It was true, Brendon was often the one biting back rather than first; Ryan only took his aggression out on Brendon because he would hit back, as a matter of fact. He was the initiator, the stronger source of anger even most of the time, despite being known as the less powerful personality, the anxious and quiet one. That wasn't [i]wrong,[/i] because he was indeed deeply introverted, years of living as a social pariah child turned him into a soft-spoken and eye contact-avoidant adult. But no one except those who were with them on the long bus rides and stretched hotel stays knew that he could stand up to his exact opposite, Brendon, the definition of extroversion, the fiery personality and bold stage presence. Somehow, Brendon brought out that side in him, something that never reared its ugly head unless he was (easily) provoked by his frontman. 

He was in a weaker place now, multiple different factors changing their dynamic drastically, ultimately making Ryan genuinely nervous about his missing sense of an upper hand. Usually he had at least something, and now... nothing. He knew he could. He could shake Brendon off easily, if he fought past the drunk dizzy spells that came on for three seconds every minute or two, or he could berate him and scream at him until he jusr went the hell away or at least moved Ryan's drunk ass out of the hotel room, or he could. Just leave everything. Crazily, he wanted to burn every bridge he had, knew it was all over with Keltie and knew that with whatever his relationship had become with Brendon (on his own end, anyway; it seemd Brendon didn't feel even distantly as confused), the band was probably fucked, too. Or maybe he was being dramatic, emphasized by his current state of hazy-headedness. That sounded about right. 

Brendon's only response to his protests were hateful, a cynically amused scowl and a smart response. [i]What are you gonna do about it? Cry?[/i] Well. Ryan had felt pretty close to it a few times tonight because apparently he was a lightweight more than ever, but. To that, he was adamant on not being emotional at all, frowning deliberately at Brendon and trying to come up with something that would be the end-all to this confrontation entirely - but he had nothing good. Motherfucker. Either way he could tell Brendon was running his fuse short; right, he hadn't even burst completely yet, but he was close to blowing up. Ryan welcomed it. He wanted to actually [i]fight,[/i] or do [i]something[/i] physical, get rid of all the restless energy making his hands tremble and his face scrunch irritably. Anything to wipe the recurring smugness off of Brendon's face. Anything to make him shut up, stop reading Ryan's mind, stop seeing right fucking through him all the time, because he did know. Asking why he was really here when he [i]did know,[/i] god, he knew it all. He'd just let Ryan off the hook, miraculously, until now.

And Ryan almost did. He was fully planning on it, roughing the knowing look off of his face once and for all. But he didn't. Somehow he was kissing him, all the anger misrepresented, all of his hate for him somehow directed [i]this way.[/i] He didn't know how the frantic energy came out that way, he had no idea, but at least the subtext they always skirted was finally answered. Worse than that, Brendon wasn't pushing him away, wasn't avoiding him or even answering to it. But then he was, and his hand against Ryan's chest felt almost affected, and he was kissing [i]back,[/i] and. God. Ryan almost lost himself in it, let all his drunken impulses take him, ignore all of his common sense and normal rationality. Somehow, though, he forced himself to pull back after a few moments, mouth red and shining and holy shit, what were they doing, how could he ever fix this. Worse: Brendon had something to say about it, after the initial shocked pause. [i]So you didn’t come here just for me, right?[/i] Ryan thought about correcting his mistake, actually hitting him. But. He couldn't bring himself to.

Brendon was pulling a little at the fabric of his shirt again and Ryan tried to refocus from the sudden sheen on his lips, full as usual, suddenly more distracting than ever. [i]Shut up for one second, will you?[/i] Ryan's face twisted into a mean look again, and he was prepared to fight back again, try to escape this, but then Brendon was leaning up and- god, Ryan couldn't stand him, how controlled he was even here. Ryan shuddered at the sensation, him licking a line along his jaw, then his breath so close to his ear, nearly shoving him away by reflex but dropping his hands to his sides instead, weakly. [i]You can’t pretend that didn’t just happen. I won’t let you.[/i] Ryan stared back at him, reading the heat in his expression but unable to react properly, torn between shoving him away and storming out and [i]whatever[/i] or finishing what he'd started, giving Brendon something to remember, something to keep him from feeling like he'd won whatever this is.

He kept on looking for a few extended moments, still feeling hurt and sad and lost, but now with the overlay of the heat between them, the tension and incompatibility that somehow made them compatible. His breaths became slower, studying Brendon's face, everything that pissed him off before momentarily beautiful in the way it was all so comfortably familiar, and. He was kissing him again, one hand raising to tug on his hair, roughly then rougher, the other finding the small of his back to pull his body even closer. For good measure he caught Brendon's bottom lip between his teeth, biting alongside all the hair-pulling in case he wasn't getting the message, and this was so [i]juvenile[/i] but he couldn't do a thing about it, making a tiny, involuntary and anxious sound before catching himself and trying to correct it. [b]"Like this is [i]my[/i] fault,"[/b] he murmured breathlessly against Brendon's mouth, pulling back mere centimeters to argue before going straight back to kissing him. [b]"You've been begging for it since we met. I'm not fucking [i]blind[/i]."[/b] Kind of hypocritical, since he sometimes stared a little too long for comfort, but. Mostly he was trying to negate all the signs of weakness he was letting show.