orgasms and cheap thrills (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sunday_porch) wrote,@ 2007-01-31 01:54:00 |
|
To a Flame
Title: To a Flame
Author:jzbell
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ryan thinks he would totally risk getting punched in the gut by a grizzled old trucker if it meant Brendon's hands on him for real.
Disclaimer: A complete lie! (I'm pretty sure they've never even passed Walcott on tour.)
Notes: Truckstop in question. This one goes out to everyone who is not so much into hardcore sex. (Look, Jori! No naked!)
Ryan's not entirely sure what state they're in; through the windows he can see the low hills, alternating trees and fields, and they're all shades of dark gray, just charcoal sketches of the midwest under moonlight.
It's unseasonably warm, too, one more little present from Mother Nature ("yeah," Spencer had said, "called global warming") and the driver had left his door open a little too long before they left the last venue.
Not surprisingly, a moth had managed to sneak in and finally make its way to the back. Now it's fluttering above Jon's head ("Dude, what the fuck?"), and they're all watching him bat at it, laughing, light.
Spencer offers over the drooping copy of W (that's where it went, Ryan notes) and says, "Here, just kill it."
But Brendon slaps the magazine down, already top heavy so it hits the floor fast, a pile of glossy, rumpled pages. "Dude, don't!"
"Brendon, it's going to eat our clothes," Spencer tells him, bending to gather up the magazine. Jon keeps twisting his head, watching the moth move back and forth above him, and Ryan can't help chuckling.
"It's not going to eat our clothes, you dick," Brendon tells Spencer. "Here." He bends down and flips the pages in Spencer's lap until he finds a cardboard subscription offer, and then tears it carefully out. He snatches up an empty plastic cup off the floor and climbs up on the couch next to Jon, feet sinking into the cushions. He reaches up, the bus sways, and he almost goes down.
Ryan's hands twitch automatically but Jon's get there first, grabbing his thigh. "Hey," Jon says to Brendon, and Ryan lets his breath out, flushing guiltily and feeling silly, eyes darting to Spencer to see if he was caught. Spencer's watching Brendon, of course, not paying attention to him (thankfully).
Brendon stretches again, moving slowly, deliberately, eyes tracking the moth's circles and eights and whatever-the-fucks around the light as he raises the cup. He snaps it against the ceiling with a hollow sound, and grins. "Gotcha," he says, and Ryan almost shakes his head because god, dork. Brendon slides the card in between the cup and the ceiling, and lowers it carefully. He won't take his eyes off it and Jon has to help keep him steady as he climbs down.
"Now what are you going to do with it, genius?" Spencer asks.
"I'm going to keep it, and feed it your ass-ugly clothes," Brendon replies, settling in next to Jon, not looking up.
"Fuck you," Spencer says. "You don't even like bugs." Brendon leans forward, tapping on the top of the cup and then peeling the cardboard back a fraction, squinting in. His glasses hit the plastic and Ryan feels his throat close up at that; he feels silly again, feels absolutely fucking ridiculous. His thumbs are poised over his Sidekick, he realizes, not moving since they'd first noticed the goddamn moth, since Brendon had taken it upon himself to play Mighty Mouse and save the day.
"Hey," Jon says suddenly, peering out the window. "Did that say 'world's largest truckstop?' I've been there!"
Ryan follows his gaze, craning his neck just in time to see the billboard flash by.
"No way, we totally have to stop!" Brendon cries.
"We can't," Spencer says, glancing at Ryan for affirmation. Ryan looks at Brendon, red plastic cup in hand, and can't find his voice.
"Fuck it, we totally can," Brendon informs them, daring them to challenge him. "We've got to stop anyway and let him," he raises the cup, "go. I'm telling the driver." He gets unsteadily to his feet and shuffles up front, moth held carefully before him.
And that is Brendon, Ryan thinks as he watches him go, who swears up and down he's a vegetarian whenever he sees a picture of baby chickens but sometimes crumbles when faced with boneless buffalo wings; Brendon who saves moths instead. Fucking moths. It's so perfectly Brendon that Ryan licks his lips and then bites the bottom one, blushing and trying desperately to make sense of it. He stares at his phone and swears he can feel Spencer's eyes on him.
Iowa 80 (Iowa, Ryan notes) is like a town in itself, garishly lit and sprawling, offering up everything from Grandma's homecooked food to a Truck-O-Mat (Brendon giggles as he reads it out loud), and the bus pulls to a stop amongst a herd of snoring rigs. Brendon climbs off first, trotting away from the building to the little patch of grass and bushes at the side of the parking lot.
Ryan glances at the building, Jon and Spencer already heading toward it, but follows Brendon instead, watching him slide the cardboard away. He looks down into the cup, and the moth flutters out, catching him by surprise and making him shy back. Ryan grins despite himself, watching the moth flutter up toward the massive light at the corner of the asphalt.
Brendon grins at him and Ryan shakes his head, eyebrows up. "Come on, we've only got like twenty minutes," he says, "I thought you wanted to see it."
"Fuck yeah," Brendon says, turning and brushing right past Ryan. Except his arm twists back, reaching, a practiced move, and he manages to snag Ryan's waist and pull him along. He lets his arm slip around fully and Ryan stops, sidestepping out of the way and glancing across the parking lot.
"Seriously, dude, there're truckers here. You're gonna get fucking shot," he warns, and Brendon freezes, making Ryan bump into him. He spins around, leaning in close and fast, and Ryan's sure if he didn't have so much practice fending off Brendon's spurious advances, Brendon's mouth would have been sealed to his, no question. Some day, he thinks, maybe he'll let it. Just to see what Brendon would do. Just to see...
"Brendon," he says again, pushing against his chest, and Brendon just grins at him, face going down for his neck instead, hot breath and stubble against his skin. Ryan squirms, wrenching away, and he marches over to the door, pausing with his fingers around the handle to watch Brendon toss the cup and cardboard in the trashcan. "Are you gonna behave?" Ryan asks, "or do we have to get one of those carts with seatbelts?"
Brendon sticks out his bottom lip and Ryan rolls his eyes, yanking the door open hard and waiting for Brendon to walk in.
Brendon pauses once they're inside, head turning and eyes open, trying to take it all in. Ryan glances around, too, and frowns because the room is fucking huge but none of it really makes sense at all. There are... things, metal things, racks of them, little ones but also big ones, tiny packets on hooks and shelves with chrome pipes bigger than his legs. Ryan's not stupid, he knows in theory what this shit should be, but god, it's kind of overwhelming.
And shiny.
"Shit," Brendon says, and he steps forward first. Ryan blinks, sees Brendon's striped jacket and black girl jeans and fucking plaid shoes, all of it against the backdrop of chrome and steel, and oh my god, he thinks, someone is going to kill him. He's suddenly and strangely aware of Brendon as an outsider must see him, and fuck, they are in a truck stop in the middle of the fucking midwest and his own hoodie has a fucking fur collar. Ryan's not afraid of truckers, per se (he thinks it would be interesting to write about one, maybe), but he suspects that, as a rule, they are unlikely to believe that feminine really is the new masculine. He's really kind of glad he hadn't bothered with fresh eyeliner for the bus; he starts forward, catching up with Brendon in two strides.
"Don't wander off, man, we don't have much time."
"What is this stuff?" Brendon asks, already veering down an aisle to look at rows upon rows of different colored reflectors.
"Brendon, come on," Ryan says, not wanting to grab him but willing to do so if it comes to it, and thinking it will come to it in about five... four...
Brendon walks around the rack and comes face to face with shiny gold and silver silhouettes of a naked woman, all in the same pose: legs bent, head thrown back, breasts thrust forward. There's a chrome silhouette in every size imaginable. "Whoa," Brendon says, leaning forward. "She's even got, like, nipples!"
Ryan grabs his arm. "Brendon, you have no place to put a shiny naked chick, seriously. Let's go find Spencer and Jon."
Brendon comes with him, but only reluctantly. "I was going to put one in my bunk," he tells Ryan earnestly. "We could, like, decorate the bus with them! Or maybe stick a big one on the side of the piano, what do you think? There were little ones! You could put it on your guitar and--"
They climb the stairs and look around, and Brendon closes his mouth. They're surrounded by clothes, leather jackets and tie-dyed t-shirts and moccasins, and Ryan glances over to see the grin on Brendon's face. "Look at this!" Brendon says, practically jogging over to a display stand. He pulls a jacket off the rack and holds it up for Ryan to see. It's black leather, fringes across the chest and all down the sleeves, and red cutout roses and silver studs decorating the shoulders.
"Oh, god, that is so tacky," Ryan says with a groan, striding forward to touch the cuff. The leather is thin and stiff under his fingers, feels almost fake despite the genuine smell.
"Oh, come on, it would look so hot," Brendon says, slipping it off the hanger.
"On who?" Ryan asks, eyebrows raised.
"You!" Brendon says, walking around Ryan's back and holding the jacket up for him to slide his arms in. "Here." Ryan shakes his head but can't resist, closes his hands and pushes them through the sleeves.
He turns and Brendon's eyes slip down his body. "Feels fucking disgusting," Ryan says, and it does, crisp and oily and the fringes bounce against his sides and his back.
But Brendon grins again and it's fucking contagious, always is because it's fucking Brendon, and Ryan tries not to smile at him. "What?"
"You look badass," Brendon says, and Ryan feels a bubble of warmth right in the middle of his torso, and he looks down at himself to hide his face. When he raises his head, Brendon's attention is already elsewhere, on a rack of--
"Holy shit, chaps!" Brendon exclaims.
Ryan slips the coat off his shoulders, gets it back on the hanger and back on the rack, and he turns to Brendon. "Gonna get some?" he asks, and Brendon turns to him, eyebrows twitching.
"We would looks so hot in chaps."
Ryan's actually pretty sure they would look like complete idiots in chaps, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Brendon just then, and so he bites his tongue.
"Come on," he says. "There's still other stuff."
"Dude, I've seen shiny naked women and chaps, I'm pretty sure I can die happy now." But Brendon turns away anyway, following Ryan. Ryan glances to his left, sees teddy bears and knickknacks (breakables, in other words) and even though some of it looks pretty he decides it might be best not to let Brendon near that section. There's a bunch of toys, too, diecast models of cars and trains and other things too boring for Brendon, and so they head up another bunch of stairs. The stairs twist and go farther, and Ryan has to stop Brendon from climbing all the way up.
"The sign said the upstairs is the for the drivers," he tells him. "Showers and shit."
"I wanna see," Brendon says, but Ryan holds him back, urging him onward. Brendon slings his arm around Ryan's waist and Ryan has to pluck his hand off, head bowed, scared of making eye contact with anyone (especially Brendon).
He's grown so used to Brendon that it's just weird to feel like he has to be aware of him again, weird and uncomfortable, and he's afraid that everyone's watching them, that everyone can fucking see. He wonders how obvious it is he'd rather let Brendon pull him close, rather let Brendon do, well, anything. Wonders again if it's obvious to Spencer. (Wonders if it is obvious to Brendon.)
As if on cue, he sees Spencer, along with Jon and Zack, in line at Dairy Queen, but Brendon stops next to him. "Oh, hey, bathrooms," he says, "I gotta piss."
Ryan looks at him and Brendon says, "Come on, I can pee my own."
"I know that, but--"
"Thanks for the offer, though," Brendon says with a smirk. "I mean, handjobs in truckstop bathrooms--" he starts, a little too loudly, and Ryan shushes him. "Lighten up, no one here's paying attention to us at all," Brendon tells him.
Ryan feels his cheeks burn, because that's. God, that's not even why, not really, it's so fucking confusing; he bites his lip and feels a twinge of a wish that Brendon wasn't joking (Ryan thinks he would totally risk getting punched in the gut by a grizzled old trucker if it meant Brendon's hands on him... Brendon's hands on him for real).
"Just. Don't get kidnapped," Ryan warns, "Zack probably wouldn't let me pay the ransom."
"You'd miss me," Brendon says.
"No, I just don't want to sing."
"Nah, you love me," Brendon informs him, and then disappears down the little hallway. Ryan watches him go, strange heat still clinging to his neck. He shakes off the feeling, turning on his heel to go see what was in the showcases he hadn't dared let Brendon near.
He breezes past the silver and turquoise jewelry but looks a bit closer at the pewter Barbarian queens and all the little animals and flowers and other crap made of crystals and gold. But really, a crystal rose with a glass stem makes less sense on a tour bus than a flat chrome woman, and Ryan wanders away.
There's a mini arcade he passes, fake gunfire and beeps echoing through the glass, and Ryan ends up in the convenience section that would look a little like a typical 7-Eleven, were it not for the attached food court. There's candy and more racks of shit, and Ryan notices a couple "As Seen On TV" things, and goes over to inspect.
There are some truly awful amber sunglasses, and some sort of space-age cooking device, and then something called a Bug Wand. Ryan picks up the package, and reads The quick, clean, safe way to rid bugs from your home!
He blinks. It's a clear plastic tube with a little low-powered vacuum. For bugs.
He chuckles to himself and goes to put it back, but stops. He looks up, over his shoulder, squinting to see if anyone he knows is watching. But from across the food court, he can't even find them and so they must not be able to see him. He looks at the vacuum again, and thinks of Brendon clutching the plastic cup. "Fucking idiot," he breathes to himself, but he turns from the stand anyway and grabs some nine volt batteries on his way up to the counter (he also makes a detour and snatches a two pound bag of Gummi Bears).
His Sidekick sounds off while he's waiting for change, and checks it. Back on bus, it reads, from Spencer, and so he pockets the rest of his money and hurries all the way back through the complex.
On the bus, he quickly tucks the Bug Wand in Brendon's bunk before meeting the rest of the guys in the lounge.
Well, most of them. He glances around and the first thing out of his mouth is, "Where's Brendon?"
Jon glances around and Spencer blinks at him, still holding his Blizzard. "We thought he was with you."
Ryan rolls his eyes. "Should have gotten a cart with a seatbelt," he mutters. Spencer reaches for his Sidekick but Ryan shakes his head. "He'll just get distracted again, I'll go get him."
Spencer hesitates, and Ryan thinks shit, he's finally gone too far, Spencer knows. But then Spencer shrugs, "Whatever," and Ryan breathes again.
Inside, Ryan makes a beeline for the row where they had seen the silhouettes, and sure enough, there is Brendon, along with a trucker whose beard is longer and thicker than the hair on Ryan's head. Ryan freezes for a second, wonders if he should have changed out of his hoodie, wonders if he should have brought Zack, but then steels himself and starts forward again.
"Brendon," he calls.
Brendon turns, grinning, and he's not bleeding, which is a good sign.
"Ryan! This is Bud. He's been driving truck for thirty-eight years. That's, like, twice my life, can you believe that? He's got a CB radio. I think we should get a CB radio, wouldn't that be awesome? Except, not like Joyride, that kind of sucked."
"Sorry," Ryan mutters to the man, who might be grimacing or smiling under the mustache, it's kind of difficult to say. "Come on, we've got to go."
Brendon waves at the guy and, surprisingly, Bud gives a little salute back.
"Did you know they've got a fifty-foot salad bar?" Brendon asks him as they pushed through the doors. "We've got to come back when it's open, dude. Bud said it's awesome."
Ryan casts Brendon a look, and Brendon laughs. "What?" His hand touches the small of Ryan's back, fingers half on pants and half on shirt, at least until the movement of their steps causes the thin fabric of the hoodie to ride up and one fingertip brushes bare skin. Ryan shivers, and watches their feet, moving in unconscious unison.
"I got donuts," Brendon offers. Ryan smiles at Brendon's plaid toes, and looks up at the door to the bus.
"Aw, you found him," Jon says when they climb in.
"He made friends with a trucker named Bud," Ryan tells him. "And I'm not joking."
Brendon flings himself down on a seat, nearly getting an elbow in Jon's ice cream. "I was gonna buy us shiny naked women, but Ryan stopped me. Ryan is offended by naked women."
"You were being slow," Ryan counters. "And we've no place to put them."
"I'd put one on your ass," Brendon says, and before Ryan can so much as roll his eyes, Brendon's turned to Jon. "You know what we need for the next tour? Chaps."
"The next tour won't be for awhile," Spencer reminds him (Ryan frowns).
"Maybe we need chaps for this tour," Brendon says, and he looks so serious, Ryan just stares at him. "I could wear chaps. Okay, I'd probably, like, die of heat in leather chaps, but, like. Ryan could wear chaps."
"I'm not wearing chaps, man."
Brendon pouts.
Jon snickers, and pulls a plastic bag onto his lap, full of magazines. "All right. I've got dibs on Maxim... Ryan's offended by naked chicks so I'm guessing he doesn't want the Playboy--" Brendon perks up, makes a grab-- "People, Glamour. Spence, Glamour? Come on, 'Your Sex Drive, 8 Weird Things That Are Very, Very Normal!'..." Spencer makes a face at him, and Jon laughs.
Ryan sits back, struggling to open his Gummi Bears without the bag splitting apart and sending sticky little bears everywhere (they were still finding M&M's in the weirdest places), and watches Brendon fight with Jon for Playboy. "You can buy your own, you know," Jon gasps, leaning back to keep it just out of Brendon's grip.
"Why would I when you buy them for me?" Brendon shoots back, crawling up Jon's body. He pauses, plants a kiss on Jon's cheek, and Jon lets his arm sag. Brendon falls down forward, crushing Jon under one arm and the magazine under his fist. He recovers quickly, getting himself up and tugging it away.
"Ha!" he shouts, standing beside the couch, victorious.
"Wash your hands when you're done," Spencer says, reaching for Jon's Maxim while he's distracted.
"Don't mess up my magazine!" Jon calls, and then turns to Ryan. "What'll it be," he asks, glancing at what's left. "Tom Cruise or makeup tips?"
"Sleep," Ryan says around his mouthful, folding over the top of the bag (where he had indeed managed to make an opening just big enough for two fingers, Ryan:1 Gummi Bears:0, and he might as well quit while he's ahead).
"Take your headphones," Spencer suggests wisely, and Ryan nods, eyebrows raised in agreement.
He doesn't have a chance to get his iPod out, though, before his curtain is drawn back and someone's climbing in pretty much on top of him. There's something jabbing into his side, oh god, "Jesus, Brendon," he says, trying to wriggle out from under him. Brendon shifts too, and then Ryan can see the Bug Wand clutched in one hand, the end of the tube pressed against his ribs. (Oh.)
"Did you get this for me?" Brendon asks, breathless, and Ryan freezes.
Slowly, he nods. He thinks maybe he should explain, or explain it away, brush it off, god, but as he looks up into Brendon's eyes, feeling Brendon's leg against his hip, he doesn't think his voice is going to work at all.
"Hey, that's. Thanks." Brendon darts forward, and even though Ryan knows what's coming and knows how to avoid it, he's kind of cornered, can't get away this time, and Brendon's mouth catches him low on his cheek, close to his mouth, close enough.
"Thanks," Brendon repeats, pulling back just a little. He blinks once and Ryan blinks back at him. A beat, a breath, and then Brendon is moving forward again, still fast but not so fast that Ryan couldn't get away if he really really wanted to. Brendon hesitates right before he makes contact and Ryan knows in a flash that it's his last chance to salvage the status quo and doesn't take it.
Brendon kisses him, hard, and it doesn't feel like a joke at all, which Ryan had kind of expected, kind of feared. But it's obviously not and that's actually scarier and Brendon's mouth is moving against his and all that heat is still building inside him and oh, god, what--
Brendon breaks away, eyes not so wide now, and he licks his lips. "Okay," he says, as if that means anything at all, and backs away.
Oh, god, Ryan thinks again, fear rushing through his limbs, until Brendon smiles. It's a full smile, a real one, and even though Ryan doesn't know what it means he nearly sighs aloud with relief. "Yeah," Brendon says, through the grin, and then he scoots back, out of Ryan's bunk. Through the gap left in the curtain, Ryan sees him brandishing the Bug Wand like a sword.
"Guys!" he shouts as he steps out of Ryan's line of vision. "Look what I got!"
"What the fuck is that?" Ryan can hear Spencer ask; he bites his lip. "Some sort of bizarre sex toy?"
"Yup," Brendon says. "I'm going to play with it all night and you can't stop me."
"Watch me," Jon says, and then a second later, "ow, hey!"
Ryan looks at the top of his bunk, insides twisting and untwisting. He squints at his light, and realizes there's another moth clinging there, just resting on the warm bulb. He bites his lip and thinks about calling Brendon back over with his bug vacuum, but decides for the moment to just let it be.
Title: To a Flame
Author:
jzbellPairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ryan thinks he would totally risk getting punched in the gut by a grizzled old trucker if it meant Brendon's hands on him for real.
Disclaimer: A complete lie! (I'm pretty sure they've never even passed Walcott on tour.)
Notes: Truckstop in question. This one goes out to everyone who is not so much into hardcore sex. (Look, Jori! No naked!)
Ryan's not entirely sure what state they're in; through the windows he can see the low hills, alternating trees and fields, and they're all shades of dark gray, just charcoal sketches of the midwest under moonlight.
It's unseasonably warm, too, one more little present from Mother Nature ("yeah," Spencer had said, "called global warming") and the driver had left his door open a little too long before they left the last venue.
Not surprisingly, a moth had managed to sneak in and finally make its way to the back. Now it's fluttering above Jon's head ("Dude, what the fuck?"), and they're all watching him bat at it, laughing, light.
Spencer offers over the drooping copy of W (that's where it went, Ryan notes) and says, "Here, just kill it."
But Brendon slaps the magazine down, already top heavy so it hits the floor fast, a pile of glossy, rumpled pages. "Dude, don't!"
"Brendon, it's going to eat our clothes," Spencer tells him, bending to gather up the magazine. Jon keeps twisting his head, watching the moth move back and forth above him, and Ryan can't help chuckling.
"It's not going to eat our clothes, you dick," Brendon tells Spencer. "Here." He bends down and flips the pages in Spencer's lap until he finds a cardboard subscription offer, and then tears it carefully out. He snatches up an empty plastic cup off the floor and climbs up on the couch next to Jon, feet sinking into the cushions. He reaches up, the bus sways, and he almost goes down.
Ryan's hands twitch automatically but Jon's get there first, grabbing his thigh. "Hey," Jon says to Brendon, and Ryan lets his breath out, flushing guiltily and feeling silly, eyes darting to Spencer to see if he was caught. Spencer's watching Brendon, of course, not paying attention to him (thankfully).
Brendon stretches again, moving slowly, deliberately, eyes tracking the moth's circles and eights and whatever-the-fucks around the light as he raises the cup. He snaps it against the ceiling with a hollow sound, and grins. "Gotcha," he says, and Ryan almost shakes his head because god, dork. Brendon slides the card in between the cup and the ceiling, and lowers it carefully. He won't take his eyes off it and Jon has to help keep him steady as he climbs down.
"Now what are you going to do with it, genius?" Spencer asks.
"I'm going to keep it, and feed it your ass-ugly clothes," Brendon replies, settling in next to Jon, not looking up.
"Fuck you," Spencer says. "You don't even like bugs." Brendon leans forward, tapping on the top of the cup and then peeling the cardboard back a fraction, squinting in. His glasses hit the plastic and Ryan feels his throat close up at that; he feels silly again, feels absolutely fucking ridiculous. His thumbs are poised over his Sidekick, he realizes, not moving since they'd first noticed the goddamn moth, since Brendon had taken it upon himself to play Mighty Mouse and save the day.
"Hey," Jon says suddenly, peering out the window. "Did that say 'world's largest truckstop?' I've been there!"
Ryan follows his gaze, craning his neck just in time to see the billboard flash by.
"No way, we totally have to stop!" Brendon cries.
"We can't," Spencer says, glancing at Ryan for affirmation. Ryan looks at Brendon, red plastic cup in hand, and can't find his voice.
"Fuck it, we totally can," Brendon informs them, daring them to challenge him. "We've got to stop anyway and let him," he raises the cup, "go. I'm telling the driver." He gets unsteadily to his feet and shuffles up front, moth held carefully before him.
And that is Brendon, Ryan thinks as he watches him go, who swears up and down he's a vegetarian whenever he sees a picture of baby chickens but sometimes crumbles when faced with boneless buffalo wings; Brendon who saves moths instead. Fucking moths. It's so perfectly Brendon that Ryan licks his lips and then bites the bottom one, blushing and trying desperately to make sense of it. He stares at his phone and swears he can feel Spencer's eyes on him.
Iowa 80 (Iowa, Ryan notes) is like a town in itself, garishly lit and sprawling, offering up everything from Grandma's homecooked food to a Truck-O-Mat (Brendon giggles as he reads it out loud), and the bus pulls to a stop amongst a herd of snoring rigs. Brendon climbs off first, trotting away from the building to the little patch of grass and bushes at the side of the parking lot.
Ryan glances at the building, Jon and Spencer already heading toward it, but follows Brendon instead, watching him slide the cardboard away. He looks down into the cup, and the moth flutters out, catching him by surprise and making him shy back. Ryan grins despite himself, watching the moth flutter up toward the massive light at the corner of the asphalt.
Brendon grins at him and Ryan shakes his head, eyebrows up. "Come on, we've only got like twenty minutes," he says, "I thought you wanted to see it."
"Fuck yeah," Brendon says, turning and brushing right past Ryan. Except his arm twists back, reaching, a practiced move, and he manages to snag Ryan's waist and pull him along. He lets his arm slip around fully and Ryan stops, sidestepping out of the way and glancing across the parking lot.
"Seriously, dude, there're truckers here. You're gonna get fucking shot," he warns, and Brendon freezes, making Ryan bump into him. He spins around, leaning in close and fast, and Ryan's sure if he didn't have so much practice fending off Brendon's spurious advances, Brendon's mouth would have been sealed to his, no question. Some day, he thinks, maybe he'll let it. Just to see what Brendon would do. Just to see...
"Brendon," he says again, pushing against his chest, and Brendon just grins at him, face going down for his neck instead, hot breath and stubble against his skin. Ryan squirms, wrenching away, and he marches over to the door, pausing with his fingers around the handle to watch Brendon toss the cup and cardboard in the trashcan. "Are you gonna behave?" Ryan asks, "or do we have to get one of those carts with seatbelts?"
Brendon sticks out his bottom lip and Ryan rolls his eyes, yanking the door open hard and waiting for Brendon to walk in.
Brendon pauses once they're inside, head turning and eyes open, trying to take it all in. Ryan glances around, too, and frowns because the room is fucking huge but none of it really makes sense at all. There are... things, metal things, racks of them, little ones but also big ones, tiny packets on hooks and shelves with chrome pipes bigger than his legs. Ryan's not stupid, he knows in theory what this shit should be, but god, it's kind of overwhelming.
And shiny.
"Shit," Brendon says, and he steps forward first. Ryan blinks, sees Brendon's striped jacket and black girl jeans and fucking plaid shoes, all of it against the backdrop of chrome and steel, and oh my god, he thinks, someone is going to kill him. He's suddenly and strangely aware of Brendon as an outsider must see him, and fuck, they are in a truck stop in the middle of the fucking midwest and his own hoodie has a fucking fur collar. Ryan's not afraid of truckers, per se (he thinks it would be interesting to write about one, maybe), but he suspects that, as a rule, they are unlikely to believe that feminine really is the new masculine. He's really kind of glad he hadn't bothered with fresh eyeliner for the bus; he starts forward, catching up with Brendon in two strides.
"Don't wander off, man, we don't have much time."
"What is this stuff?" Brendon asks, already veering down an aisle to look at rows upon rows of different colored reflectors.
"Brendon, come on," Ryan says, not wanting to grab him but willing to do so if it comes to it, and thinking it will come to it in about five... four...
Brendon walks around the rack and comes face to face with shiny gold and silver silhouettes of a naked woman, all in the same pose: legs bent, head thrown back, breasts thrust forward. There's a chrome silhouette in every size imaginable. "Whoa," Brendon says, leaning forward. "She's even got, like, nipples!"
Ryan grabs his arm. "Brendon, you have no place to put a shiny naked chick, seriously. Let's go find Spencer and Jon."
Brendon comes with him, but only reluctantly. "I was going to put one in my bunk," he tells Ryan earnestly. "We could, like, decorate the bus with them! Or maybe stick a big one on the side of the piano, what do you think? There were little ones! You could put it on your guitar and--"
They climb the stairs and look around, and Brendon closes his mouth. They're surrounded by clothes, leather jackets and tie-dyed t-shirts and moccasins, and Ryan glances over to see the grin on Brendon's face. "Look at this!" Brendon says, practically jogging over to a display stand. He pulls a jacket off the rack and holds it up for Ryan to see. It's black leather, fringes across the chest and all down the sleeves, and red cutout roses and silver studs decorating the shoulders.
"Oh, god, that is so tacky," Ryan says with a groan, striding forward to touch the cuff. The leather is thin and stiff under his fingers, feels almost fake despite the genuine smell.
"Oh, come on, it would look so hot," Brendon says, slipping it off the hanger.
"On who?" Ryan asks, eyebrows raised.
"You!" Brendon says, walking around Ryan's back and holding the jacket up for him to slide his arms in. "Here." Ryan shakes his head but can't resist, closes his hands and pushes them through the sleeves.
He turns and Brendon's eyes slip down his body. "Feels fucking disgusting," Ryan says, and it does, crisp and oily and the fringes bounce against his sides and his back.
But Brendon grins again and it's fucking contagious, always is because it's fucking Brendon, and Ryan tries not to smile at him. "What?"
"You look badass," Brendon says, and Ryan feels a bubble of warmth right in the middle of his torso, and he looks down at himself to hide his face. When he raises his head, Brendon's attention is already elsewhere, on a rack of--
"Holy shit, chaps!" Brendon exclaims.
Ryan slips the coat off his shoulders, gets it back on the hanger and back on the rack, and he turns to Brendon. "Gonna get some?" he asks, and Brendon turns to him, eyebrows twitching.
"We would looks so hot in chaps."
Ryan's actually pretty sure they would look like complete idiots in chaps, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Brendon just then, and so he bites his tongue.
"Come on," he says. "There's still other stuff."
"Dude, I've seen shiny naked women and chaps, I'm pretty sure I can die happy now." But Brendon turns away anyway, following Ryan. Ryan glances to his left, sees teddy bears and knickknacks (breakables, in other words) and even though some of it looks pretty he decides it might be best not to let Brendon near that section. There's a bunch of toys, too, diecast models of cars and trains and other things too boring for Brendon, and so they head up another bunch of stairs. The stairs twist and go farther, and Ryan has to stop Brendon from climbing all the way up.
"The sign said the upstairs is the for the drivers," he tells him. "Showers and shit."
"I wanna see," Brendon says, but Ryan holds him back, urging him onward. Brendon slings his arm around Ryan's waist and Ryan has to pluck his hand off, head bowed, scared of making eye contact with anyone (especially Brendon).
He's grown so used to Brendon that it's just weird to feel like he has to be aware of him again, weird and uncomfortable, and he's afraid that everyone's watching them, that everyone can fucking see. He wonders how obvious it is he'd rather let Brendon pull him close, rather let Brendon do, well, anything. Wonders again if it's obvious to Spencer. (Wonders if it is obvious to Brendon.)
As if on cue, he sees Spencer, along with Jon and Zack, in line at Dairy Queen, but Brendon stops next to him. "Oh, hey, bathrooms," he says, "I gotta piss."
Ryan looks at him and Brendon says, "Come on, I can pee my own."
"I know that, but--"
"Thanks for the offer, though," Brendon says with a smirk. "I mean, handjobs in truckstop bathrooms--" he starts, a little too loudly, and Ryan shushes him. "Lighten up, no one here's paying attention to us at all," Brendon tells him.
Ryan feels his cheeks burn, because that's. God, that's not even why, not really, it's so fucking confusing; he bites his lip and feels a twinge of a wish that Brendon wasn't joking (Ryan thinks he would totally risk getting punched in the gut by a grizzled old trucker if it meant Brendon's hands on him... Brendon's hands on him for real).
"Just. Don't get kidnapped," Ryan warns, "Zack probably wouldn't let me pay the ransom."
"You'd miss me," Brendon says.
"No, I just don't want to sing."
"Nah, you love me," Brendon informs him, and then disappears down the little hallway. Ryan watches him go, strange heat still clinging to his neck. He shakes off the feeling, turning on his heel to go see what was in the showcases he hadn't dared let Brendon near.
He breezes past the silver and turquoise jewelry but looks a bit closer at the pewter Barbarian queens and all the little animals and flowers and other crap made of crystals and gold. But really, a crystal rose with a glass stem makes less sense on a tour bus than a flat chrome woman, and Ryan wanders away.
There's a mini arcade he passes, fake gunfire and beeps echoing through the glass, and Ryan ends up in the convenience section that would look a little like a typical 7-Eleven, were it not for the attached food court. There's candy and more racks of shit, and Ryan notices a couple "As Seen On TV" things, and goes over to inspect.
There are some truly awful amber sunglasses, and some sort of space-age cooking device, and then something called a Bug Wand. Ryan picks up the package, and reads The quick, clean, safe way to rid bugs from your home!
He blinks. It's a clear plastic tube with a little low-powered vacuum. For bugs.
He chuckles to himself and goes to put it back, but stops. He looks up, over his shoulder, squinting to see if anyone he knows is watching. But from across the food court, he can't even find them and so they must not be able to see him. He looks at the vacuum again, and thinks of Brendon clutching the plastic cup. "Fucking idiot," he breathes to himself, but he turns from the stand anyway and grabs some nine volt batteries on his way up to the counter (he also makes a detour and snatches a two pound bag of Gummi Bears).
His Sidekick sounds off while he's waiting for change, and checks it. Back on bus, it reads, from Spencer, and so he pockets the rest of his money and hurries all the way back through the complex.
On the bus, he quickly tucks the Bug Wand in Brendon's bunk before meeting the rest of the guys in the lounge.
Well, most of them. He glances around and the first thing out of his mouth is, "Where's Brendon?"
Jon glances around and Spencer blinks at him, still holding his Blizzard. "We thought he was with you."
Ryan rolls his eyes. "Should have gotten a cart with a seatbelt," he mutters. Spencer reaches for his Sidekick but Ryan shakes his head. "He'll just get distracted again, I'll go get him."
Spencer hesitates, and Ryan thinks shit, he's finally gone too far, Spencer knows. But then Spencer shrugs, "Whatever," and Ryan breathes again.
Inside, Ryan makes a beeline for the row where they had seen the silhouettes, and sure enough, there is Brendon, along with a trucker whose beard is longer and thicker than the hair on Ryan's head. Ryan freezes for a second, wonders if he should have changed out of his hoodie, wonders if he should have brought Zack, but then steels himself and starts forward again.
"Brendon," he calls.
Brendon turns, grinning, and he's not bleeding, which is a good sign.
"Ryan! This is Bud. He's been driving truck for thirty-eight years. That's, like, twice my life, can you believe that? He's got a CB radio. I think we should get a CB radio, wouldn't that be awesome? Except, not like Joyride, that kind of sucked."
"Sorry," Ryan mutters to the man, who might be grimacing or smiling under the mustache, it's kind of difficult to say. "Come on, we've got to go."
Brendon waves at the guy and, surprisingly, Bud gives a little salute back.
"Did you know they've got a fifty-foot salad bar?" Brendon asks him as they pushed through the doors. "We've got to come back when it's open, dude. Bud said it's awesome."
Ryan casts Brendon a look, and Brendon laughs. "What?" His hand touches the small of Ryan's back, fingers half on pants and half on shirt, at least until the movement of their steps causes the thin fabric of the hoodie to ride up and one fingertip brushes bare skin. Ryan shivers, and watches their feet, moving in unconscious unison.
"I got donuts," Brendon offers. Ryan smiles at Brendon's plaid toes, and looks up at the door to the bus.
"Aw, you found him," Jon says when they climb in.
"He made friends with a trucker named Bud," Ryan tells him. "And I'm not joking."
Brendon flings himself down on a seat, nearly getting an elbow in Jon's ice cream. "I was gonna buy us shiny naked women, but Ryan stopped me. Ryan is offended by naked women."
"You were being slow," Ryan counters. "And we've no place to put them."
"I'd put one on your ass," Brendon says, and before Ryan can so much as roll his eyes, Brendon's turned to Jon. "You know what we need for the next tour? Chaps."
"The next tour won't be for awhile," Spencer reminds him (Ryan frowns).
"Maybe we need chaps for this tour," Brendon says, and he looks so serious, Ryan just stares at him. "I could wear chaps. Okay, I'd probably, like, die of heat in leather chaps, but, like. Ryan could wear chaps."
"I'm not wearing chaps, man."
Brendon pouts.
Jon snickers, and pulls a plastic bag onto his lap, full of magazines. "All right. I've got dibs on Maxim... Ryan's offended by naked chicks so I'm guessing he doesn't want the Playboy--" Brendon perks up, makes a grab-- "People, Glamour. Spence, Glamour? Come on, 'Your Sex Drive, 8 Weird Things That Are Very, Very Normal!'..." Spencer makes a face at him, and Jon laughs.
Ryan sits back, struggling to open his Gummi Bears without the bag splitting apart and sending sticky little bears everywhere (they were still finding M&M's in the weirdest places), and watches Brendon fight with Jon for Playboy. "You can buy your own, you know," Jon gasps, leaning back to keep it just out of Brendon's grip.
"Why would I when you buy them for me?" Brendon shoots back, crawling up Jon's body. He pauses, plants a kiss on Jon's cheek, and Jon lets his arm sag. Brendon falls down forward, crushing Jon under one arm and the magazine under his fist. He recovers quickly, getting himself up and tugging it away.
"Ha!" he shouts, standing beside the couch, victorious.
"Wash your hands when you're done," Spencer says, reaching for Jon's Maxim while he's distracted.
"Don't mess up my magazine!" Jon calls, and then turns to Ryan. "What'll it be," he asks, glancing at what's left. "Tom Cruise or makeup tips?"
"Sleep," Ryan says around his mouthful, folding over the top of the bag (where he had indeed managed to make an opening just big enough for two fingers, Ryan:1 Gummi Bears:0, and he might as well quit while he's ahead).
"Take your headphones," Spencer suggests wisely, and Ryan nods, eyebrows raised in agreement.
He doesn't have a chance to get his iPod out, though, before his curtain is drawn back and someone's climbing in pretty much on top of him. There's something jabbing into his side, oh god, "Jesus, Brendon," he says, trying to wriggle out from under him. Brendon shifts too, and then Ryan can see the Bug Wand clutched in one hand, the end of the tube pressed against his ribs. (Oh.)
"Did you get this for me?" Brendon asks, breathless, and Ryan freezes.
Slowly, he nods. He thinks maybe he should explain, or explain it away, brush it off, god, but as he looks up into Brendon's eyes, feeling Brendon's leg against his hip, he doesn't think his voice is going to work at all.
"Hey, that's. Thanks." Brendon darts forward, and even though Ryan knows what's coming and knows how to avoid it, he's kind of cornered, can't get away this time, and Brendon's mouth catches him low on his cheek, close to his mouth, close enough.
"Thanks," Brendon repeats, pulling back just a little. He blinks once and Ryan blinks back at him. A beat, a breath, and then Brendon is moving forward again, still fast but not so fast that Ryan couldn't get away if he really really wanted to. Brendon hesitates right before he makes contact and Ryan knows in a flash that it's his last chance to salvage the status quo and doesn't take it.
Brendon kisses him, hard, and it doesn't feel like a joke at all, which Ryan had kind of expected, kind of feared. But it's obviously not and that's actually scarier and Brendon's mouth is moving against his and all that heat is still building inside him and oh, god, what--
Brendon breaks away, eyes not so wide now, and he licks his lips. "Okay," he says, as if that means anything at all, and backs away.
Oh, god, Ryan thinks again, fear rushing through his limbs, until Brendon smiles. It's a full smile, a real one, and even though Ryan doesn't know what it means he nearly sighs aloud with relief. "Yeah," Brendon says, through the grin, and then he scoots back, out of Ryan's bunk. Through the gap left in the curtain, Ryan sees him brandishing the Bug Wand like a sword.
"Guys!" he shouts as he steps out of Ryan's line of vision. "Look what I got!"
"What the fuck is that?" Ryan can hear Spencer ask; he bites his lip. "Some sort of bizarre sex toy?"
"Yup," Brendon says. "I'm going to play with it all night and you can't stop me."
"Watch me," Jon says, and then a second later, "ow, hey!"
Ryan looks at the top of his bunk, insides twisting and untwisting. He squints at his light, and realizes there's another moth clinging there, just resting on the warm bulb. He bites his lip and thinks about calling Brendon back over with his bug vacuum, but decides for the moment to just let it be.
