Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Tainted Love
His first intention was to turn to Brendon and ask if he was okay, however, as soon as a piece of fruit whizzed past his head, he instantly found his attention at the center of the crowd.
"You filthy thief! How dare you steal from the great Howard!" a large mass of a man shouted in full volume.
"Filthy?! Your merchandise is the only filthy thing here!" another shouted, smaller than the other.
"Then why'd you steal it in the first place, you scum!!!"
Ryan tensed as he saw the larger man clasp a bear paw on the wrist of his opponent. Paralyzed, he waited for the strike, but soon found both parties at a hold, two bombs halted in their timers.
"Heh. Well, your fancy to my shop has no matter to me, you pesky rat." The fat one smirked as he turned to face the audience, "You all know the rules of theft."
Ryan raised a quizzical eyebrow. Half the crowd was encouraging it, yelling shouts of glee, while the other half was silent, frowns engraved into their faces.
"Brendon, what are the rul-", Ryan stopped as he saw Brendon, whole being absorbed into what was happening, face serious, body frigid. A ticking bomb.
"Thank King George for these beautiful rules!" Howard raised his arm, now equipped with a knife as the crowd roared. Ryan could only stand there, a thick lump in his throat and a dark, sickly feeling trickling his insides as his hold on Brendon’s shirt slipped.
"Say farewell to your little finger, parasite!"
Ryan paled, as the knife went soaring down, slow motion in his mind. He felt his throat tense as voice finally came back to him, ripping at his chords to let out.
"STOP!" The yell mixed roughly with the screams of agony coming from the center, drowned out by the mixed shouts of the crowd.
Too late.
Ryan was frozen. It took him some time to realize the voice that yelled wasn’t his, let alone Brendon whirling past him.
"Brendon!" he shouted after the brown blur in front of him, before dashing off after him.
"Oh, god..." Ryan barely even whispered.
After a few seconds of chase, he had finally caught up to his companion, the crowd dispersing the scene. But, the sight before him was too much for him. Blood was everywhere. Stains. Splotches. Nothing too big, though.
"Brendon?" Ryan swallowed as he turned to the young man hunched over a squatting figure, Ryan recognized him as the smaller man from earlier.
"Ah, Ryan. Help me out here?" Brendon asked, turning and allowing Ryan a better view of the victim. He was young, blonde, and not hideous, Ryan noted as he saw clothing already wrapped around the wound.
"Geez, Spencer..." Brendon wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Don't you ever learn? C’mon, you're going to need some help," he finished as he put a arm under the other's shoulder, trying to lift the seemingly unwilling other.
"I do not wish to burden you, Brendon. Or your friend." Spencer said the last bit with a genuine smile and nod. "Spencer Smith, be the name, lad."
"But Spenc-"
"Pleasure, Spencer, sir," Ryan at last uttered after recovering from shock of the man, now one finger short, sending him such a gesture, and let's not forget, being mistaken for a lad. Honestly, Ryan thought as he looked over the man, certainly not much older than himself.
"Aye, don't look at me like yer any better."
"Wha-I-I-didn't mean to-"
"Nah, tis fine. Forget it. I've been in this situation many times before."
Dumb founded, that's the only explain the feeling Ryan felt at this time.
A sigh. "Very well, I s'pose I have no choice, I didn't just lose my pinky finger...well, dignity too, but other than that, a few bruises added and some blood subtracted, I don't think I have much of a choice. Will you escort me, dear friend?"
A smile.
"Of course," Brendon chirped.
Brendon finally succeeded in lifting his friend who flung an arm around Brendon’s shoulders in order to keep upright.
“Someone better get Jon,” Brendon remarked casually.
“I s’pose he’s already heard. You know Jon and his spies.”
Brendon chuckled. “You’re right, o’ course.”
Ryan trailed behind the two pals, feeling light headed from the sight of all that blood and more than a little alienated by Brendon’s attention on Spencer. He noticed the streets they were walking down becoming shabbier and shabbier; this was definitely not the bright and exciting city market anymore. Brendon strode up to one dingy looking building and slid a key into the lock. ‘They’re good enough friends for Brendon to have a key to his house,’ Ryan noted, surprised. The trio stumbled into the building. Ryan studied his surroundings. It was definitely the kind of place you’d expect someone as poor and dirty as Spencer to sleep in. Brendon carefully laid Spencer on the moth bitten sofa. Just as Spencer was settling into the well worn cushions the door burst open causing Ryan to jump a foot. “Spence!” the stranger yelled, panic edging his voice.
The large, well dressed man was at Spencer’s side instantly, grabbing onto his uninjured hand and running his fingers tenderly over the boy’s bruised face. Brendon noticed Ryan’s open mouthed stare and grinned. “You didn’t think we were the only ones, did you love?”
Ryan’s continued to gape at the boy whose hands were placed firmly on his thin hips. Brendon smiled wickedly and pressed his mouth to Ryan’s open shocked one. As the kiss deepened, Ryan’s hood slipped off and hung uselessly around his neck. “Ahem.. you two wanna get a room?”
Ryan blushed at Spencer’s good natured jab. Brendon turned to give his friend a snarky retort, arms still tightly wrapped around the prince when Spencer’s obviously noble lover interrupted. “Holy- What the- your majesty!” The man sputtered out.
Ryan felt the blood drain out of his face. “Jon-“ Brendon began cautiously.
“What are you doing here?” Jon exclaimed. “Your majesty,” he added hastily.
“I should be saying the same to you!” Ryan’s voice was high with panic.
A giggle split the tension in the room; everyone turned to stare at Spencer. “What?” he laughed, “You have to admit it’s quite funny! The king’s favored advisor and the bloody prince, a bunch of flaming queers!” Spencer wiped tears away and soon the rest of the room joined in, chuckling at the sheer ridiculousness of their situation.
"You filthy thief! How dare you steal from the great Howard!" a large mass of a man shouted in full volume.
"Filthy?! Your merchandise is the only filthy thing here!" another shouted, smaller than the other.
"Then why'd you steal it in the first place, you scum!!!"
Ryan tensed as he saw the larger man clasp a bear paw on the wrist of his opponent. Paralyzed, he waited for the strike, but soon found both parties at a hold, two bombs halted in their timers.
"Heh. Well, your fancy to my shop has no matter to me, you pesky rat." The fat one smirked as he turned to face the audience, "You all know the rules of theft."
Ryan raised a quizzical eyebrow. Half the crowd was encouraging it, yelling shouts of glee, while the other half was silent, frowns engraved into their faces.
"Brendon, what are the rul-", Ryan stopped as he saw Brendon, whole being absorbed into what was happening, face serious, body frigid. A ticking bomb.
"Thank King George for these beautiful rules!" Howard raised his arm, now equipped with a knife as the crowd roared. Ryan could only stand there, a thick lump in his throat and a dark, sickly feeling trickling his insides as his hold on Brendon’s shirt slipped.
"Say farewell to your little finger, parasite!"
Ryan paled, as the knife went soaring down, slow motion in his mind. He felt his throat tense as voice finally came back to him, ripping at his chords to let out.
"STOP!" The yell mixed roughly with the screams of agony coming from the center, drowned out by the mixed shouts of the crowd.
Too late.
Ryan was frozen. It took him some time to realize the voice that yelled wasn’t his, let alone Brendon whirling past him.
"Brendon!" he shouted after the brown blur in front of him, before dashing off after him.
"Oh, god..." Ryan barely even whispered.
After a few seconds of chase, he had finally caught up to his companion, the crowd dispersing the scene. But, the sight before him was too much for him. Blood was everywhere. Stains. Splotches. Nothing too big, though.
"Brendon?" Ryan swallowed as he turned to the young man hunched over a squatting figure, Ryan recognized him as the smaller man from earlier.
"Ah, Ryan. Help me out here?" Brendon asked, turning and allowing Ryan a better view of the victim. He was young, blonde, and not hideous, Ryan noted as he saw clothing already wrapped around the wound.
"Geez, Spencer..." Brendon wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Don't you ever learn? C’mon, you're going to need some help," he finished as he put a arm under the other's shoulder, trying to lift the seemingly unwilling other.
"I do not wish to burden you, Brendon. Or your friend." Spencer said the last bit with a genuine smile and nod. "Spencer Smith, be the name, lad."
"But Spenc-"
"Pleasure, Spencer, sir," Ryan at last uttered after recovering from shock of the man, now one finger short, sending him such a gesture, and let's not forget, being mistaken for a lad. Honestly, Ryan thought as he looked over the man, certainly not much older than himself.
"Aye, don't look at me like yer any better."
"Wha-I-I-didn't mean to-"
"Nah, tis fine. Forget it. I've been in this situation many times before."
Dumb founded, that's the only explain the feeling Ryan felt at this time.
A sigh. "Very well, I s'pose I have no choice, I didn't just lose my pinky finger...well, dignity too, but other than that, a few bruises added and some blood subtracted, I don't think I have much of a choice. Will you escort me, dear friend?"
A smile.
"Of course," Brendon chirped.
Brendon finally succeeded in lifting his friend who flung an arm around Brendon’s shoulders in order to keep upright.
“Someone better get Jon,” Brendon remarked casually.
“I s’pose he’s already heard. You know Jon and his spies.”
Brendon chuckled. “You’re right, o’ course.”
Ryan trailed behind the two pals, feeling light headed from the sight of all that blood and more than a little alienated by Brendon’s attention on Spencer. He noticed the streets they were walking down becoming shabbier and shabbier; this was definitely not the bright and exciting city market anymore. Brendon strode up to one dingy looking building and slid a key into the lock. ‘They’re good enough friends for Brendon to have a key to his house,’ Ryan noted, surprised. The trio stumbled into the building. Ryan studied his surroundings. It was definitely the kind of place you’d expect someone as poor and dirty as Spencer to sleep in. Brendon carefully laid Spencer on the moth bitten sofa. Just as Spencer was settling into the well worn cushions the door burst open causing Ryan to jump a foot. “Spence!” the stranger yelled, panic edging his voice.
The large, well dressed man was at Spencer’s side instantly, grabbing onto his uninjured hand and running his fingers tenderly over the boy’s bruised face. Brendon noticed Ryan’s open mouthed stare and grinned. “You didn’t think we were the only ones, did you love?”
Ryan’s continued to gape at the boy whose hands were placed firmly on his thin hips. Brendon smiled wickedly and pressed his mouth to Ryan’s open shocked one. As the kiss deepened, Ryan’s hood slipped off and hung uselessly around his neck. “Ahem.. you two wanna get a room?”
Ryan blushed at Spencer’s good natured jab. Brendon turned to give his friend a snarky retort, arms still tightly wrapped around the prince when Spencer’s obviously noble lover interrupted. “Holy- What the- your majesty!” The man sputtered out.
Ryan felt the blood drain out of his face. “Jon-“ Brendon began cautiously.
“What are you doing here?” Jon exclaimed. “Your majesty,” he added hastily.
“I should be saying the same to you!” Ryan’s voice was high with panic.
A giggle split the tension in the room; everyone turned to stare at Spencer. “What?” he laughed, “You have to admit it’s quite funny! The king’s favored advisor and the bloody prince, a bunch of flaming queers!” Spencer wiped tears away and soon the rest of the room joined in, chuckling at the sheer ridiculousness of their situation.
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