Rosie's One-Shots

Don't Let Your Guard Down (PT3//M&B)

"Part-tayyyy night! Let's get it!" Brandon giggled, trying to get his security detail into the energetic mood with him. Most just shrugged and chucked at the young model.

The exception was Mat, who was rather young too. Brandon always chose him to stay closest, probably because the older guys didn't really get him and the way he talked and how he dressed.

Brandon and Mat had a good bond. Since Brandon had become a model, at the age of sixteen, Mat had been there, twenty and fresh on the scene. Now, Brandon was twenty-one and Mat twenty-five, and they were best friends.

Tonight was one of the model's favorite nights, one when he didn't have any shoots to get too, interviews to hit or anything that involved his career. He got to live like a normal guy in L.A., hitting clubs and going shopping and living they way he couldn't as a teenager.

Brandon was feeling the club scene, so that's where he and Mat headed. Brandon figured that with Mat, he wouldn't really need the rest of the guys.

Mat was, of course, responsible for Brandon, and it didn't make his job easier when Brandon decided to drink half the alcohol behind the bar.

Eventually, when he'd lost Brandon for the third time, Mat took a seat by the entrance, sighing. He figured he'd find him later, when the crowd had cleared some and the place had died down.

He zoned out to the music, staring off without really thinking. It was some old EDM song, one he vaguely knew the words to, but he didn't bother to sing.

His focus came back when the noise picked up, but not because the DJ pumped the volume. Everyone was cheering.

Mat stood up, looking around, trying to find the cause of the commotion. It didn't take him long.

Brandon was standing up on the bar, clearly drunk off his ass, stripping and dancing against some guy who looked way too old for someone as young as Brandon was.

It pissed Mat off for more reasons than one.

Glaring at anyone who got in his way, Mat pushed himself up to the front of the crowd. By then, Brandon had completely lost his shirt, his hair was a mess from the man grabbing it, and his glasses were tucked through his belt loop.

If he was being honest, Mat thought the model was pretty fuckin' hot, but he really wasn't supposed to. Job rules. Hey, though, whatever. It was just an opinion. He wasn't going to act on it or anything.

After staring longer than he should've, he pulled Brandon's leg in a perfect way, throwing him off balance but not hurting him.

Because he was piss drunk, Brandon fell, right into Mat's arms.

"Hi Matty!" The younger giggled.

Mat shook his head with a weak chuckle before picking up Brandon's shirt from the counter and shouting at everyone to "fuck off, your show is over, go back to slutting it up on your own," or something. Everyone sent glares and eye rolls his way, but he didn't care. As long as Brandon was okay.

Brandon clung to Mat, not really knowing or caring what the hell was going on.

Once he was out of the crowd, Mat set Brandon down, slipping his shirt back over his head and his glasses on his nose. "Do we have to leave now, Matty?" Brandon asked, eyes sad. Mat knew that if he tried, Brandon could make him do anything.

"No, I guess not. Not yet." The older answered, sighing, and letting Brandon go.

"Yay! More dri-"

"Ohh no. No more drinking. Not for you, young man." Mat said, authority in his voice.

"But daaaaaad." Brandon whined jokingly, tugging at Mat's shirt and giggling. "I want some moooooore."