Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco


by warsweater 2 reviews

Ryden# Short one shot inspired by Build God Then We'll Talk. Brendon goes to meet Ryan in a motel room, late one night.

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG - Genres: Romance - Published: 2011-08-03 - Updated: 2011-08-04 - 622 words - Complete

A.N: So, killjoy_jinx and I set ourselves a challenge, we listened to Build God, Then We'll talk and wrote a fic inspired by it. We listened to the song 5 times and then had to stop typing when it finished for the fifth time. Doesn't give us much time, but hey. This is my outcome, enjoy!

There are no raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses, it’s sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses on the shade of the sheets before all the stains and a few more of you least favorite things.

“It’s a little bit-” How do I finish this sentence? Shoddy? Dirty? Damp? Badly lit? Well really, all would be valid. I should stop doing this to myself really; the lies and the hotel rooms. Ryan’s never been one for fine detail, but it’s almost as if he tries to find rooms that he knows are disgusting. He’s just trying to make this affair more sordid than it is.

“Just close the door Brendon.” He replies, though I can’t see his face, nor read his expression and his tone is somewhat emotionless. There’s very little brightness with us, so Ryan’s silhouette on the bed is very difficult to even deter as him. Before locking the door, I beg my legs to walk and lead me from the motel room, but my hand turns the key and I’m trapped inside. I don’t mind Ryan, not really, because I do miss him, but there’s something about him that makes me feel uneasy; he’s aggressive, he’s fickle, he’s- fuck, he’s so gorgeous when he needs me. I guess tonight, in this filthy motel, he just needs me.

The bed itself is fairly comfortable; it’s soft and the springs aren’t too broken inside the mattress- that is, of course, with the exception of the one spring poking out the bottom corner of it; practically daring me to snag a leg on it later. When I sit, Ryan’s already undressed half the way and working on his belt. Letting out a small sigh, I remove my tie. Then shirt, vest, belt, pants. Instead of watching eagerly, or groaning hungrily as he teases himself, Ryan refuses my gaze until I’m completely undressed. He stares at my hands sadly and in the bad light, I can almost see his eyes water.

“Shall we, uh, get on with it?” I ask, nervous, because he isn’t normally this patient or composed. With Ryan, it’s normally wet pants and dripping groans, sweat breeding sweat breeding orgasms and then, all of a sudden, nothing. It’s hard to imagine that two people with such obvious passion can act as if they’re strangers at times. Not that I’m complaining, I have Sarah to think about.

Ryan sneaks under the duvet and I wonder why he might do that. I also wonder how sanitary the sheets are, but that’ll keep me guessing- I’d never dare ask.

Out of nowhere, a crack of thunder fills the room with a sudden and momentary white glow and then, suddenly, a rapid waterfall begins to crash against the ground. Of course a motel like this has a broken link in the ceiling and heavy drips fall to the discolored carpet every so often.

“Brendon?” Ryan asks and I hum to acknowledge him, slipping under the duvet with him and expecting a barrage of kisses and touching. “I miss how we were; before the fame, before the limelight before her. I just want to sleep here, with you by my side. Just for tonight, okay? I just want to pretend.”
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