"Brendon open this door before you hurt yourself."Dallon is banging his fist against the heavy wooden door of the bathroom just following a loud crash and an even louder mewl that is laced so deeply with pain, frustration and anger.
After a lot of rattling and a more more huffing, the bathroom door opens and the older man has to suppress a sound of laughter from escaping his lips at the sight that beholds in front of him. His stubborn boyfriend. His stubborn baby. The t-shirt that Brendon had been struggling to get over his head is backwards and twisted, his right elbow caught in the sleeve, his casted arm caught somewhere in the mess of fabric, velvet kitten ears twitching through the opening of a sleeve.
"Are you hurt? Let me see the back of your head-"He begins to fuss, hands coming up to check Brendon for any new bumps or bruises, peering into the bathroom momentarily and spotting the state that the hybrid has left it in, toppled over shampoo bottles and towels rumbled on the wet, damp floor. He wrinkles his nose at the mess, knowing that he won't have time to clean it up and that he'll have to let the maid deal with it, something that makes the Daddy incredibly guilty.
"Don't touch- me!"He near enough hisses, trying his best to bat away hands that come up to fuss at his head, fingers that ghost under his chin to check for a black eye or a busted lip or a bloodied mouth. The Daddy takes a quick step back, giving Brendon the space that he needs and instead watches as he struggles with the t-shirt, his cast a great burden to his efforts.
"I'm sorry, but did I say you could look at me? No I did not."
"Brendon, you're being ridiculous."
"Just help me, please."His face is flushed in growing embarrassment and frustration under the twisted fabric of his t-shirt, hating how much of a restraint the task is to his everyday life and how dependent that it seems to make for Dallon's assistance, especially in times in which Brendon is trying so hard to distant and be mad.
Dallon rolls his eyes in a mix of amusement and his own building frustration, carefully and cautiously moving Brendon's limbs through the correct holes of his t-shirt until the head is popping out in the correct place, velvet kitten ears twitching in embarrassment and face flushed, looking away. He stands there for a moment under Dallons stare, dressed in a favoured t-shirt, softened with laundry detergent and skinny black jeans which was half of Brendon's struggle of getting dressed.
"You need a jacket."He points out because it's cold outside, the winter months coming it at full force and Dallon knows that Brendon detests the cold with a passion.
"I know what I need."
"Fine fine, whatever."The older man flaps his hand in the air, shaking his head as he does do because if this is his Brendon wants to act, then so be it, Dallon is going to let him be stubborn and grumpy because it's a facade that won't last long and he's better to let Brendon simmer than to stir him.
The Daddy watches as Brendon digs through an opened suitcase for a jacket to wear as Dallon stands patiently at the open hotel room door, Brendon's backpack swung over one shoulder and his other pressed to the doors frame as he watches. It's only when Dallon clears his throat, alerting the hybrid to look in his direction, does he nod at the hook beside the hotel door in which Brendon's jacket hangs. Brendon grabs it with a huff, pushing past Dallon and out the door in a whirlwind of a second.
They're too meet Ryan at nearby diner for breakfast before the interview and Dallon is never more thankful that he doesn't have to travel long with a grumpy, irritated Brendon until they reach their destination. Dallon can deal with Brendon and his ever revolving door of mood swings after his coffee, or two, or three.
YOU ARE READING
"Brendon I swear to god, if you break that guitar you are getting a shoe up your ass!" The chaotic, doomed from the start but twisted with fluff, adventures of Dallon Weekes and Brendon Urie. Dallon has finally gotten his music career back on the ro...