Remember In The Morning

Jan 01, 2009 19:57

Title: Remember In The Morning
Fandom: Panic at the Disco
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 3,566
Rating: R, for some language and boy kissing
Warnings: use of alcohol, boy kissing
Summary: Brendon gets drunk, and Ryan has to take him back to the hotel.
Author’s Notes: For Tanni (tanisafan). It's partly her fault. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be in bandom.



Brendon's pretty sure he's drunk. Maybe. Possibly. He does know he's lost count of how many bottles of beer that he's personally knocked back - so many people kept buying him one, and he can't remember what city the band is currently in. Chances are good, he's drunk.

He giggles at the thought. Once his alcohol-absorbed mind has decided that he is, in fact, drunk, it's hilarious. Hil-fucking-larious. The giggle cuts off in a hiccup, causing the cute girl - can't remember her name, though, sure he's heard it at the start of this conversation - sitting next to him to giggle too.

She leans over to him, leather-encased thigh close enough to his own thigh to be considered intimate. He can smell her honeysuckle perfume, and he can't decide if it's intoxicating to him or threatening to make him sick. He turns to her, to see what she wants, and his mind is distracted by the luscious red of her lips. They're moving, saying something to him, but he can't quite catch it. Not with the noise of this club, not through the haze of his mind. It could be an invitation to go back to her hotel room, her apartment, anywhere they could be alone. He's not sure. He doesn't even remember if he met her here, or if she'd been at the concert the band had done a few hours earlier. He can't even remember her damn name. Not that it'd bother him, knowing that.

The lips he's staring at, totally missing whatever they're saying with the wonderful contrast of dark red and brilliant white of her teeth that show off whenever she speaks, turn down in a pout. Obviously, she'd been speaking an invitation and he's totally missed it.

"Bwa?" He drags his eyes up from her lips to her eyes. With the lights of the club, he can't quite tell what color they are, possibly a darker shade of blue. Why can he tell what color her lips are, but not her eyes?

The girl pouts more. "I asked if you were busy for the rest of the night."

Brendon's mind tries to work. Is he busy? What time was the band leaving in the morning? But before his mind can completely focus on the topic at hand, a male voice cuts through the music, making him forget whatever he was thinking.

"Sorry, he's with me, doll."

The girl's pout deepens even more, looking more like a kicked puppy than the attractive woman she was probably trying to be. Brendon turns to the speaker and brightens up at who it is.

"Ry!" He tries to get up off the barstool, fails and more or less falls onto Ryan. His bandmate catches him, and suddenly, the masculine scent of Ryan Freaking Ross is more attractive to Brendon than the girl's exotic smell. "Hi, Ry."

He can't tell if Ryan's annoyed with him, or just glad to find him. It could be the first, could be the second, could be both.

"About time I found you," Ryan mutters to himself, or Brendon thinks that's what Ryan's saying. Somewhere between the smell of his bandmate and staring at Ryan's lips, Brendon's forgetting things. Like listening. Who listens to people, anyway? Hell, who talks?

Once that thought is firmly in Brendon's mind, he leans in to kiss Ryan. He doesn't care who sees, doesn't care that it'll wind up in some tabloid every fangirl and boy will squeal about and talk about on Livejournal. It’s just so that Ryan doesn't talk.

A small, rational, and still apparently sober, portion of Brendon's mind notes that he must have caught Ryan by surprise, because that's probably the only reason there's little resistance when it comes to Ryan's lips at this very moment. Brendon's tongue wanders into Ryan’s mouth, completely forgetting the club that exists in the outside world, and the minute his tongue touches Ryan's, it's like something snaps in Ryan's head and Brendon's getting pushed to arm's length.

"You’re drunk," Ryan announces, like it's some terrible crime to be drunk. Brendon grins, feeling fuzzy from a combination of the alcohol he's had and the brief touch of Ryan's warm lips. He doesn't say anything, doesn’t deny that he's drunk. "And, fuck, you just kissed me." Just like the drunk comment, Ryan says it like it's a terrible crime to kiss Ryan Freaking Ross in public, off the stage. It's almost like Ryan thinks Brendon should just go up to the nearest cop, offer his wrists and tell the cop to lock him away for playing at being gay. Just go to jail, bend over and take it like a man.

The thought of that registers in Brendon's mind and, like a light turning on in the hazy train fog of his mind, he begins to make his way to the bouncer still by the door, which suddenly seems like a million miles away. A million miles away, and through what feels like a million people.

Behind him, Brendon can hear Ryan following him, alternatively yelling "Bden!" and swearing as colorfully as any popular rock star. Ryan manages to catch up with him a few feet away from the bouncer and pulls him back by the wrist.

"Just stop moving away," Ryan hisses in Brendon’s ear. The heat of Ryan's breath, and the feel of it, threatens to turn Brendon on, and that completely wipes Brendon's mind of any other thought than Ryan. Behind him.

Brendon reaches back with his free hand, feeling body warmth, and judging by the intelligible hiss in his ear, his hand was going places it probably wouldn't have gone if he were sober and not on stage. Probably.

Either way, Ryan is definitely behind him. And that makes Brendon want to stay standing right where he was. Because that seems like the best idea ever, even more cooler than whoever had invited sliced bread. And then decided to make sandwiches with such a new found invention.

Brendon fumbles the fingers of the hand touching apparently naughty bits of RyRo, trying to figure out where his hand was, until Ryan catches his other wrist. Judging by the sudden strain on his back and shoulders, Brendon figures that Ryan's got both of his wrists in the small of his back, as if Ryan's trying to play bad cop. The thought makes Brendon's lips curl into his cocky grin, and he throws it over his shoulder at Ryan like a challenge.

Ryan makes a face like he was just fed cyanide at the challenging cocky grin. The other boy pushes Brendon forward, using the grip he's got on the singer's wrists to do so. Brendon's not about to go quietly, and he leans back into the push, despite the fact it hurts his shoulders. But it's not like he feels the pain; it registers in the slight sober part of his mind that it'll hurt later on if his wrists stay back like this, but he doesn't care. Not right now.

"C’mon," Ryan pushes Brendon forward again, trying to get him to head out the door. Brendon willingly goes this time, grinning like an absolute idiot as they somehow manage to leave without anyone being the wiser. Or so it seems. Once outside, Ryan’s grip on Brendon’s wrists loosens, but, as if he can sense that Brendon would go traipsing down the street, which now sounds like an awesome idea, the guitarist puts his arm around the singer, keeping him close.

The idea to go traipsing fades in the feeling of Ryan's own personal warmth and scent, and it barely registers to Brendon when he’s tugged into a waiting taxi. Nothing else registers during the entirely short ride back to the hotel they're staying at, just Ryan's arm snugly wrapped around his chest, as if to keep Brendon close to him. Not like Brendon's interested in running away right now.

Brendon is, though, pretty sure at some point in the ride he falls asleep, because suddenly, Ryan's lightly nudging him awake as the other boy's pulling him out of the taxi cab. Ryan moves Brendon toward the entrance of the hotel, and Brendon thinks Ryan tells him to go up to his room, but things aren't focusing much right now. He slumps against the door, half-falling asleep again, and suddenly Ryan's arm is around him again and he’s hearing Ryan whispering something in his ear but he's not quite sure if it's because Ryan's actually talking to him or just himself. Brendon allows himself to be half dragged to wherever they're going - his own room, Ryan's room, wherever Ryan's taking him - and, if he weren't drunk and dealing with the haze in his head, he's pretty damn sure he'd be wondering how skinny little Ryan is able to support his weight. It's not that Brendon’s fat; he definitely doesn't think he is. He just weighs more than skinny little Ryan. But he's drunk and the thought barely registers in his mind before being shunted off to one side by the fact that Ryan has got to be using some new body wash or cologne or something because Ryan smells different. Or better. Or something. He’s drunk; he doesn't have to be rationally thinking right now.

He also doesn't have to be as far away as he is. Brendon snuggles even closer than possible as he's half dragged to wherever it is they're going, and Ryan makes a sound that sounds almost like a half grunt, as if he doesn't want to take any more of the singer's weight than he has to.

"Would you just stop with the need to be all over me?" Ryan mutters even as Brendon nuzzles the other boy's neck. "And stop that. Maybe it's escaped your diva sense of a lack of personal space, but we're both guys."

"You're pretty," Brendon announces, probably more loudly than a few of the sleeping guests of the hotel would have liked. But he doesn't care. He moves his head so he can look up at Ryan as they move, and when they stop abruptly, he's pretty sure it's because of what he said, because Ryan's staring at him like he just grew a third head. A third head that makes up dirty limericks that make Fall Out Boy's songs sound like love ballads to prostitutes. Or so it makes sense in Brendon's mind right at this very moment.

"I'm what?" Ryan's voice hits an unexpected high note halfway through, as if he's about to start freaking out. The sound grates in Brendon's head, but he ignores it, too busy staring up at Ryan to flinch. In fact, if he flinched, he's pretty sure his head may explode. And then Ryan would really freak out. Spence would probably poke him with a stick, Brendon figures to himself, and Jon would probably miss the cuddles. If Brendon Urie died, he decides at this very moment, he's going to find a way to haunt his bandmates. But that thought doesn't answer the surprised question.

"You’re pretty," Brendon repeats carefully, lifting his head like it weighs a ton. He holds up a hand to poke Ryan in the nose. "Pretty like a girl, only not, cuz I think you look better than some of the girls I've dated. And that you've dated." He frowns for a second. "Not that we dated the same chicks. Cuz that would just be weird."

Ryan's still staring at him, and Brendon's beginning to wonder if he’s got something on his face, because that could only be the reason why Ryan's still staring at him. But he's got no way to check and so he presses on, as if it's the most important thing in the world. Which, he supposes, it might be. You never know when telling Ryan Ross he's the prettiest boy, minus, of course, one Brendon Urie, in the world is the brightest idea in the world.

"But I’m ok with your prettiness." He nods once, not quite sure his head could handle multiple nods. It might be able to, but it feels like it's on the same level as the flinching at the high note. He brings a hand up, placing it on the back of Ryan's neck as intimately as a lover would, and he rests his forehead against Ryan's, his lips a mere couple of inches from the guitarist's. "I am definitely ok with your prettiness." He whispers, feeling the muscles in Ryan's neck tense as he looks about ready to bolt at Brendon's closeness and intimacy. There is a moment where the sober part of Brendon's mind whispers that, if he weren't drunk, Ryan wouldn't have even stuck around to this point, so Brendon should just be thankful he is, but he ignores that whisper, feeling it doesn't have the right to be announcing anything right now, much less some heinous, traitorous thought like that.

Ryan's tongue sneaks out, licking his lower lip, and Brendon's eyes are suddenly drawn to the other boy's lips, which are now looking even more inviting than they had when he'd just wanted Ryan to shut up in the club. He knows without a doubt he'll get pushed away again, but right now, he doesn't care. Brendon tilts his head slightly, using the closeness of their faces to carefully but firmly kiss Ryan again. It's not as demanding as the kiss back at the club, despite the fact that once again, Ryan seems to be caught off-guard by it. And, unlike back at the club, when Brendon's tongue sneaks into Ryan's mouth to see if the other boy will react again, Ryan doesn't push him away, just makes a soft sound into the mouth on his.

Brendon takes the soft sound as an invitation, pulling himself in closer to Ryan and deepening the kiss. Ryan's body stiffens slightly against his, but he doesn't pull away from the kiss, returning it half awkwardly, almost shyly, like he's not quite sure what he’s supposed to do. Brendon vaguely knows himself what he's supposed to do; after all, kissing a guy is a lot different than kissing a girl. Sure, there's some things that are the same; there's lips, teeth, tongues. But where kissing his last girlfriend had left Brendon feeling a lot like he was kissing a piece of candy, regardless of how kissably soft her lipgloss made her lips, kissing Ryan's completely different. Sure, there's a faint hint of lipgloss from their stage makeup from their concert that Ryan's all but licked clean since the concert ended, but his lips are slightly firmer than a girl's.

Ryan makes another soft sound as Brendon's tongue delves deeper into his mouth, and Brendon feels hands on his shoulders. He slowly breaks the kiss off, pulling only slightly back because any farther would be too far away and Brendon doesn't think he can get very far without help, even though he wanted to go everywhere after they'd left the club. He doesn't remember having closed his eyes while kissing Ryan, but he must have, he thinks, as he opens his eyes to see what Ryan's doing, and he almost groans at the sight before him. Ryan Freaking Ross is standing in front of him, eyes closed, lower lip caught between his teeth, and his hands resting ever so lightly on Brendon's shoulders. Even with his lower lip caught between his teeth, Brendon can tell that Ryan's lips are slightly swollen from the kiss and the sight of that lower lip caught between those white teeth are even more attractive to Brendon right now than the red lips of the girl back at the club.

Brendon groans audibly this time, and he feels one of the hands on his shoulders tighten in his shirt. Ryan's eyes open slowly, and in that moment, Brendon feels himself captivated by the depths of the older boy's eyes. He's not quite sure if he likes the feeling or not, but he thinks he could get used to the feeling fast.

A couple minutes pass, and Brendon's wondering if he should make a move, or say something, or anything when Ryan's lips finally move.

“You’re drunk." It's not as terrible sounding as it had when Ryan had said that earlier. Almost like Ryan's resigned himself to the fact that Brendon's drunk. In fact, it almost sounds sad. Ryan's brown eyes flick away, toward the empty hallway they're standing in, as if he's afraid someone's going to come walking by and see them like this, and Brendon looks around too, thinking that all he wants to do is be in a room, preferably with Ryan, but he thinks he can manage without the other boy.

Brendon's busy looking down the hallway when suddenly, he feels a hand on his chin and Ryan's turning his face so he can kiss him again. This kiss is a bit hesitant, like Ryan's testing the waters, but afraid to dive right in. Brendon knows he can take over the kiss, but there's something about this kiss, in its innocence, that just feels like he should let Ryan take it at his pace, not Brendon's.

"If it goes anywhere, you won't remember in the morning," Ryan whispers against Brendon’s lips, and Brendon's not sure if Ryan's actually talking to him or if he's just saying it to the world at large. Either way, he feels like he should say something to reassure the guitarist, but he's not sure what to say that would come off as reassuring. He knows he can be reassuring, but he just can't think of anything.

Ryan sighs; a puff of warm breath against Brendon's lips, and Brendon thinks he’s going to die at just that. There is a part of Brendon that feels like he's back in high school, back before Panic took off, before he even became part of Panic, and he's trying to get a girl to go out with him, and nothing he's doing is working. But it's not a girl making him feel like this, it's his bandmate. And he almost wishes he weren't drunk, if it would have made Ryan a bit happier in this single moment in time.

"I'm sorry." It takes Brendon a moment to realize that he's said something into the silence of the hallway, but when Ryan's eyes flick up to his, that's when it dawns on him that he did. And that he means what he's saying. He can't even remember now why he'd gone out after the concert, much like the name of that girl he'd met. "I think I’d remember you in the morning." He goes on, softly, as if he's spilling all his secrets, all his innermost fantasies, to a new lover.

If he had anything else to say, he's not given a chance to say it when Ryan's mouth is back on his, not hesitant this time, but not entirely confident, like Ryan's holding back out of fear. Like he's afraid of what'll happen next, what'll happen in the morning. Brendon kisses back, doing his best to reassure the other boy without words.

Then, Brendon finds himself walked slowly backward to a firm surface - a wall, a door, he's not sure, can't look behind him to see - and Ryan’s kiss becomes a bit more confident, as if Brendon's wordless reassurance was enough to make him relieved nothing was going to happen.

Finally, after an eternity, Ryan breaks it off. "Just this," He whispers softly, almost as if to reassure himself, and Brendon nods carefully. He thinks he might die from the hard-on he's getting from the sheer closeness of Ryan, but if all Ryan wants tonight is kissing, then that is good enough for Brendon. There's another kiss, a soft one this time, nearly completely confident, and Ryan whispers something against Brendon's lips, bringing himself as close as possible to the other boy. Brendon's not quite sure what the whisper is, he's too distracted by Ryan's closeness again, by his smell, by the very feel of Ryan Ross. And he doesn't care that they're standing here in a hotel hallway of some city, where anyone walking by in the hallway could catch them making out like two clandestine lovers that have given up the hope of finding somewhere more private to kiss each other desperately. Brendon's pretty sure he wouldn't care if he'd been sober, but that's a different story.

Ryan makes a soft sound, and this time, Brendon thinks it's almost like a little laugh, and he’s left wondering what the joke is. There must be a look of absolute confusion on his face, because Ryan's lips quirk up in a smile.

"Spend the night." The smile becomes almost shy, much like that first kiss a few minutes ago. Brendon feels his lips curving into something that's probably a devious smirk, because something reminiscent of the earlier annoyed looks Ryan kept giving him comes back briefly. "Not like that." There's a really quick kiss this time, almost too quick for Brendon to know it happened. "If you remember me in the morning, we'll see."

Brendon feels his lips moving again, curving this time into a smile as reassuring as he can manage it. He thinks he can do that. He leans in to lightly kiss Ryan, putting as much reassurance as he can into it.

"I'll remember you, Ry."
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