4 drabbles
4 Drabbles || Ryan Ross/Alex Greenwald (The Young Veins/Phantom Planet), Kirk/Bones (Star Trek), Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie (The Young Veins/PATD), Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie (The Young Veins/PATD) || PG-13 overall || 4 drabbles written for 4 different requests. Obviously. || No warnings || No beta ||
Drabble 1 - Honesty - Ryan Ross/Alex Greenwald - for meiloslyther - 475 words
One of the things that keeps Ryan from running away is probably the fact that Alex is honest.
Alex is the first person to actually say things that Ryan doesn’t dare to admit are true. Alex doesn’t bother really worrying about Ryan’s feelings, or how Ryan might react to something - he just says it. Pete had eventually become gentle, worried. Brendon and Spencer and Jon (though mostly Brendon and Spencer) had done the same, believing Ryan’s fragility would cause him to crack.
And for a time, Ryan had believed that they were right.
Until the moment he broke when there was no pressure.
But then there was pressure, and it was the right kind - a wound being pressed upon with a clean cloth.
“You look like shit,” Alex would say in the morning, when he looked no better. Ryan would laugh and shrug, because it was true.
And Alex’s honesty was a good thing.
“People think we’re gay,” Alex says at dinner one night, and Ryan snorts as he reaches for a piece of chicken, smiling for a reason he can’t really explain.
“People think a lot of things. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re true.”
Alex hesitates, and then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Do you think it’s weird that we take photos of each other during meal time?”
Ryan laughs quietly and then reaches for his one phone. They both position their phones opposite of each other and they count down from three, Alex, Ryan, Alex. Their phones make identical sounds, just milliseconds off as the photos are snapped.
“Mind if I send this to Twitter?” Alex asks, giving Ryan a crooked smile. Ryan smiles back.
“Only if we get to make it a tag Tweet.”
Alex laughs again. “Fair game,” he admits, sitting up. They’re still only on appetizers.
They both send the pictures to the Internet and smile back at each other.
Ryan feels secure - kind of like someone gave him back his back stuffed animal, not that he actually had one as a child. He reaches out and then hesitates. Alex quirks an eyebrow at him, still smiling lopsidedly. “Yeah?” he asks, reading Ryan like an open book. Sometimes the pages don’t even need to be flipped.
“I…”
“Talk to me, Ross.”
Ryan smiles wryly and rests his hand over Alex’s, what he wanted to do (what he’s wanted to do). He sighs and leans back in his chair, feeling the warmth, the bones of Alex’s fingers against his palm.
Here he is comfortable. Here Ryan feels safe, he feels right. “God,” he mutters, and Alex doesn’t respond. “God, Alex, what are we going to do?”
He opens his eyes and catches Alex’s gaze.
“You’re an idiot, Ross.”
“…I know.”
They both sit like that, pretending like they don’t know the meaning behind the words but they do.
Drabble 2 - The Aches - Kirk/Bones - for coldmero - 461 words
“Wake up.”
Kirk mumbles something in his sleep. It sounds suspiciously like ‘Fuck off’.
Bones frowns. “Get up,” he snaps, now more forceful.
Kirk finally begins to stir, his eye fluttering open. He glares weakly up at Bones, arms crossed over his chest and sits up, pushing himself up with his palms. “What?” he asks, but he knows what.
Bones doesn’t say anything and almost nervously Kirk bites his lip. Stares at the floor.
Bones turns away and sighs heavily, the kind of sigh that Kirk recognizes, the kind that almost pisses him off. Bones should just say it, not avoid it, act like it’s not even real. “Where does it hurt?” Bones finally says, like a mother might, almost protective.
Kirk tries not to just close his eyes and go back to sleep, but he feels threatened now, like he needs to build up some walls around him, to make this go away.
Because it hurts everywhere. And he doesn’t mean that metaphorically, because he’s aching in ways he shouldn’t.
He buries his face in his hands and bites back the stupid tears. Years.
He’s been doing this for years, so why is it affecting him now?
“Hey,” he hears, a soft murmur, too affectionate. He flinches and then sighs again, shoving the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, trying to force the sting back inside. He doesn’t want to look weak, stupid, all of these things he shouldn’t worry about, that Bones is supposed to make go away. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Kirk groans and throws his head back, shaking his head. “You’re wrong,” he grunts, throwing his arm over his eyes, still trying to protect himself. “Everything, you dumb ass, everything hurts. Fuck.”
Bones rests a hand on his chest, the let side, where his heart is located. Kirk doesn’t move, breathing in and out, trying to control himself. Bones hand is a comfort, despite his anger, his annoyance, his frustration. He can feel his heart now, he can feel the muscles loosening, because Bones is pretty much magical.
“Hey,” Bones mumbles again, though this time his voice is closer, right in Kirk’s ear, and he breathes against the lobe, then kisses the edge of his lips. “Hey, I’m not going to make you hurt more, not today, promise.”
“Today I can rest, then?”
“Yeah,” Bones says, a soft laugh. Kirk smiles a little.
It isn’t so bad.
Bones curls up into his sad, more intimate than usual, and their breathing ends up rhythmic, in time. Bones never moves his hand, gentle and warm on Kirk’s chest.
They both fall asleep because they both need it because they are both aching for one reason or another, and today is a day that they use to just sleep.
Drabble 3 - Rain on Your Window Panes - Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie - for camatie - 587 words - 2nd POV
Drip, drip, drip. A pattern on your roof, leaving a mark that you will never forget even when it fades.
You will stand in the door and look out at me and smile and then your forehead will crease with confusion. I will stand and stare right back and then you will step back, apologizing and asking me to step in. I will, and you will look awkward and watch me take off my soggy shoes, unsure about how you should respond - should you offer a drink, or just watch me?
“Coffee?” you will ask me, and I will agree.
The rain will fall onto your roof, onto the floor from my soaked hair because I’ve been walking without an umbrella.
You’ll hand me the mug with a smile and I will take it, letting our fingers brush typically, and you won’t mind - in fact, you’ll blush.
It’s not true.
You don’t know what to do. You usher me in, but without a smile. Your confusion is fused with anger. Z is there, standing in the kitchen, and she talks too loud, and I can hear her saying “Let him go, retard,” and you mumble something but I try not to listen.
You come back with coffee, and it seems a little better, more normal, because there’s cream, and I know you know how much cream I like in my coffee. You finally smile at me, though your eyes don’t seem happy. “Sorry,” I blurt, and then I immediately lift my mug to my lips, drinking - it’s too hot. I try to ignore the burning, swallowing. It stings my throat.
“Hot,” you murmur, and we’re still standing in the hallway. It’s supposed to be perfect, a reunion of sorts, but how could it be.
“A little,” I admit, smiling, and you smile back again, a little more truthfully. We both breathe, pretending like we’re alone in this small house where you live.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” you finally ask, and now it’s going where I want it to be, the way that will lead to us in each other’s arms. Maybe. I nod and we walk up together, and my socks are a little damp against the cold, narrow stair case, wooden floor.
We step into your room, just a twin sized bed like always, and I sigh, recognizing the familiarity of it all. I remember you sleeping on a plastic air bed in my bedroom, whispering through the night, until you finally gathered the courage to crawl into my bed, saying that it didn’t matter. And you had kissed me on the lips, all warm and stupid, and we had laughed at the night, even though you were heart broken.
“I need to know where to turn,” you say, surprising me. I set my coffee down on your dresser and sigh.
“I can’t really tell you that. You know that.”
“It’s been months,” you exaggerate, and I can still hear the rain, pounding against the roof. I close my eyes to the drumming in my ears. It almost blocks you out, but what could. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so fucked up.”
I step forward, automatically knowing where you are, and wrap you in my arms. I protect you and you let me. Together we breathe and let our hearts ache because you’re right, you are fucked up, majorly, I can tell by the way Alex and Z are downstairs, their laughter echoing through the walls - do you laugh with them?
I hope you do.
Drabble 4 - Double, Double - Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie - for camatie - 442 words
Ryan must be dreaming.
He must be dreaming because there is no way that this can be real.
“What? Do you think that we’re…”
“Just trying to trick you?”
“How is that even possible?”
Ryan looks between them - double vision. He blinks. Yes, this is a dream. He…
Okay, so what the fuck is going on?
Ryan really doesn’t know. He is looking at doubles - besides their hair being parted differently, Brendon and…Brendon…are exactly the same. Oh, wait. Brendon’s 1 is wearing a tie, and Brendon 2 is wearing a bow. What the fuck, Brendon would never wear a bow…so Brendon 1 (this is getting confusing) must be the real Brendon.
But still, he’s separating them based on clothing type? Good God.
“Who are you?” Ryan finally croaks.
Brendon 1 looks at Brendon 2 and they both laugh - it sounds mechanical because it’s double. Ryan shivers. “What are you so afraid of?” Brendon 1 asks, dropping to his knees (okay, since when has Ryan been sitting on the floor?) and crawling closer, ass in the air.
Totally inappropriate. Real Brendon wouldn’t do that…would he?
Brendon 1 places a soft kiss to Ryan’s lips, and before he can react, has wrapped an arm around his waist. He pulls him close, then flips them both so that Brendon 1 is behind Ryan. Ryan blinks, still in a bit of shock (does Brendon kiss him on a regular basis? He can’t remember now) as the second Brendon also crawls forward. He’s a little stealthier, his hips moving, but elegantly.
Brendon 2 licks his lips and then kisses Ryan, and it feels like Brendon 1 except that it’s hotter, almost more romantic, and Ryan is pretty sure he’s never been kissed like that.
Brendon 2’s hand is on his crotch - that’s unexpected. Brendon 1 lifts him up, position Ryan in his lap. And oh, wait, dreams aren’t this vivid, are they? Fuck, Ryan can feel Brendon’s cock against his ass, even though they’re both wearing jeans, and the fabric and the feeling and the other Brendon (he’s getting so confused) has his hand slipped under the waist of his jeans, palming him through his underwear now.
Oh, and fuck, Ryan is leaning into one of the Brendon’s touch now, his eyes closing because Jesus fucking Christ, this shouldn’t feel so good, this should be weird, but it’s perfect and of course.
Yeah, he wakes up in a stupid cold sweat, gasping for breath (maybe that’s because Brendon’s arm is slung over his neck, though?), his cock half hard in his pants.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, looking at the real Brendon. There’s only one.
It’s kind of disappointing.
Drabble 1 - Honesty - Ryan Ross/Alex Greenwald - for meiloslyther - 475 words
One of the things that keeps Ryan from running away is probably the fact that Alex is honest.
Alex is the first person to actually say things that Ryan doesn’t dare to admit are true. Alex doesn’t bother really worrying about Ryan’s feelings, or how Ryan might react to something - he just says it. Pete had eventually become gentle, worried. Brendon and Spencer and Jon (though mostly Brendon and Spencer) had done the same, believing Ryan’s fragility would cause him to crack.
And for a time, Ryan had believed that they were right.
Until the moment he broke when there was no pressure.
But then there was pressure, and it was the right kind - a wound being pressed upon with a clean cloth.
“You look like shit,” Alex would say in the morning, when he looked no better. Ryan would laugh and shrug, because it was true.
And Alex’s honesty was a good thing.
“People think we’re gay,” Alex says at dinner one night, and Ryan snorts as he reaches for a piece of chicken, smiling for a reason he can’t really explain.
“People think a lot of things. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re true.”
Alex hesitates, and then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Do you think it’s weird that we take photos of each other during meal time?”
Ryan laughs quietly and then reaches for his one phone. They both position their phones opposite of each other and they count down from three, Alex, Ryan, Alex. Their phones make identical sounds, just milliseconds off as the photos are snapped.
“Mind if I send this to Twitter?” Alex asks, giving Ryan a crooked smile. Ryan smiles back.
“Only if we get to make it a tag Tweet.”
Alex laughs again. “Fair game,” he admits, sitting up. They’re still only on appetizers.
They both send the pictures to the Internet and smile back at each other.
Ryan feels secure - kind of like someone gave him back his back stuffed animal, not that he actually had one as a child. He reaches out and then hesitates. Alex quirks an eyebrow at him, still smiling lopsidedly. “Yeah?” he asks, reading Ryan like an open book. Sometimes the pages don’t even need to be flipped.
“I…”
“Talk to me, Ross.”
Ryan smiles wryly and rests his hand over Alex’s, what he wanted to do (what he’s wanted to do). He sighs and leans back in his chair, feeling the warmth, the bones of Alex’s fingers against his palm.
Here he is comfortable. Here Ryan feels safe, he feels right. “God,” he mutters, and Alex doesn’t respond. “God, Alex, what are we going to do?”
He opens his eyes and catches Alex’s gaze.
“You’re an idiot, Ross.”
“…I know.”
They both sit like that, pretending like they don’t know the meaning behind the words but they do.
Drabble 2 - The Aches - Kirk/Bones - for coldmero - 461 words
“Wake up.”
Kirk mumbles something in his sleep. It sounds suspiciously like ‘Fuck off’.
Bones frowns. “Get up,” he snaps, now more forceful.
Kirk finally begins to stir, his eye fluttering open. He glares weakly up at Bones, arms crossed over his chest and sits up, pushing himself up with his palms. “What?” he asks, but he knows what.
Bones doesn’t say anything and almost nervously Kirk bites his lip. Stares at the floor.
Bones turns away and sighs heavily, the kind of sigh that Kirk recognizes, the kind that almost pisses him off. Bones should just say it, not avoid it, act like it’s not even real. “Where does it hurt?” Bones finally says, like a mother might, almost protective.
Kirk tries not to just close his eyes and go back to sleep, but he feels threatened now, like he needs to build up some walls around him, to make this go away.
Because it hurts everywhere. And he doesn’t mean that metaphorically, because he’s aching in ways he shouldn’t.
He buries his face in his hands and bites back the stupid tears. Years.
He’s been doing this for years, so why is it affecting him now?
“Hey,” he hears, a soft murmur, too affectionate. He flinches and then sighs again, shoving the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, trying to force the sting back inside. He doesn’t want to look weak, stupid, all of these things he shouldn’t worry about, that Bones is supposed to make go away. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Kirk groans and throws his head back, shaking his head. “You’re wrong,” he grunts, throwing his arm over his eyes, still trying to protect himself. “Everything, you dumb ass, everything hurts. Fuck.”
Bones rests a hand on his chest, the let side, where his heart is located. Kirk doesn’t move, breathing in and out, trying to control himself. Bones hand is a comfort, despite his anger, his annoyance, his frustration. He can feel his heart now, he can feel the muscles loosening, because Bones is pretty much magical.
“Hey,” Bones mumbles again, though this time his voice is closer, right in Kirk’s ear, and he breathes against the lobe, then kisses the edge of his lips. “Hey, I’m not going to make you hurt more, not today, promise.”
“Today I can rest, then?”
“Yeah,” Bones says, a soft laugh. Kirk smiles a little.
It isn’t so bad.
Bones curls up into his sad, more intimate than usual, and their breathing ends up rhythmic, in time. Bones never moves his hand, gentle and warm on Kirk’s chest.
They both fall asleep because they both need it because they are both aching for one reason or another, and today is a day that they use to just sleep.
Drabble 3 - Rain on Your Window Panes - Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie - for camatie - 587 words - 2nd POV
Drip, drip, drip. A pattern on your roof, leaving a mark that you will never forget even when it fades.
You will stand in the door and look out at me and smile and then your forehead will crease with confusion. I will stand and stare right back and then you will step back, apologizing and asking me to step in. I will, and you will look awkward and watch me take off my soggy shoes, unsure about how you should respond - should you offer a drink, or just watch me?
“Coffee?” you will ask me, and I will agree.
The rain will fall onto your roof, onto the floor from my soaked hair because I’ve been walking without an umbrella.
You’ll hand me the mug with a smile and I will take it, letting our fingers brush typically, and you won’t mind - in fact, you’ll blush.
It’s not true.
You don’t know what to do. You usher me in, but without a smile. Your confusion is fused with anger. Z is there, standing in the kitchen, and she talks too loud, and I can hear her saying “Let him go, retard,” and you mumble something but I try not to listen.
You come back with coffee, and it seems a little better, more normal, because there’s cream, and I know you know how much cream I like in my coffee. You finally smile at me, though your eyes don’t seem happy. “Sorry,” I blurt, and then I immediately lift my mug to my lips, drinking - it’s too hot. I try to ignore the burning, swallowing. It stings my throat.
“Hot,” you murmur, and we’re still standing in the hallway. It’s supposed to be perfect, a reunion of sorts, but how could it be.
“A little,” I admit, smiling, and you smile back again, a little more truthfully. We both breathe, pretending like we’re alone in this small house where you live.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” you finally ask, and now it’s going where I want it to be, the way that will lead to us in each other’s arms. Maybe. I nod and we walk up together, and my socks are a little damp against the cold, narrow stair case, wooden floor.
We step into your room, just a twin sized bed like always, and I sigh, recognizing the familiarity of it all. I remember you sleeping on a plastic air bed in my bedroom, whispering through the night, until you finally gathered the courage to crawl into my bed, saying that it didn’t matter. And you had kissed me on the lips, all warm and stupid, and we had laughed at the night, even though you were heart broken.
“I need to know where to turn,” you say, surprising me. I set my coffee down on your dresser and sigh.
“I can’t really tell you that. You know that.”
“It’s been months,” you exaggerate, and I can still hear the rain, pounding against the roof. I close my eyes to the drumming in my ears. It almost blocks you out, but what could. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so fucked up.”
I step forward, automatically knowing where you are, and wrap you in my arms. I protect you and you let me. Together we breathe and let our hearts ache because you’re right, you are fucked up, majorly, I can tell by the way Alex and Z are downstairs, their laughter echoing through the walls - do you laugh with them?
I hope you do.
Drabble 4 - Double, Double - Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie - for camatie - 442 words
Ryan must be dreaming.
He must be dreaming because there is no way that this can be real.
“What? Do you think that we’re…”
“Just trying to trick you?”
“How is that even possible?”
Ryan looks between them - double vision. He blinks. Yes, this is a dream. He…
Okay, so what the fuck is going on?
Ryan really doesn’t know. He is looking at doubles - besides their hair being parted differently, Brendon and…Brendon…are exactly the same. Oh, wait. Brendon’s 1 is wearing a tie, and Brendon 2 is wearing a bow. What the fuck, Brendon would never wear a bow…so Brendon 1 (this is getting confusing) must be the real Brendon.
But still, he’s separating them based on clothing type? Good God.
“Who are you?” Ryan finally croaks.
Brendon 1 looks at Brendon 2 and they both laugh - it sounds mechanical because it’s double. Ryan shivers. “What are you so afraid of?” Brendon 1 asks, dropping to his knees (okay, since when has Ryan been sitting on the floor?) and crawling closer, ass in the air.
Totally inappropriate. Real Brendon wouldn’t do that…would he?
Brendon 1 places a soft kiss to Ryan’s lips, and before he can react, has wrapped an arm around his waist. He pulls him close, then flips them both so that Brendon 1 is behind Ryan. Ryan blinks, still in a bit of shock (does Brendon kiss him on a regular basis? He can’t remember now) as the second Brendon also crawls forward. He’s a little stealthier, his hips moving, but elegantly.
Brendon 2 licks his lips and then kisses Ryan, and it feels like Brendon 1 except that it’s hotter, almost more romantic, and Ryan is pretty sure he’s never been kissed like that.
Brendon 2’s hand is on his crotch - that’s unexpected. Brendon 1 lifts him up, position Ryan in his lap. And oh, wait, dreams aren’t this vivid, are they? Fuck, Ryan can feel Brendon’s cock against his ass, even though they’re both wearing jeans, and the fabric and the feeling and the other Brendon (he’s getting so confused) has his hand slipped under the waist of his jeans, palming him through his underwear now.
Oh, and fuck, Ryan is leaning into one of the Brendon’s touch now, his eyes closing because Jesus fucking Christ, this shouldn’t feel so good, this should be weird, but it’s perfect and of course.
Yeah, he wakes up in a stupid cold sweat, gasping for breath (maybe that’s because Brendon’s arm is slung over his neck, though?), his cock half hard in his pants.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, looking at the real Brendon. There’s only one.
It’s kind of disappointing.