The Naked Truth [Ryden]

Eleven: "I Suck Dick For Cocaine."

"Make him think you want him. Act like you want him. But don't let yourself want him."

Those were the words Ryan was left with as Brendon opened the door, greeting him with a smirk and a sort of mocking half-bow. The elder scowled, stepping into the house, eyebrows raising at how tidy it was. He did not expect the house of someone like Brendon Urie to be tidy.

He expected clothes everywhere, various types of underwear mixed with used condoms and cocaine and a million pictures of himself. He expected filth, grime, some sort of weird unknown smell that could be sex or could be feet.

But it wasn't like that at all, and he didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed.

"I'm not here often..." Brendon said, leading Ryan into the living room. "That's probably why it's so clean. Just don't be surprised if you find pot lying around - I'm admittedly a little high right now."

Ryan sat on the couch, eyebrows raised, and Brendon leaned against the doorframe, the vast expanse of kitchen behind him. "Have you ever cooked for anyone before?"

He shrugged. "For Spencer. Like, once. I don't make a habit of bringing cute guys to my house to make them dinner."

Ryan bit his lower lip, crossing one knee over the other and leaning back against the couch. "So I'm special?"

"Don't kid yourself, princess." He winked, and went into the kitchen, leaving Ryan to roll his eyes. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes or so; watch TV if you want, or I can get you a drink, or masturbate if you prefer -"

"Fuck off. I'm good with TV."

He turned on the fifty-inch plasma TV secured to the wall in front of him, and his first and only thought involved how much dick Brendon had to suck to pay for the TV. And as if the pornstar had read his mind, he poked his head around the door and grinned.

"I don't suck dick for money, that's what getting fucked in the ass is for. I suck dick for cocaine."

Ryan snorted. "You seem to be low on funds."

He got flipped off in return, and then heard nothing from Brendon for fifteen minutes. He was called to the kitchen, where the table presumably was, and sat down just as Brendon served up two plates of spaghetti bolognese, and then two glasses of red wine.

"Wow, you did make an effort." Ryan smirked, but Brendon strategically ignored him, taking a sip of wine before lighting a few candles (despite being a little high) and turning off the lights. "I've been meaning to ask," he said, as Brendon eventually sat down. "Do you often eat dinner with other people in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else?"

"Like I said," Brendon twirled spaghetti around his fork, for the second time in two nights. "I don't do this often."

"I can tell. You wouldn't know romance if it started pole dancing in front of you wearing nothing but a pair of Gee's lacy panties."

"He's a thong kinda guy, actually." Brendon sipped his wine all-too-nonchalantly, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of Ryan grimacing at his dinner. "His ass looks really good in a thong."

"What about if I wore a thong?"

The younger's eyebrows shot up. "Your ass would look fucking amazing, I swear." He set his wine glass down. "We should try that out sometime."

"Get fucked."

"I'm up for that."

Ryan simply shook his head in amusement, actually beginning to eat. The meal wasn't half-bad, which was quite surprising really, because it had been made by Brendon, and Ryan didn't think he'd so much as opened a cookbook in his life. Then again, spaghetti bolognese wasn't fucking thrice-fried scallops and green beans with sweet potato mash and about fifteen thousand different kinds of mushroom in one sauce, so he kind of cheated, in a way.