Colin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
behindthec) wrote2008-05-30 07:00 pm
behindthec) wrote2008-05-30 07:00 pm
...Than Any Boy You’ll Ever Meet (1/1) | Brendon/Jon | NC-17
Title: ...Than Any Boy You’ll Ever Meet [1/1]
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lolab
Pairing: Brendon/Jon; some rather amusing Ryden refs.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Q: “What’s the most ridiculous thing you ever bought?” Pete: “Ryan Ross.” So yeah. Pete’s. Not mine. Fictional as far as I know.
Warnings: BOYSECKZ! CockyExperienced!Bden, (UNF, yes pls). One (1) slightly disturbing reference to Winnie-the-Pooh.
Summary: “Are you hitting on me?”
Dedications: This is entirely forfalling_words who begged for Walkie smut (and “Jon’s first time with a boy,” the most ridiculous inside joke ever); and for Jon’s Jacket of Heterosexuality™, which has rapidly become epic. Also for bunniesontoast, for ryanrossphonesex and 3:25-3:35 of TAI TV episode 5 and for being awesome. :)
Author’s Notes: The prompt was to write what took place after the first video here (classiiiiiic!), so you kind of need to watch that first.
more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck...
“So, dudes included, huh?”
There’s a small clatter from the bathroom, nothing exaggerated or overdramatic, just enough for Jon to know he was heard. When Brendon emerges, freshly clean and toothbrushed in his Spiderman pajama pants and “Save a tour bus, ride a rock star” t-shirt (out of all the things he could have stolen from Beckett... Jesus Christ), his face is pretty much poker-solid for three whole seconds. And to be expected, it vanishes, shot to the side by a huge, theatrical smile, the kind he uses onstage.
“So you remembered that,” he states obviously, and a little too loudly.
“Kinda, yeah, seeing as you sorta yelled it into a microphone when I was like, five feet away.”
Brendon laughs, high-pitched and nervous and carrying what Jon would describe as a very “Okay, whoa” vibe.
“Dude, it’s,” he offers helplessly. “I mean. It’s okay. It’s – ” And, okay, yeah, it is, but something here is not, and it’s just... oh. “Oh – oh my god. Did you – did you just accidentally come out – ”
“In front of two thousand people? Yes I did, Jon. Yes. Thanks for noticing.” And his breath’s a little stiff, a little short, but he’s smiling, and, okay, that’s good.
But then Jon starts laughing, and that’s... probably really not.
“You asshole!” Brendon yelps, but he’s already on the bed smushing pillows into various parts of Jon’s body, Jon’s laughter fueling his own, until he’s got Jon’s arms pinned over his head and he’s straddling his waist.
Jon grins up at him. “Sorry,” he chokes out through giggles.
“Mmm, convincing!”
“Hey, it’s not like we didn’t know, man.”
“How?!”
“It’s obvious!”
“How?!”
And Jon’s laughing again, hard, because Brendon is being serious about this, he really doesn’t know, and...
“Okay, dude, you’re straddling me and you smell like moisturizer and you’re – ” His eyes dart around, looking for more immediate evidence, when – “Brendon, you’re wearing pink underwear for fuck’s sake!”
“They’re salmon!” he cries indignantly as he yanks his pajama pants up to cover the evidence, crawling off Jon and curling up on his side to face him. “You’re mean, Jon Walker. You’re a mean, mean boy. I’m mailing you back to William.”
“Don’t be five right now,” Jon sighs, and Brendon narrows his eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re sexier when you’re all nervous and clueless and shit.”
Brendon’s eyes un-narrow, if ever so slightly, but they remain fixed to Jon’s until – yeah, there it is, half a second later, the moment Jon realizes what he’s just said and turns away, staring at the ceiling.
“I didn’t say that out loud.”
“Yeah, you so did.”
And he can hear the mile-wide grin in Brendon’s voice, which makes it a thousand times worse.
“I’m just fucking with you,” Jon says, turning back to Brendon with a smile and hoping it’s the truth.
“I know,” Brendon smiles back.
“You know it’s cool, right? Like, even if you start talking with a lisp and raving about Prada shoes, we’ll still love you – ”
“Ugh, I hate you!” Brendon shrieks, back to laughing and attempting rather fruitlessly to bury Jon alive with a small country’s supply of fluffy hotel pillows.
“Ow!” Jon whines suddenly. “Dude, either this has gone way too far, or I’m sitting on the remote.”
Brendon snorts, climbing off and letting Jon readjust; meanwhile it seems it was the remote after all, as the TV abruptly comes to life and a low-volume round of Jeopardy greets them.
They settle back, shoulders propped against the headboard and pillows, and stare quietly at the television set for a moment, until Brendon yells out,
“What is a wooly mammoth?”
Jon snickers when he’s wrong.
“Shut up. What is Antarctica!”
Wrong again.
“This is why we should have gone to college,” Jon decides.
“What is Memorial Day!”
“So have you ever done it with a guy?”
There’s a little pause, just hinting at possible nerves, when Brendon announces, “No, Jon. You’re doing it wrong. You make a statement, and I answer it with a question. That’s how Jeopardy works. Like, you’d say, ‘You’ve done it with a guy,’ and I’d say, ‘What is an inappropriate way to approach the subject?’, and then – ”
Jon’s laughing too hard for him to continue. “C’mon, I’m serious.”
Brendon stops guessing answers then, but keeps his eyes firmly on the television. “Yeah, like a million times, before Ryan met Keltie.”
“...Oh. So. Oh. I. Shit.” Yeah Jon, pretty much covers it. “I – sorry, I didn’t – ”
“’S’okay, man,” Brendon smiles at him. “It’s been like, two years.”
“Yeah.”
“I miss it though.”
“Yeah? You mean – you miss him?”
“Well, kind of, but mostly just sex.”
Jon chuckles, because he’s pretty sure if he’s chuckling in such a manly fashion, he can’t possibly be blushing. “You’re a rock star, man, you can have sex whenever you want.”
“Yeah, but.” He inclines his head, his eyes suddenly seeming a lot darker and a lot bigger to Jon than they did three seconds ago. “It’s different with a guy.”
“...Oh. Well.” Speak, Walker. You remember how. “Yeah. I mean. I guess. Yeah.”
“It’s just... so much more intense, you know?”
“I.” Speeeeeeak. “No, I, uh. I wouldn’t.”
“It’s nothing like girls... girls are so cautious and perfumey and fluffy and sensitive... guys are just. They know every inch of you, y’know? They know just how to touch... certain, assured, y’know... hard if you want it. They’re not afraid to... take control.”
Jon, most unfortunately, picks this moment to realize Brendon’s eyes haven’t left his.
“It’s like another world,” Brendon finishes in a whisper.
And then Jon finally remembers he’s a guy, and guys don’t lose it in situations like this, they address things head-on, and, yeah. So.
He blinks and swallows, and he really doesn’t think that fits very well with the whole guy thing in all this, but. “Brendon.”
“Mmm.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Yeah.” Brendon’s breath has gone a little short again, and he grins, just a bit, nervous and dare we think it, shy, before squeezing his eyes shut. “And if you’re completely freaked out just tell me now and I’ll go get Ryan to switch rooms with me and also I’m really really sorry don’t hate me I just like you a lot and I’m. Okay. I’ll shut up.”
And it really isn’t supposed to be like this, with Jon thinking that was so much sexier than it should have been, but thankfully, that’s the last bit of thinking Jon does – at least of the rational variety.
He gulps, his body wanting badly to say so many things his mind does not. “I. I’m not freaked out.” (Most obviously, his body triumphs.)
Brendon’s eyes shoot open, looking magnified in their close proximity and making it even harder for Jon to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. “You’re not?”
He shakes his head. Or he assumes he must’ve, because of what happens next.
What happens next is Brendon breathing “Thank god” in that low, breathy, “Lying is the Most Fun” voice before closing those last few inches and covering Jon’s mouth with his, shifting until he’s on top and slipping one hand between their bodies to crawl underneath Jon’s shirt, drawing some serious gasps from the older boy and just, whoa, okay, because this all happened in the space of like, one heartbeat, and if that just set the stage, Jon’s pretty sure whatever else is coming cannot possibly be bad in any conceivable way.
Brendon’s mouth is soft, deep, warm, more than warm, on fucking fire and it takes a fuck of a lot of willpower not to moan right into it, especially with those nimble, calloused musician’s hands sliding under his shirt, a thumb running lightly over one nipple and then lower to stroke the sides of his torso, soft but strong, pressing in all the right places. Brendon’s body, though small, is solid and weighted in a really fucking perfect way, curving and arching to mould with Jon’s at every inch, making Jon feel insulated and, strangely, kind of safe.
Brendon’s right is his first thought; it’s nothing like a girl. And his second thought is, most shockingly to him, it’s better.
Brendon whimpers when Jon’s hands finally remember they’re connected to his brain and begin groping, graceless but with compensating enthusiasm, and that sets off a spark in Jon’s dwindling consciousness, that tiny little noise coming from one of the most gorgeous creatures he can remember encountering in this lifetime (wait, what, when did he start thinking of Brendon as gorgeous?), that noise coming because of him, and that sets him off and he’s abandoning pretenses, moaning right into those full, smirking lips.
Hey, wait. Smirking?
Brendon pulls back to look in his eyes and he is, indeed, smirking. “Yeah?”
“Um.”
“Mmmm. Like that, Walker?” Brendon dips his hands just below the waistband of Jon’s pants, tickling the skin underneath.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Brendon’s grin is smug, but Jon doesn’t care. He’s grinning back, letting his fingers dance under Brendon’s shirt, stroking the softly muscled planes of his back. “Hi.”
“Hey, you.” Brendon’s hands begin wandering a little harder, a little more adventurously. “Mmm, so, what do you want, huh?” His head dips down, mouth closing gently around Jon’s neck and fuck, he’s supposed to answer questions at a time like this? “I could give you the best blowjob of your life...” Brendon starts and, okay, Jon’s pretty sure he’s getting hard – “Or I could give you the best fuck of your life...”
Yeah. Definitely hard now.
“Or...” Brendon sighs lazily into his neck, “I could give you the best blowjob of your life and then give you the best fuck of your life...”
Jon’s glad he’s got enough sense of self left to start laughing. “Somebody has a high opinion of his skills.”
Brendon pulls back, smirk intact. “Jon Walker.”
“Brendon Urie,” he coos, playing along.
“Have you ever heard Ryan scream?”
...Ohhhhh, and also, god.
“N-no.”
Brendon’s eyebrow inches upward, his face closing in until their noses are nearly touching. “I have.”
It’s enough, Jon makes some indefinite noise and curls his free hand around Brendon’s neck, pulling him back down to reunite their mouths, hard and frantic and so fucking good, why is this so fucking good, and Brendon just lets him, for several long, lazy moments until he slinks back and begins nuzzling Jon’s neck again, nipping and sucking as teasingly as he can manage.
“Yeah, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Come on, we both know Ryan’s gorgeous... thinking about him screaming... spread out on his hands and knees, begging for it... oh yeah, he begs... bet you didn’t know that...”
“Jesus, you’re a perv,” Jon hisses, but he’s smiling against Brendon’s neck and he knows Brendon can feel it, the proof lying in that grin when he pulls back.
“You’re the one who was thinking about it.”
Jon shrugs. “I was mostly thinking of you.”
“Me?”
“About what exactly you did to make him scream.”
It takes a few seconds of Brendon’s eyes and body being completely frozen before Jon realizes the younger boy’s breath is escaping in quick, shallow spurts, before a slow grin moves over his lips.
“Well,” Brendon whispers, voice husky and thick, “now you’re talkin’.”
His lips and hands are back on Jon but deliberately now, not just for the high of it but with a purpose, a purpose made very clear when Jon finds his clothes being gradually peeled from his body and somehow, god only knows through all this kissing, he’s managed to get rid of Brendon’s too, noting vaguely how vastly improved life is without bra hooks.
He doesn’t even realize they’re both naked until, when he thrusts his hips upward, he’s met with Brendon’s cock instead of his pants, and –
“Fucking shit.”
--yeah.
Brendon’s smile is wide as ever as his mouth starts a slow, indirect journey down Jon’s body, those familiar, ridiculous, girly butterfly kisses now being substituting with teeth and tongue, sucking at all the most sensitive spots (and Christ, how does Brendon know them all?) as one strong hand slides up his thigh, coming to rest at his hip, and when Brendon’s other hand follows the same path on the opposite side, both hands settling on Jon’s hips with a distinct pressure... Jon gets it.
And it’s a good (while slightly overconfident) move on Brendon’s part, because when he offers one last smirk and takes Jon into his mouth with just the right formula of tongue, lips, pressure, and oh god, Jon’s hips attempt to buck up of their own accord, before he finds himself held firmly in place by a pair of well prepared hands.
And Brendon’s weird little foresight should really not be such a turn-on, and yet.
He thinks that’s probably when he starts moaning, and he’s got no idea when or if he ever stops. Because, yeah, okay, Brendon knows exactly what he’s doing, knows just how hard to suck and when to swirl his tongue over the head and it just so happens he can deep-throat like nobody’s fucking business – but that’s not even what sends Jon over the edge. It’s watching – seeing that perfect, perfect, made-for-this mouth drawing him in, Brendon’s eyes wide and bright and glued to Jon’s like he knows he’s gonna make him come like this, with just one look...
And he does. He fucking does. Brendon raises one eyebrow and that’s it, Jon doesn’t even try to hold onto his dignity, just spills into that white-hot, anticipating mouth, and Brendon takes it, all of it, and if Jon didn’t know better he could swear that little smirk is back, carrying him through his climax.
He doesn’t bother with words as he pulls Brendon back up to him, ravaging his mouth while Brendon hums contentedly against his lips.
Jon pushes him back, still breathless. “Condoms?”
Brendon shrugs, eyes wandering idly. “Yeah, I guess maybe I’ve got some lying around somewhere...”
“Urie, I swear to god – ” Jon shoves him off, maybe a little too hard because Brendon kind of falls off the bed, or maybe that’s just because he’s laughing. “Sorry,” Jon laughs back half-heartedly, but Brendon’s only response is to toss a sock at him as he leans over, rummaging through his bag.
He makes quite a performance of it despite being pretty much hard as a rock, Jon can’t help but notice (I mean it’s right there, okay), wondering where Brendon gets this kind of self-control as he lifts random items from his bag, sets them carefully on the desk or the chair where Jon’s jacket is hanging (and probably disapproving highly of how much Jon is really not wearing it right now). He’s teasing, Jon knows it, but it doesn’t stop him from expressing his frustration in a drawn-out, melodramatic sigh worthy of Brendon himself.
Brendon chuckles, low in his throat, as he sets an iPod on the chair.
“What??” Jon hisses.
“You’re staring at my ass.”
“I am no—” And Jon really can’t say it because, yeah, he really kind of is. Like, a lot. “How did – ”
Brendon turns around at last, brandishing a shiny metallic wrapper in one hand and a little bottle of clear liquid in the other, eyebrows wiggling.
Jon shakes his head. “You’re a dork.”
“A dork who’s gonna fuck you senseless, Jon Walker,” Brendon purrs, sauntering back to the bed and plopping down, covering Jon’s body and kissing away the gasps escaping Jon’s mouth at the feeling of Brendon’s skin against his, more intoxicating than ever from the brief absence.
Jon doesn’t have time to consider how he really shouldn’t be thinking about another dude’s skin as intoxicating, because it’s right about then that Brendon’s hand slides down his body, halting just between his legs, and – oh.
“So.” And Brendon’s lowsexysultry voice is back to the fullest, doing really disastrous things to Jon, specifically to his cock, which is already hard. Again.
Jesus.
“So,” Jon echoes, willing his voice to remain steady.
“You’ve never, uh...?”
“Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention the two dozen guys I just boned while you were bent over your suitcase?”
“I knew you were looking!”
“Where else was I gonna look?!”
“No, you were looking. You want me.”
“...Less every second, babe.”
But Jon’s smiling, that warm, open, guileless spread of lips that Brendon knows too well, knows and, if he lets himself think it, maybe even loves.
Brendon’s smiling too, but it’s fading, tongue darting briefly out over his lips before he frees both hands to unscrew the cap on the bottle. “So. You’re sure, right?”
Jon rolls his eyes. “Fuck you.”
“Oh, well, we could do that too, yeah – ”
And Brendon’s halfway to sprawling out on his back when Jon just laughs and pulls him back, yanking him down on top of him to make his intentions as clear as humanly possible without reducing himself to begging.
He’s not Ryan, after all.
Brendon takes the hint and shuts the hell up, thank god, as he slicks up his fingers, dipping his hand back between Jon’s legs and slowly pressing one finger inside and that’s – okay. Really not so bad at all.
“Hey.” Brendon smiles. “Breathe.”
Oh yeah, that.
“Shut up,” Jon snaps, grinning back. “More.”
...Okay, that didn’t count as begging, did it.
Brendon is apparently wondering the same thing, one eyebrow rising at the same pace that he slowly slides in a second finger, working them through the tightness and pushing in a little further, waiting for the hint that he’s nailed that spot, his eyes glued to Jon’s face in fascination. Jon has no fucking clue what his face must look like, but apparently –
Brendon smiles. “You have no idea how sexy you are right now,” he whispers, just before he curls his fingers half an inch.
“Jesus!”
“Thought so, yeah,” Brendon breathes, almost to himself. “You like that?”
Jon nods, currently very mistrustful of his verbal ability.
“Mmm. You want more?”
Another nod.
“This one’s probably gonna hurt. Relax, yeah?”
One more nod, though Jon’s tempted to snap back that people generally can’t relax when told to do so.
But he tries, inhaling sharply at the initial intrusion of a third finger, almost on the verge of thinking, okay, this really fucking burns, and then Brendon’s right back at that spot, working it like he never left, and –
“Holy. Shit.”
“Mmmm.” Brendon’s leaning over him now, pressed against him as much as he can at this angle, dropping his face to rest in the crook of Jon’s neck, where he’s drawing little circles with his tongue. “Wanted to do this for so long, man.”
Jon gasps, whether from surprise or just the whole fucking beyond-words sensation, he’ll never know, but Brendon’s words are pounding in his head now and they just won’t leave.
“Remember the first time I met you,” Brendon goes on, working his fingers like fucking magic, and while Jon really feels he should be telling Brendon to shut the fuck up, for once he just... doesn’t want to. “You were so fucking adorable, and such a guy...”
“Yeah,” Jon chokes, “I think I’m still a guy, Bren.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you are...” Brendon scoots himself downward just far enough to take Jon’s cock back in his mouth and --
“Fucking hell, man!”
-- really, really not expecting that.
Brendon releases it with an audible pop and grins. “Yeah, definitely a guy.”
“And you’re a fucking tease,” Jon manages between gasps, rolling his eyes.
“Mmm, yeah? You want something?”
“Shut the fuck up, Brendon, I beg you.”
Ah, there it was. Familiarity. Even Brendon sees it, his grin widening in recognition.
“That’s the Jon I know.”
And before Jon can complain any further, Brendon’s removed his fingers, reaching for the condom and tossing it at Jon as he wipes his hand on a corner of the sheet.
“Um.”
Brendon looks up. “I assume you’ve used these before.”
Jon shoots him a distinct Next time, I’m punching you look, but manages to rip open the wrapper and hand it to Brendon, who slips it on, fisting himself quickly to make sure it’s on good enough and. Okay. Seriously. Jon, don’t even, but... fuck, that was hot.
He makes sure to remember that whole damn breathing thing as Brendon hovers over him, positioning them both until Jon can feel a slight pressure, a pressure that is definitely not fingers, and yeah, somehow that is really totally okay with Jon right now.
It stops, right there; Brendon’s breath is short and rough again, and seriously, at what point did that become so god damn sexy? “Okay?” he breathes, swallowing hard.
Jon nods, speechless at the amount of self-control in this manic hyperactive kid with more energy than Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh, and –
Really. Okay. Because Brendon’s cock is up against his ass and he’s thinking about Winnie-the-fucking-Pooh.
And that makes him kind of giggle.
“What?” Brendon chokes, smiling back but clearly, though patiently, fighting his restraint.
“Nothing,” Jon assures him, placing a hand around Brendon’s neck and rubbing gently at the soft skin below his hair. “Just go.”
And he pulls Brendon’s mouth to his so his gasp is swallowed by those decadent lips when Brendon finally pushes in, slow but steady and all the fucking way and oh, oh.
Fuck.
And Brendon just kisses him right through it, their tongues setting the rhythm for their bodies, and when Brendon finds that spot again, hitting it dead-fucking-on every time his hips thrust down to meet Jon’s, a whirlwind of really wicked discoveries kind of hits Jon all at once. Like how Brendon’s hips are really the perfect shape for grabbing onto, with just enough curve to get a good grip, and just a strong enough thrust to make your head spin like a top. Like the way Brendon can match the rhythm of their mouths with that of their bodies, or the way Jon can feel the muscles of Brendon’s arms contract as Jon closes his hands around them for support. The feeling of long, elegant fingers snaking between their bodies to close around his cock. The little gasps between them now, no longer just from him but from Brendon, and he can tell Brendon’s getting close, that he’s losing it, just fucking unraveling, and it may just be the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his whole fucking life.
He hears his name drop from those lips, short, breathless, just three letters – “Jon” – and that pretty much kills any plans he had to last longer than a fifteen-year-old; he’s spilling hot and fast into Brendon’s hand with a choked, incoherent jumble of swears, white flashes flooding his vision, and Brendon’s full-body shudder, partnered with a sharp intake of breath, tells Jon he’s not the only one.
Brendon collapses on top of him, face buried back in Jon’s neck where it seems to have taken up residence, Jon’s noticed as he snakes his arms around the younger boy’s back, slick with sweat and still heaving, to hold him close. Hot, moist breath tickles his neck, a hand finds his somewhere by his side and entwines their fingers. And for once, it doesn’t even occur to him that this is really, really gay (because it is), or if it does occur, he doesn’t really fucking care.
Jon releases a slow, lazy sigh to steady his breath, turning his head to bury his face in Brendon’s hair, which so happens to be really soft and smells kind of peachy. And not at all in a girly way, just in a weird, boyish, Brendony sort of way. And he’s probably been smelling this smell for years and just never noticed because Brendon is kind of... always there.
Only now he’s... here.
And Jon is... really kind of disturbingly okay with that.
Brendon mumbles something indiscernible into his neck.
“Hmm?”
He adjusts his head a bit until it’s resting on Jon’s shoulder, and looks up, damp hair clinging to his forehead in strips. “I said you’re fucking amazing, Walker.”
Jon quickly casts him a sideways grin to kill the blush he knows is itching to creep up his cheeks. “You’re not so bad either.”
A raised eyebrow; he’d expected as much, and rolls his eyes.
“Dude, you know it. I’m not gonna say it.”
Brendon grins, seemingly content, and settles his head back against Jon’s shoulder. “I did kind of make you beg, though.”
“You so did not, man, what the fuck!”
“—For me to shut up?”
“...Oh. Well, duh.”
Brendon looks up again, grinning from ear to ear. “Same thing Ryan used to beg for.”
[fin.]
Author:
lolabPairing: Brendon/Jon; some rather amusing Ryden refs.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Q: “What’s the most ridiculous thing you ever bought?” Pete: “Ryan Ross.” So yeah. Pete’s. Not mine. Fictional as far as I know.
Warnings: BOYSECKZ! CockyExperienced!Bden, (UNF, yes pls). One (1) slightly disturbing reference to Winnie-the-Pooh.
Summary: “Are you hitting on me?”
Dedications: This is entirely for
falling_words who begged for Walkie smut (and “Jon’s first time with a boy,” the most ridiculous inside joke ever); and for Jon’s Jacket of Heterosexuality™, which has rapidly become epic. Also for bunniesontoast, for ryanrossphonesex and 3:25-3:35 of TAI TV episode 5 and for being awesome. :)Author’s Notes: The prompt was to write what took place after the first video here (classiiiiiic!), so you kind of need to watch that first.
more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck...
“So, dudes included, huh?”
There’s a small clatter from the bathroom, nothing exaggerated or overdramatic, just enough for Jon to know he was heard. When Brendon emerges, freshly clean and toothbrushed in his Spiderman pajama pants and “Save a tour bus, ride a rock star” t-shirt (out of all the things he could have stolen from Beckett... Jesus Christ), his face is pretty much poker-solid for three whole seconds. And to be expected, it vanishes, shot to the side by a huge, theatrical smile, the kind he uses onstage.
“So you remembered that,” he states obviously, and a little too loudly.
“Kinda, yeah, seeing as you sorta yelled it into a microphone when I was like, five feet away.”
Brendon laughs, high-pitched and nervous and carrying what Jon would describe as a very “Okay, whoa” vibe.
“Dude, it’s,” he offers helplessly. “I mean. It’s okay. It’s – ” And, okay, yeah, it is, but something here is not, and it’s just... oh. “Oh – oh my god. Did you – did you just accidentally come out – ”
“In front of two thousand people? Yes I did, Jon. Yes. Thanks for noticing.” And his breath’s a little stiff, a little short, but he’s smiling, and, okay, that’s good.
But then Jon starts laughing, and that’s... probably really not.
“You asshole!” Brendon yelps, but he’s already on the bed smushing pillows into various parts of Jon’s body, Jon’s laughter fueling his own, until he’s got Jon’s arms pinned over his head and he’s straddling his waist.
Jon grins up at him. “Sorry,” he chokes out through giggles.
“Mmm, convincing!”
“Hey, it’s not like we didn’t know, man.”
“How?!”
“It’s obvious!”
“How?!”
And Jon’s laughing again, hard, because Brendon is being serious about this, he really doesn’t know, and...
“Okay, dude, you’re straddling me and you smell like moisturizer and you’re – ” His eyes dart around, looking for more immediate evidence, when – “Brendon, you’re wearing pink underwear for fuck’s sake!”
“They’re salmon!” he cries indignantly as he yanks his pajama pants up to cover the evidence, crawling off Jon and curling up on his side to face him. “You’re mean, Jon Walker. You’re a mean, mean boy. I’m mailing you back to William.”
“Don’t be five right now,” Jon sighs, and Brendon narrows his eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re sexier when you’re all nervous and clueless and shit.”
Brendon’s eyes un-narrow, if ever so slightly, but they remain fixed to Jon’s until – yeah, there it is, half a second later, the moment Jon realizes what he’s just said and turns away, staring at the ceiling.
“I didn’t say that out loud.”
“Yeah, you so did.”
And he can hear the mile-wide grin in Brendon’s voice, which makes it a thousand times worse.
“I’m just fucking with you,” Jon says, turning back to Brendon with a smile and hoping it’s the truth.
“I know,” Brendon smiles back.
“You know it’s cool, right? Like, even if you start talking with a lisp and raving about Prada shoes, we’ll still love you – ”
“Ugh, I hate you!” Brendon shrieks, back to laughing and attempting rather fruitlessly to bury Jon alive with a small country’s supply of fluffy hotel pillows.
“Ow!” Jon whines suddenly. “Dude, either this has gone way too far, or I’m sitting on the remote.”
Brendon snorts, climbing off and letting Jon readjust; meanwhile it seems it was the remote after all, as the TV abruptly comes to life and a low-volume round of Jeopardy greets them.
They settle back, shoulders propped against the headboard and pillows, and stare quietly at the television set for a moment, until Brendon yells out,
“What is a wooly mammoth?”
Jon snickers when he’s wrong.
“Shut up. What is Antarctica!”
Wrong again.
“This is why we should have gone to college,” Jon decides.
“What is Memorial Day!”
“So have you ever done it with a guy?”
There’s a little pause, just hinting at possible nerves, when Brendon announces, “No, Jon. You’re doing it wrong. You make a statement, and I answer it with a question. That’s how Jeopardy works. Like, you’d say, ‘You’ve done it with a guy,’ and I’d say, ‘What is an inappropriate way to approach the subject?’, and then – ”
Jon’s laughing too hard for him to continue. “C’mon, I’m serious.”
Brendon stops guessing answers then, but keeps his eyes firmly on the television. “Yeah, like a million times, before Ryan met Keltie.”
“...Oh. So. Oh. I. Shit.” Yeah Jon, pretty much covers it. “I – sorry, I didn’t – ”
“’S’okay, man,” Brendon smiles at him. “It’s been like, two years.”
“Yeah.”
“I miss it though.”
“Yeah? You mean – you miss him?”
“Well, kind of, but mostly just sex.”
Jon chuckles, because he’s pretty sure if he’s chuckling in such a manly fashion, he can’t possibly be blushing. “You’re a rock star, man, you can have sex whenever you want.”
“Yeah, but.” He inclines his head, his eyes suddenly seeming a lot darker and a lot bigger to Jon than they did three seconds ago. “It’s different with a guy.”
“...Oh. Well.” Speak, Walker. You remember how. “Yeah. I mean. I guess. Yeah.”
“It’s just... so much more intense, you know?”
“I.” Speeeeeeak. “No, I, uh. I wouldn’t.”
“It’s nothing like girls... girls are so cautious and perfumey and fluffy and sensitive... guys are just. They know every inch of you, y’know? They know just how to touch... certain, assured, y’know... hard if you want it. They’re not afraid to... take control.”
Jon, most unfortunately, picks this moment to realize Brendon’s eyes haven’t left his.
“It’s like another world,” Brendon finishes in a whisper.
And then Jon finally remembers he’s a guy, and guys don’t lose it in situations like this, they address things head-on, and, yeah. So.
He blinks and swallows, and he really doesn’t think that fits very well with the whole guy thing in all this, but. “Brendon.”
“Mmm.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Yeah.” Brendon’s breath has gone a little short again, and he grins, just a bit, nervous and dare we think it, shy, before squeezing his eyes shut. “And if you’re completely freaked out just tell me now and I’ll go get Ryan to switch rooms with me and also I’m really really sorry don’t hate me I just like you a lot and I’m. Okay. I’ll shut up.”
And it really isn’t supposed to be like this, with Jon thinking that was so much sexier than it should have been, but thankfully, that’s the last bit of thinking Jon does – at least of the rational variety.
He gulps, his body wanting badly to say so many things his mind does not. “I. I’m not freaked out.” (Most obviously, his body triumphs.)
Brendon’s eyes shoot open, looking magnified in their close proximity and making it even harder for Jon to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. “You’re not?”
He shakes his head. Or he assumes he must’ve, because of what happens next.
What happens next is Brendon breathing “Thank god” in that low, breathy, “Lying is the Most Fun” voice before closing those last few inches and covering Jon’s mouth with his, shifting until he’s on top and slipping one hand between their bodies to crawl underneath Jon’s shirt, drawing some serious gasps from the older boy and just, whoa, okay, because this all happened in the space of like, one heartbeat, and if that just set the stage, Jon’s pretty sure whatever else is coming cannot possibly be bad in any conceivable way.
Brendon’s mouth is soft, deep, warm, more than warm, on fucking fire and it takes a fuck of a lot of willpower not to moan right into it, especially with those nimble, calloused musician’s hands sliding under his shirt, a thumb running lightly over one nipple and then lower to stroke the sides of his torso, soft but strong, pressing in all the right places. Brendon’s body, though small, is solid and weighted in a really fucking perfect way, curving and arching to mould with Jon’s at every inch, making Jon feel insulated and, strangely, kind of safe.
Brendon’s right is his first thought; it’s nothing like a girl. And his second thought is, most shockingly to him, it’s better.
Brendon whimpers when Jon’s hands finally remember they’re connected to his brain and begin groping, graceless but with compensating enthusiasm, and that sets off a spark in Jon’s dwindling consciousness, that tiny little noise coming from one of the most gorgeous creatures he can remember encountering in this lifetime (wait, what, when did he start thinking of Brendon as gorgeous?), that noise coming because of him, and that sets him off and he’s abandoning pretenses, moaning right into those full, smirking lips.
Hey, wait. Smirking?
Brendon pulls back to look in his eyes and he is, indeed, smirking. “Yeah?”
“Um.”
“Mmmm. Like that, Walker?” Brendon dips his hands just below the waistband of Jon’s pants, tickling the skin underneath.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Brendon’s grin is smug, but Jon doesn’t care. He’s grinning back, letting his fingers dance under Brendon’s shirt, stroking the softly muscled planes of his back. “Hi.”
“Hey, you.” Brendon’s hands begin wandering a little harder, a little more adventurously. “Mmm, so, what do you want, huh?” His head dips down, mouth closing gently around Jon’s neck and fuck, he’s supposed to answer questions at a time like this? “I could give you the best blowjob of your life...” Brendon starts and, okay, Jon’s pretty sure he’s getting hard – “Or I could give you the best fuck of your life...”
Yeah. Definitely hard now.
“Or...” Brendon sighs lazily into his neck, “I could give you the best blowjob of your life and then give you the best fuck of your life...”
Jon’s glad he’s got enough sense of self left to start laughing. “Somebody has a high opinion of his skills.”
Brendon pulls back, smirk intact. “Jon Walker.”
“Brendon Urie,” he coos, playing along.
“Have you ever heard Ryan scream?”
...Ohhhhh, and also, god.
“N-no.”
Brendon’s eyebrow inches upward, his face closing in until their noses are nearly touching. “I have.”
It’s enough, Jon makes some indefinite noise and curls his free hand around Brendon’s neck, pulling him back down to reunite their mouths, hard and frantic and so fucking good, why is this so fucking good, and Brendon just lets him, for several long, lazy moments until he slinks back and begins nuzzling Jon’s neck again, nipping and sucking as teasingly as he can manage.
“Yeah, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Come on, we both know Ryan’s gorgeous... thinking about him screaming... spread out on his hands and knees, begging for it... oh yeah, he begs... bet you didn’t know that...”
“Jesus, you’re a perv,” Jon hisses, but he’s smiling against Brendon’s neck and he knows Brendon can feel it, the proof lying in that grin when he pulls back.
“You’re the one who was thinking about it.”
Jon shrugs. “I was mostly thinking of you.”
“Me?”
“About what exactly you did to make him scream.”
It takes a few seconds of Brendon’s eyes and body being completely frozen before Jon realizes the younger boy’s breath is escaping in quick, shallow spurts, before a slow grin moves over his lips.
“Well,” Brendon whispers, voice husky and thick, “now you’re talkin’.”
His lips and hands are back on Jon but deliberately now, not just for the high of it but with a purpose, a purpose made very clear when Jon finds his clothes being gradually peeled from his body and somehow, god only knows through all this kissing, he’s managed to get rid of Brendon’s too, noting vaguely how vastly improved life is without bra hooks.
He doesn’t even realize they’re both naked until, when he thrusts his hips upward, he’s met with Brendon’s cock instead of his pants, and –
“Fucking shit.”
--yeah.
Brendon’s smile is wide as ever as his mouth starts a slow, indirect journey down Jon’s body, those familiar, ridiculous, girly butterfly kisses now being substituting with teeth and tongue, sucking at all the most sensitive spots (and Christ, how does Brendon know them all?) as one strong hand slides up his thigh, coming to rest at his hip, and when Brendon’s other hand follows the same path on the opposite side, both hands settling on Jon’s hips with a distinct pressure... Jon gets it.
And it’s a good (while slightly overconfident) move on Brendon’s part, because when he offers one last smirk and takes Jon into his mouth with just the right formula of tongue, lips, pressure, and oh god, Jon’s hips attempt to buck up of their own accord, before he finds himself held firmly in place by a pair of well prepared hands.
And Brendon’s weird little foresight should really not be such a turn-on, and yet.
He thinks that’s probably when he starts moaning, and he’s got no idea when or if he ever stops. Because, yeah, okay, Brendon knows exactly what he’s doing, knows just how hard to suck and when to swirl his tongue over the head and it just so happens he can deep-throat like nobody’s fucking business – but that’s not even what sends Jon over the edge. It’s watching – seeing that perfect, perfect, made-for-this mouth drawing him in, Brendon’s eyes wide and bright and glued to Jon’s like he knows he’s gonna make him come like this, with just one look...
And he does. He fucking does. Brendon raises one eyebrow and that’s it, Jon doesn’t even try to hold onto his dignity, just spills into that white-hot, anticipating mouth, and Brendon takes it, all of it, and if Jon didn’t know better he could swear that little smirk is back, carrying him through his climax.
He doesn’t bother with words as he pulls Brendon back up to him, ravaging his mouth while Brendon hums contentedly against his lips.
Jon pushes him back, still breathless. “Condoms?”
Brendon shrugs, eyes wandering idly. “Yeah, I guess maybe I’ve got some lying around somewhere...”
“Urie, I swear to god – ” Jon shoves him off, maybe a little too hard because Brendon kind of falls off the bed, or maybe that’s just because he’s laughing. “Sorry,” Jon laughs back half-heartedly, but Brendon’s only response is to toss a sock at him as he leans over, rummaging through his bag.
He makes quite a performance of it despite being pretty much hard as a rock, Jon can’t help but notice (I mean it’s right there, okay), wondering where Brendon gets this kind of self-control as he lifts random items from his bag, sets them carefully on the desk or the chair where Jon’s jacket is hanging (and probably disapproving highly of how much Jon is really not wearing it right now). He’s teasing, Jon knows it, but it doesn’t stop him from expressing his frustration in a drawn-out, melodramatic sigh worthy of Brendon himself.
Brendon chuckles, low in his throat, as he sets an iPod on the chair.
“What??” Jon hisses.
“You’re staring at my ass.”
“I am no—” And Jon really can’t say it because, yeah, he really kind of is. Like, a lot. “How did – ”
Brendon turns around at last, brandishing a shiny metallic wrapper in one hand and a little bottle of clear liquid in the other, eyebrows wiggling.
Jon shakes his head. “You’re a dork.”
“A dork who’s gonna fuck you senseless, Jon Walker,” Brendon purrs, sauntering back to the bed and plopping down, covering Jon’s body and kissing away the gasps escaping Jon’s mouth at the feeling of Brendon’s skin against his, more intoxicating than ever from the brief absence.
Jon doesn’t have time to consider how he really shouldn’t be thinking about another dude’s skin as intoxicating, because it’s right about then that Brendon’s hand slides down his body, halting just between his legs, and – oh.
“So.” And Brendon’s lowsexysultry voice is back to the fullest, doing really disastrous things to Jon, specifically to his cock, which is already hard. Again.
Jesus.
“So,” Jon echoes, willing his voice to remain steady.
“You’ve never, uh...?”
“Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention the two dozen guys I just boned while you were bent over your suitcase?”
“I knew you were looking!”
“Where else was I gonna look?!”
“No, you were looking. You want me.”
“...Less every second, babe.”
But Jon’s smiling, that warm, open, guileless spread of lips that Brendon knows too well, knows and, if he lets himself think it, maybe even loves.
Brendon’s smiling too, but it’s fading, tongue darting briefly out over his lips before he frees both hands to unscrew the cap on the bottle. “So. You’re sure, right?”
Jon rolls his eyes. “Fuck you.”
“Oh, well, we could do that too, yeah – ”
And Brendon’s halfway to sprawling out on his back when Jon just laughs and pulls him back, yanking him down on top of him to make his intentions as clear as humanly possible without reducing himself to begging.
He’s not Ryan, after all.
Brendon takes the hint and shuts the hell up, thank god, as he slicks up his fingers, dipping his hand back between Jon’s legs and slowly pressing one finger inside and that’s – okay. Really not so bad at all.
“Hey.” Brendon smiles. “Breathe.”
Oh yeah, that.
“Shut up,” Jon snaps, grinning back. “More.”
...Okay, that didn’t count as begging, did it.
Brendon is apparently wondering the same thing, one eyebrow rising at the same pace that he slowly slides in a second finger, working them through the tightness and pushing in a little further, waiting for the hint that he’s nailed that spot, his eyes glued to Jon’s face in fascination. Jon has no fucking clue what his face must look like, but apparently –
Brendon smiles. “You have no idea how sexy you are right now,” he whispers, just before he curls his fingers half an inch.
“Jesus!”
“Thought so, yeah,” Brendon breathes, almost to himself. “You like that?”
Jon nods, currently very mistrustful of his verbal ability.
“Mmm. You want more?”
Another nod.
“This one’s probably gonna hurt. Relax, yeah?”
One more nod, though Jon’s tempted to snap back that people generally can’t relax when told to do so.
But he tries, inhaling sharply at the initial intrusion of a third finger, almost on the verge of thinking, okay, this really fucking burns, and then Brendon’s right back at that spot, working it like he never left, and –
“Holy. Shit.”
“Mmmm.” Brendon’s leaning over him now, pressed against him as much as he can at this angle, dropping his face to rest in the crook of Jon’s neck, where he’s drawing little circles with his tongue. “Wanted to do this for so long, man.”
Jon gasps, whether from surprise or just the whole fucking beyond-words sensation, he’ll never know, but Brendon’s words are pounding in his head now and they just won’t leave.
“Remember the first time I met you,” Brendon goes on, working his fingers like fucking magic, and while Jon really feels he should be telling Brendon to shut the fuck up, for once he just... doesn’t want to. “You were so fucking adorable, and such a guy...”
“Yeah,” Jon chokes, “I think I’m still a guy, Bren.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you are...” Brendon scoots himself downward just far enough to take Jon’s cock back in his mouth and --
“Fucking hell, man!”
-- really, really not expecting that.
Brendon releases it with an audible pop and grins. “Yeah, definitely a guy.”
“And you’re a fucking tease,” Jon manages between gasps, rolling his eyes.
“Mmm, yeah? You want something?”
“Shut the fuck up, Brendon, I beg you.”
Ah, there it was. Familiarity. Even Brendon sees it, his grin widening in recognition.
“That’s the Jon I know.”
And before Jon can complain any further, Brendon’s removed his fingers, reaching for the condom and tossing it at Jon as he wipes his hand on a corner of the sheet.
“Um.”
Brendon looks up. “I assume you’ve used these before.”
Jon shoots him a distinct Next time, I’m punching you look, but manages to rip open the wrapper and hand it to Brendon, who slips it on, fisting himself quickly to make sure it’s on good enough and. Okay. Seriously. Jon, don’t even, but... fuck, that was hot.
He makes sure to remember that whole damn breathing thing as Brendon hovers over him, positioning them both until Jon can feel a slight pressure, a pressure that is definitely not fingers, and yeah, somehow that is really totally okay with Jon right now.
It stops, right there; Brendon’s breath is short and rough again, and seriously, at what point did that become so god damn sexy? “Okay?” he breathes, swallowing hard.
Jon nods, speechless at the amount of self-control in this manic hyperactive kid with more energy than Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh, and –
Really. Okay. Because Brendon’s cock is up against his ass and he’s thinking about Winnie-the-fucking-Pooh.
And that makes him kind of giggle.
“What?” Brendon chokes, smiling back but clearly, though patiently, fighting his restraint.
“Nothing,” Jon assures him, placing a hand around Brendon’s neck and rubbing gently at the soft skin below his hair. “Just go.”
And he pulls Brendon’s mouth to his so his gasp is swallowed by those decadent lips when Brendon finally pushes in, slow but steady and all the fucking way and oh, oh.
Fuck.
And Brendon just kisses him right through it, their tongues setting the rhythm for their bodies, and when Brendon finds that spot again, hitting it dead-fucking-on every time his hips thrust down to meet Jon’s, a whirlwind of really wicked discoveries kind of hits Jon all at once. Like how Brendon’s hips are really the perfect shape for grabbing onto, with just enough curve to get a good grip, and just a strong enough thrust to make your head spin like a top. Like the way Brendon can match the rhythm of their mouths with that of their bodies, or the way Jon can feel the muscles of Brendon’s arms contract as Jon closes his hands around them for support. The feeling of long, elegant fingers snaking between their bodies to close around his cock. The little gasps between them now, no longer just from him but from Brendon, and he can tell Brendon’s getting close, that he’s losing it, just fucking unraveling, and it may just be the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his whole fucking life.
He hears his name drop from those lips, short, breathless, just three letters – “Jon” – and that pretty much kills any plans he had to last longer than a fifteen-year-old; he’s spilling hot and fast into Brendon’s hand with a choked, incoherent jumble of swears, white flashes flooding his vision, and Brendon’s full-body shudder, partnered with a sharp intake of breath, tells Jon he’s not the only one.
Brendon collapses on top of him, face buried back in Jon’s neck where it seems to have taken up residence, Jon’s noticed as he snakes his arms around the younger boy’s back, slick with sweat and still heaving, to hold him close. Hot, moist breath tickles his neck, a hand finds his somewhere by his side and entwines their fingers. And for once, it doesn’t even occur to him that this is really, really gay (because it is), or if it does occur, he doesn’t really fucking care.
Jon releases a slow, lazy sigh to steady his breath, turning his head to bury his face in Brendon’s hair, which so happens to be really soft and smells kind of peachy. And not at all in a girly way, just in a weird, boyish, Brendony sort of way. And he’s probably been smelling this smell for years and just never noticed because Brendon is kind of... always there.
Only now he’s... here.
And Jon is... really kind of disturbingly okay with that.
Brendon mumbles something indiscernible into his neck.
“Hmm?”
He adjusts his head a bit until it’s resting on Jon’s shoulder, and looks up, damp hair clinging to his forehead in strips. “I said you’re fucking amazing, Walker.”
Jon quickly casts him a sideways grin to kill the blush he knows is itching to creep up his cheeks. “You’re not so bad either.”
A raised eyebrow; he’d expected as much, and rolls his eyes.
“Dude, you know it. I’m not gonna say it.”
Brendon grins, seemingly content, and settles his head back against Jon’s shoulder. “I did kind of make you beg, though.”
“You so did not, man, what the fuck!”
“—For me to shut up?”
“...Oh. Well, duh.”
Brendon looks up again, grinning from ear to ear. “Same thing Ryan used to beg for.”
[fin.]
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