Work Text:
So the thing is, Ryan knows he’s said worse things to Brendon. It’s not Ryan’s best quality, he knows that. He knows that sometimes, he goes a little bit too far when he gets frustrated, and sometimes, he calls Brendon stupid when Brendon just doesn’t get what Ryan needs him to do with his voice. Sometimes, Ryan tells Brendon how dumb he is when he forgets the lyrics. Sometimes, Ryan reminds Brendon that Panic has been Ryan’s band since the beginning, and always will be.
So Ryan knows he gets a little bit mean sometimes, but he didn’t think he was being all that mean when, in search of his iPod—Brendon likes to abscond with Ryan’s things and hide in his bunk when he wants Ryan’s attention—he called Brendon a baby.
Brendon was running a low fever, and kept bitching about a headache, so Spencer herded Brendon to his bunk as soon as the bus started rolling to the next city.
Ryan was pissed. The show a couple hours earlier sucked. He felt tight the whole set, like a guitar string wound too many times, like he might snap at the slightest provocation. Even worse, the provocation never came. Brendon and Spencer and Jon sounded good together, they looked good together, and how dare they play in lockstep with Ryan falling behind? The show was great, but Ryan wasn’t, so he needed something to lash out at. And really, it’s not Ryan’s fault that Brendon makes such an easy target.
Brendon had been snuggled under his covers, a ratty teddy bear tucked under his chin. Before that night, Ryan had only seen the teddy bear once, back in that shitty apartment they shared in Maryland while they recorded Fever. They all had a rough day. Brent hadn’t shown up, and Ryan spent thirty minutes yelling at Brendon for not getting an inflection right after ten takes. Ryan felt bad, so he didn’t mention it when Brendon tried to hide the bear as he pulled it out of his suitcase and clung to the matted fur under his covers all night. Brendon stashed the bear away before anyone was awake the next morning.
Brendon finally felt relaxed in his bunk, the rushing adrenaline from the show giving way to a slight buzz, that nagging headache still thrumming behind his eyes and between his temples. He was just starting to settle down, drifting off to sleep when Ryan tore his bunk’s curtain open, startling Brendon out of his sleep.
“Where the fuck is my iPod?” Ryan yelled, every syllable pounding through Brendon’s head.
Brendon squinted at Ryan, the sudden onslaught of light flooding into his bunk magnifying his headache. “Wha?”
“My fucking iPod. Where did you put it?”
Brendon threw his teddy bear over his face, blocking out the light and Ryan. He took a deep breath, the smell of home doing nothing to make his headache any better. “I don’t have it,” Brendon mumbled. “‘M sick.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed at Brendon’s teddy bear, and not even Brendon’s sleepy, sickly softness could’ve kept Ryan from rolling his eyes. “God, you’re such a fucking baby,” Ryan snapped, snatching the bear from Brendon’s face. Ryan felt a split second of satisfaction, until Brendon’s eyes widened, and shit, he looked like he was gonna cry, those big brown puppy eyes going glassy.
“Brendon, I’m sorry,” Ryan said, putting the teddy bear safely on Brendon’s chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
Even if he didn’t have a not-boyfriends-but-having-sex-and-cuddling-all-the-time thing with Brendon, Ryan would’ve felt bad. Making Brendon sad is a lot like stepping on a dog’s tail; the way they look at you after they’ve been hurt just tugs and pulls and fucking yanks on your heartstrings.
Brendon blinked away the tears, replacing them with cold, quiet anger. “Remember that,” Brendon said. He yanked his curtain shut, leaving Ryan with a sharp pang of guilt stabbing in his stomach.
“Oh, Ryan,” Jon called from the back lounge. “You left your iPod back here.”
***
The whole baby incident was two weeks ago. Since then, Ryan’s constantly felt a little on edge around Brendon, Brendon’s threat of remember that always lingering in the back of Ryan’s mind.
Brendon, of course, has been acting normal, which makes it all the more terrifying. After a couple days of Brendon quarantining himself any time he was offstage—turns out he actually was sick—he was back to his bright, bouncy, cuddly self. Brendon doesn’t hesitate to curl up next to Ryan on the couch or fall asleep on Ryan’s shoulder during a movie marathon.
Ryan knows better, though. Brendon holds a grudge.
The constant threat of Brendon punishing Ryan for being a jerk looms over Ryan’s head, and fuck is it making him squirm. Every hotel night, every idle hour in a venue’s green room, every day that passes by is an opportunity for Brendon to make Ryan remember that.
They’re walking around Milwaukee before soundcheck when Ryan knows it’s time. He’s almost relieved, stewing in his own anticipation for what Brendon’s planning has made the past couple weeks incredibly sucky.
“Ooh, let’s look in here!” Brendon says, bouncing into a tourist trap they were about to walk by. He pulls Ryan into the store by the hand, Zack following behind.
“Don’t take too long, dudes,” Zack says, hovering by the door. “Twenty minutes till we gotta be back at the venue.”
Ryan nods at Zack, acknowledging the time for both himself and Brendon, who’s already busy oohing and ahhing at the same cheap novelty crap they see in every fucking city.
“Look, Ryan, they have a keychain with your name on it!” Brendon says, spinning a display fixture entirely too fast.
“They always have my name,” Ryan says, but Brendon doesn’t hear him, already preoccupied in another part of the store.
“Ryan, come here,” Brendon calls from across the store, his voice calm and level.
Ryan sees the back of Brendon’s head, and he’s standing still for fucking once, but Ryan can’t tell what exactly has Brendon so captivated that he’s not acting like a fucking spaz. He stops in his tracks when he gets close enough to see it.
Teddy bears of every color sit on a low shelf, staring back at Ryan with their empty eyes. Brendon turns to look at Ryan, the corners of his mouth curling up in a tiny smile. “Pick one.”
Ryan meets Brendon’s eyes, a weird, twisty feeling settling in his stomach. Brendon’s got this look, one eyebrow raised, waiting, daring Ryan to challenge him. “I don’t—” Ryan starts.
Brendon grabs Ryan’s wrist, a weak spot of Ryan’s, that place makes Ryan get all soft at the slightest touch. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy it for you,” Brendon says sweetly.
To anyone else, it would seem like Brendon was just being nice to Ryan. Of course, there’s more to it. Every word carries the weight of the fragile trust of their…arrangement.
The bedroom is the only place Ryan’s willing to give up any control. In the studio and on stage, Ryan has to have his hand in everything, down to the most minute detail. Ryan wouldn’t have it any other way, but it gets exhausting, so as much as he hates to admit it, Ryan likes being able to let go of the reins when it comes to sex.
It just so happens that he hands the reins to Brendon. Brendon’s not his first choice, or his second, or third. There’s a million people Ryan would rather submit to than Brendon, but on tour, options are limited. Jon is straight, Spencer’s like a brother, and no one else is close enough for Ryan to feel that comfortable around. So it has to be Brendon. Brendon’s dominant and safe and respects Ryan’s boundaries, so he’s not the worst option out there. But still. It’s Brendon.
Brendon squeezes Ryan’s wrist, a gentle touch, a warning of what’s to come later on tonight. “So, which will it be?”
Ryan reaches out and picks the closest one to him, a tan bear with an obnoxious I LOVE MILWAUKEE in a red heart on the tummy.
Brendon grins, all straight, white teeth, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think it’s adorable, Ryan.”
***
They play the show in Milwaukee, and the four of them sound good together. Brendon gets in Ryan’s space every chance he gets. Ryan gets in Brendon’s space right back. Brendon places a tiny, chaste kiss on Ryan’s cheek, and that simple touch is enough to get Ryan buzzing with arousal from that moment on.
The band spends the short bus ride from the venue to the hotel scrambling to put together overnight bags. Ryan’s stuffing an extra t-shirt into his messenger bag when Brendon crowds behind Ryan, pushing Ryan’s body against the side of Ryan’s bunk. Brendon’s sort of damp, still hot and sweaty from the show, his presence coiling around Ryan, humming through his insides and sweeping across his skin. He’s pressed so close that Ryan can smell him, sweat and cologne and weed and Brendon.
“Don’t forget your bear,” Brendon says, voice low in Ryan’s ear.
Ryan rolls his eyes, but begrudgingly digs the bear out from where he stuffed it under the corner of his mattress. He moves to shove it into his bag when Brendon grabs his wrist, fingertips pressing hard into the thin skin over his veins. “No. I want you to carry it.”
In the hotel lobby, while they’re waiting to get checked in, Spencer raises his eyebrows at Ryan and the teddy bear. Ryan just shrugs and avoids Spencer’s questioning gaze until they get their key cards and pile into the elevator.
In the elevator, Brendon stands behind Ryan, hand on Ryan’s shoulder, fingertips pressing into Ryan’s skin. Brendon’s grip isn’t hard enough to bruise, but Ryan feels Brendon deep in his bones. Brendon’s hand bites into Ryan’s shoulder from the elevator to their room, not loosening, even as Ryan takes three tries to unlock their door.
Ryan stands just past the threshold, waiting for Brendon to set the pace for the night. Usually, Brendon starts out sex nights by pushing Ryan up against the nearest wall and kissing him until they’re both hard and desperate.
“First shower,” Brendon says calmly. His tone, quiet and steady, is nothing like his usual loud, shrieky voice. If Ryan had any lingering doubts about tonight being The Night, it disappears. Brendon only uses that voice when they’re building up to sex.
Ryan nods, already a little bit breathless, just from those couple of words. He sits on the foot of the bed closest to the door and stares at the floor as Brendon flits around the room, getting ready for his shower. Ryan lets himself watch Brendon’s back as he heads to the bathroom.
And he waits. And waits. And waits.
Ryan’s pretty sure the anticipation thumping in his chest is going to kill him. He’s been waiting for this for weeks, and now that it’s nearly here, Ryan’s not quite sure what to do with himself. He’s already bitten his fingernails uncomfortably short, he’s already gnawed his bottom lip red and sore. The waiting is always the worst part, and Brendon seems to be in no hurry to get things started; Ryan can hear him singing Bohemian Rhapsody once he’s finished his rendition of Purple Rain.
After a rousing performance of American Pie, Brendon comes out of the bathroom, wearing a t-shirt that’s entirely too small and a pair of sweatpants that Ryan is pretty sure belongs to Spencer. The sweats are too big for Brendon, sitting low on his hips, revealing a strip of pale skin, a flash of white in a sea of dark clothing. If Ryan looks closely, he can see the sparse trail of hair that leads to Brendon’s belly button.
Brendon stands in front of Ryan, eyes dark. “Up,” he says simply, and Ryan does what he says. Brendon flashes a tiny smile before he stands on his toes to take Ryan’s face in his hands and lean in for a kiss.
Brendon’s not Ryan’s first choice for this, but fuck, he loves kissing Brendon. With his full lips and wandering tongue, Brendon is an excellent kisser. Brendon kisses with so much enthusiasm, like it’s the best thing in the world, like each kiss is the only thing in the world that matters to him.
Ryan puts his hands on Brendon’s hips, running his fingers along the gap between Brendon’s waistband and the hem of his shirt. Brendon’s skin is hot and a little damp still, and finally getting to touch Brendon makes all the nervous energy fade away. It’s Brendon, safe, warm Brendon, who will make sure they both get what they need tonight.
Brendon breaks the kiss, stroking his thumb along Ryan’s cheek. “What’s your safe word?”
“Caster,” Ryan says.
Caster wasn’t what Ryan picked for his safe word, but Brendon vetoed Telecaster, insisting it was too many syllables to be a good safe word.
Brendon smiles again. This time, he looks hungry, like he can’t wait to devour Ryan. “Good. Take a shower and come out here wearing the clothes I left for you.”
Ryan takes a quick shower. It takes him all the willpower he has not to touch his cock beyond washing it. He’s been thrumming with arousal since Brendon kissed him on stage, half hard since Brendon put his hand on his shoulder in the elevator, and fully hard since Brendon called first shower. It’s not that Brendon told Ryan not to touch himself, Ryan just knows Brendon would be disappointed if he did. So Ryan takes a fast shower and haphazardly towels himself off, eager to finally get started.
The use of the word “clothes” for what Brendon left him is generous. The only shred of fabric Brendon gave Ryan to wear is a stark white pair of underwear.
With trembling hands, Ryan steps into the underwear and slides them up his long legs. The briefs are ill-fitting, saggy in the ass, and if Ryan squints, it looks like a— a fucking diaper.
Ryan pokes his head out of the bathroom, the cold air a shock to his shower-heated skin. Brendon’s leaning on the wall next to the window, his legs crossed at his ankles, Ryan’s teddy bear lying at his feet. Brendon is calm and still, focused in a way that he never is outside of the arrangement with Ryan. “Come here,” Brendon says coolly.
Ryan takes a step out of the bathroom, not daring to peel his eyes away from Brendon.
Brendon shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, baby boy. Crawl.”
Taking a deep breath, Ryan sinks to his knees, then presses his palms to the floor. Brendon’s never made him do this before tonight, but then again, Ryan’s never been punished for calling Brendon a fucking baby.
The carpet is rough under Ryan’s hands and knees as he inches toward Brendon. He can feel granules of dirt crunching under his palms and tries not to think about what kind of germs live in the rug.
“Stop,” Brendon commands once Ryan is in front of him, palms splayed on either side of the bear. Ryan stops, but he would’ve kept going if Brendon wanted him to. He would have kept crawling until his hands and knees bled.
Brendon pushes himself off the wall and stands in front of Ryan. “Good boy,” Brendon coos, petting Ryan’s head. He’s so close that Ryan can see the wispy hairs on the tops of Brendon’s big toes. “You’re doing well tonight. You’ve done everything I’ve said so far. Do you like what I had you wear?”
Ryan forces himself to look up at Brendon. “No, Brendon,” he says. “It reminds me of a diaper.”
Brendon smiles, still stroking Ryan’s head. “That’s the point, baby boy. And you know exactly why I had you do it.”
Ryan can feel the carpet pressing pebbly patterns into his palms and knees. “Yes, Brendon.”
When they’re playing, Ryan has to call Brendon by his name. Sir reminded Ryan too much of Catholic school, and Ryan and Brendon are equally turned off by Daddy, so Brendon it is. Never B or Bren. Brendon.
“Strip,” Brendon says. “Slowly. You can stand up.”
Ryan shifts his weight to his feet, then pushes himself up. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pulls them down his legs carefully, letting the fabric pool around his ankles. The cool air of the hotel room feels good on Ryan’s cock, hard and hot and begging for attention.
Brendon puts his hands on Ryan’s shoulders, then rubs his palms down Ryan’s chest. He takes each of Ryan’s nipples between his thumbs and index fingers and squeezes and twists and squeezes again.
Ryan lets out a little gasp. He can feel his nipples getting stiff between Brendon’s callused fingertips. The stimulation is rough, but it’s going straight to Ryan’s cock.
Brendon leans forward and mouths at Ryan’s neck, a hard, sucking kiss, and Ryan knows there’s going to be a mark. “Spin around for me, baby,” Brendon says against Ryan’s skin. Each word sends little sparks of heat through Ryan’s body.
Ryan takes a step back and moves in slow circles in place. Every time he turns to face Brendon, he’s looking at Ryan intently, like he’s studying every dip and bump and mark on Ryan’s skin. From the knobs of his spine to the points of his elbows, to the tendons in his ankles to the set of his jaw, Ryan is under Brendon’s examination.
Ryan’s skin feels hot as he twirls around and around. With his lanky legs and awkward arms, Ryan can’t help but feel self conscious. Brendon is all plush curves where Ryan is straight lines. Brendon is always so comfortable in his skin while Ryan wants to jump out of his own.
“Stop,” Brendon says, when Ryan’s facing him again. Brendon puts his hands on Ryan’s hips and tugs Ryan a step closer to him.
Ryan can feel Brendon’s breath on his skin, so close that Ryan can see the slight flush on Brendon’s cheeks, the smattering of freckles across his nose.
Brendon reaches between their bodies and runs a single finger along the length of Ryan’s cock.
The touch, light and soft and tortuously slow, is enough to make Ryan shudder. “Brendon,” Ryan whines. “Fuck, Brendon.”
Brendon smirks, swiping his thumb on the tip of Ryan’s dick. Once, just once. “On your knees.”
Ryan gets down on his knees, at eye level with Brendon’s crotch. Ryan’s pretty sure Brendon is just as hard as he is; the front of Brendon’s sweatpants are tented out in front of him, a damp patch forming on the fabric.
“Wanna suck my cock, baby?” Brendon asks.
Ryan nods. God, he wants. “Yes, Brendon. Please.”
Ryan’s too turned on to be ashamed of how much he wants this, wants Brendon. No, all his shame flew out the window a long time ago, when he realized that doing this with Brendon led to mind-blowing orgasms.
Brendon pushes his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh, cock springing out in Ryan’s face. “Then suck my fucking cock, slut.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Ryan parts his lips and lets Brendon’s cock slip into his mouth, hot and heavy on his tongue. He runs his tongue along the underside of Brendon’s length before taking a deep breath and pushing forward. Ryan buries his nose in Brendon’s pubes, cock buried in Ryan’s throat. Brendon smells good, clean like hotel soap and musky like arousal. Knowing Brendon is just as turned on as he is, being able to smell it, makes pride swell inside Ryan. He got Brendon this turned on.
This moment, when Brendon is in his throat and on his tongue, before Brendon starts fucking his mouth, is Ryan’s favorite part of giving Brendon head. It’s the moment he can close his eyes and breathe Brendon in, let Brendon envelop his senses, like they’re becoming one being.
Brendon tangles his fingers in Ryan’s hair and thrusts his hips forward and back. “You look so hot, taking my cock like a fucking whore.”
Ryan groans in response, swallowing around Brendon’s cock. There’s spit dribbling down Ryan’s chin, the blowjob wet and messy the way Brendon likes it.
Brendon pulls out most of the way, leaving just the tip in Ryan’s mouth. Ryan swirls his tongue around the head, paying special attention to the sensitive spot on the underside where the shaft and crown meet.
Brendon moans and pushes his cock back in, thrusting faster this time. His fingers tighten in Ryan’s hair, and that’s all the warning Ryan gets before Brendon comes, hot pulses in Ryan’s mouth. Ryan swallows Brendon’s seed, and it’s almost enough to quell the heat building inside of Ryan. Almost.
He’s so turned on; there’s precome dripping from the tip of Ryan’s neglected cock.
Brendon pulls out of Ryan’s mouth and carefully tucks himself into his underwear and sweatpants. “You want to come, baby?” Brendon asks. His cheeks are flushed pink.
“Yes, Brendon,” Ryan says, voice raw. Ryan can’t even begin to imagine how wrecked he looks right now. He knows his hair is a mess, his face is probably splotchy and red, and his cock is so, so hard.
Using his big toe, Brendon pushes Ryan’s forgotten teddy bear between Ryan’s knees. “Here you go. Hump it.”
Ryan’s stomach drops as he looks down, the bear’s cold, dead eyes staring up at him. “Do I have to?” He asks, fully aware of how pathetic he sounds. Sure, he’s done a lot of humiliating things tonight, but that?
Brendon smiles at Ryan. “Of course not, Ry,” he says, smoothing Ryan’s sweaty hair away from his forehead. “But if you want to get off tonight, you do.”
“Brendon,” Ryan whines.
Brendon’s eyes narrow down at Ryan. “You fuck that bear or you get nothing. Make a choice before I make one for you.”
Fucking that teddy bear is just about the last thing Ryan wants to do, but he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get something on his cock soon.
Ryan screws his eyes shut and spreads his knees wide enough to sink down so his cock touches the bear. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t, but he’s so desperate for touch that he groans now that he’s finally getting some stimulation.
Ryan tries to ignore Brendon’s laugh as he thrusts his cock on the bear. The fur is creating a weird friction on the underside of his cock, a soft heat teetering between too much and not enough. Ryan dares to open his eyes to look down at the bear. He feels fucking ridiculous, he looks fucking ridiculous, his cock sliding on the bear’s torso, on that obnoxious red heart. The tip of his cock is nudging the bear’s mouth with every thrust, and Ryan would feel disgusted if not for how good it feels. Ryan can’t help but moan.
“Brendon, I need to come,” Ryan says. He knows better than to do so without permission.
“Beg,” Brendon says, grabbing a fistful of Ryan’s hair. “Beg me to let you make cummies.”
Ryan bites his fist, holding back a moan. “Brendon, Brendon, please, let me come.”
Brendon shakes his head, giving Ryan a tsk-tsk-tsk. “That’s not what I told you to do, Ry-Ry.”
Ryan cringes at the stupid pet name. There’s a small part of his brain that wants to stand up, clock Brendon in the head and remind him who’s in charge, remind him that he’s older, wiser than Brendon. But he doesn’t. A much larger, louder part of his mind is tangled up in Brendon’s domineering second personality, riveted by the white hot pleasure the humiliation brings him. He keeps humping the stupid bear and swallows his pride and whispers, “Brendon, please let me— make cummies.”
“Speak up, baby,” Brendon says. He uses his grip on Ryan’s hair to force Ryan to look up at him. “Grown ups can’t hear you when you talk that quietly.”
Ryan can feel his body flushing, from the tips of his ears, down his neck, spreading across his chest. He knows what he did to deserve this, but fuck, it doesn’t make it any less humiliating. “Please let me make cummies, Brendon, please.”
Brendon laughs, sharp and evil. “Maybe I should do this all the time. Make you beg me to make your wittle cummies on your bear.”
The motion of Ryan’s hips starts to get erratic and clumsy. He’s so fucking close. “I’m sorry, Brendon, okay?”
“You’ll be fucking sorry,” Brendon says, kneeling down in front of Ryan.
The fur is clumping into little wet spikes from the precome Ryan’s leaking. It’s sparking hot pleasure on the underside of Ryan’s cock, finally enough to tip him over the edge.
And Brendon snatches the bear from in front of Ryan.
Ryan can’t help the pathetic cry that comes out of his mouth. His hips are still canting forward on their own volition, humping the empty air in front of him for something, anything. “Please,” Ryan whispers, and he’ll never admit to tearing up at the unfairness of it all.
Brendon cocks his head to the side, a soft smile on those full lips. He brings one hand up to pet the side of Ryan’s face, the other still holding the teddy bear. “Ryan,” he coos. “Who’s the fucking baby now?”