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It’s a summer night in South Carolina. Panic! At the Disco and friends finish up their show at the House of Blues. To celebrate, everyone squishes together in one of the tour buses, proceeding to take shots of tequila. Half the group is rowdy. Ryan is bordering on a headache, the drinks don’t help too much. He tries his best to be present, reflecting on how just about perfect the show was. He didn’t miss a chord on that guitar. The crowd was the loudest this entire tour.
Ryan smiles to himself, opening a room-temp water bottle. Ah, water, Ryan thinks. He nearly forgot how warm the stage gets, let alone how unprepared his body was, particularly tonight, to handle it. He chugs half of the liquid in only a few seconds. There’s a small drop of water lingering on his mouth, slowly attempting to roll down.
“Well aren’t you thirsty.” Brendon comments.
Ryan’s hand immediately flies to his face, rubbing the waterdrop off. He feels embarrassed, replying with, “Aren’t you? It was hot as hell in there.”
“Well yeah.” Brendon rolls his eyes, “Drinky first, water second though.”
Greta laughs. Ryan somehow feels more embarrassed. The guitarist looks away from Brendon, eyes casting to Greta who takes a shot.
She cringes, “God, we should get something else.” There’s a smile, a laugh, and a very brief cough.
“I saw a liquor store two blocks that way.” Spencer says, pointing in some non distinct direction.
“Let’s fucking go then!” Brendon practically yells. Ryan sighs.
It’s not like the guitarist didn’t want to have fun, but goddamn, he’d like a few more minutes to recover.
~
It’s about a 15 minute walk to this liquor store Spencer swears he saw. The place was closed. The group sighs to various degrees. Ryan doesn’t have much of an opinion on the matter, though sitting back down again would be nice.
“Why would a convenience store be fuckin closed?” Bob questions.
“They hate fun!” Brendon exclaims.
Everyone stands around for a minute talking with themselves. Ryan is tired, maybe they can just go back to the bus-
“You guys know Myrtle Beach is pretty close to here…” Greta says with the most mischievous smile.
“The bus is in the opposite direction.” Ryan complains.
“We can just keep walking! Less than a mile, I know it!” She has the biggest smile on her face.
“Yeah!” Spencer exclaims, “makes up for the liquor store.”
“C’mon, we just keep going this way and eventually we’ll turn left.”
“Eventually…” Ryan says, skeptical.
There’s hands on the guitarists shoulders. He would have jumped if he wasn’t so tired.
“Are you doubting Greta’s sense of direction?” Brendon asks. He’s still holding onto Ryan’s shoulders. The guitarist turns around so the singer can remove his hands.
“No… no, I just, we’re all tipsy and tired. Can’t we get lost?” Ryan directs it back to Greta.
“When I tell you it’s pretty much a straight shot, Ryan. We’ll be there in no time.” She reassures him.
“Okay, okay.” Ryan lazily lifts his hands in protest. He needs to live in the moment more anyway. The constant urge to be so cookie cutter, to play it so safe… where was his sense of fun? Clearly absent most of the time. Being in the band felt more like a job as opposed to a dream career sometimes. He hated it, but the pressure of everything consumed him more than he liked. Follow the rules, practice, interviews, get the job done, relax. Oh yeah, this is supposed to be the relaxing part, and yet he can’t seem to get a grip on relief.
The group is walking, and from Ryan’s observation, no one would pass a field sobriety test. He finds it kinda funny. His present moment begins to get hindered, however. Brendon is walking too close to him, to the point where the singer’s arms brush against the guitarist’s like a loose leaf occasionally tapping against a tree. It’s annoying, but weirdly nice. But he hates it, obviously. Then Brendon’s hand lazily brushes against Ryan’s and his heart pounds.
“Brendon.”
“Ryan.” Brendon mocks, looking at the guitarist.
The street lights go in and out, hitting Brendon’s skin. His face is illuminated, and Ryan forgets why he’s annoyed. There’s those freckles, and that soft expression. Those lips…
Ryan runs his fingers through his hair, trying to shake off this feeling.
Brendon lets out a brief laugh, “You okay?” He cocks an eyebrow, a soft smirk on his lips emitting a sense of genuine wonder, but not taking the moment extremely seriously. That’s the thing about Brendon, he’ll curl his eyebrows up and in, or have a raise to the side of his lips. He’s not being silly anymore, at least not intentionally.
“I’m fine.” Ryan looks away again. He lets out a deep breath. That was a stupid answer. He does this frequently, saying he’s fine when he’s not. Becomes controlling when all he wants is some sense of peace. Gets angry when the outside world is screaming at him; mocking him. His friends boast with their laughter and sense of freedom. Free will.
The guitarist can’t muster up any more words, they’re all caught in his throat. Alcohol pushes up his vulnerability. Acts like a trigger sometimes too, but he didn’t want his father to haunt his choices. He isn’t like him at all. He can have a shot of tequila and not need another. Now he thinks about Jac and how he scrutinized her. Throwing half full vodka bottles away and stomping out cigarettes. Judging her when she was borderline wasted, insulting her until she cried. Why couldn’t he have stopped himself? She was a good girlfriend, but maybe she was too much for him. She didn’t deserve any of it.
His eyes begin to water, his hands falling into his hair again. Brendon remains silent, but the energy doesn’t stay awkward for long. They make that left turn and the sound of crashing waves is present.
“Here we are.” Greta beams.
“We just gunna chill on the sand or something?” Jon asks.
“Nah, we gotta live a little.” She takes off her shirt. The rest of the group gets the idea and begins to undress at varying degrees as they continue to migrate closer to the water. Shirts, jackets, pants, and underwear get tossed away to the edge of the shore as best as possible. Realistically, though, there seems to be a lack of caring if the clothes get wet.
Ryan is back to being present and feeling deeply humored by the scene in front of him. The dancers are screaming and splashing each other and Spencer is getting hit like hell by the waves. Greta and Bob seem to be the furthest out so far. They’re both laughing and trying to keep their heads above water.
Brendon appears to the right of him, jacket and shirt off, with a thumb on the inner waist of his pants, “You coming in or what?”
“Maybe, I-” Ryan’s words are cut short as Brendon pulls his pants and underwear off. Ryan’s heartbeat picks up; he looks away.
“C’mon, Ross.” The singer says as he starts to migrate towards the edge of the shore.
“Give me a second, okay?” Ryan pleads. He looks back to Brendon running into the water. His eyes glued on his ass for maybe a bit too long.
He slips his shirt off, feeling the breeze brush against his skin. He takes a deep breath, taking off his pants. He keeps his boxers on, feeling more comfortable getting them wet than being entirely naked.
“Let’s go, Ryan!” Greta cheers.
Ryan briefly laughs, face almost hot. There’s some sense of vulnerability wrapping around him like an uncomfortable suit. Most of his friends are naked, he wishes he cared less about his figure being mostly exposed. He starts walking towards the water. The waves are cold as he debates just rushing in or moving even slower. Ah, fuck it. Ryan charges the water, waves socking him in the face. He’s going to live a little.
The cold stings less now as he partakes in small talk with his friends while trying to stay afloat. There’s sand in his hair and salt in his mouth, but he doesn’t mind it that much. Then he hears his name being called. Dramatically called, in fact. To the point where he doesn’t even want to look in Brendon’s direction.
“Ryaaaan come here!!!” The singer’s voice cracks, radiating excitement and almost desperation.
The guitarist rolls his eyes far in the back of his head. Greta laughs a bit. Ryan cringes. She says, “I think Brendon wants you.”
Ryan attempts to run his hand through his wet hair, shaking his head, “Yeah I don’t know what he wants. Maybe he found a weird fish or something.”
Brendon’s voice had been booming in the background. The beach was closed for fuck’s sake, if he kept this up anymore, surely someone would come by and report them.
“Okay.” Ryan says with a tone loud enough for the singer to hear him.
So he swims a bit, finally approaching this large lengthy boulder. Brendon is away from the rock, signaling to come closer, “Over here.”
The guitarist follows him around the corner and he notices Brendon is against the rock. Somehow his feet have managed to find some sort of platform to rest on. His bellybutton peaks in and out of the gentle moving waves. Ryan goes over and attempts to find whatever Brendon managed to get his feet on.
Ryan is struggling, grasping at any protruding part of the boulder just so he didn’t have to try so hard to stay afloat, “I can’t find-”
“You’re SO close!” Brendon exclaims, moving a bit closer and extending his arm out. Ryan takes his hand, thankful to be wet, as he’s sure his palm is sweating.
The two boys are close together now. Ryan tries to inch himself back, just enough to be at the edge of this rock. His body is still dramatically close to Brendon’s. He tries to get situated, leaning against the boulder the best he can. It’s manageable, but not entirely comfortable.
“Look at us,” Brendon starts, “we’re leaning buddies.”
Ryan cocks an eyebrow, feeling the roughness of the rock against his skin, “Why’d you drag me over here?”
Brendon clears his throat nervously, “Well, this is a good spot away from everyone and uh, I dunno I just thought maybe…” He looks down at Ryan’s lips.
Ryan rolls his eyes as his stomach clenches. So nervous, he’s trying to shake it off his skin. Of course Brendon would ask this. It wouldn’t be the first time they actually kissed. The images invade the guitarist's mind: It was him, Jac, Brendon, and Audrey. They played their own drunken game of strip poker, but before anyone could get naked, the two girls kissed. Ryan, at the time, didn’t know what to think. He let the peer pressure take him away that night, 4 shots of vodka down, the girls were shoulder to shoulder constantly. Maybe he liked how they looked, but a spark of jealousy sat in the pit of his stomach. Then Brendon’s hand was on Ryan’s knee. Audrey had said it was him and Brendon’s turn now. The way the singer looked so excited… so filled with lust, grasping the guitarist’s chin and pulling him in. The kiss was open mouthed, wet, and almost needy. The softness of Brendon’s lips caused Ryan to get a little too turned on. The girls crawled over, coming in between the two boys. If someone had asked Ryan what the hell happened that night, he’d call it group sex. It wasn’t quite that, but holy hell did it seem like it.
“Maybe what?” Ryan blurts out, faux disgust in his tone. His eyebrows are furrowed.
Brendon puts up his free hand in defense, eyes wide, “Hey. Ya know, ever since Jac and Audrey, you’ve been kinda weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Like,” Brendon gets close to him again, “more tense.” he tucks Ryan’s stay wet hairs sticking to his face behind his ears.
Ryan gets a chill up his spine, his body wants to fold. That goddamn tequila, “I’m not tense.”
“Tell yourself whatever you’d like, Ross.”
“Mm, fuck you, Bren.” Ryan replies in a defensive yet relaxed voice.
“Fuck me?” He points to himself with a surprised look on his face, “Hey, if you’re offering.”
Flustered and beginning to migrate backward, the guitarist replies, “I’m gunna leave.”
“No, no, I’m sorry, Ry.” He firmly grabs his arm.
It’s not like Ryan actually wants to leave, but this tension feels extraordinary. Overwhelming, like he’s so flustered he’s sure his cheeks are red. Ryan lets Brendon pull him back in. They’re closer than before.
Brendon leans in and quietly asks, “Can I kiss you?”
Ryan looks back, heart racing, trying to see if anyone is around.
Brendon reassures him, “No one is out this way, I swear. That’s why I picked this spot.”
Their bodies are so close now. It’s quiet. Ryan recognizes Brendon’s patience, so metaphorically, the ball is in Ryan’s court. It’s up to him. And fuck, he wants to. The guitarist rests his forehead against Brendon’s, biting his lip, and feeling his chest get tight. Despite the proximity, Brendon’s eyes are glued to Ryan’s lips. Both of the boys take deep breaths.
“Please…” Brendon whines, his voice in a near whisper.
Goddamn it, Ryan thinks, before tilting his head and connecting his lips to Brendon’s. The singer’s desperation is palpable, his hand cups the side of Ryan’s face, pulling him in even more. God… the guitarist can get so damn lost in his lips it isn’t even funny. Their mouths are open now, tongues sporadically dancing. It’s so hot and heavy. Ryan can feel the blood rush to his cock, and every once and a while, Brendon’s hard on presses against the guitarist’s leg.
“Can I touch you?” Brendon asks, hand on Ryan’s inner thigh.
“Yeah.” Ryan whispers, nodding.
Brendon’s hand goes inside Ryan’s waistband. He has a firm grip around him, starting to stroke.
Ryan’s breathing is uneven, resisting the urge to make an audible sound. Brendon goes in to kiss him again. Ryan can’t seem to focus when the singer starts playing with his head. His mouth is agape. Brendon grins a bit, “Like that?”
All Ryan can do is nod, so Brendon’s grip stays close to the tip. The guitarist finally gives in and lets out a sound.
“Fuck.” Brendon says, seductively smiling.
Ryan wants to sock him in the face, or kiss him again, he isn’t sure. That cocky damn attitude. Then the guitarist feels Brendon against his leg. He’s ridiculously hard.
“Can I…” Breathless, Ryan’s fingers brush up against the singer’s cock.
“Mhmm.” Brendon’s eyebrows are curled in, biting down his lip in anticipation.
Ryan hasn’t done this before. He wraps his hand around him, starting to stroke. Similar body parts, it must work the same. He builds a rhythm he would do for himself and Brendon lets out a noise.
Both boys are breathing hard, kissing each other haphazardly. The tension builds and builds. Somehow Ryan didn’t have to guide Brendon much. He comes hard, body shaking from the release. His grip fumbles in the moment, but he gains back momentum as quickly as he can for the singer.
“A little bit slower,” Brendon’s head is tilted back, mouth agape and eyes shut.
God he’s so fucking beautiful, Ryan thinks, feeling a chill run up his spine. He takes in the moment so deeply, his heart just about skips a beat.
“I’m close, I… faster, ah.” Ryan barely… barely has to do much more. Brendon trembles a bit too. Brendon’s head falls to Ryan’s chest.
“Whoa.” Ryan says, almost losing balance on this damn boulder.
Brendon is quick to lift his head, “Sorry.” He says, grabbing the guitarist’s arm again to make sure he didn’t slip backwards too much.
Ryan doesn’t know what to say at the moment. He simply takes a second to catch his breath. Brendon is just looking at him.
“Good job.” The singer says.
Ryan rolls his eyes, “Alright okay.” There’s a smile on his lips. He can’t quite escape the vulnerability of this one. His ears are warm.
Before either of them can get another word out, they hear someone yell, “Let’s get going!” Most likely, it was Zack who gaged the appropriate amount of time to stay at a closed beach.
Ryan fixes his boxers a bit before getting back into the water. Brendon follows suit and both of them make their way back to the shore.
“You two swim off somewhere?” Jon asks.
Ryan can’t tell if it’s teasing or a genuine question, he replies, “Brendon found a rock that you could actually stand and lean against. We just talked.”
“Good ol chats.” Brendon adds casually, zipping up his pants.
“That’s cool.” Jon says with a relaxed smile on his face.
Ryan is absolutely going to overthink this brief conversation for the rest of the night. The mile back to the bus is uncomfortable, sand stuck to skin and wet clothing causing the air to feel colder than it is. The boys walk side by side, occasionally looking at one another. They didn’t really need words. Ryan imagines holding the singer’s hand for a second. He doesn’t dismiss the thought. For once, he just lets his imagination go for a bit.
All of the sudden, the cold air starts to get to the guitarist. He briefly shivers. Brendon notices and swings an arm around him, “I saw that.”
“It’s cold as shit.” Ryan says, taking in Brendon’s bodyheat.
Brendon aggressively rubs his hand up and down to try to build up some warmth on at least one side of Ryan’s body. The guitarist laughs.
The singer pauses his movement and says, “Did that help?”
“Yeah.” Ryan says.
Brendon separates from him, but the proximity remains fairly close. The start of the night mimics the evening with Brendon’s hand brushing against Ryan’s.
This time Ryan doesn’t think about the things that haunt him. He smiles to himself.
If you want to kiss, you should kiss.
If you want to live, you should live.