how to kill a straight guy // ryden

step 5: show that you're willing to aid

"Hey, do you have the audio files on this thing?"

Ryan tilted his head over the back of the couch, eyebrows raised in an inquiring manner.

"Audio files? What are you—get your grimy little hands off my computer." After the realization caught up that his laptop sat in Brendon's lap, Ryan crawled over the back of the sofa to the kitchen table, hands grabbing the sides of the machine. He felt the man's fingers quickly wrap around his wrists, further movement paused at the grip.

"Stooop, hoe!" Brendon whined, letting go of one of the brown-haired man's wrists to run the tip of his finger on the mouse pad, black eyes shining from the screen as they darted back and forth along it. He paid Ryan no more heed and after a long while of just standing there in front of Brendon, the brunet leaned forward to take at least one glance.

"What are you doing?" He was stopped as a hand planted on his forehead, pushing his head back.

"None of your business."

"It's my laptop you're using—I think it's all my business."

"You can see when I'm done."

"Are you doing something naughty? Talking to a boyfriend?"

"Yep. All five of them."

Ryan laughed softly before hoisting himself up to sit on the kitchen table. They didn't talk anymore, Ryan's legs swinging back and forth as he watched Brendon work. A smile worked its way onto the older man's lips as he took in the whole image, Brendon with those black-rimmed glasses, peering intently at a computer screen. Give the kid a pocket protector and he'd be the stereotypical computer nerd.

"What are you staring at?"

Ryan didn't know that he had been staring, blinking once as his mind caught up with the question.

"You."

"Why?"

"Because I never took you as gay. Maybe hopelessly unable to get laid, but not gay."

There was a rolling of eyes and the shaking of a head before Ryan's laptop turned in Brendon's lap, the brunet obviously now permitted to see what the younger man had been up to. A Livejournal profile was up on the screen, a blog comment the only thing Ryan was able to see. His eyes scanned the screen side to side as he read through it, looking back up at a pretty satisfied Brendon Urie after he was finished.

"A blog comment? On Pete Wentz's Livejournal?"

"That's right."

Ryan paused, looking back at the screen to skim the message through once more. "May I borrow some of the drugs you're on?"

"Don't be like that," Brendon whined, lifting the small computer off his lap and setting it on the table beside Ryan. He stood and took the five steps required to get to the fridge. That's right, five steps—he'd been to Ryan's house that often. "I think it could work," he continued as he opened the refrigerator door, taking full liberty of leaning over to peer inside and help himself to anything he wanted.

"Really? Let's do a little trivia here."

"I hate trivia," Brendon whined back.

"How many comments do you suppose someone like Pete Wentz gets everyday?"

Brendon pursed his lips in thought, "Fifty."

"Higher."

"A million?"

"Too high."

"Hundred?"

"Times two."

"Hundred and two?"