Ryan sort of wishes it hadn't been so public the first time their lips met. Maybe if it'd been somewhere not in front of a thousand obsessive screaming fangirls, it would've been less awkward and quick.
Still, it was nice.
Brendon had winked at him over the mike with an artificial-lasciviousness, and with the added stage makeup (that Ryan had done), he'd looked ridiculous.
But Ryan only smiled and took a step forward as Brendon crept captivatingly toward him.
Ryan took his hand away from the strings of his guitar and let the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile. Brendon's face was already in a mirror expression as he took the side of Ryans' face in his gloved palm, and Ryan knew there was no backing out. The crowed seemed to sense it, too, and they screamed as Brendon caught Ryans' soft lips with his own.
His eyes closed just in time, and he heard the soft smacking sound echo in the mike. He didn't really care too much, though, and grinned even wider as they pulled away, unable to help himself.
Ryan strummed for effect (maybe a little too loudly) as Brendon returned to his spot at the front of the stage, continuing the "Lying . . ." speech.
Okay, so several hundred teenage fangirls had just seen that happen and were probably going to upload videos of it to YouTube. He could deal with that.
Besides, it'd been nice.
You'd think Ryan would've expected the second one (after all, it was a date. They hadn't actually referred to it as that, but they were excluding Jon and Spencer on purpose and clearly that signified something.), but he guessed he was too busy trying to escape the homophobic stares--and glares--of the patrons at the restaurant to notice Brendon's impending face.
Brendon had gotten his credit card from the kinder waitress and followed Ryan's brisk steps to the door. "Hey," he said, shoving Ryan's jacket into his arms. "Here--um, it's cold outside. You should. Probably put that on."
Ryan waited until they were both outside the door to shrug it on. "Thanks," he said, and before he knew it Brendon's mouth was on his.
It was longer this time, and sweeter (not that the last one hadn't been), and Ryan felt Brendon grab his wrist and pull him closer. Brendon was so warm, close to him like this. It was a nice kind of warm, comforting in a way.
When they pulled apart, Ryan blinked his eyes back open slowly to see Brendon's half-happy, half-anxious face in front of his.
"Thanks," Ryan repeated, pecking Brendon's cheek near the corner of his mouth.
Brendon laughed suddenly, a breathless, happy one, and touched the back of Ryans' hand lightly with his fingertips for the rest of the walk back to the hotel.
It's such a nice night, Ryan thought, a high, fluttery feeling creeping down his chest. The touch on his hand was so light it was barely there, but he still felt it, like an ever-present comfort.
They ended up making out in the elevator and in Ryans' bed at the hotel.
Ryan gasped as Brendon lifted him up and onto the kitchen counter, thrusting his head back as Brendon pressed warm, wet kisses into his neck and throat.
Ryan wrapped his long legs around Brendon's waist, reaching desperately at his shoulders as Brendon pressed down on him, lowering him almost flat against the countertop. "Bren," he groaned, panting and sounding out of breath and desperate.
"Mmm, Ry," Brendon murmured into his chest, then smiled as he reached up to nip at the corner of Ryan's mouth. "Make all the noises you want," he whispered. "This is my house. Jon and Spencer aren't here."
Ryan keened loudly as Brendon pressed a palm to the crotch of his jeans. He'd been kind of sad when the tour ended, but right now he was extremely glad for the sudden privacy.
"I love it when you moan like that for me," Brendon murmured, low and dirty into his ear. Ryan whined again, and he kissed Ryan twice, once under the ear and another one, a real one, to the lips. "Yeah, like that . . ."
Ryan reached up past Brendon's neck, clasping his hands together. "C'mon, Bren," he said, shutting his eyes and whining deep in his throat. "Oh, god . . ."
Brendon answered with a moan, lifting Ryan back up and making sure he was firmly attached to his upper body before carrying him to the bedroom.
"Mm--Bren, hurry--" Ryan's voice was urgent as he writhed around on the bed, wrinkling the sheets and desperately tugging his clothes off.
Brendon was already naked somehow--how did he do that?--and emerged from his dresser with a tube of lubricant. "I gotcha," he said, voice low and scratchy, and straddled Ryan, who gasped a little at the contact.
Ryan was writing in his journal when Brendon decided to tell him, all nervous and fidgety and looking up and meeting Ryan's eyes through his lashes. Ryan was sure Brendon didn't try to do that and look sexy, but it totally worked on him anyway.
"Hey, Bren," he greeted casually, eyeing the singer.
Brendon smiled--he always did around Ryan--and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Ry," he began, not quite sure how to put it. "I wanted to tell you something."
Ryan put his pen down and closed his notebook, which Brendon had given him as a present several weeks ago. "Yeah?" he asked, because clearly whatever Brendon wanted to say was important.
Brendon, impulsively, leaned forward suddenly and crushed his lips against Ryan's mouth, holding himself there and letting Ryan slowly wind a hand into his hair. The kiss was long; one of the longest ones they'd shared.
Brendon was the one who pulled away. "Bren. B," Ryan said softly, meeting his gaze and searching it. "What is it?"
Brendon bit his lip. "I love you?"
They've kissed before, of course. So why the hell is Ryan so nervous?
It's just the whole thing, he decides. the whole event is so huge, such a milestone in his lives, who wouldn't be nervous? The kissing's just the biggest part of that.
Ryan likes to go back in time and remember what had been the happiest day of his life, four months ago, with Brendon. After the release of their fourth album and it had topped the charts, even higher than A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, they had a huge party to celebrate.
They'd all been high, a natural, crazy, laughing-with-your-friends-high, and they'd ended up kissing, writhing around in each other's laps.
Everyone had been cat-calling them, and in the space of a blink Brendon smirked at the room and got down on one knee, pulling a simple band of silver out of his pocket and offering it to him.
"Will you marry me?"
It'd been so quiet in that five-second moment, Ryan remembers fondly. And then he'd yanked Brendon in by the collar for a rough kiss, full of tongue and wet smacking noises and saliva when they pulled apart.
"Of course, Bren," he'd said, trying not to smile but so completely failing. That's when he knew that Brendon had him, had his heart completely because Ryan had an amazing poker face and of course only Brendon Urie could crack it.
Only Brendon Urie.
Ryan takes in a breath as the doors open and a sea of faces turns to look at him. He ignores them all, just focuses on the one at the end of the aisle.
The dark, choppy-haired twenty-seven year old with the brown eyes that make his insides swirl with pleasure grins back. That smile, too. His fiance is the perfect vision of love, Ryan thinks, and suddenly wants to cry. Brendon is so beautiful.
He makes his way down the aisle by himself ("Screw tradition," he and Brendon had said) and beams at his about-to-be husband. "I love you," he whispers, his vision threatening to blur with tears, and he's pretty sure he hears someone in the pews say, "aww."
"I love you more," Brendon says, and Ryan rolls his eyes in retaliation.
He tunes out the speech the minister gives them, because he wants to focus on Brendon's face. They finally get to be together forever; married. Ryan used to think that the taste of that word was too fairy-tale for him, but right now it seems perfect. Forever is a long time, but this is Brendon. Ryan can't help it; a tear rolls down his cheek.
" . . . do you two, Brendon Boyd Urie and George Ryan Ross the Third, take each other to be partners forever?" (and yeah, they changed the sermon thingy quite a bit, but who cares? It means the same thing and they're still going to be married.)
"I do," they say at the same time, and applause starts even before their lips meet.