FEVERISH [RYDEN] [REPOST]

A PICTURESQUE SCORE OF PASSING FANTASY

Ryan awoke with a feeling similar to a post-one-night stand.

Except, instead of opening your eyes nude and next to a stranger, he opened them with the outstanding view of his best friend pantsless and in Ryan's t-shirt.

It hung over his body, the hem skimming past what looked like Ryan's boxers as well. One of his arms wound around the elder's waist, the other curved peacefully against his warm chest.

Ryan, who was staring at the ceiling, trying not to focus, ignored the heavy feeling seeping in his pores.

Then, in a final movement, he turned.

There, inches from his face, was a picturesque view of an angel.

The light caught on his eyelashes, dancing over his sleeping form. In an unconscious move, one he didn't really think about, he slipped his hand under Brendon's shirt, his fingertips ghosting over a slightly toned abdomen before wrapping around him.

He was now mere centimeters from his face, and, in Brendon's slumber, he allowed himself to drink it in.

He, in a scared-puppy movement, reached his guitar-calloused fingertips towards Brendon's cheek, sliding them down slowly.

He met their lips, soft and slow, moving his own against the smaller boy's until he awoke enough to respond back.

And there, in light of easy morning, Ryan rolled over on top of him, bending to his touch. First, it was just the flesh of lips - then a slight tongue. Then, Brendon's hands, guiding his hips towards his body. Rolling himself in towards him, fitting in like a puzzle piece, he threaded his hands through his hair, his fingers grasping at the dark strands. Using it to form a strong grip, Ryan pushed his head back into the mattress, his lips playing down Brendon's neck, finding a spot to latch on. The smaller arched his head back even more as Ryan left a mark, their bodies shrouded in white sheets as he moaned backward into the pillow.

"Ryan, god-"

It was so easy, like putty in his fingertips, the way that his tongue swirled around the hickey that he had just left.

"Fuck you. God-"

That was the only way to describe it- easy.

Easy the way that he was too close- it was too hidden - it was too simple to reach and touch.

And what do you do when things are too easy?

It means you call Pete Wentz.

So, as Ryan pulled away with murmurs of 'I need a shower, hold on', they both parted with the same mission.

Ryan slammed the bathroom door, throwing his back against it, gasping in short hurried breaths.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was not doing this.

Not gay.

Not gay.

Not gay.

"Let me put you on hold."

These were the words that Brendon Boyd Urie was currently hearing, as, directly after the "Hey, Brendon, what's up?" Pete had seemingly gotten another call and put their conversation on pause.

"Pete, uh, can I talk to you? It's about Bren-"

"Hold on."

There was the hold tone, and then;

"Okay, Bren, I'm back. what happened?"

"Ryan- uh- okay, so remember the thing I told you?"

"Mmmhmm."