During the car ride to the hotel, which had felt unnaturally and insanely long, Ryan had been just as much as a handful as when they had to, between them, half-lead, half-carry him up to Brendon’s room (yes, Brendon’s, because a) Brendon was apparently now responsible for getting his drunken lover to bed safely, and b) Ryan had insisted. Repeatedly). Brendon had the difficult job of trying to convince his wasted boyfriend that talking about the sounds Brendon let slip while they made love wasn’t appropriate and that in the back of a chauffeured car on a highway was not the best place for a quickie, as desirable as it seemed to Ryan at that particular moment. You’d think, after so long together, that Brendon wouldn’t be surprised by Ryan at this point- but he’d never seen him like this, or more specifically, heard him talk so passionately and shamelessly about the things he could usually barely even think about while he was sober without flushing a startling scarlet.

The first emotion Brendon felt when Ryan firmly rejected his advances was utter confusion and even a little upset before he realised that his boyfriend was just simply too far gone to even recognise him. Some lover, huh- Brendon then coaxed some interesting words out of him, enjoying making Zack very uncomfortable and playing along up until the point that he was being out as a dismally submissive bottom and that’s when he decided to draw the line. Embarrassed by Ryan’s newfound transparency all of a sudden, he desperately tried to catch his attention, holding onto him tightly and forcing him to make direct eye contact until that flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes and a second later, Ryan was unfastening his seatbelt and climbing over with haphazard joy. Suddenly, after a frigidly cold few minutes with his intoxicated lover who thought he was a stranger, they were Brendon and Ryan again, although Ryan being perched in Brendon’s lap was an unusual sight.

Thus from that Ryan tried to convince Brendon to go down on him right there and Brendon still wasn’t sure if he meant it- he pondered and turned it over in his mind as he lay on his back amongst heaps of pillows and sheets that he’d been too tired to toss aside after he finally got Ryan to bed. It was cloudy out, so the room was still dim despite it being rather late into the morning- 10:30, near enough; luckily, they didn’t have anywhere to be today. Luckily, specifically, for Ryan. Brendon turned onto his side and, with his cheek pressed into the pillow, stared at Ryan, who was fast asleep on his stomach, the sheets pushed down to his lower back. He’d been a fucking nightmare to get to bed, but- god, he was so perfect. Brendon took the time before he woke up and undoubtedly started complaining to admire him; but this came with the disadvantage of it being much harder not to touch him. It was too tempting- his skin looked so warm and smooth and Brendon was surprisingly cold.

As was likely, Brendon soon gave in and lifted his head from the pillow before shifting closer to his sleeping lover, pressing his face into the crook between his neck and shoulder, snaking his arms around his waist and pulling himself closer, anchoring himself to Ryan comfortably. He inhaled- he smelled good, which Brendon did not expect. He didn’t even know how much Ryan had had to drink last night, just that it was enough for him to be loose-lipped enough to talk about exactly what Brendon’s mouth was good for. Just at the thought, he smiled fondly against his skin, but then- it hit him that he was kind of annoyed at Ryan for saying so much that was personal and intimate to Zack (who he really didn’t want to see this morning) and some random driver, the poor guy. Then again, he didn’t pride himself in being a hypocrite and recalled plenty of times he’d talked about Ryan’s dick and otherwise, sober and drunk alike. So he let it go, deciding on a more efficient revenge than some form of silent treatment.

If he knew Ryan, he’d be mortified to find out and/or remember what exactly he’d said while under the influence in that car the night previous. Tender, but now with a more cunning grin, he snuggled further against Ryan’s warm body, at least considerate enough to make sure he at least had a gentle awakening- he was already rolling his eyes thinking about how much of a baby Ryan would be with such a monster hangover. And he always accused Brendon of being a princess- when Ryan was sick it was like Brendon suddenly had a young child who was playing it up for attention. That said, Brendon was exactly the same. Therefore, when they were both sick, which often happened, they just kind of stewed in their own unwellness- though it was favourable because at least they could kiss.

”Baby?” He murmured, pressing a kiss against Ryan’s skin. “You alive, Ry? Only just?” Brendon tried to stifle a giggle that was threatening to spill from his lips and only partially succeeded, snickering quietly under his breathe and snaking an arm around to like Ryan in the cheek persistently. He saw his eyes open and raised his eyebrows triumphantly. ”Idiot. Wake up, your incredibly sexy boyfriend is here. Drink me in.”

Ryan wasn’t much of a drinker. Sometimes, and mostly for appearances in these instances, he’d order a red with dinner - but then he never ended up finishing it himself unless the wine was ridiculously sweet (at least Brendon always ended up getting the remnants). Occasionally, when Brendon would have a beer at home or the odd whiskey while he was streaming or lounging around, Ryan joined in himself, albeit at a much slower pace. At parties, at festivals, anywhere where drinking was ‘expected,’ sure, he’d go for something fairly low content, just because he limited himself from going beyond the level of ‘tipsy’ around other people. In general, he wasn’t fond of the taste, wasn’t fond of the aftermath, just didn’t understand the hype, even if he’d give in to participation once in a while.

Because he so rarely partook in the popular habit, Ryan wasn’t very familiar with his drunk self. Most people understood, at least vaguely, what became of them when they drank, or even whether their behavior was influenced by the type of drink they chose - some were happy drunks, some were angry, some became sleepy after a white wine and had to leave the bar early. Ryan had no clue. Probably the drunkest he’d ever been was when he turned twenty-one and everyone around him had convinced him that tonight was the night to get trashed (though, of course, no one abided by the drinking age before then anyway). He’d gone with it, but wasn’t dedicated enough to make it past a few shots, couldn’t bring himself to like any alcohol without it being 80% mixer. Ah, adolescence.

Last night it became apparent that his tastes had matured, because he had no problem going past the point of no return then. In fairness, his point was probably far easier to reach than others, given the fact that he was so unused to the substance. Regardless - Brendon had never seen him this way, either, not just drunk but acting vaguely sexual at all outside of private moments, and he was in for a complete shock once he peeled Ryan off the side of the road. Kind of literally. Yes, it was all truthful, every ridiculously embarrassing thing coming out of Ryan’s mouth was brutal honesty, the boldness only someone with a BAC of .17 could manage. Sober Ryan stored all of that thirst in the back of his head, didn’t even think any of it to himself usually because he’d get all wistful, but apparently drunk Ryan had no such filter.

It was a mystery how Ryan got home - at least, to him it was. ‘twas probably seared into Zack’s and Brendon’s memory. Regardless he was in bed, light from the almost-noon sun keeping his skin ineffably warm, his arms encircling the pillow he’d probably dribbled on at some point. That didn’t keep someone from inching closer, fitting easily along his side, face buried over his shoulder. Not even awake and feeling like death already, Ryan naturally moved in his 99% asleep state to accomodate Brendon, turning his own head and smushing his face into Brendon’s hair comfortably. He registered, vaguely, the sensation of Brendon cuddling even closer, and he wormed his arm out from his pillow, from between them, until he could wrap it around Brendon loosely. Still not awake enough to actually hold on, but evidently haphazardly throwing a dead arm over your boyfriend was a romantic gesture in the sleeping-hungover world.

Baby? At the sound of his voice, Ryan stirred for real this time, more conscious. And he realized he felt like shit. He hummed almost inaudibly, the limp arm hanging over Brendon suddenly stiffening to hold him close as if he were a comfort pillow. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much of a hangover cure. You alive, Ry? Only just? Ryan chanced leaning his head back a little until he could actually see, blinking very dry eyes open to squint at Brendon. No, he was pretty sure he was dead, and he couldn’t even tell Brendon as much, on account of him being dead. Idiot. Wake up, your incredibly sexy boyfriend is here. Drink me in. Ryan groaned almost immediately, rolling his face into the pillow miserably. ”I don’t want to drink anything, ever,” he replied in a wrecked voice, muffled in the cushions.

Unable to feel bad right now about detaching from Brendon in the rare instance that he wanted to actually cuddle, Ryan lifted himself up off of his stomach slowly until he was sitting criss-cross, facing the headboard tiredly. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then through his hair, then over his face again, pressing his fingers into his eyes insistently. And then, almost perfectly mimicking a cat, he stretched out languidly, reaching for the ceiling as theatrically as possible. ”Is this life after death...? Am I in a coma?” He was speaking to the wall, but then he looked at Brendon again, helpless. And it occurred to him in that moment that any position other than horizontal was asking for pure discomfort, so he dramatically collapsed forward, returning similar to his original position but engaging more with Brendon, urging close to him for what he hoped to be pity treatment. ”I can’t remember anything after, like, eight. And I’m dead. Or dying. Take care of me,” he mumbled into Brendon’s shoulder, utterly useless.

Brendon was a drinker- many of the songs he had written without Ryan’s influence revolves around drinking and partying and going batshit, basically, which is why it was so strange for Ryan to be the wasted one, and not Brendon, As was how things usually played out. He’d be stumbling around, unpredictable and extremely giggly, and Ryan (or someone else if Ryan, for some reason, wasn’t available, such as Brendon was on tour) always ended up half-carrying him home and into bed. The thing was, when it got to that, Brendon’s memory had a cutoff point. He didn’t know how much of a nightmare he was when he was a little more than tipsy. Last night, though, with the task of dealing with a very intoxicated Ryan thrust upon him unexpectedly, he began to feel sympathy for Ryan and understood now why he complained about Brendon being drunk or tried to slow his drinking down before it got to that point. Brendon’s argument there was that Ryan was used to it. Drunk Brendon was well known as unstoppably horny and chaotic. Drunk Ryan being a similar way was the last thing Brendon expected.

What had he expected? Something like- Ryan as he was, more inclined to be introverted as usual, but more emotional, dramatically talking about his desire to ‘make love’ or ‘get married’ or something. Nothing like how he really apparently was, talking brazenly about how to fuck Brendon so he falls apart and other very inappropriate things that he wouldn’t even say to Brendon’s face when they were alone. It was lunacy. At first, Brendon found it hilarious as Ryan talked about his ass and how hot he was and how much he missed his boyfriend (as he didn’t even click that the man next to him was, in fact, his boyfriend), but later, as Ryan outed him as a complete bottom and requested a blowjob in a car with two other people besides the pair of them, it was just mortifying. And Ryan didn’t give a single fuck in his drunk state- that car ride seemed to last forever, until they finally arrived at the hotel, Zack dragging Ryan out of the car as Brendon claimed it was his fault for driving him away from the venue. Zack, deciding he didn’t like getting the blame, left Ryan for Brendon to deal with.

Brendon managed to get him to bed, mostly through promising that certain things would happen once they got to the hotel room, things Ryan had been enthusiastically talking about since a few miles down the road. He undressed him, and as he tried to unzip Ryan’s jeans and Ryan instead dragged him in for a very messy kiss, he decided that he did, in fact, feel great sympathy for his boyfriend whenever he had to look after Brendon. He supposed this entire struggle was karma. Luckily, despite seeming very eager to carry out what Brendon had promised, Ryan fell asleep in his underwear and Brendon had collapsed with a sigh of relief into bed next to him, without even having a shower. He was too tired. He fell asleep soon after Ryan had passed out, but not before dragging a blanket over the both of them and curling into Ryan’s side.

Now, Ryan was feeling the repercussions. I don’t want to drink anything, ever. Yeah, Brendon had heard that kind of bullshit before- from himself. For Ryan, though, who barely ever drank anyway and now had this painful hangover as a result of drinking too much, it was very likely Ryan was being entirely honest, and he was swearing off drinking that much ever again. Brendon smirked; it would be funny to see how much more drastic that decision became when he revealed what exactly had happened the previous evening. ”Not even water, darlin’? I bet you have a fuckin’ killer headache.” His voice was low and soothing, but laced with an edge of amusement, ruffling Ryan’s hair with his hand and grinning. He shifted back as Ryan began to stir properly and moved into a sitting position, facing the headboard. Brendon watched him, eyebrows raised slightly as he quashed his smirk. Still, as Ryan stretched luxuriously, Brendon drank in the way his muscles stretched taut and rested his chin in his hand, admiring him through lidded eyes. He was pretty, even though he was a pain in the ass. Is this life after death...? Am I in a coma?

”Not quite,” He murmured, opening his arms and moving so he could catch Ryan when he collapsed back into their kind-of hug. ”Though I am an angel. So you could be in heaven.” Brendon let his muscles go slack so he could be pulled in easily by Ryan. He kissed his cheek as an afterthought. I can’t remember anything after, like, eight. Interesting. ”What do you remember?” He asked, raising his eyebrows again critically. And I’m dead. Or dying. Take care of me. Okay, action. Now was time for some sweet revenge on Ryan for outing him to fucking Zack as so hopelessly submissive. ”Gladly, Ryan, But.” A pause for effect. He avoided Ryan’s eyes deliberately before searching them out, feigning reluctance but holding his gaze nonetheless. ”We need to talk about last night, uh.” Brendon moved back and summoned Ryan back into a sitting position. ”You said some really inappropriate shit about me during the ride from the bar back to the hotel. Zack and the driver were there. You didn’t- recognise me as me, or whatever, and started talking about, uh.” Brendon scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, reliving it, and stopped there to let Ryan catch up.

Yeah, the roles were usually reversed, and Ryan usually didn’t have a problem with it. Brendon was, most of the time, pretty entertaining when he was intoxicated. He wasn’t usually messy, with the stereotypical ‘drooling and dry heaving’ theatrics people always put on, but that’s just ‘cause he was used to drinking by now. Getting well and truly wasted took him a while. When he was far gone enough to be practically nonfunctional, though, Ryan was his caretaker, and he’d become an expert at it. First order of business was cutting Brendon off from the alcohol, which was hard to do if you were anyone but Ryan (he’d learned that all it took was a little aimless seduction). The rest was easy; Brendon weighed about as much as a basketball and was 5’8 at the absolute best, so he could basically be toted around to whereever he needed to be. And, as a bonus, drunk Brendon was usually charmed by Ryan carrying him.

His behavior in itself was almost predictable. He was just... Brendon, amped up to one thousand. Aries without limitations. Most of the pyrotechnics ideas from his show originated from drunk e-mails he managed to sneak to his stage manager without Ryan noticing (and he tended to bring the fire out of his shows, too, annoyingly enough, when Ryan had to confiscate three lighters from a probably-flammable Brendon). Sober Brendon might be thirsty, but drunk Brendon was thirsty, full of innuendos and wise suggestions as to what he and Ryan should do when they get home, or right there in public, ‘cause fuck it. Ryan decided to take it as a strange form of flattery, really. He was honored; that’s all he could tell Brendon whenever he ended up tucking him into bed - literally - and turning down all the invitations to extend the night. Wasn’t gonna take any risks with the guy who had a trash can for potential sick next to his bed.

Anyway. Ryan was decidedly much worse at handling his alcohol. He felt like death risen, and every touch on his skin was simultaneously too much to bear and not enough to fulfill his sudden need to be comforted. Not even water, darlin’? I bet you have a fuckin’ killer headache. As if it’d been reminded, Ryan’s head throbbed, the way it had throughout the night. He closed his eyes as Brendon’s hand ran through his hair, breathing out softly. ”If water will fix me...” He cut himself off with the longest and somehow still least satisfying stretch of his life, coming away with his eyes red from rubbing them dry afterward. Fuck it - he was doomed to be this uncomfortable forever. Ryan gave in to what was evidently God’s will, for him to stay in bed all day unmoving, and curled up to Brendon, pitiful.

Not quite. Though I am an angel. So you could be in heaven. Clearly Ryan must still be feeling the effects, because he had enough affection in his hungover state to grin and reply, ”My angel.” Brendon kissed his cheek and Ryan turned his head, kissed his lips as if it were a response to the tiny gesture. ”Everything’s how I imagined it’d be in heaven... except I feel like actual shit.” Like he was genuinely disappointed in what the afterlife was, Ryan buried his face away in Brendon’s shoulder for a moment, recuperating. What do you remember? Ryan hesitated. ”Zack telling me to go away, the fucker. And then... the cab ride. That’s it.” Zack telling him to go away because he was distracting Brendon, or whatever. Still couldn’t believe it. Guess it backfired on him later.

Helpless, Ryan slumped even further into him, demanding to be taken care of. Gladly, Ryan, But. Ryan waited, realized he sounded serious, and lifted his head slightly until he could meet Brendon’s gaze. We need to talk about last night, uh. Worried, Ryan reluctantly sat back up at his prompting, wincing. You said some really inappropriate shit about me during the ride from the bar back to the hotel. Oh. Ryan’s confused look didn’t waver at all. Zack and the driver were there. You didn’t recognise me as me, or whatever, and started talking about, uh. Ryan squinted, lost, because what could he have done even vaguely ‘inappropriate’ - what’d that mean? But Brendon seemed almost- hurt, or something, so his expression was nothing short of grave concern. ”What- what? Was I mean? What happened?” He was automatically reaching for Brendon’s hand, assumptions jumping to the worst.

It had been both fascinating and amusing to Brendon to find out that he and Ryan weren’t all that different, apparently, when it came down to things like mutual attraction and affection and pure thirst. Ryan was just more shy about it, only revealing it, evidently, when he was wasted beyond return. Fuck, maybe he didn’t even know himself that he was capable of being so goddamn forward- around other people, even, which was truly jaw dropping at the time and still to Brendon now considering that Ryan could barely get through the mildest dirty talk (if it could even be classed as that, how PG-13 Ryan was verbally) when they were completely alone and Brendon was literally coming undone for him. It was satisfying, at least, to know that he had the same effect on Ryan that Ryan had on him. An ego boost, almost- until, well. Ryan started revealing to people who really didn’t ask exactly how they had sex, and that Brendon was a bottom, through and through, no doubts there. And it must’ve been pretty mortifying because Brendon had close to no sense of shame or concept of embarrassment.

That said, it was true. It wasn’t like Brendon had a distaste for taking on the role he did- the complete opposite, as Ryan had helpfully explained, but he just had some kind of complex where he didn’t want people to know that he was like that. His confidence and independence defined him and he had a weird thing about people knowing he was so submissive, when among others and in day to day life he was so assertive. In Brendon’s mind, he was unclockable, so for Ryan to just go ahead and ‘blow his cover’ was like a slap in the face and Brendon didn’t even get time to damage control, ‘fix’ his image, because he had to look after his poor, wasted boyfriend. Thinking about it a little, Brendon reflected on his fear of his role being known- and decided that maybe it was something to work on, some kind of internalised issue with himself he hadn’t addressed. That dramatic bullshit aside- it was very reasonable for him to not want very intimate details about the two of them broadcast to strangers or otherwise very different parties, he thought, so he carried on with his deliberately careful confrontation about Ryan’s behaviour.

If water will fix me... Brendon wasn’t sure if anything could fx Ryan at this point other than time- he had the kind of hangover that, even with painkillers and gallons of water or more alcohol, could only be cured by waiting and suffering for a while until the pain and nausea subsided. ”It might help,” Brendon said encouragingly, but he was still dubious. He mentally noted down that he should get Ryan a glass of water sooner rather than later so he didn’t complain too much. ”I’ll get you some, and painkillers. In a bit.” His voice was deliberately vague-sounding and neutral, and he shifted, before kissing Ryan chastely on the cheek. My angel. Aw. Fuck. It was hard to even pretend to be mad at him when he was so soft and affectionate and referred to him as angel or baby or darling. Brendon just melted in response every time no matter how much he heard it. Everything’s how I imagined it’d be in heaven... except I feel like actual shit. He raised his eyebrows. ”Well, maybe you’re in hell.”

Zack telling me to go away, the fucker. Brendon smirked, ”Yeah, you kept sneaking in tryna kiss me before the show. Distracting me.” And then... the cab ride. That’s it. Evidently not the ride back to the hotel, featuring antics from Ryan like requesting head and straddling Brendon’s lap in the backseat. Those memories flashed through his mind and he exhaled, wondering where to start with this if Ryan really remembered so little about what happened last night. He wanted to make sure he didn’t think the worst, like, he had cheated, or something awful like that, though even fucking wasted neither of them would even dream of something like that. Hell, Ryan had refused to kiss him, at first, because he thought that he wasn’t Brendon. Even thinking about that he felt a surge of affection and an urge to go easy on Ryan- especially considering he looked so concerned when Brendon brought up his behaviour. What- what? Was I mean? What happened?

Brendon stared at their joined hands and laughed awkwardly, genuinely lost as to where to start. ”No, no, not mean. Far from it, dude. You were, uh. Thirsty. Very... Sexual.” He said the word like they were twelve year olds, cursing, but scared that their parents would hear. ”You got into the car and I tried to kiss you and you refused, saying that. You were spoken for. You didn’t recognise me at all, you were so gone,” He explained, looking up as he recalled the events in the car. ”I thought it was funny, so I asked about- your boyfriend. You started talking about, uh, my ass. And how you stared at it and you couldn’t help but think about fucking me when I’m on stage wearing-“ He stifled a laugh, trying to remain serious, ”Tight jeans.” A pause to let it sink in, before he continued. ”You said you wanted to touch ‘every inch’ of me. Like, normally, I’d have been flattered, but it was in front of Zack and this driver. Thought you’d like to know, in case Zack mentions it.” Obviously, that wasn’t all, and Brendon made that clear by staring at Ryan intently, gauging is reaction and letting him come to terms with his very uncharacteristic behaviour. “Actually, I think he recorded some of it.”