So you know I was meant to finish that Ryan/Brendon fic?
Well, I kind of did. But... I'm not sure whether I like it or not.
So, lovely flist, YOU get to decide. Yes, or no?
Thoughts/opinions please. The no sex is kind of on purpose. Sorry to those reading just for the porn :( You guys are awesome. The end.

Title: It's What You Don't Say
Pairing: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Rating: PG-13/R tops for language and themes.
Dedications: Flist. You own at life. Also, moshimoshix3 for betaing and general awesomeness. My big list of dedications is over at the post on slashatthedisco but dreamsofastoria was promised one and I have a shitty memory; forgive me, my dear, and consider yourself dedicated. This is for the awesome and the patience and the love. ♥

Last Call
The Fever
Enjoy This Drive
Unforgivable
Alive, Here, Now
Denial




It's What You Don't Say

Ryan Ross is confused. Not in the am-I-still-straight-if-I-like-to-kiss-boys way that riddled his early teenage years and still seems to be the main topic of concern among the collective group of Fueled by Ramen. No, more in the okay-I-really-don’t-want-to-admit-this-so-let’s-pretend-we’re-just-fucking kind of way. The main point of his confusion is, of course, one Brendon Urie.

Ryan has, pointedly, from the start of this relationship (and fuck, he’s avoided even calling it that for as long as fucking possible) told himself over and over that this is a strictly sex-only thing. The spark, the attraction, was always there, and it was always going to develop into something more. It was just one of those big, unavoidable, inevitable paths of fate (Ryan likes to think). But fuck, it was only meant to be something to keep them busy on the long, lonely days on tour. The tug of Brendon is like a fucking magnet, and okay, he could deal with that, he’s only just out of adolescence after all. But this new, stronger feeling is downright terrifying, and Ryan thinks that maybe Brendon’s picked up on it too, from the way he’s been acting. Since Australia, things have been decidedly strange.

Brendon has not been himself. “Subdued” would be an adequate description, and that is so very not Brendon Urie. That’s part of his appeal- his inability to keep still, his smile, his dumbass jokes. He’s the contrast to Ryan’s silence, his opposite, but that’s why they work so well. They practically bounce off of each other, radiating with smiles and snappy comebacks, tight remarks. Something happened in Australia though, something close to realisation and not far off oh fuck. Ryan deals with it in the way he always does- silence and heavy looks, time alone and constant worry. It doesn’t last long on a tour bus though, not with four very bored young men with little or no concept of personal space.

“So when’s the wedding?” Spencer asks him on the way to Florida, head poking through the curtain of his bunk.

Ryan glances at him sharply through his bangs. “What?”

Spencer grins at him toothily. “You and Brendon, idiot. I want a fucking invite, you realise.”

“God, shut up.” Ryan turns away from him. The jibes have been coming quick and fast for months now, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.

Spencer laughs and elbows him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly.

Ryan knows he is, but god, he just doesn’t need this right now. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles and shifts a bit, wanting to be left alone.

“Hey.” Spencer frowns at him, leans in and slides across Ryan’s legs, rests his spine against the wall of the bunk. “Hey, what’s up?” He looks concerned; Ryan hates it when he does that.

“Nothing. It’s just…“ He trails off and shrugs, not wanting to talk about it, wanting to figure this one out on his own.

“No, tell me.” Spencer looks at him for a long moment, puts his hand to the bone of Ryan’s knee, comforting. “What’s he done?”

Ryan hates it that he’s so transparent, hates it that he has nothing to fucking complain about, really. He thought he was past this, past these Bad Days, past needing Spencer to make it right. God, fucking Brendon. “He hasn’t done anything. He hasn’t, Spence, don’t look at me like that.” Ryan tries to tell him with wide eyes, tries to wipe that frown from Spencer’s face.

Spencer just looks at him for a long moment before shaking his head defiantly. “No, there’s something you’re not telling me. Ryan, come on. I’ll kick his ass, you know.”

“Jeeze, you’re such a fucking-“ Ryan cuts himself off though, refuses to let himself take this out on Spencer. Just because he- just because he feels this way, there’s no excuse. “Look, it’s just… you know that point? Where you just- You just can’t stop thinking about them?” He turns red, looks hastily at his lap.

“Oh, god, don’t get mushy on my ass.”

“No, seriously! Do you know? Like, when you’re all- all over each other?” Ryan is quite certain he’s about to die of shame, but if he can’t tell Spencer this, what kind of hope in hell does he have of telling Brendon?

“If you start telling me about your sex life, I’m leaving,” Spencer tells him firmly, but he smiles, broad, and nods his head a bit all the same. “But yeah, I know.”

Ryan fiddles with his hands, sighs a bit and looks at Spencer. Help me with this, Spence, please. “I’ve never- I’ve never really got much past that, before. Like, it was like that and then- and then before it got to anything… else, we- we broke up, or, or we drifted.” He bites his lip some more, chewing it ragged because this is just about the hardest thing he’s ever had to say. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Spencer gives him another probing look, head tipped a little to the side, before nodding again. “Jesus, Ryan,” he says softly. “That’s- I mean. Brendon? Seriously?”

Ryan winces a bit. “Yeah, I know. It’s bad, right?”

“Not bad, just- It’s a bit weird, you know? Brendon.” Spencer shakes his head, disbelief at the edges of his eyes. “I mean, that’s great. That’s really, really great for you, and all, I just- I didn’t think it was anything more than like, sex, you know? I thought you guys were just- just doing it because fuck, the tour and everything…” He trails off, glances at Ryan again with heated eyes and curiosity. “Does Brendon know? Have you told him?”

Ryan pulls a face and hugs tighter to himself. “Not exactly.”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can.”

Spencer runs a hand through his hair, nods like he can understand that, although Ryan can’t possibly see how he does. “You should. I mean- I’m sure he, he would understand.” He pauses again. “You want me to-?”

“No!” Ryan laughs at him nervously. “No, god, no, this isn’t middle school.”

Spencer fiddles with his toes, hunches more against Ryan. “Well… tell me how it goes. When you do it. If you do it. You know, I’d like to- I’d like to see you happy.”

Ryan smiles, grateful and touched. “God, go call your girlfriend already.”

Spencer grins back. “Why should I when I can talk to you?”

Ryan laughs and shoves at him. Spencer somehow manages to crack his head against the wall and grunts loudly, indignant eyes on Ryan. Ryan simply laughs harder for a moment, helpless, before pulling him into a tight hug, nose buried in his neck. “Thanks, Spence,” he tells him earnestly, voice muffled in his hair. Spencer just shrugs against him and hugs him back, warm.




Brendon feels like a dick. He feels like a dick for not admitting to this, feels like he’s lying to himself and Ryan. The whole fucking world should know, god. They should be walking around holding hands and kissing in the park, doing all that dumb shit that couples do. Not lying about it on TV, hiding out in the buses and dancing round the truth. It’s stupid, it’s- god, sometimes it’s downright painful. Sometimes the wanting gets too much, but that’s when Brendon finds Ryan and fucks him hard in secret places, public places, because the thrill and the danger and the hot feel of Ryan makes it easier for a few more days.

Things have changed since Australia. It’s like the realisation of what this really is has finally hit home, and neither can deal, neither can find the words. It feels like Ryan is avoiding him, doesn’t look at him when they’re all together watching OC Box sets, hasn’t sought him out since they’ve hit US shores. But god, maybe Brendon’s been avoiding him too, maybe they’ve both been avoiding this for too fucking long.

Brendon paces the parking lot of the venue, hands in his pockets, breeze blowing cold against his back and shoulders. This is his fourteenth lap and his head isn’t any clearer. Brendon has nearly given up on the hope that it will- that he will ever sort through this. God, this is all Ryan’s stupid fault, why couldn’t he just-

“Hey Bren!” Brendon turns, eyebrow arching as Jon jogs over. There’s a basketball in his hands, rolling smoothly from one palm to the other, and he’s a little out of breath, smiling wide. “Fancy shooting some hoops?”

Brendon looks at him dryly, shakes his head a bit. “Nah, man, I’m good.”

Jon cocks his head, looks at him closely. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just- You know. Same old same old.”

Jon looks at him again, disbelieving. “Everything not so sunny in paradise?” He teases, smiling softly at him.

Brendon rolls his eyes, scuffs his feet at the tarmac. “Shut up, it’s- It’s not like that.”

Jon just smiles at him some more, claps a strong hand to his shoulder, tight grip. “Sure it’s not.” He rolls the ball in his hands, looks back to one of the guitar techs who’s waiting for him to come and play, expectant. “You know, a quick game might help you let off steam. I’ll even let you win if you want.”

Brendon scoffs at him, can’t help himself because it’s fucking Jon. “I could whip your ass any day, Walker.”

Jon raises his eyebrows. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

Brendon nearly does, nearly gives in and just tries to forget this- but there is something, something about what is going on that cannot be ignored. He knows it, deep down he knows the fucking answers, he just has to dig a little deeper. He shakes his head apologetically. “Some other time, promise.”

Jon looks at him with knowing eyes, but shrugs. “Sure, whatever you want.” He dribbles the ball a bit, nods his head over his shoulder. “Look, I’m gonna go play, I’m only winning by like, three.” He glances back at Brendon; you cool?

Brendon nods and smiles at him softly, pushes his fists deeper into his pockets. “Yeah, cool, have fun.”

Jon turns, jogs back a few paces and Brendon watches him go, watches him pause about two metres away. “Hey Brendon!” Jon calls over the wind. “When’re you gonna hurry up and tell Ryan you love him? The puppy dog eyes are getting kind of old, you know?”

Brendon’s breath is stolen for a good three seconds, his eyes wide. “Shut up, Jon,” he says tightly, turns and doesn’t listen to Jon’s deep rumbles of laughter.

Oh, fuck.




Ryan thinks that all this pussy-footing around each other is getting ridiculous. After three long nights spent apart (and god, he really does have no self control anymore) he bites the bullet. Something akin to fuck it strikes through his head as he lies staring at the ceiling of his bunk, listening to Jon’s gentle snores. There should be a better time for this (there is, he knows it), when they’ve just had a deep and meaningful, after sex, something. But Ryan’s timing has always been about as reliable as a three-year-old, so maybe this will just have to do. He bites his lip, scenarios sprinting through his head (Brendon, Brendon, Brendon), emotions tight inside his chest. He should sleep on this, he should rationalize, he should really, really think this through.

He exhales shakily. “Right,” he tells himself. Here goes.

The fabric of the curtain feels heavy beneath his fingertips, the walkway between his and Brendon’s bunks remarkably dark. Ryan can see only the faint outlines of a shadow when he holds a hand out before his face. He shivers in the cold of the night, but collects his resolve, pads across with anticipation sending thrills up and down his spine, butterflies in his belly.

Just as the tips of his fingers brush at the curtain of Brendon’s bunk, it’s pulled back with a jerk, Brendon’s eyes glinting in the dark.

“Fuck!” Ryan hisses, recoiling with surprise.

“Oh,” Brendon says softly, squints and takes in Ryan’s dishevelled hair, the low swing of his pyjama bottoms. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ryan mutters, shivering a little. He inches nearer and Brendon shifts back against the back wall of his bunk to give him room to slide inside. The curtain falls behind him and suddenly it’s completely pitch black, heat radiating off of Brendon and the soft sounds of their breathing echoing louder than it should. Ryan hesitates a moment, because this is still weird, but he leans in, presses a sloppy kiss somewhere in the direction of Brendon’s lips. He catches him at the corner of his mouth, chaste, and Ryan feels awkward, so awkward. “Missed you,” he mumbles, and god, that’s admission enough on its own.

“Yeah?” Brendon says softly, and it’s- it’s good to hear Ryan say that, makes a change. “I was just coming, actually, to see you.” He’s glad for the dark, glad Ryan can’t see him blushing, doesn’t know that his palms are sweating or his heart is going ten to the dozen. Courage has been awfully hard to come by- the courage to do this, to say this. Time’s up and holy fuck, Brendon just cannot bear to mess this up. “I- I think we need to talk.”

“Mm,” Ryan says in agreement, runs a finger across the pillow idly. “I- Australia was-“

“Good, but-“

“I-I kind of realised-“

“That I-“

“That this-“

Both stop talking at the same time, the words just not even there. No-one wants to be the first, neither wants to admit it.

Go on, Brendon tells himself.

Just say it, Ryan thinks.

There’s another stomach-clenching silence, ringing out with the roll of the bus, the motion of the road and the soft bump of a pothole. Ryan thinks vaguely that this is- god, this is insane, he never in a million years expected this. He’s glad, so, so glad that he has someone here to share this with, to share the dark nights and the grey mornings, to share the lights and the crowds and the songs. He just has to get this part over with, however hard it is.

“We have fun, Bren, you know,” Ryan starts slowly. The words are like searching for something blindfolded- impossible to find. God, I just-

Brendon cuts in again, because he’s the one that talks, always says how he really feels. “I haven’t felt this way before, Ry.” He says it so honestly, anticipates a thousand different replies. “I just thought you should know.”

Ryan doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t think there is anything (say it back, say something, god). It takes him a few long seconds, but then the sheets rustle and he leans forward, kisses Brendon firmly because that will tell him all he needs to know. Brendon is slow to respond, but he does, with fervour. Ryan tastes him, sweet; Christ, no-one’s ever tasted quite so good. “I should probably tell you then,” he admits against warm lips, “That I wrote you that song. And- And it may be the cheesiest fuckin’ thing since Lionel Richie, but I mean every word.”

Brendon smiles softly, tingles in his fingertips, Ryan’s hot breath against his cheek. (Maybe this is what true happiness feels like.) “Show it to me.”

Ryan squirms, rolls against Brendon’s chest. “Later,” he tries, kisses Brendon again because suddenly all his words seem stupid, embarrassing. He can’t be shown up like this, he can’t.

“No,” Brendon tells him, strokes Ryan’s hair back from his face, and god, he feels so good pressed against him. “No, I wanna hear it, come on.”

“It’s dumb,” Ryan protests, looks at his fingers working against Brendon’s collarbone, back up to his face. “What? Later, I promise.”

Brendon wraps his hand around Ryan’s wrist, stills him, looks him in the eye for a long moment. “Show me,” he says slowly, voice honeyed and soft.

Ryan’s fingers twitch once in his grip, his eyes shining, but then he sighs, gives in. “Okay,” he says. It’s stupid really- Brendon was always meant to see, Brendon was meant to know, meant to be told. Maybe Ryan is just more closed off than he thought. “Don’t laugh.”

“I wouldn’t. I won’t,” Brendon promises, takes Ryan’s hand and locks their fingers together, meshed into one. He nudges Ryan’s leg with his thigh until he shifts away, rolls out of the bunk with Brendon just behind. Brendon guides him into the front of the bus, pressed tight to Ryan’s spine, hips bumping his ass.

Ryan laughs softly and pulls away, lets their hands stay entwined. He turns, smiling in the dark.

Brendon watches him and runs his fingers through his hair again, Ryan leaning into him with hooded eyes. “God, I’ve missed you,” Brendon tells him, because he has. The few days of avoidance have been long and tiring, and platonic time spent together is more wearing than he ever could have imagined.

“You too,” Ryan grumbles, kisses him softly with Brendon’s hands sliding to rest at his elbows. He wrinkles his nose, smiling when he pulls back. Brendon is nothing but dark shadow, eyes glinting and the line of his jaw catching in the moonlight. Ryan sighs, content, back peddles to the couch and falls back, pulling Brendon with him. Brendon trips, bracing himself with a hand at the back of Ryan’s head, his legs splayed with Ryan’s thighs in-between. Ryan raises his eyebrows, thinks about lifting his hips, Brendon leaning down, soft kisses and forbidden touches at midnight. It’s a tempting idea, and Ryan leans up, takes Brendon by the chin and kisses him again. Brendon returns the gesture before grunting, sliding onto the couch beside Ryan with a leg across his thighs.

“Song,” Brendon reminds him pointedly.

Ryan sighs with frustration and rolls his eyes, shifts a bit beneath him. “I’m not singing,” he says defiantly.

“How am I meant to hear the words, then?” Brendon smiles smugly when Ryan shoots him a glare in response, leans his head back against the couch and laughs lightly. “God, you’re such a dork.”

“Do you want to hear it or not?” Ryan hisses, wriggling out from under him.

“Is it romantic?” Brendon continues, grinning as Ryan pads about, collecting a notepad and the acoustic guitar leaning in the corner. “Will I cry?”

“God, shut up.” Ryan is fast coming to the conclusion that Brendon is the most annoying person that ever existed, but when he turns back to him he’s sprawled out, watching him intently. Ryan forgets to be pissed, concentrating instead on the twist of his gut, ignoring every pore of his being that is currently screaming at him to just climb atop Brendon, to beg to be fucked hard in the middle of the bus, to hell with Spencer and Jon. His breath hitches and he clutches harder at the neck of the guitar. Jesus, this is just such an effort. “Seriously, it’s stupid,” Ryan warns again, resting against the arm of the couch, looking at Brendon with nervous eyes.

“Shut up and play,” Brendon tells him, leaning back with butterflies in his stomach because fuck, no-one’s ever done anything like this for him before.

Ryan shoots him a dirty look before curling down, watching the movement of his hands. It’s quite possible that his heart has never gone this fast before, his belly alive with nerves. He bites his lip, strikes the first chord, painfully aware of Brendon watching him and the words on the pad in front of him. He stops abruptly, glances back at his audience, I can’t do this stroking hot all up his insides. “You know what? Forget it.” Ryan dips his head and starts putting the guitar on the floor, shame burning through his core.

Brendon thinks that Ryan is adorable when he’s embarrassed, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead he leans forward, cupping Ryan’s chin with his palms and forcing him to raise his eyes. He looks at him and Ryan twitches but doesn’t turn away; Brendon takes this as a good sign. “At least let me read it,” he compromises, glance darting down to the scruffy notepad lodged between them.

Ryan tenses violently for a split second, but it’s Brendon, Brendon’s hands on him, Brendon here, being so patient. “Okay,” he manages in a choked voice, and tears away from Brendon’s touch. He will never be able to look him in the face again after this. Never.

Brendon smiles broadly, and kisses Ryan once with gratitude. He buzzes with anticipation as he reaches for the pad, Ryan’s scrawling chicken scratch littering the page, blotches and eraser marks punctuating lines.

“I imagined you singing it,” Ryan feels like he should add, and Brendon merely nods, brow furrowed as he reads. Ryan thinks that if he gets any tenser, surely he will snap clean in two. “I mean, they’re- They’re my words, but it’s your voice, you know? I can imagine it working like that. I can imagine…” he trails off, recognising the rambling, nervous edge in his own voice. Brendon glances up at him, expression unreadable. “I- It’s not a big deal, you know,” Ryan finishes with, lamely.

Brendon is still looking at him like that, frowning down at the paper. He gestures wildly at the lyrics, voice a little tight, hollow. “Do you- Do you really mean this, Ry?” is all he manages to say, because just- holy fuck.

Ryan bites his lip, presses his bare feet into the softness of the rug. “Yeah,” he says softly, and it’s so painfully, honestly true, every word. He could recite it all now and mean every goddamn syllable, but he won’t, can’t bring himself to.

Brendon looks at him again, wide eyed. He splutters a bit, stumbling over words, stomach twisted firmly in two and brain whirring away at lighting speed. “I, I-“ is all he manages, before licking his lips and fixing Ryan with heartfelt honesty, again. “I do, too,” his voice box provides eventually, voice low, raw.

Ryan slides off the arm of the sofa in a fluid motion, staring hard at his feet. “It’s okay, if you don’t,” he says, although it’s not, it’s not okay at all.

Brendon thinks that maybe Ryan is the biggest idiot he’s ever had the misfortune to come across (fall for), and he shakes his head in silent exasperation. He reaches out, pulls Ryan to him before he can protest, hands running hot lines up and down Ryan’s arms. “Don’t make me say it,” he half-pleads, presses a kiss into the depths of Ryan’s hair. “I’ll sing it to you, later, see if you believe me then.”

Ryan looks over at him then, the slow disheartening boil dissipating as Brendon smiles openly. Ryan presses the heel of his hand to Brendon’s jaw, pushes their lips to and just- god, he just forgets about the labels, the questions, all the fucking rights and wrongs. Right now this is all about the here’s and now’s, about sleeping with his best friend (because it kind of seemed like a good idea at the time) and inadvertently finding something he didn’t know he was looking for in the first place. This is about the he feels it too, and the maybe this’ll be okay. This is about young love, and god, Ryan could just kiss him until the sun starts to shine.




The next morning, Jon staggers to the front of the bus with sleep-encrusted eyes, yawning loudly. He’s searching for coffee and pop tarts, god, anything edible will do, really.

He comes to a halt en route to the fridge, catching sight of the two young bodies lying entwined on the couch. Ryan has a ridiculous case of bed hair and Brendon is drooling, head lolling against the armrest, but Jon smiles all the same. Brendon’s hand is possessively clutching Ryan to his chest, like anyone and everyone is attempting to steal him from him (Jon would like to see them try), the other entwined with Ryan’s, tight grip and loose fingers.

“D’aw,” Jon murmurs to himself, because fuck it, no-one can hear. He watches them for a minute, the slow inhale-exhale perfectly in time. Ryan smiles in his sleep and Brendon nudges his head a little, breathes in heavily so that Ryan’s hair quivers against his cheek.

Jon remembers his need for coffee and also becomes aware of an urgent need to pee, and ambles off, still smiling.

Later, Brendon and Ryan will wake to a small Polaroid beside their palms, the image of them sleeping softly one on top of the other imprinted forever in film.




They arrive at the next venue early, and are left to mind their own business, hanging out on the buses or investigating the site, starting up impromptu games of Frisbee and soccer.

Around mid-afternoon, Spencer sneaks back onto the bus, calling Ryan softly. Jon and Brendon are having an Ultimate Showdown of basketball- the winner claiming gloating rights for the next, oh, decade? Spencer is crap at rules though, and Ryan has been voted referee (Jon protested for a good five minutes about the unfairness of this, seeing as Brendon and Ryan were, you know, married now. Brendon called Jon something very abusive in response, something his mother would not be proud to hear him say, and glowered as Jon laughed at him).

Spencer finds Ryan in his bunk (again. They really need to have that conversation about Ryan having a life outside of Brendon’s dick), plastering a small photo to the wall. Spencer squints at it, taking in Ryan’s small, embarrassed smile.

“Aaand you’re officially a fourteen year old girl,” Spencer taunts, ducking Ryan’s punch. “Hey, Brendon and Jon are about to make total asses of themselves. Wanna watch?”

Ryan snorts and pushes at Spencer, falling over his feet as he slides out of the bunk. “Sure, why not?” He rolls his shoulders a bit, smiling wide, and Spencer thinks that he hasn’t seen Ryan this happy in a long time.

“You seem awfully… you know,” Spencer notes, following Ryan out to the front of the bus with watchful eyes. “I’m guessing you and Brendon talked?”

“Uh huh.” Ryan flashes him another grin, hauls open the door and leaps down onto the tarmac with long, gangly limbs. “God, have you seen that sun?” He squints up at the sky through the harsh rays.

Spencer just looks at Ryan, a little perturbed by his good mood. “It’s just sun,” he mutters with a shrug, ducks again before Ryan can hit him. “Hey!”

“Asshole, it’s November,” Ryan informs him. “It’s meant to be like, shitty.”

Spencer grunts and nudges his arm, points him across the parking lot to where Brendon and Jon are still arguing (which wouldn’t be so good except that they keep laughing at each others’ insults). “Okay, okay, Brendon loves you, you love Brendon, the sun is shining, the world is wonderful, blah blah blah.” Spencer watches Ryan as he squints out, watching the two figures in the distance. “Christ, you’re going to be unbearable when we get home, aren’t you? Pining and shit. If you ask to sleep over, I swear to god…“ Spencer trails off, stops dead in his tracks. “Man, we’re going home soon.” The realisation is both weird and exciting, hits hard somewhere deep inside his guts, and he glances at Ryan to gauge his reaction.

Ryan is oblivious though, still smiling, still in paradise. “Home?” Ryan echoes, looking across at Brendon, at Jon, back to Spencer’s familiar, expectant face. “Man, I’m already there.”