Fic: Bad Habit, Brendon/Ryan, pg-13 ish,
Ok, so I got this journal being all, right, well, I'll just read fic, and comment, and that's it. And then I went and fell into the MCR fandom and the P!ATD fandom, and well. I wrote fic. Dammed if I know how. Here it is. (Un-beta-d, but checked though a fair few times, so I think I picked up most of the tense fuck ups. Let me know if I missed anything)
Bad Habit
Brendon/Ryan
Pg-13 ish I think.
About 1400 words
Disclaimer: I don't own, please don't sue.
Brendon chews his nails.
It drives Ryan kind of, sort of, totally, entirely, mad. He snaps one day, quite out of the blue.
“Brendon! Stop that! Now! Or I will…I will…do something you will not like.” He finishes lamely, aware it doesn’t have quite the bite the enthusiastic delivery promised.
Brendon stops, his fingers still half in his mouth. “Stop doing what?” Brendon mouths around them. It might be cute if it didn’t get on Ryan’s nerves so much.
“Chewing your nails.”
“Oh.” Brendon removes his hand and stares at it as if it didn’t belong to him. “Ok, if it bothers you that much.”
Five minutes later he gnawing away at his pinkie fingernail again.
“Brendon!”
“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah, sorry.” He grins, and withdraws his hand again.
It goes on like that for the next two days, with Ryan’s nerves, never the best on tour, fraying further, and Brendon retaining the expression of blameless surprise whenever Ryan reminds him. Spencer find the whole thing hilarious. “Why does it bother you so much?” He asks, finally.
“It’s…” words apparently failed Ryan in the face of Brendon’s infuriating personal habits. “It’s just…irritating, and it sounds disgusting when he chews on them, and now it bothers me whenever he does it.” He finished, frustrated.
“Oh. Well, I guess it just never bothered me really.” Spencer bites pensively on this thumbnail.
Ryan’s anguished scream can be heard from outside the bus.
***
The next night and they’re all drinking, sitting in a circle on the floor of the bus, because Jon has noticed a reduction in nail-biting related incidents when alcohol enters the equation. Not, apparently a complete removal of them, because Ryan shoots Brendon a warning look every time his hand strays near his face, but a definite reduction. They haven’t had to restrain Ryan once tonight.
They’re playing a particularly tragic game of truth or dare, which never works terribly well with only the four of them, because, well, they know each other too well for truth to be very revealing, and there are only so many dares you can issue which can be accepted and completed on a moving bus. Still, they’re trying, and the mostly empty bottle of tequila responsible for the game has just landed on Ryan. “Ah-ha,” slurs Brendon, “now. Why does my chewing my nails annoy you so much?” He attempts to raise one eyebrow, but the complicated series of muscle movements required result in his falling over a little more, a not unimpressive feat given that he is already sitting down.
Ryan sighs. He’s not quite as far gone as Brendon, and so he can remember that this is approximately the fourth time he’s been asked the same question this evening. “We’ve been though this Bren’, I don’t know. It just does.”
“I know how you could motivate me.” Brendon bats his eyelashes, aiming for coquettish, and hitting ‘I have something in my eye’.
“Oh?” Says Ryan, humouring him, “how?”
“You could offer me sexual favours .”
“Brendon.” Explains Ryan, with the patience he only gains after a fair few drinks. “I already give you sexual favours.”
Spencer and Jon exchange a look at this.
“True.” Brendon conceded.
“Of course… I could always with-hold sexual favours.” Ryan’s grin became much wider and infinitely more filled with evil.
“Ryan!” Brendon suddenly sounded much more sober, and much less happy than he had only ten seconds before.
“In fact. I like that idea. A lot. Night all.” Standing and leaving with a determined set in his (slightly swaying) steps, Ryan headed to the bunks. Brendon looked deeply depressed.
“What am I supposed to do now?” He asked Spencer and Jon, who had been watching the exchange with bemused expressions.
“Stop biting your nails?” Suggested Spencer, his face showing he knew exactly how unhelpful this advice was. “Well then. I’m off to bed as well.” He added with the kind of cheeriness that indicated he knew he had at least a week’s free entertainment to come, and headed for the bunks.
“Goodnight then. Thanks for that little revelation about you and Ryan,” added Jon. “That just won me twenty dollars.”
“You were…you were betting on us?” Asked Brendon, sounding almost entirely sober now, and very much unamused.
“Well, yeah. Got to do something to keep ourselves amused.” And with that he left Brendon sitting on the floor considering his fingernails and sulking.
***
The first day isn’t so bad, Brendon thinks to himself, forcing positive thoughts. He hardly chews his nails at all, really, now he has something to motivate him (and the thought, every time he finds his fingers in his mouth, that neither the mouth nor fingers will be in contact with any part of Ryan any time soon is certainly motivating) and he’s sure he’ll have convinced Ryan he is reformed soon. Really soon he hopes. Tomorrow ideally.
Brendon goes to sleep that night bitterly aware of every inch of spare space in his small cramped bunk. There aren’t a lot of spare inches, but he much prefers it when they’re filled with Ryan instead of empty space. The thing of it is, it doesn’t seem to be bothering Ryan much at all. He seems to be positively glowing, flirting with Brendon, but not touching him, and Brendon thinks unhappily that it’s just like the beginning again, with a lot of repressed energy and meaningful looks, and entirely too little sex.
Except he’s not thinking that at all, because he’s thinking positive, dammit.
***
The second day it starts to get inside Brendon’s head, and he finds himself staring at Ryan’s hands, with their perfectly manicured nails, and their long clever fingers, and suddenly in the middle of an interview he’s thinking about everything those hands can do, and when he realises that he’s sitting in front of a reporter who is politely staring at him, waiting for an answer he flushes and asks her to repeat the question. “I asked what you do to keep yourself occupied on the tour bus.” she says lightly.
This stopped being funny quite some time ago, thinks Brendon sourly.
***
To be fair, Ryan isn’t entirely unaffected either. Brendon can tell this, and it gives him no small measure of satisfaction, when he notices how often Ryan absently brushes a hand down his chest, or draws a pattern of Brendon’s thigh, and then remembers what he’d said, and draws the hand back as if it were burnt. Then Ryan disappears into his bunks, and writes, and does quite a lot more besides if the low breathy sounds coming from behind the curtain are anything to judge by. Except he might as well be doing it just to rile up Brendon more, because the sounds Ryan makes when he gets himself off remind Brendon of the sounds Ryan makes when Brendon gets him off, which leads Brendon right back to where he started: distinctly uncomfortable in his girl jeans and wishing they’d never played that stupid game of truth or dare in the first place.
His nails look better already though. The last time the bus stopped he rushed off to find a drug store and to buy some of the vile tasting mixture you were supposed to paint on your nails to stop yourself chewing them. It did taste vile, Brendon could certainly attest to that, but it seemed to be working. He wondered how long he had to stop biting his nails for Ryan to consider him cured. Not much longer, he suspected. Ryan kept locking himself in the bathroom, claiming he was trying out new make-up style, but it was possibly the worst lie Brendon had ever heard, because every time, Ryan emerged with his eyeliner smudged and his cheeks flushed, so unless the style he was going for was ‘post-wank’ he was failing spectacularly.
***
On the fourth day Ryan cracked. Brendon was sitting at the tiny table in what passed for the bus kitchen, when Ryan walks in, looking more than a little dishevelled.
“Brendon,” he starts.
Brendon looks up, as Ryan has hardly talked to him for the past few days. “Yeah?”
“Your hands. Show me.” Ryan had grabbed them both before he finished speaking. “Right.” Ryan’s arm goes around Brendon’s waist pulling him in, and Ryan’s small, but surprisingly strong, thinks Brendon in the half second before they’re kissing. And then, god, but Brendon missed this, and it’s almost shameful how reliant he’s become on Ryan, and this closeness, and then he realises Ryan’s half-hard against his thigh. “I think” Ryan whispers in Brendon’s ear, husky and broken sounding, “we should go to one of our bunks. Now.” Brendon couldn’t possibly agree more.
On the couch, half-aware of what’s happening, Jon elbows Spencer in the side until he looks up from his sidekick. “Four days. That’s another twenty.”
So, um. Tell me what you think?
Bad Habit
Brendon/Ryan
Pg-13 ish I think.
About 1400 words
Disclaimer: I don't own, please don't sue.
Brendon chews his nails.
It drives Ryan kind of, sort of, totally, entirely, mad. He snaps one day, quite out of the blue.
“Brendon! Stop that! Now! Or I will…I will…do something you will not like.” He finishes lamely, aware it doesn’t have quite the bite the enthusiastic delivery promised.
Brendon stops, his fingers still half in his mouth. “Stop doing what?” Brendon mouths around them. It might be cute if it didn’t get on Ryan’s nerves so much.
“Chewing your nails.”
“Oh.” Brendon removes his hand and stares at it as if it didn’t belong to him. “Ok, if it bothers you that much.”
Five minutes later he gnawing away at his pinkie fingernail again.
“Brendon!”
“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah, sorry.” He grins, and withdraws his hand again.
It goes on like that for the next two days, with Ryan’s nerves, never the best on tour, fraying further, and Brendon retaining the expression of blameless surprise whenever Ryan reminds him. Spencer find the whole thing hilarious. “Why does it bother you so much?” He asks, finally.
“It’s…” words apparently failed Ryan in the face of Brendon’s infuriating personal habits. “It’s just…irritating, and it sounds disgusting when he chews on them, and now it bothers me whenever he does it.” He finished, frustrated.
“Oh. Well, I guess it just never bothered me really.” Spencer bites pensively on this thumbnail.
Ryan’s anguished scream can be heard from outside the bus.
***
The next night and they’re all drinking, sitting in a circle on the floor of the bus, because Jon has noticed a reduction in nail-biting related incidents when alcohol enters the equation. Not, apparently a complete removal of them, because Ryan shoots Brendon a warning look every time his hand strays near his face, but a definite reduction. They haven’t had to restrain Ryan once tonight.
They’re playing a particularly tragic game of truth or dare, which never works terribly well with only the four of them, because, well, they know each other too well for truth to be very revealing, and there are only so many dares you can issue which can be accepted and completed on a moving bus. Still, they’re trying, and the mostly empty bottle of tequila responsible for the game has just landed on Ryan. “Ah-ha,” slurs Brendon, “now. Why does my chewing my nails annoy you so much?” He attempts to raise one eyebrow, but the complicated series of muscle movements required result in his falling over a little more, a not unimpressive feat given that he is already sitting down.
Ryan sighs. He’s not quite as far gone as Brendon, and so he can remember that this is approximately the fourth time he’s been asked the same question this evening. “We’ve been though this Bren’, I don’t know. It just does.”
“I know how you could motivate me.” Brendon bats his eyelashes, aiming for coquettish, and hitting ‘I have something in my eye’.
“Oh?” Says Ryan, humouring him, “how?”
“You could offer me sexual favours .”
“Brendon.” Explains Ryan, with the patience he only gains after a fair few drinks. “I already give you sexual favours.”
Spencer and Jon exchange a look at this.
“True.” Brendon conceded.
“Of course… I could always with-hold sexual favours.” Ryan’s grin became much wider and infinitely more filled with evil.
“Ryan!” Brendon suddenly sounded much more sober, and much less happy than he had only ten seconds before.
“In fact. I like that idea. A lot. Night all.” Standing and leaving with a determined set in his (slightly swaying) steps, Ryan headed to the bunks. Brendon looked deeply depressed.
“What am I supposed to do now?” He asked Spencer and Jon, who had been watching the exchange with bemused expressions.
“Stop biting your nails?” Suggested Spencer, his face showing he knew exactly how unhelpful this advice was. “Well then. I’m off to bed as well.” He added with the kind of cheeriness that indicated he knew he had at least a week’s free entertainment to come, and headed for the bunks.
“Goodnight then. Thanks for that little revelation about you and Ryan,” added Jon. “That just won me twenty dollars.”
“You were…you were betting on us?” Asked Brendon, sounding almost entirely sober now, and very much unamused.
“Well, yeah. Got to do something to keep ourselves amused.” And with that he left Brendon sitting on the floor considering his fingernails and sulking.
***
The first day isn’t so bad, Brendon thinks to himself, forcing positive thoughts. He hardly chews his nails at all, really, now he has something to motivate him (and the thought, every time he finds his fingers in his mouth, that neither the mouth nor fingers will be in contact with any part of Ryan any time soon is certainly motivating) and he’s sure he’ll have convinced Ryan he is reformed soon. Really soon he hopes. Tomorrow ideally.
Brendon goes to sleep that night bitterly aware of every inch of spare space in his small cramped bunk. There aren’t a lot of spare inches, but he much prefers it when they’re filled with Ryan instead of empty space. The thing of it is, it doesn’t seem to be bothering Ryan much at all. He seems to be positively glowing, flirting with Brendon, but not touching him, and Brendon thinks unhappily that it’s just like the beginning again, with a lot of repressed energy and meaningful looks, and entirely too little sex.
Except he’s not thinking that at all, because he’s thinking positive, dammit.
***
The second day it starts to get inside Brendon’s head, and he finds himself staring at Ryan’s hands, with their perfectly manicured nails, and their long clever fingers, and suddenly in the middle of an interview he’s thinking about everything those hands can do, and when he realises that he’s sitting in front of a reporter who is politely staring at him, waiting for an answer he flushes and asks her to repeat the question. “I asked what you do to keep yourself occupied on the tour bus.” she says lightly.
This stopped being funny quite some time ago, thinks Brendon sourly.
***
To be fair, Ryan isn’t entirely unaffected either. Brendon can tell this, and it gives him no small measure of satisfaction, when he notices how often Ryan absently brushes a hand down his chest, or draws a pattern of Brendon’s thigh, and then remembers what he’d said, and draws the hand back as if it were burnt. Then Ryan disappears into his bunks, and writes, and does quite a lot more besides if the low breathy sounds coming from behind the curtain are anything to judge by. Except he might as well be doing it just to rile up Brendon more, because the sounds Ryan makes when he gets himself off remind Brendon of the sounds Ryan makes when Brendon gets him off, which leads Brendon right back to where he started: distinctly uncomfortable in his girl jeans and wishing they’d never played that stupid game of truth or dare in the first place.
His nails look better already though. The last time the bus stopped he rushed off to find a drug store and to buy some of the vile tasting mixture you were supposed to paint on your nails to stop yourself chewing them. It did taste vile, Brendon could certainly attest to that, but it seemed to be working. He wondered how long he had to stop biting his nails for Ryan to consider him cured. Not much longer, he suspected. Ryan kept locking himself in the bathroom, claiming he was trying out new make-up style, but it was possibly the worst lie Brendon had ever heard, because every time, Ryan emerged with his eyeliner smudged and his cheeks flushed, so unless the style he was going for was ‘post-wank’ he was failing spectacularly.
***
On the fourth day Ryan cracked. Brendon was sitting at the tiny table in what passed for the bus kitchen, when Ryan walks in, looking more than a little dishevelled.
“Brendon,” he starts.
Brendon looks up, as Ryan has hardly talked to him for the past few days. “Yeah?”
“Your hands. Show me.” Ryan had grabbed them both before he finished speaking. “Right.” Ryan’s arm goes around Brendon’s waist pulling him in, and Ryan’s small, but surprisingly strong, thinks Brendon in the half second before they’re kissing. And then, god, but Brendon missed this, and it’s almost shameful how reliant he’s become on Ryan, and this closeness, and then he realises Ryan’s half-hard against his thigh. “I think” Ryan whispers in Brendon’s ear, husky and broken sounding, “we should go to one of our bunks. Now.” Brendon couldn’t possibly agree more.
On the couch, half-aware of what’s happening, Jon elbows Spencer in the side until he looks up from his sidekick. “Four days. That’s another twenty.”
So, um. Tell me what you think?