Love Is Spelt Like Your Fist ~ Chapter Twenty
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: The wonderful, magnificent, marvelous me - 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 W E N T Y
Much to Brendon’s utter surprise, his mother actually helps him move into Ryan’s - well, more like she sits in the passenger sear beside him, following the moving truck with the big, burly men that were going to do the actual moving, but still.
Mrs. Urie doesn’t cry, she just sits there with a straight face, holding onto a drugged-up Mr. Kitty, and that itself, is the unsurprising thing. Just like the fact that Mr. Urie hasn’t even been there to say goodbye.
Brendon’s been doing pretty good with not showing it, but he’s still freaking the fuck out about this whole moving in with Ryan thing, so much that he doesn’t think it’s even safe for him to be driving. All he can do - all he has been doing - is praying over and over again that it’ll all be okay. That living with Ryan will be good, for the both of them. That now, Ryan will know that Brendon won't be leaving him, that he actually loves him enough to move in with him.
Unfortunately for him, the second Brendon enters Ryan’s condo, he can already tell he’s in a bad mood, and that’s really all Brendon needed to make his day that much better.
However, Ryan still puts on a big, sappy smile when he sees Mrs. Urie, tells her it's wonderful to see her as he wraps an arm around Brendon’s neck, pulling him in tight and presses a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek. Too bad Brendon can see right through it. He can see his tight jaw, the wrinkles around his eyes, his forehead and just knows. Brendon knows Ryan well enough by now, he’s not stupid. Although, he’s aware, after recent events, he wouldn’t blame people for thinking so.
Ryan says, “I’m just so happy that Brendon’s finally moving in with me,” and “I really love your son, Mrs. Urie, and I’ll make sure to take care of him,” while his fingers dig into Brendon’s hip, and he really can't help but think something completely opposite to his words.
Mrs. Urie stays with them, making small talk while sipping lemonade, until the movers have brought up almost all of his things, and then says, taking a quick glance at her watch, “well, I better be going. I’m meeting up with the ladies for coffee.”
Brendon never thought anything like this would go through his mind, not since he was five years old at least, but he just can't help but think, no, please don’t leave me. You can't go. You cant leave me when he’s in a bad mood like this! And then he realizes that’s stupid, because this will most likely be just one of the many bad moods of Ryan Ross now that he’s living with him.
Ryan calls up his driver for her, adn Brendon stands there uncomfortably, nervous, while Mrs. Urie slides on her coat and slips on her shoes. Brendon could say it right now. He could ask her to say, or tell her that he’s changed his mind and he wants to go back home. He could tell her everything that’s happened, everything that Ryan’s done. But, he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t.
Ryan appears seconds later, arm instantly around his waist, and Brendon just plasters a large smile across his lips.
Mrs. Urie gives them both a quick kiss on the cheek and an ‘oh, this is just so fantastic’, before disappearing into the elevator with a ding leaving Brendon to stand there and think, is it?
Time seems to stand still for a minute or two, with them standing there, Ryan’s arm still tense around his waist while Brendon listens to the steady sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and he’s not even sure why he’s freaking out so much.
Ryan pulls away, and says with an agitated edge to his voice, “why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”
“I just - ” Brendon starts, then pauses, nibbling nervously at his bottom lip while Ryan turns around and stalks off towards the living room. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he mumbles, cautiously following after him. “I moved out for the first time and she’s my mom, isn’t that what usually happens?”
Ryan turns, eyes flashing with fury. “Don’t fucking use attitude with me,” he hisses.
Brendon presses his palm to his forehead, takes a deep breath and says, calmly as he can muster, “I’m not, Ryan. I’m just saying.”
“Well, next time I’d appreciate it if you asked me before inviting people into my house,” he snaps.
“Ryan!” he cries, pulling his hand from his face, frustration bubbling up from his gut. “She’s my mother, and I thought it was our house now. I thought that was the point in moving in together, so it would be ours.”
Ryan looks away, eyes on the other side of the room from Brendon, cheeks pink in anger. Brendon takes that as a bad sign.
“Look,” he says, lowering his voice. “I just - ” He groans, presses the balls of his hands back into his eyes, “what’s the point in moving in here, if you’re just going to pick fights with me for no reason?”
Brendon doesn’t have time to blink, doesn’t even have his hands off his eyes before his back's slamming into the wall behind him, knocking the air right out of him. Ryan’s fingers are digging into the pulse point at his neck, his hot, sour breath brushing against Brendon’s cheek, and oh god, now Brendon really can't breathe.
“Don’t fucking talk to me like you that ungrateful little slut,” Ryan sneers, eyes narrowed and nose flared, inches from his face.
Brendon stares back, eyes wide with fright. His windpipes blocked by Ryan’s large, rough hands and obviously no air is going to his brain either, because he can't process this, not even a little.
“Who paid the five million dollars to live here? Who pays the bills every fucking month?” he continues, voice dropping with venom. “I do. I don’t see you giving me money, so yes, it is my house and you’re going to ask me before you even think of inviting any over, ever. Got it?”
Brendon, somehow, manages to find enough in him to slowly, but barely nod.
Ryan drops his hand, pulls his body from Brendon’s, all at once, and Brendon practically falls down onto his knees, gasping for air. Ryan counts to three, before he’s storming out of the room, mumbling something along the lines of, “I’m going out.”
And Brendon can't help but think this is the first time Ryan’s hurt him, and hadn’t immediately apologized. He listens to the shuffling of Ryan’s footsteps, and the ding of the elevator, and Brendon stays there for awhile after, on his knees, attempting to get his breathing back on track.
Every once and awhile, he’ll hear the movers chat, the rumble of them carrying objects into the bedroom. A part of him hopes they’ll come in, see him on the floor, crying and alone, with Ryan’s finger-imprints on his neck and they’ll figure it out, tell someone, and this can all end before it ever really begins.
They don’t though.
He presses his face into his knees, reminds himself that Ryan doesn’t mean it. He’s just acting out on his childhood, and that he loves him, he does. He just has a short temper, and Brendon was just egging him on. He should know better, especially when Ryan’s in a bad mood. He just needs to keep his big, fat mouth shut, not aggravate Ryan and he’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.
Brendon’s not sure why he does it exactly, but for some reason, he picks himself up off of the ground and goes into Ryan’s office. He find a piece a piece of paper, sits down at his desk and starts to write, eyes flooded with tears. When he’s finished he finds a blank envelope, seals it and addresses it even though he doubts it will ever be sent.
All it says is:
Dear Jon,
I still love you, if that’s worth anything.
I’m sorry.
- Brendon
- x -
When Ryan comes home, it's dark and Brendon’s halfway through unpacking. He smells like beer and weed, and Brendon can't say that he wasn’t expecting that.
Ryan kneels behind him, slips his arms around his waist, acting like he hadn’t had him trapped against the wall, choking him just hours earlier. He presses his nose against the back of his ear and mumbles, “hi.”
Brendon freezes with his shirt clenched in his hands, throat still aching.
“Baby,” he slurs, hot, sour breath trickling down his neck. He pushes his shirt up over his hip, running his fingers along the inch of skin, and Brendon does something along the lines of a flinch and shiver. “I’m sorry.”
Brendon closes his eyes, tips his head down, leaving Ryan’s fingers to trace along his protruding hipbone. “Ryan,” he sighs, long and distressed, “you cant treat me like that then expect sex just because you’re drunk and horny.”
“Baby, please,” he says, voice muffled into the back of his neck, “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it. I love you. You just made me so mad.”
Brendon squeezes his eyes shut tighter, fighting back the tears, and shakes his head. “I can't do this. I can't live here or be in this relationship if you’re going to hurt me like that.” He stops, takes a shaky breath, and continues, “you really scare me sometimes, you know? Really scare me, it’s like - I never know what mood you’re going to be in. Whether you’re going to yell at me or hit me or be in a good mood and be the person I fell for. I don’t want to be scared wondering if you’re going to hurt me or not.” Brendon almost adds something about how he knows about his childhood, that he understands, but he decides it’s probably not the right time for that. He’s already gotten choked, he doesn’t need anymore today, thank you.
Ryan presses his lips against the back of Brendon’s neck, moves his hands further up his stomach and says, “You won't, I promise. I was just having a hard time at the Casino again, but it’s okay now.”
Brendon wants to ask what could possibly change in the past three hours on a Tuesday night, especially after coming home smelling like weed and alcohol, but he doesn’t. Again, he thinks he’s had enough trauma for the night. “Okay,” he says, barely, letting out a small sigh of defeat, feeling ashamed for giving up so easily.
He feels Ryan smile against his skin, and Brendon hates himself, just a bit.
A/N: i am so, so sorry it took so long. my whole brain just decided to shut off apparently. first i had absolutely no will to write anything, and then i didnt even feel like going on the computer, which is soosososo not like me (i'm ALWAYS on the computer) and i dont even feel like reading slash lately. i dont even know if its gone yet, although i hope it is. sorry for it being pretty short too, especially after all of this wait, and i reallyreally hope the next chapter doesnt take another, what? two weeks like this one. however, exams are coming up, so i cant make any promises.
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: The wonderful, magnificent, marvelous me - 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 W E N T Y
Much to Brendon’s utter surprise, his mother actually helps him move into Ryan’s - well, more like she sits in the passenger sear beside him, following the moving truck with the big, burly men that were going to do the actual moving, but still.
Mrs. Urie doesn’t cry, she just sits there with a straight face, holding onto a drugged-up Mr. Kitty, and that itself, is the unsurprising thing. Just like the fact that Mr. Urie hasn’t even been there to say goodbye.
Brendon’s been doing pretty good with not showing it, but he’s still freaking the fuck out about this whole moving in with Ryan thing, so much that he doesn’t think it’s even safe for him to be driving. All he can do - all he has been doing - is praying over and over again that it’ll all be okay. That living with Ryan will be good, for the both of them. That now, Ryan will know that Brendon won't be leaving him, that he actually loves him enough to move in with him.
Unfortunately for him, the second Brendon enters Ryan’s condo, he can already tell he’s in a bad mood, and that’s really all Brendon needed to make his day that much better.
However, Ryan still puts on a big, sappy smile when he sees Mrs. Urie, tells her it's wonderful to see her as he wraps an arm around Brendon’s neck, pulling him in tight and presses a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek. Too bad Brendon can see right through it. He can see his tight jaw, the wrinkles around his eyes, his forehead and just knows. Brendon knows Ryan well enough by now, he’s not stupid. Although, he’s aware, after recent events, he wouldn’t blame people for thinking so.
Ryan says, “I’m just so happy that Brendon’s finally moving in with me,” and “I really love your son, Mrs. Urie, and I’ll make sure to take care of him,” while his fingers dig into Brendon’s hip, and he really can't help but think something completely opposite to his words.
Mrs. Urie stays with them, making small talk while sipping lemonade, until the movers have brought up almost all of his things, and then says, taking a quick glance at her watch, “well, I better be going. I’m meeting up with the ladies for coffee.”
Brendon never thought anything like this would go through his mind, not since he was five years old at least, but he just can't help but think, no, please don’t leave me. You can't go. You cant leave me when he’s in a bad mood like this! And then he realizes that’s stupid, because this will most likely be just one of the many bad moods of Ryan Ross now that he’s living with him.
Ryan calls up his driver for her, adn Brendon stands there uncomfortably, nervous, while Mrs. Urie slides on her coat and slips on her shoes. Brendon could say it right now. He could ask her to say, or tell her that he’s changed his mind and he wants to go back home. He could tell her everything that’s happened, everything that Ryan’s done. But, he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t.
Ryan appears seconds later, arm instantly around his waist, and Brendon just plasters a large smile across his lips.
Mrs. Urie gives them both a quick kiss on the cheek and an ‘oh, this is just so fantastic’, before disappearing into the elevator with a ding leaving Brendon to stand there and think, is it?
Time seems to stand still for a minute or two, with them standing there, Ryan’s arm still tense around his waist while Brendon listens to the steady sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and he’s not even sure why he’s freaking out so much.
Ryan pulls away, and says with an agitated edge to his voice, “why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”
“I just - ” Brendon starts, then pauses, nibbling nervously at his bottom lip while Ryan turns around and stalks off towards the living room. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he mumbles, cautiously following after him. “I moved out for the first time and she’s my mom, isn’t that what usually happens?”
Ryan turns, eyes flashing with fury. “Don’t fucking use attitude with me,” he hisses.
Brendon presses his palm to his forehead, takes a deep breath and says, calmly as he can muster, “I’m not, Ryan. I’m just saying.”
“Well, next time I’d appreciate it if you asked me before inviting people into my house,” he snaps.
“Ryan!” he cries, pulling his hand from his face, frustration bubbling up from his gut. “She’s my mother, and I thought it was our house now. I thought that was the point in moving in together, so it would be ours.”
Ryan looks away, eyes on the other side of the room from Brendon, cheeks pink in anger. Brendon takes that as a bad sign.
“Look,” he says, lowering his voice. “I just - ” He groans, presses the balls of his hands back into his eyes, “what’s the point in moving in here, if you’re just going to pick fights with me for no reason?”
Brendon doesn’t have time to blink, doesn’t even have his hands off his eyes before his back's slamming into the wall behind him, knocking the air right out of him. Ryan’s fingers are digging into the pulse point at his neck, his hot, sour breath brushing against Brendon’s cheek, and oh god, now Brendon really can't breathe.
“Don’t fucking talk to me like you that ungrateful little slut,” Ryan sneers, eyes narrowed and nose flared, inches from his face.
Brendon stares back, eyes wide with fright. His windpipes blocked by Ryan’s large, rough hands and obviously no air is going to his brain either, because he can't process this, not even a little.
“Who paid the five million dollars to live here? Who pays the bills every fucking month?” he continues, voice dropping with venom. “I do. I don’t see you giving me money, so yes, it is my house and you’re going to ask me before you even think of inviting any over, ever. Got it?”
Brendon, somehow, manages to find enough in him to slowly, but barely nod.
Ryan drops his hand, pulls his body from Brendon’s, all at once, and Brendon practically falls down onto his knees, gasping for air. Ryan counts to three, before he’s storming out of the room, mumbling something along the lines of, “I’m going out.”
And Brendon can't help but think this is the first time Ryan’s hurt him, and hadn’t immediately apologized. He listens to the shuffling of Ryan’s footsteps, and the ding of the elevator, and Brendon stays there for awhile after, on his knees, attempting to get his breathing back on track.
Every once and awhile, he’ll hear the movers chat, the rumble of them carrying objects into the bedroom. A part of him hopes they’ll come in, see him on the floor, crying and alone, with Ryan’s finger-imprints on his neck and they’ll figure it out, tell someone, and this can all end before it ever really begins.
They don’t though.
He presses his face into his knees, reminds himself that Ryan doesn’t mean it. He’s just acting out on his childhood, and that he loves him, he does. He just has a short temper, and Brendon was just egging him on. He should know better, especially when Ryan’s in a bad mood. He just needs to keep his big, fat mouth shut, not aggravate Ryan and he’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.
Brendon’s not sure why he does it exactly, but for some reason, he picks himself up off of the ground and goes into Ryan’s office. He find a piece a piece of paper, sits down at his desk and starts to write, eyes flooded with tears. When he’s finished he finds a blank envelope, seals it and addresses it even though he doubts it will ever be sent.
All it says is:
Dear Jon,
I still love you, if that’s worth anything.
I’m sorry.
- Brendon
- x -
When Ryan comes home, it's dark and Brendon’s halfway through unpacking. He smells like beer and weed, and Brendon can't say that he wasn’t expecting that.
Ryan kneels behind him, slips his arms around his waist, acting like he hadn’t had him trapped against the wall, choking him just hours earlier. He presses his nose against the back of his ear and mumbles, “hi.”
Brendon freezes with his shirt clenched in his hands, throat still aching.
“Baby,” he slurs, hot, sour breath trickling down his neck. He pushes his shirt up over his hip, running his fingers along the inch of skin, and Brendon does something along the lines of a flinch and shiver. “I’m sorry.”
Brendon closes his eyes, tips his head down, leaving Ryan’s fingers to trace along his protruding hipbone. “Ryan,” he sighs, long and distressed, “you cant treat me like that then expect sex just because you’re drunk and horny.”
“Baby, please,” he says, voice muffled into the back of his neck, “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it. I love you. You just made me so mad.”
Brendon squeezes his eyes shut tighter, fighting back the tears, and shakes his head. “I can't do this. I can't live here or be in this relationship if you’re going to hurt me like that.” He stops, takes a shaky breath, and continues, “you really scare me sometimes, you know? Really scare me, it’s like - I never know what mood you’re going to be in. Whether you’re going to yell at me or hit me or be in a good mood and be the person I fell for. I don’t want to be scared wondering if you’re going to hurt me or not.” Brendon almost adds something about how he knows about his childhood, that he understands, but he decides it’s probably not the right time for that. He’s already gotten choked, he doesn’t need anymore today, thank you.
Ryan presses his lips against the back of Brendon’s neck, moves his hands further up his stomach and says, “You won't, I promise. I was just having a hard time at the Casino again, but it’s okay now.”
Brendon wants to ask what could possibly change in the past three hours on a Tuesday night, especially after coming home smelling like weed and alcohol, but he doesn’t. Again, he thinks he’s had enough trauma for the night. “Okay,” he says, barely, letting out a small sigh of defeat, feeling ashamed for giving up so easily.
He feels Ryan smile against his skin, and Brendon hates himself, just a bit.
A/N: i am so, so sorry it took so long. my whole brain just decided to shut off apparently. first i had absolutely no will to write anything, and then i didnt even feel like going on the computer, which is soosososo not like me (i'm ALWAYS on the computer) and i dont even feel like reading slash lately. i dont even know if its gone yet, although i hope it is. sorry for it being pretty short too, especially after all of this wait, and i reallyreally hope the next chapter doesnt take another, what? two weeks like this one. however, exams are coming up, so i cant make any promises.