Summary: When Brendon wakes up he can’t say anything...because they only thing he can say is 'Ryan'.
Disclaimer: Not real; never happened.
Author Notes: Um, yeah. Pretty much don't know what to say here except that I think this is like crack!porn or something. I don't know...
When Brendon wakes up he can’t say anything.
Technically it isn’t that he is incapable of speaking, it’s that he’s quite literally unable to say anything. As in, the actual word itself.
In fact, there are a lot of things he can’t say. Like, Ugh, it’s too early (when he stretches himself awake) or What the fuck?! (when he realizes that what he said wasn’t what he meant to say) or even Jon! (when he grows terrified of his revelation that his mouth isn’t forming the words that his brain is telling him to say).
But Jon isn’t the one who comes running to his frightened cries. Instead, a thin, lanky boy with sandy hair comes skidding to a halt in front of his bunk before ripping his curtain open with wide eyes.
And Brendon can’t even protest the other boy's concerned presence because the only thing Brendon can say is “Ryan.”
----
If anyone had to guess why such an unfortunate thing was happening to Brendon’s voice, they would probably try to trace back to the last time Brendon was able to speak normally and without the obvious rebellion of his vocal chords.
Brendon had been dancing through the front lounge, wiggling his ass as he moved and humming loudly (and being generally annoying) to the song he’s spent the last twenty minutes begging Spencer to download from iTunes.
“Brendon,” Spencer had growled after his band mate’s fifth attempt at bribery.
For some reason Brendon thought that the reasonable payment for Spencer’s kindness was to sing for Spencer the song he’d been obsessed with since, well. He wasn’t really obsessed with it, just liked to sing it. A lot. At rather obnoxious intervals, too. Like the first thing in the morning when he wakes up and passes Spencer’s bunk. Or when he’s bored, which is practically every five seconds. Which means that he. Never. Shuts. Up.
But that was beside the point. The point was Spencer had been fending off Brendon’s pleas and even his pathetically world renowned Urie Pout for an astoundingly long time and he was sure that once Jon woke up or Ryan came back from the store with Zack, Brendon would find someone else to annoy.
“Spencer!” Brendon whined, throwing himself at Spencer’s feet dramatically, clinging to the drummers pant leg as if he was slowly sinking into a puddle of his own self pity. Rolling his eyes, Spencer continued typing away on his laptop, emailing Haley back something to do with curtain rods and a broken thermostat. “Please,” Brendon begged, pulling himself up to peer over Spencer’s knee only to be met with the cover of his laptop. He hoisted himself higher, pulling harder on Spencer’s pants and peeked over the top of the laptop at the unamused face of Spencer Smith. “Please,” he repeated, more desperately. “I need that song, Spence.”
“You hear it every fucking day, Brendon,” Spencer reasoned, setting his laptop aside so that Brendon wouldn’t have to strain his neck; he rested his chin on Spencer’s knee and looked up at the drummer with wide, innocent eyes.
“I know,” Brendon said nodding, his chin digging into the denim of Spencer’s pants. “But the original makes me so much happier inside.”
“Brendon,” Spencer said calmly. “I am not downloading you a song that you hear every night just because you think the original is better; besides, I’m trying to talk to Haley.”
“But, but, but-” Brendon’s pout grew deeper.
“No but’s, Bren,” Spencer said with a sense of finality. “If you can manage to woo Jon or Ryan into downloading it for you then have at it. Although, I think they’ll have the same opinion as me.”
“Spencer,” Brendon said, standing up with a puffed out chest, defiant and ready to prove a point. “I refuse to believe that you enjoy Dashboard’s version over Pink’s. She is a strong, beautiful woman with amazing hair and I demand that you download me her version immediately.”
Spencer blinked.
“You are such a sexist bastard,” Brendon huffed before tromping up to the front of the bus and making quite a ruckus within the kitchen cabinets.
“Um,” Ryan said dryly when he arrived back on the bus twenty minutes later, observing Spencer before a loud slam came from the kitchen and he flinched in surprise. Turning back to Spencer with wide eyes and a scared Is It Safe To Be Here Right Now? look and said, “I brought groceries?” He lifted two plastic sacks filled with food as evidence.
Spencer chuckled at his best friend’s face, all twisted with confusion and innocence and simply said, “Brendon’s having a fit.”
“Oh,” Ryan said oddly dejected. He had quite hoped that there was some sort of interesting story behind who was slamming cabinets; he had briefly wondered if Jon had woken up only to find there was still no coffee and was on a rampage. That would be quite tragic considering that was the first thing Ryan picked up at the store. Sadly, it was Brendon. And Brendon’s fits weren’t anything interesting or new. “Well, what about this time?” he asked routinely.
“I’m trying to email Haley about her apartment and I won’t download him Pink’s ‘So What?’; told him it was stupid that he hears it every night and that I wasn’t going to waste my time with it.”
Ryan frowned, “And now he’s resorted to tearing apart our kitchen?”
“Pretty much,” Spencer nodded. “At least until he finds out you’re back with-”
“Ryan!” Brendon cheered, making a mad dash for the thin boy still standing dumbly with handfuls of groceries. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan!” Brendon clapped, throwing his arms around the guitarist’s neck and squeezing him tight. “You’re back! I missed you! And you brought food! Great, I’m starving. We can have a nice little chat while you make dinner and-” His words were a rush of breath and squeaks and before Ryan had time to comprehend everything Brendon had said, he’d already stripped the sacks from Ryan’s hands and was dragging him into the kitchen.
Ryan made a squawking sound and allowed himself to be dragged into the small area, looking back over his shoulder at Spencer who shrugged with sympathy. Ryan Ross was about to be pummeled with puppy dog eyes and pouty lips.
“Ryan, I need you to do me a favor,” Brendon said, turning Ryan around to face him.
“What?” asked Ryan monotone.
“I need you to download a song for me.”
“Brendon,” Ryan groaned. “I just got home, okay? And I’m hungry. The last thing I want to do right now is download anything.”
“But Spencer won’t do it for me and Jon’s asleep,” Brendon whined.
“Can’t you download it to your computer?”
“It’s broken,” Brendon said sadly.
“Why is it broken?” Ryan asked shocked. He knew Brendon was practically obsessed with that computer and he was surprised to hear that he had let any damage come to it.
“Jon and I were arguing over who should have the last cup of coffee this morning and when I tried to steal it from him I spilled it.”
“On your laptop?” Ryan deadpanned.
“Yeah,” Brendon said quietly. “I didn’t mean to but…”
Ryan shook his head; Brendon’s eyes looked so sad and upset but Ryan knew that it had been his own fault for fucking up his laptop. Were he not so greedy he would still have his laptop and ultimately his song. Nonetheless, Ryan couldn’t help but take pity on him so he said, “I’ll download it for you after dinner okay?”
“But Ryan!” Brendon moaned, “I want it now.”
“But Brendon!” Ryan mocked, beginning to put away the things he removed from the sacks on the counter. “You’ll have to wait.”
“Ugh, why?”
“Because I’m starving and I’d like to sit down and do nothing for a change, alright? Just,” Ryan sighed, realizing that he was getting a bit short with the boy next to him. “Just be patient okay? I’ll fix some spaghetti and after we eat I’ll-”
“Dammit, Ryan! Stop being such an ass!” he yelled, voice powerful and impatient and just plain cold.
Ryan didn’t want to pretend like that hadn’t cut him deep but he slowly turned and looked at Brendon with narrowed eyes. “I’ll stop being an ass when you stop being so selfish,” he said as if presenting a challenge.
And really, at that point, Brendon knew he was being selfish. He could see the way Ryan was moving about sluggishly and at some time in their argument he had heard the thin boy’s stomach rumble with hunger. He almost felt bad about it. But he was too selfish to admit he was in the wrong and only continued to pester.
“Ryan,” Brendon said slowly, in as soft and innocent a voice he could muster while Ryan began preparing their meal. Ryan picked up on Brendon’s intention and shook his head. “Ryan,” Brendon repeated, a little more pathetically, fixing his face up nice and pitiful like before stepping in front of the boy trying desperately to ignore him “Ryan, please?” he asked.
“No, Brendon. Not right now,” Ryan said carefully. He was trying to settle his anger and not snap at what Brendon was obviously attempting to do.
“Ryan,” Brendon said once more in a tone that almost made Ryan crack. It bled with I’m Sorry and I Didn’t Mean To Make You Mad, Please Forgive Me? and it was all Ryan could do not to give in. But Brendon needed to learn that being selfish wasn’t something that he was going to get away with, especially when it came to Ryan. He turned on the tap and filled the pot with water before turning to set it on the stove to boil. “Ry-”
“Brendon!” Ryan yelled, slamming the pot on the stove so hard that water sloshed out of the side and it hissed as it came in contact with the hot surface below. “I’m sick of this!” He rounded on Brendon with a scowl on his face and fire in his eyes and said, “Get out.”
Brendon spat a harsh, “Fuck you” over his shoulder as he pounded back to his bunk in anger. He didn’t even eat dinner.
----
“Oh my god, Brendon! What’s wrong?” Ryan sounds panicked and scared and he’s totally not above patting Brendon down for wounds if he doesn’t say something soon instead of looking up at him like a deer in the headlights.
Brendon says, What’s wrong with my voice?! Only it vocalizes as, “Ryan, Ryan!”
Ryan grows even more terrified when he sees Brendon clutching at his throat as if he can’t breathe. “Brendon, are you choking?” Ryan demands, voice high up in the rafters and he’s fucking afraid right now.
Help me, Brendon says but his mouth moves differently than what his head is telling him and something foreign spills from his lips, pathetic and shaken. Brendon clasps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and-
“Brendon, I swear to god if you’re dying I’m going to kill you!”
Ryan’s yell is strong and threatening but it’s a bit squeaky with fear and Brendon whimpers quietly before darting out of his bunk and diving across the aisle into Jon’s.
“Hmph!” Jon groans as Brendon lands on him, arms flailing.
“What the fuck?” Jon yells, falling out of his bed as Brendon tries to wiggle his way between the slumbering bassist and the wall. He lands at Ryan’s feet and stares up at him through an angry cracked eye before he realizes the look of sheer terror on Ryan’s face and scrambles to his feet. “What the fuck?” he repeats, looking bewildered from his bunk where Brendon is cowering and Ryan who is shaking. He’s surrounded by pussies, he swears.
“I don’t know,” Ryan breathes, throwing his hands towards Brendon’s shadow in the bunk. “I was in the kitchen making coffee and Brendon yells for me so I come running and I thought he was choking and he just flung himself into your bunk and-”
“Wait, what?” Jon halts him. He raises an eyebrow before tearing the curtain open to see Brendon biting his lip with his eyes closed hard. “Brendon, are you fucking choking?”
Brendon shakes his head fearful.
“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” Jon asks, eyes still adjusting to the bright light outside his bunk.
Brendon shakes his head again, more forceful this time and buries his head in his pillow, mumbling, “Ryan.”
Jon turns on the boy standing in the aisle and glares. “What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything, I-” He stops, helpless. “Brendon, what’s wrong?”
Brendon cries, Fix this, please! But only the honey eyed boy’s name emerges from his mouth.
“Ryan, what the hell did you-”
“I didn’t do anything!” Ryan shouts, eyes wide and frantic and he’s so fucking confused and his heart is racing and he thinks he’s the one who’s choking. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Jon. I-”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Spencer Smith has just been woken up and now all three boys are cowering. “What the hell is the matter with you all?” he grunts, rolling up into a sitting position before sliding down out of his bunk. “I’m trying to fucking sleep!”
“Brendon’s freaking out,” Jon says and Ryan nods.
Spencer stares blank faced. “Jon Walker,” he sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, “think about what you’ve just said. You’re making a big deal over Brendon freaking out. Last time I checked, Brendon freaks out on a daily basis.”
“No, Spencer,” Jon says with an irritated sigh - he does believe he’s not the only one that was awoken by Brendon’s fuckery - and he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Like, Brendon’s fucked up and we don’t know why.”
Spencer frowns, “Oh,” and peers into Jon’s bunk, catching sight of Brendon’s big, brown eyes and leans forward. “Bren,” he says softly, strikingly opposite of his previous tone. “Brendon, what’s wrong?”
Brendon shakes his head again and whimpers into Jon’s pillow.
“Do you not want to say it?” Spencer asks, motherly and soft and Brendon really wants to apologize for last night but he can’t, he just shakes his head some more. “Will you write it?” Brendon hesitates, then nods. “Okay,” Spencer says calmly. “Jon, go get me a pad and pen,” and Jon is gone and back within ten seconds.
Thrusting the supplies to Brendon, the boy in the bunk grabs them hastily and scribbles onto the pad before shoving it back out into the aisle for them all to read in silence.
“Oh.”
----
“So you’re not hurt?”
Brendon shakes his head, chin resting on his knees.
They’ve managed to pull Brendon from Jon’s bunk and place him securely on the couch in the front lounge in order to interrogate him except, well. Brendon can’t talk so they’re asking him yes or no questions and trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong.
“But you can’t speak?” Jon asks, eyebrows furrowed.
Brendon shakes his head again and Spencer sighs and then Brendon rethinks and nods his head enthusiastically and then holds up a finger as if to say ‘But wait’ and takes up the pad and pen Jon retrieved for him earlier and writes, I can. But… before showing Spencer.
“What do you mean ‘but’? Does it hurt?” Spencer asks worried. He’s such a mother it’s ridiculous.
Brendon shakes his head again and steals a glance at Ryan who has calmed down enough to remember that, oh yeah, he’s still pretty pissed at Brendon about last night. He’s leaning against the doorframe and is picking at his dull nails, trying to look busy.
“Brendon,” Spencer said, nudging the pen in Brendon’s hand, encouraging him to explain.
The ink Brendon loops together says, I can’t say much and Jon is the first one to speak.
“What can you say?” he asks, curious and still confused. His band mate seems to be having some sort of mid life crisis at the age of twenty one and he’s really not okay with that.
Brendon bites his lip and scribbles the name on the paper and drops the pen with a sense of finality, I don’t want to tell you any more.
It takes exactly seven seconds for Ryan to look up from his nails to see everyone looking at him in a way that suggests they know something he doesn’t. He asks, “What?” and Spencer slaps his palm to his forehead.
----
Ten minutes later, Jon informs Zack that they’re going to have to call off that night’s performance and Brendon feels guilty that he’s a little relieved.
But then Zack comes in, “Hey there, little buddy!” and Brendon melts into the big bear hug his bodyguard gives him. “I’m sorry about your voice, B,” Zack says, patting Brendon’s back. “Jon told me what happened-” Brendon takes a desperate look at Jon who assures him with his eyes that he didn’t mention the one word Brendon could say and Brendon thanks him with a weak smile. “-and I think the best way to get your voice back is to take it easy today. Just, y’know, chill on the couch and drink lots of fluids.”
Brendon nods, sighs and pretends to be put out while he trudges back to the couch. Secretly he is getting ready to enjoy a day of pampering.
----
By noon Brendon has rummaged through the drawers in the kitchen, found the secret stash of Post It Notes and has transformed the inside of the bus into a obnoxiously bright rainbow of paper squares all covered in the word ‘Mine’. The television (which he is currently watching: Judge Judy, bitches) is covered in all pink, his bunk is completely littered with lime green, the arms and back of the couch is decorated with orange and there are currently three boxes of cereal, four pop tarts, a carton of orange juice and an entire carton of eggs that have been defiled by neon yellow.
Jon says, “Brendon, you’ve raped the bus with Post Its.”
And Brendon shrugs, scribbles, It’s pretty on the note pad and smiles up at Jon. Jon rolls his eyes and Brendon doesn’t point out the fact that his beard isn’t doing a very good job of hiding his smile and he trudges to the back of the bus.
Stacks of magazines, the board games under the table, his guitar and hell, even the floor are stickered with blue notes with Brendon’s messy scrawl and when Ryan walks through his fingers itch to tear everything down. Not only is it intolerably bright and harmful to his eyes, it just reminds him of how selfish Brendon is, even if he is sick (but it’s really a good thing Ryan didn’t notice the small bell Brendon has found - and covered in Post Its mind you - in order to summon someone to his aid, because then he might really blow a gasket and Brendon rather fancies the rainbow cave he’s created) and Ryan turns to leave immediately.
Brendon says, Your hair looks ugly and Ryan stops and looks back at Brendon expectant.
“What?” he asks, bored and irritated.
Brendon shakes his head with a smile and suddenly loves not having a voice.
----
“Brendon,” Spencer says, wincing.
Brendon is currently standing atop the couch singing. Yes, fucking singing and for once it’s actually painful for his band mates to listen to. Because instead of singing the chorus to Camisado, Brendon is merely singing “Ry ry ry ry ry ry ry ry ry ryyyyyaannnn! Ry ry ry ry ry ry ry ryyyyyyyyaaannnn!” to the tune of Camisado and apparently he thinks he’s doing quite a fine job.
Ryan, however, is one more Ry away from snapping Brendon’s neck like a glow stick and shoving every one of his blinding reminders down his throat. It’s bad enough that they’re having to wait on Brendon hand and foot but now that he’s actually being intentionally annoying, Ryan simply can’t take it anymore.
He throws a bitchy look at Spencer, glares at Brendon so hard his eyes actually start to burn, and sends Jon a look that says I’m Leaving And If You Don’t Put An End To This Before I Get Back I’m Going To Kill Us All before storming out of the front lounge.
Brendon stops the second the door slams and turns to Spencer and Jon with a smirk. On the notepad he writes, What’s his problem?
----
When Ryan comes back it’s almost eight and he looks a little weary but Brendon pretends not to notice while he keeps his eyes on the television. He tells himself it’s okay to look because he’s already seen this episode of Drake and Josh and sneaks a glance at Ryan as he enters the kitchen and grabs a bottled water from the fridge.
At the sound of his name, Ryan looks up and catches Brendon’s eyes for a split second before looking up to the person that addressed him. Spencer comes in from the bunk area and they have a quiet conversation for a moment and then Spencer goes back to his bunk, Jon replacing him a few seconds later.
“Hey Ry,” Jon smiles, plopping down on the couch next to Brendon. “Have fun?”
“Loads,” Ryan says sarcastically and takes a swig from his bottle. “I had Zack take me to the venue; figured there would still be a few people that would show up. I signed a few things and told them that Parrot Boy here-” He points at Brendon with a tip of his bottle. “-wasn’t feeling well.”
“Were they pissed?” Jon asks, hoping for the best as he scratches the back of his head. Jon hates cancelling shows as much as anyone but especially on the day of when people are usually starting to already line up.
“Oh yeah,” Ryan laughs bitterly. “One girl even ripped her ticket up and threw it in my face.”
Brendon’s heart sank. It was one thing to have Ryan mad at him, but to have his fans mad at him was even worse. And not only that, they had taken their anger out on Ryan and that was just…
Brendon shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I hope you’re happy, Brendon,” Ryan says coldly. “You can’t admit that you’re selfish but now you’re even being selfish with your words.” Ryan really knew how to twist Brendon’s heart in a painful way, even when Brendon knew that he had absolutely no control over his voice anymore. It hurt. “You never think about anyone but yourself and you-”
“Ryan, don’t-” Jon began, noticing how Brendon had grown sadly quiet and stiff.
“No, Jon,” Ryan said, talking over him. “He needs to hear this.” Ryan’s eyes were black with anger and Brendon felt like the worst person on earth, even if he wasn’t quite sure he was at full blame or not here. “Brendon, you are immature and selfish and - Fucking, look at what you’ve done to our bus!” he yells, ripping a few Post Its off the wall. Pointing to it angrily he says, “You’re supposedly sick yet you still insist on claiming everything as yours and when we try to act like we don’t mind it you fucking demand more and more and more until it’s all about Brendon and-”
For the second time in the last twenty four hours, Brendon turns his back on Ryan and exits the room, only this time he has tears welling up in his eyes.
----
When Jon passes Brendon’s bunk, he has to force himself not to check on him. Instead, he continues on into the back lounge and settles next to Spencer who is playing chess on his laptop.
When Ryan passes Brendon’s bunk, his heart cracks into a thousand tiny pieces when he hears small, broken whimpers of “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan” coming from behind the curtain and even though he knows those choking sobs aren’t for him, they are because of him.
----
A shift of his mattress tells Brendon that he’s no longer alone in his bunk and when he sniffles and wipes his eyes hastily, he can already tell by the boney fingers rubbing his back that it’s Ryan and not Spencer like he had hoped. He curls up into himself, still sniffing and fighting back sobs and scoots as far away from the boy that just intruded his bunk as he can get.
“Hey,” Ryan coos, soft and cautious. “Hey, don’t- don’t be like that, okay?”
Brendon huffs, Leave me alone, but all Ryan hears is his name, disheartened and sad and it makes him wince when Brendon shrugs off his coaxing hand.
“Bren, look I’m-” He pauses. Is he sorry? Because Brendon really is selfish. “Don’t cry, please,” he goes with because he is just a little bit sorry. Seeing Brendon cry makes him feel like he’s wounded a baby seal. His hand rests gently on Brendon’s shoulder and when it isn’t shoved off he feels like he can put a little bit of pressure on it, urging Brendon to roll over and look at him. “Brendon, will you look at me, please?”
In the dark, Ryan sees Brendon shake his head and he curls tighter around the blanket draped over him.
With a sigh Ryan admits, “I shouldn’t have said that earlier,” because, yes, Brendon is selfish sometimes, but Ryan really had no right to bring their fans into anything. That was a low blow, especially since he knows how Brendon is about cancelling shows. Jon is merely a mild case of depression in comparison to Brendon.
Brendon says, Well you did, and Ryan hears the sarcasm dripping in the two syllables of his name and it stings.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Brendon,” Ryan says and he hopes Brendon can hear the honesty in his voice as easily as Ryan could hear the hurt in Brendon’s. “I don’t ever want to hurt you, okay?” The lump that is Brendon is terrifyingly still to Ryan but when he holds his breath, he can feel the mattress moving ever so lightly with Brendon’s silent sobs. “Hey, hey,” Ryan says, worried and gathering Brendon up in his arms. “Shh, it’s okay,” he consoles and Brendon finally turns over only to bury his face in Ryan’s neck, wetting the skin there with hot tears.
Brendon wants to scream at Ryan and tell him to fucking leave him alone but all he does is mouth I’m Sorry into Ryan’s collarbone and that’s all Ryan needs to know that Brendon is being completely honest. Brendon weeps, “Ryan, Ryan” into his neck and Ryan wraps his arms around him tighter, pressing kisses into Brendon’s hair. “Shh,” Ryan says and Brendon fists Ryan shirt and wails. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Ryan whispers.
Brendon mouths, I’m Sorry, moans “Ryan” and leaves his mouth open and hot on Ryan’s neck, tears still streaming. And Ryan does the thing his heart has been telling him to do since he crawled into the bunk that wasn’t his and lifts Brendon’s chin, kissing him open and honest.
----
Brendon writhes and shakes beneath him and Ryan stares down into brown eyes veiled in darkness hoping for some sort of light to spark in them. He can see it flickering, as if asking for permission to ignite into something marvelous, but it hasn’t started blazing yet.
Ryan’s hand teases lower down the front of Brendon’s pants and when Ryan’s long fingers experimentally graze the warmth of Brendon’s erection, Brendon can’t breathe.
Brendon pants, “Ryan, Ryan!” terrified and feeling out of control even worse than before and Ryan’s lips are on his, kissing gently, soothing and calming and Brendon melts into the sheets.
His fingers wrap firmly around Brendon’s throbbing cock and he works up a rhythm, slow and it forms a heavy heat in the pit of Brendon’s stomach. Tears are still wetting Brendon’s cheeks, though none of them are fresh and Ryan kisses them away while Brendon silently moans and grasps for the sheets.
Ryan whispers, “Don’t cry anymore.” Promises, “It’s okay,” and Brendon’s hips buck up off the mattress to meet each of Ryan’s pumps, desperate. Soft kisses line Brendon’s neck and Ryan sucks on the thundering pulse just below his jaw, lapping at the blood racing beneath the surface. Before he can successfully bring some of it into sight below the flesh, Brendon’s hand has covered his and stopped his flicking wrist, gasping.
“What?” Ryan asks, confused and disoriented and still licking out towards Brendon’s skin. “What’s wrong?” And Brendon dips his head down, captures Ryan’s lips and pulls him on top of him, beginning to slide his hands up under Ryan’s shirt. Ryan moans into the touch, hot and needy and soon Brendon has him stripped down to his boxers, cock hard and obvious behind the thin fabric. Ryan hastily undresses the boy beneath him, all the while leaving wet kisses along his jaw and when he finally peels off Brendon’s boxers, he notices how quiet, how still Brendon has become.
He stares at the outstretch of smooth, pale skin and can’t help but reach out and touch Brendon’s soft hip, feeling goosebumps raise on the skin he contacts. Brendon licks his lips, eyes heavy lidded and glazed over and grips the back of Ryan’s neck, pulls him down for a soft kiss and murmurs Take Me silently over his lips.
And Ryan kisses Brendon deeper than he’s ever kissed anyone before and strokes back Brendon’s hair.
----
It’s a slanderous whirlwind of “Fuck, oh fuck, Brendon!” and the only thing Brendon can say coated in thick lust and pleasure and their moans stretch so long and low that neither one of them are sure where they began.
As Ryan pumps harder, buries himself deeper into Brendon and listens as Brendon quickly comes apart beneath him in a rush of ryanryanryanryan and gives up, gives himself up to Ryan, Ryan comes, blinding white and beautiful.
When Ryan falls asleep kissing Brendon lazily, he wonders how he ever found Brendon to be selfish.
----
When Brendon wakes up he can say anything.
He rolls over, expecting warmth and comfort and slow, languid morning kisses and to be able to tell Ryan everything he’s always meant to say. But when he curls his arms around nothing but empty air, still warm and recent, he slowly melts into a puddle of disappointment.
His warm face dissolves into a frown and as his forehead crinkles he feels something sticky and foreign on his head and when he peers up to see the a bright pink corner of paper hanging loosely over one of his eyes, he pulls it off to observe it curiously.
It’s crumpled when he removes it, peels it from his forehead and stares at it with tired eyes. A bold ‘Mine’ stares back at him and he almost tosses it into the aisle in disgust, his actions from the night before being an unpleasant reminder of his flaws. But the thing that prevents him from tossing it away as garbage is the fact that it’s not his handwriting.
It’s Ryan’s.