Double Dose of Fanfiction
It's so much love I can't explain it. XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
I love that they admit to reading. Because if I were famous, dude, I totally would google my name and search for fanfic. You probably couldn't get me off the computer long enough to sing/play my instrument/whatever when I was supposed to do. XD;;
I actually ended up writing for that mistletoe meme bandom thing, but I'm being sort of chicken and am posting it here first...
Title: Mistletoe Meme
Type: Bandom, One shot
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Word Count: 1086
Time: two hours
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of groping?
Point of View: Ryan's- 3rd POV
Author's Note: I wrote this for
foxxcub 's Christmas Bandom Meme thing. Unbeta'd because my beta, hopefulgenius , is not on at the moment.
Summary: "Hips were his smallest problem when it came to Brendon."
Ryan’s fingers idly danced along his guitar’s strings, sliding over them without making sound as he tried to work out the cramps. He’d had his hands curled around his guitar for over an hour now and that wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been ten under. Growing up in Vegas with its eighty degree winters had not prepared him for New York Christmas Eves. Even his double layer of fingerless gloves weren’t helping keep the cold at bay.
“Are you having fun tonight, New York?” Brendon crooned into the microphone, his lips turning a light purple-blue color as they pressed to the rough, black surface. The crowd shouted back at him and he grinned brilliantly, a ray of sunshine in the arctic weather. “You guys are amazing for coming out tonight! It’s like forty below or something. Seriously, how do you do it?” He laughed.
Apparently, New Yorkers liked being told they were amazing. The cheers were even louder than last time. Ryan let his guitar rest against his hip and brought his hands to his lips, blowing softly. He could only imagine how cold Brendon was. Everyone else had bundled up, however seductively, but Brendon had insisted on a coat that was too thin for this weather and a scarf. He hadn’t even worn gloves like Ryan told him. Sometimes he liked the crowd’s approval more than was necessarily good for him. It was snowing, for God’s sake!
Honestly, Ryan was relieved that all he had were his guitar and backup vocals. Even singing that much made him feel like his lungs were starting to crystallize. Brendon had the brunt of everything, and now his breath was coming in large, puffy clouds as he spoke to the crowd and got them riled up further. And if Ryan’s hands were cramping, then Brendon’s definitely were from having to hold that mike. Ryan's fingers were constantly in motion. The most Brendon could do was switch hands and try to wiggle around on stage enough to keep his circulation going. So far, this had resulted in several moments of molestation that Ryan had skillfully dodged and maneuvered out of, aside from the little bit of hips he allowed. Hips were his smallest problem when it came to Brendon.
Well, sometimes, anyway. Most of the time, it was just a little bit of swaying, a tiny grind down as Brendon slid onto his knees in front of him, but on nights like this one, when it was so cold that Ryan’s teeth were chattering between lyrics, the warmth of another person was more than enough to make his skin prickle.
“Anyone getting awesome presents tomorrow? Everyone know what they want?” More screaming. He swayed a little from side to side playfully. “I know what I waaaaant. Can you guess what it is, New York?”
Ryan could feel hundreds of eyes shift from Brendon and slide right to him. The weight was ridiculously uncomfortable, despite the fact that they'd been doing this for years now. At least it was usually dispersed between Brendon, Spencer and Jon too. He shifted and looked over to Brendon, an eyebrow arching a little as he waited expectantly. Seriously, aside from shoving his hand down Ryan’s pants on stage, there really wasn’t much that could surprise him at this point.
Brendon was smiling like there was no tomorrow, his brownie colored eyes dancing despite how cold he had to be. “Ryyyyyaaaaaan.” This abuse of vowels could not possibly mean anything good. Neither did the fact that he was beckoning with his fingers. “C’mere.”
Ryan tried not to look like he didn’t want to walk to Brendon, attempted to seem like he totally knew what was going on and what part he would be playing in this next little act as he stepped forward. He couldn’t even hear his boots touch the stage over the excited squeals and shouts from the crowd. Brendon leaned the microphone towards him as if he wanted him to speak. He stared at it for a moment, mind reeling like it always did when someone actually expected him to talk into one of these things. Okay, he had to say something calm, smart, all knowing, anything as long as it was't something stupid- “What, Brendon?” Oh, yeah, there’s a line for IMDb to quote.
Brendon’s smile turned soft and sweet and the microphone dropped from between them to be replaced by something green and leafy with white, round- oh, shit- “Bren-”
Brendon grabbed his scarf and pulled him forward, pressing their mouths firmly together. Ryan's brain sparked and short-circuited for a brief moment as it tried to comprehend that, no, this time it hadn’t been a kiss to the cheek or the neck or a little bit of groping. This was Brendon pulling him forward, Brendon’s arms around his neck, Brendon’s freezing mouth moving against his, his mouth responding. One of them, and Ryan will always always always say it was Brendon, shoved his guitar out of the way and Brendon lined up snugly against him. The skin touching his was colder than ice, but the tongue darting into his mouth was fever hot.
The crowd's roar was deafening when his brain started working again and they pulled apart at the same time. Brendon’s height left him just that half-inch shorter than Ryan so they were usually on eye-level, but with Brendon so close, he actually had to look down a little to see his eyes and how the snowflakes clung to his eyelashes. The younger boy sent him a smile that would make anyone melt in their boots before sliding his hand inside Ryan’s back pocket and slipping the mistletoe he’d been holding in the tight-fit pinstripes. “Merry Christmas, Ryan.”
Ryan easily shifted back into the background, surveying the mass of people watching them. He was pretty sure several fans had passed out. No one really seemed upset by the copious amount of gay and that was sort of amazing in itself. But, then again, this was New York. If there was any place on Earth that wouldn’t care about gender, it was this one.
Brendon brought the microphone back to his lips and grinned at the crowd. “How’s that for the gift that keeps on giving?”
Ryan shook his head and sighed as everyone went wild, shifting his guitar strap back into its usual place and prepping for the next song. For the first time since he-couldn’t-remember-when, he actually had to pay attention to the placement of his fingers.
Click to viewI love that they admit to reading. Because if I were famous, dude, I totally would google my name and search for fanfic. You probably couldn't get me off the computer long enough to sing/play my instrument/whatever when I was supposed to do. XD;;
I actually ended up writing for that mistletoe meme bandom thing, but I'm being sort of chicken and am posting it here first...
Title: Mistletoe Meme
Type: Bandom, One shot
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Word Count: 1086
Time: two hours
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of groping?
Point of View: Ryan's- 3rd POV
Author's Note: I wrote this for
foxxcub 's Christmas Bandom Meme thing. Unbeta'd because my beta, hopefulgenius , is not on at the moment.
Summary: "Hips were his smallest problem when it came to Brendon."
Ryan’s fingers idly danced along his guitar’s strings, sliding over them without making sound as he tried to work out the cramps. He’d had his hands curled around his guitar for over an hour now and that wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been ten under. Growing up in Vegas with its eighty degree winters had not prepared him for New York Christmas Eves. Even his double layer of fingerless gloves weren’t helping keep the cold at bay.
“Are you having fun tonight, New York?” Brendon crooned into the microphone, his lips turning a light purple-blue color as they pressed to the rough, black surface. The crowd shouted back at him and he grinned brilliantly, a ray of sunshine in the arctic weather. “You guys are amazing for coming out tonight! It’s like forty below or something. Seriously, how do you do it?” He laughed.
Apparently, New Yorkers liked being told they were amazing. The cheers were even louder than last time. Ryan let his guitar rest against his hip and brought his hands to his lips, blowing softly. He could only imagine how cold Brendon was. Everyone else had bundled up, however seductively, but Brendon had insisted on a coat that was too thin for this weather and a scarf. He hadn’t even worn gloves like Ryan told him. Sometimes he liked the crowd’s approval more than was necessarily good for him. It was snowing, for God’s sake!
Honestly, Ryan was relieved that all he had were his guitar and backup vocals. Even singing that much made him feel like his lungs were starting to crystallize. Brendon had the brunt of everything, and now his breath was coming in large, puffy clouds as he spoke to the crowd and got them riled up further. And if Ryan’s hands were cramping, then Brendon’s definitely were from having to hold that mike. Ryan's fingers were constantly in motion. The most Brendon could do was switch hands and try to wiggle around on stage enough to keep his circulation going. So far, this had resulted in several moments of molestation that Ryan had skillfully dodged and maneuvered out of, aside from the little bit of hips he allowed. Hips were his smallest problem when it came to Brendon.
Well, sometimes, anyway. Most of the time, it was just a little bit of swaying, a tiny grind down as Brendon slid onto his knees in front of him, but on nights like this one, when it was so cold that Ryan’s teeth were chattering between lyrics, the warmth of another person was more than enough to make his skin prickle.
“Anyone getting awesome presents tomorrow? Everyone know what they want?” More screaming. He swayed a little from side to side playfully. “I know what I waaaaant. Can you guess what it is, New York?”
Ryan could feel hundreds of eyes shift from Brendon and slide right to him. The weight was ridiculously uncomfortable, despite the fact that they'd been doing this for years now. At least it was usually dispersed between Brendon, Spencer and Jon too. He shifted and looked over to Brendon, an eyebrow arching a little as he waited expectantly. Seriously, aside from shoving his hand down Ryan’s pants on stage, there really wasn’t much that could surprise him at this point.
Brendon was smiling like there was no tomorrow, his brownie colored eyes dancing despite how cold he had to be. “Ryyyyyaaaaaan.” This abuse of vowels could not possibly mean anything good. Neither did the fact that he was beckoning with his fingers. “C’mere.”
Ryan tried not to look like he didn’t want to walk to Brendon, attempted to seem like he totally knew what was going on and what part he would be playing in this next little act as he stepped forward. He couldn’t even hear his boots touch the stage over the excited squeals and shouts from the crowd. Brendon leaned the microphone towards him as if he wanted him to speak. He stared at it for a moment, mind reeling like it always did when someone actually expected him to talk into one of these things. Okay, he had to say something calm, smart, all knowing, anything as long as it was't something stupid- “What, Brendon?” Oh, yeah, there’s a line for IMDb to quote.
Brendon’s smile turned soft and sweet and the microphone dropped from between them to be replaced by something green and leafy with white, round- oh, shit- “Bren-”
Brendon grabbed his scarf and pulled him forward, pressing their mouths firmly together. Ryan's brain sparked and short-circuited for a brief moment as it tried to comprehend that, no, this time it hadn’t been a kiss to the cheek or the neck or a little bit of groping. This was Brendon pulling him forward, Brendon’s arms around his neck, Brendon’s freezing mouth moving against his, his mouth responding. One of them, and Ryan will always always always say it was Brendon, shoved his guitar out of the way and Brendon lined up snugly against him. The skin touching his was colder than ice, but the tongue darting into his mouth was fever hot.
The crowd's roar was deafening when his brain started working again and they pulled apart at the same time. Brendon’s height left him just that half-inch shorter than Ryan so they were usually on eye-level, but with Brendon so close, he actually had to look down a little to see his eyes and how the snowflakes clung to his eyelashes. The younger boy sent him a smile that would make anyone melt in their boots before sliding his hand inside Ryan’s back pocket and slipping the mistletoe he’d been holding in the tight-fit pinstripes. “Merry Christmas, Ryan.”
Ryan easily shifted back into the background, surveying the mass of people watching them. He was pretty sure several fans had passed out. No one really seemed upset by the copious amount of gay and that was sort of amazing in itself. But, then again, this was New York. If there was any place on Earth that wouldn’t care about gender, it was this one.
Brendon brought the microphone back to his lips and grinned at the crowd. “How’s that for the gift that keeps on giving?”
Ryan shook his head and sighed as everyone went wild, shifting his guitar strap back into its usual place and prepping for the next song. For the first time since he-couldn’t-remember-when, he actually had to pay attention to the placement of his fingers.