Ryan didn't think that Brendon would say yes. He thought that Spencer and Dallon were idiots, that there was no chance in Hell that Brendon Urie would ever go to dinner with anyone, let alone Ryan. And there was part of him that hoped that he'd say no, because how the fuck was he supposed to go to dinner with Brendon fucking Urie?

"Yeah, sure."

The second Ryan put the phone down, he screamed. The neighbors must've thought he was being murdered or something, but they didn't seem to care, because nobody knocked on the door. He couldn't have fucked his life up in a worse way. Going on a date-that-wasn't-a-date was stupid and idiotic and most of all he hated how the thought made his insides flutter.

And then there was the matter of what to wear, and he was really going to have to call Pete. He'd considered calling Spencer or Dallon, but they'd be no help; they'd suggest he'd go nude or something, and while that would be appealing for Brendon, it wasn't so much for Ryan himself, and figured he may get arrested for indecent exposure.

So Pete it was, then.

~

"You'll be -"

"I swear to God, Pete, if you'll tell me I'll be fine one more time, I'll make sure Mikey can't ever fuck you again." Ryan stared down his best friend, nerves right on edge and heart beating way too fast. This was all fake, a plan to make a fool of someone who'd been making a fool of everyone else for far too long, but the lump in his throat was telling him otherwise.

"I top, actually. And besides, you will be." He patted Ryan's shoulder, getting a death glare in return, and he kissed the model's cheek. "Go get 'em, tiger."

"I hope you get electrocuted by your favorite vibrator." Ryan grumbled, getting out the car, and he heard Pete laugh as he all but slammed the door shut.

He'd made himself get there early, but he could've been on time and gotten there before Brendon; Brendon was known for being fashionably late to everything. He told the waiter/concierge/front-of-house person thing that his name was Ryan Ross and he had a reservation for two, and please could he not let anyone in who looked like a journalist or a photographer. He was shown to his seat, wringing his hands together, and he took a shaky sip of complimentary water while he waited.

The minutes ticked by, making the anxiety worse and Ryan only edgier. He couldn't stop fiddling with his tie, borrowed from Pete, or his hair, which had been styled by Pete. He didn't know what to say, how to act; should he shake Brendon's hand? Hug him? Kiss him on the cheek?

He'd never been more nervous in his life.

And by the time Brendon did turn up, he was pretty sure there was no skin left on his lower lip.

The fucking asshole looked gorgeous, and Ryan couldn't deny that even if he wanted to. No man had ever looked better in a suit, and he was going to punch himself in the fact in a minute if he didn't stop staring.

"Ryan," he grinned, sitting opposite. "you look fucking amazing."

"Thanks." The elder felt his face heat up. "You look, um, great too."

"Just great?" The famous eyebrow-raise, the killer smirk.

"Ravishing." Ryan rolled his eyes, feeling the conversation get easier the more Brendon acted like a conceited prick.

"That's better. So," he clasped his hands on the table. "why'd you ask me on a date?"

"It's not a date. It's - um - the - our -" fuck, make an excuse! "The pictures from that photoshoot we did are out tomorrow."

"Ah, I'd forgotten about those." He bit his lower lip. "I'm looking forward to seeing them. Can't wait to see those bedroom eyes again."

"Fuck off." He aimed a kick at Brendon under the table, but the younger simply caught his foot between both of his, and then rubbed his leg against one of Ryan's. "You're so perverted."

"You wouldn't want me any other way."

The waitress came over then, and they ordered their food and drink. As she walked away, barely sparing Brendon a glance (never mind full-on flirting with him like most waitresses seem to do), Ryan noticed the couple at the table next to them. They seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

"Ryan Ross," Brendon almost purred, pulling the elder's attention back onto him.

"Why do you insist on calling me by my full name?" Ryan frowned, his fingers absentmindedly making origami swans with the napkins.

"I like the way it sounds. I like the way it feels in my mouth." He caught his lower lip between his teeth, eyebrows rising the tiniest fraction.

"Stop it." The elder knew he was blushing, God damn it, and his eyes dropped to the napkins, whiter and cleaner than anything he'd ever seen.

He didn't belong in here; movie stars belonged here, famous billionaires, even Simon fucking Cowell would suit this place more than he did. But it was nice, it was really nice and warm and relaxing and quiet, even with Brendon there.

"Ryan Ross," Brendon repeated, and Ryan glanced up, the pornstar's socked foot rubbing his inner thigh.

"Yeah?"

"I meant it, y'know."

"Meant what?"

"When I said you look fucking amazing." There, a glimmer of a real smile. "Did you get a makeup artist to do your makeup?"

"Fuck off." Ryan grinned. "Pete helped me."

"Ah, the illustrious Pete Wentz." He picked up his fork and tapped the prongs against his lower lip as the waitress appeared, setting their food onto the table. "Is it true that you slept with him?"

Ryan's eyes widened, a mouthful of ravioli already halfway to his mouth. "What? No!"

"It's just that I read in some magazine that you did." He began to twirl spaghetti around his fork, glancing up every couple of seconds. "Pete Wentz and Ryan Ross, a sneaky night at a hotel last year...?"

"God, no. I've been friends with him for way too long." Ryan put the ravioli in his mouth, then pointed the fork at Brendon. "I have seen his dick, though. That wasn't a pleasant experience."

The younger licked his lips, taking a sip of wine after swallowing his mouthful. "Tell me more."

"Why would you want to know something like that?"

"You're interesting, Ryan Ross. I want to see what's behind the 'I'm going to make you come all over your sheets without even being there' look."

Ryan's eyebrows rose, his lips pursing momentarily. He couldn't deny how much he loved how Brendon said his name. But... "Am I really like that?"

Brendon set his fork down, brushing his hair back from his face. "Yes. You are."

There was a moment where they were just looking at each other, into each other's eyes, and Ryan's mind went crazy trying to figure out if it was wrong, or right, or maybe even both.

And then the female from the couple beside them stood up, and the blue of her dress glared in the corner of his eye, making Ryan look around. She disappeared to the bathrooms, while her partner raised his tinted glasses and caught Ryan's eye, winking.

The model scowled, standing up. "Just gonna pee." He muttered, following the path which the supposed female had taken, and found himself in the men's room, his eyes falling on Dallon Weekes, who was applying lipstick.

He didn't even want to know where he got that blue cocktail dress from, nor did he question how feminine he actually looked. He looked him up and down, eyes wide, staring at a pair of platform heels that could belong to nobody else but Gee Way, and he screwed his eyes shut as he came to the realisation that Dallon and Spencer had been raiding Gee's wardrobe.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" He hissed, backing a guilty Dallon into a corner. "I told you and Spencer to stay away! I can't do this with you two watching my every move!"

Dallon's eyebrows rose. "You seem to be doing fine. Getting a bit too gooey for our liking, though."

"Piss off." He shoved the younger against the wall. "You two need to leave."

"Oh, but Ryan -" he whined, pouting. "I want to try the dessert!"

"Now I'm going to be conscious of you two watching me, and I can't act the way I was with you two watching me. He's going to know."

"Trust me, Ryan; you don't need to act."

He was about to retort, but instead he stepped back, exhaled through his nose, and straightened his tie, before shooting Dallon a scathing look and leaving the bathroom. He headed back towards his table, passing Spencer's table and accidentally-on-purpose knocking his glass of water over. When he sat down, Spencer was glaring at him, but he just returned it with a fake smile and turned towards Brendon, who had finished his meal and was putting his phone away.

"Let's go for a walk." Ryan suggested, and Brendon's eyebrows rose.

"Not hungry?"

He shook his head. "I've just seen some friends, and I've kinda lost my appetite." He waved the waitress over, and asked her for the bill.

"I can -" Brendon began, but a glare from the elder shut him up, and he dropped his gaze to his empty plate, rolling his lips into his mouth as he fought a smile. Ryan could've sworn he was blushing. It was cute.

He paid, without further complaint, and as they both left, he took Brendon's hand, linking their fingers together. Brendon smiled, acting scarily out of character, but Ryan didn't mind. It was good to see Brendon Urie not acting like a Class A prick.

There were paparazzi outside, but they walked right past them, heads held high, not giving the slightest fuck about what was going to be said. Well, Brendon didn't give a fuck. Ryan was aware of them calling his name, of them shouting things about him, but he willed himself not to turn and look.

"So," Brendon said, once they were safely out of sight. "Pete Wentz's trouser-snake."

Ryan snorted. "Trouser-snake?"

"What would you rather I call it? His wiener? Like a fourth grader?"

"Shut up." He was grinning. "It's not even that great a story."

"Do tell." Brendon nudged him in the ribs, his trademark killer smile on his face.

"I don't know, I just...walked in on him one day getting what looked like a very nice blowjob, and...when I screamed, the giver pulled back, and I got a great view of his dick."

He sniggered. "Who was sucking him off?"

"Oh, so that's the most important question? You don't wanna know how big it is, what color it is, how much hair was on his -"

"Shut up!" He was giggling by now, walking along as if drunk, but he was just happy, just really fucking happy. "I'm curious, fuck off."

"Okay, okay, it was Gee Way's little brother."

"Oh my God, what? I knew something was going on between them! I told Gee there was something -"

"That was you?! Dude, Pete was distraught! Gee almost killed him!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was angry, and I just, y'know, said some shit..."

They approached Ryan's apartment all too soon, without even realising it, and they slowed to a stop. Brendon took Ryan's other hand, swinging them a little, and he stepped closer.

"Thank you." He said quietly, and the model's eyebrows rose.

"What for?"

A pause. "Taking me out."

His eyebrows shot up even higher. "Have you been taking anti-narcissism pills or something?"

Brendon blushed. "No, I just...shut up. Stop being an asshole."

He lifted their hands, stepping even closer so that they were almost chest-to-chest, and Ryan met him halfway, mouths meeting in a shower of imaginary sparks. Brendon squeezed the model's hands, tilting his chin so he could kiss harder, press harder against him.

And Ryan melted against him, realising too late that this kiss wasn't like all the others. He slowly pulled away, his heart beating way too fast for his liking, and he stepped back, letting go of Brendon's hands.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say, biting his lip as he turned, and with one last glance towards the confused pornstar, he went inside.

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I'm sorry guys I haven't posted an author's note in so long, I haven't posted in so long, and yeah I'm really sorry, I'd very much like to cry rn but whatever I worked hard on this please vote and comment if you liked it etc :)

Thanks Pete,

-xøC <3