Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Run
I need to apologise first of all for the long wait and also for the tinyness of this chapter. It's not the whole thing, but I've left you waiting so long I thought it was only right you should get something. Hope you enjoy.
EDITED (finally) So I may have slightly forgotten about this story. For a couple of months. Maybe half a year. More will be up soon, and I know, I promised that before and then didn't deliver, but this time I will. Probably.
~*~
Growl.
Brendon growled in annoyance. He’d meant to just find some hooker, work out his bloodlust on them and maybe kill them after. Whatever emotion was dominant at the point of climax determined really.
But then he’d seen Ryan.
His Ryan.
The Ryan he’d been watching, following, protecting for the past two months; walking home alone. Now he couldn’t have that, could he? Some sadistic murderer could carry him off and Brendon would never see his perfect face again.
Brendon chuckled darkly at his own joke, getting up from the plain wooden chair in the corner of the small room to stand over Ryan, asleep in Brendon’s own bed.
Such a shame, Brendon reflected, running a finger over the shiny soft leather cuffs that bound Ryan’s wrists to a post on the headboard. Soon enough Ryan would lie in this bed of his own accord, Brendon mused, but until then he must be restrained.
Looking around this small room, one would be forgiven for thinking no one ever used it. Plain white chest-of-drawers, painted black walls, white wardrobe, a basic double bed with black-and-white covers and white-painted iron bedposts and a dim light bulb illuminating the room covered by a wide white cone-shaped shade.
No personal effects, no posters or pictures of family and friends hung on the walls. The only thing to suggest the room had ever been used was a long set of four scratches on the wardrobe, about waist-height, remnants of a previous encounter.
I really must paint over that. Brendon thought, sitting on the edge of the bed chewing on his thumbnail. His dark gaze slid to the covered trolley at the foot, and the boy shivered in anticipation, remembering what he had placed under that towel.
A groan from behind heralded the awakening of his prisoner, and Brendon smiled, getting up to stand at the foot of the bed. This was going to be fun.
~*~
Ryan groaned and surfaced into consciousness slowly. He had an awful headache, and smiled sleepily at the thought of Spencer waking up five times as hung-over as him. The brunette moved his arms in an attempt to rub his pounding temples, but something was holding them over his head and stopping him from moving more than a couple of centimetres.
Flicking open, Ryan’s eyes darted around the unfamiliar room blearily trying to remember where he was, working backwards from the last thing he remembered. And then he did remember, and a strangled choking noise broke free of his throat as he cast around wildly for anything that could help.
All he saw was a hospital like room and Brendon at the foot of the bed smiling warmly as he woke.
“Let me go!” Ryan cried, tugging futilely at the restraints. He noticed that he was still fully dressed, which was a minor comfort but didn’t really help the situation.
“I’m afraid, Ryan, that I can’t let you go. Not yet anyway.” Brendon’s voice was low and his brown eyes shone in the darkness, “Where would the fun in that be?” He spoke softly, fiddling with something in front of his that Ryan couldn’t see.
“Please.” Ryan begged in a choked voice. It kind of slipped out; he hadn’t meant to say it.
Brendon stepped round the corner of the bed, moving to where Ryan was lying and brushed a few strands of hair from Ryan’s sweat-dampened face, causing the older man to flinch.
“Shhh,” Brendon soothed, caressing Ryan’s cheek with a thumb. Ryan could feel himself trembling, knew Brendon could see the fear in his wide hazel eyes. “Don’t worry sweetie, it’s gonna be okay. Everything will be okay.” The boy set a gentle, almost loving kiss on his forehead. His lips felt cool and curiously dry on Ryan’s skin.
Ryan craned his neck to watch as Brendon crossed back to the foot of the bed, the dark-clad boy lifted a towel off of whatever was down there and paused, looking at the thing Ryan couldn’t see however much he tried.
“Small, medium or large, Ry? Can I call you Ry? No, I prefer Ryan. Or George? George, Ryan, Ryan, George!” Brendon laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day, the light glinting off his teeth.
Ryan whimpered ever so slightly, not sure if he was afraid of this Brendon or the other one more. The sound seemed to remind Brendon of his existence and his dark gaze snapped back to the skinny guy.
“Small, medium or large?” Brendon insisted. There was a clink as he moved his hand.
“Uh.. small?” Ryan squeaked, his imagination running through every awful small thing it could think of. Brendon picked something up and held it behind his back as he slowly walked the few steps to where Ryan was with an air of one bringing a great surprise.
Ryan thought he could taste his own fear, hot and coppery like blood on his tongue.
The boy finally brought his hand out and Ryan’s stomach flipped at the sight of the small silvery scalpel, dreading what he suddenly knew Brendon was going to do.
“Oh God...” Ryan rasped, his throat dry and he swallowed repeatedly. Brendon knelt on the bed next to his captive and raised the surgical knife up, over Ryan’s head and up to his wrists.
Slowly but effortlessly he sliced off the dark suit blazer Ryan still wore, teasing him by pressing the knife close enough to the shirt for the golden brown haired one to feel the pressure of it but not quite enough to cut through to the flesh.
Ryan’s heart was beating hard enough to burst and his eyes were squeezed shut, expecting lines of pain. Brendon silently shredded the other arm of the suit too, then slid it off to expose Ryan’s sweat soaked pale blue pinstriped shirt.
There’s a shift of pressure on the bed and Ryan opened his eyes very slightly, peering through his lashes to see Brendon on his knees straddling Ryan’s legs. Slicing off the buttons of his shirt one by one, Brendon bowed his head and Ryan closed his eyes again as he felt a pair of soft, dry lips brush his collarbone.
“Look at me.” Brendon’s voice was husky.
Ryan whimpered, forcing his eyes open and looking into the huge dark orbs above him. They looked like they could swallow him whole.
~*~
By the way, it's due to a combination of losing my notebook, Scoutcamp (best five days of my life), exams, school trips, sheer laziness and forgetfulness that I haven't written the rest of the chapter yet. Feel free to hate me.
- Betsy xx
EDITED (finally) So I may have slightly forgotten about this story. For a couple of months. Maybe half a year. More will be up soon, and I know, I promised that before and then didn't deliver, but this time I will. Probably.
~*~
Growl.
Brendon growled in annoyance. He’d meant to just find some hooker, work out his bloodlust on them and maybe kill them after. Whatever emotion was dominant at the point of climax determined really.
But then he’d seen Ryan.
His Ryan.
The Ryan he’d been watching, following, protecting for the past two months; walking home alone. Now he couldn’t have that, could he? Some sadistic murderer could carry him off and Brendon would never see his perfect face again.
Brendon chuckled darkly at his own joke, getting up from the plain wooden chair in the corner of the small room to stand over Ryan, asleep in Brendon’s own bed.
Such a shame, Brendon reflected, running a finger over the shiny soft leather cuffs that bound Ryan’s wrists to a post on the headboard. Soon enough Ryan would lie in this bed of his own accord, Brendon mused, but until then he must be restrained.
Looking around this small room, one would be forgiven for thinking no one ever used it. Plain white chest-of-drawers, painted black walls, white wardrobe, a basic double bed with black-and-white covers and white-painted iron bedposts and a dim light bulb illuminating the room covered by a wide white cone-shaped shade.
No personal effects, no posters or pictures of family and friends hung on the walls. The only thing to suggest the room had ever been used was a long set of four scratches on the wardrobe, about waist-height, remnants of a previous encounter.
I really must paint over that. Brendon thought, sitting on the edge of the bed chewing on his thumbnail. His dark gaze slid to the covered trolley at the foot, and the boy shivered in anticipation, remembering what he had placed under that towel.
A groan from behind heralded the awakening of his prisoner, and Brendon smiled, getting up to stand at the foot of the bed. This was going to be fun.
~*~
Ryan groaned and surfaced into consciousness slowly. He had an awful headache, and smiled sleepily at the thought of Spencer waking up five times as hung-over as him. The brunette moved his arms in an attempt to rub his pounding temples, but something was holding them over his head and stopping him from moving more than a couple of centimetres.
Flicking open, Ryan’s eyes darted around the unfamiliar room blearily trying to remember where he was, working backwards from the last thing he remembered. And then he did remember, and a strangled choking noise broke free of his throat as he cast around wildly for anything that could help.
All he saw was a hospital like room and Brendon at the foot of the bed smiling warmly as he woke.
“Let me go!” Ryan cried, tugging futilely at the restraints. He noticed that he was still fully dressed, which was a minor comfort but didn’t really help the situation.
“I’m afraid, Ryan, that I can’t let you go. Not yet anyway.” Brendon’s voice was low and his brown eyes shone in the darkness, “Where would the fun in that be?” He spoke softly, fiddling with something in front of his that Ryan couldn’t see.
“Please.” Ryan begged in a choked voice. It kind of slipped out; he hadn’t meant to say it.
Brendon stepped round the corner of the bed, moving to where Ryan was lying and brushed a few strands of hair from Ryan’s sweat-dampened face, causing the older man to flinch.
“Shhh,” Brendon soothed, caressing Ryan’s cheek with a thumb. Ryan could feel himself trembling, knew Brendon could see the fear in his wide hazel eyes. “Don’t worry sweetie, it’s gonna be okay. Everything will be okay.” The boy set a gentle, almost loving kiss on his forehead. His lips felt cool and curiously dry on Ryan’s skin.
Ryan craned his neck to watch as Brendon crossed back to the foot of the bed, the dark-clad boy lifted a towel off of whatever was down there and paused, looking at the thing Ryan couldn’t see however much he tried.
“Small, medium or large, Ry? Can I call you Ry? No, I prefer Ryan. Or George? George, Ryan, Ryan, George!” Brendon laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day, the light glinting off his teeth.
Ryan whimpered ever so slightly, not sure if he was afraid of this Brendon or the other one more. The sound seemed to remind Brendon of his existence and his dark gaze snapped back to the skinny guy.
“Small, medium or large?” Brendon insisted. There was a clink as he moved his hand.
“Uh.. small?” Ryan squeaked, his imagination running through every awful small thing it could think of. Brendon picked something up and held it behind his back as he slowly walked the few steps to where Ryan was with an air of one bringing a great surprise.
Ryan thought he could taste his own fear, hot and coppery like blood on his tongue.
The boy finally brought his hand out and Ryan’s stomach flipped at the sight of the small silvery scalpel, dreading what he suddenly knew Brendon was going to do.
“Oh God...” Ryan rasped, his throat dry and he swallowed repeatedly. Brendon knelt on the bed next to his captive and raised the surgical knife up, over Ryan’s head and up to his wrists.
Slowly but effortlessly he sliced off the dark suit blazer Ryan still wore, teasing him by pressing the knife close enough to the shirt for the golden brown haired one to feel the pressure of it but not quite enough to cut through to the flesh.
Ryan’s heart was beating hard enough to burst and his eyes were squeezed shut, expecting lines of pain. Brendon silently shredded the other arm of the suit too, then slid it off to expose Ryan’s sweat soaked pale blue pinstriped shirt.
There’s a shift of pressure on the bed and Ryan opened his eyes very slightly, peering through his lashes to see Brendon on his knees straddling Ryan’s legs. Slicing off the buttons of his shirt one by one, Brendon bowed his head and Ryan closed his eyes again as he felt a pair of soft, dry lips brush his collarbone.
“Look at me.” Brendon’s voice was husky.
Ryan whimpered, forcing his eyes open and looking into the huge dark orbs above him. They looked like they could swallow him whole.
~*~
By the way, it's due to a combination of losing my notebook, Scoutcamp (best five days of my life), exams, school trips, sheer laziness and forgetfulness that I haven't written the rest of the chapter yet. Feel free to hate me.
- Betsy xx
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