"You tired?"

Ryan took a glance over his shoulder at the boy staring up at him from leaning on the back of his seat. "Why?"

"I could drive."

"Psh," Ryan scoffed back. "Really? Well, I've got an idea."

"What?"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon!" Brendon whined. It was only to Los Angeles, how bad could it be? He scooted to the edge of his seat, chin resting on Ryan's shoulder. "Look at me back here. Brent and Spence are asleep, I'm cramped, and you're the only one who looks like they're having fun." He felt Ryan try to shrug him off.

"I'm not 'having fun', I'm driving," Ryan said. He was getting too mature. "I'm not handing our lives to the driving skills of a guy who just got his license a few weeks ago either. Try to go to sleep or something."

Brendon sat back in his seat with a dull thud, arms crossed across his small chest and thick lips pouting after an overdramatic sigh. "I can't. I'm too awake," he mumbled out, picking at the loose fabric on his jeans. With their concert in San Diego, he had been pumped full of fresh adrenaline—it was his showmanship nature. Working on getting to Los Angeles so they could crash for the night before their next concert, they'd elected Ryan to drive since he was the oldest while Brendon, Spencer, and Brent squeezed into the back to celebrate a successful running. But once Brent and Spencer had given up on the singer, collapsing in sleep that Brendon just wasn't capable of understanding, he had become unoccupied and bored, playing on how the boy driving looked tired as well. Being chock-full of energy all the time had its kicks. "You sure you're not tired? You look like a wreck to me."

"You can't prove anything," Ryan said back, snarky in tone. Brendon kept pouting before a knowing grin slowly spread across his lips, sitting back up in his seat in renewed confidence.

"You ran a red light and a stop sign respectively about fifteen miles ago, and the next exit is three exits behind us by now. In the half of an hour out of the two and a half it'll take to get there, you've committed two crimes and missed our road."

Ryan blinked slowly, not saying anything as he stared blankly at the long stretch of highway in front of him. There was a long silence, before Ryan sighed loudly, the humming engine of the car growing faint as the guitarist pulled it over on the shoulder of the road. Brendon jumped slightly as the brunet's head snapped back to him.

"Fine. Drive," he stated bluntly, Brendon's eyebrows rising in delayed confusion as Ryan's seat buckle snapped open, the older man scooting across the connected seats to the passenger side. Brendon just stared dumbfounded, not sure if this was an act to test his courageousness or if Ryan really meant it. He counted two minutes before he began to think Ryan was serious, cautiously stretching a leg over the back of the seats and situating himself in the driver's side. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a side glance over to the guitarist that still was staring out of the side window before putting the car back into drive and heading onto the highway.

Brendon suddenly felt like he was growing up.

---------

It really didn't take as long as Brendon thought it would. It was only a matter of minutes before the atmosphere of a quiet van and the repetition of scenery produced the final result of Ryan's drowsiness. The side of the boy's head rested against the glass of the window, sunk down in his seat with knees pressed up against the dashboard and brown eyes closed. It almost looked painful—Brendon never quite liked the idea of sleeping in the car because of what it does to your back. Brent and Spencer in the seats behind them looked content sleeping against each other though, sprawled out along the area with Brent's mouth hanging open quite comically. Brendon was afraid he'd get all of them in a fiery car accident from how many times he'd looked back there just for a laugh.

In Heaven they'd ask him, 'Oh, how'd you die?'

'Car accident.'

'Really? What happened?'

'I was watching my friends sleep.'

God would then disown him for being an idiot. Oh well. You are what you are.

Looking back at Ryan, Brendon couldn't help but feel at least a little bit bad for the lack of comfort it looked like he had. He'd wake up all irritable and sore, like a pregnant woman that was oddly male and skinnier than a pole. Added with the fact that they had a show the very next day, it wouldn't be very nice to make him stay like that. Keeping his gaze outside the windshield, Brendon leaned slightly in Ryan's direction, reaching a hand off of the steering wheel and grabbing the boy's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Ry."

Eyebrows furrowed in annoyance with a quiet noise in the other man's throat, Ryan's head tilting on the window so half-opened brown eyes looked at Brendon. "We there?" he muttered sleepily.

"Nah, not yet."

"Then why would you wake me up?" Ryan whined back, head already turning back to where it was before and eyes slipping shut.

"You look so uncomfortable curled up in a ball."

"I am."

"Then c'mere," Brendon murmured back, tugging the older man's sleeve in his direction. The normal Ryan Ross would have protested, slapped Brendon's hand away and called him a faggot. But, this was drowsy Ryan Ross, mind fogged with fatigue and only centered on finding a comfortable place to sleep. The acquiesce was instant, the guitarist deftly unsnapping his seatbelt and removing himself from his fetal-position state. Now, Brendon had expected a drowsy Ryan Ross to bend at the mention of a more comfortable sleeping position, but the younger man didn't expect Ryan to make himself at home in his lap, jumping lightly and hands jerking the steering wheel a little as the boy's head rested on his right leg, the rest of Ryan's body curled up on the seat. It wasn't a head resting on his shoulder like he had thought it would be, nope, the kid's head was in his lap. Brendon thought he had a little bit more consciousness than that, but obviously he didn't.

There was really nothing he could do about it anyway. He was so held up in over-exaggerated shock that Ryan was visually back onto the edge of sleep and it would break Brendon's heart to wake him back up now—he looked so much more content. Besides, he didn't feel that uncomfortable about it anyway, taking his hand back off of the steering wheel to reach down and gently play with the boy's brown hair and smiling at the small sigh of bliss that he felt against his thigh.

So then of course, things just had to get awkward.

Y'know, when you usually roll over in bed, that's okay. Roll over in a car seat in someone's lap of the same gender and then, well then you have yourself a problem. Ryan, in mid-sleep, flipped on the seat so he now faced the back of it. Only on total coincidence did this change in position put Ryan in a place he would have never, ever been in if he was awake. Brendon's mouth gaped open, probably making him look like a dying fish as he tried to shift glances from the road to the boy breathing against a very sensitive area of his body. The singer's lips pressed together with a hard swallow, staring out at the highway in front of him to keep all attention away from his middle. Nothing to get all flustered about—it was only Ryan. It was only one of his friends taking a nap in his lap, a legitimate (pretty) male with his face pressed up against his dick. Yep, nothing to worry about.

There was a soft noise in his lap before Ryan's face nuzzled the area, like what you would do with a pillow when you were trying to get comfortable. Brendon's hands now held the steering wheel in a vice grip, teeth chewing his bottom lip raw. Ohhh this was getting bad; he felt like crying. So think Brendon, nuns in the convent, old nuns in the convent, Ryan Ross in your lap—crap. Um, your mother, your mother's mother, Ryan Ross breathing against you—no! Damn, uh, old, nasty women, old nasty men, Ryan Ross unconsciously nuzzling your cock—mmmshit!

If only Brendon had the heart to make Ryan move, this wouldn't be happening. He felt hopeless and flustered; face burning red as he started to most likely go twenty-five miles over the speed limit to get to Los Angeles as quickly as possible. In his haste to find another area to divert his attention, his peripheral vision caught the rear-view mirror, Spencer sprawled out along Brent's body and face in the man's neck. They needed a tour bus or something.

This fucking van was making them all gay.

Ryan pulled his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head, eyes squinting slightly in the sun and arms folded across his small chest as he looked it over. "So, it's finally happened."

Brendon looked beside him at the other man. "What?"

"You've finally lost all sanity."

Brendon scoffed and put his hands on his hips, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I must have to want to bring the only friend of mine that always criticizes what I think," he replied with a kick at a stone sitting on the pavement. "You don't think it's a good idea?"

"Most of your ideas are never good," Ryan said. There was a long pause before Ryan swung his leg to the side, a light breath passing through his lips as he took a few steps to stand at Brendon's side, still looking at the bus sitting in front of them. "But for some reason they always turn out to work. I wish I knew how that happened."

"I'm magic," Brendon grinned out.

"Highly doubt that."

"No, I'm serious. I ride unicorns and grant wishes."

"Only thing magical I can see you associated with is a rainbow and that's for a totally different reason than being a leprechaun."

Brendon chuckled. He always loved how he could have a totally sarcastic conversation with Ryan. No one else he knew could think of witty comebacks fast enough. He grabbed the boy's arm, catching him off guard as he tugged him towards the vehicle in front of them.

"C'mon. You haven't even seen the inside yet."

It was all crudely lit, new furniture with two couches and not counting the two seats in front of the windshield. It was like an RV, but totally tolerable to live in. Brendon's favorite part of it was the dimmer, occupying himself with turning the knob on and off like some mentally-retarded strobe light and making Ryan laugh as he added a techno beat with it. They inspected it through, finding hidden compartments where they could hide cocaine and other assorted drugs if they were ever pulled over. They set the alarm off at least twice as they played with buttons on the dashboard, and even tested out the couches in as many positions as they could think of, Brendon falling over once after he slipped from laying upside down on it. It didn't take too long for the both of them to eventually head towards the back, Brendon showing Ryan the bedroom. Two sets of bunks pressed up against each side of the walls; four beds, four bands members—it was perfect.

"I call this one!" Brendon exclaimed excitedly as they got into the room, leaving Ryan in the doorway as he climbed the ladder to one of the top bunks. He flopped onto it with a content noise, finding it so much more comfortable than van seats.

"You're getting ahead of yourself," he heard Ryan say, feeling the bunk move a little as the brunet sat on the bed below his. "How do you plan to pay for all of this?"

"Well, I was thinking of you selling out your body—it's all the rage these days."

"Brendon."

Said singer grinned, letting his hand run over the material of the pillow that was oddly already there. "Pete said that the record company could help out a little bit."

"Yeah, a little bit. Where's the rest coming from?"

Brendon sighed. The one thing, the one thing that he didn't like about Ryan, was when he would get technical. Why couldn't he believe in unicorns and gay leprechauns? You can't be creative and not believe in magic. "I sold some stuff," Brendon finally said, sitting up the little bit he could on his bed and starting to take off the pillowcase on its cushion.

Ryan paused, looking up at the bunk above him even though he couldn't see Brendon. "What kind of stuff?"

Brendon shrugged to himself. "Nothing too important, I can't fit much in my apartment so I got rid of some of the furniture. Working helps out too with those live show profits," Brendon paused, gripping the edges of the hole of the pillowcase and holding it open. "…I'm also four-hundred down in rent I guess." He slipped the fabric over his head.

Ryan blinked, sitting straighter with confusion etched on his face. "Four-hundred…Brendon, how—?" Ryan was interrupted, starting as an upside-down pillowcase-covered head swung down level to his own, Brendon's body bending over at the waist on the safety bar of the top bunk.

"Look, I can be like Spiderman. You can be Mary Jane."

Ryan stared at the boy in front of him in incredulity before sighing out of his nose, a look of sympathy directed at a man that couldn't see him. "Brendon…"

"What? You don't want to be Mary Jane?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because Spiderman kicks ass."

"No," Ryan pushed. "I mean why are you doing all of this? You're in debt and almost homeless."

There was an awkward silence, Brendon's inconceivable lips pursing together under the fabric of the pillowcase. He didn't like awkward silences—he liked Brendon and Ryan silences, the ones where they'd just lie together and Ryan would play with the fabric of the younger man's collar while Brendon held him with an arm slung around his waist. Those were so much better. Those kinds of silences were what probably made Brendon do this, put himself into dilemmas for just the sake of preserving them. It was because he was still stuck on his philosophy, that if Ryan was happy, he was happy. And then, he suddenly had his answer:

"Because music makes you happy."

Ryan's eyes widened just slightly, blinking once as realization hit home in his chest with a small flutter in his heart. After the silence and staring, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, Ryan leaning forward to beam at a boy who couldn't even see him. He slowly reached his hands up, taking the opening of the pillowcase bunched around Brendon's neck in his fingers. He rolled it down slowly over his chin like his supposed character, Brendon grinning as he did and waiting for that quaint little cheek-kiss that Ryan always gave him when he deserved it. When the material was pulled down to his nose, Brendon's face fell when he didn't feel one, and instead felt a light breath against his lips.

Ryan then gave him a kiss. A fucking kiss—lip-to-lip action.

And Brendon had five different heart attacks in the four seconds that it lasted.

His total shock and being caught completely off-guard caused the hands holding him over the safety bar to unlock their grip. His body then slipped from the top bunk to only come crashing down onto the unforgiving floor between beds. He felt lucky when he realized he didn't land solely on his skull, but not so lucky when he landed on his back and his head cracked against the floor, pillowcase still shamefully over his face as he groaned loudly.

"Shit," Brendon heard Ryan gasp out, the floor giving out a light thud as the guitarist dropped onto his knees at Brendon's side. When the pillowcase was finally taken off of Brendon's head, Ryan was looking down at him in a mix of concern and amusement. "What the hell was that? You're a fucking retard, dude."

Brendon couldn't say anything, eyes just darting around in the shock that still made his heart beat irregularly. What was that? What was that? You don't just randomly kiss some dude and call him an idiot for getting all flustered about it. In fact, you don't kiss anybody randomly, except in Mexico, and Italy, France too. But since when was Ryan an Italian-French-Mexican? You only see those kinds of things in porno flicks or wet dreams and Brendon was doing and/or having neither.

And that's when he noticed that Ryan was laughing at him, like that fall was totally his fault. He was genuinely making fun of him.

That kiss had meant nothing. Just a friendly little thing.

Ryan hadn't felt anything from that, only Brendon had.

"You okay?" Ryan asked him with a raised eyebrow, a bony hand finding its way to run around through Brendon's hair to find any kind of lump from his fall. Brendon only hummed in response, eyes closing as the boy's fingers ran around his scalp.

The van wasn't making them gay.

Brendon was just falling in love with Ryan.

Shit.

"Look! I told you!"

Brendon squinted his eyes, his head leaning forward just a tad in the hope it would help him. "No fucking way. You're lying."

"No, I'm serious!" Brendon then felt a warm hand grab onto his, lifting the two of them up together as the boy beside him gestured the singer to point a finger. Once he complied, the older man maneuvered it in Brendon's line of sight, aligning it with one of the castle towers that glowed on the TV screen. "The towers, right there. They are definitely shaped like a penis."

"They are so not," Brendon spat back. He stared some more at the frame of the movie the other boy had paused, even tilting his head to the side here and there to get into the same perspective that the brunet had. He just couldn't see it. Maybe he didn't have special Disney-movie-penis-finding powers like Ryan did. "This makes you a sick person, do you know that?"

"It does not. It makes me attentive."

"Attentive for maaaale organs. If not sick then you must be a flaming homosexual."

And Brendon laughed when Ryan glared up at him, the younger man lifting up one of his arms so his side was exposed. "C'mooon, I'm just kidding—don't be so lame." He then nodded his head, Ryan just rolling his eyes like he always did before taking the gesture and scooting back over on the couch they shared. It made Brendon smile how Ryan would cuddle into the side of his body, something they had adopted when they'd watch movies together. Even when Brent and Spencer came over to watch them, Brendon would always find Ryan at his side with no shame. The funniest part about it was that he had begun to find himself with an odd new habit. Every single time he'd sit down on a couch—whether it be tour bus, Ryan's house, his own apartment—he'd always sling his arm across the top of it, some part of his subconscious telling him that he had to keep himself open for the guitarist. It's not like he didn't like the attention, oh no, he loved it. To put it on a comparison, if in the beginning he had just let the tips of his feet dip into a sea of infatuation with this boy, then by now he was drowning helplessly in it, stuck with no way out. Brendon though would never really openly admit to himself if he genuinely loved the older man, not necessarily because of the gender issue, but more on the fact that he just plain couldn't. He couldn't completely get rid of his phobia of rejection, couldn't completely cope with the fact that he'd probably fallen harder than he ever could have. It didn't matter though—better kept in mind than to be crushed under the consequences.

Brendon felt Ryan rest his head in the crook of his neck and he let his arm fall over the boy's shoulders, a small sigh unconsciously leaving his body in contentment. He let the thoughts of his suppressed affection slip away, instead feeling his eyelids get more and more weighted as The Little Mermaid played on. He found it odd that he'd start getting tired right now. On Saturdays he was so accustomed to heading to bed around nine, lying in bed for an hour at which time Ryan would usually be at his door after his class—their alternative for the loss of window visits once Brendon was kicked out of his house. That's when it slowly started to sink in. Ryan wasn't at class; he was buried in the younger man's side, snug and content with Brendon on the couch and watching a movie that had been the older man's idea in the first place. "Oh shit, dude." Brendon raised his free arm up to his face, glancing at the time that ticked on the watch hanging around his wrist. "It's 8:00. Didn't your class start a half an hour ago?"

He was expecting an, 'OHMYGODNOWAY!', or maybe Ryan to yank his wrist into his own view, looking at the watch in shock before stringing off into so many multiple curse words that Brendon would have to shower off the dirty influence. What Brendon didn't expect, was the silence that ensued after he had made his point, Ryan not even glancing up at him, not making a sound. He just sat there, eyes still glued to that TV screen. Brendon used the arm he had around the boy's shoulders to shake him a little.

"Hey, did you hear me?" He felt a nod against his shoulder, a small nod. "Then what's up? Why aren't you going?"

"I dropped out of college."

Whoaaah, bomb dropper.

"What?!" Brendon albeit screeched, tearing himself from Ryan and practically jumping to the other side of the couch. This was obviously the complete wrong thing to do—but holy shit, he was shocked. This was Ryan Ross, academic scholar that had landed him in college while Brendon managed to squeeze out the occasional D. This was Ryan Ross, the boy who had told Brendon repeatedly he was going to share his life between their music and his education, always using the excuse that if things never worked out once the CD was released, he'd always be one step ahead. This was Ryan Ross, the boy who had just now informed him that after one semester of college, he had dropped out.

What the fuck was going on?!

"I dropped out," Ryan repeated, looking sullen at Brendon's reaction and fiddling with his hands in his lap. He shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing really."

"Nothing?!" the younger man exclaimed. Why was he exclaiming? He needed to calm down. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed down his surprise before speaking again. "What I mean is, when did you—?" He paused. "How did you—?" He paused again, getting frustrated with himself and running a hand through his black hair. He then tried once more, sincerely, "Why would you do something like that, Ryan?"

So there was a quiet pause. But after that, Ryan said the words that Brendon would remember for a long time, brown eyes looking up at him with practiced suspense:

" 'I don't need school for what I'm doing with my life,' " he quoted. The brunet then smiled. "I've got you."

And Brendon could say nothing.

Forget about cat got your tongue. This cat had more likely pulled out a shotgun, fired multiple times, and then used the thing as a scratching post before feeding it to his little kitten babies—little…mutant kitten babies. Putting all the pieces together, he was completely and utterly thrown into pure befuddlement. Ryan had dropped out, for his sake? Oh that could just not be true. Not Ryan, not any person that he knew would throw away thousands of dollars in college investment to try and make it big on a band that didn't even have their own CD yet. It just didn't make any sense. He was almost tempted to throw a bitch-slapping tantrum, sling the boy over his shoulder, and shove him in the trunk of his car, driving the guitarist to that class himself. However, the longer that Ryan stared at him with that smile still hanging loosely on thin lips, the longer Brendon had to sit there and start to think: damn, this boy was dead serious.

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard," Brendon finally huffed, swinging his legs up onto the couch so he could lie on his back, taking up the half of the area that he occupied. He then sighed dramatically. "That's the only reason you're here then right? You need somewhere to stay."

He could feel the couch move before hands folded together on the singer's bent knees, Ryan's chin resting on the top of them in the most adorable way. "That, and because you're my bestest, bestest friend in the whole entire universe."

Brendon was unfazed, face straight as he replied, "You already tried to butter me up with the spontaneous movie night—I wouldn't try." He didn't really mean it; he just wanted to see Ryan pout, which he childishly did right after he spoke.

See, Ryan's Saturday nights worked like so: hang out over at Spencer's house, until he usually sauntered his skinny little body to Brendon's apartment to 'work' on the song tracks before they were off to record in June. Then, he would leave for class, return to Brendon's for the night (which one day the younger man overheard Ryan tell his dad that it was a 'much quieter, more beneficial study area'), and then leave for his extracurricular classes in the morning. In the end, Brendon could only guess that Ryan never got home until the late afternoon on Sundays, and with no more college, he couldn't exactly roam around his own house all day. George would eventually suspect something after the 'I'm sick' excuses wore out.

"C'mooon, Brendon," Ryan whined.

"What about Spencer's house?"

"Ginger's a tattletale."

"Brent?"

Ryan made a face. "Creepy."

"Ah hah! You agree with me!"

"Bren, I'm being serious." Brendon then felt his legs being pulled apart with the hands resting on his knees, watching as Ryan pushed his own body through the opening and made himself right at home by laying himself down on top of the singer, head resting on his chest. "You know what George would do to me if he found out that I'm a dropout."

"He'll find out one day," Brendon replied matter-of-factly, moving one hand to the back of his own head so he rested on it and using the other to play gently with Ryan's hair, seeming as he had nowhere else to put them with the body sprawled across his own. "What'll you do then?"

"Sit balled up in a corner and pray dearly for my soul until I'm rescued."

Brendon broke out into a grin. "That's where I come in, right?"

"Mhm. Shining in metal armor as you slay the dragon that is my father."

"Why of course. A faithful knight, such as myself, would do anything for a damsel in distress."

From his angle, he could see that it was Ryan who grinned this time, watching as the head quickly rose from its spot on his chest. Ryan then scooted up along his body, Brendon's eyes closing in reaction to the soft kiss that was suddenly planted on his cheek. "My hero," he heard the boy mumble smugly, Ryan making himself comfy in the crook of Brendon's neck before the younger man even had a chance to open his eyes again. His lips pulled up into a smile.

"Fine," Brendon sighed out dramatically. "You can stay." He could see Ryan's eyes slip closed as he ran his fingers softly behind the boy's ears. "Can you answer me something first?"

"Mhm?"

Brendon paused, watching the shadows cast on his ceiling change each time the TV would switch scenes. "…Am I really your best friend?"

He then heard a hum from his shoulder, the small arm on Brendon's chest moving from its spot to hook around his neck as Ryan nuzzled his face into it affectionately. "Best friend ever," he mumbled back. Brendon could only swallow, taking in a deep breath and letting it out through his nose. He tilted his head to the side, the change in position allowing him to place a small kiss on the top of the older boy's head before resting back and closing his eyes as well, still running his hand through Ryan's hair.

He was falling so fast.

----------------

Brendon gave a slight groan, eyes clenching shut in an effort to keep a hold of the darkness behind his eyelids, fading away to light as he slipped back into consciousness from his nap. His first instinct was to sit up, adjust himself on the couch, and turn on his side to face the back, beating his inevitable awakening by blocking out the light. He couldn't though, something unbeknownst to him weighing down his body and keeping him from dark bliss. All his senses could tell him was that there was something breathing against his neck, this thing draped over his body a warm blanket of sorts. Upon opening his eyes, he found it to be a boy, breathing slow and eyes closed in adorable sleep. How wonderful—it must be his birthday.

This would be the first day that Brendon would come to the self-realization that he was not a very bright boy whenever he woke from any kind of sleep.

So, Ryan must have fallen asleep too, the boy's thin body stretched out along Brendon's on the couch. Turning his head, Brendon looked at the TV, screen illuminated in black and white static that had been the singer's awakening. They had slept through their movie, how sad—they hadn't even made to the 'Under The Sea' song. Raising himself carefully on one of his elbows, he used his other hand to spread his fingers through Ryan's hair, trying to stir him awake. "Ry? Hey buddy, wake up," he said softly. When there was no answer, he reverted to shaking the boy, speaking too loud for his quiet apartment. "Ryan. C'mon, get up." Nothing, not even a defiant protest. No matter how cliché it was, Ryan was out cold, and no matter how lovely the older man looked relaxed in slumber, Brendon wasn't up to being a giant pillow on a quite uncomfortable couch. With a loud sigh, he moved his free arm to wrap around Ryan's waist, locking the boy in place against him as he pushed off of the elbow he was leaning on to sit up. It didn't really take much effort to maneuver the brunet in his lap—Ryan was extremely light. Moving the small body around, he tucked one arm under Ryan's knees, keeping the one around the boy's waist in place to lift him in a bridal style sort of way as Brendon hoisted himself off the couch. "Such a useless kid you are."

He set the guitarist down gently on his bed, making sure no limbs were hanging off the side and he would at least stay comfortable as Brendon got busy peeling off his own clothes. That's right, he was a boxers man. He loved the feeling of sheets on his bare skin rather than the unnecessary pajamas that were custom. If it were really up to him, he'd sleep naked. However, he bet anything that Ryan wouldn't enjoy that too much, and for this reason he refrained. Oh the things he did for Ryan Ross.

Speaking of said man, once Brendon was removed of clothing save for the thin undergarments clinging to his hips, the singer turned back to his small bed and the boy spread out along it. He climbed onto it carefully on his hands and knees, not thinking twice before fiddling with the button that fastened the older man's pants. Ryan was a finicky person when it came to common hygiene, and Brendon knew from past experiences that once the day was done, Ryan always had to remove the clothing that he had worn. Whether that meant that the brunet had to borrow some of Brendon's clothing or joined the younger man in limited coverage, it didn't matter. So, didn't it make sense to undress the boy so he didn't throw a hissy fit in the morning? Exactly.

Once the black pants were undone, Brendon proceeded in inching them off thin legs, finding it a tad difficult with this obsession of ridiculously tight clothing. Ryan didn't stir however, and that's when Brendon realized just how out of it the older man really was. He mused to himself the idea of whipping out that black Sharpie marker he kept on the top of his dresser, thinking of a whole array of artistic designs he could display on the canvas that was Ryan's sleeping face. But, in the end, he resisted. You think that Ryan would be bitchy for not being changed out of his clothes, just imagine the hell that would arise from waking up with permanent marker all over his face. Oh well, just a thought.

He threw Ryan's pants off the bed once they finally slid off the brunet's body, lifting a leg up and over the boy's middle and lowering himself down so he then straddled his hips. Reaching his hands down, Brendon started to occupy himself with unfastening the small buttons that held together Ryan's shirt, slipping each one through with no trouble at all. After the last button flowed through its hole, Brendon moved his hands under the fabric to begin sliding it off Ryan's body in what Brendon considered to be such a generous gesture. At this action though, his fingertips suddenly brushed along the skin of the boy's sides, soft and warm to the touch. With this one stroke, the sensation ran like a lightning bolt from his fingertips to his brain, the most apparent alert going off in the very forefront of his mind of what exactly was going on. It was then that he fully grasped the concept that he was straddling Ryan Ross; the boy that haunted his thoughts whom he was currently undressing. In his shock that this had been happening without a second thought on his part, his hands were frozen under that flimsy material that kept Ryan's skin from Brendon's hands. He could feel the heat of the boy's flesh on his palms, swallowing hard from the new stress put onto his heart as it began to beat faster in his chest. Sure, he'd seen Ryan undressed before, but this was really the closest he had ever gotten to actually being allowed to feel the skin besides the casual draping of an arm over the boy's side. He couldn't help letting black eyes scan across the body underneath him, pale skin illuminated in just the right way from the lamp he had left on in his living room. The more and more his mind screamed at him to stop what he was doing, get out of there as quick as possible, the more and more he felt inclined to disobey, looking up at Ryan's sleeping face in hesitance. Could he get away with it? Maybe, maybe just this once. It really couldn't hurt.

He wanted to gasp as he finally let his hands come down on hot flesh—it felt so nice. It wasn't tough and sinewy like you'd expect a man's to be, it was more smooth, but tight enough to still be distinguished as male. He let his palms run carefully up along Ryan's sides, feeling the trace outlines of ribs pressing against pale skin once he reached the boy's chest. His fingers began to tingle as he let them run along the older man's torso, pushing back the shirt that hung loosely on his shoulders to reveal more of the skin that he craved. Brendon licked the crease of his lips when his hands made their way down to Ryan's abdomen, thoughts flying this way and that. The more and more he was allowed to touch the boy's skin, the more he contemplated about what it would feel like pressed against his own, what it looked like wet, what Ryan looked like without those boxers on his hips, but mostly, what it tasted like—that was what he wanted to know most of all. With his body and mind on complete autopilot, Brendon leaned downward, brushing lips along the collarbone that lay in front of him. He skimmed them across the boy's skin, running them along the chest that rose and sunk slowly in the deep breaths of sleep and planting little kisses here and there as he made his way back up. He kissed cautiously up Ryan's neck, hooking his lips to the side of it and poking his tongue out to lick a small area of the flesh in timid curiosity. And oh God. If just touching Ryan's skin brought enormous amounts of pleasure to Brendon, this took the fucking cake—he never knew that skin could have actual taste, but what ever brought upon that theory was proved to him right then. He wanted more of it, shifting his body on top of Ryan's so he could tilt his head at the right level, pressing his lips more assertively against the skin they covered. He opened his mouth wider to lick across a greater area, pressing his face in Ryan's neck and sucking on the skin under the boy's jaw with little hums of enjoyment.

"Brendon?"

His heart stopped.

He had woken Ryan up.

Conscious thought brought him back, letting him able to finally feel those hands that were pushing lightly on his shoulders. Ryan wasn't breathing slowly anymore; it was more sporadic, panicked as Brendon felt the body underneath him tense. The places where their flesh touched burned Brendon's skin in newly acquired shame at being caught, the younger man quickly sitting himself back up on Ryan's hips just to get away from it. He cupped his hands over his face in an attempt to hide, not wanting to watch as Ryan got angry with him. He wouldn't be able to take it.

"Brendon?" he faintly heard Ryan press again. The hips that he sat on shifted underneath him and Brendon's heart sunk only more as he got the gesture that Ryan probably wanted to leave, never coming back to see him again. He'd ruined everything—Ryan wouldn't ever speak to him again.

He jumped when fingers wrapped around his wrists, tugging until Brendon complied and slowly removed the hands that covered his face. Ryan stared back at him, brown eyes boring into Brendon's skull to the point that the younger man had to look down, his own eyes welling up with guilty tears. His throat had become dry, else he would have erupted into a long string of apologies and pleas, anything to compensate for his behavior. He just didn't want Ryan to go—he was so terrified. Warm palms rested on each side of his face at which Brendon looked up from his downward gaze. Ryan didn't look angry like he'd expected, Ryan didn't look upset at all. In fact, he was smiling.

"You okay?" Ryan asked softly. Brendon wasn't going to act modest at all, completely against candy-coating his disgrace as he shook his head in Ryan's hands. Of course he wasn't okay, he'd just got done feeling up his male friend while he wasn't conscious of it, taking advantage of the defenseless older boy while he was asleep. It made him feel like a rapist, a disgusting, filthy rapist, the only thing keeping him from throwing himself out of the nearest window being how understanding Ryan was about this. He felt one of the brunet's thumbs brush along his cheek in a gesture of comfort, the sentimental offer making one of the tears that clung to the corner of Brendon's eye slip down his face. He quickly shot his own hand up, wiping it away with his wrist and feeling more and more degrading.

Ryan's hands moved from his face to his shoulders. "Hey, don't get upset," he cooed, Brendon feeling the slight pulling force that Ryan started to put on his grip. "C'mere." And Brendon followed Ryan's lead towards the bed, the brunet pulling him until he laid on his back and Brendon hovered above him, refusing to let their bare skin touch in case he would lose control once more. He didn't get it, why wasn't Ryan upset? Indignant even? He was expecting for the brunet to be utterly disturbed, mortified as he stormed out of Brendon's apartment and willingly into the fury of his father. He was anticipating expulsion from the band, the cold shoulder from all his friends on how disgusting he had been as he spent his entire life trying to reassemble the friendship he had destroyed. But no, all he got was Ryan Ross, laying underneath him and smiling. Something wasn't right. The boy was just probably toying with him, playing with the nice guy façade before Brendon would be punched square in the face. The hands on his shoulders suddenly slipped off and Brendon couldn't help but close his eyes in fear of his inescapable beating. He swallowed hard as the body shifted underneath him, praying silently in his head.

Soft lips were suddenly on his own.

Shock exploded in the form of tingle that spread along his spine, his instinctive reaction causing him to jerk his head back from the kiss with wide eyes. Ryan had moved to raise himself up on his elbows underneath him, giving him the height that had caused their lips to lock when Brendon hadn't been paying attention. The singer went straight from worried, to confused.

"What are you—?"

"Only if you need it," Ryan interrupted, raising his arms up above his head as he lay back down on the bed, looking up at Brendon with those damned brown eyes. "It's okay, Bren."

Brendon's eyebrows furrowed—was that an invitation? Because if it was then he was going to…no, no he couldn't do something like that. Ryan was just his friend, nothing more. This had turned into a giant misunderstanding, Brendon pursing his lips as he tried not to look at the boy that lay underneath him, arms above his head in what Brendon took as submission. Sexy, beautiful, willing boy submission. Every glance he accidentally took put another large weight on his back, involuntarily pushing him down until he found his face mere inches away from Ryan's, heart pounding loudly in his chest. He thought he was going to faint when Ryan's head lifted just slightly, the brunet brushing his lips against Brendon's in a coaxing manner. This was just so wrong.

Brendon finally gave in, letting his lips press softly onto Ryan's. He quickly removed them however, weary of a sudden change of heart on Ryan's part; like the kiss would bring the guitarist into the sense of mind that Brendon himself was battling with. When the older man just stared up at him, Brendon swallowed, trying his luck at another kiss as he pressed his lips back onto Ryan's with more force. Sudden warmth spread through his body, like those sudden flames of heat that flow through your body when you get too hot. It shot through his fingertips and down through his legs, his reaction being the new urge to get closer to Ryan to keep that feeling as he lowered himself down so their bodies pressed together, skin ablaze at the contact. Their lips were beginning to mesh together now, fervent and hasty as they both got more into the swing of things. There wasn't a moment when their lips weren't touching, those arms above Ryan's head slowly sliding their way down until Brendon felt hands rest on both sides of his neck. Ryan's head tilted underneath him, and Brendon suppressed a noise in his throat when he felt a tongue cautiously run its tip along the crease of his lips.

His concept of right and wrong was now completely undistinguishable.

He responded by letting his own tongue slide out of the confines of his lips during their next kiss, both of them bumping into each other in a feeling that made Brendon want to melt. When he went down again, he chanced boldness by pushing his tongue into Ryan's mouth, licking along the roof of the boy's mouth.

Brendon finally knew what heaven felt like.

The hands around his neck moved, fingers sliding their way down Brendon's sides and leaving a fiery trail wherever they roamed. He lifted his hips from Ryan's once he felt the guitarist try to worm his hands in between them, shuddering as bony fingers continued their exploration along his stomach at the opening. Brendon lost the ability to kiss once fingertips softly caressed his lower abdomen, poking under the waistband of his boxers in playful curiosity. He swallowed down a moan, giving up on his kisses with Ryan and hiding his face in the boy's neck, breathing quicker against it.

"Feel good?" Ryan teased. Brendon could only nod, sharing his own part in pleasure by continuing his actions on Ryan's neck that had been interrupted by his awakening. The older boy tilted his head to the side a little as he sucked on it, and with that movement he could feel the brunet's pulse. His heart was beating just as fast as Brendon's.

"Will you hate me if I touch you?" Brendon heard Ryan mumble. A weight dropped down from his heart and down to his lower stomach, as if the fluttering in his heart had sunk to accumulate in the area that Ryan's fingers rested on. At first he was skeptical, burying his face in Ryan's shoulder as the last cognizant parts of his brain tried to convince him that this was all a bad idea. He had never had this problem before, both body and mind fighting for what they thought was most beneficial. He'd had encounters with women before, none of them very successful in their goals, but encounters nonetheless. He never had any problem doing anything with girls, considering that he could shoo them off on their way if things ever became too complicated. Brendon couldn't do that with Ryan though, he needed Ryan. If he screwed up now…

His body twitched as he felt thin fingers comb through black curls, his middle pulsing with new heat that made him incredibly uncomfortable. "Ryan…"

"Is it okay?"

Brendon's lips tightened together before he nodded against Ryan's shoulder. What good was morality in a situation like this? His decision would be inevitable, no matter the tactics Brendon's mind used to steer him away. His gasp was sharp and loud as fingers ghosted along his heat, hips rocking towards the touch in shameful longing. In his quarrel with righteousness, he'd neglected how aroused he'd actually become, the slightest brush already making him see stars behind his eyelids as he clenched them shut. A moan slipped from his lips when Ryan's fingers wrapped around him, a thumb finding its way into the slit on its head and spreading around the pre-cum that Brendon was already dripping. The younger man shook with tremors of pleasure that coursed through his body, the knees that supported his weight giving out and causing him to press his hips back into Ryan's.

Brendon looked up from his spot buried in the boy's shoulder when the manipulations on his length suddenly stopped, Ryan's head tilting back on the bed as a mewl dripped from his open mouth.

Neither of them moved until Brendon felt the need to experiment with that reaction, pressing his hips down more on the older boy's and grinding them together the slightest, the sensation sending a bolt of elation up his spine. What impressed him more though was the way that Ryan's back arched with a strangled cry, the hand in Brendon's boxers removing itself only to grip firmly onto the singer's hips as if to keep them in place. "God," he heard Ryan gasp out, voice husky and coated with lust. "Keep going."

To deny that plea would be a very act against God.

With building confidence in what he was doing, Brendon straightened himself out, lips meeting once again with the brunet's in a kiss as he rocked his hips against Ryan's. He felt the hands on his hips shoot up to grip handfuls of his black hair, Ryan tugging the younger boy's lips down harder. Brendon made a noise at the force, already feeling his lips bruise as Ryan shoved his own tongue in his mouth. So, dry humping was this kid's weak spot, how kinky. Swirling his tongue around the one that had entered his mouth, Brendon swung his hips at a faster pace along those below him, moaning in his own throat as he finally got to the right angle to rub himself head-on against that bulge that had grown significantly on Ryan's form. Said man practically writhed underneath him, noises humming through their kiss as Ryan desperately kept their lips glued together. When he finally did remove them, his head swung down to Brendon's neck like a magnet, thin lips nipping and sucking on the skin which the younger man had never had done to him before. It was a delightful sensation, adding to the building pressure in the pit of his stomach. He could hear Ryan panting, he could hear himself panting, and all these noises of moans and groans were bringing white light to the edges of Brendon's closed eyes. Their hips grinding together hard, Ryan's lifted and rubbing against his with added pressure, it became harder and harder not to let go—Brendon's body tensing to try and keep his peak of sexual bliss at bay. The only way to redeem his lost dignity would be to ride this out for as long as he could, make sure that Ryan was in the same state of mind he was in. Cumming this early would only make him feel even worse about what he had started, but Jesus Christ, it felt so good.

There was a hard suck on his neck that made his eyes open, lips leaving his skin as hands gripped his shoulders and nails dug into his flesh. Ryan's back arched underneath him, hips digging into Brendon's frantically as the older man let out the most sensual cry that Brendon had ever heard in his entire life. Ryan Ross was orgasming underneath him, before him.

And it was wonderful.

The instant that Ryan let go, Brendon lost all control he had over his body, white light blinding his vision as his whole body shook with pleasure. Suppressed moans squeezed out of his clenched jaw each time he felt himself spurt out cum, head hung as his breathing became ragged and heavy. It was the longest orgasm that he had ever had, form still tingling even as he tried to regain the energy to keep himself from collapsing on the older boy below him. After his spill into sexual heaven calmed itself down to where he could move again, he weakly lifted his head back up to look at the boy that had collapsed on the bed underneath him. Ryan's eyes looked back up at him, half-lidded and clouded with the fading remnants of lust. Brown hair was dishelved with thin lips swollen and red, parted the slightest as light pants of breath slipped in between them. Brendon remembered what girls had looked like after he had made them orgasm, overreacting and looking like they'd just gotten out of a cat fight. But not Ryan, Ryan looked beautiful, content and sexy as he lay there below him. It got to the point that Brendon was compelled to lean his head down, not minding the stress it put on his weak arms as he softly kissed the brunet. He could feel Ryan smile into it, soft lips moving against his own and a warm hand sneaking up to rest on the side of his neck, a thumb running gently along the skin of his jaw. Even this small kiss made Brendon's heart reawaken, skipping along in his chest in happiness that seriously made him want to cry out in joy. When they pulled apart Brendon leaned his body to the side, falling onto the bed on his back beside Ryan with a content sigh, his arms pulsing as the circulation returned to his veins. "Tired," was all he could mumble out. He didn't mind though, because it made Ryan laugh.

"Don't fall asleep in those," Ryan warned, Brendon guessing that he was referring to the soiled boxers that still clung to his hips. When the younger man turned his head to look at Ryan again, the older boy was already sitting up on his bed, sliding undergarments down thin legs in a way that made Brendon's face grow red. He looked like those stripper girls in those porno videos when they took of their panties, all cute and innocent as boxers slipped along tight thighs. Look away you sicko. Brendon's head snapped to the other side, gaze met with wall instead of sexy boy as he lifted his own hips off the bed to rid himself of dirty clothing. He groaned inwardly, guessing that it would be his job to go and get them fresh clothing for the night, what a pain. Just as he was about to hoist himself up however, an arm draped over his chest, locking him in place in surprise.

"Don't worry about it," Ryan muttered, eyes already closed as his head rested on Brendon's shoulder. Said man could only blink before nodding in understanding, stretching his arm that Ryan wasn't laying on to grab a hold of the sheets bunched on the side of his bed, tugging them over the both of them. He shifted his body to get comfortable and kissed the top of Ryan's head, the guitarist nuzzling his face into the dark-haired man's shoulder in reaction as Brendon rested his head back and closed his eyes.

He got to sleep naked tonight.

But, he was sleeping naked with Ryan Ross, which was 1897832 times better.

-------------------

Brendon was used to waking up alone on Sundays, so he didn't think twice when there was no one in bed with him that morning. There wasn't even a second thought of why he was naked—nobody lived with him and he didn't have any pets, so roaming around his house with no clothes on was something he indulged in often. Don't knock it till you try it.

So, he pulled himself to sit up with a groan, throwing sheets off his body with eyes still closed as he stretched and popped the stiff bones of his spine. His next instinct would be to go to the bathroom, mind following through without fault as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, scratching the back of his head with a yawn as the muscles in his legs unconsciously pulled him to stand and shuffle over to the small, decrepit bathroom that was conjoined to his bedroom. Sink, he needed to get to the sink. He rubbed his eyes to get them in better focus, distinguishing the white blob in front of him as the thing he was looking for. Gripping the side of the appliance with one hand, he used the other to turn the cold tab on the faucet, water pouring haltingly from the spigot as he dipped his head down. With his lips under the water, he took some into his mouth, swishing it around to relieve the dryness that had occurred from sleep before spitting it out and taking a fresh drink of liquid, the cold temperature sliding down his throat and waking him up more. When finished, he turned off the tap, raising his head back up and reaching for a hand towel beside him to dry his face with. Raising the white cloth to his lips, he looked up into the mirror above his sink as he wiped the water off of his chin. That's when he noticed something.

A heart, drawn in dark, black marker, sat on his cheek, expanding from cheekbone to jaw.

Brendon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, tilting his head to the side so he could see all of the design that stretched along his face. He slowly let his right hand come up to his cheek, touching it as he stared in the mirror. That's when he found that the top of his hand was also covered in marker, Brendon snapping his head down to look at it.

Had to go to Spencer's house.
Be back for you later.

Brendon couldn't think about his problems with unawareness whenever he woke up. He couldn't think about how hard of a sleeper he was in order to not feel Ryan leave. He wasn't thinking about how Ryan stole his idea to write on him with Sharpie marker, nor how the older man had found his marker in the first place. He couldn't pull together all the scenes from last night, couldn't contemplate what they had done with each other. He wasn't thinking about how Ryan had probably taken another one of his outfits in order to leave the house, nothing about what the boy had to go do at Spencer's house. He didn't think twice about the two pale purple marks on his neck, or how hard they would be to hide. As he just stood there and stared at that heart on his cheek, knowing it had been drawn by the older man…

He could only think about how he could finally tell himself that he was in love with Ryan Ross.

He loved Ryan Ross so much.

i went to see Fall Out Boy in cleveland.
in between songs, Pete Wentz's mouth came up to the microphone
and he said, "so, anybody see the new Spiderman?"
there were cheers. he then continued with,
"yeah…that movie fucking sucked—i'm waiting for harry potter!"

my dad flipped him off behind me.
i guess that he has a special place for spiders in spandex in that heart of his that i didn't know.
best part though was our group was pressed up against the bar that held the pit crowd from the stage.
so he saw my father and just grinned at us.

karma came after me instead.
later they were throwing these little candies off stage for some reason.
a milky way hit a lesbian in front of me in the shoulder and then smacked into my forehead.
i still have it.
my Dad just continued on with trying to make emo kids form a mosh pit.

i love my Dad.