The Naked Truth [Ryden]

Three: The Big Daddy Quits Pornography

Ryan slammed the magazine onto the table, glaring across at Pete, who blinked, his mug of coffee halfway to his mouth. He was outraged. Absolutely positively fucking outraged.

"Give me your phone." He snapped.

"What?" Pete replied, surprised.

"You have Brendon's number. Give me your phone."

"No I don't, I -"

Ryan pushed the magazine towards Pete, fury twisting his effeminate features. "You are friends with, if not screwing, Mikey Way, who is Gee's brother, and it is common knowledge that Brendon and Gee are somewhat close. That means that you should, and you do, have Brendon's number, so give me your motherfucking phone before I go to the paparazzi and tell them you're a prostitute."

Pete's eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly handed over his phone, muttering something along the lines of, "I'm not a prostitute."

"Yeah, well," Ryan dialled Brendon's number, putting the phone to his ear. "you oughta be."

As Ryan waited for Vegas' biggest asshole (quite literally, he imagined) to pick up, Pete looked at the magazine. It was one of those awful, trashy things that women seemed to love so much, and on the front cover were the model and the porn star, making out in a parking lot. Pete, admittedly, wasn't all that surprised.

When Brendon eventually answered the phone, he was out of breath - predictable. "I thought I told you not to call me again."

"Actually, it's Ryan."

"Oh, pussycat!" There was the sound of a door closing, but Brendon was still out of breath, and Ryan wanted to know why.

"You're panting. Why are you panting?"

"I've been working out."

Ryan snorted. "I didn't know you could have sex at the gym."

"Fuck off. What do you want?"

He didn't even hesitate. "If I know you, and I don't but I do, you will have seen today's magazines, because you're a narcissistic asshole who loves the sound of his own voice and his own reflection. Which means you'll have seen the photos that guy took of us yesterday. Which means that I would very much like to bury a shotgun in your asshole and pull the trigger."

Neither, it seemed, did Brendon. "I'd rather you bury your shotgun in my asshole, but whatever."

"Damn it, fuckface, this isn't funny!" Ryan's hand hit the table in frustration, and Pete jumped, glancing at him. He wasn't reading the magazine at all, of course not. "You may have the whore reputation, but I do not." Pete snorted, causing Ryan to glare at him. "Fuck off, Pete. You can take like twelve guys at once, you can't talk."

While Pete grimaced, Brendon laughed. "Surely that would hurt."

"I don't fucking care right now, because I am on the front cover for some stupid magazine that I was not paid to be on, and my fucking clothes are on for starters, and -"

"Okay, next time we make out in a parking lot, I'll make sure you're somewhat naked."

"That's not the point." Ryan hissed. "That's not - ugh, fuck this. Fuck you." He hung up and angrily handed Pete back his phone, folding his arms and glaring out the window with the manner of a petulant child.

"I guess he wasn't pleasant and understanding about the whole thing?" Pete said, a squeak to his voice, and Ryan didn't look at him as he replied.