Ryden Oneshots

Like A Magic 8 Ball, But You Can Only Ask One Question

Like A Magic 8 Ball, But You Can Only Ask One Question

It's not magic, per se, or at least Jon doesn't call it that. If it is, it's a crappy magical power to have.

That doesn't keep Brendon from dragging him around the venue like a magic 8 ball and asking, "Him?" as he points to some random tech guy, then, without waiting for an answer, chirping, "Or, oooh, him!"

"No and no, and can we please stop doing this?" Jon asks, looking longingly for Spencer or Ryan or anyone he recognizes who isn't Brendon, really. Brendon's like a somewhat normal person half the time, and a complete bitch another quarter of the time, but then he'll get a new toy and start acting like an over-excited 5-year-old. Jon thinks this would be adorably endearing if HE weren't the new toy.

Brendon ignores his request, head tilted like a puzzled puppy as he looks at the first guy he pointed out to Jon. "Are you sure? With the jeans and the hair and everything?"

Jon stops searching for a savior and levels a look at Brendon, who has on his skeptical face. It looks a lot like he's constipated. "Dude. I can't believe you said that," Jon says.

Brendon sticks his tongue out at Jon and tugs at his wrist, trying to drag him off again. Jon stands his ground. It's kind of hard to do in flip flops.

"Oh, come on," Brendon whines. "Stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason."

"So if you just saw Ryan you'd assume the same."

Brendon actually snorts. "Well, YEAH."

It's mean, and Jon knows before he says it, but really. Brendon kind of deserves it, and it'll make him leave Jon alone for a while. Hopefully.

"He's not," Jon says simply.

The way Brendon gapes back at him is probably entirely too satisfactory. Jon suppresses a smirk, but it's a close thing. He gets gone while the getting's good.

***

Brendon peeks around the doorframe to find Ryan in front of the mirror in the dressing room, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth while he draws on his eyeliner. Brendon watches Ryan for a minute, taking in the cocked hip and the roses and delicate bone structure and everything he'd taken for granted and just. There's no way. Brendon had been SURE he and Ryan were just doing the long leadup flirtation/sexual tension thing, like on X-Files, only it would be WAY better when they hooked up. But. Maybe not?

And see, Brendon could do something simple to find out the truth. All he has to do is walk right up to Ryan, put his hands on Ryan's shoulders and say, "You're not straight, are you?" And Ryan will say no, and Brendon will know Jon's gaydar power is broken, and he and Ryan can FINALLY make out, and it'll all be okay.

Only, Brendon gets as far as walking up to Ryan and putting his hands on his shoulders, gently turning him around and saying, "Ryan," and then he stops, because he doesn't really want to ask, because what if Ryan says YES? Brendon's dick will shrivel up and die. Maybe they could just skip to the making out part, because OBVIOUSLY, right? That'd be easier.

Ryan's lips are already sort of pursed, and Brendon leans forward a little, and Ryan leans back, looking vaguely weirded out. Or maybe that's his eye makeup. It's only on one eye right now, and it sort of makes it look like his right eyebrow is perpetually raised. Ryan's hands press against Brendon's chest, push him back a bit, and Ryan says, "Are you trying to fuck up my makeup?" 

Brendon frowns. In a world where Ryan can say that completely seriously, there is no justice if he's not at least bi. "I hope Jon's broken," Brendon says mournfully.