139
the trouble we could get into
Panic At The Disco (Jon/Shane! Kinda. UST!)
1,433 words. pg. So I watched the new Panic DVD and, as one does, decided that Shane and Jon should be having lots and lots of sex. This is, unfortunately, not that story. This is the story of them sitting around and talking to each other, instead. If anyone feels like writing the two of them jumping each other, though, I'd read the shit out of that. Just so you know. Thanks to citrus_vanille and denialgreen for reading over this for me. ♥
“Hey, Shane,” Jon says, appearing next to him. Shane sees Jon’s toes first, covered in sand, jeans dorkily rolled up to mid-calf, and then manages to work his way up. He squints at Jon’s face, and wishes that he’d stolen Brendon’s ridiculous sunglasses when he had the chance.
Shane pulls his knees up to his chest and watches Brendon and Ryan dip their toes into the ocean. He doubts that either of them will actually get in higher than the ankle, seeing as they’re both insanely vain beasts, and Brendon’s wearing his favorite jacket. He could be filming them, he supposes, just in case either of them does something interesting, but he’s enjoying the breeze on his shoulders, and the quiet. Things really aren’t quiet that often on this tour. He doesn’t normally mind, but that doesn’t mean that the break isn’t appreciated.
“Hey, Shane,” Jon says, appearing next to him. Shane sees Jon’s toes first, covered in sand, jeans dorkily rolled up to mid-calf, and then manages to work his way up. He squints at Jon’s face, and wishes that he’d stolen Brendon’s ridiculous sunglasses when he had the chance. Jon’s grinning down at him, pleased like he usually seems to be. He’s got one hand stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, and he’s waving with the other.
“What’s up, Jon?” Shane asks. Jon almost always has interesting answers to this question. Even if he’s not doing anything particularly quip-worthy, he’ll make something up. It might be one of Shane’s favorite things about Jon as a human being. Though, overall, there are many things that Shane likes about Jon.
“I was going to say something funny,” Jon says, “but I can’t think of anything anymore. Your boxers are distracting me too much.”
Shane looks down to where his boxer-briefs are peeking out over the waistband of his jeans. He guesses he could see how that might be possible. They are a very vivid red. They are stunningly comfortable, however, so he doesn’t really care.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, grinning. He pats the sand next to him, motioning for Jon to sit. Jon seems to think about it for a few seconds, then shrugs, sitting cross-legged next to Shane. Shane can see his face better from this angle, and he sees the pink tinge to Jon’s cheeks that means he’s probably getting a little sunburned. Jon always forgets about sunscreen. “You’re getting sunburned,” he adds, after a moment.
“Oh,” Jon says, and presses his fingers to his cheeks. “Shit.”
“Just make Zack buy you some aloe vera. That shit works wonders.” Jon laughs, and Shane smiles. Ryan and Brendon have wandered farther down the beach, feet still in the water. Brendon kicks ocean water at Ryan, who winces. Ryan’s winces are almost full-body things, visible from startling distances. Shane wonders vaguely where Spencer is. They’d left him on his cell in the parking lot, but it’s been half an hour since then, and no sign of him. If Shane had to guess, he’d say that Spencer’s sitting on the ground somewhere in the parking lot, happily not talking to anyone. Spencer needs more alone time than the other three. The curse of being level headed, probably.
Jon nudges Shane with his shoulder, and Shane wishes that he had his camera out, the one he uses for the pictures he’s not going to show anyone. Jon’s smiling the soft smile he always has on, the one that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners, and the sun brings out the red highlights in his hair. The sunburn on his cheeks looks almost like a blush, and his exposed calves are pale even against the sand.
Shane mostly tries to keep his eyes off of Jon Walker, since he thinks that this road could only lead in a bad direction, but he’s taking a day off today, and he figures that he might as well indulge. They’ll get back to the bus, Shane will take out his video camera again, and the barrier will be back. He mostly likes it that way.
He leans back on his palms, letting the wind brush through his hair, and Jon doesn’t say anything for a while. Shane listens to the sound of the waves, and the vague voices of the crew down the beach, and their breath.
“You should let one of us film you,” Jon says, finally, and he’s looking at Shane with serious eyes behind that smile. He brushes his hair off of his forehead with the back of one hand. “The mysterious man behind the camera.”
“Doing what?” Shane asks, laughing. “Besides, it’s not me the kids want to see.”
Jon just shrugs, fingers playing chords against his thighs. “You’d be surprised,” he says. Shane rolls his eyes. “No, really.”
“Whatever,” Shane says, smiling. The sand is going to leave a pattern on the skin of his palms. He almost wants to sit here until the sun goes down, just so he can see the reflection of it on the water. Maybe he’ll convince the guys to do the firework thing again out here.
“C’mon, Shane,” Jon says, wheedling in his tone. Shane can see when his smile widens into a grin, all teeth. “I promise I’ll make you look good.” Shane laughs, and Jon waggles his eyebrows. He’s not as accomplished an eyebrow-waggler as Brendon is, but Shane’s pretty sure there is almost no one with as much practice as Brendon has. It’s still charming, however.
“Fuck you, Walker,” he says, but he’s still laughing, so it’s not really an insult, especially not an effective one. “Fine,” he says, giving in. It’s the smile, really. “But I’m not promising anything goes on the DVD.”
“Whatever,” Jon says, waving him off. “I’ll make you want to put yourself on the DVD, that’s how awesome it’s going to be.”
“Sure. Best camerawork I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Exactly.” Jon stands, brushing the sand off of the back of his jeans, and holds out a hand. Shane looks at it for a second, wondering if he really feels like standing, and then grasps it, letting Jon help him up. It’s funny how different their calluses are. Jon’s hands are wider than his, slightly bigger, despite the fact that Shane is taller by a relatively large margin. Shane brushes the sand off of his ass, hiking up his jeans a little, and raises his eyebrows at Jon.
“Where’d everyone go?” he asks. He can’t even see Ryan and Brendon anymore, even though he’s pretty sure that the van is still parked in the lot at the top of the dunes.
“Giving us some privacy.” Jon grins again, straightening his t-shirt. Shane thinks that Jon can probably get away with more vague flirting than anyone else in the band, mostly because he looks so fucking genial when he says it. Ryan just comes off as creepy, and Brendon’s way too over the top. Shane doesn’t think that Spencer even bothers. He’s not sure what it would sound like if he did.
Shane just pushes Jon with both hands, making him stumble. Jon laughs, then, loudly, and holds up his hands in defense. Shane half wonders if Jon is actually flirting, but he’s not sure he wants to know. Interludes aside, he’s pretty sure it would only make life more difficult.
Jon slings an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close, and ruffles his hair.
“Time to go, soon,” Jon says, voice serious, and Shane can feel Jon’s breath on the side of his face. “We should probably save Brendon and Ryan from the ocean.”
“Yeah,” Shane says, and he doesn’t fist his hand in the back of Jon’s shirt, even if he wants to. Jon ruffles his hair again, and then pulls away.
They start off down the beach, walking side by side, but not touching. Jon flip-flops make a loud thwacking sound against the wet sand, and Shane wants to keep it in his mind. The breeze and Jon’s feet on the beach. The upside of a video camera over photography is sound.
Shane’s the camera guy. He’s supposed to remember these things.
Brendon waves when they come into view. Ryan’s got his hands in his back pockets, expression slightly sheepish.
“Don’t forget our deal, Valdes,” Jon says, and Shane glances over at him. He’s still smiling, but he’s holding his hands in front of his face like he’s got an invisible camera.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shane says, but he’s smiling, too. “Impress me, Walker.”
“I will.” Jon’s hands fall to his sides, and he digs into the sand with the toes of one foot, looking down. He’s gotten a little more sunburned, red splayed across his cheeks. “You’ll see.”
Shane waits for Brendon and Ryan to catch up, watching Jon’s toes burrow into the wet sand. He supposes that he will.
Panic At The Disco (Jon/Shane! Kinda. UST!)
1,433 words. pg. So I watched the new Panic DVD and, as one does, decided that Shane and Jon should be having lots and lots of sex. This is, unfortunately, not that story. This is the story of them sitting around and talking to each other, instead. If anyone feels like writing the two of them jumping each other, though, I'd read the shit out of that. Just so you know. Thanks to citrus_vanille and denialgreen for reading over this for me. ♥
“Hey, Shane,” Jon says, appearing next to him. Shane sees Jon’s toes first, covered in sand, jeans dorkily rolled up to mid-calf, and then manages to work his way up. He squints at Jon’s face, and wishes that he’d stolen Brendon’s ridiculous sunglasses when he had the chance.
Shane pulls his knees up to his chest and watches Brendon and Ryan dip their toes into the ocean. He doubts that either of them will actually get in higher than the ankle, seeing as they’re both insanely vain beasts, and Brendon’s wearing his favorite jacket. He could be filming them, he supposes, just in case either of them does something interesting, but he’s enjoying the breeze on his shoulders, and the quiet. Things really aren’t quiet that often on this tour. He doesn’t normally mind, but that doesn’t mean that the break isn’t appreciated.
“Hey, Shane,” Jon says, appearing next to him. Shane sees Jon’s toes first, covered in sand, jeans dorkily rolled up to mid-calf, and then manages to work his way up. He squints at Jon’s face, and wishes that he’d stolen Brendon’s ridiculous sunglasses when he had the chance. Jon’s grinning down at him, pleased like he usually seems to be. He’s got one hand stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, and he’s waving with the other.
“What’s up, Jon?” Shane asks. Jon almost always has interesting answers to this question. Even if he’s not doing anything particularly quip-worthy, he’ll make something up. It might be one of Shane’s favorite things about Jon as a human being. Though, overall, there are many things that Shane likes about Jon.
“I was going to say something funny,” Jon says, “but I can’t think of anything anymore. Your boxers are distracting me too much.”
Shane looks down to where his boxer-briefs are peeking out over the waistband of his jeans. He guesses he could see how that might be possible. They are a very vivid red. They are stunningly comfortable, however, so he doesn’t really care.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, grinning. He pats the sand next to him, motioning for Jon to sit. Jon seems to think about it for a few seconds, then shrugs, sitting cross-legged next to Shane. Shane can see his face better from this angle, and he sees the pink tinge to Jon’s cheeks that means he’s probably getting a little sunburned. Jon always forgets about sunscreen. “You’re getting sunburned,” he adds, after a moment.
“Oh,” Jon says, and presses his fingers to his cheeks. “Shit.”
“Just make Zack buy you some aloe vera. That shit works wonders.” Jon laughs, and Shane smiles. Ryan and Brendon have wandered farther down the beach, feet still in the water. Brendon kicks ocean water at Ryan, who winces. Ryan’s winces are almost full-body things, visible from startling distances. Shane wonders vaguely where Spencer is. They’d left him on his cell in the parking lot, but it’s been half an hour since then, and no sign of him. If Shane had to guess, he’d say that Spencer’s sitting on the ground somewhere in the parking lot, happily not talking to anyone. Spencer needs more alone time than the other three. The curse of being level headed, probably.
Jon nudges Shane with his shoulder, and Shane wishes that he had his camera out, the one he uses for the pictures he’s not going to show anyone. Jon’s smiling the soft smile he always has on, the one that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners, and the sun brings out the red highlights in his hair. The sunburn on his cheeks looks almost like a blush, and his exposed calves are pale even against the sand.
Shane mostly tries to keep his eyes off of Jon Walker, since he thinks that this road could only lead in a bad direction, but he’s taking a day off today, and he figures that he might as well indulge. They’ll get back to the bus, Shane will take out his video camera again, and the barrier will be back. He mostly likes it that way.
He leans back on his palms, letting the wind brush through his hair, and Jon doesn’t say anything for a while. Shane listens to the sound of the waves, and the vague voices of the crew down the beach, and their breath.
“You should let one of us film you,” Jon says, finally, and he’s looking at Shane with serious eyes behind that smile. He brushes his hair off of his forehead with the back of one hand. “The mysterious man behind the camera.”
“Doing what?” Shane asks, laughing. “Besides, it’s not me the kids want to see.”
Jon just shrugs, fingers playing chords against his thighs. “You’d be surprised,” he says. Shane rolls his eyes. “No, really.”
“Whatever,” Shane says, smiling. The sand is going to leave a pattern on the skin of his palms. He almost wants to sit here until the sun goes down, just so he can see the reflection of it on the water. Maybe he’ll convince the guys to do the firework thing again out here.
“C’mon, Shane,” Jon says, wheedling in his tone. Shane can see when his smile widens into a grin, all teeth. “I promise I’ll make you look good.” Shane laughs, and Jon waggles his eyebrows. He’s not as accomplished an eyebrow-waggler as Brendon is, but Shane’s pretty sure there is almost no one with as much practice as Brendon has. It’s still charming, however.
“Fuck you, Walker,” he says, but he’s still laughing, so it’s not really an insult, especially not an effective one. “Fine,” he says, giving in. It’s the smile, really. “But I’m not promising anything goes on the DVD.”
“Whatever,” Jon says, waving him off. “I’ll make you want to put yourself on the DVD, that’s how awesome it’s going to be.”
“Sure. Best camerawork I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Exactly.” Jon stands, brushing the sand off of the back of his jeans, and holds out a hand. Shane looks at it for a second, wondering if he really feels like standing, and then grasps it, letting Jon help him up. It’s funny how different their calluses are. Jon’s hands are wider than his, slightly bigger, despite the fact that Shane is taller by a relatively large margin. Shane brushes the sand off of his ass, hiking up his jeans a little, and raises his eyebrows at Jon.
“Where’d everyone go?” he asks. He can’t even see Ryan and Brendon anymore, even though he’s pretty sure that the van is still parked in the lot at the top of the dunes.
“Giving us some privacy.” Jon grins again, straightening his t-shirt. Shane thinks that Jon can probably get away with more vague flirting than anyone else in the band, mostly because he looks so fucking genial when he says it. Ryan just comes off as creepy, and Brendon’s way too over the top. Shane doesn’t think that Spencer even bothers. He’s not sure what it would sound like if he did.
Shane just pushes Jon with both hands, making him stumble. Jon laughs, then, loudly, and holds up his hands in defense. Shane half wonders if Jon is actually flirting, but he’s not sure he wants to know. Interludes aside, he’s pretty sure it would only make life more difficult.
Jon slings an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close, and ruffles his hair.
“Time to go, soon,” Jon says, voice serious, and Shane can feel Jon’s breath on the side of his face. “We should probably save Brendon and Ryan from the ocean.”
“Yeah,” Shane says, and he doesn’t fist his hand in the back of Jon’s shirt, even if he wants to. Jon ruffles his hair again, and then pulls away.
They start off down the beach, walking side by side, but not touching. Jon flip-flops make a loud thwacking sound against the wet sand, and Shane wants to keep it in his mind. The breeze and Jon’s feet on the beach. The upside of a video camera over photography is sound.
Shane’s the camera guy. He’s supposed to remember these things.
Brendon waves when they come into view. Ryan’s got his hands in his back pockets, expression slightly sheepish.
“Don’t forget our deal, Valdes,” Jon says, and Shane glances over at him. He’s still smiling, but he’s holding his hands in front of his face like he’s got an invisible camera.
“Yeah, yeah,” Shane says, but he’s smiling, too. “Impress me, Walker.”
“I will.” Jon’s hands fall to his sides, and he digs into the sand with the toes of one foot, looking down. He’s gotten a little more sunburned, red splayed across his cheeks. “You’ll see.”
Shane waits for Brendon and Ryan to catch up, watching Jon’s toes burrow into the wet sand. He supposes that he will.