Three nights later, Ryan was rudely awoken by a call at 1am. It was Brendon, claiming that he was outside and lonely, and with a sigh, Ryan went and let him in. They waited until they were upstairs before kissing, of course, because they simply couldn't help themselves, but then they just laid together in bed, naked of course, talking instead of fucking. Which Ryan reckoned was much better. For some reason.

"How come you're not with Spencer?" He asked.

"He's out of town for a few days, says his parents died in some sort of car accident." Another spike of guilt. Another lie. "He didn't want me to go with him for some reason, but that's okay I guess." Brendon shrugged.

"Have you thought anymore about, y'know...leaving?"

Brendon's hand pressed against Ryan's lower back, pushing them closer together. "Yeah. Yeah, I have." He licked his lips. "I wanna do it."

"You do?"

"Uh-huh. At the weekend. Just leave and not tell anybody."

"I have to at least tell my mom and Pete."

There was silence for several minutes after that, and Brendon had thought Ryan had fallen asleep, which is why he was surprised when he said:

"What's the weirdest fetish you've encountered?"

Brendon snorted. "Why?"

"I'm curious."

"Uh, well, I was once dressed as a Playboy bunny while there was rimming involved. I know," he added, seeing Ryan grimace. "they insisted, apparently. There was something to do with gherkins at a swinger's party one time. Oh, and I once met a dude who liked to put his dick in sandwiches."

"You're not serious are you?"

"What if I am?"

Ryan looked like he was about to throw up. "No way!"

"Nah, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. It was trees."

"I'm not sure if that's worse or not."

"Believe me, it isn't. At least you can look at two slices of bread and not imagine putting your dick between them."

All of a sudden Ryan had jabbed his fingers into Brendon's ribs, tickling him mercilessly as he writhed in the bed, giggling. It was carefree and perfect, and if they'd been anyone but who they were, it would've been sickly innocent. And then all of a sudden their mouths were locked, and hands were snaking their way below the waist, and Brendon found himself half-on of the elder, half-off, two of Ryan's fingers in his ass and making him shudder with pleasure.

He adjusted himself to make it easier, so that Ryan's fingers would slide deeper, and he propped himself up on both hands, unable to take his mouth from that of the model. The rest of the room was quiet, save for the sound of their kisses and Brendon's throaty pants as Ryan worked his fingers inside him, his other hand slipping between them to grip the younger's cock, hot and throbbing in his palm.

He didn't allow himself to think of the events of the past week; not Dallon, not Spencer, not even Gee. Just the two of them and his bed and making Brendon feel good.

He removed his hands from Brendon's lower body, pushing him on his back so that he could kiss down his chest, biting at his hipbones in a way that could only be described by the noise that the pornstar let out: devoid of any kind of act and a hundred percent real. And then Ryan slipped his lips over Brendon's cock, and Brendon moaned again, his eyes rolling back beneath his eyelids.

It was the kind of under-the-covers sin that they both knew; the kind of thing that your mother could walk in on and she'd be none the wiser, so long as you kept your lover or your hand still. The kind of thing that would make you blush fiercely if you recalled it later, especially when you were having dinner with the rest of your family, or, God forbid, in church.

Brendon tried to rid his mind of his mother, because he did not want to be thinking of her while he got a spontaneous blowjob from the most perfect man in the world. It wouldn't just kill his vibe, but kill his boner too, and that would be disappointing for everyone involved. Kind of like sitting on a whoopee cushion but not having the hilarious farting noise come out. Or, even worse, opening your porn magazines and finding Nicolas Cage's face glued over everyone else's.

And before Ryan knew it, he was deep-throating Brendon Urie (which was the way it should always be), and Brendon was coming hard into his mouth, and he did his best to swallow it all (because apparently spitters were quitters) but some dripped from his mouth, which Brendon found stupidly erotic, and that almost led to him getting hard again (if that were possible).

"Come here." He said quietly, and Ryan laid beside him, his thumb wiping the excess spunk off the model's filthy mouth. "What the heck was that for?"

"I felt like we both needed it."

"God, you're amazing." He leaned forwards and kissed Ryan hard, hot and wet and passionate, hands slipping under the curve of his ass and pulling him closer. "Your turn now, huh?"

"I came when you did." He grinned. "Might wanna change your sheets soon honey, it's gonna stain."

"You're unbelievable."

And the way Brendon felt about Ryan was surely a disaster, because he fucking liked him, and he felt fourteen again with a heart-wrenching crush and a raging boner over it all. He couldn't stop thinking about the model, not even when he was sleeping, and he'd changed so much from that first encounter at least a month ago - they'd come so far since then. He remembered that first kiss in the parking lot, in front of the paparazzi, the first taste of Ryan Ross and all of his secrets. And it wasn't just lust, Brendon knew lust; this was different. A good kind of different.

It was the same kind of different that had made him fall in love with Spencer some years ago, the same kind of different that had actually allowed them to have a relationship, no matter how dysfunctional and untrustworthy it became. It was the same kind of different that made him feel guilty for not loving Dallon back, but Dallon had left, Dallon was out of his life now. It was the same kind of different that made him sure that Ryan was who he wanted, and not Spencer. Not anymore.

As if Ryan could hear his thoughts, he spoke, his lips brushing against Brendon's neck as if he could taste the thudding pulse beneath the milky skin. "Spencer's gonna kill us." Just like he killed Dallon.

"What Spencer doesn't know won't hurt him." It was the oldest lie in the book, and possibly the worst, but also the most guilt-easing; much better than 'it isn't you, it's me' and definitely less of a lie than 'it's not what it looks like'. He swallowed heavily, and Ryan could feel his Adam's apple move. "At least, I hope he doesn't find out."

"He won't. It's not like this is a regular thing, right?" He raised his head, looking down at Brendon with dipped eyelashes.

"No, not at all." Though desperately he wanted it to.

~

Apparently getting a cold from being outside in the rain was a myth, but when Spencer let out his first sneeze, he couldn't help but think there had to be some kind of correlation. He swore he'd Google it, but he didn't want to move from his spot on the grass right now.

He was sat in his garden in the pouring rain, wearing a black shirt that had once been Brendon's and a pair of black formal pants that had seen better days. He was barefoot, sat cross-legged beside the spot where Dallon and his parents were crudely buried, a bottle of vodka in his hands.

Spencer hated vodka, but it was the only alcohol he had, and he knew that if he drank the entire bottle then it would surely kill him. He didn't mind. The thought was comforting.

The rain was good because it masked his tears. Anyone who looked at him would think that he just had a wet face, along with a wet everywhere else. The rain was bad because it was cold and wet. It was dishonest; it washed away things, lies, secrets, blood. There had been blood on his arms half an hour ago; now it was in the grass, in the soil, metallic thirst-quenching sustenance for worms, it seemed.

Nobody would ever have to know that there were three bodies in the garden. In a few months the grass would grow back, the same color as the grass everywhere else, and flowers would grow on top of that, and it would look beautiful and not suspicious in the slightest. But Spencer would know. Spencer would carry the secret with him like a scar, unable to tell a soul about the decomposing bodies in the garden.

He'd told them he didn't want to use his back garden as a cemetery, but this was Gee, and Gee never listened, and it was so typical of them that he almost laughed, until he remembered where he was, who he was, and then he stopped.

He'd lied to Brendon and told him that he was out of town for his parents' funeral, but the truth was he was still here, and his parents wouldn't be getting a funeral, not yet anyway, because nobody knew they were dead. He wondered what Brendon was doing now, whether he was missing him, whether he was with any of his friends. Whether he was with Ryan or not.

He slipped his phone from his sodden pocket, surprised to see it working, and he dialled Brendon's number, shakily listening to the tense ringing from the other end. When it went to voicemail he sighed but didn't try again; Brendon was obviously busy for whatever reason, and clearly didn't need him. Then again, it wasn't long after 2am, so he was probably asleep.

Of course, he didn't know that Brendon had just gotten a blowjob from Ryan Ross, and he didn't know that the two were together in Ryan's bed, still talking instead of fucking, and instead of sleeping as it turned out, but as Brendon said, what Spencer didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

His phone lit up in his hand, but to his disappointment it wasn't Brendon, it was Gee. And he really, really did not want to speak to them, not now, not ever, and after shooting Bob he'd surely be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, but against his better judgement he answered the call.

"It's 2am, what do you want?" He slurred, gripping the glass bottle tighter in his hand.

"Wow, I didn't actually think you'd answer." They replied. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking about how the hell I could ever have done this. How could I have even thought of this plan, this stupid idea to humiliate Brendon? How could it have gone so wrong?"

"You wanted him out of the way, Spencer. He was ruining everything. You said so. You hated Brendon and wanted him to hurt like you did."

"But I didn't want Da-" he choked on the name, unable to say it as he let out a sob. "I didn't want him dead!"

"I think it's a little late for that."

"Where the fuck is your guilty conscience, Gerard?"

"Don't call me that -"

"Do you ever think about what you've done?"

They exploded, finally breaking. "All the fucking time, Spencer! I pretend I don't have a guilty conscience because it's much better than facing the reality that everything I do hurts everyone around me and I can't seem to stop it!" And then they hung up, leaving Spencer alone in the empty silence they left behind.

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All I'm gonna say is that I don't actually dislike tøp, I'm not a fan of their muziks but josh and Tyler seem p cool

Salsa Nips out xo