Fic: On My Knees I Think Clearer
Title: On My Knees I Think Clearer
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Just because I'm sorry now doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it at the time.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own that's Panic! related is a t-shirt. Title and one line are from the song Chocolate by Snow Patrol.
Notes: This was written a while ago when I was making my layout. It's kind of twisted, but I like it that way.
I’ll be the first to admit it, fucking with Brendon was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, but just because I’m sorry doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it at the time.
When we first started touring I noticed the sidelong looks he’d give me on those long nights we spent in the cramped confines of our tour van and I knew that he loved me.
Maybe it’s because of my deprived Catholic upbringing, or because my father never loved me, or maybe I’m just twisted, but I couldn’t let a chance like this pass me up.
It started off innocent enough, a touch when we were under the photographer's lights, a smile when were being interviewed on MTV.
It wasn’t until our first headlining tour that things started to escalate. When we were writing our stage show I started to add scripted elements that I knew would literally bring Brendon to his knees, and who better to comfort him than me.
Of course he took this as an initiative to start touching me whenever possible. I’ll admit the first time he grinded his hips down on mine during “I Write Sins” I was surprised, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed everything I did with Brendon, I just enjoyed hurting him more.
After a while I started pushing him away during shows, letting him have a taste and then snatching it away. After a month of this I let him go down on me.
I didn’t plan for it to go that far; it was just the natural progression of things. So I started to let him blow me after shows, refusing to return the favor, never once letting him come.
On the last night of the tour he wouldn’t accept just a blow job. High of the adrenaline of the show he begged me to fuck him and I knew that the time had come.
After, as we lay there sweating, he told me that he loved me. And I laughed. I told him that it was all just a joke to me, that watching him cry now got me harder than any touch he could ever give me.
/End.
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Just because I'm sorry now doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it at the time.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own that's Panic! related is a t-shirt. Title and one line are from the song Chocolate by Snow Patrol.
Notes: This was written a while ago when I was making my layout. It's kind of twisted, but I like it that way.
I’ll be the first to admit it, fucking with Brendon was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, but just because I’m sorry doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it at the time.
When we first started touring I noticed the sidelong looks he’d give me on those long nights we spent in the cramped confines of our tour van and I knew that he loved me.
Maybe it’s because of my deprived Catholic upbringing, or because my father never loved me, or maybe I’m just twisted, but I couldn’t let a chance like this pass me up.
It started off innocent enough, a touch when we were under the photographer's lights, a smile when were being interviewed on MTV.
It wasn’t until our first headlining tour that things started to escalate. When we were writing our stage show I started to add scripted elements that I knew would literally bring Brendon to his knees, and who better to comfort him than me.
Of course he took this as an initiative to start touching me whenever possible. I’ll admit the first time he grinded his hips down on mine during “I Write Sins” I was surprised, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed everything I did with Brendon, I just enjoyed hurting him more.
After a while I started pushing him away during shows, letting him have a taste and then snatching it away. After a month of this I let him go down on me.
I didn’t plan for it to go that far; it was just the natural progression of things. So I started to let him blow me after shows, refusing to return the favor, never once letting him come.
On the last night of the tour he wouldn’t accept just a blow job. High of the adrenaline of the show he begged me to fuck him and I knew that the time had come.
After, as we lay there sweating, he told me that he loved me. And I laughed. I told him that it was all just a joke to me, that watching him cry now got me harder than any touch he could ever give me.
/End.