Bandom Big Bang '10: Dance with the one who brought you Part One.
Title: Dance with the One Who Brought You (Or, How Ryan Ross Got His Groove Back)
Author: lumberxjill
Pairing/Bands: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross; Shane Valdez/Ryan Ross. (Additional Pairings: Patrick/Pete, William/Gabe, Jon/Spencer. Bands: Panic! At the Disco, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is. . . , Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 23,937
Summary: For Ryan’s 20th birthday, Pete bought him a bottle of Jack Daniels and a lap dance from a scantily clad woman in a dark club, completely disregarding the fact that Ryan was both too young to drink and also gay. So, looking back, Ryan guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that Pete bought him the exact opposite of what he wanted for his 21st birthday as well. (In which Brendon Urie is a dance instructor, Ryan Ross is one of his students, and everyone is more stubborn than should be allowed.)
Disclaimer: I do not own these very real people and I’m quite sure that none of the situations I’ve written about have ever happened in real life.
Betas: melody_so_sweet and spazzyskittles <3.
Author Notes: Over a year ago, melody_so_sweet prompted me to write a story that involved the color green, a quote from Moulin Rouge and swing dancing. I completely disregarded 98% of that prompt and wrote this instead. This fic has been my baby for the past year and I’m so proud of myself for finally finishing it.
For Ryan’s 20th birthday, Pete bought him a bottle of Jack Daniels and a lap dance from a scantily clad woman in a dark club, completely disregarding the fact that Ryan was both too young to drink and also gay. So, looking back, Ryan guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that Pete bought him the exact opposite of what he wanted for his 21st birthday as well.
__________________________
They’re sitting together in Ryan’s tiny living room, wearing the bright pink party hats that Pete had insisted they buy to add to the ‘birthday experience’. Ryan had tried to argue that blue or green or even purple hats would give the same effect, but Pete would have none of it, insisting that this particular shade of pink had a festive quality that no other colors could compete with. Ryan did manage to talk him out of the matching streamers and neon balloons though, so overall, he counts it as a win.
It’s a quarter past three in the morning and the rest of Ryan’s friends have already left; Ryan almost wishes Pete would follow their example. Granted, Pete had been the one to pick up the phone and actually invite everyone so maybe he’s earned the right to be lazy.
Not that many people had come to the party anyway. Sure, Ryan has friends. It could be argued that he has lots of friends, actually, but most of them have husbands or girlfriends or boyfriends or work. Most of them have other, more important things to occupy their time than a silly birthday party. Ryan gets that, he does. He’s not envious or anything. And, you know, he has Pete.
Between his job, school and Pete (and his pets) Ryan considers his life to be pretty full of things that make him happy and people who love him. He developed a bad habit of keeping most people at a safe distance over the course of his teenage years, having grown up in a household where he had no siblings and his parents often worked late hours. He got used to being alone (and he was, alone that is, until he met Pete his senior year. But that’s another story). Looking back, Ryan supposes that the reason he still has problems dealing with other people and keeping functioning relationships is directly related to those facts.
But now, it’s after his big party and Ryan is still reeling from the sheer volume of people he just had milling about his apartment; for while there weren’t a lot of them, Ryan’s apartment is barely big enough for him most days. Pete had invited their usual group (Ryland, Shane, Alex, Patrick, Greta, Audrey and Keltie) and he had also dragged around a willowy man that Ryan didn’t recognize, introducing him to various people throughout the night. It was mostly a blur for Ryan, who spent most of his party making sure nothing caught on fire like his drapes had when Pete decided to buy him a set of fire-batons for his 19th birthday.
Pete is collapsed in Ryan’s huge arm-chair, staring out the window across from it as Ryan collects the last armful of empty cups and sets them on the counter in his kitchen. It’s not until after Ryan gets settled back on his couch that Pete glances in Ryan’s direction with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Ryan Ross, you might have noticed that I have yet to give you my present. It’s a custom in my family to save the best for last,” Pete states with a huge grin, fishing around in the pocket of his bright blue hoodie and pulling out a crumpled envelope. Ryan doesn’t mention that ‘It’s a custom in my family’ is Pete’s second-most common excuse, right after ‘I was drunk.’
At the sound of rustling paper, Ryan’s cat Puzzle wanders lazily from behind the couch Ryan’s sitting on to circle around Pete’s left foot and rest her head against it. The armchair Pete’s sitting in creaks in protest as he leans forward to hand the envelope to Ryan and Puzzle jumps a little, surprised.
Ryan tears into the envelope with a large grin, hoping that it holds a check to help him with his rent or maybe a gift card for that new book store downtown, but as he gets the envelope open and peers inside, he can’t do much but stare blankly at what he finds.
“So, how much do you love it?” Pete asks, leaning forward eagerly.
Ryan doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls a dark purple card out of the remnants of paper and reads the words printed neatly across it.
‘D.A.N.C.E Studios would like to present you with half a season of free lessons in the dance style of your choice with one of our professional dance instructors.’
Underneath the printed text is a dotted line on which someone has already written ‘swing’ in large letters. In Sharpie. Fuckin’ Pete.
“Pete. Pete, these are dance lessons,” Ryan says, looking up from the card in his hands and frowning at Pete’s excited expression.
“I know, aren’t they perfect?” he exclaims. Ryan doesn’t answer, just stares, so Pete continues to talk.
“You haven’t gotten out of the house in forever, Ry, and with these lessons you can make new friends, meet cute boys and learn how to make your hips do something besides look awkward in men’s jeans!” Pete’s explanation comes out in one breath, as if he was so excited that he couldn’t be bothered to pause between phrases.
“Pete, I don’t leave my apartment because I don’t want to make new friends or meet cute boys,” Ryan protests, glaring at Pete from across the room.
“Listen, I know you had it sort of rough as a kid, and your people skills are pretty much non-existent,” Pete says, flopping back against his chair once more, “but that’s not an excuse to miss out on stuff now, Ry. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”
Ryan doesn’t trust himself to answer that so he just nods, reading the name of the recommended instructor at the bottom. ‘Brendon Urie: swing, ballroom, hip-hop. Ryan glances up at Pete, who is attempting to coax Puzzle away from his shoelaces and up onto his lap. Ryan sighs. Brendon Urie. Sounds harmless enough.
_________________________
Ryan soon learns that scheduling his classes at the local community college and his shifts at Target around his new dance classes is easier than he had been expecting. His professors seem almost as delighted as Pete to hear he’s branching out a little and his manager at work takes ballroom dance lessons at the same studio with her fiancé. Pete and his boyfriend Patrick even volunteer to take Ryan shopping for work-out clothes (well, Pete volunteers with the clear intent of dragging Patrick along). Ryan kindly declines.
It’s not like Ryan is some sort of hermit who sits in his apartment alone, does his school work and lets the days pass without much notice (although Ryan guesses that he would be if it weren’t for Pete). He has Friday’s at Greta’s apartment with Keltie and Audrey, movie nights with Pete and even nights out at the clubs with Ryland and Shane from time to time. He has every opportunity for a healthy social life. He’s just. Careful. He’s a little introverted, a little weird. A little fucked up. Honestly, sometimes he’s still amazed that he has anyone at all. Asking for more just feels selfish.
The worst part is that he’s never had a terrible, awful failed relationship. He’s never had a guy cheat on him or leave him for another man. Ryan has always been that guy. Well, he’s never cheated, but he’s always been the type to duck out when things start getting rough.
Somehow, he has a feeling that swing dancing won’t be any different.
_________________________
The night before his first lesson, which happens to fall on a Tuesday, Ryan is curled comfortably on his couch with Puzzle dozing on his lap and his puppy, Roxas, nestled against his feet, TV humming quietly in the background.
It was an exhausting morning of class (two tests: one in History from 1877 and one in Trig) and a long night at work. He’s trying to work on his research paper for Honor’s Composition II (something about Margaret Atwood and maybe feminism; he’s not really sure), but mostly he’s just texting Shane Valdez with a goofy grin spread across his face.
Dance lessons? Really?
Ryan chuckles a little, smiling at the text and typing a quick reply.
Yeah, well you know how pete is.
Shane sends a sad face in return and the sentiment makes his heart do a little flip, but Ryan doesn’t bother replying, just turns his phone off and settles back against the couch. Admittedly, he’s a little nervous about the following morning. The people he’s going to be taking this class with probably go to the gym a few times a week. And while Ryan is quite thin, he also sits on his ass and eats potato chips. His lithe figure is really nothing but a stroke of metabolic luck. He’s never actually worked out in his life and while he wouldn’t usually consider dancing to be a tough work-out, he checked out the studio’s website earlier and knows that the first twenty minutes of each lesson consist of a fair amount of stretching and light cardio. Ryan also decided to look up videos of swing dancing on YouTube and the ones he found scared the shit out of him. He’s heard of swing dancing, but he wasn’t prepared for the clips of well-toned men tossing dance partners every which way, lifting them in the air and swinging them around.
Ryan can barely pick up his ten pound dog without the muscles in his arms burning in protest.
Knowing he’s thinking too hard to get anything done, he saves his paper and shuts his laptop, setting it carefully on his coffee table and snuggling back into his blanket. Puzzle mewls at this and nudges her nose against Ryan’s fingers, slipping a warm paw underneath his hand. Ryan smiles and closes his eyes and yawns quietly, letting the fuzzy edges of sleep take over.
_________________________
Ryan wakes up ten minutes late the next morning and he scrambles around his small apartment, clumsily getting dressed and making his way out the door. He manages to trip into the shower, stub the big toe on his right foot on his fridge and step on Puzzle no less than five times. He also forgets his jacket, but Nashville is pretty warm in early autumn. Most people, Ryan knows, think of Tennessee and picture rednecks who drive rusty pick-up trucks or girls who run around all day in denim short-shorts and wave around rebel flags. And while these people do exist, Ryan chooses to ignore them. Because despite those few people, Tennessee has mountains and blue skies all the time and forests that go on forever. Ryan thinks it’s a pretty even compromise.
The streets are calm at nine o’clock in the morning in the Eastern downtown area that Ryan lives in. All around his apartment building are tiny coffee shops and restaurants. Tattoo parlors and record stores, all of which contain bleary workers who mill about the shops, setting things up for the day. Even this early, everyone that Ryan passes by sends him a smile and, occasionally, a wave. It’s comforting. There’s a certain buzz to Nashville that makes Ryan feel safe and, no matter where he goes there’s music playing from some window or winding lazily from a pair of headphones.
Despite his rushed morning and anxiety over actually going to class, oh god, the cool breeze puts him at ease and his shoulders relax. He can do this.
_________________________
D.A.N.C.E Studios is located off main-street, right next to Northern Downpour, a tiny music bar that already has people signing up on the clipboard duct-taped to the door for the upcoming Open Mic Night. Ryan catches sight of the tiny studio building that houses his dance class and tenses up again, hesitating briefly before working up the nerve to actually go inside.
He ends up loitering around the front of the building for a few minutes, reading handfuls of old fliers advertising specials on lessons and shows by local bands at Northern Downpour before actually getting the guts to go inside. With all the procrastinating, Ryan walks through the double doors of the small studio five minutes late. Frazzled and already in a bad mood, he walks hastily to the front desk, hoping that he doesn't look as sweaty and rushed as he feels. The tall, thin man behind said desk looks up at him with a familiar sort of amusement in his eyes.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Um, yes. I'm, uh. I'm looking for Brendon Urie's classroom?" Ryan states, but the slight lift on the last word makes it sound more like a question and he takes a moment to kick himself, mentally.
The amused glint in the secretary's eyes turns into something more mischievous, a little darker at the mention of Ryan's instructor. Ryan rolls his eyes, and whatever wheels were turning in the secretary's mind pause for a moment so he can say, "Yeah, it's down the hallway to your left. Second door on the right."
Ryan nods, says, "Huh, like in Peter Pan," and smiles at the secretary before heading toward the left hallway.
The man behind the counter, also known as William Beckett, watches him go with an excited smile and pulls out his cell phone to send a quick message.
Your class is gonna be a good one today. try not to get distracted ;D
_________________________
Brendon's phone vibrates in his hand, and he jumps. He had been watching the days' students as they walked through the door and had, for a moment, forgotten that he was actually holding the small device. He slides open his phone and reads it with a frown before replying.
wtf, william? distracted by what?
He shakes his head and goes to put the phone into his pocket when it vibrates again with an answer.
haha, you'll see =]
Brendon raises his eyebrow but turns the phone off instead of bothering to reply. William always has been creepy and vague at best. He tosses the small phone onto his gym bag in the corner and focuses once more on the half-full classroom. It's a big class, with at least ten new people, and though he’s sure at least half of them will leave class today and not bother to come back, he needs to pay attention to them instead of his best friend's cryptic text messages.
_________________________
Ryan makes the short walk down the hallway last a good five minutes. He pauses in front of the sturdy-looking door that is, according to the small sign with his name on it (that may or may not actually be bedazzled), Brendon Urie’s. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. Though he knows from the studio’s website that Brendon is one of the more popular instructors, he isn't expecting it to be so crowded.
There are a good ten or fifteen people standing in small groups spread out across the entire room, making small talk and doing stretches. All around him, the mirrored walls reflect the bodies of these strangers, and Ryan suddenly feels small and a little out of place. As he makes his way to the back of the room, his nerves from the night before settle back in, making him want to turn around and go back home to cuddle with his puppy and maybe get a few more hours of sleep. But before he can work up the nerve to turn around and walk back out the door, a loud, excited voice stops him in his tracks.
"Alright ladies and gentlemen, it is now 9:40, and we are officially ten minutes late getting started,” the voice says. It's deep and happy, bouncing around the room and tackling Ryan's ears, grabbing his attention.
Ryan drops his duffel bag and looks toward the front of the room. Through the corner of his eye, he sees that most of the other students have moved to either side of the room but his focus is on the man at the very front end of the room, standing on a small table.
Blinking slowly, Ryan takes in the man's tight jazz pants and matching t-shirt, his choppy brown hair and wide smile. Ryan wasn’t sure what kind of guy he had been expecting, but what he sees definitely isn’t it. Ryan gulps and drops his gaze to his own bare feet.
"To make up for that, we're going to skip introductions, just this once, and move straight into warming up," the man, who Ryan offhandedly remembers is his instructor says, continuing his small speech as he hops down off the table, straightening up and bouncing a little on his heels.
"Let's get into rows of eight or so, okay?" he instructs, clapping his hands together and smiling brightly as his class does so, moving seamlessly into a couple of uneven rows.
Ryan glances at Brendon, smiling a little at how excited he seems to be. Then he looks around the room to try and take in the people he'll be stuck dancing with for the next six weeks and he frowns. He isn't exactly feeling awkward; believe it or not, Ryan does know how to handle himself around strangers without making a fool of himself. It's just that these strangers are physically fit and wearing tight clothing that accentuates their toned bodies. Ryan glances down at his own baggy sweatpants and the over-sized t-shirt Pete left at his house months ago. He frowns, feeling inadequate and misplaced.
His cellphone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out, opening the waiting text.
shake it, ry ; )
Ryan rolls his eyes.
Fuckin' Pete.
_________________________
Brendon nods his head approvingly at his students, glancing at each of them in turn. There are the regulars: Travis, Gabe, and Mikey with their partners. But there are also a bunch of very well-toned men and women that Brendon doesn’t recognize. His classes are, somehow, popular, but he’s still a little concerned with all the new people for, while he’s generally a well-liked kind of guy, people aren’t usually lining up to take swing lessons.
“Hey, everyone, just to clear things up, this is the swing dancing class. My hip-hop class starts in an hour and a half,” he announces, smiling at everyone and maybe laughing a little at the confusion that’s written across quite a few faces.
Upon hearing Brendon’s little announcement, no less than five people grab their bags and exit the room, leaving Brendon with his usual boys and their female partners that he doesn’t really keep track of and one new boy that he sees standing towards the back of the room, staring at the ground.
Suddenly, William’s text makes a lot more sense.
_________________________
Once the majority of the people have left, Ryan only feels more self-conscious. Sure, there are less people to be compared to, which is a relief, but these people must do this kind of dancing or whatever all the time. They must actually be good. The three other boys in the room are talking and laughing while three girls, who he assumes are their partners, put their hair up and stretch a little, making small talk with each other.
They all have such obvious and comfortable friendships with each other that envy flares hot in Ryan’s stomach for a moment. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he grabs at it, smiling when he sees a single ‘<3’ from Shane.
The small bit of encouragement makes Ryan feel a little bolder, and he grabs his bag, walking forward to join the other boys in the class.
“Um, hi everyone,” he says, raising his hand slowly and giving a staccato wave.
Whatever conversation was going on between the boys stops dead, and they all turn to look at him. Ryan blushes a little and looks down.
“Why, you are the most precious thing that I have seen all day,” one of them says. Ryan looks up and is startled slightly by a tall guy that’s wearing bright purple sweatpants and a loose t-shirt with a giant, um, snake on it. Ryan furrows his eyebrows and blinks.
“You’re so tiny,” the same man exclaims, and Ryan is starting to get offended. This must be obvious because an equally tall black man with scattered tattoos steps forward and puts a hand on the Snake Guy’s arm.
“Gabe, chill out, you’re scaring him away already,” Tattoo Guy says in a smooth, deep voice.
“Yeah, twenty seconds is pretty quick to creep someone out that much, even for you,” pipes up the final guy. This one seems to be a lot more subdued. He has sharp cheekbones and thick glasses. Ryan smiles at him.
‘Gabe’ rolls his eyes and huffs a little but he tells Ryan that he’s sorry anyway.
“Yo, so I’m Travis,” Tattoo Guy says and points behind him, “and that’s Mikey.”
Ryan waves again, smiling shyly at them all. The girls turn to watch Ryan, eyeing him up and down. Ryan blushes a little, and the girls roll their eyes. They turn back around without saying a word and continue to talk amongst themselves. For a moment, Ryan feels a little offended, but when he frowns, Mikey just laughs.
“Don’t worry about them, they can’t stand us. They’re just dance students, and they need these lessons for some class or whatever,” he explains.
Ryan nods like he understands, even though he’s actually really fucking confused, and Travis looks at his puzzled expression and laughs heartily.
Brendon watches with interest as the new boy walks across the room, eyes on his long arms and small waist. He blinks a few times, and Ryan is suddenly talking to his other students, the tiniest of smiles on his sharp face. Brendon isn’t sure what they’re talking about, but when Ryan turns around to look at him and smiles, just a little, Brendon’s breath catches.
_________________________
Ryan is listening to Gabe ramble about the desert and a UFO and, possibly, a cobra when the instructor claps his hands suddenly, and all the boys jump a little, startled.
“Okay, guys, let’s all get started,” he says. “I’m Brendon Urie, I am twenty years old, and I am going to teach all of you how to swing-dance.”
The three other boys laugh a little at this, and Travis snorts.
“B, we’ve taken your classes for years. This is just a refresher course for us,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
Brendon smiles at him but glances at Ryan before replying, “That’s true, Travie. Except this guy here is obviously new to my classes and, I assume, dancing in general,” and nodding his head towards Ryan.
Ryan would be offended at this if it wasn’t obviously true.
“So, new guy, tell us a little about yourself,” Brendon asks, looking at him with a warm smile.
Ryan’s mouth goes a little dry, and he almost points out that Brendon said earlier that they were going to skip introductions, but instead, he just swallows and ducks his head again, tucking a curl of hair behind his ear.
“Um, my name is Ryan Ross. I’m twenty-one, and I’m in college. I’m an English major, and you’re right, I’m new to dancing in general,” he states, looking at the ground.
Brendon clicks his tongue once and claps his hands again, rocking back on his heels.
“Alright then. Now that everyone knows each other, let’s do some warm-ups.”
Again, Ryan wants to point out that none of the other boys had to introduce themselves, but Brendon is smiling at him from across the room, so he just cracks his knuckles and joins the other students in a line.
_________________________
Ryan was expecting the class to be difficult, but he wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much when he was only halfway through his first lesson. The stretching and basic warm-up exercises went fine, but now Brendon is sitting cross-legged on the table in the front of the room with his boom box, smiling at them all. The girls are off in the corner, not really paying attention. Ryan has the feeling that they’re a little stuck-up and ridiculous, but the guys are funny and nice. They smile at him and don’t laugh too hard when he messes up.
Brendon presses play on the boom box, and the song that comes out of the speakers isn’t really what any of them were expecting to hear.
“Um, B?” Travis asks, “Dude, this isn’t swing music. This is Lady Gaga.”
Brendon shrugs.
“All of you need to loosen up before we can really get into the swing of things, if you’ll excuse my pun,” Brendon states, cutting the song short and standing up.
Ryan snorts, and Brendon flashes him a wide smile. Temporarily blinded and stunned into silence, Ryan misses Brendon’s next sentence completely.
“I’m sorry, what?” Ryan asks.
“I said that all of you need to learn how to move. So for the first two weeks, we’re going to work on the basics of hip-hop dancing,” Brendon repeats, smirking a little. Ryan nods and tries to swallow, but his mouth is a little too dry and he ends up choking loudly instead.
_________________________
Ryan isn’t really surprised when he sucks epically at ‘loosening up’. He’s pretty damn uptight.
While Gabe, Travis and Mikey are swiveling their hips in tight circles, moving easily with the beat and their partners, Ryan mostly just stares at them in amazement and jerks his hips around, looking more like he’s having a slight epileptic fit than trying to dance. Brendon eyes his earnest but failing attempts and laughs, walking over to stand next to him.
“Ryan, what exactly are you doing?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips and looking Ryan up and down with amused but critical eyes.
Ryan pales and halts in his movements, shuffling his feet a little and looking resolutely away from Brendon’s eyes or his smile or any part of him at all.
“I, uh. I’m dancing?” he tries, lifting his shoulders slightly in a timid shrug.
Brendon can’t really help himself, and he laughs heartily at this, eyes scrunching up at the corners, whole body shaking. Ryan is only a little offended because, if he were Brendon, he would probably be laughing at himself too. Also, Brendon is pretty cute when he’s just standing around, but he’s downright attractive when he laughs. Happiness is a good look for him.
“Gold star for trying, Ryan, but you’re just. You’re too choppy,” he says.
Ryan just blinks.
“Yo, Bden, it’s eleven. We’re out, okay?” Travis says, grabbing his gym bag off the floor. Brendon just nods at them, waving goodbye, and the girls hurry out as Travis, Gabe and Mikey walk leisurely behind them.
Brendon turns back to Ryan and smiles.
“Now, I’m going to turn the music back on and you are going to follow my lead, okay?” Brendon asks, not waiting for an answer before running to the boom box and pressing play.
The music is loud this time, and Ryan can feel the bass as if it were beating against his ribs, crawling up his spine and settling into his shoulders. Brendon starts walking towards him, but this time, there’s a deliberate sway to his hips, a dark look in his eyes.
Ryan swallows. Boys don’t approach him often. He guesses that this is partly because he has the body of a thirteen-year-old girl, but mostly due to the fact that he gives off a bitchy and antisocial vibe, the fact that he actually is bitchy and antisocial notwithstanding. He tries to tell himself that this is different, that Brendon is a dance instructor and is only doing his job but still, he can’t ignore the fact that it feels nice to have someone look at him like that.
He smiles, a sly quirk of his lips and rolls his shoulders back with the music and steps forward.
Brendon raises his eyebrows at this. It’s a bold move for anyone, let alone the boy who’s been quiet and shy the entire lesson. He isn’t really sure what changed to make Ryan loosen up a bit, but he doesn’t question it, just continues to walk until he’s close enough to Ryan that he can see his hazel eyes, the tiny curls of damp hair around his ears. Ryan is attractive, and Brendon isn’t stupid. William knows his type. He knows that Brendon was bound to see this new guy and lose the character he puts on for lessons and slip back into his usual clumsy and easily smitten self. Something about Ryan feels different, and Brendon wants to prove William wrong. He doesn’t want Ryan to figure out that he isn’t always as collected and confident as he seems.
Ryan tilts his face up a little in invitation, and Brendon takes it. Slowly, Brendon reaches out and rests just the palms of his hands on Ryan’s sides, near the top of his rib cage, smoothing them down his body. He can feel Ryan shiver, and Brendon smiles, stepping a little closer. Ryan’s eyelids flutter closed and he starts letting his hips move just slightly from side to side. Brendon’s hands come to rest just above Ryan's waist, fingertips brushing against sharp hipbones and gripping tight, stilling him and keeping him in place. Ryan’s eyes snap open.
"No, not like. No, your hips are stuttering back and forth, it needs to be smooth. Like this," he says, shaking his head and looking up into Ryan's nervous, embarrassed eyes.
Slowly, carefully, Brendon starts to rock his hips to the left and then back, watching Ryan closely with each small movement. They're tiny, barely present ticks, but Ryan can feel them all over. It's almost as if he can feel Brendon's fingerprints burning into his skin, even through the thick material of his shirt. Brendon's hips start to move faster with the steady beat of the song, more deliberate and Ryan stops thinking and just starts moving, letting his hands reach out to rest against Brendon's warm chest as the music picks up.
Ryan has no idea what he’s doing; he’s running on instinct at this point. He closes his eyes again and tries to take a deep breath, but everything smells like sweat and some sort of sweet cologne and he's getting dizzy. He tries, instead, to focus on Brendon and the push of his hips, the weight of his arms, the feeling of his sweat, warm and slightly damp on Ryan's hands where they're pressed firmly against his t-shirt.
The song fades to silence, but Brendon doesn't drop his eyes, doesn't still his hips. Ryan sways his body to the right and Brendon follows, swooping around him in a tight circle, pressing himself flush against Ryan's body and suddenly his hands are sliding under Ryan's shirt, resting on his stomach. Ryan only has a moment to appreciate the thick calluses on Brendon’s fingertips as they graze over his ribs before he’s gasping out loud, eyes flying open and body pressing in tight without his consent.
Brendon goes rigid at the movement, closes his eyes and takes a sudden step back, shaking his head as if to clear the fog and Ryan is suddenly freezing.
"I. That's, um. That's better, you're getting better. I, um. I'll see you next week, Ryan," he rushes, words crashing into each other and tumbling out of his mouth in a nervous stream that Ryan barely catches. Before Ryan can tell him no, to stop, to wait, he's out the door without a backward glance.
He sighs a little and picks up his bag, heading out the door before he mopes for too long and ends up being late for his Geology lab.
_________________________
Brendon goes through his hip-hop lesson feeling as though he’s walking through fog. It was wrong of him to get that close to Ryan, to touch him like that. Regardless of the fact that Ryan is, for all intents and purposes, his student, Brendon barely knows him. Brendon is not that kind of guy; he doesn’t just make moves on people and then toss them. He gets attached.
Ryan is gorgeous, and he has a smile that makes Brendon’s chest feel light but that’s all Brendon really knows about him. That and the fact that he’s pretty much the worst dancer ever.
The lesson flies by quickly, and Brendon hurries the class out when it’s over. Some of his students look offended at this, and Brendon feels kind of bad. He’s usually in the studio for a good hour after this lesson is over, talking to and goofing off with his students. Today, his head’s a little too full to deal with any extra conversation.
So of course, as soon as he has the room to himself so he can think, Spencer Smith walks in.
Brendon loves Spencer, he really does, but it’s been a long enough day already and he isn’t sure if he can handle the lecture that he’s sure Spencer has prepared for him.
“Look Spence, I really ju-,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. Imminent
“I know about your new boy, Bren. Beckett tells me and Jon everything,” Spencer says, striding across the room and sitting next to Brendon on the table.
“You just can’t trust people that skinny, they have nowhere to hide secrets,” Spencer confides, shaking his head sadly.
“It’s not like that, Spencer. He’s not my new anything, He’s a student and that’s all,” Brendon says, glaring at Spencer and making a mental note to slap William across the face the next time he sees him.
“Right. That’s why the poor boy looked terrified when he left today,” Spencer says, shaking his head at Brendon, “What did you do to him, anyway?”
Brendon crosses his arms and doesn’t look at Spencer, nor does he bother asking how Spencer knew which boy was Ryan. He has his ways.
“He, uh. Well. Ryan is a horrible dancer, Spin and he just. He needed help loosening up and finding his rhythm so I uh, I helped him.”
Spencer’s eyebrows fly up at this, and Brendon’s shrinking into himself a little under Spencer’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Bren, I’m not going to ask how you uh, ‘helped him’, because I’m sure it’s in a way that will leave me scarred for life, ” Spencer says. “Just know that you need to be careful. This isn’t just some guy, okay; this is some guy that you’re going to have to see for the next six weeks.”
Brendon nods, and Spencer pats him roughly on the back.
“We love you, Bren. Watch out for yourself, okay?”
But Brendon isn’t really listening anymore. Spencer leaves the room, and Brendon pictures Ryan’s calm eyes and warm skin
Part Two.
Author: lumberxjill
Pairing/Bands: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross; Shane Valdez/Ryan Ross. (Additional Pairings: Patrick/Pete, William/Gabe, Jon/Spencer. Bands: Panic! At the Disco, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is. . . , Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 23,937
Summary: For Ryan’s 20th birthday, Pete bought him a bottle of Jack Daniels and a lap dance from a scantily clad woman in a dark club, completely disregarding the fact that Ryan was both too young to drink and also gay. So, looking back, Ryan guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that Pete bought him the exact opposite of what he wanted for his 21st birthday as well. (In which Brendon Urie is a dance instructor, Ryan Ross is one of his students, and everyone is more stubborn than should be allowed.)
Disclaimer: I do not own these very real people and I’m quite sure that none of the situations I’ve written about have ever happened in real life.
Betas: melody_so_sweet and spazzyskittles <3.
Author Notes: Over a year ago, melody_so_sweet prompted me to write a story that involved the color green, a quote from Moulin Rouge and swing dancing. I completely disregarded 98% of that prompt and wrote this instead. This fic has been my baby for the past year and I’m so proud of myself for finally finishing it.
For Ryan’s 20th birthday, Pete bought him a bottle of Jack Daniels and a lap dance from a scantily clad woman in a dark club, completely disregarding the fact that Ryan was both too young to drink and also gay. So, looking back, Ryan guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that Pete bought him the exact opposite of what he wanted for his 21st birthday as well.
__________________________
They’re sitting together in Ryan’s tiny living room, wearing the bright pink party hats that Pete had insisted they buy to add to the ‘birthday experience’. Ryan had tried to argue that blue or green or even purple hats would give the same effect, but Pete would have none of it, insisting that this particular shade of pink had a festive quality that no other colors could compete with. Ryan did manage to talk him out of the matching streamers and neon balloons though, so overall, he counts it as a win.
It’s a quarter past three in the morning and the rest of Ryan’s friends have already left; Ryan almost wishes Pete would follow their example. Granted, Pete had been the one to pick up the phone and actually invite everyone so maybe he’s earned the right to be lazy.
Not that many people had come to the party anyway. Sure, Ryan has friends. It could be argued that he has lots of friends, actually, but most of them have husbands or girlfriends or boyfriends or work. Most of them have other, more important things to occupy their time than a silly birthday party. Ryan gets that, he does. He’s not envious or anything. And, you know, he has Pete.
Between his job, school and Pete (and his pets) Ryan considers his life to be pretty full of things that make him happy and people who love him. He developed a bad habit of keeping most people at a safe distance over the course of his teenage years, having grown up in a household where he had no siblings and his parents often worked late hours. He got used to being alone (and he was, alone that is, until he met Pete his senior year. But that’s another story). Looking back, Ryan supposes that the reason he still has problems dealing with other people and keeping functioning relationships is directly related to those facts.
But now, it’s after his big party and Ryan is still reeling from the sheer volume of people he just had milling about his apartment; for while there weren’t a lot of them, Ryan’s apartment is barely big enough for him most days. Pete had invited their usual group (Ryland, Shane, Alex, Patrick, Greta, Audrey and Keltie) and he had also dragged around a willowy man that Ryan didn’t recognize, introducing him to various people throughout the night. It was mostly a blur for Ryan, who spent most of his party making sure nothing caught on fire like his drapes had when Pete decided to buy him a set of fire-batons for his 19th birthday.
Pete is collapsed in Ryan’s huge arm-chair, staring out the window across from it as Ryan collects the last armful of empty cups and sets them on the counter in his kitchen. It’s not until after Ryan gets settled back on his couch that Pete glances in Ryan’s direction with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Ryan Ross, you might have noticed that I have yet to give you my present. It’s a custom in my family to save the best for last,” Pete states with a huge grin, fishing around in the pocket of his bright blue hoodie and pulling out a crumpled envelope. Ryan doesn’t mention that ‘It’s a custom in my family’ is Pete’s second-most common excuse, right after ‘I was drunk.’
At the sound of rustling paper, Ryan’s cat Puzzle wanders lazily from behind the couch Ryan’s sitting on to circle around Pete’s left foot and rest her head against it. The armchair Pete’s sitting in creaks in protest as he leans forward to hand the envelope to Ryan and Puzzle jumps a little, surprised.
Ryan tears into the envelope with a large grin, hoping that it holds a check to help him with his rent or maybe a gift card for that new book store downtown, but as he gets the envelope open and peers inside, he can’t do much but stare blankly at what he finds.
“So, how much do you love it?” Pete asks, leaning forward eagerly.
Ryan doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls a dark purple card out of the remnants of paper and reads the words printed neatly across it.
‘D.A.N.C.E Studios would like to present you with half a season of free lessons in the dance style of your choice with one of our professional dance instructors.’
Underneath the printed text is a dotted line on which someone has already written ‘swing’ in large letters. In Sharpie. Fuckin’ Pete.
“Pete. Pete, these are dance lessons,” Ryan says, looking up from the card in his hands and frowning at Pete’s excited expression.
“I know, aren’t they perfect?” he exclaims. Ryan doesn’t answer, just stares, so Pete continues to talk.
“You haven’t gotten out of the house in forever, Ry, and with these lessons you can make new friends, meet cute boys and learn how to make your hips do something besides look awkward in men’s jeans!” Pete’s explanation comes out in one breath, as if he was so excited that he couldn’t be bothered to pause between phrases.
“Pete, I don’t leave my apartment because I don’t want to make new friends or meet cute boys,” Ryan protests, glaring at Pete from across the room.
“Listen, I know you had it sort of rough as a kid, and your people skills are pretty much non-existent,” Pete says, flopping back against his chair once more, “but that’s not an excuse to miss out on stuff now, Ry. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”
Ryan doesn’t trust himself to answer that so he just nods, reading the name of the recommended instructor at the bottom. ‘Brendon Urie: swing, ballroom, hip-hop. Ryan glances up at Pete, who is attempting to coax Puzzle away from his shoelaces and up onto his lap. Ryan sighs. Brendon Urie. Sounds harmless enough.
_________________________
Ryan soon learns that scheduling his classes at the local community college and his shifts at Target around his new dance classes is easier than he had been expecting. His professors seem almost as delighted as Pete to hear he’s branching out a little and his manager at work takes ballroom dance lessons at the same studio with her fiancé. Pete and his boyfriend Patrick even volunteer to take Ryan shopping for work-out clothes (well, Pete volunteers with the clear intent of dragging Patrick along). Ryan kindly declines.
It’s not like Ryan is some sort of hermit who sits in his apartment alone, does his school work and lets the days pass without much notice (although Ryan guesses that he would be if it weren’t for Pete). He has Friday’s at Greta’s apartment with Keltie and Audrey, movie nights with Pete and even nights out at the clubs with Ryland and Shane from time to time. He has every opportunity for a healthy social life. He’s just. Careful. He’s a little introverted, a little weird. A little fucked up. Honestly, sometimes he’s still amazed that he has anyone at all. Asking for more just feels selfish.
The worst part is that he’s never had a terrible, awful failed relationship. He’s never had a guy cheat on him or leave him for another man. Ryan has always been that guy. Well, he’s never cheated, but he’s always been the type to duck out when things start getting rough.
Somehow, he has a feeling that swing dancing won’t be any different.
_________________________
The night before his first lesson, which happens to fall on a Tuesday, Ryan is curled comfortably on his couch with Puzzle dozing on his lap and his puppy, Roxas, nestled against his feet, TV humming quietly in the background.
It was an exhausting morning of class (two tests: one in History from 1877 and one in Trig) and a long night at work. He’s trying to work on his research paper for Honor’s Composition II (something about Margaret Atwood and maybe feminism; he’s not really sure), but mostly he’s just texting Shane Valdez with a goofy grin spread across his face.
Dance lessons? Really?
Ryan chuckles a little, smiling at the text and typing a quick reply.
Yeah, well you know how pete is.
Shane sends a sad face in return and the sentiment makes his heart do a little flip, but Ryan doesn’t bother replying, just turns his phone off and settles back against the couch. Admittedly, he’s a little nervous about the following morning. The people he’s going to be taking this class with probably go to the gym a few times a week. And while Ryan is quite thin, he also sits on his ass and eats potato chips. His lithe figure is really nothing but a stroke of metabolic luck. He’s never actually worked out in his life and while he wouldn’t usually consider dancing to be a tough work-out, he checked out the studio’s website earlier and knows that the first twenty minutes of each lesson consist of a fair amount of stretching and light cardio. Ryan also decided to look up videos of swing dancing on YouTube and the ones he found scared the shit out of him. He’s heard of swing dancing, but he wasn’t prepared for the clips of well-toned men tossing dance partners every which way, lifting them in the air and swinging them around.
Ryan can barely pick up his ten pound dog without the muscles in his arms burning in protest.
Knowing he’s thinking too hard to get anything done, he saves his paper and shuts his laptop, setting it carefully on his coffee table and snuggling back into his blanket. Puzzle mewls at this and nudges her nose against Ryan’s fingers, slipping a warm paw underneath his hand. Ryan smiles and closes his eyes and yawns quietly, letting the fuzzy edges of sleep take over.
_________________________
Ryan wakes up ten minutes late the next morning and he scrambles around his small apartment, clumsily getting dressed and making his way out the door. He manages to trip into the shower, stub the big toe on his right foot on his fridge and step on Puzzle no less than five times. He also forgets his jacket, but Nashville is pretty warm in early autumn. Most people, Ryan knows, think of Tennessee and picture rednecks who drive rusty pick-up trucks or girls who run around all day in denim short-shorts and wave around rebel flags. And while these people do exist, Ryan chooses to ignore them. Because despite those few people, Tennessee has mountains and blue skies all the time and forests that go on forever. Ryan thinks it’s a pretty even compromise.
The streets are calm at nine o’clock in the morning in the Eastern downtown area that Ryan lives in. All around his apartment building are tiny coffee shops and restaurants. Tattoo parlors and record stores, all of which contain bleary workers who mill about the shops, setting things up for the day. Even this early, everyone that Ryan passes by sends him a smile and, occasionally, a wave. It’s comforting. There’s a certain buzz to Nashville that makes Ryan feel safe and, no matter where he goes there’s music playing from some window or winding lazily from a pair of headphones.
Despite his rushed morning and anxiety over actually going to class, oh god, the cool breeze puts him at ease and his shoulders relax. He can do this.
_________________________
D.A.N.C.E Studios is located off main-street, right next to Northern Downpour, a tiny music bar that already has people signing up on the clipboard duct-taped to the door for the upcoming Open Mic Night. Ryan catches sight of the tiny studio building that houses his dance class and tenses up again, hesitating briefly before working up the nerve to actually go inside.
He ends up loitering around the front of the building for a few minutes, reading handfuls of old fliers advertising specials on lessons and shows by local bands at Northern Downpour before actually getting the guts to go inside. With all the procrastinating, Ryan walks through the double doors of the small studio five minutes late. Frazzled and already in a bad mood, he walks hastily to the front desk, hoping that he doesn't look as sweaty and rushed as he feels. The tall, thin man behind said desk looks up at him with a familiar sort of amusement in his eyes.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Um, yes. I'm, uh. I'm looking for Brendon Urie's classroom?" Ryan states, but the slight lift on the last word makes it sound more like a question and he takes a moment to kick himself, mentally.
The amused glint in the secretary's eyes turns into something more mischievous, a little darker at the mention of Ryan's instructor. Ryan rolls his eyes, and whatever wheels were turning in the secretary's mind pause for a moment so he can say, "Yeah, it's down the hallway to your left. Second door on the right."
Ryan nods, says, "Huh, like in Peter Pan," and smiles at the secretary before heading toward the left hallway.
The man behind the counter, also known as William Beckett, watches him go with an excited smile and pulls out his cell phone to send a quick message.
Your class is gonna be a good one today. try not to get distracted ;D
_________________________
Brendon's phone vibrates in his hand, and he jumps. He had been watching the days' students as they walked through the door and had, for a moment, forgotten that he was actually holding the small device. He slides open his phone and reads it with a frown before replying.
wtf, william? distracted by what?
He shakes his head and goes to put the phone into his pocket when it vibrates again with an answer.
haha, you'll see =]
Brendon raises his eyebrow but turns the phone off instead of bothering to reply. William always has been creepy and vague at best. He tosses the small phone onto his gym bag in the corner and focuses once more on the half-full classroom. It's a big class, with at least ten new people, and though he’s sure at least half of them will leave class today and not bother to come back, he needs to pay attention to them instead of his best friend's cryptic text messages.
_________________________
Ryan makes the short walk down the hallway last a good five minutes. He pauses in front of the sturdy-looking door that is, according to the small sign with his name on it (that may or may not actually be bedazzled), Brendon Urie’s. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. Though he knows from the studio’s website that Brendon is one of the more popular instructors, he isn't expecting it to be so crowded.
There are a good ten or fifteen people standing in small groups spread out across the entire room, making small talk and doing stretches. All around him, the mirrored walls reflect the bodies of these strangers, and Ryan suddenly feels small and a little out of place. As he makes his way to the back of the room, his nerves from the night before settle back in, making him want to turn around and go back home to cuddle with his puppy and maybe get a few more hours of sleep. But before he can work up the nerve to turn around and walk back out the door, a loud, excited voice stops him in his tracks.
"Alright ladies and gentlemen, it is now 9:40, and we are officially ten minutes late getting started,” the voice says. It's deep and happy, bouncing around the room and tackling Ryan's ears, grabbing his attention.
Ryan drops his duffel bag and looks toward the front of the room. Through the corner of his eye, he sees that most of the other students have moved to either side of the room but his focus is on the man at the very front end of the room, standing on a small table.
Blinking slowly, Ryan takes in the man's tight jazz pants and matching t-shirt, his choppy brown hair and wide smile. Ryan wasn’t sure what kind of guy he had been expecting, but what he sees definitely isn’t it. Ryan gulps and drops his gaze to his own bare feet.
"To make up for that, we're going to skip introductions, just this once, and move straight into warming up," the man, who Ryan offhandedly remembers is his instructor says, continuing his small speech as he hops down off the table, straightening up and bouncing a little on his heels.
"Let's get into rows of eight or so, okay?" he instructs, clapping his hands together and smiling brightly as his class does so, moving seamlessly into a couple of uneven rows.
Ryan glances at Brendon, smiling a little at how excited he seems to be. Then he looks around the room to try and take in the people he'll be stuck dancing with for the next six weeks and he frowns. He isn't exactly feeling awkward; believe it or not, Ryan does know how to handle himself around strangers without making a fool of himself. It's just that these strangers are physically fit and wearing tight clothing that accentuates their toned bodies. Ryan glances down at his own baggy sweatpants and the over-sized t-shirt Pete left at his house months ago. He frowns, feeling inadequate and misplaced.
His cellphone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out, opening the waiting text.
shake it, ry ; )
Ryan rolls his eyes.
Fuckin' Pete.
_________________________
Brendon nods his head approvingly at his students, glancing at each of them in turn. There are the regulars: Travis, Gabe, and Mikey with their partners. But there are also a bunch of very well-toned men and women that Brendon doesn’t recognize. His classes are, somehow, popular, but he’s still a little concerned with all the new people for, while he’s generally a well-liked kind of guy, people aren’t usually lining up to take swing lessons.
“Hey, everyone, just to clear things up, this is the swing dancing class. My hip-hop class starts in an hour and a half,” he announces, smiling at everyone and maybe laughing a little at the confusion that’s written across quite a few faces.
Upon hearing Brendon’s little announcement, no less than five people grab their bags and exit the room, leaving Brendon with his usual boys and their female partners that he doesn’t really keep track of and one new boy that he sees standing towards the back of the room, staring at the ground.
Suddenly, William’s text makes a lot more sense.
_________________________
Once the majority of the people have left, Ryan only feels more self-conscious. Sure, there are less people to be compared to, which is a relief, but these people must do this kind of dancing or whatever all the time. They must actually be good. The three other boys in the room are talking and laughing while three girls, who he assumes are their partners, put their hair up and stretch a little, making small talk with each other.
They all have such obvious and comfortable friendships with each other that envy flares hot in Ryan’s stomach for a moment. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he grabs at it, smiling when he sees a single ‘<3’ from Shane.
The small bit of encouragement makes Ryan feel a little bolder, and he grabs his bag, walking forward to join the other boys in the class.
“Um, hi everyone,” he says, raising his hand slowly and giving a staccato wave.
Whatever conversation was going on between the boys stops dead, and they all turn to look at him. Ryan blushes a little and looks down.
“Why, you are the most precious thing that I have seen all day,” one of them says. Ryan looks up and is startled slightly by a tall guy that’s wearing bright purple sweatpants and a loose t-shirt with a giant, um, snake on it. Ryan furrows his eyebrows and blinks.
“You’re so tiny,” the same man exclaims, and Ryan is starting to get offended. This must be obvious because an equally tall black man with scattered tattoos steps forward and puts a hand on the Snake Guy’s arm.
“Gabe, chill out, you’re scaring him away already,” Tattoo Guy says in a smooth, deep voice.
“Yeah, twenty seconds is pretty quick to creep someone out that much, even for you,” pipes up the final guy. This one seems to be a lot more subdued. He has sharp cheekbones and thick glasses. Ryan smiles at him.
‘Gabe’ rolls his eyes and huffs a little but he tells Ryan that he’s sorry anyway.
“Yo, so I’m Travis,” Tattoo Guy says and points behind him, “and that’s Mikey.”
Ryan waves again, smiling shyly at them all. The girls turn to watch Ryan, eyeing him up and down. Ryan blushes a little, and the girls roll their eyes. They turn back around without saying a word and continue to talk amongst themselves. For a moment, Ryan feels a little offended, but when he frowns, Mikey just laughs.
“Don’t worry about them, they can’t stand us. They’re just dance students, and they need these lessons for some class or whatever,” he explains.
Ryan nods like he understands, even though he’s actually really fucking confused, and Travis looks at his puzzled expression and laughs heartily.
Brendon watches with interest as the new boy walks across the room, eyes on his long arms and small waist. He blinks a few times, and Ryan is suddenly talking to his other students, the tiniest of smiles on his sharp face. Brendon isn’t sure what they’re talking about, but when Ryan turns around to look at him and smiles, just a little, Brendon’s breath catches.
_________________________
Ryan is listening to Gabe ramble about the desert and a UFO and, possibly, a cobra when the instructor claps his hands suddenly, and all the boys jump a little, startled.
“Okay, guys, let’s all get started,” he says. “I’m Brendon Urie, I am twenty years old, and I am going to teach all of you how to swing-dance.”
The three other boys laugh a little at this, and Travis snorts.
“B, we’ve taken your classes for years. This is just a refresher course for us,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
Brendon smiles at him but glances at Ryan before replying, “That’s true, Travie. Except this guy here is obviously new to my classes and, I assume, dancing in general,” and nodding his head towards Ryan.
Ryan would be offended at this if it wasn’t obviously true.
“So, new guy, tell us a little about yourself,” Brendon asks, looking at him with a warm smile.
Ryan’s mouth goes a little dry, and he almost points out that Brendon said earlier that they were going to skip introductions, but instead, he just swallows and ducks his head again, tucking a curl of hair behind his ear.
“Um, my name is Ryan Ross. I’m twenty-one, and I’m in college. I’m an English major, and you’re right, I’m new to dancing in general,” he states, looking at the ground.
Brendon clicks his tongue once and claps his hands again, rocking back on his heels.
“Alright then. Now that everyone knows each other, let’s do some warm-ups.”
Again, Ryan wants to point out that none of the other boys had to introduce themselves, but Brendon is smiling at him from across the room, so he just cracks his knuckles and joins the other students in a line.
_________________________
Ryan was expecting the class to be difficult, but he wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much when he was only halfway through his first lesson. The stretching and basic warm-up exercises went fine, but now Brendon is sitting cross-legged on the table in the front of the room with his boom box, smiling at them all. The girls are off in the corner, not really paying attention. Ryan has the feeling that they’re a little stuck-up and ridiculous, but the guys are funny and nice. They smile at him and don’t laugh too hard when he messes up.
Brendon presses play on the boom box, and the song that comes out of the speakers isn’t really what any of them were expecting to hear.
“Um, B?” Travis asks, “Dude, this isn’t swing music. This is Lady Gaga.”
Brendon shrugs.
“All of you need to loosen up before we can really get into the swing of things, if you’ll excuse my pun,” Brendon states, cutting the song short and standing up.
Ryan snorts, and Brendon flashes him a wide smile. Temporarily blinded and stunned into silence, Ryan misses Brendon’s next sentence completely.
“I’m sorry, what?” Ryan asks.
“I said that all of you need to learn how to move. So for the first two weeks, we’re going to work on the basics of hip-hop dancing,” Brendon repeats, smirking a little. Ryan nods and tries to swallow, but his mouth is a little too dry and he ends up choking loudly instead.
_________________________
Ryan isn’t really surprised when he sucks epically at ‘loosening up’. He’s pretty damn uptight.
While Gabe, Travis and Mikey are swiveling their hips in tight circles, moving easily with the beat and their partners, Ryan mostly just stares at them in amazement and jerks his hips around, looking more like he’s having a slight epileptic fit than trying to dance. Brendon eyes his earnest but failing attempts and laughs, walking over to stand next to him.
“Ryan, what exactly are you doing?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips and looking Ryan up and down with amused but critical eyes.
Ryan pales and halts in his movements, shuffling his feet a little and looking resolutely away from Brendon’s eyes or his smile or any part of him at all.
“I, uh. I’m dancing?” he tries, lifting his shoulders slightly in a timid shrug.
Brendon can’t really help himself, and he laughs heartily at this, eyes scrunching up at the corners, whole body shaking. Ryan is only a little offended because, if he were Brendon, he would probably be laughing at himself too. Also, Brendon is pretty cute when he’s just standing around, but he’s downright attractive when he laughs. Happiness is a good look for him.
“Gold star for trying, Ryan, but you’re just. You’re too choppy,” he says.
Ryan just blinks.
“Yo, Bden, it’s eleven. We’re out, okay?” Travis says, grabbing his gym bag off the floor. Brendon just nods at them, waving goodbye, and the girls hurry out as Travis, Gabe and Mikey walk leisurely behind them.
Brendon turns back to Ryan and smiles.
“Now, I’m going to turn the music back on and you are going to follow my lead, okay?” Brendon asks, not waiting for an answer before running to the boom box and pressing play.
The music is loud this time, and Ryan can feel the bass as if it were beating against his ribs, crawling up his spine and settling into his shoulders. Brendon starts walking towards him, but this time, there’s a deliberate sway to his hips, a dark look in his eyes.
Ryan swallows. Boys don’t approach him often. He guesses that this is partly because he has the body of a thirteen-year-old girl, but mostly due to the fact that he gives off a bitchy and antisocial vibe, the fact that he actually is bitchy and antisocial notwithstanding. He tries to tell himself that this is different, that Brendon is a dance instructor and is only doing his job but still, he can’t ignore the fact that it feels nice to have someone look at him like that.
He smiles, a sly quirk of his lips and rolls his shoulders back with the music and steps forward.
Brendon raises his eyebrows at this. It’s a bold move for anyone, let alone the boy who’s been quiet and shy the entire lesson. He isn’t really sure what changed to make Ryan loosen up a bit, but he doesn’t question it, just continues to walk until he’s close enough to Ryan that he can see his hazel eyes, the tiny curls of damp hair around his ears. Ryan is attractive, and Brendon isn’t stupid. William knows his type. He knows that Brendon was bound to see this new guy and lose the character he puts on for lessons and slip back into his usual clumsy and easily smitten self. Something about Ryan feels different, and Brendon wants to prove William wrong. He doesn’t want Ryan to figure out that he isn’t always as collected and confident as he seems.
Ryan tilts his face up a little in invitation, and Brendon takes it. Slowly, Brendon reaches out and rests just the palms of his hands on Ryan’s sides, near the top of his rib cage, smoothing them down his body. He can feel Ryan shiver, and Brendon smiles, stepping a little closer. Ryan’s eyelids flutter closed and he starts letting his hips move just slightly from side to side. Brendon’s hands come to rest just above Ryan's waist, fingertips brushing against sharp hipbones and gripping tight, stilling him and keeping him in place. Ryan’s eyes snap open.
"No, not like. No, your hips are stuttering back and forth, it needs to be smooth. Like this," he says, shaking his head and looking up into Ryan's nervous, embarrassed eyes.
Slowly, carefully, Brendon starts to rock his hips to the left and then back, watching Ryan closely with each small movement. They're tiny, barely present ticks, but Ryan can feel them all over. It's almost as if he can feel Brendon's fingerprints burning into his skin, even through the thick material of his shirt. Brendon's hips start to move faster with the steady beat of the song, more deliberate and Ryan stops thinking and just starts moving, letting his hands reach out to rest against Brendon's warm chest as the music picks up.
Ryan has no idea what he’s doing; he’s running on instinct at this point. He closes his eyes again and tries to take a deep breath, but everything smells like sweat and some sort of sweet cologne and he's getting dizzy. He tries, instead, to focus on Brendon and the push of his hips, the weight of his arms, the feeling of his sweat, warm and slightly damp on Ryan's hands where they're pressed firmly against his t-shirt.
The song fades to silence, but Brendon doesn't drop his eyes, doesn't still his hips. Ryan sways his body to the right and Brendon follows, swooping around him in a tight circle, pressing himself flush against Ryan's body and suddenly his hands are sliding under Ryan's shirt, resting on his stomach. Ryan only has a moment to appreciate the thick calluses on Brendon’s fingertips as they graze over his ribs before he’s gasping out loud, eyes flying open and body pressing in tight without his consent.
Brendon goes rigid at the movement, closes his eyes and takes a sudden step back, shaking his head as if to clear the fog and Ryan is suddenly freezing.
"I. That's, um. That's better, you're getting better. I, um. I'll see you next week, Ryan," he rushes, words crashing into each other and tumbling out of his mouth in a nervous stream that Ryan barely catches. Before Ryan can tell him no, to stop, to wait, he's out the door without a backward glance.
He sighs a little and picks up his bag, heading out the door before he mopes for too long and ends up being late for his Geology lab.
_________________________
Brendon goes through his hip-hop lesson feeling as though he’s walking through fog. It was wrong of him to get that close to Ryan, to touch him like that. Regardless of the fact that Ryan is, for all intents and purposes, his student, Brendon barely knows him. Brendon is not that kind of guy; he doesn’t just make moves on people and then toss them. He gets attached.
Ryan is gorgeous, and he has a smile that makes Brendon’s chest feel light but that’s all Brendon really knows about him. That and the fact that he’s pretty much the worst dancer ever.
The lesson flies by quickly, and Brendon hurries the class out when it’s over. Some of his students look offended at this, and Brendon feels kind of bad. He’s usually in the studio for a good hour after this lesson is over, talking to and goofing off with his students. Today, his head’s a little too full to deal with any extra conversation.
So of course, as soon as he has the room to himself so he can think, Spencer Smith walks in.
Brendon loves Spencer, he really does, but it’s been a long enough day already and he isn’t sure if he can handle the lecture that he’s sure Spencer has prepared for him.
“Look Spence, I really ju-,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. Imminent
“I know about your new boy, Bren. Beckett tells me and Jon everything,” Spencer says, striding across the room and sitting next to Brendon on the table.
“You just can’t trust people that skinny, they have nowhere to hide secrets,” Spencer confides, shaking his head sadly.
“It’s not like that, Spencer. He’s not my new anything, He’s a student and that’s all,” Brendon says, glaring at Spencer and making a mental note to slap William across the face the next time he sees him.
“Right. That’s why the poor boy looked terrified when he left today,” Spencer says, shaking his head at Brendon, “What did you do to him, anyway?”
Brendon crosses his arms and doesn’t look at Spencer, nor does he bother asking how Spencer knew which boy was Ryan. He has his ways.
“He, uh. Well. Ryan is a horrible dancer, Spin and he just. He needed help loosening up and finding his rhythm so I uh, I helped him.”
Spencer’s eyebrows fly up at this, and Brendon’s shrinking into himself a little under Spencer’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Bren, I’m not going to ask how you uh, ‘helped him’, because I’m sure it’s in a way that will leave me scarred for life, ” Spencer says. “Just know that you need to be careful. This isn’t just some guy, okay; this is some guy that you’re going to have to see for the next six weeks.”
Brendon nods, and Spencer pats him roughly on the back.
“We love you, Bren. Watch out for yourself, okay?”
But Brendon isn’t really listening anymore. Spencer leaves the room, and Brendon pictures Ryan’s calm eyes and warm skin
Part Two.