P!atD fic: Best Laid Plans, Ryan/Brendon (NC-17)
Best Laid Plans | Panic! at the Disco | Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | 4600 words
Brendon had a three-step plan to make Ryan Ross fall in love with him. He didn’t write it down or anything (and if he did, the tiny, shredded pieces of paper were scattered across some highway between Wisconsin and Indiana, so no one could prove it), but it was a very specific plan.
Thanks to impasto for the swift and helpful beta. Also, big thanks to wildschick73 for providing the idea for the second interlude and the inspiration for the third. *g*
Translated into Russian by SnowxWhitexQueen here.
Best Laid Plans
by iamtheenemy
Introduction
Brendon had a three-step plan to make Ryan Ross fall in love with him. He didn’t write it down or anything (and if he did, the tiny, shredded pieces of paper were scattered across some highway between Wisconsin and Indiana, so no one could prove it), but it was a very specific plan. The steps were:
1. Ask Spencer for advice.
2. Show an interest in all the boring crap that Ryan likes.
3. Compliment Ryan so he feels special and falls for Brendon’s many charms.
At the time, as each step was completed, it didn’t look like Brendon was making much progress. In fact, he was ready to call the whole thing a wash and resign himself to a life of loneliness and unrequited love. It would probably help his music, at least, and it might let him pull off wearing a beret.
***
Step One: Ask Spencer for advice.
Spencer was Ryan’s best friend, and probably the closest thing that Ryan had to family anymore. That made him the best person to get advice from in order to make Brendon’s plan successful, and his mother did always tell him that it was okay to ask for help.
Granted, when she said it, she meant help with following the Lord or serving the Lord or just anything Lord-related generally, because even as a kid, Brendon was skeptical. A god who disapproved of rock music was a god that Brendon found himself reluctant to get behind. Still, some lessons were universal.
The one hitch in his plan, the one thing he hadn’t taken into consideration when creating this step, was that it was Spencer he had to talk to and not, for instance, any other person in the entire world.
Spencer was hilarious, and fun to shop with - even if he did get kind of intense about it - and he was loyal almost to a fault.
On the other hand, while Brendon couldn’t confirm this (there may have been some pot involved, and also some Cuervo, courtesy of William and Siska), he’s pretty sure he once saw Spencer kill a family of angry grizzly bears using only his hands, his wits and a strategically placed mascara wand, so. Spencer was kind of intimidating. Sometimes.
“Hey,” Brendon said when he was finally alone on the bus with him. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m kind of busy,” Spencer said, thumbs flying over his Sidekick. Brendon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Spencer spent three-fourths of every day texting his girlfriend. He could pay attention to Brendon for five minutes.
“But I need to talk to you,” he said again.
Spencer put his phone down and looked at Brendon. “Did you get someone pregnant?”
“What? No. What?” Brendon gaped.
“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “You’re being so serious.”
“And that’s the first conclusion you jump to?” Brendon asked. “That’s just…wow.” Especially considering that I’m kind of in love with your best friend who is, oh yeah, a dude, Brendon very carefully did not say.
“Well, what’s up?” Spencer asked. When he cut his eyes back down to his vibrating Sidekick, Brendon knew he had to act fast or he’d lose Spencer’s interest.
Quickly, he considered and discarded several opening statements: I’ve known Ryan a long time…I’m interested in getting into Ryan’s pants and I was wondering if…When two boys love each other very much…Look, you’ve probably walked in on Ryan before, so…I know this is crazy, but…Please don’t hit me, but…
Brendon took a deep breath. “Okay, let me start again.”
Spencer looked at him like he was insane. “You haven’t started a first time. I’ve got things I could be doing right now, so if you’re fucking with me - ”
“No!” Brendon cried, making Spencer jump in his seat. “I’m not, I wouldn’t fuck with you OR with Ryan.”
“Ryan?” Spencer asked. “What about him?”
“I’m saying that I’m not a jerk, you know? I wouldn’t mess around and not mean it. Not with one of you anyway. And you and Ryan are like brothers to me.” Brendon made a face at that image. “Well, no. You are, and Jon too. Ryan’s not like my brother, because that would be…no. I would never have sex with my brother. Well, there was this dream I had once when I was thirteen, but it kept shifting between him and Gwen Stefani, and it was really confusing and honestly kind of terrifying, so...wow, I started talking and now it’s like I can’t stop.” He felt himself winding down, but put one hand over his mouth just in case, his eyes wide.
Spencer stood up and grabbed his Sidekick. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to get up and leave the room, and it’ll be like this whole, traumatizing conversation never happened.”
Brendon nodded sadly. “That’s probably for the best,” he mumbled around his fingers.
Step one did not end the way he’d planned.
***
Interlude One: Truck stop, 2:17 A.M.
Deep in one of the Carolinas they parked at an empty truck stop.
“Thank god,” Jon moaned, rolling off the couch and stepping into his flip-flops. “I’m starving. It’s a good thing we stopped, because your arm was looking pretty appetizing.”
“Hey!” Brendon cried, cradling his arm protectively against his chest.
“Spencer! Ryan! Vending machines!”
Ryan stuck his head out of the back lounge where he and Spencer were having one of their intense, whispered conversations filled with inside jokes and best friend telepathy.
“Spencer wants a Milky Way and I want some Twizzlers.”
“Why are you telling us?” Brendon asked as he pulled a hoodie over his head.
“Don’t be an asshole, Brendon,” Ryan said. He disappeared back into the room.
“I guess we’re their errand boys now,” Brendon told Jon.
Jon shrugged. “Whatever keeps Spencer from bitching.”
They made their way into the truck stop. It was clean and well-lit, a rarity among these kinds of places, and in addition to the usual vending machines and state maps lining the walls, there was also a tiny shop in the far left corner.
“Ohhh,” Brendon said, making a beeline for the cheap souvenirs while Jon stocked up on junk food.
“Do you want some pop?” Jon called out.
“Pop,” Brendon mimicked quietly, snickering to himself. He picked up a keychain. South Carolina, then. “Mountain Dew,” he answered.
“Yeah right,” Jon said with a snort. “I’m getting you a Diet Pepsi.”
“You’re no fun, Jon Walker. I liked you better when you weren’t under Spencer’s thumb.”
“They have ginger ale too,” Jon said, a hint of warning in his voice.
“Diet is fine. I love you,” Brendon said. He chose a hat that said Smiling Faces, Beautiful Places, a South Carolina magnet embossed with the state seal, the keychain and a really strange looking stuffed bird. Placing his finds on the counter, he gave the bored woman a bright smile. She totaled and bagged his purchases before making change for two twenties and handing him his bag. “Thank you, ma’am. You have a good night.”
The woman smiled slightly in response. “You too. Enjoy your vacation.”
Brendon laughed a little, throwing back his head. “Oh, I am.” He pulled the hat out of the bag and put it on.
“You ready?” Jon asked, walking into the store. He had four bottles of soda and several varieties of candy all balanced in his hands.
“Yup!” Brendon said, holding his bag to let Jon dump in the snacks. He took the Diet Pepsi out of Jon’s hands and snuggled it in his arms. “Mmm, my favorite.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Jon said.
When they got back on the bus, Spencer and Ryan were out of the lounge. Spencer had his Sidekick out and Ryan sat beside him thumbing through a back issue of Spin.
“What took you guys so long?” Ryan asked.
“Gift shop!” Brendon said, gesturing to his hat. He sat on the couch across from Ryan and Spencer and opened the bag to distribute the candy, keeping the Skittles to himself. The magnet was hiding under the creepy bird at the bottom of the bag, but he fished it out and tossed it to Ryan. “I got that for you too.”
Sometime during the Truck Stops and Statelines tour, Ryan had begun his quest to collect magnets from all fifty states. He had almost the whole collection now, after two years and countless trips across the U.S., which he displayed in alphabetical order on their fridge.
Ryan looked down at the magnet for a long moment and then back up at Brendon. “Thanks.”
Brendon shrugged. “Sure. You still needed South Carolina, right?”
“Yes,” Ryan said. He walked to the fridge and made room between Rhode Island and Tennessee.
When he finished, he fell into the seat beside Brendon, the press of their thighs and shoulders a heat Brendon felt through his whole body.
***
Step Two: Show an interest in all the boring crap Ryan likes.
“Hey,” Brendon said, walking into the front of the bus and sitting down on the couch across from Ryan. He opened up his leather bound notebook and began scribbling away, pretending not to notice Ryan’s curious stare.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked a few minutes later.
“Hmm?” Brendon said, looking up nonchalantly. “Oh, I’m just journaling.”
“Journaling?” Ryan repeated, sounding incredulous.
“Yeah, it’s something I’ve started doing.” He laid the open book on his knees and leaned forward. “Lately it feels like there’s this…darkness in my heart, you know?”
Ryan stared at him. “What?”
“It’s like…a lobster scuttling across the inky blackness at the bottom of the ocean, tumbling towards the abyss.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Ryan said blankly.
Brendon was insulted. He spent a long time coming up with that one and making it Ross-friendly. “It’s a metaphor,” he explained, “for society.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “Is the lobster supposed to be society?”
“No, the ocean is society and the lobster is…” Brendon paused, thinking. “Huh, no, you’re right. The lobster is society.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “Why aren’t you playing Mario Kart with Jon?”
Brendon waved his hand dismissively. “I’m kind of over Mario Kart. Anyway, I’m journaling. About my feelings.”
“You drew a picture of an octopus playing the piano,” Ryan said.
Brendon slammed shut the book on his lap. “Umm…the octopus represents society. And the piano represents my soul.”
“I thought the lobster was society?” Ryan wore a half-smile, the one he used when Hobo gnawed on one of Spencer’s shoes, when Dirty’s daughter threw up all over Pete’s hoodie right before a performance or when Brendon did something equally as amusing. It was Ryan’s meanest look, as far as Brendon was concerned.
“The metaphor really works for any kind of…” Brendon winced, “marine life.”
Ryan’s eyebrows lifted high enough to get lost under the dramatic sweep of his bangs. “How many Pixie Stix have you had today?”
Brendon shifted his gaze somewhere to the left of Ryan’s head. “What are you talking abo - “
“Your tongue is like four different colors,” Ryan said.
Brendon rubbed at his tongue with the back of his hand. “A few,” he said defensively, except he was still rubbing his tongue while he said it, so it sounded more like, “a slew” which wasn’t what he meant at all. He took his hand out of his mouth and repeated himself.
“Okay,” Ryan said again, but he looked skeptical.
Brendon could see that step two was on its way to being an even bigger flop than step one, and so he thought fast. “Hey, buy any new neckerchiefs lately?”
***
Interlude Two: Brendon’s hotel room, 5:30 P.M.
“Motherfucker!” Spencer cried, while Joe danced around the couch in victory.
“How can you play this game so much and still suck so hard?” the Butcher asked as the rest of the room dissolved into laughter.
They were three hours into a Guitar Hero marathon in Brendon’s room, and Spencer was getting schooled by every person there.
“I’m not usually this bad!” Spencer argued, to the growing amusement of the group. “Ryan, tell them!”
Ryan looked up from where he was curled next to Brendon on the couch reading a book and rolled his eyes. “Like I know.”
“You’re supposed to agree, douchebag!”
Pete laughed and slung an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “Not even your best friend has your back, man. That’s just sad.”
A deep flush crept up Spencer’s neck. “I’m not usually this bad!” he repeated.
“You’re actually a musician, right?” Victoria asked from her place beside Ryland. “I’m just checking, because we could loan you guys Nate if you need a drummer.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray by her elbow.
Spencer’s whole face was a pale pink as he flipped her the bird.
“I’m not your whore, Victoria!” Nate’s voice carried from inside the bathroom.
“That’s not what he said last night,” Victoria countered as she leaned over and let Joe light the new cigarette dangling between her lips.
“Whose turn is it now?” Gabe asked. He’d suggested after Spencer’s third straight loss that he could keep playing until he finally won, mostly because it was funny to watch Spencer get more and more pissed off.
“Mine,” Brendon said, standing up and catching the guitar controller that Joe tossed him. He turned to look at Spencer. “Ready?”
Spencer nodded, a determined look in his eye.
They began, and Brendon focused on the song he’d played a dozen times before, fingers careful on the controller. Then, towards the end, he let his fingers slip a little, let them hit the chords just a beat too late.
“Finally!” Spencer yelled as the crowd hooted.
“Oh man, Urie, you had to fucking break the streak, didn’t you?” Gabe cried. “I wanted Spencer to hit twenty loses in a row.”
“I fucked up the end,” Brendon said.
“Give me that back,” Gabe said, taking the controller from Brendon. “You don’t get to play anymore.”
“Whose room is this again?” he asked, but without any real feeling. He turned to sit back down in his seat and saw Ryan watching him with a half-smile that made Brendon duck his head. “What?”
Ryan just grinned and rested his head on Brendon’s shoulder. “Sometimes you’re a nice guy.”
Brendon’s eyes darted to Spencer, who was in the middle of some kind of argument with the Butcher. “I don’t know what you’re - wait, sometimes? I’m always nice. Except when I’m being a rebel, and then I’m bad to the bone.”
“Whatever you say, Brendon,” Ryan replied.
***
Step Three: Compliment Ryan so he feels special and falls for Brendon’s many charms.
“I like that shirt,” Brendon said.
Ryan looked down at the old Famous t-shirt he wore and then back at Brendon. “I think it’s Spencer’s,” he said.
“Oh, well. It’s nice. It looks nice, I mean.”
“What do you want?” Ryan asked suspiciously.
“I don’t want anything,” Brendon said, following Ryan into the lounge.
“Then why are you acting weird?”
“Can’t I just make a comment?” Brendon crossed his arms over his chest. Why did Ryan have to be so difficult?
“I guess,” Ryan said. He sat down on the couch and Brendon scrambled to get the seat next to him.
Spencer and Jon were watching some weird kung-fu movie, and Brendon made a half-hearted attempt to pay attention before reaching out and touching Ryan’s hair.
“I like your hair like this. All…poofy.”
“What?” Ryan asked. He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s poofy? My hair’s poofy?”
“I didn’t…” Brendon said, flustered by Ryan’s reaction. “No, no, it’s not, like, an afro or anything. I like it. It’s…big.”
Jon laughed from beside Brendon. “Oh, grandma, what big hair you have.”
Spencer didn’t miss a beat when he answered, “All the better to gay you with, my dear.”
“I’m tired,” Brendon said, standing up and leaving in the wake of Spencer and Jon’s giggles.
He laid down in his bunk and brooded, trying to block out the sound of horsing around coming from in the lounge. He had come up with a good plan, but nothing had worked. Ryan Ross was obviously made of stone. Well, forget it then. Ryan sucked, and Brendon totally didn’t even want him that much anyway.
***
Intermission
Brendon may have gotten a little drunk with Jon after his plan crashed and burned, and he may have ended up spilling all of the details after three Jack and Cokes. Including the part about the Gwen Stefani nightmare, much to his embarrassment.
“Well,” Jon said. He seemed to really consider Brendon’s predicament, but that could have been the JD. “I think you might be better off playing it cool.”
“Playing it cool?” Brendon said, incredulous. “Jon, let’s try to think realistically, please!”
Jon studied him for a moment and nodded. “That’s true,” he said. “Hmm…”
“Never mind,” Brendon said sadly. If Jon Walker couldn’t think of a solution, then all was truly lost. “I’ve stopped trying. It’s over. I totally don’t even want him that much anyway.”
***
Interlude Three: Backstage, 6:45 P.M.
“I think I’m going to die,” Ryan moaned, throwing an arm over his face.
“You’re not going to die,” Spencer said. He was concentrating on his reflection in the mirror.
“No, but I feel like shit,” Ryan said. “Can we turn off the lights or something?”
“Here,” Jon said, tossing Ryan his hoodie.
Ryan caught it and promptly pressed it tight over his eyes to block out the light. “Thanks, Jon.”
“Did you take anything?” Brendon asked.
Even with Jon’s shirt over his face, Brendon could tell that Ryan rolled his eyes. “Of course I did. Like fourteen Advil, but my head still feels like it’s going to explode.”
“Fourteen?” Brendon asked, concerned. There was every chance that Ryan was over-exaggerating, but he also had a flare for the dramatic, so didn’t hurt to check.
“Well, like, four.”
“Can you play?” Brendon ignored the sharp look that Jon sent him, because yeah, it was fifteen minutes before they were supposed to go on, but he didn’t want Ryan collapsing on stage.
“Of course he can,” Spencer answered.
“Yeah, but could everyone just shut the fuck up for a minute?” Ryan cried, sounding miserable.
If Spencer wasn’t worried about Ryan, it meant Brendon didn’t have to be either. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from tucking in next to Ryan and rubbing his neck with one hand.
When Ryan dipped his head, Brendon took it as an invitation to continue.
“Did you mess up my hair?” The question was barely audible through the fabric of Jon’s shirt, but it made Brendon smile.
“No. Where does it hurt?” he whispered back, his mouth close to Ryan’s ear. “Your temples?”
Ryan nodded, and Brendon shifted on the couch so that he could use the first two fingers of each hand to rub slow circles against the pressure there.
Ryan let out a long, shuddery breath and reached out with the hand not holding Jon’s shirt in place to grip Brendon’s leg. If he had still been working on his plan, he would have said something about how smooth Ryan’s skin was or how good he looked in his black jeans, but Brendon had stopped that weeks ago, and so instead he just let himself enjoy being close to Ryan, touching him.
He hooked his chin over Ryan’s shoulder and continued the massage, using his thumbs to brush against the thin skin behind Ryan’s ears and down his jaw. When he glanced up, Jon and Spencer were watching him speculatively. Or, actually, Spencer was doing that. Jon was smiling and giving Brendon the thumbs up sign.
Brendon flushed hotly and focused on what he was doing, not looking up again until someone knocked on the door of their dressing room to give them a five-minute warning.
Spencer and Jon scurried out of the room while Brendon took his time, stroking a few more circles against Ryan’s temples before pulling away.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
Ryan took the shirt off of his face and blinked at Brendon, his eyes adjusting to the light. “Yes, thank you.” He gave Brendon’s leg a squeeze.
“Good,” Brendon said, feeling suddenly breathless. What had he said about not wanting Ryan that much? He couldn’t remember. “I could do it again, after the show.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asked. His mouth tilted up at the corners and his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip.
Something corkscrewed hard in Brendon’s stomach, pain or desire or sadness, he couldn’t be sure, but it made him jump off the couch to put some room between him and Ryan.
“Sure, I mean. If you wanted, but you’re probably busy, so…” he stuttered out, jamming his hands into his pants pockets. “Two minutes. We should go.”
Ryan gave him a strange look and slowly stood.
***
Conclusion
It had been a week. A week, and Brendon had been so good. He hadn’t touched Ryan or embarrassed himself by faking a sudden interest in brands of eyeliner or fatalist literature. He hadn’t stumbled over his words or admitted to having creepy-ass sex dreams. He was sticking by his new plan, which was tentatively entitled Operation Brendon Won’t Make A Fool Of Himself.
It sucked.
He was grumpy and irritable all the time. Spencer looked about five seconds away from punching him in the face at any given moment, so Brendon kept out of his way. He remembered the grizzly bears, he wasn’t stupid.
It didn’t help that Ryan was in a shitty mood at the same time, about who knew what. Maybe he lost his copy of Choke or something. Brendon moped, but when Ryan was mad it involved throwing things. Mostly Brendon stayed in his bunk, headphones glued to his ears.
It was on a rare day out in the lounge that Ryan approached him.
“Hey Brendon, I’m gonna go find someplace to eat, you want to come with?”
Brendon looked up from the magazine he was pretending to read. Ryan wore his favorite black and white checkered neckerchief over a t-shirt and jeans. And, oh god, he knew he had it bad when he found himself missing that.
“I’m not hungry,” he said. His hands gripped the magazine so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“Fine,” Ryan said, slamming the door on the way out.
Jon sighed and when Brendon turned to him he waved thumbs down in Brendon’s face. “Cool, not cold, dude.”
“What?” Brendon asked.
***
“Brendon,” Ryan said later that night, slipping into Brendon’s bunk and almost giving him a heart attack.
“Yeah?” he asked, the surprise propelling him to make room for Ryan automatically.
“You’re a dumb fuck,” he said, calmly meeting Brendon’s eyes.
“Hey!” Brendon said, offended. “I am - mmph!” His words were cut off by Ryan’s mouth on his, a sweet pressure that paralyzed him for the ten seconds that it lasted.
“Umm…”
Ryan shook his head and made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, but he was smiling. “I’m going to do that again, and this time you’re going to wake the fuck up and kiss me back, okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon agreed faintly, shutting his eyes a second before Ryan’s lips touched his.
He got with the program then, winding a hand through Ryan’s hair and returning the kiss enthusiastically. Ryan’s fingers pressed against his ribs, along his waist, across his lower back. The careful touches burned Brendon’s skin, making him move in closer, making him want to feel Ryan everywhere.
“Better, better,” Ryan whispered between kisses. “God, we’re so stupid. I can’t believe…Lobsters, jesus. And that massage. You don’t…you didn’t even know what you did to me…”
“Stop talking,” Brendon said, maneuvering so that he straddled Ryan’s thin hips with both of his thighs, taking care not to hit his head on the bottom of Jon’s bunk.
“First time I’ve ever heard you say that,” Ryan teased, pulling Brendon down to him with a hand on the back of his neck.
Brendon laughed, going willingly, and muttered, “Shut up, shut up, god” against Ryan’s lips.
He pulled off his shirt and discarded it on the floor before slipping a hand inside of Ryan’s sweatpants to grip his half-hard cock.
Ryan moaned, arching up into the slow strokes as Brendon bent down to lick a trail along the side of Ryan’s neck, enjoying the texture of the stubble against his tongue. “Can you, can you,” he whispered into the damp skin.
“Hang on,” Ryan said. He raised himself up on his elbows, shifted his hips, widened his legs a little, pushed Brendon’s boxers down and then oh god. His thigh was right there, between Brendon’s legs, pressing into his dick, hard and sturdy and, and…
“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Brendon babbled, muscles straining as he jerked his hips. The material of Ryan’s sweatpants against his erection was rough and perfect, like scratching an itch he couldn’t reach on his own. His hand sped up, and he enjoyed the way it made Ryan’s dick twitch; the way his breathing caught with each firm upstroke; the way his mouth was slack and swollen from kissing Brendon. “Are you…are you almost…?”
“Yeah,” Ryan groaned. He had one hand on Brendon’s sweaty back and the other palming Brendon’s ass. “Yeah, I…” He gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, and Brendon felt warm wetness coat his hand.
Brendon kept going, pulling more from Ryan, trying to make it last, make it good for him, even as his own climax rapidly approached. His body tensed, muscles stretched taut, for one, two, three more thrusts, and then Ryan’s hand was there, touching him, long fingers wrapped around his dick and that was it, that was all he needed. His bones melted into liquid as the pleasure and relief of orgasm rushed through him. With a choked off cry, he rode it out until he couldn’t anymore and then collapsed on top of Ryan, whose free hand cupped the back of Brendon’s neck.
When Brendon’s breathing returned to normal, he felt a hard shove against his shoulder. “Get off me, you weigh a ton,” Ryan said.
Brendon rolled over, reaching out to grab a few Kleenex from the box on the ledge. He cleaned off his hand and passed some to Ryan. Then, he kicked his boxers all the way off and did the same for Ryan’s dirty sweatpants and underwear before snuggling into him, one leg slipping between both of Ryan’s.
“They heard all of that, didn’t they?” he asked. The thought would probably embarrass him tomorrow when his brain was back online.
Ryan grinned, looking sly, and said, “No, I told them to wear their headphones tonight.”
Brendon considered being shocked at Ryan’s presumption, but then decided it was too much work. “Good thinking.” Then, “Hey, hey, tell me one thing, okay?”
“What?” Ryan asked, his voice already sleepy and slow.
“Was it my smooth moves that convinced you?”
Ryan laughed lightly, turning to give Brendon a small, affectionate smile. “It really was,” he said.
***
And while Brendon felt a twinge of sadness that his Heathcliff-on-the-moors, tortured artist aesthetic was lost forever, the hand jobs and kissing totally made up for it.
This is my shiny new fic journal, where I'll be posting all of my fic from now on.
Brendon had a three-step plan to make Ryan Ross fall in love with him. He didn’t write it down or anything (and if he did, the tiny, shredded pieces of paper were scattered across some highway between Wisconsin and Indiana, so no one could prove it), but it was a very specific plan.
Thanks to impasto for the swift and helpful beta. Also, big thanks to wildschick73 for providing the idea for the second interlude and the inspiration for the third. *g*
Translated into Russian by SnowxWhitexQueen here.
Best Laid Plans
by iamtheenemy
Introduction
Brendon had a three-step plan to make Ryan Ross fall in love with him. He didn’t write it down or anything (and if he did, the tiny, shredded pieces of paper were scattered across some highway between Wisconsin and Indiana, so no one could prove it), but it was a very specific plan. The steps were:
1. Ask Spencer for advice.
2. Show an interest in all the boring crap that Ryan likes.
3. Compliment Ryan so he feels special and falls for Brendon’s many charms.
At the time, as each step was completed, it didn’t look like Brendon was making much progress. In fact, he was ready to call the whole thing a wash and resign himself to a life of loneliness and unrequited love. It would probably help his music, at least, and it might let him pull off wearing a beret.
***
Step One: Ask Spencer for advice.
Spencer was Ryan’s best friend, and probably the closest thing that Ryan had to family anymore. That made him the best person to get advice from in order to make Brendon’s plan successful, and his mother did always tell him that it was okay to ask for help.
Granted, when she said it, she meant help with following the Lord or serving the Lord or just anything Lord-related generally, because even as a kid, Brendon was skeptical. A god who disapproved of rock music was a god that Brendon found himself reluctant to get behind. Still, some lessons were universal.
The one hitch in his plan, the one thing he hadn’t taken into consideration when creating this step, was that it was Spencer he had to talk to and not, for instance, any other person in the entire world.
Spencer was hilarious, and fun to shop with - even if he did get kind of intense about it - and he was loyal almost to a fault.
On the other hand, while Brendon couldn’t confirm this (there may have been some pot involved, and also some Cuervo, courtesy of William and Siska), he’s pretty sure he once saw Spencer kill a family of angry grizzly bears using only his hands, his wits and a strategically placed mascara wand, so. Spencer was kind of intimidating. Sometimes.
“Hey,” Brendon said when he was finally alone on the bus with him. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m kind of busy,” Spencer said, thumbs flying over his Sidekick. Brendon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Spencer spent three-fourths of every day texting his girlfriend. He could pay attention to Brendon for five minutes.
“But I need to talk to you,” he said again.
Spencer put his phone down and looked at Brendon. “Did you get someone pregnant?”
“What? No. What?” Brendon gaped.
“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “You’re being so serious.”
“And that’s the first conclusion you jump to?” Brendon asked. “That’s just…wow.” Especially considering that I’m kind of in love with your best friend who is, oh yeah, a dude, Brendon very carefully did not say.
“Well, what’s up?” Spencer asked. When he cut his eyes back down to his vibrating Sidekick, Brendon knew he had to act fast or he’d lose Spencer’s interest.
Quickly, he considered and discarded several opening statements: I’ve known Ryan a long time…I’m interested in getting into Ryan’s pants and I was wondering if…When two boys love each other very much…Look, you’ve probably walked in on Ryan before, so…I know this is crazy, but…Please don’t hit me, but…
Brendon took a deep breath. “Okay, let me start again.”
Spencer looked at him like he was insane. “You haven’t started a first time. I’ve got things I could be doing right now, so if you’re fucking with me - ”
“No!” Brendon cried, making Spencer jump in his seat. “I’m not, I wouldn’t fuck with you OR with Ryan.”
“Ryan?” Spencer asked. “What about him?”
“I’m saying that I’m not a jerk, you know? I wouldn’t mess around and not mean it. Not with one of you anyway. And you and Ryan are like brothers to me.” Brendon made a face at that image. “Well, no. You are, and Jon too. Ryan’s not like my brother, because that would be…no. I would never have sex with my brother. Well, there was this dream I had once when I was thirteen, but it kept shifting between him and Gwen Stefani, and it was really confusing and honestly kind of terrifying, so...wow, I started talking and now it’s like I can’t stop.” He felt himself winding down, but put one hand over his mouth just in case, his eyes wide.
Spencer stood up and grabbed his Sidekick. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to get up and leave the room, and it’ll be like this whole, traumatizing conversation never happened.”
Brendon nodded sadly. “That’s probably for the best,” he mumbled around his fingers.
Step one did not end the way he’d planned.
***
Interlude One: Truck stop, 2:17 A.M.
Deep in one of the Carolinas they parked at an empty truck stop.
“Thank god,” Jon moaned, rolling off the couch and stepping into his flip-flops. “I’m starving. It’s a good thing we stopped, because your arm was looking pretty appetizing.”
“Hey!” Brendon cried, cradling his arm protectively against his chest.
“Spencer! Ryan! Vending machines!”
Ryan stuck his head out of the back lounge where he and Spencer were having one of their intense, whispered conversations filled with inside jokes and best friend telepathy.
“Spencer wants a Milky Way and I want some Twizzlers.”
“Why are you telling us?” Brendon asked as he pulled a hoodie over his head.
“Don’t be an asshole, Brendon,” Ryan said. He disappeared back into the room.
“I guess we’re their errand boys now,” Brendon told Jon.
Jon shrugged. “Whatever keeps Spencer from bitching.”
They made their way into the truck stop. It was clean and well-lit, a rarity among these kinds of places, and in addition to the usual vending machines and state maps lining the walls, there was also a tiny shop in the far left corner.
“Ohhh,” Brendon said, making a beeline for the cheap souvenirs while Jon stocked up on junk food.
“Do you want some pop?” Jon called out.
“Pop,” Brendon mimicked quietly, snickering to himself. He picked up a keychain. South Carolina, then. “Mountain Dew,” he answered.
“Yeah right,” Jon said with a snort. “I’m getting you a Diet Pepsi.”
“You’re no fun, Jon Walker. I liked you better when you weren’t under Spencer’s thumb.”
“They have ginger ale too,” Jon said, a hint of warning in his voice.
“Diet is fine. I love you,” Brendon said. He chose a hat that said Smiling Faces, Beautiful Places, a South Carolina magnet embossed with the state seal, the keychain and a really strange looking stuffed bird. Placing his finds on the counter, he gave the bored woman a bright smile. She totaled and bagged his purchases before making change for two twenties and handing him his bag. “Thank you, ma’am. You have a good night.”
The woman smiled slightly in response. “You too. Enjoy your vacation.”
Brendon laughed a little, throwing back his head. “Oh, I am.” He pulled the hat out of the bag and put it on.
“You ready?” Jon asked, walking into the store. He had four bottles of soda and several varieties of candy all balanced in his hands.
“Yup!” Brendon said, holding his bag to let Jon dump in the snacks. He took the Diet Pepsi out of Jon’s hands and snuggled it in his arms. “Mmm, my favorite.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Jon said.
When they got back on the bus, Spencer and Ryan were out of the lounge. Spencer had his Sidekick out and Ryan sat beside him thumbing through a back issue of Spin.
“What took you guys so long?” Ryan asked.
“Gift shop!” Brendon said, gesturing to his hat. He sat on the couch across from Ryan and Spencer and opened the bag to distribute the candy, keeping the Skittles to himself. The magnet was hiding under the creepy bird at the bottom of the bag, but he fished it out and tossed it to Ryan. “I got that for you too.”
Sometime during the Truck Stops and Statelines tour, Ryan had begun his quest to collect magnets from all fifty states. He had almost the whole collection now, after two years and countless trips across the U.S., which he displayed in alphabetical order on their fridge.
Ryan looked down at the magnet for a long moment and then back up at Brendon. “Thanks.”
Brendon shrugged. “Sure. You still needed South Carolina, right?”
“Yes,” Ryan said. He walked to the fridge and made room between Rhode Island and Tennessee.
When he finished, he fell into the seat beside Brendon, the press of their thighs and shoulders a heat Brendon felt through his whole body.
***
Step Two: Show an interest in all the boring crap Ryan likes.
“Hey,” Brendon said, walking into the front of the bus and sitting down on the couch across from Ryan. He opened up his leather bound notebook and began scribbling away, pretending not to notice Ryan’s curious stare.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked a few minutes later.
“Hmm?” Brendon said, looking up nonchalantly. “Oh, I’m just journaling.”
“Journaling?” Ryan repeated, sounding incredulous.
“Yeah, it’s something I’ve started doing.” He laid the open book on his knees and leaned forward. “Lately it feels like there’s this…darkness in my heart, you know?”
Ryan stared at him. “What?”
“It’s like…a lobster scuttling across the inky blackness at the bottom of the ocean, tumbling towards the abyss.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Ryan said blankly.
Brendon was insulted. He spent a long time coming up with that one and making it Ross-friendly. “It’s a metaphor,” he explained, “for society.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “Is the lobster supposed to be society?”
“No, the ocean is society and the lobster is…” Brendon paused, thinking. “Huh, no, you’re right. The lobster is society.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “Why aren’t you playing Mario Kart with Jon?”
Brendon waved his hand dismissively. “I’m kind of over Mario Kart. Anyway, I’m journaling. About my feelings.”
“You drew a picture of an octopus playing the piano,” Ryan said.
Brendon slammed shut the book on his lap. “Umm…the octopus represents society. And the piano represents my soul.”
“I thought the lobster was society?” Ryan wore a half-smile, the one he used when Hobo gnawed on one of Spencer’s shoes, when Dirty’s daughter threw up all over Pete’s hoodie right before a performance or when Brendon did something equally as amusing. It was Ryan’s meanest look, as far as Brendon was concerned.
“The metaphor really works for any kind of…” Brendon winced, “marine life.”
Ryan’s eyebrows lifted high enough to get lost under the dramatic sweep of his bangs. “How many Pixie Stix have you had today?”
Brendon shifted his gaze somewhere to the left of Ryan’s head. “What are you talking abo - “
“Your tongue is like four different colors,” Ryan said.
Brendon rubbed at his tongue with the back of his hand. “A few,” he said defensively, except he was still rubbing his tongue while he said it, so it sounded more like, “a slew” which wasn’t what he meant at all. He took his hand out of his mouth and repeated himself.
“Okay,” Ryan said again, but he looked skeptical.
Brendon could see that step two was on its way to being an even bigger flop than step one, and so he thought fast. “Hey, buy any new neckerchiefs lately?”
***
Interlude Two: Brendon’s hotel room, 5:30 P.M.
“Motherfucker!” Spencer cried, while Joe danced around the couch in victory.
“How can you play this game so much and still suck so hard?” the Butcher asked as the rest of the room dissolved into laughter.
They were three hours into a Guitar Hero marathon in Brendon’s room, and Spencer was getting schooled by every person there.
“I’m not usually this bad!” Spencer argued, to the growing amusement of the group. “Ryan, tell them!”
Ryan looked up from where he was curled next to Brendon on the couch reading a book and rolled his eyes. “Like I know.”
“You’re supposed to agree, douchebag!”
Pete laughed and slung an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “Not even your best friend has your back, man. That’s just sad.”
A deep flush crept up Spencer’s neck. “I’m not usually this bad!” he repeated.
“You’re actually a musician, right?” Victoria asked from her place beside Ryland. “I’m just checking, because we could loan you guys Nate if you need a drummer.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray by her elbow.
Spencer’s whole face was a pale pink as he flipped her the bird.
“I’m not your whore, Victoria!” Nate’s voice carried from inside the bathroom.
“That’s not what he said last night,” Victoria countered as she leaned over and let Joe light the new cigarette dangling between her lips.
“Whose turn is it now?” Gabe asked. He’d suggested after Spencer’s third straight loss that he could keep playing until he finally won, mostly because it was funny to watch Spencer get more and more pissed off.
“Mine,” Brendon said, standing up and catching the guitar controller that Joe tossed him. He turned to look at Spencer. “Ready?”
Spencer nodded, a determined look in his eye.
They began, and Brendon focused on the song he’d played a dozen times before, fingers careful on the controller. Then, towards the end, he let his fingers slip a little, let them hit the chords just a beat too late.
“Finally!” Spencer yelled as the crowd hooted.
“Oh man, Urie, you had to fucking break the streak, didn’t you?” Gabe cried. “I wanted Spencer to hit twenty loses in a row.”
“I fucked up the end,” Brendon said.
“Give me that back,” Gabe said, taking the controller from Brendon. “You don’t get to play anymore.”
“Whose room is this again?” he asked, but without any real feeling. He turned to sit back down in his seat and saw Ryan watching him with a half-smile that made Brendon duck his head. “What?”
Ryan just grinned and rested his head on Brendon’s shoulder. “Sometimes you’re a nice guy.”
Brendon’s eyes darted to Spencer, who was in the middle of some kind of argument with the Butcher. “I don’t know what you’re - wait, sometimes? I’m always nice. Except when I’m being a rebel, and then I’m bad to the bone.”
“Whatever you say, Brendon,” Ryan replied.
***
Step Three: Compliment Ryan so he feels special and falls for Brendon’s many charms.
“I like that shirt,” Brendon said.
Ryan looked down at the old Famous t-shirt he wore and then back at Brendon. “I think it’s Spencer’s,” he said.
“Oh, well. It’s nice. It looks nice, I mean.”
“What do you want?” Ryan asked suspiciously.
“I don’t want anything,” Brendon said, following Ryan into the lounge.
“Then why are you acting weird?”
“Can’t I just make a comment?” Brendon crossed his arms over his chest. Why did Ryan have to be so difficult?
“I guess,” Ryan said. He sat down on the couch and Brendon scrambled to get the seat next to him.
Spencer and Jon were watching some weird kung-fu movie, and Brendon made a half-hearted attempt to pay attention before reaching out and touching Ryan’s hair.
“I like your hair like this. All…poofy.”
“What?” Ryan asked. He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s poofy? My hair’s poofy?”
“I didn’t…” Brendon said, flustered by Ryan’s reaction. “No, no, it’s not, like, an afro or anything. I like it. It’s…big.”
Jon laughed from beside Brendon. “Oh, grandma, what big hair you have.”
Spencer didn’t miss a beat when he answered, “All the better to gay you with, my dear.”
“I’m tired,” Brendon said, standing up and leaving in the wake of Spencer and Jon’s giggles.
He laid down in his bunk and brooded, trying to block out the sound of horsing around coming from in the lounge. He had come up with a good plan, but nothing had worked. Ryan Ross was obviously made of stone. Well, forget it then. Ryan sucked, and Brendon totally didn’t even want him that much anyway.
***
Intermission
Brendon may have gotten a little drunk with Jon after his plan crashed and burned, and he may have ended up spilling all of the details after three Jack and Cokes. Including the part about the Gwen Stefani nightmare, much to his embarrassment.
“Well,” Jon said. He seemed to really consider Brendon’s predicament, but that could have been the JD. “I think you might be better off playing it cool.”
“Playing it cool?” Brendon said, incredulous. “Jon, let’s try to think realistically, please!”
Jon studied him for a moment and nodded. “That’s true,” he said. “Hmm…”
“Never mind,” Brendon said sadly. If Jon Walker couldn’t think of a solution, then all was truly lost. “I’ve stopped trying. It’s over. I totally don’t even want him that much anyway.”
***
Interlude Three: Backstage, 6:45 P.M.
“I think I’m going to die,” Ryan moaned, throwing an arm over his face.
“You’re not going to die,” Spencer said. He was concentrating on his reflection in the mirror.
“No, but I feel like shit,” Ryan said. “Can we turn off the lights or something?”
“Here,” Jon said, tossing Ryan his hoodie.
Ryan caught it and promptly pressed it tight over his eyes to block out the light. “Thanks, Jon.”
“Did you take anything?” Brendon asked.
Even with Jon’s shirt over his face, Brendon could tell that Ryan rolled his eyes. “Of course I did. Like fourteen Advil, but my head still feels like it’s going to explode.”
“Fourteen?” Brendon asked, concerned. There was every chance that Ryan was over-exaggerating, but he also had a flare for the dramatic, so didn’t hurt to check.
“Well, like, four.”
“Can you play?” Brendon ignored the sharp look that Jon sent him, because yeah, it was fifteen minutes before they were supposed to go on, but he didn’t want Ryan collapsing on stage.
“Of course he can,” Spencer answered.
“Yeah, but could everyone just shut the fuck up for a minute?” Ryan cried, sounding miserable.
If Spencer wasn’t worried about Ryan, it meant Brendon didn’t have to be either. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from tucking in next to Ryan and rubbing his neck with one hand.
When Ryan dipped his head, Brendon took it as an invitation to continue.
“Did you mess up my hair?” The question was barely audible through the fabric of Jon’s shirt, but it made Brendon smile.
“No. Where does it hurt?” he whispered back, his mouth close to Ryan’s ear. “Your temples?”
Ryan nodded, and Brendon shifted on the couch so that he could use the first two fingers of each hand to rub slow circles against the pressure there.
Ryan let out a long, shuddery breath and reached out with the hand not holding Jon’s shirt in place to grip Brendon’s leg. If he had still been working on his plan, he would have said something about how smooth Ryan’s skin was or how good he looked in his black jeans, but Brendon had stopped that weeks ago, and so instead he just let himself enjoy being close to Ryan, touching him.
He hooked his chin over Ryan’s shoulder and continued the massage, using his thumbs to brush against the thin skin behind Ryan’s ears and down his jaw. When he glanced up, Jon and Spencer were watching him speculatively. Or, actually, Spencer was doing that. Jon was smiling and giving Brendon the thumbs up sign.
Brendon flushed hotly and focused on what he was doing, not looking up again until someone knocked on the door of their dressing room to give them a five-minute warning.
Spencer and Jon scurried out of the room while Brendon took his time, stroking a few more circles against Ryan’s temples before pulling away.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
Ryan took the shirt off of his face and blinked at Brendon, his eyes adjusting to the light. “Yes, thank you.” He gave Brendon’s leg a squeeze.
“Good,” Brendon said, feeling suddenly breathless. What had he said about not wanting Ryan that much? He couldn’t remember. “I could do it again, after the show.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asked. His mouth tilted up at the corners and his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip.
Something corkscrewed hard in Brendon’s stomach, pain or desire or sadness, he couldn’t be sure, but it made him jump off the couch to put some room between him and Ryan.
“Sure, I mean. If you wanted, but you’re probably busy, so…” he stuttered out, jamming his hands into his pants pockets. “Two minutes. We should go.”
Ryan gave him a strange look and slowly stood.
***
Conclusion
It had been a week. A week, and Brendon had been so good. He hadn’t touched Ryan or embarrassed himself by faking a sudden interest in brands of eyeliner or fatalist literature. He hadn’t stumbled over his words or admitted to having creepy-ass sex dreams. He was sticking by his new plan, which was tentatively entitled Operation Brendon Won’t Make A Fool Of Himself.
It sucked.
He was grumpy and irritable all the time. Spencer looked about five seconds away from punching him in the face at any given moment, so Brendon kept out of his way. He remembered the grizzly bears, he wasn’t stupid.
It didn’t help that Ryan was in a shitty mood at the same time, about who knew what. Maybe he lost his copy of Choke or something. Brendon moped, but when Ryan was mad it involved throwing things. Mostly Brendon stayed in his bunk, headphones glued to his ears.
It was on a rare day out in the lounge that Ryan approached him.
“Hey Brendon, I’m gonna go find someplace to eat, you want to come with?”
Brendon looked up from the magazine he was pretending to read. Ryan wore his favorite black and white checkered neckerchief over a t-shirt and jeans. And, oh god, he knew he had it bad when he found himself missing that.
“I’m not hungry,” he said. His hands gripped the magazine so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“Fine,” Ryan said, slamming the door on the way out.
Jon sighed and when Brendon turned to him he waved thumbs down in Brendon’s face. “Cool, not cold, dude.”
“What?” Brendon asked.
***
“Brendon,” Ryan said later that night, slipping into Brendon’s bunk and almost giving him a heart attack.
“Yeah?” he asked, the surprise propelling him to make room for Ryan automatically.
“You’re a dumb fuck,” he said, calmly meeting Brendon’s eyes.
“Hey!” Brendon said, offended. “I am - mmph!” His words were cut off by Ryan’s mouth on his, a sweet pressure that paralyzed him for the ten seconds that it lasted.
“Umm…”
Ryan shook his head and made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, but he was smiling. “I’m going to do that again, and this time you’re going to wake the fuck up and kiss me back, okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon agreed faintly, shutting his eyes a second before Ryan’s lips touched his.
He got with the program then, winding a hand through Ryan’s hair and returning the kiss enthusiastically. Ryan’s fingers pressed against his ribs, along his waist, across his lower back. The careful touches burned Brendon’s skin, making him move in closer, making him want to feel Ryan everywhere.
“Better, better,” Ryan whispered between kisses. “God, we’re so stupid. I can’t believe…Lobsters, jesus. And that massage. You don’t…you didn’t even know what you did to me…”
“Stop talking,” Brendon said, maneuvering so that he straddled Ryan’s thin hips with both of his thighs, taking care not to hit his head on the bottom of Jon’s bunk.
“First time I’ve ever heard you say that,” Ryan teased, pulling Brendon down to him with a hand on the back of his neck.
Brendon laughed, going willingly, and muttered, “Shut up, shut up, god” against Ryan’s lips.
He pulled off his shirt and discarded it on the floor before slipping a hand inside of Ryan’s sweatpants to grip his half-hard cock.
Ryan moaned, arching up into the slow strokes as Brendon bent down to lick a trail along the side of Ryan’s neck, enjoying the texture of the stubble against his tongue. “Can you, can you,” he whispered into the damp skin.
“Hang on,” Ryan said. He raised himself up on his elbows, shifted his hips, widened his legs a little, pushed Brendon’s boxers down and then oh god. His thigh was right there, between Brendon’s legs, pressing into his dick, hard and sturdy and, and…
“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Brendon babbled, muscles straining as he jerked his hips. The material of Ryan’s sweatpants against his erection was rough and perfect, like scratching an itch he couldn’t reach on his own. His hand sped up, and he enjoyed the way it made Ryan’s dick twitch; the way his breathing caught with each firm upstroke; the way his mouth was slack and swollen from kissing Brendon. “Are you…are you almost…?”
“Yeah,” Ryan groaned. He had one hand on Brendon’s sweaty back and the other palming Brendon’s ass. “Yeah, I…” He gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, and Brendon felt warm wetness coat his hand.
Brendon kept going, pulling more from Ryan, trying to make it last, make it good for him, even as his own climax rapidly approached. His body tensed, muscles stretched taut, for one, two, three more thrusts, and then Ryan’s hand was there, touching him, long fingers wrapped around his dick and that was it, that was all he needed. His bones melted into liquid as the pleasure and relief of orgasm rushed through him. With a choked off cry, he rode it out until he couldn’t anymore and then collapsed on top of Ryan, whose free hand cupped the back of Brendon’s neck.
When Brendon’s breathing returned to normal, he felt a hard shove against his shoulder. “Get off me, you weigh a ton,” Ryan said.
Brendon rolled over, reaching out to grab a few Kleenex from the box on the ledge. He cleaned off his hand and passed some to Ryan. Then, he kicked his boxers all the way off and did the same for Ryan’s dirty sweatpants and underwear before snuggling into him, one leg slipping between both of Ryan’s.
“They heard all of that, didn’t they?” he asked. The thought would probably embarrass him tomorrow when his brain was back online.
Ryan grinned, looking sly, and said, “No, I told them to wear their headphones tonight.”
Brendon considered being shocked at Ryan’s presumption, but then decided it was too much work. “Good thinking.” Then, “Hey, hey, tell me one thing, okay?”
“What?” Ryan asked, his voice already sleepy and slow.
“Was it my smooth moves that convinced you?”
Ryan laughed lightly, turning to give Brendon a small, affectionate smile. “It really was,” he said.
***
And while Brendon felt a twinge of sadness that his Heathcliff-on-the-moors, tortured artist aesthetic was lost forever, the hand jobs and kissing totally made up for it.
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