Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Salvation

Salvation the Fifth

by ManiCforPaniCgirl 1 review

Brendon Urie was nothing but an average young man, working a 9-5 office job to pay the rent, until the day he met Ryan Ross, a prostitute on the streets of Chicago who turned his world upside down ...

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Humor,Romance - Published: 2009-05-04 - Updated: 2009-05-04 - 1067 words

"...What did you say?"

In his breathtaking, terrible way, that man smiled dangerously. "I think you heard me very clearly. I won't be held accountable for your falling in love with me. Really,"he said softly, eyes glittering, "it has nothing to do with me at all."

I’m not… I’m not in love with you. “I’m not gay,” Brendon blurted out lamely, turning away from the other and seating himself by the heater in the kitchen. Anything to battle the frost that had swept through him at the boy’s words. He could try as hard as he wanted to and he wouldn’t get through to Ryan. There was no love or feeling in Ryan’s life, in his world. These he looked on with nothing but impatience and scorn. And what do I care, anyway? That’s his business, he said so himself.

“You’re not. Is that so.” Ryan regarded him coolly, looking down to examine his fingernails noncommittally before fixing his piercing gaze on the boy across the room who refused to look at him.


“I see.” The graceful man stood with a smirk and glided soundlessly across the room, stopping before Brendon, “So if I were to do this,” he lifted Brendon’s chin with a hand to meet his gaze as he leaned forward slowly, the distance between them closing rapidly, “you would object, is that right?” Ryan brushed his lips softly across Brendon’s mouth, slowly at first and then with growing intensity as the other began to respond. Brendon tangled his fingers in the soft brown hair, pulling Ryan closer and gasping at the feeling of the other’s tongue against his own, before the mysterious boy separated their lips abruptly and leaned back on his heels, observing Brendon silently, predatorily, before he spoke.

“I believe I made my point quite nicely,” Ryan purred with a smug satisfaction. He paused, and added as an afterthought, “And it seems that as the saying goes, I’ve passed my fever on to you, which means I’m in perfect condition to go out tonight.” Brendon was still sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, unmoving, shock radiating from his tense form.

“What’s the matter?” Ryan licked his lips slowly, “cat got your tongue?” His lips twitched in a barely restrained smirk. “Oh no, wait, that was me.”

This seemed to snap Brendon out of it. “What the hell did you do that for,” he said in low tones, hardly able to contain the anger underneath the surface of his words, “what gives you the right to fuck with me like that, what? I let you into my house! I took care of you when you got sick and fucking paid you all the money I’ve managed to save so that you wouldn’t go out and make it worse, and you repay me by laughing in my face?!” He was on his feet now, trembling as he spoke.

"And you expect me to believe that was the reason," Ryan said softly.

Brendon deflated slightly at the man's failure to react.

"What was the reason for what."

"I don't think you paid me to save me from making my sickness worse. I think you didn't like the idea of me fucking other people."

"I don't care about that," Brendon insisted in frustration, "But why? Why can't you just get an honest job instead of selling yourself! You could do so much better than this!"

"Oh, you want to talk about what I do for a living now? Hate to further scar your innocent little mind, but I don't just screw men, Brennie boy, I do women too. Top, bottom, sideways, any way they like it as long as the price is right." He leaned into Brendon once more, hands on either side of him as he smiled with a cruel twist of the lips. Daring him to disapprove. And Brendon did, and the reason for it was called love.

"That's exactly what your problem is! You have too much pride and you're so god damn pissed about everything that you don't know what to do with yourself! You're so wrapped up in yourself you can't see straight! It's even worse that you can't imagine anyone doing anything for you without having an incentive or being in fucking love with you! Well I don't have any incentive and I definitely don't love you!" Brendon was almost yelling, and partly in tears, and he didn't know whether he wanted to hit Ryan or beg him to kiss him again. But pride and perhaps a broken heart won out, though he didn't seem to realize the reason behind it.

"Just... get out."It was a gasp. Almost a plea from someone who had died, just a little.

Those honey eyes widened suddenly. This was the last thing the man, Ryan, had expected. Brendon being angry was one thing but... being told to leave? He had never had this, he had never had a home to return to, and someone waiting in it to welcome him. Never had someone to care for him when he wasn't able to care for himself. Serves me right for getting used to it. I was the fool. I never should have stayed here. Attachment... it's for the weak. And weak is something I cannot and never could afford to be.

Without a change in expression, Ryan turned and left the way he had entered, pausing a moment at the door as though making a decision before at last he spoke.

"Brendon Urie, I'm leaving you with my name-- Ryan Ross. Take care of it."

And then he was in and out and barely making an impression on the world in the grand scheme of things. But he had made an impression on someone else's world. It was a lesson he was sure to remember, and learn from, and never again repeat. Never again would he let anyone else in this hell of a place matter.

Ryan closed the door calmly behind him and paused on the step, one hand lingering on the doorknob as he whispered to the wind, "Who could love me? I am out of my mind." He turned sharply into the breeze and began to walk, disappearing down the dark street until the stillness and the pitch swallowed him whole.
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