Fic: read me like no one else (we'll make them so jealous) (2/2)
Continued from part one
Ryan doesn't really know when he started letting go of his uncertainties on stage. Maybe sometime after the conversation with Pete, he thinks, or maybe he'd lost them from the start and was only just now opening his eyes to see it.
It's fairly easy to convince himself it's all a part that must be played, a physical representation of the music and his words. He wraps his arms around Brendon and smiles like he has secrets he'll never tell, and only Salara gives him away each time she clings a little too tightly to Ani's fur or leans into Ani's sloppy kisses with a heavy, heartfelt sigh. The show goes on, night after night, and Brendon's pressing closer, kissing his cheek, singing with an edge that wasn't there before. Ryan spends several minutes afterwards in the dressing room with his hands shaking as he holds Salara and wishes her body didn't feel so damn hot.
That night Brendon goes out drinking with Jon and Tom. Spencer hides away in his bunk, and Ryan falls asleep on the couch while watching some old sci-fi show. He wakes up to Brendon stumbling onto the bus, calling, "Ryyyyaaaan Ross, oh my gosh, are you awake?"
"I am now," he mumbles. Salara yawns and stretches from her place by his head on the couch cushion.
"I missed you tonight, Ryan Ross." And then, somehow, Brendon's falling onto him, over him, and Ani's all panting smiles and pink tongue, and suddenly she licks Salara right in the face, and it's completely different than all the other times on stage. Both Ryan and Salara jerk, and Ryan gasps, his brain still a bit sleep-fogged. His hands reach out blindly and land against Brendon's chest. "Brendon, what--"
"Is--is that okay? Can I--" He doesn't give Ryan a chance to answer; he's already kissing him, slow and deep, and Ryan nearly loses his breath all together. Salara is shivering above him as Ani presses her nose against her soft, soft fur, nuzzling slowly, carefully, tenderly.
He knows he should really put a stop to this, that Brendon will more than likely regret all of this come morning, but now he can't quite remember why this such a horrible thing. Brendon is hot and smooth above him, his body sinking down, heavier with each pass of their mouths, and each time Ani licks Salara's fur Ryan gasps and cries out, just a little. It makes Brendon smile against his mouth.
"You're so sensitive," he whispers, and it's rough, deeper than Ryan expects. "You try to hide it, but--" He sucks hard at Ryan's lower lip, and then he's sliding down Ryan's body, tugging at his jeans, and that can't be good, but it is, and oh god, he wants this, but--
Brendon swallows him down, humming softly, and Ryan grits his teeth and thrusts up without a second thought except yes. He can hear Salara making soft little mewling noises above his head, can feel the heat when she presses closer into Ani's body. Ani growls, like a blissful moan, and Brendon echoes the sound around Ryan's cock.
Ryan doesn't last long, but he doesn't care. He comes ragged and fast, hips pumping sporadically--"Fuck, Brendon"--and then he sags against the couch as he tries to suck the air back into his lungs.
"I like the way you say my name, like you can't help it," Brendon mumbles against Ryan's stomach, kissing his way up his chest, through the material of Ryan's shirt and fuck, Ryan's still dressed. They're both still dressed, and Ryan thinks he should say something about that, except Brendon's body is now draped over him and he's hard against Ryan's thigh, grinding his hips slowly as he licks the line of Ryan's jaw.
"You--" Ryan has words, he does, just. Brendon's mouth steals them all. They're not really important, anyway, not when all he can think about at the moment is what it would feel like to push Brendon back against the couch and return the favor. Ryan's aware of Ani groaning again ("Ryan," she whispers, melting into Salara) as he sits up and says, voice raw, "Open your jeans."
He doesn't even have to push him; Brendon falls back against the arm of the couch freely, his mouth open and shiny and wet as he tugs at his fly. He's panting before Ryan barely licks over the head of his cock, "Ryan, Ryan, god, please," and Ryan honestly doesn't remember ever thinking this was a horrible idea. Not when Brendon tangles his hands in Ryan's hair and cries out too loudly (god, Ryan hopes Spencer's got his iPod) and begs.
It takes Brendon longer to come, his body in a state of inebriated limbo, but when he does, he arches off the couch and says Ryan's name. Ani shivers and collapses against Salara, whimpering softly, her body heavy and warm.
"C'mere, c'mere," Brendon gasps, pulling on Ryan's arm, and when Ryan leans up, Brendon hugs him to his chest, kisses his cheek. He falls asleep within seconds, and Ryan simply lays there, his temple resting over Brendon's fast-beating heart. He hears Salara sigh and say, breathlessly, "They...god, Ryan, they're so...so..."
Ryan smiles a little and closes his eyes.
"Yeah. I know," he whispers back as he fades into sleep.
Ryan wakes up alone, still fully dressed, blinking slowly in the fuzzy morning light streaming in through the blinds of the bus. He yawns and rolls over, tucks himself deeper into the couch cushions, and tries not to remember in vivid, Technicolor detail everything he'd done hours earlier. The night before could all be a dream, except for the tenderness of the bruise just under Ryan's jaw and the fact that his fly is still wide open.
And it's fine, completely fine; this is the part where Ryan waits patiently for Brendon to come to him, fidgeting with embarrassment, and say it was a mistake, he was stupid drunk, and he's really, really sorry, it'll never happen again. Ryan will then nod in agreement and say everything's cool and one time doesn't change anything.
Except, Brendon doesn't come to him at all.
It's not glaringly obvious, the way Brendon avoids him, but it's enough to make Ryan's stomach hollow out a little. It's enough to make Spencer raise an eyebrow at him later in the day and say, wordlessly, you two okay?, to which Ryan just rolls his eyes and huffs: It's Brendon, who the fuck knows.
He knows Spencer thinks he's lying.
What irritates him the most is Ani. He can feel Salara's agitation when Ani comes into the kitchen the following morning, head bent low to the ground, and acts as if Salara is invisible. She vibrates against Ryan's shoulder, but doesn't move, and Ani doesn't look over. Neither does Brendon
"The acoustics tonight are supposed to suck," he says randomly, watching Brendon move down the counter as he pours a glass of juice from the fridge. Every angle, every movement, is carefully planned to keep his back to Ryan.
His shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug. "Sucks for me, then, huh?" His voice is even and conversational, but he doesn't wait for Ryan's reply; he takes his juice and leaves the room, barely giving Ryan his profile. Ani is so close to his heels she nearly trips him.
Ryan is still sitting at the table when Spencer comes in. He takes one look at Ryan's glare and says, "Fine, don't tell me. Whatever." But he leans against the table anyway and stares Ryan down.
He doesn't crack. "Chaz watches Jon play every night. Every. Night." Ryan's being a dick, but he doesn't care. Sometimes he enjoys making Spencer flinch and turn pink. Spencer doesn't push him after that.
Brendon stops playing up the affection during shows; he keeps the touching to a minimum and doesn't quite look Ryan in the eyes whenever he leans in to sing to him, hand outstretched and barely brushing against Ryan's shoulder. Ani sits beneath his piano, too quiet and reserved.
Ryan just plays louder and sets his jaw, demanding without words that Brendon look at him.
Most of the time, he doesn't.
*
They learn about the interview five hours before they're supposed to go on stage. Spencer has a specific list of things he Supremely Hates More Than Anything on Earth, and giving last-minute interviews before shows to clueless journalists is probably right up there in the top five. Half of him wishes he were still sick and out of commission.
Ryan and Brendon don't sit; they pace the dressing room as the reporter guy sets up his recorder. Spencer sits beside Jon on the small loveseat, knees barely touching, Chaz and Rosey playing bookends. Jon still isn't looking at him much without a look of embarrassed guilt in his eyes, and Spencer hasn't figured out how to deal with that yet, so he's been avoiding Jon without making it too obvious. This interview is the closest they've been to one another in days.
The guy, Ted from who-the-fuck-cares magazine who has some glassy-eyed Jack Russell terrier daemon, asks extremely ill-formed, stupid questions, like why Ryan turned down the offer to join Fall Out Boy. Ryan is dry and deadly sarcastic (Salara is perched on his shoulder, her tail twitching angrily) and Brendon chews his thumb and barely cracks a smile as he bounces on the balls of his feet, Ani sitting off to the side, muzzle resting on her forepaws as she eyes Ted. Spencer can already tell this will not end well.
As if reading his mind, Ted turns to Jon and says, "So, Jon. Have you enjoyed being the replacement guy? How much longer do you think you have with the band before they get someone permanent?" He says it in a polite voice, because the fucking moron honestly thinks he has his facts straight, but the room goes completely silent.
"Um." Jon shifts on the couch, stares down at his hands as Rosey snuffles, just short of a growl. Spencer swears he can feel the heat in Jon's cheeks. He refuses to look over and prove himself right. "I--"
"We're done here," Ryan says, flat and final. "You can go now." His arms are crossed and he's staring down Ted with one eyebrow cocked, daring him to argue. Brendon stands behind him, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Ted splutters a little, looking totally perplexed, but he still packs up his recorder and notepad and scurries out of the dressing room, his daemon chasing after him.
There's a long moment once the door closes where no one speaks, and it dawns on Spencer like a slam to the gut that Ryan didn't correct Ted. Not that Jon actually thinks--he can't--but still--
Brendon breaks the silence by flinging himself across the room and into Jon's lap, wrapping his arms around Jon's neck and saying, voice muffled against his hair, "I love you, Jon Walker, don't listen to evil fuckwad journalists, okay?" Ani runs over as well and rubs her face against Jon's leg.
Jon nods, sliding his hands over Brendon's back. "Okay." But he doesn't really smile.
"Is it so hard to fucking research the goddamn groups you're interviewing?" Ryan grumbles. He storms over to the vanity, Salara still clinging to his shoulder, and glares at himself in the mirror as he grabs the eyeliner pencil. He doesn't say anything else to Jon, and Spencer thinks, Fucking say something to him, Ryan, tell him the guy was wrong.
Jon turns from where he's pressed into Brendon's shoulder and looks at Spencer, eyes a little too wide and expectant.
"Look, you--" Spencer fumbles for words. Chaz sits up, leans over the arm of the couch so her nose brushes his shoulder. "That guy's an idiot. You don't actually believe that's a rumor, do you?" It's completely not what he means to say at all, but that seems to be par for the course with him and Jon lately. "I mean, he fucking thought Ryan was--"
"Whatever, it's okay." He gently nudges Brendon off his lap (Brendon kisses his nose) and sighs, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes. "Let's just forget about it."
"Done," Ryan says. He's lining his eyes especially dark tonight.
Jon is subdued during the show, staying in his corner of the stage and rarely looking up from his bass. Rosey lays down during most of the songs, and doesn't wag her tail when fans call out her name and wave.
Chaz stays close to Spencer, who tries not to watch the tense, straight line of Jon's back. Later, curled up in Spencer's bunk, Chaz says softly, "We should say something, y'know."
"I already did. It doesn't matter. Ryan's the one who needs to take care of it, it'll mean more coming from him." He's not even sure if he means it or not; he just doesn't believe his words alone will fix the problem.
"No. He waited for you to take care of it. I could tell." Chaz tucks her paws up under her chin, her body draped over Spencer's stomach.
Spencer shakes his head, his fingers passing idly over Chaz's muzzle, ears and shoulders. "He knows what I think."
"You need to stop tiptoeing around him and--I don't know--stop waiting for something to happen." She's got that bitchy tone in her voice again, the one she saves for when she thinks Spencer's being a moron.
Spencer turns over and buries his face in his pillow. "You know it's complicated."
"Bull-fucking-shit it's complicated." She nips the skin of his lower back gently with her front teeth and grumbles deep in her throat. But her tail curls around Spencer's ankles, and soon they both drift off into sleep.
On Friday, they're in a hotel again, and Spencer and Jon share a room, like always. Jon's still quieter than normal, but he still smiles at Spencer as he climbs into bed and says, "'Night, Spence," before turning out the light on his side. Rosey jumps up onto the bed, rests her nose on the pillow by Jon's cheek.
Spencer's not sure how long he and Chaz lay there after that, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out a way to have Jon's eyes not look so tired and resigned all the goddamn time. He glances over, watches the rise and fall of Jon and Rosey's breathing in tandem.
"Just tell him he's never been a replacement," Chaz whispers in the semi-dark. Spencer just presses his cheek into her fur and sighs.
"He'll think I'm just saying that. I don't know how to make him...I don't know, okay? It's not enough." Spencer falls asleep not long after that.
In the meantime, Chaz jumps down from the bed, completely silent. She crawls onto the other bed and circles Jon's body, once, never quite touching him, until he snuffles in his sleep and rolls over, arm hugged around Rosey. Chaz hunches down, close to the bed, and inch by inch makes her way up the mattress until she stretched out along Jon's back. She finally lays down, muzzle barely brushing against Jon's neck.
Her breath puffs out hotly, and Jon stirs. "Chaz?" he mumbles sleepily.
"You're wanted, you know." She licks him carefully, right below his ear. Jon shivers. "You've always been wanted."
He finally turns his head and looks straight into her yellow-green eyes flashing in the dim light from the single desk lamp still burning. "But he doesn't--"
"He does," she says, and presses her nose to Jon's cheek. "He does, Jon, he does."
They don't say anything after that; Jon lays his arm across Chaz's body, tentative and slow, and Chaz purrs softly as she leans against him, her big body curling around him, taking up half the bed. On Jon's other side, Rosey hums in her sleep.
Spencer wakes later in the night and reaches out for Chaz, only to find the bed empty. He sits up, a touch frantic, and finally looks over and sees Jon draped across his daemon, his hand clutched tightly in Chaz's fur. Spencer's heart stops for a moment.
"Chaz..." He feels his skin growing hot and he bites his lip. "What are you doing?"
She opens her eyes and blinks slowly at him. "It's okay, Spence, I think he's better now," she says.
"You--what did you say?" Jon's fingers thread through her black fur, almost tenderly, holding on, and Spencer feels the warmth of Jon's skin as if it were caressing his own.
"I told him what you should've told him ages ago, except you're too stupid." Her voice is sleepy-soft and gentle.
Spencer swallows. "Oh." He sits on the bed and doesn't move.
Chaz shifts and eventually jumps down, out of Jon's arms, and Jon frowns in his sleep, his hand splaying over the empty spot on the bed. He finally opens his eyes and looks up to find Spencer watching him.
Chaz climbs onto Spencer's bed and nudges his shoulder. Spencer clears his throat and says, "Hey."
Jon sits up, hesitantly. "Hey. I--"
"Don't apologize, okay? There's nothing to be sorry for." He looks down at the carpet and adds, "You're not a replacement. You never were." He can feel his pulse in his fingertips, and he blindly combs his fingers into Chaz's fur.
Jon doesn't reply, and Spencer keeps his eyes on the carpet, his cheeks hot. But then, Spencer hears the mattress squeak with the loss of weight, and suddenly Jon's standing over him, leaning in, and he cups Spencer's face in his hands and kisses him, slow and soft, his thumbs sweeping over Spencer's cheeks.
Spencer opens his mouth, gasping, and there is the gentle push of tongues. He pulls back a little, their mouths parting ever so slightly, but Jon simply pushes back into his space, sliding their lips together again, taking whatever words Spencer is about to say and drinking them in.
He pushes Spencer back onto the bed and straddles his lap, but it's not urgent or hurried. It's achingly slow, like it was always meant to be like this. Jon links their hands together, stretches their arms out over Spencer's head, and whispers into Spencer's mouth, "I've wanted to do this forever, y'know? I never thought you'd let me. Rosey touched you that time, and I--I could feel your skin, your heat, and even though you were sick, I. I couldn't get it out of my head, and I know I didn't have any right to it, to that feeling, but I couldn't help it."
Spencer nods, eyes closed, and tightens his hands around Jon's. "Your fingers in Chaz's fur, I could. I could feel you," he breathes.
No more words are needed.
Spencer's vaguely aware of Chaz moving to the other bed and curling up with Rosey, who raises her head sleepily and thumps her tail against the mattress, once, as Chaz lays down beside her. Jon slowly tugs the clothes from Spencer's body and Spencer does the same to Jon without ever opening his eyes, even though he wants to see, wants to know how Jon looks at him as their skin is bared to each other.
He thinks, maybe, he hears Jon whisper, "You are so beautiful," as he kisses his way down Spencer's chest, but it could also very well be Spencer's sleep-clogged mind making fantasies.
*
Ryan lasts for two weeks.
He doesn't corner Brendon in their bunks or demand his attention in empty dressing rooms. He's above anything that desperate, and besides, no one can make Brendon do anything he doesn't want to.
Instead, he alters his stage persona into someone fierce and more daring, and he crowds Brendon on certain nights when he's feeling his frustration at its worst. Brendon's eyes widen and his voice falters, just a little, but he doesn't back down, doesn't stumble, and Ryan figures that's a small battle won. He still only touches Ryan with the tips of his fingers, but Ani begins to circle Brendon's legs again, ears perked.
At the end of two weeks they're somewhere outside of Boston, warming up in a huge auditorium that makes Ryan think of sweeping operas and full piece orchestras. He stands at the edge of the stage, picturing the orchestra pit and the exact position of the conductor, when Brendon slams into him from behind. He's wrestling with Jon, laughter high and breathless. Behind them, Ani and Rosey bark playfully at one another.
"Shit, Walker, you nearly killed my guitarist!" Brendon yells, and at any other time in history Ryan would've gotten a wide smile out of Brendon from that, something private, just for him.
"I am the innocent bystander here, swear," Jon says, shrugging helplessly at Ryan, and his words are suddenly cut off by Brendon tackling him to the ground at Ryan's feet, arms wrapped tight around Jon's chest.
Brendon tucks his face into the curve of Jon's neck and says, loudly, "You're my all-time favorite, Jon Walker." He licks his skin. "You taste the best, too," and Jon laughs.
At any other time in history, Ryan would've laughed, too.
During the show he's tight, so tight, like he'll snap if someone so much as breathes on him. Salara paces around Ryan's mic stand and eventually skitters across the stage to the piano, into Ani's space. Ani tries to shrink away, but Salara is too quick; she grabs hold of Ani's fur and clings to her. She doesn't let go.
Ryan watches them, listens to the catch in Brendon's voice the second Salara presses close to Ani's chest. The second verse of "Lying" becomes a little muddled, but it's okay; Brendon's paying attention.
He doesn't crowd him like the times before. Ryan simply waits, waits until the moment Brendon's leaning in, fingers outstretched, and then he's there, kissing Brendon hard and fast like there aren't thousands of people watching. Brendon jerks away, eyes wide, and Ryan just stares back. Beyond Brendon's shoulder, he can see Ani melt to the ground as Salara nuzzles her ears.
He can feel Spencer's eyes burning into the back of his skull, but he'll deal with that later. All that matters is the pink flush in Brendon's cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat radiating from the crowd, still in a state of crazy, high-pitched vibrations over the kiss.
They don't take their eyes off each other for the rest of the show. Ryan counts down the songs, clusters of minutes left between them and the moment he can say every goddamn word that's desperately trying to claw its way out of his brain.
It's backstage, in a cramped dressing room, panting and shaking with adrenaline, where Ryan finally tells him everything without saying a word.
"I'm sorry," Brendon gasps in between deep, wet kisses, his hands tangled in Ryan's hair. "Ryan, god, I'm so sor--"
Ryan shakes his head and simply presses him harder against the wall, hands splayed wide over Brendon's shoulders. His eyes are tightly closed; he can't see Salara, but he knows she's close, and he can feel the warmth of Ani's body wrapping around her like a hug. He thinks he hears Ani sigh in utter contentment.
When he licks his way down Brendon's neck to the sharp line of his collarbone, Brendon makes a soft little noise in his throat that sounds almost the same.
Spin: So, the new album artwork…
Brendon: It's awesome!
Spin: Some say it's a statement about how you guys think the majority of your fans are into you for your looks and not the music.
Ryan: I'm pretty sure Brendon gets equal amounts of fan mail for both him and Ani.
Spencer: If cover art with our daemons in cartoon form is a statement, bring it on. That's a fairly kick ass statement, actually. Very deep.
Spin: So is it true Gerard Way drew your daemons for the cover?
Jon: He did, and now he owns our souls.
Spencer: Completely.
Ryan: We have to be My Chemical Romance's roadies for a year.
Spin: That's a tough deal.
Brendon: We're tough dudes. We can take it.
Spin: And what about your daemons? Did they approve of the final result?
Ryan: I have the original hanging in my living room.
--
*Tons of love to all my betas on this: madsciencechick, disarm_d, and siryn99, as well as adellyna, imogenedisease, and ficklish for their wonderful words of encouragement. Most of all, this fic would not even exist without shleemeri, who is responsible for Brendon's daemon almost entirely (and Joe's and Andy's, LOL). This began in the form of me telling her bedtime stories over AIM, and eventually it grew into this mess of me fawning over my OTPs. This fic is dedicated to her. Love ya, Ashley. ♥
*No, I haven't picked out the MCR boys' daemons. I wanted to do all of bandom, but picking out daemons is hard. If you have specific ideas about someone not mentioned in this fic, let me know, I'd love to hear it! Just don't tell me Gerard's a bat. *g*
Ryan doesn't really know when he started letting go of his uncertainties on stage. Maybe sometime after the conversation with Pete, he thinks, or maybe he'd lost them from the start and was only just now opening his eyes to see it.
It's fairly easy to convince himself it's all a part that must be played, a physical representation of the music and his words. He wraps his arms around Brendon and smiles like he has secrets he'll never tell, and only Salara gives him away each time she clings a little too tightly to Ani's fur or leans into Ani's sloppy kisses with a heavy, heartfelt sigh. The show goes on, night after night, and Brendon's pressing closer, kissing his cheek, singing with an edge that wasn't there before. Ryan spends several minutes afterwards in the dressing room with his hands shaking as he holds Salara and wishes her body didn't feel so damn hot.
That night Brendon goes out drinking with Jon and Tom. Spencer hides away in his bunk, and Ryan falls asleep on the couch while watching some old sci-fi show. He wakes up to Brendon stumbling onto the bus, calling, "Ryyyyaaaan Ross, oh my gosh, are you awake?"
"I am now," he mumbles. Salara yawns and stretches from her place by his head on the couch cushion.
"I missed you tonight, Ryan Ross." And then, somehow, Brendon's falling onto him, over him, and Ani's all panting smiles and pink tongue, and suddenly she licks Salara right in the face, and it's completely different than all the other times on stage. Both Ryan and Salara jerk, and Ryan gasps, his brain still a bit sleep-fogged. His hands reach out blindly and land against Brendon's chest. "Brendon, what--"
"Is--is that okay? Can I--" He doesn't give Ryan a chance to answer; he's already kissing him, slow and deep, and Ryan nearly loses his breath all together. Salara is shivering above him as Ani presses her nose against her soft, soft fur, nuzzling slowly, carefully, tenderly.
He knows he should really put a stop to this, that Brendon will more than likely regret all of this come morning, but now he can't quite remember why this such a horrible thing. Brendon is hot and smooth above him, his body sinking down, heavier with each pass of their mouths, and each time Ani licks Salara's fur Ryan gasps and cries out, just a little. It makes Brendon smile against his mouth.
"You're so sensitive," he whispers, and it's rough, deeper than Ryan expects. "You try to hide it, but--" He sucks hard at Ryan's lower lip, and then he's sliding down Ryan's body, tugging at his jeans, and that can't be good, but it is, and oh god, he wants this, but--
Brendon swallows him down, humming softly, and Ryan grits his teeth and thrusts up without a second thought except yes. He can hear Salara making soft little mewling noises above his head, can feel the heat when she presses closer into Ani's body. Ani growls, like a blissful moan, and Brendon echoes the sound around Ryan's cock.
Ryan doesn't last long, but he doesn't care. He comes ragged and fast, hips pumping sporadically--"Fuck, Brendon"--and then he sags against the couch as he tries to suck the air back into his lungs.
"I like the way you say my name, like you can't help it," Brendon mumbles against Ryan's stomach, kissing his way up his chest, through the material of Ryan's shirt and fuck, Ryan's still dressed. They're both still dressed, and Ryan thinks he should say something about that, except Brendon's body is now draped over him and he's hard against Ryan's thigh, grinding his hips slowly as he licks the line of Ryan's jaw.
"You--" Ryan has words, he does, just. Brendon's mouth steals them all. They're not really important, anyway, not when all he can think about at the moment is what it would feel like to push Brendon back against the couch and return the favor. Ryan's aware of Ani groaning again ("Ryan," she whispers, melting into Salara) as he sits up and says, voice raw, "Open your jeans."
He doesn't even have to push him; Brendon falls back against the arm of the couch freely, his mouth open and shiny and wet as he tugs at his fly. He's panting before Ryan barely licks over the head of his cock, "Ryan, Ryan, god, please," and Ryan honestly doesn't remember ever thinking this was a horrible idea. Not when Brendon tangles his hands in Ryan's hair and cries out too loudly (god, Ryan hopes Spencer's got his iPod) and begs.
It takes Brendon longer to come, his body in a state of inebriated limbo, but when he does, he arches off the couch and says Ryan's name. Ani shivers and collapses against Salara, whimpering softly, her body heavy and warm.
"C'mere, c'mere," Brendon gasps, pulling on Ryan's arm, and when Ryan leans up, Brendon hugs him to his chest, kisses his cheek. He falls asleep within seconds, and Ryan simply lays there, his temple resting over Brendon's fast-beating heart. He hears Salara sigh and say, breathlessly, "They...god, Ryan, they're so...so..."
Ryan smiles a little and closes his eyes.
"Yeah. I know," he whispers back as he fades into sleep.
Ryan wakes up alone, still fully dressed, blinking slowly in the fuzzy morning light streaming in through the blinds of the bus. He yawns and rolls over, tucks himself deeper into the couch cushions, and tries not to remember in vivid, Technicolor detail everything he'd done hours earlier. The night before could all be a dream, except for the tenderness of the bruise just under Ryan's jaw and the fact that his fly is still wide open.
And it's fine, completely fine; this is the part where Ryan waits patiently for Brendon to come to him, fidgeting with embarrassment, and say it was a mistake, he was stupid drunk, and he's really, really sorry, it'll never happen again. Ryan will then nod in agreement and say everything's cool and one time doesn't change anything.
Except, Brendon doesn't come to him at all.
It's not glaringly obvious, the way Brendon avoids him, but it's enough to make Ryan's stomach hollow out a little. It's enough to make Spencer raise an eyebrow at him later in the day and say, wordlessly, you two okay?, to which Ryan just rolls his eyes and huffs: It's Brendon, who the fuck knows.
He knows Spencer thinks he's lying.
What irritates him the most is Ani. He can feel Salara's agitation when Ani comes into the kitchen the following morning, head bent low to the ground, and acts as if Salara is invisible. She vibrates against Ryan's shoulder, but doesn't move, and Ani doesn't look over. Neither does Brendon
"The acoustics tonight are supposed to suck," he says randomly, watching Brendon move down the counter as he pours a glass of juice from the fridge. Every angle, every movement, is carefully planned to keep his back to Ryan.
His shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug. "Sucks for me, then, huh?" His voice is even and conversational, but he doesn't wait for Ryan's reply; he takes his juice and leaves the room, barely giving Ryan his profile. Ani is so close to his heels she nearly trips him.
Ryan is still sitting at the table when Spencer comes in. He takes one look at Ryan's glare and says, "Fine, don't tell me. Whatever." But he leans against the table anyway and stares Ryan down.
He doesn't crack. "Chaz watches Jon play every night. Every. Night." Ryan's being a dick, but he doesn't care. Sometimes he enjoys making Spencer flinch and turn pink. Spencer doesn't push him after that.
Brendon stops playing up the affection during shows; he keeps the touching to a minimum and doesn't quite look Ryan in the eyes whenever he leans in to sing to him, hand outstretched and barely brushing against Ryan's shoulder. Ani sits beneath his piano, too quiet and reserved.
Ryan just plays louder and sets his jaw, demanding without words that Brendon look at him.
Most of the time, he doesn't.
*
They learn about the interview five hours before they're supposed to go on stage. Spencer has a specific list of things he Supremely Hates More Than Anything on Earth, and giving last-minute interviews before shows to clueless journalists is probably right up there in the top five. Half of him wishes he were still sick and out of commission.
Ryan and Brendon don't sit; they pace the dressing room as the reporter guy sets up his recorder. Spencer sits beside Jon on the small loveseat, knees barely touching, Chaz and Rosey playing bookends. Jon still isn't looking at him much without a look of embarrassed guilt in his eyes, and Spencer hasn't figured out how to deal with that yet, so he's been avoiding Jon without making it too obvious. This interview is the closest they've been to one another in days.
The guy, Ted from who-the-fuck-cares magazine who has some glassy-eyed Jack Russell terrier daemon, asks extremely ill-formed, stupid questions, like why Ryan turned down the offer to join Fall Out Boy. Ryan is dry and deadly sarcastic (Salara is perched on his shoulder, her tail twitching angrily) and Brendon chews his thumb and barely cracks a smile as he bounces on the balls of his feet, Ani sitting off to the side, muzzle resting on her forepaws as she eyes Ted. Spencer can already tell this will not end well.
As if reading his mind, Ted turns to Jon and says, "So, Jon. Have you enjoyed being the replacement guy? How much longer do you think you have with the band before they get someone permanent?" He says it in a polite voice, because the fucking moron honestly thinks he has his facts straight, but the room goes completely silent.
"Um." Jon shifts on the couch, stares down at his hands as Rosey snuffles, just short of a growl. Spencer swears he can feel the heat in Jon's cheeks. He refuses to look over and prove himself right. "I--"
"We're done here," Ryan says, flat and final. "You can go now." His arms are crossed and he's staring down Ted with one eyebrow cocked, daring him to argue. Brendon stands behind him, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Ted splutters a little, looking totally perplexed, but he still packs up his recorder and notepad and scurries out of the dressing room, his daemon chasing after him.
There's a long moment once the door closes where no one speaks, and it dawns on Spencer like a slam to the gut that Ryan didn't correct Ted. Not that Jon actually thinks--he can't--but still--
Brendon breaks the silence by flinging himself across the room and into Jon's lap, wrapping his arms around Jon's neck and saying, voice muffled against his hair, "I love you, Jon Walker, don't listen to evil fuckwad journalists, okay?" Ani runs over as well and rubs her face against Jon's leg.
Jon nods, sliding his hands over Brendon's back. "Okay." But he doesn't really smile.
"Is it so hard to fucking research the goddamn groups you're interviewing?" Ryan grumbles. He storms over to the vanity, Salara still clinging to his shoulder, and glares at himself in the mirror as he grabs the eyeliner pencil. He doesn't say anything else to Jon, and Spencer thinks, Fucking say something to him, Ryan, tell him the guy was wrong.
Jon turns from where he's pressed into Brendon's shoulder and looks at Spencer, eyes a little too wide and expectant.
"Look, you--" Spencer fumbles for words. Chaz sits up, leans over the arm of the couch so her nose brushes his shoulder. "That guy's an idiot. You don't actually believe that's a rumor, do you?" It's completely not what he means to say at all, but that seems to be par for the course with him and Jon lately. "I mean, he fucking thought Ryan was--"
"Whatever, it's okay." He gently nudges Brendon off his lap (Brendon kisses his nose) and sighs, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes. "Let's just forget about it."
"Done," Ryan says. He's lining his eyes especially dark tonight.
Jon is subdued during the show, staying in his corner of the stage and rarely looking up from his bass. Rosey lays down during most of the songs, and doesn't wag her tail when fans call out her name and wave.
Chaz stays close to Spencer, who tries not to watch the tense, straight line of Jon's back. Later, curled up in Spencer's bunk, Chaz says softly, "We should say something, y'know."
"I already did. It doesn't matter. Ryan's the one who needs to take care of it, it'll mean more coming from him." He's not even sure if he means it or not; he just doesn't believe his words alone will fix the problem.
"No. He waited for you to take care of it. I could tell." Chaz tucks her paws up under her chin, her body draped over Spencer's stomach.
Spencer shakes his head, his fingers passing idly over Chaz's muzzle, ears and shoulders. "He knows what I think."
"You need to stop tiptoeing around him and--I don't know--stop waiting for something to happen." She's got that bitchy tone in her voice again, the one she saves for when she thinks Spencer's being a moron.
Spencer turns over and buries his face in his pillow. "You know it's complicated."
"Bull-fucking-shit it's complicated." She nips the skin of his lower back gently with her front teeth and grumbles deep in her throat. But her tail curls around Spencer's ankles, and soon they both drift off into sleep.
On Friday, they're in a hotel again, and Spencer and Jon share a room, like always. Jon's still quieter than normal, but he still smiles at Spencer as he climbs into bed and says, "'Night, Spence," before turning out the light on his side. Rosey jumps up onto the bed, rests her nose on the pillow by Jon's cheek.
Spencer's not sure how long he and Chaz lay there after that, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out a way to have Jon's eyes not look so tired and resigned all the goddamn time. He glances over, watches the rise and fall of Jon and Rosey's breathing in tandem.
"Just tell him he's never been a replacement," Chaz whispers in the semi-dark. Spencer just presses his cheek into her fur and sighs.
"He'll think I'm just saying that. I don't know how to make him...I don't know, okay? It's not enough." Spencer falls asleep not long after that.
In the meantime, Chaz jumps down from the bed, completely silent. She crawls onto the other bed and circles Jon's body, once, never quite touching him, until he snuffles in his sleep and rolls over, arm hugged around Rosey. Chaz hunches down, close to the bed, and inch by inch makes her way up the mattress until she stretched out along Jon's back. She finally lays down, muzzle barely brushing against Jon's neck.
Her breath puffs out hotly, and Jon stirs. "Chaz?" he mumbles sleepily.
"You're wanted, you know." She licks him carefully, right below his ear. Jon shivers. "You've always been wanted."
He finally turns his head and looks straight into her yellow-green eyes flashing in the dim light from the single desk lamp still burning. "But he doesn't--"
"He does," she says, and presses her nose to Jon's cheek. "He does, Jon, he does."
They don't say anything after that; Jon lays his arm across Chaz's body, tentative and slow, and Chaz purrs softly as she leans against him, her big body curling around him, taking up half the bed. On Jon's other side, Rosey hums in her sleep.
Spencer wakes later in the night and reaches out for Chaz, only to find the bed empty. He sits up, a touch frantic, and finally looks over and sees Jon draped across his daemon, his hand clutched tightly in Chaz's fur. Spencer's heart stops for a moment.
"Chaz..." He feels his skin growing hot and he bites his lip. "What are you doing?"
She opens her eyes and blinks slowly at him. "It's okay, Spence, I think he's better now," she says.
"You--what did you say?" Jon's fingers thread through her black fur, almost tenderly, holding on, and Spencer feels the warmth of Jon's skin as if it were caressing his own.
"I told him what you should've told him ages ago, except you're too stupid." Her voice is sleepy-soft and gentle.
Spencer swallows. "Oh." He sits on the bed and doesn't move.
Chaz shifts and eventually jumps down, out of Jon's arms, and Jon frowns in his sleep, his hand splaying over the empty spot on the bed. He finally opens his eyes and looks up to find Spencer watching him.
Chaz climbs onto Spencer's bed and nudges his shoulder. Spencer clears his throat and says, "Hey."
Jon sits up, hesitantly. "Hey. I--"
"Don't apologize, okay? There's nothing to be sorry for." He looks down at the carpet and adds, "You're not a replacement. You never were." He can feel his pulse in his fingertips, and he blindly combs his fingers into Chaz's fur.
Jon doesn't reply, and Spencer keeps his eyes on the carpet, his cheeks hot. But then, Spencer hears the mattress squeak with the loss of weight, and suddenly Jon's standing over him, leaning in, and he cups Spencer's face in his hands and kisses him, slow and soft, his thumbs sweeping over Spencer's cheeks.
Spencer opens his mouth, gasping, and there is the gentle push of tongues. He pulls back a little, their mouths parting ever so slightly, but Jon simply pushes back into his space, sliding their lips together again, taking whatever words Spencer is about to say and drinking them in.
He pushes Spencer back onto the bed and straddles his lap, but it's not urgent or hurried. It's achingly slow, like it was always meant to be like this. Jon links their hands together, stretches their arms out over Spencer's head, and whispers into Spencer's mouth, "I've wanted to do this forever, y'know? I never thought you'd let me. Rosey touched you that time, and I--I could feel your skin, your heat, and even though you were sick, I. I couldn't get it out of my head, and I know I didn't have any right to it, to that feeling, but I couldn't help it."
Spencer nods, eyes closed, and tightens his hands around Jon's. "Your fingers in Chaz's fur, I could. I could feel you," he breathes.
No more words are needed.
Spencer's vaguely aware of Chaz moving to the other bed and curling up with Rosey, who raises her head sleepily and thumps her tail against the mattress, once, as Chaz lays down beside her. Jon slowly tugs the clothes from Spencer's body and Spencer does the same to Jon without ever opening his eyes, even though he wants to see, wants to know how Jon looks at him as their skin is bared to each other.
He thinks, maybe, he hears Jon whisper, "You are so beautiful," as he kisses his way down Spencer's chest, but it could also very well be Spencer's sleep-clogged mind making fantasies.
*
Ryan lasts for two weeks.
He doesn't corner Brendon in their bunks or demand his attention in empty dressing rooms. He's above anything that desperate, and besides, no one can make Brendon do anything he doesn't want to.
Instead, he alters his stage persona into someone fierce and more daring, and he crowds Brendon on certain nights when he's feeling his frustration at its worst. Brendon's eyes widen and his voice falters, just a little, but he doesn't back down, doesn't stumble, and Ryan figures that's a small battle won. He still only touches Ryan with the tips of his fingers, but Ani begins to circle Brendon's legs again, ears perked.
At the end of two weeks they're somewhere outside of Boston, warming up in a huge auditorium that makes Ryan think of sweeping operas and full piece orchestras. He stands at the edge of the stage, picturing the orchestra pit and the exact position of the conductor, when Brendon slams into him from behind. He's wrestling with Jon, laughter high and breathless. Behind them, Ani and Rosey bark playfully at one another.
"Shit, Walker, you nearly killed my guitarist!" Brendon yells, and at any other time in history Ryan would've gotten a wide smile out of Brendon from that, something private, just for him.
"I am the innocent bystander here, swear," Jon says, shrugging helplessly at Ryan, and his words are suddenly cut off by Brendon tackling him to the ground at Ryan's feet, arms wrapped tight around Jon's chest.
Brendon tucks his face into the curve of Jon's neck and says, loudly, "You're my all-time favorite, Jon Walker." He licks his skin. "You taste the best, too," and Jon laughs.
At any other time in history, Ryan would've laughed, too.
During the show he's tight, so tight, like he'll snap if someone so much as breathes on him. Salara paces around Ryan's mic stand and eventually skitters across the stage to the piano, into Ani's space. Ani tries to shrink away, but Salara is too quick; she grabs hold of Ani's fur and clings to her. She doesn't let go.
Ryan watches them, listens to the catch in Brendon's voice the second Salara presses close to Ani's chest. The second verse of "Lying" becomes a little muddled, but it's okay; Brendon's paying attention.
He doesn't crowd him like the times before. Ryan simply waits, waits until the moment Brendon's leaning in, fingers outstretched, and then he's there, kissing Brendon hard and fast like there aren't thousands of people watching. Brendon jerks away, eyes wide, and Ryan just stares back. Beyond Brendon's shoulder, he can see Ani melt to the ground as Salara nuzzles her ears.
He can feel Spencer's eyes burning into the back of his skull, but he'll deal with that later. All that matters is the pink flush in Brendon's cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat radiating from the crowd, still in a state of crazy, high-pitched vibrations over the kiss.
They don't take their eyes off each other for the rest of the show. Ryan counts down the songs, clusters of minutes left between them and the moment he can say every goddamn word that's desperately trying to claw its way out of his brain.
It's backstage, in a cramped dressing room, panting and shaking with adrenaline, where Ryan finally tells him everything without saying a word.
"I'm sorry," Brendon gasps in between deep, wet kisses, his hands tangled in Ryan's hair. "Ryan, god, I'm so sor--"
Ryan shakes his head and simply presses him harder against the wall, hands splayed wide over Brendon's shoulders. His eyes are tightly closed; he can't see Salara, but he knows she's close, and he can feel the warmth of Ani's body wrapping around her like a hug. He thinks he hears Ani sigh in utter contentment.
When he licks his way down Brendon's neck to the sharp line of his collarbone, Brendon makes a soft little noise in his throat that sounds almost the same.
Spin: So, the new album artwork…
Brendon: It's awesome!
Spin: Some say it's a statement about how you guys think the majority of your fans are into you for your looks and not the music.
Ryan: I'm pretty sure Brendon gets equal amounts of fan mail for both him and Ani.
Spencer: If cover art with our daemons in cartoon form is a statement, bring it on. That's a fairly kick ass statement, actually. Very deep.
Spin: So is it true Gerard Way drew your daemons for the cover?
Jon: He did, and now he owns our souls.
Spencer: Completely.
Ryan: We have to be My Chemical Romance's roadies for a year.
Spin: That's a tough deal.
Brendon: We're tough dudes. We can take it.
Spin: And what about your daemons? Did they approve of the final result?
Ryan: I have the original hanging in my living room.
--
*Tons of love to all my betas on this: madsciencechick, disarm_d, and siryn99, as well as adellyna, imogenedisease, and ficklish for their wonderful words of encouragement. Most of all, this fic would not even exist without shleemeri, who is responsible for Brendon's daemon almost entirely (and Joe's and Andy's, LOL). This began in the form of me telling her bedtime stories over AIM, and eventually it grew into this mess of me fawning over my OTPs. This fic is dedicated to her. Love ya, Ashley. ♥
*No, I haven't picked out the MCR boys' daemons. I wanted to do all of bandom, but picking out daemons is hard. If you have specific ideas about someone not mentioned in this fic, let me know, I'd love to hear it! Just don't tell me Gerard's a bat. *g*