behindthec | Can't Shake the Taste [Day 10 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]

Title: Can't Shake the Taste [Day 10 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]
Author:

lolab
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendon/William
Kink du Jour: Snowballing. (Author's favorite! \o/)
Word Count: ~1,340
Disclaimer: Fiction as far as I know.
Summary: His voice has shifted a bit, fingers teasing a pattern on the leg of Brendon's jeans, when he whispers, "You save anything on the list for me?"
Notes: Vignette 10 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.

Brendon feels old.

He's aware of the logic, or lack thereof, because next to Spencer, he's one of the youngest people at his twenty-first birthday party, v.Pete'sHouse. Maybe it's Pete's fault. Brendon doesn't know if he still wants to look and act sixteen when he's Pete's age. He loves Pete, but it's kind of weird. Then again, Ryan's practically Brendon's age and he acts like, eighty, and as much as he loves Ryan, Brendon doesn't want that either.

It probably doesn't help much that his whimsical New Year's resolution had been to give up sex for a year to try "finding himself" a different way, maybe, and that in four months it hasn't been remotely difficult to keep said resolution.

Sigh.

It's not like the offers haven't been there. But groupies creep him out and Shane's been back with Regan for awhile and everyone on the label seems to have girlfriends now and. Besides. Brendon's kind of getting to that point where he's able to admit it in his head how he feels, so now it's basically Ryan or nothing.

Looks like it's going to be a whole big load of nothing for quite some time.

It's not like he didn't try to talk to him after that night, a thousand and one times at least, but every time he started, Ryan shot him a look that reminded him of the look Spencer gives you when he knows you're about to ask him for an unfairly huge favor.

After a few months, he stopped trying.

Bill finds him (of course he does) once Brendon's abandoned the over-loud downstairs festivities and escaped to his room -- or, Pete's guest room, rather, but Brendon's been calling it his room for years and Pete only encourages it. The memories are good and he basically marked his territory on the bedspread three years ago, so it's kind of inevitable.

He comes bearing that crooked Beckett smile and two red plastic cups. "Room for two?"

Brendon smiles, scooting over where he's propped up against the headboard, knees folded to his chest as he finishes up a round of pinball on his Sidekick. He accepts the drink and takes a sip, smiling inside. Few people know his favorite drink because it's about eight drinks mixed together in specific proportions, but it seems Bill's one of them. He's just awesome that way.

Bill nudges his knee with his own. "You're hiding."

"I'm escaping," Brendon clarifies, smirking at him sideways.

"From what?"

"The woes of my miserable existence."

"Damn. Somebody needs to get laid."

"Tell me about it."

Bill grins, slinging an arm across Brendon's shoulders and Brendon falls into it, letting his head pillow on Bill's shoulder, breathing in the warm, familiar smell of his laundry detergent, the impossibly over-scented stuff you only find at laundromats on tour. Brendon misses touring, suddenly.

"How's that list going, puppy?"

Brendon merely snorts.

"You tell Ryan you love him yet?"

"Shut uuuup."

Bill giggles, hauls Brendon close and tips his head down until his lips are pressed soft to the side of Brendon's head. His voice has shifted a bit, fingers teasing a pattern on the leg of Brendon's jeans, when he whispers, "You save anything on the list for me?"

Brendon can't not smile, because it's William, who makes him feel safer than almost anyone else, despite his creeper whoredom, and, hell: resolutions are made to be broken.

He tilts his head up, flashing his most brilliant smile. "Your favorite."

Bill's eyes sparkle at the implication, but his smile falters a bit. "Thought you were saving that for Ryan."

"Ugh!" Brendon whines, flopping over until he's draped across Bill's lap, clasping one of Bill's hands and burying his face in the palm. "Stop stabbing me in the heart, it's not gonna happen, can I just blow you already?"

Bill's laugh is so beautiful and clear, the buzz from his drink tipping him just to the right side of relaxed, his inhibitions lowered right to that point where everything is perfect, every emotion, every sensation, every thought. Brendon knows because it's just about where he is, too.

He grins wide when the laughter subsides. "Knock yourself out, puppy."

"Yay," Brendon remarks softly with a smile, climbing up to crawl into Bill's lap, proper this time, one leg on each side as he leans in, cupping Bill's face with warm hands as their lips meet, easy and soft, just what he needs.

Bill's kind of like the Room of Requirement that way (oh, Jon), chameleon-like, always seeming to be just what Brendon needs exactly when he needs it. Crazy and sadistic one moment; sweet and soft the next. Brendon almost feels a pang of regret knowing how utterly incompatible they'd be in a relationship, despite obvious attraction and an endless supply of affection for one another. But he'll take this, loves this, even if it'll never be enough for good, because it's enough for now -- and Bill feels so good under his hands, pale and soft and perfectly shaped, all the best angles of a boy and all the right curves of a girl. He's gorgeous, freakishly so, with hair that spills onto Brendon's shoulders when they fuck, and neverending limbs that wrap around him until he feels safe, tiny and protected, and that, that, is just what he needs, here and now.

"You're so hot," Bill announces conversationally as Brendon's working on the fly of his jeans, and it's said in just the right way that Brendon actually blushes. "You are. You're gorgeous. Your mouth, fuck."

Brendon raises an eyebrow as he peels off the skintight jeans, tugging them down over Bill's legs and chucking them to the floor. "Don't count your chickens till, uh, I'm blowing you."

Bill laughs, and Brendon loves the choked sound of his voice cutting off as Brendon licks his lips and closes them around Bill's cock, making a slippery wet seal as he begins to bob his head. Bill's hands come to tangle in his hair, and it never fails to make Brendon shiver, how much like Ryan's they are, or how he imagines Ryan's would feel like this, delicate and long and dextrous, guitarist callouses rough in contrast when his fingertips brush Brendon's cheek.

Brendon's so lost in it, in Ryan, that the sudden flood of bitter warmth in his mouth comes as a shock, having nearly forgotten what it is they're doing. The taste is never amazing, but it's good, it's one Brendon's gotten used to and one that warms his whole body, thick and comforting, coupled with the way the person beneath him relaxes, melting from the climax.

A jolt of excitement shoots straight to his own dick when he climbs back up Bill's body, the release still trapped in his mouth, swishing over his tongue, and Bill grabs him tight when he's close, pulls him forward as Brendon seals their lips together and waits for Bill to open up for him before he follows, letting the milky white liquid drip from his own mouth to Bill's. It's fucking hot, even more than he'd expected, the way Bill's tongue chases his, searching out his own taste and licking it hungrily into his own mouth, their tongues fighting for possession of it. They don't stop until every last drop has been swallowed, till Brendon's mouth has been practically ravaged top to bottom, till they're breathless and panting, and when he finally pulls back, Bill's eyes are huge, glowing, practically golden.

"Holy fuck," he gasps.

"Yeah." Brendon chokes on an attempt to laugh, trying to catch his breath. "Seriously, yeah. Fuck."

"Fuck."

"Totally."

Bill smiles. "Wanna try?"

"Fuck yes."

It's a wicked, wicked grin as Bill flips them over and starts crawling down Brendon's body, but Brendon knows that's the first sign it's going to be damn good.

Bill's mouth trails across the inside of his thigh, tickling and teasing, and just before he swallows him down, he whispers, "Happy birthday."

Brendon closes his eyes and tries to believe it is.

[# 11 tomorrow.]

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