(no subject)
lalalalala DRABBLES!
For teh_slush, who is always up for serial killers, and ineffort, who now has to admit defeat: Jesse Eisenberg/Andrew Garfield; The Social Network RPF; PG-13. [217 words]
They're on Jesse's sofa, sprawled half on top of each other and kissing lazily, and it's early evening, the sun only starting to turn the sky orange, when Andrew hears something. It's not an unfamiliar noise, and his brain almost doesn't register it because Jesse's tongue is in his mouth and all's right with the world, but then he remembers that this is Jesse's place they're at, not his.
"Did you hear something?" he says, reluctantly pulling away.
"What?" Jesse's lips are redder than usual, a little swollen from kissing, and it's almost enough to make Andrew forget about it and go back to making them swell up even more.
But that noise was definitely what it sounded like. "I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone in pain."
Something almost inscrutable flicks across Jesse's eyes. "I didn't hear anything."
"I know I heard something," Andrew presses. A tiny little flare of wondering hope springs up in his chest. "It was coming from the basement, I think."
Jesse doesn't say anything, just watches him for a long moment. Andrew studies his eyes. They're a liar's eyes and he knows it.
Slowly, he says, "Maybe under the floorboards," and thinks, please.
Jesse's mouth curves into a truly heart-stopping smile. "Maybe," he says, and Andrew kisses him again.
***
For kisforkurama, who knows exactly how to ping my inner insomniac: girl!Spencer Smith/girl!Brendon Urie; bandom ( girly!Panic AU); NC-17. [723 words]
The moment they leave the stage, Spencer grabs Brendon by the collar, drags her down the hallway to a vaguely quiet corner, and shoves her hard against the wall.
"Spence?" Brendon says - or at least tries to, because suddenly Spencer's tongue is in her mouth and Spencer's hand is moving up her thigh under her tiny tiny skirt, and Brendon's head is already spinning a little from her post-show high and this just makes it a little hard to stay on her feet. (Or that could just be her shoes, but. Details.)
She gasps when Spencer's mouth moves down, sucking angry, biting kisses at her jawline, licking at the sweat on Brendon's neck. "Spence," she tries again, and it's not her fault it comes out sounding so breathy.
"Looked like you had fun out there," Spencer says, words hot against Brendon's ear.
Brendon nods, a little unsure, and then moans quietly when she feels Spencer's teeth on her earlobe. Something in her almost wants to say she's sorry for... whatever, but it would only piss Spencer off if she apologized without knowing what she was supposed to be apologizing for.
"Especially with how you couldn't keep your hands off Ryan for more than a minute," Spencer continues, and yeah, those are Spencer's fingers pushing the fabric of Brendon's panties aside and teasing at her cunt.
"Jealous?" Brendon says, trying to sound cool and flippant but just ending up needy and wanton instead. Her hips twitch toward Spencer's hand.
"Not of Ryan." Spencer's other hand comes up to tangle in Brendon's hair, pulling her into another bruising kiss.
It's no secret to the rest of Panic! that playing a show gets Brendon totally, seriously wet. She likes being on display for the audience, likes feeling beautiful and unobtainable and wanted. More than that, though? She's surrounded by three of the hottest people she's ever met, doing what they do best. It's Ryan's stupidly long fingers on the frets of his guitar (Brendon can't help but remember them moving inside her last night), it's Joan's face when she lets the music wrap her up completely (so reminiscent of the way she looks when Brendon makes her come, perfectly satisfied), it's Spencer's... fuck, Spencer's everything, Spencer Smith drumming is the best porn Brendon has ever seen (the same kind of focus as when she's between Brendon's legs, those controlled little flicks of her tongue slowly making Brendon lose her mind).
"Slut," Spencer hisses, and Brendon whimpers. "You love their eyes on you and you know it. Just look at you, you're completely soaked." She slides one finger into Brendon, too fast and without warning. Brendon nearly knocks her head back against the wall.
"All those scene kids out there, they all want to fuck you," Spencer goes on, fingers all of a sudden too light, too frustratingly gentle on Brendon's clit. "And do you know why they can't?"
"Yours," Brendon gasps, arching desperately against Spencer, needing wanting craving more.
"Ours," Spencer agrees fiercely, and bites down hard on the spot where Brendon's neck meets her shoulder.
Brendon's only vaguely aware of the litany of helpless pleas that spills from her mouth - more, fuck, Spence, please, more more more oh god Spencer fuck me. She's too busy focusing on every point that Spencer's skin meets hers, on Spencer's fingers curling inside her and Spencer's teeth pulling dark red marks to the surface of her throat, and she's almost not expecting it when her orgasm hits her like - like, fuck, like something, there's a joke in here somewhere about drummers but Brendon's kind of too busy coming her brains out to think of it.
Spencer lets her shiver herself out, holds her up, because taking care of Brendon is one of the things Spencer Smith is best at. "Come on," she says, jerking her head back toward the dressing room.
"Just did," Brendon shoots back lazily, because that was way too easy and never let it be said that Brendon Boyd Urie was anything but incoherent and kind of stupid after coitus.
Spencer rolls her eyes and leans in to press a soft kiss to Brendon's swollen lips. "Come on, let's go find Ryan and Joan," she elaborates. "Unless you're not up for round two? They've probably already started without us."
Brendon doesn't need to be told twice.
For teh_slush, who is always up for serial killers, and ineffort, who now has to admit defeat: Jesse Eisenberg/Andrew Garfield; The Social Network RPF; PG-13. [217 words]
They're on Jesse's sofa, sprawled half on top of each other and kissing lazily, and it's early evening, the sun only starting to turn the sky orange, when Andrew hears something. It's not an unfamiliar noise, and his brain almost doesn't register it because Jesse's tongue is in his mouth and all's right with the world, but then he remembers that this is Jesse's place they're at, not his.
"Did you hear something?" he says, reluctantly pulling away.
"What?" Jesse's lips are redder than usual, a little swollen from kissing, and it's almost enough to make Andrew forget about it and go back to making them swell up even more.
But that noise was definitely what it sounded like. "I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone in pain."
Something almost inscrutable flicks across Jesse's eyes. "I didn't hear anything."
"I know I heard something," Andrew presses. A tiny little flare of wondering hope springs up in his chest. "It was coming from the basement, I think."
Jesse doesn't say anything, just watches him for a long moment. Andrew studies his eyes. They're a liar's eyes and he knows it.
Slowly, he says, "Maybe under the floorboards," and thinks, please.
Jesse's mouth curves into a truly heart-stopping smile. "Maybe," he says, and Andrew kisses him again.
***
For kisforkurama, who knows exactly how to ping my inner insomniac: girl!Spencer Smith/girl!Brendon Urie; bandom ( girly!Panic AU); NC-17. [723 words]
The moment they leave the stage, Spencer grabs Brendon by the collar, drags her down the hallway to a vaguely quiet corner, and shoves her hard against the wall.
"Spence?" Brendon says - or at least tries to, because suddenly Spencer's tongue is in her mouth and Spencer's hand is moving up her thigh under her tiny tiny skirt, and Brendon's head is already spinning a little from her post-show high and this just makes it a little hard to stay on her feet. (Or that could just be her shoes, but. Details.)
She gasps when Spencer's mouth moves down, sucking angry, biting kisses at her jawline, licking at the sweat on Brendon's neck. "Spence," she tries again, and it's not her fault it comes out sounding so breathy.
"Looked like you had fun out there," Spencer says, words hot against Brendon's ear.
Brendon nods, a little unsure, and then moans quietly when she feels Spencer's teeth on her earlobe. Something in her almost wants to say she's sorry for... whatever, but it would only piss Spencer off if she apologized without knowing what she was supposed to be apologizing for.
"Especially with how you couldn't keep your hands off Ryan for more than a minute," Spencer continues, and yeah, those are Spencer's fingers pushing the fabric of Brendon's panties aside and teasing at her cunt.
"Jealous?" Brendon says, trying to sound cool and flippant but just ending up needy and wanton instead. Her hips twitch toward Spencer's hand.
"Not of Ryan." Spencer's other hand comes up to tangle in Brendon's hair, pulling her into another bruising kiss.
It's no secret to the rest of Panic! that playing a show gets Brendon totally, seriously wet. She likes being on display for the audience, likes feeling beautiful and unobtainable and wanted. More than that, though? She's surrounded by three of the hottest people she's ever met, doing what they do best. It's Ryan's stupidly long fingers on the frets of his guitar (Brendon can't help but remember them moving inside her last night), it's Joan's face when she lets the music wrap her up completely (so reminiscent of the way she looks when Brendon makes her come, perfectly satisfied), it's Spencer's... fuck, Spencer's everything, Spencer Smith drumming is the best porn Brendon has ever seen (the same kind of focus as when she's between Brendon's legs, those controlled little flicks of her tongue slowly making Brendon lose her mind).
"Slut," Spencer hisses, and Brendon whimpers. "You love their eyes on you and you know it. Just look at you, you're completely soaked." She slides one finger into Brendon, too fast and without warning. Brendon nearly knocks her head back against the wall.
"All those scene kids out there, they all want to fuck you," Spencer goes on, fingers all of a sudden too light, too frustratingly gentle on Brendon's clit. "And do you know why they can't?"
"Yours," Brendon gasps, arching desperately against Spencer, needing wanting craving more.
"Ours," Spencer agrees fiercely, and bites down hard on the spot where Brendon's neck meets her shoulder.
Brendon's only vaguely aware of the litany of helpless pleas that spills from her mouth - more, fuck, Spence, please, more more more oh god Spencer fuck me. She's too busy focusing on every point that Spencer's skin meets hers, on Spencer's fingers curling inside her and Spencer's teeth pulling dark red marks to the surface of her throat, and she's almost not expecting it when her orgasm hits her like - like, fuck, like something, there's a joke in here somewhere about drummers but Brendon's kind of too busy coming her brains out to think of it.
Spencer lets her shiver herself out, holds her up, because taking care of Brendon is one of the things Spencer Smith is best at. "Come on," she says, jerking her head back toward the dressing room.
"Just did," Brendon shoots back lazily, because that was way too easy and never let it be said that Brendon Boyd Urie was anything but incoherent and kind of stupid after coitus.
Spencer rolls her eyes and leans in to press a soft kiss to Brendon's swollen lips. "Come on, let's go find Ryan and Joan," she elaborates. "Unless you're not up for round two? They've probably already started without us."
Brendon doesn't need to be told twice.