behindthec | Blindfolded, Eyes Wide Open [Day 8 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]

Title: Blindfolded, Eyes Wide Open [Day 8 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]
Author:

lolab
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendon/Shane
Kink du Jour: Blindfolding. Shotgunning. Some fumbling burnplay. (Don't smoke, kids, it's bad and not at all sexy the way I make it out to be.)
Word Count: ~1,700
Disclaimer: Fiction as far as I know.
Summary: Brendon smiles wide, drawing the joint to his lips for another drag. "You totally want to take a picture of this, don't you?"
Notes: Vignette 8 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.

"Dude, I'm not unpacking your god damned suitcase."

"Please?"

"No!"

"Pleeeeease!"

Shane looks up, exasperated but smiling. It's Brendon's favorite look on him, and it's adorable. "Whining louder is not going to persuade me."

"Please," Brendon whispers seductively.

Shane laughs. "Move over." He dumps Brendon's backpack on the bedroom floor (he'll help carry bags up the stairs and that's as far as it goes) and waits for Brendon to scoot himself across the bed one limb at a time until there's enough space for Shane. "Do I get any of that? Seeing as it's mine?"

His playful but powerful puppy-eyes are lost on Brendon, who has puppy eyes of his own that he knows are peerless. Brendon clutches the joint tighter between his fingers, holding it to his mouth and sucking in a deep, lazy drag, taking as much time as possible before passing it to Shane.

"You're an ass," Shane says fondly, slipping it between his lips.

"Me?" Brendon stretches his arms high over his head, exposing a wide line of skin above his jeans, which have slipped about as low as they can go without counting as naked. "I come off a long, grueling, exhausting, draining, tiresome -- "

"You fucking diva!--"

"--tour -- and you won't even unpack my suitcase for me. Some roommate you are."

"Mm. Yeah." Shane tilts his head on the pillow to smirk at him sideways, taking a deep inhale and blowing the smoke out in Brendon's face. "You're a big rock star, you just earned a gazillion dollars for prancing around stage for two months. Poor fucking baby."

Brendon pouts.

"Gimme," he mumbles, surrendering the fight and holding out a hand.

Shane just chuckles, taking an indulgent, show-offy drag and staring idly up at the ceiling. "Make me."

Brendon's familiar enough with that phrase to know that if you take it seriously, amazing things can happen. He rolls and flops until he's halfway on top of Shane, earning him a "What the -- " until Shane gets the hint. He doesn't give in without a sigh, on principle, but on his next inhale he curls a hand around the back of Brendon's neck and gently guides him down until their mouths seal. Brendon never gets tired of this, the excuse for mouth-to-mouth contact, the hitch in the other person's throat as they exhale, the rush of smoke spilled directly into his lungs; and Shane's good at it: they've made out enough times that he knows how Brendon likes to be kissed and uses the knowledge to his advantage, licking his way into Brendon's mouth as the smoke transfers.

Brendon gives back as much as he gets, swirling his own tongue around Shane's as he lets the sensations settle into their bodies. They don't usually go further than this -- the occasional hand job, maybe, but almost every time he and Regan have been on a break, Brendon's been on tour.

Till now.

"Hey, hey," Brendon mumbles loosely against his mouth, shifting until he's straddling one of Shane's legs. "Good?"

Shane grins, the slow-building buzz evident in his eyes, and snakes a hand between them to cup Brendon through his jeans. Answer enough.

"Mph," Brendon states, knowing Shane is well versed enough in Brendon-speak to take it as yes. He squirms until he's all the way on top, until Shane spreads his legs so Brendon can settle between them, and yes, yes, definitely yes. Shane's got one arm curled around Brendon's waist and the other above their heads, keeping their joint away from the activities, and Brendon's pinned his hand there with his own. The friction's all sweet, lazy drags of denim against their erections (at least for Brendon, who decided long ago that anyone who bothers with underwear on long flights is an idiot), and he's probably too stoned to get off on just this, but he could go like this for hours, just the wet press of lips and tongue, the warm, grounded feeling of a body in sync with his own.

But Shane's got other ideas, it seems, pushing Brendon off after a minute with a devilish grin as he climbs off the bed, handing him the joint, and starts rummaging through a suitcase.

"Now?!" Brendon whines. "I'll unpack it myself, douche, get over here and get me off."

"You're such a spoiled brat," Shane chuckles, digging deeper into the mess of dirty clothes and toiletries until, "Ah!" His hand emerges triumphant, clutching a ratty, crinkled sheet of notebook paper.

"Oh my god, what the fuck?"

Shane giggles and hops onto the foot of the bed, out of Brendon's reach, and scans down the list. "Let's see..."

"Gimme that!" He reaches halfheartedly, but stoned!Brendon is lazy!Brendon (or, according to Ross, "impossibly ass-lazy fucktard Brendon"), and besides, Shane's holding the paper all the way over his head now, fuck that shit; too much work.

"Dude, dude, hey," he says suddenly, crawling down to Brendon and pointing at an item at the end of the list. "That's fuckin' hardcore, man, can we try that?"

"No," Brendon says quietly.

"Why the hell not?"

He shrugs.

"Oh my god." Shane shoves at him, smirking. "You're saving yourself for Ryan, aren't you?"

"Shut up!"

"Okay, okay. C'mere." He points at the middle of the page. "Can we do these two, then?"

"I hate you. I hate that you know my list. Hate. Why did I ever tell you?"

"Because I'm trustworthy and understanding and would never use it against you. Can we?"

And Shane's obviously been living with Brendon for too long if he's developed a pout this effective, but fuck if it doesn't make Brendon grin.

"Yeah, yeah."

Shane grins like the cat who's got the cream, only like, spiked cream with extra sugar, and scrambles off the bed to dig around in the suitcase while Brendon pulls off his shirt and jeans. Shane comes back with a scarf, a dark paisley, and. Brendon cringes a bit.

"Dude, it's Ryan's. That's weird."

"Whatever, deal. Pretend I'm him."

Brendon kind of can't argue with that.

He lies back, head pillowed on folded arms, and takes a deep, settling breath, in-out, as Shane crawls on top of him, smoothing the scarf out, folding it longways in half before laying it gently across Brendon's eyes. "Up," he says quietly, and ties it around the back as Brendon lifts his head.

It feels good, actually; the material's cool and silky soft, soothing to his travel-weary eyes, and it's even better when Shane unexpectedly starts kissing him, sweet and slow before moving down his body. He's already hard just from the anticipation, and Shane makes a vague noise of approval before licking his palm, taking Brendon into his hand, and giving him a few testing strokes.

Brendon smiles wide, drawing the joint to his lips for another drag. "You totally want to take a picture of this, don't you?"

"Fuck, yes," Shane says, breathless.

"Creeper."

"Says the dude with a fucking written list of all the kinky shit he wants to try before he dies."

"Shut up."

"Gimme the joint."

"I'm not wasting this," Brendon huffs, grinning. "Get one of your smokes."

Shane sighs, but digs into his back pocket and Brendon hears the spark of the lighter before the thick scent of nicotine begins to blend with the weed. He hears Shane take a couple drags on the cigarette first; he knows him well enough to know he's gearing himself up, and gets a little rush knowing Shane's on edge as much as he is.

"Ready?" Shane asks.

Brendon hesitates a moment, knowing what's coming, but hey, Shane's right, he's the one with the list, and he's not going to chicken out now, with one of maybe five people in the world he trusts with his life.

"Yeah. Yeah, go for it."

His eyes squeeze shut on instinct, pointless behind the blindfold. He holds his breath, knowing fully well that'll just make it worse, but he can't help it, any more than he can help the flinch and the sharp intake of breath as he feels the end of the cigarette press down into the sensitive skin of his inner thigh at the same moment Shane leans in to swallow him down.

"Jesus fuck!"

The pressure's gone, and Shane pulls off gently. "Okay?"

"That's -- dude, that was weird."

"Good weird?"

"Kinda... yeah. Do it again."

Shane does, slowly, once more, twice, the same pattern, sucking around the head of his cock as the sharp sizzling burn shoots through his system, the double dose of endorphins making his head spin like a top.

"That's -- that's enough," Brendon decides after a third round. "'S good."

He hears Shane snuff out the cigarette on the ashtray beside the bed, taking the half-dead joint with him, and crawls back onto Brendon. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He laughs, a little strangled. "That was fuckin' cool."

"Yeah." He can hear the smile in Shane's voice, and it's comforting. "Want me to suck you off?"

"I. No. Get your pants off."

He feels the bed shift and hears the frantic shuffling of fabric before Shane crawls back on top of him, and oh, skin. Glorious skin. "What do you want?"

"I want your dick in my mouth, c'mon."

He ignores Shane's startled gasp and maneuvers himself to a good enough position, letting his own hands and Shane's be his guide. And yeah, he's had a mouthful of dick before, but never Shane's, so it's unfamiliar enough and the scarf smells just enough like Ryan's cologne that he can take him up on that offer and pretend it's Ryan after all -- that it's Ryan's hands fisting in his hair; Ryan's mouth spilling choppy little breaths and half-formed gasps above him; that it's Ryan who finally chokes out his name, "Brendon," breathy and low and not in any voice he's heard Shane use before so it's enough, just that extra push he needs to speed up his hand on his own dick, feeling the hot flood of release fill his mouth and his palm as they both hit the edge and spill over to the other side.

He's just glad his mouth is too full for Ryan's name to slip out.

[# 9 tomorrow.]

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

hippiemoose.livejournal.com

FC?

From:

hippiemoose.livejournal.com

Woah..................
Awesome.
I got up early to send Tom Conrad and his merry bunch of misfits their xmas presents and now I have to leave....
Darn it all!
I'll leave an actual comment about the fic later.
~Jonnie

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From:

lolab.livejournal.com - Date: 2008-12-21 01:15 pm (UTC) - Expand

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From:

hippiemoose.livejournal.com - Date: 2008-12-21 06:02 pm (UTC) - Expand

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lolab.livejournal.com - Date: 2008-12-21 07:08 pm (UTC) - Expand

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hippiemoose.livejournal.com - Date: 2008-12-21 07:10 pm (UTC) - Expand

From:

bunniesontoast.livejournal.com

meh, comment space at all is good enough.

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