A possible aftermath of the Manchester gig. (http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/112186.html)
***
Ryan rounds on him the moment they get back-stage, face like a storm cloud. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
Brendon doesn’t back away. He spreads his arms, effectively blocking the way for Spencer and Jon who were walking behind him and are now forced to stop as the whole band comes to a standstill in the middle of a grimy narrow corridor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ryan. That was an awesome show. What’s your problem?”
“My problem? My problem? ” He’s mad, nothing fake about it, and the change is amazing. Gone is the passive, doll-like façade Ryan has been sporting for most of the tour, unreadable, uninterested, un-fucking-caring.
Inside Brendon is crowing with victory. It feels like the first time in weeks Ryan is really seeing him, really looking. He affects an expression of nonchalance, shrugging casually. “Yeah, Ryan. I don’t understand what’s so—”
“You don’t understand how coming out in front of a several hundred screaming teenagers is maybe something that should have been discussed with the rest of your band beforehand? For fuck’s sake, you know that’s going to be all over the internet within an hour!”
“Sooner, I think,” Jon pipes out from behind Brendon. “Web-enabled cells.” He sounds amused.
Ryan glares. “Stay out of this Jon, you’re already done enough damage tonight, playing straight into—”
“That’s enough.” Spencer’s voice snaps like a whip. He pushes past Brendon, dragging Jon with him by the wrist. “What Brendon did was perhaps a bit… unadvisable, but you have no business taking it out on Jon. He’s got nothing to do with it. This is between you and Brendon, and you know it.”
Ryan exhales sharply, his eyes cutting to Jon in a quick apology.
Spencer nods curtly. “We’re going to clean up. The transport to the hotel leaves in an hour.”
Ryan steps aside, letting Spencer and Jon past, but slapping his palm against the wall when Brendon tries to follow.
“You act stupidly at times, but you’re not actually stupid.” Ryan’s expression shifts from fury to something more… calculating. The anger is still there too, simmering just under the surface.
He takes a step closer and now Brendon backs away, though it’s still mostly for show. He can feel his body thrumming, his breath coming faster just from having Ryan’s whole focus on him. This is what he wants, what he’s been pushing for.
“So what is it, Brendon? You were bored? Not enough under-aged girls throwing themselves at you, so you thought you should add the boys to that as well?” The question is derisive but there’s an edge to it, like Ryan really thinks Brendon might be looking like he said he was.
Brendon feels an ugly spike of satisfaction at that, at making Ryan jealous. It’s underhanded and petty, but he needs Ryan to notice him, to notice other people noticing him, and if this is what it takes, then Brendon is not above doing it. He grins. “Hey you know what they say; all publicity is good publicity.”
Ryan moves fast when he wants to. Brendon finds himself against the wall, shoulder blades curving against the painted concrete.
“Are you trying to piss me off, Brendon? Because it’s working.” He leans closer, their chests pressing together painfully. “Is that what this is about? You want my attention?”
Brendon’s fingers scrabble uselessly over Ryan’s shoulders, his mouth slack and too empty. Yes, he thinks, back arching off the wall, yes.
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ninetydegrees
Aftermath 1/3 - Panic At The Disco - Brendon/Ryan - NC-17
on 2008-03-22 02:52 pm (UTC)***
Ryan rounds on him the moment they get back-stage, face like a storm cloud. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
Brendon doesn’t back away. He spreads his arms, effectively blocking the way for Spencer and Jon who were walking behind him and are now forced to stop as the whole band comes to a standstill in the middle of a grimy narrow corridor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ryan. That was an awesome show. What’s your problem?”
“My problem? My problem? ” He’s mad, nothing fake about it, and the change is amazing. Gone is the passive, doll-like façade Ryan has been sporting for most of the tour, unreadable, uninterested, un-fucking-caring.
Inside Brendon is crowing with victory. It feels like the first time in weeks Ryan is really seeing him, really looking. He affects an expression of nonchalance, shrugging casually. “Yeah, Ryan. I don’t understand what’s so—”
“You don’t understand how coming out in front of a several hundred screaming teenagers is maybe something that should have been discussed with the rest of your band beforehand? For fuck’s sake, you know that’s going to be all over the internet within an hour!”
“Sooner, I think,” Jon pipes out from behind Brendon. “Web-enabled cells.” He sounds amused.
Ryan glares. “Stay out of this Jon, you’re already done enough damage tonight, playing straight into—”
“That’s enough.” Spencer’s voice snaps like a whip. He pushes past Brendon, dragging Jon with him by the wrist. “What Brendon did was perhaps a bit… unadvisable, but you have no business taking it out on Jon. He’s got nothing to do with it. This is between you and Brendon, and you know it.”
Ryan exhales sharply, his eyes cutting to Jon in a quick apology.
Spencer nods curtly. “We’re going to clean up. The transport to the hotel leaves in an hour.”
Ryan steps aside, letting Spencer and Jon past, but slapping his palm against the wall when Brendon tries to follow.
“You act stupidly at times, but you’re not actually stupid.” Ryan’s expression shifts from fury to something more… calculating. The anger is still there too, simmering just under the surface.
He takes a step closer and now Brendon backs away, though it’s still mostly for show. He can feel his body thrumming, his breath coming faster just from having Ryan’s whole focus on him. This is what he wants, what he’s been pushing for.
“So what is it, Brendon? You were bored? Not enough under-aged girls throwing themselves at you, so you thought you should add the boys to that as well?” The question is derisive but there’s an edge to it, like Ryan really thinks Brendon might be looking like he said he was.
Brendon feels an ugly spike of satisfaction at that, at making Ryan jealous. It’s underhanded and petty, but he needs Ryan to notice him, to notice other people noticing him, and if this is what it takes, then Brendon is not above doing it. He grins. “Hey you know what they say; all publicity is good publicity.”
Ryan moves fast when he wants to. Brendon finds himself against the wall, shoulder blades curving against the painted concrete.
“Are you trying to piss me off, Brendon? Because it’s working.” He leans closer, their chests pressing together painfully. “Is that what this is about? You want my attention?”
Brendon’s fingers scrabble uselessly over Ryan’s shoulders, his mouth slack and too empty. Yes, he thinks, back arching off the wall, yes.
“You got it.”