Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Stolen


by IndiaGirl 0 reviews

Ryan doesn't like what he sees.

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama - Published: 2013-02-20 - Updated: 2013-02-20 - 1851 words


I slammed a fist against the wall of the shower angrily.
There was no way I was meeting Brendon’s stupid new boyfriend. I wasn’t interested, I wasn’t interested! I wasn’t even aware Brendon was – I knew he was a little experimental, had a few flings with some guys back in school, but it was never serious. I mean, these were stories I’d heard.
But apparently he liked guys now.
Could have told me.
I wanted to cry so bad but when I cried it was always obvious. My eyes get all ugly and sore and Brendon will be asking, persisting and pressing, because he’d be worried. Because he’s damn perfect and would never hurt anyone.
Except me.
“Ryan? What are you doing in there?” Spencer called. I guess the bangs on the doors might have been kinda loud. But I don’t care.
I don’t care!
I just want it to stop.
A month or two ago I didn’t give a fuck about Brendon. I didn’t care about him, he was just my best friend, a wacky guy who held a special place in my heart.
Now he’s just this beautiful idiot who’s got my heart in his pocket, crushing it every time he moves. Playing a sorrowful tune on my heartstrings. Not one I like, but one that haunts me.
I stepped out of the shower, shivering in the cold, wrapping myself in towels and ambling back to my bedroom.

“Am I getting a lapdance?” Brendon asked, a wizzened smile on his lips. I saw him and nearly dropped my towel right there. Instead I tossed my head and wandered over to the cupboard.
“Only if you’re lucky.” I glanced back at him and my heart ached – he looked amazing. Like, amazing amazing. He wore an ebony dinner jacket and a similarly coloured shirt and tie – black on black, always a winner – and a pair of skinny jeans. My fingers fumbled in distraction and the towels dropped around my ankles and I thanked the lord, that I was stood behind the cupboard door.
Wow, he was hot.
“Boy, if I didn’t have a boyfriend I’d be hitting you up on that.” Brendon laughed, laying back on our bed. The sweet melody in his sing song voice indicated that he was most definitely joking.
If he didn’t have a boyfriend I wouldn’t be slipping my boxers on right now. I’d be slipping his off, I’d be banging his head up against that headboard until he couldn’t walk, until he-
“So, excited to meet him?” Brendon’s gentle voice caught me in the middle of my thoughts red handed and I almost thanked him – don’t exactly want to be aroused when I’m supposed to be fully ignorant and indignant.
What the hell is up with my thoughts? He isn’t that - no, Brendon is that hot.
“Uh,” I shrugged. “Sure.”
“What? Do you not want to meet him?” Brendon asked, his voice suddenly fragile. I sighed. Why did he have to be so fucking cute?
“No, of course I want to meet him, B.” I mumbled, slipping on my smart shirt and nice skinny jeans. Eat your heart out, new boyfriend. “I’m sure he’s lovely.”
Brendon’s features relaxed. “Thanks. And uh, I’m sorry for not talking about the whole, um, gay thing.”
“Whole gay thing?” I sighed, buckling my jeans and sitting down on the end of the bed. “You should know that I, am the least person, who would have judged you. We could have talked.”
Brendon shrugged, softly. “I was frightened. I thought maybe you would think I was making fun of you.. I mean, I thought me shouting at that guy would have indicated to you..” I sighed and crawled over to him a little.
“Well, it’s all out now, huh?” I smiled, weakly, even though I wanted to punch him. Punch him and slowly cuddle him better. “And you even got a boyfriend!” I patted him in the arm. “I’ve been gay since I was fifteen and I still haven’t had a boyfriend.”
His shoulders deflated a little at my words. He probably wasn’t exactly expecting that. He hugged me and sighed, softly.
“You know, if I had discovered that I was, you know, earlier, we-“ The doorbell rung midsentence and Brendon immediately dropped me from his arms.
Shows how much he cares.
A few moments later there was warm chatter and I literally had to be dragged from my room by Jon.
“I know you feel sick, or whatever. I don’t know what’s up with you, but Brendon’s putting himself all out there, you know? We have to be nice to his new boyfriend.” Jon whispered, as we walked. I nodded.
“I’ll try my best.” I breathed, in response.
I walked into the living room and there he was.
Fuck, he wasn’t ugly. Shit.
He wasn’t ugly at all.
He had hair like Brendon’s – loose, a little straggly, and piercing blue eyes that could out match mine anyday. No wonder Brendon chose him over me. He had sharp, high cheek bones and pouted little lips. He dressed exactly like Brendon – it was as if they were made for each other. But they can’t have been.
Brendon was made for me and I was made for him.
No one else.
He held out his hand to me.
“Dallon.” He smiled. I almost snorted.
Dallon? Seriously? Parents just name their kids any old shit nowadays.
“Ryan,” I whispered, letting go of his hand after shaking a few times.
I hated him.

Everyone was introduced and soon we sat together around the table, eating. I sat in the corner. No one was talking to me. Jon and Spencer were sat laughing at their private jokes at the other end of the table, whilst I sat opposite Brendon and Dallon, who insisted on doing their lovers parade right in front of my eyes.
“So, you write songs, huh?” Dallon questioned, gazing at me, sharply. I almost choked on my food.
“Uh, yeah..” I paused, glancing down to his and Brendon’s interlinked hands on the table. I glared. “I um, write songs, and play them, and sing.” I replied, in a tiny voice. Brendon wasn’t even listening to me. His eyes were absorbed in Dallon’s.
“Huh. Never heard of you,” Dallon shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “You signed or something? Can’t be a good label if I haven’t heard of you.” I frowned and put down my fork.
“It is a good label,” I insisted. “Pete’s working on it..”
“Pete Wentz?” Dallon tilted his head. I nodded. Dallon laughed bitterly, Brendon joining in, not really aware of what they were laughing at. “Wow. Good luck with that..”
And then I sat, hurt. I fiddled with the material on my shirt, embarrassed and close to tears, refusing to look up at Dallon in fear I would ever vomit, or rip his face to shreds. I breathed in shakily, with trembling lips, hearing little kisses being pushed against Brendon’s lips, little loving murmurs and whispers.
I didn’t even look up for an hour and no one bothered to ask why.
I was actually a little excited to go to bed, because it would be cold again, and Brendon might want to cuddle again, if he got drunk. I’d be open to that. I needed his hands on me, I needed his finger tips pushing against my cheeks and his lips against mine, and on my neck, and all over me.
It was all I wanted.
But I couldn’t ever have that.

I thought Dallon would have gone home by now. But it was eleven and Dallon was still sat, sprawled on the only sofa, with Brendon in his lap, kissing his neck and lips over and over. I felt odd, that they didn’t even care that I was there – Jon and Spencer retired to bed a long time ago, and I decided I would too.
Which was a horrible idea.

I snuggled into Brendon’s side of the bed, breathing in the smell of his pillow, pretending that – he would come in, and kiss me, and cuddle me whilst I slept. I fell asleep tangled in those thoughts and I almost screamed when I woke up out of fright.
“R-rya-an?” A giggly voice chimed. I groaned. “Come on Ry, RyRy, RyRyo,” Brendon stumbled into the room, Dallon’s hands wrapped around his waist, his teeth against Brendon’s neck. I hissed.
“What?” I snapped.
Brendon giggled and it was adorably unfair. “Could we have the bed tonight?” He snickered, Dallon still doing unspeakable things to Brendon’s neck. I frowned and got out of bed, walking idly towards the door where they were stood.
“There,” I sighed, softly, trudging past them and into the living room. Everywhere was tainted.
I slipped onto the sofa, with no blankets or pillows, hugging myself as I shivered violently in the cold. My toes were burning and going numb, and my fingers. I couldn’t sleep, not now.
It was worse as I cuddled into the sofa, and the noise started eminating from my bedroom. The very same room where I had kissed him; the very same room where I fell in love with him in his sweet sleep. The very same room where now, hot little whispers and murmurs were being envoked, lips being pressed against ears, skin on skin, hot breath against swollen lips.
And soon it just evolved into full blown moans and I had nothing to stuff my ears with other than my fingers. I was stuck – Brendon’s hot moans and breaths were ringing down the hallways and going straight into the pit of my stomach; Dallon’s on the otherhand just made my fingers dig into the sofa in anger. The way I heard occasional harsh smacks and a moan that followed made everything worse. Thinking of the rosie hue that would be left afterwards on Brendon’s milky white skin made my own skin crawl.
He shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred feet on Brendon.
He’s too good for him. Far too good for him.
He’s perfect.

The loud noises erupted throughout the night. It didn’t stop for another hour, when they finally stopped (having to hear Dallon’s climatic finish was not something I appreciated, especially with what he said to Brendon during) and my mind was left in peace.
And when I say peace, I mean able to think about how much my life sucks without Brendon’s irresistable squeaks and moans getting in the way.
I rolled over on the sofa, burying my face into the back cushions, and letting go of all the tears that were just lingering behind my eyes.
I didn’t stop crying till the clock turned 4am.
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