FIC: It's Bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S Brendon+Ryan, PG/PG-13
Title: It’s Bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S
Author: floridapeaches
Rating: Um. PG-13? For some mild swearing. It’s gen, or you could squint and it’s kind of Brendon/Ryan.
Disclaimer: I do not own these boys, I do not know these boys, and this probably never happened. And you know the usual "if you Googled your name and found this, then you know what the back button is for."
Summary: ”And you, Ryan Ross, O crusher of dreams and eater of other people's food. It's all your fault that my perfect plan is foiled.” 1737 words.
Authors notes: A billion years ago I did the five ficlets meme, and torturemysoul asked for Brendon/Ryan, bananas. This is the 'ficlet' that resulted. A multitude of thanks to 7_daze for a magnificent beta, that left this reading exactly like it sounded in my head, and to jewels667 for checking the flow, and general encouragement. Erica, this is for you, babe. ;D
“Ryan Ross, how could you?” Brendon has the most bizarre mix of a pout and a frown plastered across his face. It leaves his lips pursed and his cheeks pinched, and he looks like a third-grader waiting for his first kiss.
Ryan was reading a Very Important Book, and was definitely just resting his eyes, not sleeping, no-siree. Blinking and a muffled “mmpfh?” are the best he can manage.
The furrows between Brendon's brows grow little furrows of their own, and Ryan sort of wishes that he had been asleep, rather than just reading a Very Important Book, so he could pretend this was a nightmare.
“Brendon? I have no idea what you're talking about. But whatever it is, I'm sure it was probably someone else.” And Ryan thinks that almost sounded coherent, and has a moment to be very proud of himself, before he has a very...irate? Incensed? Perturbed? Yes, perturbed, Brendon in his face, and yeah, okay, that look is just as hilarious up close.
“I have a bowl. I have cherries. I have chocolate--”
“What is this, Sam I Am?”
“--shut up, Ryan-- I have sprinkles. I have Ice Cream.” (Ryan wonders when Brendon got the hang of Talking in Capital Letters. Dammit, that's Ryan's thing, and Brendon needs to lay the fuck off.) “Ryan, Zack bought me ice cream. Do you know what I don't have?” The look has shifted to the bastard lovechild of expectation and disappointment, and if possible that's even more hilarious.
The thing is, Ryan knows that it's never really a good idea to play dumb with Brendon. Brendon always knows you're playing dumb, and still treats you like an idiot anyway, but Ryan -- Ryan really can't help himself. “I don't know, Brendon. Green eggs? Ham? I have no idea what comes next. Please enlighten me.” Ryan is proud of the fact that he considers himself a grade-A smartass.
(When he was much younger, he once tried to convince Spencer that they should make up their own merit badges, just so he could earn that one fair and square. He would have gotten the Talking in Capital Letters one, too. Seriously, Urie. Lay. The fuck. Off.)
Brendon holds up his hand, starts ticking off points as if he needs to illustrate for the slower members of the class. “Bowl, cherries, chocolate, sprinkles, ice cream. Can you think of anything that you can make with these things? Let's see, there's a sundae-boring. Or, well. I can think of one other thing that's slightly more interesting,” and Brendon has to have practiced that eyebrow waggle in front of a mirror, there's no other way he could make it that lascivious, “but there's something even better, and that won't stain the sheets, and you just need one more ingredient than I have. Since I knew I had one here, I didn't buy one. And you, Ryan Ross, O crusher of dreams and eater of other people's food. It's all your fault that my perfect plan is foiled.”
Ryan is honestly still more than half asleep (uh -- resting his eyes, right), and so he can't get much past the fact that Brendon apparently thinks he ate something. Which, you know, is entirely possible, considering he does eat a lot. And he's just been really hungry lately, even more than normal-and. He still has no idea what Brendon is actually talking about.
“I still have no idea what you're actually talking about,” Ryan says.
“You ate my banana, Ryan.” Brendon doesn't even snicker a little, which forces Ryan to re-evaluate Brendon's seriousness. If anyone had asked him before this very instant whether Brendon were even physically capable of saying that sentence with a straight face, he would have laughed in their face. He would even have offered to bet them on it.
“The banana that was the last vital ingredient in my perfect banana split. And now it's gone.” Brendon looks positively forlorn, and Ryan almost feels a little bad, except. Did he actually eat a banana anytime lately? He really doesn't think so. He's also pretty sure he's not going to be able to convince Brendon of that.
He has to try.
“Brendon, I did not eat your banana.” And, dammit, Ryan can't say it with a straight face.
There's a minute shift in Brendon's expression, and Ryan has a moment to think maybe, just maybe, Brendon is going to let him off the hook. That's the trouble with moments: they pass.
“Jon was with Cassie. And Spencer hates bananas. It was you, Ryan,” Brendon says, and it's pretty obvious that he's not even a little bit swayed.
Not that Ryan would admit it anyway, but he really doesn't remember eating a banana. He doesn't remember even seeing a banana anywhere that he could have eaten. “I really didn't. I don't even think I've seen a banana around here. Are you sure you didn't eat it and then forget?” Ryan pats the couch beside him, “Come sit down, and I'll help you think of where it might be. Maybe it just got moved, or something.” Ryan thinks that sounded eminently reasonable, and it would get Brendon out of his face, which would be awesome.
Brendon wavers, and then says, “Fine, Ross. Let's see what you come up with.” He sits beside Ryan, but stays very pointedly on his cushion, none of his usual sprawl, and he's not touching Ryan at all. He's definitely still pissed.
“Well,” says Ryan, “you're right. Spencer does hate bananas. And Jon was gone. So that leaves the driver, and we both know Tim wouldn't. So no one ate it. It must have just gotten moved or something. We should look for it.” And Ryan is congratulating himself on a brilliant distraction. If Brendon will commit to looking for The Lost Banana (Ryan can't help it; some things just need capitals), then that means that he's not convinced that Ryan ate it anymore.
Ryan is maybe-definitely-not holding his breath.
Brendon's arm brushes Ryan's shoulder, and his knee bumps Ryan's thigh, and Ryan lets go of the breath he was(n't) holding.
Brendon ignoring the boundaries of Ryan's personal space is the status quo. Ryan likes status quos.
When Brendon's head lands on Ryan's shoulder, Ryan gets a firsthand, up-close-and-personal view of his third favorite Brendon-face--the full-on pout; lower lip out, brows drawn together, head tipped down so he's looking out from under long lashes. Ryan lets his arm slide around Brendon's shoulders and lets his fingers ruffle through Brendon's hair, sighs and says, “We'll look in a minute, okay?”
Brendon nods, murmurs, “Okay, but we can't wait too long. The ice cream will melt.” And then he turns to push up even closer to Ryan's side, not just ignoring boundaries now, but flat out invading Ryan's space: Ryan doesn't mind.
Ryan sighs a little when he realizes that Brendon left the ice cream out while he conducted The Banana Inquisition, but he figures they have a few minutes at least before they have to either get up, or clean up a mess.
Ryan lets Brendon snuggle close for as long as he thinks they can wait, and then finally says, a little hesitant, like he hates to break the moment, “We have to go put the ice cream up, Bren, or it's going to melt, and you'll need two more ingredients for your banana split instead of just one.” Ryan hates to make Brendon move, but they really do have to get up, so he just pulls his arm back and starts to stand, knowing that Brendon will either stand up with him, or fall over. Ryan knows which of those options would be funnier, but he's not going to say it out loud. He just got normal, non-homicidal Brendon back.
They get to the kitchenette, and they look.
They look in the cabinets, on the table, under the table, in the trashcan (Ryan is incredibly relieved that they don't find a peel in the trash. There was still some remote possibility that he ate it and just forgot.), under every couch cushion, and finally in the bunks.
(Ryan spends the whole time they're looking thinking about how the freezer in the mini-fridge sucks at keeping things actually frozen, a little countdown clock running in the back of his brain with “catastrophic meltdown” at zero hour.)
The clock is ticking down down down, is creeping ever closer to the utterly cliché three seconds to go, when Ryan hears, “Oh.”
“Oh? 'Oh,' what?” Ryan says, looking at the back of Brendon's head, where he's leaning across his own bunk.
Brendon turns around, one hand clutching the missing banana in question, and a sheepish grin on his face. He holds his hand up, and says again, “Oh.”
“Brendon. Are you -- are you honestly telling me that. Your banana--” Ryan nearly chokes trying to keep his voice even “--was in your bunk. This whole time? Really? Honestly?” Ryan only wishes that things like this were an uncommon enough occurrence for him to be remotely surprised.
There's a shrug, and a muttered, “I dreamed about banana splits last night. I just. Didn't want anything to happen to it?” And oh god, is Brendon actually scuffing his foot? Do people really do that shit? Apparently they do. Or Brendon Uries do, anyway.
Ryan just says, “Okay then. You found your banana. And you have approximately 4 minutes until your ice cream is a melted mess. So we should go make your banana split now.” Ryan is resigned to the fact that he's going to be helping in the banana-split-making, since he no longer has the excuse that he's reading a Very Important Book.
The smile Brendon flashes is diabolical and calculated, Ryan is sure, but that doesn't make it any less devastatingly effective, and he feels his mouth twitching up at the corners absolutely without his permission.
Brendon moves to push past Ryan, heading back to the kitchenette, still grinning, and nudges his shoulder deliberately. Ryan raises a questioning brow, and Brendon grins even wider.
“My banana is plenty big enough to share. Come on, you know you want some, Ross.” And there's the leer.
Ryan just shakes his head, smiles a little once Brendon's back is turned, and goes to eat some of Brendon's banana.
He can't even think it with a straight face.
Author: floridapeaches
Rating: Um. PG-13? For some mild swearing. It’s gen, or you could squint and it’s kind of Brendon/Ryan.
Disclaimer: I do not own these boys, I do not know these boys, and this probably never happened. And you know the usual "if you Googled your name and found this, then you know what the back button is for."
Summary: ”And you, Ryan Ross, O crusher of dreams and eater of other people's food. It's all your fault that my perfect plan is foiled.” 1737 words.
Authors notes: A billion years ago I did the five ficlets meme, and torturemysoul asked for Brendon/Ryan, bananas. This is the 'ficlet' that resulted. A multitude of thanks to 7_daze for a magnificent beta, that left this reading exactly like it sounded in my head, and to jewels667 for checking the flow, and general encouragement. Erica, this is for you, babe. ;D
“Ryan Ross, how could you?” Brendon has the most bizarre mix of a pout and a frown plastered across his face. It leaves his lips pursed and his cheeks pinched, and he looks like a third-grader waiting for his first kiss.
Ryan was reading a Very Important Book, and was definitely just resting his eyes, not sleeping, no-siree. Blinking and a muffled “mmpfh?” are the best he can manage.
The furrows between Brendon's brows grow little furrows of their own, and Ryan sort of wishes that he had been asleep, rather than just reading a Very Important Book, so he could pretend this was a nightmare.
“Brendon? I have no idea what you're talking about. But whatever it is, I'm sure it was probably someone else.” And Ryan thinks that almost sounded coherent, and has a moment to be very proud of himself, before he has a very...irate? Incensed? Perturbed? Yes, perturbed, Brendon in his face, and yeah, okay, that look is just as hilarious up close.
“I have a bowl. I have cherries. I have chocolate--”
“What is this, Sam I Am?”
“--shut up, Ryan-- I have sprinkles. I have Ice Cream.” (Ryan wonders when Brendon got the hang of Talking in Capital Letters. Dammit, that's Ryan's thing, and Brendon needs to lay the fuck off.) “Ryan, Zack bought me ice cream. Do you know what I don't have?” The look has shifted to the bastard lovechild of expectation and disappointment, and if possible that's even more hilarious.
The thing is, Ryan knows that it's never really a good idea to play dumb with Brendon. Brendon always knows you're playing dumb, and still treats you like an idiot anyway, but Ryan -- Ryan really can't help himself. “I don't know, Brendon. Green eggs? Ham? I have no idea what comes next. Please enlighten me.” Ryan is proud of the fact that he considers himself a grade-A smartass.
(When he was much younger, he once tried to convince Spencer that they should make up their own merit badges, just so he could earn that one fair and square. He would have gotten the Talking in Capital Letters one, too. Seriously, Urie. Lay. The fuck. Off.)
Brendon holds up his hand, starts ticking off points as if he needs to illustrate for the slower members of the class. “Bowl, cherries, chocolate, sprinkles, ice cream. Can you think of anything that you can make with these things? Let's see, there's a sundae-boring. Or, well. I can think of one other thing that's slightly more interesting,” and Brendon has to have practiced that eyebrow waggle in front of a mirror, there's no other way he could make it that lascivious, “but there's something even better, and that won't stain the sheets, and you just need one more ingredient than I have. Since I knew I had one here, I didn't buy one. And you, Ryan Ross, O crusher of dreams and eater of other people's food. It's all your fault that my perfect plan is foiled.”
Ryan is honestly still more than half asleep (uh -- resting his eyes, right), and so he can't get much past the fact that Brendon apparently thinks he ate something. Which, you know, is entirely possible, considering he does eat a lot. And he's just been really hungry lately, even more than normal-and. He still has no idea what Brendon is actually talking about.
“I still have no idea what you're actually talking about,” Ryan says.
“You ate my banana, Ryan.” Brendon doesn't even snicker a little, which forces Ryan to re-evaluate Brendon's seriousness. If anyone had asked him before this very instant whether Brendon were even physically capable of saying that sentence with a straight face, he would have laughed in their face. He would even have offered to bet them on it.
“The banana that was the last vital ingredient in my perfect banana split. And now it's gone.” Brendon looks positively forlorn, and Ryan almost feels a little bad, except. Did he actually eat a banana anytime lately? He really doesn't think so. He's also pretty sure he's not going to be able to convince Brendon of that.
He has to try.
“Brendon, I did not eat your banana.” And, dammit, Ryan can't say it with a straight face.
There's a minute shift in Brendon's expression, and Ryan has a moment to think maybe, just maybe, Brendon is going to let him off the hook. That's the trouble with moments: they pass.
“Jon was with Cassie. And Spencer hates bananas. It was you, Ryan,” Brendon says, and it's pretty obvious that he's not even a little bit swayed.
Not that Ryan would admit it anyway, but he really doesn't remember eating a banana. He doesn't remember even seeing a banana anywhere that he could have eaten. “I really didn't. I don't even think I've seen a banana around here. Are you sure you didn't eat it and then forget?” Ryan pats the couch beside him, “Come sit down, and I'll help you think of where it might be. Maybe it just got moved, or something.” Ryan thinks that sounded eminently reasonable, and it would get Brendon out of his face, which would be awesome.
Brendon wavers, and then says, “Fine, Ross. Let's see what you come up with.” He sits beside Ryan, but stays very pointedly on his cushion, none of his usual sprawl, and he's not touching Ryan at all. He's definitely still pissed.
“Well,” says Ryan, “you're right. Spencer does hate bananas. And Jon was gone. So that leaves the driver, and we both know Tim wouldn't. So no one ate it. It must have just gotten moved or something. We should look for it.” And Ryan is congratulating himself on a brilliant distraction. If Brendon will commit to looking for The Lost Banana (Ryan can't help it; some things just need capitals), then that means that he's not convinced that Ryan ate it anymore.
Ryan is maybe-definitely-not holding his breath.
Brendon's arm brushes Ryan's shoulder, and his knee bumps Ryan's thigh, and Ryan lets go of the breath he was(n't) holding.
Brendon ignoring the boundaries of Ryan's personal space is the status quo. Ryan likes status quos.
When Brendon's head lands on Ryan's shoulder, Ryan gets a firsthand, up-close-and-personal view of his third favorite Brendon-face--the full-on pout; lower lip out, brows drawn together, head tipped down so he's looking out from under long lashes. Ryan lets his arm slide around Brendon's shoulders and lets his fingers ruffle through Brendon's hair, sighs and says, “We'll look in a minute, okay?”
Brendon nods, murmurs, “Okay, but we can't wait too long. The ice cream will melt.” And then he turns to push up even closer to Ryan's side, not just ignoring boundaries now, but flat out invading Ryan's space: Ryan doesn't mind.
Ryan sighs a little when he realizes that Brendon left the ice cream out while he conducted The Banana Inquisition, but he figures they have a few minutes at least before they have to either get up, or clean up a mess.
Ryan lets Brendon snuggle close for as long as he thinks they can wait, and then finally says, a little hesitant, like he hates to break the moment, “We have to go put the ice cream up, Bren, or it's going to melt, and you'll need two more ingredients for your banana split instead of just one.” Ryan hates to make Brendon move, but they really do have to get up, so he just pulls his arm back and starts to stand, knowing that Brendon will either stand up with him, or fall over. Ryan knows which of those options would be funnier, but he's not going to say it out loud. He just got normal, non-homicidal Brendon back.
They get to the kitchenette, and they look.
They look in the cabinets, on the table, under the table, in the trashcan (Ryan is incredibly relieved that they don't find a peel in the trash. There was still some remote possibility that he ate it and just forgot.), under every couch cushion, and finally in the bunks.
(Ryan spends the whole time they're looking thinking about how the freezer in the mini-fridge sucks at keeping things actually frozen, a little countdown clock running in the back of his brain with “catastrophic meltdown” at zero hour.)
The clock is ticking down down down, is creeping ever closer to the utterly cliché three seconds to go, when Ryan hears, “Oh.”
“Oh? 'Oh,' what?” Ryan says, looking at the back of Brendon's head, where he's leaning across his own bunk.
Brendon turns around, one hand clutching the missing banana in question, and a sheepish grin on his face. He holds his hand up, and says again, “Oh.”
“Brendon. Are you -- are you honestly telling me that. Your banana--” Ryan nearly chokes trying to keep his voice even “--was in your bunk. This whole time? Really? Honestly?” Ryan only wishes that things like this were an uncommon enough occurrence for him to be remotely surprised.
There's a shrug, and a muttered, “I dreamed about banana splits last night. I just. Didn't want anything to happen to it?” And oh god, is Brendon actually scuffing his foot? Do people really do that shit? Apparently they do. Or Brendon Uries do, anyway.
Ryan just says, “Okay then. You found your banana. And you have approximately 4 minutes until your ice cream is a melted mess. So we should go make your banana split now.” Ryan is resigned to the fact that he's going to be helping in the banana-split-making, since he no longer has the excuse that he's reading a Very Important Book.
The smile Brendon flashes is diabolical and calculated, Ryan is sure, but that doesn't make it any less devastatingly effective, and he feels his mouth twitching up at the corners absolutely without his permission.
Brendon moves to push past Ryan, heading back to the kitchenette, still grinning, and nudges his shoulder deliberately. Ryan raises a questioning brow, and Brendon grins even wider.
“My banana is plenty big enough to share. Come on, you know you want some, Ross.” And there's the leer.
Ryan just shakes his head, smiles a little once Brendon's back is turned, and goes to eat some of Brendon's banana.
He can't even think it with a straight face.