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Was/Wasn't	By : druscillaryan Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Panic! At The Disco Views: 1026 -:- 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-Was/Wasn't
- 1
Was/Wasn't

I knew that what he said was wrong. I knew that what he said was a lie. Or not necessarily a lie, but certainly not the truth. I knew it wasn’t the truth. But it was easier to pretend it was.

I could tell when he held my hand. It was so much different from Brendon holding my hand. It didn’t make me smile, didn’t make me feel a little too light on my feet. It made my stomach twist and my throat close up. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t okay. But I pretended it was and let him pull me through the crowd of people and into the house.

We got drinks and I let him show me off, trying to act as oblivious as I possibly could. That was probably my first mistake, acting like that. He probably wouldn’t have been so keen on the game if I hadn’t acted like I didn’t know the rules.

I smiled blankly every time he introduced me and snaked his arm around my waist or shoulders. It didn’t take all that long for me to realize that the dice were ending tonight, that he was finally cashing in all his chips. Every introduction took us closer and closer to the stairs. And when we finally reached the banister he pulled out a line that I acted like I had never heard or used before.

I thought that fooling around in upstairs bedrooms ended at high school parties, not that it would have mattered. Third bedroom on the right. He told me the view was amazing and I needed to see it from the second story to appreciate it. We didn’t make it to the window.

I remember gasping when he grabbed me by my shoulders and threw me against the wall, threading his fingers in my hair too-tightly, pulling me down for the too-hard kiss. His teeth bit my lips and I whimpered, more out of surprise than any real pain. It was only a few minutes before he pulled away and pushed me onto the bed, climbing on top of me and working my shirt up and over my head. His hands gripped my wrists hard above my head while he bit at my neck.

I was moaning by now, soft moans, quieter than when I was with Brendon. My hips were rocking against his and I was hard against him. He could tell, I knew. It almost made me blush thinking about how long he had waited for this, how much he must have masturbated to it in the shower.

Then he got up and started pulling his shirt off. I stared at him for a moment, not saying anything, my eyes running over the lines of ink that painted his skin. I knew that within minutes he would be hovering over me, pushing into me, staring down at me while I stared up at the ceiling. I wasn’t ready yet.

I moved to the edge of the bed when his hands moved to the button on his jeans. My hands pushed his away, undoing the button and the zipper, pushing his jeans and underwear down to the floor. I leaned down, one hand closing around the base of his cock and my mouth pressed to the tip.

My lips parted and slowly slid down the length until I felt him hit the back of my throat. His hand was in my hair again, pressing on the back of my head, trying to force me to take him deeper. I looked at him through my eyelashes and he stared right back at me, scaring me. It was unnerving. I almost pulled back it scared me that much. Brendon always rolled his head back when I sucked him off, closed his eyes.

“Come on, Ry.” It was almost a whisper, almost a murmur, but it wasn’t either. His hand was still pressing on the back of my head as I tried to open my throat more. When I tried to pull my head back, his hand continued to push it forward until finally I dug into his hips with my fingernails.

Then he threw me on the bed.

My jeans were off in seconds and he was digging something out of the pocket of his. A condom. I was back to pretending I didn’t know anything, shivering either from cold or anticipation, my hands clutched to my chest, my eyes wide and watching. Or maybe I didn’t know anything. I can’t be sure about that point.

One finger, two fingers, slicked with saliva. Then him. My hands were pressed flat against the bed, my palms against his, his fingers barely threaded with mine. Hovering over me, pushing into me. He stared straight down at me while I stared up at the ceiling. I watched the shadows from the trees outside dancing.

It was hard and it was fast. I swallowed my gasp, swallowed the scream. It wasn’t that it hurt (even though it did). I’d never been fucked like that before, haven’t been fucked like that since even though I’ve tried to talk Brendon into it. He fucked me like . . . like . . . like he didn’t give a damn if I broke in half. He didn’t fuck me like a doll, like I was made of glass, like I could break at any moment. He didn’t have sex with me, didn’t make love to me. He fucked me. Hard. In a house I’d never been in, on a bed with sheets I never would have picked out. All while I watched the shadows dance on the ceiling.

And then it really began to hurt. And I knew there was no point in saying anything. He wouldn’t have listened. Maybe if I had said it three or four times he might have, but that would have ruined everything. And I was playing stupid. Stupid and willing. I squeezed my eyes shut and he bit my ear. He didn’t even have to say it for me to raise my eyelids again.

Then his hand was around my cock and I lost it in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t even breathe when I came. I was shaking and tensed so tightly I thought my bones might snap. Then, finally, I could breathe. He was still pushing into me, still swearing under his breath, still staring at me. Only now I was staring back.

When he came, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to imagine I was at home and it was Brendon, trying to imagine that I hadn’t played his stupid game, trying to imagine that I wasn’t everything he thought I was/wasn’t.

Afterward, he pulled out and got dressed, kissing me once on the top of the head before he left. I got dressed, wincing and trying not to cry. When I left the room and went downstairs, he was laughing with a group of people I didn’t know. I didn’t even bother to tell him I was leaving. He already knew.

I called Brendon and told him I was sick, asked him to pick me up, gave him the address. He never suspected a thing. Or maybe he did. I always get truth and lies mixed up now. It’s never what I think it is.

He kisses me on the cheek now, whispers things in my ear when no one’s watching, when everyone’s watching. But I know now, get to act like I know at least, I always knew. But it’s not really worth it to regret, is it? Everything it was/wasn’t.
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