Dallon was drunk. He'd already thrown up once, but that didn't deter him; what he'd puked out, he put back in, but that didn't stop the pain in his chest.

He sat on the bathroom floor, legs splayed this way and that, practically hugging the toilet bowl as he struggled to keep himself vaguely upright. He'd completely skipped past happy drunk, diving straight into depressed drunk, which, for him, was easy to do. If he knew better, which he should've, but of course this was Dallon and he was hopelessly in love with Brendon Urie so he didn't, he'd have gone to hospital. Everything hurt. He wanted it all to go away. However, if he had gone to hospital, all the doctors would've told him to do was pull himself together and get the fuck over Brendon. Or maybe that was Spencer.

And Spencer was right, Spencer was painfully right, Spencer was more right than wrong and that made him feel pathetic.

Dallon was drowning, he was drowning in himself and he was drowning in self-hatred and he was drowning in alcohol. He never meant for this to happen. He never meant for everyone to hate him. He just got involved with someone who meant too much to him but meant nothing to in return.

He retched into the toilet, his eyes watering, the porcelain warming beneath his hands due to how long he'd clutched it for. He was a mess, a fucking mess, and everything hurt. His stomach felt like it was being stabbed, ripped at from the inside. His heart was being crushed as he thought about Brendon and Ryan and how well they were getting along.

It hurt so much. Brendon never loved him, he never will. Brendon never cared. Besides, he had a new toy to play with now.

Dallon began to sob with his forehead against the toilet seat, his throat hurting and his mouth dry. He was so drunk, beyond drunk, why hadn't he passed out by now?

After ten minutes of solid, pathetic sobbing, he managed to heave himself to his feet. It was a tremendous effort, and he swayed unsteadily, but he was upright, more upright than he'd been for the past hour, and he came to a shocking conclusion as his eyes focused and unfocused on the bathtub.

He needed to drink more.

He stumbled towards the kitchen, holding onto the walls, and he was passing his bedroom when something inside it caught his eye.

A small clear plastic pouch on the nightstand, half-full of white powder, left over from when Brendon was last here. That had to have been at least a week ago. Transfixed, Dallon walked slowly towards his bed, sitting down on the edge of it and picking up the pouch. He knew exactly what it was, what it had to be; even drunk, he wasn't stupid.

His fingers felt numb as he opened the pouch, tipping some of the powder onto his nightstand, white on wood and in a messy line. He neatened it up with some sort of card - bank card, business card, birthday card; he didn't know - and smiled to himself. Brendon wouldn't miss it.

~

It was two am, and Brendon really didn't appreciate having someone banging relentlessly on the door. Especially seeing as how he was curled up quite affectionately with Ryan Ross, and if he were to be asked what position, he'd unashamedly say that he was the little spoon.

And then the whining started, the wheedling little voice that drifted through the letterbox, and with a heavy sigh, Brendon disentangled himself from Ryan and headed downstairs, to the front door. He unlocked it and practically threw it open, ready to give whatever drunken prick was there a piece of his mind (seriously, who wakes Brendon Urie up at two am?), but his words faltered when he saw an incredibly wrecked Dallon Weekes slumped against the doorframe.

"Brendon, I...Brendon...Brendon please..."

The poor boy was crying, and his pupils were blown, and he fucking stank, but that didn't stop Brendon from letting him in and letting him fall onto the couch.

"B...I feel sick...everything hurts -"

"Dallon." Brendon hissed, grabbing the younger's face in both his hands. "What have you taken?"

He bit his lower lip (so full, so fucking kissable) "There was - there was lots of alcohol, and I - I - I think I drank it all..." He hiccuped, tears trickling slowly down his face. "And you - you - left some - coke - there was cocaine on the - the -"

"Dallon, no! Why would you -?"

"I was bored, and - I - and I miss you, and - everything hurts, B - everything hurts -"

"What's going on?"

Brendon's head turned and he saw Ryan stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but the robe that belonged to him. He didn't look jealous as such, only skeptical, but Ryan Ross had learnt how to mask his emotions awfully well, or at least he hoped he had.

"Dallon's drunk." Brendon said, and Dallon's head swayed in his hands. "And really high. And I don't know why he's here but I think he's going to pass out really -"

Before the pornstar could finish his sentence, Dallon Weekes opened his mouth and puked all over himself, all over Brendon, and all over Brendon's couch. Ryan made a disgusted face and went into the kitchen, picking up the washing up bowl that looked like it had never been used since it'd been bought. He handed it to Brendon, who looked like he might cry, and Dallon, who was crying, wiped his mouth haphazardly with his filthy hands. With a roll of his eyes, the model left them to it, breezing back upstairs to lounge on Brendon's fresh, vaguely clean, non-puke-smelling bed.

And downstairs, Brendon closed his eyes and counted to ten, before taking Dallon and the washing up bowl - that was now the sick bowl - upstairs and to the bathroom. He made a sobbing Dallon, who was apologising profusely and begging for forgiveness, sit on the toilet while he took off both of their sick-covered clothes, shoving them into the laundry hamper. He turned the shower on, standing naked and smelling of vomit, while Dallon gazed up at him with drunk-glazed eyes and pupils the size of the moon.

He'd fallen silent, staring at Brendon like he was some sort of Greek god - an Adonis, that was what Brendon Urie was. Dallon wasn't the only person to think that.

"C'mon." Brendon said, once the water had warmed up. "Take off your boxers."

"Take them off for me." Dallon replied, giggling drunkenly.

"Dallon -"

"Oh B, please..." He bit his lower lip and Brendon had to look away. "It's easy, look -" he stood up, wobbling dangerously, and Brendon grabbed his shoulders, stopping him from falling ass over tit onto the bathroom floor. "C'mon..." Their eyes met, and it was easy to forget how drunk Dallon was; those 'come fuck me' eyes were impossible to resist, and before Brendon knew it, Dallon's hands were guiding his own to the younger's underwear, and they were both naked, looking at each other like they wanted to eat each other (out), with Ryan Ross mere feet away.

"Get in." Brendon said, his voice low.

"Make me." Dallon replied, brushing his mouth against the elder's.

"Fuck - D, I can't - I -"

Dallon grabbed Brendon's face and crushed their mouths together, a low moan seeping from his lips. Their bodies were flush together, and the steam from the shower was making them sweat. It was glorious, delicious, and going straight to Brendon's cock.

Together they managed to stumble into the shower, with Brendon pressing Dallon against the tiles and working a hand between them to rub Dallon's cock against his. And although the younger tasted of puke and alcohol, Brendon was well and truly fucked, especially with the way he was being rubbed up against.

"I want you so bad -" Dallon managed to gasp, bucking his hips and pushing himself into Brendon's grip, his hands in the pornstar's hair. "Brendon - Brendon please - let me -"

Brendon pulled back to look at him - really look at him - and thought that there was never anyone more beautiful, despite the sick on his chin and the tear tracks down his face. Except for Ryan Ross, his subconscious reminded him with a kick to the balls, but before he could do any sort of pulling away for good, Dallon was on his knees and his sweet, sweet lips were wrapped around his aching cock.

"Ohhhhhh, Dallon -" he bit into his lower lip, trying to keep quiet and failing - and even with the shower on and drenching them both, if he wasn't careful, Ryan was going to hear.

But Dallon was good at this, really good, Dallon knew how to suck dick and he knew how to get Brendon's knees trembling within minutes. He was the prettiest little whore, on his hands and knees, with his ass in the air, and Brendon swore to God he was gonna die; the pleasure made his head swim and when Dallon brought a hand up to curl around the base, he just about lost it.

"Fuck - fu-" he gulped. "I can't last much longer, baby - you're so good - ohhhhhh, oh my -"

He came hard into Dallon's mouth, and while he swallowed most of it, he spat the rest out onto the shower floor. Ten minutes, a wash, and a handjob later, Brendon turned off the shower and together they wrapped towels around their waists, heading into the spare bedroom that only three people had ever slept in - one of them being Dallon himself.

"You wait there," Brendon said, handing the younger the makeshift sick bowl. "I'll get you some pajamas."

He stepped into his bedroom and saw that Ryan was asleep, so he quickly slipped on underwear, and then grabbed a pair of pajamas for Dallon. He returned to the spare room, helped Dallon dress, and laid him into bed.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, and got a shrug in response.

"Like shit." He murmured. "The reason why I started drinking tonight came back and I'm just thinking about it, and I wanna drink some more. I wanna forget about how useless I am."

Brendon ran the backs of his fingers over his cheek. "You're not useless. Who said that?"

He turned away, eyes filling with tears. "Spencer."

He exhaled. "I'll talk to him tomorrow, okay?" He checked the clock. "Make that today. When it's light, I'll call him. If you want, that is."

Dallon shrugged. "He just hates me. Everyone does."

"Trust me, Dall. I don't hate you." He pressed a kiss to the drunken boy's forehead, and straightened up. "Come in and wake me if you don't feel so good, okay?"

"Don't leave me." A tear rolled down Dallon's face, followed by another, and another, and another.

"I'm sorry." Was all Brendon could whisper, before he left the room and slipped into bed with Ryan Ross.

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