i'll take the truth at any cost.

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 00:06:00 GMT

i know i've been gone a while, here's a little writing offering. i will be back, just waiting until i burn rather than glow.

http://littlemissbenzedrine.dreamwidth.org/

i'll try to remember to cross post original writing, fanfic will be on this journal alone.
:)

love you all.

k
x

say goodbye, it'll make me want to kiss you.

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 20:24:54 GMT

okay, i got bored.
from anon_lovefest.

Spencer is genuinely surprised when he hears yelling coming from the back lounge.

Not the actual act of yelling itself, he's become pretty used to that over the past few weeks - maybe months, he's lost count of how long - but rather who's doing it.

It's Brendon yelling at Ryan, and that, that's something he's not heard in a long time. Ryan's the one with the short fuse, who'll pick an arguement with the least cause, and Brendon's role is to just accept it, to wait for him to work through it and know that it was nothing serious.

It never is with them normally - it's just yet another show in the series that has become their lives. Spencer sometimes wonders if either of them can truly stop performing, even behind closed doors.

However, this is a break from the status quo, and a potentially devestating one at that - Ryan must really have pushed Brendon too far if he's provoked him into getting angry.

Spencer can't make out what he's saying, just the weeks of anger and frustration pouring out, a seemingly unstoppable force. All things must come to an end though, and everything is quiet for a moment before Brendon storms out of the room, the anger darkening his features failing to obscure the sheer exhaustion. Ryan comes to the doorway, and if Spencer didn't know any better he'd say Ryan's stance is almost timid, unsure. "Bren," he says, and there's a definite uncertainty in his tone, but Brendon ignores it. "No, not now," he replies shortly, walking out and slamming the door behind him.

Ryan collapses on the sofa next to Spencer, and Spencer can't remember the last time he saw him look so tired.

"I hurt him Spence," Ryan says quietly, "I didn't realise I had the capacity, the power to hurt him that badly."

Spencer desperately wants to say something to lighten this mood, the intensity that's drowned this moment, but he can't force the words past his lips. This is not what Ryan needs, he needs to rationalise it in his own mind, to figure out why he's pushing Brendon away, why he let him so close in the first place. Or at least that's what Spencer thinks the silence means.

"The worst thing though was even as I was saying it, meaning it to hurt, it was torture for me to do it. I love him, so much so that sometimes I wake up in the dead of night and it just fucking aches. It might kill me, might kill him, but we need to be together. We never got a choice."

Sat, 23 May 2009 22:43:30 GMT

Okay, this is possibly one of the weirdest nights of my life.

I just spoke to Ryland and Suarez on the phone while my friend with her hybrid scottish/english accent yelled excitedly/drunkenly at them and i acted like an idiot.

She also told ryland I walked into him at the Glasgow gig [which I already felt stupid about.]

Yeah.
Really strange.

[FIC] There's Gotta Be Somebody Who Understands.

Sat, 23 May 2009 12:14:19 GMT

There's Gotta Be Somebody Who Understands.
Gabe/William, William/Tom, implied Tom/Jon.

Gabe’s already expecting the slam of the door, yet he still jumps when it comes.
It’s William. It’s always William.

Gabe’s already expecting the slam of the door, yet he still jumps when it comes.

It’s William. It’s always William.

“He’s just… god Gabe, I don’t know, how does he get to me like this?” William launches straight into the rant, and while Gabe knows he should be paying attention, this isn’t the first time he’s heard this speech. Hell, it’s not the first time he’s heard this speech today.

He concentrates instead on watching William as he paces around the room, hands gesticulating as he talks, his whole body tense, and there’s something about his whole demeanour that screams of a kind of nervous desperation. Gabe just wants to grab him by the waist, pull him down so he’s still, make him listen, but he also know his part in this drama – he has to watch as William winds himself tighter and tighter before he goes running back to Tom and they reunite. He’d never been a conscious accomplice, not in the beginning, but now he’s beginning to see a pattern. Maybe not a pattern, not as innocent, but more of an invitation, something in the way the anger and despair twists into something more and it ends in William looking at him with hungry eyes and seeking Gabe’s touch almost unconsciously.

Every night he writes it off. He has to.

Tonight however, there’s something in the way he’s behaving, and Gabe suddenly realises the distress is real. When William comes to him normally he’s angry, but this time, he’s genuinely hurt by whatever it is has gone on.

“And I’m pretty sure they’d been kissing… Gabe, are you even listening to me?”

He hadn’t been, but at that moment he’d decided the whole situation had become a little more interesting. It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared before, far from it, it was just over the past year he’d been accustomed to writing most of what William said in these moments basically as him being a drama queen – he’d never thought there was anything truly serious behind it. But now William thinks Tom’s cheating?

“Yeah, of course, just zoned out for a little bit. What’d you say?”

William collapses on to the bed, seemingly having lost the energy to stand, and repeats what he’d said before, about walking in to their hotel room and finding Jon and Tom sitting a little too close, guiltily he was sure, about the way Jon had smoothed down his hair and walked out pretty quickly, and how the argument between them had seem unavoidable after that.

“I mean, it’s not like I go around kissing my best friend, is it?” he asks, looking up at Gabe with eyes that are just a little too innocent.

“I’m sure it could be arranged,” Gabe replies, not realising until too late that a flippant remark like that might be fine out in the parking lot or when they’re waiting backstage, but it’s a lot more meaningful in a hotel room that means there’s little to no chance of any interruption.

William sits up slowly, drawing himself almost level with Gabe. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he says, slow and deliberate, and damn, if that doesn’t just send a shiver right down Gabe’s spine.

“I’m not,” Gabe replies, using the same seductive tone, and yes, this might be wrong, William’s hurt and angry at Tom, probably not thinking straight, but William’s reaching up and playing with the hair at the nape of Gabe’s neck, saying “Prove it,” in a tone that would tempt a saint, and Gabe was no angel to begin with.

The first touch of their lips is tentative, like they’re both sure the other will see sense and back away, end this thing before it starts. However, when they realise neither of them is going to back down it turns harsh and intense, William pushing Gabe back on to the bed and climbing on top of him without breaking the kiss for a second.

Gabe’s mind is stubbornly refusing to comprehend anything further than the fact he is currently underneath William, William fucking Beckett with that hair, those eyes, those hips, who is kissing him, all clever mouth, tangled tongues and wandering hands.

That is until there’s a knock on the door.

Gabe is all for ignoring it and carrying on with this line of events, but when the person on the other side starts yelling, both he and William stop dead.

“Bill,” the person says, and it’s fucking Tom, that’s just how Gabe’s life goes, “Bill, I know you’re in there. Come out and we can try talk about this like we’re fucking adults.”

Gabe studiously avoids looking at William, watching him make up his mind, knowing what, or more to the point who, he’ll choose.

“Sorry,” he whispers, going to get up, but Gabe grabs the front of his shirt, his words soft and urgent.

“Fine, go. Just come back to me when this gets too much, when the thought of this, of you and I, won’t leave your mind. When you wake up maybe weeks from now and you find yourself already reaching out to call me, just to hear my voice. Come back when this becomes the most exquisite kind of torture. Because trust me, it will.”

William looks away and stands up, straightening himself out before walking to the door. “Goodbye Gabe,” he says, voice a little cooler than usual.

**

Three weeks later Gabe’s sitting in a bar somewhere out east when William slides into the booth, right next to him, expression dark and wild.

“What have you done to me?” he asks desperately, struggling to stay in control.

“Wouldn’t know what you mean,” Gabe says casually, taking another drink without ever looking in William’s direction.

“Yes you do,” William responds, voice strained, “You know exactly what I mean. I can’t think of anything but you and it’s making me push Tom away. I’m engineering fights where there should be none, saying no where I should be saying yes, where I should be wanting to say yes. But all I can think about is you and that one kiss, that one stupid, incredible kiss. This is torture Gabe, and I don’t think I can stand it any longer.”

A small smile graces Gabe’s lips before his expression resumes its previous impassive state.

He turns to William then, eyes burning, betraying him as he responds to William’s impassioned speech.

“Now you know how I’ve been feeling since the day I met you.”

Thu, 21 May 2009 18:08:48 GMT

I would just like to say;

COBRA COBRA COBRA.

[wow, my fingers almost wrote Conrad. Stupid story infecting my brain.]

But anyway -

Cobra! Tonight! Glasgow! New camera!

Pictures after.
xD

but just one night couldn't be so wrong.

Thu, 21 May 2009 11:49:11 GMT

THE ANONYMOUS WRITING FEEDBACK MEME

go. comment on everyone. =P

Sun, 17 May 2009 22:32:22 GMT

This story hates me.

Seriously.

-My characters are awkward and fail-y when they're meant to be seductive and oblivious respectively.
-The plot makes absolutely NO sense.
-The plot has deviated more than a little from the prompt.
-I only have 524 words - my life can be categorised by little blobs of writing that are never very long and don't go anywhere.
-There's lots of talking and I only ever do dramatic speeches, not everyday dialogue.
-It is supposed to contain porn. I suck at writing anything above PG.

There are a few more reasons, but these are the main points. I'm going to read them again, read the story, and hopefully make it suck a little less.

Sat, 16 May 2009 13:23:21 GMT

Exams over.
Cobra in 5 days.
21st Century Breakdown on the speakers.
Writing some anon_lovefest fic.

Life is good.
^_^

put your heart where your mouth is.

Thu, 07 May 2009 16:42:06 GMT

i'm selling letters signed 'i love you'
and you might think it's low
but this is the sale of the century
and everything's just got to go.

i'm going in for the kill, i'm doing it for the thrill.

Fri, 01 May 2009 08:55:02 GMT

Yes! Dreamwidth ^_^

I'm online just waiting for Green Day UK tickets to go on sale... 4 different ticket sites open, desperately waiting.

I think I'll post my first story here today/tonight. Maybe. I like to fill up journals quite quickly... blank space or only a couple of entries irritate me.

=)

[FIC] The Kind Of Beauty That Moves.

Mon, 27 Apr 2009 12:45:05 GMT

Title; The Kind Of Beauty That Moves.
Pairing; girl!Brendon/girl!Ryan, Jon.
Summary;Jon had always thought that photographs did tell the story, and that to say otherwise was just to indulge in that romantic cliché. However every time he catches sight of the photo on his wall, the one that still draws his eye even in a montage of all his friends in various casual (and sometimes downright ridiculous) poses, the realisation hits all over again that there are just some stories too complex for the lens to capture.
Author's Notes; Written for an anon_lovefest prompt =)

Jon had always thought that photographs did tell the story, and that to say otherwise was just to indulge in that romantic cliché. However every time he catches sight of the photo on his wall, the one that still draws his eye even in a montage of all his friends in various casual (and sometimes downright ridiculous) poses, the realisation hits all over again that there are just some stories too complex for the lens to capture. So this photo isn’t anything he hasn’t seen a million times, simply Bren on Ry’s lap, her wicked smirk the only hint she knows the camera’s watching. But the thing that distinguishes it, the thing that makes it anything but simple, is the story behind it, the damn story the photo could never tell.

Bren comes to Jon first, all wide-eyed innocence and shameless flattery in a way she knows he can’t resist. “Jon,” she purrs, “Jon Walker, love of my life.” He raises an eyebrow, but she remains undeterred. “You are, Ry’s got nothing on you,” she starts, before lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said so.” Jon tries to ignore the way she looks up through her eyelashes at him, the feel of her hand resting on his arm, the way that tone, the one that would make anyone do anything willingly for her, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up – he’s too experienced to take this as anything other than a game, no matter how natural a flirt she is.

“What do you want?” he asks, cutting her off to get straight to the point.

“Aww, who says I want anything?” she pouts, and he rolls his eyes at her, because to do anything else will just encourage her. “Fine,” she sighs when she realises he’s not going to play, “I do want something.”

When she tells him what it is, his first instinct is to say no, to stay well out of the situation, but she’s so convincing, keeps picking out his doubts and talking them down, and in the end he actually wants to do it, can see everything in his mind already.

In hindsight, of course he should have known she wouldn’t have spoken to Ry about it beforehand, but to be fair to him, Bren had been so assured when she’d asked him he hadn’t thought to question her. However, when he walks into the room and can see Ry is seriously pissed off, he does consider turning around and walking back out again. “Wait,” is Bren’s simple statement, before she walks over to Ry, gently pushing her down on to the sofa before curling up in her lap. Jon can’t hear exactly what Bren’s saying, but the look on Ry’s face is changing from homicidal so he figures it can’t be bad. He catches the words ‘so beautiful’ and when Ry ducks her head in response he knows Bren is winning. She’s smiling, a wicked, provocative smile that he can’t help but want to catch, and he reaches for the camera and takes the shot without even thinking about it. Ry looks up sharply, the tension instantly evident again in her body, and Jon thinks he’s blown it. However, he doesn’t count on Bren placing her hand gently on Ry’s cheek, turning her face so they’re looking at each other and kissing her gently, just for a second. “Trust me,” Bren says softly, and that, Jon thinks, that is the phrase that this whole thing turns on. Ry nods, almost imperceptibly, and she’s rewarded by the flash of Bren’s smile, quick and affectionate, before her tongue darts across her bottom lip and Ry’s leaning forward to trace the same movement.

It takes mere seconds for them to become wrapped up in each other, so engrossed that even the flash of the camera doesn’t distract them. He watches through the lens as Bren takes control, straddling Ry’s waist and running her fingers through Ry’s hair as if she’s desperately searching for a way to get closer. When they start undressing each other Jon feels the camera shake in his hands, because yes, a part of his brain had acknowledged that this would be hot, mind numbingly so, but he hadn’t quite taken in the reality of the situation until this moment. Ry’s gorgeous, all angles and awkward grace, almost ethereal, and he wishes he had hours to map all the planes of her body. Bren’s the perfect complement, the smooth curves, contours, and so vividly real that every move that she makes just begs to be frozen in time to be enjoyed over and over.

He’s never contemplated the dynamics of their relationship until now, but he would have always assumed that Bren would be dominant, pushing and teasing like she does as naturally as breathing. What he never expected was Ry pushing Bren down on to the sofa, kissing, licking, touching with expert precision until she had Bren needy and begging beneath her.

(It’s only days later, when he notices Bren absent mindedly pulling down the sleeves of her hoodie to hide inflamed rope burn marks around her wrists that Jon realises Ry’s dominance wasn’t a one time thing.)

“Say it,” Ry demands, intense and more than a little breathless.

“P-p-please,” Bren stutters, and Jon can only watch, fascinated, as Ry’s fingers slide inside Bren, as Bren’s head falls back, her eyes closed but her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ as she gasps.

He doesn’t know then that the next few moments will prove his undoing.

It’s Bren who starts it. He’d always thought she would be a talker during sex, but he could never have imagined this.

“God Jon, you have no idea how good this is, how good she is, just filling me up so well,” she mutters, turning so he can see her face, eyes practically black with lust. Her voice is lower and a little huskier than usual and her commentary combined with the breathtaking visual is sending shocks of arousal to his rapidly hardening cock.

“She’s… oh fuck,” Bren starts, her curse slipping out when Ryan’s mouth joins her fingers, “I can’t even fucking think, it’s… god, Ry,” she moans, head thrown back and hips lifting from the sofa as she comes.

Bren’s still shaking as Ry crawls back up, kissing her lover deeply when she reaches her mouth. After a minute or so Bren seems to recover her senses, and with a quick apology she starts tracing her way down Ry’s body to repay the favour.

Jon’s long since abandoned using the camera by that point, too captivated by every move the girls make to concentrate on just single moment, so he jumps when Ry starts her own monologue, the laziness of her tone betrayed by the desperation in her eyes.

“You ever wondered about her mouth Jon?” she asks almost casually, as if they were discussing something else. “Stupid question really, how could you not?” she continues, and he’s drawn to the way the dispassionate words are contrasted with the hands resting on the back of Bren’s neck reassuringly, the way their stares are locked, even though Ry’s addressing Jon. “It’s unbelievable, I swear. The girl’s a natural.”

By now Jon can’t help but reach his hand inside his jeans, stroking himself as he watches. He’s only human, and he would challenge anyone to be in his situation and hold out.

He gets the feeling Ry’s holding back, keep something as a secret between her and Bren, not noticing that the camera has long since been discarded. Bren obviously senses the same thing as she pushes harder, knowing exactly how to tip Ry right over the edge.

Bren copies Ry’s movements from before, entwining herself with her lover and kissing lazily, contentedly. Jon groans softly, furiously turned on and failing to hide it, and Bren looks up at the sound.

“Oh Ry, we’ve been naughty, having all the fun while Jon’s doing us the favour,” she simpers, grinning mischeviously, “Do you think we should thank him now?”

Ry smirks in response, pushing Bren’s shoulder. “Well, this was your idea,” she says, turning to watch as Bren moves towards Jon, kissing him quickly before dropping to her knees. “Thank you Jon,” she purrs, looking up at him in the most misleadingly innocent way before she takes him in her mouth.

He looks at Ry, watches as she looks back at him as if to say wasn’t I right? The next thing he knows she’s walking over to where they are, sinking to her knees beside Bren and they’re both blowing him, mouths connected around the head of his cock, and after all he’s witnessed tonight, having been on the edge for so long, it doesn’t take long before he’s coming too.

When he printed out the photos the morning after he’d made a copy for himself, but he’s found those images and a thousand more besides are seared into his mind.

It’s amazing, he thinks as he watches Bren try to convince Ry to quit writing and come play Guitar Hero, how even pictures before your very eyes can’t quite tell everything.

Wed, 15 Apr 2009 17:55:50 GMT

Here are a few of my favourite quotes, lyrics, poems, etc...

We are earthquakes
We are tidal waves
We're destruction at its finest
Yeah we are lava in the cave
We feed on the irony
We drink hypocrisy
We are everything we hate
But we have everything we need.

[Reckless Abandonment. The Spill Canvas.]

I love you in the same way
There's a chapel in a hospital.

[Hum Hallelujah. Fall Out Boy.]

Burn the books that you adored
With words you stole from fools before.

[Pillow Talk. Kids In Glass Houses.]

Somebody get my phone
So I can throw it in a public pool
And watch it float
And as it's slowly sinking down
Become a social ghost.

[We've Got A Big Mess On Our Hands. The Academy Is...]

The Mrs will stay with the cheating attorney
Moonlighting aside, she really needs his money
A wonderful charicature of intimacy.

[Build God, Then We'll Talk. Panic! At The Disco.] [back when they were.]

Don't call it a crush, baby,
You know I love you too much to be crushed like that.

[Little Razorblade. The Pink Spiders.]

I sing and sing of awful things
The pleasure that my sadness brings
As my fingers press on to the strings
Yet another clumsy chord.

[Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh. Bright Eyes.]

Now I'm here by the ocean
Just waiting for proof
That there's sunsets in sillhouette dreams
While my sandcastles fall like the ashes of cigarettes
And every wave drags me to sea
I could stand here for hours hust to ask God the question
"Is everything here make believe?"
With a tear in his voice he says,
"Son, that's the question"
Does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me

[You Be The Anchor That Keeps My Feet On The Ground, I'll Be The Wings That Keep Your Heart In The Clouds. Mayday Parade.]

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

[Anthem For Doomed Youth. Wilfred Owen.]

There are millions more of these, but this is just a selection...

because sometimes my brain says 'what if girl!brendon went to the desolation row filming?'

Wed, 15 Apr 2009 15:12:36 GMT

She steps out of the taxi, leather jacket clinging like liquid coal to every contour of her body, the dress underneath stopping abruptly mid-thigh and wearing knee high boots which, if there was any justice, would make her look like a street corner hooker, but on her they're almost classy, highlighting the graceful curve of her legs.

"What do you think?" she asks, voice low and sultry, and Lyn-z shakes her head, smirking.

"Mikey is going to fucking freak," is all she says before shrugging on her own leather jacket and heading inside.

when they turn their faces we will run and never stop.

Wed, 15 Apr 2009 10:02:05 GMT

Yes, my angst is over.

2 pieces for anon_lovefest done, one of which I'd been panicking over the other night.
Assignments... not underway yet, but I'm feeling okay about them.
Cold - it is getting better... sort of.

I'm also going to try this late night writing thing, I quite like it.
=)

And apparently I'm better with prompts... who knew?

it scares them when i don't know where i'm going.

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:52:40 GMT

i saw the end today in a glass of water.
i'd picked it up from the sea, and there it was - the end of the world.

all the scientists, all the theorists, all the intellegence and affluence in the world couldn't save us.
but maybe they didn't want to be saved. maybe existing is too goddamn hard.

so if surviving doesn't scare me like it should, the end of the world should be nothing.

right?

[FIC] Dreams Just Aren't Enough [Ryan/Brendon]

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 21:38:21 GMT

Title: Dreams Just Aren't Enough.
Rating: R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (Ryan/Keltie, slight Ryan/Spencer, implied Ryan/OMC)
Summary: It’s been around a week since he’s had any idea where they are, each stop passing with a blur of sweltering days, screaming fans and long, sleepless nights.
Notes: I wrote this a while ago for patd olympics for the prompt 'Blood Is Thicker Than Water' and never quite got around to posting it on my journal... beware major angst...

The thing no one outside understands is that living with people - spending your days and nights constantly in their presence – is that somewhere in between that first tentative meeting and knowing exactly what they’re thinking, they kind of become your family.

Ryan attempts to explain this to Spencer, but it doesn’t quite work.

It’s been around a week since he’s had any idea where they are, each stop passing with a blur of sweltering days, screaming fans and long, sleepless nights. Ryan’s just trying to show Spencer he’s still sane – he’s seen the looks Spencer’s been giving him. He doesn’t want to worry Spencer, doesn’t need anyone worrying about him – but as he expands on this theory the concerned look in Spencer’s eyes only intensifies.

“Ry,” he says softly, “try and get some sleep will you?” Spencer cups Ryan’s face, gently running his thumbs across Ryan’s cheekbones. “For me?” Spencer asks, and Ryan nods, feeling rather than seeing the relieved smile that rewards his reply. Spencer leans forward and kisses him, once, twice. Ryan is desperate to lose himself in Spencer’s touch - the feel, the familiarity of him. Ryan knows Spencer inside out and it’s that which makes him want to move forward – but he knows he won’t. Spencer was the first real family he ever had and their relationship is so open only because they have boundaries neither oversteps when it comes to moments like this. Ryan will not give up their bond for a couple of hours of oblivion, even if pulling away only makes him feel worse.

He looks around for Brendon and Jon, but the dull pain behind his eyes forces him to half-stagger to bed and surrender to the old enemy of sleep, even if closing his eyes only worsened his headache, sending darts of pain through his head.

***

When he wakes up, the light is burning too bright in his eyes. Ryan feels as though those hours – maybe hours he thinks, maybe minutes, maybe days – of rest have eased the ache in his mind. He still feels like drifting back into sleep for a few years, lethargy weighing down his limbs to the point he’s not sure his body would even respond to his commands. When his eyes finally adjust to the light he sees the outline of a woman sitting at the edge of his bunk. He stares a few seconds before he realises that it’s Keltie. She smiles at him, and he feels himself smile back in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. He can tell by the nature of her smile, the way it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, that she’s spoken to Spencer, that she’s worried about him. For some reason – a reason Ryan can’t place (possibly isn’t willing to place) the idea of Spencer and Keltie discussing him crawls under his skin, trapping him, finally settling in the pit of his stomach.

“You okay?” she asks, reaching out to touch him. Ryan fights the instinct that wants to draw back. He sees the hurt look that passes fleetingly through her eyes and he wants to soothe her, just say it’s nothing personal, he’s just not in the mood for human contact, for any kind of contact. His world’s getting smaller all the time and he just doesn’t know if there’s room for anyone else in it.

He can hear the guys in the kitchen, and the sound of their normal conversation, their laughter, their happiness nearly chokes him. Ryan’s forgotten (let himself forget) that not everyone is followed around by a shadow of self-doubt the way he is. With that realisation – which hits him afresh every time he hears his friends behaving like normal human beings – resentment flares from within him.

He’s seized by the sudden urge to go out there, to end that brief moment of normality. They’re never like that around Ryan anymore – too uncertain of how he’ll react to the most innocent of comments. He begins to sit up before remembering he’s not alone, that Keltie’s watching him for them, for any signs that he’s cracking up.

However, just as suddenly as it’s come, the resentment is gone again and he lies back down, totally drained. The worried look in her eyes is now playing out on her features and Ryan feels bad that she’s come all this way to see him only to find he’s losing his mind.

***

The next few days pass in a blur, a blur that drags on and on until Ryan is sure time is, in fact, an imaginary concept. Time should surely go forward, it shouldn’t stay stagnant. All he remembers are worried expressions hidden badly by forced smiles and hushed conversations not meant for him to overhear. He occasionally contemplates screaming out, telling them it’s my fucking life, you don’t understand, you’ll never understand but the energy it would require is far too much for Ryan to bear even thinking about.

Keltie spends a lot of time with him those days, talking as if she can coax him back into being his old self, living his old life; he doesn’t know how to tell her how everything’s changed, that what was once a awe-inspiring kaleidoscope is now just a bad acid trip. She tells him about her life in whatever city she’s living in now, Ryan loses track of the names and places, people he’s never met and will never care about. People who mean the world to her. She tells him about her parents, about how they’re desperate to meet him, keep asking her when she’s going to find a good man and settle down. She says those last two words meaningfully but Ryan’s done with subtlety and hidden meanings, has had enough to last a lifetime. He will admit to entertaining ideas about marrying Keltie, could see his life almost spread out before him from the house just outside the city and the 2.5 children; the quiet, introverted little girl, the charming, outgoing little boy and the smiling little infant no one can resist. Hell, he even sees them in old age, their children grown up and nowhere near as fucked up as him, as her – even if she won’t admit to it.

What he doesn’t admit to, will never admit to – because part of him is desperate for the quiet simplicity of that life, the sheer easiness of it – is that he can’t see anything beyond the band, beyond his friends, beyond the life he’s leading now. She doesn’t see that this is now a part of who he is, this is what took him out of the life he was tired of living, couldn’t have gone on living for much longer. This life, these people, they saved him, but he helped to save them too. By ripping himself wide open he’d spun those stories that had landed them where they are now.

He thinks of Spencer, Spencer who’s seen him at his very worst and never once even contemplated leaving him. Spencer, who looked after him when he was five years old and scraped his knees. Spencer who looks after him now that the wounds aren’t half as obvious but twice as painful.

Jon too, Jon might not have been there for it all, but Jon didn’t have to be. He’s one of the few people in Ryan’s life who is constant and steady, something Ryan values him for more than he’ll ever know.

Then, of course, that brought him to Brendon. Of course, how could it not? This is the first time in weeks Ryan’s allowed himself to even think his name and it still sends a shock of pain to his chest.

He’s been avoiding him for weeks, even onstage he’s totally focused on the music, letting old words of hurt and loss cleanse him. He takes the words Brendon’s singing night after night and changes them, fitting them to something new, seeing how he would change them now - anything to distract himself from the desire to watch Brendon, to see that he knows without a doubt every single move Brendon will make. He was always easiest to read for Ryan – onstage at least. Ryan does what he can to avoid interviews with Brendon, knows he couldn’t handle watching him charm the interviewer, to act as though nothing has happened, each carefully contemplated phrase saccharine sweet as it falls from his mouth.

Now that Ryan’s started this dangerous line of thought, the memories and possibilities and regrets threatening to drown him, his head buzzing with a million thoughts demanding his attention right now… Ryan just wants to go under and never come back up for air.

***

“We’re going to wake them up,” Ryan giggles, pulling Brendon by his belt as his own back hits the wall before kissing him, hungry, desperate.

“You’re going to wake them up you mean,” Brendon replies in what Ryan guesses is supposed to be a whisper, but Brendon can’t whisper when he’s…

“You’re drunk!” Ryan says astonished – a little gleeful, but mostly astonished – before starting to unbutton Brendon’s shirt as the younger boy fumbles with Ryan’s belt.

“Don’t know why you wear this damn thing anyway, s’not like your pants aren’t superglued on anyway,” Brendon mumbles as Ryan’s mouth trails down his jaw, his hands sliding over the pale expanse of chest he’s uncovered.

He laughs softly, his breath hot against Brendon’s neck, and Ryan feels him shiver at the sensation.

“God… want,” Brendon manages to choke out breathlessly, and it’s not as if Ryan could ever deny him anything.

They’re on the sofa now, Ryan straddling Brendon’s waist, and for the first time in months Ryan feels sexy, powerful, in control. Brendon reaches up for him, pulling Ryan down to kiss him again, and damn, Ryan thinks, it’s been too long since he’s had Brendon like this, helpless with desire underneath him.

That is until Brendon uses the fingers he’s tangled in Ryan’s hair to pull him down until he’s growling in Ryan’s ear, his voice low and rough in a way that sends a shock of arousal down Ryan’s spine.

“I want you to fuck me.”

***

The next morning he wakes up with no recollection of anything other than the thought, repeating in his mind like some tragic mantra, I need to get out.

He finds Spencer sitting on the sofa in the hotel room – wait, hotel room? Ryan thinks, unable to understand what he’s doing there – with an expression on his face Ryan has seen only once, and had never wanted to see again.

“Spin,” he starts, but his voice sounds like he’s been swallowing razorblades, rough and raw, slit down the middle.

“What the fuck did you think you were playing at?” Spencer asks, his voice cold on the surface, but Ryan can hear the anger behind it, years of experience making it painfully clear – Spencer’s anger is fuelled by fear, Ryan knows that really – and that familiar feeling of guilt cuts across his skin.

“What are you talking about?” Ryan croaks, the guilt suddenly accompanied by a cold chill of fear. It’s not just the haze of waking up, he has no idea what happened to him last night. He feels Spencer scrutinising him, trying to decide if Ryan’s attempting to lie his way out of whatever it was he did, or if he honestly doesn’t know. He hears Spencer’s sharp intake of breath when he realises it’s the latter.

So Spencer tells him. Tells him how he’d staggered on to stage the night in question, already reeking of Jack Daniels and cheap cologne, fumbled his way through the entire set and then promptly disappeared. It isn’t in fact the next morning as Ryan had thought, but two days after his great vanishing act. Ryan’s been out cold ever since, some unknown stranger bringing him back to their hotel the day before, after recognising him.

“You didn’t even know your own fucking name Ry,” Spencer says finally, the anger mostly gone now, but it’s given way to sadness, to disappointment, and Ryan suddenly misses the anger; he at least knew how to handle that.

Spencer stands up and walks to the door, muttering something outside before coming back in to sit on the chair Ryan hadn’t even noticed was positioned right next to his bed. Seconds later Brendon and Jon come flying into the room.

Ryan isn’t prepared for how tired they both look, how tense and wrecked they evidently feel. Jon goes first, no recriminations or harsh words, just wraps his arms around Ryan’s tiny frame and holds him. It’s such a gesture of solidarity, of friendship, that Ryan doesn’t feel quite as alone as he did before.

Spencer, Jon and Brendon exchange quiet words in the corner before Spencer and Jon go outside, leaving Ryan and Brendon totally alone for the first time in months.

“What were you thinking Ry? Or were you not thinking at all?” Brendon says, and Ryan’s surprised by the hurt in his voice, the raw edge to it that he hasn’t heard in a long time. But Ryan can’t handle Brendon’s hurt right now, not when he can feel the ache in his own chest heavy and tiring.

“Why the fuck do you care?” he spits back, and watches helplessly as Brendon recoils at the venom in Ryan’s words. Ryan knows this point well, he knows this is where Brendon walks away and doesn’t look back. Knows that if he pushes hard enough he can lose what he wants all over again.

Brendon, however, surprises him.

“What?” he asks, and Ryan can practically feel the anger radiating from Brendon, hard as he’s trying to control it. “You’re accusing me of not caring when you made it damn clear you didn’t want me around, couldn’t fucking care less about me, in fact. I could just about handle that Ry, being left on the outside, not allowed to know what goes on inside that precious mind of yours, but to bring her back as your way of telling me that whatever fucked up little thing we had was over? When I was damn near convinced that I’d fallen for you? That was cruel Ryan.”

Ryan tries to interrupt, tries to tell Brendon that he’s wrong, but Brendon’s started now and he won’t be stopped.

“No. I’ve spent so much time listening to what you have to say, hanging off your every word, and I just can’t do it any longer. I just have to know why you felt you needed to punish me again. I was coping with this, I thought I might finally get my life back, and what do you do? You push right back in, knock down every defence I built when you were gone and you did it all with just one kiss. Then the next morning I wake up – and honey this would be the morning after you fucked me into the sofa, told me you loved me, that you wanted only me – I wake up and find you’ve pulled some disappearing act, you’ve left me alone and broken again. Fuck me for being too weak to resist you, but fuck you for knowing I never could.”

With that Brendon storms from the room, leaving Ryan speechless and trying to process the implications of what was just said.

***

Ryan knocks on the door of the lounge where he knows the other three are sitting, having finally gathered enough energy to make the trip.

Spencer answers the door, looking momentarily surprised when he sees Ryan there, but moving aside to let him in all the same.

He sees Brendon curled against Jon’s side, apparently just woken by the sound at the door, and the sight of him almost breaks what’s left of Ryan’s heart in two. He’s never seen Brendon look this… defeated, yes, defeated is the only accurate description of how he looks, like the fight has been driven out of him. He looks up to meet Ryan’s gaze and he sees that the vibrant spark which had been there since the first day they met has given way to an almost haunted, empty stare. “What do you want?” he asks as Jon and Spencer once again retreat from the room, both pausing to squeeze Brendon’s shoulder in a show of support as they pass.

Ryan guesses this is his turn for the dramatic speech, but he just can’t find the willpower to be angry about what went on between them.

“I broke up with Keltie,” he says simply, collapsing on the couch next to Brendon. He feels the other boy’s questioning gaze on him and he decides to try and explain. “It’s just, I could see a future with her, yes, but it wasn’t the one I wanted.” He knows Brendon is giving him his attention tentatively, and Ryan can’t find it in himself to blame Brendon for it; Ryan hasn’t been the most open or even consistent person to be with. “Any future with her didn’t have you guys in it. You’re my family, all of you, and I’d be lost without you guys. Especially you.” Ryan whispers, but the last two words seem to hang in the silence his words have left.

It’s not uncomfortable, Ryan thinks, leaning back against the sofa and staring at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere that isn’t Brendon.

Brendon tries to crush the note of hope in his voice when he asks, “Why should I believe you?”

Brendon doesn’t realise how well Ryan knows him, though, and hearing that little spark gives Ryan hope of his own.

“Because I don’t go around telling everyone I love them,” Ryan smiles, and for a minute it this could be like every other moment they’ve ever had. If it wasn’t for the fact nothing like this has ever passed between them.

When Ryan finally gains the courage to look at Brendon he sees the conflict of love and wariness in his eyes, written all over his features.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft again, the tone once again serious. “Can you… could you forgive me?”

He watches a little of the wariness melt away from Brendon’s eyes when he smiles.

“Isn’t that what family is for?”

i want to live in the coke advert.

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 18:14:30 GMT

Wow, I must talk about the boys way too much.

*coke advert comes on*
me; Aaaah! it's brendon and patrick!
my brother; Patrick Stump?
me; *bemused* yeah...

Worrying.

At least I didn't start off on the story of why he's one of my favourite small people ever...

ETA - this is a victory for the angels as the only music my brother listens to has an overwhelming bass and synth in the background. evil.

tell me why you never promised that you wanted it all.

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 14:44:55 GMT

Wow, it's been a while since I've written on here - I have been reading though.

But, as usual, I'm on to ask a favour.

I've done a fic for anon_lovefest, but I desperately need someone to read it over and let me know (a) any mistakes and (b) if the actual story's any good. Basically, a real critic lol. It's been so long since I've written something serious and quite dark and I'm not sure I like what I've written.

So, any volunteers would be greatly appreciated, but if not it's fine.

Hope everyone's doing well anyway. =)

[FIC] It's A Love Story, Baby Just Say Yes. [SMA verse.]

Wed, 04 Mar 2009 20:09:07 GMT

Title; It's A Love Story, Baby Just Say Yes.
Pairing; always-a-girl!Brendon/Mikey
Summary; Brenna had always imagined that when she got married it would be a fairytale affair, with the picturesque church, the ten foot train, and, of course, her very own Prince Charming waiting for her at the end of the aisle. However, over the past twenty-two years she’s learned that nothing ever turns out exactly as you imagine it. The Wedding.
Author's Notes; I took a vote and this was most popular - so here it is. Hope you enjoy =)
Part of the Sing Me Anything verse.

are you having fun? eurgh, haven’t been on holiday since my freakin honeymoon and it doesn’t look like i’m going anywhere soon – thank your almost nephew for that. L xx

***

Brenna had always imagined that when she got married it would be a fairytale affair, with the picturesque church, the ten foot train, and, of course, her very own Prince Charming waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

However, over the past twenty-two years she’s learned that nothing ever turns out exactly as you imagine it.

At eighteen she’d has all these preconceived notions about how her life would turn out – and now she’s the very antithesis of that idea. From ruin to rockstar in three easy steps; quit life as you know it, join a band, get sold out tours and screaming teenagers. And yeah, she’s grateful, she really is – this is everything she could ever have dreamed of… except there’s still a little part of her that longs for the simplicity of that domestic life in contrast to the chaos that’s constantly around her, needs the kind of stability she grew up with.

So maybe she needs Mikey more than she lets anyone know.

He’s… he’s every single cliché she’s ever heard about what someone can mean to you, and this is the girl who was raised on fairytales and bad teen romance novels hidden underneath her mattress. He’s the only man who can make her stop and listen, grounds her, makes her want to shine that little brighter, and he takes the time to help her let down every individual guard she’s built up over the years.

She thinks that’s maybe why she didn’t think twice when he said the words ‘Marry me.’

It was… all of two hours ago, three days into their Italian getaway, and right until the moment he proposed she couldn’t have predicted what her answer would have been.

A little faithless part of her brain thinks it was a little contrived, the secluded restaurant, the rose, the candles and the declaration of love followed by the ring. She manages to shut it up when she sees the uncertainty in his eyes as he waits for her answer. This is not the quietly self-assured man she knows but the teenager scared of rejection he’s told her about in late night confessions. In that moment, she knows with absolute certainty that she loves him, and that’s always been enough for her.

She can barely choke out a yes.

Yet now she’s standing in their room in the villa, dark hair hanging loose and very little make up, wearing the only off-white thing she has to hand – luckily it’s gorgeous, if a little short, strappy and intricately beaded – and she wonders if now really is the time to give up on her fantasy. She’s thousands of miles from home, her friends and family, all these people who mean everything to her, aren’t with her, and she only got engaged two hours ago – is this how she wants to get married?

She’d wanted the whole experience, the planning, the discussions, the perfect organisation of the day where everything went according to a pre-arranged schedule, the dress buying, the last night with the band, the last night with her girls… the whole wedding drama. She just doesn’t want to come out of what should be the greatest experience of her life feeling cheated.

She’s just about to go find Mikey, to tell him that she loves him but she can’t do this now, that she needs at least everyone she loves with her, when she sees him standing in the doorway in a suit a little creased from travel, hair the same way it was when he’d gotten out of bed this afternoon… and smiling so unguardedly that suddenly she can’t remember a single reason not to do this. He offers her his hand and she takes it knowing that no matter what comes next, she won’t feel cheated at all – at the end of this she’ll be Mikey’s wife, and in that moment it’s as if it’s the only thing she’s ever dreamed of.

So yes, she’d had the fantasy of the grand scale wedding – but the reality of getting married in the heart of the Italian countryside with the priest’s wife and a wizened old patron of the church as the only witnesses? Well, she’d pick that every time.

***

good morning mrs way. nice way to tell me you’re pregnant bitch =P and i think you mean my nephew. love the other mrs way xx

i'm already distracted elsewhere.

Tue, 03 Mar 2009 10:55:16 GMT

Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence!

Okay, I have a lot of WIP's because... well, because I get bored easily.

“I believe you wanted to apologise to me?” she says in that seductive, teasing tone he knows so well and can’t help but to respond to.

"I knew you were stupid - I didn't realise you couldn't understand English," Ryan mutters, and just before Mikey can respond with something equally acidic he hears Brenna's voice, smaller and less forceful than usual.

What Pete seems to have forgotten though is that when he has an audience Brendon is nothing but a showman - there'll be no reactions or recriminations for the media vultures to pick over while the camera is rolling.

"It's done, it's finally over," Sisky tells him, but it isn't until William's looking Travis in the eye that he believes it was worth the cost.

Both so headstrong I can hear you saying, affection the underlying sentiment, and maybe you're right, but it is what doomed their relationship from the beginning.

"You want to know why I can't do this, why all that's left of me could never be enough?"

Perhaps it's that, that she's having to ask him to be happy for her, that finally makes her break.

There are more, these are just a little selection, but I have to go to class now...

i'm not scared of falling, rather scared of being pushed.

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 09:58:44 GMT

First of all, thanks to my poll-ees [to early for sensical talk.] =) I'm planning on having 'The Wedding' piece up on Monday... just trying to figure out which one of a few story strands I'm going to use.

I have this Law Ball tonight and I'm... Idk, I'm looking forward to it, yeah, but it's a little odd - it'll be my first university posh outing, so... who knows.

Well, I'm off to my tutorial now - the joys of the echelons of government.

And finally, just a little possible preview...

"You don't need to be here," Spencer says, and Ryan thinks that that might be the problem actually. She wouldn't notice if he was gone right now, wouldn't notice if the entire world around her fell to pieces. Anyone can see that today - for her - isn't about the beautiful dress, the flowers, even the music for once in her life - it's about being Mikey's wife.

first ever poll. i feel like i should take a photo for the memory.

Tue, 24 Feb 2009 22:37:09 GMT

Right darling fl [if you're there], I need your help.

View Poll: Next installment of 'Sing Me Anything'

In other news - I can't believe I just made a poll, I'm so ridiculously proud of myself.

Oh yeah, and I'm ill. Have been for a week. Hate it now.
Hope you guys are well.

[FIC] Don't Look Up [SMA verse.]

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 00:03:12 GMT

Title; Don't Look Up.
Pairing; always-a-girl!bren/mikey
Summary; When Brenna answers the door there’s a man there, hidden somewhere behind a huge bunch of flowers.
Author's Note; It's just still Valentines Day here - a Sing Me Anything verse special.

When Brenna answers the door there’s a man there, hidden somewhere behind a huge bunch of flowers. She almost laughs, thinking it’s some kind of joke, but stops herself just in time. “Mrs Way?” he asks and she shakes her head bemusedly. She can’t believe Gerard’s gone that whole sappy way for Lyn-Z… and she’s maybe a little jealous of that fact. It’s Valentine’s Day and she hasn’t even seen Mikey.

He looks at her in confusion before re-checking his delivery sheet. “Brenna Way?” he repeats, and it hits her. “Yeah, sorry, that’s me,” she says hurriedly, biting her lip to stop herself giggling at the expression on his face – he clearly thinks she’s crazy. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she goes by her own name – something her husband seems to be trying to cure her of – or that her best friend goes by the same married name. She takes the flowers off of him with a quick ‘thanks’ before almost staggering under their sheer volume.

She struggles back into the front lounge, heading towards the kitchen – flowers go in water, right? she thinks, not entirely sure what to do with what must be half a ton of them – and as she passes through the room falls into silence. “What the hell?” her band mates ask as one, and she ignores them pointedly. She’s about to collapse trying to carry the flowers and they’re just sitting watching like it’s some kind of entertainment show. “Thanks for all your help guys,” she says as she dumps the bouquet unceremoniously on the kitchen table and stands back, just staring at it. Ryan, Jon and Spencer all join her in the kitchen, and all four of them look in wonder at the vast array of flowers before them.

“I didn’t know you could buy that many at once,” Ryan says in a tone almost akin to awe, and the other three look nervously at each other – they all remember the rose vest and the arguments that ensued when it conveniently went missing. “Yeah, they’re… something,” she says rolling her eyes, but she can’t keep a stupid smile off of her face.

“like them? xx” the text comes through, and she laughs before texting him back, “come see for yourself x” Seconds later she hears a knock on the door of the bus and she saunters up the hallway to answer it. “If you’re looking for Mrs Way she’s not here,” she tells him, and watches as he tries to look shame-faced while failing miserably. “But your wife loved her flowers,” she continues, walking outside until she’s standing back against the side of the bus before lacing her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear, “and now she wants to thank you.”

She looks around quickly – not too carefully though, where’s the fun if you’re in no danger? – before kissing him once and letting her hands wander to his belt. “Bren, we… not here,” he says, eyes suddenly wide, and she smirks at that, remembering just how innocent her husband is capable of being sometimes, and how much she loves it. “Why not?” she asks as her fingers deftly undo his jeans. “It’s… what if someone sees?” he stutters out as those clever fingers close around his cock. She looks up at him, all dirty eyes and wicked intent, and she reaches up to bite his bottom lip before she replies, “What if they do?”

With that she sinks to her knees and in one deft move licks up from base to tip, tongue trailing languidly around the head until she feels his hips shift. “Fuck, Bren,” he says, and she’s more than a little smug that he’s pretty much breathless already. She takes him in as far as she can then, her hands teasing what her mouth can’t, and she plays him like just another instrument. She thinks it almost shouldn’t be this easy, but in the same way she likes that it is, likes that Mikey’s so transparent when she’s doing something he likes, and she likes the way his hand rests at the base of her neck rather than in her hair, something he’s done since the beginning and always sends a little shiver through her – only one man before him has ever done that, and she doesn’t let herself think about him, not now, not while she’s with her husband.

“God, please, fuck,” he moans, and it’s practically mindless, she can tell by the edge to his words how close he is – as if she hadn’t known by the way he was moving, the desperation obvious in every inch of his body. She raises her eyes until she’s looking at him, knows exactly how she looks and exactly what it’ll do to him, and she’s proven right seconds later as he comes with a muttered curse.

Ever the gentleman he helps her up and her vision blurs as she stands, the full force of her own arousal suddenly hitting her, and it almost knocks the breath from her. “Mikey,” she says, her voice shaking, and that’s all it takes before he’s pushing her back against the bus and kissing her, hot and dirty, one hand sliding up her skirt, inside her underwear. Her head tips back and he kisses the base of her throat as moans and broken pleas fall from her mouth, only relenting when he feels her fall apart under his touch.

“Happy Valentines Day Mrs Way,” he whispers as he steadies her and she just smiles, tired but contented, and she thinks she’ll let it go. This time.

[FIC] He Loves The Way You Love [Brendon/Ryan.]

Sun, 08 Feb 2009 18:24:40 GMT

Title; He Loves The Way You Love.
Pairing; Brendon/Ryan
Summary; A series of snapshots - ~300 words.
Author's Notes; I felt like writing, and this was the product. A little angsty.

"There's a reason," Brendon mutters darkly, drawing on the cigarette before continuing, exhaling smoke, "that she's the girlfriend and I'm just the whore."

***

He wants to say no, desperately wants to say no, but with his hands tangled in Brendon's hair all he can possibly say is, "Yes, oh god, yes."

***

"I am faithful. Most of the time," Ryan protests, unable to meet Spencer's eye.

"Just not when it matters," he mutters as he walks away.

***

The first morning, Ryan woke up and Brendon was gone. He thinks maybe he should have taken something from that.

***

"We should, you know, we should talk about this," Ryan mutters when he finds Brendon in the kitchen that morning and Brendon just turns away. "What is there to talk about?" he asks Ryan and yeah, Ryan thinks, this might be the beginning of a beautiful cliche.

***

Brendon never begs, but there's one night a few months in when he's on his knees in front of Ryan and he says please, so softly Ryan almost misses it, and yeah, that catches him off balance. He should probably have been used to that feeling by then.

***

"No, you should go, he needs you," she says and he thinks, yeah, that's kind of the problem.

***

They go out once, girlfriends and all, and it doesn't take an hour before Ryan's faking a headache to sneak back to the bus - back to Brendon. He's a little unsteady and Brendon's all out drunk, so they fight until the moment breaks and then they fly at each other.

***

"Fuck, I... I need," is all he can stutter out in the face of darkened, desperate eyes and legs wrapped tight around his waist, and he knows right then that he will never - can never - give this up.

[FIC] The Boys Are Too Refined [SMA verse.]

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 22:51:59 GMT

Title; The Boys Are Too Refined.
Pairing; always-a-girl!Brendon/Ryan
Summary; The first time Brenna has that dream, the dream, she’s seventeen.
Author's Notes; This is pretty much just a little coda, but I've wanted to write it. =) Part of the Sing Me Anything verse.

The first time Brenna has that dream, the dream, she’s seventeen.

She’s standing outside in the dark, the sounds of a party drifting out of the doors, when she senses someone else’s presence in the garden. She knows in the recesses of her mind she should be scared, but she’s not – it’s anticipation rather than fear making her pulse race and her body flush with heat. The figure moves towards her and in the faint vestiges of light she can pick out amber eyes and angular features, her breath catching as she recognises the man standing in front of her. “Bren,” he says softly, moving closer, cupping her face in his hands before moving in swiftly to kiss her. She loses herself somewhere in that kiss, loses any sense of awareness, barely noting her back hitting the wall as they move. Her brain does somehow register that this is Ryan, that this is such a bad idea, but apparently her body is long past caring as she just surrenders to him. His hands are exploring her body, forcing her to bite back a series of increasingly desperate moans and her hands shake slightly as she goes for his belt. He’s murmuring in her ear all the time, telling her how much he wants this, wants her and it’s intoxicating yet it steadies her nerves, so when he pushes inside of her, her head tips back in pleasure. They move together, frantic and desperate, and combined with the way he’s groaning her name she knows neither of them will last much longer. Seconds later she gasps his name…

And wakes with a start, confused, disorientated and to be perfectly honest, horny as hell.

Since then she’s had the dream on and off, depending on what’s going on in her life at the time, and now that she’s on her own again, spending so much time with him, it’s come back with a vengeance.

The days after the nights she has the dream she’s snappy and easily irritated, especially by Ryan. It’s almost her defence mechanism, that she pushes him away just in case he can get inside her mind, see exactly what it is he does to her – what he’s always done to her, whether she chooses to admit it or not.

She’s tried to rationalise it, pretend to herself that it’s just a mental consequence of their stage show, but she cannot ignore the fact that it’s followed her since the first day they met, when he’d looked at her appraisingly and she instantly got the feeling he’d seen more than she’d ever intended to let anyone see.

So when he finds her sitting outside with her cigarette at yet another party and leans in close, so unnervingly, wonderfully close... she realises that maybe, just maybe, it was always going to turn out like this.