The Naked Truth [Ryden]

Ten: Dallon Weekes' Intentional Cockblocking

"Hey, you've reached Brendon Urie; sorry I can't come to the phone right now, I'm probably some other place, coming all over their phone, so I'll call you back, maybe when my mouth is less full. See ya!"

Ryan buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs he was forcing back. He didn't want to cry, but the truth was, he'd end up doing it within about five minutes or so.

He'd spent the night sat in the hallway, switching between crying and deliberating whether to call Pete or not, and once the sun rose, he found his fingers dialling his best friend's number. Pete would be here in about five minutes or so.

Just in time for Ryan to burst into pitiful tears.

He didn't even know why. Okay, so maybe last night he'd actually felt something, but he could just shove it all to the back of his mind, right?

Wrong.

He didn't want to be on the phone to Brendon when Pete arrived, and he didn't want to be in floods of tears when Pete arrived, so he did the only logical thing: he called Brendon again.

~

"Hey." Brendon looked tired, more tired than Dallon had ever seen him, and the younger frowned as he stepped into the house.

"You okay?" He touched a hand to Brendon's cheek, and his eyes closed.

"Yeah. Didn't sleep well. 'M fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Promise."

He led Dallon over to the couch, and he flopped onto it, pulling him close. Their mouths met sloppily, needy hands gripping each other's clothes like they were life vests. Dallon would be lying if he said this hadn't been his intention; he just wanted to be kissed by the man he'd been calling his again. He wanted Brendon to taste him, not the slutty model he'd been flirting with for the past few weeks.

And Brendon, Brendon was too tired to care, and if Ryan wasn't interested in him, which he clearly wasn't, then it didn't matter who he kissed. His hands were splayed on the bare skin of Dallon's back, pressing into him, while the younger straddled the pornstar's lap.

They needed this, they both did; kisses like nicotine and touches like acid, burning and searing and corroding, though it wasn't quite that poetic. They were used to this urgency by now, tongues colliding and teeth clashing, and they barely had time to stop for breath. They needed each other like they needed air. Or that was what Dallon Weekes told himself, even as Brendon's phone rang and they broke apart.

Brendon let it ring out, and then he picked it up from the coffee table, seeing the words that told him that Ryan had called, for the fifth time that morning. His heart did a weird sort of hop-skip-jump in his chest as he unlocked his phone, and his teeth sunk into his lower lip as he saw that there was a voicemail, and he let it play.

"Hey, um, I'm sorry I've called you so much, I just, I just wanted to apologise for last night...I didn't mean to, y'know...yeah. Please call me?"

Dallon was the first to speak: "What happened last night? Y'know, apart from the date?"

Brendon frowned. "How do you know about that?"

He shifted in the pornstar's lap, edging closer. "Spencer."

"But he hates you, I -"

"I know." Dallon shrugged. "He just told me, just to warn me, y'know? He did say it was a little weird that you and Ryan Ross were going on a date."