Sequel: Save Me ›
You're Right That It's Wrong To Spend the Night Alone
6
"Mm, Ryan."
Ryan was busy biting at Brendon's neck half-heartedly before their show that night.
Brendon didn't even notice as Ryan sighed into his neck.
"Guys, let's go." Spencer knocked on their door. "We're on, like, now."
Brendon grabbed Ryan's hand and tugged on it, pulling him out the door.
Their show went through flawlessly.
Ryan and Brendon teased the crowd, not to mention each other, leaning close and almost kissing, but smirking and pulling away at the last second.
Ryan glared at Brendon out of the corner of his eye as Brendon made his way down Ryan's body, running his hands down him.
Brendon just smirked and pulled the mic back up to his lips. "Dance to this beat..."
Ryan shifted his guitar for the millionth time that night, groaning softly.
"What the fuck was that?"
"What was what?" Brendon replied innocently, smiling at Ryan and batting his eyelashes.
Ryan pushed Brendon down onto his bunk. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"I have no idea."
Ryan growled, pushing Brendon down onto the bed hard.
Brendon groaned softly as Ryan sat down on him. "Christ, Ry."
"Shut up."
Brendon's eyes widened as he realized Ryan didn't even sound somewhat playful for once. "Ry-"
"Do you fucking like this, Bren?"
"I-"
"Don't you just love all these quick fucks and bruised hips? Cause I sure as fuck do. I love you teasing me, I love your shit-for-Ryan attitude. I love all the drinks you take in in a night. You know who you remind me of, Bren?" His voice is laced heavily with sarcasm throughout the whole thing.
"Well-"
"Do you?"
Brendon looked down, whispering, "No."
Ryan leaned in dangerously close to whisper in a voice filled with venom, "My fucking father."
Brendon looked up at that, though. "Ryan-"
"Think about it, Brenny. All your drinking, all your quick fucks and half-assed attitude about me, about the band, about the music. I wouldn't be surprised to learn you were shoving a needle halfway up your arm by now." Ryan was seething by now. "The next step is just grabbing my hair and bashing my face into the fucking floor, Brendon. When are you gonna start that?"
Brendon looked down again, silent.
Often, too often, he was the victim of Ryan's rants about his father.
"Ryan," he finally whispered.
"What?" Ryan spat, losing steam.
Brendon wrapped his hands around Ryan's wrists. "That's what you do. That's not me."
Ryan jerked away. "What are you- That's not me!"
"Stop it and just listen to me. I'm not the one who wants the fucking. I've worked my ass off for this. And as for the alcohol..." Brendon disappeared for a moment, leaning up to Ryan's bunk, and pulling down an empty six-pack, a knowing look on his face.
Ryan felt his face heating up again, and tears gathering in his eyes before he spat, "Fuck you," and ran away.
Ryan was busy biting at Brendon's neck half-heartedly before their show that night.
Brendon didn't even notice as Ryan sighed into his neck.
"Guys, let's go." Spencer knocked on their door. "We're on, like, now."
Brendon grabbed Ryan's hand and tugged on it, pulling him out the door.
Their show went through flawlessly.
Ryan and Brendon teased the crowd, not to mention each other, leaning close and almost kissing, but smirking and pulling away at the last second.
Ryan glared at Brendon out of the corner of his eye as Brendon made his way down Ryan's body, running his hands down him.
Brendon just smirked and pulled the mic back up to his lips. "Dance to this beat..."
Ryan shifted his guitar for the millionth time that night, groaning softly.
"What the fuck was that?"
"What was what?" Brendon replied innocently, smiling at Ryan and batting his eyelashes.
Ryan pushed Brendon down onto his bunk. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"I have no idea."
Ryan growled, pushing Brendon down onto the bed hard.
Brendon groaned softly as Ryan sat down on him. "Christ, Ry."
"Shut up."
Brendon's eyes widened as he realized Ryan didn't even sound somewhat playful for once. "Ry-"
"Do you fucking like this, Bren?"
"I-"
"Don't you just love all these quick fucks and bruised hips? Cause I sure as fuck do. I love you teasing me, I love your shit-for-Ryan attitude. I love all the drinks you take in in a night. You know who you remind me of, Bren?" His voice is laced heavily with sarcasm throughout the whole thing.
"Well-"
"Do you?"
Brendon looked down, whispering, "No."
Ryan leaned in dangerously close to whisper in a voice filled with venom, "My fucking father."
Brendon looked up at that, though. "Ryan-"
"Think about it, Brenny. All your drinking, all your quick fucks and half-assed attitude about me, about the band, about the music. I wouldn't be surprised to learn you were shoving a needle halfway up your arm by now." Ryan was seething by now. "The next step is just grabbing my hair and bashing my face into the fucking floor, Brendon. When are you gonna start that?"
Brendon looked down again, silent.
Often, too often, he was the victim of Ryan's rants about his father.
"Ryan," he finally whispered.
"What?" Ryan spat, losing steam.
Brendon wrapped his hands around Ryan's wrists. "That's what you do. That's not me."
Ryan jerked away. "What are you- That's not me!"
"Stop it and just listen to me. I'm not the one who wants the fucking. I've worked my ass off for this. And as for the alcohol..." Brendon disappeared for a moment, leaning up to Ryan's bunk, and pulling down an empty six-pack, a knowing look on his face.
Ryan felt his face heating up again, and tears gathering in his eyes before he spat, "Fuck you," and ran away.