These Reckless Games [Day 11 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]

[behindthec]

Title: These Reckless Games [Day 11 of Not The Sin (or, Brendon's 12 Days of Kinks)]
Author: lolab 
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Jon
Kink du Jour: Some light bondage; rimming.
Word Count: ~2,460
Disclaimer: Fiction as far as I know.
Summary: "Oh, Jesus fuck. Did I like, take out an ad or something? How do people keep finding out?!"
Notes: Vignette 11 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.

"So, Cassie says I can fuck you if it's for a good cause."

It's that deep-down showman's soul that has Brendon kind of wishing he'd been taking a swig from his beer at that moment, because let's face it, it would've been spewed all over the ugly polyester hotel bedspread and hey, that's entertainment.

Instead he simply blinks, sets his bottle carefully on the table between the beds, and folds his hands in his lap. The TV's low in front of them, an old episode of Friends buzzing warmly through the speakers. Jon's grinning affectionately, the same grin as ever like he didn't just say that, his skin glowy and steamy from the shower, white v-neck clinging damply to his frame. His hair's messy and wet and all over the place, and Brendon can tell from the way his jeans are hung extra low on his hips that he hasn't bothered with underwear.

Brendon loves Jon a lot.

This translates to, "Excuse me?"

"Word has it," Jon announces, hopping onto Brendon's bed and sprawling out at the foot, "you have a list."

"Oh, Jesus fuck. Did I like, take out an ad or something? How do people keep finding out?!"

"I dunno, maybe I picked up on something last week when we got really drunk with Siska at Pete's Christmas party and you spent twenty minutes describing every single item on it."

"I did not!"

"He's scarred for life."

"JON!"

Jon says, "Heh."

"Why didn't you stop me?!" Brendon wails, the last two words high and whiny as he drops forward, crumpling in on himself and dropping his face into his palms, cold and clammy from gripping his beer. Somehow it's always embarrassingly easy to fall apart in front of Jon, because he always knows which pieces go where and how to put them back together.

Jon pets his hair, and ugh, Brendon loves his awesomely warm, solid hands -- and. Oh. Memories. They come back.

"I tried to," Jon insists, massaging little swirls into his head. "But then, uh. Y'know. You got a little..."

"A little what?"

"Um, okay, verbatim? I think it was... 'Jon, Jon Walker, please tie me up and fuck me, I want your cock more than Red Bull, more than candy, more than music.' Then Siska took his Santa hat and ran for the hills so I tucked you into bed and jerked off in the bathroom, thanks a lot."

His voice is smiling, all sarcasm and affection, but Brendon wails into his palms nonetheless. He's going for maiden in distress, but it sounds more like a dying seagull. "And now Cassie knows, why'd you tell her?! She'll tell Haley and Haley'll tell Spencer and Spencer'll tell Ryan! Jon!"

"Nobody's telling anyone," Jon sighs, folding himself closer against Brendon, and brushes some of Brendon's hair out of the way so the words spill right into his ear. "I told her... because I kind of, maybe, wanted to... take you up on the offer."

Brendon's kind of debating whether to lift his head, because he knows he looks pathetic and tiny and stupid, but on the other hand, he really, really wants to see Jon's face right now.

In the end, curiosity trumps embarrassment, and fuck, is it worth it. He's seen Jon's sexface, but only in jest, in teasing flirtations and onstage antics -- and it's close to this, sure, but there's something different here, something more, something that looks like serious and shy all at once, strewn amidst midnight-dark eyes, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, one eyebrow arched in question.

Brendon swallows, and watches Jon's eyes follow the line of his throat as he does, and, holy Jesus. "Yeah?"

Jon's eyes trail up to Brendon's mouth and stop. "I. Yeah. If. Y'know. You still want."

He waits till Jon's eyes are back on his before breaking into a grin. "I want."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It shouldn't be this easy, he thinks, the way his hand just curls into Jon's shirt like that's where it was supposed to be all along; the way Jon's lips meet his in a grin and they just fall into kissing like music, simple and familiar. It reminds Brendon of the first night they met, how everything just seemed to fit and settle into place without effort, singing Disney without stopping to think how ridiculous they were.

He thinks they're still pretty ridiculous.

Only, that's okay, because Jon is a fucking amazing kisser.

"So. Hey. Um." He starts mumbling against Brendon's lips once he's eased him back against the mattress, slipping a syllable between each kiss as their fingers start scrabbling at t-shirts. "How do you, um. I mean. What do you want to use?"

"Um, your dick?" Brendon offers helpfully.

Jon chuckles. "I mean, to, uh." One hand slides up Brendon's side and takes hold of his forearm, squeezing gently and, oh. That's sort of eight kinds of nice, if the blush sweeping across Brendon's cheeks is any indication.

"Oh," he says. "God. Yeah. Um. Fuck, I don't know. Scarf? I've got one of Ryan's somewhere..."

What the hell; it's tradition.

"Um, unlike you, I don't need Ross in bed with us, thanks."

Brendon sticks out his tongue but Jon's grinning as he climbs off the bed, now shirtless and leaving Brendon free to stare and drool and just let his dick respond all it wants. It seems to want to respond a lot, because by the time he wiggles out of his jeans, it's springing straight up, arching toward his stomach, and it's no surprise to Brendon because, hi, Jon, but it seems to be a surprise to Jon, who gasps and drops half the items in his hands when he turns around.

"Um. Sorry." He bends over to pick up the lube, placing it on the bed along with a condom, and crawling back toward Brendon with one of his leather belts. "Been awhile since there's been, y'know, dick in front of me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brendon teases, reaching a hand down to give the dick in question a few light strokes, smirking at the way Jon's eyes start to glaze over and his mouth hangs open. "I'll just put it away then."

"Like fuck you will," Jon snaps, breathy and hoarse as he bats Brendon's hand away. "You're an impudent little shit, you know that?"

Brendon laughs, maybe the first real laugh that's hit him all week. "So I've heard."

"Gimme these," Jon grins, grabbing hold of Brendon's wandering hands in one of his (and someone's ability to do that will never, ever stop being hot), securing his fingers over the pale wrists. "You're too grabby. You're grabby and hyper and I'm putting a stop to it."

His voice is so casual and so Jon that it's almost surprising when he actually does it, crossing Brendon's arms at the wrists and securing them with a tight loop of the belt before attaching it to the headboard. He takes his time, working it into some elaborate knot that Brendon thinks might be better put to use on, like, the freaking Titanic. And it kind of maybe makes him a little breathless.

"Boy scout much?"

Jon grins down at him, pulling tight on the last twist of the belt. "Eight years, baby."

"Fuck."

"Try to get out."

Brendon does, really tries, because he wouldn't mind seeing Jon get all flustered and pissed to find out he'd failed (he'd just fuck Brendon harder for it, and yes please), but the motherfucker is tight, he's not getting out of this until Jon lets him, and the sudden realization that he is truly, genuinely trapped, fully out of his control, sends a little rush straight to his dick and a wave of panic through his chest.

It must show in his eyes, because Jon hovers close, his face sober. "Are you -- is it okay?"

"Yeah. No, it's good." And it is. Yeah. Because this is Jon, maybe the only other person besides Ryan he'd trust with this. Spencer would just exploit him, and Bill would be so fascinated he'd probably tease him for hours and then fall asleep on him.

"You sure? We don't have to..."

Brendon smiles. "Scared, Walker?"

Jon's eyes narrow, and Brendon knows instantly that the Harry Potter ref isn't lost on him. "You. Wish."

It should be totally lame and unsexy, just more proof of their gigantic geekdom, but it's hot, it is -- though that's maybe because Jon's moving down his body now, mouth dangerously close to Brendon's cock as he breathes hot air onto the shaft.

"Shit," Brendon squeaks, as Jon reaches for a pillow.

"Lift," he instructs, and Brendon does, letting Jon slip the pillow beneath his hips as he starts licking little circles against his cock, the touch so precise but so light that it drives him mad. His hands strain automatically against the belt, eager to tangle in Jon's hair and guide him forward, show him what he likes, feel the movements of his head as he works, but when he remembers he's trapped, a rush of sparks shoots down his spine, the thrill of it battling the frustration.

Jon looks up at him, all movement halted. "You okay up there, kiddo?"

"Bite me."

"Mm... I had another idea, actually."

It's so sudden, so unexpected that Brendon actually cries out, strangled and broken, at the first flick of Jon's tongue against his entrance, hot and slick and smooth and god. Brendon can't imagine how anyone could ever withstand this without their hands on the person's head to ground themselves, keep their head from exploding, because this is insane, he can't even twist his hands in the sheets, he's left helpless, his fingers curling into loose, empty fists, useless and desperate as Jon works him open, stretching him with two fingers as his tongue slips in and out between them, circling the rim before darting back inside. He's aware of the pitiful noises jumping from his throat like a cheap whore, but it's fucking good, okay, so good he actually forgets, briefly, that this was one of of those things he was supposed to save for Ryan.

"Jon -- Jon, hey," he gasps. "Stop, I'm gonna come."

"And that's bad why?"

"Not yet." He takes a breath, digs his fingernails fruitlessly into his clammy palms. "Want you inside."

Jon looks a little thrown -- not surprised, more like oh yeah, holy shit -- but he doesn't miss a beat as he grabs for the lube, slicking up three fingers and slowly working Brendon open the rest of the way. It's tight when he finally pushes in, and he's gentler than most of the people Brendon's done this with, but he's also bigger than most of them too, and it's been at least six months -- which, in Brendon's eyes, is about seven months too long.

Despite all the familiarity of Jon, the experience is blindingly foreign to someone so physically oriented like Brendon, not being able to touch the way he wants, to hook his arms around Jon and draw him closer, dig his nails in a bit to test resistance, feel the sweat and muscles under his fingertips. He's lucky Jon's taking such good care of him, kissing him through it and working a steady hand on his cock as he fucks him, deep-slow-sweet-perfect -- because if it were someone else, someone he didn't trust so implicitly, he might start to lose his mind, and he's pretty sure he's close to that anyway when he feels Jon's breath stutter and his body still, just as a thousand tiny lights explode behind Brendon's eyelids.

Jon unties him as soon as it's over, quickly, pressing soft kisses to the bruised skin where Brendon had strained relentlessly against the leather. They put their clothes back on but don't leave the bed, lying side by side on matching pillows. Jon's got an arm slung over Brendon's waist, and Brendon's tracing a lazy finger across the arm. Jon has gorgeous arms, and distraction is awesome.

"Cassie owes me fifty bucks," Jon says suddenly, grinning up at Brendon through a fringe of hair.

"Why's that?"

His grin takes a turn for wicked. "She said I wouldn't like it."

Brendon smiles, inching closer and resting his head across Jon's other arm. "Yeah, well. I'm awesome."

"You are," Jon says softly, all joking gone. "You're. Brendon, I just -- "

"What?"

His face has fallen when their eyes meet, and Brendon feels something clench in his chest. "Are you sure about all this? Like -- what you're doing? I mean, this could be a dangerous game you're playing, B. Are you sure it's not just... maybe... a way to forget Ryan?"

Brendon shrugs, because after this much time, all the awkwardness, all the embarrassment and fumbling first times, he has no reasons left to feel ashamed. "So what if it is?"

Jon shrugs back. "I just. You deserve so much more than this, more than just... checkmarks on bedposts, y'know? You deserve someone solid, someone long-term. Sex... maybe isn't the best way to find yourself."

"I know," he says, because if there's anything this has taught him, that's precisely it. "I know. But... I got the answers I was looking for. I figured out how I feel, and what I want. I just can't have it, that's all."

"Ryan."

Brendon shrugs. It hurts less than saying yes.

Jon takes his hand. He never tries to say anything meaningless or trite when he knows it won't help, and Brendon appreciates it. More than he can say.

But he knows he doesn't need to say anything, either.

+++

Two days before Christmas, last show of the tour, hotel night of epic win, and Ryan tells Jon he's rooming with Brendon for reasons no one has the energy to question, even though the pair-up has been Ryan/Spencer and Brendon/Jon all tour with only one exception, and that's when the booking got fucked up and they all shared a king-size bed in Milwaukee and Brendon got to spoon Ryan for eight solid hours and Ryan didn't even complain.

It only takes one blink before Brendon finally realizes he's been an idiot for four years, trusting Ryan with his life and his career and his heart and everything in between, when he comes back to his room and finds him by the window, eyes glued to an old, crumpled sheet of notebook paper clutched in shaking hands.





[# 12 (the finale) tomorrow.]

Comments

[lolab.livejournal.com]

LKEJR;LJFAWPO34JAPW34I IGNORE ME. WANT UR RYCER.

[the-randomist.livejournal.com]

Aha, is it weird that the first thing that I noticed was you didn't call it Spyro for once? xD I AM LAME. xD

[lolab.livejournal.com]

that's b/c YOU called it rycer, and it was trying to be SUBMISSIVE so you'd WRITE it. :P

IT'S TOTALLY SPYRO OMG.

[the-randomist.livejournal.com]

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*deep breath*
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! xDDDD ROTFL

I still don't has a beta for it. D:

OH HEY. Theres that rockett scene in my spyro, I can work in the william/ryan spanking. Maybe.
Hmmmmm...

[lolab.livejournal.com]

as;lekrjaoiapo3wir4apo34i screw the beta, just gimme it NAO!

YES. SPANKING. YES.

i go shower now. preferably a cold shower.

[the-randomist.livejournal.com]

I can give you what I have so far, which is...The outline.
That you already have. xD
Tolded you I kept getting distracted by your prompts and finals and shit. XDDD


Oooh, or, you know, take a hot shower and get friendly with the massage setting on your showerhead.
>.>
<.<
wut.

[lolab.livejournal.com]

psh. i'll wait. ;)

ah, if only my shower had been that interesting. instead i spent it fighting with my gf! IN THE SHOWER! FUN! fml.

[the-randomist.livejournal.com]

O_O
Was there at least makeup shower sex????! D:

[lolab.livejournal.com]

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH. oh, god, i wish that were funny.

um, no.

[the-randomist.livejournal.com]

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD:

I sorry.
*pats*
<333
:c