FicWad

The camping trip has always been more of a social experiment than anything else, really. It was designed to force students who hate each other, to spend quality time together and either resolve their differences, or kill each other trying. It wouldn’t surprise Brendon if someone actually did kill another student on the trip. Nevertheless, the English class’ teacher is now reciting a list of “buddies.” Ryan tugs at Spencer’s sleeve, almost as if it’s an attempt to secure him as a buddy, but Spencer’s name is paired with Jon Walker and Ryan is left waiting until near enough the end of the list to find that he, as luck would have it, is paired with Brendon Urie. Brendon sinks his teeth into his tongue to keep from crying out curse words at their supervising adult. The group of students and supervisors fade away to a couple of paired conversations, before Brendon makes even one step towards his assigned partner.

“No no, Spencer-” Ryan hisses, as his desired buddy inches away to him and into Jon’s space.

“Spencer!” He hurries, turning in the mud to face Spencer and throwing his arms up t signal him to come back. “I have no best friend. I hate you so much.” He rushes out words; trying any insult he can wrap his tongue around. Brendon huffs behind Ryan, Ryan’s back actually, and folds his tense arms across his chest.

“What? What the fuck do you want?” Ryan barks, swinging around to see a gritted teeth and narrow eyed boy in front of him. Brendon’s left eyebrow rises slowly, almost daringly, to somewhere hidden under his dark hair. Ryan hates that about him; how he can just act so nonchalant and unfazed by everything. He forces all of his weight into his hands and launches them towards Brendon’s chest. Brendon, who isn’t expecting the shove- though he definitely should have been- and certainly isn’t in a stance capable of withstanding the push, falls to the ground; crashing into a puddle. He barks something back at Ryan, who’s throwing his hands by his sides, clenched in fists, waiting for Brendon’s counter. Brendon scuffs to his feet and dives towards Ryan, tipping them both over and growling ferociously. Mud practically covers the entire of Ryan’s back, seeping under the material of his shirt and sticking to his skin. Brendon wrestles on top of him, punches and flails his arms around. When Ryan catches himself, he sends his knee flying up and into Brendon’s chest between them. Brendon grunts aggressively. The though occurs to Ryan that he’s probably winded him.

“You fucker!” He exclaims, almost breathlessly, and Ryan spits up at him, throwing his hands up into Brendon’s shoulders and digging his nails in as harsh as he can. He grips tighter as he tries to roll them over and Brendon is forced underneath Ryan’s thin and, surprisingly strong, body. He grips hold of Brendon’s wrists and presses his thumbs deep into his veins. Brendon hisses our weakly and struggles beneath Ryan, which only pleases Ryan because he can see that Brendon is vulnerable. He growls something that even he can’t quite understand and Brendon squirms. Ryan almost doesn’t notice it happening, because he isn’t really sure what he’s doing, but he grinds a little- just for a moment and out of pure curiosity- against Brendon’s jeans. Brendon makes a feeble and ever so slightly aroused moaning sound and Ryan snorts, disgusted because he can feel Brendon half hard beneath him.

“Oh baby, you like that?” He mocks sadistically and Brendon tries to free his wrists from Ryan’s clutches. Ryan suddenly wants to grind against him again, add more friction, add some teeth, pulling, writhing, sweating. But he doesn’t. “You’re a little bitch Urie.” He sprays, before clambering to his feet and kicking Brendon in the thigh.

“I hate your fucking guts Ross.” Brendon declares, tripping over his own shaking legs as he stands.

“Well good, because I’m about ready to kill you.”

“I’m sorry?” Brendon snaps, marching towards Ryan, who is now shying away from his buddy and wishing he’d knocked him out when he had the chance. He really, really, wants to knock him out. He supposes, he could actually still do it; grab Brendon by the upper arm and smash his head into Brendon’s temple.

“What was that Ross? Kill me, or blow me?” He smirks and Ryan swings his entire torso half around, smacking his fist into Brendon’s nose and forcing him to fall on his ass. The verbal reply is something similar to “you fucking wish.”

Suddenly, the frail looking English teacher who had assigned them partners is walking towards them and no, he isn’t wearing his fake plastic grin. He’s frowning. He drags Ryan kicking and screaming away from Brendon, who simply smiles at the fact that, this time, much like every other time- or so he thinks- he’s won.

*

“Get the fuck out of my tent. Now.” Brendon tells Ryan, just as he’s slipping into a sleeping bag as far from Brendon as he can. He ponders why Brendon would want rid of him, other than the obvious reasons and then bites his lip and pretends to fondle himself over his underwear, moaning out his own name; mimicking Brendon’s voice.

“Oh Ryan. Ryan, why won’t you fuck me.” He groans, in a hushed tone and Brendon stares, angrily at Ryan. He launches a shoe at Ryan and it hits his lap hard. Ryan retorts by scampering out of his navy cocoon and tumbling towards Brendon over his red sleeping bag. Ryan doesn’t even think about the fact that he, himself, isn’t fully dressed. (He’s wearing makeshift pajamas, which is really just a pair of boxers and tee-shirt that vaguely matches, but really, who is going to see or care?) He just starts tugging and pulling and hitting Brendon. Somehow, Brendon ends up underneath Ryan again, out of the sleeping bag and having his bare chest against Ryan’s black tee. The adrenalin running through both the boys’ veins, coaxes the blood away from the most part of them. Both notice and both intend to comment later, but for now, there are infinite grunts and growls, the sound of skin hitting skin and then, at their most perfect moment, something rattles the outer material of the tent.

“Boys?”

Ryan slumps off of Brendon’s body and pants a little, by the end of it, he notes, it was simply a fight to dominate him, stay on top of him, rather than actually hurt him.

“Yes Sir, we know, sorry Sir.” He mumbles and fading footsteps signal their privacy is back.

“So it’s not just my dick you’re trying to suck.” Brendon laughs, lapping up Ryan’s gruff breathing. Ryan sighs and, for reasons he isn’t too sure of, he laughs. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re alone in a tent far from anyone who can hear or see, (so long as they’re quiet) or maybe simply because he’s sick of the remarks that Brendon is so idly fond of spewing.

“Let’s just do it then.” He suggests, playfully, gritting his teeth all the same. Brendon gives him a sharp look, a kind of very-fucking-funny-asshole look, but when Ryan stares him down, his mouth opens in surprise. Ryan wonders what his own mouth has just said, a voice inside him practically screaming at him for his absurdity, but he stares at Brendon, face motionless, not even blinking.

“Oh.” He says, when Brendon begins to crawl back into his bed. “So you’re all bark and no bite? Pussy.” He hasn’t got time to mock Brendon for his cowardice, because Brendon’s on him. He’s on him; pushing down against his skin. And his lips, God, his lips are lapping at Ryan’s so gracelessly and rough and Ryan’s sure that, just for a second, he feels his bottom lip being sucked between teeth. When they break apart, Ryan thinks about leaning in again.

“God, you must be gagging for it.” He finally says and Brendon shoves him aggressively onto his back, before turning and curling up to fall asleep. Ryan retreats to his sleeping back and chuckles himself to sleep, thinking I have him right in the palm of my hands.

*

Brendon is just about out of the tent when Ryan stirs in his sleep. Brendon rolls his eyes, sighing. He should probably wake the lazy son of a bitch up because, if he doesn’t, he might use last night’s incident against him. He hadn’t meant to kiss Ryan. Really, he hadn’t, but Ryan was daring him to and he hates to be called up on his bravery. It meant nothing, not even a little bit and the fact that Brendon is still thinking about it and still angry about it, proves how little it meant. Okay so he’s thinking about it, but that’s to be expected. Right?

He rams his foot into Ryan’s ribcage and Ryan frowns in his sleep, rising to a state of consciousness and cursing. Brendon unzips their tent and ducks his head, about to leave into the open air, when Ryan lifts his upper body up and leans on his elbows.

“What, no good-morning-kiss?” He asks; tongue in teeth and about to laugh again.

“Shut up.” Is all Brendon can say in retaliation. He doesn’t need to prove anything to Ryan, or justify why he does anything. To his surprise, Ryan does shut up, but only to pull out a cigarette box from his bag and light one in his mouth. He blows smoke up above his head and laughs again. Brendon scoffs, and then turns back to Ryan and watches, smiling.

“What? Wishing you were a fag all of a sudden? Oh wait…” Ryan chirps, taking a second draw.

“No, just happy because you’re going to die before me and every cigarette you smoke ensures it.”

“Won’t you miss me Darling?” Ryan asks, sounding falsely hurt and Brendon’s smile fades. No. No of course he wouldn’t miss Ryan if he died. He’d be happy to see him go. More than happy, now he thinks about it. He leaves the tent and hopes that Ryan accidently sets himself on fire and burns to death.

*

Ryan doesn’t think about the kiss, at all actually, until he next sees Brendon. Once he’s up and out of the tent, he finds Spencer’s tent. He’s curled up in a ball next to a bottle of beer and Jon is asleep too. Ryan creeps into their tent and smiles, taking the bottle out of Spencer’s reach and placing it upright in the corner of the floor, before waking his friend up.

“Spencer?” He whispers, jabbing his arm as gently as he can. “Spence?” He whispers again, a little less patiently. He rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He kneels up and stretches out to Jon, to prod his leg and wake him up. Jon’s always been one to make an unidentifiable sound- possibly a word, but no one, not even Jon could tell you what the words are, what language they derive from, or what they mean. This time, the noise sounds a little bit like a “huh?” and he thrusts his head upwards to see what stirred him from his sleep. He has ridiculous bed head; pieces defiantly stray all over his skull, falling over his face and tickling his ear. Much like a cat, he scratches under his ear with his palm and looks around, confused.

“Ryan, what are you-” He starts, but his croaky and not to mention loud, morning voice lulls Spencer from his sleep and now they’re all awake. Spencer’s calm and collected in the morning, his hair is still perfect and he’s never blotchy or red in the face. Ryan envied that. Secretly though; he would never admit it to anyone. Spencer paws at the ground next to him and when he finds nothing but a little gravel, he clicks his fingers at Ryan. Ryan knows, without even asking, that Spencer needs a cigarette to start the day but tells him that he left his in his tent. Spencer sighs; it isn’t Ryan’s fault if he’s a forgetful dope sometimes.

Breakfast at the camp is stupid because the meal is disgusting and the cornflakes are soggy and the toast is burnt and the teachers seem to love it. They chirp and sing and encourage the children to communicate, but not one student seems happy. They would all much rather have skipped breakfast and sleep that little bit longer. Some of them do, but not many. Ryan wishes Brendon hadn’t woke him up earlier in the morning and makes a mental note to punch him in the gut for doing it.

These days, it doesn’t take much for Ryan and Brendon to fight; on a bad day, they’ve been known to fight purely because they saw each other and, though they make other excuses as to why it began, that’s really all it is. They saw each other.

Ryan huffs as he stirs soggy pieces of cereal through lukewarm milk. Spencer double takes, normally, no matter how foul the food is, Ryan will wolf it down in seconds. He tugs at Ryan’s arm and Ryan snaps out of his tired thoughts. All he’s really doing is thinking about sleep, going to sleep, in his tent, in his sleeping bag, maybe with Brendon nearby if he needs to let out some steam. He’s not quite sure what he means by that though.

He doesn’t find Brendon until much later that day. Most of the students have left for the day’s activity, which, much to Ryan’s disappointment, is a pointless hike, up a stupid mountain and then a dumb ass walk back down it. He starts to wonder why he bothered coming to this trip, (he was pretty much peer pressured into it by Spencer and Jon. “It’ll be fun, I promise!” Jon told him, slapping his back and handing him his paid for half of a joint. That’s when Spencer worked his head away from the book he was reading and promised him that if he went along, they’d take alcohol and have a miniature party on the last night- probably get some action from some other campers too- and that if he didn’t come with, he’d fire him as best friend and give the place to Jon. Ryan already felt as if Jon was slowly replacing him, so he sighed and nodded, taking a final draw and soon giggling like a little girl.) He skulks back to his tent to find Brendon, sitting crossed legged in the center of the tent space, flicking Ryan’s lighter on and off.

Almost instinctively, Ryan pounces on Brendon; knocking the lighter out of his hand and sending it flying across the ground. They wrestle again, pulling and punching, until Brendon is on top of Ryan, pinning him down with his own weight. His hands trap Ryan’s on the floor, almost romantically- or rather, it would be almost romantic, if they didn’t hate each other so much and they weren’t trying to kill each other all the time.

“Really, Ross. I’m almost getting bored of this.” He complains and Ryan struggles his head upwards and it’s stupid because, no, of course he won’t come anywhere close to reaching Brendon, his head just darts up and then sinks back down again, teeth gritted and jaw locked. When Brendon shifts off Ryan, their crotches brush ever so slightly against each other, but neither admit to noticing. The second Brendon’s back is turned, Ryan takes a hold of a chunk of Brendon’s hair and tugs it backwards until he’s lying down on his back, screaming in pain- well, practically screaming. Ryan climbs onto Brendon’s knees and holds his throat, digging nails under his ear and watching him flinch. His free hand reaches in front of him and clenches in a fist. It hovers above Brendon’s crotch for a moment and Brendon flails all his limbs.

“What the fuck are you- doing?” Brendon chokes and Ryan unclenches his fist to slap Brendon in the face.

“Thought I’d shake it up, so you aren’t bored.” And with that, Ryan’s elbow is making contact with Brendon’s balls, making him jut upwards and squeal in agony. Ryan turns off of Brendon’s body and wonders how, no matter how they begin fighting, they always end up one straddling the other, by the end.

*

Brendon isn’t going to let Ryan think he’s won this fight. He waits for him to fall asleep, just about, before stealing one of his cigarettes, lighting it close to Ryan and sucking on it. He breathes the smoke in Ryan face and shift to a kneeling position, very, very, very close to Ryan. He knees are practically touching Ryan’s elbow, but Brendon doesn’t care. He simply smiles and clears his throat loudly next to Ryan’s face. Ryan opens his eyes and lets out a moan that sounds groggy.

“What, what the fuck do you- Wait. That’s one of my Goddamn cigarettes!”

Brendon only smiles wider, taking another draw and letting out a pleasured sigh as he breathes it out. He bucks his hips and rolls his head back. Ryan doesn’t quite know what to do with this. Even Brendon isn’t quite sure what he’s doing, he just knows he needs to punch Ryan in the face, but punching him in the face isn’t quite enough. He wants something else.

“Give me that back.” Ryan demands, stretching his hand out to take the stick between Brendon’s fingers.

“What, this?” Brendon clarifies sarcastically and pushes it between his lips. He inhales, leaves it to stick to his top lip and tells Ryan to make him.

“Give me the damn thing!” Ryan orders and flies towards Brendon, knocking him over and landing over him, hands pressed into the ground on either side of the body beneath him; so close they could be touching. Brendon doesn’t even feel uncomfortable. Sure, he hates the guy, but he doesn’t feel awkward lying there, fully aware that no one is holding anyone down, no one is being attacked and no one is forcing this. They’re just like this. Breathing heavy. And okay, so Brendon doesn’t move the cigarette from his lips to his finger because he was worried about burning himself, and okay so he was doing it because he wanted his lips to be free, so what?
I hate you, Brendon thinks to himself, as Ryan leans in towards him. His tongue is slippery, well, of course it’s slippery, but it feels to Brendon like he’s drowning in saliva. I hate your stupid tongue, he thinks, and then, oh, oh. Ryan’s stroking him, fast and aggressive and pinching a little too hard at times, but he’s stroking him, still kissing into him, meanly. Brendon wonders how he’s holding himself up with only one hand, but doesn’t care too much. He just stubs the cigarette out on the ground and enjoys being pulled at.

*

Ryan thinks that Brendon has too many friends, and he supposes that maybe, yeah, okay, he might be mostly jealous of him, but honestly, how could anyone keep up with so many people needing and wanting your attention all the time. They haven’t found a reason to fight this morning and it’s almost noon, so Ryan’s keeping a close and almost too fixed, eye on Brendon’s every move. Making out last night was kind of rushed; both were pretty fired up and ready to go before any clothes were tugged off, but after a short time and a couple of bitten lips, they were semi-naked and touching each other. Ryan knows that Brendon probably has a deep cut on his tongue and maybe it’s swollen, because Ryan had to bite down on it to stop Brendon from moaning. God, if people thought that he and Brendon were- whatever, he doesn’t really care for Brendon at all. No, of course he doesn’t, because he hates Brendon’s guts.

The second day’s activity is more of a fishing orientated trip and Ryan decides that he’d rather not fish in a lake full of mud and slop thank you very much. He doesn’t much want to be alone though, so when Brendon pushes past him, shoulder connecting viciously, but hand brushing against his gently, he attacks him.

He really tries to attack him.

He grabs Brendon’s arm and twists it back around his own spine, then pushes him face first into the mud. Brendon barely has time to reach out with his one free hand to stop his face from grounding into the dirt. He spits out pieces of- of God knows what and as Ryan’s searching to see if anyone is looking, he grabs hold of Ryan’s leg and tugs it down, so Ryan falls on top of him. Ryan throws the first few punches, but Brendon seems unfazed. He brushes them off with grunts and gritted teeth, catching sight of a small hickey on Ryan’s neck and figuring how to win this fight, easily. He pushes up into Ryan and flips them over, so He’s on top of leans into him. He sucks hard on the bruise he’d already made and doesn’t stop until he can taste the metallic taste of Ryan’s blood in his mouth. He chokes back the desperate need to moan against Ryan’s skin and pulls himself up into a sitting position.

“You’re not going to the group activity.” Ryan tells him, as he watches Brendon wipe his blood from his lips, like a vampire. That shouldn’t turn Ryan on. But it does- only a little bit mind.

*

“Oh, shut up.” Ryan groans, rolling the two over off Brendon’s sleeping bag. “I hate it when you talk; makes it harder to forget this is you.” He explains, and Brendon twists his thumb into Ryan’s hips a little harder than he should. Ryan hisses and Brendon wants to smile, almost does, but then remembers who he’s fore playing with. Ryan juts himself up and into Brendon, their skin meeting and sticking together a little. Brendon groans again, louder this time, and something along the lines of Ryan’s name, so Ryan slaps him in the face, growling. “Shut the fuck up. What did I say?” He patronizes, and then sighs. “Give me your hand.”

Brendon obeys, though he’s not really, very sure why. Ryan dips two of Brendon’s fingers into his own mouth and sucks, anything but gracefully, for a few moments, sending miniature tremors up and down Brendon’s naked spine. He wants to punch Ryan for doing this, but God, God, it feels so strangely good. When his fingers are released, the air around them feels cold and he decides now is as good as any, a time to push into Ryan. Ryan hisses at him.

“What the fuck are you doing now?” He barks, agitated by every move that Brendon makes. He’s only pushed, perhaps, one knuckle into Ryan, and only one finger, but he can see that Ryan isn’t very impressed.

“Thought you told me to shut my mouth.” He replies casually, shrugging in that twisted little way he does.

“Fuck-” Ryan means to finish with “you” but Brendon captures his lips and bites down on the bottom one, sucking for a moment before he lets go.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” He mocks, winking slyly.

“Oh no. No, no, no, get the fuck away from me, I never said-” But Brendon’s pushed as far as he can and hit Ryan’s prostate and it shut’s Ryan up for a moment, before he gasps for air and lets out this weak, filthy sound, that brings those goose bumps Brendon had a moment ago, back to the surface of his skin- almost pops out of his skin. Ryan writhes around under Brendon’s touch; not willing to admit how fucking wonderful this feels, but letting out the occasional, quiet moan, partly by accident, and partly because he really doesn’t want Brendon to stop. He parts his legs a little and Brendon takes this as an invitation to add a second finger, more pressure and a heavier hand on Ryan’s thigh. That’s going to bruise. Good, he’s such a slut. Brendon thinks.
The two seem to fall into Brendon’s sleeping bag somehow, after a good couple of hours of bruises and hair pulling and moans and touches and warmth. They don’t touch, but they’re both naked and close to each other, so to keep from growing cold. Ryan stares up above them and breathes heavy, refusing to talk.

“Can we- uh.” Brendon starts, turning into Ryan’s shoulder and sighing. “Can we do that again, you know, after the camping trip.”

Ryan sighs, of course not, of course they fucking can’t. Something inside him, for some reason, though, drags his teeth into his bottom lip to prevent him from saying no. He’s not quite sure what he thinks of Brendon yet, so he doesn’t want to shove off the idea before he has a chance to fully explore it.

“Ugh, you’re such a needy bitch, Urie.” He says instead. He supposes that isn’t much better, so turns into Brendon and nods slightly. They fall asleep face to face and pretty damn close, but neither dares to reach out and hold each other.