The Naked Truth [Ryden]

Four: Why Brendon Urie Didn't Answer His Phone

"Oh, fuck, Bren-" Dallon's knees were weak as Brendon sucked purple marks onto the younger's skin, and his fingernails raked over the elder's bare shoulders, leaving marks that would stay there for days. His teeth sunk into his lower lip, and Brendon pushed him harder against the wall, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

The shirt was soon on the floor, and Brendon's mouth found his, making his pulse race as it always had. He wanted Brendon to touch him, needed Brendon to touch him, because without Brendon touching him, he'd have to touch himself, and that was nowhere near as fun.

And then there was a knock at the door, and Dallon groaned as Brendon pulled away.

"B, leave it." He gasped, but Brendon was already making his way towards the door, biting his lower lip and running his eyes over Dallon's far-too-clothed state.

"It'll only be the postman or something." Brendon replied, opening the door.

It wasn't the postman.

It was Spencer.

And Brendon's hair was a mess, his shirt was nowhere to be seen, and his pants were halfway over his ass.

Brendon didn't even try to hide the fact that he'd been almost-fucking Dallon Weekes in the hallway, and Spencer's face went from confused to hurt in about 1.3 seconds. Brendon might've laughed, if he didn't fucking care so much.

The silence stretched too long, neither of the three daring to speak. Dallon had nothing to say, and neither did Brendon, but Spencer, he had plenty to say; he just didn't know which order to say it in.

"I was going to ask you why you weren't answering your phone." Spencer spoke slowly, his eyes flickering from Brendon, to Dallon, and then back again. He was angry, so fucking angry, and Brendon was kind of scared of that anger. "But the answer is obvious."

Neither answered, and one would've thought that Brendon might've felt guilty, but Brendon wasn't guilty - he didn't feel such an emotion, never allowed it to cross his mind.

Spencer took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were full of tears. "I hope you catch something." He spat. "Both of you."

Then he turned on his heel and stormed off, everything he'd planned to say forgotten, everything he'd wanted to do tossed to the dust. To him, Brendon Urie didn't matter anymore. Falling in love with the world's most conceited man didn't matter. Getting over this was the only thing that mattered to Spencer, and that was okay.

And Brendon? He slowly closed the door, walked towards the boy in the hallway, and, ignoring the words that fell from his perfect lips, he sunk to his knees and removed him of his jeans.

~

Ryan wasn't too sure why he was going to a bar, of all places, but right now he didn't really care. Nobody was around - his friend (singular, because he didn't really have any friends besides Pete) was busy patching things up with the guy he'd been seeing for God knows how long, and Ryan had nothing else to do apart from spend his hard-earned money on booze.

The place was bright and loud and everything Ryan should've loved yet despised, and there were too many people, way too many people, yet he found himself slipping inside and heading straight towards the bar.

There was a forlorn-looking stranger sat on a stool, looking like he'd had about thirteen too many beers already. But a second glance told Ryan that he wasn't just some stranger, he was Spencer Smith, ex-boyfriend of one of the men he hated most in the world (except that hatred wasn't quite hatred anymore, but that wasn't the point).