Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Stolen Hearts; Swollen Egos

A Fine Romance, My Friend, This is

by squeakyfromme 3 reviews

Oh, yeah, he was totally making out with arguably the most (in)famous girl in America.

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: R - Genres: Drama, Humor, Romance - Published: 2007-02-14 - Updated: 2007-02-14 - 1374 words

Note: Yes! Just in time for Valentine's Day. So, some of us may still be single points to self but that doesn't mean we can live vicariously through lucky fictional girls! Er, or eat a lot of candy. Enjoy this! Hope you review, loves.


"Lovely night," a wry voice said from behind. The night was, indeed, lovely. There was still a slight warmth in the air, moments after the sun had set, yet the moon was clearly seen, as were the stars.

Brendon turned around, a smirk already on his face as he watched her strut towards him slowly, a knee-length yellow sundress, cinched just above her chest, hanging loose on her tall, willowy frame. He was not entirely sure as to why his heart pounded in his chest every time he thought about her, but he assumed that this was merely a part of the whole meeting-a-celebrity feeling, despite of the fact that he happened to be a celebrity as well. "Come here often?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

Musetta chuckled and took the spot next to him, leaning on the ornate railing. "Yes, but I'd remember a face like yours, darling," she finished for him, tilting her head to the side to give Brendon a good once over- he looked a little unkempt than she recalled, but that just made the boy more endearing.

Brendon took this opportunity to check out her ass, a wide grin on his face. Oh, it was small, but not unsatisfying to look at. There was a reason she was labeled one of the hottest girls of 2007. "Is there a reason why you're following me?" he asked, standing up and realizing she was very aware of his staring.

She gave him a look that said 'darling, don't you remember who I am?,' standing up straight and trailing her fingers up the zipper of his beloved pink hoodie. "Fritzi's a dear friend of mine, didn't you know?" she said innocently, letting her hands wander up to his shoulders, adjusting the hood.

"Right," he replied, somewhat distracted by the chill of the tips of her fingers brushing against his neck. Oh, the opportunity was too wonderful to pass up. "You're cold," Brendon said finally, grabbing her wrists and pushing his lips onto hers, sliding his hand onto her waist, the other on her bare shoulder, to tug her closer.

"I know I won't be in a moment," Musetta mumbled against his lips, snaking her arms around his neck. He took this opportunity to deepen the kiss and press her to the railing, certainly doing his best to warm poor little Musetta up.

Oh, yeah, he was totally making out with arguably the most (in)famous girl in America.

Fritzi, meanwhile, had situated herself by the bar. It wasn't that she wanted to drink (she was too frightened they would card her, anyway), but she knew exactly what Musetta was up to and being in the suite next door wouldn't have been pleasant. Besides, it was a rather swanky bar, soft jazz playing in the background with relatively few patrons. She pulled her pen and small pastel notebook from her pale yellow Marc Jacobs purse, flipping open the small pad of paper and going over her interview topics for about the fiftieth time that day. (She was a little more than anal retentive.) As she flipped to a new sheet of paper, Fritzi couldn't help but feel as if she was being watched. She discreetly glanced over her shoulder and, sure enough, a shady-looking, long haired man-boy had his eyes on her. A small part of her mind willed her to feel flattered, but the bigger, prudent part told her to give him the cold shoulder.

He liked a good challenge, really. His eyes passed over the young girl by the bar; pixie girls were never really his cup of tea, but there was something intriguing about this one... mostly because he knew, after meeting up with Jon, that she happened to be that journalist from Rock Steady. He grabbed his glass of water and took the bar stool about two yard away from her. Ah, that got him a sideways glance- he was making progress. A sly smile crossed his features as he pretended to be engrossed in the slice of lemon in his drink, knowing that she had glanced up at him a third time.

Fritzi tried her hardest not to smile, but one graced her features briefly, hidden behind her palm. She, on the other hand, pretended to be very engrossed with her notepad.

Ah, he definitely caught that grin on her face and figured this would be a good time to introduce himself. He moved over a few seats until he was right next to her. With an air of confidence, he opened his mouth to speak, but-

"William Beckett, I presume?" Fritzi asked casually, looking up from her notes.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" he replied, more amused than anything else (No one said anything about Friederike Stern being hot!)

"No," was her simple response, smiling, "what brings you here? I thought you were recording your new album."

Ah, it was always business with these types, wasn't it? "Guest performers," William said, taking a swig of water as if it were brandy. "How does a cute girl like you have so much bitterness inside?" he asked bluntly, eyeing her carefully for a reaction.

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about," she said, somewhat pleasantly, quite used to this question, minus the 'cute girl part,' which made her flush with embarrassment. "I tell it like it is- like any good journalist should."

"Ah," was all he could think of saying, watching her neatly pack away her notepad and pen into her well organized purse. Oh, she was one of those girls; he was going to have a lot of fun with this one.

Brendon stretched his arms over his head as he leaned against the headboard. Oh, she was a feisty one, this Musetta, bright and cheery to Saffron's dark and somber. "Tell me about yourself," he called suddenly.

Musetta popped her head out of the bathroom before emerging in just a tanktop and lacy black boy shorts. "Well, I was born in Malibu, but I've lived in California for the most part," she began as he tugged her right onto the bed with him again. She had her back to Brendon's bare chest, his arms around her. He was definitely the most affectionate guy she had been with, not that Musetta minded in the slightest. "I went to boarding school in England until I was thirteen."

"Hence the faux British Madonna accent." This sentiment earned him a playful thwap. "Did you get kicked out?" he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"No, you pervert, I missed Los Angeles," she responded, "of course, when I was fourteen-that was when the fun started." Musetta turned and winked before shuffling under the covers, knowing he would follow suit.

Of course he did. Musetta had him wrapped around her little finger. "Little minx," Brendon commented, finding her huddled under the plush covers, grabbing her by the waist, pushing her shirt up just a few inches before blowing a raspberry on her stomach, making her squeal. "I remember having the biggest crush on you in high school," he confessed, now face to face with her.

"Oh, flattery," Musetta said with a sigh, batting her eyelashes as Brendon brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Did you have my poster hanging in your locker?" At that comment, Mr. Confident Rockstar morphed into Mr. Innocent Nineteen Year Old, and there was an obvious blush in his cheeks when he looked away quickly. (He did.) "Oh, pet, I'm truly am flattered," she informed him, tilting her head up to plant a kiss right on his jaw. "If you feel any better, I've got the most fantastic crush on you at this very moment."

And it did, oh, it really did.


Note: Haha, betcha thought Fritzi would be left out in the cold. Didn't you? XD
Edit: I've updated the fic photos in my profile! Please and kindly check them out and let me know what you think?
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