Organising my life never was my strong point...

Take the Reins [09]

2008-09-28T13:52:08Z

Take the Reins [08]

2008-09-25T13:35:39Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Chapter Eight

Ryan had a cart full of deep freeze goods next to him and was currently arranging one of next week's special offers, veggie lasagna, in the display freezer when a hand closed over his shoulder. He turned immediately, startled, and met Brendon's eyes. His heart immediately set to thundering. This was Holly's shift, which was why he didn't share it with Brendon, and yesterday, when Holly had been covering his own shift, Aaron had made him leave, not reluctantly at all, a half hour before time so he'd be long gone by the time Brendon showed up. Of course, though, Brendon was nothing if no tenacious, and for Ryan to have thought there would be no confrontation had been utterly ridiculous. "Hi," he greeted lamely before, startled, pulling his hand out of the display freezer when the temperature of it suddenly hit and made his fingers ache.

Brendon scowled. "Do you have a minute?" He didn't wait for an answer, just gripped the cart and started wheeling it towards the back one-handedly. The other hand had closed like a vice on Ryan's wrist, and for several reasons the older male had no choice but to follow. Once they were out of sight of the customers, Brendon opened the door into the deep freezer and pushed the cart inside before closing the door again and turning back to Ryan. "Well?"

Taking a deep breath, Ryan guardedly looked anywhere but at Brendon's painfully earnest and angry face. "One of the other kids caught us about a week and a half, two weeks ago," Ryan stated softly before he finally managed to look up and meet Brendon's gaze for a fleeting moment. Those deep, dark eyes made him feel too exposed so quickly that he practically flinched away, though. "She told Aaron. We're not allowed to work together, all right? We're not even supposed to be alone together." He closed his eyes altogether and drew in a deep breath, hoping to feel a little bit more centered. "I'm only here until they find someone to take over my job."

A moment later there was a hand gripping his chin and he was forced to look at Brendon's face again, although he made sure to fasten his vision on the younger boy's forehead rather than his eyes. "That's not fair," Brendon whispered. "Not when I was the one who instigated it and insisted on carrying on every single time you were starting to get cold feet." He drew in a harsh lungful of air. "This mess is my fault. I should be fired, not you."

Ryan didn't mention how close that had come to happening. "You shouldn't," he countered, somehow managing to conjure up a reassuring smile. "Besides, I'm going to California for a few months. I have some things to take care of. And the band's progressing nicely. Who knows what'll happen next?"

"How are you going to survive and have a life without the money you make here?" Brendon asked, and there was not only genuine concern in his words, but a hitching in his words that Ryan refused to attribute to his own confession about moving away. Ryan liked Brendon, cared about him even, and that was all right. He'd so far been sure that that was the extent of Brendon's feelings towards him as well, and he was determined to keep believing that.

"How are you going to have a future and the life you want without the money you make here?" Ryan countered, lips involuntarily forming a bittersweet smile. He fought to keep from leaning into the touch of Brendon's hand, but didn't think he was quite managing.

Apparently Brendon decided that the argument was useless, because in the end all he did was keep silent and reach out of hands, wrapping them around Ryan's waist, and then Ryan was pulled insistently against a chest that was a bit stronger, a bit more defined than his own, and was overly conscious of positioning his stomach so it didn't brush Brendon's, even as he tentatively returned the embrace. Then the younger boy leaned up and connected their lips. It was perfectly chaste, just lips on lips without even a hint of tongue, and, like their relationship, it wasn't leading anywhere. And it wasn't that Ryan's mind didn't stray briefly to the thought of having sex one last time. But he didn't want it, not really. He'd rather remember their last time as oblivious to all this, as good and happy and mostly carefree without all the shadows that had emerged so suddenly.

Ryan was the first to pull away, managing another small smile. "You aren't supposed to be back here when I am," he stated softly. "Get back out and remember to buy something." He sucked in a deep breath. "I'll see you around," he added, even though he wasn't sure he would.

Brendon seemed to realize the same thing and lingered for several more moments, bottom lip caught between his metal-glinting teeth and his eyes huge behind the glasses before he nodded and turned on his heels, exiting slowly. Ryan watched him go.

***

Ryan sat staring at the forms in front of him, twirling a lock of now nearly shoulder length hair around his fingers as he stared at the paper. He sighed and redirected his sight to the window out into the clinic's gardens where the peach trees carried small, pink blooms. It was nearly May already and he'd pushed this ahead of him too much. Now the papers from the adoption agency were lying in front of him and he'd determined that the only valid reason he'd have for getting out of this chair before he was done filling them out would be having to pee, which happened annoyingly often lately.

His belly had grown to the point where it was difficult to sit at a table and be able to reach food or papers resting there, so he'd gotten a tray from the kitchens and placed it on his stomach to use as a writing surface. The ache in his back and feet was so constant that he barely noticed it unless he was moving around anymore, and he absolutely hated it. He couldn't believe there was another month left of this hell, and he had absolutely no idea why people went through this voluntarily all the time.

He gave a sigh when he realized he was distracting himself from the task ahead, and forged ahead. The agency he'd decided to use was very detailed in its matching of children to new homes, even going so far as to cater to adoptive parents wishes for their non-biological child to bear physical resemblance to them. Which meant that the ideal thing for the agency was if the papers carried photos of both biological parents. Well, that just wasn't possible. He chuckled slightly at the thought of what his friends would've said if they were here.

(Jon would've made some comment about Ryan being androgynous enough that he could put makeup on in one photo and then cut his hair and neglect shaving for a couple of days and then take the second, and that no one would even question the fact that the first picture portrayed a girl and the second a guy. Trevor would snicker and add that it would still look like the two pictures were of siblings, and that the thought that the child might come from incest would scare people away. (Ryan would wonder to himself whether, if the child was a boy and ended up being like him, would fucked up genes in a child born of incest explain that away?) Then Spencer would roll his eyes and whack them both over the backs of their heads and tell them to Grow The Fuck Up!)

In the end Ryan settled for limiting things to descriptions, but that he'd do that for both Brendon and himself. Then came the question of whether to describe himself as the 'birth mother'. It was the logical thing to do, really, but at the same time he didn't like it much. Sure, technically he was the mother. But Brendon was younger and shorter and curvier, and would probably grow up to be prettier. In the end he snickered to himself and put down Brendon's information under 'birth mother' and his own under 'birth father' before moving on to the other points.

***

"Where've you guys been?" Ryan asked with a cocked eyebrow when three of the other occupants of the living quarters entered into the common room where he was sat, watching TV and feeling beyond bored.

Two men, one around a year older than Ryan and the other maybe three years his senior, came over and sat down on the other couch. The eldest pulled a maybe two-year-old boy onto his lap while the younger pressed a hand against his protruding belly, smiling gently. Here was some of those who might actually be grateful for Eezithru. A long-time couple who were deeply in love with each other, Dylan and Paolo had used the side-effects Dylan was born with to do what precious few gay couples had ever managed and create a biological family of their own. Both were radiantly happy now, with their second child on the way. "Ultra-sound," Paolo answered with a grin.

"Can you believe that we're having a little girl?" Dylan cut in, blue eyes bright. "What are the chances of that?" He sent his partner a love-struck smile that lit up the whole room and made Ryan feel incredibly lonely. He did know what the chances of that were, though. Around one in ten. Sure, with a successful conception there was a thirty-three percent chance for a daughter and sixty-seven for a son, but the hormonal climate in a man's body wasn't as healthy for a girl as it was for a boy, and as a result most girls weren't carried to term. Most were miscarried before anyone even had a chance to become aware of its existence.

The simple fact that Ryan was still pregnant and there hadn't been any severe complications made him pretty sure that it was a boy in his belly, although he couldn't say for certain. He'd decided during the ultra-sound where they'd offered to tell him that it was better not to know. The information would be written on the adoption agency papers, he knew, but Ryan wouldn't know himself until the birth, if he even wanted to find out then. It was just so much easier to keep thinking of the kid as an 'it'. It made it a bit less personal, a bit harder to become attached to. It was one of those things that were supposed to get him through this whole thing with his heart intact. "Congratulations," he told the other two, managing to smile brightly at them even though something inside him gave a pang whenever he looked at little Wilhelm.

"Oh my God, I have, like, thee worst cramps, like, ever," came a lisping, high-pitched voice that played right into every stereo-type that had ever existed about gay men. Stu entered the room a moment later, an over-dramatic look of long suffering on his face. He had one hand supporting his back and the other resting on his stomach. He was nearly nine months gone and about ready to burst, with a short, petite body that made Ryan wonder how the hell he even managed to get out of bed with that belly, blond hair and a pretty, feminine face. He was the type who wouldn't leave the room without perfect makeup and hair, and he was only nineteen years old, by Ryan's calculations one of the last boys to have been born by mothers on Eezithru, and he had chosen the same path as Ryan, had an excited couple lined up to be parents for the child the moment it was born. "If I never let another guy touch me again it'll be too soon." There was a grin underlying the words, though, one that said that even Stu knew he was lying and would be on his back with spread legs again as soon as he got the opportunity, and Ryan couldn't help a little chuckle.

He'd gotten used to the others over the time he'd already spent here. There had been Alex, but he'd left a month ago with a two-week-old baby boy, and then Dylan and Paolo had moved in a few days later. And even though all the other men were incredibly different from Ryan himself, he'd gotten to know them well enough to be comfortable around them. It helped that they were all in more or less the same situation, and it definitely helped that being around them made Ryan feel like less of a freak.

Suddenly the door opened and a young woman, her uniform declaring her staff, poked in her head inside. "Mr. Ross, Mrs. Faller would like to speak to you," she informed with a smile and waited for Ryan to heave himself off the couch with a loud groan and follow her out of the rooms and down the halls towards a small meeting room. Mrs. Faller was the adoption agency woman Ryan had spoken with a few times before, and his best guess was that she now had some potential parents for him to look through.

Ryan opened the door and went inside, mustering a small smile as he plopped into a chair with another groan. His feet were hurting already from the short walk there, and he had to take a moment to compose himself before he looked up and met the woman's eyes. "Hey."

"Hello, Mr. Ross," she returned with a bright, professional smile. Then she picked up three files and pushed them across the table. "I've been going through our databases and even had a few interviews with some couples, and these are the ones I think are best matched to the baby and to your wishes for the baby." She leaned back in her chair, adopting a patient expression. "If you'd look through them..."

Ryan nodded and picked up the first one, skimming through. Not particularly interesting, but there was nothing there that made him wince away completely either. The second one, though, caught his attention immediately, from the moment he read the couple's names.

Daniel and Sara Urie

His breath hitched just slightly when, suddenly, he remembered Brendon mentioning his older brother who'd been married to a girl named Sara for nearly six years, and how they wanted to start a family but hadn't been able to because an infection in Sara's uterus when she was still a child had forced doctors to remove it surgically. And now, apparently, they were looking to start a family through adoption of a child they had no idea was their blood nephew. Or niece, of course. Ryan didn't know. But damn, this was creepy. And, he realized a moment later, the best solution he could see. Okay, so maybe the Mormon stuff scared Ryan a bit, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted any child of his to grow up in that community, especially since there was the chance that a baby boy might inherit Ryan's oddities. But at the same time, the kid would get to grow up with people who were blood-related, and not too distantly either. Add to that the fact that Brendon would be in the baby's life...

Ryan couldn't help but feel like he owed the child that much. Recurring contact with at least one biological parent. And maybe Brendon would be 'Uncle' rather than 'Daddy', but at least he would be there, at least there'd be a relationship. And if the kid looked enough like Brendon's family, rather than Ryan's, it wouldn't even have to grow up with the taunting and lack of belonging he imagined many adopted children, whom everyone knew were adopted, experienced.

"I want these," he proclaimed a moment later, pushing the Urie file back to Mrs. Faller, who cocked an eyebrow before nodding.

"Good choice," she finally stated. "I definitely believe that they will provide love and a safe upbringing for the child." She smiled softly. "Now, we would normally arrange a meeting between biological parent and adoptive parents, but I have a feeling it would raise too many questions in this case. Letter correspondance, maybe?"

Ryan nodded in agreement.

***

May 10th 2006
Summerlin, Las Vegas, Nevada
Dear Miss Ryan

We wish for you to know that hearing of your decision has made us happier than words can say. We have been waiting for so long now that we had nearly given up hope, and I can't even tell you how grateful and honored we are that you would choose us.

We understand that you must be going through a hard time with your situation at the moment, and if there is anything at all we can do to ease it for you, now or in the future, please do tell us. If you want to be in the child's life as a baby-sitter, or friend of the family, we are more than willing to accommodate, as we believe it is best for a child to at least have something of a relationship to their birth parents, however distant that relationship. And believe us when we tell you that your decision already has made you a friend of the family in either.

I suppose we should introduce ourselves so as to diminish any uncertainties you might still be left with. My name is Sara Urie and I am twenty-six years old. My mother died when I was young and I have no siblings, but rest assured that the child will have a dedicated, devoted granddad in my father. For the last few years I have been functioning as my husband's secretary, as well as working for our church, but we always planned that when we started a family I'd stop working to be able to give as much care and attention to children and home as I can, which I must admit is a life I have always dreamed of.

My husband, Daniel, is twenty-seven, and the eldest in a litter of five. From his side of the family there will be no shortage of cousins for playmates and devoted uncles and aunts and loving grandparents. Dan works as an optometrist, and makes enough money to make us comfortable and financially secure.

We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Summerlin where we live, and through that we have a wide, secure social network as well as solid and secure morals and ideals on which to raise a child. Trust that we will love the child with our whole hearts and raise him in a secure environment that will support him until the day he dies.

The ultra-sound picture made us fall in love instantly, and Daniel and I cannot wait to hold our baby boy in our arms.

Yours
- Sara and Daniel Urie

So it was a boy then, Ryan realized as he put down the letter. Something tightened in his chest and he cursed his hormones as he blinked back tears for a moment before he took several deep breaths and counted to fifty to calm down. He looked down to see his own free hand splayed over the mound of his belly, and immediately pulled the hand off even as he sat down to write a return missive, declining the offers to be a part of the boy's life. He considered asking for an annual letter that would tell him the highlights of his son's life and maybe include some photos and mementos so that he'd at least know the child was all right, but dismissed the idea. He needed to make this a clean cut, or moving on would be simply too difficult.

***

May 25th, 2006
San Francisco, California
Dear baby boy

I'm sorry for that pathetic address, but I don't know what they're going to call you yet, so it's all I really know about you.

In two weeks, at the very most, you're going to be born, and I can't tell you how scared I am. You've been with me for months now, even though I was a little bit slow on the uptake and only found out four months ago. I can barely imagine not feeling you moving around and ruining my sleep and kicking my bladder anymore, but it'll happen soon enough and you won't be with me at all.

And that's why I'm writing you. Once you're old enough to understand and your parents tell your, or you figure it out, whichever happens first, this if going to be here for you as an - insufficient, I know - replacement for me, so that you'll at least know me a little. And I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but even when you understand adoption, there will be other things that are much more difficult to comprehend.

I'm young. I won't give you an exact age, even though your parents' papers will tell you I'm seventeen. Let's say that I'm still old enough that age isn't my reason to decide not to keep you. I wasn't prepared for you at all, and I still have to admit that I am not ready now, either. You deserve someone who's ready for you, who has longed for you, as I know your parents have. I wouldn't be a good parent, and in any case I believe you should have two, who are dedicated and secure and in a place in their lives where you'll suffer no uncertainties. I can't provide that, so I'm giving you up to someone else, who will be able to provide you with everything you deserve. If you blame me or hate me, I understand, but this is what I believe is best for both of us.

But I supposed I got myself side-tracked from what I was trying to say. That's happened a lot lately. Apparently pregnancy makes it hard to stay focused on specifics, although I do like to think than I'm usually pretty sharp of wit and mind. The central thing in my mind, if you'd like to know, is music. I love it and always have. I play and write it as well as listen to it, and I'm in a band. Maybe once you get this letter, you will already know my name, even though you won't know that it's me. Yes, I am a dreamer too, sometimes.

I don't know what else to say about myself. It's difficult to formulate this, difficult to get the words to make sense. Would you believe that I consider myself a writer? I guess the thing is that I know that no matter how much I tell you about myself, I will have changed once you read this, and all this will do is portray a person who no longer exists.

Maybe you will want to know about your father too? Again, I can't tell you much, but I do believe he shares a few traits with your uncle Brendon.

I'm going to end this letter here, by letting you know that no matter how much I didn't plan for it to happen, you exist, and no matter how much I didn't want to, I do love you, and I'm going to miss you with my whole heart. If you ever need to find me, look for George Ryan Ross III. He'll know where I am and will lead you to me.

With love
- Gina Ryan

Ryan took a deep breath and folded the letter, putting it in an envelope. In the end the agreement he and the Uries had settled on was that he'd leave them with a small box of mementos and a letter so that once the boy found everything out, they would have a little bit of his birth parents to give him. It wasn't that bad of an idea, really, even though it had neccesiated letters and requests to his parents and friends to gather the things he needed.

He placed the envelope down on top of a baseball cap from junior high when he still played, picks and broken guitar strings, lyrics and tabs and sheet music, his favorite childhood t-shirt and stuffed animal, the band shirt he'd bought once at a Blink show, favorite CDs and movies and even a couple of school assignments. It seemed silly to think that he could put things in a box and that would be enough to leave his son, but at least it represented a piece of him, let the boy get a chance to know him. And it was all he could do, really.

Sighing, he put the lid over the assorted knick-knacks and pushed the box away, and then, suddenly, a piercing pain ran through his belly.

Take the Reins [07]

2008-09-25T01:48:34Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Chapter Seven

Ryan came to only slowly, almost struggling against. There had been some things, scary, ridiculous things, that he hadn't wanted to know, hadn't wanted to be real, and he sure as hell didn't want to remember them, which would happen one way or another if he woke back up. The gentle little claps on his cheeks and something smelly pushed up under his nose, though, didn't give him much choice, and finally he opened his eyes and gave a groan. "I think I just had a really bad nightmare," he muttered, looking up at Mrs. Smith with wide, pleading eyes, willing her with all his might to tell him that yes, it had just been a joke, and they could move on to talking about the deadly, incurable STD now.

"I don't think you did," she disagreed softly, sending Ryan's frail hopes plummeting to the ground. She stroked his hair softly, like she did back when he was five and had called his own mom stupid and subsequently lost his allowance for a month and had needed someone who sure as hell wasn't his own mother to make it all better.

"Can you... make it go away?" he asked after a pause, eyes still overly wide, cheeks flushed, voice strangled. He knew he sounded like a little kid even though he was twenty-one, supposedly an adult. But right then he didn't feel like one. He felt like a little boy who'd gotten himself deep in trouble and needed help getting out.

The doctor sighed, leaving the spot where she'd crouched down next to him while he was out and walked back over to her own side of the desk, immediately gripping his hand and squeezing, obviously picking up on his need for support. "I think that would be complicated," she finally stated, meeting his eyes head-on and merciless and Ryan felt like whining and throwing a fit because she was supposed to kiss his boo boo or tell his mom that it had been Spencer who'd smashed the window so Ryan wouldn't get in too much trouble. "Do you have any idea how far along you are? You obviously can't follow your own periods-" (Ryan nearly sicked up with the word in association to himself, but managed to keep it in) "-and we don't even know if you have one ovary or two, meaning that we can't tell if we're dealing with a monthly or a bi-monthly menstrual cycle. I guess the easiest question would be when you last had unprotected sex, as I dearly hope it's not something you make a habit of."

"It's not," Ryan assured in a voice that was even softer than normal, so small and quiet that it was barely there. "It was just once, and I figured that since we were both clean and would be more careful when it happened again, it wouldn't matter." His voice sounded choked now, even in his own ears, and he suddenly realized that he was moments away from breaking down in a sobbing mess. "September," he clarified. "First or second week of September, I don't fully remember."

"And it's February first tomorrow," Mrs. Smith supplied. "So you should be nearly five months along, which is approximately what I already guessed." She sighed. "That means that here in Nevada you can still legally terminate the pregnancy, but Ryan..." She sighed softly, giving his hand a small squeeze. "The fetus is too large already for it to possibly be removed anally. It would be a full-fledged surgery, basically a C-section in and of itself. And as far along as you are... strictly theoretically, the child might be able to survive at least a few hours outside your body without medical help." Another squeeze. "I'm not saying you shouldn't do it, I just want you to understand the repercussions. You'd be left with at least a physical scar as well as results of possible complications, and that is without even mentioning the fact that every third woman who'd had an abortion ends up with psychological scars, the farther along, the bigger the chance of that."

Ryan felt his own breath hitching and then coming in quicker and quicker before he managed to get a grip and keep himself from starting to hyper-ventilate. "So you're saying... that they'd have to cut it out of me and maybe actually kill it after it's out, and really a small person instead of just this... thing in my stomach?" he asked, his voice hitched nearly an octave higher than normal, trembling and stumbling. "And if they don't kill it they'd have to leave it to die? And I'd have a scar and maybe more and could go into depression or something?" He didn't think he'd ever been so scared his whole life, scared and helpless and caught in an absolutely impossible position.

"Maybe you should call your boyfriend," Spencer's mother suggested carefully. "Talk it through with him, get some perspective on it."

That drew a shrill, unhappy laugh from Ryan's mouth. "I don't have a boyfriend," he informed her, suddenly wondering why his cheeks felt wet and his laughter felt more like sobs. And even if Brendon were his boyfriend, the kid was just sixteen! Just a kid. No, even if it were only for Brendon's sake, there was no way in hell he could go through with this. "What do you think I should do?" he finally asked, voice gone soft and still and scared again. "Not you, doctor you, but my best friend's mom who's always been there when I needed you."

Mrs. Smith stayed quiet for a long time, eyes closed as she seemed to fight some kind of an internal battle. Professionalism and conscience, maybe. Ryan didn't know. "I think you should carry it to term," she finally stated. "And then put it up for adoption if you don't want it. I think it's what's healthiest for you." She sighed for the umpteenth time. "Ryan, as much as you hate to admit it, you're a great, bit softy. You'd be part of that one third, you'd probably feel guilty for the rest of your life. At least knowing that even if you were unable to give a baby a future with you at least you still gave it life and let it keep it, would make it clean for you. You'd be able to get over it and move on with your life, at least a little."

This time Ryan did acknowledge that it was a sob that shook him, and he let himself go boneless, burying his wet face in the arms he had rested on the table, allowing the sobs free reign as all those emotions shook through him; fear and dread and guilt and self-loathing and helplessness and desperation and a thousand others he couldn't name. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, barely even noticed it when Spencer's mom came to his side again and pulled him against her, holding him tight and stroking his back and hair, muttering comforting nonsense like she'd done whenever he needed it his whole life. But when he had finally cried himself dry and empty and tired, he knew that she was right. Maybe abortion was the best thing to do for some people, but he wasn't one of them.

Once Doctor Smith had made sure he was as close to okay as he was going to get, and had set up another appointment a few days hence so he'd have time to let things sink in before they made other arrangements, Spencer drove him back to the apartment, once again not speaking so much as a single word. Maybe that was one of the things Ryan loved the most about him, his ability to read Ryan well enough to know exactly what he needed at any given moment. There was veiled security in his gaze, but concern and support were forth-most, and Ryan was grateful. He knew he still had a million things to think through and sort out, but he would do that later. Right now he needed to sleep, and to call Nina and see if she would take his evening shift the following day. He didn't think he'd be able to look Brendon in the eye ever again, let alone so soon.

***

"What was wrong with you then?" Jon asked when Ryan re-emerged from his nap sometime around ten in the evening. He was already pouring coffee and Ryan suddenly remembered reading somewhere that too much caffeine was bad for a fetus. He winced at the thought of how much coffee he'd poured down his throat every day for the last five months.

"Do we have some hot chocolate?" he asked, rather than answering a question. He had the feeling that answering wouldn't be the smartest or safest thing to do when Jon had a hot beverage in his hand. Ryan wouldn't want his room mate hurt, after all. Well, unless he said something annoying, but at least Ryan now had the excuse of being pregnant if he then took his revenge. He started when he realized how natural it was already becoming to think like that. It was almost as though he'd known all along, on some subconscious level, which was just stupid when you stopped to consider how shocked he'd been on finding out. He still felt scared, and he still didn't like the situation at all, but Ryan was nothing if not a realist. He wasn't about to ostrich his face away in the sand and pretend it wasn't happening.

"Yeah we do," Jon answered, looking even more suspicious as he turned around to turn on the kettle, rummaging through the shelves for a moment before he found the instant hot chocolate powder. He made a mug ready and then sat down at the table across from Ryan, his brown eyes serious and concerned. "Listen, I know something is not right. I felt your stomach this morning, okay? And I'm not going to stop asking before you give me an answer that isn't 'I'm perfectly fine!'," he stated, letting out a huff of air. "I'm worried about you, all right?"

Ryan nodded, biting his lip. "I know," he stated after a moment, looking down at his long-fingered hands, laced together on the table. How the hell did you tell someone something like this? At least Jon wasn't Brendon, or in Brendon's situation when it came to this whole mess. He was 'just' Ryan's friend. The most he'd have to go through was some extra bitchiness and maybe having to give out some extra Jon Walker Massages (TM), and then, in the - probably unlikely - case that Ryan kept the baby after the birth, he'd be 'burdened' with being someone's overly cool and generous favorite uncle. "Have you ever heard of Eezithru?" he asked after a moment, biting his lip and deciding to go more or less along the same road as Doctor Smith had taken in telling him.

Jon chuckled. "Yeah, when my sister got pregnant for the first time a few years back my mom kept rambling about something that sounded kind of like that, and what a shame it was it wasn't on the market anymore because it had made having us kids a piece of cake."

The guitarist winced again, biting his lip. Well, things just got worse. At least Jon was straight, and Ryan had accidentally seen him naked enough to know that there weren't any visible effects. But then, there were no visible signs on Ryan either. "Well," he muttered. "Eezithru was taken off the market because of the side effects on some of the male babies born on it. Estrogen overdose that varies in its effects. I, for example, appear to have a womb and at least one ovary."

This time the bassist didn't even laugh. He looked at Ryan with a hard stare that was piercing and angry and insulted and yet still concerned. "Stop fucking with me," he said, voice even and carefully controlled. "Ryan, what I felt this morning wasn't natural, and that sure as hell isn't a laughing matter. Tell me what's really wrong. You owe me that much."

Ryan sighed. Well, he'd never expected this conversation to be easy. He just hadn't expected it to be so difficult either. "I'm seriously pregnant," he said softly. "Go and call Spencer's mom and ask if you really can't find it in you to accept my word for it." He sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the kettle to see that it had turned itself off, obviously boiled up already, and he stood, grateful for the opportunity for reprieve, and poured his mug full of steaming water, starting to stir the powder out.

"You're a dude!" Jon objected again, his eyes wide as saucers. The disbelief was still there, but not quite as strong, and Ryan, mostly as a last resort, turned so that he was standing in a way that presented Jon with his profile. Then he pulled off his sweater so only a t-shirt remained and pulled that tight around his stomach so that the bump that currently seemed to be growing everyday was as visible and obvious as it got. "You're a pregnant dude," the bassist finally amended, his voice tiny and squeaky.

"Yeah," Ryan confirmed as he sat back down and started gingerly sipping his hot chocolate. He hummed in approval of the taste. It didn't give the energy and clear head of coffee, but it was infinitely better to the taste buds. "Nearly a full five months gone too."

Jon stayed silent for a while, apparently needing some time to wrap his head around the concept and recover from the shock. Ryan sympathized. He had, after all, passed on out hearing it himself. "But pregnancy, even of the male variant, isn't possible without sex, is it?" he finally asked, and Ryan was more than a little surprised at just which direction he had gone in. He could only nod. "But you haven't had sex with anyone since before you dropped out of college."

Cocking an eyebrow, Ryan didn't know whether to be amused or offended. Or frightened, maybe, because between friends as close as himself and his band mates - Jon especially, seeing as they lived together - he valued honesty. And if he didn't come clean now, it wouldn't just be staying silent, it would become a lie of omission, which was infinitely worse. He knew he had to buy a few moments, though, to gather his wits if nothing else, so he wouldn't do something stupid, like having a nervous breakdown. "You monitor my sex life?"

"Our shifts are at nearly the same time," Jon stated, although his expression said that he had caught the whiff of something else and knew Ryan was stalling, but was letting him. "Then there's band practice, and shows, and you write. I know where you are at any given time, Ryan, face it. And at shows and the few times we actually go out I still would've noticed if you brought someone home or stayed out a night or even went to the restrooms with someone for long enough for anything to actually happen." He drew in a deep breath. "Now, if something's happened, which it obviously has, it has to have happened at your work."

Ryan had thought he be able to answer, and to answer honestly, but now that the moment was actually here, all he could do was nod and advert his gaze to the mug in his hands. He couldn't even bring himself to take another sip even though he thought the temperature would probably be more comfortable now than it had been a bit ago. If he waited too long it would end up luke-warm and disgusting and there's be no pleasure from drinking it whatsoever.

Sighing, Jon shook his head. "If it were one of the college kids, you'd have told me," he stated. "It's obviously not one of the girls. And however immoral that might be, I still think you'd have been able to speak if it were the manager or the assistant manager." He took a deep breath, eyes closing slightly. "It's one of the high school kids, isn't it?"

Ryan closed his own eyes and let out a breath of relief and remorse and guilt and so many other things. It came out shuddering, and a moment later he realized his eyes were stinging behind the lids. Fucking hormones. A moment later strong arms wound around him and he was pulled close to Jon's chest where he heaved in breath after breath, clinging close even when he couldn't hold in the tears anymore and a single sob shook through him. "You don't hate me?" he whispered after a while, when his voice felt stable enough to say anything at all.

"You're one of my best friends," Jon answered. "And I'm not saying that what you've done isn't morally objectionable to some, as well as downright illegal, but it doesn't change who you are." He gave Ryan one last squeeze before pulling back so they could see each other face to face. "Sixteen or seventeen?" he asked and nodded slowly when Ryan murmured a soft 'sixteen'. "Do you know," he continued with a small, supportive smile lingering on his lips. "Most of the countries we compare ourselves to, the Western European ones for instance, in most of those the age of consent is sixteen, and this law is one of those for which we're considered especially naive and old-fashioned. And me personally, I like to think that age is individual, it's just a number. So long as it's reasonable, as in not crossing the line into pedophiliac activities, it's stupid for the government to think it's got the right to dictate these things for us, so long as both parties want what happens. And you clearly didn't rape him, or you wouldn't have been in this position in the first place." He let out a soft chuckle, and Ryan somehow even managed to laugh along, weakly however it might be.

It felt as though a stone that had been there for so long that he'd forgotten its existence fell off Ryan's chest right then, and even if for just a single second, he felt utterly liberated. "Thank you," he whispered.

Jon smiled in reply. "Now," he said, taking another deep breath, almost as though he could sense Ryan's emotions and go through them even as his friend was. Knowing Jon, that wasn't entirely impossible. "When are you going to tell him?"

The decision had maybe been made subconsciously the moment he realized what was wrong with him, Ryan realized. But really, there wasn't that much of a decision to be made. There was black and white, but then there was a grey zone in between where anything you did or didn't do could hurt someone else. The art, Ryan guessed, was to pick the path that would hurt others the least, especially people who didn't deserve that pain. "I'm not," he answered, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before he finally managed to take another sip of the chocolate.

"You can't not tell him," Jon stated, brow furrowed in confusion. "Even if he isn't going to take part in anything, he has a right to know."

Ryan nodded. "And I evaluated that right against the other factors here," he stated. "Brendon is sixteen, he's just a kid, and telling him will do more harm than good. By telling him, whether he was going to be a part of it or not, I'd basically force him to grow up and make a completely adult decision within just a few days, most likely. He wouldn't have a chance to experience that last bit of childhood we still felt in our late teens. Suddenly there's be responsibility, and regret, and so much more. It would take so many things away from him, and that's without even considering the fact that he's family's Mormon, and if they ever found out about this..." Ryan shuddered theatrically. "And if he were to be a part of the child's life, he'd end up scrapping his own plans for the future, when he's fighting so hard now to accomplish what he wants. It just wouldn't be fair."

"You're talking about taking innocence and naivete away from him as though he's a five-year-old who needs to be coddled," Jon stated, eyes a little hard now. "Ryan, if I didn't know it would harm you more than it would help, I'd be hunting down to give his undoubtedly skinny little ass a good kicking for putting you in this situation in the first place. As it is... my mom always said that when you felt ready to have sex, you should also be ready to deal with whatever consequences might follow. I pretty much agree with her."

"It's different when you're gay, though," Ryan muttered. "Sure, when you first decide you're ready to have sex, there are STDs and shit like that to consider and to protect yourself from, and you might have steeled yourself for possibly having to experience chlamydia or something, but no one ever told us we'd have to be ready for children, or have to protect ourselves from the risk because we didn't know there was a risk." He sighed softly, taking another mouthful of the hot chocolate and swirling it thoughtfully over the roof of his mouth. "It's hardly comparable." Then he took a deep breath and put on his decisive face, the one hardly anyone ever decided to argue against. "I'm going to put the baby up for adoption, and I'm not going to tell Brendon."

Jon merely sighed, apparently recognizing that arguing wasn't getting him anywhere. He simply nodded and reached a hand out to squeeze Ryan's shoulder. "Go get some sleep," he murmured, and Ryan readily complied.

***

"I'm going to outline your options for you briefly," Mrs. Smith stated gently, sending him a small smile across the table. "You can opt for a home pregnancy, which isn't going to be easy since your chances of complications are larger than those of most women. Someone has to be in the house with you at any given time, and I'm sure you could guilt your mother into it by mentioning the name of the drug that got you here in the first place."

Ryan shuddered slightly at the thought of his sometimes overly overbearing mother cuddling him and waiting on him hand and foot twenty-four hours a day for the next four months. It was most definitely something he could live without, thank you very much. "What else can I do?"

"There's a small clinic in San Francisco," the doctor explained. "It was built with the simple, sole intent to help soothe the consequences of Eezithru, and that's what it does. It's where abortions are performed, when that's the final choice. It's where the affected young men go to surgically have physical oddities resulting in the drug taken care of, for free, up to and including full gender swap surgeries. It's where everyone affected can go to get counselling and therapy to overcome mental traumas that result from various deformities and the difficulties it has made in their lives and psyches. Last but not least, it's where every single child resulting from male pregnancies has been delivered, and the pregnant males who have carried to term have spent an average of at least three months of their pregnancies there. It has living accommodations, twenty-four-hours-a-day access to medical personnel, contacts to some of the best adoption agencies out there. And it's necessarily discrete, as well as free of charge, funded by medical manufacturer that was responsible for the drug in the first case."

Nodding softly, Ryan bit his lip and glanced down at his hands. There wasn't much choice. San Francisco was safest, and free of charge of money he wouldn't have been able to afford paying. There, as the only place, was the expertise he could accept that he needed, and it would make things so much easier than attempting to do this on his own, even if his friends were willing to help. He hated the fact that he'd be forced, once again, to put the band work on hold for his sake, but a long talk with all three of them last night had assured him that he had their support and understanding. He could do this now and still have his spot when he came back, and when he did come back he'd work with a vengeance. This was a necessary obstacle on the path, but he was still convinced they were going to make it. "Can you contact them and get me signed up?"

Doctor Smith smiled fiercely and nodded. There was absolutely no doubt on her face.

***

Now that he had at least something of a plan, Ryan knew what he had to do. He just didn't know how. The problem was one he'd never foreseen when he'd signed the contract at work, but suddenly the three month notice for both quitting and getting fired was something he couldn't possibly fulfill. And he somehow had to convince Aaron to see things his way without telling the older man the truth of what was happening. When he walked into work the next morning, he still had no clue.

"George, I need a word," Aaron stated before Ryan had the chance to think of a way, let alone to think of what excuse he'd use for getting Aaron alone, and so he curiously followed into the office, sitting down in the chair he was directed into.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, glancing up at his boss, curious to know what was going on.

"Anne had a chat with me yesterday," Aaron stated with a small sigh. "A little over a week ago, she witnessed something... disturbing, and it took her that long to debate whether to come to me with it or not." He sighed again. "Ryan, I would trust your word over any of the kids', you know that. So I'm going to ask you, rather than simply accuse you. Are you involved in a sexual relationship with Brendon?"

Ryan felt a momentary stab of panic before he reminded himself that maybe this would help. He just had to trust that Aaron preferred to keep the problem confined within the store rather than alerting parents and police and quite possibly unleashing a scandal that wouldn't be particularly good for business. The younger man drew in a deep, calming breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Finally he nodded. "Yes, sir, I am."

Aaron sighed, looking away for a moment. "I sincerely hoped it was just gossip-mongering," he revealed, a slightly worn look crossing his features for a moment before he determinedly seemed to wipe them blank. "I hope I don't have to tell you how disappointed I am in you." He was silent for a moment as Ryan's head bent on its own accord and he felt another surge of shame well up in his chest. "I don't want excuses, or apologies," Ryan's boss stated. "And I sure as hell don't want the police or angry parents involved," he added, confirming Ryan's guess as head-on. "But I sure as hell can't let the two of you work together anymore." Ryan opened his mouth to offer leaving, but was interrupted before he could get that far, "I'm going to hear around at some of the other stores from our chain in the nearby area, see if any of them need a new under-eighteen who at least has some kind of a clue what he's doing."

Ryan's mouth fell open and he stared at Aaron in disbelief. "You're firing Brendon?" he asked incredulously, and he only got a grave look in return. "But I'm the adult, I'm the one who should have known better. Ultimately I'm the one responsible. How can you let him take the consequences?"

"Do you have any idea how much harder and how much more time-consuming it is to train an over-eighteen as opposed to one of the kids?" Aaron asked, raising a hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, a gesture Ryan had noticed he only used when truly distressed. "Replacing you would be ten times harder than replacing Brendon, and he'd be going straight to a new job anyway. Maybe even a job that's free of school mates who continuously taunt him."

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Ryan stared down at the table until he convinced that it was mere seconds away from spontaneously catching fire. "It's not fair," he finally stated. "I claim full responsibility for what happened, Aaron-"

"Who seduced who?" came the dry, exhausted interruption.

"That doesn't-" The sharp glance he received cut him off and he stared out the window, seeing the street, and apartment complexes and a group of laughing high school kids. Ryan needed to get rid of this job, and Brendon most definitely didn't need to be rejected more than he already had experienced in his short life. "He did," Ryan admitted at last. "But I'm still the grown-up, and I'm still to blame for not handling it better, for letting it happen at all." He finally managed to look up and meet his boss' eyes. "Fire me and keep Brendon. After all, we both know whose responsibility everything that happens in the store when I'm the only adult present is, and it sure as hell isn't a high school kid. If you could speed things along, that would probably make everything easier, but if you fire Brendon I go too in either case. So basically your choice is to lose only me or the both of us."

Aaron kept looking him imploringly for a moment before sighing dejectedly and nodding, apparently recognizing the determined look on Ryan's face as something he couldn't win over. "I'll keep you until I've found an acceptable replacement," he finally stated, once again both looking and sounding incredibly tired, and much older than his thirty-four years. "Until then I'll change shifts around so you and Brendon are never on duty at the same time, even if I have to take some evening shifts myself." He smiled wearily. "And I'll make sure to mention moral fiber when I write your recommendation."

Finally allowing himself to rest in the knowledge of his victory, Ryan let a small smile rest on his lips. "Thanks, sir," he muttered and waited a moment before holding his hand out. Aaron grasped in and shook after a moment. "And thank you for a nice eight months. Despite what you might think, I really did enjoy it."

Take the Reins [06]

2008-09-21T17:01:13Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Chapter Six

Another month passed, and Ryan lost kind of just how many copulations had occurred. It was nearly easier to remember where than how often. Where included the desk in the office, the top of a small mountain of pallets (and hadn't the amount of splinters in his back and shoulders and the fact that he'd needed Jon's help getting them out been just something out of a complete nightmare?), one regrettable time on the conveyor belt in the bottle room, which had been sticky and smelly and just utterly gross. Then there was the locker room, the employee toilet, the goods reception area, the fucking floor... Okay, so maybe that wasn't so easy to keep track of either. What Ryan did know was that he had started offering to take more evening shifts, even though it pressured him to the point of no free evenings without either work or band practice, and that Brendon had taken to swapping shifts with the other kids so that he was at work at the same time as Ryan as often as possible. In addition they'd become quite the experts at coming up with reasons to stay behind after the others left in order to gain more freedom of what they were doing.

("I didn't quite finish restocking the ice cream. You guys go on home and I'll stay and fix it. It'll only take twenty minutes."

"I'll stay and help. It's my fault for needing your help in the bottle room anyway."

"The computer froze. I'm going to stay and reboot it so I can send in those registrations or head quarters will have a bitch fit."

"But you aren't allowed to be in the store alone! Someone could break in and..."

"Brendon hasn't counted up his box, and he can't before I get the computer working again, so I won't be alone. I'll make sure he gets paid extra, though.")

Ryan suspected at least Monique had an idea. A vague idea, maybe, but it frightened him nonetheless. She was the one who had the most shifts with both him and Brendon out of all the kids, and Ryan had to admit that she wasn't stupid enough not to have picked up on anything, sadly enough.

It was made painfully clear that he'd been all too right in his suspicions when Brendon showed up one day with a bewildered look on his face, scratching the back of his own neck in confusion. "Monique asked me to sit at her table at lunch today," he stated, sounding utterly gobsmacked even hours later. Ryan heard the implication that it wasn't just about Monique's table; Brendon had been asked to sit with the popular kids. "One of the guys high-fived me. I didn't really get why." Then he blushed deeply. "At least not until he said he never thought I'd had it in me to fuck someone five years older than myself. At least she didn't tell them you're a guy."

Ryan felt his eyes widening, and against his will he felt his legs give beneath him. Luckily there was a chair and he plopped into it slightly lopsidedly, but it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as the floor would've been. Not that he really thought he'd have noticed. "Is she going to..." He trailed off, somehow not even daring to finish the sentence.

Brendon shook his head, leaning in and pecking Ryan's lips even as he was shrugging off his jacket. "I talked with her. She promised she wouldn't tell anyone. It was just that she hadn't known I 'had it in me' either, but that if I was 'cool enough' for you, then I was cool enough for them too." He rolled his eyes, but Ryan could see the slight smile on his lips, the relaxation in his normally wary eyes. And if Brendon was finally gaining some kind of social standing, which he'd obviously been craving, then who was Ryan to begrudge him that?

Still, he couldn't help the choked, panicked feeling he had suddenly gotten, heart hammering in his throat and his palms sweaty. If Monique didn't know how to keep her pretty little mouth shut, Ryan would be on his way to jail before he could even say something as stupidly and obviously untrue as 'he never told me he wasn't eighteen!'.

The younger boy leaned in and kissed him again, deeper this time, almost intense enough to swallow Ryan's fears. "She won't tell," Brendon whispered. "I promise."

***

It wasn't exactly the best day Ryan had ever experienced. First thing after opening the store he'd had to help one of the regulars, a jovial elderly woman, find the 'genuine' British fish 'n' chips TV dinners they had on sale that week, only to have her compliment him on 'how nice of a pretty, young woman' he was. He was still bristling by the time Aaron came over and told him to go wash the bottle deposit machine. And fuck, was that the most disgusting thing ever or not? If he'd thought having sex on the conveyor belt was bad, this was regular torture.

There was a kind of tray when he unlocked the machine and pulled the front of it back, and it was covered in at least half an inch of dried grime and beer with the occasional bottle cap and can ring embedded in it, and the stench was horrible. It smelled like a frat party gone out of control, beer and puke and maybe even a tinge of sex, which made extremely hard for Ryan not to blush. He couldn't imagine that anyone else would've been stupid enough to screw anywhere in the vicinity of the bottle deposit. In the end he tugged the tray free from the machine and took it through the store and into the back with him, determined to get it clean as ordered although even Holly kept a wide berth of it, nose scrunched up.

Ryan set to scrubbing, filling it with hot water and ethanoic acid, put on rubber gloves and got to work. It took maybe five minutes before the acid fumes had gotten him dizzy and another five before the stench of the tray itself had gotten him completely queasy. He was making progress with the cleaning, but nowhere near fast enough, and his stomach was turning and protesting, and when he pulled another cap free he couldn't handle it anymore, and let the tray fall to the ground, dirty, brown, stinky water splattering all over the floor while Ryan frantically made his way to the trash, bending down just in time to let his mouth fall open and the thick, lumpy, horrible sick well up from his stomach, stinging his throat and filling his mouth with a sour taste.

He kept heaving, his stomach feeling beyond empty, for he didn't even know how long. Long enough that Holly had overcome the smell and was holding his hair back and stroking his back until he was reduced to merely dry-heaving. Nina came over, one hand clamped over her own nose and the other holding a glass of water which she offered him. Ryan drank up and let them move him into the lunch room and onto one of the chairs where he sat panting, white spots covering his field of vision and cold sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip.

"I'm going to go tell Aaron that you're going home for the day," Holly murmured gently, but Nina pushed the taller girl back into her chair before determinedly stalking out herself, and Ryan got it. Nina, brave and completely ferocious, was the only one who really didn't mind standing up to their boss, no matter what screaming matches that might result in. Holly preferred to avoid conflicts whenever she could and wasn't much for sudden loud noises or yelling, and just the fact that she'd offered to stand up for him warmed Ryan even through his discomfort and sudden weakness. She seemed relieved that she wouldn't have to go through with it, though, and settled for giving Ryan a tight hug while they both ignored the voices outside the small lunch room.

Nina, flushed and angry and yet strangely triumphant came back inside a few minutes later with a small smile on her face. "Ryan, you're excused," she stated. "And Aaron says sorry, he shouldn't have made you do something he wasn't willing to do himself. He'll finish it for you, and Holly, you've an hour off to make sure he gets home safely." Ryan's eyes widened, impressed. That was one hell of a lot more than he'd expected. But his throat hurt and he didn't really feel like speaking, so he nodded and sent her a brief, weak, grateful smile even as Holly, as tall as him and strong enough, he supposed, to lift him if he went so far as to pass out, heaved him to his feet and pulled him gently with her as she went to the locker room and got his jacket, helped him put it on, and stuffed his cell and wallet into his pocket for him.

Getting to the bus stop and riding all the way back to his and Jon's apartment was mostly a blur. Jon was at work himself, but Holly stayed long enough to help Ryan get situated on the couch, TV on, with a bucket nearby and a mug of tea as well as a slice of plain white bread on the small table. She gave him a quick hug before hurrying outside to catch the bus back to work. Ryan was fast asleep before the tea had even stopped steaming.

***

When he woke up Ryan felt completely normal, definitely not like someone who had been puking his guts out just a few hours previous. He was hungry as all fuck, though and set about making himself a bowl of Ramen. It wasn't really that weird that he'd gotten sick, honestly. Who wouldn't after having their face in that stench for so long? So he pushed away his worry that he was coming down with something again and found his notebook, setting out to at least get some band work done. Unexpected free time should always be put to good use, even if that free time was actually sick time and he didn't feel particularly ill anymore.

***

Except when he woke up the next morning he sure as hell did. He woke up at four thirty, dizzy and miserable and immediately stumbling his way out to commune with the porcelain gods. But once time came for catching the bus to work, he was feeling just a little queasy and nothing more, so he shrugged it off and went and an hour later he felt perfectly normal.

And so it continued for weeks. He went to work, since it was only the lack of sleep that was bothering him at that time, not the illness itself. Just a weak stomach flu, he figured, and bought some flu medicine at the drug store. He definitely didn't have the time to go see a doctor, and the medicine helped just enough to make the mornings bearable.

***

He had managed to fit the sickness into his routines so much that it nearly came as a surprise when it ended, almost abruptly, nearly two months after it had begun. The relief made him so full of energy and enough giddiness that he could fully appreciate the Christmas decorations that seemed to have bloomed up everywhere, and he wrote three songs in a single week, even though he scrapped them later for being too cheerful.

His covert little 'meetings' with Brendon had continued the whole way through even if they had been a bit half-hearted from his side at times, what with the sickness and mounting exhaustion. Now, though, he threw himself into them to the point where he might even have initiated what went on between them at times. He couldn't help it, though. He'd never, even during his teenage years, experienced one single period of time where he was so constantly horny. And, well, Brendon certainly didn't seem to mind, and the fact that Monique hadn't spilled another word made him a bit more confident that he was safe, and that this whole thing wasn't as bad and immoral as he'd first figured it to be.

***

The first shock came at the night they had another show in another dingy, little bar. He was changing into his 'stage' clothes, which weren't extraordinaire at all, just a bit tighter and darker than what he usually wore. The tight, black, newly washed jeans wouldn't close over his stomach, and Ryan found himself frowning, panicking for a moment. "Jon!" he yelled.

His room mate entered the bedroom just ten seconds later, still in the process of buckling his belt. "What?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow impatiently. "Spencer and Trevor are going to be here in ten, Ryan. Please don't tell me you're having a gay fashion crisis."

"Am I getting fat?" Ryan asked, attempting once more to get the button to meet the hole, or even just to get the zip up more than a couple of inches.

Jon sighed but walked over, looking down to observe. "No," he finally stated. "You just don't cave inwards anymore." With a roll of his eyes, he gripped the hem of Ryan's pants and yanked hard enough to get the button through its hole before stepping back and letting Ryan do the now considerably easier job of wrestling with his zipper himself. "And your stomach's still hard, so my best bet is that, unbelievably, you're finally starting to grow a tiny bit of muscle."

Ryan pulled a pillow off his bed and threw it at Jon's laughing head. He kept his breathing shallow, the jeans were that tight, and pushed his friend out of his room, slamming the door beside him. "The only good thing to ever come out of Chicago was the deep pan pizzas!" he exclaimed loudly enough that Jon should be able to hear it no matter where in the apartment he was. He groaned when the hem of his jeans dug into his hips painfully and promised himself to go looking for new jeans when he got his next pay-check. Spencer's thirteen-year-old little sister had been eyeing this pair longingly for a while, so they made a neat, free Christmas present.

***

After Christmas Ryan's loose working jeans weren't quite so loose anymore. In fact they were becoming down-right uncomfortable, and Ryan just knew he shouldn't have let his mom talk him into eating so much all the time the whole week he'd spent with his parents. It was just that he was constantly hungry, ravenous even, lately, which he attributed to two months of sicking up every morning. It seemed his metabolism was no longer what it had once been, though, and to his utter disgust he was sporting a small beer belly, which, granted, wasn't as soft and flubbery and beer bellies usually were, but it was still atrocious and ugly and made even his normally comfortable work jeans tight around the stomach and as a result annoyingly constricting.

He cut down on his food and took up running, just a little, every morning, working out a nice, comfortable diet that didn't put too many limits on him. It didn't work, though. If anything his belly just grew even bigger, and one morning in the end of January he woke up to a light fluttery feeling in his stomach. Well, that was weird. Maybe he was just hungry, he reasoned, and resolutely turned onto his other side, determined to ignore it. Even though vanilla ice cream with mustard sounded pretty good right about then. But if he kept giving in every time he wanted to eat there was no way in hell that stupid stomach would ever shrink back to normal proportions.

Ryan, embarrassed as he was, had been quite good at keeping his weight-gain hidden. He'd subtly exchanged his nicely fitting uniform polo to one that was two sizes larger and hung loose enough that the bump of his tummy was hidden, and winter gave him a good excuse to bundle up in layers even at band practice so he was formless enough that any weird new physical characteristics could be put down to a bunched up t-shirt under the sweater he wore under his hoodie.

The flutter came again, and Ryan's hand gravitated on its own accord towards his stomach, which was... fucking moving under his palm! And a moment later it wasn't just a small flutter, but something that seemed to be in there, and was pushing back against his hand, and Ryan couldn't help it. He shut up in bed and screamed.

Jon was there a moment later, eyes wide and concerned, one leg of his pajama pants still bunched up around his knee. He blinked blearily. "What's wrong?" he finally asked, voice thick and gravelly with sleep.

"My stomach is moving!" Ryan exclaimed in utter panic, no trace left of his usual monotone. "We're in a fucking Alien movie and in a moment I'm going to burst open and a goddamn monster is going to come out and kill us!"

"I think you're having some kind of a really vivid, really bad dream," Jon muttered, plopping down on Ryan's bedside. "Come on, lift up your shirt and I'll tell you that you're perfectly fine."

Hands trembling, Ryan did as he had been told, holding tightly unto the hope that Jon was right and that it was just his mind playing cruel tricks on him. He watched with sinking hopes as Jon's eyes widened at the sight of his distended stomach. Even his navel seemed shallower than before.

The bassist reached out a hesitant hand that seemed to be shaking nearly as much as Ryan's own, and Ryan gasped at the chill of cold fingers on his skin when the limb finally settled. His stomach decided to humour and he felt another flutter, which caused Jon to pull his hand back with a gasp, looking as though he'd been burnt. "I'm going to go call Spencer's mum," he finally declared, his nervous voice making Ryan feel all the more scared.

***

Going to work that day was a complete nightmare. Ryan was scared and jumpy and couldn't keep his mind on what he was doing, which caused quite a few really stupid mistakes. In the end he thought Aaron was nearly grateful that Ryan had to leave early for his doctor's appointment. Although leaving didn't make him feel any better, quite the opposite. He obviously wanted to know what was wrong with him so he could get it fucking fixed, but at the same time he was so incredibly scared of what the answer might be. Cancer was the thing that had struck him first, but he'd never heard of a tumor that moved like that.

Spencer picked him up at work, and read Ryan's mood well enough to not even attempt to strike up conversation. He simply flashed his oldest friend a supportive smile and squeezed his knee and backed out of the parking lot.

The ride passed by in something of a blur, and later on Ryan didn't even have the slightest recollection of driving through Vegas until they hit the suburbs, nor of walking through the consultation and sitting in the waiting room until his name was called. His mind didn't seem to clear of fog at all until he was sitting in the patient's chair across the desk from Doctor Smith.

"Hello Ryan," she said, her voice brisk and business-like, yet soft and caring all at the same time, and Ryan relaxed just slightly upon remembering that this was a woman who'd known him since he was born. This was a woman who'd kissed his scrapes and stitched him together and comforted him nearly as often as his own mother. This was the woman who'd opened her home for him back when he was seventeen and his coming out had led to a fight with his parents that was so severe that he'd been kicked out for nearly two months.

Ryan managed a small smile, relaxing even farther when he met the clever, piercing blue eyes she shared with his best friend. "Hi, Mrs. Smith," he answered, his voice soft and shaky, his fingers wringing together under the table. Then he looked down at the table, biting his lip. "Do you know what's wrong with me?"

"I could venture a guess," she said after a long pause that she seemed to have spent deciding to be completely honest with him. Ryan's unease grew again. "But I won't tell you until I'm absolutely sure." She sighed softly. "Ryan, have you been sexually active and on the receiving end, so to say, and without protection between four and seven months ago?"

Oh God, it was some kind of a horrible, incurable STD that would drive him crazy and then kill him. That was the only thing that kind of a question could lead to, wasn't it? He didn't even have time to be embarrassed that his best friend's mum was asking these things of him, and he was long over his embarrassment that she knew what he was inclined to get up to with other boys, and so the horror was what settled the deepest, even though he managed a small, scared nod.

She sighed, reaching out and clasping one of his hands for a moment, giving it a soft squeeze. "I need you to go make a urine sample, all right?" she asked gently, handing him the small cup. She didn't need to explain the way to the restroom. This, after all, was where he'd gone for consultations ever since he was a toddler.

***

The next hour and a half of waiting were the worst in his life. He paced the waiting room, attempted unsuccessfully to read some of the scattered magazines on the table, bugged Spencer who was trying to work, but no matter what he tried the looming fear just wouldn't leave him, and he was nearly relieved when he was called back in and could take his seat once more, flashing Spencer's mom a scared, inquiring gaze.

She sent him a sad smile back. "Back in the early to mid eighties," she started, taking a deep breath. "A new pregnancy drug was introduced to the market. It was called Eezithru, and was basically meant to dampen the less pleasant pregnancy symptoms. Morning sickness, soreness, loose bladders, mood swings, the whole shebang. It was considered a regular wonder drug. I was automatically suspicious and refused to take it, but your mother was a grateful user. In eighty-six it was taken off the market without explanation, and medical circles have carefully never mentioned it since. It was an embarrassment to the medical world that it had been let out on the market without sufficient testing, and the unforeseen side-effects would have killed the large, powerful manufacturer. It was decided to simply hush it up." She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes gently, and Ryan could see nothing but sympathy and regret in it.

"What did it do?" he asked softly, frightened once again. There were unforeseen side-effects to something his mom had taken while expecting him? Maybe it wasn't a deadly STD then, but that was a small comfort, since this seemed to be building up to become pretty serious too.

It took a long while before Mrs. Smith spoke again, but then she finally went on with her explanation, "The only reason I know this is because I was on one of the teams that was supposed to deal with the consequences. I was fired eight years ago because I was quite outspoken about believing that letting the cat out of the bag and telling the public was the best thing to do. I still wanted to go to the press, but they made it very clear that I wouldn't be able to get another job in my field if I so much as breathed a single word to the right person, and I knew my family wouldn't be able to keep the standards we're living at without two solid incomes. The fact of the matter is that Eezithru rose the estrogen level, not just in the mother but in the foetus as well. So there were no consequences for girls born on it, but there were different degrees of 'damage' to maybe as many as five per cent of the boys. The span is wide, sometimes the damage was something as small as slightly underdeveloped penises or the hint of breast growth, or low sperm count. But we've also seen cases where it was so bad that the boy in question acquired all feminine physical characteristics and his male reproductive organs never developed past the stage they were when he was born. Most of these boys are legally female today." She paused, tucking a blond lock that had released itself from her ponytail behind her ear. "Most of the affected boys have fallen somewhere between these two examples. An example would be having only male external reproductive organs and no real feminine attributes at all, but hiding a working womb and at least one functioning ovary, which can result in what we call the San Francisco syndrome, or male pregnancy. As far as I know it's been registered to have happened nearly a dozen times, hushed up, of course, but-"

"What's this got to do with me?" Ryan asked shrilly, cutting her off before she could say more stuff he sure as hell did not want to hear.

"When Jon explained your symptoms I remembered the Eezithru and I suspected it. Now we have your test back and I know for sure." She sighed and leaned over her table to clasp hos hand again.

Ryan didn't think his heart had ever beaten faster. He was more frightened than he'd ever been in his life, and he did not want her to keep speaking, but at the same time he seemed to have lost his ability to stop her.

"You're pregnant," Doctor Smith finally stated.

Ryan promptly fainted.

Take the Reins [05]

2008-09-20T18:35:50Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Future mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Chapter Five

Ryan had Sunday off and had no choice but to let Jon call in sick for him again on Monday, but he did show up on Tuesday, coughing and sniffling and tired and still somewhat fever sore, but he needed the money and Aaron had made it very clear during the initial interview that he wasn't much for extended periods of sickness and that extended periods of bed rest could potentially get an employee fired. Ryan actually kind of liked his job and he wasn't much for getting fired before something better, aka a record deal, came offering.

Somehow he managed to make it through the week, convincing Nina to take over the few hours he couldn't handle, and he was only slightly disappointed to have gone a whole week, basically, without seeing Brendon. He didn't have the energy for it anyway. Then came another weekend, and aside from just a few hours' band practice he mostly spent it recuperating on the couch, and once Monday rolled back around he felt quite a bit more ready for it.

"There's not actually a whole lot to do tonight," Aaron told him while putting his coat on and getting ready to leave. "Two pallets to empty, but you'll have at least one kid to help you with that. Other than that... I guess you could just wash the floors and trim the store. Make sure there's no loose cardboard or anything lying around." He shrugged. "Just take it easy. Don't want you to relapse already." He quirked a smile. "Put Monique in the first register and Alex in the second. You already have a counted box, so move that to the third and let Brendon man the floor."

Ryan nodded in understanding. He was perfectly aware that Brendon's less than perfect face was at least half the reason Brendon wasn't put in the registers as much as the rest of them, but in fact that wasn't necessarily such a bad thing. Brendon preferred floor to registers and was infinitely better at it. And that was without even mentioning how much more difficult it would be to have their little 'affair' if Brendon was always expected to man a register. "Sounds good," Ryan agreed with a smile, lifting a hand in good-bye while the older man locked himself out through the goods reception area towards the spot where his car was parked. "See you tomorrow!" And as to Brendon's face being less than perfect... well, maybe Brendon wasn't a revelation of beauty, but once you learned to look he was definitely not ugly either. He had potential, and anyone who bothered to look could see that chances were he'd grow up to be extremely handsome. Unlike the rest of the kids he simply hadn't grown out of that teenage awkwardness yet.

"Hey there," someone said lowly behind him, and Ryan felt soft lips and softer breaths on his neck before he'd even turned around to see Brendon. He paused for a moment, leaning into it before he let Brendon turn him around and connect their lips. Ryan made sure to quickly maneuver them closer to the wall and into the blind strip of the area where they couldn't be seen from the outside, nor from the back area of the store. Then he rested his hands on Brendon's shoulders and let himself fall into it, opening his mouth to the questing tongue and letting a soft sigh out through his nose before he pulled away with a gentle nip at Brendon's bottom lip.

"Hey," he answered with a small smile, Brendon's hands still on his waist and Ryan's hands still on Brendon's shoulder. He looked the boy up and down for a moment before leaning in and stealing another quick peck. "You need to get changed," he muttered. "And I need to move my box and give the girls their keys." He finally withdrew his hands and stepped out of the circle of Brendon's arms. "Then we have two pallets to take out to restock, and probably still a couple hours left after, so let's just get to work, okay?"

"Okay," Brendon echoed, a small grin on his face. "And we'll be quick about those pallets, won't we, George Ross?" Ryan merely smiled and gave Brendon a push in the direction of the locker room before he went to the front of the store to do as he'd said.

***

Ryan was more than a little confused to be entirely honest. "Why do you want to file these for destruction?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at Brendon. "As far as I can see there's absolutely nothing wrong with it."

Brendon gave a long-suffering sigh. "The corner of the package is crinkled and it looks like someone spilled something on it. I wouldn't buy this, and if we wouldn't ourselves, who would? It'll give a better overall impression of the store if there are no ugly, crinkled things."

"I'd buy these," Ryan protested. "Brendon, there's absolutely nothing wrong with them. When did you become suck a nag?"

Rolling his eyes, Brendon quirked a smile and winked. "Just file them, would you?"

And suddenly Ryan got it. "Oh, oh," he muttered, his whole body suddenly tingling with nerves as he looked down on the flat, blue pack. "Yeah, s-sure, I guess." He swallowed, not sure if Brendon really knew he was doing, if the kid was anywhere near ready for this. To be entirely honest, Ryan wasn't sure if he was even ready for this. At the same time, though, he knew that if Brendon really was determined to go through with it, Ryan would have no idea how to say no. And so he swallowed and nodded and went to find the palmtop while Brendon went back into the store to finish restocking.

***

With a groan of relief, Ryan put the last box of canned skinned tomatoes on their shelf and couldn't believe that they really sold that many of them in only one week. But then he thought back to his cash register hours and nodded. He could see how they'd need this many, but still. If he never saw another cheerily red and green cans for the rest of his life it would be too soon, but he knew it was a vain hope. He shot his pallet another look and sighed. He didn't have that much left of it, but the fifteen boxes still looked ominous, and he was feeling what Holly had teasingly labelled the 'spaghetti arm syndrome' by now. He honestly should have grown some muscle after months of working here, but he just seemed physically unable to.

The thing was that while he'd be more than happy to finish with the fucking pallet, he couldn't help but be somewhat apprehensive about what would happen after, what his decision to file the destruction had basically implied his agreement to. And it wasn't that he didn't want it. Hell, it had been long enough that he was quite frustrated, it was just that it was certainly illegal and maybe bordering on immoral too, and his conscience had been making vague objections ever since he'd taken the palmtop and gone through with that first step. And he liked Brendon, and maybe that made it all a bit better, because that meant he wasn't just using the kid, but at the same time it made things worse because it meant that he cared and worried and was afraid that Brendon was jumping headfirst into something he wasn't prepared for.

His mental struggles were interrupted by a bright, cheerful laugh and he looked up from his work, cocking an eyebrow at Brendon. "Slow-poke," the kid accused in a tenor that seemed to grow less jumpy and much smoother by the day. "I finished mine five minutes ago." He cocked his head slightly to the side even as he crouched down and cut one of Ryan's boxes open. "One would almost think you didn't want to finish." And though the voice was still playful and happy, Ryan heard the underlying insecurity, and somehow that was what ended his lingering hesitation. If he backed out, Brendon would think it was because something was wrong with him, that he somehow didn't live up to Ryan's standards or something, rather than understanding that for Ryan this whole thing was a thrilling but incredibly hard struggle up a hill of morals and laws that seemed to have become etched into his mind recently.

"I did have to open the third register for twenty minutes," Ryan stated. "And I gave you the easy pallet. Chips and biscuits and cookies are absolutely nothing next to canned food." He chuckled slightly. "You're welcome to help me finish." He added the last bit with a wink, sealing the double entendre and calling a slight blush forth on the younger boy's pale cheeks.

***

The cut across the pad of his index finger might have been deliberate, but it still made him hiss with the sting of it as he finally put a band-aid over it. At half past seven the rush of customers had tapered down to a point where there were enough that neither Alex nor Monique should be able to leave the registers, and slow enough that Ryan wouldn't have to open the third. Not that he could not that he'd 'accidentally' cut his finger and wouldn't be able to use his print to log in. So he'd gone for his box and made Brendon count it up for him while he installed an emergency log-in card, which he had then gone and given to Monique, telling her that it would be easier if she and Alex just kept it up here and could authorize their own returned goods and mistakes and the like since he couldn't use his finger anyway. Monique had agreed quite happily. Everyone in the store secretly agreed that having to ring for an over-eighteen employee and wait for them to cross the store and explaining the problem was more of a hassle than it was worth. And now all he could do was hope they wouldn't need him for anything else.

"Come on," Brendon murmured. "You know the girls aren't stupid. They can hold the fort on their own for a little while." He grinned crookedly, the metal in his mouth glinting and reminding Ryan briefly of how very young the boy was. Brendon, however, stole the thought away with a quick glide of his lips against Ryan's neck and his palm sliding over the bulge that was already growing and hardening in Ryan's jeans before the hand rose again to grasp Ryan's own, fingers linking together as Brendon half-pulled Ryan towards the locker room.

Even as the door slammed shut behind them Ryan found his own arms rising and settling around Brendon's neck. He felt Brendon's palms on his own hips mere seconds later, and their lips found each other quickly. Somehow it was almost as hard and clumsy as it had been the first time even though they'd done it a considerable amount of time since. Maybe it was nerves, or anticipation, Ryan wasn't really sure. But at the same time he felt himself enjoying the bruising intensity of the kiss, the clacking of their teeth, even the tiny cut on his gums from Brendon's braces, the sting of which somehow seemed to off-set the pleasure and make it even starker. And then Brendon pulled at his hips, the movement a little awkward, but the obvious eagerness made up for that.

The next moment their groins were crashing together and Ryan felt the breath leave his lungs in a great whoosh. He was aware that Brendon had to be on his tip-toes for them to be this close to perfectly aligned, but it was mostly a fact that was lingering on the edges of his peripheral consciousness. The pleasure right at that moment, made stronger by the fact that quick fumbles and rutting with Brendon was the only sexual release he'd had in quite a few months other than his own hand, made even his concern for Brendon's discomfort fade into the background. They rubbed together again and an audible moan left Brendon's mouth this time. Ryan swallowed it, even as it sent sparks through his body that only intensified the already rising pleasure and anticipation.

A moment later Brendon broke the kiss, gasping for air against Ryan's neck, his breath coming out in warm, rhythmical puffs that spread goose bumps along Ryan's skin, and then his hands were pushing their way up under the stupid, obnoxious uniform polo, hands caressing Ryan's sides and teasing their way across his chest with minimal hesitance, fingers flicking and then pinching his nipples, drawing a soft keening sound from Ryan's throat that would have made him blush at any other time. Right at the moment, though, he was too lost in the younger boy's attentions to feel that self-conscious over anything at all.

"Off," Brendon grumbled, voice grown deeper and huskier as he pulled back from Ryan a little, causing their eyes to meet. He gave an impatient tug at the hem of the polo, and Ryan pulled back to comply, pulling the polo over his own head and tossing it somewhere behind him. And despite everything he somehow did manage to feel a moment's self-consciousness after all, at displaying himself in all his pale, skinny, utterly muscle-less 'glory', so different from any perfect image of masculinity society had pushed at them. His insecurities vanished a moment later when he caught sight of Brendon's glazed-over eyes and slightly dropped jaw. The admiration, inexplicable though Ryan might have felt it was, was so clear on the younger boy's face that it was impossible to dismiss.

Next thing Ryan knew, his belt had come undone and his loose work jeans were pooling around his ankles, his boxers quickly following, and he had to admit that what Brendon lacked in experience, he made up for with enthusiasm. He thought maybe some reciprocation might be in place, but he was still hesitant to take the lead. If he let Brendon lead, didn't initiate anything, then he wasn't using the kid, then it wasn't as immoral, but at the same time it was difficult. Ryan wasn't submissive by nature. If he wanted something, he damn well took it, and he didn't idly stand by and let someone else do all the work. For all his litheness and supposed femininity, Ryan wasn't by nature, to be horrible cliche, a bottom, exactly. But nor did he really think he'd dare top Brendon.

Brendon's enthusiasm was probably what carried them through the potentially awkward moment. He seemed to have decided to ignore the fact that Ryan was a bit slow in his participation and then to have shrugged it off, pulling his own polo off even as Ryan toed off his shoes and socks and stepped out of jeans and underwear. The younger boy paused for a moment, looking faintly shy for the first time that evening, even as Ryan found himself so transfixed he couldn't look away. Brendon was nearly as skinny as Ryan was himself, and just as pale, but his ribs weren't as defined and even at sixteen his back was maybe a bit broader. The kid was all smooth, milky planes and slight, softer curves, without all the dips and bumps Ryan's natural lack of flesh on his bones had resorted his body to, and Ryan flashed him a small smile, hoping that he was somehow able to convey his appreciation in that single glance. Judging from the grin Brendon sent him in return moments later, he'd done just fine.

Then the kid launched forward again, and Ryan was killed into another kiss, this one a bit less violent, but still heady and deep enough to cloud his mind even more. It fogged up his mind enough, in fact, that he found himself loosening and pulling off Brendon's pass-me-down pants and conservative tighty-whiteys on his own, his breath hitching slightly in his throat at the sight revealed. He had seen Brendon's cock before, definitely felt it before, but he'd never really taken the time, or the courage, to see it. He looked now, and the pre-teen boy still lingering somewhere in his stomach observed with glee that Brendon's cock was shorter than his own, maybe by as much as two inches, which - no bragging - still made him a decent length, but slightly thicker. The coarse curls were a bit darker than Ryan's and thinner, although when he reached Ryan's age they'd probably have thickened a bit. His hips were a bit broader than you'd expect of a boy his general size, and the V of his abdomen wasn't as defined as Ryan's own, but there was just something about him. He was just imperfect enough to be absolutely and completely real, and gorgeous enough at the same time. Aaron had to be blind to not even think this boy good-looking enough to be put behind a cash register.

A moment later they were on the floor, Ryan's back resting on Brendon's jacket, and the older boy found he barely even had any recollection of how they'd gotten there, mouths fused together, hands groping each other's bodies almost frantically and their groins, now with no barriers, rubbing together from an awkward position. It took a moment's dazed thought before Ryan spread his legs and allowed Brendon to settle between them, and suddenly the contact was that much more direct and pleasurable and simultaneously painful because it was so good and yet had the potential to move onto something even better, but Ryan wasn't about to make the first move, less at this point than at any other.

He didn't have to, as it turned out. Only moments of rutting almost frantically and Brendon pulled back a bit, one hand scrabbling beside them before the blue packet was brought into Ryan's line of vision. He didn't recall Brendon ever putting it there, but then he supposed that since he didn't remember getting down on the floor in the first place, it was still quite feasible. "Lube?" he asked, his voice coming out shakier and weaker than he'd wanted it to.

Brendon simply smiled and managed to get his hands on another object that Ryan hadn't noticed next to them. "Water based hand lotion," he answered, displaying the jar. He blushed slightly, but it hardly discernible from the flush he'd already acquired simply from being this aroused. "I read something about that being better than any of the commercial lubes somewhere."

"Doing research?" Ryan murmured, trying to be teasing, but somehow it only managed to come out desperate. He watched as Brendon screwed the lid off and dipped his fingers inside, even as the younger boy simply chuckled, and then Ryan seemed to have another momentary blackout, because the next thing he knew two slick fingers were pressing against his prostate and he was keening and attempting to fuck himself on the inserted digits. Top or no, attention to the prostate still felt fucking good. A moment later the fingers were gone and Ryan swallowed a wordless whine, watching as Brendon's slightly trembling fingers managed to tear one condom from the blue packet before getting the second one on safely. He knew his eyes were too wide and eerily unblinking as Brendon covered his own cock with the hand lotion, and that he was bucking up at nothing but air when a loud groan left the younger boy's mouth as he touched his own inflamed, rubber-covered dick.

And then Brendon was above him, the kids arms already trembling slightly, although Ryan couldn't tell if it were from the strain of holding himself of, or from impatience. Ryan raised his own legs, curling them high around Brendon's chest, and held his breath in anticipation as the younger boy gripped his own erection and guided it to Ryan's hole. Then there was one long, staggering push, and Ryan was filled and gasping at the full, burning feeling, eyes fluttering shut. And then Brendon came, shuddering and gasping in large gulps of air, eyes wide and humiliated.

Ryan felt beyond disappointed when Brendon pulled out and moved away, his back immediately to Ryan, shoulders hunched and the back of his neck a flaming red. The older of the two suddenly didn't know what to do. His own erection was hard to the point of painful, and he was disappointed and irritated and irrationally on the edge of angry even as he remembered his own first time, the startling heat and tightness and how immensely difficult it had been to control himself against those odds. Masturbating and dry-humping hadn't done much to prepare him for his first time actually being inside someone else's body, so how could he expect it to have been easier for Brendon? And no matter how much his nether regions were riling him up, he knew that no matter how he felt Brendon had to be feeling worse, and Ryan immediately felt like an absolute ass for taking long moment to realise that. Holding back a groan, he worked himself up into a sitting position, empty and stretched wide open and unsated, and placed a hand on Brendon's shoulder. He squeezed. "If anyone's ever told you your first time's going to be wonderful, they were lying," he muttered.

Brendon flashed him a grateful smile, but his eyes were still sad and guilty and embarrassed, and Ryan didn't really know what to do to make anything better. For long moments he just sat there, but then he finally got himself to move, reaching up his free hand and grasping Brendon's chin, pulling the younger boy's face towards his own and connecting their lips again. Despite the state Ryan was in, the kiss somehow remained chaste, almost sweet, until finally Brendon seemed to have gathered the courage to turn back around, his arms coming around Ryan's waist one more. They were chest to chest, close together, for what felt like forever before Ryan finally felt Brendon lowering him back onto that old jacket. His arms were shaking even worse than before, but he managed a wry grin. "Can I try again?" he asked softly, so many emotions in his voice that they were barely discernible.

Ryan nodded, breathing a soft sigh of relief when he felt Brendon's cock brushing against his inner thigh. Hard again already. Oh, what anyone wouldn't give to be an insatiable teenager once again. Just a few seconds later he was full again, Brendon warm and heavy inside him once more. The younger boy held still once he was all the way inside, buried to the hilt, and then halted, eyes squeezed shut and breathing heavy, but the fact that he'd already come once seemed to have pushed the edge a bit further away. Ryan had to gasp for breath himself and shift a bit to get used to the intrusion, but then he pushed back a bit. "Move," he breathed, wrapping his legs around the younger boy's chest again.

The kid responded immediately, and if the pull out and the following thrust back inside were a bit clumsy, well, at least they happened, and Ryan bucked up to meet them, shifting a bit himself until Brendon's cock finally brushed over the spot that had been craving touch more than anything. Ryan let out a long, breathy moan, which put a bit of the confidence back in Brendon's eyes, and they soon managed to settle into a rhythm that was slow enough that Brendon could keep up, and hard and deep enough that the pressure on Ryan's prostate felt almost continued rather than on and off. His arms found purchase, once again, around Brendon's neck, long fingers digging into the younger boy's shoulder blades as he matched Brendon's rhythm with bucks of his whole body and tightenings of his inner muscles.

Brendon, Ryan managed to notice through the haze, was absolutely gorgeous like this. Without his glasses, the thick, long black lashes fanned unobscured against his flushed cheeks. His mouth was just slightly open, Adam's apple bobbing, and beads of sweat glittered in every place they found to linger. More than anything, though, what really made him beautiful in that moment had to be the absolute bliss that dominated his expression, the awe and the wonder and pleasure. It was impossible to look away, even though looking felt almost like an intrusion on something utterly private. Ryan didn't think he had ever seen anyone look more open and vulnerable than Brendon did right at that moment.

It didn't take many minutes before Brendon seemed to lose control of his own body, and the thrusts became quicker and shallower and more erratic, but Ryan managed to maneuver his own position so that it simply meant he took direct jabs to his prostate rather than feeling the long slide over it. The sensation was different, neither better nor worse, but more urgent, and he pulled Brendon's face down a moment later and connected their mouths, muffling the gasps and moans and keens that wanted to escape too loudly into the kiss. He snuck one of his hands down in between their bodies and wrapped it around his own cock. His thumb caught pre-come and spread it to make the slide easier, and the extra load of sensation had him gasping and arching, and suddenly his orgasm seemed to sneak up on him, causing him to still for one long second before he shuddered through it, muscles clenching while his own hand caught most of the spurts.

The younger boy's eyes shot open in that moment, almost as though he'd been startled, and then he pulled back from the kiss and pounded into Ryan almost harshly, somehow managing to keep it almost soundless, one two three thrusts before he collapsed on the older male's chest, gasping and panting for breath. Ryan raised his arms and locked them around the trembling boy's body, kissing his forehead and stroking his hair as they both came down from their high. Finally, exhausted, he let his own head fall to the side and caught sight of the discarded condom lying on the floor. But he could still feel Brendon softening inside him, so how? And then he remembered that first failed attempt and realized that Brendon must've taken the used rubber off then already and not have thought as far as to take another one. It didn't really matter, though, not this once. It would be a bad habit to get into, but Ryan knew he was clean and that Brendon had been a virgin, so as long as they didn't do it again, it wouldn't really matter.

Finally he flashed Brendon a small smile, gently pushing the younger boy off and out of him. "Come on, we need to trim the store a bit before we close down," he muttered, letting Brendon steal a peck before he rose to his feet and started searching out his abandoned articles of clothing.

***

Jon made it home from work maybe twenty minutes later than Ryan just to find the younger male sitting at the table with a bottle of water and a very goofy smile on his face. "Uhm, Ry?" he said uncertainly, and Ryan looked up with wide eyes and a wider smile, holding back a chuckle at his room mate's gobsmacked expression. "You worked tonight, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Ryan answered, trying to conceal his amusement. He knew his conscience was going to strike home sooner or later, but it hadn't happened yet, and he was determined to ride this pleasant wave of post-coital giddiness for as long as it lasted.

The bassist was silent for a moment before he shrugged. "I could've sworn you've been laid. You even smell like sex." He cocked an eyebrow.

"Just work," Ryan stated in a sing-song voice.

"Well, if your job is that much more pleasant than mine, maybe I should look into convenience store openings myself," Jon mumbled, still a look of disbelief on his face. Ryan only continued looking infuriatingly mysterious.

Take the Reins [04]

2008-09-06T00:12:20Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Future mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Chapter Four

"Awesome," Ryan answered, doing his best to keep his voice normal, and any hint of irony out of it. "You're third register, and when you're not there you'll be helping me restock all this shit." He gestured towards the overfilled stock with its eight pallets stacked high with cardboard boxes full of goods that needed to go everywhere in the store. "Go count your register," he instructed. "And then you can get started on the pallet with breakfast and cookies." Without waiting for an answer, he went straight back to the office to get the safe counted.

Once the safe was checked and good, Ryan went back out into the stock room which he, to his great relief, found empty of people. Letting out a small breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he strategicaly went for the wine pallet and got the jack under it before starting to wheel it out into the store so he could get it all up on the shelves. He managed a smile for the customers he passed even though there seemed to be an uproar in his stomach and he had no idea how to handle that evening. At least the wine was about as far from breakfast and cake/cookies as you could get.

***

Ryan made sure to coordinate it so that he took his break while Brendon was stuck at the register, eating his pizza wordlessly while Monique, on her break as well, droned on about something he had absolutely no interest in and played around with her cell phone. And when he had to start on another pallet he once again made sure to take one that was as far away from the stuff he had Brendon restocking as possible.

All in all he successfully managed to avoid the kid until around twenty minutes before closing time when Ryan had to go out back into the stock room and get started on scanning the goods that they were sending to desctruction. The palmtop beeped when it picked up another barcode, and Ryan typed in the number of too-old bread before he reached the last, and least appealing, part of this job. He made sure to breathe through his mouth and put a plastic bag around his hand as he went through the rotten fruits in an attempt to figure out the exact number of it. When he was finally done, everything tossed into a cart so it could be brought to the dumpster with the rest of the trash, Ryan got back on his feet and looked behind him only to practically jump a foot in the air when he came face to face with Brendon.

"You're avoiding me," the kid stated tonelessly, and Ryan couldn't quite make out if he were sounding angry or hurt or defeated or defiant or some strange mix of them all. When Brendon looked up, his eyes were large and pretty behind the glasses again, prettier, probably, than Ryan had ever let himself notice before. And he still shouldn't be seeing such things, not in a fucking kid, not in someone like Brendon. "And I know it's about yesterday." He gave a small, sad smile. "But you shouldn't be avoiding me. I liked it, George. I wanted it! If you'll remember, I was the initiator." For a moment Ryan found it odd that someone with as little self confidence as Brendon had would immediately assume that Ryan wasn't avoiding him because he hadn't liked it, but for other reasons. But then, he supposed, the look on his own face probably looked more like guilt than disgust.

"That doesn't matter!" Ryan burst out, his voice a little louder than he had intended, and so he made a conscious effort to keep it down. He had no interests in the customers overhearing this conversation. "It was still wrong. It was still fucking illegal, do you get that?" He reached up to tug at his own hair in frustration, taking a few deep breaths. "Child molestation isn't a matter anyone takes lightly."

"I'm not a damn child!" Brendon hissed, and Ryan nearly did a double-take. He'd never ever heard the kid swear before. "I'm sixteen, I'm old and mature enough to make my own decisions. In a lot of countries sixteen is the age of consent, which is only reasonable. Are we supposed to punish ourselves for being American?" He took a few steps closer until he was all up in Ryan's space, seeming to almost suffocate the older boy. And then, with no further warning, his hand went to cradle the back of Ryan's head and he pressed forward, connecting their lips in a kiss that was much less sloppy and clumsy as those of last night, but containing at least as much passion. And Ryan, no matter how much he hated himself for it, couldn't help but melt into it, barely managing to hold back a soft gasp when Brendon's tongue swiped over his bottom lip. And then the younger of the two pulled back, lips parted and eyes half-lidded. "Tell me you didn't enjoy that," he breathed.

Ryan couldn't. All he could do was to turn his face away and suck in a deep breath that didn't quite manage to do its job of calming him. "You need to go get your box and start counting," he stated. "Or we'll get behind on closing."

A hand shot out and gripped his chin, turning his face back to look at Brendon, and when the younger boy's eyes caught his he found he couldn't even break the gaze. "Don't shut me out," he whispered. "And don't pretend nothing happened. You want this. I want this. I'm not about to rat you out either. So why can't you just get past my fucking age?"

Shutting his eyes tightly, Ryan just wished for it to stop. For him to stop feeling this way, for Brendon to end this stupid argument, for his life to become simple and uncomplicated again, like it had been just a day ago, for Brendon to have gone away once he opened his eyes so he wouldn't have to make this horrible decision. Brendon didn't go away, though. His hands stayed in place and his breath still hit Ryan's face softly and then soft, pillowy lips covered Ryan's again and Ryan, once again, couldn't find it in himself to pull away.

When Brendon finally ended the kiss, Ryan found himself leaning forward subconsciously, wanting nothing more than to prolong the contact. It took less than a second for him to realize what he was doing and he blushed a bright red in embarrassment even as he turned away, hand going back to tug on his own hair. "Age is just a number," he mumbled. "But laws and principles and everything is based on numbers, not on something untangible. Brendon, just. Don't make this so hard for me."

"It's only as hard as you make it," Brendon answered dejectedly before turning away as well. "I have a register to count, as you said."

***

He had a short shift the next day, ten to four, and as such didn't actually have to work with any of the kids. Which meant that for once, it seemed, he went a whole day without seeing Brendon. And for that he was deeply grateful. But at the same time there was a nagging disappointment lingering in the pit of his stomach, which he did his very best to ignore.

At band practice that night, though, he felt completely off his game. He forgot the lyrics, played his instruments off the beat and pretty much just screwed up everything he touched. It only took an hour before Jon called it quits and took him home, sitting him down at the table and making an awesome pot of coffee that just didn't taste half as good as it usually did. "You still don't want to talk about it?" he asked.

Ryan shook his head, sipping the coffee slowly and not really tasting much of anything. For the last two days there had been only one thing on his mind, and it was driving him crazy. He wasn't ready to talk to anyone about it, though, no matter how much better he knew he'd feel if only he could get it all off his chest. "It's just some stuff I have to work out for myself," he finally answered.

Jon nodded with a sigh, taking a gulp of coffee that had Ryan wondering how the bassist managed not to burn himself on it. Maybe it was part of the training all Starbucks recruits had to go through before being hired for sure. "Just... work it out soon," he requested. "We have a show on Friday, and this club actually seats over a hundred people. We need to get some serious practice done before then."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "Wouldn't want to fuck that up." He exhaled heavily, eyes focused unseeingly on the wall of the kitchenette.

"Hey," Jon piped up after a few minutes' silence. "Why don't you bring that kid again? He seemed to really enjoy himself last time, and it was fun having him around. I think we might have found our first fan."

Ryan held back the pained groan that wanted to get out. Even in his own home there was apparently no escaping Brendon, and it was messing with his head like nothing else. "Or just a kid who has never seen other live music than church choirs and marching bands," he supplied before faking a yawn. "I'm tired," he stated. "Good night." And with that he put his half-empty coffee cup down on the table and went to his bedroom, hoping that at least he'd be able to escape into sleep.

***

He didn't have another evening shift until his shift covering the whole day on Sunday, which meant that he could've done the easy thing and just not speak to Brendon for close to a whole week, after which he could very easily be forced into the situation again. And he was very tempted to just do that, but he also knew that until the whole thing was resolved he wouldn't be able to focus properly on anything else, which would inevitably cause the whole back to stink on Friday. And that was why - after checking the shift schedule to make sure Brendon worked that night as well - he forced himself to agree to cover the first hour of Hannah's shift late Wednesday afternoon when she texted something about a test and not being able to make it on time.

When Brendon showed up, just after Aaron, Holly and Nina had left and Ryan had sent Todd and Katie to the registers, his eyes grew wide at the sight of the older male before a look of hurt spread over his face. Ryan caught himself feeling beyond grateful that there, at the very least, wasn't any resentment to be seen. "We need to talk," the older of the two stated, gripping the younger boy's elbow and pulling him into the lunch room. He felt just slightly bad for not actually doing his job, especially since there were several of today's shipment of pallets still left in spite of having four adults at work throughout the morning and early afternoon. But right now this had a higher priority for him.

"What?" the kid asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took the seat next to Ryan's and turned sideways so they were still somewhat facing each other. "Want to tell me again that I'm jailbait and you're too much of a good, moral citizen to even consider it." He snorted. "Pull the other one. It's got bells on it."

Ryan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a weak attempt to fight off a threatening headache. "I really like you," he finally admitted. "And I think what bugs me the most isn't actually the laws or moral dilemmas so much as the thought of... corrupting you, I guess." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I mean... I've been around. And I'm just... not good enough for you."

Brendon cocked an eyebrow. "And how old were you when you lost your virginity?" he asked after a moment.

Not really knowing where the kid was going with that, Ryan looked up and let his hand fall. "Fifteen," he answered.

"And how old was the guy?"

Oh. Now Ryan kind of got it. "It was a girl," he corrected. "Not the best experience ever. And she was sixteen. My first guy I was seventeen and he was twenty, twenty-oneish."

There was a triumphant look on Brendon's face now. "And how is that so completely different from our ages?" Brendon had him there, and judging by the tone of his voice he was completely aware of it.

"It's just not fair to you," Ryan stated, giving it one last shot. "Your first boyfriend and your first time and all that, it should be someone your own age, someone you can be open and public about. You and me... it could never be more than a workplace affair because of the risk of being found out."

Brendon shrugged. "Mormon family, remember. I wouldn't be able to be open and public about it anyway." There was an underlying hint of sadness in his voice, but at the same time it sounded mostly like something he'd already come to terms with.

Ryan let out a deep breath. He was out of excuses and arguments and even the silent ones he only gave himself were sounding less and less sufficient. And gradually more like just stupid, feeble things that were outweighed by not only Brendon's arguments, but also the mounting attraction Ryan had for the younger boy. Finally he sighed and buried his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing at his temples for a moment before he looked back up and leaned in to press a quick peck against Brendon's lips, sealing the deal so to say. "Go count your register," he muttered, a small smile lingering on his lips.

The younger boy's grin was so wide and happy it was almost blinding, and he was whistling as he obediently got off his chair and went into the store, up towards the cash registers, a new spring in his step.

***

Since he had taken the bus directly from work to Spencer's grandma's house instead of stopping by the apartment as he usually did, Ryan ended up being only around fifteen minutes late. He rushed into the living room, out of breath from having run all the way from the bus stop, and dropped his bag on the floor. "Sorry," he got out, receiving amused smiles from his bandmates, even as he was shrugging off the yellow zip-up and pulling on his guitar. He reached out and adjusted the mic. "Start with I Write Sins?"

And during that practice he gave his all, buried himself in the music, lived it, breathed it while his fingers flew over strings or keys and his somewhat hoarse bariton mixed with Trevor's prettier but maybe slightly more edge-less tenor in perfect harmonies. They played for nearly four hours, going through the whole set six times while still leaving time for short breaks and discussions of certain parts and Ryan was quite sure it was the best they had ever played.

"Wow," Jon muttered as they got on the bus home. "You really seem to have resolved whatever it was you were struggling with, and resolved it well."

Ryan shrugged, looking down at his hands. Now that he didn't have the music to focus on he was feeling kind of guilty again, and most definitely doubtful. "I'm just not sure if I even made the right decision," he stated softly, conscience acting up. He didn't even try to fight it down.

***

"You stink like a cheap bar," Ryan stated, laughingly, before he took a bite of his sandwich. He wrinkled his nose playfully at Holly who, indeed, smelled like beer from having spilled it all over her when she was putting the cans into bags in the bottle room. The cigarette she had just lit up didn't exactly help matters.

Holly narrowed her eyes playfully, shifting on the milk box she was seated on before leaning in and blowing a mouthful of smoke out in his face. "You smell like a bad faux-French fromagerie," she countered, wrinkling her nose right back. "I'm not sure which one's worst. But, seeing as how I love bars and hate bad cheese..." She trailed off, winking, and Nina snorted off to the side.

For probably the first time ever all three of them had managed to coordinate things so that they were on lunch-break simultaneously. Sure, Holly manned first register and Ryan third, but it was incredibly slow at the moment, so Aaron, who had taken second register for once in his life (probably, as they'd agreed, to avoid having to put all the Monday wares away, for which no one could blame him. If there was anything more boring Ryan had yet to find out what it was) was able to take care of it on his own while the rest of them went off to eat. Or, Ryan went off to eat and Holly and Nina ate minimally so as to press in more smoking time in the thirty short minutes. Currently they were seated on various boxes and cases in the goods reception area, the only indoors place where smoking was allowed, and Ryan couldn't quite help but worry that he'd get addicted to all the second-hand smoke. It could happen! At least that's what Trevor said.

Ryan stuck out his tongue and edged his fruit box away a bit, taking another bite of sandwich. "Let's not even get started on Nina's cat lady smell," he muttered under his breath and ducked the empty cigarette case sent his way with practiced ease, laughing so hard that small bits of lettuce and ham and bread came out of his mouth with it, making his nose wrinkle up all over again.

"How was I supposed to know that there was a giant hole through the cat food?" Nina grumbled, green eyes narrowed. There was something that looked a bit liked dried fish in her short hair, Ryan noticed and promptly went into another fit of laughter. "And if we call HQ with a complaint they'll just say that accidents happen, and then later on they'll complain that we file too much money's worth of destruction." She rolled her eyes. "You'd think they'd put someone in administration who actually knows what it's like out in the actual stores."

Holly was the one to snort this time. "Fat chance," she muttered before blowing out a small sequence of smoke rings. "They haven't learned yet, they never will." Then she turned back to Ryan with a smile that was immediately slightly more serious. "So, your birthday's coming up, right?" she asked. "Plan any big twenty-first party yet?"

Ryan shook his head slowly, cocking an eyebrow as he pulled a tomato out of the sandwich and tossed it in the trash. Sure, he greatly appreciated the fact that Jon's cooking skills, unlike his own, were advanced past pouring milk and sugar on cereal, and even more than that did he appreciate the fact that the bassist was willing to make Ryan's packs of lunch for him. He just wished that the older guy would realize, at some point or another, that Ryan couldn't stand tomatoes. "I think the guys have something planned and I don't want to make plans on top of that." He shrugged.

"What, no girlfriend?" Holly asked with a laugh, leaning over to pat the top of his head mock-condescendingly. "Although I suppose you are pretty enough that it might be boys flocking around you rather than girls."

"If you are gay," Nina adviced in pretend-whisper. "Don't tell her. Major fag hag who spends every day mourning the fact that she doesn't have enough gay friends. She wants to move to San Francisco, I tell you!"

"Aw, don't worry about me," Holly jabbed back. "There's already Billy to fuss about. I do believe I'll survive. Besides, everyone already knows Ryan's gay. It's kind of really obvious."

"Wait, Billy?" Ryan asked, eyes narrowing in confusion. Billy, with his shaggy, dirty blond hair, big blue eyes, kind face and teddy-bear body had never once struck Ryan as a teammate. But well... he hadn't realized Brendon might be inclined that way until the kid was kissing him either. Ryan supposed that made him a gay man with absolutely no gaydar. How embarrassing.

***

"No, seriously," Ryan groaned against Brendon's lips, fighting to hold the whine that wanted to escape back in his throat. He was practically pinned against the door into the office, Brendon's chest pressed against his, and Brendon's thigh wedged in between his own two in a position that was entirely unfair, especially given the fact that Ryan was not only close to four inches taller, but also nearly five years older. "Seriously, work," he finished once they broke apart for air.

"Well," Brendon returned between short pants. "Workplace affair, isn't that what you said?" He paused to grind his thigh in harder and Ryan gasped, his head falling back against his will. He could not believe that Brendon had next to no experience in any of this, especially with how bold and fucking aggressive the kid became the moment things even started to look like they might turn the slightest bit physical. Brendon underlined his words with a quick peck against Ryan's lips. "Won't work without doing stuff at work." He winked and dived back in, one hand gripping Ryan's wrist and holding them captive above the taller boy's head, the other holding on tightly to Ryan's body hip.

Ryan fell bonelessly against Brendon's thin chest less than ten minutes later, gasping and sweating with an uncomfortably wet spot in his boxers. "Sure you've never done anything like this before?" he asked in disbelief, even as he pushed away his hesitation away and shoved his hand down the kid's pants to reciprocate.

"W-watched a l-l-lot of p-porn," Brendon answered, and the squeaky stutter, rather than the words, were what convinced Ryan he wasn't lying. For a moment he considered stopping and telling Brendon that he wasn't ready for this, that they should wait a bit, that Brendon should find someone he was more evenly matched with, wait until he wasn't jailbait anymore. But in the end the only productive thing to do seemed to be letting go of his guilt once more and reminding himself that questioning the younger boy and trying to tell Brendon when Brendon was or wasn't ready was about as downright consescending as it got. He had to trust the kid, and to let him make his own decisions or he'd be no better than the parents Brendon not so secretly resented.

***

Brendon lived quite close by the store. At least that was the impression Ryan had gotten based on how often the kid came by even on days when he didn't have to work. It was tragically funny to watch the differences in him depending on whom he was there with. On some days it was 'friends' from church, and Brendon was back to being the meek, shy pity-inducing boy Ryan had first met. Then, some evenings, he'd be there with friends from school, mainly the people he'd been in the marching band with in his freshman year before he'd dropped out to get a job and start saving up money. (Apparently being the fifth kid of a family meant that the college funds were getting quite dry and you had to pitch in yourself as best as you could. At least Brendon's 'baby' status with his parents had meant that they'd kept him home a year extra before school, which meant that he could get better-paying jobs already now, in his sophomore year.) With these real friends Brendon was as loud and boisterous as Ryan had come to know him to be.

He was at the store this Wednesday night - which Ryan had pretty much been tricked into taking on himself due to Holly going down with the flu, even though it was supposed to have been his night off from both work and band practice - talking and laughing loudly while Ryan tiredly attempted to steer both a quarter-pallet jack and a regular one into the back at the same time. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but he thought the friends were maybe shooting him knowing glances. And just then, Brendon showed up, all wide grin and shining eyes. He made a cooing sound that was half mocking and half genuine. "Want me to take that for you?" he asked, nodding towards the big jack.

He had probably been expecting some proud retort and an angry glare, but instead Ryan sighed gratefully and nodded, pulling the quarter jack after him as he followed Brendon, who steered with almost disturbing precision already, out into the back.

The large grey doors had barely swung shut behind them before Ryan found himself pushed up against the cardboard press, soft, insistent lips covering his own. Once again he couldn't help but melt into it, hands rising to cup Brendon's face, fingers playing with the soft, dark locks on the back of the younger boy's neck while Brendon's hands settled comfortably on Ryan's waist, the pads of his thumbs drawing circles on his hips. Ryan welcomed the questing tongue and felt another brief stab of shock at how quickly Brendon was becoming an expert. When they were at it like this Ryan felt almost as though he were the inexperienced kid and Brendon the older one who had much more of a clue what to do. Of course he'd made the partly subconscious decision to always let Brendon stay in charge in order to always be sure that he wasn't pushing boundaries and keeping his guilt in check, but Brendon played the role of agressor much better than he'd have believed a few months ago.

A hand was moving to cup the already straining bulge in Ryan's jeans when a ring from the registers interrupted and Ryan pulled himself away with a small groan, sending Brendon an apologetic smile. "Next time," he muttered before hurrying up to see what trouble the kids had gotten themselves into this time.

***

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were finally getting some," Spencer stated during the break at their next practice, a quircky smile on his lips while one fine eyebrow raised above the piercingly blue eyes that just seemed to know everything. Side effect from having been best friends with the guy his whole life, Ryan supposed.

Ryan cocked his eyebrow right back. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you weren't," he countered, smirking softly. "I though you were too straight to live through me," he added before going back to his notebook and jotting down another few lines. Creatively he seemed to have been on fire lately like he had never experienced before. He didn't know where it came from, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? "Also, I think your grandma is listening in on the conversation."

Mrs. Smith turned a knowing, laughing grin on them, winking for just a moment, and Spencer got the familiar look on his face that stretched all way back to the time when he was four and had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It never failed to make Ryan laugh.

"Keep going like that, Ry," Trevor commented. "And we'll have a whole album's worth of songs in a couple weeks. Give it a month and we'll even have B sides."

"Ryan Ross, musical vending machine," Ryan introduced himself dryly, making them all practically keel over laughing, including Spencer's grandma.

***

"Ryan, your polo is wrong-side-out," Jon informed with a laugh even as he put a piece of toast on Ryan's plate and poured him a cup of coffee.

"I dooooooo no," Ryan muttered back, trying to get enough hold back on his brain to at least be able to form proper sentences. He took his first sip of coffee and was disappointed to find that it didn't help half as much as it usually did. But then it was early on a Saturday morning and no sane person was up anyway, so it would fit if he were temporarily insane. "I d- mmmmm..... well," he added, fighting to keep his face from making a neat landing into his breakfast.

The bassist cocked an eyebrow. "Iiiiiii ...stand," he answered mockingly. "Insert 'don't' and 'under' at your own leisure."

Ryan just looked up sluggishly, wondering absently why there seemed to be four of Jon, and one of them was guarding a hard of sheep that had mysteriously found its way into their apartment. Finally he gave up on finishing his breakfast and stood up unsteadily before staggering towards the door. He would have to hurry or he'd miss the bus.

"Wait a minute," Jon muttered, walking over and pressing the back of his hand against Ryan's forehead. "Yeah, off to bed with you," he concluded, making a big show of shaking an imagined burn out of his hand. "I'll call in sick for you."

Ryan considered protesting but couldn't really find the words for it, so instead he obediently shuffled back into his bedroom and got under the sheets without bothering to undress. He vaguely remembered Holly smoking in his face and sent the girl all the vengeful thoughts he had the stregth for.

Jon showed back up a couple of minutes later, handing Ryan his coffee mug back. "Your boss didn't seem entirely happy with having to take your shift himself, but oh well... my guess is they pay him enough to suck it up. Apparently some kid named Brandon had his mom call in five minutes ago, so it sounds kind of chaotic." Jon sounded more than just vaguely amused at the thought.

Yeah, well, Ryan was perfectly happy blaming Holly for his own illness, but no way in hell would he take responsibility for Brendon being in the same position. He gave a wordless grunt and pushed the mug back into Jon's hands before turning to his other side and going back to sleep.

Take the Reins [03]

2008-08-31T16:21:25Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Future mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot. More explanatory notes under the cut.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Chapter Three

"This has got to be the most boring thing I have ever been to," Holly muttered in Ryan's ear, leaning close enough not to be overheard. Ryan rolled his eyes as he nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly. Apparently Aaron, at thirty-four, was the youngest manager of all the four present at the party. And to follow the pattern the other managers seemed to have preferred hiring closer to their own age, meaning that most of the adult employees from the three other stores were somewhere around Aaron's age. And while the kids from all four stores were there as well, someone had decided to be extremely old-fashioned and make a kiddie table where all the under-eighteens were seated. And that left Ryan, Holly, Nina, the college kids and Billy in an age-group all of their own. Aaron looked like he was having the time of his life, speaking loudly with large gestures and wide grins and Billy was half-way drunk on the red wine to escape boredom already. Hannah, Matt and Ray were discussing some kind of current event on the campus that was getting prepared for a new term. Ryan, though, and Nina and Holly as well, as far as he could sense, were bored out of their minds and maybe ten minutes away from bailing.

"Okay," Nina said after a while or two of listening to Aaron's bad jokes from down the table and the kids doing whatever they were doing, and doing it noisily. "How about we turn tails and show the kids how actual partying is done?" she suggested with a chuckle. "If I have to listen to Aaron joking one more time I'll sick up, and it was such great food."

"Where do you suggest we go?" Ryan asked. "I don't turn twenty-one for another few weeks, and getting those kids in anywhere would be damn near impossible." He took the last bite of his dessert, savoring it. Really, the food was the only reason he'd stuck it out even this long. Tasted incredible, but now that the dessert was over, well, there wasn't anything keeping him around. "Sure as hell ain't room in my apartment," he added once he was done chewing.

"We can go to mine," Holly suggested with a shrug. "I have booze, and it's not too far. And unlike at Nina's, there will be no parents around." She smirked slightly even though an actual smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of her thick lips.

"Ugh, don't remind me about that," Nina groaned, burying her face in her hand. "I think I might need to crash at yours for a bit. They're getting unbearable."

"Sure," Holly answered with a smile. "Guest room's yours whenever you want it, you know that already. Lady likes you though, so you'll have to be prepared to share the bed."

Ryan's mouth fell open in shock and he blinked slowly as he looked at Holly. "You have a guest room?" he asked incredulously. "You do make the same pay I do, right? Because I don't have an easy time making rent for a tiny, shared apartment and food and neccesities and still having some left for other stuff. And you smoke! That's an expense I don't even have to think about!"

"It's a long story, actually," the girl started with a small roll of her eyes. "But well, I had the stereotypical rich uncle who made a fortune gambling in Vegas. Never married, never had any kids. His favorite living being on the planet was his cat, Lady. Anyway, he died, and it turns out I was his favorite niece. So what happened is that he left all his money to me, but with a clause. He believed that Lady had imprinted on his apartment and wouldn't be nearly as happy anywhere else, so I don't see a dime until Lady dies to ensure that I stay in his apartment and take care of the cat. The apartment is bought and paid for already, though, and there's a fund to pay for expenses and cat stuff. But on a basis, no, I don't have more money than you, just a bigger place." She shrugged. "I'm from NYC, really, and I had no intentions of moving, but when there's suddenly a way to get both myself and my younger siblings through college someday, one's gotta do what one's gotta do."

"That," Ryan started, word coming out very slowly. He was still blinking. "That sounds like the plot of a bad movie." Finally he shook his head slowly in what was practically an attempt to physically rid himself of his surprise. "Well, let's get going then."

***

"That's your fucking apartment?" Ryan asked with wide eyes when they stepped out of the bus and Holly pointed out her place. The kids, all eleven of them, were chattering somewhere off to the side and Ray, Hannah and Matt were speaking with Nina about something or other while Ryan walked next to Holly at a sedate pace.

"That's my fucking apartment," Holly confirmed with a chuckle, pushing the door open and giving the receptionist a quick wave before she led the way to the elevator.

"You do realize that penthouses of Strip hotels don't count as 'apartments', right?" Ryan mumbled, still completely gobsmacked. He glanced down at his watch. "Damn, my last bus is leaving in an hour and a half.

Holly shrugged. "I have three guest rooms. You can just crash, no problem." She pushed the topmost button on the elevator wall and somehow everyone managed to squeeze inside, probably breaking a few of the weight rules, but well... Everyone knows that elevator weight rules are overly cautious, right?

After a short weight the whole groups got out and waited while Holly unlocked the door in front of them, and then there seemed to be a race to be the first to get inside. Ryan, not in any real rush, went at his own pace with long, dragging steps when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Brendon there, flashed him a small smile. "I thought you had a curfew," he stated, making sure to keep his tone inquisitive rather than mocking.

Brendon shrugged and looked down, suddenly finding his bright yellow, worn-out sneakers incredibly interesting. "Everybody here already thinks I'm a loser," he muttered. "If I'm the first to go home it'll only get worse." And Ryan understood, he really did, so he slung a friendly arm around the kid's shoulders and vowed to look out for him a bit.

"Let's go see if we can still find seats," he suggested, gently guiding the younger boy into the penthouse with him. And damn, what he was faced with took his breath away. A panorama window, taking up a whole wall of the living room, afforded a nearly unlimited, brightly colorful view of the Strip. The space was beautifully furnished with a flat screen TV, what looked like a surround sound system, a large, low table and several expensive-looking leather couches and chairs. A love seat had somehow managed to go untouched and Ryan hurriedly crossed over and sat down, Brendon quickly following.

A moment later Holly came back, holding a tray with canned beers, several different bottles of what looked like damn expensive alcohol and shot glasses. She put it on the table and took the last chair with a contended sigh before chuckling at the stunned faces around him. "What?" she asked. "My uncle was also an undeclared alcoholic. Left me a licquor cabinet the size of a normal closet and an actual walk-in closet that had been refurnished as a wannabe wine cellar." She took a shot glass and poured herself a helping of imported, decades-old whiskey before pulling an ashtray over and lighting up. "Those of you who smoke, it's allowed in the kitchen and living room, but the bathrooms and bedrooms are off limits for that."

There were a few muttered affirmatives while everyone set about pouring themselves different kinds of shots, examining the bottles and sniffing the licquid, and the picture it painted really was pretty amusing. After five minutes where no one really seemed to have the guts to take the initiative of downing anything other than beer, Nina suggested a game of I've Never... and maybe this wasn't really showing the kids how to party because, well, there was a distinct lack of music and dancing, but oh well.

***

Teenagers were vicious. Ryan, obviously, had already known that, but the last hour had been more than enough to definitely prove it to him. Brendon, even though he'd never drunk before, wasn't a very likely candidate to be the most sloshed, simply because of the protective upbringing he'd had. If this had been a normal game the lack of things he'd done would probably have meant that he'd have gotten a shot or two at most. But all of the kids seemed to have ganged up on him and using every last shred of personal knowledge they had about the poor boy to continuously target him. 'I have never sung in a church choir', 'I've never had to wear my brothers' castoffs', 'I never had to go to church five days of the week'. They honestly couldn't even have been more obvious about it either.

Ryan, barely even tipsy on his four shots, had a drunk-out-of-his-mind, close-to-passing-out teenage boy slumped against his side and he finally concluded that it was way past time to call it quits. Not only that, but there was no way he could send Brendon home to strict Mormon parents in this conditions. "Hey buddy," he murmured, low enough that the others wouldn't hear. "Can I have your phone?" Brendon made some incomprehensible reply and then the phone was stuck clumsily into Ryan's hand. Ryan shot Holly a look and she nodded, wordlessly agreeing to look after Brendon for a bit. And then Ryan got up and went into the bedroom he'd been assigned - the smallest one since he'd planned on there only being one of him while Holly kept the master, Nina and Hanna shared a second and some of the kids holed up in the largest guest room, the rest of them planning to head home soon - in the hopes that it would be quiet enough that Brendon's parents wouldn't hear the commotion.

He looked down at his watch and cringed slightly. It was half past eleven and there was no way in hell the elder Uries weren't already pissed and worried out of their minds. Nonetheless, he quickly went through the phonebook and then pressed the dial button when he reached 'home'. Unsurprisingly the phone was picked up nearly immediately, and an almost hysterical female voice came through. "Brendon! Do you have any idea how worried we are? Where are you? You had better be on your way home right this instant, Brendon Boyd, and don't think for a second that you aren't in deep trouble!"

"Hello Mrs. Urie," Ryan said in his best grown-up voice, taking a deep breath and grimacing. "I'm George Ross, one of Brendon's superiors at work, and I'm just calling to say that he won't be coming back home tonight." He continued quickly, before she could start ranting again, "We all ended up having to sit down and dicuss the next shift schedule, and it took a bit more time than planned, so he missed his last bus. Most of us did, actually. One of our colleagues lives close to where the function was being held and had enough room, so we're staying the night here. I'm sorry, I know we should have made sure he called earlier, but we've been setting up beds and sleeping arrangements ever since we got here, and Brendon has passed out on the couch. Poor kid clearly isn't used to being up past ten, bless him."

"Oh," Mrs. Urie replied, but there was a certain ammount of fondness in her voice now, anger seeming to have mostly drained away. "Yes, that does sound like him." Ryan doubted Brendon was the type to pass out if he stayed up past ten, but if his mother liked to think she knew the kid so very well, Ryan wasn't about to open his mouth. "You will give me your personal guarantee that he's safe and you'll keep an eye on him and that we'll see him at lunchtime tomorrow at the latest?"

"Of course, Ma'am," Ryan answered, holding back a sigh of relief at the fact that it seemed to be working. "I'll take personal responsibility for him until you see him again. Don't worry yourselves too much. He's a good boy, so I doubt there will be any trouble either way."

"You sound like a good, sensible young man, Mr. Ross," Brendon's mother stated. "I'd like to think I can trust you. And thank you for calling and letting us know that our baby is all right. But tell him from me that when he gets home he's grounded and I don't want to see another episode like this again."

"Thank you, Ma'am," the young man said with a roll of his eyes. "And I will. But I'm exhausted, Mrs. Urie, and I think I'm going to head off to bed now. Good night."

"I think I will too, now that I know my Brendon is safe and sound," the woman answered. "Good night to you too." And then, finally, she hung up. Ryan groaned and ran a hand through his hair as he got back on his feet.

Back in the living room Brendon was now fully asleep, drooling a little, and Matt and Ray who had the morning shift the next day had headed back to campus. A couple of the kids seemed to have left as well, and things were calming down a little. Good thing Brendon had passed out, though. That way, at the least, he couldn't get more smashed. How to get him to bed was quite another thing to worry about, and Ryan sent Holly another pleading look. The girl got off her chair with an amused smile and picked up Brendon with disturbing ease, hoisting him off the love seat and carrying him across the living room. "You're going to have to share with him," she informed.

Ryan shrugged, not seeing a problem. The bed had looked large enough for two skinny guys to lie there comfortably and he, Spencer, Trevor and their first bassist, Brent, had had enough sleepovers growing up where two of them took the bed and two a mattress on the floor that he was used to having his personal space invaded in his sleep. He followed Holly into the bedroom and pulled the covers back so the girl could easily deposit the sleeping kid on the bed. Then they helped each other pull off Brendon's shoes and jeans and tucked the covers around him before leaving, heading back for the living room where the others were still lounging and drinking.

***

The drinking games had ended soon after Brendon had been tucked in and instead they were now mostly hanging out, different degrees of drunk, which somehow only made it more fun. Holly and Nina and three of the six remaining kids were still in the chairs and couches, joking and laughing, but Ryan had let Todd, Mike and Joey talk him into joining a Guitar Hero tournament. Since all of them had some alcohol in their system, none of the scores were particularly high, but it was still fun and Ryan was totally owning. Not that he was the least drunk - a shot between each song and sipping a beer when he wasn't playing ensured that - but even though being a real-life guitarist didn't actually help you that much on the game guitars, it did give him a better sense of rhythm and notes as well as quicker fingers, so he was winning by a decent margin.

By the time he finally won, though, he was more than a little unsteady on his feet and his mind was feeling a bit blurry, so he collapsed back on the couch, burrowing into Nina's side and swiping at the smoke coming off her cigarette and in regular streams from her lips. "Gimme," he muttered after a moment, holding up a demanding hand, causing Nina to giggle and hand him her cig, immediately lighting a new one herself. He held the stick clumsily for a moment before bringing it to his lips and taking a drag and this time, amazingly, he didn't end up coughing. It still tasted like shit, though, and on top of the alcohol it made him feel a bit sick to his stomach, but the ember was luckily pretty close to the filter already, so he only had to take two drags before he could (attempt and fail to properly) put it out in the ashtray without losing face.

"I think it's time for George to go to bed," Holly stated, laughing softly. Ryan whined wordlessly, making a face. He didn't want to sleep, was perfectly comfortable right here, thanks very much. Besides, Hanna and the kids looked like they were starting a game of truth and dare, and that was only ever fun when you were drunk. He was definitely planning on joining in. "I happen to know that you have the closing shift tomorrow," she added. "But if you want to go to work not only hungover, but also dead on your feet from lack of sleep, don't let me stop you."

Ryan, drunk though he might be, did see the reasonable part of that and so he pulled himself up with a grumble and staggered through the room and out into the hall where he managed to locate the correct door and got it open after a few tries. Once inside he pushed it heavily shut behind him and kicked off his shoes, nearly falling in the process. The jeans were even harder, but he managed, and a moment later he was crawling heavily into bed, pushing futilely at Brendon who seemed to have taken up the whole thing.

He seemed to have pushed too hard, though, because a moment later Brendon's eyes flew open, larger and browner and less clear, and Ryan wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the lack of glasses that did it. The kid squinted in the weak backdrop light provided by the Strip before smiling drunkenly. "George Ross!" he exclaimed happily. "You're so pretty, Gee! And you're funny and cool and play in a band and you're nice to me! I really like you, George Ross." And as creepy as this was getting, well, at least Brendon was a happy drunk which counted for a lot in Ryan's book. "I really like you," the kid repeated, softer and more serious this time, and Ryan was starting to feel a little apprehensive.

And for good reason, it turned out a moment later when Brendon scooted closer to him and suddenly pressed their lips together in a kiss that was sloppy and clumsy from alcohol and inexperience. Their teeth clicked against each other and Brendon's braces managed to tear a scratch in both Ryan's lip and gums, but what technique the kid lacked he made up for with enthusiasm. And Ryan knew he should pull away, sure as hell shouldn't be kissing back, but he was drunk and there was a warm, compact body pressed up against his own, and even in spite of the braces Brendon's lips were pretty much delicious, soft and pillowy, but firm enough not to seem girly. And it had been way too fucking long since he'd had a boyfriend, or even made out at some college party, so his body simply refused to end it.

Even when one of Brendon's hands moved down his chest, across his belly and into his boxers, Ryan didn't have the will-power to say stop, and when calloused, slightly clumsy, fingers wrapped around his cock he let out a long, involuntary moan into Brendon's mouth, feeling the younger male swallow it before apprehensively pushing his tongue into Ryan's mouth exploring in a way that was maybe slightly on the rough side, a bit directionless, but felt heavenly nonetheless. Then Brendon started to move his hand, pumping slowly and the friction went straight to Ryan's head, and it didn't take long before he was a moaning, writhing mess under Brendon's hands, barely clinging onto enough sense to keep the volume down. There might be music on in the living room, but that was still just the hall and full of people Ryan sure as hell didn't want to know what was happening here.

Slowly but surely some of the sloppiness left Brendon's rhythm, giving way for a technique that assured Ryan that although the boy might not be experienced at all, he had definitely jerked off enough to know what he was doing. The pace and tightness of the rhythm and grip were everchanging, unpredictable, and that just made it ten times better. And when Brendon started paying attention to the head of Ryan's cock and immediately after brought his other hand down to fondle the sac, rolling the balls gently against each other, Ryan lost it, jerking as he came, managing to stifle his moan behind a gasp before he finally fell back on the pillows, panting harshly, head cloudy from more than just the alcohol he'd consumed.

"What about you?" he finally asked, voice soft, once he'd regained control of his breathing. Even in the dim lighting he could see Brendon's face taking on a bright red hue, and the boy quickly turned his face away. "Brendon?"

"I kind of... already?" the kid murmured, voice coming out as more of a whisper than anything, and Ryan bit back the impulse to laugh. He was going to regret this whole thing in the morning, he knew that, but right now he was drunk, which always worked as an excuse, and wanted to make the younger boy feel better about what was probably his first sexual experience involving another person. And so he gently pulled Brendon down and pressed a kiss against the boy's lips.

"You did good," he reassured softly. "Felt amazing, Brendon." He trailed off into a yawn, suddenly realizing just how heavy his eyelids were feeling. And so he just reached out and pulled the boy closer, snuggling them against each other as he felt himself rapidly drift off into sleep.

***

When Ryan woke up the next morning he was hung over as all fuck, and the memories he had of the previous night were blurred at best. He didn't need to remember everything, though, to figure out what had happened when he opened his eyes to find himself and Brendon wrapped up in each other, covers by their feet, and felt the uncomfortable sensation of dried come in his boxers. And when the last pieces of the puzzle came together, Ryan was absolutely mortified, and beyond ashamed of himself. It wasn't far past dawn, and the penthouse was quiet around him, and there was probably still a bit of alcohol in his blood, but he staggered out of bed and quickly pulled his clothes back on before tucking the sheets back over Brendon's sleeping form and fleeing the 'apartment'.

He caught a bus a few moments later and was back in his own apartment within less than half an hour to find that Jon, luckily, wasn't up yet. He only stopped to pop a painkiller or two before crashing back into his own bed and falling asleep within mere minutes.

***

Ryan woke back up around noon, the headache and nausea mostly subsided, but he still felt like absolute shit. What had happened last night was not only something belonging in a moral grey zone, but also against the law. And Brendon had been fucking drunk. He'd taken advantage of a drunken almost-child only a couple of hours after he'd promised said kid's mother to look after him. Well, fuck. And sure, a lot of sixteen-year-olds had sex, but not with adults! Five years wouldn't be a lot another five or ten years down the road, but at the age they were at now, it was a wide - and illegal - gap.

Groaning to himself, Ryan picked up his stuff and went into the shared bathroom to get a shower. He turned the heat up before he even got under the shower head, stepped out of his clothes and entered the shower cubicle. The water was nearly scalding, but he didn't pay it much heed, his mind elsewhere, and simply stood there for a moment, skin rapidly turning a dark pink in the heat of the water.

It took him maybe five minutes to get out of the daze and pick up his sponge, pouring a good bit of soap onto it. And then he set about scrubbing himself. And he scrubbed hard, almost brutally, and didn't stop until the water started to run cold. Afterwards he didn't understand it. It wasn't like he could wash his conscience clean no matter how hard he scrubbed, so what was the point?

Almost mechanically, he got out of the shower and dried off before getting dressed and shaving. And then he went back into the apartment, finding Jon at the table with a pot of steaming coffee and a plate of toast, seeming to be waiting for him. "Okay," the bassist said after looking him up and down for a moment. "What's eating you?"

Ryan groaned and plopped into his seat, hiding his face in his hands for a moment. "Don't want to talk about it," he muttered, feeling so incredibly ashamed of himself. He didn't know what he'd do when he inevitably saw Brendon again. At least the kid wasn't sharing Ryan's shift tonight, for once, as far as he knew. Finally he emerged from behind his hands and managed to pour a cup of coffee. "Let's just say I'm a very, very stupid guy."

Jon, thankfully, just chuckled. "Yeah, what else is new?"

***

Ryan showed up at work almost exactly on time, at a quarter to four, and let Matt instruct him on what to do without saying much at all. Then he glanced over at all the pallets that were waiting for him and the kids in exasperation, only half listening as Matt said something about Todd calling in sick, probably hung over, and how he had texted all the other kids in the hopes that one of them would be able to show up on the last minute.

"Well," he muttered. "At least Monique and Anna are both here, right?" He cocked an eyebrow, still feeling a bit overwhelmed. Both girls would have to man registers and he'd probably have to open one himself part of the time, if nothing else then to let them get their breaks. And there was no way in hell he'd get done with all the pallets in that case.

"Yeah," Matt answered skeptically. "But one more would be one hell of a lot better."

Nodding in agreement, Ryan let out a sigh. "I'll go count up the safe," he informed. "Got any bank baggies you need me to sign for?"

"Papers are on the table," Matt answered. "I'll empty the cardboard press and then I'm out of here."

Ryan gave another nod and headed for the office, ordering a code before he went into the locker room to change. There was a sudden sound of footsteps behind him and Ryan turned around to see who else. "Brendon?"

The kid shrugged. "Covering for Todd," he answered, and inwardly Ryan could hardly stop himself from asking some hypothetical higher power what the hell he'd done to deserve being in this situation.

Take the Reins [02]

2008-08-29T23:50:49Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Future mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot. More explanatory notes under the cut.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Chapter Two

The next couple of months passed quickly, with even more work during the summer because everyone else seemed to be taking turns vacationing. Luckily, though, with school out for the summer, the kids worked more and longer shift, and a lot of the time Ryan felt like he saw more of Brendon and Monique than he did of Aaron and Billy, and definitely Nina, who was out of state at her grandparents' for a whole month. Holly took nearly as many hours as Ryan, and the one college kid who hadn't gone home for the summer was doing extra work too. Regardless, it felt like Ryan hardly did anything but work and eat and sleep, and go to the occasional band practice where he'd be half-asleep when they reached the fourth song.

At the moment Ryan was taking his break, sitting by the table in the small lunchroom/kitchenette with his recently heated previously frozen pizza. Brendon was on the other side of the table, leafing through one of the gossip mags they could borrow for breaks as long as they made sure to put them back in place afterwards. "What are you reading?" Ryan asked boredly after a moment, glancing at the kid. Brendon had really kind of grown on him after the last month. Behind the awkward exterior he was a sweet, clever boy with a quick wit and dreams and ambitions and a great sense of humor, Ryan had learned, and calm and easy-going enough to be good company, especially now that he was a bit less insecure and helpless and more at home in the store.

Brendon held up the magazine, displaying the glossy front page with the celeb pictures and loud headlines. "There's an article on Fall Out Boy," he informed. "Not much I didn't know already, but all the rumours they manage to work in there are pretty amusing. Did you know that Pete Wentz used to be Lance Bass' boytoy?" He managed to keep a straight face as he looked up at Ryan, brown eyes wide and sparkling with mirth.

"I'm sure," Ryan agreed with a chuckle, taking another bite of his pizza. "So you like Fall Out Boy?" he asked curiously. He was bored and in the mood for a conversation. Besides, the kid had proven himself surprisingly interesting several times. Talking music shouldn't be too bad.

"Yeah," the younger boy answered with a small smile. "I guess I'm kind of into that sort of music. But I like the classics too. Blink, Sum, you know? And there's always Third Eye Blind and Radiohead and Smashing Pumpkins. But hey, Britney Spears is good fun too." He smirked, the edges of his thick lips pulling up. "Not allowed to hear any of them at home, though," he added. "It's pretty much all on the list of banned artists the church has made of bands and songs that will corrupt your children and steal their soul." He rolled his eyes dramatically, but Ryan thought he detected a bit of honest sadness there as well. He'd learned by then that Brendon was raised strictly Mormon to the point where he hadn't so much as tasted a sip of Coca Cola or coffee, and that he was kind of in the starting stages of breaking free. That, though, Ryan wasn't sure about, whether it was just classical teenage rebellion or a genuine wish to get away from all the rules that had weighed him down heavily his whole life.

Ryan smiled. "Cross out Britney and you have a lot of my favorites there as well," he informed. "If you like I can start bringing some CDs we can hear on the breaks."

Brendon nodded eagerly. "That would be awesome," he declared, a wide grin spreading over his face. "Hey," he suddenly piped up when a few moments of silence had passed in the wake of his answer. "You play any instruments?"

It took a few moments for Ryan to wipe the incredulous look off his face. It was just that the band, and music altogether, was such a huge part of his life that Ryan couldn't believe he hadn't told the kid who had recently been one of the people he'd inevitably spent most time around about it. "I'm in a band," he finally informed, a small smile playing at his mouth. "Guitar, keyboards, vocals. I play some other instruments too, but we don't really use them." Suddenly he grinned. "Hey, you working Friday night?"

"No," Brendon answered carefully, but there was a look of poorly veiled excitement in his eyes. And Ryan kind of got that. It wasn't as though Brendon was the kind of guy who got invited to hang out a lot. There had been one comment a couple of weeks ago about not even having been invited to a birthday party with anyone except his family since the third grade, which the kid had immediately taken back, but Ryan had already sort of gotten the picture. For someone who was sixteen and, by all means and purposes, a social outcast, being asked to hang out with a 'cool' twenty-year-old couldn't be the worst thing that could happen.

"Tell your parents you are," Ryan instructed with a small grin. "We're playing in a small bar off the Strip. I'd like you to see." He cocked an eyebrow. "If you want to, that is."

Judging by the wide grin on the kid's face he most definitely did.

***

On Friday, when they both got off work at five, Brendon took the bus back with Ryan to the apartment the elder of the two shared with Jon, and pizza and soda to any kid's heart's extent was waiting for them. It was practically wolfed down, everyone chattering with their mouths full and Jon burping unashamedly. Ryan was kind of happy that Brendon and Jon had taken to each other. He didn't exactly want the kid hiding behind him the whole night. But everyone took to Jon quickly, that was just the kind of person he was, and it had only taken Brendon five minutes' shyness before he broke out of his shell, which definitely broke Ryan's record by several days.

It didn't seem to take very long at all before they were done eating and had done the dishes and were changing, leaving Brendon in the living room while they retreated to each their bedroom. Ryan didn't get particularly dressed up for shows. It was just small, dirty bars, after all, and even though they had a pretty early slot, most people would still be too sloshed to notice the music, let alone how they dressed. Nonetheless, he wasn't planning to show up in his work-clothes. And so he changed in to a pair of slightly tighter-fitting, dark jeans and a tight, black t-shirt. He topped it up with a page-boy hat over his straight, chin-length locks and just a touch of eyeliner before walking back into the living room.

Jon was already long-ready, and Brendon looked a little clueless and a little wide-eyed as he took in Ryan's new attire. Ryan, in turn, took in Brendon's clothes, biting his lip slightly. The worn jeans he had on were too big on him and looked distinctly like hand-me-downs from an older brother, and the large, short-sleeved, light blue button-down was just not good. There was the distinct look of someone who let his mom dress him there. "Want to borrow something?" he asked after a few moments, making sure to keep his voice as tactfull as possible. He didn't want to make the kid feel bad about it.

Brendon nodded, a touch of red tinting his cheeks as he followed Ryan back into the small bedroom. Ryan went back to the closet and looked through it contemplatively before finding a pair of his looser, black jeans and handing them over. They'd probably be pretty tight on the kid, given Ryan's skinniness and Brendon's blooming curves that he had yet to grow entirely into. "I'm guessing you'll have to roll them up, but they should work," he stated, biting his lip in contemplation as he turned to look at his shirts. He finally grabbed a plain red one, a bit on the tight side, but they should match the glasses and would probably suit Brendon's fair skin and dark eyes and hair. Then he politely left the room, shutting the door behind him, and flopped down on the couch to wait.

"Good kid," Jon commented, flashing Ryan a smile. He lowered his voice just a bit when he continued, "It's nice of you to bring him. He doesn't look like the kind who has too many people willing to do that."

Ryan chuckled softly. "They clearly have no clue what they're missing," he stated. "But isn't that what high school was all about?" He rolled his eyes. "Judging everyone on the exterior without bothering to find out what's behind all that." Shrugging, he raised a hand to adjust his hat a little. "I do feel sorry for him, but I brought him because he likes music, and would probably enjoy seeing a live show even if it's an unsigned band in a shitty bar. And he's fun to hang out with, kid or no."

Jon nodded in understanding, and a moment later Brendon exited Ryan's bedroom, looking down his own body unsurely. "Is this okay?" he asked, voice gone small as he looked up through thick bangs and thicker glasses.

Flashing him a smile, Ryan nodded. "Looking good, Urie," he stated with a chuckle. A moment later there was a knock on the door, and it was time to get down to Spencer's mom's stationcar and off to the show.

***

Whether in a positive tone or not, the employees' party they were having with three other stores from the same chain in a couple of weeks was the subject currently on fire. Aaron, when Ryan saw him every once in a while, was as excited as a little kid, and apparently convinced that the party was going to be the greatest thing since the fall of the Berlin Wall, and that having it was the best idea since sliced bread. Holly had rolled her eyes covertly and whispered to Ryan that she was about ninety percent sure that it had been Aaron's idea in the first place and that he'd talked the other managers into joining up, not the other way around. Other than that, though, she didn't really speak of the party at all. Holly was the kind of girl who, with few exceptions, lived only in the here and now and took one day strictly at a time. She probably wouldn't fully comprehend that there was even going to be a party until she was there. Nina, recently returned from Montana, grumbled and pouted about it and made sarcastic comment after sarcastic comment, but Ryan still saw her name on the sign-up list. He, personally, was reserving judgement until he had actually found out what an employees' party was all about.

***

"I'm sorry," Brendon panted out as he ran into work ten minutes late on a Sunday morning. "Seriously, I didn't mean to be late, but my mom kept me for forever to lecture me about how wrong it was of me to miss church and work on a holy day." He rolled his eyes, pulling off his old-looking jacket and revealing the lime green polo underneath.

Monique giggled and Ryan sent her a sharp look before flashing Brendon a smile. "It's okay, don't worry about it," he quickly reassured. "I hope you won't be in too much trouble when you get back home." Brendon shook his head, looking a bit more at ease, and Ryan gave his shoulder a quick pat before ordering Monique back to work on the bread, and giving Sophie a glare that warned her not to even think about leaving the milk cooler until she was done. "Come on," he told Brendon before gripping the handle of the pallet jack and pulling the stacks of fruits and vegetables towards the correct part of the store.

The next few hours passed in a fast-paced blur of confused, prissy customers who'd have them search the entire back for things Ryan knew for a fact they were out of, long lines, the bottle room getting jammed and everything just slowly descending into chaos. Why everyone in the whole neighborhood seemingly chose not only the same day, but the same hours of the same day, to do their shopping, Ryan didn't think he would ever understand, but those were the facts he had to work with, so he ran around like a madman, often feeling like he was doing three or four things at the same time. All three registers had to be opened and so he didn't even have the kids around to give him a hand until the rush calmed down a little around noon.

And when that happened it turned out the customers had all but raided the goods, fruits and vegetables in particular, and Ryan and Brendon had to wheel the pallet of boxes that couldn't fit in the morning back out and start to restock silently. "Are Sundays always this crazy?" the kid asked after a while of working silently.

"Pretty much," Ryan answered with a shrug, heaving up iceberg lettuce with tired arms and dumping them carelessly into the half-empty box already there. He sighed wearily and brushed the back of his hand over his forehead to get rid of the thin sheen of sweat that had gathered.

"How do you make room for another box of these?" Brendon asked another minute or so later and Ryan turned around to see him holding a box of cucumbers and frowning at the one already in place.

Ryan chuckled softly and finished putting tomatoes in place before leaning over and picking five cucumbers from the case Brendon wasn't holding. "Look," he muttered, putting them all vertically down so they were leaning against the edge. "How you dump the others in there and let them lean on these five. Room for a whole extra case that way."

"Teach yourself that trick?" the kid asked as he dumped the contents of his box and straightened out the few cucumbers that were on the verge of falling to the floor.

"Nah," Ryan answered with a shrug as he took a box of apples and went to put them with the rest of the loose fruits. "Aaron taught me, one of the first days." He chuckled again. "You rarely ever figure something out yourself around here. Everything's picked up from someone else, who'd picked it up from someone else, etcetera. Sometimes I wonder if there's any room left for original thought in this line of work." He said it with a wink and a smile, but the words were completely honest. Sure, there were loads of things you needed to learn and know and remember, but in general the job was a no-brainer, which kind of bugged Ryan. He loved thinking too much to consider this a permanent situation.

Brendon snickered, but didn't make another comment as they finished up the work and wheeled the pallet back to the back where all the boxes were put either in the cardboard press or the goods reception area until they were left with just an empty pallet on the jack.

Ryan groaned when he saw the large stack of pallets already waiting. "How many are... eight nine," he mumbled before giving another groan. "Nine, damnit. There has to be ten before we can make another stack." He rolled his eyes and looked down at the heavier-than-it-looked pallet before looking back at the kid. "Let's take it together," he suggested before grabbing one corner.

Brendon just grinned and nodded, grabbing the opposite one and heaving it up with a slight huff of air. Struggling with the weight and fighting splinters wanting to get in their fingers, they slowly made it to where the stack was looming ominously. And then came the hard part of raising it above eye-height and getting it stuffed in on top of the others. And when they started, so did Brendon's chant of 'Watch out! Watch out! Too heavy for you, Ross!'

As much as Ryan liked that the kid was coming out of his shell when around Ryan, the energized, slightly mocking version was a little annoying and the older of the two shot the younger boy a glare as they pushed the pallet back in place. "Think you're that much stronger than me?" Ryan asked sourly once he was done checking his fingers for splinters.

Another grin and nod was all the answer he got and Ryan narrowed his eyes slightly. He might be naturally slender and have a bit of the spaghetti-arm-syndrome, but he knew he'd gotten stronger while working at the store and he had at least two, if not more, inches on the kid, not to mention nearly five years. And just to make things worse, Brendon decided to come over and unashamedly invade his space, hovering for a few moments before punching him in the bicep. Hard. Ryan fought down his natural wince and simply huffed, ignoring his throbbing arm. "Go clean the bottle room," he ordered, and he ignored the resulting pout better than the pain in his arm.

***

The lasagna was awesome, at least as much as any frozen, cheap, pre-made lasagna from a supermarket could be, but late Sunday afternoon, nearing the end of the shift but far from quickly enough, it seemed the most delicious thing, even just a single bite in, Ryan had ever eaten. And of course, right on cue, three rings up from the registers informed him that he was needed up there for his ID print to authorize something or another. He gave the nth groan of the day and slowly started heaving himself out of the chair.

Brendon smirked from the seat across from Ryan and got up, water bottle still in hand, to put both hands on the older male's back and start pushing. "Come on, Georgie, needed at the registers. Run, run!"

The older of the two really was starting to become curious about who had put sugar in the kid's food, and definitely beginning to regret his assessment that Brendon exiting his shell was a good thing. "Yeah, yeah, chill," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. He sent his lasagna one last longing look and set off towards the registers where Sophie had apparently managed to type in that the customer had paid a hundred in cash instead of letting said customer withdraw an additional hundred bucks on a credit card as requested. Which obviously meant that Sophie would've just had to fiddle a little and do a tiny bit of math, but she obviously couldn't be bothered and had decided to call for him instead.

Ryan grouchily helped her fix the problem, making sure to explain everything along the way so, hopefully, she'd be able to fix it on her own if it happened again. Needless to say he wasn't in a good mood when he headed back down. "Fucking kids," he muttered exasperatedly as he plopped back into his seat and gripped his fork again, poking at the lasagna before taking another bite.

"I'm sorry," Brendon muttered, suddenly meek and flustered again. "I didn't mean to be such a pain today. It's just..."

"I didn't mean you," Ryan hastened to reassure with a small sigh. "And I'm glad you're more comfortable around me. Just... quit it with the split personality? I'm too exhausted to follow you. Old man, remember?"

The kid chuckled embarrassedly, softly. "Yeah," he murmured, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I'll just... Yeah."

***

"Oh my God," Ryan whined when he made it back to the apartment that evening. "Fuck, just kill me now. Before my feet do!"

Jon gave a chuckle. "It's not bad enough to worry about if you still have the energy to complain," he stated with a shrug, turning back to the TV where Seth and Summer, or whatever their names were, were having some kind of a moment, and Ryan was in absolutely no way willing to go along with Jon's The OC obsession right at the point.

"You, Jon Walker, are an evil man who obviously has no clue what he's talking about," Ryan declared haughtily, pulling off the blindingly yellow zip-up they could use over the uniform polo when it was too cold to only use that. Ryan's had yet to be used for anything other than going to and from work. "I had to go into the freezer and re-stock practically everything and the kids kept calling for me and I had to take off my gloves and that damn arctic gear jacket and walk the length of the store every. Single. Time. And half the time they could've figured out the problems themselves if they'd just think!" He pulled off the polo as well, more than a little relieved to be out of the uniform. His eyes were too tired to handle the glow-in-the-dark clothes very well. "Why are kids such idiots?"

"If I could answer that question I'd have made a break-through on the science of education long ago and been much too rich to live in a dump like this with a bum like you," Jon answered nonchalantly, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. "And if you call me evil one more time for that I'll have to remind you about this creepy little guy I met online a couple of years back, whose band had just lost its bassist and who was absolutely desperate and made me come to Las fucking Vegas of all damn places out of the goodness of my very big, and decidedly not evil, heart."

Ryan snorted. "You'll have to introduce me to him sometime. Sounds like a stupid little fucker who had no idea what he was getting himself into." He sighed and burrowed into his friend's side, stealing as much warmth as he possibly could. "Call work tomorrow morning and tell them I'm sick?"

"I will if you are actually sick," the bassist answered. "Otherwise, when you see your paycheck at the end of the month, you'll give me hell for going along with it. Besides, I thought you liked work?"

"I do," Ryan whined. "But I'm exhausted, and I can't stand the thought of another damn customer bitching at me, and if I never hear that ring or have to look at another milk carton again in my life, it'll be too soon."

Jon patted the top of his head, the sympathy only half-mocking, but all the way patronizing. "Go to bed, little man."

***

"I cannot believe that Matt didn't show," Ryan all but whimpered into the phone, his eyes prickling just slightly. "I've been here eight hours already and I just want to go home and practice and chill and I'm so sorry." Wasn't this why he had dropped out of college? To avoid missing practices, to have more time to write music and play and promote the band and getting somewhere with it? It was nearly ridiculous how sorry he felt about it, just how bad he felt at missing just one more practice, but he couldn't help it.

"Hey," Spencer answered, his voice soft and soothing. "It's okay. We understand. Besides, Trev i feeling a bit under the weather. Jon and I have some rhythm section stuff we need to figure out anyway. Just calm down, okay? I know you've worked nearly seventy hours in a week, and that everybody going on vacation at the same time and Holly getting the flu is horrible for you, but just hang in there. Just a couple more hours tomorrow and then you have that long weekend, remember?"

Ryan took a deep breath, feeling better already. "Thanks, Spencer," he muttered, taking a deep breath. His voice was much steadier already even as he ran a thin hand through his long, brown locks. "Have fun, okay. And good luck figuring out the rhythm stuff." A small smile made its way onto his lips. And Spencer was right. He'd finish this Tuesday, then work four hours the following day, and then he didn't have to come back in before Monday morning. And he had fucking earned the privilege of four days off! "Say hi to Jon for me." Spencer mumbled an affirmative and hung up the phone.

Then he turned around and looked dispiritedly at the rubber gloves, cleaning rags and the bottle of ethanoic acid, all registered for the shop's own use, that were sitting on the table in front of him, waiting to be used while Alex (aka 'if you add the 'andra' I might be forced to kill you) attempted to train the, apparently retarded, newbie at the cash register and Ryan attempted to call up the rest of the kids to get another one to come help and everything fell to shreds around him.

If only people would learn that walking around in the store with wet asphalt on their shoes was a bad idea, this wouldn't be an issue at all. But then Ryan had, by then, learnt to think of customers as children even more incapable of doing anything right than the kids working at the store, so really, no surprise there.

A moment later he sensed that he wasn't alone and looked behind him to see Brendon, apparently willing to take any and all shifts, standing there with an eyebrow raised expectantly and a sheepish look on his face, and Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God you're here."

***

"Am I stupid for pretty much looking forward to work tomorrow?" Ryan asked confusedly as he and Jon ducked out of the bus Sunday evening on their way back from an all-day practice.

"Not really," Jon answered with a shrug. "I mean, I like working at Starbucks, I really, genuinly do. Nice customers, great co-workers. But sometimes it's just completely crazy, and I need a few days to kind of find myself again on top of all that stress. But when I've had my break it's nice to get something done again."

"That's exactly it," Ryan agreed with a small smile, grimacing slightly as he stretched and his back popped in three separate places. "I can tell you one thing, though. My joints are not looking forward to it."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Way to sound fifty," he stated with a soft laugh, reaching out to give Ryan's hair a quick ruffle before his hand was predictably slapped away. "At least you don't look nearly as scrawny anymore. What do they put in the food out there? Steroids?"

"And sugar," Ryan supplied with an exasperated shake of his head. "All in good fun, of course."

"Obviously."

Take the Reins

2008-08-28T19:40:10Z

[01]
[02]
[03]
[04]
[05]
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[07]
[08]
[09]

Taking the Reins [01]

2008-08-28T19:38:21Z

Title: Take the Reins

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ryan/Brendon

Summary: The one where it all starts out with a store and the geeky kid who might just change Ryan's life.

Warning: Future mpreg, certain things that are illegal in the US, but since I'm in Denmark, it shouldn't be a problem (aka, sex between an adult and a sixteen-year-old).

Notes: Mpregs are weird things that seem completely unnatural but have the potential to be incredibly great when done right. I hope this isn't done too badly, and that you'll give it a shot. More explanatory notes under the cut.

Disclaimer: I don't own, know, or believe that this has happened. Title shamelessly stolen from Tsunami Bomb.

Further notes: I'm fucking around with ages a bit here. Ryan is born on the same date, but in '84 instead of '86. Jon and Spencer, too, keep the same date but go two years back as well. Trevor is born in January of '85. And Brendon is *gasp* born on June 2nd, '89. The fic starts out in the spring of 2005.
So, I've been wanting to write an mpreg and an age-difference fic for a while, but never quite figured out a setting or anything, really, to make it work. Working close to 70 hours this last week, though, kind of just made the idea of setting it somewhere similarly a kind of therapeutic idea. However, while the routines and rules and such are taken from the supermarket where I work, the story has absolutely nothing to do with my own life other than that (I simply couldn't be bothered to do the research neccesary to find out the American rules and standards and shite for this kind of job, so). I'm not screwing around with teenagers, don't worry.

Chapter One

When Ryan first realized it, it kind of surprised him that he had managed to overlook it for so long. He had spent, not just a few months, but years playing it safe with one foot in each camp and a backup plan that took up more of his life than his actual plan ever managed to. Calling in to say that he'd be missing practice, again, and hearing the veiled disappointment in Trevor's voice and feeling an unshakable sense of deja vu had sort of cemented it. He wanted to become a musician, but in all actualilty he was a college student who had managed to miss something close to twenty band practices over the barely three months he was into the term. There was always an assignment, or a class, or a study group, or a project that he just couldn't miss. And for what? If he wanted his dream, he wouldn't need a degree anyway, scholarship or no. And then he thought about the others, of Spencer who still lived at home and worked as a receptionist slash secretary at his mom's medical practice, and Jon who had moved down all the way from Chicago, leaving behind family and girlfriend and cat for a shitty one-bedroom apartment and a job at Starbucks, and Trevor who, like Spencer, still occupied his childhood bedroom and worked odd jobs for his dad's company. They were all paying their dues, as people would later say, and Ryan was playing it safe to an extent where he was a single step away from dropping out of the band entirely. It was entirely unfair.

This realization was what caused Ryan to drop out, scholarship or no, in the middle of his sixth semester, firmly, finally, choosing the band, the thing that he had dreamt off for as long as he could remember. In the beginning it was exhilarating, and liberating and wonderful. Since he no longer had a dorm room he talked Jon into finding something to share, figuring that rent and expenses would be lower that way. It was surprisingly easy, really, to find a two-bedroom with a kitchenette and a tiny living room and a bathroom that they shared with the neighbors, in a somewhat run-down but not too awful neighborhood that wouldn't put too much strain on the economy. And then he threw himself into everything band related with all his energy and will, lived off savings and spent his days writing lyrics and trying to fit music to them, the evenings in band practice in Spencer's grandma's living room, the weekends playing shows in crappy, cramped bars. And he loved it.

It took him about a month to realize that the situation he was in was in absolutely no way stable. His savings were dangerously close to running out already and he'd remembered that although he and Jon had eaten dinner together every day, it had been over a week since he'd paid a dime for groceries. And obviously, Jon wouldn't make a big deal out of it, was happy to help out in fact, especially since it meant that Ryan's creative juices had the spare time they needed to get worked up. But Ryan didn't want to be a burden, and he knew all too well that Jon already didn't have much money to spare. He was saddened at the prospect of losing all his writing time, but there was no way around getting a job.

He spent nearly a month job hunting, applying for anything and everything he could think of, living off Jon's 'secret' donations and a loan he'd humbled himself enough to ask of his parents. He even considered moving back home, but he'd just dropped out of college, only a bit more than a year before he would've graduated, and he couldn't stand the thought of looking into his parents' eyes every day and seeing nothing but disappointment. It was nearing mid-May when he finally got a positive answer.

The job interview kind of blew him away a bit. He barely got to say a single word while his hyper, prospective boss droned on a mile a minute, and he left the small grocery store with his mind spinning with terms he didn't understand and information that fit none of the previous categories in his mind. Since all he'd said was that his name was Ryan, he was twenty years old and could start any time, and the occasional yes or no, and some of the other applicants had to have been at least somewhat more interesting, he was more than a little surprised when he got a call that same afternoon, telling him to come the next day. And, oh yeah, he was hired.

***

Ryan was shuffling his feet, a little nervous, as he made his way into the small employees' lounge. It was all really unfamiliar, and while he hadn't expected someone to wait outside the store for him, it still felt a bit daunting to be walking back here all by himself. And now that he was back, entering the office cautiously, he had at least expected the boss to be there, but all he saw was a girl in an office chair in front of a desktop, humming under her breath as she did... well, whatever it was she was doing. He didn't exactly recognize the programs, after all. Her hair went to just past her shoulders, layered, wavy and dark brown, and her shoulders were broader than you'd normally expect on a girl, and that alone intimidated him all little. Not much, but enough to make him feel even more awkward as he cleared his throat to catch her attention. She turned around, a ready smile on her slightly too large mouth, big blue eyes sparkling from behind a pair of large, cerulean-framed glasses in the middle of a pale, round, sparsely freckled face, and he realized she couldn't be much older than him, if at all. There was a bit of Spencer about her, which put him at ease just a little. She cocked a fine, dark eyebrow - probably the only delicate thing about her - inquiringly. "Is Mr. West around?" he asked, immediately feeling more embarrassed at how squeaky and unsure his voice came out.

She chuckled, tone friendly, and he wasn't surprised by her strong, dark metso. It suited her, physically anyway. "Aaron's gone home for the day," she informed. "And don't call him Mr. West. He absolutely hates that. And we generally try to be somewhat informal around here." She held out a short, stout hand. A good hand for a bassist, was his first thought. But probably good for manual labor as well, he conceded. "Holly," she introduced herself, and her name kind of surprised him a little too. It was pretty and kind of small and sweet and quirky, but she was too compact and rough in the features to be considered pretty, too straight-forward to be sweet and anything but small. The quirky part fit, though.

"George," he answered, gripping and shaking her hand. Oddly enough, even though he'd referred to himself as Ryan for years in his mind and that's what his bandmates/friends called him too, he'd never gotten out of the habit of introducing himself as George to strangers. He supposed he felt like he owed his father that much at least. He had to stop himself from wincing at the strength she put into the handshake, seemingly without realizing. "I just got hired, and I guess I don't really know what I'm supposed to do?" It came out more a question than a statement, and he grimaced slightly. He hated situations like these.

"There are some training modules on the computer you have to go through before you're allowed to do anything else," she stated, turning back to the computer and pressing a few links, glancing at a number on a yellow post-it and typing it in before she vacated the chair, motioning for him to take over. "Working the cash register is the first and maybe most important thing, so just get that one done and come find me once you're done. I have to go get some re-stocking done." She gave an exaggerated sigh, but the smile was still lurking behind her eyes, and she re-adjusted the hem of her obnoxiously lime green uniform polo, stuck a hobby knife in her breast pocket and left the office with a slight spring in her step.

Ryan just sighed and turned to the computer to attempt to decipher the workings of a cash register. After ten minutes he was gob-smacked. When he went to stores they all made it seem so simple, like it was no big deal at all, but damn, this shit was hard and there was just so much stuff to remember that he was on the verge of just giving up and going home.

***

Nearly two hours later he was done with the computer, and now he was looking at the actual cash register, which was maybe even more intimidating than Holly had been on first sight. "Katie is going to be right behind you all the time, so it should work out fine," the girl reassured. "And since your print hasn't been registered yet, you're just going to have to use a card tonight," she added, holding up a card that said 'reserve' for a moment before she pulled it through a slot on the keyboard and typed in four numbers in quick succession. "One-two-three-four is our standard code for these cards. That way you won't forget," she explained. Then she winked. "Good luck." And then she went off again, leaving him with a tiny, pretty, bleach-blonde girl who looked seventeen at the very most. If there was anything Ryan hated, it was people years younger than him knowing more than he did, so he braced himself for a long, frustrating evening.

"First," Katie started. "You have to count the change already in your box. Just start with the one-cents. Count the number of cents and then press multiply and point zero one, and work your way up from there."

Ryan nodded, internally grumbling as he started to painstakingly count every single coin and note. It seemed to take hours before he was done counting, but when he looked at his watch it had only been just over ten minutes when he could finally print the receipt, which he was told to put in the box. And then he took the 'closed' bar away and watched in dread as customers exited the line to the second register to stream to his.

The rest of the evening passed in somewhat of a blur of scavenging for barcodes and having Katie correct him when he was about to type in something wrong and ringing for Holly every ten minutes when he managed to make a mistake he needed her print to correct anyway. And then he helped wheel in the things that had been displayed outside and was instructed to take his box back into the office where Holly sat him down in front of the computer and taught him to use the counting program. Then, when he was done, ending with an embarrassing minus of fifteen dollars and forty-eight cents, she showed him how to work the safe and gave him keys while another kid, Todd or something, counted up his box. Finally he was shown how to close down for the night while Todd and Katie chattered and took out the trash.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Holly said with a smile as she turned the last lock after setting the alarm. She let out a small yawn, stretching to the point where her back popped in several places. She was nearly as tall as he was, Ryan noted, slightly intimidated again. "And since we closed down, we don't have to be in till ten, so there's still time for a good night's sleep."

Ryan bit his lip slightly, starting to make his way to the bus stop. Holly seemed to be going the same way, so he didn't need to stop to ask her. Both kids were walking down the sidewalk towards some of the nearby apartment buildings, so he figured they were probably entirely local. "Ten to when?" he asked.

"Five, I'm assuming. Ask Aaron tomorrow. Hopefully you'll get a schedule too, soon. Maybe I'm even lucky and you get some of my evenings and weekends." She chuckled slightly and stopped at the bus sign, leaning back against it and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her jeans pocket, fishing out a single stick and lighting up. "So, overwhelming?"

"To say the least," he agreed.

***

Even though he was still mentally kind of tired from the previous night, Ryan made it into work at ten on the dot, happy that he didn't have to be there at seven like he would when he hadn't worked the evening shift the day before. The store opened at eight in the morning and closed at ten in the night, and at least no one was extected to get by with getting home at somewhere between ten thirty and eleven and showing up at seven the next morning. Holly arrived on the same bus, and they came in together. A girl he didn't know was working the one open cash register, looking his age rather than one of the kids from the night before. The kids, with school and all, probably only came in to work evenings.

"That's Nina," Holly informed him, giving the girl a wave. This one was shorter, her hair cut boy-style and dyed black with a single pink splodge. She had green eyes, but her face was as round as Holly's and she seemed chubby. A different chubby from Holly, though, who was all big bones and bigger muscles. Nina just looked a bit soft around the edges. "That," she continued, pointing at where a man who looked to be just a year or two older than Ryan was restocking soda, "is Billy, who's the deputy manager. It's Aaron's day off, so he's in charge." Once they were in the locker room she quickly shrugged out of her hoodie, revealing a simple white top before she pulled on the polo. "And the five of us are the full-timers. Aaron and Billy never work evenings and rarely weekends unless there's no way around it. They're here seven to five four days a week, though. The rest of our hours vary a bit more. And then we have a couple of college kids who lock down or work weekends every once in a while, but that's about that. Then there are the kids, of course, but you'll meet them as you go along." He stood up straight and looked him up and down before bending over a box that seemed to be filled with uniforms. "Better find one for you," she murmured, picking through the polos for a moment before holding one up. "Medium," she announced. "They're small for their sizes, so you usually have to take one a number larger than you normally wear. I think medium's fine for you." She pushed it into his hands before finding a smaller box and picking out a bright yellow badge that announced 'NEW' in large letters and 'so I don't know everything yet' in smaller type underneath. "Pin this on it. Aaron should have a name tag for you tomorrow."

Ryan nodded, trying to store all the information in his mind even as he slowly pulled off his hoodie and t-shirt to change into the polo. He was kind of embarrassed to be changing in front of the girl. Not because he was attracted to her. Even if she had been better-looking, well, he was about as straight as a circle, so. No, it was more the fact that he was skinny and weak, and a feeling of inadequacy he hadn't experienced since PE in high school had kind of risen in him again just by looking at her upper arms. Finally covered up again, he shot her a look. "What now, then?"

"Checking up on the milk cooler is always a good place to start," Holly answered with a shrug of her shoulders before she led the way to a door that obviously led into the milk cooler. It was probably thirty or so degrees in there and Ryan was cold almost immediately, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around himself as he took in the overwhelming amount of rows upon rows of eggs, yoghurt, organic juices, cream and ten different kinds of milk and fifty other things he wasn't even sure he knew the names of. Once again he was more than a little overwhelmed, and he wished he could've just learned everything already so it didn't all seem so damn difficult and he'd just be able to do it without asking for help and feeling stupid all the time. "Just... observe, I guess. Then maybe you can do it yourself in a couple hours," the girl instructed, seemingly taking everything in with a single sweeping glance before making her way to a stack of green milk cases. She hauled an empty one away and took the half-empty one over it before she started stacking it all up on the untouched second lowest one. Then she found two new ones of the same variant in a stack by the wall an put them onto the floor where she hauled them over to the waiting stack. What happened then made Ryan's eyes go pretty wide. She simply lifted the two and a half cases left up and onto the two new ones. Around forty litres of milk and there was no strain showing on her face. She quirked a grin, even as her arm muscles strained against the sleeves of the polo and she put the cases down perfectly. Ryan was pretty sure he would show a lot of strain lifting just a single case.

His eyes got wider and wider the more he watched. She repeated that move several times, never huffing a breath or breaking a sweat or giving even the smallest grimace. "Why did Aaron hire me?" he finally asked once Holly seemed to be done with the heavy lifting.

She laughed, not even the slightest bit short of breath. "He's pretty impulsive. Or inthuitive, I suppose I should say in this case. He probably just had a good feeling about you," she answered with a look of fond amusement on her face, even as she absentmindedly pushed yoghurts out on the shelves so they'd be easier to reach. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't hired because I don't have a problem lifting ninety pounds." Her smile turned lopsided, which he so far took to mean that she was being wry about something. "Besides, it's all in the technique. Sure, I lift some of it in my arms, but it's all about the thighs." She crouched down and took hold of some milk cases again, this time just to demonstrate. And this time he did see that she stood up slowly while she lifted, and noted the way her thighs strained against her jeans at least as much as her arms strained in the polo. "You'll get it after a bit. And you'll probably get stronger after a bit too. What's important for you to get hired is that Aaron feels he can work with you, have a good comradeship, all of that. Muscle doesn't count much." She winked and let the cases go. "Come on, let's go help Billy restock."

***

Over the next couple of weeks Ryan started getting more and more used to work. He wasn't as knackered when he came home, the lines didn't build up to be as long by his cash register as they had in the beginning - whether he had gotten quicker or scared the customers away, he couldn't tell - he was getting a feel of the routines, and was even sometimes able to point the customers in the right direction when they asked for a certain item. He'd also figured out that the secret in getting through the days sane was to stick around Holly or Nina or both. Both girls were laid-back and relaxed and managed to get their work done just as quickly as Aaron and Billy who rushed and stressed and constantly feared getting behind, which meant that Ryan felt a little less pressured under the girls' guidance.

He, like with college, didn't really feel he had nearly as much time to dedicate to the band as he'd have liked, but he needed the money and at least a job like this didn't give him any work to take home with him, and now that everything wasn't quite as new and confusing and tiring anymore, that still gave him more time than college had.

One Thursday, after a particularly horrendous closing shift, he met at ten, bleary-eyed and yawning, to see Aaron and Billy sticking their heads together in the office, apparently discussing something of some importance, and he immediately got worried. Whenever those two were speaking he couldn't help but to think that they were talking about how poorly Ryan was doing and how he was going to be fired and they shouldn't even have hired him in the first place. "What's up?" he finally summoned up the courage to ask.

Aaron looked up with a smile. "Morning, Ryan," he greeted before glancing back at the papers. "Well, three of the kids we have working evenings are turning eighteeen, and we can't afford to keep them," he stated. "So we're looking through applications to find a new batch. You can get changed and go count up a box in the cash register, then we'll put Nina on unpacking and restocking the cold-cuts and cheese until we can come help." Ryan nodded and set to leave, still catching bits of their conversation.

"...my friend's nephew, I as good as promised... sixteen in two weeks... No, not the face we usually look for in our kids, but..."

Well, at least he could be relieved they weren't talking about how badly Ryan sucked.

***

"How was work?" Jon asked with a chuckle when Ryan raced into Grandma Smith's living room, out of breath and nearly ten minutes late. Trevor was rolling his eyes good-naturedly and Spencer was laughing, and Ryan felt good about it. Just a few short months ago his being late would have resulted in grumpiness and sour hints, but these days it was understanding and humor. Somehow it was as though he fit in all over again. It seemed like some kind of gap that had come between them without Ryan noticing had just disappeared and they weren't all that different anymore.

"It was murder," Ryan stated, laughing. "I have papercuts everywhere and my back is killing me." He stretched, calling forth three pops from his spine just to prove his point. "And I was stressing out so Holly gave me a drag of her cigarette and I couldn't stop coughing. Most embarrassing thing ever." He smiled regardless, though, lighting up even more when the others laughed with him. After a moment he finally convinced himself to go to the keyboard. He turned it on and started fiddling with the settings until he was satisfied, then pulled the mic stand closer. "No way in hell am I putting that guitar over my shoulder tonight," he muttered. "Trev, you're it."

Trevor nodded, grinning lopsidedly as he strapped on his guitar, stepping up to the second mic. Spencer got behind the drum kit and Jon was strapping on his bass and adjusting the stand of the last mic. "Ready?"

And Ryan so was.

***

Ryan got his first glimpse of Aaron's friend's nephew maybe a week later when he was anxiously waiting for the clock to strike five so he could go home. Or, first things first, for the kid who would work the main register during the evening to finish counting his or her change and take over for Ryan so he could go count up his own box on the computer and go home, get some dinner and head to practice. He was tapping his feet even as he raced Mrs. Maddox's goods through, the beeps from the picking up of the barcodes coming nearly rhythmically. He glanced up briefly to see Monique, annoyingly, just standing by the other register with a bored expression on her face. "Aren't you going to start counting sometime today?" he asked, voice edgy before he turned to Mrs. Maddox with a smile. "That's forty-eight seventy-nine, please." He took her fifty and gave her the change and the receipt before pasting on another smile. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

"I'm not manning the register tonight," Monique answered, a quirky smile on her pretty face. She looked closer to twenty than to her actual sixteen, but it was only a plus when the customers didn't feel like they were being handled by complete children. "This kid from my school started yesterday, went through the training modules. I'm supposed to look over his shoulder and make sure he doesn't do anything wrong."

Ryan most definitely remembered that part of being new. It was, however, distant enough by now that he could give a slight chuckle at the thought of what a hell of confusion the new kid would be going through this night. "When's he showing, then?" he asked. Even through his mirth it still bugged him that it looked like he'd be staying till quite a ways past five.

Monique opened her mouth to answer but before she got that far a boy came out from the back, looking around as uncomfortable and uncertain as Ryan remembered being the first time he had to work here. On this kid the expression looked somewhat more permanent, though. His hair was a bad, choppy, dark bowl cut, he was just a bit spotty, his lips were pretty much huge and when he smiled awkwardly he revealed a mouthful of braces. His big brown eyes, which would've been a good feature, looked too-wide and scared behind his thick, red-rimmed glasses. The lime green of the uniform polo did not suit him at all and pretty much everything about him just screamed geek. Ryan couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and not just in general but about work too. Where the adult employees were generally pretty average looking, hired for ability or because of Aaron's gut feelings, all of the kids were stunning. Even the boys were more than their share of boy-pretty, and this one was going to stand out like a sore thumb.

Giving the kid a smile he hoped was reassuring, Ryan quickly finished up with the only customer left in the line and stood up behind the register, leaning out and holding out his hand. "George," he informed with a smile.

The kid took his hand and shook it, a bit sloppily. "Brendon," he returned, flashing another unsure smile. Then he made some vague gestures, ending in a shrug, and went over to Monique who looked at him with disdain even as she started explaining the workings of the cash register and Ryan went back to the next customer. It wasn't that Monique was a mean girl, at all. She was sweet and funny even on her bad days, and very hard-working, but Ryan sort of got it. After all, he still remembered the distance high school put between people and how difficult it could be to look past that, and with her looks Monique most definitely couldn't be walking in the same circles as this Brendon guy, same school or no.

It had reached half past when Brendon had finally gotten through counting his change and Ryan had finished making the bank bag in the back office and was free to leave. With a small smirk he noted it in the shift schedule. At least he'd get paid for the half hour extra. And the pay wasn't even half bad. They got an insurance plan and were still paid two dollars above minimum wage per hour. Probably compensation for the fact that you never left without a new papercut from opening boxes and pulling out goods all the time. Ryan didn't see anything special about Brendon, except the fact that he didn't really fit in, and once he was on the bus, the young man had forgotten everything about the kid.

***

Ryan was scheduled to work the whole shift, eight to eight, that Saturday, with just three of the kids to help him out. He got there and was met by Anna, Katie and Brendon, sent Katie into the milk cooler, Anna to restock the bread and took Brendon with him to get through fruits and vegetables. Ryan immediately got started, emptying boxes into each other and putting them back on the shelves, tossing overly ripe or bruised fruit and rotten tomatos into a box he'd left on the floor for that purpose alone, and when he finally looked up he felt incredibly stupid for already having forgotten just how little he'd known a mere month ago, and how much he'd needed every single little thing explained before he could do it. "I'm so sorry," he burst out, grimacing. "We just need to get everything in boxes and then on the shelves, the oldest stuff on top, all right?"

Brendon nodded, looking a bit embarrassed himself as he got started on the restocking. "Do I have to man the cash?" he asked nervously after five minutes' silent work, heaving up a box of cucumbers to empty into the new box he'd placed in its respective spot on the shelf. "I mean, sure, I would, but I'm still not quite sure how it all works, and if there's suddenly a big line..."

Smiling, Ryan nodded. "My plan was to put you in the third register, which means you only have to help when there are just too many people to handle, which won't happen a lot. And while one of them is at break, of course. The rest of the time you'll be working the floor with me."

The kid grinned and nodded eagerly. "Sounds like I might be able to handle that," he stated. "So long as you don't send me in the freezer," he added, pointing down at his short-clad legs.

"Nah, we don't send you guys in there," Ryan assured. "Something about unsuited working environment for under-eighteens or something." He chuckled. "I'll be going in there later, though. People empty it too quickly." Rolling his eyes, he finished putting the garlic in place and looked up when Anna came over, tucking blonde locks behind her ear.

"I'm done," she declared softly, smiling just a bit. One thing Ryan had learnt by then was that Anna was actually extremely shy, in spite of having a pretty face and the kind of skinny body most teenage girls yearned for, and that you always had to speak gently and sweetly to put her at ease. When you did that, though, she was hard-working and extremely good to have around the store.

"Could you go re-stock the meat, please?" Ryan asked, voice equally as soft and gentle as hers, though a bit more monotone. "Or start on it. I'm going to go open the safe and get out the cash boxes, and then I want you to open register one and start counting the change. We open in..." He glanced briefly at his watch. "Twenty-two minutes." He grimaced slightly at how little time he suddenly had and hurried to the back office to order a code for the safe, placing his index finger on the small scanner. He waited for a moment as his print was scanned and then made sure the countdown of ten minutes to wait for the code had started before he left the office again to help out more with the fruits and vegetables while he waited for the time-locked code to arrive.

Missing in Action [4/?] (2/2)

2008-06-27T15:34:00Z

Missing in Action [04 - 1/2]

2008-06-13T23:57:48Z

Title: Missing In Action.

Rating: R

Pairing: Brendon/Ryan

Summary: The one where Brendon is a prince and Ryan is a secret agent sent to spy on him.

Disclaimer: Don't own, know, believe or wish to get sued.

Notes: Jamie (stereotypeloser) writes Brendon, Jon, Spencer.
I write Ryan, and all of his coworkers.
Big thanks to cadieness for reading through all of this and betaing.

Never before had Ryan experienced actually having to thoroughly debate with himself what clothes he should wear. The school uniform wasn't a good idea, obviously. But he still didn't like the clothes Tobias had made him buy and Brendon had made it quite clear that he didn't either. But at the same time it would look strange if he turned up in something that was completely different from what he'd been wearing the previous night. He finally, with a sigh, took one of the ridiculous t-shirts, but allowed himself a pair of relatively loose jeans and a quite plain hoodie. It still felt weird to wear sneakers, but those were strangely comfortable and didn't really bother him.

After combing his hair and grudgingly adding the frame of black eyeliner around his eyes, inwardly cursing Tobe as he did, he found a jacket, pulled it on and walked out the door, making sure to lock it behind him. He looked down at his watch only to realize that if he didn't hurry up, he was going to be late, all over an issue as stupid as clothes. And thus he sped up, jogging down the halls (and nearly getting lost, again, due to not taking the time to consider his turns and what stairs to use) but stopping in one of the small, cozy common room, the one belonging to the tenth-graders if he were correct.

His phone, the one he'd been giving for the assignment, was ringing, and not answering could cause an alarm and several other things that may not be that good. With a slight groan he tugged the cell phone out of his pocket and took the call. "Yeah?"

"Ry," a cheerful voice said. "It's Tobe. Get there all right?"

"I got here fine," Ryan answered, biting back another groan. "Any reason why you called me?"

"You didn't answer my email," his roommate answered in an uncharacteristically serious voice. "I got worried, okay. You need to answer stuff immediately so I know you're all right."

"Sorry," Ryan answered, starting to walk again. "I'm fine, I've just had a lot on my mind. Remember high school?"

Tobias started laughing heartily. "Yeah. I don't envy you. So, did Princey like the clothes?"

"No, asshole," the younger of the two answered with a groan. "I'm busy now too, so... I'll call you back sometime, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Tobias said. "Don't take too long. Hey, good luck, kid. Take care of yourself."

"You too," Ryan answered before ending the call, walking the last piece of way across the entrance hall as he stuffed the device back into his pocket before he looked up to see three familiar teenage boys waiting there already. "Sorry I'm late," he stated, biting his lip slightly before reminding himself not to. "My brother has terrible timing."

Spencer nodded, "no problem. The car's waiting for us, so we best be off," He started towards the doors, Brendon already in front of him. When they reached the car (which was really a black limo), Brendon shrugged and rolled his eyes, muttering something unintelligible. They all got into the back, the four of them fitting comfortably and with a lot of room to spare. There was a tiny television hanging from the ceiling of the car, a small mini-fridge and a makeshift table. Brendon took the seat nearest the the dividing wall between themselves and the driver and then watched as his friends all sat down, then felt the car pull away from the curb.

"Might as well get comfortable," he said, as he reached up and switched on the television. It was at the music station, as always, and he sat back and listened.

"Any ideas what we're going to get up to tonight?" Jon asked, glancing around. "Movie? Just walking around downtown? Shopping?" His eyes lit up at the last thing on his small list and his eyes widened hopefully. Spencer didn't answer, just laughed and shook his head. He didn't really mind what they did. Instead, he looked over to Ryan for an idea.

Ryan knew that to fit the role, he should support the shopping idea. But he also knew his 'education' wasn't thorough enough, and that if any of the others knew the first thing about designers he'd be busted immediately on his lack of knowledge. Seemed he'd have to do online research on a subject he hated quite soon. But that didn't really solve the problem of tonight. "What is there to do?" he finally asked, hoping that the fact that he didn't just jump at the suggestion of shopping wouldn't give anything away.

Brendon, along with Jon and Spencer, shrugged and said nothing for a few minutes as they all looked out the tinted windows. Finally, he sighed and cleared his throat. "I guess shopping around and watching movies is all, really. But it's not, like, a big mall-type shopping. Mostly it's just small vintage shops with odd, but cool, clothing. I don't know if you'd like it," Brendon said, snickering lightly, before Spencer shot him a scathing look.

"It's really fun, though. Old town with old buildings and old people." Spencer grinned. "Oh, and the best ice cream ever, too."

"Ice cream definitely sounds good," Ryan said in agreement, not even lying. It had been too long since he'd last had any. "And the rest is nice as well. As for the clothes... sometimes it can be fun enough to just look at things. You know, stuff can be nice even though you'd never wear it?" Not a lie either. Dresses, some of them anyway, were pretty, but he'd be damned if he wore one. He leaned back in the seat with a small smile, actually finding himself looking forward to the outing now.

Brendon sniffed and nodded stiffly. The rest of the ride was passed in relative silence. They didn't really have much to discuss, after all. Once they'd arrived, Brendon donned a pair of old sunglasses he'd found near the seat, hoping it would do the trick. He exited the car and quickly looked around, happy to see that downtown wasn't even close to busy. He waited for his friends before walking away from the car. He knew the ice cream shop that Spencer had been talking about and it wasn't very far from where the car had dropped them off. He fixed the collar on his polo shirt and dusted it off, even though it was hardly needed. He pulled out his wallet from the pocket of his khakis shorts and checked it, making sure everything was there, much like he'd done before leaving his room over an hour ago. He looked back briefly to make sure they were following him before continuing down the street.

When he stopped in front of the small ice cream shop, he waited for everyone to catch up and held the door open as they filed inside. Once they were all at the counter, he peered into beyond the glass window and at all the flavours of ice cream, trying to decide what he wanted. "I'm going to have chocolate-chip mint," Jon announced, glancing at Spencer and smiling.

"I'm having chocolate-chip cookie dough," Spencer said, nodding. Both he and Jon always got the same thing. Spencer looked over at Ryan to see what he'd get, not taking any notice of the woman waiting patiently behind the counter.

"Do they have caramel?" Ryan found himself asking with a small smile. Changing his tastes in food was not something he'd have to do, and for that he was grateful. "Otherwise strawberry is fine. I like the simpler stuff." He looked around himself slowly, taking in the cozy layout of the small shop, feeling oddly comfortable for the first time in days. He definitely liked this place.

The lady behind the counter nodded, "we have caramel," she said. She then waited on Brendon, frowning slightly to see a young man wearing sunglasses inside and this late in the evening. Brendon had his head ducked, looking through all the flavours as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Finally, he looked up with a smile.

"Coffee, please." He asked, meticulously polite as always. The coffee flavoured ice cream had chocolate-covered coffee beans in it, and it was almost making him salivate. "And we'll all take two scoops and in those waffle cones, please. How much?" He was already reaching for his wallet and walking towards the cash register. The lady punched in their orders, even as Spencer opened his mouth to protest.

"That will be 16.93, please," the lady said with another smile as Brendon gave her a twenty. She gave him his change before busying herself with preparing their ice cream.

Ryan couldn't help but feel bad as Brendon paid. He knew the boy didn't even like him, hadn't honestly wanted to come along. So why do something like that. Being polite, he finally realized. Brendon had been raised to be polite, to be a good ruler. And, in a way, Ryan supposed, the Prince may be unconsciously playing host right now. After all, Ryan was foreign. "Thank you," he finally said, following it up with a meek smile. He'd protest, but didn't want to create an awkward situation, and somehow comfortable mixed with the feeling of having no idea what to do with himself, at all. "So, uhm," he started before trailing off, still unsure about pretty much everything.

Brendon shrugged, "no big deal," he said, taking an ice cream cone as it was handed to him. He inspected it before passing it off to Spencer. The boy smiled softly and shook his head. Sometimes Brendon amazed him. How could somehow be so withdrawn from so many people, and yet still be so nice? But, being nice was a habit, and Spencer knew that. He still believed that Brendon wanted to do it, though. It made him feel better. When Jon and Ryan got their ice creams, he grinned at them and licked the side of his own, waiting for Brendon, who joined them only seconds later.

"I've never tasted caramel ice cream," Jon said, eying Ryan. "Mind if I have a lick, Andy-Poo?" He snickered, liking that he'd used Ryan's middle name and the boy would probably hate him for it. It was probably like using Brendon's middle name; you got glared at for it and maybe even ignored. He bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation.

"Well," Ryan mumbled, suddenly seeing an opening. Some day Brendon would have to find out who he 'was', and letting him guess on his own, gradually, was better than springing it on the much younger boy, he'd imagine. "You aren't going to find out about it like that Walker. I don't appreciate the 'poo', but I actually have nothing against my middle name, just that specific shortation. It's Ryan or Drew to you, and perhaps I'll consider."

Before Jon could respond, Brendon spluttered, some of the ice cream that had been in his mouth dripping onto his bottom lip. He quickly licked it up, then narrowed his eyes. "Your middle name is Andrew?" he asked suspiciously, but also quite surprised. He let his mind wrap around it before shaking his head. No, this meant nothing. It was simply a coincidence. Brendon looked away, obviously bothered by something that neither Jon nor Spencer could understand. But... Drew, computer Drew, had said that he was moving, hadn't he? Oh, fuck. Quickly, Brendon went back to looking passive, but didn't lift his gaze from the ground.

Jon cleared his throat, brows furrowed. "Uh, anyway..." he trailed off, looking at Spencer questioningly. Unfortunately, his friend merely shrugged.

"Ryan Andrew Hastings," Ryan quickly clarified, shrugging slightly. "Doesn't get much plainer than that." He let out a slight laugh at it before falling silent, the awkward feeling overtaking him again. "My brother," he added, "half-brother, two years older; when we were small he could neither say Ryan nor Andrew, and it ended up being Drew and to some people it has stuck. I guess Tobe was a little slow on the uptake on learning to speak. Sadly, though, he's learnt and now he won't shut up." And he decided to end his monologue with that, taking a lick of the ice cream. It really was good.

Brendon cleared his throat, remaining silent. Finally, he looked back up (though didn't meet any one's eye) and shrugged. "Well, let's get outside, shall we? Walk around and such." After that, he hurried out quickly, glad that he was wearing the sunglasses and hiding the shock he still felt. He saw Spencer fall into step beside him and sighed heavily.

"So, Ryan, while I was stalking you on my computer yesterday, I noticed that I couldn't find anyone by the name of Ryan Andrew Hastings anywhere," Jon started, only to have Spencer smack him on the arm. "What?!" he asked, incredulous. "I'm just saying, man. So, do your parents keep to themselves a lot, Ryan? Is that it? Are they criminals? Have they done something very bad and are now hiding from the world?" He addressed Ryan again, eyebrows raised. Brendon couldn't help the chuckle that escaped at Jon's questions.

Ryan mentally swore and made note to at least make a website for his 'father''s company as soon as possible. "Why would there be any hits on my name?" he asked. "I haven't done anything extraordinary. I'm seventeen years old. And when I use the Internet myself, I just use Drew. Search that and you'll get some results." And he knew there were results on that. When the bureau had first started speaking with Brendon online they'd constructed an elaborate, believable Internet identity, including email addresses, website memberships, journals with backdated entries, everything. "And as I already told you, my father runs the family company, which, by the way, is perfectly legitimate. He's a little old-fashioned, though. It's only been a few weeks since we finally talked him into hiring someone to build the company a website. It's not up yet, as far as I know."

"Mhmm..." Jon stroked his chin thoughtfully. Before he could reply, though, Brendon cut him off.

"You're really odd. You know that, Jon? I mean... leave the poor guy alone. You really don't have to scare everyone away." Brendon sighed and shook his head as Spencer nodded in agreement. "Whatever, let's just walk around. And Jon, stop being so nosy. If you're going to ask questions incessantly, at least make them funny."

Jon, who had been pouting, perked up at this. "Okay! I've got it, I've got--" he stopped talking and walking as two girls walked by, their long hair playing around their faces and their hips going from side to side as they walked. Jon smiled at them and whistled, turning as they walked by and watched them until they disappeared into a shop. "Mmm, well, Ryan. How do you like the girls here, eh?" He had a permanent smile plastered to his face when he turned back. Spencer snickered and Brendon shook his head, rolling his eyes.

Ryan looked up, only then noticing the girls. Exactly the same as back home, really. He shrugged and decided to be blunt. "Not into them," he simply stated, secretly wondering if Jon would actually understand what he'd meant or just think of it as an insult to the country. Either way the reaction should be funny, and when Ryan met Spencer's eyes with a slight grin he could see the amusement on the boy's face as well.

Jon gaped at Ryan, having stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. This caused Brendon and Spencer to stop with him as well, both looking annoyed. "Do you..." he stopped, not knowing how to go on. "What's that supposed to mean?!" he practically shrieked, eyes wide. Brendon snorted behind him and shook his head.

"I think that's pretty obvious, Jon. Please don't tell me you're that stupid." He chuckled, hiding his slight surprise. Ryan didn't look like the type to be forward about things like that, but the boy kept shocking Brendon, anyway.

Ryan actually had to fight laughter and was surprised to realize that despite the lies, despite everything, he was having a good time. "Don't worry, though," he said, observing Jon's wide-eyed look. "I'm not really into bulky, overly curious and obnoxious." He kept a smile on his lips to take the sting off the words even though he couldn't deny that the boy was still annoying him. "Tend to go for slight and brainy, so you're not in any immediate danger."

Brendon coughed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "That might be a good thing for Jon," he mumbled, before shaking his head and frowning at himself. Spencer, however, heard him and dissolved into giggles, seemingly for no reason. Jon narrowed his eyes at them before he shook his head and resumed walking. When Spencer stopped laughing, finally, he looked at Brendon and smiled.

"You're not brainy, Bren. Sorry," he started laughing again when Brendon blushed bright red and shoved him away.

"Anyway," Ryan said. "As exciting as my sexuality and preferred types might be, didn't we have plans?" He was once again fighting back laughter. The hue of Brendon's face was truly amusing. As was the fact that Jon didn't seem to know what to say at all. Suddenly, though, he swallowed a little. Perhaps the Prince's whole charade meant that he had to appear to have a certain attitude to things like this too. And perhaps Jon's reaction wasn't really all that amusing, but more of an indication of disgust. And he inwardly bashed himself over the head for actually feeling insecure. He wasn't even gay, that wasn't him, it was Hastings, Hastings who didn't even exist. Being self-conscious about something like this was just stupid. But perhaps he should use it. "That is," he muttered, deciding to go with it. "If you still want to have plans with me."

Brendon snorted rather loudly at that, making Spencer jump slightly. "Don't be stupid," he said, sounding condescending, though he didn't really mean to. "That doesn't matter to us."

"It doesn't?" Jon asked, seemingly out of nowhere. He looked at Brendon, both eyebrows raised. "You practically drove that one guy out of school when he came out last year! That senior, don't you remember?!" He sounded hysterical, even to himself, but he was feeling lost right now and this is how he reacted. "God, Brendon. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Brendon had the decency to look embarrassed. "Things have changed," he said firmly, lips pressed tightly together after. He took a deep breath and continued. "I was an asshole last year and I was my dad's puppet, which meant I was a slave to his religion," he said this with his voice lowered to a harsh whisper, lest anyone hear. Jon sighed and stepped back.

"Whatever, man. I don't..." he looked at Ryan and shook his head, sneering slightly. "Whatever."

Ryan was slightly baffled at the response. Brendon's initial response had made him think things were going well, but Jon's sudden sneer and slightly harsh comments had him feeling sort of vulnerable, and he bit his lip slightly, not even trying to stop himself this time. He took a few quick strides, getting a few paces ahead of the others. Honestly, he wasn't even sure what was bothering him, but he wanted, needed, to do something. He just wasn't sure what at all.

The others may have been speaking softly amongst themselves while they walked. He wasn't sure, wasn't listening. Instead he forced himself to pay attention to the buildings around him, to the cozy atmosphere of the town. It was nice. He'd probably have enjoyed it under different circumstances. And suddenly he noticed a seemingly misplaced neon sign down an alley a little off the road they were following, declaring in loud green and blue that it was a laser tag rink. And suddenly he was grinning despite himself. Shooting, even though it didn't really count like this, had had a calming effect on him for some reason ever since he was small and his father had taught him how to hold his old rifle, and the effect of it had only grown since the academy. He abruptly turned and started to walk down the alley, sort of not really cared if the others were following or not. He could go in on his own, find a nice spot on the wall to hit or something. Not very funny, but still sort of therapeutic.

"Oh, god," Brendon said, following quickly after Ryan. He smirked. "You want to play laser tag?" He asked, disbelieving. Beside him, Spencer chuckled. "I hear it's fun, but... isn't it for children?" He frowned and peered up at the sign. A few seconds later, Jon turned into the alley, and then stayed near the entrance, leaning against the wall. Obviously, he wouldn't be joining.

"Oh, well. Let him pout," Spencer said, when Brendon turned back and huffed in frustration at Jon. "Let's go."

Ryan smiled slightly upon noticing that at least some of them had followed him. "You know that a sign of maturity is to stop thinking in terms of 'for children' and 'for adults', right?" he asked rhetorically. "It's fun, of course I want to play. But we'll have trouble with the teams." He walked through the door and up to the counter where an old lady with thick glasses was standing, peering sharply at them when they entered before smiling broadly.

"What can I help you boys with?" she asked, voice withered but surprisingly steady and loud.

"We'd like to play if the lane's free," Ryan stated quickly, already inching a hand into his pocket for his wallet.

"Of course," she answered, grin growing wider as she looked them over. "Uneven teams?"

"I guess I could go alone," Ryan mused out loud, shrugging slightly. Unless Brendon had received training Ryan shouldn't have trouble holding his own against the two boys.

"I could play with you," the lady stated, her whole face seeming to light up with the idea. "Keeps me young." She seemed almost giddy for a moment. "I'll even give you a discount." And before even waiting for answers, she hollered for "Herold!" to "Look after the business!" and ushered them through a door before the old man even had time to fully appear from between the game consoles to take over the counter.

Spencer caught Ryan's eyes, confused, but the older of them merely shrugged, following the old lady who was in the middle of introducing herself as Betty Miller while she led them into a small, darkened room and urged them to take off the outer layers of shirts and threw stiff plastic vests at them, red at Brendon and Ryan and a green one at Spencer while she pulled a matching green one on herself, informing them that the bell would ring in two minutes and then they'd have half an hour before going over the rules.

Brendon looked slightly panicked as he tried to figure out the vest. "I-I don't... um. Wh-what am I supposed to do?" He asked, slightly apprehensive, and looked at Ryan. He'd pushed the sunglasses up over his eyes and into his hair in order to see, and what he could see was Ryan having no trouble at all and looking confident. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to calm. He hated not being in control of situations. He quickly pulled on the vest, though it felt horribly awkward, and looked around, eyebrows knit.

Spencer, on the other hand, had put on his vest with ease and was laughing with the old woman, no doubt at something she'd said. Brendon growled. He hated when others did better than he did.

Ryan was examining the laser rifle attached to the vest, weighing it in his hands and testing out different grips until he felt comfortable with the toy. Then he looked up to see Spencer and the lady both laughing at something and Brendon looking more than just a little vexed and uncomfortable. "Hey," he muttered, gingerly placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "If you don't want to, it's fine. Jon's probably bored by now."

Brendon scoffed and shook his head. "Absurd! Of course I want to! Why wouldn't I?" He narrowed his eyes at Ryan. He shrugged Ryan's hand away and picked up the same little toy he had in his hand. "What in the name of..?" He muttered, frowning as he examined the hunk of plastic. "I just... I just don't know how this works, all right? And if you expect me to be good with guns, don't get your hopes up." He sniffed in disdain and rolled his eyes.

For the umpteenth time that evening Ryan bit back a laugh. "Hold it like this," he instructed, holding his own gun to instruct. "You can't drop it since it's strapped to the vest, so don't worry about that." He moved his hand in again, a little more apprehensive about touching this time since Brendon's reaction had been negative the last time. He moved his finger the rest of the way, though, moved Brendon's fingers a little. "And you can't hold your finger there, or you'll block the shots and kill yourself every time you try to shoot someone else. Other than that, you need to protect the plates on your chest and back. Those are the censors. And the things you need to try to hit on the others." He pulled his hand back, placing it comfortably on the plastic gun. "And don't worry about that, I'm plenty good with them. My father loves to hunt. Has been taking me since I was little."

"Right," Brendon mumbled, hoping that the darkness had hidden his blush. Again. He felt like a pre-teen. "What if I just hid behind you? Would that work?" he asked, looking hopeful. He really would be crap at this little game. "Unless you'd like to teach me how to shoot, you know. I don't play sports or anything, so I've never learned how to aim. Well, actually, I've done some archery. Does that count? That must mean I have good aim. It was a long time ago, though..." he trailed off, realizing he was rambling, and cleared his throat before averting his eyes from Ryan. What the hell was wrong with him? He was getting rather annoyed with himself.

"That should definitely help," Ryan stated, smiling slightly before raising his toy. "You need to look straight over the top of the gun and have the target straight in your line of vision, but since it's laser, you don't have to raise it to shoot longer. Other than that I guess the aiming is still the same," he continued with a shrug. "It's not that hard. Besides, having fun is more important than winning. Even if losing to an old lady would be kind of..." He trailed off, wrinkling his nose slightly before releasing a small laugh, letting the words stand on their own. "But don't worry, you'll catch on soon. Just look out for the mines and the robots if there are any of those. Remember that it's okay to run or to take cover. And if you see their base, you yell for me. Remember that the base works as a mine as well."

"Okay," Brendon took a deep breath. "Okay, I can do this. Yes." He mumbled to himself, mostly convincing that he could do it, until Spencer made stupid laser noises from a few feet away, pretended to shoot Brendon. Brendon rolled his eyes.

"Bang! You're dead, Bren!" He said, then continued shooting and making ridiculous noises. Beside him, the old woman rolled her eyes before thumping him hard on the arm. Spencer jumped in surprise and looked at her. "What?!" He asked, but she simply shook her head and sighed. Brendon snorted. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

Suddenly the bell rang and the old lady opened the door leading into an even darker room with disco-style flashing lights and UV lamps making the orange and green graffiti on the walls light up.

Ryan could already feel the adrenaline working up in him just by being in the room. He and Tobe had gone for one on ones several times at a lane not far from where they lived. In Ryan's opinion it was a great thrill, probably the most fun way of getting exercise he knew. "We have a minute now to get away from the others and to our base," he told Brendon, smiling but refraining from grabbing the boy's arm. "It said on the sign that's it's three levels, so it's rather large. Too large to just snipe about, so yeah." He cocked an eyebrow. "Anything you need to know before we get started?"

"Uhh..." Brendon faltered, then quickly shook his head. "I'll just, um, do what you do?" He asked meekly, shrugging. He could hear Spencer and the old woman, faintly. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He bit his lip, clearing his throat, and suddenly his face was emotionless again. He was on guard. No more anxiety. He couldn't afford it right now. "Let's kick their asses." He said. He almost laughed when he heard the old woman let out some sort of battle cry- or, that's what it sounded like to him. It could have been something completely different. Maybe she was scolding Spencer. Maybe she was just really excited. She scared him a bit, but he didn't show that.

"Let's," Ryan replied, unable to hold back a grin. After the new school, new people, new country, new everything, it felt good to feel on top of a situation, be in control. In a way it had also been amusing to really get the first feel that Brendon really was nearly seven years younger than him. Slightly disconcerting, considering the fact that that served as a reminder that his assignment was to exploit a mere child, but also oddly comforting. It made him less insecure. He kept walking, speeding up to a slight jog. "Let's get to the second or third level. That way it'll be easier to survey everything and gain an advantage." He sped up again, throwing a grin over his shoulder. "Don't get lost."

Brendon followed him, looking over his shoulder and glancing around every few seconds. He held the toy in front of him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Was this how it felt to be a spy? If so, it was pretty cool. "Is this how it feels to be a secret agent?!" Brendon asked, then laughed at his own question, snorted. He shook his head and followed Ryan closely, not wanting to lose him. "Do we have a strategy?" He asked, eyes wide. Crap. He didn't know what he was doing! They were definitely going to lose this and it would be all Brendon's fault.

Ryan almost jumped at the first question, scared for a moment that there was more to it than innocent joking. He managed to calm himself down quickly, though, keeping his reaction carefully neutral. "No idea. How would I know?" He forced a laugh. "If so, I guess it would be pretty neat, though." He adjusted the gun strap and vest on his narrow shoulder, making it slightly more comfortable. "We should stay close, but not too close. If we're too close we could end up shooting each other, but one of us could need help, so we can't be far apart. If you stay behind me, just in sight, it should be fine until we need to think of something else."

Brendon nodded to himself. He was tempted to go rolling about on the floor, or something equally stupid and childish. He stopped himself, however, when he heard a noise behind him. Jumping, he quickly looked around, stopping dead in his tracks. He didn't see anything. Maybe the excitement was causing him to hear things. He stayed there for several moments, just making sure, before turning back around to find Ryan. "Shit," he muttered, realizing he'd lost sight of the other boy. He mentally kicked himself for stopping without so much as a warning. If this were real, he would probably get killed. Just fantastic. Groaning, he continued walking in the direction Ryan had been going, hoping he would find his team mate soon enough.

It took a bit before Ryan started to find it strange that the occasional talking from behind him had ceased and he turned around only to realize that he was alone. Brendon was nowhere in his short, narrow line of sight, random walls and barrels blocking him from seeing too far. He groaned slightly, mentally chastising himself for not being more attentive. Even if it was just a game, he was still trained to work as a part of a team, not just alone. Okay, so teamwork hadn't been his strong side, but he still shouldn't lose someone he was supposed to work with. Good thing he'd decided against becoming a bodyguard. He'd have sucked at that. Hitching in a deep breath, he turned around and started to make his way back, looking around attentively.

Brendon hummed to himself, still looking around for Ryan, ducking behind walls when he felt the urge to. Not because he had to, but just because he wanted to. He tried to look nonchalant, but his heart was practically beating out of his chest. It was an odd feeling, to say the least. He really wished he would find Ryan soon. He didn't want to be alone in this, though he would never admit it. When he saw something gray move by him, he stopped and ducked further under the wall, before looking up over the ledge. Aha. The old woman, and she was alone. Brendon smirked to himself. All right. He could do this. He could hit her. It would be easy as pie. Maybe. Taking a deep breath, Brendon took aim, even though his hands shook a little. He waited until she turned, unaware, and then he quickly took his chance and shot, before quickly ducking down again, and running away, bent over and hopefully out of sight. He almost laughed out loud. He didn't even know if he'd hit her and he was acting all giddy!

Ryan was looking straight ahead and hadn't noticed the fact that there was an opening in the wall to his left. Not until someone propelled out, that was, knocking his lanky body although the person really wasn't much bigger himself. And a moment later Ryan was on his back on the floor, a startled shriek managing to escape his lips before the wind was knocked out of him as the other person - Brendon, he realized - landed on him.

Brendon did laugh then. Really, really loudly. He shook against Ryan, eyes shut tight. When he stopped, he looked down at Ryan and blinked. "I shot the old woman," he whispered, letting his head fall onto Ryan's shoulder. It wasn't long, however, before he remembered himself and sighed, pushing himself off Ryan. When he was up, he held out a hand to Ryan. "She's probably still around," he said. "We should go, eh? Sorry for stopping and losing you, by the way. I thought I'd heard something."

"Don't worry about it," Ryan said, coughing slightly and somehow laughing at the same time, pleased that Brendon wasn't angry or anything of the like. "And congrats on shooting her. Way to go, mate." He reached up and let Brendon clasp their hands together to pull him up. When he was standing again, he quickly dusted himself off, still smiling. "You know," he added. "Right now I'm definitely glad you aren't Jon. Or larger. Damn." Then he took a deep breath, realizing he was on the verge of starting to ramble. "Let's try to find them again. Try to keep up this time, will you?" He winked quickly before starting to head off in the direction Brendon had come from.

Brendon chuckled and nodded, quickly falling into step behind Ryan. In his head, he chanted, 'I shot her, I shot her,' almost like it had won him the game. He soon reminded himself that it hadn't and they probably had far to go. He wondered what Jon was doing outside, sad that they weren't sharing this. Oh, well. They would come back. He was sure Jon was just being a spoiled brat. Brendon shook his head at himself. "Do you think they've stayed together or separated?" He asked Ryan, making sure to keep quiet.

"If you only saw Mrs. Miller, chances are they've split up," Ryan answered, keeping his gaze straight ahead, but constantly making sure to strain to pay attention to the sound of the younger boy's footsteps even over the heavy bass and drums of the music played over the speaker system. Suddenly he heard something more, a clatter of shoes against the floor, falling rhythmically below them. And then he grinned, moving over to the ramp and getting to his knees to peer down. It only took a moment to spot Spencer, and Ryan immediately dropped to the floor to be harder to spot. He raised the toy took aim and fired, grinning slightly as he saw the lights around Spencer's back sensor blink and then go out before waiting the five seconds it would take until the boy could be shot again.

Brendon giggled gleefully. "Score!" he mouthed, his chest swelling with pride as he watched Ryan hit Spencer. He dropped to the ground near Ryan and surveyed Spencer's bewildered expression for a few moments. "Can I shoot him?" He whispered, looking at Ryan. "Or will that give away our position?" He grinned, feeling as though he were in a movie.

Ryan flashed Brendon a quick grin. "It shouldn't," he whispered back. "Just stay close enough that it looks like it came from the same place. I'll keep an eye out for Mrs. Miller. Hopefully she isn't shooting our base right now. She has the unfair advantage of knowing where it is beforehand." He held back a chuckle at the strange movements Spencer was making, swirling around himself as if expecting to find one of them just there. "Oh, you can shoot now, by the way."

Brendon smiled and took aim at Spencer, waited for him to stop spinning around a little, and then fired. When the lights on Spencer's vest sensor blinked again, the boy threw his hands in the air and cursed loudly, looking around even more. Brendon bit back laughter and rolled away from the side as to not be seen. He turned to look at Ryan. "How many times do we shoot him before he dies?"

"When he's been shot five times he has to go back to base to reload," Ryan explained. Suddenly he was smirking. "That's it," he stated. "We shoot him five times and follow him back to their base. Then one of us lures him away and the other one takes out the base." He grinned and quickly took aim at Spencer, shooting him nonchalantly once again. "Bloody brilliant."

Brendon chuckled, waited, then shot again. "Well, I'll let you have the honors of shooting the last one," he said to Ryan, bowing his head slightly. He rolled out of the way, keeping an eye on Spencer, and then glanced behind him, just in case. Didn't really want anyone sneaking up behind him. "Oh, Spencer," he whispered, snickering. "Poor, poor, Spencer."

Ryan laughed silently and delivered the last shot, barely using any time to get aim. Spencer wasn't that far away and the sensor was much larger than the bull's eyes he was used to on the practice range. "Come on," he muttered, getting to his feet. He smiled, holding his hand out in a way that was quite similar to what Brendon had done for him just a few minutes earlier.

Brendon smirked and followed.

***

"Yes!" Brendon pumped his fist into the air while pushing his glasses back over his eyes with his free hand. "We win, we win!" He said in a sing-song voice, cackling at Spencer's pout as they made their way out of the establishment after having paid. Spencer folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, but couldn't suppress a small smile.

Ryan grinned, pushing damp locks behind his ears. He bumped shoulders with Brendon lightly, half accident and half friendly fun. He was astonished by how much a simple game, half an hour of fun, had managed to open Brendon up, give him expressions and put excitement in his voice, make him seem like a normal teenage boy. And for a few moments his assignment seemed easier than it had ever appeared before. Then work was gone from his mind again as he chuckled. "Be nice to poor Spencer, Brendon," he said, laughing slightly as he spoke. "Don't mock him; feel sorry for him. The poor lad got over two thousand points negative."

Brendon laughed loudly at that until he noticed Jon sitting near the wall of the building and looking thoroughly bored. Jon looked up when they all came walking out, eyebrows knit. Brendon stopped laughing and Spencer sighed, shaking his head. "Well, well, well," Brendon said, one eyebrow raised. Sighing, Jon pushed himself up until he was standing.

"Hi, guys..." he trailed off, bit his lip, looked over to Ryan. "Sorry for being a jerk," he mumbled.

Ryan managed a small smile, nothing like the grin from a moment earlier, but just as genuine. Perhaps the Walker kid wasn't really as bad as he'd thought. "Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug. "At least you didn't punch me or anything that extreme. No hard feelings."

Jon smiled widely and nodded, blushing just the tiniest bit. They all started walking once again, Brendon checking the watch on his wrist. "It's eight o'clock. We'll leave at nine so we get to school a little bit before curfew, all right?"

Spencer nodded, "what are we doing until then, though?" He asked, looking around as they emerged from the alley. All that was left, really, was roaming around and maybe checking out the shops. He watched as Brendon's face became the impassive mask again and held back his sigh. Well, he'd expected that, but it was sad to see. Jon seemed to think the same, because he frowned at Brendon momentarily before looking away.

Racking his brain for something to do, Ryan inched his hands into his pockets uncomfortably, but even if they were being squished it was nicer than having them out without knowing what to do with them. He tried to remember what the kids he went to high school with had liked to do back in the day, but his complete disinterest as a teenager was definitely coming back to bite him in the ass.

Jon was the one who suddenly lit up, grinning, his mood completely changed since they'd left him. "The hockey place!" he exclaimed. "When they aren't practicing, it's used as a normal ice skating rink, remember? So if you aren't over your childish streak yet, we could do that. I haven't skated in forever!"

Ryan bit back his groan, rolling his eyes slightly. He'd gone ice skating once with Tobias the previous year on one of the outdoors rink. He was still pretty sure his roommate had just wanted to see the younger man make a fool of himself. And that was indeed what had happened. Finally he'd adopted the right mask and he looked up, smiling. "I couldn't skate if my life depended on it," he confessed. "But a bruised tailbone sounds like fun. Let's go."

Brendon groaned. "Count me out. I am not putting myself through that in front of you people," he shook his head, completely serious. "I'll just have fun watching." Spencer rolled his eyes at this and huffed. Stupid Brendon worrying about what people thought about him again. He didn't bother arguing, though. When Brendon had stupid notions in his head, nobody could contradict him or make him change his mind. After a few seconds, Spencer smiled at Jon and nodded.

Missing in Action [03]

2008-06-07T15:58:37Z

Title: Missing In Action.

Rating: R

Pairing: Brendon/Ryan

Summary: The one where Brendon is a prince and Ryan is a secret agent sent to spy on him.

Disclaimer: Don't own, know, believe or wish to get sued.

Notes: Jamie (stereotypeloser) writes Brendon, Jon, Spencer.
I write Ryan, and all of his coworkers.
Big thanks to cadieness for reading through all of this and betaing.

Spencer had spent most of last night listening to Jon ramble on about some new student. Now, it wasn't often that Spencer told Jon to shut the hell up, but when the other boy had come back to their room the night before, skipping and grinning, Spencer had already been in a horrible mood. He'd learned in Social Studies that they would be starting a project soon that required you to write an argumentative essay. They hadn't been given the subject yet, all Spencer was sure of was his hatred for essays. This morning, as he swung his legs to the side and sat up in bed, Spencer glanced over at Jon's sleeping form and rolled his eyes. No wonder the guy was sleeping right through the alarm; he'd spent most of the night on his laptop, researching the name Ryan Andrew Hastings for some information. It wouldn't have been completely an exaggeration to call Jon a stalker.

Sighing heavily, Spencer stood from the bed and stretched, his immaculate flannel pajamas now rumpled from sleep. He trudged to the washroom, mumbling at Jon to wake up, wake up, wake up. Once he was dressed and ready to leave, he waited by the door for Jon to pull on his socks and sleepily slip on his shoes. They made their way down to the cafeteria for breakfast consisting of bread, fruit, eggs and various breakfast meats. When they had finished the quick breakfast, both boys parted ways; Spencer to his Social Studies class and Jon to Phys. Ed.

The teacher for the Social Studies class was an old, bitter woman. She adored giving the toughest subjects for all her essays, and always succeeded in dividing her class on the right or wrongs of certain things. Spencer always thought that she did this out of pure pleasure of seeing people fight and not because she wanted them to learn something. He had no doubt that it would be the same thing today. He took his usual seat near the back and placed all his books on the small, wooden desk before waiting impatiently for the class to start. He only looked up when almost everyone in the class stopped talking. The teacher had come in, only about four minutes before the bell, as always, and they knew they weren't permitted to talk. Spencer sighed and stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he waited for class to start.

Ryan was more or less lost. The teacher the night before had talked about the Walker kid walking him to classes so he would get there with no trouble, but Ryan had found breakfast on his own and had then waited for the kid to come find him. Which, obviously, hadn't happened yet. In the end he'd decided that he should start looking himself, and that was why he was now walking down an unfamiliar hallway, hoping to just stumble across the right class room or something. Social studies in room 208 or something. He'd deducted that it had to be on the second floor, but that was how far he'd gotten, and now he was looking at the door leading into room 227, having absolutely no clue of where he ought to go. For a moment he considered barging into one of the other classrooms in the hopes that some teacher would be nice enough to guide him along the way, but if he were to judge by Brown, he had a feeling the teachers wouldn't really like that.

The bell rang and he cringed slightly. He hated being late for anything. It was probably just something that had been drilled into him at the academy, but that didn't change the fact that he was feeling very uncomfortable at the moment, even to the point where he felt a slight chill run down his back. And he really sort of hated that. He was supposed to be on top of things, in control of all of this, and yet he couldn't even make it to his very first class on time. And to top it off, that made him feel uneasy. He'd have to spend some time alone in his room later trying to get the fact that he wasn't some scared student but an agent with a mission through his own mind.

He was at room 215 now, so he was pretty sure he had to have taken a right turn somewhere. At least he was closer now. Even though the extra attention he'd be drawing to himself was quite unnecessary, and definitely unwanted. Oh, well, he should be able to deal with that. 210, definitely the right direction. And there was 208. He sighed in relief, reaching up to tighten his tie a little and make sure his uniform was in perfect order, and opened the door, biting his lip slightly as he tried to walk in quietly.

'Quietly' didn't seem to have much of an effect since the teacher, an elderly, strict-looking woman, looked straight at him the moment he shut the door behind him. Her eyes were narrowed and irritated behind thick glasses. "And who do I have the pleasure of seeing in my classroom at..." She looked pointedly at her watch before meeting his gaze again, lips pursed. "Eight thirty-four?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Ryan mumbled. "I got lost. The kid who-"

"I didn't ask for the story of your life," the woman snapped, glaring even harder. "I asked for a name to write down on this detention slip."

He gulped slightly, looking down on his sneakers momentarily before moving his gaze back up. "Ryan Hastings, ma'am," he answered, having to force himself to keep from shuffling his feet nervously. Great, first day and he already had a detention. At least he didn't have orders not to get one. And damn, yet another reason to dislike the Walker kid.

The teacher quickly scribbled a note and placed it on her desk with a slap of her hand. "Well, don't just stand there. One thing is that you're late and haven't brought your books, an entirely different one is to disrupt the lesson for the entire class. Sit!"

Ryan nodded, turning around to overlook the classroom. There weren't many free seats, so he simply hurried down and all but flung himself into the first one, hoping to lose the spotlight as soon as possible.

Spencer chuckled quietly, as did most of the boys in the class, and guessed that this was the kid Jon had been talking about. He settled right down when the teacher turned her attention back to the class. She didn't waste any time in informing them of the project once again and forming the groups. When she had gone through most of the students, she turned to Spencer. "And, from what I remember, since Mr. Smith cannot seem to agree with anyone in this class, we'll try giving him a new partner. Ryan Hastings, you are now paired up with Spencer Smith. Spencer, I expect you to make an effort, instead of arguing with your classmates about everything." Without waiting for a reply from either boy, she turned away from them and started writing on the chalkboard. "This," she started, once she'd written on the board, "is your subject."

'Slaves And Our Economy: Are their salaries making a difference?'

Spencer held back a groan and let his head fall onto the desk, just as the teacher told everyone to pair up. He kept his face on the hard, cool, surface of the desk and didn't look up. He sure as hell was not going to be the one to move.

Ryan, honestly, felt disgusted just by the subject in itself. He couldn't understand how anyone could see other people as possessions, something to own and now something to hate because it messed with the economy. This, he reminded himself, was a huge part of the reason why he was so adamant on fighting for his own country, because it was the opposite, because it regarded people as people.

After a few moments and another stern look from the teacher, he started looking around the classroom before letting his eyes settle on the boy he supposed was Spencer Smith. The only one not in a group yet anyway. The boy was nearly lying across his table, and Ryan wasn't sure whether he was asleep or just trying to disappear. Frankly he didn't care much. Essays were something he could deal with, even if the subject was horrible. After all the only things he'd written in years were letters, emails, reports and files. He had nonfiction down quite well.

He remembered group work in high school, though, and had to hold back a groan. He'd never been good at it, mostly because the others either hated him, didn't take the assignment seriously, or both, and as a result he much preferred doing this kind of work on his own. He wasn't exactly being given a choice, though, so he finally picked up his chair and moved it over to the boy's desk. "Hey," he muttered, refraining from biting his lip yet again.

Spencer took a deep breath before lifting his head and sending a weak smile Ryan's way. "Hey," he said, cocking his head to the side and studying the boy in front of him. He remained silent for a few seconds, until the teacher cleared her throat loudly and Spencer opened his binder and found a blank sheet of lined paper. "All right, I think you should know that I hate essays and I'm really not good at them. On the other hand, I know almost everything there is to know about this country, its laws, and the way things work. So, the way I see it, this will be split into equal parts. I mean, I will help with the writing and all, but I think it would be better if you worked on the structure, our ideas and our arguments. Is that okay?" He mumbled every word, pencil in hand as he wrote down the subject and his name neatly in the corner of the page, waiting for Ryan to answer.

Ryan nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the paper. That sounded good enough for him. He wouldn't have to do research, and he would simply be able to write someone else's opinions down as though they were his own, or even write it neutral. Reports had made him used to never writing what he really meant. "It sounds good," he stated. "I mean, I don't really know a lot about this country yet, or how it works." He shrugged slightly. "I guess all I really know is what I've heard, so you're probably more qualified for the actual facts than I am. But I can write it, yeah. I've never had a problem with non-fiction. Besides, the structure is often better if it's not just split up to be worked on and written down apart." He sucked in a breath, finally looking up to meet the piercing blue eyes he was faced with. "On a completely different note, what's your next class?"

Spencer wrote a few more things down ('reminder: ask brendon about his father's workers,' 'look up what their minimum wage is,' 'only rich people have slaves.... lots of rich people') before answering. "I have... English Lit. Which means you'll be spending more time with Jon," Spencer smirked at this. No doubt Jon had annoyed this poor guy to no end last night. "And... well, Brendon's obviously going to be there, but I wouldn't really hold my breath for him to talk to you." Shrugging, he went back to writing more things that weren't really very important. He wrote down a few books he knew of that held the historic aspect of slaves and some on the economy, as well. He was really just trying to make it seem as though he was working.

Ryan nodded, peering down at the list with his brow furrowed in thought. "Well," he said. "I was mostly just asking because Jon was supposed to have helped me find my class and he didn't, which is why I now have a detention. So if we had the same class, which we seem to, I was just wondering if I could tag along with you and avoid getting lost again. Putting my faith in Walker doesn't seem that appealing." He let the corner of his lips quirk up a bit in a sort of half-smile, still following the pen's journey over the paper. This kid might actually not be so bad.

Spencer hummed in thought and then nodded slowly. "They only asked Jon to do such an important job because his parents have donated a lot of money to this school. Keeps him from getting into trouble, you see, and the teachers thought that maybe if Jon was... the go-to guy, then his father would be pleased." He paused, tapping his pen on the desk a few times. "Not that anybody actually knows who Jon's father is..." trailing off, Spencer went back to jotting down random words. It helped his thinking process, which made him disregard the fact that it looked like nonsense. Writing down one last thing, he closed his binder and looked at Ryan, seizing him up. "You can stick with me, I don't mind. You can even have lunch with me, which is after third period, by the way, but don't expect anyone but Jon to pretend to like you." It was as if he hadn't even realized that what he'd said could be taken the wrong way. He looked back down at his binder and shrugged. "We can continue working tonight."

"Okay, thanks," Ryan replied, making a mental note to get someone to check out the Walkers. It was useful to know as much about these people as possible. And he'd keep telling himself it wasn't because he'd always found information to be the best weapon if he had to. He was an adult, a grown man, he should be above petty things such as being annoyed with a stupid teenage boy. "And tonight sounds good," he added. "Not as though I actually have anything to do after detention. Where do I go for that anyway?"

Spencer shrugged on shoulder uselessly. "I've never had detention... Jon has, though. You could ask him at lunch." He chuckled quietly, but quickly shut up lest the teacher heard him. "So," he continued in a whisper, "what do you do for fun, Ryan Hastings?" he looked at Ryan pointedly, pushing some of his brown hair away from his face. It was one thing that separated Brendon, Jon and Spencer from many boys at the school; they'd let their hair grow as long as it was allowed. Most of the boys had their hair cut short, but the trio had decided long ago that short hair did not do them well. He guessed it was the same reason for Ryan.

Ryan refrained from rolling his eyes. "I guess I will, then," he answered, letting the small smile grow a little. The question, though. It had been a long time since Ryan had done anything for fun. Ever since high school it had been all about education and, later, work. He'd unwind on the shooting range or doing research and really, he guessed he hadn't had much of a life. Perhaps workaholic was a little too close to the truth. "I hang out with my friends," he answered. He did do that, sometimes. Mostly in the apartment with Tobias who lived there too anyway, but still... "I don't really do sports. It seems no matter what I do, I can't build muscle. Reading, listening to music, watching movies, shopping." He shrugged slightly, well aware that he'd passed the threshold into the world of lies once again. "You know, the usual. What about you?"

Spencer seemed to think about Ryan's answer before giving his own, speaking slowly as if Ryan were stupid. "I read," he started, blinking owlishly and sighing. "I read and I learn everything I can about my country. My father insists on it; he's councilor to the King, you see, and he expects me to do the same for Brendon... But I suppose it's not all work. I hang out with Jon, mostly. I'm a lot like him, apart from the fact that he never changes. I know when it's time to work and I know when it's time to play," he shrugged again and frowned slightly. "We hang out with Brendon, too, but that boy is so frustrating sometimes..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't do much, to be completely honest." Spencer was pleasantly surprised that the teacher hadn't caught on that they weren't working yet. Maybe it was the fact that they weren't laughing or loudly telling jokes. But Spencer was always completely serious when he was in class. Jon often told him that he was completely two-faced, but Spencer always shrugged him off. Looking back at Ryan, he wondered if he'd said too much about Brendon. He didn't want to attract any questions.

Ryan had to stop himself from actually admitting that with him it was all work and no play. He really wasn't cut out for being undercover, for playing a role. Especially around people like Spencer who just gave this vibe that you could tell him everything without having to worry. This, though, was a lie, and Ryan knew that. If he told anyone here at all, he'd be as good as dead. "My father constantly makes me read up on business," he said instead. "I love that I finally got out of taking it as a subject. But I know how those expectations feel. I'm supposed to take over the family company whether I like it or not. And I honestly don't. It's not as though there's really any choice, though." Then he let out a slight chuckle. "Well, I think I'd be frustrating too if I was born into that situation. The expectations everyone has just because I'm the heir of a company are bad enough. I don't even want to imagine how it would feel with a country." He pulled at one finger slightly, letting out a tiny sigh of relief when it popped. Bad, nervous habit of his. He couldn't help how good it felt, though. "Is there actually anything at all to do around here?"

Spencer chuckled softly, only for about a second before his face went back to impassive. He listened to Ryan as the boy spoke, nodding at times. At the question, Spencer nodded briefly. "Well... there's a girl's school nearby and we're allowed visiting in the weekends. Actually, we're not allowed, but people do it anyway. If you're into that. And we can go into town on the weekends, as well, or visit our parents if they live close enough. Apart from that, we have a few annual dances and random sports activities. But that's about it..." he snorted, just now realizing how truly boring the school actually was. "Oh," he said, suddenly remembering something, "some of the guys also like throwing parties on weekends, because they live quite close. So, if you like parties and ever get invited, you can't miss out on those." Personally, Spencer had only been to one of those parties and that was because Jon had dragged him along. All they ever did was drink and do stupid things. They weren't really Spencer's type, but they might have been Ryan's.

Fact was that Ryan had always felt a little awkward around girls. Either they didn't give him the time of the day or he was too busy for them. He tended to clam up and go weird around them for some reason, save the ones at work. But then again, he hardly saw those few as girls. So, in a way, he guessed, it sort of helped his case of believability that he was supposed to be more than just a little gay. "Girls," he muttered, biting his lip slowly. "Not really. I hope that doesn't offend you or anything, but you know. I guess the town and parties might be nice enough, but my parents are all the way back in England, so I guess I'll mostly just be spending weekends and breaks here. Unless they close for breaks. I don't know." He took a deep breath, ending his ramblings. Since when was he a rambler anyway? Since he was afraid of being punched for pretending to be something he had never even thought of being, perhaps. And perhaps it had been a bad card to play. In an hour it might be all over the catholic school, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to accomplish anything at all if he went and became the school outcast already.

This confession caused Spencer laugh outright and loudly. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound and sputtered for a few moments before regaining his composure and shaking his head. "Wow, I've never heard anyone admit it like that, you know. Usually it's more along the lines of they get caught with some other guy in an empty classroom." He grinned over at Ryan and shook his head. "And I don't mind in the least. We're pretty sure Jon's at least partly gay... if that makes any sense. And Brendon... well, Brendon's obviously asexual."

He looked away for a few moments before turning back to Ryan. "The school is always open. Not many stay over the holidays, though..."

"I just don't see any reason to hide it," Ryan said, building more on top of the little story that was forming about Hastings's sexuality. "That would equal being ashamed of it, which I'm not." He smiled slightly. "And at least it's good to know I'm not entirely alone." Brendon, though, asexual? Ryan was pretty sure he could tell this guy a thing or two. But he was also pretty sure that it wouldn't be in his favor to do so.

Spencer chuckled. "Glad you think like that. Many people would just push away their true self just to fit in... But anyway, English Lit. soon. Best start putting away your shit." Spencer gave him one last smile before gathering all his binders and books into his arms and waiting patiently for the bell.

Ryan shrugged and stood back up, grabbing the back of his chair to push it back to his original desk. "I don't really have any yet. Haven't gotten my books yet," he stated, sticking his hands into the pockets of the comfortably loose, black uniform slacks, smiling slightly as he waited for Spencer to finish getting ready, and secretly hoping that the English lit. teacher wouldn't be as bad.

Spencer nodded knowingly and jumped up from his desk as soon as the bell rang. He walked quickly out of the class to the sound of the teacher reminding them to work on the essay and that it was to be given in, in exactly two weeks. He looked back to make sure Ryan was following him and smiled sheepishly. "The English teacher is actually pretty cool... he also teaches creative writing and Brendon is absolutely smitten, really. When Brendon actually likes someone, you know that they're good." Spencer informed as they made their way to a class only a few doors down. He led the way inside, taking his usual seat right beside where Brendon would be sitting. He looked around and pointed to the desk right in front of his, "you can sit there. No one important has claimed it.."

The older of the two cocked an eyebrow slightly but decided not to comment. Instead he sat down at the appointed desk and turned the chair around to resume facing Spencer. If the teacher was good, then this was definitely a class he wasn't opposed to being stuck in. He'd taken a couple of literature courses while in law school, and he'd definitely liked it. It was interesting and had had nothing to do with his education. Perhaps, he mused, taking lit as a class was the only thing he'd done for fun in years. "What have you been working with lately?" he asked. Finally an honest question, one he wanted to ask, not just something he felt Ryan Hastings would say.

Spencer smiled and waved at Jon as he walked through the door and to his own designated seat behind Brendon's still empty desk. He then turned back to Ryan, a smile still on his lips. "We've been doing Shakespeare. Which, I find, is extremely overused in any high school. I mean, I guess Shakespeare is great and all, but his are plays... they're not meant to simply be read," he shrugged, "but I can't really do anything about it." He turned to Jon slightly, who was leaning forward and listening to their conversation.

"Remember me?" Jon asked, looking at Ryan and waggling his eyebrows. He ignored Spencer's frown and waited for Ryan to answer. Several students were now randomly entering the classroom and taking their seats, talking amongst each other. The only people missing, it seemed, were Brendon and the teacher.

"I know what you mean," Ryan told Spencer, deciding to put off talking to Jon for as long as he could politely do so. "Watching his plays are amazing, though. My mother used to take me in to see the Royal Shakespeare performances; it was pretty brilliant. But on the other hand, the stories are good in themselves, and reading them gives you more time to take in deeper meanings and references and metaphors, everything. Ideally, you'd read the play until you feel like you have everything under your skin, and then watch it." He smiled slightly. "And to top it off, reading and managing to understand Shakespeare helps you grasp a lot more of older poetry than you'd otherwise have been able to." Finally he turned to Jon, making sure a frown was visible on his face. "I seem to remember you standing me up."

Jon chuckled and smiled widely, like a child proud of doing something for the first time. "And it helped you get to know your way around better, didn't it? See? Everything I do has its purpose." Jon said wisely, nodding to himself. His eyes flicked to the door and he saw Brendon hurry in just seconds before the bell rang, Mr. O'Connor on his heels.

Spencer leaned forward a bit, his voice hushed, "if you like plays a lot, you'll get along great with Brendon," he said, making sure not to say Brendon's name too loudly. "He sees one at least once a month."

Brendon took his seat, falling heavily onto the chair. His face was slightly flushed and it was obvious he'd been running. Mr. O'Connor only smiled softly at him and shook his head. Turning to his friends, Brendon opened his eyes wide as if to say, "oh, my god!" and then rolled them. "That stupid bitch of a teacher we have for Diplomacy stopped me in the hallway and talked to me for about eight years. I hate that cun--"

"Brendon, class has started. No talking. Let's all take out our books, instead. And..." the teacher turned to Ryan, smiling, "you must be Mr. Hastings. I'll get you a book. Spencer, which act were we at?"

"Act three, scene one, sir." Spencer replied, taking out his book and opening it just as the teacher handed Ryan another copy. By his side, Brendon sighed and seemed to relax quite a bit. Everything about books made Brendon relax and he was always more at ease when they were reading or discussing certain themes. Spencer smiled discreetly and waited for the lesson to start.

Ryan leaned back in the chair that he'd now turned around to face the front of the class. He was leafing through his copy, trying to find the right page while also keeping some of his attention up front, on the teacher. The first one so far that hadn't looked pissed and/or menacing. He guessed it would fit if English lit. were to become his favorite class again. It had been both in high school and college. Finally he found the right place, smiling slightly. It had been ages since he'd last read that play, but hopefully he remembered enough to be able to keep up. Shakespeare was good enough, but Ryan actually, personally, preferred Marlowe out of the writers of that time. Then again, he'd always had a thing for ancient Greek and Roman literature, and Marlowe referenced that far more than Shakespeare.

"Since it's been weekend," the teacher started, over-looking the class, "I guess it would be good for all of us if someone were to refresh our memories." There was a strange twinkle in his eyes as he let his gaze sweep over the students. "Any volunteers?"

Brendon's hand shot up, his book left discarded on the desk. He didn't really mean to seem so eager, but he just knew this book backwards and forwards. When the teacher nodded at him, he smiled slightly before talking, his voice monotonous. "Scene one in the second act exists mostly for comic relief... Elbow 'misplaces' his words and they have trouble interrogating him. We also meet Pompey and Froth, who work for Mistress Overdone... Escalus tells them that prostitution is illegal and should be punished. He also tells them not to go to the brothel again. At the end of the act, he mourns Claudio's fate, but also says that there is no remedy for it. Not much happens in the next scenes, except that Isabella talks to Angelo and Lucio, asking them if her brother really must die. They argue a bit before Isabella tells Angelo that she'll bribe him by praying for him... Angelo then tells her to return tomorrow and she agrees. There's also a soliloquy, during which Angelo discovers that he desires Isabella sexually. He wonders why.

"We then see the Duke, who is dressed as a friar, and he visits the prison where Juliet and Claudio are kept. Juliet tells him that she repents her sins, and when asked if she loves the man who impregnated her, she replies that she loves him as much as she loves herself. The Duke promises to help absolve her, but also tells her that she has sinned more than her lover. He then tells her that he is going to visit Claudio, who is meant to die tomorrow, and she expresses sorrow. In the last scene, we find Isabella together with Angelo again. This time, he propositions her; asking if she would have sexual intercourse with a man to save her brother. Isabella is angry with this, convinced to be chaste, and does not want to save her brother through further sin. She is given a sort of power over her brother's death, but justifies that his death is better than her own sinful act." Brendon finished, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself but not showing it.

"Good, Brendon," Mr. O'Connor commented, sending a small smile that way. "And what can we conclude from Isabella's decision?" he asked on, cocking an eyebrow. "And I want to see more than one or two hands in the air. We discussed this last week, and you're too young to have gone senile." Even with a few hands, Brendon's included, already in the air, the teacher seemed to hesitate to pick someone, probably trying to lure some of the quieter students out of hiding.

Ryan bit his lip slightly, the summary drawing more of the distant memories of the play back to him. In the end he decided he may as well participate. It wasn't a part of his assignment to pass senior year of high school again, but he didn't think it would help his case if he came across as quiet and stupid either, so he finally, slowly and meekly, put up his hand.

The teacher looked slightly surprised at it, but focused his attention on Ryan. "Mr. Hastings?" he questioned, an interested tone to his voice. "You've already been over this material?" At Ryan's nod, he continued, "Please do tell, then."

"Although she says she's doing it out of religious and moral concerns, she must have some thought for herself as well. She does not want to have sexual relations with Angelo, and she knows that she should not have to do that. However, her brother's life is at stake. Perhaps she is right to protect herself and her principles, especially considering that she believes in an afterlife. But perhaps she is too cold and selfish," Ryan stated with a slight shrug. "She's essentially condemning her own brother to death, really. I guess in a way it speaks of the conflict of belief. Life versus afterlife. You know."

Mr. O'Connor chuckled slightly. "That's quite interesting," he stated. "I haven't heard that interpretation in a long time; very British. I think here we'd merely say that a wrong can't right a wrong, at least not without producing a new one."

Ryan flushed slightly, not really sure why. He'd always prided himself in being able to catch the points and see the meanings, but if everything, down to literature interpretations, were different here, then he really had no idea how to hold his own. But oh well. It wasn't as though he had any desire to understand this strange country, where sex was seen as wrong and something too... he didn't even know how to describe it, too something to be worth saving someone's life, where that view was okay. In the end that didn't matter, though. Change wasn't what he'd come to start.

"Anyhow, this was last class' discussion," the teacher stated. "Now, I'd like you all to gather in groups of four to read the third act together and discuss it within your group." He gave a last nod before everyone was left to scurry into groups. Some of three, some of five, left to even things out. Brendon, Spencer and Jon immediately turned to each other and grinned. They moved their desks closer together and Brendon had picked up his book, ready to read, when Spencer turned to Ryan and beckoned him with his hand.

"Well?" he asked, eyebrows raised slightly, and his blue eyes opened wide, "Aren't you coming?"

Ryan refrained from biting his lip, allowing a small smile to pass over his lips. He had been feeling a little awkward for a moment, the familiar feeling of being left out that he remembered so well from when he first went to high school present again. "Thanks," he mumbled, gripping his desk and pulling it over close to those of the others'. And this was definitely something he wasn't used to. The feeling of being included in a group of teenagers. Not that he really was, but still, it gave the semblance of it. He quickly pushed those thoughts away, though. He wasn't here to make friends. He had a very specific job to do, and he'd be damned if he were to mess it up just because he'd been a loser when he was originally in school. He looked down at the table, bangs falling in his eyes, and he had to refrain from pushing them back, still not used to hair in his face, as he fiddled with the pages of the book.

"All right, well, I'm assuming Brendon wants to read..." Spencer trailed off when Jon chuckled loudly and sputtered words that sounded like 'suck up'. Brendon glared at Jon and smacked him lightly over the head with his book before holding it in front of his face, taking a deep breath and reading

***

As the small group left for lunch, Jon attached himself to Spencer's hip and they walked closer together than seemed comfortable. Brendon walked beside Spencer, a few feet away, with his head held high and his eyes making contact with anyone who dared. He only glanced down once, making sure that Ryan was with them, because Spencer seemed to like the boy. He sniffed and went back to surveying the hallway almost immediately. When they made their way to the caf, Brendon smiled slightly to see the buffet set up. Beside Spencer, Jon made a sound that should be saved for the confines of a bedroom and ran towards the buffet tables, quickly grabbing a plate and looking over what they had to eat. Spencer and Brendon followed suit.

Ryan stood quietly for a moment, looking around the huge cafeteria. With most everyone gathered there, the school seemed even huger, and he gulped uncomfortably at the thought that every last one of them would hate him without hesitation if they knew why he was there. The intimidated feeling returned unbidden, and he shivered slightly, suddenly feeling cold despite the several layers of uniform clothing. Finally, though, he took a deep breath, stubbornly reminding himself that they were only children, there was no way for them to know. Just children, not a threat. Straightening himself up a little, reaching his full albeit not too impressive height, he finally grabbed a plate as well and made his way to the line of people waiting to get to the food.

Brendon busied himself with scooping up insane amounts of greek salad and some cold pasta salad. When he reached the end of the line, he eyed Jon's plate with disgust, full of cold cuts and bread. When Spencer joined them, Brendon started to walk towards their usual table, only to be stopped by Spencer's hand on his sleeve.

"Wait for Ryan," Spencer said, sounding like a parent trying to get his child to behave. Brendon rolled his eyes before setting his features in a mask of indifference and waiting, his foot tapping impatiently even if it only took a few minutes for Ryan to pass through the line. When they were all together, Brendon led the way to their table, somewhere near the middle of the cafeteria. It was small and round, just enough place for four people, and no one else ever dared to touch it, even if they hated Brendon's guts. As soon as Brendon sat down, he clasped his hands together and muttered a silent prayer- one his father had taught him years ago. It wasn't that he particularly cared for prayer, it was more a habit than anything else. And he had to set an example. When he was finished, he poked at his salad with his fork and ate the big mouthful.

The prayer was yet another reminder of how different this culture was to the one Ryan knew. And at the same time a part of him was secretly amused that the boy who'd complained about religion so many times in writing would be the one to uphold it. He knew, of course, that Brendon, as Prince, had to uphold some pretenses, an elaborate facade, but in a way it was still funny. And for some reason the fact that he'd read so many of the boy's secrets, enough to have at least an idea of what lay beneath, it gave him a slight feeling of security. He wasn't even sure why, but he wasn't going to bother trying to understand it. Psychology was never his strong subject. Ryan bit his lip slightly, picking up his fork and stabbing at his salad for a moment, timid again. No matter what he knew about Brendon that perhaps even Spencer and Walker didn't, he was still the stranger, the new one; the intruder in their safe, little group. It was not only safer but also much more polite to let them strike up their own conversations and only speak when he felt it was actually wanted.

"So, Ryan and I are working on a project together," Spencer started, looking directly at Brendon. "It's about, um, well... slaves." At this, Brendon looked up, one eyebrow cocked as he finished chewing and swallowed. "And," Spencer continued, shrugging, "you're the only person I know who... might know some things." He finished quietly, assessing Brendon's reaction and cringing slightly. Brendon mouth was a thin line and the muscles in his jaw flared as he clenched his teeth.

"They're workers," Brendon ground out, before dropping his gaze to his plate. He shifted uncomfortably before taking a deep breath and going back to eating as if nothing had been said. A few seconds later, he huffed and rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you want to know?" he snapped.

When Spencer made no move to answer and the silence was starting to become heavy, Ryan looked up from cutting his cold ham into pieces and flushed slightly when he realized the others were all looking at him. "Well," he muttered. "The subject is how the UN enforced law that the former slaves must receive payment for their work is affecting the country's economy." He bit his lip quickly, taking a sip of his juice. The others' eyes were still heavy on him. "I don't really know anything. I mean, I know some of the debate in the UN, but clearly not as much as someone who's actually from around here would."

"That's the most idiotic thing I have ever heard. My father has plenty of- workers. And he doesn't mind one bit that they have to be paid." Brendon kept a calm demeanor, reigning in his emotions successfully this time. He took another bite of salad and looked over at Spencer, who shrugged and picked at his food.

"I know, Brendon, but that bitch of a teacher gave us the subject; you know the one. She always wants to divide the class and make us argue. Just, we want some help, that's all. If you don't want to help, I'll just read books. It's no big deal." Spencer smiled warmly and stared at Brendon, waiting for Brendon to say something.

"I don't know what you want me to help with.. I mean. Okay, yeah, the workers live in the castle, which means they have their own Quarters. But the castle is huge. They get about eight dollars an hour. It's not much, but.. Their taxes are ridiculously high, though. As is the cost of their food and rent."

"So basically," Ryan started, finding himself incapable of holding back a comment. "Basically they're kept in poverty and forced to remain dependent on the higher classes." His stomach churned at the thought. And he felt a little helpless for a moment, to hear about something that was that horrible but was yet something he couldn't do anything about. Wasn't allowed to do anything about. The bureau could care less about the 'former' slaves as long as he managed to get under the crown prince's skin. Sometimes, he mused, a democracy could be just as unfair and ridiculous as a monarchy. "I guess that's not even the point, though," he quickly added, shrugging. "The assignment is about economy, not human rights." And he nearly flushed again, embarrassed to have gotten so caught up in it, so obviously bothered by the subject. He must look stupid to people who just took this situation for granted.

Brendon glared at him, his temper getting the best of him. "Look, just because our country does things quite differently from yours," he started, disgust dripping from his voice at the word, "does not mean that you are better than we are. Do you think we have any power over this?" he asked, one eyebrow raised and his eyes flashing menacingly. "Well, not yet, anyway," he then muttered after a few seconds in silence.

Spencer bit his lip and resisted the urge to pat Brendon's arm. He knew of Brendon's uneasiness towards how some of the lower class was treated, even if he rarely showed his concern, and he really hadn't meant to push the subject and make him mad. He still didn't understand why he cared so much how the slaves (workers, as Brendon liked to call them) lived, but he remembered Brendon being quite young when it had all started. He was so different from his father, but the rest of the country didn't seem to know. How could they when Brendon always kept to himself?

"I'm sorry," Ryan quickly gritted out, deciding it would be best to smooth the waters as quickly as possible. Arguing with and angering the Prince probably wasn't the way to go about anything at all. "I didn't mean to offend you. And as you yourself pointed out, I haven't really had time to get used to how things work here." He sucked in a deep breath, pushing the food around on the plate for a moment. "I don't think I'm any better than any of you, I'm just trying to understand." That was another half-lie, even if he hadn't had to depend on those so much for the last while; Ryan, like most of his countrymen, had always felt superior to their neighbors to the south. It wasn't something he was proud of, but it was hard to get around the way he was raised to see things, and all he'd ever been taught about in relation to Beauregia was unfair laws and inhumane treatment of colored people, injust trials and executions for ridiculous reasons. He'd never been taught to see the citizens as actual people, as real human beings. He'd have to teach himself, he realized, or he'd come across as arrogant enough to ruin everything. "I'm guessing, though, that some of the people who have many former slaves must be losing money on it while some of the ones with just a few may actually make more because they don't have to pay as many taxes. And the state probably makes a bit more in tax income." It was impressive, really, how the state had managed to take a demand and turn it into something that helped its own economy flourish. He wasn't about to say that out loud, though.

Brendon shrugged, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Whenever something went wrong with his country, or whenever someone didn't like the way things were run, Brendon always felt as though it was his fault. It wasn't, though, not yet. But Brendon always felt as though he took the brunt of it. He didn't like feeling guilty when he had no control over things, but he couldn't help his stomach feeling like it flipped inside of him. When he stayed silent, Spencer spoke up. "Thanks for trying, Bren. I'll just read up on it and everything will be fine." He said, trying to make Brendon feel better. Outwardly, Brendon looked absolutely fine, but Spencer knew better. He was about to say something else when Jon spoke up.

"So?" he asked, his cheery voice sounding fake, "what are we up to tonight?" he smiled at Brendon, trying to make the situation better. Jon was no consoling kind of guy. Rather, he tried to make things better by changing the subject all the time. It might have been annoying if his friends didn't know it was his way of trying to help.

Ryan kept looking at Brendon for a few moments, digesting the reaction. And he couldn't help but to feel slightly bad because he knew from the rants he'd read, knew from the expression on the boy's face that the Prince wasn't just a stone-cold person who didn't care. Judging by the exchanged messages, Brendon, if anything, cared too much. He shook it off, though. He didn't even know the kid, and he figured Brendon wouldn't want a virtual stranger looking at him for too long. No one had answered yet. "I have detention," he finally decided to state, at a loss for anything else. "Walker, do you think there's any way you could at least show up to help me find my way there since it's sort of your fault I have one in the first place?"

Jon chuckled and nodded, "it just so happens that I have a detention, too!" he waggled his eyebrows and then chuckled again in delight. Brendon made an odd noise and rolled his eyes.

"Again!?" he asked, incredulous. Spencer had a horrified expression and waited for Jon to explain. The boy shrugged at the questions and took a mouthful of ham, talking as he chewed.

"I just got into a fight in Phys. Ed. Nothing too bad. Just some guy, pissed me off." He didn't offer any more explanation before resuming his eating. Spencer and Brendon looked at each other, both wearing the same amused expression. It seemed that Jon fought with just about everyone. This wasn't anything knew. "Anyway, I'll go with you, Ryan. It'll be fun. Hopefully one of the more laid back teachers is watching over us. And it's only forty-five minutes long, so." He shrugged once again.

"I guess that's all right then," Ryan said. "Thanks." And he still wasn't really that fond of Jon Walker, but somehow the notion that he, at least, wasn't going to have to be alone with some teacher was soothing. The students he could write off as merely children who lacked the skill it took to figure him out. The teachers, though, people older than himself, they made him nervous. "After that I don't really know," he added. "Write my parents perhaps. Or my brother. Not sure at all."

Brendon nodded slowly, obviously thinking about something. "We could go into town afterward," he suggested, nodding. "We could leave around six, get there around seven and be back before ten for curfew? I'll just call someone to drive us. We haven't been into town in a long time, so it should be fun even if there's nothing to do." He smirked and looked up at Spencer and Jon expectantly.

"That sounds great," Spencer said, and Jon nodded in agreement. Both were happy that Brendon would finally be leaving the confines of the school- and not just to go home. Spencer looked over at Ryan, smiling at the boy. "You going to come?"

Ryan swallowed the bite of food in his mouth, looking up slowly. Spencer was the open and friendly one and Ryan found himself flashing the boy a small smile. Jon and Brendon, though. Ryan still disliked Jon and during the course of lunch he'd already managed to unintentionally hurt Brendon. Of course he should be jumping at the chance to get a step closer to doing his job, but he did know enough about people to realize that overwhelming new ones with your presence tends to push them away. He finally settled on shrugging, looking down at his own hands. "I wouldn't want to impose," he stated in a quiet voice.

Jon snorted. "Yeah, right. Brendon hasn't told you to fuck off and leave yet, so I'm pretty sure you're safe," he said, receiving a death glare from Brendon and a kick from Spencer under the table. He turned to both of them, eyebrows knit and a surprised expression on his face. "What?!" he asked, rather loudly. Spencer shook his head and rolled his eyes, laughing silently.

"You're more than welcome to come, Ryan. Brendon's invitation was extended to you, as well, even if he didn't show it," Spencer offered sweetly, Brendon's death glare now directed to him before the boy huffed and shook his head, looking down at his food as he pouted.

Ryan still felt somewhat doubtful. Brendon was the only one who mattered to his assignment, and if he didn't want Ryan there, he shouldn't go. Finally he sighed, keeping his eyes on the Prince and deciding that he didn't look too annoyed by the development. "Yeah, I guess I came here to see the country anyway, not just the school," he stated, smiling a little again. "Thanks."

Brendon's lips twitched and he forked in a mouthful of salad, chewing quickly so he didn't have to say anything. Spencer smiled widely. "Great!"

midnatstimen @ 2008-03-13T15:39:00

2008-03-13T14:39:55Z

I whine out, deep in my throat, and he chuckles slightly again, finally withdrawing his fingers and crawling up my body to kiss me again, deep and hard and - fuck, it just feels wonderful. I reach out and somehow manage to fumble my way to the open jar of Vaseline, scooping a good amount up on my fingers and spreading it over my hand before I push my hand down between our bodies. Wrapping my hand around his cock, I can't help but revel in the small sounds he's suddenly letting out into my mouth, the way he subconsciously fucks into my fist. Every last movement is languid and elegant and I guess I've somehow never realized what a sensual being he really is. I move my hand up and down, making sure to spread the oily substance everywhere, and then I grip him a little harder, swallowing his whine, and guide him down until the tip of his dick is right against my entrance.

He groans slowly, breaking the kiss and pulling his head back just enough to establish eye contact, and then he pushes in just hard enough to slide effortlessly past the ring of muscle until he's buried balls deep, and I flinch slightly because it really has been long and yeah, it fucking hurts, but luckily not as much as the first time. "You okay?" he asks for what seems to be the thousandth time, holding still while he observes me, concern and lust and pleasure and love mixing in his darkening honey globes.

I nod, breathing in deep through my nose. I raise my legs and wrap them around his narrow waist, my hands going to his shoulders to maintain a grip on something. Through the pain I can suddenly feel the fullness, the familiar way our bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, and it's so fullfilling that suddenly the pain hardly matters. His hips are twitching between my thighs and I can feel the effort he's putting into holding still and letting me adjust, and I manage a small, grateful smile before I buck up against him, moaning slightly as the movement brings slight pressure against my prostate, and God, I think I somehow managed to forget just how good this can feel with the right person.

He grins, head dipping down to connect our lips again as he pulls out and thrusts back inside, his movement slow and deliberate, the angle changed just enough that he slides directly over that spot this time, and I let a moan go into his mouth, my body clenching down on him just slightly, causing him to let out yet another one of those sweet noises through his nose. He takes advantage of my open mouth, letting his tongue snake inside again, stroking back and forth over my own in slow, deep movements.

As the pace is properly built, I do my best to buck up and meet his movements, to match every motion of his with one of my own, and it almost surprises me how well we can still read each other in situations like this. Our bodies are starting to perspire, making everything somehow steamier and definitely slicker, our damp skin easing the movements. There are no words, just expressive noises bouncing off the walls and filling out every empty space in the small room, and the slow pleasure is gradually stealing my ability to think.

I run my hands up and down his back, my fingers reaching the place where my ankles are hooked securely together every once in a while, and sometimes I don't even remember that they're my ankles. With every sweet, firm thrust of his, every slow jab of his hips, I lose more of my comprehension of where I end and he begins, and the feeling is absolutely intoxicating. I've had sex with other people so many times, but they never managed to do this to me, to let me forget my sense of being a single individual, and for that I'm grateful, to be honest: I don't want it with anyone but Ryan. I don't think there's anyone else I trust enough.

His hands are on my face, thumbs caressing, bumping slightly with his own cheeks every once in a while, and then we finally break apart for air, his suddenly dark eyes looking down at me again, a small smile playing momentarily on his lips before his mouth falls open to let out another breathy moan. His thrusts are steady, grounded, the angle always perfect, and the pleasure is so slow and so fucking intense that it calls a choked sob from my throat. Finally he grasps one of my hands, lacing our fingers together and lets the limbs rest above my head, squeezing gently.

My eyes are trying to close against the onslaught of stimuli, my subconscience trying to hang onto one last shred of sanity in the middle of all this. In the pit of my stomach I can feel something coil, drawing even more sweat out on my body, and when my legs start to shake, I know it's not going to last much longer.

"Look at me," Ryan whispers, voice deep and gruff and yet extremely gentle, and I fight the constant impulse to close them, managing to keep them open and locked on his, and for a moment it's almost as though I can sense his thoughts, feeling them flow through our eyes, from his mind to mine, but I still keep them open. He smiles briefly, brushing the hair out of my face with his free hand while he pauses the pace to pull out entirely, the tip of his cock probing teasingly between my buttocks for a moment before he slams inside again, nailing my prostate at full force.

I can feel myself coming undone at the movement, my balls tensing and my whole body following in a tickling sort of cramp, my back arching as I come without my cock even having been touched, shuddering through my orgasm with another strangled sob at the sheer intensity of it all. My ass is clamping down on him, and I can feel his thrusts becoming shallower moments before he releases himself, the warm fluid hitting my inner walls in spurts before he collapses on me, hand clenching my own.

We just keep lying there for I don't know how long, regaining normal heartbeats and breathing patterns, my legs falling off his waist but our bodies still merged together. His fingers are absentmindedly drawing patterns down my side, his head having fallen down next to my own and his lips moving softly against the skin of my neck.

Finally he seems to have gotten a grip of himself again and starts to pull out, but I quickly put my hand on his lower back, pressing down slightly. "Stay," I mutter, not ready to let go of the closeness just yet.

He pulls his head up to smile at me slightly and pecks my lips quickly. "I love you," he mutters, voice still slightly throaty and a bit deeper than usual.

"I love you too," I return with a lazy smile, stroking his back slightly. Then I sigh. "I kind of feel like sleeping. Do you have to go to class?"

"Nah," he replies, smiling back. "I guess I can afford to miss one." Then he drops his head again, nuzzling his nose against my neck for a moment before he breathes in deeply and seems to droop off.

I wrap the arm on his back around his waist, giving him a slight squeeze with the other hand and close my own eyes. For a moment I'm afraid I'm going to start regretting, but then I realize I won't. I'm grateful we waited so long before doing it again, because somehow, no matter how random today seems, this was the perfect moment to do it. Earlier could've ruined everything between us, but this hasn't.

He was right, I guess. About showing how we felt through our bodies, about the closeness, about, cheesy as it sounds, becoming one. He was right, and instead of it destroying us it feels like it's almost healed us instead.

Moments later my thoughts lose focus and start to become a blur, and with a slight sigh I give into sleep myself.

The Know-Hows of Delinquency / My Creator [64/?]

2008-03-13T12:44:01Z

Title/Chapter: The Know-Hows of Delinquency / My Creator

Pairing: Brendon/Ryan

Rating: NC-17

Summary: The one where they're stepbrothers. Or the AU of how Panic! at the Disco could've started.

Disclaimer: Don't own, know, believe or wish to get sued.

Chapter 64

The ride back to the apartment passed mostly as a blur. By that I mean that I can't really remember anything between putting the key in the ignition and stepping out of the jellybean in front of our apartment complex. Ryan and I managed to stay at an appropriate distance from each other while we walked in and got on the elevator, and even there we kept to ourselves.

Now, though, we're tumbling through the door, Ryan kicking it shut behind us, and immediately our lips glue together, his hands on my cheeks and mine on his waist as we clumsily kick our shoes off, his tongue messily entering my mouth. We somehow manage to navigate our way to my room with a only few stops to pull off shirts and grind against each other, and before I've completely grasped what's happening, we've landed in a heap of limbs on my bed.

It's not until my head hits the pillow that I realize I haven't thought this through half as well as I should. The last time I had sex with Ryan it drove me away from him. I ended up regretting it bitterly. And are we ready for this? We've just been on break for weeks, haven't seen each other half as much as we're used to. Until a few hours ago I was so fucking angry with him, so hurt I can't even really explain it. And everything is really pointing in the direction of this being a bad idea.

For once I decide to go by my head, the one on the top of my neck that is. "Ry," I groan, trying hard not to let myself be distracted by his lips on my neck. "Ryan, we shouldn't -"

He pulls back, panting, and lies down next to me, rolling over so we're facing each other. Slowly raising his hand and placing it softly on my cheek, he manages a small smile, thumb making small, lazy circles across my skin. "Maybe not," he mutters, voice somehow breathy and deep at the same time. "Perhaps you're right, and doing this would only ruin our last chance of making things right."

There's silence for a while, his words hanging thick in the air. I don't feel like he's really done yet, so I keep my mouth shut, waiting for him to continue, just staring into his eyes locked with my own.

"But perhaps," he finally continues, "this is exactly what we need. Not to fuck. Not to get off, but to be this close again, trust each other this much. There's a physical aspect to every relationship and almost every person you meet will tell you that that's as important as everything else." He takes a deep breath. "I don't want this because I want to have sex. Well, sure, of course I want sex, but that's not the main reason." He flushes slightly.

Somehow, despite the gravity of the situation, I'm smiling. Mostly, really, because he always looks completely, utterly adorable when he blushes. I nuzzle into the touch of his fingers on my cheek just slightly, letting him know that I'm not dismissing anything right now, that I'm listening and considering and that he can feel comfortable continuing.

And so he does. "Excuse me for starting to sound cliché, but well - I remember back when things were good between us. Back then sex wasn't just physical. Maybe it was just me, but I felt, really, like for a few seconds we'd become one. And it felt safe and overwhelmingly good to have that with you." His thumb is still circling my cheek soothingly, but his eyes are serious, telling me how much he means this, how much he wants this. "God, sorry, I really sound like a chick-flick, but Bren, what I want is to be able to express what we have and what I feel for you through actions, okay? Through our bodies. What I want is for us to give ourselves to each other again and not screw that trust up like we did last time."

I suck in a deep breath, smiling slightly. "Nice speech."

Ryan punches my arm gently, trying his hardest to glare at me. "How is it that you have this uncanny ability to ruin any moment?"

"I prefer the term 'lighten'," I state, my smile growing wider as I roll over, hovering half above him with my weight on my elbows. I dip my head down and press my lips back against his, his mouth opening for me immediately, and I moan slightly into his mouth when he takes to sucking on my tongue.

In spite of the mood-ruiner or whatever, I'm still glad I stopped the initial thing. I'm glad the cards are on the table and that I know his intentions. And I'm definitely happy we've slowed down the pace. I've been fucked hard, fast, urgently, desperately, mindlessly, whatever, enough to last me several lifetimes. With Ryan that's not something I want. If this is going to happen I want it to mean something. And not just anything, but all the clichéd words he put it into moments ago.

"Hey," he mutters, breaking our liplock due to lack of air, and he smiles up at me slightly, hands running up and down my bare back. "I love you. You know that, right?"

I nod, grinning back at him. "Love you too," I return, kissing a trail down his jaw until I reach the soft spot right under his ear where I start to suck, reveling in the small gasps he lets out. Still using my mouth, I shift my body a little until I'm straddling his waist, grinding down slightly, and my head almost starts spinning simply at the feeling of our erections sliding over each other through the thin material of our boxers.

His hand makes it farther down, caressing slightly at the small of my back before it slides under my boxers where it starts to knead at my buttocks, calling a slight groan from my mouth and a hard outtake of breath to hit the skin of his neck. The other hand is running continuously through my hair, constantly and pleasantly reminding me of our reasons. The softness, the slow pace, the fact that we're taking time for foreplay, it makes me so much more confident in this whole thing.

I pull my head up once more, just looking down on him again. Eyes open to slits, lips swollen and mouth open in a perfect oval to let out those small, gorgeous sounds only he can make. His longish hair is forming a halo around his pale face with the flushed cheeks. And fuck, I've known him for over a year and a half and I still can't get over how damn beautiful he is.

"Like what you see?" he asks, voice gruff and much deeper than normal, and I love the way he's finally beginning to display real confidence. Not the hard-ass facade he used when I first met him, not some defensive bullshit, but real confidence. It suits him.

"Very much," I answer, dipping my head down again and pressing our lips back together, this time letting his tongue into my mouth, groaning as I feel him explore, the muscle seemingly mapping out every last crevice of the space until I push my own back to meet it, tickles running up and down my spine at the contact.

His hand in my boxers seems to have become a little more courageous, his fingers tracing the crack with smooth, gentle movements until I can feel one circling my entrace, sparking a deep pit of anticipation deep in my stomach, and I shudder slightly, letting a faint moan slip into his mouth. A moment later his index finger slides inside. Dry, but still so slow and smooth that it doesn't really hurt at all.

I grind down against him harder in slight surprise, and he bucks up in response, whining softly into the kiss, his other hand tightening in my hair. And suddenly my body's confused; torn between down into the clothed friction our cocks are creating, and up and back against the finger that's suddenly tickling my prostate teasingly. In the end it settles on a strange half-grind that ends up with my ass pushing back against his finger, aching for more contact than just the frustrating little touches.

He's smiling against my lips, amused and honestly happy at the same time. I like to think I've become decent at reading him by now. Then he withdraws his finger and pulls his hand out of my boxers, tugging slightly at the waistband. "Off," he grumbles.

I comply, shuffling off him to pull them down and off, watching as he does the same with his own. Then I make a quick decision and get down on my back next to him, legs spread just enough that it should give him a hint. I need to show him that despite everything with his father, the conflicts in the band, everything, I do trust him. And he's the one who's been aching for a chance to physically express what he feels. Even though it's been ages and I know it'll hurt like a bitch, this just seems like the best solution for the both of us.

He gets the hint and rolls over onto his side, looking down at me. "Lube?" he asks, smiling slightly while he absentmindedly traces a hand up and down my stomach and chest, eliciting small shivers.

"There's Vaseline in the nightstand," I inform, reaching down and linking our hands together on my chest, squeezing slightly.

He smiles, then chuckles slightly. "What the hell do you have Vaseline for?"

"My lips chap," I grumble, trying unsuccessfully to shoot him a glare.

He just keeps laughing softly, taking the yellow jar from the nightstand drawer and getting the lid off, dipping two fingers down and scooping down quite an amount of the clear, thick, oily substance. He then starts to spread it over three fingers, reaching down for more at one point when he apparently decides that the digits are too thinly covered. Finally, though, he nudges my thighs a bit farther apart and pulls down one of the pillows from the end of the bed my head is in. He pushes it down under my lower back after urging me to raise my hips, and then he's apparently decided he has perfect access and sits down on his knees in between my spread legs. "Just relax, okay?" he asks softly.

I nod, sending him a small smile. "Relaxing," I state, holding my breath just slightly as I feel his cool fingers circling my opening. The clash between cold and hot sends small sparks up and down my spine and I shiver slightly, nodding at him to go ahead.

He nods back and pushes two fingers in in one go. They slide in easily, slick from the Vaseline, and there's hardly any burn. They're still cold inside, though, and that calls a bit more shivering from me as well as a small giggle. Wait, giggle? Fuck, I'm not that gay. "You okay?" he asks, eyebrow raised in light concern as he looks me over.

"It tickles," I get out, laughing again as I try to will myself to relax and forget about the less than comfortable temperature of his fingers inside me.

Ryan rolls his eyes with a small smile and spreads the fingers apart a little before pulling them out and re-entering them swiftly, adding a third. This time I can definitely feel the slight burn of the stretch, and the breath hitches slightly in my throat as, all of a sudden, it hurts more than it tickles. "Relax," he whispers again, leaning forward slightly to place a series of small pecks on my lower stomach.

I do my best to do just that, and after a few moments my breathing evens out again, slow, deep breaths. And then it hitches again, comes out in a gasp, because someone decided to go and play with my prostate again, and the intense pleasure from that one, sharp prod he delivered is enough to remind me exactly how good sex can feel. "It's enough," I mutter. "Just do it."

"Just another moment," he mumbles, starting to spread his fingers apart in scissoring motions, opening my body up to him. He leans his head back down, nuzzling into my stomach in motions he knows never fail to get me to relax, his fingers still moving inside, and I can't help but push back against them, because suddenly I'm desperate for that closeness again, desperate to feel him as close as he can get.

For some reason LJ is being a bitch and cuts off the ending, so click here to continue

Missing in Action [02]

2007-08-13T02:46:05Z

Bless the Child (The Deadliest Sin) [1/2]

2007-08-12T13:39:22Z

Title: Bless the Child (The Deadliest Sin)

Pairing: Brendon/Ryan

Rating: NC-17

Summary: He was caught in a weird dream where he couldn't find Brendon, had an awful cell phone, and was supposedly doing drugs or something.
The one where the guys have to go back in time to stop Brendon from being assassinated as a baby.

Notes: For the wtf27 prompt #19: timeshift. Complete crack. And angsty crack to top it off. Not my best writing, but I had fun with it.
Originally this was meant to be a long one-shot, but it will be posted in two parts instead.
If anyone's interested in listening to the song that inspired this, you can see the video here. Keep in mind that some of the song has been cut out of it so as to not make it too long.
Thank you to Gina dearest (castoffstarter) for the beta.

Disclaimer: Don't own, know, believe (seriously don't, and you shouldn't either) or wish to get sued. Title(s) and cut text belong to Nightwish. I also have nothing against Mormons and don't really believe in my own conspiracy theory, but hey, had to have some sort of a way to explain the weirdness. Pure fiction.

Bless the Child (The Deadliest Sin)

"I was born amidst the purple waterfalls
I was weak, yet not unblessed
Dead to the world,
Alive for the journey.

One night I dreamt of a white rose withering
A newborn drowning, a lifetime of loneliness
I dreamt all my future
Relived my past
And witnessed the beauty of the beast."

Where have all the feelings gone?
Why has all the laughter ceased?
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child.

How can I ever feel again?
Given the chance would I return?
Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child.

Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time

I've never felt so alone in my life
As I drank from a cup which was counting my time
There's a poison drop in this cup of man
To drink it is to follow the left-hand path

Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time

"Where have all the feelings gone?
Why is it the deadliest sin - to love as I loved you?
Now unblessed, homesick in time,
Soon to be freed from care, from human pain
My tale is the most bitter truth:
Time pays us but with earth and dust and a dark, silent grave.

Remember, my child, without innocence
The cross is only iron,
Hope is only an illusion
And Ocean Soul is nothing but a name.

The child bless thee and keep thee
Forever."

- Bless the Child, by Nightwish

The evening after Ryan and Brendon had visited Brendon's parents, the younger of the two was absolutely giddy, practically bouncing about with a wide grin on his face. "I can't believe they took it so well," he exclaimed to no one in particular, finally settling himself on the couch of their shared apartment. "I honestly... I thought they'd disown me, seriously. And now I feel so incredibly stupid for being scared in the first place."

Ryan couldn't help a smile at his lover's relieved joy although there was a slight sense of dread in the back of his mind. He couldn't help but remember the look Brendon's parents had shared after their son had taken Ryan's hand and nervously declared that they were together, the look Brendon himself had missed in midst of his nervousness. He pushed it away, though, told himself to stop being so pessimistic and just be glad on the younger boy's behalf.

"And tomorrow we have that interview, right?" Brendon babbled on, practically glowing. "Now we can tell the rest of the world. We don't have to sneak around and hide who we are anymore." He leaned in and pressed his lips against Ryan's, quick and hard. "Isn't it amazing?"

"It is," Ryan confirmed, leaning his head against Brendon's shoulder and letting out a tense breath. It really was amazing. It was what he'd dreamt about since he and Brendon first got together nearly two years earlier: to be able to let the rest of the world know, to be able to kiss and hold hands in public and not have to worry about word reaching Brendon's parents, not to have to hide behind fake relationships anymore.

Brendon, still bouncing off the walls with glee, shot up from the couch and ran across the floor of the living room, slammed the doors to the balcony open and ran out. He leaned over the rail, and it seemed to Ryan that he glowed more brightly than any of the lights from the Strip in the background. "I love Ryan Ross!" he screamed.

Ryan flushed and hurried out to pull Brendon back inside. "Baby, what are you doing?" he whispered.

The younger of the two simply turned around in his lover's arms, leaning in to steal another kiss. "I always wanted to do that," he stated in between pecks before he leaned in and pressed their lips together properly, a little hard and a little clumsy due to Brendon's spastic, exaggerated movements that were even worse than usual.

Ryan melted into the kiss, winding his arms around the shorter boy's neck and pulling him close as he opened his mouth for him, their tongues tangling together, sliding against each other in safe familiarity. The guitarist suckled gently on the vocalist's tongue, drawing forth a slight moan as Brendon's larger hands pushed up beneath Ryan's shirt, fingers tracing the bumps of spine and ribs, and Ryan shuddered, fastening his grip around Brendon's neck and breaking the kiss to pull his legs up and wrap them around the younger boy's slim waist.

Brendon moved his hands down to grip around Ryan's lanky thighs, holding the taller boy in place as he moved his ministrations down the long, slim neck, biting down slightly on the pulse point and lapping at the area caught between his teeth. He reveled in Ryan's shaky intake of air, the small, gasping sounds he was making, the way he could feel him growing hard between their bodies.

Moments later found them sprawled on the soft, king-sized bed of their bedroom, dressed down to boxers. Brendon was leaning over Ryan, their lips merged together and Ryan's hands gripping at Brendon's shoulders desperately as the younger boy pushed a hand down his lover's undergarments, stroking lightly at the straining erection they hid.

Ryan moaned into the kiss, hips bucking up into Brendon's touch, urging him to do more than just those feather-light touches. "Fuck," he groaned out against the singer's plump lips. "Bren, stop teasing."

Brendon chuckled slightly and took a firm grip of Ryan's cock, starting to pump and pulling back to observe Ryan's flushed face as it fell back into the pillows. Then he released the throbbing shaft in his hand and moved his position a little until he was straddling the older boy's hips, grinding down rhythmically.

The guitarist's eyes fell closed, and he bucked up to meet Brendon's movements, his hand reaching out and slapping across the nightstand clumsily until his hand closed around the object he'd been looking for. He pulled back the tube of lube and opened it with slightly shaking hands before pushing Brendon off of him and peeling the younger boy's boxers off.

Brendon looked up with searing, near-black eyes, his lips swollen and parted as he panted, his own hands going to work on Ryan's last piece of clothing before he allowed himself to fall back in the pillows, legs spread slightly, hand reaching for the lube. He squirted a liberal amount over his own hand, reaching out and starting to spread it over Ryan's flushed cock, moaning slightly as Ryan's slick fingers teased at his entrance.

Ryan didn't push his fingers in, merely spread a good amount of lubricant around the hole. They did this often enough that neither ever really needed preparation. Moments later he felt Brendon's hand release its hold of his erection, and moved slightly, using his knees to push the younger boy's thighs farther apart before maneuvering in between them. He took hold of the base of his own erection and guided it down so the tip was against Brendon's opening before he moved to rest on his elbows, catching his balance and getting ready to push in.

Only he never got the chance. Brendon wrapped his legs around Ryan's waist in one swift movement and let go of a slight whimper as the older boy was buried to the hilt. He took short, deep breaths, fighting the initial pain that he never really did seem to get used to while he looked up at his lover who was keeping himself firmly still, lower lip caught between his teeth and his eyes clenched shut.

Ryan fought to stay unmoving against the clenching, blinding heat enveloping him, breathing in gasps as he bit back moans. It was crazy, he thought, how many times they'd done this and how he still couldn't get enough. He glanced down at the trembling boy beneath him, bringing up a hand to push away dark bangs and caress Brendon's cheek. The other one he moved in between their bodies, his whole weight now on one elbow, and grabbed hold of the younger boy's softening cock, gripping it firmly and starting to stroke.

Brendon found himself moaning slightly, arching up into the touch, and he finally raised his legs and moved them up higher around his lover's waist, opening his eyes and flashing a small smile as he nuzzled into the soft caress of Ryan's long-fingered hand. Ryan obviously took this all as his cue to start moving, and he did, pulling out and changing the angle a little before pushing back in. Brendon kept his eyes open, cringing a little at the movements but letting out a breathy moan as Ryan roughly pushed his thumb against the slit of the younger boy's cock.

Ryan shuffled around a little bit more, taking his hand back off Brendon's now once again completely erect cock to catch his own balance, leaning down to press an apologetic kiss against those full, beautiful lips. At his fourth thrust, Brendon let out a slight yelp and bucked up to meet him, his muscles clenching ever so slightly around Ryan's cock, and the guitarist smiled into the kiss, satisfied that he'd found what he'd been looking for.

They built a steady pace, Brendon bucking up to meet each of Ryan's thrusts, every last slide inside the younger boy running closely over his prostate and going straight to his cock. Their skin was moistening, making their movements more fluid, easily, and their bodies fitted together familiarly, moans filling the room. The younger boy's hands were clenching his lover's thin shoulders, his eyes open to slits and his breaths coming out in pants as his nails dug in, a loud mewl leaving his mouth at a particularly nice slide over that spot.

Ryan looked down at him adoringly, the pleasure intensifying as Brendon's body clamped down on him again wildly. The older boy's every movement was deliberate, well thought out even despite the state he was in. Brendon's movements and reactions were much more spontaneous, untamed, and Ryan had often wondered if perhaps that was what made it so good, what made sex with Brendon the best sex he'd ever had every last time. They complimented each other perfectly. Brendon kept it exciting; Ryan kept it grounded and safe.

Brendon could feel the muscles of his stomach already coiling inside, tightening and flexing in pleasure and he bit down on his lip, one hand clenching Ryan's shoulder even harder while the other went to fist in the sheets. He always came first, and often so embarrassingly soon that he had to help Ryan get off through other means afterwards, but there was something about tonight, something special that made him want to last even more desperately than usual, and he clenched his eyes shut, trembling as Ryan thrust inside again, doing his best to simply keep from finishing too soon.

Ryan, sensing the younger boy's predicament, slowed his thrusts down slightly, knowing from experience that the slower friction got to him a bit more and Brendon a little less. He gasped out slightly as his lover's ass clenched tight around him again, dipping his head down to suck on Brendon's collarbone.

Brendon ran the hand on Ryan's shoulder gently down the older boy's back, feather-light and careful. He had to stretch when he passed his own legs, and the angle was more than just a little awkward, but he managed to trail two fingers down the cleft of the guitarist's ass, circling his opening for a few moments before plunging both digits inside without warning.

The older boy yelled out, biting down on his lover's neck in return, but managing to keep a pace, which Brendon followed. He gasped out when the singer's fingers found their target and pressed roughly against his prostate. Ryan's body jerked and shuddered in pleasure, his eyes rolling to the back of his neck as his arms nearly gave out beneath him, but he kept going resolutely, his muscles coiling and his face rigid as he quickened the pace again, going faster and deeper than he had before.

Brendon gasped out - damn near gave a sob as everything intensified. His head was swimming, his heart was pounding a hole in his chest and then he was pushed over the edge, shuddering through it as his muscles cramped and his fingers curled, pressing hard against the older boy's prostate.

For a moment Ryan thought he saw stars. His body jerked again and he released inside Brendon, riding his orgasm out and tumbling back down onto the younger boy's body.

Brendon wrapped his arms around him, holding on tight as they both came down from their high, hearts slowing down and breathing returning to normal. "I love you," the guitarist whispered, smiling slightly as he leaned down to kiss his lover's swollen lips.

Brendon sighed contentedly against Ryan's mouth before letting his head fall drowsily back into the pillows. "Love you too," he murmured back, yawning slightly.

Ryan settled his face into the crook of the younger boy's neck, leaving a couple of small pecks before he felt asleep with a happy sigh.

***

"Ryan, fuck," the person whose back he was snuggled up against the next morning, groaned. "Seriously, is it that hard to stay on your own side of the bed?"

He sat up, offended and hurt, rubbing at his eyes as he glared at the person. Since when did Brendon have long, blonde hair? And a tacky dolphin tattoo on his shoulder blade? And a bra? Ryan screamed and shot out to the bed, racing to the other side of the room. "What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted. "What did you do to Brendon?"

The blonde sat up and stared at him angrily. "I live here!" she stated. "You're the one who moved in only two weeks ago. And who the hell is Brendon? Are you cheating on me? Christ, I knew you were a fucking fag!"

Thirty minutes later Ryan was stood in front of the apartment building that he only now realized wasn't his own. He was only clad in boxers, and his meager belongings were being tossed out the window at him. And he was on the verge of sitting down and starting to cry out of confusion and fear and fuck, how the hell did he end up in that ramshackle apartment building anyway?

Bad dream, he finally told himself. He'd been having strange dreams lately. This one was just more vivid, and waking up in a strange place without Brendon was infinitely more terrifying than the other ones that tended to involve children of different ages and some sort of poison. Just the previous night he'd dreamt of a mother watching as a man stuck a needle of medical poison into her newborn baby's pink flesh. The night before, the same woman giving her dark-haired toddler poison to drink. The mother was strangely familiar, but he'd never really been able to place her.

Taking ten deep breaths, he calmed himself down enough to fish out a pair of pants and a seemingly clean t-shirt so he, at the very least, wasn't half-naked. He'd always hated those dreams where you're running around naked and everyone either laughs at you or never notices.

So what was he supposed to do now? Sit around and wait to wake up? Somehow that thought just felt stupid. Just- he didn't know why, but it seemed like the worst thing he could do.

Instead he started looking through his bags for his Sidekick, hoping to God that it hadn't been broken by the fall. He didn't want to see his dead possession smashed, even in a dream.

He didn't find a Sidekick. Instead he found some old Nokia with the numbers and letters worn off the keys and a crack down the screen. This really seemed to be one hell of a minimalist dream. He'd bet the piece of shit didn't even have a browser. Or a camera.

With a sigh he ended his internal bashing of the inferior piece of technology and hit one on speed dial, hoping to God that he'd just get to hear Brendon's voice, just calm down a little.

"Ryan, dude, what's up?" a familiar, chipper voice sounded on the other end of the line. "You're never up this early."

"Spencer-" Ryan mumbled, eyebrows narrowing in confusion. Spencer hadn't been the number one on his speed dial since a couple of months after they'd met Brendon. "Spencer, where's Bren and who's the bitchy Barbie?"

"Ryan," Spencer groaned sadly, and Ryan could already picture him shaking his head. "I told you to stop doing that shit. You fucking promised. You always said you didn't want to end up like your dad, so why are you so fucking adamant on walking in his footsteps?"

"What are you talking about?" Ryan asked, instantly defensive. Sure, he and Spencer had talked this subject over a few times, and Spencer had been a little disappointed that his best friend had broken his most sacred promise to himself, but seriously, it was one or two little drinks every once in a while. Ryan had been pretty sure the drummer was long over that.

"Fuck, Ross, if you're still high I seriously don't want to talk to you right now," Spencer stated, his voice a mixture between sad and angry. "I'm picking you up in two hours, okay? You'd better be sober by then." Then he hung up.

Ryan stared strangely at his phone for a few moments, blinking a little. What the hell was that all about? He was caught in a weird dream where he couldn't find Brendon, had an awful cell phon, and was supposedly doing drugs or something. Definitely a nightmare.

So now what? Well, he decided, the fact that Brendon wasn't on his speed dial didn't mean he couldn't call him. He did know his number by heart after all. And so he pushed in the familiar numbers and waited, waited for his lover to pick up.

"Hello, you've reached Susan's answering machine-" a pre-recorded message told him. He didn't give it a chance to continue talking; he merely hung up.

Well, if he had a God-ugly, old cell phone, he probably had another number. And thus Brendon probably did as well. And so he found his contacts and skimmed through once, twice, three times. No Brendon Urie. Not even a SexyBden or a Brenny-Bear or whatever else the crazy younger boy might've listed himself as.

So in this dream he didn't know Brendon? Perhaps he was living a shitty life and Brendon was supposedly the prince charming, come to whisk him away from it all. And they obviously hadn't met yet.

With a slight groan he turned to his last resort, called information. He quickly informed the lady on the other end of the line that he was looking for a Brendon Boyd Urie in the Las Vegas area. But it was all only to find out that while there was a Brandon Daniel Urie and a Brendan Lloyd Murrie, there was none that matched the name he was looking for.

Then he finally decided, a little doubtful, really, to call Brendon's parents. He typed in the number, bare foot tapping against the asphalt of the parking lot as he waited for them to pick up.

"Urie residence, Grace speaking," the familiar voice finally stated and Ryan found himself giving a slight sigh of relief. At least it wasn't as though the whole Urie family had been wiped from existence or anything like that.

"Hey, Mrs. Urie," he quickly answered. "It's Ryan. Listen, do you know where Brendon is? I can't seem to find him anywhere."

There was a slight pause before she continued, voice confused, "I'm sorry, but I think you may have the wrong number. I don't know anyone named Brendon."

"No, no, it's the right number," he objected. "Your name is Grace, your husband's is Boyd. Your family is a part of the Las Vegas Latter Day Saints. You live in Summerlin. You have five children. Their names are Louisa, Samuel, Mariah, Corey, and Brendon. I'm looking for Brendon. Please."

"Who are you?" she asked, sounding a little breathless now. Almost as though she was afraid of him.

"Ryan Ross," he repeated, a little exasperated now. "I'm your son's bandmate. I come over to your house all the time. I was there just last night, with Brendon, remember? I'm his boyfriend for Christ's sakes!"

There was a sharp intake of breath, and he could almost hear her anger. "None of my sons are fags, you creep. I'm going to have to kindly ask you to stay off our property or I will have to call the police." She sighed slightly. "Just for the record, our youngest is eighteen, in high school and very much heterosexual. His name is Brean."

Huh?

***

Ryan had spent nearly two hours doing his best to remind himself that this was all just a fucked up dream, only half successfully, when Spencer showed up. Strange thing was that Spencer was driving some piece of crap white van instead of his flashy new BMW.

On the side of the van it read in large, red letters, Panic at the Disco . And Ryan couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the exclamation mark. The exclamation mark, which Brendon had been so adamant they add. Fuck.

"Dude!" Spencer yelled as he stepped out of the monstrosity. "You know we don't have room for all that shit in the van. The deal was one bag each, alright?"

"The crazy Barbie threw it out the window," Ryan muttered, shrugging slightly. He finally reached down and pinched his own arm, hard, letting out a yelp and frowning at the track marks he was only now noticing.

"God," his friend groaned. "As much as I always hate the girls you date, I wish you could make a relationship last longer than a month."

"I've been with Brendon for over two years," the guitarist protested weakly, suddenly doubting it all. What if it wasn't a dream? Then what was this fucked up place and how had he gotten here to begin with?

Spencer shook his head sadly, opening the door into the back of the van and starting to unceremoniously throw Ryan's stuff inside. "We'll stop by a Starbucks or something, get you sobered up before we pick Jon up in the airport."

"Where are we going?" Ryan asked, a little bit confused. The next tour was weeks away. Actually they had an entire album to record first. Seriously.

"I give up," the drummer muttered. "I fucking give up. Just sit still, be quiet, look pretty, and hope you can fucking remember the words for when we get to LA."

"What happens in LA?" Ryan asked on, too desperate to get the whole picture to make sense to do as his friend told him.

"First date of the tour with The Academy Is..." Spencer finally answered. "And seriously, Ry. You better not screw it up. This is the chance of a lifetime if we ever really want to make it."

"But that happened years ago," Ryan couldn't help but whisper.

"Go to sleep," the younger boy ordered. "Just fucking. Be glad I haven't sent you to rehab yet, asshole."

This time Ryan decided to do as asked. Besides, there was still that lingering hope in him that he'd wake up at home in his own bed, curled up against Brendon. If only he could fall asleep, everything would be okay.

***

"Ryan," someone muttered, prodding his shoulder less than gently. "Ryan. Ryan Ross, wake up now."

He quickly opened his eyes wide, looking around him as he expected to see Brendon and their bedroom in their fucking wonderful apartment with cell phones that worked properly and had the right numbers coded in. "Jon?" he groaned as he met the older man's dark eyes.

"Yeah, kid," the bassist answered, pushing something into his hand. "We're having a break. Bought you this. Thought it would be good for your hangover."

Ryan looked down at the object, immediately recognizing the Starbucks logo and the almost coffee that was so black and strong that it resembled tar. He scrunched his nose up a bit but took a slight sip, almost spluttering it out right away. "Where's Brendon?" he finally found himself answering.

Jon cocked an eyebrow. "Who's Brendon?" he asked. "You were muttering about him in your sleep. Spencer says you've gotten an invisible friend."

Ryan's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Brendon Urie," he answered. "Black hair, brown eyes. Hyper dude. Loud and way too into video games. Musical genius. My boyfriend. You know, our lead singer?"

The larger of the two chuckled slightly, reaching out to ruffle the guitarist's hair. "That must be one hell of a trip you were on, dude. You dreamed up some guy and made yourself gay in the process? Priceless."

The door opened again and Spencer jumped back inside, drinks and various forms of junk food in hand. "I see you got him up," he told Jon, sounding so tired, so fucking worn. It tore at Ryan to see him like that.

"Yeah, man," Jon answered. "He was telling me about his imaginary boyfriend. Even if we forget the ' boy' part, it still sounds pretty much like the opposite of what our ickle Ryro's attracted to."

Ryan felt sort of in a daze, so fucking confused that he half-wanted to tear his head off just to get rid of the nagging doubt. "Guys-" he started, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Guys, stop messing around. It's not funny. Where is he?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Spencer stated, sighing again as he turned the key in the ignition and headed back out to the highway.

"Please stop," the guitarist whimpered, a begging edge to his voice now. "Please, it's not funny. Brendon come out, don't do this to me, baby."

"Ryan, stop it," Spencer ordered, his voice harsh and sad at the same time, and when Ryan looked over he realized his oldest friend had tears in his eyes, that he had bags under them and that there were lines on his face that he didn't remember.

Ryan felt tears starting to rise to his own eyes at the very sight. For as long as he'd known Spencer he'd only seen him cry once, and that had been heartbreaking enough. He never wanted to see his best friend cry because of him. And suddenly the thought hit him, the thought that everything he and Brendon'd had always had seemed so unreal. Too good to be true.

What if-? God, he could hardly bring himself to finish that thought.

What if he really just was a druggie in a crappy band and he'd dreamt up fame, fortune, and happiness? What if none of that had been real, and this was reality? It made sense. If this were real, he'd definitely want to escape in his mind. He'd need to.

And suddenly the tears were running and he was hyperventilating, fingers gripping the dashboard as he fought to stay afloat. No, he couldn't believe it. A life without Brendon was just too hard to even contemplate. So why were the tears running down his cheeks? Why was it damn near impossible to breathe and why was his heart thumping out of his chest?

"Shit, Spence, pull over," he heard Jon yell. From far away, it felt like. Worlds away.

"What?" The drummer turned to look at his smaller friend and bit back another few tears, quickly pulling over and prying Ryan's hands off the dashboard, squeezing them tightly. "Ry, calm down. Relax. Breathe with me, all right?" And he proceeded to take long, deep breaths again and again, ignoring the cars that were honking at them.

Ryan tried his best to follow the instructions, to time his breathing with Spencer's, but the only person he'd ever been able to breathe in sync with was- A choked sob made its way out of his mouth and he heaved for air, breaking down in Spencer's arms. "What's going on?" he gasped. "What's happening to me?"

"Nervous breakdown," Jon answered from the next row of seats. "You've been having them ever since, ever since your dad died, remember?"

Ryan swallowed, blinking away more tears. "I just don't understand," he whispered. "I mean. If you think of him long enough, I'm sure you'll remember. Just. Please."

"Ryan, shut up," Spencer ordered. "I know you have a whole other world inside your head, but I'm not about to start fabricating memories to live there as well, okay? You're going to have to grow up some day and realize that it's not real."

Quickly, Ryan scooted out of his friend's embrace, hurt and angry at once, but he bit it back and curled as far into his seat as he could, giving up on the subject for now. He wasn't going to make any progress. He'd try again later. Soon. "How's Hailey?" he asked instead.

"You really are a fucking asshole," the drummer growled, putting the van in gear and starting to drive again. "Seriously. Half the time I don't understand how I've put up with you for so long."

The wheels in the lyricist's mind were starting to turn, bringing forth things that could justify this reaction. And then he remembered. "Oh," he muttered. "Of course. You aren't together anymore because Brendon wasn't there to drag you to her high school and yell out for you how much you loved her in the school's speaker system. You were so embarrassed, but in the end it was all good because she took you back."

"So everything's good in that dream of yours?" Jon asked, ignoring the pointed look Spencer sent him, which could only be translated as 'Don't you fucking dare encourage him'.

Ryan shrugged. "Better," he whispered. "Bren and I had been together for two years. None of those fucking Barbie clones. No drugs. No nervous breakdowns. Spencer and Hailey were still together. We were only weeks away from going to the studio to record our second album. The first nearly sold double platinum, by the way. We won video of the year at the VMAs last year. We were one of the most played bands in the country. We had a proper fucking tour bus and good cell phones. And an exclamation mark after Panic."

"Why would we call ourselves Panic exlamation mark at the Disco?" Jon mused. "Seriously."

Ryan almost wanted to laugh and cry at the same time at the fact that that was going to be the first reaction he got to it all. "Brendon insisted," he stated.

"Ry," Spencer said again. "I don't want to listen to this bullshit anymore. I know life can get tough, but making up perfect fantasies is only going to make it worse. You're only making life harder on yourself. On all of us."

"But-" Jon started.

Spencer cut him off again with a sharp glance. "Don't encourage him. You're not helping like this."

When Ryan decided to shut up, he suddenly knew his biggest fear had become that he'd forget everything too.

***

"Dream more about what's-his-name? Brandon?" Jon asked when he woke up again, this time nestled across the second row of seats with his feet in the bassist's lap.

"Who?" Ryan asked drowsily before suddenly realizing what he was saying. Shit! He was right, he really was starting to forget. "No, didn't dream. God."

"What's wrong?" the older male asked upon seeing tears gathering in the guitarist's eyes once again.

"I just. It's becoming fuzzy," he whispered. "I can't remember the shape of his face anymore." He let out a choked sob, curling up in a ball. "I can't forget him." Because then it would be as though he'd never existed in the first place, and Ryan wasn't willing to even consider that an option. "Take me back to Vegas," he suddenly ordered, impulsivity he usually didn't own taking him over. In their hometown, he'd remember more. In Las Vegas, he might be able to figure out what had happened.

"You have got to be crazy," Spencer growled from the driver's seat. "Ryan, fuck, this is our chance of a lifetime and you want to go back to the city we've worked for years to get out of?"

"Yes," the guitarist answered, voice steady and leaving no room for argument. "And either you take me or I hitch hike back. Basically I don't care, but it would be quicker and easier if you'd just turn the fucking van around."

"Ry," Jon protested weakly. "I called every favor Will owes me to get us this spot. We're not going to get another chance. And how am I supposed to explain it to the guys?"

"I don't care," Ryan whispered. "I don't fucking care. This isn't how it's supposed to be anyway. It's all wrong." Suddenly something else crossed his mind. "How did we meet you anyway if we weren't on the Truckstops and Statelines tour?"

"You met him on the Internet, Ryan," Spencer stated exasperatedly from up front. "When Brent couldn't take it anymore, you convinced Jon to fill in. The rest is history." Then he turned to look at Jon through the rearview mirror. "Memory loss, imaginary friends. Do you think it's about enough to have him declared clinically insane yet?"

"Spencer, that's not funny," Jon muttered.

"I know it's not," the drummer answered. "Trust me, I fucking know it's not."

"You haven't turned the car around yet," Ryan reminded him sharply, disliking the turn the conversation was taking. He hated Spencer's sadness, hated how helpless he felt, hated how everything seemed to be his own fault.

"I'm not throwing our future away," Spencer stated. "If you want to go back to Vegas, you have to drive."

***

They switched seats at the next truck stop, Spencer going to sleep in the very last row of seats while Ryan and Jon took the front.

An hour had passed in silence, and Ryan had turned on the radio to make it at least feel a little less tense. Suddenly a somewhat familiar song came on and Jon laughed slightly. "That's us," he stated. "I still get a shock every time they play us on the radio."

"You're on the CD?" Ryan asked, trying to block the song out. He recognized it as But It's Better... simply from the lyrics. The melody was different than he remembered, and there was no piano, but what pained him the most was hearing the song sung by his own voice.

"Yeah, we went into the studio a couple of months after I joined," the bassist answered. "Had to get it all done in five weeks. We got so stuck on the melodies sometimes that it wasn't even funny." Suddenly he frowned, looking intently at Ryan. "You seriously don't remember, do you?"

The guitarist merely shook his head. "No," he answered. "This isn't real," he added with more conviction in his voice than he was actually feeling. "This is how our lives would've been without Brendon. I hate what I've seen so far, and I don't want to see anymore of it."

"Tell me about him, then," Jon suddenly requested, chewing on his lip. "About Brendon, I mean. What was the guy like who made such a difference for all our lives?"

Ryan could feel a sad, wistful smile spread over his face as he recalled every little detail he could remember. He was saddened further to realize it was even less than it had been an hour ago. It was almost like forgetting a dream, feeling it slowly slipping away between your fingers, never to return.

"Well?" Jon urged at his silence. "Come on, I'd really like to know what we're blowing our one shot for here."

"He was born on April twelfth, nineteen eighty-seven," the younger of the two started, taking a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the road. "Youngest out of five. His family was Mormon, so he was raised pretty strictly. He joined the band after Trevor left and we swapped positions pretty soon after. His voice was, is, a hundred times better than mine could ever be. He's the sweetest, most caring guy I've ever met and it's like. He calls the best out in me as well. He can be incredibly child-like, a hyper little ball of energy. I remember the two of you singing Disney soundtracks together. He's incredibly beautiful. Black hair, dark eyes, pale skin, the softest, most kissable lips I've ever seen." He chuckled slightly. "Great ass. I can't really describe him very well, it's just-"

"He got this crazy-ass tattoo of a piano down his arm," Jon suddenly supplied with a small laugh. "Then you got the 'Mad as a hatter, thin as a dime' on your wrists." Suddenly his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "You don't have that."

Ryan looked down briefly to glance at the pale, smooth, definitely uninked insides of his wrists before shaking his head. "They were matching tattoos," he stated. "We were trying to be subtle, took our instruments of choice. Brendon's was the piano, mine was the written word. A story or lyrics. Those were both." And all of a sudden he looked up in shock. "You remember?"

"He got hit by a bottle in England," the bassist continued. "He collapsed and you flipped the entire crowd off. I've never seen you so angry before. Then he got back up and insisted we continue the show as though nothing had happened although he had the worst headache of his life." He went back to chewing on his lip. "We never play for crowds that large. I thought it was just a dream."

"No," Ryan whispered. "No, it's real. This is the dream. This isn't real. We just have to think of him enough and we'll remember, we won't forget."

"I'm already remembering," Jon muttered. "So much more. I just. I feel crazy for forgetting him in the first place now." Then he suddenly sighed. "But what good will going back to Vegas do? I mean, it's clear by now that he somehow just doesn't, you know, exist."

"Perhaps we just never met him," Ryan suggested. "Something went very fucking wrong and we didn't meet him. He didn't end up having classes with Brent in high school or. He said no when he was asked to try out? I don't know, but Vegas is where we can find out." Inwardly he pushed the memory of a certain phone conversation out of his mind, refusing to think of Grace Urie claiming that no, she didn't have a son called Brendon. "I'm just glad you remember," he stated. "At least I'm not crazy."

"Or perhaps we both are," the bassist said, taking in a deep breath. "It sort of feels that way."

***

Ryan really didn't know what had made him set course for the cemetery. Perhaps it was a hunch; perhaps it was merely his ever-pessimistic nature. Whatever it was, that's where the van pulled up by the end of the afternoon, Spencer groaning and complaining and yelling at Jon for 'encouraging him'.

Ryan went ahead, dread heavy as lead in his stomach, and let the two other men stay slightly behind to continue their hushed fight as he made his way to the Mormon section of the graveyard. He scanned the headstones quickly, but nothing matched what he was looking for and after nearly half an hour of frantic searching, he nearly breathed a sigh of relief for not finding what he was looking for. Not that he'd ever really had a clear goal in the first place.

Suddenly he heard steps behind him and he turned around and vaguely recognized the woman walking down the gravel path. She was nearly ten years older than him, a little on the short, plump side, with neat, thick, black hair and shining dark eyes that were off-set by fair, milky skin, a bouquet of lavenders in hand. Louisa, he thought, recognizing Brendon's eldest sister from pictures and a few concerts she'd made it out to. Louisa, the devout Mormon with her husband and four children, with whom Brendon had had numerous heated discussions, but perhaps also the one of his siblings he was closest to.

Remembering that she probably didn't know him, he followed her silently rather than calling out some sort of a greeting.

They followed a less-used, nearly over-grown path away from the Mormon section and went through tall, iron-wrought gate in the middle of a thick, badly kept hedge. On the rusted metal of the gate, old letters said, He will cut off every branch that does not blossom.

Inside the small close was what almost seemed like a different world. The graves were smaller, some didn't even have a headstone, and they were overgrown with weeds and small bushes. A foreboding feeling seemed to linger over it all.

Louisa walked the paths familiarly until she stopped in front of one tiny grave and knelt down, placing the bouquet in front of the small headstone with the fading words. Ryan had to step close, too close to remain anonymous, to read them.

Brendon
05.12.87 - 07.02.87
God have mercy

Next to it was a much newer one, no larger, but well-kept and cared for.

Brendon Boyd Urie
Beloved brother, will be missed forever
I bless the child

Somehow, despite the closeness, Louisa hadn't noticed Ryan's presence, and he could see her shoulders shaking slightly, see the shameful bow of her neck. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't help you. Forgive me."

Those words, for some reason, took away the numb shock he'd been feeling, added actual emotions to everything, and Ryan's eyes were starting to water as well, his insides knotting up and his heart fucking hurting. He sniffled slightly and bit back a little bit of a shock because two months old? What had happened? And how on Earth could he have known and loved a man who died in the cradle?

Louisa looked up when his first sob resounded through the desolate corner of the cemetery. There was absolutely no sign of recognition in her dark eyes, only heavy guilt and sadness and stark confusion.

Ryan broke down completely at the sight of those familiar eyes, though, fell forward into the woman's arms in a mess of sobs, fingers clutching at her sweater and tears running down his cheeks. Louisa stood stiff and shocked and probably a bit scared, but then her arms closed around him, hands stroking up and down his back in an attempt to comfort the inconsolable.

The guitarist's cries must have been what alerted Spencer and Jon to his whereabouts and moments later they crashed through the gate only to freeze at the sight in front of them. "What's going on?" Spencer asked.

"I don't know," Louisa answered, still holding onto Ryan and letting him clutch her back. "When I noticed him he was already like this."

"L-look," Ryan got out between sobs, pointing ahead of him to the small grave.

Jon was the first to follow orders and a slight gasp could be heard. "But that can't be," he muttered. "How could we know him at twenty if he died when he was two months old?"

Brendon's sister pulled back, looking at them in shock. "Wh-what did you just say?" she asked, the breath hitching in her throat. "What?"

"They're crazy," Spencer said, but there was uncertainty in his voice now. "Ryan's been going on and on about it all day. It makes no sense. And who are you?"

"Fuck you," Ryan growled, finally seeming to get a hold of himself. "It's your turn to shut up, all right? You know, I liked you better then. At least you took me seriously." Then he hitched in a deep breath. "She's Louisa Marsden, Brendon's eldest sister."

"I'm Louisa Urie," the woman corrected. "I broke it off with the fanatic asshole a month before the wedding. His whole fucking better-than-thou attitude was the last drop that finally made me leave the church."

Ryan stared at her in shock, blinking slightly. "You left the Latter Day Saints?" he asked incredulously.

"Years ago," she answered. "I couldn't keep looking the other way." Then her eyes narrowed slightly and she looked him over again. "Who are you anyway? How do you know all this? And what was that about knowing Brendon?"

Ryan only took a moment to dwell on how weird it was that she believed he'd known Brendon, just like that. No convincing was needed. And he was shocked because he'd already become used to being seen as crazy. "I'm Ryan Ross," he said. "That's Spencer Smith and Jon Walker. In the life I remember we were Brendon's bandmates and best friends. He was my boyfriend even and, and today I woke up and everything was just wrong like - Brendon being fucking dead, that wasn't supposed to happen, it just wasn't."

"Ryan, fuck," Spencer muttered. "You don't have to announce your insanity to the world. Look at the damn headstone, he's been dead for twenty years and I'm sure his sister doesn't appreciate you making up stories like-"

The frailer male whipped around angrily, staring his younger friend down. "Will you fucking quit it? I've been here one day and I'm already sick of you ordering me around like this! Look, why would I make up sick stories about dead babies?" When the drummer didn't answer he added a quick, "Yeah, I didn't think so either." He raised a hand to wipe angrily at his still leaking eyes, sniffling again.

"His boyfriend-" Louisa muttered, her head nodding slowly, deep in thought. "Did anything significant happen over the last few days? Anything really important and potentially bad?"

They'd been on break. Lazing about, watching TV, going to the movies, just enjoying their time alone together. Loads of sex, too, but that couldn't be it, right? Also, they'd-

"Anything to do with say, my parents?" she added, chewing on her plump bottom lip slightly, a gesture that made Ryan flinch because it, as so many other things, reminded him far too much of Brendon.

Suddenly it came back to him and he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it immediately. "We went to dinner at your parents' last night, told them about us. Basically, Brendon came out of the closet."

She sighed and nodded. "That would be it," she muttered. "That's what he was being punished for."

"What?" Ryan asked breathlessly. "Punished? But if he died at two months old. How could they punish him for something he'd never done?"

Louisa gestured around them, at the weeds and the shadows and the small graves. "If you look around, you'll notice that no one buried here was over six months old when they died." She snorted slightly, sadly. "If you go online and check, you'll see that a much higher number of Mormon children than everybody else dies in the cot. This is the Unblessed Children's Graveyard."

"What?" Jon spat. "What the hell?"

"I was eleven years old when Brendon died," Louisa told them. "I woke up in the middle of the night and I wanted. I just wanted a cup of water. I was thirsty. So I went downstairs, but there were people in the kitchen already and, and I was curious, so I peaked inside. My parents were there, our priest too, and they had Brendon. They-" She stopped herself, taking a deep breath as a tear trailed slowly down her face. "I've never told anyone about this before," she admitted in a whisper. "I know I should have gone to the police, or just screamed. Something. But I was just a kid."

"What happened?" the bassist urged although Ryan sort of didn't think he wanted to hear anymore, at all. She'd said enough already. Ryan didn't want to hear about how her parents had-

"They drowned him in the kitchen sink. He didn't even cry. He didn't have time to realize what was happening. He was just a baby." The tears were streaming steadily down her face now and she finally stopped speaking, mouth opening and closing and she looked more like a lost child than a mature, thirty-one-year-old woman.

Ryan turned around and retched, shaking and heaving, cold sweat trailing down his face and mixing with the tears. An arm wrapped around his waist for support and he looked up to see Spencer's soft face. He was pretty surprised by the gesture but grateful all the same.

"How the fuck can they justify that?" the drummer asked after he'd gotten his skinnier friend back into an upright position, still supporting his humble weight.

"Easy," Louisa answered. "Somewhere in the Bible Jesus says something along the lines of the congregation being a vineyard and him being the gardener. He inspects the plants and whenever he finds one that doesn't bloom, doesn't carry good fruit, he cuts it off to make room for a new, better, branch. It's all about the interpretation. And that's why you don't find a gay Mormon or a Mormon wife who cheats on her husband or murderers or rapists or even thieves."

Ryan felt like throwing up again at those words, that idea. That a human life could be worth so little. It just didn't connect in his mind that just because Brendon happened to have fallen in love with another man, his life should be erased like that. "How is it possible, though?" he found himself asking, voice weak, barely-there. "How do they know who to- How do we know Brendon as a grown man?"

"The church head has some of the world's best scientists on his payroll," the woman explained. "In eighty-two they discovered the reproduction and use of wormholes. You know what those are?"

"Vaguely," Jon answered with a shrug. "Doesn't matter, though. Just. What do they use them for?"

"Whenever an 'inconsistency' is discovered - such as homosexuality or criminal inclinations or anything, basically, that goes against the codes, parents or children of spouses or friends are to report back to their local priest who in turn reports back to the central control," Louisa explained. "They, then, send an official back, through the wormholes, to the time when the 'offender' was a baby where the local priest is informed. He, then, tells the parents and performs the elimination. If the parents don't comply, the whole family is expelled from the church."

"All right," Spencer said. "I gave it a chance, really, I did. I even thought that perhaps I remembered him. But this is fucking crazy. I can't believe-"

"Shut up," Ryan hissed, wriggling out of the larger male's grip. "How do you know this? I mean, you'd think they'd keep stuff like this pretty hushed." And he knew that in a sense Spencer was right. It did sound crazy, so fucking crazy, but it was the only explanation he had, the only straw he had to cling to. And it made things make a little bit of sense.

"It happened to Samuel last year," Louisa informed. "You know who-"

"Your brother," Ryan quickly stated. "I used to. I am. Whatever, Brendon and I are together where I come from, okay?"

The woman smiled sadly. "Yes, but that's just so hard to imagine. I've never seen him be longer than my arm. The concept of my baby brother, who never got to become more than a baby, being with anyone is beyond comprehension." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, it happened to Samuel last year. He left the church too when they told him to kill his daughter because she, fifteen years into the future, would become an unwed teenage mother. That's when I figured out that must have been what happened to Brendon as well. I just never knew why, until now."

"So," Jon said, raising an eyebrow, "how do we get one of the worm thingies?"

"What?" Louisa questioned incredulously, nearly jumping a couple of feet into the air.

"If they can go back and kill him, we can go back and save him," the bassist stated. "It's purely logic, and I don't want Ryan whining like this for the rest of his life."

Ryan couldn't even make himself glare at the statement. He didn't want to be whining like this for the rest of his life either.

Louisa looked back at the small grave, at the tiny headstone she, herself, must've put there one day long ago. Then she nodded. "Count me in."

Spencer groaned, shaking his head. "Someone has to keep surveillance of the insane, right?"

***

Salt Lake City, Utah; totally obvious. A run-down, seemingly abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city; a lot less so. Yet that's where they ended up late at night after hours of driving.

(When they'd asked Louisa how she knew where they were going, she simply answered that she'd spent years tracking down the assholes who'd killed her little brother and tried to do away with her niece.)

When Jon pulled the van up a piece away from the large, looming building, Ryan nearly tore outside, but Spencer managed to get a firm grip of his hoodie and hold him in place. "Wait a minute," he called. "Do you even have a plan?" He overlooked the remaining two people in the car. "Does anyone here have a fucking plan?"

"Well," Ryan muttered. "We were going to..." Then he trailed off, looking down shamefully. "No."

"So first off, there's the break-in and even then, let's say this shit fucking works, that the whole Brendon thing is real, how do you intent to stop him from being killed?" the drummer asked with a sigh. "Playing with time, if it were possible, is a fucking dangerous thing."

"Fuck that," Ryan muttered. "It can't be any worse than it is already. The important thing is to stop the man I love, one of your best friends and our ticket to fame and fortune from dying, okay? What's important is getting him his life back, getting all of us our lives back."

"That's a nice speech," Jon muttered. "And I agree entirely. But Spencer is sort of right about one thing - how do we get in there?"

'Jon, ye man of little faith' Ryan could imagine Brendon saying, could clearly imagine his giggles and the wide grin on his face, and this only made him more determined. He was fucking going to see that grin again if it were the last thing he did. And with that thought in mind he stomped out of the car and up towards the warehouse.

There was a large gate in the end of the building, and in the middle of it, a much smaller door. Ryan walked to it, ignoring the other's hushed protests, and gripped the handle, pulling it down. To his great surprise the door opened without protest, squeaking a little on its hinges.

It was dark inside. A wide, empty, dark space with the red paint peeling off the walls and a slightly damp, decaying smell. "Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked doubtfully as he felt the others step up behind him.

"Completely," Louisa answered. "But it looks nothing like I thought it would."

"Yeah, well," Jon said. "That must be to throw us off. They're so confident in it that they don't even keep guards. C'mon, let's get inside."

"No guards," Spencer murmured pessimistically. "The place is bound to be littered with security cameras."

Ryan ignored him and darted inside, pulling the ancient Nokia out of his pocket and pushing a couple of buttons to unlock the phone before turning it outwards, using the weak beam of yellowish light to get his bearings. "Seriously, what are we supposed to-" he started, but cut himself off with a loud 'ow!' as he tripped over something and fell right on his face.

"Ryan! You alright?" Spencer asked frantically, fishing his own cell phone out of his pocket and starting to shine it around them. He found Ryan on the dusty floor a few feet ahead of the rest of them and quickly made his way over.

"Wait!" Louisa called as Spencer started to pull Ryan up off the floor. "What did he trip over?" When both boys shrugged, she crouched down and started patting the floor around the guitarist's feet, trying to find whatever it could've been. What she found after a few moments' searching was a sharp, wooden edge, and after feeling around a little more, she identified it. "There's a hatch, guys," she stated, stepping back a little.

Jon took her place and gripped the corners, groaning out slightly as he managed to slowly lift it on its surprisingly well-greased hinges. What was revealed, though, wasn't a stairway or a basement or whatever else had been running through the heads of the four.

It was a safe.

"Let me," Louisa said, sounding almost bored as she got down next to the bassist, their shoulders bumping together, and in the light of the eldest male's phone, she studied it for a moment before punching in a series of numbers. There was a low rumble and she raised her thick eyebrows in success, grinning slightly. "The LDS are nothing if not predictable," she stated.

"What was the code?" Ryan, back on his feet, asked from behind her.

"The publishing date of the first impression of the Book of Mormon," she stated, rolling her eyes slightly, reaching down and opening the now unlocked safe.

"Watches?" Jon asked incredulously, brows narrowed in confusion. "All that fuss over watches?"

"No," Spencer nodded, surprising everyone by actually sounding more interested than skeptical. "These aren't watches."

"How can you tell?" Louisa asked, picking one up and observing it idly. "I mean, these are perfect replicas of-"

"Watches aren't found in safes in empty warehouses protected by the publishing date of the Book of Mormon," the drummer answered exasperatedly. "Also, I don't know the brand. And, well, I may not be able to afford anything expensive, but I'm still kind of into brands."

"He is," Jon confirmed, shrugging. "So the wormhole thingies are watches?"

"No," Ryan stated. "That's the whole point. They just look like it. Now how do they-" He snatched the watch out of Louisa's hand and studied it closely. "I set the time," he muttered, setting it to six PM. "And the date," he added, changing the numbers to 05.12.1987.

"Godawful AM on Brendon's birthday?" Jon asked, peering curiously over the younger boy's shoulder. "What's up with that?"

"That's before he was even born," Louisa added. "Why would you-?"

Ryan looked up at them, a plan quickly forming in his mind. "It should give us enough time to get a ride back to Vegas, find the hospital and snatch him before they leave."

"You want to take him before he's even been released from the hospital?" Spencer asked. "You want to steal baby Brendon?"

"Yes," Ryan answered. "If his parents don't even come into contact with him again after he's out of the hospital, they won't have the chance to just go back and do it sooner. They won't be able to with doctors and nurses and shit, so we need to completely eliminate their shot of ever, you know."

Louisa was the first person to nod. "Yeah," she stated. "He's right. Now just get that thing to work somehow."

The guitarist smiled grimly, nodding. Between the two buttons he'd used to change the numbers was a larger, red one, and he slowly pressed it down, ordering that the others grab the rest of the 'watches' and right in that moment the door swung open and black-clad men were storming inside.

In front of the watch, the air seemed to be starting to twirl; changing course, changing nature almost, and slowly a coiling tunnel of twirling matter seemed to open up in front of them. Ryan was the first one to step inside without even the slightest bit of a second thought. Even if he fucking died, this life wasn't worth living anyway.

Spencer followed, hand reaching out to grip tight on his friend's elbow, and Louisa came after. When Jon finally stopped hesitating, the men had almost reached him, and he stretched an arm out of the tunnel behind him and grabbed the 'watch', pulling it inside with him.

The next moment they were falling, the tunnel closing up behind them as they were twirled and pulled and squeezed uncomfortably, and at one point Ryan had to close his eyes out of fear that they'd be pushed out by the sudden pressure around him. It was tugging at his limbs and pulled him every which way, tearing and pushing him apart simultaneously.

Suddenly it didn't seem to matter if he was keeping his eyes shut or not. He'd lost the sense of having eyes, having fingers or legs or a body at all, seemed to have been transformed into nothing but floating molecules. And just like that, he was being put together again, just as painfully, and then there was a sensation of falling, falling and landing hard, Spencer tumbling down on top of him and the others landing mere feet away.

"God, that sucked," Jon groaned, patting his hands up and down his body as though trying to make sure everything was still in place. A few moments later he heaved out a relieved sigh.

"We need a ride," Louisa stated a moment later, getting up off the floor of the dark building. Then she handed a 'watch' to Spencer and Ryan each, mumbling something about getting separated and being on the safe side.

They made it to the door, which, this time, was bolted from the inside. Jon, though, had no trouble lifting it and so they all made it outside. "Now what?" he asked. "Do we go to the bus station and hope they have one for the next couple of days?"

Ryan ran a hand through his hair impatiently, setting up a quick pace as he crossed the small parking lot outside and wandered down the street, eyes open. A few hundred feet later and he spotted a bright red pick-up. "Anyone here know how to hotwire a car?" he asked, jogging towards the vehicle.

The others followed, all uttering negatives as they reached the car. Spencer was the one to let out a relieved groan. "The key's in the lock. Whoever owns this is fucking asking for it."

There was a general amount of chuckling as Spencer sat on the front seat, Ryan and Louisa both squeezing in next to him.

"We're so going to have to change seating arrangements sometime within the next hundred miles," Jon stated with a rumbling whine in his voice, getting up on the truck body where he scrambled around to get comfortable.

Inside Spencer turned to Ryan, biting his lip slightly. "Sorry," he muttered, not needing to specify what for or why.

Ryan just nodded, sending his friend a small smile. Then they drove off.

Part two will be up when beta'ed.

Missing in Action

2007-07-23T21:59:06Z

[01]
[02]
[03]
[04] [Part 1] | [04] [Part 2]

TBC