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North Star: You’re My Way Back Home (or, What Really Happened At The Makeshift Camp In Chapter 14)
Title: North Star: You’re My Way Back Home (or, What Really Happened At The Makeshift Camp In Chapter 14)
Author: monamour_x
Rating: NC-17/R
Pairing: Ryden
POV: 3rd; Mainly Brendon’s
Warnings: Broken!Ryan. Also, broken!Brendon. I give you fair warning.
Disclaimer: PWF belongs to Colin, obviously, and so any references to anything that happened in that story belong to him. The panic boys belong to themselves. The characters belong to Colin. Mostly everything belongs to someone other than me, besides the words.
Summary: Ryan swallows and angles his head up to the vast reaches of the black sheet above them, speckled with twinkling dots and false hope. “Do you think…If we believe hard enough…Do you think the North Star could really help us find our way back home?”
Dedication: Colin, obviously, because he wrote us 23, 000+ words of porn, so he deserves a little something in return. :) plus, he’s amazing, so. *hands porn*
Author’s Note: I wasn’t sure how Ryan and Brendon were dressed in this, but I pictured them in shirts and boxers. I know that they found a suitcase with clothes in one of the earlier chapters, so I figured that this was possible enough, right? Not that you guys care about any of this anyways, but WHATEVER. I’m OCD with facts-get over it. :D Also, this is completely self-edited (or lack thereof) so I apologize for any typos…which I’m sure there will be a lot of. Also, I love everyone who reads this. Also, I love PWF. Also, the ending isn’t exactly the best but I didn’t know what else to do with it so it’s as good as it’s going to get. Also, I’m still not convinced that I’m good at porn (though I’ve been told otherwise) but this had to be written so I did the best I could with it. Enjoy!!
“The big dipper is the easiest one to spot. See Ryan? Right over there-see the handle?” Brendon points and Ryan nods faintly. He’s not paying attention. Not really. His mind is too preoccupied to focus on a bunch of dumb constellations that he wouldn’t be able to spot even if he were trying. The only reason Brendon can see them is because he’s Brendon. It may not make much sense, but it fits. For Ryan, it works. “The little dipper is probably around here somewhere, too…Oh, did you know that there’s a constellation called Sextans? Yeah, there is.” Brendon lets out a small, breathy laugh, and Ryan knows he’s just trying to lighten the mood, and even if it’s not working, he’s thankful. Thankful that Brendon’s there, that he cares. “I’ve never seen it, but if I ever do, I imagine it’ll be this big defining moment in my life-”
“Brendon.”
“-and I’ll probably have to take a picture of it and outline Sextans in marker-”
“Brendon.”
“-and then I’ll get a picture of Virgo and put it next the one of the Sextans, because Virgo’s a virgin and that’s funny-”
“Brendon.”
When Brendon’s eyes meet Ryan’s, he notices that they are still red-rimmed from all of the crying he’s done since that night after the fight when the realization that Spencer and Jon weren’t coming back (yet Brendon reminds himself. They haven’t come back yet. There’s still time) set in. Ryan looks weak and worn out, but simultaneously stronger than Brendon’s ever seen him. Determination oozes off of every word he says, every look he gives, every tear he sheds, because he will not give up. Neither of them will, because at a time like this, giving up is like the equivalent of suicide. What’s the point in living if they can’t all be together? Brendon sends Ryan a small, sweet grin and when Ryan’s eyes glisten over, he reaches down and entwines their fingers together, because Ryan needs to know that he’s not alone. And when Ryan gives his hand a little squeeze, Brendon’s eyes maybe well up a little, too.
Ryan swallows and angles his head up to the vast reaches of the black sheet above them, speckled with twinkling dots and false hope. “Do you think…If we believe hard enough…Do you think the North Star could really help us find our way back home?”
“I don’t know,” Brendon answers, honestly. And maybe his voice is a little quieter than a whisper, because maybe he’s on the verge of crying, but none of that matters when his eyes meet Ryan’s and he realizes that what he says next is the truth, “But I don’t really care. The closest I am to home is with you and…and that’s enough. I-I think I can live with that.”
Ryan’s lids flutter shut and he shifts closer, tucking his head into the hollow of Brendon’s neck and whispering, “I love you.”
Brendon echo’s the words immediately, because he’s never been so sure about anything in his life before.
There’s a beat of quiet for a few seconds, and then Ryan asks, “Do you think we’re going to find Spencer and Jon?”
And Brendon wishes the truth were as easy as telling Ryan he loves him, but it’s not. It’s so not, because the honest answer to that question scares him more than anything in the world: “I don’t know.”
It’s silent, for the most part, after that, save for the usual sounds of the forest surrounding them. Brendon hardly notices the faint chirps of the crickets or the soft rustling of leaves in the distance, anymore-he’s almost grown accustomed to them. It’s like when he’s back home, sleeping in a warm bed, whether it be at the apartment with Shane or in a hotel with Ryan in the bed adjacent to his own, and he hears the swooshing sound of the cars driving by, gradually increasing as they get closer and decreasing as they fade away. He’s grown accustomed to the sounds around him and something inside he stomach flips uncertainly at this thought. He doesn’t like thinking about how he’s adapted to this stupid island. Being here is something no one should ever have to get used to.
Brendon's thoughts get interrupted in the form of light, butterfly kisses against his neck. They start off lazy and inconsistent, placed randomly in an improvised pattern against Brendon’s porcelain skin. Soon, though, Brendon starts to feel a change in the pressure of the kisses as they start to form a trail, seeming to have a newfound destination in mind. By the time their lips connect, the kisses are far from lazy and have moved onto a new form of aggressive and desperate. Brendon is gripping Ryan’s hips tight enough to leave bruises and Ryan is clinging to him like he requires him to breath-to live. Which, in all honesty, is not far from the truth. Without Brendon, Ryan doesn’t really have much of a reason to live at all.
They are lying side-by-side, heads twisted towards each other and angled to get better access of the other’s lips. The whole layout seems awkward and uncomfortable, but is surprisingly perfect and normal. Which is not to say that when Ryan’s hands fly down to the hem of Brendon’s shirt and he starts tugging, breaking apart form the heated kiss to lift it up and over his head, that Brendon isn’t grateful-he is. More than grateful. So grateful, in fact, that he immediately starts pulling and clawing at Ryan’s shirt until that, too, is successfully off and laying in a lump at their feet.
The minute their torso’s are exposed, Ryan is back to attacking Brendon’s plump lips with his own mouth and teeth and tongue. He swiftly and smoothly readjusts their position, never breaking the kiss, and climbs over Brendon until he is sitting on his lap, legs on either side, straddling him. The new pressure on Brendon’s hardened member makes him moan into Ryan’s mouth, and Ryan swallows it down before the noise hits the air.
Grinning into Brendon’s lips, Ryan begins to slowly swivel his hips, his own cock digging into Brendon’s and making them both pull apart from each other to gasp and moan. Ryan repeats this movement, these harsh snaps and thrusts of his hips, five agonizingly slow times, before he shifts and brings his hands down to the rim of Brendon’s boxers, pulling them down and off. He’s quick to shed himself of his own underwear and soon enough, they are both naked, Ryan hovering above Brendon and panting with lust.
Keeping his eyes intently on the boy below him, Ryan lifts his hand and parts his lips, shoving two of his own fingers into it. Brendon watches in awe and lust as Ryan sucks and lathers the digits in spit for a few seconds before pulling them out and reaching down to align them with his own entrance. Brendon’s pretty sure he stops breathing until Ryan squeezes his eyes tightly shut and presses into himself. They both gasp out at the same time, Ryan in slight discomfort, and Brendon in pure shock, completely turned on. Brendon’s not sure if he’s ever been as hard as he is right now, and when Ryan starts to move his hand, starts to buck his hips backwards into it, fucking himself with his own fingers, there is no doubt in his mind that he hasn’t.
Soon enough, Ryan is finished working himself open, and pulls out of himself, immediately placing both hands on Brendon’s chest for support. Brendon can feel each digit individually as Ryan webs them over his torso, and his cock twitches when he feels that two of them are warmer than all of the others.
When Ryan steadies himself, he lifts his right hand and sticks out his tongue, lathering it in spit, before reaching down to Brendon’s now painfully erect shaft. He wraps his wet hand around his partner’s cock and wastes no time in pumping it, causing Brendon to throw his head back and groan, squeezing Ryan’s hips almost too tightly and making the older boy hiss out in slight pain.
Ryan finishes wetting Brendon’s dick all too quickly and releases it in a matter of seconds, it seems. And Brendon would protest, but when he glances back at Ryan, the boy is back to hovering above Brendon, hands back on his chest, and is blinking back tears as they threaten to fall down his cheeks.
“Hey,” Brendon whispers. He lifts his hand to press it delicately against Ryan’s face and Ryan leans into the contact, sucking in a shaky breath. “Hey, we don’t have to do this. We-we can stop.”
Ryan shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly, before reopening them and focusing intently on Brendon’s face. “No,” he replies, and his voice is so quiet-so broken-it makes Brendon’s heart clench tightly. “No, I-I need this. I need you, Brendon.”
Brendon just nods, faintly, studying the face of the man above him. He looks for any signs of hesitation, any signs that Ryan is unsure of himself-but finds none. His muscles relax and he lets his eyes sweep across the figure before him, drinking Ryan in and committing him to memory. His gaze trails over Ryan’s body, skinny, thin and frail, rib bones, collarbones and hipbones protruding to create a skeletal masterpiece. His skin is slightly tan from being in the sun day in and day out, but is, for the most part, still relatively pale, which makes Brendon want to kind of laugh, because of course Ryan would still be pale. Though, he’s one to talk, since Brendon is pretty sure he’s the palest of them all.
Ryan interrupts Brendon’s thoughts for the second time that night by leaning in and placing a delicate kiss against his lips. He lingers-questioning, hesitant-and then whispers ever-so-quietly against his boyfriend’s lips, “Make me forget.”
And Brendon doesn’t need to ask him what he means, because he knows. He knows what Ryan means like he knows the sound of Ryan’s voice, the color of Ryan’s eyes. But even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have time to ask, before Ryan was reaching down to align Brendon’s cock with his entrance and sinking down onto it. “Shit,” Ryan breaths, biting down on his lower lip and shutting his eyes tightly. Brendon gasps, flinging his arms to the ground on either side of him and digging his nails into the dirt, trying desperately not to arch into Ryan who is adjusting to the new intrusion.
Ryan is still for a few passing minutes, regulating his breathing and trying to relax his muscles. Then, using his hands on Brendon’s chest for support and bracing himself with his legs, he slowly begins to move. It’s all nerves and uncertainty as Ryan lifts himself up and then slowly back down, getting a feel for the movement. Eventually, his pace quickens until he is all but bouncing on Brendon’s erect shaft.
“A-Ah, f-fuck,” Ryan moans as Brendon starts trusting his hips upward in time with Ryan. Brendon groans along with him, shifting and angling his thrusts until, “Shit. Shitshitshitshit, fuck, Brendon, more.”
Brendon complies, hurriedly lifting his hips to ram into Ryan who is frantic, bouncing and rubbing and jerking into Brendon’s cock, each time feeling wave after wave of ecstasy pulse through him. “Faster,” Ryan begs, falling forward to clumsily press as kiss to Brendon’s mouth. “Harder,” he whispers against it.
Brendon’s hands roam around Ryan’s body, gripping and bruising and scratching nearly every piece of skin he can reach. Ryan is panting above him and he’s desperate, Brendon can tell, to get off, and so he does the only logical thing he can think of and reaches down to grab hold of his boyfriend’s dick, furiously jerking him off to the frantic non-rhythm of his thrusts. Ryan begins to whine, his dick twitching and his body shaking with the need for release and Brendon leans up and places quick, chaste kisses against his lips. “Shh,” Brendon coos. “Come on, Ryan. Ah…f-fuck. C-Come for me.”
And that’s all it takes for Ryan to be moaning out a string of curses and Brendon’s name as he comes all over Brendon’s chest, triggering Brendon’s own orgasm, moans muffled as Ryan kisses him through it.
When they are finished, Ryan doesn’t move, just focuses on regulating his breathing and collecting himself as he places impromptu kisses to his boyfriends lips. His legs are shaking, muscles clenching chaotically from fatigue, and when he’s ready to lift off of Brendon, Brendon helps him, gently guiding him down so that he’s lying parallel to the younger of the two. Then, though he’s tired and worn out, Brendon gets up and fetches their shirts and boxers. He puts his clothes on and then crawls up to Ryan, whose lids are heavy and breathing is slow and languid, and dresses him.
Ryan is already asleep, spent emotionally and physically, when Brendon lays down next to him. Then, wrapping his arms around the man that he loves and looking off into the distance, he let’s himself cry.
Author: monamour_x
Rating: NC-17/R
Pairing: Ryden
POV: 3rd; Mainly Brendon’s
Warnings: Broken!Ryan. Also, broken!Brendon. I give you fair warning.
Disclaimer: PWF belongs to Colin, obviously, and so any references to anything that happened in that story belong to him. The panic boys belong to themselves. The characters belong to Colin. Mostly everything belongs to someone other than me, besides the words.
Summary: Ryan swallows and angles his head up to the vast reaches of the black sheet above them, speckled with twinkling dots and false hope. “Do you think…If we believe hard enough…Do you think the North Star could really help us find our way back home?”
Dedication: Colin, obviously, because he wrote us 23, 000+ words of porn, so he deserves a little something in return. :) plus, he’s amazing, so. *hands porn*
Author’s Note: I wasn’t sure how Ryan and Brendon were dressed in this, but I pictured them in shirts and boxers. I know that they found a suitcase with clothes in one of the earlier chapters, so I figured that this was possible enough, right? Not that you guys care about any of this anyways, but WHATEVER. I’m OCD with facts-get over it. :D Also, this is completely self-edited (or lack thereof) so I apologize for any typos…which I’m sure there will be a lot of. Also, I love everyone who reads this. Also, I love PWF. Also, the ending isn’t exactly the best but I didn’t know what else to do with it so it’s as good as it’s going to get. Also, I’m still not convinced that I’m good at porn (though I’ve been told otherwise) but this had to be written so I did the best I could with it. Enjoy!!
“The big dipper is the easiest one to spot. See Ryan? Right over there-see the handle?” Brendon points and Ryan nods faintly. He’s not paying attention. Not really. His mind is too preoccupied to focus on a bunch of dumb constellations that he wouldn’t be able to spot even if he were trying. The only reason Brendon can see them is because he’s Brendon. It may not make much sense, but it fits. For Ryan, it works. “The little dipper is probably around here somewhere, too…Oh, did you know that there’s a constellation called Sextans? Yeah, there is.” Brendon lets out a small, breathy laugh, and Ryan knows he’s just trying to lighten the mood, and even if it’s not working, he’s thankful. Thankful that Brendon’s there, that he cares. “I’ve never seen it, but if I ever do, I imagine it’ll be this big defining moment in my life-”
“Brendon.”
“-and I’ll probably have to take a picture of it and outline Sextans in marker-”
“Brendon.”
“-and then I’ll get a picture of Virgo and put it next the one of the Sextans, because Virgo’s a virgin and that’s funny-”
“Brendon.”
When Brendon’s eyes meet Ryan’s, he notices that they are still red-rimmed from all of the crying he’s done since that night after the fight when the realization that Spencer and Jon weren’t coming back (yet Brendon reminds himself. They haven’t come back yet. There’s still time) set in. Ryan looks weak and worn out, but simultaneously stronger than Brendon’s ever seen him. Determination oozes off of every word he says, every look he gives, every tear he sheds, because he will not give up. Neither of them will, because at a time like this, giving up is like the equivalent of suicide. What’s the point in living if they can’t all be together? Brendon sends Ryan a small, sweet grin and when Ryan’s eyes glisten over, he reaches down and entwines their fingers together, because Ryan needs to know that he’s not alone. And when Ryan gives his hand a little squeeze, Brendon’s eyes maybe well up a little, too.
Ryan swallows and angles his head up to the vast reaches of the black sheet above them, speckled with twinkling dots and false hope. “Do you think…If we believe hard enough…Do you think the North Star could really help us find our way back home?”
“I don’t know,” Brendon answers, honestly. And maybe his voice is a little quieter than a whisper, because maybe he’s on the verge of crying, but none of that matters when his eyes meet Ryan’s and he realizes that what he says next is the truth, “But I don’t really care. The closest I am to home is with you and…and that’s enough. I-I think I can live with that.”
Ryan’s lids flutter shut and he shifts closer, tucking his head into the hollow of Brendon’s neck and whispering, “I love you.”
Brendon echo’s the words immediately, because he’s never been so sure about anything in his life before.
There’s a beat of quiet for a few seconds, and then Ryan asks, “Do you think we’re going to find Spencer and Jon?”
And Brendon wishes the truth were as easy as telling Ryan he loves him, but it’s not. It’s so not, because the honest answer to that question scares him more than anything in the world: “I don’t know.”
It’s silent, for the most part, after that, save for the usual sounds of the forest surrounding them. Brendon hardly notices the faint chirps of the crickets or the soft rustling of leaves in the distance, anymore-he’s almost grown accustomed to them. It’s like when he’s back home, sleeping in a warm bed, whether it be at the apartment with Shane or in a hotel with Ryan in the bed adjacent to his own, and he hears the swooshing sound of the cars driving by, gradually increasing as they get closer and decreasing as they fade away. He’s grown accustomed to the sounds around him and something inside he stomach flips uncertainly at this thought. He doesn’t like thinking about how he’s adapted to this stupid island. Being here is something no one should ever have to get used to.
Brendon's thoughts get interrupted in the form of light, butterfly kisses against his neck. They start off lazy and inconsistent, placed randomly in an improvised pattern against Brendon’s porcelain skin. Soon, though, Brendon starts to feel a change in the pressure of the kisses as they start to form a trail, seeming to have a newfound destination in mind. By the time their lips connect, the kisses are far from lazy and have moved onto a new form of aggressive and desperate. Brendon is gripping Ryan’s hips tight enough to leave bruises and Ryan is clinging to him like he requires him to breath-to live. Which, in all honesty, is not far from the truth. Without Brendon, Ryan doesn’t really have much of a reason to live at all.
They are lying side-by-side, heads twisted towards each other and angled to get better access of the other’s lips. The whole layout seems awkward and uncomfortable, but is surprisingly perfect and normal. Which is not to say that when Ryan’s hands fly down to the hem of Brendon’s shirt and he starts tugging, breaking apart form the heated kiss to lift it up and over his head, that Brendon isn’t grateful-he is. More than grateful. So grateful, in fact, that he immediately starts pulling and clawing at Ryan’s shirt until that, too, is successfully off and laying in a lump at their feet.
The minute their torso’s are exposed, Ryan is back to attacking Brendon’s plump lips with his own mouth and teeth and tongue. He swiftly and smoothly readjusts their position, never breaking the kiss, and climbs over Brendon until he is sitting on his lap, legs on either side, straddling him. The new pressure on Brendon’s hardened member makes him moan into Ryan’s mouth, and Ryan swallows it down before the noise hits the air.
Grinning into Brendon’s lips, Ryan begins to slowly swivel his hips, his own cock digging into Brendon’s and making them both pull apart from each other to gasp and moan. Ryan repeats this movement, these harsh snaps and thrusts of his hips, five agonizingly slow times, before he shifts and brings his hands down to the rim of Brendon’s boxers, pulling them down and off. He’s quick to shed himself of his own underwear and soon enough, they are both naked, Ryan hovering above Brendon and panting with lust.
Keeping his eyes intently on the boy below him, Ryan lifts his hand and parts his lips, shoving two of his own fingers into it. Brendon watches in awe and lust as Ryan sucks and lathers the digits in spit for a few seconds before pulling them out and reaching down to align them with his own entrance. Brendon’s pretty sure he stops breathing until Ryan squeezes his eyes tightly shut and presses into himself. They both gasp out at the same time, Ryan in slight discomfort, and Brendon in pure shock, completely turned on. Brendon’s not sure if he’s ever been as hard as he is right now, and when Ryan starts to move his hand, starts to buck his hips backwards into it, fucking himself with his own fingers, there is no doubt in his mind that he hasn’t.
Soon enough, Ryan is finished working himself open, and pulls out of himself, immediately placing both hands on Brendon’s chest for support. Brendon can feel each digit individually as Ryan webs them over his torso, and his cock twitches when he feels that two of them are warmer than all of the others.
When Ryan steadies himself, he lifts his right hand and sticks out his tongue, lathering it in spit, before reaching down to Brendon’s now painfully erect shaft. He wraps his wet hand around his partner’s cock and wastes no time in pumping it, causing Brendon to throw his head back and groan, squeezing Ryan’s hips almost too tightly and making the older boy hiss out in slight pain.
Ryan finishes wetting Brendon’s dick all too quickly and releases it in a matter of seconds, it seems. And Brendon would protest, but when he glances back at Ryan, the boy is back to hovering above Brendon, hands back on his chest, and is blinking back tears as they threaten to fall down his cheeks.
“Hey,” Brendon whispers. He lifts his hand to press it delicately against Ryan’s face and Ryan leans into the contact, sucking in a shaky breath. “Hey, we don’t have to do this. We-we can stop.”
Ryan shakes his head and closes his eyes tightly, before reopening them and focusing intently on Brendon’s face. “No,” he replies, and his voice is so quiet-so broken-it makes Brendon’s heart clench tightly. “No, I-I need this. I need you, Brendon.”
Brendon just nods, faintly, studying the face of the man above him. He looks for any signs of hesitation, any signs that Ryan is unsure of himself-but finds none. His muscles relax and he lets his eyes sweep across the figure before him, drinking Ryan in and committing him to memory. His gaze trails over Ryan’s body, skinny, thin and frail, rib bones, collarbones and hipbones protruding to create a skeletal masterpiece. His skin is slightly tan from being in the sun day in and day out, but is, for the most part, still relatively pale, which makes Brendon want to kind of laugh, because of course Ryan would still be pale. Though, he’s one to talk, since Brendon is pretty sure he’s the palest of them all.
Ryan interrupts Brendon’s thoughts for the second time that night by leaning in and placing a delicate kiss against his lips. He lingers-questioning, hesitant-and then whispers ever-so-quietly against his boyfriend’s lips, “Make me forget.”
And Brendon doesn’t need to ask him what he means, because he knows. He knows what Ryan means like he knows the sound of Ryan’s voice, the color of Ryan’s eyes. But even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have time to ask, before Ryan was reaching down to align Brendon’s cock with his entrance and sinking down onto it. “Shit,” Ryan breaths, biting down on his lower lip and shutting his eyes tightly. Brendon gasps, flinging his arms to the ground on either side of him and digging his nails into the dirt, trying desperately not to arch into Ryan who is adjusting to the new intrusion.
Ryan is still for a few passing minutes, regulating his breathing and trying to relax his muscles. Then, using his hands on Brendon’s chest for support and bracing himself with his legs, he slowly begins to move. It’s all nerves and uncertainty as Ryan lifts himself up and then slowly back down, getting a feel for the movement. Eventually, his pace quickens until he is all but bouncing on Brendon’s erect shaft.
“A-Ah, f-fuck,” Ryan moans as Brendon starts trusting his hips upward in time with Ryan. Brendon groans along with him, shifting and angling his thrusts until, “Shit. Shitshitshitshit, fuck, Brendon, more.”
Brendon complies, hurriedly lifting his hips to ram into Ryan who is frantic, bouncing and rubbing and jerking into Brendon’s cock, each time feeling wave after wave of ecstasy pulse through him. “Faster,” Ryan begs, falling forward to clumsily press as kiss to Brendon’s mouth. “Harder,” he whispers against it.
Brendon’s hands roam around Ryan’s body, gripping and bruising and scratching nearly every piece of skin he can reach. Ryan is panting above him and he’s desperate, Brendon can tell, to get off, and so he does the only logical thing he can think of and reaches down to grab hold of his boyfriend’s dick, furiously jerking him off to the frantic non-rhythm of his thrusts. Ryan begins to whine, his dick twitching and his body shaking with the need for release and Brendon leans up and places quick, chaste kisses against his lips. “Shh,” Brendon coos. “Come on, Ryan. Ah…f-fuck. C-Come for me.”
And that’s all it takes for Ryan to be moaning out a string of curses and Brendon’s name as he comes all over Brendon’s chest, triggering Brendon’s own orgasm, moans muffled as Ryan kisses him through it.
When they are finished, Ryan doesn’t move, just focuses on regulating his breathing and collecting himself as he places impromptu kisses to his boyfriends lips. His legs are shaking, muscles clenching chaotically from fatigue, and when he’s ready to lift off of Brendon, Brendon helps him, gently guiding him down so that he’s lying parallel to the younger of the two. Then, though he’s tired and worn out, Brendon gets up and fetches their shirts and boxers. He puts his clothes on and then crawls up to Ryan, whose lids are heavy and breathing is slow and languid, and dresses him.
Ryan is already asleep, spent emotionally and physically, when Brendon lays down next to him. Then, wrapping his arms around the man that he loves and looking off into the distance, he let’s himself cry.