A Moment Of Your Time
Bandslash, NC-17, ~2500 words. repressed!religious!Brendon/tempter!Gerard. Warning: mild voyeurism dubcon.
Thanks to zarathuse for the funniest drunken beta I have ever received, including a recommendation to title this "Prostatelytizing" and the following hilarious disclaimer: "I cannot promise that I dind a thorough grammr beta obviously. I’m pretty fuckign awesome at gramma r though I don’t think even beers can stp my copyediting super powers." ♥ you bb.
***
Gerard is late for work, and every minute he spends standing here nodding is an exponential deepening of the frown he's going to get from his supervisor when he finally shows up, but he can't help it. The kid trying to sell him Jesus today is really fucking cute.
"--can bring some meaning to your life," the guy is saying earnestly. "I'm not saying you don't lead a good life now, but don't you ever wonder if there should be something more to it? When you live for God, you never feel empty. You have a cause, you have a purpose."
Gerard isn't listening. The boy's hair and eyes are a matching dark brown, and his skin is tan, maybe from standing out in the sun all day spreading the Word. He's dressed neatly in slacks and a button-up shirt, with church flyers sticking out of his breast pocket. He doesn't sound like he's bullshitting, he sounds like he really means it, like he's here because he truly believes the crap he's spouting. It's adorable.
"--step away from the overindulgences of modern life, do something good with your time on Earth, help people instead of feeding your body's whims--"
"You are way too pretty for this shit," Gerard says. The boy pauses, confused.
"It's a waste," Gerard elaborates. "You're so fucking gorgeous, you should be out partying and having orgies all the time. People as hot as you are should be shared."
"Um," says the guy. "Thanks?"
"You are most welcome," says Gerard. "I have to go, my boss is going to kill me, but here." He grabs one of the church flyers from the guy's pocket and scribbles his name and cell number on the back. "Don't give that out to any religious telemarketers or anything, okay? That's just for you. If you ever decide you've had enough of this bullshit and want to try out a little sin, you just give me a call." He winks and takes off down the sidewalk, leaving the kid staring after him.
***
Gerard passes him a few more times after that on his way to work. He's usually running too late to stop and say hello, but he admires from afar. One glorious morning, the kid is bending over to get more flyers from his bag when Gerard walks by, and Gerard actually stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk to gape. It's truly heartbreaking, that an ass like that one has been granted to someone who will never know how to properly use it.
Or so Gerard thinks, until the kid calls him.
"Hello?" says Gerard. The number is unknown, so he doesn't rattle off any of the clever little quips he usually uses to answer the phone.
"Hi," says a soft, tentative voice. "This is Brendon. You, um, gave me your number a few weeks ago. When I was telling you about my church."
"Right, of course," says Gerard, startled. He wasn't actually expecting him to call. It was a passing hope, a vague just-in-case that he never really thought would pay off. "How's it going?"
"I'm good," says Brendon. "Just, um. Wondering if you've given any thought to what I was telling you. About the church."
It's entertaining, how transparent he is. "Tell you what," says Gerard in a low murmur. "I'll make you a deal. I'll think about God if you think about me."
Brendon's breath hitches. "Think... about what?" he whispers.
"Anything you want. You could think about helping me see the light, taking me to church with you, teaching me how to pray or whatever." Gerard smiles. "Or you could think about what I said. About how hot I think you are. I'd be so easy for you, Brendon. I'm getting hard just thinking about going down on my knees and sucking your cock."
Brendon whimpers, and the call cuts off. Gerard waits a few minutes to see if he'll call back. He doesn't.
That's okay. Gerard will see him tomorrow.
***
Brendon is practically buzzing around the sidewalk the next morning, gaze darting from face to face, like he's searching for something. When he sees Gerard and freezes, Gerard knows it was him.
"Hi, Brendon," he says pleasantly.
Brendon stays frozen, like he thinks Gerard is going to start spewing a pornographic monologue right there on the street.
"Nice morning," Gerard tries. Nothing. He shrugs and walks on.
Two days later, someone accidentally sets a bag of microwave popcorn on fire in the break room, and Gerard's entire office is evacuated. They mill around outside for half an hour, until Gerard's boss gets frustrated and sends her team home for the day at only two in the afternoon.
In the subway station, Gerard spots a very familiar ass disappearing around a corner. He trots to catch up, and slips onto the train just as the doors are closing. Brendon is sitting down in the last available seat. Gerard grabs the pole above his head and waits. When Brendon finally looks up and sees him, he smiles and says, "I've been thinking about God, like I said I would."
Brendon swallows hard. His eyes flit to Gerard's crotch, a foot and a half away from his face. Gerard stays quiet, letting the tension build with the rattling of the subway car. Someone gets off at the next stop, opening up a spot, but Gerard stays where he is.
After fifteen minutes of silence and surreptitious peeks, Brendon shoulders his bag and stands up. His body presses against Gerard's side briefly before he pulls away and moves half a step toward the door.
Gerard leans over to him, mouth just barely grazing his ear. "You should stay on the train," he says. "Come to my place and tell me about the Bible. I promise I'll listen to everything you have to say."
The doors open.
Gerard sits down in Brendon's vacated spot and waits. It's a transfer station, and about half the train is getting off. Brendon looks at the door, hesitates, and looks back at Gerard. He looks torn, desperate, his face more flushed than the cool air warrants. Gerard spreads his knees just a little and rests his hand on his thigh. Nothing too obscene, just a hint of a promise.
The doors close, and the train pulls away.
Brendon shoots a panicked glance out the window at the stone walls rushing by. He sits down across from Gerard, not making eye contact, not acknowledging his presence at all, but when Gerard gets off the train, so does Brendon.
He hangs back a few feet, like being seen with Gerard will ruin his God-fearing, church-going reputation. Gerard leads him to his apartment. He would have cleaned up if he'd thought he was going to have company, but it doesn't seem to matter. From the moment he closes the door, Brendon's eyes are fixed on him and nothing else.
Gerard sprawls out on the couch, leaving enough room for Brendon to sit down if he wants to. Brendon opts for the armchair, perching on the edge of it, still staring at Gerard with wide eyes.
"You... you said you'd listen," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
Gerard tries not to laugh. "You really want to talk about the Bible? That was a line, you know. But hey, if that's what you want, knock yourself out. Maybe skip the part about Sodom and Gomorrah, though. I'm not much of a fan of that story."
"We preach from the New Testament," Brendon says. "We glorify Jesus and his teachings."
"Yeah?" says Gerard. He rests a hand casually on his crotch. Brendon's eyes snap down to it.
"I... yes. And the word of..." Gerard starts rubbing himself slowly through his jeans, and Brendon's mouth drops open. "Stop that!"
Gerard stops, just long enough to register the expression of disappointment on Brendon's face, then moves his hand again. "Say that one more time," he murmurs. "Tell me to stop again and I will."
Brendon is silent.
Gerard unbuttons his tight jeans, slipping his fingers underneath. He can see Brendon straining to peer inside from across the room. "You can come over here if you want," Gerard says. Brendon doesn't move. Gerard unzips his pants, letting the tip of his erection slip out from the waistband of his underwear. Brendon's eyes bug out, but he doesn't say anything, just watches intently.
If he wants a show, Gerard can do a show. He caresses his skin, dragging his shirt up to expose one nipple, easing his pants further down. He licks two of his fingers and drags them down the underside of his cock, from the head to the base, leaving a damp trail of spit. Then he puts his fingers back to his lips and sucks them into his mouth, wrapping his other hand around his cock and pumping slowly.
"I want you in my mouth," he says around his fingers. "I want to suck you, Brendon. Say you want me to and I'll do it right now."
There's a bulge in the front of Brendon's sensible slacks, but he doesn't say anything. Gerard starts to get off the couch, ready to crawl over on his knees and take charge, but Brendon jumps out of the chair and retreats to the doorway. Gerard sits back down on the couch reluctantly, rubbing himself harder, looking at the outline of Brendon's cock.
Brendon's hand flutters to his hip. He trails it uncertainly over his stomach, then down his thigh, pulling the material of his pants tight across the front. Gerard tries to hold out, but that entire subway ride was like foreplay, and it's too much. He comes all over his stomach, gasping Brendon's name.
Brendon dashes out, slamming the front door behind him.
***
The next morning, Brendon isn't handing out flyers on the sidewalk when Gerard goes to work. He doesn't come back the next week, either.
The weekend after that, he shows up on Gerard's doorstep at eleven PM and says, "Fuck me."
He's a wreck, disheveled and baggy-eyed. Gerard steps back to let him in. "Are you okay?" he asks. He grabs the cup of espresso he was about to drink and offers it to Brendon.
Brendon shakes his head, to the coffee and the question. "Just do it," he says. "Hold me down. Make me take it."
Alarm bells start ringing in Gerard's head. "You're not going to, like... accuse me of anything, are you?"
"No no no, I consent, I swear." Brendon's eyes are wild and pleading. "I just... can't be the one to make it happen. I want you to do it to me. Please."
Gerard reaches out to stroke a hand down his cheek. Brendon's eyes fall shut, and he leans into the touch. Gerard takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom, lays Brendon down on his bed, tries to kiss him.
Brendon kisses back, hot and desperate, for just a moment, then jerks his face away and unceremoniously tugs off his clothes. "I want it hard," he says.
Gerard strips, then digs his lube out from under a pile of sketchbooks on the floor and squeezes some onto his hand. Brendon rolls onto his stomach and spreads his legs, letting Gerard finger him open. "Harder," he mumbles, and Gerard pushes his fingers in roughly. Brendon yelps and buries his face in a pillow.
Gerard sits back, drawing his fingers out. "Do it, just do it," begs Brendon, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"No," says Gerard. He eases himself down on top of Brendon, pressing their naked bodies together. "I know what you're doing," he says. "You're punishing yourself. You think that if it hurts enough, then you won't want to do it again."
"Please," says Brendon again.
Gerard kisses Brendon's shoulder softly. "I'm not in the business of giving sodomy a bad name," he says. "You want me to fuck you, you let me do it right." He rubs his hand over Brendon's beautiful ass, squeezing gently. Brendon is panting, and he won't take his face out of the pillow, but he lets Gerard slip his fingers back in and loosen him up carefully.
His ass is tight and pert, following through on the promise of the curves under those slacks he always wears. When Gerard finds his prostate, he lets out a long moan and says again, "Fuck me." It sounds different now, more honest, like he really wants Gerard's cock in him, and that's the kind of request Gerard is only too happy to fulfill. He finds a condom amid the junk on his floor and rolls it on, then slides bit by bit into Brendon's ass.
"You've never done this, have you?" Gerard whispers. Brendon shakes his head a little incredulously, like he can't believe he's doing it now. Gerard wriggles a hand under Brendon's stomach and squeezes his cock as he pushes further in. "You like it?" he asks breathlessly.
"Don't make me, please don't make me say, oh," Brendon gasps as Gerard strokes him.
Gerard pauses. "Do you like it?" he asks again.
"Yes, fuck, yes, I like it, please don't stop, please..."
Gerard jerks him, fucking him, kissing and licking the straining tendon between his shoulder and his neck. Brendon's hips buck higher and higher, trying to get Gerard deeper in him, and his urgency is fucking hot. Gerard can barely hold out until Brendon comes, even though it doesn't take long at all.
When they're both coming down, Brendon turns his head away from the pillow, looking back over his shoulder. Gerard rolls off him and pulls him close, kissing him. This time, Brendon lets him.
"You're so fucking hot," Gerard mumbles against his lips.
"I need to go," says Brendon.
"I haven't even gotten to blow you yet," protests Gerard. He mouths at Brendon's neck. "I really, really want to suck your cock."
"Maybe you can," Brendon says. He touches Gerard's hip. "Maybe I'll come back."
"Yeah," says Gerard. "You should do that."
***
He doesn't come back.
Gerard hopes that night was a breakthrough for him. He doesn't want to think of Brendon hating himself, doing penance or whatever religious people do when they think they need forgiveness. He wants to think that he helped, that Brendon came to terms with his God and himself. He doesn't really want to think of Brendon settling down happily with some other guy, but he'd rather think of that than of Brendon settling down with a woman and being miserable.
Wherever he is, Brendon's life doesn't include Gerard. It never really did. Gerard knows that even if he could find Brendon, his presence would only remind him of guilt and fear.
He still answers his cell phone every time a call comes from an unknown number, and even when he moves across the country, he keeps the same New Jersey number. Just in case.
Thanks to zarathuse for the funniest drunken beta I have ever received, including a recommendation to title this "Prostatelytizing" and the following hilarious disclaimer: "I cannot promise that I dind a thorough grammr beta obviously. I’m pretty fuckign awesome at gramma r though I don’t think even beers can stp my copyediting super powers." ♥ you bb.
***
Gerard is late for work, and every minute he spends standing here nodding is an exponential deepening of the frown he's going to get from his supervisor when he finally shows up, but he can't help it. The kid trying to sell him Jesus today is really fucking cute.
"--can bring some meaning to your life," the guy is saying earnestly. "I'm not saying you don't lead a good life now, but don't you ever wonder if there should be something more to it? When you live for God, you never feel empty. You have a cause, you have a purpose."
Gerard isn't listening. The boy's hair and eyes are a matching dark brown, and his skin is tan, maybe from standing out in the sun all day spreading the Word. He's dressed neatly in slacks and a button-up shirt, with church flyers sticking out of his breast pocket. He doesn't sound like he's bullshitting, he sounds like he really means it, like he's here because he truly believes the crap he's spouting. It's adorable.
"--step away from the overindulgences of modern life, do something good with your time on Earth, help people instead of feeding your body's whims--"
"You are way too pretty for this shit," Gerard says. The boy pauses, confused.
"It's a waste," Gerard elaborates. "You're so fucking gorgeous, you should be out partying and having orgies all the time. People as hot as you are should be shared."
"Um," says the guy. "Thanks?"
"You are most welcome," says Gerard. "I have to go, my boss is going to kill me, but here." He grabs one of the church flyers from the guy's pocket and scribbles his name and cell number on the back. "Don't give that out to any religious telemarketers or anything, okay? That's just for you. If you ever decide you've had enough of this bullshit and want to try out a little sin, you just give me a call." He winks and takes off down the sidewalk, leaving the kid staring after him.
***
Gerard passes him a few more times after that on his way to work. He's usually running too late to stop and say hello, but he admires from afar. One glorious morning, the kid is bending over to get more flyers from his bag when Gerard walks by, and Gerard actually stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk to gape. It's truly heartbreaking, that an ass like that one has been granted to someone who will never know how to properly use it.
Or so Gerard thinks, until the kid calls him.
"Hello?" says Gerard. The number is unknown, so he doesn't rattle off any of the clever little quips he usually uses to answer the phone.
"Hi," says a soft, tentative voice. "This is Brendon. You, um, gave me your number a few weeks ago. When I was telling you about my church."
"Right, of course," says Gerard, startled. He wasn't actually expecting him to call. It was a passing hope, a vague just-in-case that he never really thought would pay off. "How's it going?"
"I'm good," says Brendon. "Just, um. Wondering if you've given any thought to what I was telling you. About the church."
It's entertaining, how transparent he is. "Tell you what," says Gerard in a low murmur. "I'll make you a deal. I'll think about God if you think about me."
Brendon's breath hitches. "Think... about what?" he whispers.
"Anything you want. You could think about helping me see the light, taking me to church with you, teaching me how to pray or whatever." Gerard smiles. "Or you could think about what I said. About how hot I think you are. I'd be so easy for you, Brendon. I'm getting hard just thinking about going down on my knees and sucking your cock."
Brendon whimpers, and the call cuts off. Gerard waits a few minutes to see if he'll call back. He doesn't.
That's okay. Gerard will see him tomorrow.
***
Brendon is practically buzzing around the sidewalk the next morning, gaze darting from face to face, like he's searching for something. When he sees Gerard and freezes, Gerard knows it was him.
"Hi, Brendon," he says pleasantly.
Brendon stays frozen, like he thinks Gerard is going to start spewing a pornographic monologue right there on the street.
"Nice morning," Gerard tries. Nothing. He shrugs and walks on.
Two days later, someone accidentally sets a bag of microwave popcorn on fire in the break room, and Gerard's entire office is evacuated. They mill around outside for half an hour, until Gerard's boss gets frustrated and sends her team home for the day at only two in the afternoon.
In the subway station, Gerard spots a very familiar ass disappearing around a corner. He trots to catch up, and slips onto the train just as the doors are closing. Brendon is sitting down in the last available seat. Gerard grabs the pole above his head and waits. When Brendon finally looks up and sees him, he smiles and says, "I've been thinking about God, like I said I would."
Brendon swallows hard. His eyes flit to Gerard's crotch, a foot and a half away from his face. Gerard stays quiet, letting the tension build with the rattling of the subway car. Someone gets off at the next stop, opening up a spot, but Gerard stays where he is.
After fifteen minutes of silence and surreptitious peeks, Brendon shoulders his bag and stands up. His body presses against Gerard's side briefly before he pulls away and moves half a step toward the door.
Gerard leans over to him, mouth just barely grazing his ear. "You should stay on the train," he says. "Come to my place and tell me about the Bible. I promise I'll listen to everything you have to say."
The doors open.
Gerard sits down in Brendon's vacated spot and waits. It's a transfer station, and about half the train is getting off. Brendon looks at the door, hesitates, and looks back at Gerard. He looks torn, desperate, his face more flushed than the cool air warrants. Gerard spreads his knees just a little and rests his hand on his thigh. Nothing too obscene, just a hint of a promise.
The doors close, and the train pulls away.
Brendon shoots a panicked glance out the window at the stone walls rushing by. He sits down across from Gerard, not making eye contact, not acknowledging his presence at all, but when Gerard gets off the train, so does Brendon.
He hangs back a few feet, like being seen with Gerard will ruin his God-fearing, church-going reputation. Gerard leads him to his apartment. He would have cleaned up if he'd thought he was going to have company, but it doesn't seem to matter. From the moment he closes the door, Brendon's eyes are fixed on him and nothing else.
Gerard sprawls out on the couch, leaving enough room for Brendon to sit down if he wants to. Brendon opts for the armchair, perching on the edge of it, still staring at Gerard with wide eyes.
"You... you said you'd listen," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
Gerard tries not to laugh. "You really want to talk about the Bible? That was a line, you know. But hey, if that's what you want, knock yourself out. Maybe skip the part about Sodom and Gomorrah, though. I'm not much of a fan of that story."
"We preach from the New Testament," Brendon says. "We glorify Jesus and his teachings."
"Yeah?" says Gerard. He rests a hand casually on his crotch. Brendon's eyes snap down to it.
"I... yes. And the word of..." Gerard starts rubbing himself slowly through his jeans, and Brendon's mouth drops open. "Stop that!"
Gerard stops, just long enough to register the expression of disappointment on Brendon's face, then moves his hand again. "Say that one more time," he murmurs. "Tell me to stop again and I will."
Brendon is silent.
Gerard unbuttons his tight jeans, slipping his fingers underneath. He can see Brendon straining to peer inside from across the room. "You can come over here if you want," Gerard says. Brendon doesn't move. Gerard unzips his pants, letting the tip of his erection slip out from the waistband of his underwear. Brendon's eyes bug out, but he doesn't say anything, just watches intently.
If he wants a show, Gerard can do a show. He caresses his skin, dragging his shirt up to expose one nipple, easing his pants further down. He licks two of his fingers and drags them down the underside of his cock, from the head to the base, leaving a damp trail of spit. Then he puts his fingers back to his lips and sucks them into his mouth, wrapping his other hand around his cock and pumping slowly.
"I want you in my mouth," he says around his fingers. "I want to suck you, Brendon. Say you want me to and I'll do it right now."
There's a bulge in the front of Brendon's sensible slacks, but he doesn't say anything. Gerard starts to get off the couch, ready to crawl over on his knees and take charge, but Brendon jumps out of the chair and retreats to the doorway. Gerard sits back down on the couch reluctantly, rubbing himself harder, looking at the outline of Brendon's cock.
Brendon's hand flutters to his hip. He trails it uncertainly over his stomach, then down his thigh, pulling the material of his pants tight across the front. Gerard tries to hold out, but that entire subway ride was like foreplay, and it's too much. He comes all over his stomach, gasping Brendon's name.
Brendon dashes out, slamming the front door behind him.
***
The next morning, Brendon isn't handing out flyers on the sidewalk when Gerard goes to work. He doesn't come back the next week, either.
The weekend after that, he shows up on Gerard's doorstep at eleven PM and says, "Fuck me."
He's a wreck, disheveled and baggy-eyed. Gerard steps back to let him in. "Are you okay?" he asks. He grabs the cup of espresso he was about to drink and offers it to Brendon.
Brendon shakes his head, to the coffee and the question. "Just do it," he says. "Hold me down. Make me take it."
Alarm bells start ringing in Gerard's head. "You're not going to, like... accuse me of anything, are you?"
"No no no, I consent, I swear." Brendon's eyes are wild and pleading. "I just... can't be the one to make it happen. I want you to do it to me. Please."
Gerard reaches out to stroke a hand down his cheek. Brendon's eyes fall shut, and he leans into the touch. Gerard takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom, lays Brendon down on his bed, tries to kiss him.
Brendon kisses back, hot and desperate, for just a moment, then jerks his face away and unceremoniously tugs off his clothes. "I want it hard," he says.
Gerard strips, then digs his lube out from under a pile of sketchbooks on the floor and squeezes some onto his hand. Brendon rolls onto his stomach and spreads his legs, letting Gerard finger him open. "Harder," he mumbles, and Gerard pushes his fingers in roughly. Brendon yelps and buries his face in a pillow.
Gerard sits back, drawing his fingers out. "Do it, just do it," begs Brendon, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"No," says Gerard. He eases himself down on top of Brendon, pressing their naked bodies together. "I know what you're doing," he says. "You're punishing yourself. You think that if it hurts enough, then you won't want to do it again."
"Please," says Brendon again.
Gerard kisses Brendon's shoulder softly. "I'm not in the business of giving sodomy a bad name," he says. "You want me to fuck you, you let me do it right." He rubs his hand over Brendon's beautiful ass, squeezing gently. Brendon is panting, and he won't take his face out of the pillow, but he lets Gerard slip his fingers back in and loosen him up carefully.
His ass is tight and pert, following through on the promise of the curves under those slacks he always wears. When Gerard finds his prostate, he lets out a long moan and says again, "Fuck me." It sounds different now, more honest, like he really wants Gerard's cock in him, and that's the kind of request Gerard is only too happy to fulfill. He finds a condom amid the junk on his floor and rolls it on, then slides bit by bit into Brendon's ass.
"You've never done this, have you?" Gerard whispers. Brendon shakes his head a little incredulously, like he can't believe he's doing it now. Gerard wriggles a hand under Brendon's stomach and squeezes his cock as he pushes further in. "You like it?" he asks breathlessly.
"Don't make me, please don't make me say, oh," Brendon gasps as Gerard strokes him.
Gerard pauses. "Do you like it?" he asks again.
"Yes, fuck, yes, I like it, please don't stop, please..."
Gerard jerks him, fucking him, kissing and licking the straining tendon between his shoulder and his neck. Brendon's hips buck higher and higher, trying to get Gerard deeper in him, and his urgency is fucking hot. Gerard can barely hold out until Brendon comes, even though it doesn't take long at all.
When they're both coming down, Brendon turns his head away from the pillow, looking back over his shoulder. Gerard rolls off him and pulls him close, kissing him. This time, Brendon lets him.
"You're so fucking hot," Gerard mumbles against his lips.
"I need to go," says Brendon.
"I haven't even gotten to blow you yet," protests Gerard. He mouths at Brendon's neck. "I really, really want to suck your cock."
"Maybe you can," Brendon says. He touches Gerard's hip. "Maybe I'll come back."
"Yeah," says Gerard. "You should do that."
***
He doesn't come back.
Gerard hopes that night was a breakthrough for him. He doesn't want to think of Brendon hating himself, doing penance or whatever religious people do when they think they need forgiveness. He wants to think that he helped, that Brendon came to terms with his God and himself. He doesn't really want to think of Brendon settling down happily with some other guy, but he'd rather think of that than of Brendon settling down with a woman and being miserable.
Wherever he is, Brendon's life doesn't include Gerard. It never really did. Gerard knows that even if he could find Brendon, his presence would only remind him of guilt and fear.
He still answers his cell phone every time a call comes from an unknown number, and even when he moves across the country, he keeps the same New Jersey number. Just in case.