One-Night Stand Forever - [Eleven]
"Brendon! Brendon! Wake up!"
Ryan was crouched down on the floor, gently shaking the boy with his hands, careful to avoid the bare area of Brendon's chest that wasn't draped in polyester.
Brendon didn't seem to be responding. He either didn't want to, or was immersed in a deep sleep due to his built-up fatigue from a late and tiring night. Ryan supposed it was the latter. The smell emanating from the boy was a mixture of cigarettes and the sour stench of alcohol. Swallowing a gag, he carried on in his attempt.
As soon as the other boy began to stir, Ryan shuffled back.
"Whathafuckyouwa?" Brendon asked, sitting up in the sleeping bag and rubbing at his eyes with curled fists. It would've been absolutely adorable had it not been the ultimate douche on Ryan's rather lacking list of douches. An idea hurriedly came to Ryan's mind; one of ignoring Brendon and pretending he hadn't done anything, just to raise a temper, but he decided against it.
His intention was a bit evident. He was standing directly over the boy.
"Uh," Ryan stammered. He had been debating bringing this up since he had arrived at Brendon's. He would've taken the bus, but his pockets were empty. He would've called Spencer, but it was 8 AM on the first Monday morning of Spring Break.
Then again, he thought, standing there nearly quivering at the irritated boy on the floor, the chance of Spencer being more understanding than Brendon would be about 200%.
"I have a doctor appointment," he blurted out.
For a moment, full brown orbs scanned the room. The answer wasn't discovered on the wall. It was on Ryan's belly.
Brendon cursed under his breath and fell back on his pillow with a hand on his head. His lungs expanded and fell.
"Listen, I had a really rough night last night. Can you just ask one of my parents to take you?"
Ryan's straight mouth dipped into a downward curve.
"What?"
The hand slid over Brendon's eyes, nose, and mouth until it moved to his stomach.
With squinted eyes under the bedroom light he clarified, "I have a serious hangover."
Ryan cocked a hip and scowled. Of course Brendon would so irresponsible as to get wasted on the first night of the week in which his baby daddy was in dire need of hospitality.
"That's your fault."
Brendon scoffed.
"You're pregnant! That's your-"
"No, actually!" Ryan interrupted. This was getting old. "It's yours as much as it is mine. In fact, did you get someone else pregnant last night? Alcohol seems to do that to you."
The boy had removed himself from the sleeping bag in record time, swaying as he stood, but remaining steady in placing a barrier around himself that dangled in front of Ryan, begging him to smash through it.
He mutilated Ryan with his stare and then turned.
On his way to the bathroom, he claimed, "It was the goddamn condom's fault." His voice further faded while he shouted, "That's why I bought a new brand! It didn't break when I fucked last night!"
Ryan crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. It sounded like Brendon had articulated the "fucked" ordeal with intent to flare jealousy.
Five aspirin and four cups of coffee later, Brendon was prepared to face the sunlight. His parents had questioned them while they stood in the kitchen, probing Ryan, only stopping to take breaths when their children raised their hands to ask insane things dealing with telescopes and aliens abducting Ryan and impregnating him, then shoving him out of the UFO and back onto earth. Brendon stood aside and sipped at black caffeine, grinning into the ceramic. Ryan felt like an interactive museum exhibit. And this is why you shouldn't have sex, children.
It was in Brendon's car that Ryan let him in on the secret. They were going to the doctor's office together, after all. So he rambled on about acting the part of William; Brendon would need to identify himself as a relative or friend. The younger boy nodded along as Ryan spoke, and they had reached the hospital before Ryan could figure out if he had been moving his head to the beat of the music, or if he had actually acknowledged anything Ryan had told him. They were kind of fucked if he hadn't.
Nonetheless, it was a victory for Ryan. Not a single, cruel word had been released during the entire trip.
The waiting room was another story. Brendon found it necessary to chuck plush toys at the pregnant boy while sitting Indian-style next to the tiny, plastic kitchen. Ryan scanned the pages of Parenthood magazine and pretended not to notice the immature boy or the countless glances he was receiving from the round-bellied women scattered about the chairs.
After the hundredth cotton-stuffed Pokemon doll collided with his face, Ryan warned Brendon with an icy stare. Brendon smiled back. He looked like a teen girl falling in love; goofy and clueless. Ryan snickered to himself and went back to reading an article on teaching children manners. It included a list of "polite" words such as, Please, Thank You, Yes Ma'am, and No Sir. He agreed with the first two, but rejected the others; Ryan didn't want his kid sounding like a prude.
In Ryan's abstract brain, his child was basically going to be awesome. Boy or girl, the little being currently feeding off of his nutrients and throwing punches to his gut would be incredibly original, a free spirit. Pretty much the opposite of everything Ryan was. Well, in the sense that it wouldn't give a fuck about what other people thought. Ryan hated that about himself.
With that thought, he peered over at Brendon, who had vanished from the colorful floormat.
"Over here," a voice said.
The mud-haired boy was forcing a dollar into the vending machine.
As he strolled back to the seating area with a honey bun, he complained, "This place is boring."
"We haven't even been here for ten minutes," Ryan reasoned, closing the magazine and placing it back on the side table. He felt oddly like the responsible adult dealing with a child. "Sorry you had to come, but I'm pretty sure I heard you say you cared about the kid."
Even though his words implied a repeat, he didn't have to hear Brendon say it again. The concerned glances at his stomach, the longing gazes he gave the sonogram picture Ryan had lain by the bedside, the extra light that flooded his eyes whenever Ryan mentioned the baby; it all gave him away. He anticipated Brendon's next words as if they were two students rehearsing the main parts of a play, waiting for Brendon's line to come like it was written on a script in his hands.
They were interrupted.
"Mr. Beckett!" Dr. Masterson called. Ryan hopped out of his seat.
Brendon quirked an eyebrow and after a brief moment of realization, he joined the other on his feet.
They both shook hands with the woman, Brendon introducing himself as Ryan's brother (Ryan visibly shuddered at the idea), and then followed her down a white-tiled path and into a room much like that which he and William had been in, possibly even the same one.
The younger boy took in the scenery similar to the fashion in which one would admire a new country. His round eyes danced over the machines and pictures, and skidded to a stop at the doctor tugging Ryan's shirt up his torso.
His stomach was pale like the rest of him, and his bellybutton was pushed outward like the knot at the top of a ready-to-burst water balloon. Brendon couldn't help but find the sight endearing. His fingers itched to skim over the stretched skin, to experience a movement that belonged to a part of himself, but he piled the desire onto the rest lounging around in the back of his mind.
Besides, blue gel was now being smeared about Ryan's bump. The pregnant boy's breath hitched as the goo came in contact with his flesh and Brendon gawked. Laying flat on the examination table, Ryan was letting air through his lips inch-by-inch. It was hard to control, what with ominous eyes boring into him.
He felt relief when at last the picture appeared on the screen next to him and the staring boy directed his attention towards it.
"Oh my- Oh my god," Brendon sputtered. A force yanked his jaw to the linoleum and held his eyes wide.
Ryan was debating whether he should smile at the boy or the machine.
"All healthy," Dr. Masterson assured them. When she turned and blinked her hazel eyes, Ryan knew what was coming. "Would you like to know the sex today?"
His eyelids instinctively squeezed themselves shut as he counted the seconds until Brendon shrieked with joy. He reached eleven before opening them slightly, finding himself face-to-face with an innocent, inquisitive gaze.
He scratched at the paper running underneath him.
"Um, what do you want to do?" Ryan asked timidly.
Brendon contemplated the idea for a bit and then smirked, forcing through his teeth, "I don't know, brother. It's your baby."
Sigh. Typical fucking Urie. Ryan would have smacked Brendon across the face, had the doctor not been present. She was glancing between them with confusion written across her features, probably wondering why a brother would require another brother's consent to learn the gender of his baby.
Pretending to be ignorant to the other's behavior and adopting an air of confidence, the chesnut-haired boy stated, "Yes, I'd like to know."
"Well," the doctor began, smiling and sliding the monitor around Ryan's belly, "I'm quite sure you've got a healthy boy in there."
The image remained as a few white, twitching circles, but Ryan grinned in spite of himself. Now he wouldn't need to refer to the baby as "It". Now he could think up names. Now he could buy nursery furniture.
Then again, he had nowhere to put it.
But that didn't hold him back. He requested another picture. And in all of his cheeriness and glee, he shot a look at Brendon, who, being the drama queen that for some reason he just had to be, was completely passed out in the chair.
Ryan cracked up while the doctor handed him his new photo.
Judging by her expression - the wrinkled forehead, the drowsy lips, the fluctuating eyes - she most likely considered them insane.
It was okay, though, because they kind of were.
The whole-hearted laughter continued flooding the room. It was beyond the verge of uncontrollable. His best friend had abandoned him, his parents had disowned him, and his baby daddy was obsessed with the baby, but loathed Ryan's entire being. He had to laugh. His life was just that fucked up.
Ryan was crouched down on the floor, gently shaking the boy with his hands, careful to avoid the bare area of Brendon's chest that wasn't draped in polyester.
Brendon didn't seem to be responding. He either didn't want to, or was immersed in a deep sleep due to his built-up fatigue from a late and tiring night. Ryan supposed it was the latter. The smell emanating from the boy was a mixture of cigarettes and the sour stench of alcohol. Swallowing a gag, he carried on in his attempt.
As soon as the other boy began to stir, Ryan shuffled back.
"Whathafuckyouwa?" Brendon asked, sitting up in the sleeping bag and rubbing at his eyes with curled fists. It would've been absolutely adorable had it not been the ultimate douche on Ryan's rather lacking list of douches. An idea hurriedly came to Ryan's mind; one of ignoring Brendon and pretending he hadn't done anything, just to raise a temper, but he decided against it.
His intention was a bit evident. He was standing directly over the boy.
"Uh," Ryan stammered. He had been debating bringing this up since he had arrived at Brendon's. He would've taken the bus, but his pockets were empty. He would've called Spencer, but it was 8 AM on the first Monday morning of Spring Break.
Then again, he thought, standing there nearly quivering at the irritated boy on the floor, the chance of Spencer being more understanding than Brendon would be about 200%.
"I have a doctor appointment," he blurted out.
For a moment, full brown orbs scanned the room. The answer wasn't discovered on the wall. It was on Ryan's belly.
Brendon cursed under his breath and fell back on his pillow with a hand on his head. His lungs expanded and fell.
"Listen, I had a really rough night last night. Can you just ask one of my parents to take you?"
Ryan's straight mouth dipped into a downward curve.
"What?"
The hand slid over Brendon's eyes, nose, and mouth until it moved to his stomach.
With squinted eyes under the bedroom light he clarified, "I have a serious hangover."
Ryan cocked a hip and scowled. Of course Brendon would so irresponsible as to get wasted on the first night of the week in which his baby daddy was in dire need of hospitality.
"That's your fault."
Brendon scoffed.
"You're pregnant! That's your-"
"No, actually!" Ryan interrupted. This was getting old. "It's yours as much as it is mine. In fact, did you get someone else pregnant last night? Alcohol seems to do that to you."
The boy had removed himself from the sleeping bag in record time, swaying as he stood, but remaining steady in placing a barrier around himself that dangled in front of Ryan, begging him to smash through it.
He mutilated Ryan with his stare and then turned.
On his way to the bathroom, he claimed, "It was the goddamn condom's fault." His voice further faded while he shouted, "That's why I bought a new brand! It didn't break when I fucked last night!"
Ryan crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. It sounded like Brendon had articulated the "fucked" ordeal with intent to flare jealousy.
Five aspirin and four cups of coffee later, Brendon was prepared to face the sunlight. His parents had questioned them while they stood in the kitchen, probing Ryan, only stopping to take breaths when their children raised their hands to ask insane things dealing with telescopes and aliens abducting Ryan and impregnating him, then shoving him out of the UFO and back onto earth. Brendon stood aside and sipped at black caffeine, grinning into the ceramic. Ryan felt like an interactive museum exhibit. And this is why you shouldn't have sex, children.
It was in Brendon's car that Ryan let him in on the secret. They were going to the doctor's office together, after all. So he rambled on about acting the part of William; Brendon would need to identify himself as a relative or friend. The younger boy nodded along as Ryan spoke, and they had reached the hospital before Ryan could figure out if he had been moving his head to the beat of the music, or if he had actually acknowledged anything Ryan had told him. They were kind of fucked if he hadn't.
Nonetheless, it was a victory for Ryan. Not a single, cruel word had been released during the entire trip.
The waiting room was another story. Brendon found it necessary to chuck plush toys at the pregnant boy while sitting Indian-style next to the tiny, plastic kitchen. Ryan scanned the pages of Parenthood magazine and pretended not to notice the immature boy or the countless glances he was receiving from the round-bellied women scattered about the chairs.
After the hundredth cotton-stuffed Pokemon doll collided with his face, Ryan warned Brendon with an icy stare. Brendon smiled back. He looked like a teen girl falling in love; goofy and clueless. Ryan snickered to himself and went back to reading an article on teaching children manners. It included a list of "polite" words such as, Please, Thank You, Yes Ma'am, and No Sir. He agreed with the first two, but rejected the others; Ryan didn't want his kid sounding like a prude.
In Ryan's abstract brain, his child was basically going to be awesome. Boy or girl, the little being currently feeding off of his nutrients and throwing punches to his gut would be incredibly original, a free spirit. Pretty much the opposite of everything Ryan was. Well, in the sense that it wouldn't give a fuck about what other people thought. Ryan hated that about himself.
With that thought, he peered over at Brendon, who had vanished from the colorful floormat.
"Over here," a voice said.
The mud-haired boy was forcing a dollar into the vending machine.
As he strolled back to the seating area with a honey bun, he complained, "This place is boring."
"We haven't even been here for ten minutes," Ryan reasoned, closing the magazine and placing it back on the side table. He felt oddly like the responsible adult dealing with a child. "Sorry you had to come, but I'm pretty sure I heard you say you cared about the kid."
Even though his words implied a repeat, he didn't have to hear Brendon say it again. The concerned glances at his stomach, the longing gazes he gave the sonogram picture Ryan had lain by the bedside, the extra light that flooded his eyes whenever Ryan mentioned the baby; it all gave him away. He anticipated Brendon's next words as if they were two students rehearsing the main parts of a play, waiting for Brendon's line to come like it was written on a script in his hands.
They were interrupted.
"Mr. Beckett!" Dr. Masterson called. Ryan hopped out of his seat.
Brendon quirked an eyebrow and after a brief moment of realization, he joined the other on his feet.
They both shook hands with the woman, Brendon introducing himself as Ryan's brother (Ryan visibly shuddered at the idea), and then followed her down a white-tiled path and into a room much like that which he and William had been in, possibly even the same one.
The younger boy took in the scenery similar to the fashion in which one would admire a new country. His round eyes danced over the machines and pictures, and skidded to a stop at the doctor tugging Ryan's shirt up his torso.
His stomach was pale like the rest of him, and his bellybutton was pushed outward like the knot at the top of a ready-to-burst water balloon. Brendon couldn't help but find the sight endearing. His fingers itched to skim over the stretched skin, to experience a movement that belonged to a part of himself, but he piled the desire onto the rest lounging around in the back of his mind.
Besides, blue gel was now being smeared about Ryan's bump. The pregnant boy's breath hitched as the goo came in contact with his flesh and Brendon gawked. Laying flat on the examination table, Ryan was letting air through his lips inch-by-inch. It was hard to control, what with ominous eyes boring into him.
He felt relief when at last the picture appeared on the screen next to him and the staring boy directed his attention towards it.
"Oh my- Oh my god," Brendon sputtered. A force yanked his jaw to the linoleum and held his eyes wide.
Ryan was debating whether he should smile at the boy or the machine.
"All healthy," Dr. Masterson assured them. When she turned and blinked her hazel eyes, Ryan knew what was coming. "Would you like to know the sex today?"
His eyelids instinctively squeezed themselves shut as he counted the seconds until Brendon shrieked with joy. He reached eleven before opening them slightly, finding himself face-to-face with an innocent, inquisitive gaze.
He scratched at the paper running underneath him.
"Um, what do you want to do?" Ryan asked timidly.
Brendon contemplated the idea for a bit and then smirked, forcing through his teeth, "I don't know, brother. It's your baby."
Sigh. Typical fucking Urie. Ryan would have smacked Brendon across the face, had the doctor not been present. She was glancing between them with confusion written across her features, probably wondering why a brother would require another brother's consent to learn the gender of his baby.
Pretending to be ignorant to the other's behavior and adopting an air of confidence, the chesnut-haired boy stated, "Yes, I'd like to know."
"Well," the doctor began, smiling and sliding the monitor around Ryan's belly, "I'm quite sure you've got a healthy boy in there."
The image remained as a few white, twitching circles, but Ryan grinned in spite of himself. Now he wouldn't need to refer to the baby as "It". Now he could think up names. Now he could buy nursery furniture.
Then again, he had nowhere to put it.
But that didn't hold him back. He requested another picture. And in all of his cheeriness and glee, he shot a look at Brendon, who, being the drama queen that for some reason he just had to be, was completely passed out in the chair.
Ryan cracked up while the doctor handed him his new photo.
Judging by her expression - the wrinkled forehead, the drowsy lips, the fluctuating eyes - she most likely considered them insane.
It was okay, though, because they kind of were.
The whole-hearted laughter continued flooding the room. It was beyond the verge of uncontrollable. His best friend had abandoned him, his parents had disowned him, and his baby daddy was obsessed with the baby, but loathed Ryan's entire being. He had to laugh. His life was just that fucked up.