Love Is Spelt Like Your Fist ~ Chapter Ten
Title: Love Is Spelt Like Your Fist
Author: repulsive_x
Rating: I'm just gonna keep it at R for general sexual content, swearing, alcohol and maybe some drug use, abuse.
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie/Jon Walker
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon Urie is what some would call 'privileged'. He was born into money, and was graced with good looks. He has good friends, and an amazing boyfriend that most people only dream of. Then Ryan Ross came along, and made that all change.
Disclaimer: fake like bdens denial of being a flaming homosexual (and for once in a fic, i would also like it to stay this way)
Beta: Jenumn, roadsidefury
Author's Notes: This is a fic about an abusive relationship, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, DO NOT READ!
Previous Chapters
C H A P T E R ` T E N
“Look, Bren, I’m so sorry for how I acted the other day,” Jon says, taking Brendon's hand into his own, squeezing tight. “If you say there’s nothing wrong, then there’s nothing wrong. And even if there is… well, it’s not like you have to tell me just 'cause I’m your boyfriend.” He cups a hand on Brendon’s neck, and presses a soft thumb into his jaw. “I just hate fighting with you,” he says, sadly. “Fuck, I hate it more than anything.”
“Me too,” Brendon agrees, pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s mouth. He doesn’t say thank you, and he certainly doesn’t say what’s wrong, and he has a feeling that’s what Jon was expecting with the whole, obviously very well thought out apology.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Jon murmurs into his lips.
“Me neither,” he agrees, and he doesn’t, not at all, but in a way, he already has.
- x -
Brendon can't believe he’s here. He can't believe he agreed to come here, to see him, to have fucking dinner with him. It was just a momentary lapse of judgment when he had agreed to come, that’s it - except that, well okay, he’s here now, a day later, and it’s not like he had to.
He could have just stood him up, because he certainly deserves it - and okay, maybe a whole lot more.
Brendon can see him, seated at a table, head tilted down and fiddling with the royal red table cloth. With every step that he takes, he feels more and more like puking all over the limestone flooring.
Ryan looks up when Brendon’s about three feet away, and immediately gets up, an anxious but pleased smile on his face. “Hi,” he greets, pulling out the chair beside him, “I’m really glad you came.”
Brendon almost says ‘me too’. It’s right there, right at the tip of his tongue, but then realizes it just in time and pushes it back down his throat. Because no, no he is not glad he came. He is actually very pissed off that he came. Very. So he settles with a ‘mm-hmm’ and takes a seat in the chair Ryan pulled out for him.
Ryan’s smile doesn’t falter as he takes his own seat, and faces Brendon. “I was really worried you weren’t going to show up,” he says.
Good, Brendon thinks, you should have been.
“Here, um,” Ryan starts and reaches beside him, underneath the table and into his Chanel bag, “I got you something when I was in Italy last week. It’s not um, much, but it reminded me of you. Here.” He pulls out a white, thin scarf and hands it to him, a sheepish smile on his face.
Brendon stares at it for a moment, running the smooth, silk between his fingers with his heart still pounding, so loud and hard into his ears that he’s sure the whole restaurant can hear. “Flowers, a Fendi scarf from Europe?” Brendon says, then looks up at Ryan. “Trying to bribe me into forgiving you?” He’s almost teasing, almost, except not really.
Ryan’s smile wavers, but only for a second before he’s leaning onto his elbows, and looks Brendon straight in the eye. The look itself is almost enough to send him out of his chair, and onto his butt. “Well,” he says with the charm he’s proved time and time again could make an army of eighty year-old men swoon. “it depends. Is it working?”
“No,” he says, and it’s only a bit of a lie.
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” he asks. “Not even a little?”
Brendon looks away, and God, he’s starting to feel dizzy again. He can see Ryan’s pleased grin from the corner of his eye, and he kind of wants to smack it off his face - hard, but at the same time not, because he can still feel the stupid scarf burning in his hands. Because of course Ryan would be clever enough to think of getting him something like that - everyone knows Brendon can't resist overpriced scarves.
When the waiter comes by to take their order, Brendon refuses to get anything, not even a water, but in the end, Ryan orders him a Greek salad and a Golden C water, and he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.
He scowls at Ryan once the waiter leaves, and says, “I’m not eating it.”
Ryan shrugs. “Okay, fine by me. You don’t have to.”
Brendon narrows his eyes, and slumps down in his chair, angry at himself for coming here in the first place. All it’s doing is slowly making him forget what Ryan did - that’s if he actually did - and he shouldn’t forget something like that.
Brendon shouldn’t have even given Ryan the satisfaction of him coming here in the first place. He is such an idiot.
“You look really good,” Ryan says, voice soft as his eyes wander over him.
Brendon rolls his eyes, but his insides burn and thump and dance.
“You do,” he ensures.
“Yeah,” Brendon mumbles, throat dry.
“Brendon, come on,” he pleads, lowering his voice so the people around can't overhear. “Please don’t be like this. I know you don’t hate me as much as you’re making it seem or else you would never have agreed to come here.”
He bites at his lip, and stares down at his lap because he knows Ryan’s right.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I’m so, so, so sorry for the way I acted. And I’ll say it over and over and over again until you believe me, I didn’t do what you said I did, okay? I promise you. I’m not that kind of person. It’s true that I have very strong feelings and attraction towards you, but I would never do something if you were unwilling, and I want you to believe me, Brendon.”
Brendon gulps, looks up at Ryan momentarily before looking back down at the tablecloth. “I wouldn’t just make it up…” he manages to force out. He pauses, rubs his forehead and says, “at least not that I know of.”
“Brendon,” Ryan says, and leans forward in his chair, closer to him, “I understand you not wanting to admit to cheating on Jon. You’ve been with him for a very long time, and it’s understandable that you’d have very strong guilt over it. That maybe subconsciously, you made this story up without your knowledge. I’m sure it’s happened before.”
Brendon looks up at him, lip in between his teeth, and - and maybe he is telling the truth. Ryan’s not a rapist, there’s no way. It’s Ryan - he’s rich, successful, attractive, sweet, charming, he could get plenty of men and women, easily. He doesn’t need to rape a seventeen year old boy, it just doesn’t make any sense.
God, he feels like such an idiot.
“I - I guess so,” he stammers out, quiet and maybe a little ashamed. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess maybe that’s what I did…” He pauses, and attempts to swallow once more. “I’m - ” he starts, then stops, taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I guess.”
Ryan smiles, warm, and rests a comforting hand on his knee. “It’s alright,” he says, and Brendon looks up to meet his eye, heart beating out of control. “As long as you forgive me too.”
Brendon forces a small smile through the butterflies, and says, “I do.”
- x -
Brendon starts hanging out with Ryan again, of course, without Jon’s knowledge. They start off small, just dinner, joy rides around the city, public places in Brendon’s house, and quick stops at the casino.
Brendon’s trying his hardest not to be a tease this time. They haven’t kissed, he hasn’t flirted - well, most of the time anyway - they just hang out and talk, just like friends, but he knows that it’s only a matter of time.
He slept with Ryan, he cheated on Jon, whether he can remember it or not, he knows he did. He feels guilty, so guilty that he’s almost to the point where he can't even look Jon in the eye anymore. He knows he doesn’t deserve him because all Jon has ever done was treat him amazing, like gold, and what does he do? Turn around and sleep with some other guy on New Years while he’s off visiting his family.
With everyday that passes, after every time he hangs out with Ryan, he can feel himself grow further and further apart from Jon. He’s slowly accepting the fact that this might be the end of BrendonAndJon as much as it kills him.
- - -
It’s a Saturday night, a week after the dinner when Jon comes barging into his room, and demands, “It’s Ryan isn’t it? Ryan did something. That’s why you’ve been acting so weird.”
Brendon’s face is white as he turns around to look at his boyfriend, and wonders how the fuck he figured that one out. “What?” he stammers, attempting innocence.
“Ryan. What did he do?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendon lies with a small shrug, and looks down at his bed sheets.
“The fuck you don’t,” Jon seethes, approaching his bed. “Brendon, tell me right now. You were hanging out with Ryan when I was gone, and he did something to you. Tell me what it is,” he demands.
“He didn’t do anything, okay?” he insists, trying to calm his heavy breathing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“William told me about all those flowers he sent you, about all the notes. He fucking told me so stop fucking lying to me, Brendon!” he practically screams, fists clenched together in tight, little balls.
“William told you what?” he screeches as he pulls himself up from his bed, and stands in front of Jon.
“Oh, don’t get mad at him,” Jon sneers. “It slipped out. What I don’t understand is why you wouldn’t fucking tell me. You didn’t even tell me you even saw him after the Christmas party. What the fuck, Brendon?!”
Brendon folds his arms over his chest. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“Bull-fucking-shit!”
“I didn’t!” Brendon insists. “Look, okay, me and Ryan hung out once or twice after the party, and it wasn’t anything big. We both realized how much we changed since we were kids, and I guess Ryan really didn’t like it because he went and talked shit about me to these people. I ended up finding out, and he just really went over the top trying to get me to forgive him. And that’s it, we haven’t talked since. Honest.”
Jon looks over him, looking a little unsure whether he should believe him or not. Brendon gives himself a mental pat on the back for being such a good liar.
“What people?” Jon asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, but at least he looks a little more relaxed.
“Just - ” Brendon starts, and looks away as he does a little wave with his hand like it’s no big deal, “just these people from the casino.”
Jon raises a doubtful eyebrow. “People from the casino?” he repeats. “Why the fuck does it matter if he talked about you with people from the casino?”
“‘Cause it makes my dad look bad,” he explains. He brings his eyes back to Jon, and takes a step towards him, resting a soft hand on his arm, “look, I really just don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s over and done and in the past.”
Jon stares down at him, still unsure. “I don’t know, Bren…” He sighs.
Brendon groans, and drops his hand from Jon’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what to say to you anymore!” he cries, moving away. “Like, fuck. No matter what I say you’ll never believe me!’
“That’s because it just doesn’t match up, Brendon!” he says, teeth clenched as Brendon paces back and forth in front of him. “It doesn’t make sense!”
He stops, looks at him and asks, “right, so you’re pretty much saying that I’m lying to you then?”
Jon waits a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t know, you tell me.”
Brendon groans, and throws his hands up in the air before he just sits down at the end of his bed, and presses his face into his hands. He’s lying so well that he’s actually almost believing it himself - shit, what has he come to? “I can't handle this right now, Jon,” he mumbles into his palms. “Can you - can you just leave? Please?”
Jon doesn’t say anything, Brendon can't even hear him breathe. A minute or so passes, and Jon’s still so quiet that he thinks maybe he already left without him noticing, but then he clears his throat, and says, “fine. Whatever.”
Brendon still has his face in his hands when his bedroom door slams shut.
An hour later, he finds himself standing at Ryan’s door.
A/N: aah, i know so much fighting. *ducks* im sorry!
Author: repulsive_x
Rating: I'm just gonna keep it at R for general sexual content, swearing, alcohol and maybe some drug use, abuse.
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie/Jon Walker
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon Urie is what some would call 'privileged'. He was born into money, and was graced with good looks. He has good friends, and an amazing boyfriend that most people only dream of. Then Ryan Ross came along, and made that all change.
Disclaimer: fake like bdens denial of being a flaming homosexual (and for once in a fic, i would also like it to stay this way)
Beta: Jenumn, roadsidefury
Author's Notes: This is a fic about an abusive relationship, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, DO NOT READ!
Previous Chapters
C H A P T E R ` T E N
“Look, Bren, I’m so sorry for how I acted the other day,” Jon says, taking Brendon's hand into his own, squeezing tight. “If you say there’s nothing wrong, then there’s nothing wrong. And even if there is… well, it’s not like you have to tell me just 'cause I’m your boyfriend.” He cups a hand on Brendon’s neck, and presses a soft thumb into his jaw. “I just hate fighting with you,” he says, sadly. “Fuck, I hate it more than anything.”
“Me too,” Brendon agrees, pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s mouth. He doesn’t say thank you, and he certainly doesn’t say what’s wrong, and he has a feeling that’s what Jon was expecting with the whole, obviously very well thought out apology.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Jon murmurs into his lips.
“Me neither,” he agrees, and he doesn’t, not at all, but in a way, he already has.
- x -
Brendon can't believe he’s here. He can't believe he agreed to come here, to see him, to have fucking dinner with him. It was just a momentary lapse of judgment when he had agreed to come, that’s it - except that, well okay, he’s here now, a day later, and it’s not like he had to.
He could have just stood him up, because he certainly deserves it - and okay, maybe a whole lot more.
Brendon can see him, seated at a table, head tilted down and fiddling with the royal red table cloth. With every step that he takes, he feels more and more like puking all over the limestone flooring.
Ryan looks up when Brendon’s about three feet away, and immediately gets up, an anxious but pleased smile on his face. “Hi,” he greets, pulling out the chair beside him, “I’m really glad you came.”
Brendon almost says ‘me too’. It’s right there, right at the tip of his tongue, but then realizes it just in time and pushes it back down his throat. Because no, no he is not glad he came. He is actually very pissed off that he came. Very. So he settles with a ‘mm-hmm’ and takes a seat in the chair Ryan pulled out for him.
Ryan’s smile doesn’t falter as he takes his own seat, and faces Brendon. “I was really worried you weren’t going to show up,” he says.
Good, Brendon thinks, you should have been.
“Here, um,” Ryan starts and reaches beside him, underneath the table and into his Chanel bag, “I got you something when I was in Italy last week. It’s not um, much, but it reminded me of you. Here.” He pulls out a white, thin scarf and hands it to him, a sheepish smile on his face.
Brendon stares at it for a moment, running the smooth, silk between his fingers with his heart still pounding, so loud and hard into his ears that he’s sure the whole restaurant can hear. “Flowers, a Fendi scarf from Europe?” Brendon says, then looks up at Ryan. “Trying to bribe me into forgiving you?” He’s almost teasing, almost, except not really.
Ryan’s smile wavers, but only for a second before he’s leaning onto his elbows, and looks Brendon straight in the eye. The look itself is almost enough to send him out of his chair, and onto his butt. “Well,” he says with the charm he’s proved time and time again could make an army of eighty year-old men swoon. “it depends. Is it working?”
“No,” he says, and it’s only a bit of a lie.
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” he asks. “Not even a little?”
Brendon looks away, and God, he’s starting to feel dizzy again. He can see Ryan’s pleased grin from the corner of his eye, and he kind of wants to smack it off his face - hard, but at the same time not, because he can still feel the stupid scarf burning in his hands. Because of course Ryan would be clever enough to think of getting him something like that - everyone knows Brendon can't resist overpriced scarves.
When the waiter comes by to take their order, Brendon refuses to get anything, not even a water, but in the end, Ryan orders him a Greek salad and a Golden C water, and he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.
He scowls at Ryan once the waiter leaves, and says, “I’m not eating it.”
Ryan shrugs. “Okay, fine by me. You don’t have to.”
Brendon narrows his eyes, and slumps down in his chair, angry at himself for coming here in the first place. All it’s doing is slowly making him forget what Ryan did - that’s if he actually did - and he shouldn’t forget something like that.
Brendon shouldn’t have even given Ryan the satisfaction of him coming here in the first place. He is such an idiot.
“You look really good,” Ryan says, voice soft as his eyes wander over him.
Brendon rolls his eyes, but his insides burn and thump and dance.
“You do,” he ensures.
“Yeah,” Brendon mumbles, throat dry.
“Brendon, come on,” he pleads, lowering his voice so the people around can't overhear. “Please don’t be like this. I know you don’t hate me as much as you’re making it seem or else you would never have agreed to come here.”
He bites at his lip, and stares down at his lap because he knows Ryan’s right.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I’m so, so, so sorry for the way I acted. And I’ll say it over and over and over again until you believe me, I didn’t do what you said I did, okay? I promise you. I’m not that kind of person. It’s true that I have very strong feelings and attraction towards you, but I would never do something if you were unwilling, and I want you to believe me, Brendon.”
Brendon gulps, looks up at Ryan momentarily before looking back down at the tablecloth. “I wouldn’t just make it up…” he manages to force out. He pauses, rubs his forehead and says, “at least not that I know of.”
“Brendon,” Ryan says, and leans forward in his chair, closer to him, “I understand you not wanting to admit to cheating on Jon. You’ve been with him for a very long time, and it’s understandable that you’d have very strong guilt over it. That maybe subconsciously, you made this story up without your knowledge. I’m sure it’s happened before.”
Brendon looks up at him, lip in between his teeth, and - and maybe he is telling the truth. Ryan’s not a rapist, there’s no way. It’s Ryan - he’s rich, successful, attractive, sweet, charming, he could get plenty of men and women, easily. He doesn’t need to rape a seventeen year old boy, it just doesn’t make any sense.
God, he feels like such an idiot.
“I - I guess so,” he stammers out, quiet and maybe a little ashamed. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess maybe that’s what I did…” He pauses, and attempts to swallow once more. “I’m - ” he starts, then stops, taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I guess.”
Ryan smiles, warm, and rests a comforting hand on his knee. “It’s alright,” he says, and Brendon looks up to meet his eye, heart beating out of control. “As long as you forgive me too.”
Brendon forces a small smile through the butterflies, and says, “I do.”
- x -
Brendon starts hanging out with Ryan again, of course, without Jon’s knowledge. They start off small, just dinner, joy rides around the city, public places in Brendon’s house, and quick stops at the casino.
Brendon’s trying his hardest not to be a tease this time. They haven’t kissed, he hasn’t flirted - well, most of the time anyway - they just hang out and talk, just like friends, but he knows that it’s only a matter of time.
He slept with Ryan, he cheated on Jon, whether he can remember it or not, he knows he did. He feels guilty, so guilty that he’s almost to the point where he can't even look Jon in the eye anymore. He knows he doesn’t deserve him because all Jon has ever done was treat him amazing, like gold, and what does he do? Turn around and sleep with some other guy on New Years while he’s off visiting his family.
With everyday that passes, after every time he hangs out with Ryan, he can feel himself grow further and further apart from Jon. He’s slowly accepting the fact that this might be the end of BrendonAndJon as much as it kills him.
- - -
It’s a Saturday night, a week after the dinner when Jon comes barging into his room, and demands, “It’s Ryan isn’t it? Ryan did something. That’s why you’ve been acting so weird.”
Brendon’s face is white as he turns around to look at his boyfriend, and wonders how the fuck he figured that one out. “What?” he stammers, attempting innocence.
“Ryan. What did he do?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendon lies with a small shrug, and looks down at his bed sheets.
“The fuck you don’t,” Jon seethes, approaching his bed. “Brendon, tell me right now. You were hanging out with Ryan when I was gone, and he did something to you. Tell me what it is,” he demands.
“He didn’t do anything, okay?” he insists, trying to calm his heavy breathing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“William told me about all those flowers he sent you, about all the notes. He fucking told me so stop fucking lying to me, Brendon!” he practically screams, fists clenched together in tight, little balls.
“William told you what?” he screeches as he pulls himself up from his bed, and stands in front of Jon.
“Oh, don’t get mad at him,” Jon sneers. “It slipped out. What I don’t understand is why you wouldn’t fucking tell me. You didn’t even tell me you even saw him after the Christmas party. What the fuck, Brendon?!”
Brendon folds his arms over his chest. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“Bull-fucking-shit!”
“I didn’t!” Brendon insists. “Look, okay, me and Ryan hung out once or twice after the party, and it wasn’t anything big. We both realized how much we changed since we were kids, and I guess Ryan really didn’t like it because he went and talked shit about me to these people. I ended up finding out, and he just really went over the top trying to get me to forgive him. And that’s it, we haven’t talked since. Honest.”
Jon looks over him, looking a little unsure whether he should believe him or not. Brendon gives himself a mental pat on the back for being such a good liar.
“What people?” Jon asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, but at least he looks a little more relaxed.
“Just - ” Brendon starts, and looks away as he does a little wave with his hand like it’s no big deal, “just these people from the casino.”
Jon raises a doubtful eyebrow. “People from the casino?” he repeats. “Why the fuck does it matter if he talked about you with people from the casino?”
“‘Cause it makes my dad look bad,” he explains. He brings his eyes back to Jon, and takes a step towards him, resting a soft hand on his arm, “look, I really just don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s over and done and in the past.”
Jon stares down at him, still unsure. “I don’t know, Bren…” He sighs.
Brendon groans, and drops his hand from Jon’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what to say to you anymore!” he cries, moving away. “Like, fuck. No matter what I say you’ll never believe me!’
“That’s because it just doesn’t match up, Brendon!” he says, teeth clenched as Brendon paces back and forth in front of him. “It doesn’t make sense!”
He stops, looks at him and asks, “right, so you’re pretty much saying that I’m lying to you then?”
Jon waits a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t know, you tell me.”
Brendon groans, and throws his hands up in the air before he just sits down at the end of his bed, and presses his face into his hands. He’s lying so well that he’s actually almost believing it himself - shit, what has he come to? “I can't handle this right now, Jon,” he mumbles into his palms. “Can you - can you just leave? Please?”
Jon doesn’t say anything, Brendon can't even hear him breathe. A minute or so passes, and Jon’s still so quiet that he thinks maybe he already left without him noticing, but then he clears his throat, and says, “fine. Whatever.”
Brendon still has his face in his hands when his bedroom door slams shut.
An hour later, he finds himself standing at Ryan’s door.
A/N: aah, i know so much fighting. *ducks* im sorry!