Work Text:
Every good book pulls the reader into the story, regardless of the genre. In autobiographies, the reader is transformed into the author, experiencing the same troubles and successes. In fantasies, the world unraveled before the reader is in vivid detail and color, awe-inspiring. It was quite an amazing thing--how people could simply rearrange the twenty six letters of the alphabet into different patterns to simply teleport others into a different world. For others, it wasn't books that transported the, to other places, but music. Beautiful circles with branching stems and flags played on gorgeous instruments to make sounds that practically caused the ears to bask in its beauty.
This was the case for young sophomore Brendon Urie. He had scored a summer job at his local book store, but he wasn't motivated to work hard. Books were boring. He had only ended up here because his local music shop didn't need anymore employees.
"So, Brendon, we are going to leave you often as the only employee here since our shop isn't exactly the most popular place. I trust that you'll take good care of it?" his boss asked. Brendon nodded, trying to look as interested as possible. He did have to admit, since the place was never really busy, he never had to work. So technically he was getting paid for sitting around on his ass all day.
Brendon was enjoying the solitude of the bookstore; he was able to listen to music, try different chord progressions, and think of lyrics for his randomly created songs. At least, he was able to do that before he started getting a recurring customer. Brendon would be fine with having customers, but this boy--he wasn't even a customer. He just read the books like this damn store was a library and took notes on it. At first, Brendon didn't mind. Of course, it just meant he had to be a little quieter and less extravagant about his musical endeavors. The boy seemed familiar, probably that junior in high school or something. But Brendon didn't mind him eventually.
He got used to it. He got used to the boy's small habits--the way his fingers tapped out a rhythm as he wrote, the way his mouth curved upwards when he wrote something he was obviously pleased with, the way his eyes shined with delight as his fingers turned the pages. Brendon found himself slowly becoming more interested in the boy with honey colored eyes and doe-like features rather than his music. And usually, nothing was more important than music, but this appeared to be a strange case.
On one particular day at the store, Brendon had spent perhaps a tad bit too much time staring at the honey-eyed boy. "You know, most people use words to communicate. They don't just stare at them." Brendon immediately snapped out of his trance. He had never heard his voice before. It was...quiet, gentle, almost tentative.
"Yeah, and most people buy books when they go into a bookstore," Brendon retorted, feeling a faint blush to his cheeks. He didn't think he'd be caught staring. "Or take notes on the books they read..."
The honey-eyed boy laughed. "Yeah, notes, if that's what you'll call them."
"What are they then?" Brendon got up from his desk and walked towards the boy, who had now changed positions. He, instead of being on his usual position on the carpeted floor, legs stretched out as he wrote, was now standing up, looming over the book aisles.
"Well, Brendon," he said, examining his name tag, "I'm afraid that information is none of your business." He smiled teasingly, his eyes now playfully dancing and glowing with differnet colors of gold and yellow.
Brendon scoffs, "Well it kind of is. Usually I'd be blasting Journey and singing my lungs out or messing around with a guitar, but since I have a customer in here all the time who happens to never buy anything I have to keep a 'business-like' attitude." He rolls his eyes, remembering his boss and his whole lecture about being kind to customers.
The boy's eyebrows raised. "You? Music? Sing?"
Brendon smirked, "Yes. Me. Music. Sing." The boy rolled his eyes and grinned.
"You know what I mean! I'm Ryan by the way. See, you know those 'notes' you were talking about? They're called song lyrics. My inspiration comes from books; different, I know, but you should try it sometime. Here, when are you off of work, Mr. Brendon?" he asked with a mocking tone.
"I'm off in about...now." Brendon had the power to close the shop whenever he wanted. He lived in a small town off of Vegas; no one cared about books in Vegas. They liked strippers and beer and weed and whatnot. Ryan's grin grew.
"Alright, well, if you want to learn more about my 'notes' you will come home with me to my room and I will show you the glory of books and music."
Brendon raised an eyebrow. "You could totally be an axe murderer or some shit like that. Give me one good reason why I should."
"Oh, pardon me, I wasn't aware you actually enjoyed sitting at your desk all day waiting for absolutely no one to shop in this deadbeat bookstore," Ryan responded sarcastically.
"Touche, Mr. Ryan...."
"--Ross. Ryan Ross. And you are?"
"Urie. Brendon Urie." They shook hands in a mocking manner and Ryan flashed another one of his sincere, playful grins. "Now, Mr. Urie, I shall escort you home and educate you."
***
Brendon really doesn't know how he ended up in a boy named Ryan Ross's room that apparently is a few streets away from his own home, but he was here. Brendon and Ryan spent some time simply just talking about their interests, hobbies, so on. Then Ryan went on about how his book had influenced his writing and whatnot. It was interesting, truly it was, it's just. Brendon was distracted by Ryan's little idiosyncracies. He would often run his hands through his air and adjust his jeans around his skinny exterior. Sometime when he got so into a topic his eyes dazzled with light and color. Brendon didn't know that this was the boy who had once sat so quietly on his store floor, reading endless books and scribbling in his music journal. He often twiddled his thumbs and tapped out rhythms, almost as if he had a song with him all the time. His fingers were so long and beautiful and perfect for the guitar. His mouth was a light shade of pink. Small, thin, but kissable.
Suddenly, Brendon just had this strong urge to just...shut him up with a kiss. He was taken aback by this seemingly random thought and it must have shown on his face because Ryan quirked an eyebrow and asked curiously, "What?" And almost, just as if Ryan could read his thoughts, Ryan licked his lips in the most obscene way and bucked up his hips a little. "Sorry, my jeans are really loose."
Brendon stuttered, "E-er nothing, sorry. Just a weird thought came into my mind."
"....Weird thought?" Ryan inquired. "What kind of weird thought?" It wasn't meant to be seductive, Brendon thought, or maybe it was? Ryan leaned in a little closer, smirking, and once again, darting his tongue over his lips.
"I-um." Brendon struggled for the right words. Brendon was oddly positioned on Ryan's bed as Ryan sat opposite of him on a fold up chair they had found in his basement. They felt it was better if they could talk to each other like this, but it just made Brendon more intimidated. He saw his honey filled eyes go to a darker colour, playful, teasing.
Suddenly, Ryan was out of his chair and somehow found himself straddled on Brendon's lap. He whispered, "You know, Brendon, I have a lot of weird thoughts, too. My main one, though, is how your mouth around mine feels like and what you taste like. Isn't that a weird thought?" Brendon visibly shuddered underneath him. He was now lying against Ryan's bed as Ryan straddled him, grinding his hips down.
"N-no, that's not weird at a--" He was cut off as Ryan ground his hips again. "F-fuck, come here." Brendon pulled Ryan down and his mouth collided with his. It was at first very shy, delicate, kind, like when they had first met and exchanged sarcastic comments. But then it evolved to heated, battling tongues, fighting for dominance. Ryan won, of course. Ryan palmed at Brendon's growing hard on and smirked as he heard Brendon's breath hitch.
"Can you even come from me just doing this?" Ryan whispered naughtily in his ear. Brendon's eyes had lolled into his head and he nodded his head frantically as the pleasure was just so good.
"F-fuck," he whimpered as he thrust his hips against Ryan's palm and released.
"So, where were we, Brendon? Song lyrics?" Ryan continued innocently, as if they hadn't just done that. Brendon took a while to recollect, catch his breath. He looked Ryan in the eyes, seeing that sneaky glint.
"Right, song lyrics..."
"So, Brendon, there's this band with my friend Spencer and Brent and I..."