Criss Angel Is Such A Douche
Title: Criss Angel Is Such A Douche [s/a]
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: my_obsession_xx
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (past Ryan/Keltie)
POV: Third
Summary: “Ryan Ross, just because people like Criss Angel aren’t as magical as you, it doesn’t mean you have the right to laugh at their misfortune,” Brendon scolds.
Disclaimer: Not real (although the drama totally is! \o/), don't own.
Author Notes: So I've been laughing for the past few hours over Criss Angel and his overall lameness and I just couldn't resist writing about how this ~drama came to be.
For xoarianne_ilyxo
When Ryan comes home late into the night, Brendon’s curled up on the couch with a single blanket, television flickering softly before him and painting the room in a translucent shade of blue-ish white. The clock on the wall reads half past eleven and truth be told, Ryan’s a bit surprised to find Brendon fast asleep in the living room, especially at this hour; eleven thirty seems too early for Brendon. But it’s nice, coming home from a night full of lies and bad magic to find such an innocent sight right when he walks in.
The way Brendon’s sleeping form seems to entrance him causes Ryan to be more disgusted with himself for wasting his money on such a shitty show.
Closing the door silently, he pads through the house, checks the answering machine to see there are no messages and places his keys and cell phone on the counter quietly. Brendon never stirs, but then again, Brendon also sleeps like a rock.
With furtive feet, Ryan tiptoes into the kitchen and fetches his Mac Book from the round table in the center before turning it on on his way back into the living room. He takes a seat in the arm chair cattycorner to the couch and blinks back the brightness of his screen as his homepage boots up. The TV is still on and Brendon grunts lightly.
Ryan dicks around for a few minutes, reads his email and replies to Pete’s message about going for lunch the next day, Google searches ‘How To Dress Like The Beatles’, checks fbr_t for updates and to make sure Gabe hasn’t like, actually died because of his shenanigans, looks at the day’s news. Y’know, just the norm.
He’s just about to get down to business when Brendon makes another small noise, this time closer to a whine and well. Ryan hates how pitiful Brendon sometimes sounds in his sleep and after that nightmare Brendon had a few weeks ago (“Really, Ryan. It was scary as fuck. The mailman was chasing after me with a microwave and I kept trying to run but I looked down and realized I was on a treadmill made out of Fruit Roll-Ups and he was quoting excerpts of ‘One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish’ to me and it was raining treble clefts and-”), Ryan’s promised Brendon to wake him from any of his slumbers that begin to border on distress. In exchange, Ryan made Brendon promise not to ingest any sugary foods after ten o’clock; apparently Brendon hadn’t kept up his side of the bargain.
And Ryan briefly considers leaving Brendon to suffer through a nightmare just to teach him a lesson, but then Ryan remembers the so-called “magic show” he just suffered through and quickly regards Brendon’s nightmare with lament because, well, Ryan’s spent the past two hours in a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. The least he could do is wake Brendon from his. Ryan sighs and closes his Mac, setting it on the coffee table gently before striding over to wake Brendon with gentle rubbing hands.
“Bren, hey,” Ryan whispers loudly, his thin body shadowing Brendon’s face from the light coming from the TV. “Hey, wake up.”
“Wha-?” Brendon startles into consciousness with a gasp and a jerk and he shrinks into the couch with wide eyes at the shrouded figure hovering over him.
Laughing slightly, Ryan murmurs, “Shh, it’s just me,” and reaches out to pet back Brendon’s tousled hair. Brendon’s forehead is clammy with cold sweat and Ryan’s hand trails down his face, cupping his cheek.
“Jesus, Ry, you- you scared the shit outta me,” Brendon pants, breath heavy and quick. He swallows thickly and Ryan notices the thundering pulse just below Brendon’s jaw.
“Sorry,” Ryan says, tickles his pinky finger over the rhythmic flesh of Brendon’s throat and Brendon hums. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, B,” he says and it’s apologetic.
Brendon smiles, eyes bright even in the dark and he asks, “How was the show? Did you and Keltie have a good time? How is she?”
Ryan and Keltie haven’t been together in months, broke up after Keltie noticed the way Ryan looked at Brendon made her heart hurt - not in a jealous or heartbroken way, but in the way that made her feel bad for standing in the way of something bigger than she was - and gave up their title as Boyfriend/Girlfriend. They’d broken up but were still close friends and the fact that a little bit of Brendon’s huge heart belonged to Keltie Colleen (“-and her legs, Ryan! Oh my God, I want her legs!”), that made Ryan happier than most things.
“We did,” Ryan answers and cards his fingers through Brendon’s damp hair. “The show was awful-” Brendon’s brows furrowed. “-and I regret not just taking her bowling like she’d asked. But we had fun, nonetheless. Oh, and she said to tell you that she misses her partner in crime.”
Brendon’s smile returns, almost blinding this time and he giggles. “God, I miss her, too.”
“You should have come along tonight,” Ryan says, tugging Brendon’s hair lightly as if punishing Brendon for his stubbornness. “Well, actually, no. I’m glad you didn’t because Criss Angel is a total disappointment and I’m glad you didn’t have to sit through his shit.”
Brendon laughs but says, “No, no. You guys haven’t seen each other in a while and unlike you, Ross, I don’t need you with me every second of everyday.” Brendon’s smirk is light and playful but Ryan tugs his hair just a little harder, laughing. Brendon’s face grows serious again and he says, “But really though. Why was the show awful?”
Ryan groans and says, “Oh my god, I seriously do not want to relive tonight with you right now.”
“That bad?” Brendon winces.
“You have no idea,” Ryan chuckles. “I got major secondhand embarrassment, Bren. Like, I felt so uncomfortable the whole show.”
Brendon cackles because, really. Ryan gets secondhand embarrassment like, at least twice a day because even though he himself is awkward, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get squeamish in awkward situations. And imagining Ryan hunkered down in his seat, covering his face and blushing for someone else is entirely too amusing. “Tell me about it in the morning, yeah?” Brendon asks, standing and kissing Ryan on the cheek.
Nodding, Ryan agrees and leads Brendon into the bedroom.
----
So I made a huge mistake last night… That mistake was this:
Going to see Criss Angel’s (you know, the Mindfreak) show “Believe”.
It wouldn’t have been such a mistake if I could have just laughed the
whole time as I had planned to do, friends have said nothing but bad
things about this show, but unfortunately it was so awful I ended up
just feeling bad, for him.
Brendon looks over Ryan’s chin as he types up his blog and laughs, “Damn, Ry. You’re ragging on him.”
“Mother fucker took my money and gave me a shitty show,” Ryan scoffs, fingers still typing away. “In my world that’s called theft.”
“No, that’s just called bad entertainment and pretty much everything to you falls under that category,” Brendon giggles and kisses the side of Ryan’s head.
“It’s not my fault I happen to have high entertainment standards, Mr. American Idol,” Ryan mocks, monotone and boring as his fingers continue to type.
“Hey!” Brendon cries, “Simon happens to have some really good advice sometimes!”
Rolling his eyes despite his smile, Ryan says, “Did I show you my Criss Angel face yet?” Brendon mumbles an Uh-uh and within a few clicks, Ryan has pulled up a picture (emailed via Keltie with the subject header: “WTF WAS THIS SHIT CIRQUE?!”) of himself in front of the “Mindfreak’s” show poster, looking very unamused.
Brendon eyeballs the picture and then bursts into laughter. “Oh my god! Are those breasts?!”
“I have no fucking clue,” Ryan says, trying to sound serious and annoyed, but he lets a laugh of disbelief slip.
“Holy shit, that is priceless!” Brendon wheezes. “Ryan, he’s more of a girl than you are!”
“Shut up, ass,” Ryan says and slaps Brendon playfully. Uploading the picture to the blog post, Ryan says, “After Keltie and I got over the initial shock that we’d actually sat through that and then the resentment we had for paying for it, we laughed our asses off in the lobby for a good twenty minutes.”
“Ryan Ross, just because people like Criss Angel aren’t as magical as you, it doesn’t mean you have the right to laugh at their misfortune,” Brendon scolds, motherly yet lighthearted.
“Brendon, it was so bad, two of the shows doves ended their lives on the back wall afterward. I’m appalled at myself letting him finish without me leaving,” Ryan says, lip curling up into a smirk.
“Yeah, well,” Brendon shrugs as Ryan finishes up the post with a link to an Isley Brothers song. “That’s what she said.”
Ryan snorts and cranes his neck for Brendon’s kiss.
----
A little over two weeks later, Ryan has stopped having nightmares involving bad pyrotechnics and visible “levitation.” The comments on the blog were pretty hilarious, mostly because half of the kids claimed to have seen Criss Angel’s show or “understand Ryan’s pain” when really they don’t. No one, not even Ryan himself, has come to understand how frighteningly horrible that experience was.
Just…no. No.
Brendon comes bounding into the living room all wide eyed and blissful (mostly because he and Ryan had sex until four AM) and says, “Dude, it sounds so lame-” he plops down on the couch next to Ryan and curls into his side, inhaling his cologne. “-but I will never stop freaking out every time I meet Mark Hoppus. The man is a god.”
Last night was the Grammy’s and Ryan’s not going to lie, he totally fangirled when he met up with Mark again. And Tom. And Travis. All three of them. As a band. Together again. Holy shit, Blink 182 is back together and Brendon totally sucked him off in the limo last night to keep him from practically hyperventilating.
Jesus Christ, if all it takes is Ryan’s favorite bands getting back together for Brendon to fuck him into the next century then…If The Beatles could somehow magically reincarnate and join forces again, Ryan is convinced he'd be wheelchair bound for at least a month.
And then Keltie calls. And Brendon answers all cheery and happy and shit. And Ryan’s life really, really rocks.
Until Brendon’s face falls into a frown and he says, “He what? Oh, hell no!”
Confused and startled by Brendon’s mood swing that could rival a personality disorder, Ryan asks, “Bren, what is -?”
“Oh, no,” Brendon laughs bitterly. “No, Keltie. You’ve seen Ryan’s cock -” Ryan’s jaw drops. Okay, so he knew Brendon and Keltie were close, but this is just shocking. “- you know how big that thing is.”
Oh. My God. Ryan’s brain screams and his eyes are so wide that they’re losing focus.
Keltie says something to Brendon and Brendon’s eyes narrow to slits. Ryan gulps.
“No, Keltie, sweetie,” Brendon seethes and fuck. Brendon only starts using words typical, flamboyant gay men use when he’s really pissed. Ryan knows that once he starts calling people pet names, the aftermath is going to be devastating. “No, I’ll take care of it. Uh-huh, I’m sure. Love you, too.”
Brendon hangs up the phone with an eerily calm demeanor and says, “Ryan, lemme see your laptop.”
----
Keltie settles down to her computer with a vengeful smirk and types:
really criss angel? JUST TRY TO kick ryan in the nuts.
She pauses and types brendon urie will cut yours off. Laughing at herself, she wiggles her fingers over the keys, deciding whether or not it’s inappropriate and decides that yeah, it totally, totally is. Although Brendon would probably laugh his ass off, she deletes and replaces it with I dare you.
Nobody messes with Brendon Urie’s Ryan Ross. Nobody.
----
“Brendon,” Ryan says cautiously, approaching Brendon at the kitchen table, hunched over Ryan’s Mac Book and typing away furiously. Like, literally.
“Brendon,” Ryan says again and touches him on the shoulder.
“Ryan, oh my god. I am like, I can’t. I don’t know whether I should laugh at him or be pissed off.”
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asks, clueless.
“Criss Angel,” Brendon states, pointing at the screen.
Ryan reads:
Grammy's last night. Really had to fight the urge not to
levitate over to Ryan Ross on the red carpet and kick him in the crotch.
He stares at the words, reads them over and over again, soaks in them and blinks.
“Dude,” he says tonelessly.
“I know, right? Who the fuck does he think he is?”
“He has a Twitter? I thought only girls had those,” Ryan says.
“Dude, a lot of people have Twitters. Pete, Gabe,” Brendon informs.
“Yeah, my point exactly.”
Brendon can’t help but snort and say, “Criss Angel is such a douche.”
Ryan nods and rereads the Twitter post before he bursts out laughing, “Did he-? He threatened to levitate?”
“Yeah, lame.”
“No, Brendon. You don’t-. You don’t understand, that is like, a serious threat, okay?” Ryan says, trying to sound frightened but failing miserably as he laughs around his words. “Watching him try to levitate again would be enough to kill me.”
Brendon howls with laughter and almost falls out of his chair. “Ryan, I fucking love you. You’re so lame, but I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Ryan says through a smile and kisses Brendon softly. “But what exactly did you mean when you told Keltie you’d take care of it’?”
Brendon smirks against Ryan’s lips and mumbles, “I have to make a few calls first.”
----
Two hours after Criss Angel grew enough balls to post anything negative about Brendon Urie’s Ryan Ross, he racks himself on a cardboard cutout of his own lame self and when Brendon reads his Twitter update, he cracks his knuckles in satisfaction.
“Brendon, who the hell did you call?”
“Oh, just. The real Mindfreak,” Brendon grins devilishly.
Nobody messes with Brendon Urie’s Ryan Ross. And you sure as hell don’t mess with Spencer Smith’s either.
FIN
Check out the drama.
ETA: Thank you rawr_santi for pointing out Criss Angel's hate of this post my epic link fail :D
ivesia19, does Mindfreak!Spencer count? ^__^
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: my_obsession_xx
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon (past Ryan/Keltie)
POV: Third
Summary: “Ryan Ross, just because people like Criss Angel aren’t as magical as you, it doesn’t mean you have the right to laugh at their misfortune,” Brendon scolds.
Disclaimer: Not real (although the drama totally is! \o/), don't own.
Author Notes: So I've been laughing for the past few hours over Criss Angel and his overall lameness and I just couldn't resist writing about how this ~drama came to be.
For xoarianne_ilyxo
When Ryan comes home late into the night, Brendon’s curled up on the couch with a single blanket, television flickering softly before him and painting the room in a translucent shade of blue-ish white. The clock on the wall reads half past eleven and truth be told, Ryan’s a bit surprised to find Brendon fast asleep in the living room, especially at this hour; eleven thirty seems too early for Brendon. But it’s nice, coming home from a night full of lies and bad magic to find such an innocent sight right when he walks in.
The way Brendon’s sleeping form seems to entrance him causes Ryan to be more disgusted with himself for wasting his money on such a shitty show.
Closing the door silently, he pads through the house, checks the answering machine to see there are no messages and places his keys and cell phone on the counter quietly. Brendon never stirs, but then again, Brendon also sleeps like a rock.
With furtive feet, Ryan tiptoes into the kitchen and fetches his Mac Book from the round table in the center before turning it on on his way back into the living room. He takes a seat in the arm chair cattycorner to the couch and blinks back the brightness of his screen as his homepage boots up. The TV is still on and Brendon grunts lightly.
Ryan dicks around for a few minutes, reads his email and replies to Pete’s message about going for lunch the next day, Google searches ‘How To Dress Like The Beatles’, checks fbr_t for updates and to make sure Gabe hasn’t like, actually died because of his shenanigans, looks at the day’s news. Y’know, just the norm.
He’s just about to get down to business when Brendon makes another small noise, this time closer to a whine and well. Ryan hates how pitiful Brendon sometimes sounds in his sleep and after that nightmare Brendon had a few weeks ago (“Really, Ryan. It was scary as fuck. The mailman was chasing after me with a microwave and I kept trying to run but I looked down and realized I was on a treadmill made out of Fruit Roll-Ups and he was quoting excerpts of ‘One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish’ to me and it was raining treble clefts and-”), Ryan’s promised Brendon to wake him from any of his slumbers that begin to border on distress. In exchange, Ryan made Brendon promise not to ingest any sugary foods after ten o’clock; apparently Brendon hadn’t kept up his side of the bargain.
And Ryan briefly considers leaving Brendon to suffer through a nightmare just to teach him a lesson, but then Ryan remembers the so-called “magic show” he just suffered through and quickly regards Brendon’s nightmare with lament because, well, Ryan’s spent the past two hours in a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. The least he could do is wake Brendon from his. Ryan sighs and closes his Mac, setting it on the coffee table gently before striding over to wake Brendon with gentle rubbing hands.
“Bren, hey,” Ryan whispers loudly, his thin body shadowing Brendon’s face from the light coming from the TV. “Hey, wake up.”
“Wha-?” Brendon startles into consciousness with a gasp and a jerk and he shrinks into the couch with wide eyes at the shrouded figure hovering over him.
Laughing slightly, Ryan murmurs, “Shh, it’s just me,” and reaches out to pet back Brendon’s tousled hair. Brendon’s forehead is clammy with cold sweat and Ryan’s hand trails down his face, cupping his cheek.
“Jesus, Ry, you- you scared the shit outta me,” Brendon pants, breath heavy and quick. He swallows thickly and Ryan notices the thundering pulse just below Brendon’s jaw.
“Sorry,” Ryan says, tickles his pinky finger over the rhythmic flesh of Brendon’s throat and Brendon hums. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, B,” he says and it’s apologetic.
Brendon smiles, eyes bright even in the dark and he asks, “How was the show? Did you and Keltie have a good time? How is she?”
Ryan and Keltie haven’t been together in months, broke up after Keltie noticed the way Ryan looked at Brendon made her heart hurt - not in a jealous or heartbroken way, but in the way that made her feel bad for standing in the way of something bigger than she was - and gave up their title as Boyfriend/Girlfriend. They’d broken up but were still close friends and the fact that a little bit of Brendon’s huge heart belonged to Keltie Colleen (“-and her legs, Ryan! Oh my God, I want her legs!”), that made Ryan happier than most things.
“We did,” Ryan answers and cards his fingers through Brendon’s damp hair. “The show was awful-” Brendon’s brows furrowed. “-and I regret not just taking her bowling like she’d asked. But we had fun, nonetheless. Oh, and she said to tell you that she misses her partner in crime.”
Brendon’s smile returns, almost blinding this time and he giggles. “God, I miss her, too.”
“You should have come along tonight,” Ryan says, tugging Brendon’s hair lightly as if punishing Brendon for his stubbornness. “Well, actually, no. I’m glad you didn’t because Criss Angel is a total disappointment and I’m glad you didn’t have to sit through his shit.”
Brendon laughs but says, “No, no. You guys haven’t seen each other in a while and unlike you, Ross, I don’t need you with me every second of everyday.” Brendon’s smirk is light and playful but Ryan tugs his hair just a little harder, laughing. Brendon’s face grows serious again and he says, “But really though. Why was the show awful?”
Ryan groans and says, “Oh my god, I seriously do not want to relive tonight with you right now.”
“That bad?” Brendon winces.
“You have no idea,” Ryan chuckles. “I got major secondhand embarrassment, Bren. Like, I felt so uncomfortable the whole show.”
Brendon cackles because, really. Ryan gets secondhand embarrassment like, at least twice a day because even though he himself is awkward, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get squeamish in awkward situations. And imagining Ryan hunkered down in his seat, covering his face and blushing for someone else is entirely too amusing. “Tell me about it in the morning, yeah?” Brendon asks, standing and kissing Ryan on the cheek.
Nodding, Ryan agrees and leads Brendon into the bedroom.
----
So I made a huge mistake last night… That mistake was this:
Going to see Criss Angel’s (you know, the Mindfreak) show “Believe”.
It wouldn’t have been such a mistake if I could have just laughed the
whole time as I had planned to do, friends have said nothing but bad
things about this show, but unfortunately it was so awful I ended up
just feeling bad, for him.
Brendon looks over Ryan’s chin as he types up his blog and laughs, “Damn, Ry. You’re ragging on him.”
“Mother fucker took my money and gave me a shitty show,” Ryan scoffs, fingers still typing away. “In my world that’s called theft.”
“No, that’s just called bad entertainment and pretty much everything to you falls under that category,” Brendon giggles and kisses the side of Ryan’s head.
“It’s not my fault I happen to have high entertainment standards, Mr. American Idol,” Ryan mocks, monotone and boring as his fingers continue to type.
“Hey!” Brendon cries, “Simon happens to have some really good advice sometimes!”
Rolling his eyes despite his smile, Ryan says, “Did I show you my Criss Angel face yet?” Brendon mumbles an Uh-uh and within a few clicks, Ryan has pulled up a picture (emailed via Keltie with the subject header: “WTF WAS THIS SHIT CIRQUE?!”) of himself in front of the “Mindfreak’s” show poster, looking very unamused.
Brendon eyeballs the picture and then bursts into laughter. “Oh my god! Are those breasts?!”
“I have no fucking clue,” Ryan says, trying to sound serious and annoyed, but he lets a laugh of disbelief slip.
“Holy shit, that is priceless!” Brendon wheezes. “Ryan, he’s more of a girl than you are!”
“Shut up, ass,” Ryan says and slaps Brendon playfully. Uploading the picture to the blog post, Ryan says, “After Keltie and I got over the initial shock that we’d actually sat through that and then the resentment we had for paying for it, we laughed our asses off in the lobby for a good twenty minutes.”
“Ryan Ross, just because people like Criss Angel aren’t as magical as you, it doesn’t mean you have the right to laugh at their misfortune,” Brendon scolds, motherly yet lighthearted.
“Brendon, it was so bad, two of the shows doves ended their lives on the back wall afterward. I’m appalled at myself letting him finish without me leaving,” Ryan says, lip curling up into a smirk.
“Yeah, well,” Brendon shrugs as Ryan finishes up the post with a link to an Isley Brothers song. “That’s what she said.”
Ryan snorts and cranes his neck for Brendon’s kiss.
----
A little over two weeks later, Ryan has stopped having nightmares involving bad pyrotechnics and visible “levitation.” The comments on the blog were pretty hilarious, mostly because half of the kids claimed to have seen Criss Angel’s show or “understand Ryan’s pain” when really they don’t. No one, not even Ryan himself, has come to understand how frighteningly horrible that experience was.
Just…no. No.
Brendon comes bounding into the living room all wide eyed and blissful (mostly because he and Ryan had sex until four AM) and says, “Dude, it sounds so lame-” he plops down on the couch next to Ryan and curls into his side, inhaling his cologne. “-but I will never stop freaking out every time I meet Mark Hoppus. The man is a god.”
Last night was the Grammy’s and Ryan’s not going to lie, he totally fangirled when he met up with Mark again. And Tom. And Travis. All three of them. As a band. Together again. Holy shit, Blink 182 is back together and Brendon totally sucked him off in the limo last night to keep him from practically hyperventilating.
Jesus Christ, if all it takes is Ryan’s favorite bands getting back together for Brendon to fuck him into the next century then…If The Beatles could somehow magically reincarnate and join forces again, Ryan is convinced he'd be wheelchair bound for at least a month.
And then Keltie calls. And Brendon answers all cheery and happy and shit. And Ryan’s life really, really rocks.
Until Brendon’s face falls into a frown and he says, “He what? Oh, hell no!”
Confused and startled by Brendon’s mood swing that could rival a personality disorder, Ryan asks, “Bren, what is -?”
“Oh, no,” Brendon laughs bitterly. “No, Keltie. You’ve seen Ryan’s cock -” Ryan’s jaw drops. Okay, so he knew Brendon and Keltie were close, but this is just shocking. “- you know how big that thing is.”
Oh. My God. Ryan’s brain screams and his eyes are so wide that they’re losing focus.
Keltie says something to Brendon and Brendon’s eyes narrow to slits. Ryan gulps.
“No, Keltie, sweetie,” Brendon seethes and fuck. Brendon only starts using words typical, flamboyant gay men use when he’s really pissed. Ryan knows that once he starts calling people pet names, the aftermath is going to be devastating. “No, I’ll take care of it. Uh-huh, I’m sure. Love you, too.”
Brendon hangs up the phone with an eerily calm demeanor and says, “Ryan, lemme see your laptop.”
----
Keltie settles down to her computer with a vengeful smirk and types:
really criss angel? JUST TRY TO kick ryan in the nuts.
She pauses and types brendon urie will cut yours off. Laughing at herself, she wiggles her fingers over the keys, deciding whether or not it’s inappropriate and decides that yeah, it totally, totally is. Although Brendon would probably laugh his ass off, she deletes and replaces it with I dare you.
Nobody messes with Brendon Urie’s Ryan Ross. Nobody.
----
“Brendon,” Ryan says cautiously, approaching Brendon at the kitchen table, hunched over Ryan’s Mac Book and typing away furiously. Like, literally.
“Brendon,” Ryan says again and touches him on the shoulder.
“Ryan, oh my god. I am like, I can’t. I don’t know whether I should laugh at him or be pissed off.”
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asks, clueless.
“Criss Angel,” Brendon states, pointing at the screen.
Ryan reads:
Grammy's last night. Really had to fight the urge not to
levitate over to Ryan Ross on the red carpet and kick him in the crotch.
He stares at the words, reads them over and over again, soaks in them and blinks.
“Dude,” he says tonelessly.
“I know, right? Who the fuck does he think he is?”
“He has a Twitter? I thought only girls had those,” Ryan says.
“Dude, a lot of people have Twitters. Pete, Gabe,” Brendon informs.
“Yeah, my point exactly.”
Brendon can’t help but snort and say, “Criss Angel is such a douche.”
Ryan nods and rereads the Twitter post before he bursts out laughing, “Did he-? He threatened to levitate?”
“Yeah, lame.”
“No, Brendon. You don’t-. You don’t understand, that is like, a serious threat, okay?” Ryan says, trying to sound frightened but failing miserably as he laughs around his words. “Watching him try to levitate again would be enough to kill me.”
Brendon howls with laughter and almost falls out of his chair. “Ryan, I fucking love you. You’re so lame, but I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Ryan says through a smile and kisses Brendon softly. “But what exactly did you mean when you told Keltie you’d take care of it’?”
Brendon smirks against Ryan’s lips and mumbles, “I have to make a few calls first.”
----
Two hours after Criss Angel grew enough balls to post anything negative about Brendon Urie’s Ryan Ross, he racks himself on a cardboard cutout of his own lame self and when Brendon reads his Twitter update, he cracks his knuckles in satisfaction.
“Brendon, who the hell did you call?”
“Oh, just. The real Mindfreak,” Brendon grins devilishly.
Nobody messes with Brendon Urie’s Ryan Ross. And you sure as hell don’t mess with Spencer Smith’s either.
FIN
Check out the drama.
ETA: Thank you rawr_santi for pointing out Criss Angel's hate of this post my epic link fail :D
ivesia19, does Mindfreak!Spencer count? ^__^