don't you know that i belong arm and arm with you, baby
don’t you know that i belong arm and arm with you, baby
ryan ross/brendon urie | 14a | 6,200 words
in which, brendon is off embracing his sexuality, and ryan is not jealous and certainly not in love with him.
this was set in 2006 with no exact tour in mind. thanks to ssuukkii for forcing me to finish this (even though she's disappointed with the lack of angst), and clairejw for fixing my mistakes. title taken from regina spektor.
So, Brendon’s gay.
But it’s not that Ryan like, cares or anything. He’s really not even surprised for that matter - after all, Brendon is really gay. He’s always singing Cher and Madonna, and wears these really ridiculous purple and pink sweaters with these really, really tight jeans. (“Like you should talk,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes and flipping a page in his magazine. Yeah, so maybe Ryan sometimes wears makeup and clothes that other men might find questionable, but it’s called expressing his individuality. Plus, Spencer was wearing a unicorn shirt at the time, so his argument was invalid.)
(That, and Brendon’s just gay.)
Really, Ryan doesn’t care, but the last time he checked, being gay doesn’t involve making out with anyone who so much as says his name in the right octave. And then telling the entire band about it after. He’s all for Brendon being as queer as he wants to be, but that doesn’t mean Ryan wants to hear about it.
“My entire face feels like it’s on fire. I’ve never kissed a guy with a beard before. Is my face red? Do I have a beard burn?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a hand across his chin, as if Ryan needs clarification. He doesn’t. “I feel like I do. It really fucking hurts, man.” He pulls his iPod from his hoody pocket, angling it in different directions to try to catch his reflection. Apparently, it’s unsuccessful because Brendon shoots an eyebrow at him over the bright pink device. “Well, do I?”
“No, Brendon, your face is fine.”
He smiles, satisfied, and slips his iPod back into his pocket. “He was a good kisser though,” he reflects. He drags his fork through his scrambled eggs with a slightly blissful gleam in his eyes. “And hot. Very hot.”
Ryan rolls his eyes, and lathers more syrup onto his blueberry pancakes. Brendon leans forward in the booth, elbows supporting him on the granite table. He opens his mouth so wide that Ryan can almost count every tonsil. Ryan stares back, unblinking.
“Ryaaaaan.” He pouts. Large, pleading eyes, much like the ones Shotgun used to give him, blink back at him. “Just a little piece, Ry. Pleaaase?”
“You should’ve gotten your own pancakes,” Ryan grumbles. In reluctance, he cuts off a piece of pancake, and holds it out for Brendon to take.
Beaming, he moves forward the rest of the way and wraps his exceedingly large mouth around Ryan’s fork. He collapses back into the cushy booth, chewing happily. “Mm, delicious,” he says through a mouthful of dough and sugar.
Ryan wrinkles his nose and reaches for his cup of coffee. Their bus is in view of where they sit next to the window, and Ryan feels a bout of jealousy as he thinks of Jon and Spencer still asleep inside. That’s exactly what he would’ve been doing as well, if it weren’t for Brendon throwing himself on him at ass o’clock in the morning singing Daydream Believer at an excruciatingly loud level. In the next booth over, Zack and a few of the crew members sit, their loud voices carrying over the small diner. (“No, Ry, come sit with me over here,” Brendon protested, tugging Ryan away from the rest of the group. “Let’s just hang out the two of us. It’ll be like a date.” Ryan rolled his eyes, and followed).
“So, like,” Brendon shifts, eyes drifting upwards. He takes his lip between his teeth, forehead contorted as if he’s considering something important. Ryan braces himself. With Brendon, he’s learned this is never a good look. “Okay, well, you know how I only kiss? Well, like, I was thinking that maybe I’m ready for other things, you know? Like the kissing is fun, of course. Okay, really fucking fun.” He pauses, allowing a pleased smile to stretch across his lips.
Ryan stares at him over his mug, deadpanned. It’s too early for this. Way too early. On second thought, maybe it’s never a good time for this.
“But, yeah, so what do you think? Like, you know. I think I’d be pretty good at blowjobs. I mean, I think I have the mouth for it, right? What do you think? You think I have a good blowjob mouth?” He purses them together, and then apart, demonstrating.
Ryan splutters on his coffee. Brendon’s face stares back at him, eager and unblinking. Slowly, Ryan lowers his mug until it hit’s the table with a firm clunk. “Did you seriously just ask me if you have a good blowjob mouth?” he asks, very carefully.
Brendon nods, seemingly unfazed. “I’m just asking because it’s not like I’ve had an abundance of them or anything - ” Two, in fact - “and it’s not like I’ve ever give one before, so I’m just like, wondering. I don’t want to suck or anything.”
For one solid minute, Ryan considers getting up and walking away. But then Brendon’s looking back at him with his serious face, and Ryan can’t ignore that. Nine times out of ten, Brendon and serious don’t walk hand in hand.
Tightening his grip on his mug, Ryan says nothing for a long while. What exactly is he supposed to say? Despite how weird their friendship may be, somehow, a straight man telling his very gay best friend that he has a good cock-sucking mouth just doesn’t seem right.
“I think that you’d… do… fine…” is what he ends with before chugging back the rest of his coffee and signals the waitress for more.
He breaks out into a grin. “Really? You think so?”
“Sure.” Ryan coughs, lowering his hand once the waitress notices him. “Now, let’s never speak of this again.”
Brendon nods. He sinks down into the booth, pretending to zip and lock his lips like a child would. Underneath the table, his feet land on Ryan’s lap. He eyes Ryan’s plate, still half full, and then asks, “Hey, so, you know, could I have that?”
Ryan rolls his eyes, and pushes it across the table towards him.
*
So, maybe like, hypothetically, if Ryan were to pay attention to those kinds of things, maybe Brendon might kind of have a good blowjob mouth.
That’s purely hypothetical though, of course.
*
At a club in Toronto, Brendon tricks Ryan into dancing with him. (“You promised, Ross!” he insisted as he practically pulled Ryan onto the dance floor. “You promised the next time we went to a club that you’d dance with me. You have to! You can’t back down on a promise. You pinky-swore!” He was right, Ryan did pinky-swear. Unfortunately.)
However, it’s not so much dancing as Ryan awkwardly shifting from side to side while Brendon dances graceful circles around him. Brendon laughs, hips moving rhythmically. He hooks a hand around Ryan’s bicep. “Lighten up,” he says, close enough for Ryan to hear over the loud pitch of the bass.
Ryan stops moving entirely, and very pointedly glares.
Laughing, Brendon wraps his arms around Ryan’s neck, forcing them both to sway like awkward preteens at their first dance. Around them, people are jumping around, pumping their fists, and grinding together until it looks like they should be somewhere horizontal instead of the middle of a dance floor. Ryan pulls his eyes away, and focuses on Brendon, hands resting on his hips.
It’s a fast song, one of those irritatingly catchy songs that Ryan knows all the words to even though he couldn’t tell you how, and it makes their already awkward form of slow-dancing so much worse. However, Brendon doesn’t seem to care, so Ryan decides not to either. At least this way, they can look like idiots together. He can practically hear Jon and Spencer laughing at him from across the club.
For the first few songs, Brendon jokes around, telling Ryan he might as well be dancing with a wall, but then his attention falls elsewhere, eyes diverted over his shoulder. Ryan knows that look; the loose smile, the heavy look in his eyes.
“Are you seriously scamming on a guy over my shoulder?”
Brendon snaps his gaze back to Ryan. He at least has the conscience to look guilty for a moment before saying, “He’s really hot, okay?” as if that makes it okay.
Ryan rolls his eyes, even more dramatic than his usual, and drops his hands from Brendon’s waist. It seems like they can’t do anything together anymore, because five minutes in, Brendon’s already found someone to swap spit with. He’s all for Brendon accepting himself and finally doing what he forbid himself from for years, but this is just getting ridiculous.
He sneaks a glance over his shoulder to where, sure enough, there stands a man against the wall, his eyes not wavering from where the two of them stand. At least this ones good-looking. Ryan can’t say he always trusts Brendon’s judgement. “Well,” he turns back to Brendon, voice coming about a bit sharper than anticipated, “what are you waiting for?”
Brendon finally removes his arms from Ryan’s shoulders, and looks between the two of them, teeth pulling at his lip in hesitance. Ryan knows this act too. He’ll act uncertain, like doesn’t want to hurt Ryan’s feelings, but they both know who he’ll choose.
“Ryan,” he sighs with the smallest hint of a pout, “you know you’re my best friend.”
“Just go,” Ryan says. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
“You’re leaving?”
Ryan nods, trying not to notice how Brendon’s eyes still dart over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m tired.”
Brendon’s eyes flick across Ryan‘s, doubt welling inside. A small part of Ryan hopes he’ll change his mind and come back to the hotel with him, where they can watch AMT and pig out on room service like they used to. But, slowly, Brendon’s nodding, giving Ryan a firming pat on the shoulder. “Okay, well. Thanks.” He doesn’t wait for much else before he’s pushing through the crowd of people, towards the stranger standing near the wall.
Ryan suddenly wishes he lied and told Brendon he had a horrible blowjob mouth. Possibly even a horrible kissing mouth, at that. Maybe then he wouldn’t be alone in a club, heading to the table where Jon and Spencer sit, snickering at him behind their beer bottles. Ryan has never been more glad that Zack isn’t allowed in Canada than he is right now.
“Shut up,” Ryan snaps, squeezing into the booth next to them. “We’ll never speak of this again.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Jon says, innocently. “I was just going to ask if this ones cute tonight.”
“Mildly.”
Jon nods, considering. Ryan entertains the idea of taking a sip of Spencer’s Budweiser before deciding against it. The song changes, and Ryan very purposely doesn’t look in the direction of where Brendon disappeared.
Jon clears his throat, and drags the bottom of the bottle against the table. “So, Ryan…” he starts casually, “how’d you manage to sneak off to dance classes without us knowing? I would’ve totally joined you, you know.”
Spencer manages to hold himself together for a point of a second before he bursts out laughing. Jon joins not even a second later.
“I hate you,” Ryan grinds out, eyes slitted towards his bandmates - now former best friends. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Aw, Ry,” Jon calls over Spencer’s laughter. If he says more, Ryan can’t hear over the chatter and music as he pushes his way to the door.
Outside, Ryan bums half a cigarette from a drunk kid. He smokes it until he hit’s the filter, pacing back and forth next to the long line of people waiting to get inside. They’re all relatively around his age - nineteen, twenty - but he feels both younger and older. He probably wouldn’t know the first thing about how to relate to these kids. What it’s like to work at some restaurant or clothing store, to return to the same home everyday, the same family, to frequent the same far too crowded clubs with the same familiar faces every night.
He hails a cab, and just before he climbs inside he looks over his shoulder, just in case.
Sighing, he slides into the backseat, closing the door behind him. Brendon’s nowhere to be seen.
*
Ryan is awoken in the middle of the night to a heavy weight suffocating him into his mattress. “Guess what I did, Ryan,” a slurred voice says into his ear.
Ryan gags at the overpowering scent of alcohol, and shoves Brendon off of him. He lands in a giggling heap next to him. “I don’t care,” he grumbles, and pulls the blanket over his head.
The bed shifts underneath him as Brendon repositions himself. He doesn’t say anything, but Ryan can hear the heavy pitch of his breathing. Just when Ryan begins to drift off again, Brendon whispers, voice closer than he expected, “It wasn’t as fun as I expected.”
Ryan keeps his eyes shut. “Goodnight, Brendon,” he responds.
“Goodnight, Ry.”
Ryan waits for the bed to start shaking as Brendon gets up and moves to his own, but it doesn’t come. He can still hear the shallow counts of his breathing next to his ear.
Ryan closes his eyes, and falls asleep.
*
Ryan’s curled up in the back lounge, reading Choke, when he hears, “Do you remember when we made out, Jon?”
His head snaps from his paperback. He stares at the back of their heads, plastic guitars plunked on their laps as their fingers dance skilfully across the coloured buttons.
“Sure do,” Jon replies with such indifference it’s as if he’s recalling the weather instead.
“You were my first boy kiss, you know,” Brendon tells him as he tilts the guitar for star power.
“Yes, that is what you told me as you giggled on my lap profusely.”
Ryan shoots a look at Spencer curled up on the other end of the couch, but he doesn’t glance up from his drumming magazine. He licks a finger and flips a page, seemingly unaware to what’s going on beside him.
“You’re kidding, right,” Ryan says evenly. Both Jon and Brendon snap their attention towards him, slightly bemused expressions on their face, as if they’d forgotten he had been sitting there the entire time.
“Oh, Ryan,” Brendon says after a moment, smiling softly, “I didn’t forget about you. I just meant the first boy kiss that like, counted, you know?”
Spencer head snaps up for this, now suddenly holding interest as his eyes flick between them.
“Wait, what?” Jon asks, and starts laughing.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Brendon says, offhandedly, turning back to the abandoned game. “Teenagers experimenting. You know how - ”
“That’s it,” Ryan interrupts. He stands up, starting for the door before Brendon can go any further. “I quit.”
He slams the door shut behind him and curls into his bunk, listening to Jon and Brendon’s laughter trickle in from underneath the door. He doesn’t hear Spencer.
*
Ryan comes to the decision that this whole thing with Brendon needs to come to an end.
It was one thing for him to be running around, making out with boys left, right and center. But now with him apparently taking up dick-sucking in his repertoire as well, it’s come to a whole new level. He’s their lead singer for god sakes, you can’t have that shit getting out.
He waits until they’re in Salt Lake, once Brendon’s done boasting about his latest conquest. (“Amazing mouth,” he vowed. Ryan resisted the urge to plug his ears and start yelling something along the lines of, “Nananana I can’t hear you.”) He smooth’s down a crease in his jeans, and then says, very calmly, “Brendon, I think you need to start toning it down.”
He sits up from where he’s sprawled against the bus floor, and blinks. “Tone what down?”
“You know, this whole guy thing. It’s getting a bit much,” he elaborates. “What if it gets out?”
He says nothing at first, rolling a lost Skittle with his thumb against the floor. Ryan doesn’t realize he was holding his breath until Brendon finally says, “But if it was girls I was hooking up with, it wouldn’t be a problem, right? I mean, it never is with you guys.”
“I don’t - ” He stops, and shakes his head. “It’s not that. I mean, with anyone. It would - I just.” He takes another pause, and lets his thoughts collect and form inside his head before starting again. “All I’m saying, Brendon, is that it’s too much now. You’re the lead singer. You shouldn’t be doing that with anyone. You know what will happen if it gets out. We can’t afford to be, well, you know.”
“The band with the gay lead singer?” he fills in.
Ryan shrugs, uncomfortable.
For a brief moment, a look of hurt flashes across his face before it promptly disappears, replaced with a wide smile. Ryan barely has a chance to blink before Brendon’s directly above him, legs on either side of his waist.
Ryan blinks up at Brendon’s face. “What - ”
“Awww, Ry, are you jealous? Don’t worry,” he coos, sweetly, “you’ll find someone who loves you for you!” He laughs and bends down to press a wet kiss directly between his cheek and lips.
Ryan’s brain stops working for half a second before suddenly he’s surging upwards, pushing Brendon off as he goes. “I’m not jealous!” he snaps. “I’m just sick of you acting like a complete slut! Grow the fuck up already. You’re not a fourteen year old girl.”
Brendon stares up at him from where landed on the floor. The silence drags between them, and Ryan’s heart picks up speed in realization of what he just did. Finally, Brendon’s picking himself up off the floor. At first, Ryan doesn’t think he’s going to say anything at all, doesn’t expect him to, but then he’s looking down at him and saying, very gravely, “I thought out of everyone you’d be the one to understand what it’s like to have to pretend your entire life, and then finally get the freedom to be who you want.”
Ryan swallows, and looks away, heart echoing in his ears. He waits for the sound of the door slamming shut before he closes his eyes, and breathes out.
*
“Spencer.” Ryan whines. He flops down beside him on the hotel bed, and pulls the blanket over his head. “Make him talk to me.”
“Who?” he asks, distractedly. He hears a number of fast clicks as Spencer thumbs the buttons on his phone. If it was up to Ryan, best friends would not be allowed love interests. As his best friend since he was five years old, Spencer should be expected to be at his beck and call whenever he needs it.
Ryan pulls the blanket from his face, and stares at him blankly.
Spencer chuckles, dropping his phone onto the mattress before meeting Ryan’s gaze. “Well, you did call him a slut, Ry,” he reasons. “How do you really think he’d react to that?”
“I said he was acting like a slut,” Ryan counters, stubborn. “And he is.”
Spencer sighs, dropping down onto his back. “It’s not like he’s sleeping with them, you know.”
“Still. He - ” He stops, cheeks flushing as he recalls that night in Toronto. It wasn’t as fun as I thought it’d be.
“He what?” Spencer questions. He rolls onto his side, and quirks an inquisitive eyebrow at Ryan.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Spencer says nothing. Instead, he shoots a look at Ryan, prompting.
Ryan lets two minutes of absolute silence pass between them before he’s sighing. “Okay, you know what, fine.” He sits up, crossing his legs between them. “It’s just like, ever since he came out and decided it was his new personal goal to make out with the entire male population, we never get to hang out anymore. Well, no wait, unless that involves him giving me unnecessary detail into his latest hook-up or he ditches me for some guy.” He pauses, and lets out one more sigh, resting his forehead against his palm. “I just - I guess I miss hanging out with him.” Ryan picks at a lint at his sock, waiting for Spencer’s reply. When he gets nothing, he tries again, quieter this time, “And like, fine, okay. Maybe I am a little jealous. But not in the way where I like, want it to be me he’s making out with or anything. Just in the way where I don’t want to be put second anymore, you know? I used to be first. And now it’s like he only has time for me when there’s no one else.”
Again, no reply comes from Spencer. After a minute, Ryan looks up, frustrated at his best friends lack of input in his mild life crisis.
With no hint expression on his face, Spencer asks, tone alarmingly even, “Did you ever think that maybe he’s trying to get you jealous?”
Ryan waits, face paling. “What - What do you mean?”
Spencer shrugs.
“What? No,” Ryan says, anyway. “We’re just friends. I’m straight and he knows it.”
Spencer gives him one very pointed look.
“That was one time!” he defends, cheeks regaining heat.
Spencer says nothing, lips pulled together.
“Fine. It was numerous times, whatever. But it was with the same person.”
Spencer’s expression stays gravely straight.
“That one, little kiss with Brendon didn’t count! He even said so himself!” He huffs, flustered. “And irregardless, you said you wouldn’t use that one against me!”
“I didn’t say anything,” Spencer replies, innocently.
“It’s not like we’re in love with each other or anything, okay? That’s just - That’s stupid, Spencer, okay?”
“I didn’t say you - ”
“I mean, I don’t love Brendon,” he interrupts. “Well, I do, but not in that way. I’m not like, in love with him. We’re friends, you know. Best friends. He’s my best friend.”
“I thought I was your best friend,” Spencer points out.
“I can have two.”
Spencer shrugs.
“I’m not in love with him,” Ryan states, voice held firm and strong. “I’m not. I just miss hanging out with him, and like. I don’t know, watching movies - ”
“And snuggling,” Spencer fills in.
Ryan gasps, offended. “We do not snuggle!”
This time, Spencer shoots him a disbelieving look. “Mm, yeah, dude. You totally do.”
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “So, fine, yeah. I miss snuggling with him.”
This time when Spencer purses his lips together, he can’t hold the smirk that pokes its way through. Ryan hates him.
“Okay, you know what, whatever. Screw you.” He pulls himself off the bed, and shoots Spencer the meanest glare he can conjure up. “I am not in love with Brendon.” Without waiting for Spencer’s reply, he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
It’s not until he’s been in the hallway for a minute, pacing back and forth, fuming, before he realizes he stormed out of his own room. It’s not like he can just go and hide out in Jon and Brendon’s room either, because, well. Brendon.
Ryan presses up against the hotel wall, heart rapid against his ribcage. He holds his hand to his chest, just to make sure he’s not imagining it. Adrenaline, he tells himself, all adrenaline.
A door down he hears an eruption of laughter, one higher, more clear than the rest.
He closes his eyes, and swallows.
Brendon.
*
Okay, so maybe. Maybe in this weird way that totally doesn’t mean anything, maybe Ryan’s kind of a little bit in love with Brendon.
Except only like, not really.
*
Ryan’s half asleep in the back lounge, a rerun of The Office playing quietly, when the door slides open. He blinks his vision clear to see Brendon standing in the doorway, arms placed across his chest self-consciously.
Ryan instantly sits up, croaking out a quiet, “Hey.”
“Hey. Mind if I come in?”
Ryan tries not to smile too hard. “Be my guest.”
He comes in, slow and deliberate, before taking a seat close to Ryan. Brendon blinks up at him, expression resembling something of a sad, lonely puppy. “Can we stop fighting now?”
Ryan breathes out a sigh, then laughs. “Yes, please.”
Brendon smiles. He leans forward, bumping his head against Ryan’s shoulder before leaving it to rest. “Let’s never fight again. Deal?”
“Deal,” Ryan agrees. Brendon nuzzles into his chest, warm breath trickling through the fabric of Ryan’s shirt. He tries to keep his heart rate at a steady pace by focusing on the television. Slowly, he raises a hand and strokes it through the back of Brendon’s hair. The gel he wears for shows has been washed out from the shower, and the small tufts that curl around his neck feel like silk against his fingertips.
Quietly, voice muffled into Ryan’s chest, Brendon says, “You’re my best friend.”
Ryan takes a deep breath, and hopes Brendon can’t hear the quiver that lets out around the edges. “Yeah, you too.”
He can feel Brendon’s smile.
*
It’s not that anything really changes. It’s not like suddenly Ryan can’t remember how to think or breathe, or that he gets these obnoxious, fluttering butterflies in his stomach whenever Brendon’s around. Nothing changes, except for the fact that he’s aware that maybe these things have always been there.
Now he knows that knotting in his gut, that irritation bubbling in his veins, when Brendon blabbers on about his latest conquest is in fact the one thing he wishes it weren’t: jealousy.
For two weeks, nothing happens, and Ryan tells himself it’s going to stay that way. Brendon and him, they’re best friends, they were never meant for more.
But, then this new roadie shows up in Nashville. With the looks and incessant flirting, Ryan has a feeling that he likes Brendon for a little more than his musical talents.
“Brendon. Stop it.”
Brendon snaps around and blinks at Ryan innocently. Behind him, the roadie - Bill, Bob, Brian, whatever - continues loading equipment on stage, a pleased grin on his face. Ryan feels the overpowering urge to get up and smack it off his stupid face. Instead, he settles with shooting him the bitchiest glare he can manage - compliments of years studying Spencer’s. It seems to be enough because he instantly turns away, suddenly preoccupied with repositioning an amp.
“You’re supposed to be warming up,” he reminds with a hint of irritation, “not making eyes at the new roadie for everyone to see.”
“But he’s cute,” he defends, smiling amusedly.
Ryan gives one quick tug on his fret. There’s a loud snap followed by a burning sting across his cheek. “Motherfucker,” he curses, dropping his guitar. The broken string curls into the air, laughing at him.
Brendon jumps to his feet in a second. “Shit, Ry. Are you okay?” Ryan tries to ignore the laughter he’s stifling as he presses close, legs brushing against his knees.
Ryan holds onto his throbbing cheek, and says nothing. Thanks to his luck, it’s none other than the roadie who comes running up a second later, scooping Ryan’s guitar from the ground. “Are you okay, Ryan? I’ll get it fixed for you right away.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before dashing off, but not before exchanging a flirtatious smile with Brendon first.
Scowling, Ryan rips his hand from his cheek and stands up, nearly mulling Brendon over. “That’s it,” he snaps, the throbbing in his cheek forgotten and replaced with anger flaring in his chest.
Brendon’s not even an inch away, and he blinks back, confused. “What - ”
Ryan wraps a hand around the back of Brendon’s neck, pulling him in the rest of the way, mouths knocking.
If Ryan had to weed through all the kisses in his lifetime and pick the most awkward one of them all, this would probably be his choice (and he’s had a lot of them. His teenage years were basically just one big blur of awkward). Then again, he’s not so sure this can even be considered a kiss. Not only is there a serious lack of reciprocation from Brendon, but it’s as if the second their lips touch, the cloud of adrenaline and anger and jealousy is lifted and he’s suddenly very aware of what the hell he just did.
He pulls back almost instantly, cheeks flaming and heart pounding.
Oh god, what did he just do? He just kissed Brendon, his best friend, in front of everyone. He just kissed his best friend and then got rejected. In front of everyone. What could he possibly do to try and save this now? There’s no way; nothing. Their friendship is over, and then soon, it will become so awkward between them that they’ll have no choice but to end the band. And then Ryan will be left to live alone with his dogs for the rest of his sad, sorry life.
Brendon blinks up at him, appearing entirely confused and taken back. He hasn’t laughed at him, yet, so Ryan thinks that maybe that’s a start. If he could only say something, anything, but his brain comes up with nothing. Not a word. He tries to ignore the fact that every single eye in the room is on them. He pretty sure he can hear someone laughing.
It takes a few minutes before a smile takes over Brendon’s face, and he begins to laugh as well. He’s laughing. Ryan wishes he could sink into the floor and die. Anything is better than his life alone with his dogs.
“Fuck,” he says, still laughing, “finally.”
Ryan blinks, and now, he’s the one seriously confused.
With the same unexpectancy that Ryan had given him, Brendon leans in and kisses him with a certain degree of urgency. Ryan can still feel all eyes on him, but he thinks, fuck it, and kisses him back. A few catcalls erupt, and he’s pretty sure it’s Zack voice that he hears yell, “Get a fucking room!”
Brendon laughs again, the sound muffled against Ryan’s lips. He pulls away, a wild grin on his lips. He doesn’t say a word as he hooks a hand around Ryan’s wrist, and tugs. Ryan doesn’t ask, just follows.
He tries not to meet anyone’s gaze as they weave their way through the backstage area, and into the long hallway. Although, it’s Spencer of all people who manages to catch it and send him one very self-satisfied smirk. Ryan would maybe glare if his brain wasn’t a hundred thousand miles away from his body. He’s caught somewhere between wanting to devour the man still attaching himself to his wrist, or running in the opposite direction because what the fuck is he doing?
Brendon opens the door to their dressing room, takes a peek inside, and pulls Ryan in after him. Dropping his wrist, he turns to him, and Ryan doesn’t know what else to do but stare back at him, brainlessly, skin prickling with heat. He feels kind of silly, because it is just Brendon after all, but god, it’s Brendon and Ryan’s kind of never wanted something so bad.
“You’re a dumbass,” is what Brendon says.
Ryan frowns. “Well. Thanks?” He kind of thought Brendon led him in here so they could make out some more, not insult him. He feels vaguely disappointed.
Laughing, Brendon shakes his head. He takes a step forward, crowding Ryan against the wall. Ryan swallows, eyes dropping to Brendon’s lips. They’re a bit pinker than usual, a little more swollen, and Ryan’s stomach churns at the sight.
When Brendon kisses him, it’s with such intensity that Ryan’s head goes reeling back into the drywall. He doesn’t have the time to reflect on the pain shooting up from the back of his head because holy shit, that’s Brendon’s tongue in his mouth and hand in his shirt.
So yeah, technically, they kissed when they were seventeen. It was a little sloppy, a lot awkward, and for an entire week after, Ryan kept at least ten feet away from Brendon at all times. And this, right now, is nothing like that. Not even close.
Brendon presses himself close, his body fitted along Ryan’s. He chokes back a sound, the contact causing his already hardening cock to jolt. Ryan’s been with girls, and while he’s liked it, none of them have left him feeling like this after only a few kisses. How had he not been aware how bad he’s wanted this all along?
Brendon sucks onto his bottom lip, sliding his leg in between Ryan’s thighs. He moans this time without restraint, and Brendon smirks into his lips. “I knew it,” he murmurs. “I fucking knew it.”
Ryan ignores him because apparently he knew it before even he did. “Couch?” is what he says instead, before latching his mouth back onto Brendon’s.
He laughs, breathless, and nods against his lips. Without taking his mouth from Brendon’s, Ryan opens his eyes and manages to back them into the couch. Brendon turns around, and without much constraint, pushes Ryan down onto the cushions. Crawling on top of him, he presses his thighs against his hips and fumbles for his belt.
Ryan blinks up at him. What he had thought was that they were going to come in here and make out; apparently his brain can only process so much at a time. “Wha - ”
Brendon cuts him off with his mouth, fingers sliding his zipper open. If Ryan wasn’t hard before, he is now. To make it all the more, it’s then that Brendon begins to rock himself against Ryan, hand snaking into his underwear.
“Shit, Bren,” he curses, breathily, head rolling against the couch arm.
Brendon grins against his chin, teeth nibbling at the skin. Ryan slides his hand down his back, and over the curve of his ass. Brendon curls his hand around Ryan, and Ryan moans, bucking against it.
Much to his disappointment, it’s not even there for a minute before Brendon’s pulling away. Ryan whines in disproval. Brendon is a fucking tease.
Pressing his mouth back against his, Brendon murmurs, thick with seduction, “So, I was thinking that maybe I could blow you.”
Ryan gulps, cock jerking underneath Brendon’s ass. “Are you waiting for permission?” he manages to get out.
He rolls his eyes, smirking. “No, I just - ” He sits up entirely, ass shifting against Ryan’s crotch. He swallows back the groan. “Well, I haven’t exactly done it before.”
Ryan frowns. “But you - ”
He ducks his head, laughing in embarrassment. “I might’ve lied,” he admits in a whisper. His hand slides up Ryan’s t-shirt, fingers sketching invisible patterns on his skin.
Chuckling, Ryan circles his hands around Brendon’s wrist and tugs him down until their mouths bump together. “You’re evil,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, well, look where it got me.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Ryan squeezes his side in retaliation, and Brendon chokes out a laugh.
There’s a knock at the door, and before either one of them have a chance to reply or change their position, the door opens to reveal Zack, hands splayed across his eyes. Ryan‘s internally grateful, because he‘s pretty sure his dick is still hanging out of his pants. “So, I’m all happy for you guys and everything, but you kind of walked away right before sound check so it would be awesome if you went back and maybe did that. Okay, I’m done.” He inches out the door, pulling it behind him, eyes still closed and covered. “Don’t make me come back for you.”
As soon as the door shut behinds him, Brendon whines, face pressed against Ryan’s chest. When he pulls back, he places a kiss on Ryan’s lips, slow and deliberate. “So,” he starts, quietly, nose to nose, “is this the part where we’re supposed to admit our undying love for each other?”
Ryan smoothes his hand along Brendon’s back, fingers brushing against the revealed skin. “Probably.” He smiles up at him.
Brendon brushes their lips together, smiles mirroring. Very softly, he says, “Okay, then I’m kind of hopelessly in love with you.”
“Same here,” Ryan admits. He’s surprised by how easy it comes.
Brendon’s cheeks turn a soft pink, and when he smiles, it’s slightly breathtaking. “Also,” he adds, “I’ve been kind of wanting to kiss you again since I was seventeen.”
Ryan laughs. “Me too, apparently.”
Bumping his nose against Ryan’s, he kisses him again, slow but with more heat than before. Ryan’s left wondering why he was so stupid not to be doing this all along.
Eventually, Brendon sits up and tucks Ryan back into his pants for him. Ryan appreciates the gesture and all, but seeing as his very hard cock won’t be getting off anytime soon, any more contact from Brendon probably isn’t the best until then.
“Later,” Brendon promises, pecking him a kiss before standing up and adjusting his own clothes.
At the doorway, he turns to Ryan, hand ghosting over his hip. “And for the record,” he says against his mouth, “it counted. It so counted.”