Flexible--Rydon--52

"They could play the stage gay," Pete tells Patrick. It's night on the Fall Out Boy bus, which means that Joe and Andy are playing video games, Pete is doing his usual drunk-journaling, and Patrick is trying to sleep.

"Hmm?" Patrick's voice is drowsy; he hates encouraging Pete's ramblings when it's past midnight.

Pete sets down his journal—and his drink—to clamber into the bunk beside Patrick. "Ryan and Brendon," he says. "They could play the stage gay."

Patrick raises his head to stare incredulously at Pete. "Why would you do that to them?" he asks.

"Do what to them?" asks Pete, glancing at Patrick in surprise.

Scowling, Patrick shoves Pete out of his bunk. "Don't play stupid," he warns. "It doesn't suit you well."

"What are you talking about?!"

"How would you ruin their friendship like that!" exclaims Patrick. All ideas of sleep are gone from his mind. He has more important things to worry about.

"Like what?" Pete's voice is dangerously soft.

Turning his back on the man who writes the words to his voice, Patrick says, "Stage gay adds all sorts of unnecessary sexual tension between friends. Like what it did to us."

"But we're okay now, aren't we?" asks Pete, and there is desperation in his voice.

Patrick allows a smile at that. "We are," he says. "But I don't think it's fair to inflict that upon anyone else, Pete."

Pete sighs. "I'm pretty sure they've already got their own sexual tension problems," he says.

"So why add more?" This from Patrick, ever the reasonable one.

"Because it will make them famous." This from Pete, ever the ambitious one.

"It will make them weak."

"They'll get over it. It will make them strong."

Patrick sighs and shakes his head in defeat. "They're signed to you," he says. "It's your choice."

Pete gives one decisive nod of his head and says, "Next tour. They'll do it next tour."

"I only hope that they don't hate you for it," mumbles Patrick. "And now. Good night." The vocalist turns over, so his back is to Pete, and purposefully begins to fake snore.

Letting his eyes run over Patrick's body one last time, Pete leans over to press a kiss to his friend's temple, then heads on over to his own bunk. If Brent was right when he said what he said, he writes in his journal, then Ryan and Brendon could be the hottest thing of this era. He pictures Brendon singing—low and seductive—into Ryan's ear, and a shiver climbs up his spine.

The same night in Spencer's car, neither Brendon nor Ryan are allowed to drive at this hour, so Brent reluctantly finds himself at the wheel. With Spencer napping in the passenger seat, the other two boys content themselves by cuddling together—all long limbs and hooded sweatshirt.

Ryan stretches himself across the backseat until his purple v-neck lifts just enough to reveal a stripe of white skin, as his fingers tangle themselves in Brendon's hair. He looks ridiculous, the poet decides. It's high time he got a new haircut.

As though he can read Ryan's mind, Brendon reaches up to run his fingers through the older boy's long hair. "Hey there, moonshine," whispers Ryan, and Brendon smiles at the new nickname.

Rolling his eyes, Brent flips on the radio, filling the car with crackly disco music, and pretends to sing along, giving Brendon the opportunity to brush his fingers across Ryan's pale stomach. "You wanna share a hotel room tomorrow?" asks Brendon under cover of the radio.

"Why? You wanna fuck me?"

Brendon freezes. "I-I-I– Would you l-let me?" he asks in a faltering voice. His fingers pause in their tracing of swirls under Ryan's shirt.

The older boy's eyes flutter close, and a content sigh escapes his lips. When his amber eyes open again, they are hot and probing, glittering in a predatory style.