Yesterday's Feelings
Title: Yesterday's Feelings
Author: cynicsandsaints
Ryan/Brendon - PG13 - 1911 Words
Mostly inspired by this:
&
Back during the Nothing Rhymes with Circus tour, the question had always been, when is Brendon Urie going to kiss Ryan Ross? It was that routine they performed every night at a show, scripted and perfected down to every last touch and glance. The feeling of homoeroticism sort of lost its flare after awhile, and while the screams from the crowd never died down, for the band it became a regular cycle as opposed to the excitement of seeing the so close, yet so far. The fans loved the sexual tension; the so close, but not quite. For Ryan, and the rest of the band, while they never spoke of it, it was a mutual inquiry of when will it happen?
The actual answer to that question is: it never did.
Everyone had been so sure that on the last show of the tour, when Brendon sauntered up, reciting his speech, hand touching the back of Ryan's head, face leaning in...they'd all been so certain it would happen. That 'The Kiss' would occur. It had even been cleverly titled and capitalized. It was supposed to happen. Well, it never did and yes, Ryan had been a little disappointed. He hadn't really thought too much in to the meaning of it, but he had been living for nearly four months being led to believe something was going to happen and when it didn't, it was sort of let down. It wasn't necessarily a big deal but. He had prepared for it and everything and it just kind of. Sucked.
None of them had mentioned it afterward, either, but it definitely buzzed through their minds coming off stage that night. Why, had been burning on the tips of their tongues, but no one had asked, and Brendon had been the only one who seemed unaffected by the strangeness of the fact he hadn't gone through with The Kiss. Of course, Ryan reasoned, it was Brendon's choice and if he didn't feel comfortable or whatever, he didn't have to conform to what everyone expected. But still.
Everyone expected it with drama and flare, directly after a speech of passion and love and dreams. When they were young and boys without inhibitions, exploring this new lifestyle they had obtained. What nobody had expected was that The Kiss would happen years later, after they had settled into something comfortable, when they were sure of what they were doing. After they grew up a little bit.
- - -
Their stage shows are no longer scripted. They don't have dancers and flamboyant make up and costumes and dance breaks, no, not anymore. They grew up from that, they don't need any kind of in betweens to put on a whole sixty minute set. They have enough songs, two albums worth to be precise. They're more in touch with the music nowadays, too, solely focused on it, in fact. Their clothes, well, are more or less things they'd wear daily. It's different now, a lot different. They're sure of their footing, of where they stand, it's better. They're all happier. No stage tension and confusion and disappointment.
Not that Ryan never stopped watching Brendon when he thought no one was looking, though. And not that Spencer never caught him on more than one occasion until he pulled him aside, blue eyes serious and gentle, touch light where it rested on Ryan's shoulder.
"It's okay to want, you know," Spencer told him softly.
Ryan merely shrugged and easily stepped away from his best friend, expression carefully blank and replied, "I don't know what you're talking about," before walking away and not glancing back to see Spencer staring after him, mouth set in a grim line.
So, Ryan stands back and watches; watches Brendon sing and smile and laugh and put his whole damn heart into everything he does. Stands back and wonders, why?
- - -
Not once does he allow himself to believe that Brendon may just be watching him back.
- - -
The crowd that night is seriously awesome, they aren't too over the top, no one is crowd surfing and hurting themselves or others. They aren't moshing to music people clearly shouldn't mosh to. Ryan had never really understood the fans logic. Honestly, if people do that to gain attention, he thinks it's pretty stupid. But then again, it's been so long since he has been able to be in a crowd at a concert as a regular guy.
At the barrier there is a girl in a pink and green cardigan, at least, that's what Ryan thinks the colors are. She's smiling, hands clutching the bar tightly, singing the words back to him, to them, and Ryan grins back at her indulgently, inwardly laughing when the girl nudges her friend excitedly. He likes the fans that don't yell lewd things at him, or confess their love. Something he never really gets over is seeing all these people, nameless, faceless people, but still so many of them; he never gets over seeing them sing his words, his band's words, back at him, at them. Singing until their throats are raw and their lungs ached.
Despite the fact he doesn't really show it, it's exhilarating. He's grateful, really, and sometimes amazed. It's just a tough thing to show without feeling like you're leaving so many people out.
And yeah, their stage set up is different, but he and Brendon will drift to the center of the stage, and his breath will still catch in his throat when he sees Brendon grin at him, wide and blinding under the stage lights, eyes happy with something Ryan understands now. There aren't any scripted words, but their arms will brush if they lean too close when they're playing their guitars. The tension isn't as thick, they've found common ground, it isn't anything like before when they'd fight, struggle to find a place of agreement, but Ryan sometimes misses the physical aspect of that time. How Brendon would saunter over to him during a show, or wriggle into his bunk at night after a nightmare of a fight with his parents. They've spaced out, and while the feelings are better, more optimistic and sure, Ryan still wants. He still wants to touch Brendon, to memorize every part of him, even though he maybe shouldn't. He remembers the way Brendon's body would curve around his, on stage or in bed when they'd press together, he remembers, but he wants to experience instead.
He's watching the faces in the crowd, playing his parts almost on autopilot, when he hears the screams get louder, just like. Just like...Throat constricting, he glances over to his left, and sure enough, Brendon is swaggering towards him, expression predatory, much like it had been many years ago, parroting the script Ryan wrote, but Brendon's eyes are wide and full of simple glee and. Ryan doesn't back away, just meets Brendon's gaze as the younger presses up against him. It's a little disconcerting, Brendon can certainly be intimidating when he wants to be, and Ryan's fighting the urge to look over at Spencer, because he can feel his friend's eyes piercing into him. He resists though, and focuses on counting his breaths, which, surprisingly, aren't as uneven as he figured they'd be. The screams from the crowd though, he can barely hear them, they're completely dulled, white noise against the beat he's imagining as Brendon's fingers curl around his neck, tapping gently.
Brendon's close, so close, more than he's been in awhile, and Ryan can admit honestly to that. Despite the tactile behavior Brendon plays up during interviews, he isn't specifically limited to touching one person more than another. And he does stray off by himself, for his own time, though it may seem like he's an annoying, ever present constant that invades everyone's space. Now, though...now Ryan can almost believe he can pinpoint each exact centimeter of where his body is touching Brendon's. His breath is hot against the skin of Ryan's neck, hotter than the air outside, and Ryan mentally counts the beads of sweat that drip off Brendon's face and hair and land on his shirt. Jon's saying something now, he thinks, but he can't comprehend a word, not with Brendon nuzzling his jaw, and Jesus, he can feel Brendon's grin, wide and honest and open against his cheek, drifting lower. Lower until Brendon's lips are hovering above the corner of Ryan's mouth, and Ryan's mind is telling him to run, screaming, this, you fucker, this is where you step back, remember? This is where it stops and you slip away. Only...only his limbs are stuck, frozen and tight, and everything is hyper sensitized, skin tingling, prickling every time Brendon exhales and...
When Ryan inhales as Brendon touches his lips firmly to the edge of Ryan's mouth, it feels like the first time he's ever taken a breath, and fuck, that sounds like the worst line he's ever thought of, but he can't find anything else to describe it. It's. It's kind of like...a long time coming, finally, yes, and Ryan's bones liquefy and he has to remind himself to not just lean into Brendon and turn his head just a bit to touch their lips together. That would be too much of an admission, but the laugh Brendon huffs out against his ear after moving away sounds like an admission of his own, the sound echoing strangled and hopeful, and Ryan's quick to turn and look at Brendon after they ease apart. Brendon's backing away, slowly, carefully, everything about his body language is radiating guarded, and Ryan wants to reach back out and hold him close, but they still have a show to finish. Instead, he smiles, unrestrained and free, and he's thankful for the sunglasses that prevent anyone from being able too see too much of his vulnerability because this, this is only supposed to be for Brendon, if he'll take it. God, does he want him to take it.
It's nearly comical how quickly Brendon's posture loosens, and how the the grin he sends back is full of barely-masked affection. Ryan's grateful, so grateful, that's he's learned to read and understand Brendon over the years. They've grown up so much, it's so clear, and Ryan's glad he's learned what he has, glad he's let other people learn what they have about him, too. He's wanted this, Brendon, for such a long time, but it would have been different then, he knows this. Maybe it wouldn't have been bad, but it would have been different, and it would have been sharper, a more difficult trek. This can be easy, a simple thing he's sure they can just slip into, judging by how easily the past moment just happened, and the thought makes Ryan feel stupidly, amazingly alive.
- - -
After they say their last thank yous, and goodbyes, after they wave to the crowd; Brendon slips his arm around Ryan's shoulders, and Ryan returns the gesture, and they skip off stage, laughing and thrumming with the last of their energy. And when they're in the shadows backstage, tucked away from any onlookers or still lingering fans, Brendon fits himself up against Ryan's front, fingers curled around Ryan's shoulders, and Ryan slips his fingers into Brendon's back pockets as Brendon rocks onto his toes and tilts his head back, meeting Ryan halfway into a real kiss this time; simple, easy, and sweet.
Author's Notes: Comments are always nice, and I truly hope you enjoyed this run of the mill fic. <3
Author: cynicsandsaints
Ryan/Brendon - PG13 - 1911 Words
Mostly inspired by this:
&
Back during the Nothing Rhymes with Circus tour, the question had always been, when is Brendon Urie going to kiss Ryan Ross? It was that routine they performed every night at a show, scripted and perfected down to every last touch and glance. The feeling of homoeroticism sort of lost its flare after awhile, and while the screams from the crowd never died down, for the band it became a regular cycle as opposed to the excitement of seeing the so close, yet so far. The fans loved the sexual tension; the so close, but not quite. For Ryan, and the rest of the band, while they never spoke of it, it was a mutual inquiry of when will it happen?
The actual answer to that question is: it never did.
Everyone had been so sure that on the last show of the tour, when Brendon sauntered up, reciting his speech, hand touching the back of Ryan's head, face leaning in...they'd all been so certain it would happen. That 'The Kiss' would occur. It had even been cleverly titled and capitalized. It was supposed to happen. Well, it never did and yes, Ryan had been a little disappointed. He hadn't really thought too much in to the meaning of it, but he had been living for nearly four months being led to believe something was going to happen and when it didn't, it was sort of let down. It wasn't necessarily a big deal but. He had prepared for it and everything and it just kind of. Sucked.
None of them had mentioned it afterward, either, but it definitely buzzed through their minds coming off stage that night. Why, had been burning on the tips of their tongues, but no one had asked, and Brendon had been the only one who seemed unaffected by the strangeness of the fact he hadn't gone through with The Kiss. Of course, Ryan reasoned, it was Brendon's choice and if he didn't feel comfortable or whatever, he didn't have to conform to what everyone expected. But still.
Everyone expected it with drama and flare, directly after a speech of passion and love and dreams. When they were young and boys without inhibitions, exploring this new lifestyle they had obtained. What nobody had expected was that The Kiss would happen years later, after they had settled into something comfortable, when they were sure of what they were doing. After they grew up a little bit.
- - -
Their stage shows are no longer scripted. They don't have dancers and flamboyant make up and costumes and dance breaks, no, not anymore. They grew up from that, they don't need any kind of in betweens to put on a whole sixty minute set. They have enough songs, two albums worth to be precise. They're more in touch with the music nowadays, too, solely focused on it, in fact. Their clothes, well, are more or less things they'd wear daily. It's different now, a lot different. They're sure of their footing, of where they stand, it's better. They're all happier. No stage tension and confusion and disappointment.
Not that Ryan never stopped watching Brendon when he thought no one was looking, though. And not that Spencer never caught him on more than one occasion until he pulled him aside, blue eyes serious and gentle, touch light where it rested on Ryan's shoulder.
"It's okay to want, you know," Spencer told him softly.
Ryan merely shrugged and easily stepped away from his best friend, expression carefully blank and replied, "I don't know what you're talking about," before walking away and not glancing back to see Spencer staring after him, mouth set in a grim line.
So, Ryan stands back and watches; watches Brendon sing and smile and laugh and put his whole damn heart into everything he does. Stands back and wonders, why?
- - -
Not once does he allow himself to believe that Brendon may just be watching him back.
- - -
The crowd that night is seriously awesome, they aren't too over the top, no one is crowd surfing and hurting themselves or others. They aren't moshing to music people clearly shouldn't mosh to. Ryan had never really understood the fans logic. Honestly, if people do that to gain attention, he thinks it's pretty stupid. But then again, it's been so long since he has been able to be in a crowd at a concert as a regular guy.
At the barrier there is a girl in a pink and green cardigan, at least, that's what Ryan thinks the colors are. She's smiling, hands clutching the bar tightly, singing the words back to him, to them, and Ryan grins back at her indulgently, inwardly laughing when the girl nudges her friend excitedly. He likes the fans that don't yell lewd things at him, or confess their love. Something he never really gets over is seeing all these people, nameless, faceless people, but still so many of them; he never gets over seeing them sing his words, his band's words, back at him, at them. Singing until their throats are raw and their lungs ached.
Despite the fact he doesn't really show it, it's exhilarating. He's grateful, really, and sometimes amazed. It's just a tough thing to show without feeling like you're leaving so many people out.
And yeah, their stage set up is different, but he and Brendon will drift to the center of the stage, and his breath will still catch in his throat when he sees Brendon grin at him, wide and blinding under the stage lights, eyes happy with something Ryan understands now. There aren't any scripted words, but their arms will brush if they lean too close when they're playing their guitars. The tension isn't as thick, they've found common ground, it isn't anything like before when they'd fight, struggle to find a place of agreement, but Ryan sometimes misses the physical aspect of that time. How Brendon would saunter over to him during a show, or wriggle into his bunk at night after a nightmare of a fight with his parents. They've spaced out, and while the feelings are better, more optimistic and sure, Ryan still wants. He still wants to touch Brendon, to memorize every part of him, even though he maybe shouldn't. He remembers the way Brendon's body would curve around his, on stage or in bed when they'd press together, he remembers, but he wants to experience instead.
He's watching the faces in the crowd, playing his parts almost on autopilot, when he hears the screams get louder, just like. Just like...Throat constricting, he glances over to his left, and sure enough, Brendon is swaggering towards him, expression predatory, much like it had been many years ago, parroting the script Ryan wrote, but Brendon's eyes are wide and full of simple glee and. Ryan doesn't back away, just meets Brendon's gaze as the younger presses up against him. It's a little disconcerting, Brendon can certainly be intimidating when he wants to be, and Ryan's fighting the urge to look over at Spencer, because he can feel his friend's eyes piercing into him. He resists though, and focuses on counting his breaths, which, surprisingly, aren't as uneven as he figured they'd be. The screams from the crowd though, he can barely hear them, they're completely dulled, white noise against the beat he's imagining as Brendon's fingers curl around his neck, tapping gently.
Brendon's close, so close, more than he's been in awhile, and Ryan can admit honestly to that. Despite the tactile behavior Brendon plays up during interviews, he isn't specifically limited to touching one person more than another. And he does stray off by himself, for his own time, though it may seem like he's an annoying, ever present constant that invades everyone's space. Now, though...now Ryan can almost believe he can pinpoint each exact centimeter of where his body is touching Brendon's. His breath is hot against the skin of Ryan's neck, hotter than the air outside, and Ryan mentally counts the beads of sweat that drip off Brendon's face and hair and land on his shirt. Jon's saying something now, he thinks, but he can't comprehend a word, not with Brendon nuzzling his jaw, and Jesus, he can feel Brendon's grin, wide and honest and open against his cheek, drifting lower. Lower until Brendon's lips are hovering above the corner of Ryan's mouth, and Ryan's mind is telling him to run, screaming, this, you fucker, this is where you step back, remember? This is where it stops and you slip away. Only...only his limbs are stuck, frozen and tight, and everything is hyper sensitized, skin tingling, prickling every time Brendon exhales and...
When Ryan inhales as Brendon touches his lips firmly to the edge of Ryan's mouth, it feels like the first time he's ever taken a breath, and fuck, that sounds like the worst line he's ever thought of, but he can't find anything else to describe it. It's. It's kind of like...a long time coming, finally, yes, and Ryan's bones liquefy and he has to remind himself to not just lean into Brendon and turn his head just a bit to touch their lips together. That would be too much of an admission, but the laugh Brendon huffs out against his ear after moving away sounds like an admission of his own, the sound echoing strangled and hopeful, and Ryan's quick to turn and look at Brendon after they ease apart. Brendon's backing away, slowly, carefully, everything about his body language is radiating guarded, and Ryan wants to reach back out and hold him close, but they still have a show to finish. Instead, he smiles, unrestrained and free, and he's thankful for the sunglasses that prevent anyone from being able too see too much of his vulnerability because this, this is only supposed to be for Brendon, if he'll take it. God, does he want him to take it.
It's nearly comical how quickly Brendon's posture loosens, and how the the grin he sends back is full of barely-masked affection. Ryan's grateful, so grateful, that's he's learned to read and understand Brendon over the years. They've grown up so much, it's so clear, and Ryan's glad he's learned what he has, glad he's let other people learn what they have about him, too. He's wanted this, Brendon, for such a long time, but it would have been different then, he knows this. Maybe it wouldn't have been bad, but it would have been different, and it would have been sharper, a more difficult trek. This can be easy, a simple thing he's sure they can just slip into, judging by how easily the past moment just happened, and the thought makes Ryan feel stupidly, amazingly alive.
- - -
After they say their last thank yous, and goodbyes, after they wave to the crowd; Brendon slips his arm around Ryan's shoulders, and Ryan returns the gesture, and they skip off stage, laughing and thrumming with the last of their energy. And when they're in the shadows backstage, tucked away from any onlookers or still lingering fans, Brendon fits himself up against Ryan's front, fingers curled around Ryan's shoulders, and Ryan slips his fingers into Brendon's back pockets as Brendon rocks onto his toes and tilts his head back, meeting Ryan halfway into a real kiss this time; simple, easy, and sweet.
Author's Notes: Comments are always nice, and I truly hope you enjoyed this run of the mill fic. <3