(Good In Bed But) Better With Chopsticks
oddishly, softlyforgotten
Summary:
'Shut up,' Ryan said, 'I am totally a Chopstick Master.'
Notes:
Co-written with softlyforgotten on LJ.
Work Text:
1.
It was the last place Ryan would have expected to be open. He and Spencer used to pass by it every Friday night on their way to Spencer's place and pick up fried rice. It was run by the one family, though, and he would never have thought it would still be open for customers at ten o'clock on a Thursday night. Still, after they all stared at each other in disbelief when Pete Wentz - Pete Wentz - finally left, it was the first place that they stumbled across on their way to find something else to eat.
'I'm still starving,' Brendon had said, and then added, grinning, 'I thought I was going to throw up, sitting across from him, I couldn't eat properly,' and Ryan kind of agreed.
Still, weird or not, the Chinese restaurant on the corner of Nicholson Parade was still open, and when they came in awkwardly through the door, the woman behind the counter ushered them to a corner booth and brought out menus for everyone. Ryan took a moment to read them, still feeling remarkably dizzy, a little as though someone had just knocked him off a cliff and he'd realised halfway down that he could fly. He wondered if maybe there could be a song in that feeling. Maybe one that he could write. Maybe one that they could put on their album.
Holy shit, a record deal.
'Dude, you gonna order any time soon?' Brent asked, and Ryan shook his head, feeling a little bewildered. Brendon laughed, bright and cheerful, and after a moment Spencer very deliberately pressed his hand down on Brendon's knee. Abruptly, the table stopped shaking, and Ryan grinned stupidly. Brendon had managed to keep from bouncing his knee all through the meeting with Pete. Ryan was weirdly proud of him.
Ryan couldn't even remember what he'd ordered until it came; mixed vegetables and egg and noodles, and it smelled perfect, his stomach suddenly grumbling and reminding him how he really should have eaten something properly when the frontman of Fall Out Boy was paying. Brent's meal looked good, too - he eyed it out of the corner of his eye and wondered if Brent was going to eat it all.
He was distracted by the sudden discovery of chopsticks beside his bowl in the place of a fork. 'Um,' he said, and picked them up doubtfully. He hadn't used chopsticks since one disastrous Multicultural Lunch Day in elementary school, and he wasn't entirely sure that his skills had improved in the eight years since.
Still, food. 'Bon appetite,' Brendon said, because he was the biggest dork ever, and picked up his chopsticks easily. If Brendon could do it then Ryan definitely could, and he grasped them gingerly between two fingers, trying to work out how to get the right grip. They seemed oddly clumsy. He felt a little bit like a Transformer, though he couldn't say why.
'Um,' he repeated, and looked up to see Spencer and Brent likewise struggling with theirs. Spencer seemed to be trying to stab a dumpling with one stick, while Brent was just poking dismally at his noodles without much luck.
Brendon, on the other hand, was eating quickly, stuffing his mouth full with as little finesse as ever but a deftness in his movements. He didn't seem to be having any trouble at all picking up his food and carrying it to his mouth, and sometimes he even paused holding it there while he swallowed a mouthful. Ryan had a feeling that had he managed to get something between his chopsticks, he wouldn't be able to hold it there for longer than three seconds.
'Dude,' Brent said, staring. 'How do you do that?'
'I am a talented guy,' Brendon said through a mouthful of food, and Ryan grimaced and looked away.
Spencer got up and went over to the counter to get three forks. 'This is so embarrassing,' he said, returning and grinning at Brendon. 'I'm the one who did Japanese for three years.'
'You've got to have the gift,' Brendon told them thickly.
Ryan rolled his eyes and stabbed vengefully at his noodles with the fork Spencer gave him. He couldn't help but feel it was cheating, doing this. It was like watching an arthouse movie with subtitles to catch the dialogue. Ryan was doing his best to cultivate an interesting persona, and he had a feeling that an inability to use chopsticks was not an attribute he should encourage. He certainly didn't see why he couldn't do it when Brendon so clearly found it the easiest thing in the world.
He glanced up to see Brendon watching him, still eating, still using his chopsticks. Ryan made a face and Brendon winked at him, so fast that Ryan almost missed it. He didn't miss it, though, and his heart sped up at the sight.
2.
'I'm just saying,' persisted Brendon, 'tour would have been completely different if it had been cherry blossoms rather than roses.'
'No,' said Ryan, 'it wouldn't.'
'Because?'
'Because it was never about the type of flower: it was about using flowers as a representation of society's expectations for gender norms, and confronting those expectations in a way that was accessible to everyone.'
'So it was about the roses, then.'
'No,' repeated Ryan, rolling his eyes, then smiled up at the tiny waitress walking up to them with a tray between her hands.
'What if they'd been carnations?' Jon asked with interest, 'they're practically roses.'
Ryan stared at him over his bowl of soup. 'No, they're not,' he said, 'and please let me be there when you give a girl carnations on Valentine's Day, but you're still missing the point.'
'The point that you like wearing roses more than cherry blossoms?'
Ryan rolled his eyes at Brendon. 'Can you pass me the chopsticks?'
Brendon blinked. 'The chopsticks.'
'Yes, the chopsticks.'
'... have you forgotten last time you tried to eat with them?' Brendon looked politely incredulous.
'We've been in Japan for a week and a half, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to use them by now.'
Spencer snorted. 'By what, osmosis?'
Ryan frowned at Spencer and pointed one of his chopsticks at him threateningly. 'Shut up,' he said, 'I am totally a Chopstick Master.'
Spencer leant back and snagged a pair of forks from a passing waitress. 'Okay,' he said, and handed the extra fork to Jon. 'Whatever you say.'
Ryan looked down at his bowl of noodles, determined not to be daunted. It was just a matter of going into it with the right attitude, he decided, and whatever, Spencer didn't know anything. Ten days in Japan was totally enough time to get into the right frame of mind.
He picked up his chopsticks, balancing them awkwardly between his first and middle finger, then swore as one of them slipped out of his grasp. 'Don't say it,' he said to the table, 'at least I'm trying, you cowards.'
'Didn't say anything,' replied Jon, 'too busy enjoying my noddles. Mmmmm, mmmmmmm mmm, see?'
Ryan ignored him, picking up the chopstick again and fitting it back between his fingers. Mind over matter, he thought determinedly, if Brendon can do it.
Ryan looked up quickly to check that Brendon could indeed still do it. Not that it made any difference, obviously; Ryan would be using chopsticks even if no one else was, but it never hurt to check.
Brendon was halfway through his bowl of dumpling, eating them with apparent relish and one hand. He grinned at Ryan, clacking his own chopsticks in the air, then dipped them back into his bowl.
Ryan frowned. 'You've got stuff on your face.'
Brendon grinned at Jon and Spencer. 'That's the best you can do?'
'No, really,' Ryan gestured, 'salad or something.'
Brendon raised his eyebrows. Ryan rolled his eyes and put down his chopsticks, then leant across the table. He reached his hand out towards Brendon and brushed his thumb over the corner of his mouth, Brendon very still under his touch. The bit of salad fell away and Ryan drew back. 'There,' he said, 'gone.' His mouth was dry, and he sat back in his seat and placed his hands in his lap.
Brendon didn't say anything for a moment, just blinked at his bowl. Then he looked up at Ryan. 'Thanks,' he said, and smiled wide.
'Yeah, well,' Ryan replied. He picked up his chopsticks again, and if he had to clench his hands for a second, well, no one noticed.
3.
'Food!' Jon called, and then repeated it again, drawing out the vowel. It was a nice thing to wake up to, but Ryan still had to force himself up and out of his bunk - it was warm, and he was sleepy, and they didn't have a show to play tonight. After the always hectic first week of tour, he thought that was a pretty good excuse to spend a day in bed.
He hadn't eaten since breakfast, though, and he was starting to feel a little dizzy, so getting up seemed to be necessary. He wandered out into the main lounge, scuffing a hand through his hair while Jon unpacked the plastic bags and put them in a circle on the floor.
'I'm starved,' Brendon declared, wandering in. Spencer hung up his cell with a 'yeah, bye' while Zack walked past and waved an absent hand in response when Brendon asked if he wanted some. It was just the four of them, then, sitting around in a strange circle on the carpet floor. Ryan leaned his head back against the couch and reached blindly for whatever meal they'd ordered for him.
Then he opened his eyes and scowled. 'Guys,' he said. 'Where are the forks?'
'Oh,' Jon said, and looked torn between guilt and laughter. 'Shit, Ryan, sorry, I think we forgot. Are there any in the kitchen?'
'We haven't gotten around to buying them yet,' Ryan said, frowning. 'Are you serious? I have to eat with-'
'Whatever, you'll be fine,' Spencer interrupted, and handed him a pair of chopsticks. 'You're not seriously that uncoordinated, are you?'
Ryan tried very hard not to fold his arms and scowl. He had a feeling that that would maybe be a little bit childish. 'I can't eat with them,' he said, and glared as Jon tried to muffle his giggles. 'Yeah, yeah, it's fucking hilarious, come on, guys, this is ridiculous, how can you forget to pick up some goddamn plastic cutlery-'
'It's easy,' Spencer said. 'You're the only person older than ten in the world who can't use them a little bit. You don't have to be really good at them.'
'I can't get the food to my mouth!' Ryan said. Spencer's face got a set expression while Jon looked kind of uncomfortable in the face of an oncoming and - Ryan would admit - somewhat ridiculous argument. Brendon rolled his eyes and stood up, leaving the room with his plastic container of food in one hand and chopsticks in the other, eating even as the bus swerved around a corner. Show off, Ryan thought.
'Honestly, if you would just try,' Spencer said, 'instead of being a big wuss because you're not awesome at something on the first go.'
'I have,' Ryan protested. 'You're the one-'
Zack stuck his head around the door. 'Just stopping for a moment, won't be a minute,' he said, and Ryan waved a hand vaguely in acknowledgment at him before continuing.
'-who's all like, "oh, look how funny, Ryan can't eat! I will laugh and take photos and send them to Haley! I am so hilarious!"'
'Ryan, you're being ridiculous,' Spencer said, and Ryan drew in a deep breath and launched into an explanation about how he clearly wasn't the ridiculous one in this situation, as he was the one acknowledging his shortcomings and just wishing his band would be considerate enough to keep in mind what utensils he wanted to use for dinner. Spencer didn't seem to see the clarity of his argument; he interrupted a lot and got steadily more impatient until even Jon was looking kind of annoyed.
'Jesus Christ, I fucking hate how bitchy you are in the first week of tour,' Spencer finally snapped, and stood up to stalk out of the room. The bus lurched into movement again, and Ryan was gratified to see Spencer accidentally crash into the wall before he had to reclaim his dignity and go off to his bunk.
Jon sighed and stood up to follow him, and Ryan glared at the ceiling. It was so unfair, them making the whole stupid thing into his fault. He just didn't like chopsticks - it wasn't hard to remember, he couldn't see why-
'Hey,' Brendon said, dropping down beside him. He chucked a clear, heavy packet into Ryan's lap, and grinned at him. 'You want me to heat up your food for you again?'
Ryan blinked down at his knees. 'You got me forks.'
'And sporks,' Brendon added. 'I am all about choice when it comes to your dining pleasure.'
'Thanks,' Ryan said. It came out quieter than he had meant it, almost embarrassingly sincere, but Brendon didn't call him on it, just touched his hair gently.
'Don't worry about it,' he said.
4.
'Hold one chopstick between your thumb and middle finger. It should be positioned so that it lies at the base of your thumb and at the lower joint of your middle finger. It shouldn't be touching your forefinger.'
Ryan hit pause. He took a deep breath, watching his plate of rice steaming gently out of the corner of his eye, and picked a flowery chopstick off the table. 'Thumb and middle finger,' he muttered, 'thumb and middle finger, make sure it's not touching my forefinger. Thumb and middle finger, not touching my forefinger. Thumb, middle finger, not forefinger.'
Ryan peered at the fingers currently flickering across the television screen, then back at his hand. He nodded and hit play.
'Place the other chopstick between your thumb and forefinger. The side of the chopstick should rest against the tip of your thumb; the top of the chopstick should rest against the pad of your forefinger.'
Ryan reached gingerly for another chopstick - ' ... sure the tips of the chopsticks are parallel' - and jabbed at the remote with it until the blonde woman on the screen stopped talking and just flickered at him. 'Thumb and forefinger. Side of chopstick, tip of thumb; top of chopstick, pad of forefinger.'
Ryan squinted at the hand holding the flowery chopstick, up at the screen, then back at the second chopstick. 'Side of chopstick, tip of thumb; top of chopstick, pad of forefinger.'
This was possibly not going to be as successful as Ryan had been hoping.
Ryan dropped his head until his nose was almost level with his hands, then lowered the second chopstick until it was balanced precariously on top of the flowery one. He glanced at the television screen, frowning, then twisted his fingers until his forefinger was locked across the top of the middle one in an imitation of the blonde woman's long, pale hands.
The second chopstick fell to the floor.
'Shit,' Ryan muttered. He slumped back in the couch and glared at the flowery chopstick, still clenched between his thumb and middle finger, then promptly dropped it when a tousled head appeared in the doorway. 'Brendon!'
''s really late,' Brendon yawned, blinking from Ryan to the TV screen, 'why the fuck are you - oh my god, Ryan.'
'What,' Ryan said grumpily, 'None of you will teach me, and I've got to learn somewhere, and also, I haven't eaten anything since lunch and I'm really fucking hungry.'
'Ryan, it's half past three in the morning. Aren't there other times you could be learning to use chopsticks?'
'No,' said Ryan stubbornly, 'it's rice and I said I'd use chopsticks to eat it because you eat rice with chopsticks. Go back to bed, I'll see you in the morning.'
'Can't sleep,' replied Brendon, 'your chopsticks are clacking too loudly.'
Ryan blinked, and wondered briefly if he should call Brendon on the most ridiculous statement of the year. 'Well, if you lot had only - '
'Oh, for - never mind. Give them here.'
Before Ryan could continue bitching at Brendon - and really, Ryan had every right to, half past three in the morning or not - Brendon was padding around to his side of the couch and crouching down next to him. He held his hand out to Ryan, making beckoning gestures with his fingers.
Ryan stared at him.
'Chopsticks,' Brendon said through a yawn, reaching with his spare hand for the plate of rice, 'c'mon, Ross, wake up.'
Ryan raised his eyebrows but passed the chopsticks to Brendon.
'Okay,' said Brendon, and shuffled forwards until his knees hit the sofa.
Ryan swallowed, and caught his breath in his throat as Brendon's eyes followed the movement. 'What are you doing?' he asked.
'Teaching you. Open wide.'
'I, ' started Ryan, then spluttered as Brendon forced a chopstick-full of rice into his mouth.
'Good boy,' cooed Brendon, 'and again - '
'Br-' Ryan coughed his way through another mouthful of rice. 'For fuck's sake, Brendon, I'm not four years old. I don't need feeding!'
'Not using language like that, you're not,' said Brendon reprovingly, 'but I can make aeroplane noises if you want.'
Ryan windmilled his arms at Brendon to stop him coming any closer with the chopsticks. 'I don't need aeroplane noises either!'
'Will you just let me feed you, then? I want to go to sleep and all your fucking flailing is keeping me awake.'
Ryan narrowed his eyes. 'Fine,' he said grudgingly and opened his mouth.
5.
The first thing they did after writing Nine In The Afternoon was get really high (again). The second thing they did was send Jon and Spencer out for food, while every now and then Ryan pointed commandingly at Brendon and said 'Sing it again!' Brendon beamed every time and wailed your eyes are the size of the moon!
Even after smoking up, and especially once the high started to fade, everything seemed bright and vivid and possible. Ryan kind of wished he knew how to do cartwheels - he felt that they would be appropriate to the moment, and when he voiced the idea out loud, Brendon seemed to agree. He did three in a row through Spencer's living room and knocked four things over, including a lamp that landed with a dubious crashing noise. Ryan was too happy to do anything but laugh, bright and delighted.
'No more musicals about wolves,' Brendon said, kicking his feet up in the air as the front door opened to Jon and Spencer coming back. Jon howled like a wolf, catching the end of the sentence, and Ryan thought that everything was just fine, everything was going to be amazing.
Brendon caught his eye. Ryan twisted his fingers in his shirt and asked, 'Wouldn't life have been better if we had done this first instead of-'
'No,' Brendon said. 'It wouldn't be as awesome.'
Ryan swallowed. 'But-'
'No,' Brendon repeated. He grinned up at Ryan and said, 'We just wrote a kickass song, Ross. Stop moping and come get food.'
Ryan rolled his eyes, but after a moment he extended his hand and let Brendon pull him to his feet. He followed Brendon into the kitchen where Spencer and Jon were pulling out very familiar white cardboard boxes and wooden chopsticks.
'Oh, no,' he said. 'Oh, no, you assholes.'
For a moment, they just stared at him - then Brendon started laughing, and understanding grew on Spencer and Jon's faces, followed very quickly by exasperated amusement.
'Don't be stupid,' Spencer said. 'The last time you tried was what, a year ago? Everyone can use chopsticks.'
'I can't,' Ryan said. 'Pass me a fork.'
'How can you not?' Jon's lips were twitching in the corner, eyes bright - any second now, he was going to start laughing, and that would piss Ryan off, because he hated laughing at himself but it was impossible not to join in when Jon laughed. 'No offence, dude, but it's really not that hard.'
'I can't get the coordination right,' Ryan told them grumpily. He'd only had this discussion, oh, a million times. 'I don't know, my hands just aren't made for it or something.'
Brendon blinked. 'Um. Are you serious?'
'Ryan,' Spencer said, with a condescending and patient air that made Ryan narrow his eyes. 'You do kind of have the longest fingers in the world.'
'I know!' Ryan did know. They sometimes freaked him out when he was high. 'They get in the way! I can't help it!'
Jon's mouth twitched some more. '... you know they are actually attached to you, right?'
'Yes,' Ryan said. He opened his mouth, planning a cutting response, but the other three just stared at him, and he shut it again. It was too hard to be cool when your whole band was ganging up on you. He said, a little pitifully, 'You shouldn't be mean to me.'
Spencer laughed, eyes warm and fond, and Brendon shook his head. Spencer said, 'We're really not, dude. You're a big boy. Give the goddamn wooden sticks a try.'
'I can't,' Ryan insisted. 'Listen, alright - I don't get why, but I can't, and it's good for you guys that you can all manage it and that Brendon is the fucking, Chopstick Master or something, but I'm really bored of having this argument.'
'Ryan,' Brendon said. 'This is so dumb.'
'Brendon,' Ryan said. 'Shut the fuck up.'
'You should be able to handle it,' Jon said, in that really sweet, earnest way he got sometimes. 'It's not so difficult - you managed to get the basic drum rhythm right, remember? Chopsticks are easier than that!'
'It's different,' Ryan said. 'That's music.'
'It shouldn't be-'
'Well, it is.' Ryan folded his arms and glared.
Spencer took a deep breath. 'You can handle eyeliner and mascara and shit without worrying about it.'
'There's only one of them. Two's where I fall down.'
Brendon said, almost helplessly, 'Your hands-'
'Can we stop talking about them, please?' Ryan hunched them defensively under his armpits and said, 'I can't do it, anyway. My coordination's screwed or the chopsticks are too weird or the left side of my brain won't work properly or whatever. It's probably something really dumb. My hands are always cold, I bet that's it.'
There was a long pause. Finally Brendon swallowed, Adam's apple dragging against the line of his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, and then cleared his throat and tried again. 'I could warm them up for you?'
Spencer threw an orange at his head.
1.
The chopsticks came with the meal, and it wasn't like they didn't have plenty of forks on the bus, but Ryan found himself sitting on the floor in the middle of the lounge eyeing them mournfully anyway. 'You really shouldn't be this hard to master,' he told the chopsticks. 'I play guitar. I paint. You're-'
'Huh?' Brendon said, sticking his head around the door.
Ryan jumped. 'Nothing!' he said. 'Nothing, sorry, just talking to myself.'
'Okay,' Brendon said, and almost went to move on, then double taked and turned back to the doorway. He lounged against the frame and looked at Ryan with a mixture of fondness and amusement. 'Dude,' he said, 'Still?'
'Don't,' Ryan said. 'It's just frustrating.'
'It's really not that hard,' Brendon said. He stood there for a moment, and then sighed and crossed the floor to Ryan. 'Come on. Pick them up.'
'Brendon,' Ryan began, but then stopped, suddenly a little short of breath. Brendon was pressing up behind Ryan, moulding himself to Ryan's back, tucking his chin over Ryan's shoulder. Ryan asked, 'What are you doing?'
'Pick them up,' Brendon repeated, and Ryan reached for the chopsticks awkwardly. When he had them clutched in his hand, Brendon slid his fingers through Ryan's, linking them together, and Ryan promptly dropped them again. Brendon laughed softly, breath warm against Ryan's ear, and reached with Ryan to pick them up.
Ryan was aware, somewhere, of Brendon guiding his fingers, of Brendon twisting them into the right shape and moving together, ever so slowly, to pick up the fried rice. He even opened his mouth right on time, felt a little surprise somewhere deep down and far away in that they had managed to get a decent mouthful up on the chopsticks, but all of that seemed somewhat irrelevant.
It was just hard to pay much attention to an old grudge against a particular sort of utensil or even hunger for his dinner when Brendon was wound around him like that. He was pressed warm and firm up against Ryan's back, smiling so that Ryan could feel the way his face moved with it against Ryan's own cheek. Ryan tried not to close his eyes, to tilt his head back in a way that would be entirely too obvious, but it was hard not to at the very least lean back into him, to think stupid, dizzy things about odd reactions that lasted too long, and that stupid way Brendon winked at him, long ago enough that Ryan shouldn't still be thinking about it, shouldn't still be adding up all the different possibilities and motives in his head.
'Good,' Brendon breathed, and they carried another mouthful up. Ryan swallowed and felt Brendon do the same behind him, almost automatically, and then he thought - huh. Brendon was breathing slow and easy behind him, but Ryan was pressed up tight enough that he could feel Brendon's heartbeat against his back, and his pulse was lying against Ryan's wrist, too. It was very quick, mirroring Ryan's, and when Ryan tilted his head just enough that he could sort of see Brendon's face out of the corner of his eye, Brendon's expression was smooth and intent, hair falling over his forehead.
It was about time, Ryan thought, that he learned how to be brave.
'Um,' he said. Then he smirked. 'So, is that a pair of chopsticks in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?'
'Oh my God,' Brendon said, and dropped Ryan's hand like it burned, scrambling away across the floor. Ryan turned and grinned at him, and Brendon stared back at him in wide-eyed disbelief. 'I can't believe you just said that. I'm not!'
'I know you're not,' Ryan said. Brendon's cheeks were flushed, though, his eyes overly bright, and Ryan wasn't so nervous anymore. 'I don't think I'm entirely wrong, though.'
'I don't know what you mean,' Brendon said firmly, averting his gaze. He glanced back at Ryan once, though, very quickly, like he couldn't help it, and Ryan thought, oh, about fucking time.
He said, 'Brendon,' voice soft, and then crawled across the floor, stopping just in front of him. Brendon looked at him, eyes frightened and hopeful at the same time.
'Really?' he asked.
'Yeah,' Ryan said, and leaned up. Brendon met him halfway, and his mouth was warm and soft and half-open already for Ryan, just like Ryan had hoped.
*
'Brendon,' Ryan murmured, 'don't move.'
Brendon's mouth fell open.
'I mean it. Don't move.'
'Not moving,' Brendon said. 'Too busy - '
'Don't talk, either. And stop grinning like that. You're distracting me.'
'I'm -'
'Shhhh!'
Brendon snapped his mouth shut obligingly.
A moment later, he opened it again. 'Ryan - '
'Shhh!'
'You know you're going to have to - '
Ryan lowered his hand by half an inch and glared at Brendon. 'I'm going to have to what, Brendon?'
Brendon took a step back. Ryan liked to glare at people a lot, but he wasn't usually armed when he did so.
On the other hand, he wasn't usually balancing three grains of rice between his chopsticks, either. Brendon stepped back towards the couch. 'You're going to have to move if you want to eat the rice.'
'And?'
'And ... you're not moving.' Brendon took another step.
'I'm exactly where I need to be. Everything is exactly where it needs to be. The bowl, the chopsticks, the rice. Everything is fine. Now shush, I need to concentrate.' Ryan raised his hand again, biting his lip.
Brendon pouted. 'But, Ryan -'
'"But, Ryan", nothing.' You've spent all evening distracting me - ' Ryan looked up from his chopsticks and they smiled at each other - 'and now I want to practice chopsticks so that I can show Spencer in the morning, and then torture him all day with the various new and creative ways that I intend to cut off his beard.'
Brendon spared half a wistful thought for whatever madness Ryan felt like wreaking on Spencer's beard, then took another step forwards. His legs hit the coffee table.
'And then you can distract me again,' Ryan added as an afterthought.
Brendon grinned. 'Sounds fun,' he said, 'but don't get too comfortable, I'm hiding your rice.' In a single daring swoop, Brendon leant down to grab at Ryan's bowl, then darted to the other side of the room, holding it in both hands above his head. 'Ha!'
Ryan's mouth dropped open. 'Why would you do that?' he asked in a horrified voice. 'Brendon, give it back!'
Brendon shook his head. 'Nope,' he said smugly, and wiggled his hips a little. 'If you want it, you're going to have to come and get it.'
Ryan looked frustrated for a second. Then he looked back at his chopsticks with their three grains of rice, affecting an uncaring expression.
Brendon grinned. He positioned the bowl of rice on the bookshelf behind him, then started walking very, very slowly towards the kitchen. 'I eat with chopsticks, can you eat with chopsticks,' he hummed quietly, and grinned wider when Ryan let out a roar of frustration.
'That is it, Urie!' he shouted, and dropping the chopsticks on the coffee table, scrambled over the arm of the couch to get at Brendon. 'You just wait until I get my hands on - '
'Is that a promise?' Brendon asked, then yelped delightedly as Ryan tackled him to the ground.
'Yes, it's a promise,' Ryan growled, and seriously, maybe Brendon made the wrong decision in taking food away from him, because -
'Dude, you're like. Ridiculously pointy. And sharp. And kind of - ow, fucker, that hurt.'
'Did it,' replied Ryan as he extricated his elbow from Brendon's stomach. 'Well, if you're complaining ...'
'Not complaining,' said Brendon hurriedly. He pulled Ryan's arm back in. 'Definitely not complaining. I like pointy. Chopsticks are pointy and I'm like, a chopstick virtuoso, remember?'
'Hmmm.' Ryan didn't look altogether convinced but he smiled down at Brendon anyway, and Brendon licked his lips and smiled right back.