When the moon fell in love with the sun.
Brown eyes gazed back at Brendon, dull and condensending, peering up from beneath a disheveled curtain of dark hair. The flushed cheeks and fretful grimace in the mirror didn't belong to him. No, this careworn person was unfamiliar to him, the type of stranger he'd rather not associate with. It had been months since he'd looked at his reflection and seen the easygoing, playful boy he was used to. What had stricken up this unfriendly chord within him, leading the orchestra of his emotions into a fatal tyrade of sorrow and worry, couldn't quite be placed by Brendon, though he assumed it had something to do with the whispers of his bandmates' abandonment. That's what he thought of it as: abandonment. They were leaving him to venture into the world alone, just a child who had since been dependent on his imagination and his friends to hold him up, steady him, and direct him down the proper paths when he wasn't sure where to go.
The sentiments were, Brendon knew well, dreary and unreasonable, but he couldn't help it. He'd been barely able to conceal his depression on around the other boys, let alone while confronting his own self. He felt as if a portion of himself was being stolen from him. Though he'd obviously never lose contact with his friends, he knew with dismal awareness that things would never be quite the same. After all, they'd been together from the very beginning, when the money was scarce and the eyeliner was plentiful. They'd supported each other, grown together, lived and laughed and cried side-by-side, and now it was, to Brendon, over.
Completely absorbed in his own despair, Brendon didn't even notice as the bedroom room door opened and shut. He didn't sense the presense of someone else in the room until a gentle hand drifted onto his shoulder, startling him into reality. He looked into the mirror to see Ryan standing behind him, staring at him with his brow creased in concern.
"You okay, Brendon?" he asked cautiously.
The singer found it difficult to stare at his bandmate's face for too long. It was almost painful. He moved his eyes away from the mirror and focused on a nearby comb, forcing the tears to stay concealed. Usually, he'd be able to conjure up a smile and pretend that he was never happier, but after the night's former discussion, he didn't quite feel up to any more acting. "Fine," he lied quietly. His voice was monotonous and apathetic, like he no longer cared to put effort into speaking.
Ryan frowned, unwilling to accept his friend's obvious bluff, and took a step closer. "Hey," said Ryan, his fingers gripping Brendon's upper arm lightly, "don't think I'm stupid. I can tell something's bothering you."
Brendon had to turn his head away so the other boy wouldn't see the moist glisten appearing in his eyes. He bit down on his lower lip, took a few deep breaths, and replied in a steady voice, "It's nothing."
"Bullshit." Ryan's bluntness surprised even himself, and Brendon was forced to face his friend with wide, quizzical eyes. The young innocence returned to the guitarist as he gave Brendon a sympathetic look and spoke in a gentle tone. "What's wrong? I want you to tell me."
For a moment, Brendon kept his eyes locked on the crisp fold of his bandmate's collar, waiting to collect himself before he dared speak his mind. The last thing he needed was to have a breakdown in front of Ryan, whom he so admired and loved. "It's just, y'know," he muttered, straining to keep his voice level. "You and Jon..."
A sigh escaped Ryan's lips; he'd obviously been afraid of this. "We just talked about it, right?" he said, now the one avoiding Brendon's eyes by observing the details of the incandescent bulb of the nearby reading lamp. "You agreed that it was probably best."
Brendon now looked straight at his friend, a single, shimmering tear gliding down his cheek and falling onto the rough beige carpet underfoot. Ryan felt his heart crumble at the sight of that tear; he'd never seen Brendon cry before, and surely didn't think him the kind. Surely not the loveable, hilarious Brendon who livened the mood with his silly remarks and excited, shining eyes. Who was the broken little boy before him with the eery ghost of happiness barely flickering in the brown depth of his eyes?
"I didn't," Ryan began, but he didn't know what to say. Brendon had, after all, seemed completely enthusiastic during their little band meeting earlier, completely agreeing that it would be better for all of them if he and Jon went off on their own musical espicade. It hadn't even occured to him what a believable actor his old friend was. Ryan lifted a hand and brushed the back of his fingers across Brendon's cheek, removing the salty trail left by the pitiful tear. The boy enhaled shakiy, sniffled, and gave Ryan the best smile he could muster, which was quite a sad little attempt that only made Ryan feel worse.
"Brendon, I'm really sorry." He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes as he considered things. "I should've realized... I mean, I didn't even think about how you..."
"It's fine," said the singer, sporting that same pathetic grin. "I'm just really going to miss you."
It was too much for Ryan to handle. He threw open his eyes and stared into Brendon's for a moment, then grabbed his friend's head from either side and brought their faces together. Brendon was quite surprised, but he immediately leapt into the kiss. Their lips greeted one another with passion, opening and closing in heated speed. Ryan's tongue slipped into the other boy's warm mouth, exploring the moist cavern eagerly. Their arms became like ropes, bounding them together in a series of confused knots. As they made their way across the room, Brendon's fingers found their way to the front of Ryan's shirt and began hastily unbuttoning it. It didn't take long for both boys' shirts to become forgotten on the floor.
When they found their way to the bed, Brendon fell onto his back, and Ryan removed his own trousers and climbed on top of the other boy. He first kissed Brendon's lips, then gave him a series of pecks from the jawline down his chest and across his stomach. With each kiss he came closer to the growing erection in Brendon's jeans, the idea of which made him shiver involuntarily. Ryan reached the top of the jeans and hooked his fingers onto it, slowly peeling them down Brendon's legs and revealing the protruding bulge amongst the material of his boxers. After the trousers had been pried off and carelessly tossed across the room, Ryan eased his way back up his companion's legs, watching the pleasure on Brendon's face as he neared the boxers. He lightly grazed is fingertips over the erection, enjoying the singer's soft moan.
"Ryan," breathed Brendon desperately. The guitarist grinned mischieviously but ceased his teasing, to Brendon's relief, and quickly removed both pairs of boxers. Time was becoming short, they both knew, for after a while, Spencer and Jon would grow wary of waiting for Ryan to "check on Brendon" and would most likely come barging in to investigate. So, Ryan got to work, moving his hands to the other boy's shaft and grasping it by the base, then slowly sliding his warm hands up to the tip and back down again. He could feel the erection hardening in his grip, and the heavy panting of Brendon ensured him that he was doing well.
When the prick was in a pulsatingly firm state, Ryan looked into Brendon's eyes, which had suddenly regained that beautiful, playful spark. "Turn over."
The singer immediately obliged, flipping onto his stomach. Ryan hurriedly leaned over the edge of the bed and reached underneath, rummaging through various items until he produced a small tub of Vaseline. He kneeled on the mattress behind Brendon and told him to get up onto fours, which Brendon did, leaning forward on his elbows with arse sticking up directly in front of Ryan's face. The guitarist unscrewed the Vaseline and dipped a finger in, carefully covering his finger in gel. He traced a line from Brendon's testicles and up to his arse hole with his fingertip, then slipped the entire digit inside. Brendon gasped at the strange feeling, but began moaning when Ryan inserted a second Vaseline-lathered finger, then a third. When the entrance was well-lubricated, Ryan took his own quaking manhood and scooted himself right behind Brendon, the tip of his penis barely prodding the moist arse hole.
Before he entered, he leaned over the younger boy's back and whispered, "I love you, Brendon," to which Brendon smiled, the first truly happy smile he'd experienced in weeks, and replied, "I love you, too." And with that, Ryan pushed himself inside of Brendon. Both boys let out startled gasps, of pain and of complete pleasure. Ryan put his hands on the singer's hips and gave an experimental thrust. He let out a high groan, loud enough for Jon and Spencer to hear from his apartment's kitchen, but he didn't think of this as he thrust again. It felt almost unimaginably good; his erection was quaking and begging for more. Brendon, who had felt obvious pain at first, was now thuroughly enjoying the feeling of his companion's member gliding in and out of him, and he had switched to leaning on one elbow and using his free hand to rub his own throbbing shaft.
"Oh!" moaned Ryan as he felt himself reaching the climax. He thrusted harder, burrying himself deep inside of Brendon, who was groaning as he, too, neared an orgasm. Two thrusts later, both came at once, crying out each other's names as they burst. Shaking, Ryan pulled out, and Brendon collapsed on the sheets, panting hard. Ryan curled up beside his friend and gathered the boy into his arms, pressing him into his chest. The younger boy buried his face in Ryan's shoulder, and the guitarist placed a few kisses on the top of his disheveled hair.
"Please don't leave," whispered Brendon into his companion's skin.
Ryan held onto him tightly. "I'll never leave you."
All was golden in the sky.
Author's Note: As most of you are probably aware, Ryan and Jon have left the band, forming their own musical group. Very, very sad. A recent interview, however, revealed that the boys might get back together after they release an album or two. We can only hope, eh?