Fic: Today's The Day I Go Up In Flames. Brendon/Ryan. NC-17.
More fanfiction, less with the cocaine, more with the fixing things and making them better! \o/ Told you this split would make me more prolific.
Title: Today's The Day I Go Up In Flames
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 5872
Summary: July 2009 canon and beyond. Brendon and Ryan try to stay away from each other and really, really fail at it.
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Beta: Thank you again, Jessa! <3
Note: Title from Epic Last Song.
A guy walks into a bar. Halfway through the door he almost loses his nerve, but he wants a drink. That's what he tells himself as he walks down the long flight of stairs, into the underground speakeasy throwback gimmicky Los Angeles whatever-it-is, lounge, club, glimmering dark and pretty excuse to take money from the pockets of well-dressed west-siders. It's ironic, Ryan thinks, that just being in a bar makes him need a drink.
Ryan bellies up to the bar, and Brendon turns to look at him. "Of all the gin joints in all the world," Brendon starts, but tapers off with a half-smile as Ryan looks back. He reaches for Ryan, fingertips skimming his cheek and then tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The touch lingers. "You need a haircut," he says.
"You need a -" Ryan starts, but actually Brendon looks pretty great. "You look fine," he allows.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Brendon says, and bumps his knee against Ryan's when Ryan takes the barstool next to him. When the bartender gets to them, she pushes over a beer and a French martini and Brendon hands her a few bills.
Ryan wants to get on his case about it, but Brendon is just a beer guy, it's fine, and anyway it was nice of him to order them both drinks. A few months ago it was a formality; even before that, a necessity. But now they don't need to be drunk to fuck, and they're getting to a dangerous point where they almost don't need to get together beforehand, the time an excuse for either of them to change their minds, to say no.
Ryan's not going to say no.
-
To be fair, he hadn't said no the first time either. Well, that particular first time. It wasn't makeup sex or breakup sex or post-breakup sex, although they'd had any and all variations on those themes. But Ryan thought it would be a little unwieldy, calling it post-breakup-so-bad-that-it-ruined-our-band sex, and anyway afterwards he tried to get so wasted that he couldn't remember what they'd done. It didn't work. It rarely did.
Pretending civility meant accepting Brendon's invitation to stop by at his 4th of July cookout, and Ryan's attempt to tell Spencer that he and Jon would be spending the day at Vicky T's was met with a glare so stony it was practically "rocks fall, everyone dies," in the form of a facial expression. So he said yes, they'd stop by, and no, he wouldn't be weird, and yes, Jon would bring the potato salad he made that Spencer loved. Appeased, Spencer let him get away with the promise of a cameo appearance.
He nearly lost his nerve when he and Jon got out of the car and Brendon was right there, laughing at something Shane said like there was nothing going on, like they weren't a few days away from officially announcing the end of their fucking band. It didn't help that Brendon saw them and then promptly pretended not to see them and headed back inside. Shane waved hello, wincing apologetically, and Ryan steeled himself. A cameo, that was it. He'd say hi to Spencer and maybe nod at Brendon across the room if Brendon deigned to acknowledge him, and chat with a few of their other mutual friends and then get the fuck out. It was a plan.
It was a plan that got derailed after twenty minutes of making the world's smallest talk with Shane. After the conversation descended to a fervent discussion on the weather in the Valley versus near the ocean, Shane went to go find Regan, and Ryan walked outside into the backyard and directly into Brendon and Brendon's plastic cup of beer that spilled all over his jacket.
"Fuck," Brendon said, wide-eyed. "Fuck, fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to - sorry." His hands hovered between them like he wanted to brush the beer off of Ryan while both realizing the futility of such a gesture and actually not wanting to touch Ryan at all. "Here, let me go rinse that off." He reached for Ryan again, but then thought better of it. Ryan rolled his eyes, but took his jacket off and handed it over.
Not really knowing why, he followed Brendon into the house, back into Brendon's room. "You can borrow one of my jackets, if you need to," Brendon said, taking Ryan's jacket into the master bathroom and rinsing the front of it. "Hopefully this won't stain." He patted at the jacket ineffectually. Ryan leaned in the doorway and watched him, arms folded. When Brendon looked up at him, he looked startled, like he'd just realized it was Ryan standing there.
"Hi," Ryan said.
"Uh, hey," said Brendon. He grabbed a stray hanger from near the clothes hamper and hung Ryan's jacket up on the shower curtain rod. "Sorry about your jacket."
Ryan shrugged. "It's fine."
"So." Brendon nodded. "How've you been?"
"Good," Ryan said.
"Oh." Brendon deflated a little. He came toward Ryan, expecting Ryan to back up and out of the doorway, but Ryan stayed where he was. "Really?"
"Yep," Ryan said.
Brendon's face darkened, and he pushed past Ryan, his shoulder brushing against Ryan's body. "Whatever," he muttered, and Ryan grabbed his arm. "What? What the fuck do you want?"
"How come you've been avoiding me?" Ryan asked.
"Are you fucking joking? Why do you think? You broke up with me after following me to LA, went on a two month long bender, and then resurfaced only to fight with me on every single thing to the point of breaking up our goddamn band," Brendon said, his voice rising. He jerked his arm out of Ryan's grip, but moved back into his space, crowded him in the doorway.
"Well, we were never really dating," said Ryan.
Brendon stared at him in disbelief. "Okay. Okay, fine. You're right. We weren't dating, you just cheated on your girlfriend with me for the entire two years you were together. How are you even such a dick? Do you know?"
Ryan hunched down into the doorway. "I'm telling the fans it was creative differences."
"Right. Well, creatively, you're a dick. I don't even know why I let Spencer convince me to invite you here, what a fucking mistake. Just go back to Jon and do whatever the hell is so important that it means we can't even work together anymore." He pushed against Ryan's chest, and Ryan forced himself forward into it, getting in Brendon's face, grabbing Brendon's wrists and pushing them against Brendon's own chest, meeting his glare. He hadn't expected Brendon to get it, but this was really something else; it was almost impressive how dense Brendon was, how little he understood Ryan even after all this time.
"We want different things," Ryan said. "We don't want to make the same music, we won't work. And I'm a fucking shitty boyfriend, Brendon, you know that. Fuck."
"I'd say you're just a shitty person at this point and call it even," Brendon said, but there was no joy in it or triumph. There was just a flush high in his cheeks and a trembling in his hands as Ryan cupped them in his own, remembering the times that he'd touched Brendon like this before, only softly, for the pleasure of it.
Even after everything, he still wanted Brendon, seeing Brendon like this still made his cock stir in his pants, made him think of Brendon under him, over him, next to him. Brendon struggled against him, and Ryan held on until Brendon swore at him and pushed him roughly away, hard enough that the back of his head hit the door frame, dizzying him for only a moment before he reached for Brendon again, getting a handful of his shirt and dragging him back.
Brendon stumbled into him, caught off balance, crying out as Ryan dug his fingers hard into Brendon's upper arms. "Why can't you just understand," Ryan ground out, and he knew he'd gone too far when Brendon shoved away from him but didn't try to leave again, ready to fight. Fine, Ryan would give him a fight.
"I understand that you don't fucking know a good thing when you have it, Ross," Brendon snarled, and pushed Ryan again. Ryan blindly pushed back, and then that was it, they were shoving each other, pushing hard enough to make Ryan's chestbones ache, hard enough to throw them both off balance. Brendon got two furious fistfuls of Ryan's shirt, getting up in Ryan's face as Ryan stumbled backward and got a good enough grip on Brendon's arm to drag them both down, colliding with the carpeted floor roughly enough to scrape Ryan's hip where his shirt had rucked up.
Barely a breath passed and Ryan was pitching himself on top of Brendon, getting Brendon's wrists in his hands and rolling them, trying to get Brendon on his back, trying to get him to concede. Ryan didn't really have time to think of exactly what he expected Brendon to concede to, though, before Brendon bucked his hips up and startled Ryan enough to get the upper hand.
Brendon rolled Ryan over onto his back, pinning Ryan's wrists to the floor and straddling Ryan's legs, knocking the breath right out of him. He stared down at Ryan, frozen there, panting and red-faced and still more angry than Ryan had seen him in a long time.
"Brendon," Ryan gasped, and leaned up; Brendon choked out a breath and met him halfway in a kiss.
Ryan got hard so fast it actually hurt a little, pushing up desperately against Brendon's weight as Brendon kissed him, hard and needy, his hands tensing around Ryan's wrists like he still needed to hold Ryan down, like Ryan was going anywhere. Ryan didn't want to go anywhere except for the bed, but the floor was fine too, anywhere with Brendon on top of him, kissing him fiercely until they both had to gasp for breath. Brendon ground down against him, as hard as Ryan in his jeans, and Ryan gasped and arched up and gave back as good as he got, panting against Brendon's mouth and moaning as Brendon pressed kisses to his jaw, full lips soft and warm and dragging over the flushed skin of his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
His fingers flexed, and Brendon released him, letting Ryan touch Brendon like he needed, getting handfuls of his shirt before he pushed lower, seeking the warm promise of Brendon's skin. Brendon was still sensitive in the same places, still shuddered when Ryan ran his thumbs over Brendon's hipbones, and jerked against him when Ryan pushed his fingers down the back of Brendon's jeans.
Brendon pulled back a little, and Ryan made an embarrassingly needy noise, grabbing back for him, but it wasn't a long absence; in a second, Brendon was wrapping his arms around Ryan's waist, hiking him up close so they could better thrust against each other. The friction was almost painful, rough with both of them still wearing pants, but it was perfect even like this. Somehow Brendon was always just what he wanted, just what he needed - but no, Ryan didn't want to think about that, not when Brendon's mouth was back on his, Brendon's tongue pushing in, not when he could scrape his teeth over Brendon's lower lip and hear him make that soft, wanting noise Ryan had always liked so much.
Ryan pressed his thumbs into the dimples above Brendon's ass, dragging his cock against Brendon's through their pants. Brendon gasped against his mouth and gracelessly shoved his hand down the back of Ryan's pants, sliding two fingers down the crack of Ryan's ass as Ryan surged up against him and spread as wide as could, his head thunking back against the floor as Brendon pressed his fingertips right up against Ryan's hole and rubbed there, one fingertip barely slipping in. Ryan cried out and came, cock jerking in his pants as Brendon huffed out a breath and took his hand away, only to scrabble at his own zipper.
Ryan was out of it in a post-orgasm haze long enough to miss Brendon getting his pants undone. He looked up at Brendon when he felt his shirt get pushed up, and had just long enough to see Brendon stroking himself hard and fast twice, thrice before he groaned and came hot and wet over his own fist and Ryan's bare stomach.
That wasn't very polite, Ryan thought absurdly. He rubbed his fingertips over the come on his stomach, smearing it in and looking at Brendon, who flushed and looked away. It occurred to Ryan that he had another party to get to, and that Jon was probably wondering where he was.
"Sorry," Brendon said. He ran a hand over Ryan's stomach, trying half-heartedly to clean up the mess but mostly just smearing it further.
"No you're not," Ryan said. He made to sit up, and Brendon moved back quickly enough that he overbalanced and landed on his ass. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him.
"Well, you're not either," Brendon muttered.
Ryan carefully adjusted himself in his pants, making a face at the stickiness. "What do I have to be sorry for?" he asked, and knew not even a second later that it was the dumbest thing he possibly could have said.
"Get out," Brendon said flatly.
"Fine!" Ryan said, much louder than was necessary or than he'd even meant to. So much for the fucking afterglow.
He slammed the door to Brendon's bathroom, because god knew he wasn't leaving without at least cleaning up kind of. After he'd done what he could about the come smeared on him, he abandoned his jacket as a lost, Heineken-scented cause. The bedroom was empty when he came out, and he stalked out into the backyard, where judging by the expression on Spencer's face he'd gotten some info from Brendon. Jon stood next to him, looking like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
"You dumbfuck," Spencer started.
"No," Ryan said. "Jon, let's go."
"Okay," said Jon, "let me just get the rest of my potato salad."
"Leave it," Spencer snarled.
"Okay!" Jon said again, holding up his hands in surrender. "Enjoy the rest of it!"
"Answer your fucking phone when I call you, Ryan!" Spencer shouted after them as Ryan strode away, Jon at his heels.
"Fine!" Ryan yelled back. He didn't turn around to look at Spencer. He didn't think he could stand it.
-
Ryan's man enough to drink a pink martini, which is good because French martinis are raspberry based. His other choice would have been absinthe shots, but he's not about to turn away a free pretty drink, especially not when the buyer is playing a mild game of footsie with him.
"So how'd the tour go?" Brendon asks, taking a swallow of his beer. Ryan watches his throat work. There's a spot on Brendon's neck, just beneath his jaw, that Ryan most likes to lick. Although maybe it's not the action Ryan likes so much as the way it makes Brendon go lax and pliant beneath him, soft all over except where it counts. Ryan likes to lick where it counts, too.
"Good," Ryan says, dragging his eyes away from the lickable parts of Brendon. He takes a sip of his martini, appreciating the cold sweetness. It's been warm out, for October. "We mostly did small clubs, got some good crowds. Older people, even, we played a few 21+ shows and actually had an audience. Although most of them still didn't recognize the Doors cover. How about yours?"
"Pretty well. Ian's really settling in, and it was nice to go out with Jack's Mannequin again. Familiar." Brendon fiddles with his beer bottle, twirling it on the bar. He doesn't look at Ryan. "It's still weird. You know."
"I know," Ryan says softly. "But the record's been selling pretty steadily, right? I bet Pete's happy."
"He is," Brendon says, just as quiet. "You should call him. He'd probably tell you himself."
"Yeah." Ryan sighs. He finishes his drink in two swallows, relishing the sweet burn as it goes down. "You wanna get out of here?"
"You don't want another drink?" Brendon asks, surprised.
"Nah," Ryan says. He looks at Brendon, head on. "Your place?"
"Yeah." Brendon nods, slowly like he expects Ryan to change his mind. "Yeah, my place is good."
-
The second time, it was at Ryan's house.
It should have been better, comforting to be in his own house, but instead he felt just as off-kilter as he had when Brendon told him to get out. He hadn't expected to see Brendon at his front door, and Brendon apparently hadn't expected to see him there either.
"Jon said you weren't here," Brendon said. He stood on Ryan's doorstep, and Ryan wanted desperately to be thinking anything other than fuck, he looks good, but he was drawing a blank. Fuck, Brendon looked good. He held up Ryan's jacket on a dry cleaner's hanger. "I got your jacket cleaned, I just wanted to drop it by." Brendon shifted back and forth. "Jon said you wouldn't be here."
"Yeah, you're avoiding me, I got that," Ryan snapped. He grabbed for his jacket, and Brendon drew back automatically, a glare sliding into place before it faded away. With a grudging expression, Brendon handed it over. "So, thanks."
"You're welcome." Brendon sighed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Sorry."
"For what?"
"Come on, Ryan."
"You come on," Ryan shot back. He inhaled, then exhaled heavily. "Do you want to come in?"
"Um, sure," Brendon said. He didn't sound like he meant it. Ryan stood aside anyway, and Brendon came in. "Is Jon here?"
"No, he and Eric are out somewhere, he probably forgot you were coming. I don't know where they are, they were gone when I got up."
"Oh." Brendon got to Ryan's living room and paused.
"Do you want tea or something?"
"No, I'm good," Brendon said. He still didn't sit down. Ryan looked at his back and thought about how Brendon looked naked, pale and lean, the long line of his spine and his round ass. Probably that wasn't the best line of thinking. Ryan thought about it anyway.
Brendon cleared his throat. "So how have you been?"
Ryan walked around him and sat on the couch. After a second, Brendon sat down at the other end. "Not great," Ryan said honestly.
"Yeah, the coke picture was awkwardly timed," Brendon said sympathetically; Ryan thought it might have been the first real emotion he'd seen from Brendon since he showed up.
"At least the naked photos of us never got out," Ryan said, then, "Oh god wow, I really didn't mean to bring those up, shit -"
"Yeah, I'm gonna go," Brendon said, standing back up. "I shouldn't have come over, next time I find something of yours I'll just mail it to you." He headed for the door, and Ryan sprang up after him.
"No, wait," Ryan insisted, following him.
Brendon whirled around and Ryan nearly ran into him, only stopped by Brendon's hands on his chest. "Don't, okay? This was a bad idea. We can't just be friends like nothing happened, it's stupid to act like we can. It's better if we just don't see each other, that's what you wanted, right?"
"No!" Ryan said. "Just - seeing each other less, it was just too much, Brendon, you know we can't -"
"Can't be together?" Brendon suggested. "Right, because you don't want to be. Can't be in a band, because you don't want to be. Can't be friends, because that's too much for you. Or we can only be friends how it makes sense in your fucked up head, right. Whatever."
"You can't just get rid of me because I wouldn't give you what you wanted!" Ryan shouted, finally losing it. How the fuck could Brendon still get to him like this, when the whole point in getting away from him had been to stop this shit from happening? It wasn't fucking fair, how much control Brendon still had over him, it really wasn't.
"Maybe it's not fucking up to you, Ryan!" Brendon shouted back. "Maybe you can decide what you do, but you can't make me decide what I do, alright! If I want to say fuck this, I can! So fuck you, Ryan! Okay! Fuck! You!"
Ryan saw red, and before he really knew what he was doing his hands were clutching the lapels of Brendon's jacket. He manhandled Brendon backwards until he had Brendon shoved up against the wall, out of breath and glaring at him, practically daring him to do something. "You'll never understand what it's like," Ryan bit off.
"You're right," Brendon said. "I'll never understand what it's like to be functionally psychotic. Get your hands off me."
"That's not what you want," Ryan said, only half sure of that. Brendon bit his lip, and Ryan wanted to do it for him. Ryan wanted to do a lot of things for him. "Stay still," he said.
"What?" Brendon asked.
"Just fucking do what I ask you to for once," Ryan said, and slid down to his knees.
Brendon was only half hard when Ryan got his jeans undone, but at least it was something, at least Ryan knew Brendon wasn't entirely unaffected. Brendon stared down at him like he couldn't quite believe Ryan had the nerve, and Ryan stared back up, getting his hand around Brendon's dick and stroking him. With their eyes locked, Ryan could only feel Brendon grow to full hardness in his hand. He parted his lips, darting his tongue out to wet them and brushing over the head of Brendon's cock in the process, and felt a victorious thrill as Brendon's hips jerked helplessly forward.
"This isn't going to fix anything," Brendon said, but he didn't stop Ryan from licking up the length of his cock, slow and wet. Ryan fit Brendon's cock into his mouth, as much as he could, and slid down the length of it, getting it wet.
Ryan pulled off, curling his fist around Brendon's cock and stroking, easier with it slick in his hand. "It's not supposed to," he said. "I just want to do it."
Brendon looked down at him like he didn't get that either, and Ryan thought he probably didn't; Brendon, who never had sex without a reason for it, whether it was because he wanted to try something, or because he wanted to prove something, or because he was in love. Brendon's wild rockstar phase had lasted approximately three groupies before he started to complain that sex was becoming meaningless. That had never bothered Ryan, in particular; all sex had to mean was that he got off and had a good time.
He'd teased Brendon about his preference for making love over fucking, but even right now, as he wished that he'd been able to make Brendon understand it wasn't always about something, he was secretly grateful he'd never manage to ruin that part of Brendon. He hoped no one ever did.
It startled Ryan a little when Brendon pushed forward into his fist with a thrust hard enough to bump the head of his cock against Ryan's mouth. "So do it," Brendon said. He smoothed his thumb over Ryan's forehead, then ran his fingers through Ryan's hair, the tender gesture at odds with his blunt words.
Ryan obeyed, taking Brendon's dick back into his mouth and sucking like he knew Brendon liked, tightly fisting the base of his cock while fitting the rest into his mouth and sucking hard. It was easier to do with his eyes closed, to just focus on the action of it, on doing what he needed to do to get Brendon off, but he wanted to look at Brendon, so he tilted his head back and kept his eyes open. He knew Brendon liked it like that, liked seeing Ryan on his knees, liked the way Ryan's eyes would water when he took a little too much. He couldn't blame Brendon, really; anytime he let Brendon have control it probably felt like a welcome change. It was so much easier for Brendon, giving it up like that, Ryan could never understand how it was so easy for him.
As Brendon watched, Ryan let his hands slide down Brendon's thighs, down and down until they were at his sides. Ryan tilted his head back just another fraction of an inch, the perfect angle to let Brendon fuck his mouth.
Then he put his hands behind his back, wrists together, and let Brendon have him.
"God, fuck, Ryan," Brendon said, and it sounded broken, his breath coming in pants as his thrusts got faster, not hard enough to choke Ryan but rough enough that Ryan was glad they'd done this before, so he could handle it. He kept his eyes on Brendon, curling his fingers into fists and doing his best to focus on breathing, on accepting each thrust and swallowing around it. He could feel his cheeks start to redden from the lack of oxygen, but he knew he could take this, goddammit, if Brendon wanted to give it to him he could fucking take it.
Ryan made a choked, helpless noise around Brendon's cock, and Brendon thrust forward, groaned and came down his throat.
Brendon's hands loosened in his hair, and Ryan pulled back enough to get in more air, swallowing around Brendon's dick, swallowing it all. He couldn't help but cough a little, greedily taking in oxygen until Brendon pulled back, his cock slipping from Ryan's mouth and letting Ryan breathe in.
"Fuck, fuck," Brendon whispered, his voice sounding as raw as Ryan's throat felt. Brendon dropped to his knees beside Ryan, and the suddenness of it made Ryan startle back, catching himself on his hands as Brendon moved into his space and kissed him hard, going immediately for Ryan's pants. Ryan kissed back, pushing his tongue into Brendon's mouth as Brendon got Ryan's dick out and curled his hand around it, stroking Ryan rough and fast, just how Ryan needed it as he grabbed Brendon's shoulders and hauled him close, as close as he could get.
Brendon bit Ryan's bottom lip, and Ryan gasped and came over Brendon's fist, hips jerking up as he dug his fingers into Brendon's shoulder blades. They were both panting by the time Brendon pulled back, on their knees on Ryan's hardwood floor, still mostly dressed except for undone trousers.
They stared at each other.
"God," Brendon said.
"Yeah," Ryan said.
-
When they get to Brendon's place, it's dark inside. Brendon doesn't turn on the lights, and they go straight to Brendon's bedroom, holding hands like foreplay, stroking each other's thumbs and threading their fingers together, tangled up like their bodies will be. Brendon pulls Ryan down onto the bed, and they land awkwardly, too many knees and elbows. Ryan accidentally jabs Brendon in the thigh, and they're not tipsy enough, he thinks, to be giggling like they are, but giggle they do, a giddiness almost foreign after all these years, after they've had each other like this so many times.
They kiss, short, glancing kisses, Brendon chasing Ryan's mouth as Ryan moves up the bed, trying to undress but failing under the dedicated onslaught of Brendon's hands. Each time is more comfortable than the last, and this time maybe even more than before they started meeting like this. Things have steadied, mellowed out, and that's translated to the way they are with each other. Spencer knows, and Jon knows, and it's been long enough that none of them expect a nuclear event if Brendon and Ryan stop again.
Mostly Ryan doesn't think they'll stop again, and that seems like an event in itself. Maybe next time he'll ask Brendon to just come over; it wouldn't hurt him to cut down on the drinking anyway.
If it was just fucking, Ryan thinks, there'd probably be less kissing involved. But instead every time they make out like teenagers - like they did back when they were teenagers, in fact. Brendon's got Ryan down on his back, and they've both stopped struggling with each other's clothes in favor of just kissing, long slow kisses now like they don't have anywhere to be. There's nowhere Ryan really wants to be but here, and that thought should frighten him. It doesn't. It just feels good.
Ryan sneaks a hand down Brendon's back and squeezes his ass, and Brendon makes a pleased noise against his mouth and rolls them over, Ryan letting the easy momentum carry him over top of Brendon. Once he's there, he smiles down at Brendon. "Hi," Ryan says.
"Hi," says Brendon. "Fuck me."
Ryan doesn't need much more encouragement than that, and apparently Brendon's just as eager. They fumble out of their clothes with varying degrees of finesse (Ryan would count his as greater, but he's biased), and then Ryan gets the lube and condoms and promptly drops them when he turns back to see Brendon naked and spread-eagled on the bed like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Which he no longer is - Ryan took care of that years ago - but it's a look that suits him, even when he bats his eyelashes coquettishly at Ryan and lifts his hips.
Ryan's still watching, so Brendon makes it a show, lifting his eyebrows and leering at Ryan as he touches himself. Ryan would laugh and play along, but it's actually really fucking hot, so he just appreciates the show as Brendon strokes himself, throwing his head back and moaning, exposing his pale throat and thrusting his hips up.
That's enough, then, Ryan needs to fuck him pretty much right now. Brendon wiggles his ass and gives Ryan a filthy look, and Ryan can't get between his legs fast enough. He smacks Brendon's thigh just to see the red mark it leaves, and Brendon moans extravagantly and reaches down to spread the cheeks of his ass.
"I'm going to come before I even get inside you if you keep doing that," Ryan warns him, voice low as he slicks his fingers up. Ryan knows it's no exaggeration, though, when Brendon groans at the feel of Ryan's fingers pushing at his hole, rubbing in slow circles before pushing in. Brendon can't help the noises he makes as Ryan's fingers slide up inside him, and it takes a lot for Ryan not to moan just as loud at the sight of Brendon's ass stretching around them, taking them in.
"Now, come on," Brendon pesters him. Ryan rolls his eyes and gives him a third finger anyway, thrusting them all in and out to stretch Brendon just a little better, because even if the hitch in Brendon's step the next day gives him a thrill, he still doesn't like hurting Brendon.
"Now please," Brendon says, like it was the lack of politeness slowing Ryan down, and Ryan grins and takes his fingers out, getting the condom on as Brendon squirms. He stills immediately when Ryan gets the head of his dick up against Brendon's hole, but starts pushing against him when Ryan takes a second too long to get inside.
"Eager," Ryan says, in no way complaining. Brendon nods, and Ryan pushes forward, giving him what he wants, thrusting in by inches as Brendon moans and settles, letting Ryan in.
Brendon's tight, he's always fucking tight no matter what, and it feels spectacular. Ryan could do this all the time, every day - but god, not today, not quite, he's not quite there yet. He wants to be, each time he's with Brendon he's a little more convinced that he can handle this, handle them. Not quite there yet, but almost. Almost.
"Yes," Brendon affirms. He curls his hand around Ryan's wrist, tugging him forward, and Ryan goes, kneeling between Brendon's spread legs and lifting Brendon enough for Brendon's legs to go around his waist. It's all him, then, all on him to make this good for Brendon. It's already good for him, the tight clench of Brendon's body around him as perfect as ever, something that's becoming dangerously necessary (again, again), and he thinks it never stopped being good for him, even when he couldn't acknowledge it.
Brendon takes each thrust, slow and deep like Ryan knows he likes it, and Ryan likes it that way too, likes watching Brendon writhe beneath him. Brendon's about as shameless as anyone he's fucked, moreso even, and Ryan loves that he has nothing to hide. Not like this, at least, and that's all Ryan can ask. Ryan speeds up, fucking Brendon faster and harder, and Brendon goes with it, arching up into each thrust and gasping in tandem with the slap of their skin, steady and hot and good.
It gets harder for Ryan to stay in control the closer he gets to coming, his thrusts growing rough and sloppy. He takes Brendon's cock in hand and starts to stroke him, and Brendon gasps out his name, his body tense and gorgeous under Ryan, face open and needy and beautiful and happy, and Ryan comes before he even knew he was about to get there. He keeps thrusting through it, determined to bring Brendon with him. When he bends Brendon in half and gets in close enough for a kiss, Brendon leans up to capture his mouth and comes, shaking.
It feels good.
It feels like something Ryan can't give up again.
-
The third time, they agreed to meet at a neutral place, somewhere that they couldn't argue too loudly, and definitely somewhere that they couldn't yell at each other until they got mad enough to fuck.
They got kicked out of California Pizza Kitchen after Ryan loudly accused Brendon of being an insensitive dickface and Brendon threatened to throw their plate of white bean hummus at Ryan's head.
In the parking lot, they fucked in Brendon's car.
-
It didn't fix anything then and it doesn't fix anything now.
Because there's nothing to fix. What's done is done, they can't go back and change it.
In the afterglow Ryan thinks to himself, though, that even though they can't change the past, at least they can move forward. They can have something new, something better. Maybe even something that has the good parts, without at least most of the bad.
Brendon slips his arm around Ryan's waist, nuzzling against the back of his neck. Ryan will stay the night; he's been staying the night the last few times. Brendon asked, and so he did, and now he does. Moving forward, new but still familiar.
"I've got," Ryan says, and swallows, pitches his voice lower. "I've got these lyrics."
"Yeah?" Brendon murmurs. His lips brush against the top of Ryan's spine, and Ryan shivers.
"I wrote them, but they don't work for me." Ryan closes his eyes, even though he and Brendon aren't facing each other. "I was thinking though. They might work for you. For your voice. If you want them."
Behind him, he hears Brendon's sharp inhale.
"If you want," Ryan says.
"Ryan," Brendon says, and Ryan holds his breath. "I'll want them," Brendon says, and Ryan exhales.
Title: Today's The Day I Go Up In Flames
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 5872
Summary: July 2009 canon and beyond. Brendon and Ryan try to stay away from each other and really, really fail at it.
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Beta: Thank you again, Jessa! <3
Note: Title from Epic Last Song.
A guy walks into a bar. Halfway through the door he almost loses his nerve, but he wants a drink. That's what he tells himself as he walks down the long flight of stairs, into the underground speakeasy throwback gimmicky Los Angeles whatever-it-is, lounge, club, glimmering dark and pretty excuse to take money from the pockets of well-dressed west-siders. It's ironic, Ryan thinks, that just being in a bar makes him need a drink.
Ryan bellies up to the bar, and Brendon turns to look at him. "Of all the gin joints in all the world," Brendon starts, but tapers off with a half-smile as Ryan looks back. He reaches for Ryan, fingertips skimming his cheek and then tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The touch lingers. "You need a haircut," he says.
"You need a -" Ryan starts, but actually Brendon looks pretty great. "You look fine," he allows.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Brendon says, and bumps his knee against Ryan's when Ryan takes the barstool next to him. When the bartender gets to them, she pushes over a beer and a French martini and Brendon hands her a few bills.
Ryan wants to get on his case about it, but Brendon is just a beer guy, it's fine, and anyway it was nice of him to order them both drinks. A few months ago it was a formality; even before that, a necessity. But now they don't need to be drunk to fuck, and they're getting to a dangerous point where they almost don't need to get together beforehand, the time an excuse for either of them to change their minds, to say no.
Ryan's not going to say no.
-
To be fair, he hadn't said no the first time either. Well, that particular first time. It wasn't makeup sex or breakup sex or post-breakup sex, although they'd had any and all variations on those themes. But Ryan thought it would be a little unwieldy, calling it post-breakup-so-bad-that-it-ruined-our-band sex, and anyway afterwards he tried to get so wasted that he couldn't remember what they'd done. It didn't work. It rarely did.
Pretending civility meant accepting Brendon's invitation to stop by at his 4th of July cookout, and Ryan's attempt to tell Spencer that he and Jon would be spending the day at Vicky T's was met with a glare so stony it was practically "rocks fall, everyone dies," in the form of a facial expression. So he said yes, they'd stop by, and no, he wouldn't be weird, and yes, Jon would bring the potato salad he made that Spencer loved. Appeased, Spencer let him get away with the promise of a cameo appearance.
He nearly lost his nerve when he and Jon got out of the car and Brendon was right there, laughing at something Shane said like there was nothing going on, like they weren't a few days away from officially announcing the end of their fucking band. It didn't help that Brendon saw them and then promptly pretended not to see them and headed back inside. Shane waved hello, wincing apologetically, and Ryan steeled himself. A cameo, that was it. He'd say hi to Spencer and maybe nod at Brendon across the room if Brendon deigned to acknowledge him, and chat with a few of their other mutual friends and then get the fuck out. It was a plan.
It was a plan that got derailed after twenty minutes of making the world's smallest talk with Shane. After the conversation descended to a fervent discussion on the weather in the Valley versus near the ocean, Shane went to go find Regan, and Ryan walked outside into the backyard and directly into Brendon and Brendon's plastic cup of beer that spilled all over his jacket.
"Fuck," Brendon said, wide-eyed. "Fuck, fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to - sorry." His hands hovered between them like he wanted to brush the beer off of Ryan while both realizing the futility of such a gesture and actually not wanting to touch Ryan at all. "Here, let me go rinse that off." He reached for Ryan again, but then thought better of it. Ryan rolled his eyes, but took his jacket off and handed it over.
Not really knowing why, he followed Brendon into the house, back into Brendon's room. "You can borrow one of my jackets, if you need to," Brendon said, taking Ryan's jacket into the master bathroom and rinsing the front of it. "Hopefully this won't stain." He patted at the jacket ineffectually. Ryan leaned in the doorway and watched him, arms folded. When Brendon looked up at him, he looked startled, like he'd just realized it was Ryan standing there.
"Hi," Ryan said.
"Uh, hey," said Brendon. He grabbed a stray hanger from near the clothes hamper and hung Ryan's jacket up on the shower curtain rod. "Sorry about your jacket."
Ryan shrugged. "It's fine."
"So." Brendon nodded. "How've you been?"
"Good," Ryan said.
"Oh." Brendon deflated a little. He came toward Ryan, expecting Ryan to back up and out of the doorway, but Ryan stayed where he was. "Really?"
"Yep," Ryan said.
Brendon's face darkened, and he pushed past Ryan, his shoulder brushing against Ryan's body. "Whatever," he muttered, and Ryan grabbed his arm. "What? What the fuck do you want?"
"How come you've been avoiding me?" Ryan asked.
"Are you fucking joking? Why do you think? You broke up with me after following me to LA, went on a two month long bender, and then resurfaced only to fight with me on every single thing to the point of breaking up our goddamn band," Brendon said, his voice rising. He jerked his arm out of Ryan's grip, but moved back into his space, crowded him in the doorway.
"Well, we were never really dating," said Ryan.
Brendon stared at him in disbelief. "Okay. Okay, fine. You're right. We weren't dating, you just cheated on your girlfriend with me for the entire two years you were together. How are you even such a dick? Do you know?"
Ryan hunched down into the doorway. "I'm telling the fans it was creative differences."
"Right. Well, creatively, you're a dick. I don't even know why I let Spencer convince me to invite you here, what a fucking mistake. Just go back to Jon and do whatever the hell is so important that it means we can't even work together anymore." He pushed against Ryan's chest, and Ryan forced himself forward into it, getting in Brendon's face, grabbing Brendon's wrists and pushing them against Brendon's own chest, meeting his glare. He hadn't expected Brendon to get it, but this was really something else; it was almost impressive how dense Brendon was, how little he understood Ryan even after all this time.
"We want different things," Ryan said. "We don't want to make the same music, we won't work. And I'm a fucking shitty boyfriend, Brendon, you know that. Fuck."
"I'd say you're just a shitty person at this point and call it even," Brendon said, but there was no joy in it or triumph. There was just a flush high in his cheeks and a trembling in his hands as Ryan cupped them in his own, remembering the times that he'd touched Brendon like this before, only softly, for the pleasure of it.
Even after everything, he still wanted Brendon, seeing Brendon like this still made his cock stir in his pants, made him think of Brendon under him, over him, next to him. Brendon struggled against him, and Ryan held on until Brendon swore at him and pushed him roughly away, hard enough that the back of his head hit the door frame, dizzying him for only a moment before he reached for Brendon again, getting a handful of his shirt and dragging him back.
Brendon stumbled into him, caught off balance, crying out as Ryan dug his fingers hard into Brendon's upper arms. "Why can't you just understand," Ryan ground out, and he knew he'd gone too far when Brendon shoved away from him but didn't try to leave again, ready to fight. Fine, Ryan would give him a fight.
"I understand that you don't fucking know a good thing when you have it, Ross," Brendon snarled, and pushed Ryan again. Ryan blindly pushed back, and then that was it, they were shoving each other, pushing hard enough to make Ryan's chestbones ache, hard enough to throw them both off balance. Brendon got two furious fistfuls of Ryan's shirt, getting up in Ryan's face as Ryan stumbled backward and got a good enough grip on Brendon's arm to drag them both down, colliding with the carpeted floor roughly enough to scrape Ryan's hip where his shirt had rucked up.
Barely a breath passed and Ryan was pitching himself on top of Brendon, getting Brendon's wrists in his hands and rolling them, trying to get Brendon on his back, trying to get him to concede. Ryan didn't really have time to think of exactly what he expected Brendon to concede to, though, before Brendon bucked his hips up and startled Ryan enough to get the upper hand.
Brendon rolled Ryan over onto his back, pinning Ryan's wrists to the floor and straddling Ryan's legs, knocking the breath right out of him. He stared down at Ryan, frozen there, panting and red-faced and still more angry than Ryan had seen him in a long time.
"Brendon," Ryan gasped, and leaned up; Brendon choked out a breath and met him halfway in a kiss.
Ryan got hard so fast it actually hurt a little, pushing up desperately against Brendon's weight as Brendon kissed him, hard and needy, his hands tensing around Ryan's wrists like he still needed to hold Ryan down, like Ryan was going anywhere. Ryan didn't want to go anywhere except for the bed, but the floor was fine too, anywhere with Brendon on top of him, kissing him fiercely until they both had to gasp for breath. Brendon ground down against him, as hard as Ryan in his jeans, and Ryan gasped and arched up and gave back as good as he got, panting against Brendon's mouth and moaning as Brendon pressed kisses to his jaw, full lips soft and warm and dragging over the flushed skin of his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
His fingers flexed, and Brendon released him, letting Ryan touch Brendon like he needed, getting handfuls of his shirt before he pushed lower, seeking the warm promise of Brendon's skin. Brendon was still sensitive in the same places, still shuddered when Ryan ran his thumbs over Brendon's hipbones, and jerked against him when Ryan pushed his fingers down the back of Brendon's jeans.
Brendon pulled back a little, and Ryan made an embarrassingly needy noise, grabbing back for him, but it wasn't a long absence; in a second, Brendon was wrapping his arms around Ryan's waist, hiking him up close so they could better thrust against each other. The friction was almost painful, rough with both of them still wearing pants, but it was perfect even like this. Somehow Brendon was always just what he wanted, just what he needed - but no, Ryan didn't want to think about that, not when Brendon's mouth was back on his, Brendon's tongue pushing in, not when he could scrape his teeth over Brendon's lower lip and hear him make that soft, wanting noise Ryan had always liked so much.
Ryan pressed his thumbs into the dimples above Brendon's ass, dragging his cock against Brendon's through their pants. Brendon gasped against his mouth and gracelessly shoved his hand down the back of Ryan's pants, sliding two fingers down the crack of Ryan's ass as Ryan surged up against him and spread as wide as could, his head thunking back against the floor as Brendon pressed his fingertips right up against Ryan's hole and rubbed there, one fingertip barely slipping in. Ryan cried out and came, cock jerking in his pants as Brendon huffed out a breath and took his hand away, only to scrabble at his own zipper.
Ryan was out of it in a post-orgasm haze long enough to miss Brendon getting his pants undone. He looked up at Brendon when he felt his shirt get pushed up, and had just long enough to see Brendon stroking himself hard and fast twice, thrice before he groaned and came hot and wet over his own fist and Ryan's bare stomach.
That wasn't very polite, Ryan thought absurdly. He rubbed his fingertips over the come on his stomach, smearing it in and looking at Brendon, who flushed and looked away. It occurred to Ryan that he had another party to get to, and that Jon was probably wondering where he was.
"Sorry," Brendon said. He ran a hand over Ryan's stomach, trying half-heartedly to clean up the mess but mostly just smearing it further.
"No you're not," Ryan said. He made to sit up, and Brendon moved back quickly enough that he overbalanced and landed on his ass. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him.
"Well, you're not either," Brendon muttered.
Ryan carefully adjusted himself in his pants, making a face at the stickiness. "What do I have to be sorry for?" he asked, and knew not even a second later that it was the dumbest thing he possibly could have said.
"Get out," Brendon said flatly.
"Fine!" Ryan said, much louder than was necessary or than he'd even meant to. So much for the fucking afterglow.
He slammed the door to Brendon's bathroom, because god knew he wasn't leaving without at least cleaning up kind of. After he'd done what he could about the come smeared on him, he abandoned his jacket as a lost, Heineken-scented cause. The bedroom was empty when he came out, and he stalked out into the backyard, where judging by the expression on Spencer's face he'd gotten some info from Brendon. Jon stood next to him, looking like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
"You dumbfuck," Spencer started.
"No," Ryan said. "Jon, let's go."
"Okay," said Jon, "let me just get the rest of my potato salad."
"Leave it," Spencer snarled.
"Okay!" Jon said again, holding up his hands in surrender. "Enjoy the rest of it!"
"Answer your fucking phone when I call you, Ryan!" Spencer shouted after them as Ryan strode away, Jon at his heels.
"Fine!" Ryan yelled back. He didn't turn around to look at Spencer. He didn't think he could stand it.
-
Ryan's man enough to drink a pink martini, which is good because French martinis are raspberry based. His other choice would have been absinthe shots, but he's not about to turn away a free pretty drink, especially not when the buyer is playing a mild game of footsie with him.
"So how'd the tour go?" Brendon asks, taking a swallow of his beer. Ryan watches his throat work. There's a spot on Brendon's neck, just beneath his jaw, that Ryan most likes to lick. Although maybe it's not the action Ryan likes so much as the way it makes Brendon go lax and pliant beneath him, soft all over except where it counts. Ryan likes to lick where it counts, too.
"Good," Ryan says, dragging his eyes away from the lickable parts of Brendon. He takes a sip of his martini, appreciating the cold sweetness. It's been warm out, for October. "We mostly did small clubs, got some good crowds. Older people, even, we played a few 21+ shows and actually had an audience. Although most of them still didn't recognize the Doors cover. How about yours?"
"Pretty well. Ian's really settling in, and it was nice to go out with Jack's Mannequin again. Familiar." Brendon fiddles with his beer bottle, twirling it on the bar. He doesn't look at Ryan. "It's still weird. You know."
"I know," Ryan says softly. "But the record's been selling pretty steadily, right? I bet Pete's happy."
"He is," Brendon says, just as quiet. "You should call him. He'd probably tell you himself."
"Yeah." Ryan sighs. He finishes his drink in two swallows, relishing the sweet burn as it goes down. "You wanna get out of here?"
"You don't want another drink?" Brendon asks, surprised.
"Nah," Ryan says. He looks at Brendon, head on. "Your place?"
"Yeah." Brendon nods, slowly like he expects Ryan to change his mind. "Yeah, my place is good."
-
The second time, it was at Ryan's house.
It should have been better, comforting to be in his own house, but instead he felt just as off-kilter as he had when Brendon told him to get out. He hadn't expected to see Brendon at his front door, and Brendon apparently hadn't expected to see him there either.
"Jon said you weren't here," Brendon said. He stood on Ryan's doorstep, and Ryan wanted desperately to be thinking anything other than fuck, he looks good, but he was drawing a blank. Fuck, Brendon looked good. He held up Ryan's jacket on a dry cleaner's hanger. "I got your jacket cleaned, I just wanted to drop it by." Brendon shifted back and forth. "Jon said you wouldn't be here."
"Yeah, you're avoiding me, I got that," Ryan snapped. He grabbed for his jacket, and Brendon drew back automatically, a glare sliding into place before it faded away. With a grudging expression, Brendon handed it over. "So, thanks."
"You're welcome." Brendon sighed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Sorry."
"For what?"
"Come on, Ryan."
"You come on," Ryan shot back. He inhaled, then exhaled heavily. "Do you want to come in?"
"Um, sure," Brendon said. He didn't sound like he meant it. Ryan stood aside anyway, and Brendon came in. "Is Jon here?"
"No, he and Eric are out somewhere, he probably forgot you were coming. I don't know where they are, they were gone when I got up."
"Oh." Brendon got to Ryan's living room and paused.
"Do you want tea or something?"
"No, I'm good," Brendon said. He still didn't sit down. Ryan looked at his back and thought about how Brendon looked naked, pale and lean, the long line of his spine and his round ass. Probably that wasn't the best line of thinking. Ryan thought about it anyway.
Brendon cleared his throat. "So how have you been?"
Ryan walked around him and sat on the couch. After a second, Brendon sat down at the other end. "Not great," Ryan said honestly.
"Yeah, the coke picture was awkwardly timed," Brendon said sympathetically; Ryan thought it might have been the first real emotion he'd seen from Brendon since he showed up.
"At least the naked photos of us never got out," Ryan said, then, "Oh god wow, I really didn't mean to bring those up, shit -"
"Yeah, I'm gonna go," Brendon said, standing back up. "I shouldn't have come over, next time I find something of yours I'll just mail it to you." He headed for the door, and Ryan sprang up after him.
"No, wait," Ryan insisted, following him.
Brendon whirled around and Ryan nearly ran into him, only stopped by Brendon's hands on his chest. "Don't, okay? This was a bad idea. We can't just be friends like nothing happened, it's stupid to act like we can. It's better if we just don't see each other, that's what you wanted, right?"
"No!" Ryan said. "Just - seeing each other less, it was just too much, Brendon, you know we can't -"
"Can't be together?" Brendon suggested. "Right, because you don't want to be. Can't be in a band, because you don't want to be. Can't be friends, because that's too much for you. Or we can only be friends how it makes sense in your fucked up head, right. Whatever."
"You can't just get rid of me because I wouldn't give you what you wanted!" Ryan shouted, finally losing it. How the fuck could Brendon still get to him like this, when the whole point in getting away from him had been to stop this shit from happening? It wasn't fucking fair, how much control Brendon still had over him, it really wasn't.
"Maybe it's not fucking up to you, Ryan!" Brendon shouted back. "Maybe you can decide what you do, but you can't make me decide what I do, alright! If I want to say fuck this, I can! So fuck you, Ryan! Okay! Fuck! You!"
Ryan saw red, and before he really knew what he was doing his hands were clutching the lapels of Brendon's jacket. He manhandled Brendon backwards until he had Brendon shoved up against the wall, out of breath and glaring at him, practically daring him to do something. "You'll never understand what it's like," Ryan bit off.
"You're right," Brendon said. "I'll never understand what it's like to be functionally psychotic. Get your hands off me."
"That's not what you want," Ryan said, only half sure of that. Brendon bit his lip, and Ryan wanted to do it for him. Ryan wanted to do a lot of things for him. "Stay still," he said.
"What?" Brendon asked.
"Just fucking do what I ask you to for once," Ryan said, and slid down to his knees.
Brendon was only half hard when Ryan got his jeans undone, but at least it was something, at least Ryan knew Brendon wasn't entirely unaffected. Brendon stared down at him like he couldn't quite believe Ryan had the nerve, and Ryan stared back up, getting his hand around Brendon's dick and stroking him. With their eyes locked, Ryan could only feel Brendon grow to full hardness in his hand. He parted his lips, darting his tongue out to wet them and brushing over the head of Brendon's cock in the process, and felt a victorious thrill as Brendon's hips jerked helplessly forward.
"This isn't going to fix anything," Brendon said, but he didn't stop Ryan from licking up the length of his cock, slow and wet. Ryan fit Brendon's cock into his mouth, as much as he could, and slid down the length of it, getting it wet.
Ryan pulled off, curling his fist around Brendon's cock and stroking, easier with it slick in his hand. "It's not supposed to," he said. "I just want to do it."
Brendon looked down at him like he didn't get that either, and Ryan thought he probably didn't; Brendon, who never had sex without a reason for it, whether it was because he wanted to try something, or because he wanted to prove something, or because he was in love. Brendon's wild rockstar phase had lasted approximately three groupies before he started to complain that sex was becoming meaningless. That had never bothered Ryan, in particular; all sex had to mean was that he got off and had a good time.
He'd teased Brendon about his preference for making love over fucking, but even right now, as he wished that he'd been able to make Brendon understand it wasn't always about something, he was secretly grateful he'd never manage to ruin that part of Brendon. He hoped no one ever did.
It startled Ryan a little when Brendon pushed forward into his fist with a thrust hard enough to bump the head of his cock against Ryan's mouth. "So do it," Brendon said. He smoothed his thumb over Ryan's forehead, then ran his fingers through Ryan's hair, the tender gesture at odds with his blunt words.
Ryan obeyed, taking Brendon's dick back into his mouth and sucking like he knew Brendon liked, tightly fisting the base of his cock while fitting the rest into his mouth and sucking hard. It was easier to do with his eyes closed, to just focus on the action of it, on doing what he needed to do to get Brendon off, but he wanted to look at Brendon, so he tilted his head back and kept his eyes open. He knew Brendon liked it like that, liked seeing Ryan on his knees, liked the way Ryan's eyes would water when he took a little too much. He couldn't blame Brendon, really; anytime he let Brendon have control it probably felt like a welcome change. It was so much easier for Brendon, giving it up like that, Ryan could never understand how it was so easy for him.
As Brendon watched, Ryan let his hands slide down Brendon's thighs, down and down until they were at his sides. Ryan tilted his head back just another fraction of an inch, the perfect angle to let Brendon fuck his mouth.
Then he put his hands behind his back, wrists together, and let Brendon have him.
"God, fuck, Ryan," Brendon said, and it sounded broken, his breath coming in pants as his thrusts got faster, not hard enough to choke Ryan but rough enough that Ryan was glad they'd done this before, so he could handle it. He kept his eyes on Brendon, curling his fingers into fists and doing his best to focus on breathing, on accepting each thrust and swallowing around it. He could feel his cheeks start to redden from the lack of oxygen, but he knew he could take this, goddammit, if Brendon wanted to give it to him he could fucking take it.
Ryan made a choked, helpless noise around Brendon's cock, and Brendon thrust forward, groaned and came down his throat.
Brendon's hands loosened in his hair, and Ryan pulled back enough to get in more air, swallowing around Brendon's dick, swallowing it all. He couldn't help but cough a little, greedily taking in oxygen until Brendon pulled back, his cock slipping from Ryan's mouth and letting Ryan breathe in.
"Fuck, fuck," Brendon whispered, his voice sounding as raw as Ryan's throat felt. Brendon dropped to his knees beside Ryan, and the suddenness of it made Ryan startle back, catching himself on his hands as Brendon moved into his space and kissed him hard, going immediately for Ryan's pants. Ryan kissed back, pushing his tongue into Brendon's mouth as Brendon got Ryan's dick out and curled his hand around it, stroking Ryan rough and fast, just how Ryan needed it as he grabbed Brendon's shoulders and hauled him close, as close as he could get.
Brendon bit Ryan's bottom lip, and Ryan gasped and came over Brendon's fist, hips jerking up as he dug his fingers into Brendon's shoulder blades. They were both panting by the time Brendon pulled back, on their knees on Ryan's hardwood floor, still mostly dressed except for undone trousers.
They stared at each other.
"God," Brendon said.
"Yeah," Ryan said.
-
When they get to Brendon's place, it's dark inside. Brendon doesn't turn on the lights, and they go straight to Brendon's bedroom, holding hands like foreplay, stroking each other's thumbs and threading their fingers together, tangled up like their bodies will be. Brendon pulls Ryan down onto the bed, and they land awkwardly, too many knees and elbows. Ryan accidentally jabs Brendon in the thigh, and they're not tipsy enough, he thinks, to be giggling like they are, but giggle they do, a giddiness almost foreign after all these years, after they've had each other like this so many times.
They kiss, short, glancing kisses, Brendon chasing Ryan's mouth as Ryan moves up the bed, trying to undress but failing under the dedicated onslaught of Brendon's hands. Each time is more comfortable than the last, and this time maybe even more than before they started meeting like this. Things have steadied, mellowed out, and that's translated to the way they are with each other. Spencer knows, and Jon knows, and it's been long enough that none of them expect a nuclear event if Brendon and Ryan stop again.
Mostly Ryan doesn't think they'll stop again, and that seems like an event in itself. Maybe next time he'll ask Brendon to just come over; it wouldn't hurt him to cut down on the drinking anyway.
If it was just fucking, Ryan thinks, there'd probably be less kissing involved. But instead every time they make out like teenagers - like they did back when they were teenagers, in fact. Brendon's got Ryan down on his back, and they've both stopped struggling with each other's clothes in favor of just kissing, long slow kisses now like they don't have anywhere to be. There's nowhere Ryan really wants to be but here, and that thought should frighten him. It doesn't. It just feels good.
Ryan sneaks a hand down Brendon's back and squeezes his ass, and Brendon makes a pleased noise against his mouth and rolls them over, Ryan letting the easy momentum carry him over top of Brendon. Once he's there, he smiles down at Brendon. "Hi," Ryan says.
"Hi," says Brendon. "Fuck me."
Ryan doesn't need much more encouragement than that, and apparently Brendon's just as eager. They fumble out of their clothes with varying degrees of finesse (Ryan would count his as greater, but he's biased), and then Ryan gets the lube and condoms and promptly drops them when he turns back to see Brendon naked and spread-eagled on the bed like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Which he no longer is - Ryan took care of that years ago - but it's a look that suits him, even when he bats his eyelashes coquettishly at Ryan and lifts his hips.
Ryan's still watching, so Brendon makes it a show, lifting his eyebrows and leering at Ryan as he touches himself. Ryan would laugh and play along, but it's actually really fucking hot, so he just appreciates the show as Brendon strokes himself, throwing his head back and moaning, exposing his pale throat and thrusting his hips up.
That's enough, then, Ryan needs to fuck him pretty much right now. Brendon wiggles his ass and gives Ryan a filthy look, and Ryan can't get between his legs fast enough. He smacks Brendon's thigh just to see the red mark it leaves, and Brendon moans extravagantly and reaches down to spread the cheeks of his ass.
"I'm going to come before I even get inside you if you keep doing that," Ryan warns him, voice low as he slicks his fingers up. Ryan knows it's no exaggeration, though, when Brendon groans at the feel of Ryan's fingers pushing at his hole, rubbing in slow circles before pushing in. Brendon can't help the noises he makes as Ryan's fingers slide up inside him, and it takes a lot for Ryan not to moan just as loud at the sight of Brendon's ass stretching around them, taking them in.
"Now, come on," Brendon pesters him. Ryan rolls his eyes and gives him a third finger anyway, thrusting them all in and out to stretch Brendon just a little better, because even if the hitch in Brendon's step the next day gives him a thrill, he still doesn't like hurting Brendon.
"Now please," Brendon says, like it was the lack of politeness slowing Ryan down, and Ryan grins and takes his fingers out, getting the condom on as Brendon squirms. He stills immediately when Ryan gets the head of his dick up against Brendon's hole, but starts pushing against him when Ryan takes a second too long to get inside.
"Eager," Ryan says, in no way complaining. Brendon nods, and Ryan pushes forward, giving him what he wants, thrusting in by inches as Brendon moans and settles, letting Ryan in.
Brendon's tight, he's always fucking tight no matter what, and it feels spectacular. Ryan could do this all the time, every day - but god, not today, not quite, he's not quite there yet. He wants to be, each time he's with Brendon he's a little more convinced that he can handle this, handle them. Not quite there yet, but almost. Almost.
"Yes," Brendon affirms. He curls his hand around Ryan's wrist, tugging him forward, and Ryan goes, kneeling between Brendon's spread legs and lifting Brendon enough for Brendon's legs to go around his waist. It's all him, then, all on him to make this good for Brendon. It's already good for him, the tight clench of Brendon's body around him as perfect as ever, something that's becoming dangerously necessary (again, again), and he thinks it never stopped being good for him, even when he couldn't acknowledge it.
Brendon takes each thrust, slow and deep like Ryan knows he likes it, and Ryan likes it that way too, likes watching Brendon writhe beneath him. Brendon's about as shameless as anyone he's fucked, moreso even, and Ryan loves that he has nothing to hide. Not like this, at least, and that's all Ryan can ask. Ryan speeds up, fucking Brendon faster and harder, and Brendon goes with it, arching up into each thrust and gasping in tandem with the slap of their skin, steady and hot and good.
It gets harder for Ryan to stay in control the closer he gets to coming, his thrusts growing rough and sloppy. He takes Brendon's cock in hand and starts to stroke him, and Brendon gasps out his name, his body tense and gorgeous under Ryan, face open and needy and beautiful and happy, and Ryan comes before he even knew he was about to get there. He keeps thrusting through it, determined to bring Brendon with him. When he bends Brendon in half and gets in close enough for a kiss, Brendon leans up to capture his mouth and comes, shaking.
It feels good.
It feels like something Ryan can't give up again.
-
The third time, they agreed to meet at a neutral place, somewhere that they couldn't argue too loudly, and definitely somewhere that they couldn't yell at each other until they got mad enough to fuck.
They got kicked out of California Pizza Kitchen after Ryan loudly accused Brendon of being an insensitive dickface and Brendon threatened to throw their plate of white bean hummus at Ryan's head.
In the parking lot, they fucked in Brendon's car.
-
It didn't fix anything then and it doesn't fix anything now.
Because there's nothing to fix. What's done is done, they can't go back and change it.
In the afterglow Ryan thinks to himself, though, that even though they can't change the past, at least they can move forward. They can have something new, something better. Maybe even something that has the good parts, without at least most of the bad.
Brendon slips his arm around Ryan's waist, nuzzling against the back of his neck. Ryan will stay the night; he's been staying the night the last few times. Brendon asked, and so he did, and now he does. Moving forward, new but still familiar.
"I've got," Ryan says, and swallows, pitches his voice lower. "I've got these lyrics."
"Yeah?" Brendon murmurs. His lips brush against the top of Ryan's spine, and Ryan shivers.
"I wrote them, but they don't work for me." Ryan closes his eyes, even though he and Brendon aren't facing each other. "I was thinking though. They might work for you. For your voice. If you want them."
Behind him, he hears Brendon's sharp inhale.
"If you want," Ryan says.
"Ryan," Brendon says, and Ryan holds his breath. "I'll want them," Brendon says, and Ryan exhales.