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Decayed Dancer	By : druscillaryan Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Panic! At The Disco Views: 1334 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Panic! At the Disco. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-I.
- 1
Full summary:

It all starts with Ryan's cult-like indoctrination in the pseduo-prostitution underground world of DecayDance. The things it releases in him are almost cancerous and quickly spread to the most important part of his life: Brendon.

Then there is William, Pete's obedient slut-puppy. William whose eyes aren't missing the favor that Pete is doting upon the younger boy. There is Brendon, Ryan's boyfriend and a reluctant Dancer who tried to spare Ryan from the world he was forced into. There is Ryan, the newest Dancer and Pete's growing favorite. Ryan, who can't help but immerse himself in his new world completely.

Finally, there is Pete, the choreographer.

Decayed Dancer
I.

“You’re supposed to go here.” Brendon said, thrusting a piece of paper with a scribbled down address at Ryan. “And you’re supposed to wear this.” He pulled open the closet and lifted a box from the shelf.

Ryan yanked it from him and dumped it out on the bed, not noticing Brendon’s horrified expression. “Jeans and a tee shirt.” He looked at the younger boy, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Bren.”

“I’m not.” the other boy said shortly. He laid the clothes from the box flat on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he could. “You need to get dressed, go there, and—for God’s sake, Ryan—pretend that you hate it. Cry if you can.”

Ryan started laughing. “The whole ‘creepy’ vibe thing isn’t really working, babe. Stick to your forte. They should have gotten Spencer.” It must have been a hazing sort of thing. They had definitely picked the wrong person to the set the—

“SHUT UP!” Brendon yelled, clapping his hand over his mouth after the words slipped out.

Ryan’s eyes widened and he reached out slowly, resting his hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “Sorry, Bren. It’s, just, uh . . . I’ll get dressed and go, okay?”

“And pretend you hate it.” the other boy added quietly, sniffling.

Ryan nodded, concerned. Normally Brendon wouldn’t take a joking blow to his acting ability quite so badly. “Yeah, Bren . . .” His voice faded out as he began to change into the clothes on the bed. After he had slipped on the blue jeans, which were much looser than he normally would have worn, and the shirt (which was as tight as he normally wore), Brendon drug him to the bathroom. The younger boy attacked his hair, combing it flat, before applying a very precise amount of eyeliner around the bottom of his eyes.

“Bren?” Ryan whispered. He wasn’t so sure what was going on anymore. This seemed like less of a joke than it had before. Maybe he’s just more in character now.

Brendon gave a small smile. “You need to go now.” His lips brushed against Ryan’s cheek. “Remember what I told you.” He gave the older boy a little shove before locking himself in the bathroom.

Slightly startled, but confident in the opinion that Brendon wouldn’t be in on too bad of a joke, Ryan grabbed his keys, slipped on a pair of Vans, and walked out to his car. He looked at the address Brendon had handed him, squinting at it. Wasn’t that a Fueled by Ramen warehouse? It was a Fueled by Ramen warehouse. What the fuck?

Rolling his eyes at the disorganization of what was probably going to be a below mediocre joke, Ryan put his car in drive and took off toward his destination.

There was a note on the front door of the warehouse addressed to R.R. Rolling his eyes once more, Ryan opened it. Inside, down the stairs, to the basement. Don’t speak. Follow the arrows.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” the boy muttered, pushing the door open. It was dark. “How cliché.” Ryan groaned.

“Do. Not. Speak.” They were loud, staccato, disembodied words that seemed to cut through the air and stab Ryan in the chest. That voice . . .

He wasn’t exactly scared, more a slightly startled form of nervous, as he continued silently down the hall, climbing down the stairs to the basement. Not so much a basement. In Ryan’s mind a basement was dark, covered in cobwebs, and stacked high with boxes filled with random shit. Glancing around, he frowned. Well, there weren’t any cobwebs . . .

The arrows were glowing in the darkness, somehow stuck to the carpet without tape or glue. The first one hadn’t moved in the slightest when Ryan kicked at it with his foot.

“Get. Moving.” That voice again, more aggressive, still staccato, still bodiless.

Whatever. Ryan thought, walking slightly faster down the illuminated hallway. There’s probably going to be some stupid guy in some room that jumps out. I’m so fucking scared, guys.

The arrows ended in a windowless room, empty except for a shelf and a chair. The last arrow pointed directly at the chair, so Ryan sat. He started slightly when he felt cool material drape over his eyes. When he brought his hands up to feel the blindfold, they were slapped away.

“Dude, what the—“

“Be quiet.” It was the same voice, but not longer disembodied.

“Shut up, William.” a voice behind Ryan spat out. “Shut up and sit down. I’ll deal with you after.”

“P-Pete?” Ryan asked tentatively.

There was swearing and footsteps and a sharp intake of breath from William. William who? Ryan hadn’t recognized the voice, not really. “Always have to push it, don’t you? Always have to make it fast. That’s what they complain about most with you.” The words were hissed, like hot iron being submerged in cold water. “I’m going to get a drink. You start it and if you fuck it up, I swear to God, I’ll give you to him. Understood?”

“Yes.” the other voice whispered.

“Slowly, William.”

Ryan heard the door open and shut again, heard footsteps. The blindfold was tugged from his face as the overhead light was turned on, temporarily blinding him. “Jesus.” He tried to bring a hand up to shield his eyes, but it was forced cruelly back down.

That face. Fine features, pale, long beautiful hair. Ryan wasn’t afraid of him, like Brendon, but William Beckett certainly unnerved him. Something about him was . . . off. And now this?

“What’s—“

“Sh.” William said, putting two fingers against Ryan’s lips. “Don’t ask questions. You’ll figure it out soon enough.” Then he pressed his lips to the younger boy’s. Hard. There was a moment of hesitation, but fuck William was a good kisser. A sound halfway between a whimper and a moan escaped Ryan’s throat as he parted his lips to the other boy.

“I guess the little bitch didn’t warn you then.” William said when the kiss broke. “Pete swore he would.”

’For God’s sake, Ryan, pretend that you hate it.’

The younger boy’s eyes widened. “Or,” William mused quietly, running a finger across Ryan’s delicate jaw line, “maybe he did warn you.” He giggled, standing up and walking to one of the shelves. He returned with a pen, clipboard, and tape measure. “How tall are you, Ryan?” William asked, kneeling in front of the younger boy, hands playing lightly on Ryan’s thighs.

“F-Five, nine.” the other boy managed to choke out. He had no idea what was going on now and the thought of this being a joke was becoming more and more improbable by the minute. Joke or not, however, he was going to kill Brendon later.

William nodded. “And how much do you weigh?” His eyes stared straight into Ryan, voice soft. Was he trying to be comforting?

“I . . . what?” Ryan shook his head, trying to clear it. “When the hell’s going on?”

“Answer the question.” Pete said appearing in the door way, glass tumbler half full of dark liquid in his hand. “How much do you weigh, Ryan?”

“B-But I don’t—“ Ryan yelped.

Pete seemed to move across the room instantaneously, seizing a fistful of Ryan’s hair and pulling him backward by it. The chair was balancing on it’s back legs, Ryan was pale as a sheet with tears standing in his eyes, and William was gasping in awe.

“How much do you weigh, Ross?” Pete snapped.

“One . . . hundred and four.” the boy choked out. Pete let go of his hair, causing the chair to fall and Ryan to go sprawling into William’s lap. He was shaking and the older boy stared at him, mesmerized. pushing Ryan’s light brown hair away from his face. Their lips almost met again, but Pete . . .

“William!” he snarled. “If you honestly believe that I’m going to let you do anything even remotely unprofessional after all that shit you pulled earlier, you are sincerely mistaken.” His voice was sharp and angry. “Maybe, maybe, if you complete the tasks perfectly, maybe then I’ll give him to you for a half hour or so. But don’t you try anything or I’ll give you to him, I swear to God I will.”

A look of disgust mingled with humiliation took over William’s beautiful face. “Back in the chair.” he said brusquely.

“I want to go home.” Ryan murmured. “Great joke, guys, really, but—“

“Get back in the fucking chair, Ross!” Pete roared.

The youngest of the three stood up, trembling, and sat back down, whimpering quietly when he felt Pete’s fingers running through his hair. “Even with all that damn product . . .” he muttered. “Do you even have a pen, William?” Ryan heard the man behind him ask cuttingly.

Blushing, William pulled one from the top of the clipboard and uncapped it, scribbling a few things down. “Do you,” he asked tentatively, “do you think he’ll break?”

“No.” Pete said. “We’ll just have to make sure of them. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to our little Ryan.” The boy felt lips press gently against his cheek, saw William’s face contort—briefly—into a mask of hatred.

“Do the check, William.” Pete said, standing upright and moving toward the wall. “Remember, slow. It’s not a race.” His voice was barely different, but slightly less snappish and this seemed to make William’s entire demeanor change.

“Okay.” he said quietly, standing up. He fought a smirk as Ryan stared at him with big, brown eyes. Slowly, eyes flitting to the figure in the back of the room for the barest of moments, William’s fingers trailed down Ryan’s arm, turning it over as he went. “One.” he said, looking up at Pete.

Ryan looked down at his arm, confused. William’s finger lay just below a small scare on Ryan’s forearm. “Hold still.” William told him, bending over and picking up the tape measure. “Where’d you get it?”

“Contractions.” Pete’s voice was quiet.

“Where did you get this?” William asked, finger running over the scar.

“Fireworks. When me and Spence were twelve.” Ryan tried to pull away when William laid the tape measure on his skin. “What are you doing?”

“Get back here.” William snapped, fighting Ryan for his arm. “Hold still, you stupid little shit.”

“Just tell me.” Ryan pleaded. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Pete, tell him to hold still.” William said, almost a whine.

“Ryan.” The two boys on the floor stopped fighting, staring up at Pete leaning against the wall. “Ryan, be quiet and stop fighting. We’ll tell you later.”

“I want—“

“I don’t care.” Pete said indifferently.

William laid the tape measure on Ryan’s arm, measuring the length of the scar before scribbling it onto the clipboard. He ran his fingers down Ryan’s other arm, but it was clean of scars. Ryan squeaked when William tried to tug his shirt off.

“Shut up, Ross.” Pete said idly from the wall. “You’re—what the fuck are you doing, William?!”

Ryan was moaning as William’s lips sucked at his neck, all too willing to let the fabric slip from his upper torso now. Was it a whine he emitted when William pulled away from him, searching his chest and stomach for marks?

“I could have sworn Brendon would have warned him.”

“I think he did.” William said, moving around so he was looking at Ryan’s back. He tapped Ryan’s right shoulder blade. “Where did this one come from?” he asked.

“Don’t remember.” Ryan murmured. He felt like a piece of meat, just sitting there being talked about in ways he didn’t understand. Brendon had told him to pretend he hated it. Did Brendon know what was going to happen? Why would he do this to me? Bastard.

“God, I want to see you fuck his face.” Pete said. “Finish checking him for scars so I can watch you fuck his face.”

Ryan’s eyes widened and he gave another squeak when William pushed him onto his back, fingers stopping to run over the button on the fly of the younger boy’s jeans. “Listen to him.” William said. His voice was one of awe again.

“You’re spoiling him.” Pete said idly from the back of the room. “Now he’s going to want everyone to make those stupid, girly noises. You sound like a drunk virgin, Ross.”

William’s giggles turned into a growl when Ryan tried to push his hands away. “I’ll tie you up.” he threatened. “Can . . . Can I?” he asked Pete, a tentative afterthought.

“’May I’.” Pete corrected. “And, no, you may not. Persuade him. You did so well before.”

Ryan was prepared this time, however, turning his head when William tried to kiss him, pushing against his chest. “I don’t . . . want . . .”

“I think you’ve already displayed what you do and do not want, Ross.” Pete snapped. “So, if you’re . . .” His voice trailed off as Ryan moaned once more. “Very good, William.”

Ryan was flushing with embarrassment, but moaning quietly as the heel of the other boy’s hand rubbed over the crotch of his jeans. He bit his lip, shaking his head as William began to unbutton and unzip his jeans. “N-No.” he murmured.

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” Pete began calmly, ”with your bullshit, Ross. You don’t beg for more and then say ‘no’ in the same breath. Quit being such a god damn tease.”

“FUCK!” Ryan screamed, arching his back. His jeans were off, his boxers were around his ankles, and his cock was in William Beckett’s mouth. “Fuck.” he moaned breathlessly. His cock was all the way down the other boy’s throat. He knew this wasn’t good, but fuck this was good. William was sucking on Ryan’s dick like it was candy and, fuck, he was good at it.

When the other boy pulled away, Ryan’s eyes flew open and his hands scrambled for William’s shoulders. “B-But . . . I . . . don’t . . . don’t stop. Jesus.”

“You’re not giving the orders here.” William said, his voice taking on a hint of Pete’s ‘don’t fuck with me you worthless shit’ attitude. “So shut up.” he added.

There was a mark on Ryan’s inner thigh. When the younger boy refused to answer William’s question of where he got the scar, the older boy bit it. Hard.

“Fuck!” Ryan screamed, the exact opposite of the way he had screamed it ten minutes before. “Fuck, stop it!”

“Answer his question.” Pete said amused.

Ryan’s eyes were filled with tears, both from the pain and the humiliation. “Barbed wire.” His heart was beating in his stomach, and his stomach was melting around it. What the fuck was going on? Was he . . . getting off on this? Well, obviously.

“Did you draw blood, you worthless slut?” Pete snarled when William sat back up after releasing Ryan. “You’re supposed to be finding scars, not making more.”

William wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I-I’m sorry.” he mumbled.

“Apologize to Ryan, not me.” Pete said shortly. “It’s not me that’s bleeding, is it?”

William’s eyes were on fire with anger as he stared at Ryan. “I’m sorry.” he muttered.

Ryan stared at him, gulping, not saying anything.

“William apologized.” Pete said. “What’s the polite thing to do in this situation, Ryan?”

“I-I . . . it’s okay.” the boy mumbled.

“Thank you.” William muttered darkly.

“Keep checking.”

Ryan kept completely still, immediately answering when William asked where the scar on his ankle came from. “. . . done.” William said finally.

“Good.” Pete said. “Now fuck his face.”

Ryan sat up, eyes wide, shaking his head.

“How?” William asked, not paying attention to Ryan’s silent protest.

“Hands and knees.” Pete said. “Don’t hurt him though, William. You know how you are when you get carried away.”

“You heard him.” William said. “Hands and knees.” He pulled Ryan up, trying not to laugh when hot tears of embarrassment ran down the younger boy’s cheeks. “Open up.”

Ryan shook his head, screaming when he felt Pete’s hand in his hair, yanking his head back. The bones in his neck made popping noises. “Open your mouth, Ross.”

More tears spilled from Ryan’s eyes, running down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. He felt sick to his stomach when he saw William catching them on his fingers and licking them off. “Open up, pretty.” he said giggling, voice sickly sweet.

No wonder Bren’s terrified of him. He’s the craziest fucker I’ve ever met. But there was really nothing to do but obey. It felt like Pete’s grip would rip his head from his shoulders at any moment. Slowly, Ryan parted his lips, gasping for breath when Pete let go of his hair. William’s hand replaced Pete’s with an even tighter grip and Ryan closed his eyes as he parted his lips more, immediately feeling the older boy’s cock slip into his mouth.

And then he was gagging, trying not to choke as William fucked his mouth hard, without much precision or skill. He’d never been in this situation before. Brendon had mentioned it once and Ryan had glared at him. ’Over my dead body.’ But here he was and he knew he was alive, could feel his heartbeat in his ears. William only managed to fuck his dick down Ryan’s throat for about ten minutes before he lost it.

Ryan let out a string of profanities that made Pete raise his eyebrows when William pulled his cock from Ryan’s mouth, shooting his come all over the younger boy’s face.

“William, slap him before you clean his face off.” Pete said, clearly not happy.

There wasn’t any hesitation before Ryan felt a hand connecting with the side of his face. He shoved William away when he felt the other boy’s tongue begin to lap up the white liquid on his cheeks. “I’m not your stupid cum slut!” he yelled, turning and staring at Pete Wentz, eyes on fire.

“You’re naked on hands and knees with cum dripping down your face.” Pete said impassively. “I’d say that ‘cum slut’ is the perfect definition for what you are, Ryan Ross. And you are, most certainly, mine. Now shut up while William finishes cleaning your face, otherwise you can wear it until you get home.”

Ryan’s body was shaking from anger and suppressed sobs as the other boy licked the salty liquid from his face.

“Tell William thank you for fucking your face.” Pete said. He’d never had to tame anyone quite like Ryan before and he was enjoying it immensely.

Hot tears coursed down Ryan’s face and William lapped them up. “Thank you.” the younger choked out, voice cracking.

“For?” Pete prompted.

“For . . . for fucking my face.” Then Ryan was sobbing, collapsed on the floor, choking on his own tears. He didn’t expect what happened next, but he doubted that he would ever be surprised by anything again. And it wasn’t like it felt bad, William’s finger sliding in and out of his ass.

Brendon may well as never warned Ryan at all. The younger boy was moaning through tears and hiccups, pushing back against William’s finger, silently begging for more. He hissed when the other boy skipped two fingers, going straight for three. “Fuck.” William, under Pete’s silent direction, wasn’t moving his fingers anymore, just letting Ryan thrust back on them. “More?” he begged, panting. “Please? I need more.”

Ryan was flipped onto his back and William quickly removed his fingers. He should have expected that. He squeezed his eyes shut when he saw Pete walking toward them, heard a box being set down by his waist. His eyes were being blindfolded again as he heard William opening the box and rifling through it’s contents.

“How many boys have you fucked, Ryan?” Pete asked, sitting down and pulling the other boy’s head into his lap, stroking gently at his hair. “And I mean fucked. Not how many cocks have you had up your ass.”

“I . . . haven’t.” He was blushing.

“Perfect. And how many boys have fucked you?” Pete’s fingers were running across Ryan’s forehead now, down his cheeks, across his lips.

“Three.” he mumbled.

“Three?” Pete’s voices was tinted with disbelief. “Only three? You’re not the little whore I thought you were then. Who besides Brendon?”

“Spencer and this guy in high school.” There was a pause. “Wh-What’s going—CHRIST!” Ryan’s hips were thrusting upward as William giggled. There was something inside him. Not William’s fingers, definitely not a cock, but God . . .

“All of it?” Pete asked, fingers playing with Ryan’s hair again. There was a momentary silence as Ryan continued to rock his hips, trying to take in more of whatever was inside him. “All right.” Pete said. “Next then.”

Ryan whined when he felt whatever was inside of him abruptly being removed from his body. Then he screamed when he felt something similar—only thicker, longer, better—being forced inside him. “Aw, fuck . . .” He was moaning, rocking his hips. Dildos. It has to be. He all but screamed when it was practically ripped from his body. Two more were slipped inside him in turn, his moans amplifying as he continued to rock his hips, Pete’s fingers still running gently through his hair.

Then the fifth. And it hurt, unlike the other four which had all been amazing. There was stretch, he was tight around them, there was slight pain, but no real hurt. Ryan whimpered, shaking his head. “No.” he murmured as William pressed it harder inside him. It was huge, it felt great, but he couldn’t take it. He was shaking his head, emitting small shrieks when William continued to try to press it inside him. “No. Stop.”

“Does it hurt?” Pete asked gently.

Ryan nodded, whimpering.

“How badly?”

“F-Feel like . . . going to rip.” he choked out, tears in his eyes behind the blindfold.

“Stop, William” Pete ordered. “Make sure you mark it and record.”

“I want to go home.” Ryan whispered.

“Almost done.” the oldest of the three said soothingly. “Almost. But William needs his reward first and I’m sure you’d like to come, wouldn’t you, Ryan?” His fingers were still running gently through the younger boy’s hair. “Would you like to come, Ryan?”

Pete slipped the blindfold from the lyricist’s brown eyes when he nodded. “Yes.” Ryan murmured. “Please.”

“Let’s see about that mouth then.” Pete said. “Up, Ryan. Hands and knees. William will be easy enough after everything else you took today. You’re going to be such a good Dancer, Ryan.”

“What’s—SHIT! Oh, fuck . . .” He was impaled on William’s cock, moaning and thrusting backward, eyes heavy with need. And then Pete was standing in front of him and Ryan straightened so he could use his hands, undoing the older boy’s belt buckle and tugging his jeans down, knowing—somehow—that it was what he was supposed to do.

Then he was on hands and knees again, Pete’s cock in his mouth, a hand tight in his hair. It was part face-fuck, part blowjob and Ryan was sure he was supposed to feel dirty. But with Pete’s cock gradually going further and further down his throat and William’s cock deep in his ass, Ryan was fairly sure he’d never been more turned on his life.

God, it was so different than it was with Brendon. There was something here, hidden. There was meaning and purpose, Ryan just didn’t know what meaning, what purpose.

He was moaning, thrusting, arching. And then . . . he was coming. He was clenching tight around William’s cock, the way he always did around Brendon’s. He was moaning around Pete’s cock from the intensity, the pain, the pleasure. And then Pete’s cock was out of Ryan’s mouth and the younger boy was swearing wantonly as his face began dripping with come from the second time that day. He was moaning, orgasm intensified as William came deep inside him.

This was harder, this was rougher, this was faster, this was painful. This was exactly how Ryan liked it, exactly how Brendon wouldn’t fuck him. He’d never had anyone come inside him before, had always made the guys who fucked him use condoms. God, never again.

And then it was over and Ryan was on hands and knees, panting as William pulled out of him.

“Seven.” Pete muttered and Ryan felt something sliding inside him. “Wear that home. Brendon will take it out for you. And don’t wipe your face off either, understand?”

Ryan nodded. “Wh-what now? What is this? What was this? I don’t—“

“Sh.” Pete said tenderly. “It’s all right, Ryan. You’re a Dancer now.”

“But—“

“Brendon will tell you when you get home. And that’s enough for now.” The last sentence was more stern and Ryan nodded, swallowing the rest of his questions. “Good.” Pete bent down to look in the boy’s light brown eyes. “You look so beautiful covered in come.”

Ryan blushed.
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Decayed Dancer