Entertaining the Thought (Brendon/Ryan)
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Entertaining the Thought
PG; 2,050 words
Panic at the Disco: Brendon/Ryan
Ryan refuses to think about it. Brendon refuses to give up.
Prompt: Ring
For the second day of urae's birthday. <333
It's such a monumentally bad idea that Ryan refuses to even entertain the thought. He refuses to put the thought--the notion, because it's not fully-formed enough to be a thought, let alone an idea--into words. It's wordless. Therefore they can't speak of it. Therefore it's not an issue.
Brendon is spectacular at making an issue out of non-issues.
"Why not?" he asks, and Ryan's just glad Brendon's not putting it into words either, because that really helps with the not entertaining the thought plan. This way, he can just pretend he's monumentally stupid (thank you, Spencer, he actually knows what Brendon's talking about--playing dumb is a tactic) and doesn't understand a thing, and he can duck away from Brendon's lips and grabby hands and not acknowledge that they've changed intention. That they're no longer amused and joking.
Because he's not entertaining the thought. The notion. Oh, fuck it, the thought. It sounds better--flows nicer. And Ryan's all about words. Which is why this thought is not being put into words.
"Why can't we kiss?" Brendon whines. And the thoughts, they have a name. And Ryan really, really hates Brendon right now. Like, a lot. More than he ever has before.
In fact, he hates Brendon so much he even goes as far as to hiss, "I hate you, Brendon Urie," using his first and last name because he feels it adequately expresses his complete and utter hatred.
Brendon Urie feels differently. He bursts out in something between a laugh and a giggle and collapses against Ryan's side, patting vaguely at his stomach. "I love you, Ryan Ross," he snorts into Ryan's sleeve, and Ryan pouts at the TV, which is off. This needs to be rectified. He stands from the couch, peels Brendon from his side, and snatches the remote off the TV. He folds himself on the floor and silently curses Brendon until Spencer and Jon emerge from their lay-in to take over the TV.
Jon wiggles his toes into a pouting Brendon's side until Brendon laughs in delight and demands they watch cartoons or Disney or "both, holy crap, Disney cartoons, guys, you know you wanna!"
And Ryan doesn't entertain the thought. He doesn't even entertain the thought at the concert the next day when Brendon gets really close, so close Ryan can hear every nuance in his voice over the screaming and the instruments and the earplugs. So close Ryan can feel the sweat on Brendon's body.
Well. It's really fucking hard to not even let his mind meander towards the thought, what with Brendon all breathing on him (he's not exactly sure--it might have just been a drop of sweat--but Brendon's tongue may have grazed his cheek, in which case he'll have to kill Brendon later; he'll check YouTube for the incriminating proof and skewer Brendon's guts out with a bottle opener or something else painful and unexpected) and brushing against him and every fan girl in the crowd gagging for it, and Brendon gagging for it. But Ryan succeeds. He doesn't think about it.
And when he finally gets the bathroom to himself, he doesn't think about Brendon while furiously jerking himself off. Not even in the slightest. Not even about the way the sweat had pearled down Brendon's nose, hovering over his lips, then Brendon had licked it away (and maybe grazed Ryan's cheek).
Like, he doesn't think of that at all. Because he's not entertaining the thought. And sweat is such a major turn-off.
Brendon leers at him when he exits the bathroom, like he knows exactly what Ryan had been doing (jerking off--nothing incriminating about that, a perfectly normal response to the stimulating effects of playing a concert and having girls screaming and throwing themselves at you).
Ryan rather thinks Brendon resembles a lecherous old man when he pulls that face, and he tells Brendon so. Brendon blinks at him, pulls the face again, then walks into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He shrieks.
And, yes, Ryan has not only succeeded in not entertaining the thought but he has gotten Brendon's mind off the thought. Ryan curls against Spencer's side, watching him update his Twitter and check emails (Ryan loves reading Spencer's correspondences--he's wonderfully acerbic and snarky), and he must look particularly smug because Spencer asks him what's up.
Ryan shrugs. Brendon's screeching at Jon now, asking if he thinks Brendon looks like a lecherous old man, and Ryan presses his grin into Spencer' shirt sleeve.
He's still feeling victorious three days later. Brendon has such a short attention span that Ryan knows the topic is dropped. His stomach is kind of twisting, though Ryan knows there's nothing to worry about. Brendon hasn't done anything more than cuddle up to Ryan during last night's movie, and he does that with everyone.
Ryan's considering buying himself a celebratory album, or a really expensive journal, or maybe a scarf--a scarf sounds nice.
Only. That's when Brendon bounds onto the bus, all smiles and wide, shining eyes, and gets down on one knee in front of Ryan (seriously, what the fuck?) and bows his head. He extends his hand, a cherry lollipop ring sitting in his palm.
Jon, who'd gone with Brendon into Sheetz, hoots out in laughter (Ryan suddenly hates him and his meddling, double-crossing behavior) and Spencer has to retire to his bunk, he's laughing so hard.
Ryan turns back to his laptop. He curves his spine and starts typing random shit so he looks busy and doesn't have to notice the hurt look on Brendon's face.
And, well, okay, when Brendon is still brooding the next day, after the lollipop proposal, which is a really long time for Brendon (like, so long Spencer is trying to foist sugar off on Brendon, which says a lot, because, Brendon and sugar, no), and Jon sits down beside Ryan and asks why he doesn't want to kiss Brendon, and he's not being all judgmental or anything, just caring and concerned and genially curious and so Jon, Ryan's having a little trouble remembering why he's refusing to entertain--fine--to kiss Brendon.
But that way lays danger.
But Brendon's at the table, curled around his Lucky Charms, elbows on either side of the bowl, and Spencer is nudging Ryan with one harmful elbow and hissing things like, "go fix this," "you're being really fucking stupid," and "I don't get why you're resisting."
Ryan figures it's safer to slip into the seat beside Brendon and explain why them would be a bad idea than to snap at Spencer that he's retarded and doesn't know a thing (especially because Spencer tends to know everything about Ryan so he probably has a valid point in his irritating provoking).
He sits beside Brendon, tips Brendon's drooping head up and says, "Here’s the thing, it's a bad idea."
Brendon stares at him. Someone snorts behind him, which sounds suspiciously like Jon, but Ryan is being a good sport; he ignores it.
"See, you're confused, from the fan girls and everyone wanting us to…do the bad idea"--(he doesn't want to actually speak the words, because that gives them more power)--"so it'll just cause pain and anger. It's a monumentally bad idea." He pats Brendon's hand because Brendon appreciates shit like that and he looks like he needs it.
"But I gave you a candy ring!" Brendon wails, as if this makes everything perfect. In Brendon language, it probably does.
"It was your favorite flavor," Ryan replies, because he honestly can't think of anything else to say. Plus, Spencer and Jon are watching them (okay, Ryan understands there aren't many places one could go on a fuckin' tour bus, but they could at least give Ryan the allusion of privacy) and it makes him very uncomfortable. Spencer and Jon will give him disapproving looks for turning Brendon down again. Which Ryan doesn't understand. His reasons for not entertaining the thought are sound. This is stuff that breaks bands, and friendships, and bands and friendships are more important than Brendon listening to too many fan girls and thinking this…this whole thing is a great idea.
Brendon's impressionable like that.
Brendon grabs Ryan's hand, pulls it into his lap, and Ryan resists for a moment before sighing and giving up. Brendon's in pajama pants and the fabric is surprisingly soft. Like the skin of a marshmallow.
(He totally only lets Brendon hold his hand because of Spencer and Jon. And a little bit because of Brendon's pathetically hopeful face.)
"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan."
"Hm?"
Brendon's smile splits his face. He plucks an expanding rainbow marshmallow out of his bowl of milk and presses it against Ryan's mouth until he parts his lips. He's supposed to be insisting why the idea is a bad one, not letting Brendon finger-feed him Lucky Charms.
Though, the marshmallow never does make it into Ryan's mouth. At the last minute, Brendon shoves the marshmallow into his own mouth. His eyes are glued on something beyond Ryan, and Ryan turns his head to find Spencer and Jon still watching them.
"Dude," Brendon says. "Not cool."
They titter--actually titter--and slink to the bunks, closing the door behind them. Spencer apparently can't keep his opinions to himself and calls out, "Don't fuck this up, Ryan," and Ryan pretends Spencer's voice was muffled through the door. He steals his hand back, ignores Brendon's pout. It's a pretty impressive pout.
"You know they're just going to listen at the door," says Ryan, still staring at the spot Spencer and Jon had been.
"Ryan Ross," Brendon whines. He makes grabby hands until Ryan rolls his eyes, purses his lips, and let's Brendon reclaim his hand.
Brendon looks down at it, runs his finger over Ryan's closed fist, ghosting a touchover the bottom curve of Ryan's palm until he loosens his grip and Brendon digs his finger under Ryan's, stretching his hand to it's full length. He presses the back of Ryan's hand to his thigh and outlines Ryan's hand, his finger brushing against the sensitive skin and sending shivers up Ryan's spine.
Ryan's considering escaping to use the bathroom.
Not too--well, okay, he can admit it. So he can jerk off to the lingering feeling of Brendon's fingers all over Ryan's hand. So he can jerk off thinking of Brendon. And he's so fucked, so horribly screwed, because Brendon's totally for kissing and sex and dating (Ryan refuses to consider the candy ring having an actual meaning behind it), Spencer and Jon are for it, and if Ryan gives up resisting, then there is no voice of reason.
He whimpers.
In Brendon speak, this must mean "I can no longer resist and you must ravish me now" or something even more corny, because Brendon does just that.
He leaps onto Ryan's chair, halfway in Ryan's lap, with one knee wedged awkwardly between Ryan's thighs and pressing against his dick in a vaguely painful way. His kiss, however, is really slow in coming. Really slow. He just pants against Ryan's lips, warm air puffing, and it smells like Lucky Charms and sugar and milk, and the milk might be going bad.
Brendon's lips are a flutter against Ryan's. He leans back, adjusts himself so that he's straddling Ryan's lap and leaning against the edge of the table. The bus rounds a sharp turn and Ryan steadies Brendon with a hand to his waist. He kind of doesn't want to let go. (Seriously, Brendon's pants are really soft.)
He wets his lips and can taste Lucky Charms marshmallows.
"Can I do that again?" Brendon asks.
Ryan kind of laughs hysterically, because if Brendon does only that stupid lip flutter, Ryan might do something drastic, like make the first move. And since he's against this whole thing, no matter how much he wants Brendon to kiss him for real this time, it wouldn't be right for him to make the move.
"Dude, Ross, you don't gotta freak out." Brendon taps a finger against Ryan's neck. (Ryan's hand may or may not slide under Brendon's t-shirt.) Brendon widens his eyes and nods his head. "It's all good."
It's so clichéd that when Brendon finally kisses him for real, lips molded together and tongue licking it's way into Ryan's mouth and tasting like milky sugar, Ryan moans.
Okay. So. Ryan's wonderfully screwed.
Entertaining the Thought
PG; 2,050 words
Panic at the Disco: Brendon/Ryan
Ryan refuses to think about it. Brendon refuses to give up.
Prompt: Ring
For the second day of urae's birthday. <333
It's such a monumentally bad idea that Ryan refuses to even entertain the thought. He refuses to put the thought--the notion, because it's not fully-formed enough to be a thought, let alone an idea--into words. It's wordless. Therefore they can't speak of it. Therefore it's not an issue.
Brendon is spectacular at making an issue out of non-issues.
"Why not?" he asks, and Ryan's just glad Brendon's not putting it into words either, because that really helps with the not entertaining the thought plan. This way, he can just pretend he's monumentally stupid (thank you, Spencer, he actually knows what Brendon's talking about--playing dumb is a tactic) and doesn't understand a thing, and he can duck away from Brendon's lips and grabby hands and not acknowledge that they've changed intention. That they're no longer amused and joking.
Because he's not entertaining the thought. The notion. Oh, fuck it, the thought. It sounds better--flows nicer. And Ryan's all about words. Which is why this thought is not being put into words.
"Why can't we kiss?" Brendon whines. And the thoughts, they have a name. And Ryan really, really hates Brendon right now. Like, a lot. More than he ever has before.
In fact, he hates Brendon so much he even goes as far as to hiss, "I hate you, Brendon Urie," using his first and last name because he feels it adequately expresses his complete and utter hatred.
Brendon Urie feels differently. He bursts out in something between a laugh and a giggle and collapses against Ryan's side, patting vaguely at his stomach. "I love you, Ryan Ross," he snorts into Ryan's sleeve, and Ryan pouts at the TV, which is off. This needs to be rectified. He stands from the couch, peels Brendon from his side, and snatches the remote off the TV. He folds himself on the floor and silently curses Brendon until Spencer and Jon emerge from their lay-in to take over the TV.
Jon wiggles his toes into a pouting Brendon's side until Brendon laughs in delight and demands they watch cartoons or Disney or "both, holy crap, Disney cartoons, guys, you know you wanna!"
And Ryan doesn't entertain the thought. He doesn't even entertain the thought at the concert the next day when Brendon gets really close, so close Ryan can hear every nuance in his voice over the screaming and the instruments and the earplugs. So close Ryan can feel the sweat on Brendon's body.
Well. It's really fucking hard to not even let his mind meander towards the thought, what with Brendon all breathing on him (he's not exactly sure--it might have just been a drop of sweat--but Brendon's tongue may have grazed his cheek, in which case he'll have to kill Brendon later; he'll check YouTube for the incriminating proof and skewer Brendon's guts out with a bottle opener or something else painful and unexpected) and brushing against him and every fan girl in the crowd gagging for it, and Brendon gagging for it. But Ryan succeeds. He doesn't think about it.
And when he finally gets the bathroom to himself, he doesn't think about Brendon while furiously jerking himself off. Not even in the slightest. Not even about the way the sweat had pearled down Brendon's nose, hovering over his lips, then Brendon had licked it away (and maybe grazed Ryan's cheek).
Like, he doesn't think of that at all. Because he's not entertaining the thought. And sweat is such a major turn-off.
Brendon leers at him when he exits the bathroom, like he knows exactly what Ryan had been doing (jerking off--nothing incriminating about that, a perfectly normal response to the stimulating effects of playing a concert and having girls screaming and throwing themselves at you).
Ryan rather thinks Brendon resembles a lecherous old man when he pulls that face, and he tells Brendon so. Brendon blinks at him, pulls the face again, then walks into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He shrieks.
And, yes, Ryan has not only succeeded in not entertaining the thought but he has gotten Brendon's mind off the thought. Ryan curls against Spencer's side, watching him update his Twitter and check emails (Ryan loves reading Spencer's correspondences--he's wonderfully acerbic and snarky), and he must look particularly smug because Spencer asks him what's up.
Ryan shrugs. Brendon's screeching at Jon now, asking if he thinks Brendon looks like a lecherous old man, and Ryan presses his grin into Spencer' shirt sleeve.
He's still feeling victorious three days later. Brendon has such a short attention span that Ryan knows the topic is dropped. His stomach is kind of twisting, though Ryan knows there's nothing to worry about. Brendon hasn't done anything more than cuddle up to Ryan during last night's movie, and he does that with everyone.
Ryan's considering buying himself a celebratory album, or a really expensive journal, or maybe a scarf--a scarf sounds nice.
Only. That's when Brendon bounds onto the bus, all smiles and wide, shining eyes, and gets down on one knee in front of Ryan (seriously, what the fuck?) and bows his head. He extends his hand, a cherry lollipop ring sitting in his palm.
Jon, who'd gone with Brendon into Sheetz, hoots out in laughter (Ryan suddenly hates him and his meddling, double-crossing behavior) and Spencer has to retire to his bunk, he's laughing so hard.
Ryan turns back to his laptop. He curves his spine and starts typing random shit so he looks busy and doesn't have to notice the hurt look on Brendon's face.
And, well, okay, when Brendon is still brooding the next day, after the lollipop proposal, which is a really long time for Brendon (like, so long Spencer is trying to foist sugar off on Brendon, which says a lot, because, Brendon and sugar, no), and Jon sits down beside Ryan and asks why he doesn't want to kiss Brendon, and he's not being all judgmental or anything, just caring and concerned and genially curious and so Jon, Ryan's having a little trouble remembering why he's refusing to entertain--fine--to kiss Brendon.
But that way lays danger.
But Brendon's at the table, curled around his Lucky Charms, elbows on either side of the bowl, and Spencer is nudging Ryan with one harmful elbow and hissing things like, "go fix this," "you're being really fucking stupid," and "I don't get why you're resisting."
Ryan figures it's safer to slip into the seat beside Brendon and explain why them would be a bad idea than to snap at Spencer that he's retarded and doesn't know a thing (especially because Spencer tends to know everything about Ryan so he probably has a valid point in his irritating provoking).
He sits beside Brendon, tips Brendon's drooping head up and says, "Here’s the thing, it's a bad idea."
Brendon stares at him. Someone snorts behind him, which sounds suspiciously like Jon, but Ryan is being a good sport; he ignores it.
"See, you're confused, from the fan girls and everyone wanting us to…do the bad idea"--(he doesn't want to actually speak the words, because that gives them more power)--"so it'll just cause pain and anger. It's a monumentally bad idea." He pats Brendon's hand because Brendon appreciates shit like that and he looks like he needs it.
"But I gave you a candy ring!" Brendon wails, as if this makes everything perfect. In Brendon language, it probably does.
"It was your favorite flavor," Ryan replies, because he honestly can't think of anything else to say. Plus, Spencer and Jon are watching them (okay, Ryan understands there aren't many places one could go on a fuckin' tour bus, but they could at least give Ryan the allusion of privacy) and it makes him very uncomfortable. Spencer and Jon will give him disapproving looks for turning Brendon down again. Which Ryan doesn't understand. His reasons for not entertaining the thought are sound. This is stuff that breaks bands, and friendships, and bands and friendships are more important than Brendon listening to too many fan girls and thinking this…this whole thing is a great idea.
Brendon's impressionable like that.
Brendon grabs Ryan's hand, pulls it into his lap, and Ryan resists for a moment before sighing and giving up. Brendon's in pajama pants and the fabric is surprisingly soft. Like the skin of a marshmallow.
(He totally only lets Brendon hold his hand because of Spencer and Jon. And a little bit because of Brendon's pathetically hopeful face.)
"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan."
"Hm?"
Brendon's smile splits his face. He plucks an expanding rainbow marshmallow out of his bowl of milk and presses it against Ryan's mouth until he parts his lips. He's supposed to be insisting why the idea is a bad one, not letting Brendon finger-feed him Lucky Charms.
Though, the marshmallow never does make it into Ryan's mouth. At the last minute, Brendon shoves the marshmallow into his own mouth. His eyes are glued on something beyond Ryan, and Ryan turns his head to find Spencer and Jon still watching them.
"Dude," Brendon says. "Not cool."
They titter--actually titter--and slink to the bunks, closing the door behind them. Spencer apparently can't keep his opinions to himself and calls out, "Don't fuck this up, Ryan," and Ryan pretends Spencer's voice was muffled through the door. He steals his hand back, ignores Brendon's pout. It's a pretty impressive pout.
"You know they're just going to listen at the door," says Ryan, still staring at the spot Spencer and Jon had been.
"Ryan Ross," Brendon whines. He makes grabby hands until Ryan rolls his eyes, purses his lips, and let's Brendon reclaim his hand.
Brendon looks down at it, runs his finger over Ryan's closed fist, ghosting a touchover the bottom curve of Ryan's palm until he loosens his grip and Brendon digs his finger under Ryan's, stretching his hand to it's full length. He presses the back of Ryan's hand to his thigh and outlines Ryan's hand, his finger brushing against the sensitive skin and sending shivers up Ryan's spine.
Ryan's considering escaping to use the bathroom.
Not too--well, okay, he can admit it. So he can jerk off to the lingering feeling of Brendon's fingers all over Ryan's hand. So he can jerk off thinking of Brendon. And he's so fucked, so horribly screwed, because Brendon's totally for kissing and sex and dating (Ryan refuses to consider the candy ring having an actual meaning behind it), Spencer and Jon are for it, and if Ryan gives up resisting, then there is no voice of reason.
He whimpers.
In Brendon speak, this must mean "I can no longer resist and you must ravish me now" or something even more corny, because Brendon does just that.
He leaps onto Ryan's chair, halfway in Ryan's lap, with one knee wedged awkwardly between Ryan's thighs and pressing against his dick in a vaguely painful way. His kiss, however, is really slow in coming. Really slow. He just pants against Ryan's lips, warm air puffing, and it smells like Lucky Charms and sugar and milk, and the milk might be going bad.
Brendon's lips are a flutter against Ryan's. He leans back, adjusts himself so that he's straddling Ryan's lap and leaning against the edge of the table. The bus rounds a sharp turn and Ryan steadies Brendon with a hand to his waist. He kind of doesn't want to let go. (Seriously, Brendon's pants are really soft.)
He wets his lips and can taste Lucky Charms marshmallows.
"Can I do that again?" Brendon asks.
Ryan kind of laughs hysterically, because if Brendon does only that stupid lip flutter, Ryan might do something drastic, like make the first move. And since he's against this whole thing, no matter how much he wants Brendon to kiss him for real this time, it wouldn't be right for him to make the move.
"Dude, Ross, you don't gotta freak out." Brendon taps a finger against Ryan's neck. (Ryan's hand may or may not slide under Brendon's t-shirt.) Brendon widens his eyes and nods his head. "It's all good."
It's so clichéd that when Brendon finally kisses him for real, lips molded together and tongue licking it's way into Ryan's mouth and tasting like milky sugar, Ryan moans.
Okay. So. Ryan's wonderfully screwed.