Ryan slammed the magazine onto the table, glaring across at Pete, who blinked, his mug of coffee halfway to his mouth. He was outraged. Absolutely positively fucking outraged.

"Give me your phone." He snapped.

"What?" Pete replied, surprised.

"You have Brendon's number. Give me your phone."

"No I don't, I -"

Ryan pushed the magazine towards Pete, fury twisting his effeminate features. "You are friends with, if not screwing, Mikey Way, who is Gee's brother, and it is common knowledge that Brendon and Gee are somewhat close. That means that you should, and you do, have Brendon's number, so give me your motherfucking phone before I go to the paparazzi and tell them you're a prostitute."

Pete's eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly handed over his phone, muttering something along the lines of, "I'm not a prostitute."

"Yeah, well," Ryan dialled Brendon's number, putting the phone to his ear. "you oughta be."

As Ryan waited for Vegas' biggest asshole (quite literally, he imagined) to pick up, Pete looked at the magazine. It was one of those awful, trashy things that women seemed to love so much, and on the front cover were the model and the porn star, making out in a parking lot. Pete, admittedly, wasn't all that surprised.

When Brendon eventually answered the phone, he was out of breath - predictable. "I thought I told you not to call me again."

"Actually, it's Ryan."

"Oh, pussycat!" There was the sound of a door closing, but Brendon was still out of breath, and Ryan wanted to know why.

"You're panting. Why are you panting?"

"I've been working out."

Ryan snorted. "I didn't know you could have sex at the gym."

"Fuck off. What do you want?"

He didn't even hesitate. "If I know you, and I don't but I do, you will have seen today's magazines, because you're a narcissistic asshole who loves the sound of his own voice and his own reflection. Which means you'll have seen the photos that guy took of us yesterday. Which means that I would very much like to bury a shotgun in your asshole and pull the trigger."

Neither, it seemed, did Brendon. "I'd rather you bury your shotgun in my asshole, but whatever."

"Damn it, fuckface, this isn't funny!" Ryan's hand hit the table in frustration, and Pete jumped, glancing at him. He wasn't reading the magazine at all, of course not. "You may have the whore reputation, but I do not." Pete snorted, causing Ryan to glare at him. "Fuck off, Pete. You can take like twelve guys at once, you can't talk."

While Pete grimaced, Brendon laughed. "Surely that would hurt."

"I don't fucking care right now, because I am on the front cover for some stupid magazine that I was not paid to be on, and my fucking clothes are on for starters, and -"

"Okay, next time we make out in a parking lot, I'll make sure you're somewhat naked."

"That's not the point." Ryan hissed. "That's not - ugh, fuck this. Fuck you." He hung up and angrily handed Pete back his phone, folding his arms and glaring out the window with the manner of a petulant child.

"I guess he wasn't pleasant and understanding about the whole thing?" Pete said, a squeak to his voice, and Ryan didn't look at him as he replied.

"He sucks dick for a living, he doesn't have the capacity to be pleasant and understanding."

Truer words were never said, Pete reckoned.

~

They had to have been gathered here for a reason, and as Brendon glanced around the misfit group that sat on the moth-eaten, puke-blood-come-stained couch and chairs, he reckoned it had to be vaguely important.

Although everyone was at various stages of high, except (for once) Brendon, so they weren't exactly going to listen.

The clacking of heels could be heard through the weed-infused apartment, and through the haze they glimpsed a lingerie-clad figure with pale skin and tangled black hair. He was tall, feminine, and obviously unashamed about the way he looked, because he was wearing nothing but black fishnet stockings, silk panties and a lacy corset. And the thing was, he was dressed like that 90% of the time, hickeys and all.

"Do you ever wear any clothes?" One guy asked.

Gee Way scoffed. "No, of course not." His eyes fell onto Brendon, and he frowned, his hands on his bare hips. "Where's Ryan Ross? I thought I told you to invite him." He got a shrug in response, and he sighed. "Can't get the fucking staff. I swear you two are like best buddies or whatever?"

Brendon rolled his eyes. "It was one photoshoot, Gee."

"Speaking of which, when are those photos gonna be printed? I can't wait to see my favorite little pornstar looking all pretty with his crush." He was one step away from squeezing Brendon's cheeks, and if he had, Brendon reckoned he'd have to slap him.

"Fuck off." He muttered.

"Why are we even here?" Some other guy asked, probably Bob, it looked like Bob, and Gee folded his arms.

"Patience, asshole." And then, looking straight at Brendon, he said, "I'm quitting pornography."

Brendon had a mouthful of cola at the time, and consequently spat it everywhere. "You what?!"

Gee went and perched on Bob's lap, crossing those long, stocking-clad legs of his, and he shrugged. "I might do a couple of photoshoots if asked, but I'm not doing any more videos. I think the world's seen enough of my dick, to be honest."

"But you're the best there is!"

"No, honey. You are."

There was a pause. "You're not just gonna be able to live a normal life, though." Brendon pointed out, wiping his mouth. "You can't just go and get a normal job and think that nobody's gonna know who you are. Everyone knows who you are."

"And they know who you are too, B." Gee smirked. "Besides, I've been offered a few stripping jobs here and there. They'll do." A couple of the guys facepalmed while Brendon groaned. "Okay, you lot can piss off now. But Brendon and Bob, you stay."

The remaining three or four guys left the apartment, too drugged up to really give a shit, leaving the three behind. Brendon spoke up, for once being the voice of reason, even though he never had been before.

"What's Frank gonna say about the stripping?"

Gee leaned back against Bob, running a hand through the blond mess of hair that really did need cutting. "What Frank doesn't know won't hurt him."

"If I had a boyfriend -"

"We're not dating, B."

Brendon rolled his eyes. "I swear nobody dates anyone these days."

"Apart from you." Bob said with a knowing smile.

"Fuck off, Bryar." He sipped at his drink and scowled.

"And even then you just couldn't have one boy, could you? How many did you cheat on Spencer with, Brendon? Two? Three? Five?"

"I don't know." He admitted, and Gee's eyebrows shot up. "I lost count."

The elder let out a low whistle, while the most high burst out laughing. "That's harsh."

"I know." Brendon spat. "I'm not proud of it. Just for the record, he hates me now."

"Rightly so." Bob said, and Brendon stood up.

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm outta here. Good luck with not being a pornstar, Gee." He got to the door, and turned around. "Oh, and your brother's fucking Pete Wentz." He smiled as Gee's face twisted, and then he left, not wanting to face the aftermath his words created.

~

"He is a loser, and a drugged-up fuck, and I don't want you near him!"

"At least he keeps his fucking clothes on!"

"Evidently not, if what I've heard is anything to go by!"

Pete was sat on Mikey Way's doorstep, his arms folded across his knees, as Ryan approached. The argument floated through the open front door, the Way brothers screaming at each other for the entire street to hear.

"You're just a kid, Mikey!"

"And so is Frank!"

Silence followed, and from outside, Pete filled it with a somewhat desperate question.

"Did you tell Gee about Mikey and I?"

Ryan's face was one of disbelief. "What? No! You know I don't talk to either of them! I don't even like Gee!"

Pete still looked borderline distraught, as if Mikey's older, more vulgar brother coming in and giving them both an earful as if he was some sort of cop was the worst thing that could happen. But Mikey wasn't underage (just about), even if he was still a teenager. Then again, Gerard was a hypocrite, and the man who'd spilled their secret was the biggest hypocrite of them all, only neither cared, not really.

There was movement, footsteps, and Gee was storming out the house. He almost kicked Pete out the way, and when he saw Ryan he froze. His face twisted, yet he somehow still managed to be unbearably attractive, and Ryan was actually envious of that.

Then he composed himself, folded his arms, and acted as though Pete didn't exist. He stepped towards Ryan, a perfect eyebrow arched, and Pete took a chance and ran inside while Gee was distracted.

"Ryan Ross." He said quietly, and his New Jersey accent accentuated every syllable. And then he held out his hand. "Gee Way. Pleasure to meet you, finally."

Ryan looked at his hand as if it had grown an extra three fingers, and he'd have rathered that than the horrifying thoughts of what that hand had actually gone through. It was probably more traumatised than he was.

"Yeah, I know who you are." Ryan's distaste was clear, but Gee didn't let that bother him, even though he wasn't sure why; he was fabulous, everyone thought so.

"Good." Gee smiled easily, and he tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear, glancing behind him. "I told Brendon to invite you over to mine today, but he didn't. Shame." He tilted his head to the side, while Ryan couldn't think of anything worse.

"I don't talk to Brendon Urie. I've met him once."

"But you two are close, are you not? You certainly were on your first meeting..." He trailed off, his eyelashes fluttering, and Ryan rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I'd better go. I'll see you around, sugar."

And then he walked away, leaving Ryan to wonder just why the fuck anyone could tolerate him.

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Hey guise, me again, second time today, wahey (????) yeah if you read WCR today then you'll know that I'm on a roll and yeah idk how long this will last so appreciate me while I'm here;)

Thanks Pete,

-xøcharr <3