Out of the entire world's population, Spencer Smith and Dallon Weekes were the last two people that Ryan would've found himself meeting two days after the whole 'you're a virgin sucks to be you' incident.

He'd been told to meet them, by an anonymous source (probably Pete), in a small and shady-looking café that was frequented by drug dealers (again, just an assumption). It was really quite filthy, and Ryan screwed his nose up as he set foot in the place, spotting Spencer and Dallon immediately.

They were sat at the back, neither drinking anything, and Ryan decided not to drink anything either. He didn't trust this place. He felt as though he was about to be mugged or have drugs pushed onto him at any moment. He did drugs of his own choice, not of someone else's, thank you very much.

"Hey..." He said quietly, sitting down in front of the two seemingly traumatised individuals. And really, Spencer and Dallon were an extremely unlikely friendship - or two people less likely to sit next to each other than himself and Gee, especially considering the events of a few days prior. Maybe that was why they were so traumatised. Brendon Urie was the more likely reason.

They only nodded in response, leaving Ryan to rub his hands together and bite his lip awkwardly. "Why am I here?" He asked, being ignored for a second time. "Is this like a - an anti-Brendon Urie campaign?"

"More like the 'Brendon Urie Fucked Me' Support Group For Regretful Individuals." Dallon muttered, folding his arms and resting his chin on them.

Spencer snorted. "Oh please, like you ever regretted getting fucked by him. Especially when as he was my boyfriend."

"Just for the record," Dallon straightened up. "he played us both."

"Yeah, yeah of course he did." Spencer turned to the younger, malice in his eyes. "Remind me again how you're the victim in this?"

"He -"

"I, uh, never actually slept with him." Ryan piped up, seeing two pairs of eyes shoot to him.

"He sucked you off, it's kinda the same thing." Spencer said, and the model's eyebrows furrowed.

"How -"

"Pete Wentz really isn't the best person to spill your secrets to, is he?" The ex-boyfriend raised an eyebrow, while the bit on the side slumped in his chair and the model groaned, cursing the unfortunate day he met his best friend.

"Why did he even tell you that?"

Spencer shrugged. "To him, these things need to be shared, obviously." Ryan grumbled. "Look, something...something needs to be done about Brendon. He can't keep doing this. I love him, but...I'm sick of how he treats people."

"But why am I here?" Ryan pressed, and the other two rolled their eyes, as if they'd discussed this beforehand. And they probably had, being BFFs all of a sudden.

Ryan almost laughed. Spencer and Dallon, BFFs? No way.

"You cannot be pleased with the way he treats you." Dallon said. "If you had any shred of decency, you'd hate how he flirts with you all the time. You'd despise how he kisses you in parking lots when it's the last thing you want him to do. You'd be furious with the way he sucks you off and then just leaves." Clearly he was talking from experience, primarily for the last part, and Spencer's eyebrows rose.

"Well - yes - but -"

"He needs to be given a taste of his own medicine...right, Spence?"

Spencer rolled his eyes. "First of all, there is another letter on the end of my name. And secondly, yes he does, but don't make it sound so teenagery." He turned to Ryan, who frowned. "Basically, we need you to grow some balls."

-

Ryan Ross ended up in front of his full-length mirror, naked. Well, not naked, but wearing the skimpiest pair of briefs he owned, which made him feel as though he may as well be naked.

He looked at himself from the front, and then from behind, twisting his head around so he could get a good view of his ass and calves. It wasn't a vain thing, for once; he just needed to reassure himself that he was okay, that he looked okay. He needed to know that his stomach wasn't too rounded, that his thighs weren't too fat, that his ass wasn't too big.

He ran his hands over his chest, down to his stomach, and he flattened it. Being around the skinniest of people for eight years did nothing to raise the twenty-six-year-old's self-esteem; in fact, it only lowered it. He'd never been as thin as the others, though he'd thought that being like that was incredibly unhealthy...even though he had ended up like that.

He tore shreds of skin from his lower lip, looking down at his hairless shins. It wasn't as if he was particularly scarred, not wanting to make marks that his family would undoubtedly find, and it wasn't as if he'd gotten particularly large, creating stretch marks that he'd be ashamed of. It was just that...he was still convinced he wasn't good enough.

Most models weren't models for this long. Especially ones like Ryan, who did shoots in underwear more than anything. If he ever had a lover, even a boyfriend, chances are they would've already seen his naked body. He didn't know how okay with that he was. On one hand, it would mean that the awkward seeing-each-other-naked-for-the-first-time thing would be avoided, especially when they came to have sex ("You're a little virgin, aren't you, Ryan Ross."). But on the other hand, he was exposed, quite literally, and nothing was private anymore. He'd had no privacy since he was eighteen.

He sucked in a breath, standing up tall and running his fingers over his ribcage. He was powerless to stop it; it was staring, endless staring, and the ways in which he could change it kept piling up and piling up until he could barely breathe, turning away from the mirror with closed eyes and trembling hands.

And then the doorbell rang, and he sighed, not even bothering to put his clothes back on as he went to open the door. He knew who it would be.

Sure enough, Brendon Urie was stood there, leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing the tightest jeans on his legs and a smirk on his lips, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Ryan in nothing but briefs.

"Fantastic; you've saved me a job." He said, and Ryan resisted the urge to punch him in the face. The damage that Spencer had done was just beginning to clear up, his nose bruised and purple, but he was no less hot.

He was about to tell Brendon to piss off, to demand a reason as to why he was here and possibly tell him to go bother some other gullible bitch who wanted to sleep with him. But he remembered the plan, he remembered what Dallon and Spencer said, what they wanted, that he was just a pawn in their little game. Brendon's downfall was their end goal, and if they got their end goal, then Brendon got exactly what he deserved, and they would be able to sleep at night knowing that they'd done something resembling revenge.

So he bit his lower lip, pushing back the thoughts that this was wrong, that this was going to end badly. "Who says you had a job?"

"Well I wouldn't say it was a job to get your clothes off, Ryan."

It's even less of a job to get yours off. "Do you want something?"

Brendon looked him up and down for what was probably the millionth time in two minutes, his tongue poking out to wet his lower lip. "I'd say you, but you being you..."

"Uh, Brendon, my eyes are up here." He clicked his fingers, but Brendon didn't look up.

"I know." He aimed a kick at the younger's crotch, but Brendon dodged it, grinning. "Are you going to be a courteous gentleman and let me in?"

"I'm going to be a courteous gentleman and tell you to fuck off." It was flirting, it was obvious flirting, and the thought sent a shiver down Ryan's spine.

"Oh, shut up." Brendon pushed his way in regardless, giggling.

"Well," Ryan followed him into the kitchen, his kitchen, folding his arms. "what would you know about courteous? Sucking dick isn't courteous."

"But saying thank you after they've ejaculated over your face is." The younger hopped up onto the counter, still grinning.

"That...is gross." Ryan had completely forgotten about putting clothes on, preoccupied with making coffee and asking Brendon if he wanted one. "So why are you here, Urie? Shouldn't you be looking for some underage male prostitute to waste your hard-earned cash on?"

Brendon arched an eyebrow, accepting the mug handed to him by the model. "You know that's not my style, Ross." He sipped at the coffee before continuing. "The male prostitutes are never underage, for a start."

"Shocker."

"Do you have no faith in me?" He mock-gasped, pretending to be offended, even though he was pretending less than he should've been. Less than he wanted to. "Ryan, I'm - I'm hurt!"

"Shut up." Ryan left the room to go find his pants, which were thrown haphazardly on his bed, and he set his coffee onto the nightstand before pulling them on. Brendon had followed, leaning against the doorframe as he watched the model clothe himself. "You don't know the meaning of hurt."

He turned his back for one second, about to pull on his shirt, and there were hands on his hips, warm and slender and soft, so soft, way too soft for someone who almost always had them wrapped around a dick. Ryan wanted to shudder, to pull away, but Brendon's mouth was at his ear, and the shirt slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor, crumpled.

"My nose is still pretty sore." He said quietly, his fingertips pressing into Ryan's hipbones. "I'd say that I do know the meaning."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"

"Maybe I want to be." The younger's fingers unbuttoned Ryan's jeans, and Ryan let him, closing his eyes.

He would've pulled away by now, would surely have grabbed Brendon's hands as they unzipped his jeans and pushed them down over his hips, but he couldn't. It was just the plan, he told himself. The Plan. Humiliating Brendon Urie was the thing they wanted most in the world, and he'd humiliated them plenty of times, so maybe he deserved it.

And he sighed as Brendon's warm hand found itself inside his briefs, curling into a loose fist around him. He could feel his heart racing as Brendon's lips touched his neck, and he should've been stopping this, he should've been telling him no, but he couldn't. He had to do this. He had to achieve the impossible.

Making Brendon Urie fall in love with him was the only thing that Spencer and Dallon had wanted him to do, and they didn't care how, so long as he did it and didn't return the feelings.

But of course, a messy handjob in the model's bedroom, right in front of the mirror, probably wasn't the best way to start.

Ryan's task was impossible, Spencer and Dallon had to know that. Brendon didn't do love, he did sex/blowjobs/handjobs/making out and leaving.

The younger had no qualms about touching Ryan's cock, barely batting an eyelid as the model let out a low moan, knees threatening to buckle. He'd done this a million times before, to a million different guys; jerking off Ryan Ross the Glamour Model was just one more experience to add to his repertoire.

And he wasn't even ashamed when Ryan shuddered against him and swore loudly, biting his lower lip and looking so fucking hot that Brendon just wanted to die.

Then he came and he came undone at the same time and oh, Brendon just loved it a little too much.

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Hola, folks! Sorry I've been AWOL, but I'm back and hopefully I'll be able to post more often than every two weeks :') if you liked the chapter then feel free to let me know, y'know, comment and vote and stuff :)

Thanks Pete,

-xøC <3