Gravity Fail [s/a]
Title: Gravity Fail
Author: selectivelyurie
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: FLUFF. Ryan Ross has numerous epic Brendon related fails.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't own.
Author Notes: I blame ivesia19 yet again. She is brilliant, what can I say? Also, a special thank you to xoarianne-ilyxo and my-obsession-xx for (somewhat) betaing and for being so incredibly hilarious/supportive/flaily/*grabby hands* over this: ILYSM ~ladehs~. Anna Bee, I hope you feel better soon, ILY :]
Ryan Ross prides himself on being a many things.
On being a successful musician, on having his lyrics known around the world, for being an honest person and a good listener; on having a fetching fashion sense, an independent, unbiased view on world issues, and a colorful taste in music and movies. His self-esteem swells because he owns the most adorable puppy on the face of the earth and the hottest set of wheels on his side of town; for dating the sweetest Rockette to have graced the stage (and getting to fuck her at that) and for having a group of friends so close, it goes unrivaled by any other label. And he has to admit, he’s grateful that he didn’t suck Pete’s dick that one time when he was drunk.
Confidence and poise ooze out of every pore of his body, contrary to the popular belief that he’s shy and insecure. He’s not cocky, per say, he’s just really thankful for his life and he’ll be damned if he lives a single day of his life unhappy.
Too bad Ryan Ross is kinda sorta a huge epic failure in the eyes of those closest to him when it comes to a certain aspect of his existence as a human being.
----
The first person in Ryan’s inner circle of friends to notice Ryan’s failboat status is Spencer, of course. You just can’t grow up attached to someone’s hip like that and not recognize their failures, or in Ryan’s case, their neglect to acknowledge reality.
Spencer and Ryan sit on the floor in the front lounge, dueling it out through a rather vicious game of Halo on the Xbox. Ryan’s character is sneaking around a dark corner and Spencer’s character is repetitively opening fire in the direction he suspects Ryan to be hiding in. Ryan dares not tell him he’s completely off target.
Regardless, Spencer refuses to cease fire and Ryan moves his character to a remote corner on the screen and waits for Spencer to actually find him.
The bus is cold and Ryan’s hasn’t eaten today so he’s hungry and Jon and Brendon are making too much noise in the kitchen, but for once he’s actually not getting slaughtered at this game so he’s not going to complain.
Spencer says, “I know you’re back there, dude.”
Ryan says, “Come and get it, Smith.”
Jon says, “Brendon, we’re in the kitchen. Put your pants back on.”
Brendon says, “But Jon, I can’t decide if these are apples or grapes on my boxers.”
Unceremoniously, Ryan rips his eyes away from the clouded television screen to look into the kitchen at Brendon who is attempting to tug the fabric of his boxers up to Jon’s eye level to observe the mysterious fruit there. He’s wearing a shirt, too tight and too small and it’s revealing a pale expanse of skin below his belly button and his pants are puddled at his ankles.
Ryan stares.
Not at the complete and utter fuckery happening in the kitchen as Brendon urges, “Jon, please, just. Can you tell me what you think they are? It’s driving me insane,” but just at Brendon. He’s just…there. In the kitchen being annoying. Half. Naked.
Ryan’s controller vibrates and he snaps out of his daze to look at the screen. His character is dead and his hands have started to sweat and there’s a small lump in his throat.
Spencer’s got a smirk on his face and his eyebrow is raised suspiciously. He looks past Ryan to Brendon and then looks back at Ryan with this look only Spencer Smith can communicate with. He says, “Dude. Stealth fail.”
----
Accordingly, Pete is the second one to observe Ryan’s abnormal behavior. They’re so frighteningly similar in their mindset that they might as well share a brain. Or it could just be the fact that Ryan totally texted Brendon a message meant for Pete.
When Pete doesn’t text back within the courteous text message time allotment, Ryan texts, ????
Pete immediately texts back with, oicwydt ross
Confused, Ryan replies, wat r u tlkin bout?
Pete texts,'FWD: hai pete, wut r u doin?'
did u mean 2 txt me?
Ryan sighs, types, yeah thought i did tho
didn’t get that 4rm u
wut do u mean?
Pete texts, u sent that 2 bden, not me
Blushing, Ryan says, o shit, sry. didn’t mean 2
got sum1 on ur mind?
n
Pete texts back, u aint foolin me, ross
Aggravated, Ryan punches in, wut the hell r u saying?
ur thinkin bout bden & u ttly luv him. get on that shit, rn or learn 2 txt the correct ppl, kay?
Ryan’s eyes narrow when he reads the text and he tosses his phone down onto the couch with a huff. Ryan Ross refuses to consider himself a temper mental child, even if he is pouting with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and is glaring at his phone. Relenting just a little after he stares holes into his sidekick, Ryan snatches it up and quickly types in an angry, embarrassed reply.
Pete snorts as he reads, stfu
Because he can, Pete texts back, denial fail
----
Jon is a smooth cat, there’s not doubt in Ryan’s mind. So that’s the only excuse he’s allowing himself to make for the reason Jon picks up on Ryan’s mood, too.
On second thought, Ryan muses as he sits down with Jon in the back lounge with both of their guitars and Ryan’s notebook, he shouldn’t really be surprised by Jon’s reaction of a raised eyebrow and curious eyes.
But when they first sit down, Jon is totally chill. He says, “Dude, I’ve had this melody in my head all day,” and takes up Ryan’s guitar enthusiastically. He strums gently and Ryan closes his eyes, wraps and fits the words he has written in his notebook around the soft sounds of the guitar and lets a song take wings in his mind.
He hums quietly, forms the rhythm and the flow and when it feels comfortable he sings almost inaudibly and Jon beckons for the notebook with a jerk of his head. Ryan hands it to him and Jon scans the page with keen eyes. And that’s when the curiosity sets in.
Jon coughs and says, “Ry, when did you--?”
“A few weeks ago. They weren’t finished yet, needed polishing.”
“These are good, man.”
“Thanks,” Ryan smiles and nudges his foot against Jon’s knee. “Keep playing.”
Jon obliges and lets his face fall into a more relaxed expression. Nonchalantly he says, “So,” fingers tickle across the neck, “I really like the way it’s kind of vaguely specific. Like dancing around an idea that you know isn’t so much an idea anymore as it is fact.”
His tone insinuates something and Ryan calls him on it, “What are you saying?”
His tone is defensive and Jon calls him on it, “Do you really think I’m that dry, Ryan?”
Ryan says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jon. It’s just lyrics. Not everything I write has a hidden meaning or some--”
“Ryan,” Jon says, cutting him off sternly. He takes up the notebook and reads, “‘Oh, little did she know/couldn’t let me go’?” Ryan scowls. Laughing lightly, Jon says, “Subtly fail.”
----
Watching Brendon walk shouldn't be a big deal. In fact, there shouldn't be any watching about it. He's just walking, right? Just the simple left, right, left of his steps as his legs propel him forward, right?
Wrong.
No, it's not just him moving leisurely. It's the way his pants tighten around his legs, the way his hips sway naturally with each stride he takes, the way his ass just looks when he passes Ryan on the couch.
It's all Ryan can do to look away as Brendon paces passed, jeans skin-tight and delicious. His underwear peeks out from the top of the low waistband of his jeans and they're red, bright red and the color of sin, and he reaches back into his pocket and retrieves his phone in one swooping motion and when he brings it up to his ear, Brendon laughs and Ryan is met with the sweetest sound in the world...
Right before he faceplants into the floor.
Brendon turns around at Ryan's "Oomfph" and sees Ryan's cheek smushed into the floor and his eyes wide and embarrassed, hanging off the couch. He raises a curious eyebrow and then follows Ryan's flickering eyes to his ass, smirking.
"Gravity fail, Ross."
----
Of all the people closest to him, Keltie is the nicest about confronting him. She simply gives him a watery smile, kisses him gently, takes his hands and says, “Go be with him.”
Ryan tries not to think that was her way of letting him know their relationship failed as well.
----
He’s heartbroken and distraught and wow, suddenly totally not getting any when he drags himself back onto the bus alone.
When he crawls into his bunk he thinks of Keltie’s wispy hair and her soft curves and small hands and curls his hand around his cock and pumps slowly, imagining. Painted eyes and rosy cheeks and round, ample breast; tiny hips and tight, lean thighs and dancer calves. He fists himself rhythmically and with purpose: a smooth stomach and full lips and brown eyes and dark hair and rough, calloused fingers and.
His hand starts working faster and more frantic and he sees hips and tastes sweat and hears a beautiful, beautiful voice and he’s coming over his hand in warm spurts that curl his toes and roll his eyes to the back of his head where the lazy, sated reminder of FAILFAILFAIL stares back at him and he groans.
Denial fail, indeed.
----
The hiss of the shower echoes through the door and Ryan sits just outside of it, back against it and blunt in hand and the smoke curling from the end of it looks strangely, longingly similar to the mist beyond the door. Brendon’s singing reverberates off the thin walls and seeps through into the lounge and Ryan takes a puff of the rolled paper between his fingers and pulls his knees up to his chest, holding the smoke in his lungs.
He feels warm and fuzzy and light and he knows when Brendon comes out from his shower he’ll smell pretty and probably shake his wet hair all over and make Ryan laugh, but Ryan doesn’t care because he’s supposed to be mad at Brendon for making him a failure.
Brendon sings The Beatles and Ryan thinks in tunes and finds himself humming along, blowing out smoke and closing his eyes. Brendon sings Hey Jude and Ryan thinks don’t make it bad; Brendon sings Hey Jude and Ryan thinks don’t be afraid; Brendon sings and Ryan thinks and when the water finally shuts off, Ryan’s blunt is burnt out and he’s coming down from a high not caused by the weed.
----
Brendon steps out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and water clinging in his hair and he barely makes it through the doorway before Ryan takes him gently by the face and kisses him softly, tentatively and in the sweetest way he can muster. Brendon kisses back and hums -- Ryan thinks it sounds nice and comfortable and right -- and he feels Brendon’s smile stretch their lips in unison.
When Ryan pulls away, slow and hazy, Brendon licks his lips, rubs Ryan’s cheek and says, “Patience fail.”
Ryan smiles and kisses the warmth of Brendon’s palm.
Author: selectivelyurie
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: FLUFF. Ryan Ross has numerous epic Brendon related fails.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't own.
Author Notes: I blame ivesia19 yet again. She is brilliant, what can I say? Also, a special thank you to xoarianne-ilyxo and my-obsession-xx for (somewhat) betaing and for being so incredibly hilarious/supportive/flaily/*grabby hands* over this: ILYSM ~ladehs~. Anna Bee, I hope you feel better soon, ILY :]
Ryan Ross prides himself on being a many things.
On being a successful musician, on having his lyrics known around the world, for being an honest person and a good listener; on having a fetching fashion sense, an independent, unbiased view on world issues, and a colorful taste in music and movies. His self-esteem swells because he owns the most adorable puppy on the face of the earth and the hottest set of wheels on his side of town; for dating the sweetest Rockette to have graced the stage (and getting to fuck her at that) and for having a group of friends so close, it goes unrivaled by any other label. And he has to admit, he’s grateful that he didn’t suck Pete’s dick that one time when he was drunk.
Confidence and poise ooze out of every pore of his body, contrary to the popular belief that he’s shy and insecure. He’s not cocky, per say, he’s just really thankful for his life and he’ll be damned if he lives a single day of his life unhappy.
Too bad Ryan Ross is kinda sorta a huge epic failure in the eyes of those closest to him when it comes to a certain aspect of his existence as a human being.
----
The first person in Ryan’s inner circle of friends to notice Ryan’s failboat status is Spencer, of course. You just can’t grow up attached to someone’s hip like that and not recognize their failures, or in Ryan’s case, their neglect to acknowledge reality.
Spencer and Ryan sit on the floor in the front lounge, dueling it out through a rather vicious game of Halo on the Xbox. Ryan’s character is sneaking around a dark corner and Spencer’s character is repetitively opening fire in the direction he suspects Ryan to be hiding in. Ryan dares not tell him he’s completely off target.
Regardless, Spencer refuses to cease fire and Ryan moves his character to a remote corner on the screen and waits for Spencer to actually find him.
The bus is cold and Ryan’s hasn’t eaten today so he’s hungry and Jon and Brendon are making too much noise in the kitchen, but for once he’s actually not getting slaughtered at this game so he’s not going to complain.
Spencer says, “I know you’re back there, dude.”
Ryan says, “Come and get it, Smith.”
Jon says, “Brendon, we’re in the kitchen. Put your pants back on.”
Brendon says, “But Jon, I can’t decide if these are apples or grapes on my boxers.”
Unceremoniously, Ryan rips his eyes away from the clouded television screen to look into the kitchen at Brendon who is attempting to tug the fabric of his boxers up to Jon’s eye level to observe the mysterious fruit there. He’s wearing a shirt, too tight and too small and it’s revealing a pale expanse of skin below his belly button and his pants are puddled at his ankles.
Ryan stares.
Not at the complete and utter fuckery happening in the kitchen as Brendon urges, “Jon, please, just. Can you tell me what you think they are? It’s driving me insane,” but just at Brendon. He’s just…there. In the kitchen being annoying. Half. Naked.
Ryan’s controller vibrates and he snaps out of his daze to look at the screen. His character is dead and his hands have started to sweat and there’s a small lump in his throat.
Spencer’s got a smirk on his face and his eyebrow is raised suspiciously. He looks past Ryan to Brendon and then looks back at Ryan with this look only Spencer Smith can communicate with. He says, “Dude. Stealth fail.”
----
Accordingly, Pete is the second one to observe Ryan’s abnormal behavior. They’re so frighteningly similar in their mindset that they might as well share a brain. Or it could just be the fact that Ryan totally texted Brendon a message meant for Pete.
When Pete doesn’t text back within the courteous text message time allotment, Ryan texts, ????
Pete immediately texts back with, oicwydt ross
Confused, Ryan replies, wat r u tlkin bout?
Pete texts,'FWD: hai pete, wut r u doin?'
did u mean 2 txt me?
Ryan sighs, types, yeah thought i did tho
didn’t get that 4rm u
wut do u mean?
Pete texts, u sent that 2 bden, not me
Blushing, Ryan says, o shit, sry. didn’t mean 2
got sum1 on ur mind?
n
Pete texts back, u aint foolin me, ross
Aggravated, Ryan punches in, wut the hell r u saying?
ur thinkin bout bden & u ttly luv him. get on that shit, rn or learn 2 txt the correct ppl, kay?
Ryan’s eyes narrow when he reads the text and he tosses his phone down onto the couch with a huff. Ryan Ross refuses to consider himself a temper mental child, even if he is pouting with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and is glaring at his phone. Relenting just a little after he stares holes into his sidekick, Ryan snatches it up and quickly types in an angry, embarrassed reply.
Pete snorts as he reads, stfu
Because he can, Pete texts back, denial fail
----
Jon is a smooth cat, there’s not doubt in Ryan’s mind. So that’s the only excuse he’s allowing himself to make for the reason Jon picks up on Ryan’s mood, too.
On second thought, Ryan muses as he sits down with Jon in the back lounge with both of their guitars and Ryan’s notebook, he shouldn’t really be surprised by Jon’s reaction of a raised eyebrow and curious eyes.
But when they first sit down, Jon is totally chill. He says, “Dude, I’ve had this melody in my head all day,” and takes up Ryan’s guitar enthusiastically. He strums gently and Ryan closes his eyes, wraps and fits the words he has written in his notebook around the soft sounds of the guitar and lets a song take wings in his mind.
He hums quietly, forms the rhythm and the flow and when it feels comfortable he sings almost inaudibly and Jon beckons for the notebook with a jerk of his head. Ryan hands it to him and Jon scans the page with keen eyes. And that’s when the curiosity sets in.
Jon coughs and says, “Ry, when did you--?”
“A few weeks ago. They weren’t finished yet, needed polishing.”
“These are good, man.”
“Thanks,” Ryan smiles and nudges his foot against Jon’s knee. “Keep playing.”
Jon obliges and lets his face fall into a more relaxed expression. Nonchalantly he says, “So,” fingers tickle across the neck, “I really like the way it’s kind of vaguely specific. Like dancing around an idea that you know isn’t so much an idea anymore as it is fact.”
His tone insinuates something and Ryan calls him on it, “What are you saying?”
His tone is defensive and Jon calls him on it, “Do you really think I’m that dry, Ryan?”
Ryan says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jon. It’s just lyrics. Not everything I write has a hidden meaning or some--”
“Ryan,” Jon says, cutting him off sternly. He takes up the notebook and reads, “‘Oh, little did she know/couldn’t let me go’?” Ryan scowls. Laughing lightly, Jon says, “Subtly fail.”
----
Watching Brendon walk shouldn't be a big deal. In fact, there shouldn't be any watching about it. He's just walking, right? Just the simple left, right, left of his steps as his legs propel him forward, right?
Wrong.
No, it's not just him moving leisurely. It's the way his pants tighten around his legs, the way his hips sway naturally with each stride he takes, the way his ass just looks when he passes Ryan on the couch.
It's all Ryan can do to look away as Brendon paces passed, jeans skin-tight and delicious. His underwear peeks out from the top of the low waistband of his jeans and they're red, bright red and the color of sin, and he reaches back into his pocket and retrieves his phone in one swooping motion and when he brings it up to his ear, Brendon laughs and Ryan is met with the sweetest sound in the world...
Right before he faceplants into the floor.
Brendon turns around at Ryan's "Oomfph" and sees Ryan's cheek smushed into the floor and his eyes wide and embarrassed, hanging off the couch. He raises a curious eyebrow and then follows Ryan's flickering eyes to his ass, smirking.
"Gravity fail, Ross."
----
Of all the people closest to him, Keltie is the nicest about confronting him. She simply gives him a watery smile, kisses him gently, takes his hands and says, “Go be with him.”
Ryan tries not to think that was her way of letting him know their relationship failed as well.
----
He’s heartbroken and distraught and wow, suddenly totally not getting any when he drags himself back onto the bus alone.
When he crawls into his bunk he thinks of Keltie’s wispy hair and her soft curves and small hands and curls his hand around his cock and pumps slowly, imagining. Painted eyes and rosy cheeks and round, ample breast; tiny hips and tight, lean thighs and dancer calves. He fists himself rhythmically and with purpose: a smooth stomach and full lips and brown eyes and dark hair and rough, calloused fingers and.
His hand starts working faster and more frantic and he sees hips and tastes sweat and hears a beautiful, beautiful voice and he’s coming over his hand in warm spurts that curl his toes and roll his eyes to the back of his head where the lazy, sated reminder of FAILFAILFAIL stares back at him and he groans.
Denial fail, indeed.
----
The hiss of the shower echoes through the door and Ryan sits just outside of it, back against it and blunt in hand and the smoke curling from the end of it looks strangely, longingly similar to the mist beyond the door. Brendon’s singing reverberates off the thin walls and seeps through into the lounge and Ryan takes a puff of the rolled paper between his fingers and pulls his knees up to his chest, holding the smoke in his lungs.
He feels warm and fuzzy and light and he knows when Brendon comes out from his shower he’ll smell pretty and probably shake his wet hair all over and make Ryan laugh, but Ryan doesn’t care because he’s supposed to be mad at Brendon for making him a failure.
Brendon sings The Beatles and Ryan thinks in tunes and finds himself humming along, blowing out smoke and closing his eyes. Brendon sings Hey Jude and Ryan thinks don’t make it bad; Brendon sings Hey Jude and Ryan thinks don’t be afraid; Brendon sings and Ryan thinks and when the water finally shuts off, Ryan’s blunt is burnt out and he’s coming down from a high not caused by the weed.
----
Brendon steps out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and water clinging in his hair and he barely makes it through the doorway before Ryan takes him gently by the face and kisses him softly, tentatively and in the sweetest way he can muster. Brendon kisses back and hums -- Ryan thinks it sounds nice and comfortable and right -- and he feels Brendon’s smile stretch their lips in unison.
When Ryan pulls away, slow and hazy, Brendon licks his lips, rubs Ryan’s cheek and says, “Patience fail.”
Ryan smiles and kisses the warmth of Brendon’s palm.