And, a second kiss.
Harder than before, rougher - as if maybe Ryan means business by it. Brendon lets his eyes roll in the back of his head when Ryan does it, because he knows no one can see him. Ryan hums against his mouth and suddenly Brendon is being kissed with tongue and all he can think is Fuck, Audrey can’t do that.
Ryan doesn’t cease, licking into Brendon’s mouth until he mewls and they both freeze.
Brendon stammers out an apology, even with Ryan’s face about a centimeter away, his hips brushing his in the dark. Ryan tells him No, it’s okay, but he sounds flustered too and something about that makes Brendon infinitely more comfortable, enough that he takes the initiative this time and kisses Ryan, a hard, bruising kiss, and this time Ryan’s making the tiny noises, his hands tight on Brendon’s hips and pulling him closer, pressing their chests together.
When they finally do stop kissing, Brendon is panting and Ryan is taking deep, gasping breaths. And then Ryan says in a tiny voice, “That can’t happen again,” as if it’s some kind of terrible thing they never should have done. And Brendon, he doesn’t hold back the sob that shudders up his body, his expression and the curl in his stomach and the ache in his heart.
--
The third time it happens is quite a while after the second time. Since then, they’ve basically been pretending like everything is okay, that Brendon isn’t pining now, that the break-ups with Jac and Audrey were totally the girls’ fault (and they were, but -), that there’s just. Nothing wrong. Because there’s not. Or, there shouldn’t be.
“Fucking shit, sorry dudes,” Zack says, sending Ryan and Brendon a sympathetic glance. “The whole hotel’s booked, unless one of you wants to sleep in the bus…if it’s that bad.”
Brendon looks shyly at Ryan (which is odd in itself, because Ryan’s the one who’s ‘cripplingly shy’) waiting for him to say something.
Ryan doesn’t, just laughing. “Dude, it’s fine. I’m sure we’ll survive for one night.”
Brendon blinks, trying not to look surprised, and then shrugs when Zack looks at him. “Ryan’s right, it’ll be fine.”
The issue is between them, but they refuse to really tell anyone. They’ve never told anyone. They haven’t even told themselves, and Brendon’s not about to lie - he’s nervous as fuck about this. About this simple hotel mix up, so the only bed in their room in a queen sized bed. So that they have to sleep. On the same bed. Together.
Which totally shouldn’t be a big deal (Zack is just pissed because the hotel fucked up) and probably isn’t to Jon and Spencer who are already walking towards their room while Ryan and Brendon and Zack stand in the parking lot, Brendon shivering even under his winter coat.
Brendon takes deep breaths as they trek through the hotel hallways. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
Ryan is the one who swipes the card and opens the door.
He’s the one who flicks on the light which then flickers in the bathroom, too bright. Brendon shields his eyes for a moment as the door closes behind them.
It’s not the first time they’ve been in a hotel room together - in fact, they’re used to it. But usually there’s two feet between their king sized beds, and they have a routine (Brendon uses the shower first because he sweats so damned much). Brendon’s not sure if the routine still counts now that they share a bed (why should it makes such a difference - he’s getting ahead of himself) and he’s beginning to panic.
“Go on,” Ryan suddenly says, and Brendon realizes he’s still standing directly in front of the door and Ryan’s on the bed, pulling his shoes and his shirt off (does this boy sweat? Does he really?) and nodding towards the bathroom door.
“Oh,” Brendon breathes. “Yeah,” he agrees, and he steps closer to the bed and drops his bag on the floor, rummaging through it for a clean pair of boxers - he bites his lip. He wasn’t expecting the need for sweatpants, like Ryan wears to bed every night. He usually just wears his boxers (he would sleep naked if he wasn’t in the same room as Ryan - sometimes he does on the bus) but that somehow seems inappropriate as Ryan pulls on his own sweats.
“Fuck,” Brendon mutters under his breath, grabbing the clean pair of boxers and his shampoo and new bar of soap, stalking into the bathroom.
The water takes a moment to get hot but Brendon is already stripped and ready and he steps into the shower, letting it soak away his worries. It kind of works while he’s washing his body and his hair, but as soon as he pauses and looks at the ceiling, getting annoyed by the lack of pressure of the hotel shower (at least it’s better than nothing, he reminds himself), all of the memories (the thoughts) come right back and hit him hard in the face.
“Damn it,” he mumbles, turning towards the stream of water. So much for muscle relaxant.
Brendon decides to fuck it and doesn’t bother wasting his time in the shower, drying off quickly and putting on the boxers before trying to rub his hair dry. He looks at himself in the mirror and he looks tired - he doesn’t like being tired, because he’s usually so energetic and he’s just…he’s used to it.
Brendon runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. He’s not nervous. He’s not nervous, at all.
Well, he keeps telling himself that.
He turns off the light when he steps out of the bathroom, his feet cold, and then realizes that now it’s pitch black. “Fuck, Ryan, are you asleep?”
“No,” come the monotone from the bed, and a light clicks on. Brendon blinks, adjusting again as Ryan rolls over, his back facing Brendon, to the very end of the bed. Brendon almost wants to say something but resists, instead walking over to the bed and crawling under the covers himself. Ryan shifts a little (Brendon’s back is to him so he can’t see, but he’s pretty sure Ryan is moving away) and Brendon tenses momentarily.
Then he listens to the rustle of sheets and watches as Ryan walks, his back bare, to the bathroom, carrying his own shampoo/conditioner combo and soap. Brendon can’t help it - he stares at Ryan as he walks into the bathroom.
Then he sighs, quietly, and sits up a little to turn off the orange glow of the light.
It’s pitch black and Brendon is pretty sure it’s safe to cry quietly now as the water begins to run again in the bathroom.
--
Brendon doesn’t say anything. In fact, he keeps his mouth tightly just, trying to appear asleep (but the sudden tension he knows is in his muscles is probably a dead giveaway - that, and the fact that he’s not even breathing anymore) so that maybe, maybe this will all go away. But in truth, he doesn’t want it to go away (if this goes away he’ll end up crying again).
Ryan’s hand.
It slips across his stomach, brushing his hipbones. Brendon shivers involuntarily and Ryan scoots closer (the light fabric of the bed rustles with his movements, and Brendon fears his spine will crumble or just snap), pressing his face to Brendon’s neck. Brendon twitches, mostly because Ryan’s nose is cold, but his breath hot.
Brendon thinks he feels Ryan’s lips moving and he’s finally breathing again - shallow, slightly ragged breaths that make him sound like he’s in a porno, but, breaths - trying to keep himself from exploding. Ryan’s skin is so cold against his skin, yet inviting, and it takes a lot of willpower not to lean back into Ryan’s touch.
Ryan’s movements are tormenting and slow, his hand sliding up Brendon’s bare stomach and chest, pausing at his collar bone. Brendon’s breathing is impossibly quiet, though his heart is pounding. Ryan then touches Brendon’s jaw, thumbing the bone through his skin, tilting Brendon’s head just barely, just up a little, maybe for easier access.
Ryan’s lips are dry, tracing over the skin of Brendon’s jaw and hesitating at his cheek. Brendon finds himself with his mouth hanging slightly open, unable to speak (though he doesn’t think he would if he could) as Ryan brushes his lips against the corner of Brendon’s.
“Ryan,” Brendon whispers - he actually can speak. Ryan tenses but doesn’t move, his hand still on Brendon’s face and his lips still hovering about a centimeter away. “Ryan, last time, you said,” Brendon whispers, but his voice cracks and he finds himself shaking, even though he’s warm under the covers. He doesn’t want (doesn’t need) another heart break. Not from Ryan. “Last time you said…that this couldn’t happen again.” Brendon means for his voice to be strong, but it’s weak (always so weak) and he sounds like he’s crumbling.
Brendon can only see the outline of Ryan’s face in the dark, but he can feel his thumb rubbing against his skin softly. “I…” Ryan starts, and he sounds tired, “maybe I changed my mind.”
Brendon wants to tell him You’re not allowed to change your mind after that but he can’t, because he doesn’t fucking care. He wants to kiss Ryan again.
When Brendon doesn’t say anything, Ryan assumes (rightly assumes), moving closer again. He seals his lips over Brendon’s, and Brendon kind of feels like he’s breathing life into him. Ryan’s fingers are smooth and careful as they trace lines over Brendon’s chest.
Ryan crawls on top of Brendon and Brendon adjusts himself, lying on his back - Ryan’s now straddling his hips, hands still on his chest. He leans down and kisses Brendon, multiple times, almost as if he’s experimenting. The first few kisses are quick and simple, almost like pecks (Brendon finds himself giggling just a bit and Ryan mutters something), but then they change and it’s surreal, because suddenly Ryan’s lips are moving in ways Brendon didn’t think were possible, languid and soft, enough that Brendon is squirming, hips lifting up off of the bed.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan whispers, hushed into Brendon’s ear - his fingers course their way through Brendon’s hair as he says it, because he’s being soothing. “I really am.”
He then proceeds to lie down next to Brendon. Brendon turns his head to look at him in the dark, though he still can’t make out details, and he smiles. “It’s okay,” he says, softly. “I forgive you.”
Ryan wraps an arm around Brendon’s waist and presses his nose to Brendon’s throat. “Thank you.”
--
The fourth time doesn’t really count as the fourth time, because the fourth time is an absolutely different experience, and, while it does involve kissing, is like, the six hundredth time they’ve kissed. In the past two days. Excluding the two months separating that night of forgiveness and Brendon being happy (truly happy) for the first time in months.
They like sneaking kisses, especially when there’s a good chance someone will see (but at the same time, they know they won’t). Sometimes they sneak them in the bathroom, pretending to be arguing about toothpaste when in reality they’re cramming lips together every pause. Sometimes, Brendon rustles out of his bunk and tiptoes over to Ryan’s, leaning in and kissing him awake. And sometimes, they kiss until midnight on a hotel bed, whispering secrets in each other’s ears because maybe, just maybe, someone is listening to them.
“I…want to try something,” Ryan says when he steps out of the bathroom - his hair is a muss and he’s still holding his towel, standing in only a pair of sweatpants (which is the usual, especially now - he doesn’t bother with shirts because it’s never cold enough for them to be necessary).
Brendon looks up at Ryan, Ryan’s copy of Invisible Monsters in his lap. Ryan raises a questioning eyebrow and Brendon rolls his eyes (he knows how everyone likes to joke about how he doesn’t read, but he actually has read Survivor and Diary if only for the sake of understanding lyrics. He just never got around to reading Monsters until yesterday (he started it yesterday, when Ryan was showering in the bus), and, approximately twenty pages in, he has no idea what this has to do with Time To Dance.
“What? I’m not allowed to read?” Brendon drawls, but he laughs and sets the worn copy next to the digital clock on the bedside table (there’s another bed on the other side, but they rarely use those extra beds anymore).
“No, that’s not it…you distracted me,” Ryan accuses, suddenly scowling. “Anyway, anyway, there’s something I want to try. Tonight. If that’s…okay.”
It’s Brendon’s turn to look incredulous. He has no idea why Ryan’s blushing and acting nervous. He thought Ryan got over that.“What, you want to like, sneak out or something? You know what Zack will do if he finds us gone…”
Ryan shakes his head, looking more embarrassed, somehow. “No, not like that…like…” He pauses, trying to find words (it’s always funny to Brendon that Ryan can just sit and write and write into a notebook and then when it comes to actually talking he stutters and can never find what he wants to say). Ryan ends up just shaking his head and stepping forward quickly - Brendon is surprised when Ryan has both knees on either sides of his legs, and then they’re kissing.
Startled, Brendon moans a little, leaning back and catching his breath. Ryan’s hands are already running over Brendon’s chest, and when he tweaks a nipple Brendon can’t help the loud gasp. “F-fuck,” he whispers, and suddenly a memory snaps into place of his sixth grade choir teacher telling the class that whispering strains the vocal chords, and also, the phrase ‘bros before hos’ (though Brendon always wondered - what if your bro is your…? But he never voiced it, because God, awkward questions). But then he’s reminded once again of the fact that Ryan is on top of him, nipping at his throat and using his hands in ways that shouldn’t be legal. God, they probably aren’t, they’re in Mississippi, after all.
When Ryan grinds his hips down, Brendon is pretty sure he knows exactly what Ryan is trying to get at. “Fuck, Ryan, you’re not wearing underwear…” Brendon whispers in a shaky voice, his hands searching for something to cling to, and he settles on Ryan’s hips, jutting out above the waist band of his sweatpants.
“Uhm,” Ryan mutters, and the embarrassment is suddenly back as he leans down and presses his face into Brendon’s throat, arms loose around Brendon. “Is…is it okay if I…”
Brendon hisses as one of Ryan’s hands slides down and slips under the waist band of his boxers. “Yes, it’s okay, whatever you want to do is fine, fuck, Ry, fuck,” Brendon blabs, his cock twitching as Ryan’s cold fingers wrap around the shaft and then he jerks his hands and Brendon’s hips jerk in response. “Damn it, Ryan, please…” Brendon is not one who usually begs, but he’s so hard now and he hasn’t gotten off in so fucking long and Ryan is right there. Right fucking there.
Ryan slips his hand out of Brendon’s boxers and scoots back, Brendon letting out a vicious whine. “What the fuck,” he moans, knowing he sounds like a spoiled brat. Ryan is crawling off of him now, standing in front of him. “Fuck, don’t do that if you’re just gonna…”
Then, Brendon notices that Ryan is on his knees and prying Brendon’s legs apart by his knees. Brendon is suddenly near shaking as Ryan pulls off his boxers and fuck if he doesn’t feel completely exposed and utterly vulnerable with Ryan scooting closer, not looking up even though Brendon’s staring at him.
“Is this okay?” Ryan mumbles, taking a hold of Brendon’s cock and thumbing over the slit - Brendon’s hips buck again, and he’s biting hard on his bottom lip, trying to keep himself from shouting.
“I…Wait. Are you fucking asking me if it’s okay if you blow me?”
Brendon is flabbergasted, staring at Ryan like he’s suggested a scandal (but not a scandal as in, asking is a scandal, but as in having to ask is a scandal) and it only makes Ryan blush more, though he’s not sure what’s more uncomfortable to stare at - Brendon’s cock or Brendon’s face.
“Well, I hereby give you permission,” Brendon says, and when Ryan finally does look up, Brendon is grinning lopsidedly at him - it’s almost comforting. “Any other requests?”
“A-actually,” Ryan mumbles, glancing back down at Brendon’s lap. “Would you…ugh, can you, uhm - would you pull my hair?”
Brendon hisses again, this time for a different reason (kind of) and then nods, almost too eagerly. “Yeah, yeah,” he agrees quickly. “S-sure.” His voice is now shaking, though with anticipation rather than nerves.
Ryan thinks to himself Fuck it and goes down on Brendon suddenly, kind of just knowing that he needs to be careful (he starts with the head, but even that almost gags him and he feels like an idiot). But Brendon makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and throws back his head, so Ryan figures he must be doing something right.
Ryan takes more initiative and swirls his tongue experimentally, gripping the length of Brendon’s dick with his right hand, the other on Brendon’s knee. He doesn’t really notice as Brendon links his fingers through his hair, until the gentle tug reminds him that he’s being a tease. Brendon is mumbling under his breath, nonsense - Ryan concentrates and tries to open his throat, taking down more of Brendon (he sputters and blushes hard as he moves off of Brendon and catches his breath). He tries it again and has better luck, and obviously it works because Brendon is moaning and panting now, and Ryan’s name finds itself in a string of curse words.
But in between the profanity and Ryan’s name, there’s a couple of romanticisms - “You’re so beautiful,” (which could be dirty, really), “You look so good,” (which, again, probably isn’t actually meant to be romantic), but worst of all (best of all), “Don’t ever go.”
Ryan did not expect the ache in his jaw (understandably - he’s never sucked cock before in his life) but it eventually comes and he begins trying even harder to get Brendon off, using his tongue every chance he gets and sucking hard at the head of Brendon’s cock.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Brendon mutters, no pauses between the words, “fuck shit fuck so good Ryan need need - fuck I’m gonna -” and it’s the only warning Brendon’s able to give Ryan, that and his fingers tightening in Ryan’s hair, unconsciously pulling him closer, before he comes, hips bucking and stuttering.
Ryan does his best not to sputter, trying to be professional (though it’s not the right word) - he swallows every last drop and licks what he can find off of Brendon, all while breathing heavily through his nose.
Once Brendon’s pulled up his boxers and fallen back down on the bed, trying to catch his own breath, Ryan stands. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that was shit…”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a fucking golden God, Ryan Ross, I hope you know that.”
Ryan smiles at Brendon, almost shyly, and Brendon grins back - their cheeks are both flushed and now it’s one in the morning and they have to be up in order to leave in seven hours.
It doesn’t take either of them long to fall asleep.
--
Getting each other off before bed becomes routine, though it’s a lot harder (and riskier) to manage on the bus (which is what they’re usually on). Sometimes, Ryan crawls into Brendon’s bunk at about three in the morning and wakes him up by beginning to jerk him off (Brendon says he likes that, being woken up by the sudden reaction in his dick and Ryan’s always cold fingers) and sometimes Brendon does the same thing (and recently, Brendon’s gotten into the habit and early morning blow jobs, usually at four, and Ryan has a hard time being quiet because in reality, Brendon is just fucking amazing with his mouth).
But then tour stops.
“Damn,” Brendon mumbles, looking out the window. “I can’t believe you rented this place.”
Ryan shrugs. “It was too perfect. Only $1,500 a week. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It’s fucking beautiful.”
Ryan grins. “You think so?” he asks, pleased. He joins Brendon out on the deck, walking through the open door and looking out at the Pacific Ocean, waves lapping at the shores. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I can’t believe you let me come with you. It’s just…it’s so gorgeous. It’s taking my breath away, just thinking about it.”
Ryan leans on Brendon’s shoulder and whispers, “You take my breath away. Just thinking about you. How beautiful you are. You’re perfect.”
Brendon shivers a little, twisting so he can properly kiss Ryan and look out over the ocean. “Don’t say that,” he murmurs, “’cause what if someday it’s not true?”
Ryan presses his forehead to Brendon’s. “Don’t care.”
“You know,” Brendon says, all of the sudden, “we haven’t fucked yet,” he points out, very matter of fact. “I mean, a lot of people probably wouldn’t consider either of us virgins anyway, what with all the blow jobs, but…you know, we haven’t fucked yet.”
Ryan chuckles. “Sometimes I think you just want in my pants,” he teases.
Brendon waggles his eyebrows. “Sometimes I do,” he half-purrs, grabbing Ryan’s hips and pressing them together. “But most of the time I’m in it for the money.”
Ryan laughs again, kissing Brendon on the lips. “I guess I’m okay with that.”
--
That night, they take a walk out on the beach. The sand is cool against their feet, but the water lapping against their skin leads to Brendon whining and tripping over himself as he leans down to itch his ankles. Ryan usually just smiles.
Brendon slips his hand into Ryan’s.
Ryan pauses for a moment, but then squeezes Brendon’s fingers.
“What exactly are we?” Brendon asks, and his voice seems so loud because the beach is quiet. It’s May. The beach has every right to be quiet.
“…I dunno,” Ryan mumbles after a moment, getting nervous. He tries not to squirm, but he can feel the uncomfortable itch under his skin. Brendon doesn’t let go of his hand, though, so he looks back at him. “What would you say we are?”
Brendon shrugs, but he’s smiling a little and Ryan figures everything must be at least okay. “I wouldn’t classify it. There’s no point putting a label on it, I guess. We are what we are, right? And as long as you’re okay with that, I’m okay. As long as I still get to kiss you whenever I want.” Brendon turns and smiles at Ryan, a little wider and a little shyer. Ryan smiles back, nodding.
“I think that can work,” he admits, and he begins to swing their hands, slowly, back and fourth. “But I’m just a little worried.”
They fall into step with each other, Brendon staring at their feet as he synchronizes. “About what?” he asks, his voice deathly quiet. Ryan can see the sun setting out over the ocean. It’s almost melancholy - but it’s still beautiful.
“I’m worried,” Ryan says, just as quiet as Brendon. He begins to rub his thumb slowly across Brendon’s knuckles, and he thinks about waking up one day and finding out his father was dead. He remembers going to the funeral and thinking about how his father would never see them play for thousands of people. How his father would never hear the music he was writing. Would never find out about him and Brendon. “That one day, I’m going to wake up and everything’s going to be different.”
Brendon begins to slow down and Ryan slows down with him. They eventually stop, and Brendon slowly lets go of Ryan’s hand and steps out further toward the ocean. The waves are still gentle, lapping against him, but it’s getting cooler out now.
“You’re probably right,” Brendon admits, almost so quiet that Ryan doesn’t hear him. He turns and looks back at Ryan, now crouching in the sand. He’s getting cold now. The sun is barely reflected in the water. “That things are gonna change, I mean,” he clarifies, “not that you need to worry.”
Brendon turns so that he’s facing Ryan and grins. “Live in the moment, Ryan. Who cares about tomorrow when you have today? We don’t need a reminder - I think everyone knows, that, eventually, change is gonna come…one way or another, we can’t avoid it. But we’ve got this, right?” Brendon lifts his hand and Ryan steps closer, taking it, and he nods. “We’ve got this,” he murmurs, and Ryan smiles, reminded of George Lopez in some odd way.
--
“Is it weird that we still haven’t had sex?” Brendon asks one day as he begins rubbing his hair down with a towel. On the couch, Spencer rolls his eyes and Ryan blushes, frowning.
“Well, that’s always a positive thought,” Jon mutters from besides Spencer, leaning over and grabbing an issue of Teen Vogue.
They are in a cabin in the middle of the mountains, trying to write good music, but, mostly goofing off.
Brendon shrugs. “What do you two, think?” he asks in Jon and Spencer’s general direction on the couch, but they are both pretending to be utterly engrossed in Jon’s issue of Teen Vogue, murmuring as they point at a picture of Britney Spears. Brendon scoffs and turns back to Ryan. “We should do something about that!”
“I - I don’t…” Ryan stutters, and Brendon chuckles at his embarrassment. “I don’t know,” he finishes, his voice flat. “It is kind of weird. I guess.”
“Maybe you guys aren’t fucking because Ryan has a girlfriend but maybe that’s silly of me to assume…” Jon mutters, not looking up from his magazine. Brendon and Ryan flinch simultaneously and Ryan looks down at his hands - which are suddenly shaking. He hates it when Keltie’s brought up. Hates that Brendon understands. Or that Brendon pretends to understand.
Brendon doesn’t seem shaken, quickly recovering. He grins at Jon, who is now looking at him lazily, almost as if challenging him to snap back. “We’ve been over this, Jon Jacob Jingle Heimer Walker!” Brendon exclaims, and next to Jon, Spencer cracks a sly smile. “I’m okay with that.”
Jon looks back down at the magazine, though it’s obvious he’s not paying attention. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “yeah, you’re okay with it, but is Keltie…?”
Brendon squirms a little where he stands and shoots Ryan a worried glance.
They drop the subject almost immediately.
--
“Fuck, the sky’s beautiful,” Ryan mutters, his head in Brendon’s lap. Brendon is stroking his hair, petting his face every couple of minutes, and it feels nice. It makes him calm.
“Isn’t it kind of ironic that something as beautiful as the stars are just…giant flaming balls of gas? It’s kind of depressing, actually.”
Ryan laughs, closing his eyes and imagining it. They’re just like the sun - except smaller, larger, and further away. “Yeah, but people don’t like to see it that way. People like to romanticize things. And who could blame them? The world seems so much more beautiful when you don’t take things literally.”
Brendon smiles and leans down, kissing Ryan’s nose. “I think the world is still pretty beautiful,” he whispers, his breath brushing Ryan’s face. Ryan’s eyes flutter open and he lifts a hand, folded at his chest, touching Brendon’s cheek. Brendon bends down a little further, and Ryan pushes himself up with his other hand, and their lips connect in a sloppy kiss. When they break apart, they’re close to panting, and Brendon says, “I think you’re pretty beautiful.”
Ryan feels tears prickle behind his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bren. So sorry.”
Brendon kisses him again. “Please don’t apologize,” he says between presses of his mouth against Ryan’s. “It makes me so sad when you’re sad. When you cry. I love you too much.”
Ryan takes deep, shuddering breaths in between their almost desperate kisses. “I love you, too. And that’s why I’m so sorry.”
Brendon presses his forehead to Ryan’s and hushes him with a soft, “Shhh,” and then another kiss. Warm and melting - it reminds Ryan of butter in a pan on the stove (which is cliché). “I know. That you love her too,” Brendon whispers, taking advantage of his control over Ryan by not letting him say anything else with another deep kiss. “I know, and that’s okay. I’m okay.”
Ryan twitches and squirms a little, but doesn’t stop kissing Brendon. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t allowed to kiss Brendon anymore, honestly. He’d disappear. Something would just seem so utterly off and gone in his life. It makes his heart stutter in his chest and the kisses become more desperate, riddled with tears and tinges of bittersweet sorrow.
--
Brendon leans his head on Ryan’s chest, breathing heavily. Ryan locks his fingers in Brendon’s hair and pulls him closer on his lap. “Are you sure…?” he asks in a low voice, and the words crack. Maybe because he’s nervous.
Brendon’s eyes flicker up and he smiles, though he almost looks like he’s going to puke. “Yeah,” he says, kissing Ryan’s nose and then his eyelid, “yeah, I am.”
Ryan takes a shuddering breath and begins undoing the buttons of Brendon’s shirt, slow and with unsteady hands. Brendon is still smiling, maybe amused by the quivering of his fingers, but Ryan can tell (maybe it’s just instinct) that Brendon’s just as nervous as he is.
They shouldn’t be so nervous.
This shouldn’t be so fresh and new to them.
But it’s kind of cool that it is.
Ryan runs his hands down Brendon’s bare sides, and Brendon twists a bit, his knees on either sides of Ryan’s thighs, stretching out so that he has to lean down to touch Ryan, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him hot on the mouth. Ryan kisses back, fingers fumbling at the button and zipper of Brendon’s jeans, yanking them down over his ass, his boxers following.
Brendon squirms again, pushing Ryan down against the bed with his left hand on his chest and kicking his legs out one at a time and using his right hand to try to yank his jeans past his knees and ankles.
Below him, Ryan chuckles. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear such tight jeans,” he murmurs, and Brendon shoots him a quick glare. “The cowboy look doesn’t call for skinny girl jeans.”
Brendon scowls and leans down, biting just a little too hard to be playful at Ryan’s Adam apple. Ryan gasps and bucks his hips, grabbing at Brendon’s skin, but his fingers slip when he tries to get a good grip. “Don’t be so impatient,” Brendon murmurs, kissing behind Ryan’s ear and nuzzling at his neck. Ryan isn’t used to Brendon being so…so seductive. If that’s the right word.
Brendon sits back, still straddling Ryan’s hips, and Ryan’s really tempted to just start thrusting because he’d rather dry hump Brendon than sit here and be tortured just looking at him. Brendon smiles, catching the look in Ryan’s eyes, and smoothes his hands over Ryan’s floral print shirt. “And you make fun of my clothes,” he mumbles, ripping at the buttons and Ryan momentarily panics, alarmed that Brendon might ruin his favorite shirt. Quickly, he realizes that it really shouldn’t matter, this isn’t about clothes.
Ryan’s slacks come off much easier than Brendon’s jeans, not nearly as tight, combined with the fact that Ryan might as well have chicken legs and has absolutely no ass.
It’s not that they’ve never been naked in each other’s presence (in fact, totally the opposite), but rather that there’s a thrill in the air, a kind of suspense that’s sparked between them that’s making Brendon’s breathing quicken, Ryan’s heartbeat accelerate. They’re in tune with each other.
“How exactly do you want to do this?” Ryan asks, trying to keep his voice steady. Brendon is still positioned on top of him, hands on his shoulders, but the only other patches of skin that are touching are their thighs where Brendon is keeping himself situated.
“Stupid question,” Brendon mutters, but his cheeks flush before he dips down, kissing the stubble at Ryan’s jaw and then his throat. “I don’t - I really don’t know. I’ve never done this, you know I’ve never done this. I mean, I did a Google search, but uh, that’s about all, and all I really got - all I really got was r-really bad porn, and I don’t know, all I know is that your cock goes in my ass unless you want my cock in your ass, but I dunno if I could actually do that, so I guess I’m depending on you…”
Ryan interrupts by pushing his mouth against Brendon’s. At first it’s reluctant - Brendon tries to say something against Ryan’s lips but Ryan just pushes his tongue into his mouth, hands tight on either side of his face.
When they pull apart, Brendon is trying too hard to gasp for breath to say anything else. “I’ll fuck you,” Ryan breathes, moving his hands from Brendon’s face and pushing him over with by his shoulder. Brendon rolls off of Ryan, again a little hesitant, but when Ryan starts kissing down his body, all moving lips and soft touches and quiet fingers, he forgets to be scared or afraid or worried.
Ryan reaches up and brushes his thumb against Brendon’s bottom lip. Brendon’s eyes flutter back open and he parts his lips, allowing Ryan to push his fingers inside - Brendon knows what he’s getting at and licks around Ryan’s three fingers, slicking them and trying to ignore the salty, dry taste in his mouth.
“I confess I don’t have any lube…” Ryan mutters and Brendon just hums around his fingers, though he can feel his face getting hot. “But I’ll be careful.”
Brendon shudders.
Ryan pulls his fingers out of Brendon’s mouth and they make a wet popping noise - Brendon shuffles and pushes his hips up off of the bed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes again, sure his face is scarlet from the embarrassment, from being so completely exposed (and God knows he should be used to it). He doesn’t really know how to prep himself for Ryan, so he just tries to keep himself relaxed, but - it’s not what he expects at all.
Ryan wiggles his index finger deeper into Brendon, and Brendon frowns, spreading his legs further and pushing himself higher off of the bed. It’s an awkward feeling, because it doesn’t really hurt but it’s kind of uncomfortable.
It’s even more uncomfortable when Ryan pulls up and then pushes his middle finger in alongside his index, twisting and crossing them inside of Brendon. Brendon whines softly, pushing back against Ryan’s fingers, because despite the burn there’s something there that he feels like he kind of needs, and that he needs more of.
Ryan presses in his third finger and Brendon gasps, holding in his breath. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, and his voice quivers. Ryan curves his long fingers and Brendon’s breath hitches again, another whine ripping deep from his throat. “Fuck, Ryan, fuck, can you just…”
Ryan catches the gist of what Brendon’s trying to say and laughs a little, though it’s a bit too low and throaty to seem actually amused. He stretches his fingers momentarily inside of Brendon, making Brendon moan again, desperately clinging to the sheets over the bed. Brendon makes another strangled noise, swallowing hard when Ryan pulls out, taking a moment to readjust himself and lick the palm of his left hand, slicking his dick and ripping open the condom he had sitting on the bed, rolling it on carefully.
When Ryan pushes in, all Brendon can do is try not to let his entire body tighten - he lets out a deep breath, and takes another, though it makes his body rattle. Ryan’s got his hands on Brendon’s hips, slowly inching further in, hissing under his breath as he goes. “Fuck, Brendon…”
Brendon’s still taking deep breaths, counting one, two, three, four, five, and then letting them out, his body shaking with the sensation and his eyes going white with the feeling of being full and stretched out. He feels numb, partially, but also like every part of his body is prickling and on fire.
When Ryan’s all the way in, they’re both panting, almost frantic, and Brendon wants to laugh because what’s going to happen when Ryan actually starts moving? He whimpers a little, the sensation of Ryan sitting inside of him, heavy and hot, getting to be too much. “Move, Ryan,” he murmurs, and his voice is strained and tired.
Ryan starts out by pulling out barely an inch and then pushing back in, slow and fluid, his hips rocking against Brendon. Brendon tries to just enjoy the drag of Ryan’s dick against his muscles and nerves, but his own cock is still hard and pulsing and it’s difficult to concentrate.
Ryan’s thrusts start to speed up, hitting deeper inside of Brendon each time until Brendon’s sure there’s no way he can get further in, and the stars start to flicker against Brendon’s eyelids every time he closes his eyes and Ryan jerks his hips, sharp, snapping against Brendon’s thighs.
Brendon whimpers, fingers clutching hard at the sheets, sweat gathering around his brow and on his stomach and chest, keeping his skin sticking to the bed. Ryan’s hitting his prostate now, almost eighty percent of the time an accurate push directly against the bundle of nerves or the muscle or whatever the fuck it is, Brendon doesn’t even know, and as his thrusts speed up the prickling pleasure increases, making Brendon near begging just to get Ryan to touch him.
Ryan’s sort of a mind reader, and he lets out a throaty moan of his own, right hand still holding Brendon’s hip tight, left wrapping around Brendon’s cock and jerking, the pulls just slightly off beat from his thrusts, perfect so that when Ryan hits his prostate, a second later Brendon is getting jacked off, Ryan’s thin and long fingers working quick, every once in a while thumbing over the slit of Brendon’s dick.
Brendon comes without a word or a sound, but Ryan knows immediately because Brendon clenches around his dick and his hips and back rise up off the bed, his entire body tightening with the sensation as his cum splatters over Ryan’s hand and his own stomach.
Ryan comes just minutes after, unable to count his own thrusts, and for a moment he just stays there, hovering over Brendon with his cock still inside, hips twitching just barely in his post orgasm haze.
“Ryan.” It’s the first thing either of them says, and Ryan lazily opens his eyes to look down at Brendon, with his soft smiling face and barely open eyes. “Is it okay…is it okay if I tell you I love you…?”
Ryan’s eyes widen and he bites his lip. It’s not the first time Brendon’s told him this.
It’s just what Keltie says every time they have sex. I love you, always in her soft voice, followed by a kiss. But this is different. This time Ryan leans down and kisses Brendon, hungrily and almost brutally, pushing his tongue into Brendon’s mouth, not caring what Brendon thinks of him, what anyone thinks of him. “I love you too,” he mutters against Brendon’s lips, before catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “Love you so much.”
Brendon is crying now, and Ryan doesn’t think it’s because he’s in pain.
Quietly, the only sound in the room Brendon’s soft, shaky sobs, Ryan pulls out (Brendon’s sobs choke momentarily and Ryan lets out a heavy sigh) and scrambles off the bed, throwing the used condom into the room’s corner trash.
Jon and Spencer are right down the hall, in two separate rooms, but God knows if they were woken up by earlier sounds or if they’ve been cursing Ryan and Brendon all night.
Ryan crawls back onto the bed and Brendon scoots over to make room - Ryan curls up against Brendon’s side and wraps his arms around his waist, head pressed against his bare chest. They just sit there, breathing softly and listening to each other, Brendon swallowing down his dry sobs.
Brendon wraps his fingers around Ryan’s wrist and they look at each other again. Brendon hesitates - he looks like he’s about to say something - but then he just smiles and pushes himself a little closer, kissing Ryan with closed lips. Ryan kisses back, just a tiny bit, enough for it to be noticeable.
“I know, I know, I know…” Ryan whispers, feeling his breath hovering hot and stale between him and Brendon. “I know.”
Brendon smiles, because somehow they managed to communicate without words. “I feel the same as you.”
Brendon smiles again, still not speaking, and touches Ryan’s cheek. “Now, I’ve just got to ask you one more thing…”
Ryan stares at Brendon in the dark, waiting.
“Keep doing that forever…?”
Ryan smiles, and he kisses Brendon again.
--
Brendon peaks his head into the recording room with a quick chirp of, “Hi!”
Alex looks up first. “Brendon! I didn’t know you were coming over today.” Alex shoots Ryan a quick smile, and Ryan just rolls his eyes.
“I brought Spencer, too,” Brendon admits, his smile a little meek now. “I couldn’t carry all of the food.”
Jon stands up, suddenly interested. “What’d you guys bring?” he asks, peering around the corner to where Spencer is standing, juggling three sodas - Brendon’s got the easy part, the bags. “Oooh, Wendy’s, I haven’t had Wendy’s in ages…” Jon trails off, an almost lustful hunger in his eyes.
“Fuck, Brendon, get out of the way,” Spencer growls and Brendon slips into the room, holding the door open for Spencer with his heel - Alex takes a soda from Spencer and Jon takes another, and they set it down on the circular table in the back.
“Guess we’re all just kind of sharing, huh?” Alex asks, and from the other side of the room, Z laughs.
Brendon sticks his tongue out at her when she finally turns around, setting the bags of food next to the soda. “Dig in, I think there are at least two cheeseburgers, a chicken sandwich with bacon, some nuggets, plenty of French fries…”
“Dibs on the chicken sandwich!” Ryan calls, squeezing in between Alex and Jon to get closer, rummaging through the bags.
They situate themselves after a couple of minutes of arguing over who gets what and why, but eventually everyone’s content, Brendon and Ryan sharing a medium fry and a Sprite while Brendon steals a chicken nugget from Z and begs off a bite of Alex’s cheeseburger every other minute (he knows that neither of them can resist his boy like charm, and he certainly uses it against them). Spencer’s more protective of his food, though he’s sharing fries with Jon and Alex manages to snag a couple, despite Spencer’s glares every time he does.
It’s comfortable.
They didn’t think it would ever be this comfortable again. Being able to actually talk. To enjoy each other’s presence without feeling the overwhelming tension that took a knife in the air to cut. And the Young Veins are recording their third studio album, and Brendon’s only heard one of the songs (Ryan played it acoustic for him after calling him, rambling about how he had just written one of the greatest masterpieces of his life and Brendon had to come over and be the first to hear it, something that Brendon wasn’t about to say no to) but that’s okay, because that’s exactly it - he’s excited. He’ll buy the record (he’ll pre-order it, God damn it, and he’ll get one of the stupid deluxe packages One Haven always comes up with, with the help of Nick Murray who has some of the craziest ideas) and he’ll love every minute of it.
And it won’t really matter that, musically, they’re not anywhere near being the same. They can still be together. They can still spend soft nights in L.A. and go to bars and just talk and talk and talk. They can still do that. And it’s amazing.
Ryan quirks an eyebrow at Brendon, chewing one of his fries, and it’s obvious he noticed his staring. Brendon just smiles back, maybe a little too fondly, and Ryan rolls his eyes (but he smiles, too).
Z is laughing at some stupid joke Alex made.
Spencer is smiling a little more than he was.
And Brendon is happy.
Pairing/Character(s): Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The first time it happens they’re both seventeen. Brendon, just barely, and Ryan, almost eighteen. Ryan doesn’t know why, but they’re laying in his backyard, on a plastic tarp, and it’s dark. Spencer and Brent are further out back, around a fire that, legally, shouldn’t be there. Brendon’s breath is quiet, only a couple of inches from Ryan.
Warning: Very, very, extremely cheesy ending. I just wanted a happy ending for once!
Beta: camatie
Word Count: 7,892
A/N: I finally wrote something, yay. It's really exciting. I don't know, not much to say, but it was initially inspired by The First Five Times by Stars, which is a great song, and it just ended up being really long. Again, watch out for the cheesy ending! The majority of this is before the split. Any mistakes left are all mine, feel free to point them out~
The first time it happens they’re both seventeen. Brendon, just barely, and Ryan, almost eighteen. Ryan doesn’t know why, but they’re laying in his backyard, on a plastic tarp, and it’s dark. Spencer and Brent are further out back, around a fire that, legally, shouldn’t be there. Brendon’s breath is quiet, only a couple of inches from Ryan.
Ryan looks over and Brendon’s eyes are closed shut, loosely. His hands are splayed out at his side.
Ryan moves, just barely, careful and frowning as the tarp rustles. Brendon doesn’t flinch, doesn’t open his eyes - he just lays still, his breathing still coming soft and quiet.
Ryan leans over Brendon’s body without really thinking about it, touching the side of his face.
The moment their skin touches, Brendon opens his eyes.
“Hi,” he says, still quiet, barely a breath, and Ryan chokes on his own words. He can’t move his hand, can’t move his body, in fact, and Brendon’s just lying there, staring at him with a soft smile. Ryan lets go of anything that might have been giving him normal thoughts, and makes a decision that will change his life permanently. He presses his mouth to Brendon’s, and a firefly lights up besides them, landing on the tarp and then the light goes out. They both close their eyes, maybe just because they know that’s what they’re supposed to do (Ryan remembers the last time he kissed Morgan and how three hours later her actual boyfriend (he says actual because he felt incredibly duped) sent him a very mean text message, and how that kiss had become one of the worst moments of his life) and Ryan feels Brendon sigh against his mouth.
“Sorry,” Ryan whispers as he rolls off of Brendon, still lying still. He stands and hastily trots over to Brent and Spencer, making up an excuse to them that Brendon is sleeping. His voice echoes through the grass and Brendon begins to cry, quietly enough that they can’t hear him.
--
The second time happens on their first tour, in a van, in the back of a van, in the dark. Brendon stumbles (over what, they never try to find out) and then there’s a Shit, sorry and a Fuck, you’re heavy, followed by Brendon gasping and Ryan hissing, then - Ryan puts his arm around Brendon’s neck as Brendon’s knee digs into Ryan’s thigh.
And, a second kiss.
Harder than before, rougher - as if maybe Ryan means business by it. Brendon lets his eyes roll in the back of his head when Ryan does it, because he knows no one can see him. Ryan hums against his mouth and suddenly Brendon is being kissed with tongue and all he can think is Fuck, Audrey can’t do that.
Ryan doesn’t cease, licking into Brendon’s mouth until he mewls and they both freeze.
Brendon stammers out an apology, even with Ryan’s face about a centimeter away, his hips brushing his in the dark. Ryan tells him No, it’s okay, but he sounds flustered too and something about that makes Brendon infinitely more comfortable, enough that he takes the initiative this time and kisses Ryan, a hard, bruising kiss, and this time Ryan’s making the tiny noises, his hands tight on Brendon’s hips and pulling him closer, pressing their chests together.
When they finally do stop kissing, Brendon is panting and Ryan is taking deep, gasping breaths. And then Ryan says in a tiny voice, “That can’t happen again,” as if it’s some kind of terrible thing they never should have done. And Brendon, he doesn’t hold back the sob that shudders up his body, his expression and the curl in his stomach and the ache in his heart.
--
The third time it happens is quite a while after the second time. Since then, they’ve basically been pretending like everything is okay, that Brendon isn’t pining now, that the break-ups with Jac and Audrey were totally the girls’ fault (and they were, but -), that there’s just. Nothing wrong. Because there’s not. Or, there shouldn’t be.
“Fucking shit, sorry dudes,” Zack says, sending Ryan and Brendon a sympathetic glance. “The whole hotel’s booked, unless one of you wants to sleep in the bus…if it’s that bad.”
Brendon looks shyly at Ryan (which is odd in itself, because Ryan’s the one who’s ‘cripplingly shy’) waiting for him to say something.
Ryan doesn’t, just laughing. “Dude, it’s fine. I’m sure we’ll survive for one night.”
Brendon blinks, trying not to look surprised, and then shrugs when Zack looks at him. “Ryan’s right, it’ll be fine.”
The issue is between them, but they refuse to really tell anyone. They’ve never told anyone. They haven’t even told themselves, and Brendon’s not about to lie - he’s nervous as fuck about this. About this simple hotel mix up, so the only bed in their room in a queen sized bed. So that they have to sleep. On the same bed. Together.
Which totally shouldn’t be a big deal (Zack is just pissed because the hotel fucked up) and probably isn’t to Jon and Spencer who are already walking towards their room while Ryan and Brendon and Zack stand in the parking lot, Brendon shivering even under his winter coat.
Brendon takes deep breaths as they trek through the hotel hallways. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
Ryan is the one who swipes the card and opens the door.
He’s the one who flicks on the light which then flickers in the bathroom, too bright. Brendon shields his eyes for a moment as the door closes behind them.
It’s not the first time they’ve been in a hotel room together - in fact, they’re used to it. But usually there’s two feet between their king sized beds, and they have a routine (Brendon uses the shower first because he sweats so damned much). Brendon’s not sure if the routine still counts now that they share a bed (why should it makes such a difference - he’s getting ahead of himself) and he’s beginning to panic.
“Go on,” Ryan suddenly says, and Brendon realizes he’s still standing directly in front of the door and Ryan’s on the bed, pulling his shoes and his shirt off (does this boy sweat? Does he really?) and nodding towards the bathroom door.
“Oh,” Brendon breathes. “Yeah,” he agrees, and he steps closer to the bed and drops his bag on the floor, rummaging through it for a clean pair of boxers - he bites his lip. He wasn’t expecting the need for sweatpants, like Ryan wears to bed every night. He usually just wears his boxers (he would sleep naked if he wasn’t in the same room as Ryan - sometimes he does on the bus) but that somehow seems inappropriate as Ryan pulls on his own sweats.
“Fuck,” Brendon mutters under his breath, grabbing the clean pair of boxers and his shampoo and new bar of soap, stalking into the bathroom.
The water takes a moment to get hot but Brendon is already stripped and ready and he steps into the shower, letting it soak away his worries. It kind of works while he’s washing his body and his hair, but as soon as he pauses and looks at the ceiling, getting annoyed by the lack of pressure of the hotel shower (at least it’s better than nothing, he reminds himself), all of the memories (the thoughts) come right back and hit him hard in the face.
“Damn it,” he mumbles, turning towards the stream of water. So much for muscle relaxant.
Brendon decides to fuck it and doesn’t bother wasting his time in the shower, drying off quickly and putting on the boxers before trying to rub his hair dry. He looks at himself in the mirror and he looks tired - he doesn’t like being tired, because he’s usually so energetic and he’s just…he’s used to it.
Brendon runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. He’s not nervous. He’s not nervous, at all.
Well, he keeps telling himself that.
He turns off the light when he steps out of the bathroom, his feet cold, and then realizes that now it’s pitch black. “Fuck, Ryan, are you asleep?”
“No,” come the monotone from the bed, and a light clicks on. Brendon blinks, adjusting again as Ryan rolls over, his back facing Brendon, to the very end of the bed. Brendon almost wants to say something but resists, instead walking over to the bed and crawling under the covers himself. Ryan shifts a little (Brendon’s back is to him so he can’t see, but he’s pretty sure Ryan is moving away) and Brendon tenses momentarily.
Then he listens to the rustle of sheets and watches as Ryan walks, his back bare, to the bathroom, carrying his own shampoo/conditioner combo and soap. Brendon can’t help it - he stares at Ryan as he walks into the bathroom.
Then he sighs, quietly, and sits up a little to turn off the orange glow of the light.
It’s pitch black and Brendon is pretty sure it’s safe to cry quietly now as the water begins to run again in the bathroom.
--
Brendon doesn’t say anything. In fact, he keeps his mouth tightly just, trying to appear asleep (but the sudden tension he knows is in his muscles is probably a dead giveaway - that, and the fact that he’s not even breathing anymore) so that maybe, maybe this will all go away. But in truth, he doesn’t want it to go away (if this goes away he’ll end up crying again).
Ryan’s hand.
It slips across his stomach, brushing his hipbones. Brendon shivers involuntarily and Ryan scoots closer (the light fabric of the bed rustles with his movements, and Brendon fears his spine will crumble or just snap), pressing his face to Brendon’s neck. Brendon twitches, mostly because Ryan’s nose is cold, but his breath hot.
Brendon thinks he feels Ryan’s lips moving and he’s finally breathing again - shallow, slightly ragged breaths that make him sound like he’s in a porno, but, breaths - trying to keep himself from exploding. Ryan’s skin is so cold against his skin, yet inviting, and it takes a lot of willpower not to lean back into Ryan’s touch.
Ryan’s movements are tormenting and slow, his hand sliding up Brendon’s bare stomach and chest, pausing at his collar bone. Brendon’s breathing is impossibly quiet, though his heart is pounding. Ryan then touches Brendon’s jaw, thumbing the bone through his skin, tilting Brendon’s head just barely, just up a little, maybe for easier access.
Ryan’s lips are dry, tracing over the skin of Brendon’s jaw and hesitating at his cheek. Brendon finds himself with his mouth hanging slightly open, unable to speak (though he doesn’t think he would if he could) as Ryan brushes his lips against the corner of Brendon’s.
“Ryan,” Brendon whispers - he actually can speak. Ryan tenses but doesn’t move, his hand still on Brendon’s face and his lips still hovering about a centimeter away. “Ryan, last time, you said,” Brendon whispers, but his voice cracks and he finds himself shaking, even though he’s warm under the covers. He doesn’t want (doesn’t need) another heart break. Not from Ryan. “Last time you said…that this couldn’t happen again.” Brendon means for his voice to be strong, but it’s weak (always so weak) and he sounds like he’s crumbling.
Brendon can only see the outline of Ryan’s face in the dark, but he can feel his thumb rubbing against his skin softly. “I…” Ryan starts, and he sounds tired, “maybe I changed my mind.”
Brendon wants to tell him You’re not allowed to change your mind after that but he can’t, because he doesn’t fucking care. He wants to kiss Ryan again.
When Brendon doesn’t say anything, Ryan assumes (rightly assumes), moving closer again. He seals his lips over Brendon’s, and Brendon kind of feels like he’s breathing life into him. Ryan’s fingers are smooth and careful as they trace lines over Brendon’s chest.
Ryan crawls on top of Brendon and Brendon adjusts himself, lying on his back - Ryan’s now straddling his hips, hands still on his chest. He leans down and kisses Brendon, multiple times, almost as if he’s experimenting. The first few kisses are quick and simple, almost like pecks (Brendon finds himself giggling just a bit and Ryan mutters something), but then they change and it’s surreal, because suddenly Ryan’s lips are moving in ways Brendon didn’t think were possible, languid and soft, enough that Brendon is squirming, hips lifting up off of the bed.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan whispers, hushed into Brendon’s ear - his fingers course their way through Brendon’s hair as he says it, because he’s being soothing. “I really am.”
He then proceeds to lie down next to Brendon. Brendon turns his head to look at him in the dark, though he still can’t make out details, and he smiles. “It’s okay,” he says, softly. “I forgive you.”
Ryan wraps an arm around Brendon’s waist and presses his nose to Brendon’s throat. “Thank you.”
--
The fourth time doesn’t really count as the fourth time, because the fourth time is an absolutely different experience, and, while it does involve kissing, is like, the six hundredth time they’ve kissed. In the past two days. Excluding the two months separating that night of forgiveness and Brendon being happy (truly happy) for the first time in months.
They like sneaking kisses, especially when there’s a good chance someone will see (but at the same time, they know they won’t). Sometimes they sneak them in the bathroom, pretending to be arguing about toothpaste when in reality they’re cramming lips together every pause. Sometimes, Brendon rustles out of his bunk and tiptoes over to Ryan’s, leaning in and kissing him awake. And sometimes, they kiss until midnight on a hotel bed, whispering secrets in each other’s ears because maybe, just maybe, someone is listening to them.
“I…want to try something,” Ryan says when he steps out of the bathroom - his hair is a muss and he’s still holding his towel, standing in only a pair of sweatpants (which is the usual, especially now - he doesn’t bother with shirts because it’s never cold enough for them to be necessary).
Brendon looks up at Ryan, Ryan’s copy of Invisible Monsters in his lap. Ryan raises a questioning eyebrow and Brendon rolls his eyes (he knows how everyone likes to joke about how he doesn’t read, but he actually has read Survivor and Diary if only for the sake of understanding lyrics. He just never got around to reading Monsters until yesterday (he started it yesterday, when Ryan was showering in the bus), and, approximately twenty pages in, he has no idea what this has to do with Time To Dance.
“What? I’m not allowed to read?” Brendon drawls, but he laughs and sets the worn copy next to the digital clock on the bedside table (there’s another bed on the other side, but they rarely use those extra beds anymore).
“No, that’s not it…you distracted me,” Ryan accuses, suddenly scowling. “Anyway, anyway, there’s something I want to try. Tonight. If that’s…okay.”
It’s Brendon’s turn to look incredulous. He has no idea why Ryan’s blushing and acting nervous. He thought Ryan got over that.“What, you want to like, sneak out or something? You know what Zack will do if he finds us gone…”
Ryan shakes his head, looking more embarrassed, somehow. “No, not like that…like…” He pauses, trying to find words (it’s always funny to Brendon that Ryan can just sit and write and write into a notebook and then when it comes to actually talking he stutters and can never find what he wants to say). Ryan ends up just shaking his head and stepping forward quickly - Brendon is surprised when Ryan has both knees on either sides of his legs, and then they’re kissing.
Startled, Brendon moans a little, leaning back and catching his breath. Ryan’s hands are already running over Brendon’s chest, and when he tweaks a nipple Brendon can’t help the loud gasp. “F-fuck,” he whispers, and suddenly a memory snaps into place of his sixth grade choir teacher telling the class that whispering strains the vocal chords, and also, the phrase ‘bros before hos’ (though Brendon always wondered - what if your bro is your…? But he never voiced it, because God, awkward questions). But then he’s reminded once again of the fact that Ryan is on top of him, nipping at his throat and using his hands in ways that shouldn’t be legal. God, they probably aren’t, they’re in Mississippi, after all.
When Ryan grinds his hips down, Brendon is pretty sure he knows exactly what Ryan is trying to get at. “Fuck, Ryan, you’re not wearing underwear…” Brendon whispers in a shaky voice, his hands searching for something to cling to, and he settles on Ryan’s hips, jutting out above the waist band of his sweatpants.
“Uhm,” Ryan mutters, and the embarrassment is suddenly back as he leans down and presses his face into Brendon’s throat, arms loose around Brendon. “Is…is it okay if I…”
Brendon hisses as one of Ryan’s hands slides down and slips under the waist band of his boxers. “Yes, it’s okay, whatever you want to do is fine, fuck, Ry, fuck,” Brendon blabs, his cock twitching as Ryan’s cold fingers wrap around the shaft and then he jerks his hands and Brendon’s hips jerk in response. “Damn it, Ryan, please…” Brendon is not one who usually begs, but he’s so hard now and he hasn’t gotten off in so fucking long and Ryan is right there. Right fucking there.
Ryan slips his hand out of Brendon’s boxers and scoots back, Brendon letting out a vicious whine. “What the fuck,” he moans, knowing he sounds like a spoiled brat. Ryan is crawling off of him now, standing in front of him. “Fuck, don’t do that if you’re just gonna…”
Then, Brendon notices that Ryan is on his knees and prying Brendon’s legs apart by his knees. Brendon is suddenly near shaking as Ryan pulls off his boxers and fuck if he doesn’t feel completely exposed and utterly vulnerable with Ryan scooting closer, not looking up even though Brendon’s staring at him.
“Is this okay?” Ryan mumbles, taking a hold of Brendon’s cock and thumbing over the slit - Brendon’s hips buck again, and he’s biting hard on his bottom lip, trying to keep himself from shouting.
“I…Wait. Are you fucking asking me if it’s okay if you blow me?”
Brendon is flabbergasted, staring at Ryan like he’s suggested a scandal (but not a scandal as in, asking is a scandal, but as in having to ask is a scandal) and it only makes Ryan blush more, though he’s not sure what’s more uncomfortable to stare at - Brendon’s cock or Brendon’s face.
“Well, I hereby give you permission,” Brendon says, and when Ryan finally does look up, Brendon is grinning lopsidedly at him - it’s almost comforting. “Any other requests?”
“A-actually,” Ryan mumbles, glancing back down at Brendon’s lap. “Would you…ugh, can you, uhm - would you pull my hair?”
Brendon hisses again, this time for a different reason (kind of) and then nods, almost too eagerly. “Yeah, yeah,” he agrees quickly. “S-sure.” His voice is now shaking, though with anticipation rather than nerves.
Ryan thinks to himself Fuck it and goes down on Brendon suddenly, kind of just knowing that he needs to be careful (he starts with the head, but even that almost gags him and he feels like an idiot). But Brendon makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and throws back his head, so Ryan figures he must be doing something right.
Ryan takes more initiative and swirls his tongue experimentally, gripping the length of Brendon’s dick with his right hand, the other on Brendon’s knee. He doesn’t really notice as Brendon links his fingers through his hair, until the gentle tug reminds him that he’s being a tease. Brendon is mumbling under his breath, nonsense - Ryan concentrates and tries to open his throat, taking down more of Brendon (he sputters and blushes hard as he moves off of Brendon and catches his breath). He tries it again and has better luck, and obviously it works because Brendon is moaning and panting now, and Ryan’s name finds itself in a string of curse words.
But in between the profanity and Ryan’s name, there’s a couple of romanticisms - “You’re so beautiful,” (which could be dirty, really), “You look so good,” (which, again, probably isn’t actually meant to be romantic), but worst of all (best of all), “Don’t ever go.”
Ryan did not expect the ache in his jaw (understandably - he’s never sucked cock before in his life) but it eventually comes and he begins trying even harder to get Brendon off, using his tongue every chance he gets and sucking hard at the head of Brendon’s cock.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Brendon mutters, no pauses between the words, “fuck shit fuck so good Ryan need need - fuck I’m gonna -” and it’s the only warning Brendon’s able to give Ryan, that and his fingers tightening in Ryan’s hair, unconsciously pulling him closer, before he comes, hips bucking and stuttering.
Ryan does his best not to sputter, trying to be professional (though it’s not the right word) - he swallows every last drop and licks what he can find off of Brendon, all while breathing heavily through his nose.
Once Brendon’s pulled up his boxers and fallen back down on the bed, trying to catch his own breath, Ryan stands. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that was shit…”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a fucking golden God, Ryan Ross, I hope you know that.”
Ryan smiles at Brendon, almost shyly, and Brendon grins back - their cheeks are both flushed and now it’s one in the morning and they have to be up in order to leave in seven hours.
It doesn’t take either of them long to fall asleep.
--
Getting each other off before bed becomes routine, though it’s a lot harder (and riskier) to manage on the bus (which is what they’re usually on). Sometimes, Ryan crawls into Brendon’s bunk at about three in the morning and wakes him up by beginning to jerk him off (Brendon says he likes that, being woken up by the sudden reaction in his dick and Ryan’s always cold fingers) and sometimes Brendon does the same thing (and recently, Brendon’s gotten into the habit and early morning blow jobs, usually at four, and Ryan has a hard time being quiet because in reality, Brendon is just fucking amazing with his mouth).
But then tour stops.
“Damn,” Brendon mumbles, looking out the window. “I can’t believe you rented this place.”
Ryan shrugs. “It was too perfect. Only $1,500 a week. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It’s fucking beautiful.”
Ryan grins. “You think so?” he asks, pleased. He joins Brendon out on the deck, walking through the open door and looking out at the Pacific Ocean, waves lapping at the shores. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I can’t believe you let me come with you. It’s just…it’s so gorgeous. It’s taking my breath away, just thinking about it.”
Ryan leans on Brendon’s shoulder and whispers, “You take my breath away. Just thinking about you. How beautiful you are. You’re perfect.”
Brendon shivers a little, twisting so he can properly kiss Ryan and look out over the ocean. “Don’t say that,” he murmurs, “’cause what if someday it’s not true?”
Ryan presses his forehead to Brendon’s. “Don’t care.”
“You know,” Brendon says, all of the sudden, “we haven’t fucked yet,” he points out, very matter of fact. “I mean, a lot of people probably wouldn’t consider either of us virgins anyway, what with all the blow jobs, but…you know, we haven’t fucked yet.”
Ryan chuckles. “Sometimes I think you just want in my pants,” he teases.
Brendon waggles his eyebrows. “Sometimes I do,” he half-purrs, grabbing Ryan’s hips and pressing them together. “But most of the time I’m in it for the money.”
Ryan laughs again, kissing Brendon on the lips. “I guess I’m okay with that.”
--
That night, they take a walk out on the beach. The sand is cool against their feet, but the water lapping against their skin leads to Brendon whining and tripping over himself as he leans down to itch his ankles. Ryan usually just smiles.
Brendon slips his hand into Ryan’s.
Ryan pauses for a moment, but then squeezes Brendon’s fingers.
“What exactly are we?” Brendon asks, and his voice seems so loud because the beach is quiet. It’s May. The beach has every right to be quiet.
“…I dunno,” Ryan mumbles after a moment, getting nervous. He tries not to squirm, but he can feel the uncomfortable itch under his skin. Brendon doesn’t let go of his hand, though, so he looks back at him. “What would you say we are?”
Brendon shrugs, but he’s smiling a little and Ryan figures everything must be at least okay. “I wouldn’t classify it. There’s no point putting a label on it, I guess. We are what we are, right? And as long as you’re okay with that, I’m okay. As long as I still get to kiss you whenever I want.” Brendon turns and smiles at Ryan, a little wider and a little shyer. Ryan smiles back, nodding.
“I think that can work,” he admits, and he begins to swing their hands, slowly, back and fourth. “But I’m just a little worried.”
They fall into step with each other, Brendon staring at their feet as he synchronizes. “About what?” he asks, his voice deathly quiet. Ryan can see the sun setting out over the ocean. It’s almost melancholy - but it’s still beautiful.
“I’m worried,” Ryan says, just as quiet as Brendon. He begins to rub his thumb slowly across Brendon’s knuckles, and he thinks about waking up one day and finding out his father was dead. He remembers going to the funeral and thinking about how his father would never see them play for thousands of people. How his father would never hear the music he was writing. Would never find out about him and Brendon. “That one day, I’m going to wake up and everything’s going to be different.”
Brendon begins to slow down and Ryan slows down with him. They eventually stop, and Brendon slowly lets go of Ryan’s hand and steps out further toward the ocean. The waves are still gentle, lapping against him, but it’s getting cooler out now.
“You’re probably right,” Brendon admits, almost so quiet that Ryan doesn’t hear him. He turns and looks back at Ryan, now crouching in the sand. He’s getting cold now. The sun is barely reflected in the water. “That things are gonna change, I mean,” he clarifies, “not that you need to worry.”
Brendon turns so that he’s facing Ryan and grins. “Live in the moment, Ryan. Who cares about tomorrow when you have today? We don’t need a reminder - I think everyone knows, that, eventually, change is gonna come…one way or another, we can’t avoid it. But we’ve got this, right?” Brendon lifts his hand and Ryan steps closer, taking it, and he nods. “We’ve got this,” he murmurs, and Ryan smiles, reminded of George Lopez in some odd way.
--
“Is it weird that we still haven’t had sex?” Brendon asks one day as he begins rubbing his hair down with a towel. On the couch, Spencer rolls his eyes and Ryan blushes, frowning.
“Well, that’s always a positive thought,” Jon mutters from besides Spencer, leaning over and grabbing an issue of Teen Vogue.
They are in a cabin in the middle of the mountains, trying to write good music, but, mostly goofing off.
Brendon shrugs. “What do you two, think?” he asks in Jon and Spencer’s general direction on the couch, but they are both pretending to be utterly engrossed in Jon’s issue of Teen Vogue, murmuring as they point at a picture of Britney Spears. Brendon scoffs and turns back to Ryan. “We should do something about that!”
“I - I don’t…” Ryan stutters, and Brendon chuckles at his embarrassment. “I don’t know,” he finishes, his voice flat. “It is kind of weird. I guess.”
“Maybe you guys aren’t fucking because Ryan has a girlfriend but maybe that’s silly of me to assume…” Jon mutters, not looking up from his magazine. Brendon and Ryan flinch simultaneously and Ryan looks down at his hands - which are suddenly shaking. He hates it when Keltie’s brought up. Hates that Brendon understands. Or that Brendon pretends to understand.
Brendon doesn’t seem shaken, quickly recovering. He grins at Jon, who is now looking at him lazily, almost as if challenging him to snap back. “We’ve been over this, Jon Jacob Jingle Heimer Walker!” Brendon exclaims, and next to Jon, Spencer cracks a sly smile. “I’m okay with that.”
Jon looks back down at the magazine, though it’s obvious he’s not paying attention. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “yeah, you’re okay with it, but is Keltie…?”
Brendon squirms a little where he stands and shoots Ryan a worried glance.
They drop the subject almost immediately.
--
“Fuck, the sky’s beautiful,” Ryan mutters, his head in Brendon’s lap. Brendon is stroking his hair, petting his face every couple of minutes, and it feels nice. It makes him calm.
“Isn’t it kind of ironic that something as beautiful as the stars are just…giant flaming balls of gas? It’s kind of depressing, actually.”
Ryan laughs, closing his eyes and imagining it. They’re just like the sun - except smaller, larger, and further away. “Yeah, but people don’t like to see it that way. People like to romanticize things. And who could blame them? The world seems so much more beautiful when you don’t take things literally.”
Brendon smiles and leans down, kissing Ryan’s nose. “I think the world is still pretty beautiful,” he whispers, his breath brushing Ryan’s face. Ryan’s eyes flutter open and he lifts a hand, folded at his chest, touching Brendon’s cheek. Brendon bends down a little further, and Ryan pushes himself up with his other hand, and their lips connect in a sloppy kiss. When they break apart, they’re close to panting, and Brendon says, “I think you’re pretty beautiful.”
Ryan feels tears prickle behind his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bren. So sorry.”
Brendon kisses him again. “Please don’t apologize,” he says between presses of his mouth against Ryan’s. “It makes me so sad when you’re sad. When you cry. I love you too much.”
Ryan takes deep, shuddering breaths in between their almost desperate kisses. “I love you, too. And that’s why I’m so sorry.”
Brendon presses his forehead to Ryan’s and hushes him with a soft, “Shhh,” and then another kiss. Warm and melting - it reminds Ryan of butter in a pan on the stove (which is cliché). “I know. That you love her too,” Brendon whispers, taking advantage of his control over Ryan by not letting him say anything else with another deep kiss. “I know, and that’s okay. I’m okay.”
Ryan twitches and squirms a little, but doesn’t stop kissing Brendon. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t allowed to kiss Brendon anymore, honestly. He’d disappear. Something would just seem so utterly off and gone in his life. It makes his heart stutter in his chest and the kisses become more desperate, riddled with tears and tinges of bittersweet sorrow.
--
Brendon leans his head on Ryan’s chest, breathing heavily. Ryan locks his fingers in Brendon’s hair and pulls him closer on his lap. “Are you sure…?” he asks in a low voice, and the words crack. Maybe because he’s nervous.
Brendon’s eyes flicker up and he smiles, though he almost looks like he’s going to puke. “Yeah,” he says, kissing Ryan’s nose and then his eyelid, “yeah, I am.”
Ryan takes a shuddering breath and begins undoing the buttons of Brendon’s shirt, slow and with unsteady hands. Brendon is still smiling, maybe amused by the quivering of his fingers, but Ryan can tell (maybe it’s just instinct) that Brendon’s just as nervous as he is.
They shouldn’t be so nervous.
This shouldn’t be so fresh and new to them.
But it’s kind of cool that it is.
Ryan runs his hands down Brendon’s bare sides, and Brendon twists a bit, his knees on either sides of Ryan’s thighs, stretching out so that he has to lean down to touch Ryan, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him hot on the mouth. Ryan kisses back, fingers fumbling at the button and zipper of Brendon’s jeans, yanking them down over his ass, his boxers following.
Brendon squirms again, pushing Ryan down against the bed with his left hand on his chest and kicking his legs out one at a time and using his right hand to try to yank his jeans past his knees and ankles.
Below him, Ryan chuckles. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear such tight jeans,” he murmurs, and Brendon shoots him a quick glare. “The cowboy look doesn’t call for skinny girl jeans.”
Brendon scowls and leans down, biting just a little too hard to be playful at Ryan’s Adam apple. Ryan gasps and bucks his hips, grabbing at Brendon’s skin, but his fingers slip when he tries to get a good grip. “Don’t be so impatient,” Brendon murmurs, kissing behind Ryan’s ear and nuzzling at his neck. Ryan isn’t used to Brendon being so…so seductive. If that’s the right word.
Brendon sits back, still straddling Ryan’s hips, and Ryan’s really tempted to just start thrusting because he’d rather dry hump Brendon than sit here and be tortured just looking at him. Brendon smiles, catching the look in Ryan’s eyes, and smoothes his hands over Ryan’s floral print shirt. “And you make fun of my clothes,” he mumbles, ripping at the buttons and Ryan momentarily panics, alarmed that Brendon might ruin his favorite shirt. Quickly, he realizes that it really shouldn’t matter, this isn’t about clothes.
Ryan’s slacks come off much easier than Brendon’s jeans, not nearly as tight, combined with the fact that Ryan might as well have chicken legs and has absolutely no ass.
It’s not that they’ve never been naked in each other’s presence (in fact, totally the opposite), but rather that there’s a thrill in the air, a kind of suspense that’s sparked between them that’s making Brendon’s breathing quicken, Ryan’s heartbeat accelerate. They’re in tune with each other.
“How exactly do you want to do this?” Ryan asks, trying to keep his voice steady. Brendon is still positioned on top of him, hands on his shoulders, but the only other patches of skin that are touching are their thighs where Brendon is keeping himself situated.
“Stupid question,” Brendon mutters, but his cheeks flush before he dips down, kissing the stubble at Ryan’s jaw and then his throat. “I don’t - I really don’t know. I’ve never done this, you know I’ve never done this. I mean, I did a Google search, but uh, that’s about all, and all I really got - all I really got was r-really bad porn, and I don’t know, all I know is that your cock goes in my ass unless you want my cock in your ass, but I dunno if I could actually do that, so I guess I’m depending on you…”
Ryan interrupts by pushing his mouth against Brendon’s. At first it’s reluctant - Brendon tries to say something against Ryan’s lips but Ryan just pushes his tongue into his mouth, hands tight on either side of his face.
When they pull apart, Brendon is trying too hard to gasp for breath to say anything else. “I’ll fuck you,” Ryan breathes, moving his hands from Brendon’s face and pushing him over with by his shoulder. Brendon rolls off of Ryan, again a little hesitant, but when Ryan starts kissing down his body, all moving lips and soft touches and quiet fingers, he forgets to be scared or afraid or worried.
Ryan reaches up and brushes his thumb against Brendon’s bottom lip. Brendon’s eyes flutter back open and he parts his lips, allowing Ryan to push his fingers inside - Brendon knows what he’s getting at and licks around Ryan’s three fingers, slicking them and trying to ignore the salty, dry taste in his mouth.
“I confess I don’t have any lube…” Ryan mutters and Brendon just hums around his fingers, though he can feel his face getting hot. “But I’ll be careful.”
Brendon shudders.
Ryan pulls his fingers out of Brendon’s mouth and they make a wet popping noise - Brendon shuffles and pushes his hips up off of the bed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes again, sure his face is scarlet from the embarrassment, from being so completely exposed (and God knows he should be used to it). He doesn’t really know how to prep himself for Ryan, so he just tries to keep himself relaxed, but - it’s not what he expects at all.
Ryan wiggles his index finger deeper into Brendon, and Brendon frowns, spreading his legs further and pushing himself higher off of the bed. It’s an awkward feeling, because it doesn’t really hurt but it’s kind of uncomfortable.
It’s even more uncomfortable when Ryan pulls up and then pushes his middle finger in alongside his index, twisting and crossing them inside of Brendon. Brendon whines softly, pushing back against Ryan’s fingers, because despite the burn there’s something there that he feels like he kind of needs, and that he needs more of.
Ryan presses in his third finger and Brendon gasps, holding in his breath. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, and his voice quivers. Ryan curves his long fingers and Brendon’s breath hitches again, another whine ripping deep from his throat. “Fuck, Ryan, fuck, can you just…”
Ryan catches the gist of what Brendon’s trying to say and laughs a little, though it’s a bit too low and throaty to seem actually amused. He stretches his fingers momentarily inside of Brendon, making Brendon moan again, desperately clinging to the sheets over the bed. Brendon makes another strangled noise, swallowing hard when Ryan pulls out, taking a moment to readjust himself and lick the palm of his left hand, slicking his dick and ripping open the condom he had sitting on the bed, rolling it on carefully.
When Ryan pushes in, all Brendon can do is try not to let his entire body tighten - he lets out a deep breath, and takes another, though it makes his body rattle. Ryan’s got his hands on Brendon’s hips, slowly inching further in, hissing under his breath as he goes. “Fuck, Brendon…”
Brendon’s still taking deep breaths, counting one, two, three, four, five, and then letting them out, his body shaking with the sensation and his eyes going white with the feeling of being full and stretched out. He feels numb, partially, but also like every part of his body is prickling and on fire.
When Ryan’s all the way in, they’re both panting, almost frantic, and Brendon wants to laugh because what’s going to happen when Ryan actually starts moving? He whimpers a little, the sensation of Ryan sitting inside of him, heavy and hot, getting to be too much. “Move, Ryan,” he murmurs, and his voice is strained and tired.
Ryan starts out by pulling out barely an inch and then pushing back in, slow and fluid, his hips rocking against Brendon. Brendon tries to just enjoy the drag of Ryan’s dick against his muscles and nerves, but his own cock is still hard and pulsing and it’s difficult to concentrate.
Ryan’s thrusts start to speed up, hitting deeper inside of Brendon each time until Brendon’s sure there’s no way he can get further in, and the stars start to flicker against Brendon’s eyelids every time he closes his eyes and Ryan jerks his hips, sharp, snapping against Brendon’s thighs.
Brendon whimpers, fingers clutching hard at the sheets, sweat gathering around his brow and on his stomach and chest, keeping his skin sticking to the bed. Ryan’s hitting his prostate now, almost eighty percent of the time an accurate push directly against the bundle of nerves or the muscle or whatever the fuck it is, Brendon doesn’t even know, and as his thrusts speed up the prickling pleasure increases, making Brendon near begging just to get Ryan to touch him.
Ryan’s sort of a mind reader, and he lets out a throaty moan of his own, right hand still holding Brendon’s hip tight, left wrapping around Brendon’s cock and jerking, the pulls just slightly off beat from his thrusts, perfect so that when Ryan hits his prostate, a second later Brendon is getting jacked off, Ryan’s thin and long fingers working quick, every once in a while thumbing over the slit of Brendon’s dick.
Brendon comes without a word or a sound, but Ryan knows immediately because Brendon clenches around his dick and his hips and back rise up off the bed, his entire body tightening with the sensation as his cum splatters over Ryan’s hand and his own stomach.
Ryan comes just minutes after, unable to count his own thrusts, and for a moment he just stays there, hovering over Brendon with his cock still inside, hips twitching just barely in his post orgasm haze.
“Ryan.” It’s the first thing either of them says, and Ryan lazily opens his eyes to look down at Brendon, with his soft smiling face and barely open eyes. “Is it okay…is it okay if I tell you I love you…?”
Ryan’s eyes widen and he bites his lip. It’s not the first time Brendon’s told him this.
It’s just what Keltie says every time they have sex. I love you, always in her soft voice, followed by a kiss. But this is different. This time Ryan leans down and kisses Brendon, hungrily and almost brutally, pushing his tongue into Brendon’s mouth, not caring what Brendon thinks of him, what anyone thinks of him. “I love you too,” he mutters against Brendon’s lips, before catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “Love you so much.”
Brendon is crying now, and Ryan doesn’t think it’s because he’s in pain.
Quietly, the only sound in the room Brendon’s soft, shaky sobs, Ryan pulls out (Brendon’s sobs choke momentarily and Ryan lets out a heavy sigh) and scrambles off the bed, throwing the used condom into the room’s corner trash.
Jon and Spencer are right down the hall, in two separate rooms, but God knows if they were woken up by earlier sounds or if they’ve been cursing Ryan and Brendon all night.
Ryan crawls back onto the bed and Brendon scoots over to make room - Ryan curls up against Brendon’s side and wraps his arms around his waist, head pressed against his bare chest. They just sit there, breathing softly and listening to each other, Brendon swallowing down his dry sobs.
Brendon wraps his fingers around Ryan’s wrist and they look at each other again. Brendon hesitates - he looks like he’s about to say something - but then he just smiles and pushes himself a little closer, kissing Ryan with closed lips. Ryan kisses back, just a tiny bit, enough for it to be noticeable.
“I know, I know, I know…” Ryan whispers, feeling his breath hovering hot and stale between him and Brendon. “I know.”
Brendon smiles, because somehow they managed to communicate without words. “I feel the same as you.”
Brendon smiles again, still not speaking, and touches Ryan’s cheek. “Now, I’ve just got to ask you one more thing…”
Ryan stares at Brendon in the dark, waiting.
“Keep doing that forever…?”
Ryan smiles, and he kisses Brendon again.
--
Brendon peaks his head into the recording room with a quick chirp of, “Hi!”
Alex looks up first. “Brendon! I didn’t know you were coming over today.” Alex shoots Ryan a quick smile, and Ryan just rolls his eyes.
“I brought Spencer, too,” Brendon admits, his smile a little meek now. “I couldn’t carry all of the food.”
Jon stands up, suddenly interested. “What’d you guys bring?” he asks, peering around the corner to where Spencer is standing, juggling three sodas - Brendon’s got the easy part, the bags. “Oooh, Wendy’s, I haven’t had Wendy’s in ages…” Jon trails off, an almost lustful hunger in his eyes.
“Fuck, Brendon, get out of the way,” Spencer growls and Brendon slips into the room, holding the door open for Spencer with his heel - Alex takes a soda from Spencer and Jon takes another, and they set it down on the circular table in the back.
“Guess we’re all just kind of sharing, huh?” Alex asks, and from the other side of the room, Z laughs.
Brendon sticks his tongue out at her when she finally turns around, setting the bags of food next to the soda. “Dig in, I think there are at least two cheeseburgers, a chicken sandwich with bacon, some nuggets, plenty of French fries…”
“Dibs on the chicken sandwich!” Ryan calls, squeezing in between Alex and Jon to get closer, rummaging through the bags.
They situate themselves after a couple of minutes of arguing over who gets what and why, but eventually everyone’s content, Brendon and Ryan sharing a medium fry and a Sprite while Brendon steals a chicken nugget from Z and begs off a bite of Alex’s cheeseburger every other minute (he knows that neither of them can resist his boy like charm, and he certainly uses it against them). Spencer’s more protective of his food, though he’s sharing fries with Jon and Alex manages to snag a couple, despite Spencer’s glares every time he does.
It’s comfortable.
They didn’t think it would ever be this comfortable again. Being able to actually talk. To enjoy each other’s presence without feeling the overwhelming tension that took a knife in the air to cut. And the Young Veins are recording their third studio album, and Brendon’s only heard one of the songs (Ryan played it acoustic for him after calling him, rambling about how he had just written one of the greatest masterpieces of his life and Brendon had to come over and be the first to hear it, something that Brendon wasn’t about to say no to) but that’s okay, because that’s exactly it - he’s excited. He’ll buy the record (he’ll pre-order it, God damn it, and he’ll get one of the stupid deluxe packages One Haven always comes up with, with the help of Nick Murray who has some of the craziest ideas) and he’ll love every minute of it.
And it won’t really matter that, musically, they’re not anywhere near being the same. They can still be together. They can still spend soft nights in L.A. and go to bars and just talk and talk and talk. They can still do that. And it’s amazing.
Ryan quirks an eyebrow at Brendon, chewing one of his fries, and it’s obvious he noticed his staring. Brendon just smiles back, maybe a little too fondly, and Ryan rolls his eyes (but he smiles, too).
Z is laughing at some stupid joke Alex made.
Spencer is smiling a little more than he was.
And Brendon is happy.