that's what you think | panic! | gsf | pg-13/r
that's what you think
Brendon/Ryan/Spencer/Jon, PG-13/R (language), prompt #72: girls, thanks to Insanity Helpers for the title and disarm_d for the further prompting.
"... it's the kind of thing you'd say to get someone else to drink, I mean." Spencer scowls. "I watch a lot of Lifetime when I'm home alone, fuck off."
When Ryan opens the door, Pete's standing on the other side, darting looks down the hotel hallway every few seconds. He doesn't actually notice the door's open until Ryan coughs quietly.
"Oh! Hey, Ross, question," Pete says, slinking into the room. "Or one of you guys can answer it, whatever. Is there anything left of either of those bottles of schnapps I abandoned?"
"Yeah, a little," Jon says, and holds them up. "Here, you want it?"
"Thank you." Pete darts over to the other side of the room, grabs them, and darts back to the doorway. "And hey, by the way, do any of you actually own towels and if so would you mind if I used it? I'll totally buy you a new one, but this is kind of urgent, so." He raises his eyebrows, but nobody does anything but stare at him blankly. "Damn. Or oh, hey, any chance one of you has a tube of glitter? That isn't in gel?"
Blank stares. Again.
"Damn. All right, see you later," he says, and disappears.
"... well, that was was different," Spencer says, breaking the silence.
"Maybe," Brendon says, "maybe we shouldn't let anyone else in tonight."
Ryan nods, locks the door and flips the deadbolt before sitting back on the bed and closing the circle. Square. Theoretical circle with no angles. He lets a few seconds pass, and then: "How're we supposed to play anymore?"
"Fingers, Ross!" Brendon grins. "And besides, it was kind of a shitty game anyway."
"Oh, shut up," Jon says, laughing. "You were winning."
"What's the point of playing a drinking game if you don't ever drink?" Brendon heaves a long-suffering sigh, fits himself along Jon's side, chin hooked over one shoulder and hand over the other. "There isn't one, that's what."
"Hey, whatever, you had a couple shots," says Ryan, and he almost makes a face. "Okay, you had three. That's drinking."
"That is totally not drinking, Ry, you had like twelve."
"Spencer had thirteen," Jon says innocently, and Ryan slants his eyebrows at him like a smile.
"Fuck you," Spencer says, laughing. "You know I suck at this game. All I can ever do is think of things I have done." Pause. "What did you end up drinking for, Brendon?"
"Uh." He thinks. "Kissing a girl, sex with a girl, drunken groping. And it's not my fault nobody picked the right things," he says, grinning.
"... this is the point in time where you elaborate, dude," Jon says, reaching around to poke him lightly in the stomach.
Brendon squawks, kind of loudly, and then makes a face. "See if I tell you anything, now, asswipe."
A moment passes, in which Jon proceeds to pet Brendon's stomach where he'd poked, and Brendon kind of purrs a little under his breath.
"Fine, fine, fucking bribery. Um. Well, if someone had said anything having to do with a guy or, I don't know, never have I ever watched my girlfriend make out with someone else's girlfriend and then, two years later, start having sex with that someone else on a regular basis I definitely would've had to drink."
"-- don't look at me like that, Brendon," Ryan says, curling a little closer to Spencer on the comforter. "Speaking as the someone else, I don't think I would've been qualified to offer that out."
"And who comes up with that kind of detail anyway?" Spencer snakes an arm around Ryan's waist, closing the distance between them. "I mean, without prompting. That's like saying never have I ever done a line of coke off a prostitute, washed her stomach off with gentle bath soap, dried her off, stuck a hundred dollar bill in her panties, and escorted her to the door."
"Um," says Ryan.
"... it's the kind of thing you'd say to get someone else to drink, I mean." Spencer scowls. "I watch a lot of Lifetime when I'm home alone, fuck off."
"Not to ask the obvious question, but." Jon eyes Spencer somewhat warily. "What the hell kind of Lifetime are you watching that that happens?"
"Badly treated prostitutes who see the light and error of their ways and become, like. Nurses with strangely successful home lives. Shut up, it happened."
"Okay, I vote we not let Spencer be home alone with access to the television ever again," Brendon pronounces, reaching out and poking Spencer's shin with a toe. Spencer rolls his eyes, but when the foot ends up in his lap, he doesn't complain.
"So you're saying," Ryan says, "that if we had just aimed questions directly at you instead of actually being curious then you would have had to take more shots."
"Wait, is that how this conversation got started? Yeah," he says, "that's what I'm saying."
"Oh."
"Exactly."
"That's fucking stupid." Ryan smirks a little, then. "And besides, how do you know that we're the only ones that's happened to?"
"... and I wasn't even there, that's so disappointing." Brendon rubs up against Jon's side a little, nuzzling his neck. "How 'bout we have lots of sex, then, huh?" His voice is low, but it's obviously aimed just as much at Ryan and Spencer as it is at Jon. "You know, in accordance with the prophecy."
Two hours later, Gabe starts pounding on their door and howling about how he needs either a fire extinguisher or a coffeemaker or a lamp or something, dudes, this is urgent, but the only movement from the pile of naked twentysomething on the bed is the up-and-down breathing.
And, well, the occasional sleep-kick, but that's to be expected.
Brendon/Ryan/Spencer/Jon, PG-13/R (language), prompt #72: girls, thanks to Insanity Helpers for the title and disarm_d for the further prompting.
"... it's the kind of thing you'd say to get someone else to drink, I mean." Spencer scowls. "I watch a lot of Lifetime when I'm home alone, fuck off."
When Ryan opens the door, Pete's standing on the other side, darting looks down the hotel hallway every few seconds. He doesn't actually notice the door's open until Ryan coughs quietly.
"Oh! Hey, Ross, question," Pete says, slinking into the room. "Or one of you guys can answer it, whatever. Is there anything left of either of those bottles of schnapps I abandoned?"
"Yeah, a little," Jon says, and holds them up. "Here, you want it?"
"Thank you." Pete darts over to the other side of the room, grabs them, and darts back to the doorway. "And hey, by the way, do any of you actually own towels and if so would you mind if I used it? I'll totally buy you a new one, but this is kind of urgent, so." He raises his eyebrows, but nobody does anything but stare at him blankly. "Damn. Or oh, hey, any chance one of you has a tube of glitter? That isn't in gel?"
Blank stares. Again.
"Damn. All right, see you later," he says, and disappears.
"... well, that was was different," Spencer says, breaking the silence.
"Maybe," Brendon says, "maybe we shouldn't let anyone else in tonight."
Ryan nods, locks the door and flips the deadbolt before sitting back on the bed and closing the circle. Square. Theoretical circle with no angles. He lets a few seconds pass, and then: "How're we supposed to play anymore?"
"Fingers, Ross!" Brendon grins. "And besides, it was kind of a shitty game anyway."
"Oh, shut up," Jon says, laughing. "You were winning."
"What's the point of playing a drinking game if you don't ever drink?" Brendon heaves a long-suffering sigh, fits himself along Jon's side, chin hooked over one shoulder and hand over the other. "There isn't one, that's what."
"Hey, whatever, you had a couple shots," says Ryan, and he almost makes a face. "Okay, you had three. That's drinking."
"That is totally not drinking, Ry, you had like twelve."
"Spencer had thirteen," Jon says innocently, and Ryan slants his eyebrows at him like a smile.
"Fuck you," Spencer says, laughing. "You know I suck at this game. All I can ever do is think of things I have done." Pause. "What did you end up drinking for, Brendon?"
"Uh." He thinks. "Kissing a girl, sex with a girl, drunken groping. And it's not my fault nobody picked the right things," he says, grinning.
"... this is the point in time where you elaborate, dude," Jon says, reaching around to poke him lightly in the stomach.
Brendon squawks, kind of loudly, and then makes a face. "See if I tell you anything, now, asswipe."
A moment passes, in which Jon proceeds to pet Brendon's stomach where he'd poked, and Brendon kind of purrs a little under his breath.
"Fine, fine, fucking bribery. Um. Well, if someone had said anything having to do with a guy or, I don't know, never have I ever watched my girlfriend make out with someone else's girlfriend and then, two years later, start having sex with that someone else on a regular basis I definitely would've had to drink."
"-- don't look at me like that, Brendon," Ryan says, curling a little closer to Spencer on the comforter. "Speaking as the someone else, I don't think I would've been qualified to offer that out."
"And who comes up with that kind of detail anyway?" Spencer snakes an arm around Ryan's waist, closing the distance between them. "I mean, without prompting. That's like saying never have I ever done a line of coke off a prostitute, washed her stomach off with gentle bath soap, dried her off, stuck a hundred dollar bill in her panties, and escorted her to the door."
"Um," says Ryan.
"... it's the kind of thing you'd say to get someone else to drink, I mean." Spencer scowls. "I watch a lot of Lifetime when I'm home alone, fuck off."
"Not to ask the obvious question, but." Jon eyes Spencer somewhat warily. "What the hell kind of Lifetime are you watching that that happens?"
"Badly treated prostitutes who see the light and error of their ways and become, like. Nurses with strangely successful home lives. Shut up, it happened."
"Okay, I vote we not let Spencer be home alone with access to the television ever again," Brendon pronounces, reaching out and poking Spencer's shin with a toe. Spencer rolls his eyes, but when the foot ends up in his lap, he doesn't complain.
"So you're saying," Ryan says, "that if we had just aimed questions directly at you instead of actually being curious then you would have had to take more shots."
"Wait, is that how this conversation got started? Yeah," he says, "that's what I'm saying."
"Oh."
"Exactly."
"That's fucking stupid." Ryan smirks a little, then. "And besides, how do you know that we're the only ones that's happened to?"
"... and I wasn't even there, that's so disappointing." Brendon rubs up against Jon's side a little, nuzzling his neck. "How 'bout we have lots of sex, then, huh?" His voice is low, but it's obviously aimed just as much at Ryan and Spencer as it is at Jon. "You know, in accordance with the prophecy."
Two hours later, Gabe starts pounding on their door and howling about how he needs either a fire extinguisher or a coffeemaker or a lamp or something, dudes, this is urgent, but the only movement from the pile of naked twentysomething on the bed is the up-and-down breathing.
And, well, the occasional sleep-kick, but that's to be expected.