[i]I’m sure he wouldn’t mind one little kiss.[/i] Ryan looked visibly annoyed by now, his brow furrowing and his lips pursing. At least here was an opportunity to show some loyalty, although both of them had no doubts in their mind about it... nor was this intentional whatsoever. Ryan was hardly an actor. [b]”Even if that was true, [i]I[/i] mind.”[/b] His usual unhurried way of speaking, calm and vaguely intelligent sounding, was disrupted by the alcohol; he stumbled over his words and merged them together, not quite slurring but clearly trying very hard to remain coherent. If he were sober making this argument to an actual stranger, he’d also like to point out that, nevermind the consequences, he wasn’t even close to interested in cheating. Never had the temptation to, never would. What was there to miss out on when you were with Brendon? He was the definition of ‘full package.’

[i]He sounds pretty lame.[/i] Ryan blinked and looked at Brendon again, hardly looking as critical as he meant to. [b]”[i]You’re[/i] lame,”[/b] he shot back, as if it was a powerful argument, and as if that wasn’t hilariously ironic. Brendon was right: he was dating a dumbass. A dumbass who clearly had been waiting his whole life to unleash a tangent about Brendon. He leaned over to share and felt the ‘other passenger’ steady him, automatically shrugging him off like he had some kind of contagion. [i]Nah, I’m looking at the hottest man alive right now.[/i] Ryan actually managed a real glare that time, sitting up slightly from his awkward slant in the middle seat as if the closeness was what prompted these compliments. Usually he would need the flattery, oftentimes a touch too self-conscious for his own good; now he was just mad about it. Sober Ryan, on the other hand, would have probably pulled Brendon into his lap by now.

He was showing Brendon himself, apparently expecting an outpour of appreciation. [i]Yup. That’s him.[/i] Ryan was distracted by his screen for a moment, offhandedly wondering why the hell someone-clearly-not-his-boyfriend wasn’t admiring his boyfriend, before his train of thought switched tracks, running towards, evidently, a more thirsty route. [i]What about it?[/i] Ryan had more commentary, endlessly grateful for a question to urge it out. [b]”I [i]have[/i] to walk a couple inches behind him. Even if we’re holding hands. It’s, like... the law. I need the view.”[/b] Ryan shut his eyes again, as if he was imagining it, probably looked like he was going to sleep again. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t all that sleepy anymore, at least not as much as he was a minute ago - it seemed the new twist in conversation woke him up more, brought out an unusually talkative side to him.

[i]Like what?[/i] Ryan inhaled slowly, literally taking effort, too relaxed to do anything but manually take breaths. [b]”Like, he wears them on stage... and how am I supposed to fuck him when he’s doing a, like, forever-long show? [i]And[/i] he takes his shirt off onstage...”[/b] Ryan sighed again, lifting his hand belatedly, moving it lazily in the air for a moment as if he was still talking and needed to gesticulate. [b]”I want to touch -“[/b] He put his hands up again, finally resting his back on the middle seat, staring at the ceiling at an awkward curve while he over-expressed himself. [b]”- every inch of him, he looks so fucking [i]good[/i] up there, he looks good all the time. On stage, yeah... but also, like... just normally. When we’re running boring errands. Or when he’s just chilling on the couch.”[/b] Ryan dropped his hands dramatically, plonking them against the seat and pausing for a moment while he got his thoughts straight. [b]”I think God made me... and then he was like, you know what... he needs a bottom. So he made Brendon. He’s my other half, man, I love him so much.”[/b]