Brendon was, unsurprisingly, a strong believer in fate. Maybe not destiny- he didn’t believe everything was set out before you, he believed that a combination of talent, luck and hard work brought him to where he was today and would carry him into the future- but as far as relationships went, he did believe that certain people and their relationships were already set out from the beginning, no love could be artificially forced where the true emotion wasn’t there. Similarly, he believed that some people just didn’t get along, despised each other’s very presence, and no matter what other people did or no matter how much either or both parties tried to change that, if the hate was so strong and ingrained, those people couldn’t be forced to like eachother. When it came to him and Ryan, though, interestingly, that wasn’t what he thought. He believed that if things had started out differently, if the circumstances at changed, if there was more honesty and open communication within the band before and just after Brendon joined, that maybe their relationship would be different. But the cards hadn’t been dealt that way. Their introduction was tragically and openly hostile, and so was the rest of their personal relationship. Professionally, they managed to mask it, faked the existence of a friendship so no stupid rumours arose and their feud didn’t disrupt the band more than it already did. It worked- to an extent.

But nature had pulled a cruel joke on them, and aside from their strong mutual dislike (understatement of the year), they were both also attracted to eachother with an intensity neither of them anticipated at first but quickly arose without warning. One day, Brendon had been glaring at Ryan while he was playing guitar, at first being internally scornful, but suddenly noticing how [i]pretty[/i] his hands were- [i]what?[/i]- how the colour of his eyes was basically rich honey; he was strikingly endeared by the curls at the ends of his hair and he was so [i]tall,[/i] his voice so rough and [i]attractive,[/i] his smile boyish and- god, Brendon was floored, and then he was angry again. It was embrassing- but it was mutual. If it was unrequited, it would probably be easier for one of them to just shut up and get on with it- but no, it was obvious, they both knew about it, just never spoke about it properly besides the odd barbed comment or venomous remark. They used this odd twist in their relationship as a double-edged sword in arguments- when, say, Brendon mocked Ryan about the way he always stared at him when he was shirtless in a way that definitely wasn’t platonic, it was a completely valid point, but Ryan just turned it right back on him and snapped back at him, sneering about the way Brendon gazed at his hands or lost himself in Ryan’s eyes when they were supposed to be having an argument. Neither of them could win on that front, they were stuck in a rut, every comment a hypocritical one- but it didn’t stop them trying.

Their habit of testing the waters there had lead them right to where Tebet were now, tangled together and kissing heatedly, Ryan backed up against the wall, holding Brendon’s body flush by the small of his back and curling locks of his hair around his fingers roughly. Brendon was sweating already- [i]embarrassing-[/i] and his breathing had quickened then slowed, unsteady and not in control anymore. Neither of them were. They were both slightly buzzed- Ryan much more, he was drunk- and the rush of heat the came with finally addressing the subtext physically and rectifying the undisclosed desires they had tried so hard to suppress. All they needed, apparently, was a little alcohol, and a hotel room far away from anyone who might find out, and they’d be hungry for eachother, sounding almost desperate and wanton and Brendon tried not to care but it was all so telling. His body, apparently, wasn’t capable of telling lies. He growled in frustration against Ryan’s mouth as they pressed together, and twisted his fingers into his hair, pulling hard to try and spend this heated energy.

[i]Right, sure, and you didn’t kiss back at[/i] all. Brendon narrowed his eyes, wet his lips and clenched his jaw as Ryan straightened up, clearly trying to drag his attention to his height, and it was working. To counter, Brendon dragged him down, closer, wanting to continue [i]whatever[/i] they were doing before Ryan had a chance to be a smartass. Or, even more of one. [i]Oh, oh, Ryan...[/i] Brendon almost [i]snarled,[/i]and he lunged in suddenly to bite at his neck, just over his pulse, latching his mouth roughly onto his skin and using his other hand to press him into the wall by his hip, attempting to ignore him even when he pulled away and leaned up, searching to kiss him again. He wasn’t making a very good case for himself. [i]Yeah, fuck you.[/i] The infuriating thing was, Brendon had no argument- Sure, he could say all he wanted that Ryan initiated, Ryan kissed him first, but he’d have so many more bragging rights if he had rejected his advances and pulled away. He just [i]had[/i] to kiss him back, didn’t he? Good going, Brendon. He growled low in his throat again, clearly frustrated, and moved on to try and regain the power here.

So, he pulled Ryan in for what he decided would be their final, licentious kiss, moving a hand up to hold onto his jaw in a way that was almost normal, and Ryan’s hands fit around his hips easily as they pulled eachother close, and they fit in a way that was unexpected and strange. It was still charged, angry, desperate, but this was the most normal and comfortable kiss they had shared so far. Brendon intended it to be their parting kiss, and kissed him in until he needed air, at which point he pulled back without warning, out of his tight grasp, dropping his hand from the line of his jaw and stepping back all in one fluid motion. A smirk wavered along the curve of his mouth, swollen and reddened by vicious kisses, and he turned around and all but strutted away, feeling a sense of victory because Ryan had started it and now Brendon had finished it. This made Ryan look like the desperate one, the one that wanted this more than Brendon did. That was how he wanted this to go, and he carried on towards the bedroom until he was hanging around the doorway. To his surprise, he turned around, and Ryan was there, close again.

[i]What the[/i] fuck. Brendon’s breath hitched as Ryan shoved him backwards and he hit the mattress hard, disorientated, not given much time to steady himself before Ryan was on him, over him, and Brendon’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. [i]You think that’s[/i] it? He liked this. Brendon did. He enjoyed having the upper hand simply because he wanted to see Ryan squirm, but this- someone else being in control- he enjoyed it, but Ryan was the last person he wanted to give that sense of power to. He did it anyway. Brendon shook his head quickly in answer to his question. [i]No, fuck you- you started this, too, so fucking finish.[/i] [b]”[i]You[/i] started this, dickhead, [i]you[/i] fucking-”[/b] Not even given chance to take in air again before Ryan tangled his hands in his hair once again and they crashed together to kiss, Brendon returned the kiss with an angry enthusiasm, moving himself further and fully onto the mattress and dragging Ryan with him by his shirt, then resting one in his hair and trailing the other from his hips up under his shirt, pulling the fabric up to his sternum, splaying his hand.

‘Happy birthday’, [i]god, asshole. [/i] Brendon laughed breathlessly, almost more delusioned and nonsensical than out of mirth, and breathed out a reply- [b]”What, I’m just being nice, birthday boy,”[/b]- then tilted his head back and continued their biting kiss, his bottom lip starting to feel sore, but he didn’t care. Instead, he wrapped a leg loosely around Ryan’s waist, arched his body up from the mattress. At this point, all common sense had gone out of the window.