Forgetting You In A Cabaret [7/12] Part 2
Title: Forgetting You In A Cabaret
Author: fuelledbydecay
Pairings: Ryden, Joncer
POV: 3rd Person
Rating: PG- 13
Warning: Slash, Promiscuity, Alcohol, Swearing, Drugs, Sex
Summary: Ryan Ross is the son of a wealthy strip joint and casino owner, but his father employs him to do a lot more than serve drinks. Spencer Smith is Ryan’s best friend - hot tempered and on the verge of falling in love, and Tom Conrad’s just really fucking confused…
Disclaimer: I don’t own the boys (Pete does). Title belongs to Panic’s song 'But Its Better If You Do'. Plot is mine- apologies in advance if it’s a tiny bit cliché. Cut text is from You Me At Six's 'Save It For The Bedroom'
Beta: Shannon. quitethejoke I wouldn't have it any other way really. Thank you so much (:
Continued from Here.
The last time Spencer was in Camisado was weeks ago, when he had first brought Brendon, to one of George’s masquerade parties. It was the night that Brendon had mysteriously disappeared in the crowd, and Spencer had turned down a very attractive girl because he wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. Time’s charged past since then. Ryan seems to be a lot more comfortable in the skin he is in, almost happy, and Brendon seems to have settled into life in Vegas. Tom is actually sleeping at least three hours a night, and Spencer’s found what he was looking for in an author from Chicago with an interest in coffee and flip flops.
It seemed only fitting to return to the start of it all. The only reason he had decided to brace the obnoxious pound of music, and heavily packed club was to reconcile himself with Ryan; even if it involved a lot of grovelling and having to promise to do Ryan’s laundry for a month, because laundry and Ryan don’t go together unless forced together.
This plan fails before it’s born, because he catches sight of Brendon sitting alone at the bar. His hunt for Ryan can wait.
“Does Ryan know you’re here?” he asks when he reaches the bar. He slides onto the stool next to Brendon with little elegance, eyes flickering over the drink cradled in Brendon’s curled palm.
Brendon looks up at him, wide-eyed. His face is open like a book, words spilling from his expression more clearly than if he had tried to verbalise them. He shakes his head in answer to the question but his eyes stay fixed on a darkened corner as if nothing else can keep his attention.
The lights are dim, a show already in full-swing on the stage. The area most concentrated with customers is the stage. The audience all stare hungry-eyed with bated breath as the pretty little dancers step out into the bright spotlight, toned bodies exposed and ready to tease. That’s not where Brendon’s looking though. In a private corner of the room, concealed with shadows and filled with secret kisses, Ryan is enticing and attractive woman. His smile is seductive, devilish as he drags her behind a velvet curtain filled with the promise and money-induced passion. Zach shuffles into place in front of the booth, crossing the arms of his black suit, staring out into the crowd. Spencer can see why Brendon looks like he’s torn between pulling his hair out, and downing as many drinks as he can possibly find. If Spencer was in the same position he would probably react in the same way.
“It’s his job, Brendon,” Spencer says softly, his tone coated with sympathy that maybe Brendon doesn’t want to hear right now. “It doesn’t mean anything”.
He turns to watch the show again, because he can appreciate the view without needing it to turn into anything more. Spencer has always been able to appreciate the beauty of a woman without having to bone her into next week. Maybe that’s why before he started dating Jon he didn’t get any that much. He has a one week rule that he hasn’t broken since he was eighteen and he doesn’t intend to.
Brendon’s alcohol drenched breath pours over his shoulder. Spencer casts concerned glance at him, watching as the dilated pupils of Brendon’s eyes cloud over his irises until there’s nothing but a big eclipse of austere darkness left. His pillowed lips are pulled down in an indignant frown as he shouts under the pound of music. “You think I’m over-reacting”.
Spencer shakes his head, ochre twists of hair falling into his brilliant eyes. From his peripheral vision he can see Gabe has again abandoned his serving duties in favour of staring gooey-eyed across the bar at a slender man who is trying to order a drink, in between chat-up lines. By tomorrow Gabe will have found another beautiful person to flirt shamelessly with until they give up on the hopes of actually getting a drink. If only everyone could move on that quickly.
“I think,” Spencer says carefully, calculating every word, “that you’re in love, and sometimes love hurts.”
The strong, articulate fingers of Brendon’s hand reach up to sloppily push dark hair from his face. His eyes dart from Spencer to the booth again in dizzying repetition. “For once I thought I had a relationship that wasn’t fucked up. I needed someone who could take care of my for once, you know? I’m always picking up the pieces at home. It felt nice to not have that kind of burden. Stupid, huh?”
“It’s not stupid to want someone to be there for you,” Spencer argues. With his strong arms (thanks to hours of endless drumming) he lifts Brendon off the leather stool, and wipes the water at the corner of his eyes. “C’mon, I’m taking you home”.
*
Getting Brendon home is a task in of itself. Spencer has only been to Brendon’s a handful of times, and it’s in a different part of town to where Spencer usually goes. In Brendon’s morose, self-pitying state coherency is clearly a difficulty. He mumbles vague directions into the fabric of his jacket nonchalantly, as if the thought of driving all night until he sobers up doesn’t perturb him, and half of the orders he give turn out to be wrong anyway. Not to mention the wonderful ten minutes when Spencer had to pull over so Brendon could run out of the car and throw up on his knees. If he wasn’t such a good friend he probably would have left Brendon at the side of the road for someone else to pick up.
When Brendon is as sure as he can be (when he can’t even remember how the alphabet goes), Spencer stops at an apartment that looks at least somewhat familiar to him. He takes the keys to the apartment out of Brendon’s front pocket, and carefully leads his intoxicated friend up a few steps. Apparently this is the perfect time to sing Total Eclipse of the Heart to the neighbourhood cats because ‘that’s like an epic song dude, its like it was written for me you know?’ not even faltering when Spencer nudges him in the ribs and asks him to stop.
Luckily, Spencer gets Brendon into the house before anyone gets woken up, or before they come out with pitchforks. Shane is sitting on the couch watching a movie on the television when they come in. He looks up at the sound of them both staggering through the front door, instantly alert when he sees Brendon’s condition.
“What’s wrong buddy?” he asks, turning the movie off with the remote in his hand. The light from the porch pools in through the open door, falling over Brendon’s hunched shoulders.
Spencer shrugs at Shane, mouthing ‘Ryan’ over Brendon’s head. On instinct, Shane leaps up from the couch, throwing his arms around Brendon with what only can be described as paternal protection. He whispers reassuringly to Brendon about the promise of Disney films and ice-cream, and Spencer leaves before Shane can give him an anger-filled message to give to Ryan.
He’ll make-up with Ryan tomorrow.
*
Ryan kicks off his shoes and slams the door shut. His apartment has gotten dirty in the last few days since Brendon hasn’t come over, and he hasn’t felt the need to clean it if nobody is there to appreciate the effort. He drops his keys on the kitchen counter, and heads straight to the shower with the urge to strip away the clothes that smell of perfume and cigarettes.
His phone says he has 3 missed calls from Spencer and 1 from Brendon when he pulls it out of his pocket only to drop it straight onto the padded cushions of the couch. His stomach is still churning from the conflicting emotions that are continuing to plague him. Maybe Spencer was right after all.
Shorter chapter this time guys. Sorry. Again I apologise for my appauling sense of time. Love you (:
Author: fuelledbydecay
Pairings: Ryden, Joncer
POV: 3rd Person
Rating: PG- 13
Warning: Slash, Promiscuity, Alcohol, Swearing, Drugs, Sex
Summary: Ryan Ross is the son of a wealthy strip joint and casino owner, but his father employs him to do a lot more than serve drinks. Spencer Smith is Ryan’s best friend - hot tempered and on the verge of falling in love, and Tom Conrad’s just really fucking confused…
Disclaimer: I don’t own the boys (Pete does). Title belongs to Panic’s song 'But Its Better If You Do'. Plot is mine- apologies in advance if it’s a tiny bit cliché. Cut text is from You Me At Six's 'Save It For The Bedroom'
Beta: Shannon. quitethejoke I wouldn't have it any other way really. Thank you so much (:
Continued from Here.
The last time Spencer was in Camisado was weeks ago, when he had first brought Brendon, to one of George’s masquerade parties. It was the night that Brendon had mysteriously disappeared in the crowd, and Spencer had turned down a very attractive girl because he wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. Time’s charged past since then. Ryan seems to be a lot more comfortable in the skin he is in, almost happy, and Brendon seems to have settled into life in Vegas. Tom is actually sleeping at least three hours a night, and Spencer’s found what he was looking for in an author from Chicago with an interest in coffee and flip flops.
It seemed only fitting to return to the start of it all. The only reason he had decided to brace the obnoxious pound of music, and heavily packed club was to reconcile himself with Ryan; even if it involved a lot of grovelling and having to promise to do Ryan’s laundry for a month, because laundry and Ryan don’t go together unless forced together.
This plan fails before it’s born, because he catches sight of Brendon sitting alone at the bar. His hunt for Ryan can wait.
“Does Ryan know you’re here?” he asks when he reaches the bar. He slides onto the stool next to Brendon with little elegance, eyes flickering over the drink cradled in Brendon’s curled palm.
Brendon looks up at him, wide-eyed. His face is open like a book, words spilling from his expression more clearly than if he had tried to verbalise them. He shakes his head in answer to the question but his eyes stay fixed on a darkened corner as if nothing else can keep his attention.
The lights are dim, a show already in full-swing on the stage. The area most concentrated with customers is the stage. The audience all stare hungry-eyed with bated breath as the pretty little dancers step out into the bright spotlight, toned bodies exposed and ready to tease. That’s not where Brendon’s looking though. In a private corner of the room, concealed with shadows and filled with secret kisses, Ryan is enticing and attractive woman. His smile is seductive, devilish as he drags her behind a velvet curtain filled with the promise and money-induced passion. Zach shuffles into place in front of the booth, crossing the arms of his black suit, staring out into the crowd. Spencer can see why Brendon looks like he’s torn between pulling his hair out, and downing as many drinks as he can possibly find. If Spencer was in the same position he would probably react in the same way.
“It’s his job, Brendon,” Spencer says softly, his tone coated with sympathy that maybe Brendon doesn’t want to hear right now. “It doesn’t mean anything”.
He turns to watch the show again, because he can appreciate the view without needing it to turn into anything more. Spencer has always been able to appreciate the beauty of a woman without having to bone her into next week. Maybe that’s why before he started dating Jon he didn’t get any that much. He has a one week rule that he hasn’t broken since he was eighteen and he doesn’t intend to.
Brendon’s alcohol drenched breath pours over his shoulder. Spencer casts concerned glance at him, watching as the dilated pupils of Brendon’s eyes cloud over his irises until there’s nothing but a big eclipse of austere darkness left. His pillowed lips are pulled down in an indignant frown as he shouts under the pound of music. “You think I’m over-reacting”.
Spencer shakes his head, ochre twists of hair falling into his brilliant eyes. From his peripheral vision he can see Gabe has again abandoned his serving duties in favour of staring gooey-eyed across the bar at a slender man who is trying to order a drink, in between chat-up lines. By tomorrow Gabe will have found another beautiful person to flirt shamelessly with until they give up on the hopes of actually getting a drink. If only everyone could move on that quickly.
“I think,” Spencer says carefully, calculating every word, “that you’re in love, and sometimes love hurts.”
The strong, articulate fingers of Brendon’s hand reach up to sloppily push dark hair from his face. His eyes dart from Spencer to the booth again in dizzying repetition. “For once I thought I had a relationship that wasn’t fucked up. I needed someone who could take care of my for once, you know? I’m always picking up the pieces at home. It felt nice to not have that kind of burden. Stupid, huh?”
“It’s not stupid to want someone to be there for you,” Spencer argues. With his strong arms (thanks to hours of endless drumming) he lifts Brendon off the leather stool, and wipes the water at the corner of his eyes. “C’mon, I’m taking you home”.
*
Getting Brendon home is a task in of itself. Spencer has only been to Brendon’s a handful of times, and it’s in a different part of town to where Spencer usually goes. In Brendon’s morose, self-pitying state coherency is clearly a difficulty. He mumbles vague directions into the fabric of his jacket nonchalantly, as if the thought of driving all night until he sobers up doesn’t perturb him, and half of the orders he give turn out to be wrong anyway. Not to mention the wonderful ten minutes when Spencer had to pull over so Brendon could run out of the car and throw up on his knees. If he wasn’t such a good friend he probably would have left Brendon at the side of the road for someone else to pick up.
When Brendon is as sure as he can be (when he can’t even remember how the alphabet goes), Spencer stops at an apartment that looks at least somewhat familiar to him. He takes the keys to the apartment out of Brendon’s front pocket, and carefully leads his intoxicated friend up a few steps. Apparently this is the perfect time to sing Total Eclipse of the Heart to the neighbourhood cats because ‘that’s like an epic song dude, its like it was written for me you know?’ not even faltering when Spencer nudges him in the ribs and asks him to stop.
Luckily, Spencer gets Brendon into the house before anyone gets woken up, or before they come out with pitchforks. Shane is sitting on the couch watching a movie on the television when they come in. He looks up at the sound of them both staggering through the front door, instantly alert when he sees Brendon’s condition.
“What’s wrong buddy?” he asks, turning the movie off with the remote in his hand. The light from the porch pools in through the open door, falling over Brendon’s hunched shoulders.
Spencer shrugs at Shane, mouthing ‘Ryan’ over Brendon’s head. On instinct, Shane leaps up from the couch, throwing his arms around Brendon with what only can be described as paternal protection. He whispers reassuringly to Brendon about the promise of Disney films and ice-cream, and Spencer leaves before Shane can give him an anger-filled message to give to Ryan.
He’ll make-up with Ryan tomorrow.
*
Ryan kicks off his shoes and slams the door shut. His apartment has gotten dirty in the last few days since Brendon hasn’t come over, and he hasn’t felt the need to clean it if nobody is there to appreciate the effort. He drops his keys on the kitchen counter, and heads straight to the shower with the urge to strip away the clothes that smell of perfume and cigarettes.
His phone says he has 3 missed calls from Spencer and 1 from Brendon when he pulls it out of his pocket only to drop it straight onto the padded cushions of the couch. His stomach is still churning from the conflicting emotions that are continuing to plague him. Maybe Spencer was right after all.
Shorter chapter this time guys. Sorry. Again I apologise for my appauling sense of time. Love you (: