(no subject)
Title: Water Bottle Shower
Pairing: Ryan Ross / Brendon Urie
Rating: PG-13 for coarse language and boykisses
Summary: Oh noes! Ryan's got a problem with his hair! How will Brendon make him all smiley again?
Dedication: deliberatehips for supplying me with new videos of The Hush Sound that include CHRIS and make me squeal.
Warning: Fluff, boykissage
*"Brendon!"
I was startled from my book by Ryan's shriek from the front of the bus. I hastily put it down on the couch beside me, making my way from the back lounge to the front, because he had sounded quite desperate. I walked in to see him frantically tugging at strands of his hair in the mirror, a look of pure horror on his face.
"What's wrong, baby?" I asked, as I made my way over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
He turned to look at me, disbelievingly, almost as if his problem was obvious, "Can't you see it?"
"See what?" I asked, bewildered. He was leaning back in my arms, pointing frantically at his hair. I studied it closely and couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.
"I've gotten my make-up into my hair," he explained, almost exasperated, and almost shoving the side of his head into my nose.
I grab his head with both hands, gently moving it away so that I can see it and not inhale it. Upon a very close inspection, I can spot the slightest traces of purple and pink near the ends. I roll my eyes before I release him, knowing he'd flip out if I don't treat this as a national emergency.
He turns to me once I've let him go, desperation creeping into his gaze, "What am I gonna do, Bren? There's no showers around here!"
I pull him into a long hug, kissing the top of his head, while I frantically rack my brain for a solution. Looking to my side, I spot a water bottle on the little table in our kitchennette and it hits me.
I pull away from Ryan and he whimpers a little, but I quickly assure him that I'll be back soon. I go the fridge and grab about 10 water bottles. I holler at him to grab his shampoo and conditioner and to meet me outside in ten minutes. He gives me a strange look, but hops to the task.
Ten minutes later, Ryan slips out of the bus, a hat pulled on low over his head, as if the make-up in his hair is a neon sign. He's got his cherry-vanilla scented shampoo and conditioner and stares at my plastic storage bucket and large pile of unopened water bottles with a questioning look on his face.
I motion him over, taking the hair products from him and planting a kiss on his nose just 'cause he looks so adorable standing there looking confused.
"Take a seat, my dear," I say, in the most professional voice I can manage, gesturing for him to sit on the towel in front of the bucket.
He takes his seat uncertainly, looking up at me with wide eyes, "What the fuck are you doing, Brendon?"
I kneel down beside him, grabbing one of the water bottles and twisting it open. "I'm washing your hair, baby. You said it was dirty."
He tried to give me some kind of look, but I effectively stopped any protests when I tilted his head back and poured the water over his head. He shot up rigidly straight in about two seconds, "Fuck, Bren, that's some really cold water."
"Sorry, baby." I replied, leaning over to peck his lips, "I should have warned you that I grabbed these bottles out of the fridge. He rolled his eyes at me and leaned back. I took this to mean that I could continue playing the impromptu barber.
I poured another bottle over his hair, making sure it was good and wet, then squirted some of his shampoo into my hand. I worked it in thouroughly, massageing his head. He moaned a little and I grinned. If he did that the whole time, well, I would just get his hair all dirty again after we were done.
I was lesuirely working the shampoo in when he admonished me, "Make sure you get the left side. Remember, that's where the make-up is."
I shook my head, rolling my eyes again, but payed special attention where he directed me. It was easier than trying to argue with him.
Finally he shut up and let me finish up my work. I used another couple of water bottles to wash out the shampoo, elicting a few more wimpers from the chill and started on the conditioner. He began those soft little moans again and I'll admit that I intentionally worked the substance in about five times longer than necessary just to keep the sighs coming.
When I finished, pouring three final bottles over his head, I leaned down and kissed him. He wound his arms up around my neck, leaning back and completely forgetting about the bucket of soapy water behind him. It toppled over and ran everwhere, effectively soaking the entire top of his tee-shirt. Ryan let out another yelp and leaped up, tugging at his shirt disdainfully.
"Brendon!" he whined, "I'm all wet and soggy now."
He looked up at me with this adorable pout on his face. I took his face in my palms and stared him straight in the eye. "Well, then, we're just going to have to get you out of that shirt then, aren't we?"
He caught the mischievious glint in my eye and smiled his own mischievious smile, grabbing my hand and quickly pulling me back onto the bus...
Pairing: Ryan Ross / Brendon Urie
Rating: PG-13 for coarse language and boykisses
Summary: Oh noes! Ryan's got a problem with his hair! How will Brendon make him all smiley again?
Dedication: deliberatehips for supplying me with new videos of The Hush Sound that include CHRIS and make me squeal.
Warning: Fluff, boykissage
*"Brendon!"
I was startled from my book by Ryan's shriek from the front of the bus. I hastily put it down on the couch beside me, making my way from the back lounge to the front, because he had sounded quite desperate. I walked in to see him frantically tugging at strands of his hair in the mirror, a look of pure horror on his face.
"What's wrong, baby?" I asked, as I made my way over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
He turned to look at me, disbelievingly, almost as if his problem was obvious, "Can't you see it?"
"See what?" I asked, bewildered. He was leaning back in my arms, pointing frantically at his hair. I studied it closely and couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.
"I've gotten my make-up into my hair," he explained, almost exasperated, and almost shoving the side of his head into my nose.
I grab his head with both hands, gently moving it away so that I can see it and not inhale it. Upon a very close inspection, I can spot the slightest traces of purple and pink near the ends. I roll my eyes before I release him, knowing he'd flip out if I don't treat this as a national emergency.
He turns to me once I've let him go, desperation creeping into his gaze, "What am I gonna do, Bren? There's no showers around here!"
I pull him into a long hug, kissing the top of his head, while I frantically rack my brain for a solution. Looking to my side, I spot a water bottle on the little table in our kitchennette and it hits me.
I pull away from Ryan and he whimpers a little, but I quickly assure him that I'll be back soon. I go the fridge and grab about 10 water bottles. I holler at him to grab his shampoo and conditioner and to meet me outside in ten minutes. He gives me a strange look, but hops to the task.
Ten minutes later, Ryan slips out of the bus, a hat pulled on low over his head, as if the make-up in his hair is a neon sign. He's got his cherry-vanilla scented shampoo and conditioner and stares at my plastic storage bucket and large pile of unopened water bottles with a questioning look on his face.
I motion him over, taking the hair products from him and planting a kiss on his nose just 'cause he looks so adorable standing there looking confused.
"Take a seat, my dear," I say, in the most professional voice I can manage, gesturing for him to sit on the towel in front of the bucket.
He takes his seat uncertainly, looking up at me with wide eyes, "What the fuck are you doing, Brendon?"
I kneel down beside him, grabbing one of the water bottles and twisting it open. "I'm washing your hair, baby. You said it was dirty."
He tried to give me some kind of look, but I effectively stopped any protests when I tilted his head back and poured the water over his head. He shot up rigidly straight in about two seconds, "Fuck, Bren, that's some really cold water."
"Sorry, baby." I replied, leaning over to peck his lips, "I should have warned you that I grabbed these bottles out of the fridge. He rolled his eyes at me and leaned back. I took this to mean that I could continue playing the impromptu barber.
I poured another bottle over his hair, making sure it was good and wet, then squirted some of his shampoo into my hand. I worked it in thouroughly, massageing his head. He moaned a little and I grinned. If he did that the whole time, well, I would just get his hair all dirty again after we were done.
I was lesuirely working the shampoo in when he admonished me, "Make sure you get the left side. Remember, that's where the make-up is."
I shook my head, rolling my eyes again, but payed special attention where he directed me. It was easier than trying to argue with him.
Finally he shut up and let me finish up my work. I used another couple of water bottles to wash out the shampoo, elicting a few more wimpers from the chill and started on the conditioner. He began those soft little moans again and I'll admit that I intentionally worked the substance in about five times longer than necessary just to keep the sighs coming.
When I finished, pouring three final bottles over his head, I leaned down and kissed him. He wound his arms up around my neck, leaning back and completely forgetting about the bucket of soapy water behind him. It toppled over and ran everwhere, effectively soaking the entire top of his tee-shirt. Ryan let out another yelp and leaped up, tugging at his shirt disdainfully.
"Brendon!" he whined, "I'm all wet and soggy now."
He looked up at me with this adorable pout on his face. I took his face in my palms and stared him straight in the eye. "Well, then, we're just going to have to get you out of that shirt then, aren't we?"
He caught the mischievious glint in my eye and smiled his own mischievious smile, grabbing my hand and quickly pulling me back onto the bus...