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behindthec) wrote2008-12-18 07:40 am
Let Us Fall, Let Us Fight [Day 5 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]
Author:
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lolabRating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/William
Kink du Jour: A bit o' light s&m.
Word Count: ~1,900
Disclaimer: Fiction as far as I know.
Summary: "This is what they all warned me about, isn't it?"
Notes: Vignette 5 of 12; Bden's ~Sekrit Kink Series based on email/IM/comment requests from this fic (now #7 in the series). One a day through Christmas: here is my holiday gift to my friendslist. ;)
Please visit the master post for a list of all 12 vignettes. You can read them independently, but they are connected, so it's much better to read them in order.
The first time Brendon drinks, he gets sick.
The second time, he gets naked.
It's a vast improvement, he thinks, despite everyone's warnings. Including Pete's. He knows if Pete Wentz is warning, he probably ought to take it seriously.
But he decides pretty soon that they're all nuts, because drunk William-Bilvy-Bill Beckett is a kitten, seriously.
No, like literally, he weighs as much as a cat, walks like a cat, has sharp, sexy cat eyes and a cute triangle cat nose and that little built-in, barely-there cat smile.
"And I purr," he adds to Brendon's rambling mess of descriptors.
"Liar. Haven't seen it," Brendon counters, sprawling himself a little wider on Academy's back lounge sofa. Bill's knees dig into his back where he's slouched underneath him, but it's a small price to pay to be spread across the lap of a pretty, pretty rock star who's stroking his hair.
"That," Tom interjects suddenly in a struggle to help Mike drunk-tune his guitar, looking up to set huge baby-blues on Brendon, "is because it only happens when he's fucking."
He nods graciously to Bill, smirking too knowingly to keep Brendon's dick from making a curious little twitch at the implication. Bill raises his half-empty bottle of JD at Tom and returns both nod and smirk.
Brendon glances between them and loves alcohol.
"I love alcohol," he announces.
Tom snorts. Bill smiles down at him fondly, tugging a bit on his hair. Jon looks up from where he's slumped against the couch with his iPod, and beams. "It loves you too."
"And I love you, Jon Jacob Jinglewalker."
Everyone with at least a drop of alcohol in their bloodstream cackles, but Jon just smiles bigger, is just drunk enough that he leans back, twists his neck to press a light, friendly kiss against Brendon's lips. Brendon's not so far gone that he misses Ryan's wide-eyed stare from across the lounge (he's assigned himself Brendon Babysitting Duty tonight, the goddamned martyr).
"Hey now. Bden's mine tonight," Bill claims, and this is news to Brendon, but hey, yes much? "Go get your own, Jonny."
"I'm afraid I'm one of a kind," Brendon sighs, rolling onto his stomach and resting his head on Bill's narrow thigh.
"That you are, puppy," Bill agrees, stroking long, lazy lines down his back. "That you are."
It's the stage of the night where most of the alcohol has worn off and things have quieted down, most of the bands asleep or at least back on their own buses, or else dissolved into meaningless chatter or indulgent displays of physical affection. It's also close to the do-or-die point, when you either let the alcohol run its course and fall asleep, or get up and go wild until you pass out anyway but at least you've made it worth the hangover.
The evening's been largely uneventful despite a game of strip poker, and Brendon feels unsettled, like he's waiting for more, more something, more anything, and like maybe someone else is waiting for it too.
The someone else finally gets a clear name and face when Bill's hand slips down to smooth over the curve of his ass, and Brendon exhales long and slow for the first time all night.
"You have such a great ass, Brenny Bear," Bill announces dreamily, pressing his hand down to cup one cheek. "I kinda just want to spank it."
Brendon cranes his neck around to shoot him his fangirl-melting smile, one eyebrow carefully quirked. "...You could."
Suddenly Ryan bolts from the couch and leaves the bus without a word, a sound, a glance back. Brendon's the only one who seems to notice, so he pretends he doesn't.
Something swirly and calculating slips into Bill's eyes as he looks down at Brendon, grinning, and all the warnings at once flood back into Brendon's sleepy consciousness.
Will fuck you UP, seriously man.
He wiggles around till his head's nestled teasingly between Bill's legs, grins back at him, and thinks, he might be okay with that.
+++
"Fuck, I -- shit -- do -- do people always -- oh god -- always just -- do what you tell them to?"
Bill chuckles at a low level that's new to Brendon's ears, his mouth hovering in the curve of Brendon's neck and he bites down hard, quick, promising, before taking hold of his hips and flipping him around against the door of the now-empty lounge, fingers creeping around the hem of Brendon's t-shirt.
"If they know what's good for them," he answers breathily, yanking the shirt up and off in a fast, swishy flourish.
Brendon gasps, loud and uninhibited because it's been a long time since he's had the freedom of an empty bus, and even longer since he's had reason to make this kind of noise.
"What about you?" Bill asks, alternately biting-sucking-licking on any bit of Brendon's neck he can reach, fingers working fast to divest Brendon of his jeans. "Will you do what I tell you to?"
"Don't know," Brendon gasps as he braces his arms against the door, pressing his ass back into Bill's crotch and damn proud of himself that his voice is still working.
"You don't know?" Swoosh; a rush of cold air as his pants drop to his ankles before Bill draws four sharp nails hard across Brendon's back, digging in deep on the drag down and fuck, it hurts, seriously hurts like maybe there'd be blood if he looked, but judging by the moan that's wrenched from him at the sensation, he figures his body is still in thumbs-up mode.
"Yeah," he replies, cheeky and overconfident and totally fucking breathless, but hey. "Depends on how nicely you ask."
"Wh--"
He grins as he jerks around, clamping his hands around Bill's hipbones and flipping him until their positions have switched, only they're face to face now and Brendon's got Bill's hands pinned over his head and pressed harsh against the door. Bill's eyelids flutter drunkenly, his lips drawn up in an approving smirk as he arches his hips forward, searching for some friction. Brendon's impressed that Bill apparently managed to get them both naked somehow, but he doesn't give in, holding his body back despite Bill's whine and his little protesting thrusts.
"You're stronger than you look," Bill tells him.
"And you are a closet sub."
"Sometimes." Bill shrugs. "But not now."
There's a blur and the sound of skin on skin, clamping tight and fighting, protesting, wrestling until Brendon finds himself flat on his back on the floor, looking up into the most obnoxiously triumphant face he's seen since Spencer finally beat him at Guitar Hero. He can already feel a sweet case of rug burn beginning to work itself into his back, and he's a little winded from the impact, but Bill's straddling him, grinding down against his dick, hands braced on his shoulders, and as helpless as Brendon feels, his dick is still flushed and curved all the way up to his stomach and he's gonna take that as a green light.
Bill smiles, climbing off him enough to give Brendon room to move if he chooses. "Turn over, hands and knees."
"Make me."
Bill raises an eyebrow, lunging in close until their lips are nearly touching. "No. You're gonna do it because you want to do it, because you want this, because you know what's coming and you know you deserve it and we both know you're sick of being a virgin."
He cocks his head to the side, smiles sweetly, and leans back to wait.
Brendon's eighteen and his dick is totally the devil on his shoulder right now and all he can do is comply.
"Good... good, so good," Bill whispers as he drapes himself over Brendon's back, stroking soft fingers down the long red marks Brendon can already feel rising on his skin, before coming to rest on the curve of his ass, and his body knows what's coming even as Bill whispers, "Anyone ever tell you you're very impudent?"
It comes out broken, his voice wrecked, but he laughs as Spencer's face flashes across his mind and says, "Yeah, actually."
"Hmm." And it's the last thing resembling speech as Bill's hand disappears and reappears suddenly, the harsh sting of his palm against Brendon's ass sending fireworks up his spine, and he's pretty sure this isn't supposed to be this much of a turn-on, but he knows when not to complain.
The action's repeated, once, twice, three times until he loses count, body pulsing with pain and arousal in equal measure and Bill's gasping with every blow, his cock occasionally brushing up against Brendon and holy shit, Bill's getting off on this too, and Brendon's halfway ready to beg, but suddenly the rhythm and sting are gone and Bill's leaning back over him, breath thick and heated in his ear.
"Can I fuck you?"
No pretty much vanishes from Brendon's vocabulary at that point.
Bill's careful, preps him well enough and his fingers are amazing, skilled, gorgeous and long and thin (much like Ryan's, too much), and he's not much bigger than Brendon but it's still rough, shocking at the first intrusion. He's not sober enough to hold back for long, but Brendon's already got endorphins exploding through his system from before so it works, somehow, the pain-pleasure-desperation of it (and he purrs, he does!) and Brendon can't even remember if a hand ever finds its way to his dick, but he's coming across the harsh flat carpet of the lounge floor only seconds before Bill goes stiff and jerky behind him, finally stilling with his chest pressed to Brendon's back, damp and smooth and overheated and awesome.
The salty sweat makes the marks on his back sting even more, but Brendon can only bring himself to grin.
Bill collapses next to him, half on top of him, half sprawled out and occupying the entire floor, limp and ragdolly when Brendon shifts to his side to face him.
"Mm," Bill grins sleepily, and Brendon smiles back.
"This is what they all warned me about, isn't it?"
He smiles wider, draping an arm across his face to block out the light. "Nah. I went easy on you."
Brendon chuckles, his throat dry and hoarse. "I like you."
"I like you too, puppy." His expression turns suddenly awake and dead sober as he faces Brendon, eyes focused, wide and worrisome. "Don't fall in love with me."
Brendon almost laughs but for how goddamned serious Bill sounds. "I -- okay, no."
"I mean it."
"Dude, I. I'm in love with Ryan."
"Ah!" Bill punches the air, if a bit lazily, and smiles. "Yes. Good! Oh, I mean -- awww."
Brendon smiles, grateful for Bill's comforting presence to lessen this sinking feeling, having just said the words aloud for the first time.
"You'll figure it out," Bill tells him, and it's vague and doesn't make much sense -- less so with him half asleep, eyes closed and one lanky arm draped across Brendon's middle.
But Brendon closes his eyes and says, "Yeah," because he will, he will, even if he's not sure what it is he's supposed to be figuring out.
+++
In the morning there's a steaming double-shot cup of Starbucks on the table in his own bus, set atop a pink post-it labeled "Brendon" in the messy scrawl Ryan uses when he's trying to disguise his handwriting.
[# 6 tomorrow.]
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