Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the "Somewhere In The Sky" tour, the city lights flickered through the windows of the band’s sky-blue and black tour bus. Jack leaned back against the window, quietly tapping his foot to the rhythm of a demo track looping in his headphones. Across the aisle, he caught sight of Ryan—animatedly waving a stack of trumpet sheet music in front of Arnetta, his eyes bright with inspiration.

"Think about it," Ryan urged, the paper flaring in his hands. "If we take this motif and layer it over Adam’s synth—"

Arnetta grinned, her trumpet nestled in her lap. "You’re always after new sounds, Ryan. I like it. We’ll have to get weird with the sheet music. Maybe flip this scale? Instead of F, A, G we could do G, F, A?" she suggested.

Jack smiled. Ryan’s passion for music always awed him. But tonight, that awe carried something heavier, a flutter in his chest he hadn’t expected—something more than brotherly admiration. He watched Ryan explain the syncopation to Arnetta, his hands sketching patterns in the air, and realized—in a wave that left him breathless—that he felt something he shouldn’t.

Jack turned away, pressing his forehead to the cool glass, the rattle of the bus and the hum of creativity swirling around him. The soundboard was cluttered with half-finished tracks and stranger ideas, but none of them as off-limits or unsettling as the feelings now pulsing through his mind.

They’ve been happening for a while, these sudden needs to have a glance at Ryan while he worked. There was once where Ryan caught him staring, not that he thought anything of it. How could he? They’re just brothers . Jack notices too many small things, the way each hair seems to glow, especially on stage. Ryan’s small smile when he watches something funny on his phone. Gods forbid he laughs at something Jack says.

Jack’s trying to focus on his conversation, he really is. Ryan keeps looking over at him, listening to both his and Jack’s conversation with Adam.

“You think they’re gonna like the new music?”

Goddamnit, he predicted it. That stupid adorable laugh, well, not so much a laugh as a chuckle. Still adorable. Stop it, you can’t think that.

“They always do, Jack! The reaction to the one I put out a bit ago has been only positive from what I’ve seen!”

The smile on his brother’s face, the way the light hits his eyes, making their deep brown depths basically glow. It’s too much, his heart is pounding in his chest. He can feel the blush rushing up his neck and to his ears.

~~~~~

Jack slipped away from the main lounge, the sound of Ryan’s laughter echoing faintly as he pushed open the door to one of the bus’s smaller rooms. It was a cramped space, usually used for storing equipment cases, but tonight it offered the only solace he could think of. He sank onto a makeshift seat – an overturned road case – and pulled his knees to his chest, trying to quiet the frantic rhythm of his heart.

He couldn't shake the image of Ryan, vibrant and alive, explaining musical theory to Arnetta. It wasn't just admiration he felt; it was a deeper, more unsettling longing that threatened to unravel everything he thought he knew about himself and his relationship with his brother.

~~~~~

Back in the lounge, Ryan glanced around, a frown creasing his forehead. "Hey, has anyone seen Jack?"

Adam, who was tinkering with a synth, looked up. "Yeah, he went to the back a little while ago. Said he needed some space. He didn’t look too good-"

Ryan nodded slowly, a hint of concern in his eyes. "Okay, thanks." He hesitated for a moment, then stood up. "I'm going to go check on him."

With a deep breath, Ryan walked towards the back of the bus, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. He reached the door and paused, a mix of concern and curiosity swirling within him. What was Jack doing back there? And why did he need space from everyone else?

~~~~~

Jack dug his nails into the fabric of his jeans, knuckles white, trying to anchor himself as the enclosed walls of the tiny bus room pressed in on him. The hum of the tires on the highway barely penetrated the suffocating stillness. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, each inhale catching—never enough. Sweat pricked along his brow and collected, clammy on his upper lip. He pressed his forehead to his knees, skin hot but shivering. Every sound—the distant laughter from the lounge, the click of plastic cases shifting as the bus rounded a turn—seemed far away, like he was listening to the world through thick glass.

He tried to focus, tried to conjure a melody or a lyric, anything except Ryan’s voice, Ryan’s bright eyes, Ryan’s hands shaping music from the air. The forbidden certainty filled him again, sickly and heavy, until his stomach lurched. Why couldn’t he just stop these thoughts? He squeezed his eyes shut. He knew this was more than homesickness, more than ordinary nerves. This was something dangerous. Something wrong.

He tried to will himself calm—counting breaths, pressing his palm to the icy metal of an equipment case beside him. It didn’t help. His heart only hammered harder, sweat dripping into his collarbone. He was trapped by the weight of his longing and the guilt that curled sharp in his ribs.

Outside, footsteps padded down the hall—closer, then right outside. Jack flinched. The door creaked open, slicing a wedge of light into the cramped shadows. He blinked up on instinct.

Ryan’s face appeared in the doorway, concern etched in the lines at his brow, his warm brown eyes searching the dark. For a moment they locked eyes. Jack’s heart twisted—then he looked away instantly, heat burning beneath his clammy skin. He couldn’t bear the kindness in Ryan’s eyes, or how much it hurt to see him notice.

Ryan stepped in without hesitation, his shoes making almost no sound on the carpeted floor. He scanned Jack head-to-toe, his worry only deepening. “Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” His voice was gentle but urgent—Jack could hear the real fear underneath.

Jack managed, “I’m fine. I just… needed a bit of space.”

But Ryan crouched beside him, forcing Jack to shift on the overturned case. “Jack, you’re white as a sheet. You’re sweating. You look like you’re about to pass out. Hiding in a cramped closet isn’t the kind of space or air you need, you know?” Ryan’s tone sharpened with frustrated affection.

Jack tried to summon irritation, but all he could feel was panic and shame. He glanced away, jaw clenched. “I said I’m fine, Ry.”

Ryan shook his head, his expression earnest and stubborn in equal measure. He reached to touch Jack’s shoulder, hesitated, then let his hand drift back to his knee. “No, you’re not. I know what ‘fine’ looks like, and this isn’t it. I’m not stupid. So why are you back here alone, freaking out?”

Jack pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. His skin felt icy and hot in turns, the air barely making it into his lungs. “Just needed some time. It’s nothing…”

Ryan wouldn’t let up. His brows drew together, his mouth set in a thin, worried line. “Jack. Come on. Please talk to me. I’m not leaving you here by yourself until you tell me what’s actually wrong. Even Adam said you looked off before you disappeared.”

Jack could feel Ryan’s eyes on him, the weight of his attention almost as unbearable as the panic itself. His words jammed up behind his teeth, thick as honey. If he tried to answer, he’d only choke or spill something dangerous. Silence stretched between them, thick and humming with old closeness and too-new tension.

Ryan moved a little closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not mad, okay? Whatever it is. But you’re scaring me right now. You barely look like you can breathe.” For a second, he almost sounded like their old selves—just brothers on the road, looking out for each other.

Jack squeezed his hands tighter, feeling his pulse jump in his wrists. “I just needed to get away for a minute. I couldn’t… I just needed quiet,” he managed, his voice thin and hoarse.

Ryan didn’t buy it for a second. “If you really needed quiet, you’d find it somewhere you could actually breathe, not this closet. You always do this. Pull away, pretend nothing’s wrong. But I can see it. Seriously, Jack. I won’t leave until you’re honest—please. If you need help, let me help.” His words were gentle, but there was a hard edge behind them—real worry that wouldn’t be soothed with lies.

Jack’s breath came in short, ragged bursts. He stared down at his shoes, struggling to find a safe thing to say. Though his thoughts still raced—of music, of guilt, of Ryan’s laugh—he felt a faint comfort in Ryan’s presence, the familiar steadiness he’d always trusted. It made his longing worse, but it also made the panic ebb, just a fraction.

Minutes crawled by in silence, Ryan’s unwavering concern filling the tiny space. Jack’s heart pounded loud as a bass drum. He was torn—between honesty and safety, between needing Ryan close and needing him far away. But Ryan didn’t budge, his eyes never leaving Jack’s face, his breath soft and steady. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Jack barely registered Ryan’s gentle question at first, heart still pounding in his chest, hands clammy against his jeans. Ryan’s silhouette filled the cramped doorway, worry etching the soft lines of his face. “Do you need a minute outside?” he asked quietly. “We can have the bus driver pull over. Is this… car sickness again?”

The word ‘sick’ cut through Jack like a wire, sharp and humiliating. The concern in his brother’s voice was enough to make Jack wince. He shook his head, avoiding Ryan’s eyes. “No, it’s not that,” he said, the words rough in his throat. “But… could we just pull over for a bit anyway? I think it’d help.”

Ryan studied him, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, catching every shudder of Jack’s ribs, the sweat at his brow. He looked like he wanted to put a hand on Jack’s arm, to fix things the way he always tried. Ryan’s gaze lingered on the pale, slumped form before him, a hundred worried thoughts flickering behind his dark eyes. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to the driver. Be right back.”

As Ryan slipped from the room, Jack pressed a trembling hand to his chest, focusing on each shaky breath. Moments later, the soft deceleration of the bus shuddered through the floor. He staggered up, muscles weak, and let himself out into the cool night air.

Jack leaned with both hands against the mostly black metal of the bus, the cold metal biting through his thin shirt— grounding him. Bracing himself like a swimmer gasping at the surface. His eyes squeezed shut, forehead tipped toward the stars; the world felt wide and empty, blurring to the rush of blood in his ears. He counted each slow drag of air—one, two, three—then tried again, desperate for some pattern that would reel his heart back from the edge.

A few minutes passed—Jack didn’t count them. The wind needled through his shirt, cooling the sweat along his back, his arms, the tangled hair at his neck. The cold stung, but it made the panic retreat, inch by inch, leaving behind only exhaustion and the hollow ache of longing.

Footsteps approached, gentle over gravel. “Feeling any better?” Ryan’s voice broke through the silence.

Jack managed a small, exhausted groan, nodding without opening his eyes, still unable to risk looking at his older brother. Shame prickled at his neck and ears; the last thing he wanted was Ryan’s pity, or worse, to say something he shouldn’t.

Ryan took in the scene—Jack’s effort to disappear, his refusal to meet his gaze. “Is something up? You don’t usually… I don’t know, need air like this.” he asked, cautious but pressing.

Jack croaked out his practiced response. “It’s just… kind of embarrassing, that’s all. Needing to pull over.”

He bit down on the rest, the truths that would ruin everything. Technically not a lie, technically not the truth—the story of his life right now.

Ryan gave a soft laugh, braving the tension. “I get it. But, honestly? I’d rather have to stop the bus than not be able to help if you don’t feel good.” He leaned his shoulder against the bus beside Jack, their eyes now both searching the quiet sky above. “I’m actually grateful I get to be out here with you,” Ryan added, voice more serious, “Even if it means the occasional pit stop. I feel bad when you feel bad, you know?”

At that, a flush crept up Jack’s neck—he turned his head away fast, hoping the dim light would hide his blush from Ryan. Heat buzzed under his skin, half from embarrassment, half from something deeper and more complicated.

Ryan watched him for a second, hand half-raising as if to rest it on Jack’s arm, then seeming to think better of it. He dropped his hand, pushed off the bus, and forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be inside if you need me,” he said, voice trailing off with a sadness that stung sharper than the wind.

Jack watched the door close behind him, heart twisting.

Hurting Ryan was the last thing he’d ever wanted.

Chapter Text

He stumbled back inside the bus, the stale air a heavy blanket after the brief, sharp relief of the night. As the engine rumbled to life, sending a vibration through the floor, Jack knew they were moving again. A fresh wave of exhaustion washed over him, the weight of unacknowledged feelings pressing down. He wandered towards the back lounge, needing something—anything—to cut through the stifling air.

Reaching a small room, a lounge at the back of the bus, he slid open a window, the sudden rush of cold air a slap to the face. It stung his skin and cleared his head in equal measure. The scent of damp earth and distant fields filled his lungs, momentarily drowning out the recycled air and lingering scent of diesel. He could hear the faint strains of Arnetta’s trumpet weaving through the night.

The door to the lounge creaked open, letting the music swell for a fleeting second before snapping shut again. He stayed glued to the window, refusing to turn, hoping whoever it was would leave him to his fragile peace. But then, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him from behind, a familiar warmth pressing against his back.

His breath hitched. He knew that touch, that scent, the way the very air seemed to vibrate.

Ryan’s breathing.

“Oh—uh… hey, Ry…” Jack stammered, his voice tight and reedy. “Wh-what’s up?”

He felt Ryan’s chin rest lightly on his shoulder, the warmth sending a shiver down his spine. “You still don’t seem okay,” Ryan murmured, his voice close to Jack’s ear, laced with concern. “You’re avoiding people. Avoiding me . What’s going on?”

Heat flooded Jack’s neck and cheeks, prickling under his skin. He wanted to deny it, to brush it off with a casual laugh, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Not completely. “I’m—I’m not trying to, I swear…” he mumbled, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I just—”

Ryan’s arms tightened around him, pulling him closer. “If you’re not trying to, why don’t you come hang out with me?” A vulnerable note crept into his brother’s voice. “It hurts my feelings when you avoid me, y’know?”

Jack’s heart clenched at the raw honesty in Ryan’s words. He hated that he was causing Ryan pain, but he couldn’t explain the storm raging inside him, the impossible longings that threatened to shatter everything. “—I’m sorry, Ryan,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “I just… can’t hang out with you right now. I need to get my head around some things.”

Ryan’s hold on him tightened, a silent plea not to be pushed away. He shifted, easing himself down to sit on the narrow bench beneath the window, pulling Jack with him, still trapped within his embrace. “Why?”

Jack’s gaze flickered up, his flushed face meeting Ryan’s searching eyes. He saw the hurt reflected back at him, a mirroring of the ache in his own chest. And something more—a flicker of confusion, a hint of vulnerability that made Jack’s breath catch in his throat. The urge to confess everything, to lay bare the tangled mess of his feelings, rose up in him with dizzying force.

He wanted to close the small distance between them, to capture Ryan’s lips with his own, to taste the warmth and sweetness he’d only dared to imagine. He longed to know what it felt like to hold Ryan close, to lose himself in the intoxicating pull of his brother’s presence.

He forced the intrusive thoughts away, burying his face in Ryan’s shoulder instead, breathing in the familiar scent of his brother’s skin—a mix of soap, sweat, and something uniquely Ryan. It was a bittersweet comfort, a brief respite from the war raging within him.

As Ryan wrapped his arms around Jack, he leaned back against the plush seat, glad to be able to hold his brother close. The rhythmic hum of the bus and the soft glow of the passing streetlights created a sense of comforting intimacy. He gazed out the window, watching the blurred cityscape slide by, grateful for this moment of peace amidst the chaos of the tour. He was a big brother and being there for Jack meant the world to him.

The faint scent of Jack's shampoo filled the air, a familiar and reassuring aroma. Ryan felt the subtle tension in Jack's shoulders begin to dissipate as the minutes ticked by. He rested his cheek against Jack's hair, feeling its softness, and closed his eyes, simply savoring the quiet connection between them.

He could feel Jack's body relax against his, the warmth spreading through him like a gentle wave. He adjusted his arms slightly to ensure Jack was comfortable, his protective instincts kicking in. He would always be there for his younger brother, through thick and thin.

Eventually, Jack's breathing deepened, becoming slow and even. Ryan smiled softly, realizing Jack had finally drifted off to sleep. He continued to gaze out the window, his thoughts a mix of gratitude and hope for the future. The lights of the city twinkled like distant stars, and Ryan whispered, "Goodnight, little brother." He soon joined Jack in slumber.

~~~~~

Waking up in Ryan’s arms was definitely not on Jack’s itinerary for the "Somewhere In The Sky" tour. The city lights had faded, replaced by the gray light of early morning filtering through the bus windows. The noisy rumble that had lulled him to sleep was now a quiet hum, the soundtrack to a scene far too intimate for comfort.

He blinked, trying to focus. Ryan was still asleep, his face relaxed and boyish in repose. Jack’s blush ignited, blossoming from his chest to the tips of his ears. He was practically in Ryan’s lap, limbs tangled, his head nestled against Ryan’s shoulder. The angle afforded him an unobstructed view of his brother’s eyelashes, long and dark against his skin. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Ryan’s chest beneath his ear.

Panic warred with a strange sense of contentment. He should move, disentangle himself, create some much-needed space. But the thought of disturbing Ryan, of breaking this fragile connection, held him captive. He shifted minutely, testing the waters, but Ryan only stirred slightly, his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around Jack. A wave of warmth flooded Jack, quickly followed by a surge of guilt.

He closed his eyes, fighting to regain control. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t be feeling this way about his brother. About Ryan. Especially not now, with everything riding on this tour, on the band.

AJR. The thought pierced through the fog of his emotions. What if this messed things up? What if his feelings changed the dynamic, fractured the bond that held them together? They were more than just brothers; they were bandmates, collaborators, partners in this crazy, beautiful, terrifying thing they had built. He remembered the countless hours they had spent writing songs, arguing over arrangements, and dreaming of success.

Would Adam notice? Would Ryan sense the shift, the undercurrent of something more than brotherly affection? The thought made his stomach churn. He couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t risk it. Their music, their dreams, were too important.

It wasn’t normal for him to be feeling this way, he knew that much. Brothers didn’t long for each other’s touch, didn’t analyze every glance, didn’t harbor secret fantasies. This was a deviation, a glitch in the system. He had to fix it. He had to bury these feelings so deep that they would never see the light of day. He clenched his hands into fists, willing his heart to calm, his mind to quiet.

The weight of Ryan's arm was both a comfort and a cage. Each breath Ryan took against his hair was a reminder of the impossible chasm that lay between them. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself. He had to move. He had to escape, at least for a little while, before he did something he would truly regret.

With painstaking slowness, he eased his arm out from under Ryan's, inch by agonizing inch. He held his breath, his muscles screaming in protest. Finally free, he carefully shifted his weight, disentangling his legs from Ryan's.

Ryan stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips, and Jack froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. But Ryan only shifted, burrowing deeper into the seat, his breathing evening out once more. Relief flooded Jack, quickly followed by a fresh wave of guilt.

He slipped off the bench and padded silently towards the bus bathroom, grateful for the dim light that hid the flush on his face. The tiny space was sterile and cold, a jarring contrast to the warmth of Ryan's embrace. The harsh fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting long, unflattering shadows.

He splashed cold water on his face, the shock momentarily numbing the turmoil in his head. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the haunted look in his own eyes. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin, tight line.

After what felt like an eternity, he straightened, took a deep breath, and returned to the lounge. Ryan was still asleep, sprawled across the bench, his face relaxed and unguarded. Jack hesitated in the doorway, his heart aching with a longing he couldn't name. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and steady, a peaceful rhythm that belied the chaos Jack felt inside.

He couldn't bring himself to sit next to him, not yet. Instead, he sank down onto the opposite bench, his gaze fixed on Ryan, trying to decipher the secrets hidden beneath his sleeping expression.

Chapter Text

Another hour, or perhaps more, had slipped by unnoticed. Ryan surfaced slowly from sleep, his body still heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. The warmth that had been pressed against his side was now conspicuously absent, a void that registered instantly. He frowned, a low groan rumbling in his chest. It was then that he became fully aware: Jack wasn't there.

His eyes snapped open, wide and alert. A jolt of something akin to panic shot through him. He sat up abruptly, his muscles protesting the sudden movement. The lounge was dim, lit only by the soft, diffused light filtering through the tinted windows. He scanned the space, his gaze darting from the rumpled blankets on the bench to the scattered bags on the floor. Where was he?

Then, his eyes landed on him. Jack. Who was across the lounge, standing motionless by the window. He was gazing out at the passing scenery, his back to Ryan. The early morning sun cast long, dramatic shadows across his face, partially obscuring his features. But even from this distance, Ryan could see it: there was a somber glint in his eyes, a quiet sadness that seemed to radiate from him like heat. It was an expression Ryan had seen before, a fleeting glimpse behind Jack's usual bright facade, but it always struck him with a peculiar intensity. The air in the lounge seemed to thicken, the silence amplifying the unspoken emotions.

As if sensing Ryan’s gaze, Jack slowly turned his head. Their eyes met. A shock, almost physical, surged through Ryan, a sudden and intense awareness of Jack as something more than just his brother. The somber glint in Jack's eyes seemed to flicker, then dissipate, replaced by something that Ryan couldn't quite decipher. It was a look of…hope? But it was a tentative, fragile hope, shadowed by uncertainty and something else he couldn't quite name. It was unreadable.

And then there were his eyes. The blue-hazel color, usually bright and sparkling, seemed to deepen, to become more intense, drawing Ryan in. It was as if they were reaching out, pulling him into a vortex of emotion. Ryan felt a strange pull, a magnetic force that he couldn't resist. He was drowning in the depths of those eyes, losing himself in their complexities. The world around him seemed to fade, the only reality the piercing gaze of his brother.

Jack’s eyes widened slightly as he saw his brother staring at him, a faint flush growing in his cheeks.

A wave of different emotions crashed over Ryan, a chaotic storm of longing, protectiveness, and something darker, something forbidden. His breath caught in his throat. He wanted to reach out, to close the distance between them, to touch him, to hold him. The feelings were overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once. He shouldn't be feeling this way. Jack was his brother. This was wrong. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the turmoil within him. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He swallowed hard, trying to regain control.

But the feelings were relentless, refusing to be suppressed. They were a force of nature, tearing down the walls he had so carefully constructed. He was lost, adrift in a sea of forbidden desires, with no land in sight. He willed himself to look back out the window, the tense moment simply being avoided. His younger brother’s voice floated softly through the lounge, breaking the consistent buzz of the bus.

“You okay, Ryan? D-did you sleep well?” The stutter didn't go unnoticed, a small but clear sign of the uncomfortable interaction’s effect. “Yeah, I'm alright. I slept fine, you?” God, this felt so forced- torture in a bus. Unescapable for the time being.

Jack's heart is too calm for the storm of emotions swirling in his chest. He can feel Ryan's eyes on him, questioning and probably concerned. He can't bring the words out of his mouth, which opens to speak even when the words catch in his throat, creating a small, choked sound. One that makes him regret trying, such a pathetic noise was not what he had planned. He turns, facing the older for a moment, resisting the temptation to pull him close. Feet move before thoughts and he's out, left, away from Ryan, who calls after him softly, more like a question. He finds Adam sitting in the main lounge, notebook in hand and leg crossed over the other. 

As if sensing his brother's distress, Adam looks up and removes one of his air pods. “Well, good morning. I saw you and Ryan sleeping back there, you doing okay?” He's hoping that Jack will be honest with him… and himself.  “Yeah, I'm okay, Ads. No need to worry, I just didn't sleep too well.” Well that was useless, he always does this. Goddamnit Jack just tell me the truth. The air hung with tension, Jack had bags under his eyes and he seemed– out of it. 

“What's going on with you? You've been distant from us, especially Ryan. What's with it?”

“There's nothing to it.” Jack's voice came out harder than he meant it to. “I've just needed space, god forbid I do!”

Hurt flickers across Adam's face, followed by anger. No need to snap, damn. He instead stands and leaves the main lounge, meeting Arnetta, Chris, and Austin. Leaving Jack alone with the ever approaching Ryan. 

“Hey, Jack, what's up with you recently?” Ryan's voice cuts straight through Jack's thoughts, a dagger slicing through water. Only the effects wasn't as simple as the ripple throughout water. No. No, because why would anything ever be simple?  

“Nothing.” Jack speaks with a confidence he doesn't currently feel; a mere facade he has delicately built. 

“Don't lie to me, Jack. We're brothers. Tell me what's wrong.” At the term ‘brother’, Jack winces. He knows that's what they are. Brothers. It's what they will always be. What they've always been. But that doesn't stop him from feeling a longing every time he looks into those beautiful brown eyes, and realizes that perhaps drowning in a sea of brown isn't the worst fate. Perhaps it would bring him the solace this life never could.

A firm hand, strong and gentle all at once, grasps his shoulder. His eyes dart up, startled at the sudden touch. But he quickly relaxes into the hand, and realises after a moment it has turned into a soft caress. The hand trails down Jack's side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Their eyes clash, and suddenly, there is a foreign emotion in Ryan's eyes. 

Longing.

I don't know what's wrong with me.  He knows that it's wrong when his eyes flicker to the older's lips, the sheer proximity to Ryan. The musky scent, the softness of his calloused hand, barely on the sleeve of his T-shirt, the intensity of his pupils. His hands twitch, desperate to bring his brother closer.

Brother.

The word rips his gaze away from Ryan as his hands play with the hem of his hoodie. “I'm fine. Better.” I think. Maybe. I actually don't remember what better is supposed to feel like. “Better from what? Jack, yo-” 

“Stop. Just stop. I just need a break from people, from you . I'm sorry, Ryan. Ju-”

“Right. Fine. Here's the thing, I'm not sure what I did wrong that makes you want to avoid me but I won't let you drift away from me. Or Adam.” The bus comes to a soft stop, they've made their way to a hotel. They still have a day of travel but after the news of the tension reached Steve, he quickly shot it down and booked a hotel. Arguments before a show is the last thing they need right now. With an alarming abruptness, Jack brushed past Ryan and headed for the bus exit.  His hands are shaking at his sides, clenching and unclenching hard enough to leave faint crescents in his palms. But this isn't the rage he thought he'd feel. No. This is more like disappointment. Disappointed because he's not good enough to tell Ryan his problem, to be honest with himself, disappointed because he fell for the one person he can't have . 

Just as he began to think that at least he gets away from Ryan this way, Steve hands him a key and tells him that he's to room with the older for tonight. For fuck’s sake. Are you kidding me? His head whips back to look at Ryan, who seems weirdly haunted.

The brothers walk in silence to their room, the begrudging dragging of their feet and tired sighs the only sounds coming from them. When they reach the room- room 303- Jack watches Ryan fumble with the key fob before twisting it into the keyhole, the door swinging open with a low groan.

They step inside, taking in the musty room. The smell of old coffee and cleaning chemicals fills Jack's senses, the monochrome colors reflecting the unsureness in Jack's soul. Ryan sets his stuff down on the bed. 

Wait. The bed. 

A single. Bed. 

All the color has drained from Jack's face as he stares at the plush bed in the middle of the room, its white sheets being covered with Ryan's bags of miscellaneous items. “Well? Are you going to shower first, or me?” It takes a moment for Jack to collect his thoughts, before he responds with a simple “You can first.” 

Ryan nods, grabbing a fresh set of clothes before walking into the small bathroom, the door closing behind him with an ominous squeak. And just like that, Jack is left alone with his thoughts. 

A singular fucking bed? What was Steve thinking? Then again, you can’t exactly blame him, siblings are usually able to sleep in one bed without a problem.

~~~~~

A little while later, the older one steps out from the bathroom, his silky brown hair draped across his forehead as little droplets of water slide down the strands. His gentle eyes graze over Jack's disheveled appearance, and Jack feels his cheeks flush. 

It's as if time seems to slow, his heartbeat setting an unsteady metronome within his chest. 

“Uh… Jack? You can shower now.”

Jack quickly snaps out of it, giving a feeble nod as he gathers his clothes, locking himself into the small bathroom. The smell of soap- of him - fills Jack's nostrils, slamming him with an unwelcome sense of nostalgia. No. No. 

Stop. 

He's your brother . Just focus on showering. 

As he steps into the shower, scalding hot water dribbles down his back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The air around him feels frozen, lacking the same heat that the water provides. 

Jack realizes that this scene- this warm and cold- perfectly reflects how he feels. Ryan is the warmth amongst the bitter chill of the world, the one thing worth staying for. 

He slathers his hand in soap, scrubbing his hair vigorously, flinching as soap stings his eyes. The shower passes quicker than he would have preferred, wishing he could stay longer away from his brother. He rubs his hair to dampness with the towel and slips on boxers and sweatpants, covering his chest with the towel by wearing it like a blanket around his shoulders. He steps out of the bathroom, avoiding the others' gaze and grabbing a shirt from his bag, slipping it on as it sticks to his damp skin.

His heart’s in his ears as he finds Ryan staring at his back as he dons the shirt, the blush on his cheeks is undeniable and obvious. 

“Are you gonna keep waiting for me to say something or are you going to be brave enough to do so yourself?” Ryan's voice is soft and low, Jack swears he knows what he does to him. Sending shivers straight down his spine, he regrettably turns his head to meet the brown eyes he's found and lost himself in so many times. 

“What?” His voice cracks slightly, forcing him to clear his throat. “Say something about what?”

“The way you're acting, avoiding looking at me, I don't get it. At least tell me if there's something I'm doing that's bothering you.”

“It's not you, Ryan. Well kinda but not- that's not important- I don't really know, to be honest I think I just need a fucking drink or something…”

Ryan chuckles, at something he said, he knows it's wrong to get so much happiness from that but he can't help it. Ryan just laughs adorably. “I can help with that at least.” Ryan grabs his phone and messes in it for a minute or two before tossing it on the big white bed. “There, now you have alcohol on the way- does this mean you'll talk now?”

A groan arose from the back of Jack's throat. “You're not going to leave me alone if I don't?”

“Absolutely not.”

Chapter Text

Jack stood frozen at the foot of the bed, the scratchy hotel towel still draped around his neck like some pathetic security blanket. The air in the cramped room felt thick enough to cut—heavy with the scent of old carpet, industrial cleaning chemicals, and something sharper beneath it all that made his pulse skip: anticipation, unspoken and electric, crackling in the space between them like a live wire.

Outside, rain whispered against the single window, a steady percussion that somehow made the silence inside feel even more profound. The city lights beyond painted shifting shadows across the faded walls, neon blues and yellows that danced across Ryan's face as he sat on the edge of the bed, remote in hand but forgotten.

"I can't believe Steve gave us one bed," Jack muttered, his voice coming out rougher than intended. It was a feeble attempt at humor, but the words died in the stagnant air between them, swallowed by the weight of everything they weren't saying.

Ryan glanced up, and for a heartbeat their eyes met—a collision that sent heat racing up Jack's neck. Ryan's mouth twitched, almost a smile, before he looked away. "Welcome to band budgets," he said, but his voice was tight, strained. "At least it's not a pull-out couch this time."

Jack forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. His fingers worried the edge of the towel, twisting the damp fabric until his knuckles went white. Every nerve ending felt exposed, hypersensitive to the smallest movement Ryan made—the way he shifted his weight, the soft exhale that ghosted past his lips, the unconscious gesture of running his hand through his hair.

"So, uh..." Jack cleared his throat, desperate to fill the silence that stretched between them like a chasm. "That drink you ordered. When's it supposed to get here?"

Ryan's phone buzzed against the nightstand, as if summoned by the question. He grabbed it, thumb swiping across the screen. "Actually, should be any minute now. DoorDash says the driver's in the lobby."

As if on cue, a soft knock echoed from the door. Both brothers froze, staring at each other for a suspended moment before Ryan scrambled to his feet. "I'll get it," he said, already moving toward the door, but Jack could see the flush creeping up his neck, the way his hands trembled slightly as he reached for the handle.

The delivery driver was a college-aged kid who barely glanced at them, probably used to strange late-night hotel deliveries. Ryan tipped him generously—too generously, Jack noted—and closed the door with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.

"So," Ryan said, holding up a brown paper bag that crinkled in his grip. "I got us a variety pack. Wasn't sure what you'd want."

Jack moved closer, close enough to smell the lingering scent of Ryan's shampoo, something clean and woodsy that made his head spin. "What kind of variety?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan's throat worked as he swallowed. "Beer, obviously. A couple of those fruity ciders you like. And..." He reached into the bag, pulling out a small bottle of whiskey. "This. For when beer isn't enough."

Their fingers brushed as Jack reached for the bottle, and both of them jerked back as if burned. The whiskey nearly slipped from Jack's suddenly nerveless grip.

"Careful," Ryan breathed, steadying the bottle with his own hands. For a moment they stood there, both gripping the glass, Ryan's fingers warm against Jack's knuckles. The touch was innocent—practical, even—but it sent electricity shooting up Jack's arm.

"Thanks," Jack managed, his voice cracking slightly. He pulled his hands away, cradling the bottle against his chest. "Good choice. I think I need something stronger than beer tonight."

Ryan's eyes darkened, studying Jack's face with an intensity that made him want to squirm. "Bad day?"

"Something like that." Jack twisted the cap off the whiskey, the sharp scent of alcohol filling the air between them. He took a sip—bigger than he probably should have—and felt the burn all the way down to his stomach. The warmth spread through his chest, loosening some of the knots of anxiety that had been building all day.

Ryan grabbed a beer for himself, the can hissing as he popped it open. "Want to..." He gestured vaguely at the bed, then seemed to think better of it. "We could sit on the floor. Might be less... weird."

Jack almost laughed at that. As if sitting on the floor would somehow make the electric tension between them disappear. As if distance measured in inches could solve the problem of wanting something he couldn't—shouldn't—have.

"Floor's probably dirty," he said instead, settling onto the edge of the bed with careful precision, leaving as much space as possible between where he sat and where Ryan might choose to sit. "Hotel housekeeping isn't exactly known for thoroughness."

Ryan hesitated for a long moment, beer can sweating in his grip, before settling onto the opposite corner of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Jack felt the subtle shift, the way gravity tried to pull them together across the expanse of rumpled white sheets.

They drank in silence for a while, the rain providing a steady soundtrack to their careful avoidance of eye contact. Jack found himself studying the pattern on the bedspread, counting threads, memorizing the faded floral design—anything to avoid looking at Ryan and seeing whatever expression might be lurking in those dark eyes.

"Remember when we used to do this?" Ryan said suddenly, his voice soft and almost nostalgic. "Just... sit and drink and talk about stupid stuff. Before everything got so complicated."

Jack's heart clenched. "When was it not complicated?" he asked, taking another sip of whiskey. The alcohol was working, loosening his tongue, making him brave in ways that probably weren't wise. "Feels like it's always been complicated. Just... different kinds of complicated."

Ryan's laugh was rueful. "Fair point. Remember that first tour? When we were sleeping four to a room and living on gas station sandwiches?"

"And you got food poisoning from that sketchy truck stop in Ohio," Jack added, a genuine smile tugging at his lips despite everything. "Adam made me hold your hair while you puked."

"God, that was mortifying." Ryan's cheeks flushed pink, whether from the memory or the beer, Jack couldn't tell. "I was so embarrassed. Here I was, supposed to be the responsible older brother, and I'm dying in a Motel 6 bathroom because I couldn't resist a questionable egg salad sandwich."

"You were responsible," Jack said, the words coming out more earnest than he intended. "You still are. You always... you always take care of us. Take care of me."

The air between them shifted, charged with something deeper than nostalgia. Ryan's eyes found Jack's across the narrow space of the bed, and for a moment neither of them looked away. The moment stretched, taut as a guitar string, until Ryan cleared his throat and took a long pull from his beer.

"Yeah, well," he said, voice rough. "That's what big brothers are for, right?"

The word 'brothers' hit Jack like a physical blow. He flinched, turning away to stare out the rain-streaked window. The city beyond was a blur of lights and motion, people living their normal lives, people who didn't have to worry about wanting things they couldn't have.

"Right," he echoed, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "Brothers."

They fell into silence again, but this time it was heavier, weighted with all the things that word implied—and all the things it forbidden. Jack finished his first drink and poured another, the whiskey burning less now, settling into a warm glow in his chest that made everything feel slightly unreal, like he was watching this scene play out from outside himself.

Ryan had moved on to his second beer, and Jack could see the alcohol starting to relax him, the rigid line of his shoulders softening, his careful posture becoming more natural. He'd pulled his legs up onto the bed, crossing them under him, and somehow the space between them seemed both larger and smaller than before.

"Can I ask you something?" Ryan said suddenly, his voice quiet but cutting through the rain and the hum of the air conditioning.

Jack's stomach dropped. "Depends what it is."

"Are you happy?" The question hung in the air between them, deceptively simple but loaded with implications. "I mean, really happy. With all of this. The band, the tour, the... everything."

Jack stared at him, caught off guard by the vulnerability in Ryan's voice. "Are you?"

"I asked first."

Jack took another sip of whiskey, using the time to think. How could he explain that he was happier than he'd ever imagined possible and more miserable than he'd ever been, all at the same time? How could he say that every moment on stage, every song they played together, felt like flying—but that every moment offstage was torture because it meant being close to Ryan without being able to touch him the way he wanted to?

"Sometimes," he said finally. "It comes and goes. The happiness. Some days I feel like the luckiest person alive, getting to do this with you guys, with my family. Other days..."

"Other days?"

Jack shook his head. "Other days I feel like I'm losing my mind."

Ryan was quiet for a long moment, studying the label on his beer can with intense concentration. "Yeah," he said eventually. "I know that feeling."

Something in his tone made Jack look up, really look at him. Ryan's face was flushed, whether from alcohol or emotion, and there was something raw in his expression, something unguarded that made Jack's breath catch.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like?" Ryan continued, his voice so quiet Jack had to strain to hear him over the rain. "If we were... different. If things were different.”

Jack's heart started pounding so hard he was sure Ryan could hear it. "Different how?”

Ryan met his eyes across the bed, and for a moment the careful distance they'd maintained all evening seemed to evaporate. "You know how.”

The words hung between them, dangerous and electric. Jack felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, one wrong move away from falling into something he couldn't come back from.

"Ryan..." he started, but his voice failed him.

"Sorry," Ryan said quickly, looking away and draining the rest of his beer in one long swallow. "I shouldn't have... the alcohol's making me say stupid things. We should probably... it's getting late.”

Jack nodded, though his heart was still racing. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right.”

They moved around each other with sudden, careful efficiency, cleaning up the empty bottles and cans. The easy intimacy of moments before had shifted into something more charged, more dangerous. Jack was hyperaware of every movement Ryan made, every brush of his fingers as he gathered the bottles, every glance that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"You can use the bathroom first," Ryan offered, his voice studiously casual.

Jack grabbed his sleep clothes— just an old t-shirt and boxers— and escaped to the small bathroom. He brushed his teeth mechanically, staring at his reflection and trying to will away the flush in his cheeks, the wild look in his eyes. When he came out, Ryan was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone with forced concentration.

"Your turn," Jack said quietly, settling onto the far side of the bed and pulling the covers up to his chest like armor

Ryan nodded and gathered his own clothes, disappearing into the bathroom. Jack could hear the water running, the soft sounds of Ryan's nighttime routine, and his imagination supplied details he definitely shouldn't be thinking about. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think about anything else—lyrics, melodies, the schedule for tomorrow's drive.

When Ryan emerged, hair still damp and wearing just a soft gray t-shirt and sleep shorts, Jack's breath caught all over again. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling as Ryan moved around the room, turning off lights, checking that the door was locked.

The mattress dipped as Ryan slipped under the covers, and Jack went rigid. They were sharing a bed—something they'd done countless times before on tours, in cheap hotels, at their parents' house during holidays. But this felt different. Everything felt different now.

Ryan settled on his side of the bed, leaving what felt like miles of space between them but somehow still too close. Jack could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could hear every shift of the sheets, every quiet breath.

"Jack?" Ryan's voice was soft in the darkness.

"Yeah?”

"Are you... are you okay? You seem really tense.”

Jack forced himself to relax his shoulders, unclenched his fists from where they'd been gripping the sheets. "I'm fine. Just... tired."

Silence stretched between them, thick with everything they weren't saying. Jack stared at the ceiling, counting the shadows cast by the streetlights filtering through the curtains. Beside him, Ryan shifted, and Jack held his breath, hyperaware of every micro-movement.

"This is ridiculous," Ryan said suddenly, and Jack's heart stopped. "We're both lying here wide awake pretending everything's normal."

Jack didn't trust himself to speak. His whole body was coiled tight as a spring, ready to bolt or break or do something catastrophically stupid.

"I can practically hear you thinking from over here," Ryan continued, and there was a note of something—frustration? Amusement? Longing?— in his voice. "Your brain is so loud it's keeping me awake.”

Despite everything, Jack felt his lips twitch. "Sorry. I'll think quieter.”

Ryan's soft laugh sent warmth shooting through Jack's chest. "That's not... Jack, look at me. Please?”

Jack's throat felt tight. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head on the pillow. Ryan was facing him, propped up on one elbow, his face barely visible in the dim light but close enough that Jack could see the concern in his eyes.

"There you are," Ryan said softly. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Jack opened his mouth, closed it again. How could he possibly explain the war raging inside him? The way his skin felt too tight, the way every cell in his body was screaming at him to move closer while his brain chanted warnings about lines that couldn't be uncrossed?

"I just..." Jack's voice came out hoarse. "I've been thinking too much. About tomorrow's show. About everything that could go wrong.”

Ryan shifted closer, concern evident in his voice. "What kind of things?”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, grasping for any excuse that wasn't the truth. "Stupid stuff. Like... What if my voice cracks during 'Karma'? You know how stress gets me sometimes when I'm tired. And what if I'm late getting back to the stage after 'Wow I'm Not Crazy'? The crew's been cutting the transition time shorter and shorter for certain venues..."

"Jack-"

"And what if I trip? Or fall? Remember that show in Denver where I almost ate it during the bridge of 'Bang!'? What if that happens but worse? What if I completely face-plant in front of thousands of people and it ends up on TikTok forever and-”

"Hey." Ryan's voice was gentle but firm. "Breathe. Those are all normal pre-show nerves. You've never missed a cue, your voice is stronger than ever, and you're not going to fall."

Jack's throat felt tight, hating himself for the lies spilling out of his mouth. "I know. I know it's stupid. I just... I can't turn my brain off tonight. It keeps spiraling into all these worst-case scenarios."

Ryan was quiet for a long moment, and Jack could feel him studying his profile in the darkness. "Is that really what's keeping you up? Show anxiety?"

Jack forced himself to nod, even though every fiber of his being wanted to confess the truth. "Yeah. Just... tour brain, you know? Everything feels bigger and scarier at night."

They lay there facing each other in the darkness, the space between them feeling both infinite and microscopic. Jack could see Ryan's chest rising and falling, could feel the warmth of his breath, but now there was something else in the air—a sense that Ryan didn't quite believe him, but was choosing not to push.

"Okay," Ryan said finally, his voice softer now. "But you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Not just show stuff. Anything.”

Jack's heart clenched at the gentle invitation, at the door Ryan was leaving open for him. "I know," he whispered, the words feeling like both a promise and a lie.

Ryan nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Jack's face. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow's show is going to be amazing, just like always.”

Jack forced himself to close his eyes, to turn away, to create some semblance of the distance his rational mind knew they needed. But as he settled back against his pillow, he felt Ryan shift beside him, felt the whisper of movement as Ryan's hand crept across the sheets—not quite touching, but close enough that Jack could feel the warmth of his skin.

Jack lay rigid, every nerve ending hyperaware of that almost-touch, knowing he was a coward for not being honest, knowing Ryan deserved better than these pathetic excuses. But the truth felt too dangerous, too likely to destroy everything they had built together.

Outside, the rain continued its gentle percussion against the window, and eventually, exhaustion began to win out over both the electric tension and the guilt thrumming through Jack's body. But even as sleep claimed him, he remained conscious of Ryan's presence beside him—close enough to touch, close enough to tell the truth to, close enough to make the morning feel like both an escape and another day of living a lie.

He couldn’t sleep, not with Ryan so close. Not with how often the older would shift and his skin would graze on his own.

I need to get out of here.

Chapter Text

Where did he go?

Jack stirred slowly, consciousness bleeding through the edges of sleep like watercolors on wet paper. There was warmth pressed against his back—solid, comforting, familiar. He smiled drowsily, letting himself sink into the sensation before his eyes fluttered open to the dim hotel room.

But the bed beside him was empty.

Jack blinked, confusion cutting through the haze of sleep. The sheets where Ryan should have been were rumpled but cold, and yet that warmth against his spine lingered like a phantom touch. He sat up slowly, scanning the room with growing bewilderment. The bathroom door was closed, a thin line of light bleeding beneath it.

That must be it, Jack thought, though something felt off, like his surroundings were fake.

He padded across the carpet on bare feet, the hotel room somehow both familiar and foreign in the half-light. "Ryan?" he called softly, raising his knuckles to knock on the bathroom door. But the moment his skin made contact with the wood, the door creaked open under the gentle pressure, swinging inward to reveal the empty bathroom.

Jack stepped inside, frowning. The fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting everything in harsh relief. He moved toward the sink automatically, his reflection catching his eye in the mirror above. He looked haunted—dark circles shadowed his eyes, his hair disheveled, his face pale and drawn. When had he started looking so broken?

He pressed his palms against the cool marble of the counter, looking down to study the vein structure more closely. The cold of the stone bit into his skin, grounding him, making everything feel more real and less real all at once.

Then, he met his own gaze in the mirror, but there was something else, despite not being able to feel it. Arms circled around his waist from behind.

Jack's breath caught as Ryan's reflection appeared, solid-looking, and impossibly close. Ryan's chin came to rest on Jack's shoulder, his dark eyes meeting Jack's gaze through the glass. There was something different about him in the reflection—softer, more open, as if all his careful walls had dissolved

"Jack," Ryan murmured, his voice low and intimate, closer to Jack's ear than it had ever been. The sound sent shivers racing down Jack's spine.

Jack gasped softly, his heart hammering against his ribs-

And jolted awake.

The hotel room materialized around him in sharp focus, the dream dissolving like smoke. But the warmth was still there, pressed against his back, more real than anything in the dream had been. Jack's eyes went wide in the darkness as awareness crashed over him like a cold wave.

Ryan's arm was draped loosely over his chest, his breathing deep and even with sleep. Somehow, during the night, they had gravitated toward each other across the expanse of the hotel bed. Ryan was pressed against him, close enough that Jack could feel each exhale against the back of his neck, close enough that he could smell the lingering scent of hotel soap on Ryan's skin.

Jack's breath caught in his throat, his entire body going rigid. This was real. This wasn't the dream—this was Ryan, actually touching him, actually holding him in sleep with an intimacy that made Jack's chest tight with longing and terror in equal measure.

What was he supposed to do? If he moved, he might wake Ryan, and then they'd both have to acknowledge this moment, this crossing of a line neither of them had meant to cross. They'd have to fumble through awkward explanations and apologies, pretending this closeness meant nothing when it felt like everything.

But if he stayed still, if he let himself have this stolen moment, he was letting himself want something he couldn't have. He was making it worse, making it harder to pretend that the ache in his chest was anything other than love.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, every nerve ending hyperaware of the weight of Ryan's arm, the warmth of his body, the soft puff of breath against his neck. His heart was beating so loud he was sure it would wake Ryan, but his brother's breathing remained steady, peaceful, oblivious to the war raging in Jack's mind.

I need to get out of here, Jack thought desperately. But Ryan's arm tightened slightly in his sleep, as if sensing Jack's intention to flee, and Jack found himself trapped between wanting to run and never wanting this moment to end.

Jack's heart battered inside his ribcage, breath shallow and unsteady as he lay perfectly, desperately still. The warmth at his back was overwhelming: Ryan’s arm draped over his chest, Ryan’s chest rising and falling in time with his own, their tangled legs evidence that, sometime in the night, the line had disappeared entirely. He’d never felt so aware of another person—every gentle exhale rustling the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, every brush of a knee tightening the knot in Jack’s stomach.

He wanted to vanish. To savor and to flee filled him equally. If Ryan woke and found him awake too—what then? The threat of eye contact, of stuttered explanations or apologies, was enough to clench every muscle in Jack’s body.

But then, as if Jack's thundering heartbeat had called him awake, Ryan shifted behind him. The arm over Jack tensed, then slowly withdrew, cautious—absurdly gentle—like moving a sleeping child. Ryan’s breath caught; Jack heard it, each soft sound magnified by his anxiety.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, why the fuck is this happening now?

Jack kept his eyes shut and let his breathing even out, feigning the deep, oblivious cadence of slumber. A careful weight lifted from his side, blankets whispering as Ryan gathered himself and, with painstaking silence, slipped out of bed. The mattress eased, cold air rushing where warmth had been, but Jack refused to move, unwilling to betray consciousness now.

He listened as Ryan tiptoed across the room; the faintest groan from the floorboard, a whisper of bare feet over cheap carpet. The bathroom door closed, a click that sounded thunderous in the hush. Light flickered from beneath the doorframe, harsh and artificial. Then Jack heard it—a muffled, bitten-off curse, almost hissed, as Ryan’s frustration and embarrassment finally broke the silence. “Shit.”

Jack curled further into himself under the covers. His face felt hot and his hands shook, heart still racing. He replayed the moment—the touch, the lingering hold, the way Ryan had hesitated before letting go. Did Ryan regret it? Had he even meant to be so close, or was it a trick of sleep, of circumstance, of some secret longing Jack barely dared to name?

Jack stared at the gray predawn gloom above, acutely aware of every sound, every sensation, every ache. Outside, rain battered the glass. Inside, all he could hear was his pulse rushing in his ears and Ryan’s distant muffled voice behind the bathroom door—a litany of confusion and self-reproach Jack yearned to answer, but didn’t know how.

~~~~~

Jack stayed rigid under the covers long after Ryan had quietly escaped to the bathroom, every muscle tense with confusion and longing. The chill air where Ryan’s body had been only made Jack feel more exposed— more desperate for relief from the tension.

He lay unmoving, listening to the muffled tap of water, the shuffling of feet, the creak of pipes. He tried convincing himself to stay put, to just let the moment fade, but worry gnawed at him— worry for Ryan, for whatever had happened between them, for the impossible confusion buzzing in his chest.

After a few agonizing minutes, Jack finally sat up, running a trembling hand through his hair. The bathroom light still bled through the cracked door. His heart in his throat, Jack padded quietly over and knocked— a soft, uncertain sound.

There was a pause. Jack heard movement, maybe a hasty clearing of a throat. Then the door inched open. Ryan appeared in the rectangle of fluorescent light, eyes downcast, a flush high on his cheeks.

“Hey,” Ryan muttered, not quite meeting Jack’s gaze. “Sorry. Did I wake you up? Did you need to use the bathroom?”

Jack opened his mouth, but no explanation came out. He nodded, just barely. But as Ryan tried to brush past him into the gloom of the hotel room, Jack, acting on a surge of something—fear, want, the need to understand—reached out and caught Ryan softly by the wrist.

Ryan halted, almost startled, and glanced at Jack as if seeing him for the first time. Jack stared back, breathlessly, at the man in front of him. It was almost as if everything that hadn’t been said was humming between their joined skin.

Ryan’s voice was a hush— barely trusting itself. “Jack?” It was both a question and an anchor; Jack saw the storm of worry and hope and something else in his eyes.

Jack’s eyes were wide, caught between panic and longing. Realizing what he was doing, he hesitated, loosening his grip. Ryan gently pulled his arm free, taking a careful step toward the room’s gloom.

“Look, we’re both... probably really hungover,” Ryan said, his eyes flicking away. “Let’s, uh—we should get something to drink. And eat. Maybe we’ll feel more human then.” Jack let his hand fall to his side, nodding mutely as the spell of the moment broke. “You might not be thinking straig-” 

"No—I am thinking straight, Ryan," Jack interrupted, his voice shaking with unexpected boldness. "For the first time in weeks, I'm thinking straight, even though it feels like I'm losing my mind.”

Ryan tried to step away from him, avoiding his gaze. "Jack, look, we're both hungover and-"

"I haven't been able to be myself recently," Jack cut him off again, the words tumbling out like a dam had burst. "Not around you. I can't think straight when you're near me, I can't breathe properly, I can't-”

"Why?" Ryan's voice was sharp now, finally meeting Jack's desperate eyes. "Why would I affect your sense of self? Jack, what are you even trying to say?”

The question hit Jack like a physical blow. His eyes widened as the full weight of what he'd almost revealed crashed over him. He stood there frozen for a heartbeat, studying Ryan's confused, concerned face—the face he'd been memorizing without meaning to, the face that haunted his dreams.

"I-I just- yeah. Sorry." Jack's voice went flat, all the desperate energy draining out of him at once. His expression smoothed into something unreadable as he grabbed the room key from the nightstand. With alarming abruptness, he brushed past Ryan and headed for the door.

Chapter Text

Ryan stood stunned for a moment, processing what had just happened—the raw desperation in Jack's voice, the panic in his eyes, the way he'd shut down the instant Ryan pushed for an explanation.

Then Ryan was moving, his bare feet slapping against the hotel carpet as he yanked open the door and rushed into the hallway. Jack was already several steps away, walking fast with his head down.

"Jack!" Ryan called, breaking into a jog.

Jack's shoulders tensed, but he didn't slow down.

Ryan caught up to him just as Jack reached the elevator bank. Without thinking, Ryan grabbed Jack's shoulders and spun him around, pressing him back against the wall with enough force to make Jack gasp.

"You don't get to do that," Ryan said, breathing hard, his hands braced on either side of Jack's head. "You don't get to say something like that and then just walk away."

Jack's composure crumbled under Ryan's intense gaze. He tried to look anywhere else—at the ugly hotel wallpaper, the flickering fluorescent light, the elevator buttons—but Ryan was so close, trapping him with his proximity and the weight of his stare.

"Finish the sentence, Jack," Ryan said quietly, his voice rough with something Jack couldn't identify. "Tell me why I'm affecting you so much that you can't be yourself."

Jack’s gaze, wide and panicked, locked onto Ryan’s. All the carefully constructed walls, the frantic excuses, the years of unspoken longing—they crumbled in an instant. The proximity, the unexpected demand, the raw concern in Ryan’s eyes… it was too much. His hands, still clenching and unclenching at his sides, shot up, almost on their own. They clamped around Ryan’s face, pulling him down, and Jack’s lips crashed against his.

It was a desperate, firm press, a single, raw plea disguised as an act of shocking boldness. It lasted only a breath, a fleeting moment of impossible contact.

Ryan gasped, a sharp, choked sound of pure shock and revulsion. He shoved back, hard, pushing Jack violently against the already cold wall. Jack’s head hit the plaster with a dull thud, but he barely registered the pain. Ryan stumbled backward, away from him, arms flailing as if trying to push away something unclean.

Ryan’s hand flew up to his mouth, fingers scrubbing at his lips with furious, frantic energy. He was whispering, but Jack’s ears were filled with the deafening roar of his own heartbeat, a frantic, thunderous drum against his eardrums. He couldn’t hear Ryan’s words, only saw the furious, disgusted movements of his mouth, the panicked widening of his eyes. What the fuck? Jack could read the words on his lips, saw the frantic, horrified curses that followed.

Jack’s chest heaved, air struggling to fill his lungs that felt suddenly too small, too constrained. He was frozen, pinned against the wall not by Ryan’s hands anymore, but by the sheer, crushing weight of what he had just done. He could only stare, unblinking, as Ryan continued to wipe his mouth, a gesture of visceral rejection that tore through Jack’s soul. The hallway lights seemed to spin, the world tilting precariously on its axis.

In a sudden surge, Jack tried to take a step back, only to hit the wall again. As the cool plaster stung through his sleep shirt, everything crashed back. The deafening roar in his ears receded, and suddenly he could hear over his heartbeat, over his rapid-fire thoughts, over his heavy exhales. Now everything seemed amplified—the relentless hum of the fluorescent lights above was too loud, a piercing, grating drone that drilled into his skull. Ryan’s ragged breathing was sharp and agonizing, each gasp and exhale a physical blow. His whispered curses, once indistinct, now cut through the air like serrated knives, each syllable a fresh wound. The sterile, oppressive silence of the hallway pressed in around them, a vacuum emphasizing the horror.

Jack’s eyes darted wildly. The hallway stretched on, an endless tunnel of unforgiving white walls. His gaze snagged on the elevator, its polished doors reflecting his own distorted, terrified face. Too slow. The thought was a raw, guttural scream inside his head. An eternity. He couldn't risk being trapped, not there, not with Ryan, not with the memory of that kiss still burning on his lips and the caustic taste of Ryan's disgust on his tongue. The idea of being stuck, of having to face Ryan in that confined space, was a fresh wave of nausea. His legs felt like lead, then suddenly, impossibly light.

Without thinking, Jack tore himself from the wall, a sudden, desperate burst of energy propelling him forward. He didn't even register the brief wobble, the near stumble. He lunged, shoving open the heavy fire door to the stairwell with a desperate, guttural grunt. The bang of the metal reverberated, echoing down the concrete shaft like a gunshot. He didn't pause, didn't look back. The cold, unyielding concrete of the steps bit into his bare feet, but he barely felt it. He took them two at a time, then three, his legs churning, a frantic, unthinking rhythm taking over. Down, down, down. Each landing was a blur, each step a desperate plea to escape. He didn't know where he was going, only that it had to be away . Away from the hotel room, away from the hallway, away from Ryan, away from the impossible, shattering truth of what he had just done. Away, away, away, away.

~~~~~

Jack burst through the stairwell door and stumbled straight into the harsh glare of the hotel lobby lights. The marble floor was cold against his bare feet; the echo of the late hour made it feel even more exposed. For a moment, his mind blanked, pulse roaring, eyes darting toward the spinning glass doors outside—anything to keep moving, to outrun what had just happened with Ryan

"Jack?" Adam’s familiar, deep voice cut through the tumult, more anchor than obstacle. Jack barely registered him before rough, steady hands seized a handful of his shirt from behind. He grunted, squirming in Adam’s grip, the fabric digging into his collarbone.

"Let me go," he hissed, voice ragged, breath whipping from his chest in anxious bursts.

Adam didn’t relent, brow furrowed, his bigger frame planting him solidly behind Jack. "Not a chance. Talk to me. What happened? And if you try to lie, I’ll know. So don’t."

Jack looked down, blinking fast, hands curled into fists by his sides. He didn’t want to see the worry in Adam’s eyes. "I-… I just got on Ryan’s nerves too much. I pushed him. He got pissed off, so… I needed a break. That’s it."

Adam looked him up and down, taking in the trembling in Jack’s hands, the wild, frantic shine in his eyes, the barely- controlled edge in his voice. But even though Adam’s jaw tightened, his grip eased. “You sure that’s it?”

"Adam. Please. Just let me go," Jack pleaded, voice down to a whisper now. The words were brittle, close to breaking.

A long pause. Adam’s hand loosened on Jack’s shirt. "Fine. But if you’re gonna run, make sure you come back to us. You always do. I’ll be around when you’re ready."

Jack nodded curtly and, in the next moment, Adam’s hand fell away. Without looking back, Jack hurried across the emptiness of the lobby. He stumbled into the night and half-jogged to the tour bus parked at the curb, its hulking shape a haven in the darkness.

Inside, the bus was dark and cool. Jack barely made it to the couch before sinking down, chest heaving, every muscle trembling with adrenaline and regret. He scrubbed his hands over his face and cursed at himself, then slumped forward, elbows braced on his knees, breath rasping as he bounced his leg in restless penance, creating a soft, but very fast metronome. Alone, at last, the reality of what he’d done pressed in on every side.

What have I done?

He’s going to tell Adam. Adam’s going to hate me.

He hates me.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Why did I kiss him?

It felt so right, what the hell? Why am I like this? Why do I ruin everything? I can’t- I’ll have to leave. Leave our apartment, the…

Oh shit, the band… I’ve- Oh fuck…

I’ve ruined everything.

Chapter Text

An hour crawled by in the hotel lobby. Adam sat with Austin and Chris, occasionally glancing toward the elevators, worry etched across his features. The others had tried to make conversation, but the tension was palpable—something had happened, and Jack's frantic exit had left everyone on edge

When Ryan finally appeared, descending the elevator with measured steps, Adam straightened. Ryan looked haggard, his hair disheveled, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something else—determination, maybe, or desperation

"Adam," Ryan's voice was rough, barely controlled. "Where did Jack go?

Adam studied his brother's face, noting the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "I think he's on the bus. Ryan, what happened up there?"

"I really need to talk to him," Ryan said, ignoring the question entirely. His eyes were already turning toward the hotel's exit, toward where the tour bus waited in the parking lot

Adam nodded slowly. "Bus. But Ryan-"

"Thanks," Ryan muttered, already striding away with purpose that bordered on desperation

The morning air was cool against Ryan's fevered skin as he crossed the empty parking lot. The tour bus loomed ahead, its familiar bulk both comforting and intimidating. Ryan's heart hammered against his ribs as he climbed the steps and inserted his key.

The door slammed open with more force than he'd intended, the sound reverberating through the bus's interior. From the main lounge came a sharp thud—a flinch—followed by Jack's muffled curse.

Ryan didn't hesitate. His feet carried him through the narrow aisle, past the bunks, past the kitchen, straight toward the sound of his brother's distress. He found the lounge door and pushed it open without knocking.

Jack's eyes snapped up, wide and terrified, like a deer caught in headlights. He was still curled on the couch, elbows on his knees, but now he looked even smaller, more broken. The moment their gazes met, the air in the small space seemed to evaporate.

"Jack," Ryan said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything unsaid between them.

Ryan's presence sent a jolt through Jack, his body reacting instinctively, as if drawn to the other man's warmth despite the turmoil inside. He couldn't bring himself to meet Ryan's eyes, afraid of what he might see there—disgust, anger, or worse, understanding.

"Ryan..." Jack's voice cracked, barely audible over the pounding of his heart. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak louder, clearer. "I... I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have... I don't know what came over me."

Apart from the admission, Jack remained rigid, arms wrapped tightly around himself as if trying to contain the storm raging within. He couldn't breathe, couldn't process the enormity of what had transpired mere moments ago.

Ryan stepped closer, his presence suffocating yet reassuring, like being enveloped in a warm embrace on a freezing night. Jack's breath hitched, pulse skipping a beat as Ryan knelt beside him, strong hands gently grasping his shoulders.

"Look at me, Jack," Ryan commanded softly, his tone brooking no argument. Jack's gaze dragged up reluctantly, meeting Ryan's intense stare. Those piercing brown eyes searched his, as if trying to unravel the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside Jack's chest.

"You're shaking," Ryan observed, his voice a low rumble. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Jack shook his head vehemently, the motion sending loose strands of hair flying. "No, no, you didn't... I mean, physically, no." He hesitated, biting his lip as he struggled to find the right words.

"Emotionally, though... that's another story," Jack admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced away, unable to bear the intensity of Ryan's gaze any longer. "I just... I don't know how to deal with this, with us. With these feelings."

A pained silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Ryan's large hand cupped the back of Jack's neck, thumb stroking gentle circles against his nape. The touch sent a shiver down Jack's spine, both calming and igniting a fire within him.

"We should talk," Ryan said firmly, guiding Jack to stand. Jack allowed himself to be led, his limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated.

Ryan steered Jack towards the back of the bus, past the kitchenette and storage compartments, until they reached a secluded area with plush sofas and ottomans arranged in a cozy circle. The dim lighting and soft music playing in the background created an intimate atmosphere, one that made Jack's heart race even faster.

"Sit," Ryan instructed, pointing to a sofa cushion. Jack obeyed, perching on the edge as if prepared to spring up and flee at any moment. Ryan lowered himself beside him, their thighs touching, the heat of Ryan's body seeping into Jack's.

"So, let's start with the basics," Ryan began, his tone measured and calm, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside Jack. "When did these... feelings begin?" Jack's gaze dropped to his lap, where his hands twisted together anxiously. "I don't know exactly.”

He shrugged helplessly, the movement causing his shoulder to brush against Ryan's. The fleeting contact sent a jolt of electricity through Jack's system, making him gasp softly. "A long time ago? Around ‘The Click’? I've been noticing things, changes in myself... but I never thought..." His voice trailed off, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. "It's like my brain knows this is wrong, but my body... it reacts differently. Like it remembers something I've forgotten."

Jack risked a glance at Ryan, searching for any sign of disgust or judgment. Instead, he found empathy etched on Ryan's face, along with a hint of something else – understanding, perhaps, or even a similar struggle hidden beneath the surface.

"I've seen you watching me," Ryan stated matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving Jack's face.

Jack's cheeks flushed hotly, his breath catching in his throat. How could Ryan possibly know? He quickly scanned their surroundings, half-expecting to see hidden cameras or microphones recording their most private moments.

"W-what do you mean?" Jack stammered, trying to play dumb even as his heart pounded in his chest. "I watch all of you guys, you're my brothers..." He trailed off, realizing too late the implication of his words. Ryan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't play coy with me, Jack," Ryan chided, his voice low and husky. "I've seen the way you look at me. The longing in your eyes, the hunger..." He leaned in closer, until their faces were mere inches apart, his warm breath fanning across Jack's skin.

Jack's lips parted, a soft whimper escaping him as Ryan's proximity overwhelmed his senses. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, as if he might topple over onto Ryan's chest if not for the armchair behind him.

"That's... that's not true," Jack whispered, even as his body betrayed him, leaning ever so slightly into Ryan's space. His mind raced, desperate to find a way out of this compromising situation before he did something irrevocable.

"You're my brother," Jack repeated, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. "We can't... we can't cross that line." But even as he spoke, a rebellious part of him yearned to ignore logic, to surrender to the magnetic pull drawing him inexorably toward Ryan.

"What would happen if we did, though?"

Chapter Text

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Jack's gaze flickered to Ryan's lips, then back to his eyes, searching for answers he knew wouldn't come easily. A thrill of fear mixed with anticipation coursed through him, leaving him breathless and weak-kneed.

"I... I don't know," Jack admitted, his voice barely audible. "But I think... I think it would change everything." He swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips, accidentally drawing Ryan’s attention. "We'd have to keep it a secret, hide it from everyone. And what if someone finds out? What if it ruins our relationship forever?"

Even as Jack voiced his concerns, a traitorous part of him craved the risk, the thrill of defying convention and societal norms.

Ryan's fingers brushed against Jack's cheek, sending shivers down his spine. Jack's eyelids fluttered closed at the tender touch, his skin tingling wherever Ryan's hand made contact. He leaned into the caress, craving more of that soothing warmth.

"Secrets can be kept," Ryan murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "And relationships built on trust and love can withstand any test." His thumb traced the curve of Jack's lower lip, coaxing it open. Jack's breath hitched as Ryan's finger slipped inside, exploring the wet heat of his mouth.

"Just imagine," Ryan continued, his eyes darkening with desire, "us sneaking around, stolen moments in the shadows. Your lips on mine, your body pressed against mine..."

Jack's eyes snapped open, pupils dilated with arousal as Ryan's finger retreated from his mouth. He tasted salt and something else, a flavor uniquely Ryan, and it left him wanting more. His tongue swiped across his lips, savoring the lingering essence of his brother.

"God, Ryan," Jack breathed, his voice trembling with need. "You don't make this easy for me." He reached up, threading his fingers through Ryan's hair, tugging gently to bring their faces closer together. Their noses brushed, the faint scent of Ryan's cologne filling Jack's nostrils and clouding his judgment further.

"Maybe that's the point," Ryan countered, his lips hovering mere millimeters from Jack's. "To make you feel the ache of desire, the desperation to give in."

With a groan, Jack surrendered to the temptation, closing the final distance between them. Their mouths crashed together in a fierce, hungry kiss, tongues tangling in a dance as old as time. Ryan's hands slid around to cup Jack's face, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks as he deepened the kiss.

"Fuck, I've wanted this," Ryan growled against Jack's lips, breaking the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of Jack's throat. Jack arched his neck, offering more of himself to Ryan's greedy mouth. "Every day, every night, I've dreamed of tasting you like this."

One of Ryan's hands drifted lower, slipping under Jack's shirt to splay across his stomach. Jack shuddered, his abdomen clenching at the contact, desire coursing through his veins like liquid fire.

As Ryan's hand roamed his torso, Jack's breath came in ragged gasps, his body responding eagerly to each touch. He felt stripped bare, exposed and vulnerable in a way that terrified and thrilled him simultaneously.

"Ryan, please..." Jack whimpered, unsure whether he was begging for more or pleading for mercy. His hips rocked forward, seeking friction against the growing bulge in his pants. Ryan chuckled low in his throat, the vibrations sending shivers down Jack's spine.

"Patience, little brother," Ryan teased, his fingers tracing the waistband of Jack's jeans. "We've got all night." With deliberate slowness, Ryan undid the button and zipper, peeling back the fabric to reveal the hardened length of Jack's cock straining against his underwear.

Jack's moan echoed in the confined space as Ryan's fingers hooked into the elastic of his boxers, slowly dragging them down. Cool air kissed Jack's sensitive flesh, making him twitch and gasp. Once freed, his cock sprang up, thick and pulsing, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

"Beautiful," Ryan praised, his voice husky with lust. He wrapped a firm grip around Jack's shaft, pumping once, twice, before leaning in to lick a slow stripe up the underside. Jack's head fell back, eyes rolling shut as pleasure surged through him.

"Oh god, Ryan," Jack panted, his hips bucking into Ryan's hand. "Please, touch me more..." He spread his legs wider, inviting Ryan to explore every inch of him.

Ryan took full advantage of Jack's offer, shifting between his knees to position himself directly in front of Jack's exposed erection. He ran his tongue along the ridged vein on the underside, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Jack.

"Mmm, salty and sweet," Ryan hummed, his breath warm against Jack's sensitive skin. He circled the swollen head with his tongue, collecting the precum that beaded at the tip. Then, with a wicked grin, he engulfed Jack's cock in his mouth, taking him deep.

Jack's vision blurred, his fingers digging into Ryan's scalp as waves of ecstasy crashed over him. "Ryan, fuck, yes!" he cried out, his voice cracking with pleasure. He thrust into Ryan's mouth, unable to resist the incredible sensation.

Ryan set a relentless pace, sucking Jack's cock with fervent enthusiasm. He bobbed his head, taking Jack deeper with each pass, his nose nudging against the base. Jack's hands fisted in Ryan's hair, holding him close as he rode the torrent of sensations.

"Gonna... gonna cum," Jack warned, his voice strained and hoarse. Ryan doubled his efforts, humming around Jack's length, the vibrations pushing him closer to the brink. With a guttural cry, Jack's orgasm hit, his seed erupting in thick spurts down Ryan's eager throat.

"Swallow it all," Jack begged, still coming undone as Ryan milked him dry. As the last tremors subsided, Ryan released Jack's spent cock, licking his lips clean with a satisfied smirk.

Ryan sat back on his heels, a triumphant glint in his eye as he admired the aftershocks rippling through Jack's prone form. "You taste amazing when you cum," he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "I could get addicted to that flavor."

With a fluid motion, Ryan stood and shed his clothes, revealing a muscular physique honed from years of touring and performing. His own erection jutted proudly from a thatch of dark hair, impressive in size and rigidity.

"Your turn," Jack managed to gasp, still reeling from the intensity of his climax. He reached for Ryan, intent on returning the favor, but Ryan caught his wrists, pinning them above Jack's head.

"Not yet, baby brother," Ryan purred, his free hand trailing down Jack's chest to tease the flat nipple.

Ryan's fingers closed around Jack's nipple, tweaking and rolling the sensitive bud. Jack arched into the touch, a needy whine escaping him. Before he could process his next thought, two long fingers probed at his stretched entrance.

"You're so ready for me already," Ryan praised, breaching Jack's hole with ease. Jack's eyes flew wide, mouth opening in a silent scream as Ryan's digits delved deeper, curling to stroke his inner walls. It was overwhelming, the sudden intrusion after such intense oral stimulation.

"Ryan, wait," Jack pleaded, his voice high and panicked. "Can't we... just suck each other off first?" He ached to taste Ryan, to feel that magnificent cock pulsing on his tongue. But Ryan just chuckled darkly, adding a third finger to pump into Jack's ass.

"Too bad, Jack. You're going to take my cock, whether you want to or not," Ryan declared, his tone brooking no argument. "I've waited too long for this, and I'm not letting you dictate the terms."

Without warning, Ryan withdrew his fingers and positioned himself between Jack's spread thighs. The broad head of his dick nudged against Jack's puckered hole, applying pressure to push inside. Jack whimpered, torn between the instinct to submit and the urge to resist.

"Please, Ryan, be careful," Jack begged, his voice quavering. "I... I don't know if I can handle—"

A swift, harsh thrust silenced Jack's protests as Ryan buried himself to the hilt. Jack's scream was muffled by Ryan's palm covering his mouth, his body stiffening in shock and pain.

Ryan froze, his hand still pressed to Jack's mouth, waiting for the initial discomfort to subside. After a tense moment, Jack's body relaxed, accepting the intrusion. Ryan's thumb stroked over Jack's bottom lip, coaxing him to open for a breathless kiss.

"You okay, Jackie?" Ryan asked, his voice softening. Jack nodded, still dazed, and Ryan began to move, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust carried him deeper, the delicious friction stoking the fires of their passion anew.

"Feels so good," Jack admitted, his words punctuated by gasps and moans. "But... oh god, you're so big." Ryan chuckled, he wasn’t expecting that. Was that supposed to be a compliment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the initial stretch, Jack's body adapted, welcoming Ryan's thickness with increasing eagerness.

Ryan grinned, pleased by Jack's adaptation. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward in a steady cadence. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, punctuated by Jack's whimpers and Ryan's grunts of effort.

"Take it all, Jack," Ryan commanded, his voice rough with lust. "Every inch of me, deep in your tight little ass." He gripped Jack's hips, angling them to allow for even deeper penetration. Jack cried out, his nails digging into Ryan's back as he was speared anew.

"Ryan, I... I'm getting close again," Jack panted, his cock throbbing against his belly. "Please, I need to cum." Ryan's response was to pound into Jack even harder, chasing his own release while denying Jack the relief he craved.

Ryan's relentless thrusts pushed Jack to the brink, his balls drawing up tight as a coil of tension wound in his core. Just when Jack thought he couldn't take anymore, Ryan's pubic bone ground against his prostate, sending him hurtling over the edge.

"Ah! Fuck, Ryan, YES!" Jack screamed, his orgasm ripping through him with the force of a tsunami. Spurt after spurt of cum painted his chest as Ryan continued to rut into him, prolonging Jack's climax.

With a final, brutal plunge, Ryan buried himself to the root and stilled, his own release flooding Jack's insides. They remained locked together, panting and shaking in the aftermath, until Ryan carefully withdrew and collapsed beside Jack.

As the haze of pleasure dissipated, reality settled back in, bringing with it a rush of emotions Jack hadn't anticipated. Guilt, shame, excitement, and a profound sense of wrongness warred within him. He lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to process the enormity of what had just transpired.

"Ryan..." Jack whispered, his voice barely audible. "What did we just do?" There was no accusation in his tone, only a desperate need for clarity amidst the swirling chaos in his mind.

After a long moment of silence, Ryan stirred beside him, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "We did what we both wanted, Jack," he said finally, his voice low and measured. "Now let's get cleaned up and head back to the room. We should leave separately, just in case." Did I do something wrong?

Jack nodded numbly, still struggling to reconcile the conflicting desires and taboos that now threatened to consume him. He rose from the floor, wincing slightly as he straightened his clothing. The evidence of their encounter – sticky cum and semen-smeared skin – served as a grim reminder of the gravity of their actions.

"I'll meet you upstairs," Jack agreed, his voice distant. He hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Thank you, Ryan. For... that..." The words felt inadequate, but he didn't know how else to express the complex mix of gratitude, longing, and trepidation churning inside him.

With one last, lingering look, Jack turned and slipped out of the bus, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of the new reality he found himself in.

~~~~~

By the time they made it back to the hotel room, the sun was well past its peak, casting a warm glow through the windows. Jack entered quietly, avoiding eye contact with Ryan as he headed for the bathroom to clean up.

As he washed away the remnants of their passionate encounter, Jack's thoughts raced. What did this mean for their relationship? Could they ever go back to being just brothers, or had they crossed an irreparable line? And what about the tour, the fans, the media scrutiny? How would they navigate the fallout of their secret tryst becoming public knowledge?

After a quick shower, Jack emerged in fresh clothes, his hair damp and tousled. He found Ryan lounging on the bed, scrolling through his phone. The tension in the room was palpable, an unspoken understanding that things would never be the same.

"Hey,"

"Hey," Jack replied softly, perching on the edge of the mattress near Ryan. He studied his brother's profile, searching for clues to his thoughts and feelings. Ryan looked up, meeting Jack's gaze with an unreadable expression.

"So... what now?" Jack ventured, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can't keep this hidden forever. Eventually someone's going to notice something's different between us." Ryan set his phone aside, turning to face Jack fully.

"I know," he said, his tone heavy with resignation. "But for now, let's focus on the tour. We have shows to get through, and the fans are counting on us. We'll figure this out later, okay?" Jack nodded, understanding the necessity of maintaining appearances, at least for the time being.

"Just promise me one thing,"

"Promise me we won't let this come between us on stage," Jack said, his eyes searching Ryan's for reassurance. "Tonight's show in Alpharetta means everything to our fans. We can't afford to slip up, not even for a second."

Ryan reached out, capturing Jack's hand in a gentle squeeze. "I wouldn't dream of it, Jack. Our music, our bond as brothers – that's what matters most. We'll find a way to balance our newfound... connection with our responsibilities to the band and our audience."

He paused, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "And maybe, just maybe, we can use this secret to strengthen our performances, to pour even more emotion and authenticity into our songs." Jack smiled faintly, feeling a spark of hope ignite within him.

"Alright then-”

Jack’s cut off by Steve banging on his door. It’s time to go to the venue.