Panic/Sounds ficlet
Panic! ficlet w/ special guest Maja Ivarsson
PG
Jon sees more than he's honestly prepared for.
It’s a split second before Jon closes the side door of the green room with a hurried “Oh God, sorry, sorry!”, pressing his back against the door and taking a deep cleansing breath. There is a laugh from the other side and Jon rubs hard at his eyes. The image is burned into his retinas-short dark hair curtained by long platinum locks, reams of lean, pale skin, and Maja’s hands just out of his line of sight… Jon sits on the worn sofa and blinks at his feet for a few minutes.
“Don’t!” Jon grabs Brendon by the arm as he reaches for the same door.
They’re in London, night three, and they’ve actually got hotel rooms-the fancy kind-to hold all their stuff. But the tiny green room at Brixton is feeling the wear and tear of the Panic entourage-dancers and extra bandmates and press and roadies-and the green room is high on mess and low on essentials, like bottled water and tissue.
“What, God!” Brendon tugs his arm back and stares at Jon. Jon stares back with wide eyes and a suspiciously stupid smile on his face.
“Um, just,” Jon shakes his head and grins. “There’s. Maja’s in there.”
“Right, and?” Brendon reaches for the handle and again and Jon flattens himself against the door.
“No, it’s,” And Jon hates himself for it, but he giggles. “Seriously, give her a minute.”
There’s a thud on the other side and Brendon looks at the door suspiciously, eyes widening when he hears Maja curse, then moan.
“What,” Brendon asks and Jon just shakes his head. “Dude,” Brendon is grinning. “She’s not in there by herself, huh?”
Jon shakes his head and flushes.
“You totally walked in, didn’t you.” Brendon doesn’t even ask and Jon wonders how the hell they all learned to read him so easily.
“I needed a towel! Just one towel!” Jon replies, holding his hands up innocently.
Brendon, the fucker, laughs. “So, who is it?”
“I’d rather not say,” Jon says a little primly. If Brendon is going to be an asshole, he can fuck off. Besides, Jon will be jerking off to that particular mental image enough that he’s not sure he wants to share it.
Brendon’s eyes widen some more. “It’s one of ours isn’t it?” he exclaims, motioning to the room full of feathers and eyeliner and brocade.
“That’s not. What?” Jon tries to cover and fails miserably.
“If it were Felix, you wouldn’t care! It’s totally not Felix.” Brendon is rubbing his hands together gleefully.
“Fine,” Jon sits back down and picks up a magazine. Pete Dougherty is on the cover of NME again, and Jon wonders how heroin chic ever made it big. Brendon is staring at him. Jon just flips the pages.
“Fine,” Brendon flops on the couch next to him. “I’ll guess.” Jon studiously ignores him while Brendon makes the humming sound that says he’s thinking, but don’t stop paying attention to him, or else.
“It’s not Zach, since he’s outside wrangling kids. I passed Spence coming here, so no. Eric! It’s Eric. Totally.”
Jon just smiles at the full page Kaiser Chiefs spread. “Nope.”
Brendon sighs and leans back into the couch again. There’s a high pitched whine on the other side of the door and Brendon clears this throat and looks the other way out of some false sense of modesty.
“Blond or brunette?” he asks and Jon rolls his eyes.
“Brunette,” he mumbles and Brendon slumps back again.
“That’s not really a help,” Brendon grumbles. He looks past Jon to where Ryan’s wardrobe is still on it’s hanger, then back at the door quickly. “You don’t. I mean, no.” He stares at the wardrobe rack in silence for a solid minute. Jon sinks into the couch and hides in the magazine, trying incredibly hard not to laugh. "Ryan?”
“Me, what?” Ryan asks, coming from the bathroom in his towel and tugging on his boxers under it. Brendon lets out a long slow breath.
“Look,” Jon cuts in. “I’m not going to,” but he’s cut off when the side door opens fully and Maja strolls out in nothing but a black shrift mini-dress. “Please tell me one of you boys has a cigarette?” she says, voice hoarse and chest heaving just a little.
“Sorry,” Ryan shrugs, oblivious to Brendon who is staring past Maja with his mouth hanging open. Jon tries to look anywhere but there and ends up staring at Maja’s legs. It’s not a helpful solution. He catches a movement out of the side of his eye and sees Ryan waving into the other room.
“Fuck,” she replies with a sigh and shrug. She disappears back into her side of the room.
Brendon looks at Jon, mouth moving wordlessly. Finally, he manages “You lucky son of a bitch.”
“Why?” Ryan asks, finishing the buttons on his pants. He tugs his eyeliner out of his makeup case and looks over at the counter covered in Lucent’s stuff. He takes a step past Jon to knock on the side door and yells “Hey, Katie? Can you show me the harlequin pattern today?”
“Sure, honey!” comes Katie K’s sweet laugh, Maja’s following right after, and Ryan smiles.
“’s cool that we’re all friends now,” he says with a nod and Brendon and Jon collapse into hysterical giggles.
PG
Jon sees more than he's honestly prepared for.
It’s a split second before Jon closes the side door of the green room with a hurried “Oh God, sorry, sorry!”, pressing his back against the door and taking a deep cleansing breath. There is a laugh from the other side and Jon rubs hard at his eyes. The image is burned into his retinas-short dark hair curtained by long platinum locks, reams of lean, pale skin, and Maja’s hands just out of his line of sight… Jon sits on the worn sofa and blinks at his feet for a few minutes.
“Don’t!” Jon grabs Brendon by the arm as he reaches for the same door.
They’re in London, night three, and they’ve actually got hotel rooms-the fancy kind-to hold all their stuff. But the tiny green room at Brixton is feeling the wear and tear of the Panic entourage-dancers and extra bandmates and press and roadies-and the green room is high on mess and low on essentials, like bottled water and tissue.
“What, God!” Brendon tugs his arm back and stares at Jon. Jon stares back with wide eyes and a suspiciously stupid smile on his face.
“Um, just,” Jon shakes his head and grins. “There’s. Maja’s in there.”
“Right, and?” Brendon reaches for the handle and again and Jon flattens himself against the door.
“No, it’s,” And Jon hates himself for it, but he giggles. “Seriously, give her a minute.”
There’s a thud on the other side and Brendon looks at the door suspiciously, eyes widening when he hears Maja curse, then moan.
“What,” Brendon asks and Jon just shakes his head. “Dude,” Brendon is grinning. “She’s not in there by herself, huh?”
Jon shakes his head and flushes.
“You totally walked in, didn’t you.” Brendon doesn’t even ask and Jon wonders how the hell they all learned to read him so easily.
“I needed a towel! Just one towel!” Jon replies, holding his hands up innocently.
Brendon, the fucker, laughs. “So, who is it?”
“I’d rather not say,” Jon says a little primly. If Brendon is going to be an asshole, he can fuck off. Besides, Jon will be jerking off to that particular mental image enough that he’s not sure he wants to share it.
Brendon’s eyes widen some more. “It’s one of ours isn’t it?” he exclaims, motioning to the room full of feathers and eyeliner and brocade.
“That’s not. What?” Jon tries to cover and fails miserably.
“If it were Felix, you wouldn’t care! It’s totally not Felix.” Brendon is rubbing his hands together gleefully.
“Fine,” Jon sits back down and picks up a magazine. Pete Dougherty is on the cover of NME again, and Jon wonders how heroin chic ever made it big. Brendon is staring at him. Jon just flips the pages.
“Fine,” Brendon flops on the couch next to him. “I’ll guess.” Jon studiously ignores him while Brendon makes the humming sound that says he’s thinking, but don’t stop paying attention to him, or else.
“It’s not Zach, since he’s outside wrangling kids. I passed Spence coming here, so no. Eric! It’s Eric. Totally.”
Jon just smiles at the full page Kaiser Chiefs spread. “Nope.”
Brendon sighs and leans back into the couch again. There’s a high pitched whine on the other side of the door and Brendon clears this throat and looks the other way out of some false sense of modesty.
“Blond or brunette?” he asks and Jon rolls his eyes.
“Brunette,” he mumbles and Brendon slumps back again.
“That’s not really a help,” Brendon grumbles. He looks past Jon to where Ryan’s wardrobe is still on it’s hanger, then back at the door quickly. “You don’t. I mean, no.” He stares at the wardrobe rack in silence for a solid minute. Jon sinks into the couch and hides in the magazine, trying incredibly hard not to laugh. "Ryan?”
“Me, what?” Ryan asks, coming from the bathroom in his towel and tugging on his boxers under it. Brendon lets out a long slow breath.
“Look,” Jon cuts in. “I’m not going to,” but he’s cut off when the side door opens fully and Maja strolls out in nothing but a black shrift mini-dress. “Please tell me one of you boys has a cigarette?” she says, voice hoarse and chest heaving just a little.
“Sorry,” Ryan shrugs, oblivious to Brendon who is staring past Maja with his mouth hanging open. Jon tries to look anywhere but there and ends up staring at Maja’s legs. It’s not a helpful solution. He catches a movement out of the side of his eye and sees Ryan waving into the other room.
“Fuck,” she replies with a sigh and shrug. She disappears back into her side of the room.
Brendon looks at Jon, mouth moving wordlessly. Finally, he manages “You lucky son of a bitch.”
“Why?” Ryan asks, finishing the buttons on his pants. He tugs his eyeliner out of his makeup case and looks over at the counter covered in Lucent’s stuff. He takes a step past Jon to knock on the side door and yells “Hey, Katie? Can you show me the harlequin pattern today?”
“Sure, honey!” comes Katie K’s sweet laugh, Maja’s following right after, and Ryan smiles.
“’s cool that we’re all friends now,” he says with a nod and Brendon and Jon collapse into hysterical giggles.