Another Way To Your Heart
Pairing : Brendon/Marshall.
Rating : NC-17.
Prompt/Kink : Biting.
Word count : 2,000.
Notes : For choclitbunny. Thanks to x_wearebroken for the beta. Sorry I suck at deadlines.
It blooms fresh and stark against the pale skin pulled across the pretty Alex's right hipbone and Brendon barely feels the way his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands.
They're three days into touring with The Cab.
Brendon's hung out with the guys before now, long before this tour but he still seems to have some difficulties with their names, on occasion.
He might not know one Alex from the next, but he knows the important stuff.
He knows that Shane's cousin is a really talented and quiet guy, and that Cash 'Money' is a straight up 'gangsta trapped in the body of a tiny white boy. He knows that Singer likes Disney almost as much as Brendon himself and he knows that Johnson is the Alex most fond of his given name.
He doesn't know much about Marshall.
He knows what his fingers look like trailing across his keys.
He doesn't know what they'd look like splayed along his ribs.
He knows how often Marshall has to flick his too-long fringe out of his eyes.
He doesn't know what it'd feel like to brush those sweat-slick strands away for himself.
He knows how exactly how many creases appear on Marshall's forehead when he's working on a melody.
He wants to know what they'd feel like pressed to his sternum.
Brendon is pretty good at recognizing his boundaries and has learned over time to stay close enough to see where they lie without ever to cross them. He's good at avoiding the bigger picture even when his pockets are full of details.
So if he pretends not to know one Alex from the next but stays side-stage for The Cab's set every night and invites them to play video games and talk shop on the Panic bus afterward, no-one thinks to question it.
It's a torturous game to play, but Brendon finds it difficult to see the incentive to keeping his hands to himself unless it's a challenge to do so. Though he's not sure what he'd see if he looked over the edge into blinding space in front of him, he always stays close enough to feel it's heat.
But then Marshall slinks out of the van in Gainesville with broken blood vessels raw and vivid beneath his skin and Brendon can almost taste the rust and want on his tongue.
The sun shines high and bright in the early afternoon sky and Brendon loses his footing.
_____________________________
He's hanging out side-stage that night, the thrill of their set still burning through his veins. He'd watched The Cab before they went on. The arch of Marshall's back had seemed sharper, clearer, closer and he's not sure why. The line was usually smooth, the simple curve from stool to keys, Marshall at the centre to bridge the gap. Tonight he looks fractured, broken like the flow. The words are the same but the sound cuts deeper, settling beneath Brendon's skin more foreign than it's been before.
Instead of feeling safe in the comfort of wanting without having, Brendon feels raw and empty.
He'd watched the way Marshall's mouth falls open when he reaches those tangles of knots that make him forget where he is, that he's being watched. He's seen the sweat slide across his cheekbone to settle in the ridge above his mouth before falling to seep across the seam of his lips. But now he's not sure how much longer this can go on, how many more times he can pull his fingers into fists and walk away.
Brendon's still thinking about it when Marshall slides up beside him, hip-checking him and flashing a grin that makes his stomach bottom out.
They engage in agonizing small talk between songs but by the time Patrick's spitting out profanities for 27, Brendon's lost the urge to be polite and appropriate. He's about to make his excuses and wander back onto the bus when Marshall reaches up to wipe at the back of his neck and Brendon's resolve checks out.
His eyes drink in every inch of skin that's revealed by the way Marshall's shirt rides up with the motion and he feels like he's watching someone else's fingers trace the outline of the bruise. But that's his hand gripping and shifting Marshall's hip, pushing it back against the amp shadowed by the stage. Those are his knuckles shaking with the effort it takes to be gentle, to touch the warmth of Marshall's skin with care and purpose.
He can't think about anything other than this blemish on Marshall's body, this imperfection that makes lust and jealousy rise to his throat in equal measures. As much as he loves the way it looks between his fingers, as much as he's overcome by the sight of this mark on Marshall's skin, he wants to have been the one to have left it there and knowing that he wasn't makes his bones ache.
He presses just a bit harder, shifts just a little bit closer as his fingers bite into the dip of Marshall's hip and has to look up when he hears the soft gasp.
"Brendon ... ah .... What are you .. Brendon?"
It can stop here. It doesn't have to be more than this, his hand on Marshall's hip, his fingers hot on the skin that's on show for him and no real cause for concern.
Brendon doesn't move. He doesn't push his body into Marshall's like he wants to and he can't pull his hand away like he should. He stays completely still and looks up, trying to keep the heat from his expression when he forces himself to meet Marshall's eyes.
Marshall groans, soft and low in his throat and it's lost. The noise, the moment, Brendon.
His hips snap forward, sharp bones shifting against Marshall's and pinning him to the amp. The hand on his hip tightens and tugs, trying to pull Marshall closer still even as the fingers of his other hand tangle in the hair at the nape of Marshall's neck and brings their mouths crashing together.
They're pressed together from shoulder to thigh and when Brendon finally gets to taste the sweet heat of Marshall's mouth against his he can't make ever imagine wanting to stop. He sucks slow and soft at Marshall's bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth to make his point. Marshall groans again, the small sound lost between their mouths when Brendon licks it from his teeth.
Marshall's hands are everywhere, fisting in Brendon's t-shirt to drag him closer, curling fingers into the belt loops of his jeans to make the tease just that bit more overwhelming when they start to harden against each other. They shift, finding angle after angle that makes Brendon almost forget about the blemish that blooms bright beneath his fingertips. But Marshall whimpers and his hips stutter when fingertips find that spot again and Brendon is consumed by it, can't see past the need to cover it up and add to it.
He drops to his knees, both hands moving to Marshall's hips to hold him still while he nuzzles into the denim of his jeans. He mouths across the hard press of Marshall's cock against the fabric before finding the dip where pelvis becomes waist and that bruise lies waiting for Brendon's attention.
Muscle tightens beneath his thumbs when he drags his full bottom lip across the tender spot, slick skin catching on the thin barrier that separates those broken cells from Brendon's breath. He looks up and catches Marshall's eye, watches his pupils expand when Brendon takes the bruised flesh between his teeth and sucks. He licks and nips at the skin between gasps, tongue flicking out against Marshall's hip to sooth the sting of his bite.
Marshall's hands fall to his shoulders, fingers desperate for purchase against the tendons tensed to steady hips that are jerking towards every stinging kiss from Brendon's mouth. Marshall's bent forward, his fringe falling into his eyes when they roll back into his head. He's arched against the amp, shoulders trembling under the effort of steadying his weight. He's panting louder with every press of lips and teeth against his skin and Brendon can't believe his luck. Can't believe that he's allowed do this, he's allowed see Marshall wrecked and needing like this.
It hurts to pull his mouth away from the perfect trail of bruises appearing in the wake of his teeth and tongue.
He looks up at Marshall and his hands fumble with buttons and zippers. His bruises, his marks are getting darker with every second and Brendon's the one that's desperate now. His lips fall back against Marshall's hips, teeth scraping against the place where his skin changes from gold to need while his fingers dip into Marshall's boxers to close around his leaking cock. His thumb spreads the slick drops of come down the shaft, thumb flicking back up under the head as he pants against Marshall's jerking hips.
"Marshall ... Alex ... who was it"
He has to know. His marks are fresh and vivid, raw against the fading hues of Marshall's first bruise, but still he has to know. He sucks the tight stretch of skin back into his mouth and looks up at Marshall, pleading to know who was here before him.
Marshall's breath hitches and his hips have lost any sense of rhythm they had, his cock jerking in Brendon's hand when his fingers slide from Brendon's shoulders to his neck.
He stops moving.
He uses his hands twisted up in Brendon's hair to pull his mouth back down onto the sharp jut of his hip, back to the stains that Brendon's teeth have bitten into his skin. Brendon groans, breath hissing out against the spit slick bruises and Marshall tilts his head back to tie their gazes.
He gasps pained and beautiful before his hips are shoving forward once more, Brendon's fist faltering around Marshall's pulsing cock. He reaches up, fingers curling on Marshall's jaw. He strains up and crushes their mouths together again, sucking hard on Marshall's bottom lip when Marshall's tongue licks at his teeth.
Brendon tightens his grip, fisting Marshall's cock harder and faster. His fingers clench with the need that's building in the pit of his stomach and Marshall manages to whimper one word before he's coming hot and slick across Brendon's hand.
Brendon gasps when he hears it, teeth finding his marks again when Marshall slumps back against the amp. With his mouth panting damp against the bruises it's created and his eyelashes fanning against the skin across Marshall's hip Brendon comes undone, cock jerking against the friction of his jeans.
"You"
Rating : NC-17.
Prompt/Kink : Biting.
Word count : 2,000.
Notes : For choclitbunny. Thanks to x_wearebroken for the beta. Sorry I suck at deadlines.
It blooms fresh and stark against the pale skin pulled across the pretty Alex's right hipbone and Brendon barely feels the way his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands.
They're three days into touring with The Cab.
Brendon's hung out with the guys before now, long before this tour but he still seems to have some difficulties with their names, on occasion.
He might not know one Alex from the next, but he knows the important stuff.
He knows that Shane's cousin is a really talented and quiet guy, and that Cash 'Money' is a straight up 'gangsta trapped in the body of a tiny white boy. He knows that Singer likes Disney almost as much as Brendon himself and he knows that Johnson is the Alex most fond of his given name.
He doesn't know much about Marshall.
He knows what his fingers look like trailing across his keys.
He doesn't know what they'd look like splayed along his ribs.
He knows how often Marshall has to flick his too-long fringe out of his eyes.
He doesn't know what it'd feel like to brush those sweat-slick strands away for himself.
He knows how exactly how many creases appear on Marshall's forehead when he's working on a melody.
He wants to know what they'd feel like pressed to his sternum.
Brendon is pretty good at recognizing his boundaries and has learned over time to stay close enough to see where they lie without ever to cross them. He's good at avoiding the bigger picture even when his pockets are full of details.
So if he pretends not to know one Alex from the next but stays side-stage for The Cab's set every night and invites them to play video games and talk shop on the Panic bus afterward, no-one thinks to question it.
It's a torturous game to play, but Brendon finds it difficult to see the incentive to keeping his hands to himself unless it's a challenge to do so. Though he's not sure what he'd see if he looked over the edge into blinding space in front of him, he always stays close enough to feel it's heat.
But then Marshall slinks out of the van in Gainesville with broken blood vessels raw and vivid beneath his skin and Brendon can almost taste the rust and want on his tongue.
The sun shines high and bright in the early afternoon sky and Brendon loses his footing.
_____________________________
He's hanging out side-stage that night, the thrill of their set still burning through his veins. He'd watched The Cab before they went on. The arch of Marshall's back had seemed sharper, clearer, closer and he's not sure why. The line was usually smooth, the simple curve from stool to keys, Marshall at the centre to bridge the gap. Tonight he looks fractured, broken like the flow. The words are the same but the sound cuts deeper, settling beneath Brendon's skin more foreign than it's been before.
Instead of feeling safe in the comfort of wanting without having, Brendon feels raw and empty.
He'd watched the way Marshall's mouth falls open when he reaches those tangles of knots that make him forget where he is, that he's being watched. He's seen the sweat slide across his cheekbone to settle in the ridge above his mouth before falling to seep across the seam of his lips. But now he's not sure how much longer this can go on, how many more times he can pull his fingers into fists and walk away.
Brendon's still thinking about it when Marshall slides up beside him, hip-checking him and flashing a grin that makes his stomach bottom out.
They engage in agonizing small talk between songs but by the time Patrick's spitting out profanities for 27, Brendon's lost the urge to be polite and appropriate. He's about to make his excuses and wander back onto the bus when Marshall reaches up to wipe at the back of his neck and Brendon's resolve checks out.
His eyes drink in every inch of skin that's revealed by the way Marshall's shirt rides up with the motion and he feels like he's watching someone else's fingers trace the outline of the bruise. But that's his hand gripping and shifting Marshall's hip, pushing it back against the amp shadowed by the stage. Those are his knuckles shaking with the effort it takes to be gentle, to touch the warmth of Marshall's skin with care and purpose.
He can't think about anything other than this blemish on Marshall's body, this imperfection that makes lust and jealousy rise to his throat in equal measures. As much as he loves the way it looks between his fingers, as much as he's overcome by the sight of this mark on Marshall's skin, he wants to have been the one to have left it there and knowing that he wasn't makes his bones ache.
He presses just a bit harder, shifts just a little bit closer as his fingers bite into the dip of Marshall's hip and has to look up when he hears the soft gasp.
"Brendon ... ah .... What are you .. Brendon?"
It can stop here. It doesn't have to be more than this, his hand on Marshall's hip, his fingers hot on the skin that's on show for him and no real cause for concern.
Brendon doesn't move. He doesn't push his body into Marshall's like he wants to and he can't pull his hand away like he should. He stays completely still and looks up, trying to keep the heat from his expression when he forces himself to meet Marshall's eyes.
Marshall groans, soft and low in his throat and it's lost. The noise, the moment, Brendon.
His hips snap forward, sharp bones shifting against Marshall's and pinning him to the amp. The hand on his hip tightens and tugs, trying to pull Marshall closer still even as the fingers of his other hand tangle in the hair at the nape of Marshall's neck and brings their mouths crashing together.
They're pressed together from shoulder to thigh and when Brendon finally gets to taste the sweet heat of Marshall's mouth against his he can't make ever imagine wanting to stop. He sucks slow and soft at Marshall's bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth to make his point. Marshall groans again, the small sound lost between their mouths when Brendon licks it from his teeth.
Marshall's hands are everywhere, fisting in Brendon's t-shirt to drag him closer, curling fingers into the belt loops of his jeans to make the tease just that bit more overwhelming when they start to harden against each other. They shift, finding angle after angle that makes Brendon almost forget about the blemish that blooms bright beneath his fingertips. But Marshall whimpers and his hips stutter when fingertips find that spot again and Brendon is consumed by it, can't see past the need to cover it up and add to it.
He drops to his knees, both hands moving to Marshall's hips to hold him still while he nuzzles into the denim of his jeans. He mouths across the hard press of Marshall's cock against the fabric before finding the dip where pelvis becomes waist and that bruise lies waiting for Brendon's attention.
Muscle tightens beneath his thumbs when he drags his full bottom lip across the tender spot, slick skin catching on the thin barrier that separates those broken cells from Brendon's breath. He looks up and catches Marshall's eye, watches his pupils expand when Brendon takes the bruised flesh between his teeth and sucks. He licks and nips at the skin between gasps, tongue flicking out against Marshall's hip to sooth the sting of his bite.
Marshall's hands fall to his shoulders, fingers desperate for purchase against the tendons tensed to steady hips that are jerking towards every stinging kiss from Brendon's mouth. Marshall's bent forward, his fringe falling into his eyes when they roll back into his head. He's arched against the amp, shoulders trembling under the effort of steadying his weight. He's panting louder with every press of lips and teeth against his skin and Brendon can't believe his luck. Can't believe that he's allowed do this, he's allowed see Marshall wrecked and needing like this.
It hurts to pull his mouth away from the perfect trail of bruises appearing in the wake of his teeth and tongue.
He looks up at Marshall and his hands fumble with buttons and zippers. His bruises, his marks are getting darker with every second and Brendon's the one that's desperate now. His lips fall back against Marshall's hips, teeth scraping against the place where his skin changes from gold to need while his fingers dip into Marshall's boxers to close around his leaking cock. His thumb spreads the slick drops of come down the shaft, thumb flicking back up under the head as he pants against Marshall's jerking hips.
"Marshall ... Alex ... who was it"
He has to know. His marks are fresh and vivid, raw against the fading hues of Marshall's first bruise, but still he has to know. He sucks the tight stretch of skin back into his mouth and looks up at Marshall, pleading to know who was here before him.
Marshall's breath hitches and his hips have lost any sense of rhythm they had, his cock jerking in Brendon's hand when his fingers slide from Brendon's shoulders to his neck.
He stops moving.
He uses his hands twisted up in Brendon's hair to pull his mouth back down onto the sharp jut of his hip, back to the stains that Brendon's teeth have bitten into his skin. Brendon groans, breath hissing out against the spit slick bruises and Marshall tilts his head back to tie their gazes.
He gasps pained and beautiful before his hips are shoving forward once more, Brendon's fist faltering around Marshall's pulsing cock. He reaches up, fingers curling on Marshall's jaw. He strains up and crushes their mouths together again, sucking hard on Marshall's bottom lip when Marshall's tongue licks at his teeth.
Brendon tightens his grip, fisting Marshall's cock harder and faster. His fingers clench with the need that's building in the pit of his stomach and Marshall manages to whimper one word before he's coming hot and slick across Brendon's hand.
Brendon gasps when he hears it, teeth finding his marks again when Marshall slumps back against the amp. With his mouth panting damp against the bruises it's created and his eyelashes fanning against the skin across Marshall's hip Brendon comes undone, cock jerking against the friction of his jeans.
"You"