always seem to be opening | Gen | NC-17 (Brendon/OFCs) | ~ 10 250 words
always seem to be opening
Brendon (Brendon/OFC, Brendon&Shane)| NC-17 (for het sex) | ~ 10 250 words
The joining we do with others needs containing.
I wouldn't have been able to write this without the much appreciated hand-holding from jocondite. We've been chatting about Brendon&Shane&girls for months now; I definitely would never have written this without her. Many thanks to sociofemme for the beta and suggestions. As always I am incredibly, incredibly grateful for the help she provided.
Having a core is flower-shaped and hurts
in the way that having a shape hurts, which is to say
it hurts ironically, because to have limits
is not just to make a declaration upon a mountainside,
it is also to be the mountainside. ...
From All Objects Reveal Something About the Body by Catie Rosemurgy
Brendon holds up his phone as the elevator slowly counts down floors. They had a driver at one point, but he's not actually sure what number he would call to get a pick up. It'll probably be easier just to catch a cab.
He's still sticky with sweat -- and other things-- because he booked out of the apartment pretty quickly after they finished, without bothering to shower first. He took her phone number, but didn't give her his.
He stands on the street corner, watching for a cab to flag down. He wonders if he should give Zack a call; Zack would know how to find the number for a local cab company, at least. He'd probably know where the car went off to. Luckily, it's a busy intersection and he manages to wave over a cab within a few minutes.
He gives the driver the name of their hotel, then settles back in his seat, watching out the window.
"You on a vacation?" the driver asks.
Brendon glances forward. He can see the man's eyes in the rear view mirror; the man is looking at the road.
"Something like that," Brendon says.
The driver hums, leaning forward as he starts inching into the intersection to make a right turn.
Brendon jiggles his foot up and down, drums his fingers on the armrest. He squirms around, happy, full in the way that joy comes in these small bursts, like when he realizes that this is his life, heading back to hotel at five in the morning after playing a show, knowing that he gets to do it all again tomorrow.
--
The driver idles in the passenger zone in front of the hotel; Brendon tips him a fifty.
--
*
--
They arrive at the venue five hours early. Brendon bums around for a while in the dressing room. He and Spencer managed to beat Zack and Eric at foosball seven to five.
Zack says, "Best of fourteen," but Brendon and Spencer make a speedy departure.
Brendon grabs a skateboard and his iPod and finds a long hallway. He skates up and down the hall, singing along with his playlist, Bden's WarmUp Songs!!!1!
He's starting to get dizzy - the hallway is long, but he's moving quickly, and it feels like he's changing directions every few seconds - when Shane rounds the corner.
Brendon lets out a loud war cry, kicks his foot hard against the ground and charges toward him. The wheels of the skateboard make a whooshing sound as he flies across the linoleum.
Shane's fiddling with something in his camera bag, but when he hears Brendon, he looks up, wide-eyed.
Brendon folds his fingers into fists, tucks his arms against his sides, leaning forward. He's aerodynamic and heading right for Shane, and at the last minute, Shane steps to the side, and then Brendon is aerodynamic and heading straight for the wall.
Brendon jumps off the skateboard, diving to the ground. He hits the floor with an oof, and the skateboard crashes into the wall. His iPod flies out of his pocket and lands a couple feet away.
Brendon rolls a few times, raises his head to check his positioning, then rolls a few more times, aiming for Shane.
"Blarg," he says when he hits Shane's legs.
"Oh, I'm hit," Shane says. He topples forward, and Brendon has to roll some more so that Shane doesn't land on top of him.
He lies on his back, panting.
"You could have given me a head's up," Shane says, sprawled beside Brendon. "I would have filmed you."
"I don't want to give away all of my secrets," Brendon says, absently. "Actually, wait, do you have your camera? I could probably do it again."
They take a while to discuss whether it would be a better angle to film Brendon from the ground or not. Shane thinks that if he lies on his stomach, he'll be able to get the wheels of the skateboard, and then Brendon's body rolling away. Brendon's concerned that without showing his epic dive off the board, mere moments before an imminent collision with the wall, the rolling will not be as impressive.
"Requesting all Brendons," Zack's voice booms. He stands at the other end of the hall, and when Brendon looks up, Zack gestures for him to come. "Time for soundcheck."
Brendon looks at Shane and makes a disappointed face.
"I'll film you sound-checking," Shane says, shrugging.
"Awesomeness level... decreasing... negative five," Brendon says. "Bzzt, bzzt."
Shane grins. He pushes to his feet and offers Brendon his hand. Brendon lets Shane pull him up. He bends again and grabs Shane's camera bag, offering it to him, then taking off down the hall, sprinting to Zack.
--
*
--
They finish the concert and load into a van.
"There's no show tomorrow," Zack says. "So it's a hotel night."
In celebration, Jon raises the red plastic cup he's been refilling all night.
"You guys want to head for food first or what?"
--
They eat some, "Motherfucking spicy curry," Brendon says, wiping his eyes. His mouth feels numb, but it also burns so bad. His water glass is empty - for the dozenth time this evening, and where is the waiter, anyway? - so he grabs Ryan's, draining it quickly.
The water doesn't help.
"Motherfucking spicy as fuck curry," Brendon says. He wipes his eyes with the back of his other hand.
"If it burns going in, it'll burn coming out," Jon says. He munches happily on naan bread.
Brendon sniffles. He reaches across the table and grabs the rest of the piece from Jon's plate. He can't taste anything except pain, but still it's nice to chew on something neutral.
Shane's camera is on the table. His fingers are brushing over the top of it, and Brendon says, "Don't film me tonight. I'm all splotchy."
"You're all snotty," Shane says.
Brendon rubs his hand over his stomach. "I should not have had that chicken."
They finish eating, and break into two groups. There's a club just down the street, and the van's going to come back for them after taking one group back to the hotel.
"You sure you don't want to come?" Brendon asks Shane.
"I'm sure," Shane says. "I've got to fill out a pile of release forms. Maybe I'll see if Spencer wants to watch a movie after or something." Spencer's heading back to the hotel because he said he'd call Haley tonight.
"'kay," Brendon says.
--
Brendon stays out late, and ends up bringing someone back to the hotel room with him. She's drunk enough that she leans against his shoulder during the long walk down the hallway toward the room, but not so drunk that she ever stumbles, even though she's taller than he is in her high heels.
He opens the door and peeks inside. The lights are off. The room is dim, but Brendon can see a Shane-shaped lump on one of the beds. He'd kind of sort of half managed to convince himself that Shane would still be in Spencer's room. It's 5 am though; there wasn't a great chance for that.
"We've gotta be quiet," he whispers to the girl, widening his eyes dramatically. He'd asked at the club if they could just go back to her place, but she said that she has a roommate.
He and the girl try to tiptoe into the room. Brendon toes off his shoes, then stumbles when he steps on one again as he tries to walk past the entrance. "Shh," he hisses, raising one finger to his lips.
She tucks her fingers in his belt loops and follows behind him as they creep toward Brendon's bed.
They start making out on top of the covers. Brendon really likes kissing. He doesn't think they're making noises or anything, but he's really aware of the sounds he makes each time he breathes in, the sharp way his breath catches in the back of his throat when he inhales. He closes his eyes tightly, and seals his mouth over hers and for a minute everything gets slick and hot and perfect, the dirty rhythm of their tongues sliding together.
He takes off her shirt, takes off his own. She's wearing a green bra. He thinks he might leave it on while he fucks her, but when he strokes down from her collarbones her skin is soft and smooth, and he does take her bra off after all, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples.
She lies on her back and grins up at him while he rolls on a condom.
He starts fucking her, and it's awkward at first because he doesn't know how to thrust in a way that won't make the bed squeak. Each time he moves, it's carefully, like he's testing it out. Eventually they work into something like a rhythm. The girl grinds up against him, and their bellies rub together, and it's starting to feel really good, when he hears the sound of blankets moving on the other bed, the slow creak of a mattress moving.
He glances over, just out of the corner of his eye, and he thinks that he can see Shane facing him, and he thinks that Shane's eyes are open. He thinks that Shane's lying on his side, facing toward Brendon's bed, but it's dark and Brendon can't see for sure.
He forces the breath out of his lungs, exhaling in short bursts.
Shane might be awake and he might be watching. Brendon doesn't want to turn his head, because he's afraid that if he acknowledges the moment he'll have to stop. He doesn't want to stop. It feels good. The girl has her heels on the bed, her legs spread wide to make room for him, and she arches up to meet him.
He drops his head, ducking so that his chin nearly touches his chest, and focuses on the rhythm of fucking her. He wonders what this would look like from a side view: the movement of his hips, the girl's breasts bouncing softly each time he thrusts up. The room is dark; maybe Shane wouldn't be able to see. He was lying in the dark before Brendon even got there though. Lots of time for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
Brendon comes, and he pulls out and moves down the bed, touching his tongue to her pussy without any lead up. He licks firm and fast, and each time she makes a little noise he licks even harder, trying to draw the noises out. Hunched in front of her, the room feels a little colder. His back feels bare.
She rocks her hips up and he holds his tongue still for her to rub against. His hair line is wet with sweat, and now the lower half of his face is wet, too. The room probably smells like sex.
She comes, and he wants to keep going. He'd keep going, stay here with his tongue in her cunt. He's hard again. She starts squirming away, even when he makes his tongue softer and tries to coax her back. He finally pulls away.
Her hair is messy against the pillow, and her breasts jiggle as she pants. He watches her as she comes down. Looks at her and doesn't turn his head to the side.
Afterwards, she dresses, but he stays naked when he walks her to the door, kissing her again before she leaves. He closes the door and turns around. Shane's back is to him, and he's not moving. Brendon crawls back into bed and stares at Shane's back, listening for his breathing to try and figure out if he's awake, if he was ever awake.
He's hard and it's not going away. He's still naked and it's easy to push his hand under the blankets and start to jerk off, the swish swish swish of his wrist rubbing against the blankets. The room already smells like sex. Shane doesn't move in the other bed.
Brendon closes his eyes when he comes, then lies there and listens to the sound of his breathing, listens for any other noises.
--
*
--
Brendon walks out of the bathroom, dropping his towel on the floor as he digs around in his bag for a change of clothes.
"The moon is full," Jon calls from the side of the room. "I repeat, the moon is full."
"Is it really impossible for you to dress again after you shower?" Ryan asks as he makes his way toward the bathroom. "No one here wants to see that."
Shane laughs.
Brendon pulls out a clean-ish t-shirt. "Fuck off, doucherag," he says, just before Ryan closes the door to the bathroom.
He stands up.
"The full moon is rising," Jon narrates.
Brendon wiggles his ass, then starts the process of tugging his skinny jeans up his still slightly wet legs.
--
*
--
Tour ends and they go back home, and it's the same as always except this time Shane and Regan are on a break and she's taken Dylan with her to California.
She's in California, and they're on a break, and when Shane said, "Me and Regan are on a break; we should go out tonight," Brendon says, "Hell yeah."
--
They sit at one of the little tables. Just two chairs at first, but it's easy enough to squish together to make room for the girl who comes over.
Brendon finishes the last of his beer. He has to drink carefully to avoid the three lemon seeds that are floating in the final sip of beer. Lime is better in Corona, but lemons are better than nothing.
The girl - Lacey, she says her name is Lacey - is drinking a purple something or another. Purple Rain? The drink doesn't even look purple; it's a midnight blue. Brendon wonders if her tongue is blue now.
Shane's well on the way to finding out, leaning in close and resting his arm gently around her shoulders. She looks back and forth between them, laughs at both of their jokes.
Brendon dumps the rest of the pitcher into his glass. There isn't much left, so he just tips the pitcher over, and some of the beer splashes onto the table, a few drops landing on his arm.
He laughs, says, "Oops," and licks his arm.
"Such a waste of beer," Shane grumbles.
Lacey laughs.
She bends in - and there's a lovely view, right there. She's got small breasts, but they're very round - and wipes the last smudge off of the back of Brendon's hand.
Brendon laughs softly.
--
It's getting late when Shane asks, "Aren't you going to--?"
Brendon shakes his head. Lacey is standing just behind Shane.
"Nah," Brendon says, "I'm good."
--
They take a cab back to their house.
Lacey takes a long time to undo her shoes, fiddling and fussing with the tiny straps. Brendon watches the way the neckline of her shirt slides down while she bends over.
"You going to show me around?" she asks, once she has her shoes off.
Brendon wiggles his eyebrows and extends his hand. "Absolutely."
He walks her through the living room and the kitchen. Shane follows beside her, his hand resting on her hip.
When they start walking down the hall toward the bedrooms, Shane laughs and says, "Okay, buddy, thanks for the guide."
"Always happy to help," Brendon says. He tucks his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans.
Lacey walks into Shane's bedroom and then Shane. He turns and grins at Brendon before shutting the door.
Brendon taps his fingers against his thighs.
He walks slowly back to the kitchen.
He doesn't feel drunk anymore, so he grabs the bottle of vodka and pours it into a glass, not bothering to measure out an ounce. He fills the glass up the rest of the way with orange juice, then heads to the living room.
They've got a leather couch in the living room, which is usually annoying because Brendon's body runs at a high temperature and most of the time his skin sticks to the leather. Right now, he's kind of cold though, and the couch feels soft. He tips his head back, turns so that he can rub his cheek against the back of his couch.
He didn't put any ice cubes in his drink, so it's not very cold and he ends up drinking it quickly. His mouth takes funny afterwards: sour from the orange juice and dry from the alcohol.
From where he's sitting, the house seems empty. The good thing about the layout is that sound doesn't much carry from the bedrooms.
Brendon scratches at his scalp. It feels good. Not as good as it feels to rub his eyes, the relief of pressure after a day wearing contact lenses, but still good.
His head starts to throb, but it's satisfying and he keeps scratching until his finger slips wetly. He pulls his hand away, wipes the red off onto his jeans. They're due for a wash anyway. He doesn't know what else he's supposed to do. It's not like he can put a band aid on his head; his hair would get in the way.
He touches his finger to his scalp, wipes the blood off on his palm.
A door opens and then there are footsteps as Shane walks Lacey to the door. Brendon can hear voices, but he can't quite make out what they're saying.
He waits in the living room, thinking maybe Shane will want to watch a movie or something, but Shane just walks down the hall again, closes the door to his bedroom.
Brendon rubs his fingers over his head. Some dried blood crumbles away. It's gross, and he's really tempted to keep picking at it, so instead he stands up, grabs the little cooler where they keep all the weed stuff, and walks to his own bedroom.
The bong doesn't have any water in it, and by the time he notices he's lying on his bed. It's really comfortable here and he doesn't want to get up. He rolls himself a joint instead.
He starts feeling sleepy after a couple of tokes, and while he almost wants to finish the joint just on principle, he ends up putting it out, tapping the lit end to the side of the water glass resting on his bedside table, and tucking it back into the baggy with the rest of the weed.
He turns off the lights and tucks himself into bed. His stupid pillow is too soft and it feels like his head is going to float away. He curls his hand under his chin.
--
*
--
"Spencer," Brendon moans. "This is--" He trails off and takes another bite instead.
Haley laughs at him from where she's sitting across the table. She reaches for Spencer's hand and gives him a little squeeze. Spencer looks smug. Brendon takes another bite.
Brendon tries some of whatever the green stuff is, and says, "I don't even know what this is, but it's fucking amazing. 'kay, for real, we're getting a kitchen installed on the bus so that you can cook for me for always."
Haley tilts the wine bottle questioningly, and Brendon says, "Please." She tops off his glass.
Brendon groans again. "Even your rice is better than normal rice. It's like magic."
"It's risotto," Spencer says.
Brendon nods. "Magic."
Spencer does better than the rest of them at being home from tour. He's got his house and his girlfriend and his dogs and his mad cooking skills. Brendon loves Spencer. He kind of wants to move into Spencer's guest room, but probably that wouldn't work out too well because they also have to live in the same bus when they're on tour, and that's probably more than enough time with Brendon for one person to have to bear.
"What's Shane up to?" Spencer asks.
"Probably eating pizza," Brendon says. Ha, he thinks.
"How's he doing with the whole breakup thing?"
"Great," Brendon says. He sets his fork down and pushes his plate forward. "May I have some more?"
--
Brendon pretends like he's going to take the leftovers home for Shane, but he's pretty sure that Spencer knows he's planning on eating them himself.
"You are so lucky," he whispers to Haley when he's hugging her goodnight.
She laughs and says, "Oh, I know."
If Brendon could find a girl to have the kind of relationship with that Spencer and Haley have, he would totally settle down. A girl who's like Shane and doesn't mind spending time with him, that would be best. It's funny to think about getting married and shit. Brendon wants that, one day. It seems really far away right now. It seems kind of like it's an abstract thing when he thinks about it when he's by himself. More like it's just distant after nights like this when he's with Spencer and Haley. It's funny how some people meet someone that they can have that with. He sees the way Spencer looks at Haley and knows that he's never had someone he feels that way about. Not like it feels right to be with them now and in the future. For all times. That it would always feel right.
--
*
--
"Are we going out tonight?" Brendon asks Shane. He hasn't seen Ryan in a couple of days, and if Shane has other plans maybe he'll give Ryan a call.
"Do you want to?" Shane asks.
Brendon chews on the inside of his cheek. He's been feeling kind of too big for his skin all day. He says, "Umm, yeah. Yeah, I want to."
--
Brendon goes to the bar and gets drinks for him and Shane, and when he comes back, Shane's got his arm around a brunette.
"This is Brendon," Shane says when Brendon slides into the other side of the booth. "The roommate I was telling you about."
"I'm Jewel," she says, extending her hand. She bends her fingers when he reaches out, so it's more of a squeeze than an actual handshake. He always wonders what girls expect when they do that; he feels like a douche trying to turn it into a shake, but it's also awkward to just squeeze. His palm is sweaty. He wonders if she noticed.
"Nice to meet you," Brendon says.
"Jewel's friend's going to be showing up soon," says Shane. He looks at Jewel and says, "Right?"
"Yeah. She's a lot of fun."
"Is she?" Brendon repeats. "Awesome. I like fun."
Shane shifts, adjusting his arm so that his hand is draped further forward, his fingers dangling loosely. When she breathes in, the tips of his fingers just brush her breasts.
"Awesome," Shane echoes.
--
Jewel's friend is named Kat and she grinds up against Brendon on the dance floor until Brendon's cock feels like it's starting to chafe in his jeans. He doesn't want to stop, but when he starts making noises about them heading somewhere else, she seems eager enough.
The four of them pile into the back of a cab, the girls sitting in the middle.
They walk into the main room and Shane goes for drinks while Brendon hooks up his iPod and starts playing music.
Shane carries in four beers, holding the necks in between his fingers. Kat passes her beer to Brendon and asks him to twist off the cap for her.
"You've got a really sweet house," she says.
"Thanks," Brendon says. "You want me to show you around? I've got a huge TV in my bedroom."
Kat laughs. He leans in and she leans the same way so their heads come close together. "'kay," she says softly. "After I finish my drink?"
Brendon lifts his beer and clinks his bottle with hers.
"Cheers."
--
"She's all, 'Oh, um. You guys know each other?' And then he says, 'Of course I know him, that's my father." Jewel starts laughing so hard that she has to lean back against Shane for support.
Shane's cheeks are flushed pink from laughter.
"Seriously?" he asks.
Kat ducks, turning her head to hide her face in Brendon's shoulders. Kat stays tucked close to Brendon's side, but she nods. "He didn't look that old!"
"How do you end up dating a guy and his father?" Shane asks, laughing. He throws his head back when he finishes what's left of his beer.
"Dating's such a strong word," Kat says. She turns her head, looking up at Brendon. She has long eyelashes. Brendon's drunk.
He looks down at her, zones out for a minute before ducking the rest of the way and kissing her. He starts turning his body, and ends up knocking over a beer bottle when he moves his hand.
"Whoops," he says, pulling away. He catches it, but it's already started slipping onto the carpet. "Shhh," he says, righting the bottle. "Don't tell Shane."
"Shane can hear you," Shane says. "And see you."
"Shhh," Brendon repeats, dropping his head to rub his nose into the curve of her neck. He kisses the top of her collarbone then says, "I'll go get a new one."
He stops in the bathroom on the way to the kitchen. It feels really fucking good to piss after a night of drinking, the relief of release. He washes his hands, and uses a piece of toilet paper to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His face is shiny and flushed, his hair damp and matted to his forehead. He fluffs it away with the tips of his fingers.
He walks into the kitchen, considers a glass of water, but decides on orange juice, drinking right out of the bottle.
He grabs a couple more beers out of the fridge, and twists off the lid of one of them, drinking from it as he walks back into the main room.
He sees Shane sitting on the couch, sees Kat and Jewel sitting together on the floor. Kat's fingers are hidden in Jewel's long hair, but he can see her tongue, peeking out as she kisses Jewel.
Brendon walks over to the couch, sits down beside Shane and passes him the other beer. Shane takes it without looking away from the girls.
"How did you get them to do that?" Brendon whispers, staring.
"Dude, I don't even know," Shane says. "They just started."
"Tell them to take off their shirts," Brendon whispers, elbowing Shane.
"You tell them," Shane retorts, elbowing Brendon right back.
Brendon shifts on the couch, spreading his legs further apart.
--
Brendon doesn't close his bedroom door. He takes her leggings off and pushes her dress-shirt thing up, touches her pussy before sliding his cock inside.
"Go slow, okay?" she murmurs.
He nods, then rubs his cheek against his shoulder, rolling his shoulders as he holds himself over her, rolling his hips.
She makes a high noise, which cuts off quickly. She holds her breath.
He drops further down, resting on his forearm and elbow instead of his open palm. He uses his other hand, licks his thumb and moves it down to brush brush brush over her clit, rubbing slow circles and holding his hips still until finally she starts rocking up against him, opening her legs wider and squirming.
He moves away, sitting back and pulling on her hips with both hands until she rolls over, settling on her hands and knees. Her dress hangs over the curve of her ass. He hooks his fingers under the hem, pulling it up and away until it rucks up around her shoulder blades.
He presses one hand flat to her lower back while he fucks her, leans into it. She drops from her hands to her elbows, and her ass raises higher in the air. It's a good view. Somewhere down the hall, Brendon can hear giggles and the sound of something thumping up against the wall.
He fucks her for a while before he comes. He's pretty riled up, but he's also pretty drunk. After, he rolls her onto her back. He likes fingering girls after he's fucked them, the way his three fingers just slip inside. She's wet and relaxed and he moves his hand hard and fast. Her face screws up until she looks kind of ugly, and there's something satisfying in that.
His arm starts to hurt, so he stills his fingers, leaves them inside her while he uses his other hand to rub at her clit. His fingers slide around and it's hard to rub exactly where he thinks he should be rubbing. He curls his fingers inside of her, fingers digging in hard. Greta told him about that; he never fucked her but they got drunk together a couple of times. His fingers sink in. It's weird that girls' bodies are shaped like this, his fingers curled into something of a hook, but it turns her breathing ragged.
Her thighs shake. She keeps snapping her hips up in these sharp, random motions. He doesn't know exactly when she starts coming, but eventually she sinks into the mattress and he pulls his hands away.
He feels sleepy.
"I'll call you a cab," he says. She sits up, pushing the hem of her shirt down. It only just covers the v at the tops of her thighs.
--
He and Shane lean against the wall in the entrance while the girls bend over and put their shoes back on. Jewel walks back to the living room to grab her coat. Kat walks over, stands in front of Brendon, and they make out, tongues sliding slowly, until the phone rings with a warning that the cab is nearly there. Kat pulls away, and Brendon settles back against the wall, his elbow brushing Shane's. Shane is wearing grey sweatpants and the same shirt as before.
The girls leave, and Brendon yawns, opening his mouth until his jaw cracks. He picks at whatever's stuck under his fingernails.
"You want to smoke a bowl before bed?" Shane asks.
Brendon says, "Yeah, sure."
--
"Is there anything left?" Brendon asks, reaching half-heartedly to where the bong is resting on his bedside table. He has to reach across Shane.
"Dude, it's done," Shane says.
Brendon sighs, pulling back mid-reach. He lies down on the bed, his head half on one pillow and half on the same one that Shane's head is on.
"I'm totally fucked up right now," Shane says. His voice is lower than usual, rougher. He turns his head away to cough a few times, then lies back again, staring up at the ceiling.
Brendon slides his eyes over, looking sideways at Shane's profile.
"I'm not too bad," Brendon says, but he's not sure if that's the truth. He's past drunk and into sleepy, but that doesn't mean that he still won't feel like shit in the morning. He feels like his body is floating just above the comforter, like he's not actually touching down.
He wiggles over a little, turning his head to rest his cheek on Shane's shoulder. He thinks he's actually touching Shane; Shane is more real than the bed.
"Tonight was fun," Brendon says. He can just barely hear Shane hum, mh hm. He rolls in, bringing his knees up until they press along the outside of Shane's leg. Shane drops his head so that his cheek rests against the top of Brendon's head.
--
*
--
Brendon finds one of Dylan's squeaky toys in the laundry room. He stands in front of the washing machine and squeezes it rhythmically, eee when he tightens his hand and then the whoosh when he relaxes his fingers and air rushes in again.
"What are you doing?" Shane yells down the hall.
"Laundry," Brendon calls back.
He hears footsteps as Shane walks toward him.
"That's not a laundry sound," Shane says, and then pokes his head through the door.
Brendon lifts the toy. He squeezes it slowly.
Shane turns his open palms toward Brendon, and Brendon tosses the toy to him.
"Do you think we should get another dog?" Brendon asks.
Shane shakes his head. "Regan took care of Dylan most of the time, anyway."
"I miss her," Brendon says. He means both of them, really. Regan was nice. Whenever she made a special dinner for Shane, she'd always give some to him, too, which is more than he can say about Shane.
"Yeah, me too," Shane says. He crosses his arms and huffs out a sigh.
"Regan is hot," Brendon says. "It was nice having her around the house."
"Hey, shut the fuck up," Shane says, lightly. "That's my girlfriend."
"Was," Brendon corrects.
The laundry machine rumbles, and Brendon can feel the vibrations from where his hip is just just touching the machine.
Shane says, "Well, I dunno, you never know, right? Nothing's ever for sure between people."
Brendon shrugs. Sometimes things are for sure a certain way between people.
Shane frowns and opens his mouth, but Brendon cuts him off by saying, "You can tell her that you found the toy when you call her next."
The collar of Shane's t-shirt is all stretched out, and it slides down more on one side than the other. He says, "Eh. We're taking a break for a reason."
Brendon rolls his eyes. Shane sometimes talks a big game, but he's a huge sap. He'll probably call Regan tonight and get her to put Dylan on the phone, and squeak the toy for Dylan, and then Dylan will make that quiet whining noise she makes, and Regan will get back on the phone and say that Dylan misses Shane.
The washing machine beeps, and Brendon turns around. He starts moving wet clothes into the dryer.
--
*
--
"Those girls were crazy," Shane says. He's staring up at the ceiling. His face is still sweaty even though the girls left almost half an hour ago.
"No shit," Brendon says. He rubs his hand over his belly. He hasn't showered yet, and his skin feels sticky underneath his clothes. "I'm going to go get something to drink. You want?"
"Yeah," Shane says.
"Beer or water?" Brendon pushes up off the bed.
Shane stares at him. He raises one eyebrow.
Brendon laughs. "Yeah, okay, beer."
Brendon's feet make a padding sound as he walks down the hall. He's still wearing socks, which means that he was wearing socks when he had sex earlier. Whoops. He thinks that maybe his girl wasn't as crazy as Shane's girl, so that's too bad. The girl he was with blew him and then he jerked off onto her tits, and that was fun, but not like, oh wow, crazy shit is happening here.
Brendon wonders what Shane did with his girl. Brendon left his door open, and probably Shane did too, because when Brendon was jerking off, he thought he could hear noises. Nothing specific, just movement or something. The girl wasn't making any sounds, so probably they would have been coming from Shane's room. Brendon's getting bored of fucking girls in his own bedroom. At least when he's on tour it's always in a different hotel room.
He fills up a glass with water and drinks most of it before grabbing a couple of beers to take back. Shane's lying in his bed right now. The comforter is still pulled up, but the comforter was also pulled up when he had sex tonight and also the night before last, and most nights, really. If Shane's just going to stay in his own room, Brendon could probably bring girls to the living room or something. Then he wouldn't have to worry about if he needs to get his comforter dry cleaned. Brendon thinks it would be hot to fuck someone on the couch in the living room, right in the middle of the house.
He passes Shane the bottle of beer and then lies down beside him. He doesn't say anything about the comforter. He and Shane are both lying close to the center of the bed, and mostly all that Brendon can smell is what's left of the cologne Shane put on earlier, anyway.
--
*
--
"Dude, we've been out every single night this week," Shane says. "I've got shit to do tomorrow."
"What shit?" Brendon asks.
"Just shit, I dunno," Shane says. "Networking shit or whatever. I'm still trying to get someone to look at that script."
"Maybe you could clean the kitchen," Brendon suggests.
"I'm not cleaning the kitchen," says Shane.
"Someone has to clean the kitchen," Brendon says.
"I'm not cleaning the kitchen," Shane repeats.
Brendon hangs out with Ryan for a few hours before Ryan has to meet up with his friends. He invites Brendon along, but Brendon just heads home.
He calls, "Hello," when he enters the house but Shane doesn't answer.
Brendon walks to Shane's bedroom. The door isn't closed, and when Brendon stands in the hallway, he can hear Shane murmuring, "Yeah, I miss you too. Yeah, I know, I know. No, it was a good idea, but, I mean, yeah. Yeah. No, you should totally come and visit. Yeah, yeah, next week? No, I'll come pick you up at the airport. No, I will. Yeah, okay. Call me before your flight takes off and tell me what time you'll be landing." He laughs. "Yeah, fucking never on time. It's pretty fucked." Shane's quiet for a long moment and then he says, "I'm really looking forward to seeing you again."
Brendon walks the rest of the way down the hall to his own bedroom and closes the door.
--
*
--
"Regan's going to come visit for a couple of days," Shane says at breakfast.
Brendon says, "Tell her to bring Dylan."
--
*
--
"How's Chicago?" Brendon asks.
"Excellent," Jon says. "Of course. How's Vegas treating you?"
"Oh, you know how it goes," Brendon says. "Places to see, people to do."
"Clover's learned how to play fetch," Jon says. "We use a tennis ball. Well, Cassie uses a tennis ball. Right now, Clover will only do it with her, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time. That's the thing about cats, you know, they can always tell if you're too eager."
"Also, the cats spend way more time with Cassie than they do with you," Brendon points out. "We've been on tour for a while."
"Yeah," Jon says. He sounds kind of sad.
"You should send some pictures," Brendon says.
Jon perks up. "I took so many pictures! I will email you."
--
*
--
Brendon walks into the kitchen. He cuts a bagel in half and sticks it into the toaster.
Shane's sitting at the table, the newspaper in front of him, holding his cellphone.
Brendon waits for his bagel to toast. He listens to Shane say, "You know I still love you. I do. No, I do, I always have. I know. Yeah, I know, but we can see how it feels. Yeah, okay, no, yeah, we can just see."
The toaster pops the bagel up. Brendon puts it on a plate. He grabs the color comics and takes his bagel into his bedroom.
--
*
--
"No, I really don't think he's coming on this tour," Brendon says. He's sitting on the floor. Ryan's lying on the sofa and Spencer's in the arm chair.
"I'll miss him," Ryan says, sadly.
Spencer snorts. "You're still such a fucking whore for getting your picture taken," he says.
Ryan makes a face. "Am not."
"You kept most of the Polaroids of you for yourself."
"Shane takes good pictures," Ryan says, unapologetically.
"Dude," Brendon says, laughing. "That was you? Shane spent an afternoon tearing apart the house trying to figure out where he misplaced them."
"Well, see," Ryan says. "It's better that I have them then. So they won't get lost."
"You lost the keys to your house," Spencer says. "You don't even lock your doors anymore."
"I lock most of the doors," Ryan says. "Just not the one I leave out of."
"Seriously, if you don't have new keys made in a week, I'm telling mom."
"Actually, can you ask her?" Ryan asks. "I'm pretty sure I gave her one when I first moved in. Tell her that I need to give it to a neighbor for a bit or something."
"I'm not lying to my mother for you," Spencer says.
"You lie to Ginger all the time. 'No, of course I don't know why the backyard smells like burning,'" Ryan says, raising his voice to a higher octave.
Spencer waves his hand dismissively.
Lying to mothers is tricky business, so Brendon stays out of it.
"Doesn't Keltie have a key?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah, I guess," Ryan says. He sighs.
"Keltie already knows you're an idiot," Spencer says. "She loves you anyway. I'm pretty sure she won't be surprised to learn that you've lost all your keys, and that she's possibly already made backups."
"Or you could get your locks changed," Brendon suggests.
--
When Brendon gets home, he finds Shane set up with his laptop in the den. Shane takes off his headphones when he sees Brendon and says, "How're Ryan and Spencer?"
"Good," Brendon says. "Ryan stole your Polaroids. Also, he's lost all the keys to his house, so now would be a good time to steal them back."
Shane laughs. "I'll keep that in mind. The book is totally going to end up having twice as many pictures of him as anyone else."
"That'll make him happy," Brendon says.
Shane snaps his laptop closed and scoots over to make room on the couch for Brendon.
"You look happy," Brendon says after he's settled beside Shane.
"I feel, like, yeah. I'm feeling good. How about you?"
"I'm good," Brendon says. "You know me: I'm always a little antsy when I'm not on tour."
--
He and Shane have their own bathrooms, but Shane comes in while Brendon's standing in front of the sink, brushing his teeth, and says, "I'm out of mouthwash," crowding up beside Brendon as he reaches for the bottle of Listerine.
Brendon bends to spit toothpaste foam into the sink, then moves so that Shane can spit out the mouthwash.
Shane grins, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He purses his lips and blows at Brendon's face. "Minty fresh."
Brendon says, "That does actually smell really fucking good. I have the best mouthwash."
Shane smacks his lips. Brendon's standing with his back to the counter, his body angled toward Shane. He reaches back and holds onto the ledge of the counter, the sharp counter digging into his palm.
Shane's got a dopey grin on his face. His happy grin, not his stoned one. He must have had a good conversation with Regan when Brendon was away.
"You can have the mouthwash," Brendon says. "I'm leaving pretty soon, anyway. Use it and think of all the fun I'm having without you." Brendon's mouth tastes like toothpaste. He shifts a little, keeping hold of the counter with both hands.
Shane laughs. He gives Brendon a friendly pat on the side and says, "Goodnight." Shane's fingers press just firmly enough that Brendon can feel the touch through his t-shirt.
Brendon stands alone in his bathroom. He leans backwards, resting more of his weight on his palms, and tips his head backwards, breathing slowly.
--
*
--
Brendon doesn't go to a lot of house parties, but Shane knows a guy and so here he is. They stop on the way and each buy a mickey of rum. Brendon figures he'll find some Coke when they get there, but they show up pretty late, and most of the mixers are already gone.
Brendon twists open the cap and starts drinking it straight.
"Dude," Shane says.
Brendon ducks his head, blinking quickly. He says, "Whatever. I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow," and raises the bottle to his mouth again.
--
"It's like when you wake up in a new city, and like, fucking cities, you know? Because there're the same places everywhere, even though each place isn't the same. It's like we're just moving, but the world moves too, so we don't actually cover any distance, but, like, I guess it doesn't even matter so long as there're still new people there to hear the show every night. Or, not even new, just as long as there are people. You know?"
Shane gives him a funny look.
"I miss being on tour," Brendon says. "It's weird having time off, but also I have to do this fucking phone interview on Monday, so it's not even the same as having time off, and that sucks. We're back on the road in a couple of weeks, and that will be good. It's good to keep moving."
"Are you drunk?" Shane asks.
Asshole, Brendon thinks. It's not his fault if Shane can't follow conversation. Shane's only had, like, the top little bit of his rum, and Brendon's finished his mickey, so there isn't even any excuse for Brendon to be better at conversation right now than Shane is.
"I don't know," Brendon says. "I have to go to the bathroom first."
Shane asks, "What?" but Brendon waves him off. There's no point in talking if Shane doesn't understand, except maybe for the comfort that comes from having someone present to hear him when he speaks. The party is noisy, but Brendon's voice carries well, and he's sure that Shane has been able to hear him. Brendon doesn't know anyone else here; there's no one else for him to talk to unless he starts talking to a stranger.
Brendon wanders down the hall and find the bathroom. He doesn't think that he knew where the bathroom was when he headed off, but here he is, standing in front of the toilet. It's funny how houses are designed so that he can find the bathroom, even if he doesn't actually know the layout of the house.
He unzips his pants and pulls his dick out, and even before he starts to piss he knows that he's drunk. He starts peeing and there's the relief that goes on and on, but even before that his hand feels funny on his skin. Like he's kind of numb. Like he's full of alcohol instead of blood, and because of that he can't feel things as acutely any more. His jeans get caught around his waist and he has to give a hard tug to get them low enough to pull his dick out - stupid tiny zippers that come with girls' pants - but it doesn't hurt. He tugs and it doesn't hurt, even though the tight fabric catches on his skin.
Brendon pulls out his dick. He'd like to fuck someone tonight.
He pees. He wants to fuck someone. He's not hard right now, but it would be good to be naked. Girls are easy to fuck. He just has to find the right one. If Regan were here right now, Shane would be fucking her. Not right now, right now, because of how they're at a party, but definitely once they got home Shane would be fucking her.
Sometimes Brendon has seen Shane kissing girls, but just girls, not Regan. He's seen Shane kissing Regan, but he hasn't seen him kissing her, hasn't seen Shane's tongue fucking steadily into her mouth while his fingers slide up the hem of her shirt. Regan is Shane's girlfriend, and he only fucks her behind closed doors.
Brendon doesn't give a fuck about having privacy. He'd fuck anyone right now. Anyone, anywhere.
He finishes taking a piss and puts his dick away. He still isn't hard, but he gives himself a couple of friendly squeezes just in case. When he finds someone to fuck, she should ride him, or possibly he wants a blowjob. It would be good to come, but he doesn't want to move around too much right now.
"I am drunk," Brendon tells Shane after he comes out of the bathroom.
Shane gives him a look and says, "Did you wash your hands?"
--
Brendon finds a girl. He tells her that his name is Brendon, and she does that thing where she smiles before telling him her name. Like she already knows who he is, but she doesn't going to let on yet. Those girls are the best girls. If she doesn't want him to know that she's a fan, it means she's willing to put out.
They're sitting on the couch and making out. It's pretty fun at first. Brendon gets a kick out of being the obnoxious couple on the couch because he spent all of high school being the guy who was not on the couch.
She does that stupid circle thing, where she moves her tongue around and around and around his. He understands that girls don't like it when he puts his tongue too deep in their mouths, but this weird twister thing isn't any better. Around and around and Brendon starts zoning out. There isn't even much that he can do like this. Her tongue is moving so fast that he can't get out, like his tongue is trapped, like she really is a whirlwind.
It's funny to think about other things while he's kissing someone. He always wonders if they can tell. Is this girl really thinking about kissing him, or is she imagining being able to tell her friends about this? If she weren't actually paying attention, that would explain why her tongue is on auto-spin.
Eventually they part.
Brendon reaches across her and grabs the mostly-full mickey off of the table beside them.
"It's my roommates," he says, when she gives him a dubious look. "He wants me to have it."
Brendon takes a long swallow, and then he passes it to the girl. She doesn't take quite as large a sip. She gives it back to him.
It's almost gone in no time at all. There's just the last quarter of it left, something like that, and Brendon is annoyed that it isn't empty. He tilts his head back and drinks and drinks until finally it's all gone, finally it's empty and he doesn't have to worry about it any more.
He looks at the empty bottle triumphantly.
His head feels woozy.
He kisses back when the girl leans in, but he extracts himself before too long.
"I'll just, I'll be back, okay? You stay here. You stay, don't move anywhere, I will come back."
The girl nods.
Brendon starts walking away. His feet feel funny, like they're far away from his head, but also like the ground is closer than it should be. The bathroom is harder to find this time.
The bathroom door opens. There's a line of people waiting already, but Brendon walks inside. He thinks he can hear someone yelling at him, but he just fumbles with the handle, trying to close the door. He doesn't know if he manages or not, but he has to give up and kneel in front of the toilet instead.
He throws up, and it makes his rib cage sharply painful. He closes his eyes and gropes blindly, flushes the toilet. He feels nauseated again, leans over, but there's less to come up this time. He braces his elbow on the toilet seat and tries to breathe.
He spits, trying to clean the taste from his mouth, but he doesn't spit hard enough, so it slides down his chin instead of landing in the toilet.
Someone comes up beside him. He wonders if they opened the door, or if he didn't manage to close it in the first place. He hopes that whoever it is doesn't mind waiting, because he doesn't think he can stand up yet.
He peeks over his shoulder and thinks he sees Shane, but the movement makes his stomach recoil, and he has to face the toilet as he throws up again. He closes his eyes.
"Jesus, Brendon," Shane says.
Brendon didn't want to open his eyes and see the contents of his stomach in the toilet, and he doesn't want to open his eyes now and see Shane's face.
He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and says, "I don't feel good."
He squeezes his eyes together tightly. His face is wet with sweat, cold and wet with sweat. There are shivers running down his spine that start somewhere along his hairline. His eyes feel full, like his eyeballs are going to burst right out of the sockets, and he keeps his eyelids closed even though it makes the pressure build up inside of his head.
He retches, but nothing comes up. He thinks that Shane is still standing beside him, and he wishes that Shane would rub his back and he wishes that Shane would just leave already. He doesn't want Shane to see him like this, but Shane doesn't see him, anyway, so maybe it doesn't matter.
"Are you done?" Shane asks, after Brendon has been sitting quietly for a long while.
"I hope so," says Brendon. His eyes prickle, even though he's keeping his eyelids closed tightly. The floor is cold. He wants to set his head onto the toilet seat, but that would probably be gross. His face is slimy and everything smells bad.
"Can you just not be here right now?" Can you just, why can't you just.
Brendon's throat feels tight, but that's probably for the best; maybe his closed off throat will keep him from throwing up again.
Brendon doesn't look up at Shane, but he hears him walk away. He hears Shane's voice telling people to just give Brendon a minute, to just wait a minute, to leave him alone.
Brendon rises to his knees and uses the counter to pull himself to his feet. He turns on the tap and rinses his hands under cold water. He splashes at his face. He keeps his head down so that he doesn't have to see his reflection in the mirror.
--
"Are you done throwing up?" Shane asks as they stand in the entrance to their house. They had to stop the cab twice. Brendon only threw up once though, leaning out of the open door and puking onto the street; the other time was a false alarm.
"Yeah," Brendon says. He kicks off his shoes, holding onto the wall to keep his balance.
"I can get a bowl to keep beside your bed."
"No thank you," Brendon says. He's cold and tired. He rubs his elbow and shivers.
"'Night," Shane says. "Go sleep it off."
"Yeah," Brendon says.
He goes to his bed and Shane goes to Shane's bed.
Brendon's sheets are cold, and it takes a long time for them to heat up. He keeps moving around, trying to find a warm spot, until he feels the nausea rising up again and has to force himself to stillness.
--
*
--
Brendon wakes up at 9:06 a.m. and can't fall back to sleep. His body has that itchy aching feeling, so after twenty minutes of squirming around, trying and failing to find a comfortable position, he gets out of bed.
He showers, then walks to the kitchen and makes a big pot of coffee.
He grabs a cup from the counter: the big one with the crack on its rim, and fills it all the way up. He settles in at the table and rests his hand over the mug. The coffee is still too hot to drink. His palm feels warm, then wet as the steam collects. Eventually it starts to burn, these sharp flares of sensation. He leaves his hand where it is, cupped and catching the steam.
--
"You okay this morning?" Shane asks when he gets up.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "Thanks. Thanks for getting me home last night. I'm sorry I was such a douche."
"Eh, you were fine," Shane says. "I don't think many people even noticed how far gone you were."
Brendon chews on his fingernail and mumbles, "Hopefully."
--
*
--
"Hey, I'm going to go get Regs from the airport," Shane says. "You wanna come?"
Brendon shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "I'll leave you to have your big reunion."
Shane grins, ducking his head. He waves goodbye.
Brendon takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Spencer.
"Hey," he says. "Regan's getting back today and I should probably let them have the house. You feel like cooking for me tonight?"
Spencer grumbles, but Brendon can tell that he's flattered more than anything.
Brendon ends the call. He stands in the living room and rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
--
Brendon had intended on staying later at Spencer's, but he has trouble following the conversation.
"Earth to Brendon," Spencer says.
"Sorry," Brendon says. "Sorry, I'm just tired."
He leaves before eight and drives home, and he doesn't think that he should go back into the house, but he can't think of anywhere else to go.
He walks inside, listening carefully because he intends on sneaking straight to his bedroom, but ends up runs into Shane almost immediately.
"Hey," Shane says, grinning. "Good timing! We're just heading out; want to come?"
"Nah, no, it's okay," Brendon says. "I'm just going to chill out."
Regan walks up behind Shane, her face lighting up when she sees Brendon.
"Hey you," she says, walking over to give Brendon a big hug. "I haven't seen you in ages."
Brendon sags forward, hugging her tightly. He says, "It's good you came back."
"You going to come with us?" Regan asks. "We're going to Mark's, I think."
"It's okay," Brendon says.
"Brendon's probably still drunk from the other night," Shane teases.
Regan raises her eyebrows.
Brendon shakes his head. "Dude, shut up. That was days ago."
"You should come," Regan says.
"Umm, yeah," Brendon says. "I guess."
"You think your liver's up to it?" Shane asks.
Brendon rolls his eyes. "I'm just going to drink beer, anyway. I promise I'll be good."
Shane throws his arm around Regan's shoulders. He says, "Good. Someone's got to make sure you look after yourself."
"And yet I manage," Brendon says. "Are we going now or what?"
--
Brendon's been to Mark's a couple of times, and he knows a few other people. He doesn't really talk to anyone though, standing with his back against the wall and drinking slowly from his beer.
Shane and Regan are sitting together. Brendon watches Shane lean his head sideways, touching the side of his face to Regan's hair because ducking down and kissing her on the cheek. She grins, then turns so that he can reach her mouth.
Shane looks up and sees Brendon looking, and he glances beside himself, inviting Brendon to come sit beside him. Brendon pretends he doesn't notice.
He turns to the girl who's standing beside him. She's shorter than he is and is wearing bright red lipstick.
"Hi," he says.
She smiles.
The next time Brendon makes eye contact with Shane, Shane gives him a thumbs up.
--
Brendon gets into the back of the cab and then Regan and then Shane. Shane gives the driver their home address.
"Going home alone?" Regan asks.
Brendon raises one shoulder. "I can always get her number off Mark later or something. I just wasn't feeling it tonight."
"Hey, it's not like you have to go home with a new girl every night," says Regan.
"Not every night," he agrees.
Brendon struggles with his seatbelt for a while, but he can't find the right angle to get the metal end to click into the lock, and eventually gives up, leaves the belt draped uselessly across his chest.
He slides down in his seat, tucking his feet under the driver's seat, and leans his head against Regan's shoulder. He can see Shane and Regan's fingers twisted together and resting on her lap. He leans heavily against her, curls his fingers around his seatbelt to hold it in place.
"You okay?" she asks.
Brendon nods, sits up straight while he yawns.
"Yup," he says, shifting his weight to lean against the side of the car instead. "Just tired."
...Having a flowering core
also hurts in the way that being flower-like always hurts,
which is to say sexually, as if the whole self
has exceeded the skin, which it hasn't, which means
we always seem to be opening but never ever do.
Brendon (Brendon/OFC, Brendon&Shane)| NC-17 (for het sex) | ~ 10 250 words
The joining we do with others needs containing.
I wouldn't have been able to write this without the much appreciated hand-holding from jocondite. We've been chatting about Brendon&Shane&girls for months now; I definitely would never have written this without her. Many thanks to sociofemme for the beta and suggestions. As always I am incredibly, incredibly grateful for the help she provided.
Having a core is flower-shaped and hurts
in the way that having a shape hurts, which is to say
it hurts ironically, because to have limits
is not just to make a declaration upon a mountainside,
it is also to be the mountainside. ...
From All Objects Reveal Something About the Body by Catie Rosemurgy
Brendon holds up his phone as the elevator slowly counts down floors. They had a driver at one point, but he's not actually sure what number he would call to get a pick up. It'll probably be easier just to catch a cab.
He's still sticky with sweat -- and other things-- because he booked out of the apartment pretty quickly after they finished, without bothering to shower first. He took her phone number, but didn't give her his.
He stands on the street corner, watching for a cab to flag down. He wonders if he should give Zack a call; Zack would know how to find the number for a local cab company, at least. He'd probably know where the car went off to. Luckily, it's a busy intersection and he manages to wave over a cab within a few minutes.
He gives the driver the name of their hotel, then settles back in his seat, watching out the window.
"You on a vacation?" the driver asks.
Brendon glances forward. He can see the man's eyes in the rear view mirror; the man is looking at the road.
"Something like that," Brendon says.
The driver hums, leaning forward as he starts inching into the intersection to make a right turn.
Brendon jiggles his foot up and down, drums his fingers on the armrest. He squirms around, happy, full in the way that joy comes in these small bursts, like when he realizes that this is his life, heading back to hotel at five in the morning after playing a show, knowing that he gets to do it all again tomorrow.
--
The driver idles in the passenger zone in front of the hotel; Brendon tips him a fifty.
--
*
--
They arrive at the venue five hours early. Brendon bums around for a while in the dressing room. He and Spencer managed to beat Zack and Eric at foosball seven to five.
Zack says, "Best of fourteen," but Brendon and Spencer make a speedy departure.
Brendon grabs a skateboard and his iPod and finds a long hallway. He skates up and down the hall, singing along with his playlist, Bden's WarmUp Songs!!!1!
He's starting to get dizzy - the hallway is long, but he's moving quickly, and it feels like he's changing directions every few seconds - when Shane rounds the corner.
Brendon lets out a loud war cry, kicks his foot hard against the ground and charges toward him. The wheels of the skateboard make a whooshing sound as he flies across the linoleum.
Shane's fiddling with something in his camera bag, but when he hears Brendon, he looks up, wide-eyed.
Brendon folds his fingers into fists, tucks his arms against his sides, leaning forward. He's aerodynamic and heading right for Shane, and at the last minute, Shane steps to the side, and then Brendon is aerodynamic and heading straight for the wall.
Brendon jumps off the skateboard, diving to the ground. He hits the floor with an oof, and the skateboard crashes into the wall. His iPod flies out of his pocket and lands a couple feet away.
Brendon rolls a few times, raises his head to check his positioning, then rolls a few more times, aiming for Shane.
"Blarg," he says when he hits Shane's legs.
"Oh, I'm hit," Shane says. He topples forward, and Brendon has to roll some more so that Shane doesn't land on top of him.
He lies on his back, panting.
"You could have given me a head's up," Shane says, sprawled beside Brendon. "I would have filmed you."
"I don't want to give away all of my secrets," Brendon says, absently. "Actually, wait, do you have your camera? I could probably do it again."
They take a while to discuss whether it would be a better angle to film Brendon from the ground or not. Shane thinks that if he lies on his stomach, he'll be able to get the wheels of the skateboard, and then Brendon's body rolling away. Brendon's concerned that without showing his epic dive off the board, mere moments before an imminent collision with the wall, the rolling will not be as impressive.
"Requesting all Brendons," Zack's voice booms. He stands at the other end of the hall, and when Brendon looks up, Zack gestures for him to come. "Time for soundcheck."
Brendon looks at Shane and makes a disappointed face.
"I'll film you sound-checking," Shane says, shrugging.
"Awesomeness level... decreasing... negative five," Brendon says. "Bzzt, bzzt."
Shane grins. He pushes to his feet and offers Brendon his hand. Brendon lets Shane pull him up. He bends again and grabs Shane's camera bag, offering it to him, then taking off down the hall, sprinting to Zack.
--
*
--
They finish the concert and load into a van.
"There's no show tomorrow," Zack says. "So it's a hotel night."
In celebration, Jon raises the red plastic cup he's been refilling all night.
"You guys want to head for food first or what?"
--
They eat some, "Motherfucking spicy curry," Brendon says, wiping his eyes. His mouth feels numb, but it also burns so bad. His water glass is empty - for the dozenth time this evening, and where is the waiter, anyway? - so he grabs Ryan's, draining it quickly.
The water doesn't help.
"Motherfucking spicy as fuck curry," Brendon says. He wipes his eyes with the back of his other hand.
"If it burns going in, it'll burn coming out," Jon says. He munches happily on naan bread.
Brendon sniffles. He reaches across the table and grabs the rest of the piece from Jon's plate. He can't taste anything except pain, but still it's nice to chew on something neutral.
Shane's camera is on the table. His fingers are brushing over the top of it, and Brendon says, "Don't film me tonight. I'm all splotchy."
"You're all snotty," Shane says.
Brendon rubs his hand over his stomach. "I should not have had that chicken."
They finish eating, and break into two groups. There's a club just down the street, and the van's going to come back for them after taking one group back to the hotel.
"You sure you don't want to come?" Brendon asks Shane.
"I'm sure," Shane says. "I've got to fill out a pile of release forms. Maybe I'll see if Spencer wants to watch a movie after or something." Spencer's heading back to the hotel because he said he'd call Haley tonight.
"'kay," Brendon says.
--
Brendon stays out late, and ends up bringing someone back to the hotel room with him. She's drunk enough that she leans against his shoulder during the long walk down the hallway toward the room, but not so drunk that she ever stumbles, even though she's taller than he is in her high heels.
He opens the door and peeks inside. The lights are off. The room is dim, but Brendon can see a Shane-shaped lump on one of the beds. He'd kind of sort of half managed to convince himself that Shane would still be in Spencer's room. It's 5 am though; there wasn't a great chance for that.
"We've gotta be quiet," he whispers to the girl, widening his eyes dramatically. He'd asked at the club if they could just go back to her place, but she said that she has a roommate.
He and the girl try to tiptoe into the room. Brendon toes off his shoes, then stumbles when he steps on one again as he tries to walk past the entrance. "Shh," he hisses, raising one finger to his lips.
She tucks her fingers in his belt loops and follows behind him as they creep toward Brendon's bed.
They start making out on top of the covers. Brendon really likes kissing. He doesn't think they're making noises or anything, but he's really aware of the sounds he makes each time he breathes in, the sharp way his breath catches in the back of his throat when he inhales. He closes his eyes tightly, and seals his mouth over hers and for a minute everything gets slick and hot and perfect, the dirty rhythm of their tongues sliding together.
He takes off her shirt, takes off his own. She's wearing a green bra. He thinks he might leave it on while he fucks her, but when he strokes down from her collarbones her skin is soft and smooth, and he does take her bra off after all, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples.
She lies on her back and grins up at him while he rolls on a condom.
He starts fucking her, and it's awkward at first because he doesn't know how to thrust in a way that won't make the bed squeak. Each time he moves, it's carefully, like he's testing it out. Eventually they work into something like a rhythm. The girl grinds up against him, and their bellies rub together, and it's starting to feel really good, when he hears the sound of blankets moving on the other bed, the slow creak of a mattress moving.
He glances over, just out of the corner of his eye, and he thinks that he can see Shane facing him, and he thinks that Shane's eyes are open. He thinks that Shane's lying on his side, facing toward Brendon's bed, but it's dark and Brendon can't see for sure.
He forces the breath out of his lungs, exhaling in short bursts.
Shane might be awake and he might be watching. Brendon doesn't want to turn his head, because he's afraid that if he acknowledges the moment he'll have to stop. He doesn't want to stop. It feels good. The girl has her heels on the bed, her legs spread wide to make room for him, and she arches up to meet him.
He drops his head, ducking so that his chin nearly touches his chest, and focuses on the rhythm of fucking her. He wonders what this would look like from a side view: the movement of his hips, the girl's breasts bouncing softly each time he thrusts up. The room is dark; maybe Shane wouldn't be able to see. He was lying in the dark before Brendon even got there though. Lots of time for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
Brendon comes, and he pulls out and moves down the bed, touching his tongue to her pussy without any lead up. He licks firm and fast, and each time she makes a little noise he licks even harder, trying to draw the noises out. Hunched in front of her, the room feels a little colder. His back feels bare.
She rocks her hips up and he holds his tongue still for her to rub against. His hair line is wet with sweat, and now the lower half of his face is wet, too. The room probably smells like sex.
She comes, and he wants to keep going. He'd keep going, stay here with his tongue in her cunt. He's hard again. She starts squirming away, even when he makes his tongue softer and tries to coax her back. He finally pulls away.
Her hair is messy against the pillow, and her breasts jiggle as she pants. He watches her as she comes down. Looks at her and doesn't turn his head to the side.
Afterwards, she dresses, but he stays naked when he walks her to the door, kissing her again before she leaves. He closes the door and turns around. Shane's back is to him, and he's not moving. Brendon crawls back into bed and stares at Shane's back, listening for his breathing to try and figure out if he's awake, if he was ever awake.
He's hard and it's not going away. He's still naked and it's easy to push his hand under the blankets and start to jerk off, the swish swish swish of his wrist rubbing against the blankets. The room already smells like sex. Shane doesn't move in the other bed.
Brendon closes his eyes when he comes, then lies there and listens to the sound of his breathing, listens for any other noises.
--
*
--
Brendon walks out of the bathroom, dropping his towel on the floor as he digs around in his bag for a change of clothes.
"The moon is full," Jon calls from the side of the room. "I repeat, the moon is full."
"Is it really impossible for you to dress again after you shower?" Ryan asks as he makes his way toward the bathroom. "No one here wants to see that."
Shane laughs.
Brendon pulls out a clean-ish t-shirt. "Fuck off, doucherag," he says, just before Ryan closes the door to the bathroom.
He stands up.
"The full moon is rising," Jon narrates.
Brendon wiggles his ass, then starts the process of tugging his skinny jeans up his still slightly wet legs.
--
*
--
Tour ends and they go back home, and it's the same as always except this time Shane and Regan are on a break and she's taken Dylan with her to California.
She's in California, and they're on a break, and when Shane said, "Me and Regan are on a break; we should go out tonight," Brendon says, "Hell yeah."
--
They sit at one of the little tables. Just two chairs at first, but it's easy enough to squish together to make room for the girl who comes over.
Brendon finishes the last of his beer. He has to drink carefully to avoid the three lemon seeds that are floating in the final sip of beer. Lime is better in Corona, but lemons are better than nothing.
The girl - Lacey, she says her name is Lacey - is drinking a purple something or another. Purple Rain? The drink doesn't even look purple; it's a midnight blue. Brendon wonders if her tongue is blue now.
Shane's well on the way to finding out, leaning in close and resting his arm gently around her shoulders. She looks back and forth between them, laughs at both of their jokes.
Brendon dumps the rest of the pitcher into his glass. There isn't much left, so he just tips the pitcher over, and some of the beer splashes onto the table, a few drops landing on his arm.
He laughs, says, "Oops," and licks his arm.
"Such a waste of beer," Shane grumbles.
Lacey laughs.
She bends in - and there's a lovely view, right there. She's got small breasts, but they're very round - and wipes the last smudge off of the back of Brendon's hand.
Brendon laughs softly.
--
It's getting late when Shane asks, "Aren't you going to--?"
Brendon shakes his head. Lacey is standing just behind Shane.
"Nah," Brendon says, "I'm good."
--
They take a cab back to their house.
Lacey takes a long time to undo her shoes, fiddling and fussing with the tiny straps. Brendon watches the way the neckline of her shirt slides down while she bends over.
"You going to show me around?" she asks, once she has her shoes off.
Brendon wiggles his eyebrows and extends his hand. "Absolutely."
He walks her through the living room and the kitchen. Shane follows beside her, his hand resting on her hip.
When they start walking down the hall toward the bedrooms, Shane laughs and says, "Okay, buddy, thanks for the guide."
"Always happy to help," Brendon says. He tucks his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans.
Lacey walks into Shane's bedroom and then Shane. He turns and grins at Brendon before shutting the door.
Brendon taps his fingers against his thighs.
He walks slowly back to the kitchen.
He doesn't feel drunk anymore, so he grabs the bottle of vodka and pours it into a glass, not bothering to measure out an ounce. He fills the glass up the rest of the way with orange juice, then heads to the living room.
They've got a leather couch in the living room, which is usually annoying because Brendon's body runs at a high temperature and most of the time his skin sticks to the leather. Right now, he's kind of cold though, and the couch feels soft. He tips his head back, turns so that he can rub his cheek against the back of his couch.
He didn't put any ice cubes in his drink, so it's not very cold and he ends up drinking it quickly. His mouth takes funny afterwards: sour from the orange juice and dry from the alcohol.
From where he's sitting, the house seems empty. The good thing about the layout is that sound doesn't much carry from the bedrooms.
Brendon scratches at his scalp. It feels good. Not as good as it feels to rub his eyes, the relief of pressure after a day wearing contact lenses, but still good.
His head starts to throb, but it's satisfying and he keeps scratching until his finger slips wetly. He pulls his hand away, wipes the red off onto his jeans. They're due for a wash anyway. He doesn't know what else he's supposed to do. It's not like he can put a band aid on his head; his hair would get in the way.
He touches his finger to his scalp, wipes the blood off on his palm.
A door opens and then there are footsteps as Shane walks Lacey to the door. Brendon can hear voices, but he can't quite make out what they're saying.
He waits in the living room, thinking maybe Shane will want to watch a movie or something, but Shane just walks down the hall again, closes the door to his bedroom.
Brendon rubs his fingers over his head. Some dried blood crumbles away. It's gross, and he's really tempted to keep picking at it, so instead he stands up, grabs the little cooler where they keep all the weed stuff, and walks to his own bedroom.
The bong doesn't have any water in it, and by the time he notices he's lying on his bed. It's really comfortable here and he doesn't want to get up. He rolls himself a joint instead.
He starts feeling sleepy after a couple of tokes, and while he almost wants to finish the joint just on principle, he ends up putting it out, tapping the lit end to the side of the water glass resting on his bedside table, and tucking it back into the baggy with the rest of the weed.
He turns off the lights and tucks himself into bed. His stupid pillow is too soft and it feels like his head is going to float away. He curls his hand under his chin.
--
*
--
"Spencer," Brendon moans. "This is--" He trails off and takes another bite instead.
Haley laughs at him from where she's sitting across the table. She reaches for Spencer's hand and gives him a little squeeze. Spencer looks smug. Brendon takes another bite.
Brendon tries some of whatever the green stuff is, and says, "I don't even know what this is, but it's fucking amazing. 'kay, for real, we're getting a kitchen installed on the bus so that you can cook for me for always."
Haley tilts the wine bottle questioningly, and Brendon says, "Please." She tops off his glass.
Brendon groans again. "Even your rice is better than normal rice. It's like magic."
"It's risotto," Spencer says.
Brendon nods. "Magic."
Spencer does better than the rest of them at being home from tour. He's got his house and his girlfriend and his dogs and his mad cooking skills. Brendon loves Spencer. He kind of wants to move into Spencer's guest room, but probably that wouldn't work out too well because they also have to live in the same bus when they're on tour, and that's probably more than enough time with Brendon for one person to have to bear.
"What's Shane up to?" Spencer asks.
"Probably eating pizza," Brendon says. Ha, he thinks.
"How's he doing with the whole breakup thing?"
"Great," Brendon says. He sets his fork down and pushes his plate forward. "May I have some more?"
--
Brendon pretends like he's going to take the leftovers home for Shane, but he's pretty sure that Spencer knows he's planning on eating them himself.
"You are so lucky," he whispers to Haley when he's hugging her goodnight.
She laughs and says, "Oh, I know."
If Brendon could find a girl to have the kind of relationship with that Spencer and Haley have, he would totally settle down. A girl who's like Shane and doesn't mind spending time with him, that would be best. It's funny to think about getting married and shit. Brendon wants that, one day. It seems really far away right now. It seems kind of like it's an abstract thing when he thinks about it when he's by himself. More like it's just distant after nights like this when he's with Spencer and Haley. It's funny how some people meet someone that they can have that with. He sees the way Spencer looks at Haley and knows that he's never had someone he feels that way about. Not like it feels right to be with them now and in the future. For all times. That it would always feel right.
--
*
--
"Are we going out tonight?" Brendon asks Shane. He hasn't seen Ryan in a couple of days, and if Shane has other plans maybe he'll give Ryan a call.
"Do you want to?" Shane asks.
Brendon chews on the inside of his cheek. He's been feeling kind of too big for his skin all day. He says, "Umm, yeah. Yeah, I want to."
--
Brendon goes to the bar and gets drinks for him and Shane, and when he comes back, Shane's got his arm around a brunette.
"This is Brendon," Shane says when Brendon slides into the other side of the booth. "The roommate I was telling you about."
"I'm Jewel," she says, extending her hand. She bends her fingers when he reaches out, so it's more of a squeeze than an actual handshake. He always wonders what girls expect when they do that; he feels like a douche trying to turn it into a shake, but it's also awkward to just squeeze. His palm is sweaty. He wonders if she noticed.
"Nice to meet you," Brendon says.
"Jewel's friend's going to be showing up soon," says Shane. He looks at Jewel and says, "Right?"
"Yeah. She's a lot of fun."
"Is she?" Brendon repeats. "Awesome. I like fun."
Shane shifts, adjusting his arm so that his hand is draped further forward, his fingers dangling loosely. When she breathes in, the tips of his fingers just brush her breasts.
"Awesome," Shane echoes.
--
Jewel's friend is named Kat and she grinds up against Brendon on the dance floor until Brendon's cock feels like it's starting to chafe in his jeans. He doesn't want to stop, but when he starts making noises about them heading somewhere else, she seems eager enough.
The four of them pile into the back of a cab, the girls sitting in the middle.
They walk into the main room and Shane goes for drinks while Brendon hooks up his iPod and starts playing music.
Shane carries in four beers, holding the necks in between his fingers. Kat passes her beer to Brendon and asks him to twist off the cap for her.
"You've got a really sweet house," she says.
"Thanks," Brendon says. "You want me to show you around? I've got a huge TV in my bedroom."
Kat laughs. He leans in and she leans the same way so their heads come close together. "'kay," she says softly. "After I finish my drink?"
Brendon lifts his beer and clinks his bottle with hers.
"Cheers."
--
"She's all, 'Oh, um. You guys know each other?' And then he says, 'Of course I know him, that's my father." Jewel starts laughing so hard that she has to lean back against Shane for support.
Shane's cheeks are flushed pink from laughter.
"Seriously?" he asks.
Kat ducks, turning her head to hide her face in Brendon's shoulders. Kat stays tucked close to Brendon's side, but she nods. "He didn't look that old!"
"How do you end up dating a guy and his father?" Shane asks, laughing. He throws his head back when he finishes what's left of his beer.
"Dating's such a strong word," Kat says. She turns her head, looking up at Brendon. She has long eyelashes. Brendon's drunk.
He looks down at her, zones out for a minute before ducking the rest of the way and kissing her. He starts turning his body, and ends up knocking over a beer bottle when he moves his hand.
"Whoops," he says, pulling away. He catches it, but it's already started slipping onto the carpet. "Shhh," he says, righting the bottle. "Don't tell Shane."
"Shane can hear you," Shane says. "And see you."
"Shhh," Brendon repeats, dropping his head to rub his nose into the curve of her neck. He kisses the top of her collarbone then says, "I'll go get a new one."
He stops in the bathroom on the way to the kitchen. It feels really fucking good to piss after a night of drinking, the relief of release. He washes his hands, and uses a piece of toilet paper to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His face is shiny and flushed, his hair damp and matted to his forehead. He fluffs it away with the tips of his fingers.
He walks into the kitchen, considers a glass of water, but decides on orange juice, drinking right out of the bottle.
He grabs a couple more beers out of the fridge, and twists off the lid of one of them, drinking from it as he walks back into the main room.
He sees Shane sitting on the couch, sees Kat and Jewel sitting together on the floor. Kat's fingers are hidden in Jewel's long hair, but he can see her tongue, peeking out as she kisses Jewel.
Brendon walks over to the couch, sits down beside Shane and passes him the other beer. Shane takes it without looking away from the girls.
"How did you get them to do that?" Brendon whispers, staring.
"Dude, I don't even know," Shane says. "They just started."
"Tell them to take off their shirts," Brendon whispers, elbowing Shane.
"You tell them," Shane retorts, elbowing Brendon right back.
Brendon shifts on the couch, spreading his legs further apart.
--
Brendon doesn't close his bedroom door. He takes her leggings off and pushes her dress-shirt thing up, touches her pussy before sliding his cock inside.
"Go slow, okay?" she murmurs.
He nods, then rubs his cheek against his shoulder, rolling his shoulders as he holds himself over her, rolling his hips.
She makes a high noise, which cuts off quickly. She holds her breath.
He drops further down, resting on his forearm and elbow instead of his open palm. He uses his other hand, licks his thumb and moves it down to brush brush brush over her clit, rubbing slow circles and holding his hips still until finally she starts rocking up against him, opening her legs wider and squirming.
He moves away, sitting back and pulling on her hips with both hands until she rolls over, settling on her hands and knees. Her dress hangs over the curve of her ass. He hooks his fingers under the hem, pulling it up and away until it rucks up around her shoulder blades.
He presses one hand flat to her lower back while he fucks her, leans into it. She drops from her hands to her elbows, and her ass raises higher in the air. It's a good view. Somewhere down the hall, Brendon can hear giggles and the sound of something thumping up against the wall.
He fucks her for a while before he comes. He's pretty riled up, but he's also pretty drunk. After, he rolls her onto her back. He likes fingering girls after he's fucked them, the way his three fingers just slip inside. She's wet and relaxed and he moves his hand hard and fast. Her face screws up until she looks kind of ugly, and there's something satisfying in that.
His arm starts to hurt, so he stills his fingers, leaves them inside her while he uses his other hand to rub at her clit. His fingers slide around and it's hard to rub exactly where he thinks he should be rubbing. He curls his fingers inside of her, fingers digging in hard. Greta told him about that; he never fucked her but they got drunk together a couple of times. His fingers sink in. It's weird that girls' bodies are shaped like this, his fingers curled into something of a hook, but it turns her breathing ragged.
Her thighs shake. She keeps snapping her hips up in these sharp, random motions. He doesn't know exactly when she starts coming, but eventually she sinks into the mattress and he pulls his hands away.
He feels sleepy.
"I'll call you a cab," he says. She sits up, pushing the hem of her shirt down. It only just covers the v at the tops of her thighs.
--
He and Shane lean against the wall in the entrance while the girls bend over and put their shoes back on. Jewel walks back to the living room to grab her coat. Kat walks over, stands in front of Brendon, and they make out, tongues sliding slowly, until the phone rings with a warning that the cab is nearly there. Kat pulls away, and Brendon settles back against the wall, his elbow brushing Shane's. Shane is wearing grey sweatpants and the same shirt as before.
The girls leave, and Brendon yawns, opening his mouth until his jaw cracks. He picks at whatever's stuck under his fingernails.
"You want to smoke a bowl before bed?" Shane asks.
Brendon says, "Yeah, sure."
--
"Is there anything left?" Brendon asks, reaching half-heartedly to where the bong is resting on his bedside table. He has to reach across Shane.
"Dude, it's done," Shane says.
Brendon sighs, pulling back mid-reach. He lies down on the bed, his head half on one pillow and half on the same one that Shane's head is on.
"I'm totally fucked up right now," Shane says. His voice is lower than usual, rougher. He turns his head away to cough a few times, then lies back again, staring up at the ceiling.
Brendon slides his eyes over, looking sideways at Shane's profile.
"I'm not too bad," Brendon says, but he's not sure if that's the truth. He's past drunk and into sleepy, but that doesn't mean that he still won't feel like shit in the morning. He feels like his body is floating just above the comforter, like he's not actually touching down.
He wiggles over a little, turning his head to rest his cheek on Shane's shoulder. He thinks he's actually touching Shane; Shane is more real than the bed.
"Tonight was fun," Brendon says. He can just barely hear Shane hum, mh hm. He rolls in, bringing his knees up until they press along the outside of Shane's leg. Shane drops his head so that his cheek rests against the top of Brendon's head.
--
*
--
Brendon finds one of Dylan's squeaky toys in the laundry room. He stands in front of the washing machine and squeezes it rhythmically, eee when he tightens his hand and then the whoosh when he relaxes his fingers and air rushes in again.
"What are you doing?" Shane yells down the hall.
"Laundry," Brendon calls back.
He hears footsteps as Shane walks toward him.
"That's not a laundry sound," Shane says, and then pokes his head through the door.
Brendon lifts the toy. He squeezes it slowly.
Shane turns his open palms toward Brendon, and Brendon tosses the toy to him.
"Do you think we should get another dog?" Brendon asks.
Shane shakes his head. "Regan took care of Dylan most of the time, anyway."
"I miss her," Brendon says. He means both of them, really. Regan was nice. Whenever she made a special dinner for Shane, she'd always give some to him, too, which is more than he can say about Shane.
"Yeah, me too," Shane says. He crosses his arms and huffs out a sigh.
"Regan is hot," Brendon says. "It was nice having her around the house."
"Hey, shut the fuck up," Shane says, lightly. "That's my girlfriend."
"Was," Brendon corrects.
The laundry machine rumbles, and Brendon can feel the vibrations from where his hip is just just touching the machine.
Shane says, "Well, I dunno, you never know, right? Nothing's ever for sure between people."
Brendon shrugs. Sometimes things are for sure a certain way between people.
Shane frowns and opens his mouth, but Brendon cuts him off by saying, "You can tell her that you found the toy when you call her next."
The collar of Shane's t-shirt is all stretched out, and it slides down more on one side than the other. He says, "Eh. We're taking a break for a reason."
Brendon rolls his eyes. Shane sometimes talks a big game, but he's a huge sap. He'll probably call Regan tonight and get her to put Dylan on the phone, and squeak the toy for Dylan, and then Dylan will make that quiet whining noise she makes, and Regan will get back on the phone and say that Dylan misses Shane.
The washing machine beeps, and Brendon turns around. He starts moving wet clothes into the dryer.
--
*
--
"Those girls were crazy," Shane says. He's staring up at the ceiling. His face is still sweaty even though the girls left almost half an hour ago.
"No shit," Brendon says. He rubs his hand over his belly. He hasn't showered yet, and his skin feels sticky underneath his clothes. "I'm going to go get something to drink. You want?"
"Yeah," Shane says.
"Beer or water?" Brendon pushes up off the bed.
Shane stares at him. He raises one eyebrow.
Brendon laughs. "Yeah, okay, beer."
Brendon's feet make a padding sound as he walks down the hall. He's still wearing socks, which means that he was wearing socks when he had sex earlier. Whoops. He thinks that maybe his girl wasn't as crazy as Shane's girl, so that's too bad. The girl he was with blew him and then he jerked off onto her tits, and that was fun, but not like, oh wow, crazy shit is happening here.
Brendon wonders what Shane did with his girl. Brendon left his door open, and probably Shane did too, because when Brendon was jerking off, he thought he could hear noises. Nothing specific, just movement or something. The girl wasn't making any sounds, so probably they would have been coming from Shane's room. Brendon's getting bored of fucking girls in his own bedroom. At least when he's on tour it's always in a different hotel room.
He fills up a glass with water and drinks most of it before grabbing a couple of beers to take back. Shane's lying in his bed right now. The comforter is still pulled up, but the comforter was also pulled up when he had sex tonight and also the night before last, and most nights, really. If Shane's just going to stay in his own room, Brendon could probably bring girls to the living room or something. Then he wouldn't have to worry about if he needs to get his comforter dry cleaned. Brendon thinks it would be hot to fuck someone on the couch in the living room, right in the middle of the house.
He passes Shane the bottle of beer and then lies down beside him. He doesn't say anything about the comforter. He and Shane are both lying close to the center of the bed, and mostly all that Brendon can smell is what's left of the cologne Shane put on earlier, anyway.
--
*
--
"Dude, we've been out every single night this week," Shane says. "I've got shit to do tomorrow."
"What shit?" Brendon asks.
"Just shit, I dunno," Shane says. "Networking shit or whatever. I'm still trying to get someone to look at that script."
"Maybe you could clean the kitchen," Brendon suggests.
"I'm not cleaning the kitchen," says Shane.
"Someone has to clean the kitchen," Brendon says.
"I'm not cleaning the kitchen," Shane repeats.
Brendon hangs out with Ryan for a few hours before Ryan has to meet up with his friends. He invites Brendon along, but Brendon just heads home.
He calls, "Hello," when he enters the house but Shane doesn't answer.
Brendon walks to Shane's bedroom. The door isn't closed, and when Brendon stands in the hallway, he can hear Shane murmuring, "Yeah, I miss you too. Yeah, I know, I know. No, it was a good idea, but, I mean, yeah. Yeah. No, you should totally come and visit. Yeah, yeah, next week? No, I'll come pick you up at the airport. No, I will. Yeah, okay. Call me before your flight takes off and tell me what time you'll be landing." He laughs. "Yeah, fucking never on time. It's pretty fucked." Shane's quiet for a long moment and then he says, "I'm really looking forward to seeing you again."
Brendon walks the rest of the way down the hall to his own bedroom and closes the door.
--
*
--
"Regan's going to come visit for a couple of days," Shane says at breakfast.
Brendon says, "Tell her to bring Dylan."
--
*
--
"How's Chicago?" Brendon asks.
"Excellent," Jon says. "Of course. How's Vegas treating you?"
"Oh, you know how it goes," Brendon says. "Places to see, people to do."
"Clover's learned how to play fetch," Jon says. "We use a tennis ball. Well, Cassie uses a tennis ball. Right now, Clover will only do it with her, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time. That's the thing about cats, you know, they can always tell if you're too eager."
"Also, the cats spend way more time with Cassie than they do with you," Brendon points out. "We've been on tour for a while."
"Yeah," Jon says. He sounds kind of sad.
"You should send some pictures," Brendon says.
Jon perks up. "I took so many pictures! I will email you."
--
*
--
Brendon walks into the kitchen. He cuts a bagel in half and sticks it into the toaster.
Shane's sitting at the table, the newspaper in front of him, holding his cellphone.
Brendon waits for his bagel to toast. He listens to Shane say, "You know I still love you. I do. No, I do, I always have. I know. Yeah, I know, but we can see how it feels. Yeah, okay, no, yeah, we can just see."
The toaster pops the bagel up. Brendon puts it on a plate. He grabs the color comics and takes his bagel into his bedroom.
--
*
--
"No, I really don't think he's coming on this tour," Brendon says. He's sitting on the floor. Ryan's lying on the sofa and Spencer's in the arm chair.
"I'll miss him," Ryan says, sadly.
Spencer snorts. "You're still such a fucking whore for getting your picture taken," he says.
Ryan makes a face. "Am not."
"You kept most of the Polaroids of you for yourself."
"Shane takes good pictures," Ryan says, unapologetically.
"Dude," Brendon says, laughing. "That was you? Shane spent an afternoon tearing apart the house trying to figure out where he misplaced them."
"Well, see," Ryan says. "It's better that I have them then. So they won't get lost."
"You lost the keys to your house," Spencer says. "You don't even lock your doors anymore."
"I lock most of the doors," Ryan says. "Just not the one I leave out of."
"Seriously, if you don't have new keys made in a week, I'm telling mom."
"Actually, can you ask her?" Ryan asks. "I'm pretty sure I gave her one when I first moved in. Tell her that I need to give it to a neighbor for a bit or something."
"I'm not lying to my mother for you," Spencer says.
"You lie to Ginger all the time. 'No, of course I don't know why the backyard smells like burning,'" Ryan says, raising his voice to a higher octave.
Spencer waves his hand dismissively.
Lying to mothers is tricky business, so Brendon stays out of it.
"Doesn't Keltie have a key?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah, I guess," Ryan says. He sighs.
"Keltie already knows you're an idiot," Spencer says. "She loves you anyway. I'm pretty sure she won't be surprised to learn that you've lost all your keys, and that she's possibly already made backups."
"Or you could get your locks changed," Brendon suggests.
--
When Brendon gets home, he finds Shane set up with his laptop in the den. Shane takes off his headphones when he sees Brendon and says, "How're Ryan and Spencer?"
"Good," Brendon says. "Ryan stole your Polaroids. Also, he's lost all the keys to his house, so now would be a good time to steal them back."
Shane laughs. "I'll keep that in mind. The book is totally going to end up having twice as many pictures of him as anyone else."
"That'll make him happy," Brendon says.
Shane snaps his laptop closed and scoots over to make room on the couch for Brendon.
"You look happy," Brendon says after he's settled beside Shane.
"I feel, like, yeah. I'm feeling good. How about you?"
"I'm good," Brendon says. "You know me: I'm always a little antsy when I'm not on tour."
--
He and Shane have their own bathrooms, but Shane comes in while Brendon's standing in front of the sink, brushing his teeth, and says, "I'm out of mouthwash," crowding up beside Brendon as he reaches for the bottle of Listerine.
Brendon bends to spit toothpaste foam into the sink, then moves so that Shane can spit out the mouthwash.
Shane grins, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He purses his lips and blows at Brendon's face. "Minty fresh."
Brendon says, "That does actually smell really fucking good. I have the best mouthwash."
Shane smacks his lips. Brendon's standing with his back to the counter, his body angled toward Shane. He reaches back and holds onto the ledge of the counter, the sharp counter digging into his palm.
Shane's got a dopey grin on his face. His happy grin, not his stoned one. He must have had a good conversation with Regan when Brendon was away.
"You can have the mouthwash," Brendon says. "I'm leaving pretty soon, anyway. Use it and think of all the fun I'm having without you." Brendon's mouth tastes like toothpaste. He shifts a little, keeping hold of the counter with both hands.
Shane laughs. He gives Brendon a friendly pat on the side and says, "Goodnight." Shane's fingers press just firmly enough that Brendon can feel the touch through his t-shirt.
Brendon stands alone in his bathroom. He leans backwards, resting more of his weight on his palms, and tips his head backwards, breathing slowly.
--
*
--
Brendon doesn't go to a lot of house parties, but Shane knows a guy and so here he is. They stop on the way and each buy a mickey of rum. Brendon figures he'll find some Coke when they get there, but they show up pretty late, and most of the mixers are already gone.
Brendon twists open the cap and starts drinking it straight.
"Dude," Shane says.
Brendon ducks his head, blinking quickly. He says, "Whatever. I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow," and raises the bottle to his mouth again.
--
"It's like when you wake up in a new city, and like, fucking cities, you know? Because there're the same places everywhere, even though each place isn't the same. It's like we're just moving, but the world moves too, so we don't actually cover any distance, but, like, I guess it doesn't even matter so long as there're still new people there to hear the show every night. Or, not even new, just as long as there are people. You know?"
Shane gives him a funny look.
"I miss being on tour," Brendon says. "It's weird having time off, but also I have to do this fucking phone interview on Monday, so it's not even the same as having time off, and that sucks. We're back on the road in a couple of weeks, and that will be good. It's good to keep moving."
"Are you drunk?" Shane asks.
Asshole, Brendon thinks. It's not his fault if Shane can't follow conversation. Shane's only had, like, the top little bit of his rum, and Brendon's finished his mickey, so there isn't even any excuse for Brendon to be better at conversation right now than Shane is.
"I don't know," Brendon says. "I have to go to the bathroom first."
Shane asks, "What?" but Brendon waves him off. There's no point in talking if Shane doesn't understand, except maybe for the comfort that comes from having someone present to hear him when he speaks. The party is noisy, but Brendon's voice carries well, and he's sure that Shane has been able to hear him. Brendon doesn't know anyone else here; there's no one else for him to talk to unless he starts talking to a stranger.
Brendon wanders down the hall and find the bathroom. He doesn't think that he knew where the bathroom was when he headed off, but here he is, standing in front of the toilet. It's funny how houses are designed so that he can find the bathroom, even if he doesn't actually know the layout of the house.
He unzips his pants and pulls his dick out, and even before he starts to piss he knows that he's drunk. He starts peeing and there's the relief that goes on and on, but even before that his hand feels funny on his skin. Like he's kind of numb. Like he's full of alcohol instead of blood, and because of that he can't feel things as acutely any more. His jeans get caught around his waist and he has to give a hard tug to get them low enough to pull his dick out - stupid tiny zippers that come with girls' pants - but it doesn't hurt. He tugs and it doesn't hurt, even though the tight fabric catches on his skin.
Brendon pulls out his dick. He'd like to fuck someone tonight.
He pees. He wants to fuck someone. He's not hard right now, but it would be good to be naked. Girls are easy to fuck. He just has to find the right one. If Regan were here right now, Shane would be fucking her. Not right now, right now, because of how they're at a party, but definitely once they got home Shane would be fucking her.
Sometimes Brendon has seen Shane kissing girls, but just girls, not Regan. He's seen Shane kissing Regan, but he hasn't seen him kissing her, hasn't seen Shane's tongue fucking steadily into her mouth while his fingers slide up the hem of her shirt. Regan is Shane's girlfriend, and he only fucks her behind closed doors.
Brendon doesn't give a fuck about having privacy. He'd fuck anyone right now. Anyone, anywhere.
He finishes taking a piss and puts his dick away. He still isn't hard, but he gives himself a couple of friendly squeezes just in case. When he finds someone to fuck, she should ride him, or possibly he wants a blowjob. It would be good to come, but he doesn't want to move around too much right now.
"I am drunk," Brendon tells Shane after he comes out of the bathroom.
Shane gives him a look and says, "Did you wash your hands?"
--
Brendon finds a girl. He tells her that his name is Brendon, and she does that thing where she smiles before telling him her name. Like she already knows who he is, but she doesn't going to let on yet. Those girls are the best girls. If she doesn't want him to know that she's a fan, it means she's willing to put out.
They're sitting on the couch and making out. It's pretty fun at first. Brendon gets a kick out of being the obnoxious couple on the couch because he spent all of high school being the guy who was not on the couch.
She does that stupid circle thing, where she moves her tongue around and around and around his. He understands that girls don't like it when he puts his tongue too deep in their mouths, but this weird twister thing isn't any better. Around and around and Brendon starts zoning out. There isn't even much that he can do like this. Her tongue is moving so fast that he can't get out, like his tongue is trapped, like she really is a whirlwind.
It's funny to think about other things while he's kissing someone. He always wonders if they can tell. Is this girl really thinking about kissing him, or is she imagining being able to tell her friends about this? If she weren't actually paying attention, that would explain why her tongue is on auto-spin.
Eventually they part.
Brendon reaches across her and grabs the mostly-full mickey off of the table beside them.
"It's my roommates," he says, when she gives him a dubious look. "He wants me to have it."
Brendon takes a long swallow, and then he passes it to the girl. She doesn't take quite as large a sip. She gives it back to him.
It's almost gone in no time at all. There's just the last quarter of it left, something like that, and Brendon is annoyed that it isn't empty. He tilts his head back and drinks and drinks until finally it's all gone, finally it's empty and he doesn't have to worry about it any more.
He looks at the empty bottle triumphantly.
His head feels woozy.
He kisses back when the girl leans in, but he extracts himself before too long.
"I'll just, I'll be back, okay? You stay here. You stay, don't move anywhere, I will come back."
The girl nods.
Brendon starts walking away. His feet feel funny, like they're far away from his head, but also like the ground is closer than it should be. The bathroom is harder to find this time.
The bathroom door opens. There's a line of people waiting already, but Brendon walks inside. He thinks he can hear someone yelling at him, but he just fumbles with the handle, trying to close the door. He doesn't know if he manages or not, but he has to give up and kneel in front of the toilet instead.
He throws up, and it makes his rib cage sharply painful. He closes his eyes and gropes blindly, flushes the toilet. He feels nauseated again, leans over, but there's less to come up this time. He braces his elbow on the toilet seat and tries to breathe.
He spits, trying to clean the taste from his mouth, but he doesn't spit hard enough, so it slides down his chin instead of landing in the toilet.
Someone comes up beside him. He wonders if they opened the door, or if he didn't manage to close it in the first place. He hopes that whoever it is doesn't mind waiting, because he doesn't think he can stand up yet.
He peeks over his shoulder and thinks he sees Shane, but the movement makes his stomach recoil, and he has to face the toilet as he throws up again. He closes his eyes.
"Jesus, Brendon," Shane says.
Brendon didn't want to open his eyes and see the contents of his stomach in the toilet, and he doesn't want to open his eyes now and see Shane's face.
He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and says, "I don't feel good."
He squeezes his eyes together tightly. His face is wet with sweat, cold and wet with sweat. There are shivers running down his spine that start somewhere along his hairline. His eyes feel full, like his eyeballs are going to burst right out of the sockets, and he keeps his eyelids closed even though it makes the pressure build up inside of his head.
He retches, but nothing comes up. He thinks that Shane is still standing beside him, and he wishes that Shane would rub his back and he wishes that Shane would just leave already. He doesn't want Shane to see him like this, but Shane doesn't see him, anyway, so maybe it doesn't matter.
"Are you done?" Shane asks, after Brendon has been sitting quietly for a long while.
"I hope so," says Brendon. His eyes prickle, even though he's keeping his eyelids closed tightly. The floor is cold. He wants to set his head onto the toilet seat, but that would probably be gross. His face is slimy and everything smells bad.
"Can you just not be here right now?" Can you just, why can't you just.
Brendon's throat feels tight, but that's probably for the best; maybe his closed off throat will keep him from throwing up again.
Brendon doesn't look up at Shane, but he hears him walk away. He hears Shane's voice telling people to just give Brendon a minute, to just wait a minute, to leave him alone.
Brendon rises to his knees and uses the counter to pull himself to his feet. He turns on the tap and rinses his hands under cold water. He splashes at his face. He keeps his head down so that he doesn't have to see his reflection in the mirror.
--
"Are you done throwing up?" Shane asks as they stand in the entrance to their house. They had to stop the cab twice. Brendon only threw up once though, leaning out of the open door and puking onto the street; the other time was a false alarm.
"Yeah," Brendon says. He kicks off his shoes, holding onto the wall to keep his balance.
"I can get a bowl to keep beside your bed."
"No thank you," Brendon says. He's cold and tired. He rubs his elbow and shivers.
"'Night," Shane says. "Go sleep it off."
"Yeah," Brendon says.
He goes to his bed and Shane goes to Shane's bed.
Brendon's sheets are cold, and it takes a long time for them to heat up. He keeps moving around, trying to find a warm spot, until he feels the nausea rising up again and has to force himself to stillness.
--
*
--
Brendon wakes up at 9:06 a.m. and can't fall back to sleep. His body has that itchy aching feeling, so after twenty minutes of squirming around, trying and failing to find a comfortable position, he gets out of bed.
He showers, then walks to the kitchen and makes a big pot of coffee.
He grabs a cup from the counter: the big one with the crack on its rim, and fills it all the way up. He settles in at the table and rests his hand over the mug. The coffee is still too hot to drink. His palm feels warm, then wet as the steam collects. Eventually it starts to burn, these sharp flares of sensation. He leaves his hand where it is, cupped and catching the steam.
--
"You okay this morning?" Shane asks when he gets up.
"Yeah," Brendon says. "Thanks. Thanks for getting me home last night. I'm sorry I was such a douche."
"Eh, you were fine," Shane says. "I don't think many people even noticed how far gone you were."
Brendon chews on his fingernail and mumbles, "Hopefully."
--
*
--
"Hey, I'm going to go get Regs from the airport," Shane says. "You wanna come?"
Brendon shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "I'll leave you to have your big reunion."
Shane grins, ducking his head. He waves goodbye.
Brendon takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Spencer.
"Hey," he says. "Regan's getting back today and I should probably let them have the house. You feel like cooking for me tonight?"
Spencer grumbles, but Brendon can tell that he's flattered more than anything.
Brendon ends the call. He stands in the living room and rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
--
Brendon had intended on staying later at Spencer's, but he has trouble following the conversation.
"Earth to Brendon," Spencer says.
"Sorry," Brendon says. "Sorry, I'm just tired."
He leaves before eight and drives home, and he doesn't think that he should go back into the house, but he can't think of anywhere else to go.
He walks inside, listening carefully because he intends on sneaking straight to his bedroom, but ends up runs into Shane almost immediately.
"Hey," Shane says, grinning. "Good timing! We're just heading out; want to come?"
"Nah, no, it's okay," Brendon says. "I'm just going to chill out."
Regan walks up behind Shane, her face lighting up when she sees Brendon.
"Hey you," she says, walking over to give Brendon a big hug. "I haven't seen you in ages."
Brendon sags forward, hugging her tightly. He says, "It's good you came back."
"You going to come with us?" Regan asks. "We're going to Mark's, I think."
"It's okay," Brendon says.
"Brendon's probably still drunk from the other night," Shane teases.
Regan raises her eyebrows.
Brendon shakes his head. "Dude, shut up. That was days ago."
"You should come," Regan says.
"Umm, yeah," Brendon says. "I guess."
"You think your liver's up to it?" Shane asks.
Brendon rolls his eyes. "I'm just going to drink beer, anyway. I promise I'll be good."
Shane throws his arm around Regan's shoulders. He says, "Good. Someone's got to make sure you look after yourself."
"And yet I manage," Brendon says. "Are we going now or what?"
--
Brendon's been to Mark's a couple of times, and he knows a few other people. He doesn't really talk to anyone though, standing with his back against the wall and drinking slowly from his beer.
Shane and Regan are sitting together. Brendon watches Shane lean his head sideways, touching the side of his face to Regan's hair because ducking down and kissing her on the cheek. She grins, then turns so that he can reach her mouth.
Shane looks up and sees Brendon looking, and he glances beside himself, inviting Brendon to come sit beside him. Brendon pretends he doesn't notice.
He turns to the girl who's standing beside him. She's shorter than he is and is wearing bright red lipstick.
"Hi," he says.
She smiles.
The next time Brendon makes eye contact with Shane, Shane gives him a thumbs up.
--
Brendon gets into the back of the cab and then Regan and then Shane. Shane gives the driver their home address.
"Going home alone?" Regan asks.
Brendon raises one shoulder. "I can always get her number off Mark later or something. I just wasn't feeling it tonight."
"Hey, it's not like you have to go home with a new girl every night," says Regan.
"Not every night," he agrees.
Brendon struggles with his seatbelt for a while, but he can't find the right angle to get the metal end to click into the lock, and eventually gives up, leaves the belt draped uselessly across his chest.
He slides down in his seat, tucking his feet under the driver's seat, and leans his head against Regan's shoulder. He can see Shane and Regan's fingers twisted together and resting on her lap. He leans heavily against her, curls his fingers around his seatbelt to hold it in place.
"You okay?" she asks.
Brendon nods, sits up straight while he yawns.
"Yup," he says, shifting his weight to lean against the side of the car instead. "Just tired."
...Having a flowering core
also hurts in the way that being flower-like always hurts,
which is to say sexually, as if the whole self
has exceeded the skin, which it hasn't, which means
we always seem to be opening but never ever do.