jakob

it's a lovely chemistry

A three year draft. Ryan had been dreaming of this shit since he was fourteen.

The NHL Entry Draft was something that seemed way too soon for him, seven years into ever even beginning to play, much less competitively - and here he was, surviving seven rounds of the draft, #1 amongst a little over 200 others on the plate. A right winger, he tended to lead the team in scoring, but he also got a nasty injury of some kind at least every game - like the busted lip he sported now, or the bruised cheekbone that just healed, or the fractured elbow that he ignored for a solid month. So. Ryan didn't think he was that great, despite everything. Especially not 'first in the national draft' great.

But, somehow, he was leaving the American Airlines Center, signed to the Blackhawks, listening to his manager ramble off awards dates and opportunities and interview times. And he wasn't really hearing a thing, but that didn't matter, because dream: meet Ryan. He was doing fucking fantastic.

He woke up the next morning, alarm blaring at seven a.m., almost having forgotten the day previous - and then he looked around, and it was the nicest hotel room he'd ever been in, and his contract was on the desk parallel to his bed, jersey thrown over the chair, and... he had an interview in an hour. He'd had maybe three, ever before, and all of them were mediocre, not anyone who really cared about how much he'd scored or how great of a right winger he was or what awards he'd won, they were just paid to ask. But now he had that same amount all in one day, and more in the future, and basically he felt like a celebrity, except with maybe 2,000 Instagram followers and half that on Twitter. So not quite. Getting there, though. After calibrating to this new reality, Ryan shut up his alarm clock and pulled himself to his feet, for the first time in a while wide awake and beyond excited for the day.

He hadn't even known what it'd entail - everything else had been right after a game, bathed in euphoria, nothing really about him, and now he held more importance. It ended up not even mattering - he'd entered the room, some online journal's building, and there was a whole crew and an interviewer who instantly knocked him off-guard. Ryan wasn't shy, nowhere close to it; in fact he was cocky enough that he almost had a bad reputation for it at least amongst opposing teams. This guy, though, was dangerously pretty. Ryan even had to repeat his introduction 'cause someone on the crew asked him to speak up. Every answer to a question was as short as possible, barely loud enough to hear, stammered through, so forth, and apparently he had a new expression he'd never seen before: fleeting, nervous smile. His name was Brendon, and as soon as no one was recording anymore, Ryan had anxiously cleared his throat and worked up the courage to ask him if maybe he'd like to get dinner sometime.

It was cliché, yeah, and Brendon had stopped for a second before clarifying that it was just between them because Ryan was just that bad around anyone he found cute. And he was pretty sure the guy who set up the room had heard it. Embarrassing. But - Ryan got a yes, so it wasn't too bad. Tomorrow at seven, when all of his other appointments were over. So, at six, he started getting ready, shamefully recycling the same outfit he'd worn to the draft because he didn't exactly have a plethora of nice clothes: black pants, a white button-up, fairly plain stuff. The only less plain thing on him: hands adorned with rings, a scar still annoyingly on the side of his bottom lip, but having something going wrong was fairly on-brand for him. He messed with his hair, fruitlessly, for a strong twenty minutes before he was out the door.

Naturally, he was the first one at the restaurant, picking a table close to the door and feeling dumb as all hell. Basically the only thing he knew about the guy was his name - Brendon, on the other hand, had a whole interview's worth. Maybe his Wikipedia page basics. He spun his rings and ordered red wine while he waited, sipping at it tentatively (and knowing full well he was a lightweight, but he needed the help), and decided to text Brendon. I'm here, table by the bar. See you soon :-) ... Ryan deleted that smiley face and rewrote it without a nose about five times before deciding which one looked better. Seriously, an entire team depended on him on the constant and this was what made him nervous.

After a few minutes he was starting to relax, settling in and feeling warm, and he spotted a familiar, ridiculously pretty face coming through the door. Ryan stood up fast, meeting Brendon in the middle and almost going for a handshake, deciding on a hug. "Hey! Hi. I, uh, I didn't have anything nice to wear. So." Ryan held out his arms at his sides, almost awkward. Felt like he had to excuse it somehow. He started guiding them back to the table. "Anyway, it's good to see you again - please." As he said it, he pulled out a chair for Brendon, holding out a hand to welcome him and then taking his own seat. "How are you? Did I end up sounding good in the interview? I may have been a little nervous." Obviously. He grinned despite himself.

your way

I said I’m sorry, okay? What more do you want from me- Ryan tossed a look over his shoulder at him wonderingly, curious to know if maybe he was, if maybe he did miss Ryan the same way Ryan missed him, if maybe Ryan did hold that importance in his life. But. Brendon was an enigma, when it came to his real emotions and not just the ones he wanted to display. He may look like an open book, but he was far from it. Instead of answering, he stayed silent, wary of the strolling patrons in the lobby, the concierge, the receptionist, everyone. As if anyone would really spare them a second glance in their ratty bus attire. That’s okay, I’d rather get cholera and die. Ryan smirked, envisioning the concept of him reading to Brendon anyway, and it sounded silly but it could be sweet. Not Palahniuk, of course, he wasn't quite the epitome of romance, but poetry, quotes from less intense authors, what have you. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. "It'll be romantic, Brendon." He said his name too playfully, testing their limits.

When they kissed, for a second, it was like they'd never been in this little petty fight - if you could call it that. They'd certainly had worse; in fact, this was probably the smallest scale he'd ever seen between them. In any case, he melted into it, forgetting everything but familiarity, the comfort of knowing someone so well for so long that they felt like home. And that was becoming less of a strange concept, the closer they became - Brendon being home for him. He was annoying and persistent, but he was what kept Ryan curious, what kept the days from blurring together, the only thing that welcomed change and inconsistency and the delightful anxiety that came with an ever-shifting routine. His hands fit easily around Brendon's waist, reposeful, and in the silence it seemed like the elevator would never stop. They were in here, dynamic duo, the pairing of an era, unstoppable, for whatever time was available. And that was all very ridiculous of him, sure, but it'd been a while since they'd been this close, and Ryan was sentimental and dumb and easily attached, and now Brendon was saying 'I'll be good for you' and he felt all his senses short out, or something.

So when the elevator did stop and the fantasy ended in a jumbled panic, Ryan was embarrassed and relieved simultaneously. If they had even one more floor to go up he'd probably be rushing out bated agreements. He stepped out of the elevator, immediately defending his too-long hesitation, how obviously easy he was, and Brendon knew. That smile. Ryan's gaze was too tender, so he turned away determinedly. Mh-hm. Ryan was silent for a few moments, and because Brendon was quiet, too, odd behavior for him, he glanced over again, picking up on the newfound confidence in his posture. "Shut up," he said, even though Brendon hadn't said a word, and pointedly ignored the fact that he could feel Brendon's attention fixated on him the whole way to their room. It's not that it was bothersome, or anything like that; it made him wistful, somehow charmed that Brendon could chase this long. For someone like Ryan, of all people, no less. He knew he was still blushing even as he fumbled with their door, entered the room, hid his face as much as he could.

When Brendon kicked the door shut Ryan instinctively turned to trace the sound, catching him looking on fondly and almost shrinking from it. Seriously. He was easy. Why, love? Seems counterproductive to me. Love. He really was a demon. Ryan opened his mouth to actually answer, something angry and accusatory if he could make it up on the spot, but his voice apparently was gone for the time being, so he shut up. He thought, at best, Brendon would tire of this and go pass out in bed, maybe on the couch to Ryan's right, but he approached moments after Ryan had fallen into his chair. Ryan regarded him carefully, turning his head from where it'd been facing the ceiling, and short-circuited when he dropped to his knees. Brendon looked dead serious. Ryan nearly moved to sit up straighter, worried, but froze when Brendon placed his elbows over his knees, gaze flicking everywhere for a few counts before settling on Brendon's.

And he was beautiful. Infuriatingly so. His hair fell over his face, and Ryan's impulse was, as usual, to fix it, but he was still solid as ice - even as Brendon trailed his fingers up his thigh. Ryan's fingers twitched over either armrest, having been slack, useless, through the ordeal. Ryan, baby. Ryan was beyond screwed. Past the point of no return. He was way too into him. Demon. I’m a clever boy, sometimes. So- I understand your point, okay? You’re in charge, I was wrong, I deserve a slap on the wrist. So- please. Let me make it up you. 'Okay' was the immediate response in his head, and he was actually glad his voice had run for the hills already, otherwise he'd have uttered it stupidly, automatically. His lips were parted, prepared to do something to either stop this in its track or dumbly go along with whatever Brendon was plotting, until his hand stopped its path and he moved instead into Ryan's lap. I’m sorry, really.

Ryan stared at him, honey gaze meeting his silken one, and he felt almost guilty. Here was Brendon, screwing around, lively, and Ryan was completely involved. This wasn't even serious enough to be truly nervous, and here he was, on the spot. "I can't follow your rules," he blurted out, sudden, impulsive, and stilled again, eyes intent on Brendon's. He supposed the out-of-nowhere confession came from this desire for Brendon to like him back, to accept the 'boyfriends' concept even when it'd never worked before. They were in different circumstances now, so. Another chance, he guessed, was a good idea, or at least a feasible one. "I can't do this for just one tour. I- I was afraid that I was losing valuable time, when you weren't talking to me, and. I like you. So." He was talking oddly fast, and then he placed anxious hands on either side of Brendon's waist, distantly aware that this gave him grounds to walk out. After a pause, he regretted it, backtracked. "I mean. No, whatever, I forgive you, we can- the bedroom's right there. Sorry." Ryan framed his face with his hands, moving ridiculously fast, planted a desperate kiss on his cheek, and shifted forward on the seat as if about to stand, one hand on Brendon's back and the other securing his head. "Okay? Past is the past, bygones, you know; forget what I said."

your way

Right, maybe this was a complete one-eighty - Ryan had immediately flounced along to wait for Brendon outside of his bus as soon as they reached their destination, and then he'd been all 'boyfriend I missed you please miss me back,' whatever, the first words out of his mouth. The impatience took a minute to actually kick in. He had some leverage now, a touch of an upper hand, and he'd never seen himself as much the type to let power get to his head but he was actually mad at Brendon for putting distance between them (rather than what used to make him angry: the exact opposite). So. He wasn't going to give Brendon what he wanted, even if he was so painfully cute that it was almost convincing enough to make him forget why he was irritated with him in the first place. Ryan could be world renowned for his fragile ego, truthfully, and what hurt his ego more than anything else right now was the idea that he might be more interested in Brendon than Brendon was in him. Not physically, not sexually, nothing surface level as that; he'd developed this connection with him that couldn't quite be explained. Or, well. Maybe it wasn't a connection if it was beginning to seem a bit one sided.

They were immature, though, so his natural comeback was to bruise Brendon's ego right back. An apology. It almost sounded sincere - except Ryan wasn't used to that, couldn't discern whether he was making up the genuine tone in Brendon's voice or maybe it was the most bullshit apology of all time and he just wanted to, for lack of any phrase more accurate to them, kiss and make up. Luckily, Ryan had grown adept at knowing Brendon's facial expressions - he'd run him through enough emotions to know which ones were true and which ones were like his stage act, fabricated, overdramatized. The hopeful look on his features, almost reassuring, encouraging, his baited breath; that was all real. And Ryan liked him so much, even in that moment, even when he had a laugh on the tip of his tongue because apologies were just so bizarre between them, rarely true and often sarcastic. That's why, he supposed, he couldn't let him off the hook this time. If they were ever going to work, then...

Well. He was getting ahead of himself. To his knowledge, Ryan was the only one who wanted anything to 'work' between them. There were rules, and he remembered them distinctly, just didn't care much to follow them. Instead of letting his tangential, affectionate thoughts become known, Ryan was playful, backing away but pulling Brendon with him. What? He felt Brendon tug against his grip, and didn't even have to look behind him to know that, yes, they looked like mother and misbehaving child in the middle of a shopping mall, kid wants a $12.99 toy and mom desperately wants to get to the car. Ryan grinned to himself, not even bothering to hold tighter, 'cause clearly even his slack vice was enough to keep Brendon in line. But- I wanna suck your dick. Ryan actually did glance back that time, an eyebrow raised, because really, did Brendon not give a fuck about his ego anymore? You’re a lying bastard. Maybe a little. "You're the douche who wouldn't talk to me. We're even." On the surface, those were some biting words, but he sounded fairly content with the situation nonetheless.

I haven’t fucking read the book, anyway, shithead. Ryan put his back to the door to push it open, facing Brendon and looking almost soft, like they weren't berating each other back-and-forth. "I'll read it to you sometime," he offered, nonchalant, and a moment longer of looking at him felt meaningful, somehow. Maybe he missed him more than he realized. Even when he was being an annoying bastard. Brendon tugged free in the lobby, and Ryan didn't protest, knowing one of their rules was to stay hush-hush and him dragging Brendon along with a stupid smile on his face probably wasn't the picture of secrecy he was aiming for. He pursed his lips, set his expression, let his hands slip into his pockets while Brendon crossed his arms, obviously upset. Since the seven year old rockstar appeared to be occupied with his temper tantrum, Ryan took their keycards from the counter and guided them to the elevators, letting Brendon call it down and watching him from the corner of his eye just to see how long he could keep up the dramatics.

Things didn't look promising, but then the elevator arrived, and as soon as Ryan stepped on he was pressed against the bars running alongside the three walls of the elevator, blindsided by Brendon's intensity. Ryan didn't quite respond - though he probably should have expected this - for a good three seconds, hands frozen in the air around him before finally resting against Brendon's back, fingertips pressing down securely, tilting his own head and shutting his eyes until they were properly slotted together like they were so used to. It occurred to him that after his huge effort to make a point, maybe this wasn't the best follow-up, but. Fuck it. This was reflex, natural instinct. When Brendon pulled back he let his head thump against the wall, looking down through his eyelashes, lips parted. Please. I’ll be good for you. Ryan was silent, feeling, like, butterflies in his chest even though this was the stupidest invocation for such a thing, and he was so teetering on the edge of saying something stupid like yeah, sure, okay, sure. Or another equally nonsensical, counterproductive response.

But there was a ding, and Ryan panicked, because surely it hadn't been long enough for them to get to their floor and thus someone was about to walk into this mess, so he pulled Brendon forward with him, letting go when he could lean against the railing too and they almost looked innocuous - except for the fact that Ryan's hair was everywhere and he looked white as a ghost, leave for a very flustered blush. He was holding his breath when he looked up at the level, realizing that, yes, they were actually at their floor and he was just that caught up in the moment, and the doors slid open to reveal fucking no one. At all. Ryan let go a long exhale, embarrassed, sparing a sideways glance at Brendon. "You didn't convince me," he argued uncertainly, beating Brendon to the chase before he could celebrate the victory of making Ryan almost agree with him. Almost.

Ryan stepped out, blocking the door from closing until Brendon came along, too, and headed towards the room that matched their keycard, fussing with his hair to get it back into place the whole way through. "I'm trying to be mad at you, here," he said, though with both arms raised, sifting through his hair, and his almost good-humoured tone, it didn't seem all that weighted. He gave up and dropped his arms at the door, curls falling loosely, and swiped their keycard mechanically to let them in. "So stay five feet away at all times. Demon." Ryan swung around in the middle of the room, raising his eyebrows and using both index fingers to make a cross. He dropped his hands and practically collapsed into an armchair, face turned to the ceiling, sighing long-sufferingly.

your way

Ryan was only sort of starting to understand Brendon's dynamics. Scratch that - he knew his reactions to everything before they were actually intimate with each other. You could've called them best friends if they weren't at each other's throats constantly, actually, he knew him that well. He'd learned that, if you throw in a little bit of a personal attack, like, on his personality or something stupid like that while criticizing his musical ability, it totally knocked him down a rung. And then when he stopped doing that - actually, when he realized he hated doing that and he much preferred seeing Brendon's smile or the solitary little squint when he did - Ryan learned that when he looked at Brendon a certain way, vulnerable enough to show fondness for once, Brendon would look away because he couldn't take so much for too long and it was beyond precious. But Ryan had only halfway begun this practice of actually telling Brendon when something bothered him, and, apparently, backing it up by being imposing had the opposite effect he was going for. Which he should have expected, he supposed, because their 'relationship' of sorts stood on a foundation of malice.

And, honestly, now that he was actually talking to Brendon again, he was starting to forget why he was mad in the first place. What was a little time apart when Brendon was here now? And looking like that - slanted at such an angle Ryan could practically feel him under his fingertips already. Wait, hold on - he was still mad. Shit. Actually, that was a real fuckin’ good punishment for me. Please punish me more often. Ryan chewed his lip, uncertain and, unfortunately, incredibly attracted to the Devil himself right now, but he kept his hands in his pockets and a safe handful of inches away. The thing was, Brendon apparently still thought something was going to happen here, and Ryan was a tiny bit afraid of the repercussions when he realized he wasn't going to, in Brendon's words, 'get dicked down' within the next thirty minutes. Or, not even tonight, if Ryan's willpower held out. Sure, he was getting more sentimental these days, kept catching himself on the whole 'boyfriend' train of thought whenever his mind drifted to the idea of Brendon at all, but he was still irresistible in every other way. So.

Plus, he was too charming, made it very difficult to continue turning him down. For someone whose lyrics Ryan used to pretend to hate all the time, he really had a way with words. Ryan declined anyway, somehow, and after a pause Brendon looked like he knew exactly what was going on - whatever he was thinking about, he was wrong. That’s okay, baby, I’ll do whatever you ask me to. I’m just, uh. In the mood- for that. Ryan shook his head, but the more he talked about it the more Ryan was in the mood, too, that asshole, so he rolled his eyes again as obnoxiously as he could to brush it off before pulling Brendon closer to him, turning on the charm - not like he could really measure up to the competition, here. Though evidently it worked for him, when he was being vaguely intimidating. Brendon looked iffy only momentarily before he continued, knowing already that 'sorry's weren't their thing, and then he was staring, so. Things looked good so far.

Brendon looked at his feet and Ryan took that moment to break composure, grin off a very suppressed laugh, before biting his lip instead and going back to seriousness. I, uh- fuck. Okay. Ryan, I. Suddenly it was a little less funny. He rarely saw Brendon stumble like this, much less when he was talking directly to him, and. Weirdly, it was affecting. Yeah, they definitely still had a bizarre dynamic. He watched him struggle out the two words they never said to each other, fascinated. I’m sorry. I won’t- I won’t do anything like that again. Promise. Ryan's lips parted, a lot less intense looking, almost forgiving because Brendon was really, really never like this. Even if the remorse was fake, he was a convincing actor. For a second Ryan betrayed the unspoken 'not boyfriends' rule, smoothing his thumb adoringly over the tiny scar in his eyebrow, over his temple, his cheekbone; he let his fingers comb through his hair, easily, fluidly. What a dumbass. "You really thought," he said, a grin finding its way on his face again, all of his features lighting up.

Ryan moved away again, reaching out to tug Brendon's wrist and guide him away - an inch away from his impulse to hold his hand, truthfully. "You're adorable. But I'm in charge. How about Fight Club? Doesn't do the book justice, if you ask me." Okay, they'd seen it together before, and it was pretty much identical to the book. But he knew Ryan and all his peculiarities anyway. Plus, not like that would be the thing bothering Brendon, of all this.

sorry to get sentimental tonight

As unexpected and messy as this proposal was, Ryan would be lying if he said it hadn't been on his mind anyway. He tended to jump the gun when it came to Brendon. They first met, he was immediately infatuated, offered him a job within the next, like, day. And then they were the closest of friends in no time, even entertaining a romantic aspect beneath the surface until Ryan finally made a move. Well. 'Finally' might be a leap, especially when they were technically boss/employee, but. In the time following, he was given new reasons to want Brendon around forever every single day, new reasons to marry him even when they were barely considered 'long term' - Ryan wasn't joking when he called him the 'love of his life,' stupid, sappy things like that, and shockingly, he was never afraid. Ryan had his doubts about everything, didn't just 'go with it' and rarely took chances, but Brendon was something he was so sure about. He matched every joke Ryan made, knew every quirk like it was his own, was generally about as perfect as it got. So. Yeah, he'd known for a while that he'd marry him.

Granted it would probably be more considerate to have clued Brendon in to that idea before popping the question, but. He seemed all right with the situation - more than all right. M-hm. Brendon's eyes were on his hands, intent, and Ryan just watched his face, the little nostalgic smile that betrayed him. God, yeah, he'd elope right now if he could, if he wasn't dying of embarrassment still. Oh yeah? "I'm thinking a date, initials, lyrics..." Brendon wasn't totally listening, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, and Ryan trailed off just as distractedly, lips parting slightly. "...Something like that." He bit his lip, so fucking enamoured, why weren't they married already? He gave Brendon his little placeholder, pleased with this trial ring of sorts, and Brendon's look when he turned back to him - god. He took Ryan's breath away. When they kissed Ryan could barely respond properly, that affected. I- I like that. I want people to know I’m yours. Ryan made a small, fond sound, lifting the hand he'd been studying to hold his chin briefly, delicately. "And I'm yours. In case it wasn't obvious."

Brendon pressed against him, totally evil, and Ryan's hands tightened around his waist, still keeping him close as he was able while they kissed. No headache, but I’m gonna fuckin’ hurt tomorrow. Ryan laughed genuinely, burying his face into Brendon's pillow-messy hair when he rested his forehead against his shoulder, breathing him in. "Sorry about that." He smiled softly, pulling away to give Brendon space when he lifted his head again. Well, now you’ve told me, I think I’ll have an idea. Dumbass. Ryan rolled his eyes, feeling wonderful with Brendon's laughter against his skin. Really, he wouldn't know the when, the where, the how - he had no damn idea. Maybe he didn't want another proposal, didn't need one, but he was gonna get one, 'cause. Well. Look at him. Brendon was the kind of guy that happened once in a lifetime, maybe less. He deserved something insane.

Whaddya mean, not fuckin’ tell anyone? That was- as I said- the best sex we’ve ever had. You proposed, like, right before you- Ryan cleared his throat, looking at him warningly, but a smile played on his lips. I need a shower. Anyway, if you think I’m not gonna tell anyone. Sorry, baby. I’m sure Spencer will be thrilled to know. I’ll tell him myself so he has time to calm down before he reaches you. "Oh my god," Ryan said, freeing a hand to shove over his face and drag aside. "If you tell Spencer, I will kill you, then myself." Ryan paused, sighing long-sufferingly. "I mean... if he doesn't do it first. He'll basically be your in-law." Ryan grinned, but seriously - poor Brendon. He had only halfway won over Spencer's approval. Or maybe Spencer will be so amused over the fact that Ryan popped the question just before that that he'll just laugh it all off and decide to fully accept Brendon.

Ryan watched him roll to the side, crash against the mattress, flopping onto his front and hiding away in his pillow, and grinned the whole way through. What a mess. Not to ruin your epic proposal dreams, but. You just did blow my mind. Thought that was pretty evident. You’re really something. Ryan bit his lip again, hesitant, and rolled onto his side, lazily running his knuckles down Brendon's back and planting his cheek in his other palm. He studied him for a moment, the way his muscles stretched taut with his arms folded under his head like that, very nearly rolling his eyes at how ridiculously infatuated he was with his now-fiance. After a pause he leaned over him, bracketing an arm around his pillow and kissing the side of his head before speaking close to his ear. "I could do better." He toyed with his hair for a second, grinning, then fell back to his side of the bed, biting his thumbnail thoughtfully and running his other hand through his hair, letting it settle there. "Guess I'll save it 'til the honeymoon, though."

your way

They were getting better at not breaking one another's necks these days. Ryan had begun to pick up on more of Brendon's quirks – and that included his new quirks, even better – because of this new form of attention he had available to him, and instead of hating every cute little habit, he adored them. When he learned Brendon could accompany him somewhere and their sometimes conflicting separate band schedules had miraculously aligned, he became ecstatic. Hell, when he got a chance to talk about him, he didn't shut up. It was strange. Before, even in interviews, he'd been obvious; a journalist would ask about his relationship with Brendon, he'd clench his jaw and force out a 'we're friends' although they were, like, arch nemeses, and now he'd go on a tirade about how Brendon's new creative direction was good for him and how he was making the old band members proud and how he was a great friend. Yeah, when these tour interviews start getting traction, older fans will definitely have plenty of questions to ask about this one-eighty.

Anyway. Something happened a lot whenever Ryan kissed Brendon: he could almost fool himself into thinking, imagining, for a moment, that they were together, loving and sweet and unadulterated. They had some incredible chemistry, with a handful of things, and kissing, for them - when it wasn't full of angry fire like it often used to be, they looked, from a third party view, to be in love. Brendon sighed against his lips, and he almost forgot to be mad, nearly fucking forgave him when he grinned as if Ryan was kidding around about the movie. Well. Regardless of how loving they seemed, yes, Ryan was still pissed. So he continued being a little shit about it. If Brendon could get away with stringing him along, holding him by a leash, for that long, just on the off chance he'd get laid more satisfyingly, Ryan could damn sure get away with reacting fairly ridiculously. And he was only halfway done. Right now was followthrough time, 'cause Brendon tended to be too charming to not instantly forgive for, like, anything.

As Ryan backed up, Brendon flattened himself against the bus side even further, and Ryan suppressed the threatening smirk. Guess he got the lack of joke now. He watched him wipe his face, hang his body nonchalantly, generally act as if Ryan had thrown him for a genuine loop. Problem: Brendon knew his angles all too well. Ryan's gaze drifted along his silhouette, the easy slope of his waist in this position, the shape of his hips almost propping him up. 'kay, maybe what he did wasn't so bad. What’ll you do? Whatever that just was... Being scolded? Like a dog? I liked that. We get it. You're submissive, you're a bottom, whatever. Ryan raised his eyes to the sky, wondering if Brendon will ever get in trouble wth him and not get turned on because of it, Jesus Christ. "Clearly nothing is a good punishment for you." He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders pulled inward, and looked beyond annoyed.

Brendon laughed at his question, fading away eventually, and Ryan eyed him testily, waiting for the punchline. Are you serious? I just told you I wanted you to fuck me. Ryan swore he was blushing, feeling warm. Fucking Brendon. Always having some effect regardless of how stupid the circumstances were. "Are you serious? You thought being an asshole to me would work to accomplish that." He talked big for someone seriously attracted to said asshole. Like- Well, what can we watch while I’m sitting on your dick? Ryan's jaw halfway dropped. Brendon had gone from refusing him for days to this - all right. Honestly, Ryan thought he'd be stupid to turn anything at all down now, but what would that say to Brendon - just ignore me and I'll do what you want? "For starters, you won't be, so." He tilted his head, eyed Brendon curiously.

He stepped closer again, hooking his thumbs in Brendon's belt loops, pulling him in a little. "If you apologized, told me you wouldn't do anything like that again, maybe I'd forgive you." Ryan actually sort of grinned, entertained by the concept alone of Brendon - or either of them, really, admitting they were wrong to each other. So he dangled a prize. "I'd fuck you senseless if you did that for me." He suddenly looked serious, hiding his amusement quickly and letting his lips part slightly, anticipatorily. For real. He'd picked the worst person to be into.

a song of pure romance

As much as the situation sucked, Ryan considered, sometimes, how it might be if he'd stayed. Distance in itself put stress on their relationship - not world-ending, or anything, because they were that deeply connected, it didn't tear them apart like it would others. But he remembered the beginnings of their creative differences, and that was obvious once he'd been able to admit to himself that, yes, Brendon's right, they're going in different directions. They'd verge on this annoying form of arguing, almost correcting one another's opinions and trying to end it on an easy note by tacking on a pet name, or 'I love you,' or something. And then they'd find each other conjuring up ideas all alone, in the depths of the tour bus, not even taking up the ideas with one another but with the other third parties available in the band. It would have gotten much, much worse if they'd stayed how they were. This was... better, all things considered. It was fucking hell having to miss the person you'd chosen to spend your life with almost every night, but it was better than how they would've been.

Ryan watched him struggle with the coffee machine, wondering how his husband he missed so dearly could switch moods on so short a trigger. Well. It did make sense - he wasn't quite giving him any fairness. He knew how it looked; like he'd snubbed his husband's company in favor of Z's. He really was concerned for him, though, even if he knew Brendon wouldn't believe it for the world. When did Brendon even sleep when he wasn't home? He knew Brendon's shows went on past midnight more often than not, then he was too kind to dodge fans after the show when they'd waited literal hours to see him (even if Zack told him off every time), then he was too generous to not do something on social media, a live stream, what have you. And then he loved Ryan too much to leave him without a good night message, a recap of the night, a phone call, a FaceTime, anything. Brendon gave himself to other people too much to ever take the time to himself for something as basic as sleep. Or, from the looks of things, food, sometimes. Ryan had to practically make feasts every time he came home in an effort to coax him to normalcy.

I’m good, actually. Ryan frowned a little, watching him move away, and wrung his hands together for a moment before decisively shifting over to the coffee machine himself. While he spoke, he grabbed Brendon's typical mug of choice and poured him some anyway, tossed in sugar and their most ridiculous flavor of creamer, effectively a dessert drink rather than real coffee - pretty much Brendon's style. You know what I get even less of? Time with my husband. Ryan met his stare, watched him pick the sleeve of (his) sweatshirt, and slid the mug over to him silently. It’d be nice to prioritise that once in a while. "Brendon..." he trailed off, shaking his head. Really, he understood. He got it. But. If Brendon really thought he wasn't a priority, Ryan had no idea how to help him. That was so unbelievably far away from being true. He moved closer and Brendon automatically resisted him, turning away and studying their fruit bowl as if it was truly something to behold.

Ryan continued forward anyway, edging closer to him though all he could see was his back. If you missed me, you would’ve woken me up. Ignoring his past protests, Ryan wrapped an arm around Brendon, aligning them until his chest was pressed to Brendon's back and he could link his hands around his waist. He tucked his chin in Brendon's shoulder. "I miss you more than anything, and I love you more than life. Too much to let you deprive yourself of sleep any more than you already do." Ryan lifted a hand to hold the side of his head, turn his face towards him, feeling his forehead. "See, you feel better already. Tell me you didn't need a full night's sleep for once." He smiled softly, drifting aside until his hip was leaning against the counter, one hand on Brendon's lower back and the other comfortably in his sweatshirt pocket. "Forgive me and kiss me? It feels like it's been years." Realistically he last kissed him the night previous, or on the forehead this morning, but. Whatever.

old fashioned

All of Brendon's deductions about him were, in fact, fairly spot-on. He took chances, and he generally got what he want, among other traits classically learned among people like him - and that was the thing, he wasn't always this way. He could recall being shy, insecure but critical and with a sharp mouth, this grouchy pianist who lashed out when rubbed the wrong way but had no real social skills to think of. It was funny; maybe this 'career path' was something meant to happen for him, a saving grace of sorts. He wondered whether fame - or at least the comfortable level of fame Brendon was at - made Brendon into a different person. He doubted it, truthfully. Brendon would've still had those looks and that talent before becoming famous, so there was no reason for him not to have a totally bigger-than-life personality. Ryan could be giving him too much credit, sure, but he just didn't seem the type to ever be quiet and meek, bowing to social convention. And he might be overthinking it all, but hey, Brendon piqued his interest.

He expected Brendon to have heard it all before, nothing he could say could move him, but he looked swept up by the flattery. Ryan made a mental note to do that as much as he could without it getting too corny. Not sure whether to be concerned. Ryan tilted his head curiously, watching his gaze drop to his lips and smirking helplessly. Are you that inexperienced that one man can set the standard for all others? We barely know eachother. Oh, please. Ryan laughed softly, running a thumb over his eyebrow as if they'd been lovers for the longest time, admiring the faintest scar running through. "I wouldn't call it inexperienced when you've set a gold standard already. A diamond in the rough," he replied easily, unquestionably, barely having to think about it. Too much? Probably. Usually Ryan didn't fall so fast. Admittedly he may be a little inexperienced - he didn't have much time for this sort of thing, much less actual relationships, but still. He could tell when he'd found something special. "I feel as if we've known each other longer, to tell you the truth." Even that sounded like a line.

Of course you would. So he's already getting predictable. Ryan supposed he had a poet's nature - talked a little strangely anyway. Or, well. If you were in his business, you'd laugh at the 'fruity' way he tended to draw out his sentences. He'd admit to basically being ready to bend to every will Brendon might impose over him, but Brendon himself was a little more obvious about the same, falling apart at the faintest kisses, chasing and protesting when the real one ended. Another minute, probably, and if he'd had more of his own drink, he'd probably be doing the exact same thing. There was, admittedly, not a lot of space to pick and choose your partner when you were like them - or if you were particularly discreet, like Ryan - but they fit together so easily, one would think it was a match tailored by, like. The gods. The gay gods. Ryan could've laughed if he wasn't already otherwise preoccupied.

Look who’s talking. Ryan laughed again, halfway breathless, and let his hands settle against the porcelain even as Brendon took his away, replace them over his hips. Unexpectedly, Brendon rutted against him, and the dizzying energy between them sent Ryan's jaw slack, lips slightly parted. Yeah, definitely a match. Okay, but- You’re real trouble, I’m guilty by association, now, y’see? I’m going down if you are. Ryan grinned, couldn't imagine a time where he'd looked this serenely happy. He felt the softest bite on his lower lip in their short kiss, leaning into it, deciding that, yes, he liked that move. "I'm not goin' down, sweetheart, but I appreciate that mindset. Partners in crime, we are." His grin still wasn't going away. Of course, darlin’. Darlin'. He was precious. Immediately upon hearing it, Ryan lifted a hand to one side of his face, kissed the opposite cheek affectionately, unbelievably charmed.

I’d say I’d take you in every room in my house but I hope you’d understand me saying I’d prefer it the other way around. Ryan cleared his throat, almost caught off guard, feeling hoarse. "I assumed as much," he replied playfully, lifting his eyebrows. "And I look forward to it. We aren't exactly in the most romantic place right now." Ryan was smiling when he shifted them over to where counter space was available, lifting Brendon effortlessly up onto it, fitting himself comfortably between his legs. "But we can make it work." He made a show of undoing the first few of Brendon's shirt buttons, splaying a hand over his sternum, simply exploring before his hand travelled back up to cradle the back of his neck. He pulled him in to kiss him again, slow, pulling barely an inch away to speak once he was breathless. "Have I told you already how stunning you are? I feel like I haven't." Call him extra, whatever, it was true.

searching for a feeling

You'd think, given the way they are now, that as soon as their relationship became anything more like 'lovers,' the problems had ended. Not true at all. Ryan had a habit of being afraid Brendon was unwilling to commit and might make fun of him if he was at all 'romantic' or even acted like they had a level of platonicism when they were around each other, or he was afraid that he might screw things up beyond belief, more than they'd been before, if he made a move, or he was afraid of. Well. Losing that stupid, unspoken, ongoing competition between them - and that fear lasted for a while, oddly enough, despite him not even wanting that competition after Seattle, when it felt like they'd broken a barrier. That habit translated into him running away after soft touches, or waking up in the mornings and leaving before he could be told to, or rushing kisses and looking around lightning quick to make sure they hadn't been caught. As usual, they didn't communicate, and therefore what was largely an effort not to push Brendon too far made him into the hugest asshole alive. It just looked like he was toying with him, using him and not caring, getting jealous for no reason when he brought around real romantic interests like, say, Ian. (Poor guy. To this day Ryan felt bad).

Now, Ryan clearly had no fear of that, wanted to put everything out in the open - of course, not that that was allowed, not when they were living completely different lives than they were before and now Brendon had 'rules' to abide by. Ryan certainly would follow them, but only when it was easy, probably, and only until he managed to get Brendon on his side somehow, which was unlikely but he was still going to hold out hope. If anything, he wanted to stay in contact after tour. It wasn't just the physical relationship he'd missed. His company, his conversations; Brendon was so wonderfully weird, and had the exact humor that Ryan could keep up with and throw back at him, and he became so passionate about some things if you got him on a roll that it was almost intriguing to observe as an outsider. His countenance in general, the air he carried about him, had an effect that Ryan felt like he needed back in his life - when very early on he thought it was something he couldn't stand, now it was a relief to feel again, a stress off his shoulders.

You never know. Ryan smiled fondly. He knew for sure. He'd never been so sure of anything in his life. Brendon was basically a missing half. His, if it wasn't too bold to claim as much. Ryan dropped his shirt, aware of the cold this far back in the venue, still warm this close to Brendon. Y’could’ve gone off me or something. Ryan studied him closely, wondering if he believed that bullshit, and obviously he didn't. Good - they were on the same page. Maybe it was just something about Brendon and he was talking up this 'deep connection' they were supposed to have; nobody 'went off' him. Whatever, Ryan chose to believe his story. He wondered, really, if Brendon had missed him too, the former frontman who practically bullied him through an album or two, then turned their relationship on its head with no prior warning except for vaguely wistful looks and lustful subtext. There was no reason to miss him. Cut out all the good parts, where they woke up in rays of sunlight coming through the window alongside one another, or in the dark nights in hotel rooms where they weren't really doing anything apart from watching a movie or just being in the other's company while they worked, or when they were vulnerable enough to whisper sweet nothing to one another, crammed in someone's bus bunk. Not even that could make up for the bad times, not yet.

It was all still there, under the surface, and Ryan could tell because an innocent comment made Brendon wary, ready to be mocked and throw it back at him like they used to so well. He was sated for half a second before pulling back, affronted, nd Ryan regarded him easily, much more lax. Maybe it’s a challenge for you. Just you wait, Rowe, you’ll feel me for days. Ryan laughed at the reference, shrugging breezily, like he was ready now to test the challenge in question. Kind of was. But they were moving frighteningly fast, even for them. He agreed to the rules, nonetheless, and offered up his own. softening the air even further by pressing more kisses to every inch of skin available. Sorry, it’s just me acting out. Ryan smiled against him, figuring as much. See, I’ve just missed you so much. Sure you have. It replayed in his head, how Brendon had no reason to, and he was almost sullen until Brendon was pressing his hips forward and Ryan forgot every single thought he'd ever had. He buried his face in his shoulder, catching his breath.

I really have missed you. Don’t be too jealous of Dallon, he’s too sweet for me anyway. Ryan paused, pulling his head back up to look at him more carefully, a tiny, fond smile gracing his features. So maybe he did miss him, too. Ryan paused to think, but it was hard - the most coherent he could get was entertaining fantasies, 'what if's, what if they'd stayed together, what if they'd made it work, what if he hadn't run away all the time. The scene became more innocuous the more he dwelled on it, more borderline romantic, and his hands settled on either side of Brendon's face, affectionate as ever. "I thought of you. All the time," he admitted earnestly, chewing his lip. As if he had anything to lose at this point. "Talking until three in the morning, when we had to get up at six. Exploring every new city. 'Soulmates' is a funny concept, I think, but I need you around, Bren."

if it's a dream, don't wake me

What, about the constant boner? Oh, Christ. Brendon was self-aware before, he knew, but now that Ryan was openly confirming everything rather than vaguely flirting, well. He figured he was screwed. I know. "I would like to let the record show that I never used that exact verbage. My 'constant boner' is my business, Mr. Blake." Well. Was it, really, if Mr. Blake was sort of the cause behind it? Whatever. He clapped a hand over his face, almost mortified, while Brendon turned around to look through the haul, then took it away just to admire from afar, wondering how he'd become absolutely smitten with this total dork. Sure, the shopping was overkill, but for whatever reason, he needed to be the most generous person in existence first to even consider himself worthy of his time. So. He was only ninety-nine percent sure Brendon liked him back, after all.

Acting like he hated him would totally keep them safe from any backlash, though, he was certain of it. Sure it will. But then, like, Spencer’ll hate me even more, like, ‘dude, why does Ryan hate you now’, and I’ll be all ‘not a clue, homie’, and you’ll need a cover story about your sudden shift in attitude. God. Ryan was grinning so stupidly, he was that enamoured with him that this dumb tangent had him senseless. Too complicated, I say just stick with the staring. Ryan really was, looking the most comfortable he ever had in his life with his eyes far below where they should realistically be. "I'm happy with that," he returned lazily, settling in by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back at the waist slightly. His gaze lifted to meet Brendon's when he glanced back, almost guilty when he instantly burst into a grin, shifting to pleased when he turned around to face him. Ha, funny. Ryan sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, already imagining kissing him. Sorta jumping the gun, there.

And he did accomplish those plans; for some reason, he wasn't sure this was the first time he'd ever kissed someone in the middle of them calling him a 'dumbass,' but he definitely enjoyed it most with Brendon. Brendon cradled either side of his jaw, and for the first time in a long time, Ryan slowed down, relaxed against him, felt at peace. His hand in Brendon's felt almost natural, like that was where it should be, and why had he waited so damn long to do this, since when was it not acceptable to just be doing this from the beginning, so forth. Maybe it was better to have built up to this point - it definitely felt like something akin to relief. Brendon's laugh was half against his lips and it was, quite possibly, the most wonderful feeling in the world, so much so that Ryan briefly broke out into a grin with him before they met for another hasty kiss.

What do you mean, getting through? Hand freed, Ryan welcomed himself to placing both hands in either of Brendon's back pockets, eyebrows raised right back at him. He was practically leaning in to Brendon hand at his jaw, such a warm gesture in itself that he couldn't help melting into it. I intend to take my time, sir. "Oooh, 'sir,'" he repeated, amused. "Call me a freak, but I'm into it." Ryan actually laughed, pulling him close by his very convenient hand placement, pressing their foreheads together and shutting his eyes. He planted another momentary kiss against Brendon's lips, a few seconds before he finally convinced himself to get a breath again. "This is cliché, but you really have no idea how much I've wanted to do this, like, since I met you. Though, not even my imagination could make this up." He lifted one hand to press against the middle of Brendon's bottom lip, pulling it into the slightest pout, like he was marking the target just before kissing him again.