FicWad

A/N: I wrote this in about two hours. I'm actually hoping to make it a chaptered fic, but if the response isn't that great then I'll leave as is. I was inspired by a certain scene in the Panic! DVD and I couldn't NOT write it. The idea just wouldn't go away... Now, as for the "intro", if you will, I had written this a WHILE ago. I thought it suited the fic in a way. Personally, I read it from Ryan's P.O.V., but the actual fic is in third person (but is a little Brendon-focused). Okaaaaay. I'm shutting up now. Go read! :)


"This is not that dream..."

Obviously.

The dreams I've been having are in no way associated with "cotton candy clouds" and "crystal blue skies." More like...

"...hard, sweaty, crazy, angry, monstrous...fucking."

Exactly. Take the words straight out of my mouth...

While I'll make sure my name is the only thing that seeps from your lips tonight. The tangible consequences of every guided touch, each stolen kiss will be a distant memory as I cradle you in my arms. The sweat dripping from our bodies will be the only evidence of our forbidden love (and lust) as the sheets drift from our gyrating bodies. The succulent taste of your lips cascading down my heated flesh could only be paralleled to the moans of pleasure emanating from them. I'll wipe those tears of happiness from your flushed cheeks as our heart beats wind back down.

"Wake up, baby. You're not dreaming anymore..."

--- --- ---

He swayed goofily to the beginning cello strings of the song. He was already tired of practice, but knew it was just something they had to do.

Ryan's voice pierced through his thoughts. "Jon. Are you going to play the bells? Jon?"

Brendon placed his hand against the microphone as he peered to his left. "Jon?" He questioned. He ran a hand to brush back a piece of misplaced hair behind his ear.

"Jon? Bells?" Ryan repeated.

Brendon smirked, tightening his fist around the top of the microphone. He brought his left hand along the black pole. He inhaled before releasing the first syllable. "Oh..." Brendon interlocked his fingers in front of him, timidly rocking on the soles of his feet. "What a beautiful wedding."

Spencer, clad in a thin gray shirt, sat numbly at his drum set. He twirled the drum stick in his right hand focusing on when he'd come in. He shot a quick glance at Bart between his spiraling maneuvers. Bart was plucking the cello strings almost exaggeratedly, Spencer thought. He shrugged and didn't waste another second contemplating it.

"What a beautiful wedding, says the bridesmaid to the waiter... Oh yes, but what a shame." He smiled as he shook his head at Ryan. "What a shame the poor groom's bride is a..."

"...Stop. It's in the first verse." Ryan said flatly.

Spencer came in, crashing the cymbals and managed a few taps of the drum before realizing they had stopped. The cello boomed with an odd note as Bart quit playing. He plucked a few more notes and brought a hand to rub at his eyes.

"Yeah, there's bells at the beginning of the song."

The sounds of the bells come in and Brendon looked over at Jon as his right hand immediately gripped the top of the mic stand. Spencer sighed quietly to himself and adjusted his long hair from his eyes.

Brendon turned on his heels towards Ryan switching to his left hand, adorned with the lilac rubber bracelet labeled: Reading is Magic, on the microphone. "No, it stops right there." He informed Ryan.

"No, but there's bells at the beginning of the whole verse. The whole verse, there's bells."

"How does that verse stop?" Bart questions, but no one answers. Ryan and Brendon are too involved in proving each other wrong.

Brendon dips his head down to think for a moment before connecting his eyes with Ryan once more. "No, there's not."

"Yes! There is! There's bells in the whole verse." Ryan states calmly with a tinge of aggravation.

"'Cause it goes through the 3, 4 and then it stops when the verse starts." Brendon enunciated with hand motions.

"Yeah. And then bells come in once singing starts.

Brendon rubbed his nose with his left hand's thumb slightly and turned back to the front. He swung his left arm back down towards his side and let out a frustrated breath into the microphone as he leaned on his hip.

They wrapped up the rest of the sound check/ practice with minimal bickering save for the constant nagging from Ryan Ross.

Brendon usually just shrugged it off. He wasn't one to take Ryan's persistent criticism as insult. He had enough on his mind then to take into account Ryan's particularity on a song they've done over a million times. Brendon recalled countless occasions in which he did so in his sleep.

And even there he couldn't escape Ryan's voice in the back of his head telling him how the words should be sung. Which in itself was quite amusing seeing as Ryan couldn't catch a note in a bucket. Trying to profess to Brendon exactly what "vocal...uh, like...characteristic thing" he wanted was quite hilarious, but God save him if he so much as scoffed at Ryan Ross.

Brendon could be serious, if he wanted, but he never wanted to. He just had to act the part when Ryan was around, explaining his lyrics.

He always wondered how Ryan could emit such beautiful imagery from his head. His thought processes seemed foreign, coming out of nowhere, but somehow still making complete sense.

Ryan always had the same routine: He would sit idly on the couch, knees close to his chest, with a tattered notebook. Every so often, he'd take a break from constant sporadic scratches of pen to paper and would tap the pen to his lip; even gnaw lightly on the end to fire up his creative juices. Then, out of nowhere, a pang of eureka would strike him and he'd be back to his madman self. Scribbling furiously, marking out words, inserting new ones, all while determinedly sticking his tongue out.

Brendon made the mistake of infuriating Ryan when he expressed the details of the arrangement of one of the songs a couple of weeks ago. Maybe that's why the tension between the two was so evident at practice today.

"Oh God, you know, I don't- I don't know if I could do it justice because, you know, these are your words. How am I gonna be your voice?"

"I'm- I'm not that good at singing...I just- I just need you to understand what I mean."

Brendon threw the crumpled lyric sheet on the dusty floor. "I can't. Fuck!"

Ryan fisted his hair. "God damn it, Brendon!"

Brendon stood up. "This is so frustrating. I DON'T get what the hell you mean! 'Sing it this way, Brendon.' What way, Ryan? You need to explain it."

Ryan got to his feet, stepping close to Brendon, looming over Brendon's five foot eight and a half frame. "I HAVE been explaining it to you. For over an HOUR."

"What are you saying?" Brendon asked menacingly.

"That you're a fuckin' idiot! Jesus Christ, Brendon! I can't deal with this shit. If I have to go through this one more time, I swear to God I'm going to punch you in the face."

Brendon's lips turned in a mute sneer. "Do it."

"Don't tempt me Bren."

"Then DO IT!" Brendon yelled, shoving Ryan.

Ryan fell backwards, sliding minimally across the hardwood floor. He looked up at Brendon. "You son of a bitch." He ran up to Brendon and knocked him down. Ryan grabbed a hold of Brendon's red shirt and brought his face up to meet his bony knuckles. He released the crimson fabric and let Brendon's head thunk back on the floor. "THAT was for being a dick head."

Brendon released another agonizingly long sigh. He propped himself onto the tour bus couch, taking up the entire length of the sofa. After sticking his headphones into his ears and turning the player on 'shuffle' he placed his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of Third Eye Blind's Motorcycle Drive By lull him to sleep.

Fucking Ryan Ross.

Ryan tugged on his newsboy cap and ambled around the tour bus, aimlessly searching for...for... Ah, hell. Even he didn't know.

His eyes landed on Brendon as he passed by, almost stopping in his tracks to observe the sleeping figure. Brendon's tight dark blue shirt had risen up, showcasing a small amount of lightly tanned skin. The dusk's light beamed off of Brendon's silver belt buckle and into Ryan's eyes as he scanned down Brendon's body to his straight-legged skinny jeans accompanied with a seemingly oversized pair of red high top Nikes.

Fucking Brendon Urie.

Ryan shook his head and drug his feet into the kitchen area where Spencer and Jon were currently in heated conversation.