The cashier swallowed heavily as the six-foot-tall woman set her items on the counter, pursing her red-painted lips as she ran a hand through tangled black hair. She was slender, pretty, even - but there was something about her that didn't quite add up. Something about the cheekbones, or the less-than-feminine hands, or the chest...definitely the chest.

She looked down at him as he stared at her, and he hurriedly began scanning her items. Don't judge her...don't judge her...don't judge her...

"What?" She snapped, and he blinked at her, at the sound of her voice. Maybe she just had a deep voice. It was possible. Some women had quite deep voices. His mother had a deep voice for a woman. But - but under the thick choker she had on, he could've sworn that there was an Adam's apple. "What?"

"Nothing. Sorry." He stuttered, picking up a black lacy bra and panties set, a black sheer vest, a black silk thong...two black silk thongs...a black and gold corset he didn't even know they sold...

He raised his eyes to meet those of the woman's, hazel-brown and lined carefully with black eyeliner. She was really damned pretty, but what if she was a dude? He had nothing against that sort of thing, of course not, he'd once caught his own father trying on his mother's dresses and still hadn't told his mom, but still... She was wearing a weird corset-dress thing, black of course, black and silver, and it barely reached mid-thigh, with stockings beneath it (as he noticed that, he scanned through a pair of very risky stockings), and he didn't dare think about her underwear.

"Do you like what you see or somethin'?" She said, cocking her head to the side. She bit her lower lip, and the cashier's head swam. "Sorry, honey; I have a boyfriend."

Just then, a man walked behind her, stopping to whisper into her ear, "I've heard red's more your color."

She turned around, raising an eyebrow, to see Ryan Ross leaning against the till bank. "You're not my boyfriend." She said, and Ryan couldn't help but grin.

"I think I would know if I was, Gee." He replied, glancing at the cashier, who looked like he was about to have a heart attack, because holy fuck that was Ryan Ross, Ryan fucking Ross, and if that was Ryan fucking Ross, and he'd just called her Gee, then - then -

"That'll be eighty-three dollars, please." He choked out, staring at Gee Way with a mixture of incredulity and a weird sort of horny disgust.

"The things I do for my Frankie." Gee sighed, inserting his credit card into the machine and tapping out his pin with black-painted nails. "Thanks, sugar. Oh, and -" he handed the cashier a slip of paper out of nowhere, throwing him a wink as he gathered his bag and left the shop, Ryan Ross following behind. "So, Ryan Ross - if you hate me so much, why follow me into this wonderful lingerie store?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Way." Ryan replied, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't even follow you into Hell."

"But why not? I've heard it's quite fun."

The model scoffed. "Your kind of fun involves whips and chains and buttplugs Christian Grey would be jealous of."

And Gee's perfect eyebrows rose once more as they entered a dimly-lit coffee shop - incidentally, the one in which The Plan had first been devised. "Excuse you, but that asshole doesn't know shit about whips and chains and buttplugs. He just knows how to treat people like dirt and has selective hearing. I, at least, have some respect. Caramel latte, please." He turned to Ryan. "What do you want?"

"I'm fine, thanks." He did not trust this place, even less than he trusted Gee Way.

"Make that two." He led them both to a booth toward the back, sitting down and running his fingers through his hair, making an effort to untangle it. It wasn't working. "Like I said, you'd be better off calling Heisenberg 'Daddy' and getting him to make you scream." He crossed his legs, smiling at Ryan. "So. You wanted to talk to me?"

"Sadly. You're kinda my last resort to be honest."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or not."

"Don't; now you know how it feels."

He rolled his eyes. "Are models always this mopey? You should be a fucking nineteenth-century poet or something, Jesus Christ."

"Whatever, shut the fuck up." Ryan cleared his throat as their drinks were brought over. Gee winked at the waitress, who seemed immune to his charms and promptly swiped at his head, smiling a little. She left, and Gee turned to Ryan, who sighed. "You're friends with Brendon, right?"

He shrugged. "Loosely speaking, though everything is kinda loose when it comes to him."

Ryan grimaced. "Gee - I just - that's - fucking - that's fucking gross." He shuddered. "Anyway - I need your help."

Gee leaned forwards, chin on his steepled fingers, his elbows on the table. "What with?"

There was a pause as the model sipped at his drink - which was surprisingly good and not laced with meth. "Getting rid of Dallon Weekes."

The ex-pornstar's eyebrows rose, and he nodded in consideration. "What, like murder?"

"Are pornstars always this dramatic?"

"Ex."

"Same fucking thing. And no, not murder. It's just...he came over to Brendon's two nights ago and he hasn't left since."

Gee frowned. "What was he like when he turned up?"

"It was like unannounced at two in the morning, and he was off his face on drugs and alcohol. He won't leave. It's really annoying. I'm beginning to see why Spencer hates him so much."

A grin slowly spread on his face. "You like him, don't you?"

"What? Like who?"

"Brendon Urie." Ryan opened his mouth, but Gee continued before he could speak. "Don't even try to deny it because you do. Spencer hates Dallon because he stole his boyfriend. If you're beginning to see why Spencer hates him so much, then..."

The bell above the door chimed and Ryan turned around to see Spencer walk in. Speak of the devil. He noticed Ryan and Gee, sworn enemies since the start, or at least Ryan's always hated Gee, and his eyebrows rose. He didn't even order a drink; he went straight over to their booth.

"What are you two doing here?" He turned to Ryan. "I thought you'd be with Brendon."

"Try peeling Dallon off of him first." Ryan grumbled.

"We're plotting his murder." Gee said sweetly, and he patted the space beside him. "Come sit."

"What, really?" Spencer was confused, but then again, he was confused most of the time, so it wasn't really anything new to him.

"No, Gee's just being an ass." Ryan sighed. "He's ruining the plan, Spencer. I'm pretty sure they did something in the shower the other night, and he won't leave Brendon's side."

Spencer stood. "Right. I'm gonna have a word with him."

And as Spencer went off to kill Dallon, Ryan was forced to explain The Plan to Gee, who, despite being fairly close friends with Brendon, was up for being in on it. And really, that wasn't a bad thing at all.

~

The front door opened to reveal Brendon, who was suspiciously fully dressed, clean-shaven, with his hair a glorious mess. He looked surprised to see Spencer, who was less than happy about having to be here. But needs must and all that.

"I'm not here for you." He spat. "I'm here to talk to Dallon."

Brendon's eyebrows rose. "Who says he's here?"

"It's Dallon, of course he's fucking here."

Dallon appeared at the door, wrapped in a duvet and wearing not much else. There were hickeys all over his neck, fresh, and steam just about poured from Spencer's ears. He shooed Brendon away, and the pornstar sighed, going inside and closing the hallway door behind him. Spencer then grabbed the duvet and yanked the younger boy closer, more than a little bit angry.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? You're going to fuck it all up!" He hissed.

Dallon's eyes began to water. "I love him. I - I don't want him to get hurt."

He slapped the duvet-clad mess. "Pull yourself together! Think about all the times he's treated you like shit!"

"But he hasn't, though..." He placed a hand on his burning cheek. "I'm going back inside, I don't need this."

"No, you're going home. Come on."

"What? No, no I'm staying here."

"Listen to me, okay: Ryan can't spend time with Brendon if you're being a fucking leech, so I suggest you get your jealous little ass home and go meet someone who is actually worth your time. Got it?"

"No. I'm not doing a thing you say anymore, Spencer." He stepped back, exhaling. "I don't care what kind of revenge scheme you have, but I don't wanna be a part of it. I'm out of the plan, and if you call me again, I'm gonna tell Brendon about it."

With that, he went inside, where Brendon was sat on the couch, waiting.

"What was that?" He asked, and Dallon let the duvet fall, straddling his lap.

"I don't even know. I think it's better not to ask."

Brendon ran his hands over the younger's bare hips, smiling as their mouths connected. "Very true." They kissed again, and again, and neither of them thought of Spencer Smith, nor did they think of Ryan Ross, as skin met skin and moans fell from their mouths. "You're fucking beautiful, you know that, right?"

Before Dallon could reply, Brendon's phone began to ring, and they both ignored it as they teased each other with hands and spit and electric kisses. But it rang out and it rang again, and Brendon was forced to answer it, his heart stuttering as he heard Ryan's smooth voice in his ear.

"Hey, B." He said. "What are you doing right now?"

About to do Dallon, you? "Uh, not a lot...why?"

"Do you fancy coming over?" All that came out of Brendon's mouth was a strangled noise, and Ryan chuckled. "I'll rephrase that; I'll see you in fifteen."

"Okay." He choked out, and then hung up, turning to Dallon with an apology at his lips, but it died at the look on his face. "Dall, I -"

"It's fine." The younger climbed off of him, folding his arms. "You go."

"Baby -"

"Don't, Brendon."

Brendon closed his eyes for a moment, and then stood up, smoothing back his hair. He said nothing to Dallon as he approached the front door, and, not looking back even once, he left for Ryan's apartment.

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