Boys Will Be Boys *Ryden*

Swimming With the Sharks Until We Drown

For the second night in a row, Ryan couldn't fall asleep. The bunk was barely big enough for just one person, so he was tightly squeezed between the side of the bus and Brendon, who was having no trouble sleeping at all. Ryan lay on his back with Brendon pressed snugly against his side, his right arm slung over Ryan's chest. As tired and uncomfortable as he was, Ryan had to admit that the closeness felt good. Maybe a little too good, judging by his dick, which was just as awake and stiff as Ryan was. He sighed. This wasn't fair.

So, yeah, he'd been with guys before. Not too many, and mostly just one night stands, but he did have a 6-month-long relationship with one of them, Matt. He'd been happy, but it ended when the band began to take off. Ironically, or maybe not so ironically, the reason Matt had ended it was because he was jealous of Ryan's friendship with Brendon. Maybe he'd sensed that Ryan felt an attraction toward the singer, a possibility that seemed likely now that Ryan was aware that everybody else had sensed it too.

This, though. This felt different. Maybe because they'd been friends for so long, and had lived in such close spaces together for so long: first the one-bedroom apartment with all four band members, then weeks spent traveling in vans, and finally living on buses for months at a time. It wasn't as if this was love at first sight. This was his best friend, so the love was already there to begin with. But it was then, squished between Brendon's warm body and the cold steel of the bus, traveling at 70 miles per hour down the highway in the dead of night, that Ryan realized that he didn't just love him as a friend anymore. He loved him.

He was fucked.

Squinching his eyes shut tightly, as if that would make this newfound revelation untrue, Ryan tried to control the sudden surge of panic that threatened to wash over him like a tidal wave. He breathed deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Do not freak out while you're trapped in this bunk. Of course, that thought only added a rush of claustrophobia to his emotional riptide.

At least his boner was gone.

He must have been shaking, because Brendon slowly woke and lifted his head a little, trying to focus on Ryan's face through sleepy eyes. "Hey," he said in a hoarse whisper. And then again, a little more alarmed this time, "Hey. Ryan, what's wrong?"

Ryan couldn't answer him. His throat was tightening and he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. He was not going to fucking cry. Suddenly wide awake, Brendon propped himself up on one elbow, as high as the tight confines of the bunk would allow. "Hey. Hey..." he said, finding himself at a loss for words. Ryan was clearly freaking out.

Ryan drew a deep breath and clenched his teeth. When he finally felt like he could speak without bawling, he said, "Go back to your own bunk, Brendon."

Brendon looked hurt, then confused. "No fucking way, I'm not leaving you like this."

That was the problem, Ryan realized. It felt like Brendon already had left him. Which, logically, was stupid, because they weren't even in a relationship. But feelings don't abide by the laws of logic.

"I'm fine," he gritted out. When he'd uttered those same words to Spencer just hours earlier, he'd actually believed himself. Now he knew it was all bullshit. You can only kid yourself for so long; eventually, reality would catch right up and kick you in the balls.

Brendon dropped his head back against Ryan's shoulder. He reached up with his right hand and stroked Ryan's face. Ryan felt the wetness and knew that he was wiping away the few tears that had escaped before he'd clamped that emotion back down. "You're clearly not fine," Brendon whispered. His hand trailed down, fingertips running down Ryan's neck, then stroking his chest, then finally coming to rest palm down against Ryan's stomach.

Ryan was torn between wanting to push Brendon away from him, out of his bunk, and wanting to press against him, wrap his arms and legs around him like a monkey, keep him close. Brendon must have sensed it, because his hand began to travel again, back up his chest and to his face. When his hand touched his cheek, Ryan reached up and grabbed it, his own hand like a claw, squeezing Brendon's so hard that his fingers were crushed together painfully. He turned his head, meeting Brendon's eyes with a hard stare. Abruptly, he released his hand.

"I think..." Ryan began, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, "that you should go back to your own bunk."

Any sane person would have heeded the wise (albeit angry) advice and beat a hasty retreat, but nobody had ever accused Brendon of being entirely sane. It was one of the things most people loved about him. One of the things Ryan loved about him.

"I can't," Brendon informed him calmly.

This was not the response Ryan had been expecting. When his exhausted mind finally processed what Brendon had said, he asked, "What do you mean, you can't?"

"The floor is the ocean. Deep, dark, shark infested waters. Maybe even pirates. This bunk is our boat. We're only safe here, as long as we stick together." Brendon delivered this story completely deadpan, his face serious, his tone dire.

Ryan stared incredulously at his obviously stupid friend. Blinking for a few seconds, he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't come up with anything that seemed to suit the moment. Brendon seized the opportunity to add to his tale.

"If you listen carefully, you'll hear beautiful singing in the distance. Don't be fooled. Those are the sirens. They're not here to help us. They want us to go to their island so they can hold us hostage and use us for sex."

In spite of himself, Ryan couldn't help but respond to this. Scornfully, he retorted, "Nuh-uh. Sirens lured sailors to their island so they would shipwreck and die."

"Pffft. You think those whores didn't get some of that hot sailor dick first, then kill them?"

It suddenly dawned on Ryan how absolutely, astoundingly ludicrous this conversation was. How had it even gotten to this? Fucking Brendon.

"Are you, like, nine years old?" he said.

Ignoring this, Brendon replied, "You wouldn't want me to get eaten by sharks right in front of you, would you?"

"Right now? To be honest? Yes. Yes I would."

"But think about it. My blood and guts would attract more sharks. They would overtake this little boat and you'd be a goner too."

"That sounds like a better fate than this, though. Stuck here with your idiotic ass." And then, out of nowhere, Ryan was laughing. Not just a little chuckle, either. He was laughing so hard his stomach hurt, shoulders shaking, hand clamped over his mouth to keep from waking everyone else on the bus up.

And Brendon smiled and tucked his head tighter against Ryan's shoulder. He'd done his job. He knew he was the one who'd made Ryan sad, so he might as well be the one to make him laugh again too.

This time, Ryan was the one to fall asleep first. Brendon watched him for a few minutes, the rise and fall of his chest, the half-moon shape of his eyelashes against his cheeks. Brendon pressed his mouth against Ryan's shoulder, lips slightly parted, not so much a kiss as a taste, breathing him in.

He was fucked.