Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Teenage Kicks
Here we go :3 Chapter three of my summer project haha. I have to note that killjoy_jinx did help with getting the plot sorted a little for this one, because we started this at 2am.
2Hot
Genuinely, he hadn’t seen it coming. One minute, he was faking interest in a blonde thing that was flirting with him, all the while, trying to steal one of his cigarettes for herself, and the next, Brendon was on the ground, rubbing his temple with his palm. The punch had been uneven and the person on the providing end of the fist had been inexperienced. It had succeeded in making him dizzy, however.
“Wow, Spencer, honestly I didn’t know you had it in you.” He chuckles, but Spencer takes it anything but light-heartedly. He just stands, fists still balled by his sides and breathing a little heavier than usual. Before he can think of a clever retort, Brendon’s opened his big mouth to say something else.
“Next time though- no offence- but just send Ryan himself. More of an even fight and normally, I think, I know why he’s hitting me, whereas with you-”
Spencer decides against listening to the end, because a lifetime of standing by Ryan has taught him how to hurt someone with very little effort. The first, messy punch was purely out of anger and he has some composure now, so he’s planning his moves. His knee strikes between Brendon’s legs viciously and Brendon’s down like a light.
“That’s for breaking Ryan’s rib.” Spencer almost stutters out, because he’s not very good at the whole “arrogant prick” thing and quite honestly, he hopes he hasn’t hurt Brendon too bad.
*
Ryan pretends not to hear Brendon trudge up the grassy hill he’s lying on and he most certainly does not laugh at Brendon’s lack of even breathing; air entering his lungs every few pants. When Brendon reaches the top of the hill- which for the record is much steeper than it looks- he hovers over Ryan’s stretched out body. For a short moment, he simply looks at Ryan; his legs crossed at his ankles and his arms folded across his chest to cradle a half-smoked cigarette above an army green band tee-shirt. He’s surrounded by balled up pieces of discarded paper; Ryan’s been writing lyrics again. For someone who has, evidently, rejected a lot of his own thoughts, he looks awfully at peace. A speck of ash has fallen onto his clothing and Brendon wonders if it’s enough to burn the lying son of a bitch. He kind of hopes so.
“Hi?!” Brendon demands; knowing fine well that his hovering, hands pressed into his hips and face crinkled, will have been enough to gain Ryan’s attention. Ryan opens one eye and squints up at the pissed off figure above him. The sun’s shining behind Brendon’s head and he knows if Brendon sways, even a little bit, the sun will glint into his eyes and blind him for a minute or two.
“Hello Brendon.” He replies; quiet and even and with that hint of cockiness that makes Brendon want to punch him in the face.
“How are you?” Brendon rhetorically asks, waiting long enough for Ryan to take a deep draw of his cigarette, but not long enough for him to answer. “Really? Great! How am I? Oh, I dunno, let’s see…” He sits down heavily on Ryan’s chest and hopes that the weight of him crushes Ryan’s skeleton and breaks all of his ribs. Well, he wishes it for a second. Ryan makes an exasperated sound as he inhales again; preparing for an inevitable, pointless nag at him.
“So I had an interesting conversation with your boyfriend today Ryan- well, it wasn’t as much of a conversation as an unwanted castration! Now, I was just going to tell you to kiss it better but, unfortunately for you, I think it’s fucking broken, thanks to him. What? Did he get jealous or something? Was I keeping you to myself too much during that camping trip? And what the hell was he talking about your ribs for?”
Brendon rests his elbows on his knees and turns his palms up to cup the sides of his face, looking suddenly a little bit sad. Ryan starts to wonder if he remembers that his chest is not a seat, but can’t really be bothered hurting him because he has a potential cracked rib and burst knuckles as it is.
“Yeah, but Brendon?” Ryan starts and waits for Brendon to tilt his head to see him, before he takes a long, exaggerated drag of the cigarette. “Spencer isn’t my boyfriend.” His voice is nasally as he speaks, far too casually from Brendon’s liking, because he’s refusing to exhale. It’s a strange quirk of his, one he can’t quite explain; he almost challenges himself, to see how long he can hold smoke back. He does it more around Brendon than anyone else though, because it really annoys him; he says he wants to hit Ryan when he talks and sounds nasally.
Brendon sulks a little bit and then huffs as he moves to sit next to Ryan. “Blow that out.” He insists, but Ryan smirks at him. “Blow it out. Stop that.” He tells him again and Ryan only exhales when Brendon’s face is directly in front of his. Brendon splutters out something about murdering Ryan when he gives him cancer and Ryan sits up.
“Right, run this past me again, Spencer did what, why?”
“I told you. Spencer hit me in me in the face and tried to prevent me from ever breeding and producing absolutely stunning children for the world to admire all because I have some sort of telekinesis power that I was unaware of and broke your rib without even touching you. Which I find quite funny, considering you’ve actually fucked one of my ribs up before and, well, I know how much it bloody hurts and that’s why I’ve never done it to you!”
Ryan sighs and takes a final draw, flicking the remains of the cigarette away from him. He rolls his eyes and Brendon mutters something about being tempted to break all of his ribs, make a new guitar out of them and hope that it forces Ryan to get some guitar lessons, seeing as he insists on playing so much, despite being incapable of holding a note. Ryan ignores Brendon’s muttering and pulls himself to face him, takes the back of Brendon’s head in his hand and kisses him on the mouth. Actually, he more kisses into his mouth, as Brendon’s is open mid-sentence. Ryan exhales meanly and it takes a moment for the taste t register in Brendon’s head as cigarette smoke. He pushes Ryan away and coughs hideously, wiping his mouth and taking over dramatic breaths.
“I hate you so fucking much you know.” Brendon complains, dragging his tongue over his palm to try and rid him of the taste of smoke. Ryan leans back onto his elbows and watches Brendon over react; panting and spitting on the grass.
“You shouldn’t spit; it’s rude.” Ryan tells him, rather authoritatively and Brendon stops panicking, to let his jaw drop.
“That’s rude? That’s rude?! How about forcing your tongue in my mouth and breathing smoke down my throat? Where does that lie in your book of etiquette?”
*
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ryan yaps at Spencer, clutching a hold of his hand and digging his nails into Spencer’s palm. Spencer explains very matter-of-factly that he’s invited Brendon out with them as a peace offering and that Ryan should behave himself. As Brendon smugly sneaks past Ryan, he dips his hand into the bag of popcorn and drops a few pieces into his mouth.
“Thought you said he isn’t your boyfriend?” He whispers playfully and throws the remaining few popcorn parts into Ryan’s face; deciding that he should have guessed a cock-sucker like Ryan would choose salted over sweet. Jon follows Brendon and wonders what all the fuss is about, having missed most of the heated discussions and fist fights between Brendon and Ryan, due to his absolute lack of caring.
“Play nice.” Spencer instructs Ryan, as Ryan grits his teeth and growls at the back of his throat at Brendon. Then, he pouts and snatches his hand from Spencer’s, before turning away and strutting off to sit somewhere in the cinema where the three of the other boys won’t be able to talk to him. Spencer rolls his eyes and assumes that Ryan will probably join them when he grows the fuck up. On second thought, perhaps he won’t.
Ryan smirks, as the bald man sitting directly behind him exhales loudly again. Throughout the first twenty-five minutes of the boring, animal-lovers-and-romantic-comedy-lovers-will-love-this, movie, Ryan has provided a constant rustling noise with the popcorn bag being held between his knees. He thinks to himself that this will be more authentic, because it’ll be a noise that’s fairly similar to that of a projector, so the daft old man should stop whining about it to his middle-aged wife. Just as he’s about to turn around and shush the man for whispering a complaint about the noise he’s creating, Brendon slips past him; hands dug into his pockets and head held low. He watches him walk in front of his feet but thinks nothing of it, until Brendon unfolds the front-row seat beside him and plants himself into it. Uninvited.
“Enjoying the movie?” Brendon whispers, causing the man behind them to shift in his chair and sigh; aggravated. Brendon reaches for some popcorn; purposely digging around the bag to find a piece that suits him.
“Was until you showed up. Piss off.” Ryan hisses back and Brendon leans into Ryan’s ear. His hand moves to the popcorn again, but plunges downward higher up Ryan’s leg than the bag.
“Alright, fine. I’m going to the bathroom. Seeya later then.” He looks around the dark room in a suspicious way before exiting. When he stands, the couple behind them, makes an exasperated sound and the woman raises her hand in a What-Now-For-The-Love-Of-God kind of a way. Ryan remains seated for a minute, then turns his head sharply to determine how obvious his leaving after Brendon would be to Spencer and Jon, but the two are engaged in a thumb war and so probably think Brendon is still sitting in front of them. Ryan then places the popcorn bag on the ground and crosses his leg over his lap; trying to distract himself. It doesn’t work, at all and he’s soon muttering to himself about how he hates puberty and slinks out of the cinema screening room.
*
The change in brightness from the dark cinema to the bathroom stalls makes Ryan’s head hurt. He’s just about squinted his surroundings into focus when Brendon’s hauled him into a stall and locked them into the small space. For a short second before Brendon latches his teeth into Ryan’s neck and begins to suck furiously, as if he’s trying to drag something out- maybe he is- Ryan wonders how secure the little plastic lock on the door really is. For some reason, while Brendon’s seemingly trying to push them both through the wall of the stall, Ryan can’t take his mind of the lock; its security, its ease of being picked from the outside, how clean it is, how it was made. It isn’t until Brendon’s picked up a steady rubbing pace, before Ryan’s snapped out of his thoughts and brought back to reality. Shit, he thinks, you’re supposed to fantasize about this kind of thing when real life is dull, not the other way around.
“If this is what happens when Jon picks the movie, I think I’ll tag along with you guys more often.” Brendon mumbles into Ryan’s collarbone. He hadn’t noticed Brendon unbuttoning his shirt half-way, until now, but he’s feeling suddenly exposed. His rib starts to hurt again and a sharp pain in his leg where Brendon’s pressing himself against, reminds Ryan that there are a few too many bruises on his body to be passed off as hickeys.
“Trust me, I’m never letting Jon pick again.” Ryan laughs, which leaves Brendon taken aback and he might even be slightly hurt at that remark.
“Well,” Brendon starts, deciding to let it go and tighten his grip on something else, “Ain’t you glad Spencer had a wave of clarity?” He chuckles as he kisses down Ryan’s chest loosely; saliva tracing after him, lagging behind and glittering on Ryan’s skin.
“Oh please,” Ryan replies, emotionlessly and staring up at the ceiling, which, now he notices, is damp and unclean looking. People must smoke in here on a regular basis, because there is a yellow sort of tint to the corners of the walls. “You’re only here because I made Spencer apologize for hitting you.”
Brendon steps back, suddenly looking angry. Ryan’s a little relieved if he’s honest, because Brendon’s conquest was inching a little too close to a rather painful and obvious bruise that he definitely didn’t want uncovered or bitten.
“I can fight my own battles you know.” Brendon tells him, with certainty streaming out his mouth faster than the words. Ryan might snort out a small laugh and his nostrils may flare up in disbelief, as his tongue finds a small hole in a top molar and pushes against it. “What?! I can. I can fight my own battles and you know what? They’re normally against you, you arrogant prick.” Ryan has no time to reply because Brendon’s unhooking the lock and marching out of the stall like a true Diva. Ryan thinks about re-buttoning his shirt first, before following Brendon, but something tells him not to- perhaps the fact that if he moves after Brendon, he won’t have to touch the door, which he is now sure is riddled with germs.
“Seriously? You’re leaving, just like that?” He barks, as Brendon’s wrapping his fingers around the door handle. Brendon replies with a short sharp yes and Ryan laughs in a sort of How-Very-Typical-Of-You-Brendon kind of way. “You’re such a cock-tease Brendon. D’you get off on that or something?” Brendon kicks the door and tells Ryan to shut his mouth.
“Fuck you!” Ryan barks, spitting out the words in front of the space Brendon should, in his opinion, be occupying.
“No Ryan, that’s what you're trying to get me to do to you.” He flashes a smug grin and then, suddenly, he’s out of the bathroom and Ryan’s left to fix his clothing and wash his hands, alone.
“Wow, Spencer, honestly I didn’t know you had it in you.” He chuckles, but Spencer takes it anything but light-heartedly. He just stands, fists still balled by his sides and breathing a little heavier than usual. Before he can think of a clever retort, Brendon’s opened his big mouth to say something else.
“Next time though- no offence- but just send Ryan himself. More of an even fight and normally, I think, I know why he’s hitting me, whereas with you-”
Spencer decides against listening to the end, because a lifetime of standing by Ryan has taught him how to hurt someone with very little effort. The first, messy punch was purely out of anger and he has some composure now, so he’s planning his moves. His knee strikes between Brendon’s legs viciously and Brendon’s down like a light.
“That’s for breaking Ryan’s rib.” Spencer almost stutters out, because he’s not very good at the whole “arrogant prick” thing and quite honestly, he hopes he hasn’t hurt Brendon too bad.
*
Ryan pretends not to hear Brendon trudge up the grassy hill he’s lying on and he most certainly does not laugh at Brendon’s lack of even breathing; air entering his lungs every few pants. When Brendon reaches the top of the hill- which for the record is much steeper than it looks- he hovers over Ryan’s stretched out body. For a short moment, he simply looks at Ryan; his legs crossed at his ankles and his arms folded across his chest to cradle a half-smoked cigarette above an army green band tee-shirt. He’s surrounded by balled up pieces of discarded paper; Ryan’s been writing lyrics again. For someone who has, evidently, rejected a lot of his own thoughts, he looks awfully at peace. A speck of ash has fallen onto his clothing and Brendon wonders if it’s enough to burn the lying son of a bitch. He kind of hopes so.
“Hi?!” Brendon demands; knowing fine well that his hovering, hands pressed into his hips and face crinkled, will have been enough to gain Ryan’s attention. Ryan opens one eye and squints up at the pissed off figure above him. The sun’s shining behind Brendon’s head and he knows if Brendon sways, even a little bit, the sun will glint into his eyes and blind him for a minute or two.
“Hello Brendon.” He replies; quiet and even and with that hint of cockiness that makes Brendon want to punch him in the face.
“How are you?” Brendon rhetorically asks, waiting long enough for Ryan to take a deep draw of his cigarette, but not long enough for him to answer. “Really? Great! How am I? Oh, I dunno, let’s see…” He sits down heavily on Ryan’s chest and hopes that the weight of him crushes Ryan’s skeleton and breaks all of his ribs. Well, he wishes it for a second. Ryan makes an exasperated sound as he inhales again; preparing for an inevitable, pointless nag at him.
“So I had an interesting conversation with your boyfriend today Ryan- well, it wasn’t as much of a conversation as an unwanted castration! Now, I was just going to tell you to kiss it better but, unfortunately for you, I think it’s fucking broken, thanks to him. What? Did he get jealous or something? Was I keeping you to myself too much during that camping trip? And what the hell was he talking about your ribs for?”
Brendon rests his elbows on his knees and turns his palms up to cup the sides of his face, looking suddenly a little bit sad. Ryan starts to wonder if he remembers that his chest is not a seat, but can’t really be bothered hurting him because he has a potential cracked rib and burst knuckles as it is.
“Yeah, but Brendon?” Ryan starts and waits for Brendon to tilt his head to see him, before he takes a long, exaggerated drag of the cigarette. “Spencer isn’t my boyfriend.” His voice is nasally as he speaks, far too casually from Brendon’s liking, because he’s refusing to exhale. It’s a strange quirk of his, one he can’t quite explain; he almost challenges himself, to see how long he can hold smoke back. He does it more around Brendon than anyone else though, because it really annoys him; he says he wants to hit Ryan when he talks and sounds nasally.
Brendon sulks a little bit and then huffs as he moves to sit next to Ryan. “Blow that out.” He insists, but Ryan smirks at him. “Blow it out. Stop that.” He tells him again and Ryan only exhales when Brendon’s face is directly in front of his. Brendon splutters out something about murdering Ryan when he gives him cancer and Ryan sits up.
“Right, run this past me again, Spencer did what, why?”
“I told you. Spencer hit me in me in the face and tried to prevent me from ever breeding and producing absolutely stunning children for the world to admire all because I have some sort of telekinesis power that I was unaware of and broke your rib without even touching you. Which I find quite funny, considering you’ve actually fucked one of my ribs up before and, well, I know how much it bloody hurts and that’s why I’ve never done it to you!”
Ryan sighs and takes a final draw, flicking the remains of the cigarette away from him. He rolls his eyes and Brendon mutters something about being tempted to break all of his ribs, make a new guitar out of them and hope that it forces Ryan to get some guitar lessons, seeing as he insists on playing so much, despite being incapable of holding a note. Ryan ignores Brendon’s muttering and pulls himself to face him, takes the back of Brendon’s head in his hand and kisses him on the mouth. Actually, he more kisses into his mouth, as Brendon’s is open mid-sentence. Ryan exhales meanly and it takes a moment for the taste t register in Brendon’s head as cigarette smoke. He pushes Ryan away and coughs hideously, wiping his mouth and taking over dramatic breaths.
“I hate you so fucking much you know.” Brendon complains, dragging his tongue over his palm to try and rid him of the taste of smoke. Ryan leans back onto his elbows and watches Brendon over react; panting and spitting on the grass.
“You shouldn’t spit; it’s rude.” Ryan tells him, rather authoritatively and Brendon stops panicking, to let his jaw drop.
“That’s rude? That’s rude?! How about forcing your tongue in my mouth and breathing smoke down my throat? Where does that lie in your book of etiquette?”
*
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ryan yaps at Spencer, clutching a hold of his hand and digging his nails into Spencer’s palm. Spencer explains very matter-of-factly that he’s invited Brendon out with them as a peace offering and that Ryan should behave himself. As Brendon smugly sneaks past Ryan, he dips his hand into the bag of popcorn and drops a few pieces into his mouth.
“Thought you said he isn’t your boyfriend?” He whispers playfully and throws the remaining few popcorn parts into Ryan’s face; deciding that he should have guessed a cock-sucker like Ryan would choose salted over sweet. Jon follows Brendon and wonders what all the fuss is about, having missed most of the heated discussions and fist fights between Brendon and Ryan, due to his absolute lack of caring.
“Play nice.” Spencer instructs Ryan, as Ryan grits his teeth and growls at the back of his throat at Brendon. Then, he pouts and snatches his hand from Spencer’s, before turning away and strutting off to sit somewhere in the cinema where the three of the other boys won’t be able to talk to him. Spencer rolls his eyes and assumes that Ryan will probably join them when he grows the fuck up. On second thought, perhaps he won’t.
Ryan smirks, as the bald man sitting directly behind him exhales loudly again. Throughout the first twenty-five minutes of the boring, animal-lovers-and-romantic-comedy-lovers-will-love-this, movie, Ryan has provided a constant rustling noise with the popcorn bag being held between his knees. He thinks to himself that this will be more authentic, because it’ll be a noise that’s fairly similar to that of a projector, so the daft old man should stop whining about it to his middle-aged wife. Just as he’s about to turn around and shush the man for whispering a complaint about the noise he’s creating, Brendon slips past him; hands dug into his pockets and head held low. He watches him walk in front of his feet but thinks nothing of it, until Brendon unfolds the front-row seat beside him and plants himself into it. Uninvited.
“Enjoying the movie?” Brendon whispers, causing the man behind them to shift in his chair and sigh; aggravated. Brendon reaches for some popcorn; purposely digging around the bag to find a piece that suits him.
“Was until you showed up. Piss off.” Ryan hisses back and Brendon leans into Ryan’s ear. His hand moves to the popcorn again, but plunges downward higher up Ryan’s leg than the bag.
“Alright, fine. I’m going to the bathroom. Seeya later then.” He looks around the dark room in a suspicious way before exiting. When he stands, the couple behind them, makes an exasperated sound and the woman raises her hand in a What-Now-For-The-Love-Of-God kind of a way. Ryan remains seated for a minute, then turns his head sharply to determine how obvious his leaving after Brendon would be to Spencer and Jon, but the two are engaged in a thumb war and so probably think Brendon is still sitting in front of them. Ryan then places the popcorn bag on the ground and crosses his leg over his lap; trying to distract himself. It doesn’t work, at all and he’s soon muttering to himself about how he hates puberty and slinks out of the cinema screening room.
*
The change in brightness from the dark cinema to the bathroom stalls makes Ryan’s head hurt. He’s just about squinted his surroundings into focus when Brendon’s hauled him into a stall and locked them into the small space. For a short second before Brendon latches his teeth into Ryan’s neck and begins to suck furiously, as if he’s trying to drag something out- maybe he is- Ryan wonders how secure the little plastic lock on the door really is. For some reason, while Brendon’s seemingly trying to push them both through the wall of the stall, Ryan can’t take his mind of the lock; its security, its ease of being picked from the outside, how clean it is, how it was made. It isn’t until Brendon’s picked up a steady rubbing pace, before Ryan’s snapped out of his thoughts and brought back to reality. Shit, he thinks, you’re supposed to fantasize about this kind of thing when real life is dull, not the other way around.
“If this is what happens when Jon picks the movie, I think I’ll tag along with you guys more often.” Brendon mumbles into Ryan’s collarbone. He hadn’t noticed Brendon unbuttoning his shirt half-way, until now, but he’s feeling suddenly exposed. His rib starts to hurt again and a sharp pain in his leg where Brendon’s pressing himself against, reminds Ryan that there are a few too many bruises on his body to be passed off as hickeys.
“Trust me, I’m never letting Jon pick again.” Ryan laughs, which leaves Brendon taken aback and he might even be slightly hurt at that remark.
“Well,” Brendon starts, deciding to let it go and tighten his grip on something else, “Ain’t you glad Spencer had a wave of clarity?” He chuckles as he kisses down Ryan’s chest loosely; saliva tracing after him, lagging behind and glittering on Ryan’s skin.
“Oh please,” Ryan replies, emotionlessly and staring up at the ceiling, which, now he notices, is damp and unclean looking. People must smoke in here on a regular basis, because there is a yellow sort of tint to the corners of the walls. “You’re only here because I made Spencer apologize for hitting you.”
Brendon steps back, suddenly looking angry. Ryan’s a little relieved if he’s honest, because Brendon’s conquest was inching a little too close to a rather painful and obvious bruise that he definitely didn’t want uncovered or bitten.
“I can fight my own battles you know.” Brendon tells him, with certainty streaming out his mouth faster than the words. Ryan might snort out a small laugh and his nostrils may flare up in disbelief, as his tongue finds a small hole in a top molar and pushes against it. “What?! I can. I can fight my own battles and you know what? They’re normally against you, you arrogant prick.” Ryan has no time to reply because Brendon’s unhooking the lock and marching out of the stall like a true Diva. Ryan thinks about re-buttoning his shirt first, before following Brendon, but something tells him not to- perhaps the fact that if he moves after Brendon, he won’t have to touch the door, which he is now sure is riddled with germs.
“Seriously? You’re leaving, just like that?” He barks, as Brendon’s wrapping his fingers around the door handle. Brendon replies with a short sharp yes and Ryan laughs in a sort of How-Very-Typical-Of-You-Brendon kind of way. “You’re such a cock-tease Brendon. D’you get off on that or something?” Brendon kicks the door and tells Ryan to shut his mouth.
“Fuck you!” Ryan barks, spitting out the words in front of the space Brendon should, in his opinion, be occupying.
“No Ryan, that’s what you're trying to get me to do to you.” He flashes a smug grin and then, suddenly, he’s out of the bathroom and Ryan’s left to fix his clothing and wash his hands, alone.
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