Fic!
Title: The Way That I
Author: battie_hattie
Rating: light NC-17
Pairing: Brendon Urie (PatD)/Alex DeLeon (The Cab)
POV: Third
Summary: It starts out with a bet, and then gets out of hand. And Brendon doesn't want to loose his genitalia to some kid named Cash.
Disclaimer: Yeah, so not even!
Author Notes: Thanks to tanisafan for not judging me while writing this, and looking it over, and for being in the process of writing an epic Brendon/Singer story for me. Because she's awesome and win. ~2,500 words.
Tuesday’s are supposed to be lead singer days. Brendon should know this. It was Brendon who came up with the idea anyway. But, it’s just that Shane was out, and Brendon was horny. And there was pay-per-view porn just tempting him.
It really was enough to make him forget that Alex was coming over at five with pizza. And to make Brendon forget that he’d given the kid a key to his house because the doorbell ringing always made Dylan go a little insane.
The gasp at the entryway was what brings Alex’s presence to Brendon’s attention. “Hey,” Brendon says slowly, sheepishly, dick still in hand. “Um, I was…” he trails off and motions to the big screen where a woman is blowing a man in a cop’s uniform. “So, yeah.” It’s not like he can even start with the whole ‘it’s not what it looks like’ because it so is and it’s not like he’s the first guy ever to do it.
Alex, for his part, manages to not drop the pizzas, even though Dylan would be in puppy heaven if he did. “Most people do that in their own rooms. You have guests sit on that couch,” Alex says, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.
“My pants are still on. Just open,” Brendon points out.
“So, then it’s true what they say about Panic?” Alex asks as he walks into the living room, clearly deciding to just take walking in on Brendon jerking off in stride. “You guys are into group orgies and jerk off sessions?” He drops the pizzas on the coffee table and stares Brendon in the eyes, carefully avoiding gazing lower.
“No,” Brendon says. “What the hell, dude? You’re not listening to LiveJournal again, are you?”
Alex shrugs and flops down into the armchair. “Dude, you’ve still got your dick out. The porn is on, and I’m right here. I have to assume you’re pretty open about it.” Alex studies the screen. “Wow, porn on a big screen is way scarier that I would have imagined. That dude’s dick is like… as big as me!”
Brendon laughs. “Dude, just whip it out. We’ll do it together, and then never speak of it again. And yes, sometimes this is how we do it on the bus, and if you mention it to anyone, particularly to Cash, I’ll let Spencer have at you.”
Alex forces out a little chuckle as his eyes flick back to the screen. “Dude, seriously, we have to turn it off. Plus, she’s not even any good at it. Her technique is all wrong. That guy is totally faking it.”
Brendon’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Um, what? I don’t even think guys can fake it. He’s getting his dick sucked. He’s got to like it.”
“Ten bucks,” Alex replies, “ten bucks says that he doesn’t come from the blow job. They either fade into the next scene or he fucks her. But he’s not going to come from the blow job.”
“You are so on,” Brendon says, and he watches, abandoning his dick for a moment, but not putting it away either. Within minutes, the guy has pulled the girl up and started fucking her from behind.
“See?” Alex asks smugly. “I told you.”
“Dude, you watch way too much porn.”
“Or,” Alex hesitates. “Or, maybe I know how to give good head.”
“What, you practice on Cash Money or something?”
“Dude, no,” Alex says as he chucks a throw pillow at Brendon with surprising force. “We’re best friends. You want me to start talking about how the world thinks you and Ryan are doing it?”
Brendon scowls. “Whatever. I hate you.”
“Do you want me to show you?” Alex asks, somewhere between a threat and a promise.
Brendon wants to say no. Alex’s his protégé. Alex just graduated high school. Alex comes over and sings Disney songs with him and they eat fruit snacks. Alex doesn’t suck cock.
Alex totally sucks cock, Brendon finds. In the time it’s take Brendon to think about all the reasons why he shouldn’t let Alex near his dick, Alex has made his way over to him and is crouched down, already letting his tongue slide over the tip.
“Singer,” Brendon gasps.
Alex wraps his hand around the base of Brendon’s cock. “Alex.”
“Brendon,” Brendon says, pointing to himself before letting out a harsh little laugh. “So, um, maybe we should…”
Alex flicks his hair out of his eyes. “Turn off the TV, please. I can’t do this listening to that shit. It’s so fucking fake.”
“Oh, yeah, ok.” Brendon scrambles for the remote and turns it off. “So, I owe you ten bucks, right? For the bet.”
Alex makes a sound and then wraps his lips around Brendon’s cock and Brendon can’t help but think that Alex is just way good at it. Like natural ability good. And all that pretty hair. Brendon can’t help but run his hands through it, letting his fingers carefully card the strands as Alex takes him deeper, lips stretched pink and taught around his cock.
“Alex,” Brendon gasps. “Alex. Fuck. Danger Will Robinson.”
Alex chuckles as he pulls back, just in time from Brendon to come on his chest, long white strands staining the black button down. “Dude, this is a nice shirt,” Alex grouses, but there’s no heat to his words. He leans his forehead against Brendon’s thigh.
Brendon runs a hand over his own brow. “Fucking hell. I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you eight new ones.” His hands move to cup Alex’s cheek. “Jesus. That was. Fuck.”
Alex smiles. “Thank you. I like to know I’m appreciated. But, uh, really. Can I like, borrow one of yours? And, uh.” Alex rises up and blushes. “Maybe some shorts? Because. Uh, yeah.” There’s a dark stain at his crotch.
Brendon grins. “Yeah, sure. Of course. We can put your stuff in the wash now. And then, you know, do what we planned on doing. You know, lead singer day and all.”
“Sure,” Alex says with a nod.
…
“Dude,” Brendon says, poking Ryan in the shoulder. “You’ve got to get Singer to blow you. It’s like. Awesome.”
Ryan makes a face at the notebook he’d been scrawling in. “Oh my god, you really didn’t. Did you? Please tell me you didn’t.” He looks up at Brendon expectantly.
“Oh, I did. And you’ve got to let him. It’s like, seriously. It was the best head I’ve ever gotten in my life, hands down. Even better than that chick at that club. You know that one, off of Freemont? You remember, right? She had the lip ring.”
“You have to stop,” Ryan says, laying his cheek against the tabletop. “I can’t take it anymore, you have to stop.”
Brendon scoffs. “Dude, I’m sure Keltie wouldn’t mind. Maybe if you let her watch. Girls are into that.” He nods sagely. “You will get a lot of pussy if you let a guy go down on you, Ryan Ross.”
Ryan closes his eyes. “I’m not getting head from the tiniest Alex. Keltie is not going to watch. And you shouldn’t be getting head from him either.” He blinks his eyes open and points a finger at Brendon. “And if you do, you shouldn’t go tell everyone about how good it was. Jesus, Brendon. You would think that you would have learned some tact by now.”
“You’re just jealous,” Brendon says. He grins and goes off to find someone who will appreciate his story more.
He finds some of the wee Cab boys, specifically Cash and Johnson outside, smoking. “Boys, I have to talk to you and I have to know if you know how wonderful your lead singer is.”
Cash pushes his sunglasses up. “We are aware of Singer and his awesome. Well, mostly. He’s a lot less awesome when you’re shoved up in a van with him all the time.”
“Or have to listen to him break out into A Whole New World for no reason at three in the morning,” Johnson chimes in.
“Or when he’s bitching about his flat iron and making the whole place smell like burning hair,” Cash adds.
“What about when he’s blowing you?” Brendon asks. “Because he’s really, really awesome at that.”
Johnson is has ninja speed, something for which Brendon is eternally grateful. Because Cash is tiny, but he’s very, very protective. And he has to haul his own gear, which makes him strong. And had Johnson not managed to wrap his arms around Cash and pull him back, Brendon’s pretty sure he would have considered himself lucky if he’d walked away under his own power.
“Brendon, seriously, run,” Johnson says, fighting Cash to the ground. “I can only fucking get you a head start. I can’t hold him forever.”
Brendon doesn’t need to be told twice, and he turns on his heels, running away from Cash and back to the practice space to the sounds of Cash struggling against Johnson and threatening to cut off Brendon’s dick and choke him with it.
…
Brendon manages to avoid all of The Cab for two days, but it’s inevitable that he has to meet up with them again, since they’ll be touring together and they have meetings. Plus, Spencer does their A&R. Plus they all live in Vegas. Plus, technically, castration threats aside, they’re all friends.
Brendon does not want to lose his dick. Brendon does not think that Johnson should have ever let go of Cash. And Brendon really, really doesn’t want to die in the laundry room of his own house at the hands of some kid named Cash. But dying at Cash’s hands, in his own laundry room, less than 100 feet from his bandmates seems like an increasing possibility.
“Not only did you tell us,” Cash starts, “but you told Ryan. Who told Spencer. Who told Jon. And then there were people. People who heard you talking about how my best friend gives awesome head. Now, I’m going to have to kill you, and then I’m going to have to deal with crying Alex. And seriously, that guy can let out some water works.” Cash’s hands are clenched at his sides as he takes a series of small, calculated steps toward Brendon. “I was hoping that you’d magically come to your senses or something, so that I could stop listening to Singer get all weepy about how you don’t like him back, and I could stop hearing about what great blowjobs my friend gives.”
“Wait,” Brendon says, shrinking slightly more into the corner like a coward. “Wait, I have. Um, a defense? Also. Likes me?”
Cash stops his approach about four inches from where Brendon is cowering. “Yeah. Seriously, do you think he’s some sort of ho? Because, dude, I love you, and you’re my mentor and all that shit, and I wouldn’t have half of what I have now if it wasn’t for you, but if you’re insinuating that my best friend just goes around doing that shit for fun, I’m going to have to break several bones in your body. Look, I’ll even let you pick which ones you want me to break. Choose…” he taps his finger against his chin. “Three. I’ll let you off with three. Unless you have a better offer.”
Brendon swallows. “I’m not. I didn’t. We.” Brendon swallows again, and thinks carefully. Well, as carefully as he can at a rapid fire pace, knowing that even though the rest of his band will be able to hear him scream, they won’t get to him fast enough if what he says comes out wrong. “I’m not. He’s not a ho. It was a weird. I didn’t even know. Like, he does? Like, fuck.”
“Start making sense, asshole. Seriously.” Cash balls his hands back into fists.
“I didn’t know! OK, I thought, it was stupid, and I didn’t think and it was all this stuff and it was this bet and I thought he was joking and if I even knew that maybe he wasn’t I wouldn’t have said and I forget sometimes that Ryan is a big bitch gossip and then there were things and situations I couldn’t control and oh god, I don’t want to die in my laundry room!”
Cash laughs and steps back. “Alright. You got any soda in here? Shane said that you kept some extra twelve packs in here.”
Brendon blinks at the sudden change and points to the storage unit. “Have at it.”
…
Brendon’s nervous for the rest of the day after Cash tries to kill him. Really, who wouldn’t be? Cash is kind of a douche, but he really doesn’t fuck around when it comes to his band. And Johnson has been shooting him these meaningful looks. And Marshall won’t cuddle with him at all. And it’s like Shane and Ian are in some sort of evil pact that involves the kitchen and Brendon not being able to hide there.
The Cab is against him. And everyone is in on it. Even his roommate. And probably his own band.
Except maybe Singer, who’s toying with Brendon’s acoustic on the couch, all by himself. Everyone else has created their own little groups, and it’s like they’re keeping Brendon and Singer out of it. Bastards. Every one of them.
“Hey,” Brendon says softly. “Whatcha playing?”
Alex blinks up at him. “Nothing.” He looks down to Brendon’s guitar. “Sorry, I should have asked,” he says, pushing the guitar toward Brendon.
“No, it’s…” Brendon trails off. It would be so much easier if Alex wasn’t sitting in the same spot Brendon had been in when the whole blowjob thing had happened. “So, on a scale of one to ten, ten being, like, the biggest douche in the world, what am I?”
Alex gives a little grin. “Maybe an eight?” he says, voice raising slightly at the end, making it a question.
“Really?” Brendon says, sitting next to him. “I totally give myself a ten. Hey, could you tell Cash not to kill me?”
Alex shrugs. “Maybe. Are you going to stop telling people to ask me to blow them? It’s really kind of insulting.”
“It was a compliment?”
“Totally backhandedly, maybe.”
Brendon leans his head on Alex’s shoulder. “So, I’m kind of retarded.”
“Yeah, I’ve met you.”
Brendon shoves at him. “Who’s the one doing all the insulting now?”
Cash glares from across the room. He’s standing next to Johnson. Brendon instinctively cowers behind Alex, which is a feat, because Alex is actually smaller than he is. “They’re coming for my dick,” Brendon whispers into Alex’s ear. “And not in the good way.”
“Brendon says that he’s going to get Shane to buy us all beer,” Alex tells them. Apparently, it’s a magic code or something, because Cash and Johnson retreat into the kitchen. “Seriously, though,” Alex says, turning to Brendon. “Go get Shane to get beer, or they’ll kick your ass.”
Author: battie_hattie
Rating: light NC-17
Pairing: Brendon Urie (PatD)/Alex DeLeon (The Cab)
POV: Third
Summary: It starts out with a bet, and then gets out of hand. And Brendon doesn't want to loose his genitalia to some kid named Cash.
Disclaimer: Yeah, so not even!
Author Notes: Thanks to tanisafan for not judging me while writing this, and looking it over, and for being in the process of writing an epic Brendon/Singer story for me. Because she's awesome and win. ~2,500 words.
Tuesday’s are supposed to be lead singer days. Brendon should know this. It was Brendon who came up with the idea anyway. But, it’s just that Shane was out, and Brendon was horny. And there was pay-per-view porn just tempting him.
It really was enough to make him forget that Alex was coming over at five with pizza. And to make Brendon forget that he’d given the kid a key to his house because the doorbell ringing always made Dylan go a little insane.
The gasp at the entryway was what brings Alex’s presence to Brendon’s attention. “Hey,” Brendon says slowly, sheepishly, dick still in hand. “Um, I was…” he trails off and motions to the big screen where a woman is blowing a man in a cop’s uniform. “So, yeah.” It’s not like he can even start with the whole ‘it’s not what it looks like’ because it so is and it’s not like he’s the first guy ever to do it.
Alex, for his part, manages to not drop the pizzas, even though Dylan would be in puppy heaven if he did. “Most people do that in their own rooms. You have guests sit on that couch,” Alex says, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.
“My pants are still on. Just open,” Brendon points out.
“So, then it’s true what they say about Panic?” Alex asks as he walks into the living room, clearly deciding to just take walking in on Brendon jerking off in stride. “You guys are into group orgies and jerk off sessions?” He drops the pizzas on the coffee table and stares Brendon in the eyes, carefully avoiding gazing lower.
“No,” Brendon says. “What the hell, dude? You’re not listening to LiveJournal again, are you?”
Alex shrugs and flops down into the armchair. “Dude, you’ve still got your dick out. The porn is on, and I’m right here. I have to assume you’re pretty open about it.” Alex studies the screen. “Wow, porn on a big screen is way scarier that I would have imagined. That dude’s dick is like… as big as me!”
Brendon laughs. “Dude, just whip it out. We’ll do it together, and then never speak of it again. And yes, sometimes this is how we do it on the bus, and if you mention it to anyone, particularly to Cash, I’ll let Spencer have at you.”
Alex forces out a little chuckle as his eyes flick back to the screen. “Dude, seriously, we have to turn it off. Plus, she’s not even any good at it. Her technique is all wrong. That guy is totally faking it.”
Brendon’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Um, what? I don’t even think guys can fake it. He’s getting his dick sucked. He’s got to like it.”
“Ten bucks,” Alex replies, “ten bucks says that he doesn’t come from the blow job. They either fade into the next scene or he fucks her. But he’s not going to come from the blow job.”
“You are so on,” Brendon says, and he watches, abandoning his dick for a moment, but not putting it away either. Within minutes, the guy has pulled the girl up and started fucking her from behind.
“See?” Alex asks smugly. “I told you.”
“Dude, you watch way too much porn.”
“Or,” Alex hesitates. “Or, maybe I know how to give good head.”
“What, you practice on Cash Money or something?”
“Dude, no,” Alex says as he chucks a throw pillow at Brendon with surprising force. “We’re best friends. You want me to start talking about how the world thinks you and Ryan are doing it?”
Brendon scowls. “Whatever. I hate you.”
“Do you want me to show you?” Alex asks, somewhere between a threat and a promise.
Brendon wants to say no. Alex’s his protégé. Alex just graduated high school. Alex comes over and sings Disney songs with him and they eat fruit snacks. Alex doesn’t suck cock.
Alex totally sucks cock, Brendon finds. In the time it’s take Brendon to think about all the reasons why he shouldn’t let Alex near his dick, Alex has made his way over to him and is crouched down, already letting his tongue slide over the tip.
“Singer,” Brendon gasps.
Alex wraps his hand around the base of Brendon’s cock. “Alex.”
“Brendon,” Brendon says, pointing to himself before letting out a harsh little laugh. “So, um, maybe we should…”
Alex flicks his hair out of his eyes. “Turn off the TV, please. I can’t do this listening to that shit. It’s so fucking fake.”
“Oh, yeah, ok.” Brendon scrambles for the remote and turns it off. “So, I owe you ten bucks, right? For the bet.”
Alex makes a sound and then wraps his lips around Brendon’s cock and Brendon can’t help but think that Alex is just way good at it. Like natural ability good. And all that pretty hair. Brendon can’t help but run his hands through it, letting his fingers carefully card the strands as Alex takes him deeper, lips stretched pink and taught around his cock.
“Alex,” Brendon gasps. “Alex. Fuck. Danger Will Robinson.”
Alex chuckles as he pulls back, just in time from Brendon to come on his chest, long white strands staining the black button down. “Dude, this is a nice shirt,” Alex grouses, but there’s no heat to his words. He leans his forehead against Brendon’s thigh.
Brendon runs a hand over his own brow. “Fucking hell. I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you eight new ones.” His hands move to cup Alex’s cheek. “Jesus. That was. Fuck.”
Alex smiles. “Thank you. I like to know I’m appreciated. But, uh, really. Can I like, borrow one of yours? And, uh.” Alex rises up and blushes. “Maybe some shorts? Because. Uh, yeah.” There’s a dark stain at his crotch.
Brendon grins. “Yeah, sure. Of course. We can put your stuff in the wash now. And then, you know, do what we planned on doing. You know, lead singer day and all.”
“Sure,” Alex says with a nod.
…
“Dude,” Brendon says, poking Ryan in the shoulder. “You’ve got to get Singer to blow you. It’s like. Awesome.”
Ryan makes a face at the notebook he’d been scrawling in. “Oh my god, you really didn’t. Did you? Please tell me you didn’t.” He looks up at Brendon expectantly.
“Oh, I did. And you’ve got to let him. It’s like, seriously. It was the best head I’ve ever gotten in my life, hands down. Even better than that chick at that club. You know that one, off of Freemont? You remember, right? She had the lip ring.”
“You have to stop,” Ryan says, laying his cheek against the tabletop. “I can’t take it anymore, you have to stop.”
Brendon scoffs. “Dude, I’m sure Keltie wouldn’t mind. Maybe if you let her watch. Girls are into that.” He nods sagely. “You will get a lot of pussy if you let a guy go down on you, Ryan Ross.”
Ryan closes his eyes. “I’m not getting head from the tiniest Alex. Keltie is not going to watch. And you shouldn’t be getting head from him either.” He blinks his eyes open and points a finger at Brendon. “And if you do, you shouldn’t go tell everyone about how good it was. Jesus, Brendon. You would think that you would have learned some tact by now.”
“You’re just jealous,” Brendon says. He grins and goes off to find someone who will appreciate his story more.
He finds some of the wee Cab boys, specifically Cash and Johnson outside, smoking. “Boys, I have to talk to you and I have to know if you know how wonderful your lead singer is.”
Cash pushes his sunglasses up. “We are aware of Singer and his awesome. Well, mostly. He’s a lot less awesome when you’re shoved up in a van with him all the time.”
“Or have to listen to him break out into A Whole New World for no reason at three in the morning,” Johnson chimes in.
“Or when he’s bitching about his flat iron and making the whole place smell like burning hair,” Cash adds.
“What about when he’s blowing you?” Brendon asks. “Because he’s really, really awesome at that.”
Johnson is has ninja speed, something for which Brendon is eternally grateful. Because Cash is tiny, but he’s very, very protective. And he has to haul his own gear, which makes him strong. And had Johnson not managed to wrap his arms around Cash and pull him back, Brendon’s pretty sure he would have considered himself lucky if he’d walked away under his own power.
“Brendon, seriously, run,” Johnson says, fighting Cash to the ground. “I can only fucking get you a head start. I can’t hold him forever.”
Brendon doesn’t need to be told twice, and he turns on his heels, running away from Cash and back to the practice space to the sounds of Cash struggling against Johnson and threatening to cut off Brendon’s dick and choke him with it.
…
Brendon manages to avoid all of The Cab for two days, but it’s inevitable that he has to meet up with them again, since they’ll be touring together and they have meetings. Plus, Spencer does their A&R. Plus they all live in Vegas. Plus, technically, castration threats aside, they’re all friends.
Brendon does not want to lose his dick. Brendon does not think that Johnson should have ever let go of Cash. And Brendon really, really doesn’t want to die in the laundry room of his own house at the hands of some kid named Cash. But dying at Cash’s hands, in his own laundry room, less than 100 feet from his bandmates seems like an increasing possibility.
“Not only did you tell us,” Cash starts, “but you told Ryan. Who told Spencer. Who told Jon. And then there were people. People who heard you talking about how my best friend gives awesome head. Now, I’m going to have to kill you, and then I’m going to have to deal with crying Alex. And seriously, that guy can let out some water works.” Cash’s hands are clenched at his sides as he takes a series of small, calculated steps toward Brendon. “I was hoping that you’d magically come to your senses or something, so that I could stop listening to Singer get all weepy about how you don’t like him back, and I could stop hearing about what great blowjobs my friend gives.”
“Wait,” Brendon says, shrinking slightly more into the corner like a coward. “Wait, I have. Um, a defense? Also. Likes me?”
Cash stops his approach about four inches from where Brendon is cowering. “Yeah. Seriously, do you think he’s some sort of ho? Because, dude, I love you, and you’re my mentor and all that shit, and I wouldn’t have half of what I have now if it wasn’t for you, but if you’re insinuating that my best friend just goes around doing that shit for fun, I’m going to have to break several bones in your body. Look, I’ll even let you pick which ones you want me to break. Choose…” he taps his finger against his chin. “Three. I’ll let you off with three. Unless you have a better offer.”
Brendon swallows. “I’m not. I didn’t. We.” Brendon swallows again, and thinks carefully. Well, as carefully as he can at a rapid fire pace, knowing that even though the rest of his band will be able to hear him scream, they won’t get to him fast enough if what he says comes out wrong. “I’m not. He’s not a ho. It was a weird. I didn’t even know. Like, he does? Like, fuck.”
“Start making sense, asshole. Seriously.” Cash balls his hands back into fists.
“I didn’t know! OK, I thought, it was stupid, and I didn’t think and it was all this stuff and it was this bet and I thought he was joking and if I even knew that maybe he wasn’t I wouldn’t have said and I forget sometimes that Ryan is a big bitch gossip and then there were things and situations I couldn’t control and oh god, I don’t want to die in my laundry room!”
Cash laughs and steps back. “Alright. You got any soda in here? Shane said that you kept some extra twelve packs in here.”
Brendon blinks at the sudden change and points to the storage unit. “Have at it.”
…
Brendon’s nervous for the rest of the day after Cash tries to kill him. Really, who wouldn’t be? Cash is kind of a douche, but he really doesn’t fuck around when it comes to his band. And Johnson has been shooting him these meaningful looks. And Marshall won’t cuddle with him at all. And it’s like Shane and Ian are in some sort of evil pact that involves the kitchen and Brendon not being able to hide there.
The Cab is against him. And everyone is in on it. Even his roommate. And probably his own band.
Except maybe Singer, who’s toying with Brendon’s acoustic on the couch, all by himself. Everyone else has created their own little groups, and it’s like they’re keeping Brendon and Singer out of it. Bastards. Every one of them.
“Hey,” Brendon says softly. “Whatcha playing?”
Alex blinks up at him. “Nothing.” He looks down to Brendon’s guitar. “Sorry, I should have asked,” he says, pushing the guitar toward Brendon.
“No, it’s…” Brendon trails off. It would be so much easier if Alex wasn’t sitting in the same spot Brendon had been in when the whole blowjob thing had happened. “So, on a scale of one to ten, ten being, like, the biggest douche in the world, what am I?”
Alex gives a little grin. “Maybe an eight?” he says, voice raising slightly at the end, making it a question.
“Really?” Brendon says, sitting next to him. “I totally give myself a ten. Hey, could you tell Cash not to kill me?”
Alex shrugs. “Maybe. Are you going to stop telling people to ask me to blow them? It’s really kind of insulting.”
“It was a compliment?”
“Totally backhandedly, maybe.”
Brendon leans his head on Alex’s shoulder. “So, I’m kind of retarded.”
“Yeah, I’ve met you.”
Brendon shoves at him. “Who’s the one doing all the insulting now?”
Cash glares from across the room. He’s standing next to Johnson. Brendon instinctively cowers behind Alex, which is a feat, because Alex is actually smaller than he is. “They’re coming for my dick,” Brendon whispers into Alex’s ear. “And not in the good way.”
“Brendon says that he’s going to get Shane to buy us all beer,” Alex tells them. Apparently, it’s a magic code or something, because Cash and Johnson retreat into the kitchen. “Seriously, though,” Alex says, turning to Brendon. “Go get Shane to get beer, or they’ll kick your ass.”