Cleanup post #1
Cleanup post! This one's a doozy. :)
What follows are a series of request ficlets which were written over the last few months in the comments of my personal journal. I re-posted my favourites. Hope you enjoy!
Brendon/Ryan | R | vampire fic | for notshybutsly
Ryan cursed as he glanced at the dashboard. The EMPTY light was bright, piercing in the darkness. Stupid night classes. You'd think the school would learn, with the number of people who'd gone missing in the last few months, but DePaul continued to fuck him over, in any and every way.
He was new to the city and not really sure where much of anything was -- Ryan could make it to the campus from his cousin's place in Tinley Park and back, but that was about it. He had no idea where a gas station was, and he'd left his cell phone and wallet at the apartment, of course.
Ryan pulled over, killed the engine, and slammed his forehead against the wheel of the car. He heard a tapping on the window, and tilted his head to the side.
Someone was standing by the car, eyes wide with concern. Ryan couldn't see him very well, could just barely make out his features, full lips and dark hair curling loosely around the smooth pale column of his throat. "All right?" the guy mouthed. Ryan shook his head, rolled the window down.
"Running on empty and lost," he said.
"That sucks," the guy said, flicking hair out of his eyes. "How long you been on empty?"
"A while," Ryan said after a pause, considering. "I'm fucked."
"I know where a gas station is, I'll walk with you, if you want," the guy offered. "Weird shit's been going down lately. You probably -- it's probably safer to not be alone."
"Yeah," Ryan said. He tugged the key free from the ignition, fumbled in the glove compartment for a fistful of bills, and got out of the car. "I'm Ryan."
"Brendon," he said, sticking his hand out for Ryan to shake.
"So I'm guessing you're not from around here," Brendon said, crossing to the other side of the street and tilting his head for Ryan to follow him.
"Just moved," Ryan said, jogging a bit to catch up. "DePaul. Creative Writing major."
"Oh, cool, cool. Where are you from?"
"Vegas," Ryan said shortly, kicking at the ground. "Did I lock the car?"
"It doesn't matter," Brendon said quickly. "Let's keep walking."
Ryan frowned. "What do you mean?"
"City-wise rise in violent crime and disappearances, not grand theft auto. The less time we spend out in the open, the better," Brendon explained.
"Oh," Ryan said. He tucked his hands into his pockets, shivered a little.
"You okay?" Brendon asked.
"Yeah, it's just cold," Ryan said. Brendon shrugged out of his jacket and handed it over to Ryan. It smelled -- weird. Old. Not the kind of old that Ryan's father smelled like, not old like sick-old; old like mothballs. Old in a way that blazers found in thrift stores shouldn't smell.
They walked through a pool of light, and Ryan's gaze skittered over to Brendon, trying to subtly assess him. Brendon was whistling quietly as they walked, something high and sweet. He was wearing a white buttoned dress shirt, crisp and classic with a large grey and black tie, and grey slacks held up with black suspenders. His skin was pale in the lamplight, unearthly pale. Ryan pushed that thought away -- Brendon wasn't all that pale, and the dark circles under his eyes...well, Ryan had dark circles, too. It looked like they were about the same age, meaning that Brendon's sleeping patterns were probably all screwed up, just like Ryan's. He was good-looking, Ryan decided, but not in a normal way, not in a teenage-pinup kind of way. His features were a little too exaggerated, his jaw a little too narrow and lips more than a little too plump to be conventionally attractive, but like the weird clothes, he wore them well.
Suddenly, Brendon froze, reaching out and gripping Ryan's arm. Ryan tensed up, tried to pull his arm free. "Shh," Brendon hissed, eyes flashing. He sprung into motion, pulling Ryan away and into a crouch on the ground beside him, peering around the edge of a random parked car.
"Wha -- "
"Stay here," Brendon snarled. Ryan recoiled. In the dim shadowed light, he could just barely make out the outlines of Brendon's teeth, lengthened into sharp fangs. Brendon sighed, reached out his hand and wrapped it around the back of Ryan's neck. "I wasn't going to hurt you, I wasn't," he whispered quickly, pressing their foreheads together. "But there's something right out there that probably really wants to, and if you run, then you're going to get hunted down and you're going to die, and it's not going to be a quick death or an easy one. So stay put." Ryan nodded shakily, and Brendon let go of him, jumping over the car -- over the car -- as Ryan curled into a ball, breathing hard, hands braced over his head, trying not to hear the dull sick noises of punches and bodies crunching against pavement.
"Well, hey there," a voice from behind him crooned, and Ryan started, sprawling against the ground. He tried to scramble to his feet, but a foot shot out and pressed between his scapulae, pushing him to the ground. Ryan gasped. The foot pressed harder, then lifted, hooked under his shoulder and nudged him onto his back. Suddenly, the person -- if it was a person -- was kneeling beside him, cold hand cupping his cheek. Ryan couldn't make out his face, could only make out the outline of tight jeans and a shredded t-shirt. "Scream for me," he hissed. Ryan struggled, tried to get away and couldn't manage.
Long fingers curled in his hair and yanked hard, exposing his throat. Ryan closed his eyes as he felt a hand wrap around his throat and squeeze gently before a thumb started rubbing over the curve of his Adam's apple. His breath caught in his throat at the strangely gentle caress. He felt the man lean in closer to him, cold and silent, and could barely summon up a whimper as sharp fangs sliced through his skin, burning as he was torn open.
This isn't happening, this isn't happening, Ryan kept thinking. Vampires aren't real, he told himself, even as he felt the man suck hard on the wound, swallowing his blood down greedily. The pain receded as the man sucked, until Ryan only felt the strange soothing thrum of his pulse as though it were sliding out of his body with his blood. Ryan let out something like a moan, half pain, half pleasure. In return, he got only a low chuckle, vibrating across the torn flesh before the man withdrew his mouth, then bit down harder, right beside the first gash, deeper this time, more jagged, and suddenly the pain was back and worse, ripping and searing him from the inside out. Ryan sobbed in frustration, kicking and working against the arm that kept him pressed tightly to the man's body, warming up as he drank from him, fighting even as the pain faded.
Ryan didn't know how long he lay there, his struggles against each fresh agonizing bite growing weaker as his head started throbbing, as the world started slipping away with his spine and limbs going liquid and useless. At some point the hovering weight of the man was gone, and then after another lull someone was shaking him, "Ryan, Ryan, wake up, fuck!"
"Brendon?" he slurred out.
A pause.
"It's me." Rough. Quiet.
"I think." Ryan swallowed heavily. He managed to get his eyes open, saw the street upside down. It only served to make him feel sicker. "I think I might be. Really, uh. Really hurt. It hurts."
Cold hands were stroking his face, again, and Ryan squirmed away as best he could, fighting against a throbbing tide of pain at his throat.
"Shh, shh, it's just me," Brendon whispered, pressing his lips to Ryan's forehead, icy and unfamiliar. Ryan settled, sighed. "The others, they're gone, I took care of them. You're gonna be okay, all right?"
"M'not," Ryan mumbled. He took a deep breath and lifted his arm, pressed his hand to his neck, feeling the ragged mess of torn flesh. It was hot and wet and soaking, and everything was distant and fuzzy and fading away. The last thing Ryan knew was Brendon's broad palm tilting his head up so that he didn't choke on the the sluggish dripping of something cold and thick into his mouth.
---
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | for pau494
"Hang on," Brendon said to the skinny girl with the stupid hair. "I'll go check in the stockroom for you."
Once back there, he kicked aside a box of hoodies. In the corner, Ryan looked up from where he was rooting through another box. The label on the side said high-waisted hot shorts, but Brendon clearly saw briefs piled inside.
"Backstock fucked us over again," Ryan said with a sigh.
"Fuck it," Brendon said. "We're supposed to have tons of flex fleeces left and we're always out. I have three people out there who just want a damn hoodie and somehow we're completely out. I'm gonna get blamed for this, I just fucking know it."
Ryan patted the ground by himself. Brendon flopped down next to him.
"Hey, come on," Ryan said, leaning in for a kiss. Brendon sighed. Ryan pulled back and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"You're frisky today," Brendon said glumly as Ryan slipped his hand up Brendon's thigh.
"Shut up and let me suck you off," Ryan murmured. He reached over and unbuckled Brendon's belt, getting his jeans unzipped and cock out. He licked his palm before wrapping long fingers around Brendon's cock, stroking slowly. Brendon took a deep breath, tilting his hips. Ryan worked him to hardness before pulling back, nudging Brendon up against the wall, kneeling in front of him. He opened his mouth, guiding Brendon's cock between his lips. He sucked slowly, stroking in time. Brendon's hand fell to Ryan's hair, ruffling it.
"Fuck, that's good," he sighed. "Yeah, come on, you can take more."
Ryan pinched his thigh, hard, and Brendon yelped.
"Careful," Ryan said. "Don't want anyone hearing, do you?" Brendon mimed turning a key over his mouth, and Ryan laughed softly before opening his mouth and taking Brendon in, more this time.
"Oh, fuck," Brendon gasped as Ryan sucked harder, stroking his hipbones and bobbing his head in time. He reached down and laced his fingers with Ryan's, clutching. Ryan squeezed back, still sucking, steady and slow until Brendon tugged sharply at his hair, pulling Ryan off his cock. Ryan stroked him through Brendon biting his lip and grunting hard as he came. He leaned over and wiped his hand off on a pair of briefs.
"That's disgusting," Brendon said breathlessly.
"Shut up," Ryan told him.
---
Ryan/Spencer | R | for raye6
"Yeahhh, that's not going in my ass," Spencer said.
"Don't be such a fucking girl," Ryan said, rolling his eyes.
"Seriously," Spencer said. "I would really like to live to see seventeen."
"It's nice," Ryan said contemplatively.
"I wouldn't know. I'd like to, though," Spencer said.
"Hey, you wanna suck me off?" Ryan asked after a pause.
"I'll jerk you off," Spencer said. "I don't really plan on choking to death, though, so."
"Oh, please," Ryan said. "My dick is not that huge."
"You are the first person in the history of the world to try to convince someone that his dick is smaller," Spencer said.
---
Brendon/Ryan | R | for notshybutsly
"Come on, yeah," Brendon murmured, fisting his fingers in the boy's hair and jerking back sharply, exposing the smooth column of his throat. The boy's breath came quickly, pulse hammering.
"Brendon," Ryan said quietly. "I don't think that I can. He's -- Brendon, he's our age."
"I'm three hundred and forty-two, I don't know how old you are," Brendon murmured, stroking the boy's throat. "Look at how beautiful he is, Ryan."
"I can't -- " Ryan said. Brendon snarled and sank his teeth into the boy's neck, biting viciously. Ryan took a step back, horror written on his face. The boy cried out in pain, struggling. Brendon held him back easily.
"Drink," Brendon said roughly, pulling back. His mouth was covered in the boy's blood. Ryan tried to pull back, but couldn't -- the smell was overpowering; he could hear the boy's pulse hammering away.
"No," Ryan gasped, "no, I'm not going to."
Brendon yanked the boy's head back again and sank his fangs in once more. He threw the boy aside carelessly. He grabbed for Ryan.
"No," Ryan shouted, kicking at him. Brendon was too strong, though, and tugged Ryan's head back, dipping down and kissing him, pushing a mouthful of blood between Ryan's lips. Ryan gagged, shuddering, and tried to push Brendon away. It didn't work; Brendon kept holding him close. Ryan couldn't stop himself -- the rich taste of the blood in his mouth, dribbling down his chin, it was too much, too alive, too tempting, and he swallowed, surging back up and licking up into Brendon's mouth hungrily.
"You want more?" Brendon asked roughly, pushing Ryan away.
"No," Ryan said. He fell to the ground, stumbling away, and landed right next to the boy Brendon had fed from. His pulse was weaker this time, but he was still so clearly alive, fighting to stay conscious.
Suddenly, Brendon was crouched beside him, one hand combing through his hair as the other rubbed at the small of his back. "Take him," he breathed. Ryan closed his eyes, trying to breathe, trying so hard to stop himself from falling on the boy and sucking him dry.
He didn't manage.
---
Panic GSF | NC-17 | for untappedbeauty
Jon bit his lip as Ryan started pushing inside, every bit a burn. When he felt Ryan's hips pressed flush to his ass, he let his elbows buckle, resting his brow on his forearms and breathing.
"Okay?" Spencer asked, curled at his side, running blunt fingernails over the curve of Jon's skull. Jon nodded once. Ryan rubbed at his hips before slowly pulling back, the dry rub of his palms comforting.
"Good, yeah," Jon rasped as Ryan started rocking his hips carefully. Ryan couldn't seem to stop touching him, fingertips tracing the lines of bone and sinew on Jon's back, gripping the curve of his shoulders. Jon kept his eyes closed, focused on the image of Ryan's long delicate fingers dancing over his skin.
It hurt a lot when Ryan first started thrusting, but it's so much better now, the stretch feels more like a victory and less like a cheat, and Ryan's got his hips angled better so that each push of his cock is sparking bright and hot along his spine.
Ryan's hands settle at his hips, pulling Jon back onto his cock, bracing to push away, and Jon lets out a soft grunt.
"Come on," Spencer murmurs encouragingly, slipping a hand down Jon's body to knuckle over his balls, brush at his dick teasingly. "Want to hear you."
Jon lets himself make more noise then, groaning as Ryan starts fucking him harder, hunching his back against the onslaught. It's like a dam breaks in Ryan, like he gives in and just starts pounding into Jon, hands pressing hard enough into his flesh to hurt as he keeps pulling, keeps working, right up until the desperate little gasp as he comes.
Jon's been fucked before, but not very much, not enough to be familiar with the hot spill of Ryan's come inside him, and he jerks at the sensation. Ryan pulls out, hands holding Jon in place.
"Don't move," he says hoarsely. Jon bites at his forearm, trying to keep from squirming. "Brendon."
Brendon's been so quiet all this time, Jon starts when Ryan says his name. He'd almost forgotten Brendon was there. He feels Brendon crawl around Spencer and settle behind him, one hand rubbing at Jon's calf.
"You wanna clean him up?" Ryan asks quietly. Jon sucks in a sharp breath at that, the idea of it foreign and not a little intimidating.
"Yeah," Brendon breathes, and it's a scarce heartbeat before his mouth is working its way up the curve of his ass, starting at the back of his thigh. There's absolutely no hesitance before he kisses Jon's asshole, flicking his tongue just around the outside before pressing in minutely. Jon feels the bottom drop out of his stomach as Brendon curls his tongue in, suckling. He makes quiet little noises of contentment as he works. Jon gasps as he just keeps licking, thumbs pressing Jon's ass open for himself.
Spencer's hand creeps around his cock, starts stroking gently, and Jon rocks into it. Brendon works two fingers into him, scooping more of Ryan's come out and licking at his fingers. Jon wishes he could see, but just the sounds of it are incredible. He's getting close, Spencer's hand sliding perfect and tight, until all of a sudden Ryan reaches around and grips at the base of his cock.
"Not yet," he murmurs. "Brendon?" Brendon pulls away, and Jon hears the pop of a bottle of lube, hears Brendon slick himself up -- or maybe Ryan does it for him, probably, Brendon's breathing is getting shaky -- and then the tip of his cock is pressed to Jon's asshole, and he starts pushing in, more quickly than Ryan had. "You're going to take him, and then Spencer, and then maybe you can come," Ryan says, soft and low.
---
Brendon/Spencer | NC-17 | for disarm_d
The clamps were bigger than the other set Spencer had, the chain thicker, heavier. Brendon forced stillness upon himself.
"Deep breath," Spencer said, and Brendon hissed as the first clamp tightened around his nipple. Spencer pressed his palm flat to Brendon's belly before reaching down to suck his other nipple and get the other clamp on.
They hurt, and when Brendon shifted a little, they only tightened further, pulling another gasp from him. Spencer gave him a moment to settle before lifting the chain, not pulling, but Brendon could still feel the movement in the way the clamps tilted and hissed again.
"Roll over," Spencer told him, dropping the chain. Brendon bit the inside of his cheek before doing so. The weight of the chain rolled with his body, tugging on the clamps, sending bright flares of pain. He closed his eyes, concentrated on breathing. His fingers clenched at the sheets when he felt Spencer start working him open, fingers slick and cold with lube.
Spencer didn't spend long fingering him. Brendon heard the rip of a condom packet opening before he felt Spencer's cock pressing into him slowly.
Brendon dropped his head, pushed back against Spencer. He gasped, ragged, when Spencer's hand came around and tugged on one of the clamps, quick and sharp. Spencer draped himself over Brendon's back as his fingers pinched along the chain, pulling it as he went. His fingers stopped at the dead center of the chain, pulling steadily.
"Fuck," Brendon breathed, bowing his shoulders. Spencer rolled his hips, keeping his cock deep in Brendon's ass, hips flush against Brendon's ass. Spencer let go of the chain and straightened, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming back in. The movement jarred Brendon and sent the chain swinging, and he groaned and shuddered, which again only made the chain ripple and tighten the clamps around his nipples.
Spencer's hand drifted up his spine to grip a handful of his hair and tug, pulling his head back. Brendon kept his eyes closed, kept biting his lip. Spencer pulled more sharply on his hair, and Brendon felt his mouth drop open.
"Spencer," he gasped. "Spencer, please."
Spencer raked his fingernails down Brendon's back before reaching down and tugging at the chain, still fucking him steadily.
"What do you want?" he asked quietly, Brendon's breathing ragged and heavy as a backdrop.
"Spencer," he groaned.
"I'm here. What do you want?" Another tug on the chain, another roll of his hips.
"Please," Brendon choked out. Spencer's fingers left the chain, cupped his hips and kept fucking him, making Brendon shudder, making the chain ripple, making him ache.
"I want you to come like this," Spencer murmured.
"I can, I can," Brendon babbled.
"I know," Spencer told him, twisting the chain taut around his fingers. Brendon sucked in a hard breath and bore down under the twin assault. "Come on."
Brendon hunched his shoulders and shuddered as he came, stretched full and burning bright. Spencer didn't let go of the chain until after he came, a bare handful of thrusts later. He pulled out, tossed the condom into the trashcan and then rolled Brendon over. He went, bonelessly, with Spencer spooning up behind him. Spencer reached over and took off the clamps, gently, kissing the curve of Brendon's neck when he hissed. Brendon let his eyes slip shut while Spencer stroked his belly.
"Breathe," Spencer reminded him.
---
Jon/Brendon | R | for riflethrough
(continuation of Ready to fall.)
“I think I’m probably dreaming,” Brendon said contemplatively. Jon reached over and pinched him, hard. “Ow.”
“You’re not dreaming,” Jon told him.
“Is the term ‘vampire’ offensive to you?” Brendon asked. Jon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, it’s pretty accurate, so,” Jon said with an indefinite gesture. Brendon sighed, started rubbing his thumb over the little punctures at his wrist, already all scabbed over. They wouldn’t take long to heal. They were so small. Brendon wished, suddenly, that he weren’t so close to being sober. There was definitely still a certain tilt to the world, but he was coming down. Slow but steady. Maybe it was the biting, maybe that did it; maybe the adrenaline, looking up at Jon and seeing his blood all over Jon’s mouth, maybe that drained the rush from Brendon’s system.
Brendon lay down, stared up at the sky. “Tell me more.”
“I haven’t told you anything,” Jon said. Brendon didn’t say anything, just waited patiently.
“If you don’t say something, I’m going to have to talk,” Brendon said. “Okay. I saw a special once, on vampire sub-cultures. It was on, like, Biography or something. It was all about people who think they’re vampires. They drink each other’s blood. One guy used to brush his girlfriend’s hair and press really hard with the hairbrush so she’d bleed, and then he’d lick the bristles. That was pretty weird.”
“I’m not a pretend vampire,” Jon said. He sounded like he was trying to not be amused and failing miserably at it.
“Educate me,” Brendon said primly, rolling over to his stomach. Jon chuckled. “Tell me what it means to be a vampire. How did it even happen, dude? Did you wake up one day and start ordering all your steaks extra super rare?”
“I don’t talk about it,” Jon said.
“Well, yes, because people would think you were a fucking nutjob,” Brendon said.
“Okay,” Jon said, and took a deep breath. He lay down next to Brendon and looked right at him. “Ask me a question?”
“Reflection?” Brendon asked promptly.
“Yep,” Jon said.
“Super-strength?”
“I don’t know about super,” Jon said thoughtfully. “But, yeah, I’m pretty strong. My vision’s really good, too, and my hearing. I can hear your heart beating.”
“Does it hurt when people yell or whatever?” Brendon asked, closing his eyes.
“Nah,” Jon said. “Otherwise I think I’d’ve done something other than get into music, you know?”
Brendon laughed. “Yeah, right, yeah. So do you need to eat, like, food, huh?”
“Not really,” Jon hedged.
“But you do.”
Jon shrugged. “I tried, you know, just not eating. But it was weird. I stopped -- stopped feeling like me.”
“How much do you have to, you know,” Brendon bared his teeth and hissed.
"It changes," Jon said, sounding uncomfortable. "Maybe twice a week. Sometimes more. Sometimes less."
"Don't get weird on me," Brendon said.
"I keep waiting for you to freak out," Jon said quietly.
"Give me some credit," Brendon said, bumping Jon's shoulder with his own. "I'm still a little too tipsy to freak out."
Jon sighed.
Brendon let his eyes slip closed. His eyelids were feeling pretty heavy, and he'd already taken his contacts out, so it wasn't like he had to worry about that. "Jon?"
"Yeah?"
"You're warm," Brendon said, because it was true. He could feel the heat from Jon's body, right next to his own, which shouldn't be happening, because Jon was a vampire and vampires were apparently cold.
"I just drank your blood," Jon said carefully. He sounded far away. Quiet.
"Only a little," Brendon yawned. He curled onto his side, closer to Jon.
"Yeah," Jon murmured, unmoving.
"Is that how much you need to, like, you know?"
"No, that was -- that's not. I need more than that."
"Okay," Brendon sighed, settling.
Brendon stayed silent, stayed still, and after a few minutes Jon's hand came up to rest on the back of his neck, fingertips teasing at his hairline. Warm, Brendon thought, he's keeping me warm with my blood and that should maybe seem weirder.
"You know you can't tell anyone, right?" Jon asked, when Brendon flopped in the green room next to him. There was the usual crowd of bands, techs, and friends swirling around, getting ready for soundcheck and the show, but none were paying any attention to Brendon Jon; he spoke softly enough that only Brendon could hear.
"I know," Brendon said with a smile.
"Okay," Jon said.
"Why can't you go on tour with us?" Brendon asked, still speaking quietly.
"I told you," Jon said after a pause.
"It doesn't make sense," Brendon argued. "You're on tour with us now."
"As a tech," Jon said patiently.
"You play with us," Brendon pointed out.
Jon sighed. "Brendon just -- stop, okay?"
"Fancy meeting you here," Brendon said. "I have no idea how we manage it, man, we're always alone."
Jon shrugged. Brendon closed the door to the back lounge behind him, sprawled on the couch next to Jon.
"What can I say to make you come on tour with us?" Brendon asked. Jon didn't say anything. "Jon?"
"There's nothing, okay, now would you shut the hell up?" Jon snapped. Brendon flinched. "Fuck. Brendon. I'm sorry, I don't -- I'm sorry, all right?"
"Yeah," Brendon said. He shifted upright, away from Jon.
"I'm sorry," Jon said again, sounding frantic.
"It's not a big deal," Brendon said, glancing at at him. "Dude, calm down."
"I'm sorry," Jon repeated.
"Dude," Brendon said, moving closer to him again. "You're, like, freaking out. What -- what's wrong?"
"I just," Jon said, and then he stopped, licked his lips and stared at Brendon.
"...Jon?"
"I can't, okay," Jon said, voice low and desperate. "I can't go on tour with you guys, Brendon, I can't."
"Why?"
"Because it's not fucking fair to you," Jon said angrily, grabbing for Brendon's shoulders. "Because if we're on tour, then I have to feed, and it's been hard enough, okay? I can't do it if -- I just can't. I can't do that to you."
"What if I don't mind?" Brendon asked stubbornly, not wincing away from the pressure. Super-strength for sure, he thought, but resolutely didn't squirm.
Jon barked out a brief laugh. "You don't even know what you're getting yourself into."
"Tell me," Brendon said, and that was about the time Jon realized he was pressing bruises into Brendon's skin. He let go, lurching away as though he'd been burnt.
Jon took a deep breath. "It's just. Intense."
"Jesus Christ, asshole, when are you going to understand that you're not going to freak me out?"
"Probably never," Jon admitted.
"Just, let's try," Brendon said, moving closer, tilting his forehead close to Jon's. "For real. I swear I'll, like, kick you if I hate it. Swear."
"I don't --" Jon said weakly, staring fixedly at Brendon's throat. Brendon tipped his head down and kissed Jon softly. Jon's reaction was immediate; his hands came up, one wrapped round Brendon's neck, gentle pressure, the other at the back of his head, keeping him close. Jon pulled away, then, moving deliberately to trail kisses down Brendon's jaw, to his throat, where he paused to lick his lips before sealing them against Brendon's skin. He sucked lightly at the skin, not using teeth at first, and Brendon sighed, clenching his hands in Jon's shirt.
"Come on," he breathed.
Jon hesitated, then slowly, slowly, sank his teeth into Brendon's skin.
Brendon let his eyes slip closed, let his fingers loosen around the fabric of Jon's shirt, started breathing more deeply. Jon's hands cupping him were -- they were getting warmer, surrounding him with heat, his whole body was heating up, they both were, and Jon just kept suckling at Brendon's throat, soft rhythmic pulls on his veins; Brendon could feel that he wasn't biting deeply, but he could feel the draw of blood in his belly, in his fingertips, all the way in his toes.
"Oh, okay," Brendon gasped. Jon paused, breath coming hot and slow against the wounds. "Yeah, you can -- do you -- ?"
"Okay?" Jon asked quietly, voice thick.
"Uh-huh," Brendon sighed, and closed his eyes again, let Jon go back to sucking, let the world keep spinning.
---
William/Brendon | R | for airgiodslv
(continuation of Vampirepants.)
"You're so awesome," Brendon slurred. "I am so not drunk, okay. But if I was so drunk I was really drunk I would still be all, YOU KNOW WILLIAM!? He's awesome."
"Yeah," William said, laughing. Babysitting Brendon when he'd had too much to drink meant either vomit duty or free entertainment. Tonight, it seemed to be strictly entertainment.
"Youuu need to be happier," Brendon told him. "Ryan is the moody one. There can only be one."
"Your whole band is moody."
"I'm not," Brendon said proudly. He flopped sideways, closer to William.
"Anyway, I was moody first," William said.
"Your reign of terror has ended," Brendon said, closing his eyes. "This stupid floor is not comfy." He wriggled his way up, resting his cheek on William's thigh. "Skinny fucker."
Wiliam chuckled, then reached down to card fingers loosely through Brendon's hair. He made a low purring noise, and William's fingers clenched. Brendon nuzzled at his hip, breath hot through the denim.
"I'm 'unna sit up now, don't stop touching my hair," Brendon announced. William nodded, didn't stop combing. "I am going to kiss you now."
"Are you?" William asked, half-serious.
"Don't be so serious," Brendon said. "I am really very drunk, and drunk people kiss other people. Other drunk people. You're a drunk people."
"I thought you weren't drunk at all."
"No, no, very drunk," Brendon said, leaning in and pressing his mouth to William's, sloppily. He climbed into William's lap, an inelegant tangle of limbs.
"You're going to be so embarrassed when you wake up," Wiliam said.
"No," Brendon said firmly, tossing his head back. William froze. "I am not going to remember anything, which is so awesome. I like Jack."
"Mmm," William murmured, leaning in to nose at Brendon's throat, tongue flicking out. Brendon hummed appreciatively. Carefully, William started kissing the soft skin, fingers tugging lightly at Brendon's hair.
"S'good," Brendon sighed, tilting his head to give William better access.
"Just a taste," William whispered.
"Yeah, yeah," Brendon mumbled, going still and pliant as William's hands slid down to cup his shoulders. William took a deep, unnecessary breath and gently sank his teeth into Brendon's skin, wet from kisses already. Brendon moaned, loud and unbroken, and William's grip tightened.
He pulled back, licking his lips, trying to gently push Brendon off.
"No, no, no," Brendon said, wriggling. William pushed a bit harder, and Brendon went sprawling. "Ow," he said pitifully. He reached his hand up to rub at the bite mark on his throat.
William sighed, crawled over, intending to just -- bite his tongue and seal up the wound. But Brendon was lying there, neck arched at the perfect angle, eyes closed, and really William had hardly taken enough to even taste. A little more wouldn't hurt, couldn't hurt.
His mouth sealed over the marks, sucking harder this time, teeth sliding through flesh easily. Brendon whimpered, reaching up to clutch at William.
"Fuck," William breathed, pulling his teeth from Brendon's skin. He swallowed hard, licking around his mouth, trying to get every drop. The cuts on Brendon's neck were oozing, still, sluggish dark blood. William tilted inwards, just enough to lap at the pooled blood, just enough to clean Brendon up, but Brendon was so still, so acquiescent.
"Feels nice," he said, voice coming low and drugged-sounding.
"That's enough," William said thickly, steeling himself.
"More," Brendon whispered. "Please?"
"Just a little more, then," William murmured, suckling gently. Brendon rolled his hips, brought his hands up to grip at William's hips. William pinned his wrists to the floor, keeping Brendon still. He whimpered but didn't try to fight William off.
His heartbeat wasn't even speeding up, not really, beating sluggish and pumping blood into William's mouth; blood, rich and thick and warm. Brendon was bright, Brendon was so full of life, and his blood was just like that, intoxicating.
"Bill," Brendon slurred. His fingers flexed; William felt the tendons arching. "Hurts. Don't -- don't stop, just -- "
William didn't hear him.
---
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | for auberryroad
Brendon tipped his head back, waiting for Ryan.
"I'm sure," he murmured. Ryan bit his lip, tasted his own blood. He started at the sharp pin-prick of sluggish cold blood in his mouth -- he hadn't noticed the lengthening of his canines into fangs, just from being so close to Brendon.
He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and pressed his lips to the curve of Brendon's neck before letting his teeth sink cleanly into flesh; hot, throbbing flesh.
It was the same as every time, suckling slowly, hands drifting with one cupping Brendon's cheek, the other lacing their fingers together, hands swinging loose beside their bodies. Ryan bit deeper, sucked harder, suddenly grateful for the wall Brendon leant against. He squeezed Brendon's hand, feeling his fingers warm as he drank.
It was the same, and every time it was harder to pull away, harder to sense the urgency in leaving Brendon enough blood for himself.
"Okay?" Brendon asked, keeping his eyes closed. His free hand crept up to smear the last few droplets of blood. Ryan couldn't look away from that smudge of dark crimson, vivid against Brendon's pale skin. "You -- you got enough?"
"Yeah," Ryan said throatily. He glanced down, saw the hard line of Brendon's cock straining against his jeans. He took another deep breath, willed his fangs to recede, and dropped to his knees. "Trust me?"
"Y -- yeah, 'course," Brendon murmured. He was still holding Ryan's hand. His other hand drifted to comb tentatively through Ryan's hair. Ryan shivered and fumbled Brendon's jeans open one-handed, got his free hand around the base of Brendon's cock before guiding it to his mouth.
It made it easier to pretend to be human, doing this very human thing, focusing on this very normal human act. It was hard to think of himself as an actual person while he was watching real people eat food he couldn't digest; while he watched people do manual labour that he could accomplish so much more easily; while he watched people sleep, watched their chests rise and fall with the natural rhythm of breath. But like this, he could be human again. With Brendon in his mouth, giving instead of taking, he could be human.
He sucked slowly, savouring the act, the charade. Brendon wasn't going to last long, anyway, and his hips were already rocking, pushing his cock between Ryan's lips, far enough to almost make him gag a little. Ryan let him. Ryan owed him this much, at least. This much and more, really, for everything he took from Brendon.
It was easier, but still a temptation, being on his knees with Brendon's pulse speeding up, right there, feeling the throb of blood, knowing how easy it would be to --
"Brendon," he gasped as he pulled off, stroking him, still clutching at Brendon's hand, feeling his fangs lengthen again.
He kept his eyes open when Brendon came across his cheeks, grunting.
He didn't let go of Brendon's hand when he stood.
---
Spencer/Brendon | PG-13 | for disarm_d
Something about the phrase "cabin fever" tended to make Brendon laugh because he'd always kind of figured that only boring people (like people who think reading is boring, or people who think daylong Guitar Hero marathons are boring) had the ability to be driven crazy by the idea of a little isolation.
And then Brendon spent two weeks in The Cabin.
It really shouldn't have been a problem, because he was used to living with these people. He loved these people. Apparently he didn't love them as much after two weeks in The Cabin.
"You're tense," Spencer said mildly.
"Yep," Brendon said. He flicked his Sidekick open. Still no service. He flipped it shut. Flicked it open. Flipped shut. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Open.
Spencer's hand covered his, firmly. "Hey."
Brendon shook him off, brow furrowed. "Not now," he said, sounding distracted.
"You sure?" Spencer asked.
Brendon blew out a breath, explosive.
"Come here," Spencer said gently.
Brendon glanced up at him before slowly getting to his feet and walking around the table. He sat in the chair next to Spencer, looked straight at him.
"On your knees," Spencer told him. Brendon hesitated before slipping to his knees, palms flat against his thighs. Spencer reached forward and combed his fingers gently through Brendon's hair, tugging slightly when he reached the ends. Brendon sighed and tipped his head, let it rest against Spencer's knee.
Spencer waited a moment, let Brendon's breathing deepen and slow.
"Talk to me," he said quietly, still stroking Brendon's hair.
Deep breath.
---
Ian/Greta | NC-17 | for thousandjulys
"Hey, hi," Ian said, rubbing his face against Greta's cheek.
"You look so much better clean-shaven," she said affectionately.
"Thanks," Ian said. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She wiggled hers right back. He smiled again before dipping down to kiss her, licking into her mouth. She shifted beneath him, and Ian slid deftly down her body, pausing to nose at her belly.
He pushed her skirt up and nuzzled her through her underwear. Greta snorted and tossed the floaty fabric of her skirt over him.
"Okay, okay," he said, voice muffled slightly. He tugged her underwear down, parted her lips and licked along her clit, light and quick. Greta squirmed a little, and Ian lapped more slowly, careful little flickers as he slipped one finger inside, curling. Greta rolled her hips, pressing up against Ian's mouth, trying for more pressure, and he obliged, licking harder, right over her clit, pushing two more fingers in at once. His free hand smoothed over her stomach where her shirt rode up above her skirt.
He started sucking gently at her clit, working his wrist harder, and Greta's breath came faster, hips grinding up into Ian's mouth before she gasped and came, clenching hard around his fingers. He stroked her through it, pulling back to admire the arch of her back with his fingers still curling.
She tugged him down for a kiss, breathing heavily and licking her taste out of his mouth.
"Happy start of tour," he said brightly.
---
Ashlee/Pete | NC-17 | for queenofhell
warning: cultverse
It should feel like being saved, but mostly it just feels like being used.
Typically, that's what most things that are supposed to be big and important end up feeling like. Dedicate yourself to God: feel used by the church. Dedicate yourself to dancing: feel used by the school. Dedicate yourself to being a Star: feel used by your father. Dedicate yourself to a Message, feel used by Pete.
She's lying on her back, feeling Pete fucking her, braced on his elbows to take most of his weight off her body. His forehead is knocking against hers, his mouth hot against hers, her legs wrapped up high around his waist. His words are bleeding into her as he hisses them, his sweat is slick against her skin. His fingernails, when he grips at her wrists dig into her flesh, deep enough to leave marks.
And she feels nothing.
What follows are a series of request ficlets which were written over the last few months in the comments of my personal journal. I re-posted my favourites. Hope you enjoy!
Brendon/Ryan | R | vampire fic | for notshybutsly
Ryan cursed as he glanced at the dashboard. The EMPTY light was bright, piercing in the darkness. Stupid night classes. You'd think the school would learn, with the number of people who'd gone missing in the last few months, but DePaul continued to fuck him over, in any and every way.
He was new to the city and not really sure where much of anything was -- Ryan could make it to the campus from his cousin's place in Tinley Park and back, but that was about it. He had no idea where a gas station was, and he'd left his cell phone and wallet at the apartment, of course.
Ryan pulled over, killed the engine, and slammed his forehead against the wheel of the car. He heard a tapping on the window, and tilted his head to the side.
Someone was standing by the car, eyes wide with concern. Ryan couldn't see him very well, could just barely make out his features, full lips and dark hair curling loosely around the smooth pale column of his throat. "All right?" the guy mouthed. Ryan shook his head, rolled the window down.
"Running on empty and lost," he said.
"That sucks," the guy said, flicking hair out of his eyes. "How long you been on empty?"
"A while," Ryan said after a pause, considering. "I'm fucked."
"I know where a gas station is, I'll walk with you, if you want," the guy offered. "Weird shit's been going down lately. You probably -- it's probably safer to not be alone."
"Yeah," Ryan said. He tugged the key free from the ignition, fumbled in the glove compartment for a fistful of bills, and got out of the car. "I'm Ryan."
"Brendon," he said, sticking his hand out for Ryan to shake.
"So I'm guessing you're not from around here," Brendon said, crossing to the other side of the street and tilting his head for Ryan to follow him.
"Just moved," Ryan said, jogging a bit to catch up. "DePaul. Creative Writing major."
"Oh, cool, cool. Where are you from?"
"Vegas," Ryan said shortly, kicking at the ground. "Did I lock the car?"
"It doesn't matter," Brendon said quickly. "Let's keep walking."
Ryan frowned. "What do you mean?"
"City-wise rise in violent crime and disappearances, not grand theft auto. The less time we spend out in the open, the better," Brendon explained.
"Oh," Ryan said. He tucked his hands into his pockets, shivered a little.
"You okay?" Brendon asked.
"Yeah, it's just cold," Ryan said. Brendon shrugged out of his jacket and handed it over to Ryan. It smelled -- weird. Old. Not the kind of old that Ryan's father smelled like, not old like sick-old; old like mothballs. Old in a way that blazers found in thrift stores shouldn't smell.
They walked through a pool of light, and Ryan's gaze skittered over to Brendon, trying to subtly assess him. Brendon was whistling quietly as they walked, something high and sweet. He was wearing a white buttoned dress shirt, crisp and classic with a large grey and black tie, and grey slacks held up with black suspenders. His skin was pale in the lamplight, unearthly pale. Ryan pushed that thought away -- Brendon wasn't all that pale, and the dark circles under his eyes...well, Ryan had dark circles, too. It looked like they were about the same age, meaning that Brendon's sleeping patterns were probably all screwed up, just like Ryan's. He was good-looking, Ryan decided, but not in a normal way, not in a teenage-pinup kind of way. His features were a little too exaggerated, his jaw a little too narrow and lips more than a little too plump to be conventionally attractive, but like the weird clothes, he wore them well.
Suddenly, Brendon froze, reaching out and gripping Ryan's arm. Ryan tensed up, tried to pull his arm free. "Shh," Brendon hissed, eyes flashing. He sprung into motion, pulling Ryan away and into a crouch on the ground beside him, peering around the edge of a random parked car.
"Wha -- "
"Stay here," Brendon snarled. Ryan recoiled. In the dim shadowed light, he could just barely make out the outlines of Brendon's teeth, lengthened into sharp fangs. Brendon sighed, reached out his hand and wrapped it around the back of Ryan's neck. "I wasn't going to hurt you, I wasn't," he whispered quickly, pressing their foreheads together. "But there's something right out there that probably really wants to, and if you run, then you're going to get hunted down and you're going to die, and it's not going to be a quick death or an easy one. So stay put." Ryan nodded shakily, and Brendon let go of him, jumping over the car -- over the car -- as Ryan curled into a ball, breathing hard, hands braced over his head, trying not to hear the dull sick noises of punches and bodies crunching against pavement.
"Well, hey there," a voice from behind him crooned, and Ryan started, sprawling against the ground. He tried to scramble to his feet, but a foot shot out and pressed between his scapulae, pushing him to the ground. Ryan gasped. The foot pressed harder, then lifted, hooked under his shoulder and nudged him onto his back. Suddenly, the person -- if it was a person -- was kneeling beside him, cold hand cupping his cheek. Ryan couldn't make out his face, could only make out the outline of tight jeans and a shredded t-shirt. "Scream for me," he hissed. Ryan struggled, tried to get away and couldn't manage.
Long fingers curled in his hair and yanked hard, exposing his throat. Ryan closed his eyes as he felt a hand wrap around his throat and squeeze gently before a thumb started rubbing over the curve of his Adam's apple. His breath caught in his throat at the strangely gentle caress. He felt the man lean in closer to him, cold and silent, and could barely summon up a whimper as sharp fangs sliced through his skin, burning as he was torn open.
This isn't happening, this isn't happening, Ryan kept thinking. Vampires aren't real, he told himself, even as he felt the man suck hard on the wound, swallowing his blood down greedily. The pain receded as the man sucked, until Ryan only felt the strange soothing thrum of his pulse as though it were sliding out of his body with his blood. Ryan let out something like a moan, half pain, half pleasure. In return, he got only a low chuckle, vibrating across the torn flesh before the man withdrew his mouth, then bit down harder, right beside the first gash, deeper this time, more jagged, and suddenly the pain was back and worse, ripping and searing him from the inside out. Ryan sobbed in frustration, kicking and working against the arm that kept him pressed tightly to the man's body, warming up as he drank from him, fighting even as the pain faded.
Ryan didn't know how long he lay there, his struggles against each fresh agonizing bite growing weaker as his head started throbbing, as the world started slipping away with his spine and limbs going liquid and useless. At some point the hovering weight of the man was gone, and then after another lull someone was shaking him, "Ryan, Ryan, wake up, fuck!"
"Brendon?" he slurred out.
A pause.
"It's me." Rough. Quiet.
"I think." Ryan swallowed heavily. He managed to get his eyes open, saw the street upside down. It only served to make him feel sicker. "I think I might be. Really, uh. Really hurt. It hurts."
Cold hands were stroking his face, again, and Ryan squirmed away as best he could, fighting against a throbbing tide of pain at his throat.
"Shh, shh, it's just me," Brendon whispered, pressing his lips to Ryan's forehead, icy and unfamiliar. Ryan settled, sighed. "The others, they're gone, I took care of them. You're gonna be okay, all right?"
"M'not," Ryan mumbled. He took a deep breath and lifted his arm, pressed his hand to his neck, feeling the ragged mess of torn flesh. It was hot and wet and soaking, and everything was distant and fuzzy and fading away. The last thing Ryan knew was Brendon's broad palm tilting his head up so that he didn't choke on the the sluggish dripping of something cold and thick into his mouth.
---
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | for pau494
"Hang on," Brendon said to the skinny girl with the stupid hair. "I'll go check in the stockroom for you."
Once back there, he kicked aside a box of hoodies. In the corner, Ryan looked up from where he was rooting through another box. The label on the side said high-waisted hot shorts, but Brendon clearly saw briefs piled inside.
"Backstock fucked us over again," Ryan said with a sigh.
"Fuck it," Brendon said. "We're supposed to have tons of flex fleeces left and we're always out. I have three people out there who just want a damn hoodie and somehow we're completely out. I'm gonna get blamed for this, I just fucking know it."
Ryan patted the ground by himself. Brendon flopped down next to him.
"Hey, come on," Ryan said, leaning in for a kiss. Brendon sighed. Ryan pulled back and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"You're frisky today," Brendon said glumly as Ryan slipped his hand up Brendon's thigh.
"Shut up and let me suck you off," Ryan murmured. He reached over and unbuckled Brendon's belt, getting his jeans unzipped and cock out. He licked his palm before wrapping long fingers around Brendon's cock, stroking slowly. Brendon took a deep breath, tilting his hips. Ryan worked him to hardness before pulling back, nudging Brendon up against the wall, kneeling in front of him. He opened his mouth, guiding Brendon's cock between his lips. He sucked slowly, stroking in time. Brendon's hand fell to Ryan's hair, ruffling it.
"Fuck, that's good," he sighed. "Yeah, come on, you can take more."
Ryan pinched his thigh, hard, and Brendon yelped.
"Careful," Ryan said. "Don't want anyone hearing, do you?" Brendon mimed turning a key over his mouth, and Ryan laughed softly before opening his mouth and taking Brendon in, more this time.
"Oh, fuck," Brendon gasped as Ryan sucked harder, stroking his hipbones and bobbing his head in time. He reached down and laced his fingers with Ryan's, clutching. Ryan squeezed back, still sucking, steady and slow until Brendon tugged sharply at his hair, pulling Ryan off his cock. Ryan stroked him through Brendon biting his lip and grunting hard as he came. He leaned over and wiped his hand off on a pair of briefs.
"That's disgusting," Brendon said breathlessly.
"Shut up," Ryan told him.
---
Ryan/Spencer | R | for raye6
"Yeahhh, that's not going in my ass," Spencer said.
"Don't be such a fucking girl," Ryan said, rolling his eyes.
"Seriously," Spencer said. "I would really like to live to see seventeen."
"It's nice," Ryan said contemplatively.
"I wouldn't know. I'd like to, though," Spencer said.
"Hey, you wanna suck me off?" Ryan asked after a pause.
"I'll jerk you off," Spencer said. "I don't really plan on choking to death, though, so."
"Oh, please," Ryan said. "My dick is not that huge."
"You are the first person in the history of the world to try to convince someone that his dick is smaller," Spencer said.
---
Brendon/Ryan | R | for notshybutsly
"Come on, yeah," Brendon murmured, fisting his fingers in the boy's hair and jerking back sharply, exposing the smooth column of his throat. The boy's breath came quickly, pulse hammering.
"Brendon," Ryan said quietly. "I don't think that I can. He's -- Brendon, he's our age."
"I'm three hundred and forty-two, I don't know how old you are," Brendon murmured, stroking the boy's throat. "Look at how beautiful he is, Ryan."
"I can't -- " Ryan said. Brendon snarled and sank his teeth into the boy's neck, biting viciously. Ryan took a step back, horror written on his face. The boy cried out in pain, struggling. Brendon held him back easily.
"Drink," Brendon said roughly, pulling back. His mouth was covered in the boy's blood. Ryan tried to pull back, but couldn't -- the smell was overpowering; he could hear the boy's pulse hammering away.
"No," Ryan gasped, "no, I'm not going to."
Brendon yanked the boy's head back again and sank his fangs in once more. He threw the boy aside carelessly. He grabbed for Ryan.
"No," Ryan shouted, kicking at him. Brendon was too strong, though, and tugged Ryan's head back, dipping down and kissing him, pushing a mouthful of blood between Ryan's lips. Ryan gagged, shuddering, and tried to push Brendon away. It didn't work; Brendon kept holding him close. Ryan couldn't stop himself -- the rich taste of the blood in his mouth, dribbling down his chin, it was too much, too alive, too tempting, and he swallowed, surging back up and licking up into Brendon's mouth hungrily.
"You want more?" Brendon asked roughly, pushing Ryan away.
"No," Ryan said. He fell to the ground, stumbling away, and landed right next to the boy Brendon had fed from. His pulse was weaker this time, but he was still so clearly alive, fighting to stay conscious.
Suddenly, Brendon was crouched beside him, one hand combing through his hair as the other rubbed at the small of his back. "Take him," he breathed. Ryan closed his eyes, trying to breathe, trying so hard to stop himself from falling on the boy and sucking him dry.
He didn't manage.
---
Panic GSF | NC-17 | for untappedbeauty
Jon bit his lip as Ryan started pushing inside, every bit a burn. When he felt Ryan's hips pressed flush to his ass, he let his elbows buckle, resting his brow on his forearms and breathing.
"Okay?" Spencer asked, curled at his side, running blunt fingernails over the curve of Jon's skull. Jon nodded once. Ryan rubbed at his hips before slowly pulling back, the dry rub of his palms comforting.
"Good, yeah," Jon rasped as Ryan started rocking his hips carefully. Ryan couldn't seem to stop touching him, fingertips tracing the lines of bone and sinew on Jon's back, gripping the curve of his shoulders. Jon kept his eyes closed, focused on the image of Ryan's long delicate fingers dancing over his skin.
It hurt a lot when Ryan first started thrusting, but it's so much better now, the stretch feels more like a victory and less like a cheat, and Ryan's got his hips angled better so that each push of his cock is sparking bright and hot along his spine.
Ryan's hands settle at his hips, pulling Jon back onto his cock, bracing to push away, and Jon lets out a soft grunt.
"Come on," Spencer murmurs encouragingly, slipping a hand down Jon's body to knuckle over his balls, brush at his dick teasingly. "Want to hear you."
Jon lets himself make more noise then, groaning as Ryan starts fucking him harder, hunching his back against the onslaught. It's like a dam breaks in Ryan, like he gives in and just starts pounding into Jon, hands pressing hard enough into his flesh to hurt as he keeps pulling, keeps working, right up until the desperate little gasp as he comes.
Jon's been fucked before, but not very much, not enough to be familiar with the hot spill of Ryan's come inside him, and he jerks at the sensation. Ryan pulls out, hands holding Jon in place.
"Don't move," he says hoarsely. Jon bites at his forearm, trying to keep from squirming. "Brendon."
Brendon's been so quiet all this time, Jon starts when Ryan says his name. He'd almost forgotten Brendon was there. He feels Brendon crawl around Spencer and settle behind him, one hand rubbing at Jon's calf.
"You wanna clean him up?" Ryan asks quietly. Jon sucks in a sharp breath at that, the idea of it foreign and not a little intimidating.
"Yeah," Brendon breathes, and it's a scarce heartbeat before his mouth is working its way up the curve of his ass, starting at the back of his thigh. There's absolutely no hesitance before he kisses Jon's asshole, flicking his tongue just around the outside before pressing in minutely. Jon feels the bottom drop out of his stomach as Brendon curls his tongue in, suckling. He makes quiet little noises of contentment as he works. Jon gasps as he just keeps licking, thumbs pressing Jon's ass open for himself.
Spencer's hand creeps around his cock, starts stroking gently, and Jon rocks into it. Brendon works two fingers into him, scooping more of Ryan's come out and licking at his fingers. Jon wishes he could see, but just the sounds of it are incredible. He's getting close, Spencer's hand sliding perfect and tight, until all of a sudden Ryan reaches around and grips at the base of his cock.
"Not yet," he murmurs. "Brendon?" Brendon pulls away, and Jon hears the pop of a bottle of lube, hears Brendon slick himself up -- or maybe Ryan does it for him, probably, Brendon's breathing is getting shaky -- and then the tip of his cock is pressed to Jon's asshole, and he starts pushing in, more quickly than Ryan had. "You're going to take him, and then Spencer, and then maybe you can come," Ryan says, soft and low.
---
Brendon/Spencer | NC-17 | for disarm_d
The clamps were bigger than the other set Spencer had, the chain thicker, heavier. Brendon forced stillness upon himself.
"Deep breath," Spencer said, and Brendon hissed as the first clamp tightened around his nipple. Spencer pressed his palm flat to Brendon's belly before reaching down to suck his other nipple and get the other clamp on.
They hurt, and when Brendon shifted a little, they only tightened further, pulling another gasp from him. Spencer gave him a moment to settle before lifting the chain, not pulling, but Brendon could still feel the movement in the way the clamps tilted and hissed again.
"Roll over," Spencer told him, dropping the chain. Brendon bit the inside of his cheek before doing so. The weight of the chain rolled with his body, tugging on the clamps, sending bright flares of pain. He closed his eyes, concentrated on breathing. His fingers clenched at the sheets when he felt Spencer start working him open, fingers slick and cold with lube.
Spencer didn't spend long fingering him. Brendon heard the rip of a condom packet opening before he felt Spencer's cock pressing into him slowly.
Brendon dropped his head, pushed back against Spencer. He gasped, ragged, when Spencer's hand came around and tugged on one of the clamps, quick and sharp. Spencer draped himself over Brendon's back as his fingers pinched along the chain, pulling it as he went. His fingers stopped at the dead center of the chain, pulling steadily.
"Fuck," Brendon breathed, bowing his shoulders. Spencer rolled his hips, keeping his cock deep in Brendon's ass, hips flush against Brendon's ass. Spencer let go of the chain and straightened, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming back in. The movement jarred Brendon and sent the chain swinging, and he groaned and shuddered, which again only made the chain ripple and tighten the clamps around his nipples.
Spencer's hand drifted up his spine to grip a handful of his hair and tug, pulling his head back. Brendon kept his eyes closed, kept biting his lip. Spencer pulled more sharply on his hair, and Brendon felt his mouth drop open.
"Spencer," he gasped. "Spencer, please."
Spencer raked his fingernails down Brendon's back before reaching down and tugging at the chain, still fucking him steadily.
"What do you want?" he asked quietly, Brendon's breathing ragged and heavy as a backdrop.
"Spencer," he groaned.
"I'm here. What do you want?" Another tug on the chain, another roll of his hips.
"Please," Brendon choked out. Spencer's fingers left the chain, cupped his hips and kept fucking him, making Brendon shudder, making the chain ripple, making him ache.
"I want you to come like this," Spencer murmured.
"I can, I can," Brendon babbled.
"I know," Spencer told him, twisting the chain taut around his fingers. Brendon sucked in a hard breath and bore down under the twin assault. "Come on."
Brendon hunched his shoulders and shuddered as he came, stretched full and burning bright. Spencer didn't let go of the chain until after he came, a bare handful of thrusts later. He pulled out, tossed the condom into the trashcan and then rolled Brendon over. He went, bonelessly, with Spencer spooning up behind him. Spencer reached over and took off the clamps, gently, kissing the curve of Brendon's neck when he hissed. Brendon let his eyes slip shut while Spencer stroked his belly.
"Breathe," Spencer reminded him.
---
Jon/Brendon | R | for riflethrough
(continuation of Ready to fall.)
“I think I’m probably dreaming,” Brendon said contemplatively. Jon reached over and pinched him, hard. “Ow.”
“You’re not dreaming,” Jon told him.
“Is the term ‘vampire’ offensive to you?” Brendon asked. Jon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, it’s pretty accurate, so,” Jon said with an indefinite gesture. Brendon sighed, started rubbing his thumb over the little punctures at his wrist, already all scabbed over. They wouldn’t take long to heal. They were so small. Brendon wished, suddenly, that he weren’t so close to being sober. There was definitely still a certain tilt to the world, but he was coming down. Slow but steady. Maybe it was the biting, maybe that did it; maybe the adrenaline, looking up at Jon and seeing his blood all over Jon’s mouth, maybe that drained the rush from Brendon’s system.
Brendon lay down, stared up at the sky. “Tell me more.”
“I haven’t told you anything,” Jon said. Brendon didn’t say anything, just waited patiently.
“If you don’t say something, I’m going to have to talk,” Brendon said. “Okay. I saw a special once, on vampire sub-cultures. It was on, like, Biography or something. It was all about people who think they’re vampires. They drink each other’s blood. One guy used to brush his girlfriend’s hair and press really hard with the hairbrush so she’d bleed, and then he’d lick the bristles. That was pretty weird.”
“I’m not a pretend vampire,” Jon said. He sounded like he was trying to not be amused and failing miserably at it.
“Educate me,” Brendon said primly, rolling over to his stomach. Jon chuckled. “Tell me what it means to be a vampire. How did it even happen, dude? Did you wake up one day and start ordering all your steaks extra super rare?”
“I don’t talk about it,” Jon said.
“Well, yes, because people would think you were a fucking nutjob,” Brendon said.
“Okay,” Jon said, and took a deep breath. He lay down next to Brendon and looked right at him. “Ask me a question?”
“Reflection?” Brendon asked promptly.
“Yep,” Jon said.
“Super-strength?”
“I don’t know about super,” Jon said thoughtfully. “But, yeah, I’m pretty strong. My vision’s really good, too, and my hearing. I can hear your heart beating.”
“Does it hurt when people yell or whatever?” Brendon asked, closing his eyes.
“Nah,” Jon said. “Otherwise I think I’d’ve done something other than get into music, you know?”
Brendon laughed. “Yeah, right, yeah. So do you need to eat, like, food, huh?”
“Not really,” Jon hedged.
“But you do.”
Jon shrugged. “I tried, you know, just not eating. But it was weird. I stopped -- stopped feeling like me.”
“How much do you have to, you know,” Brendon bared his teeth and hissed.
"It changes," Jon said, sounding uncomfortable. "Maybe twice a week. Sometimes more. Sometimes less."
"Don't get weird on me," Brendon said.
"I keep waiting for you to freak out," Jon said quietly.
"Give me some credit," Brendon said, bumping Jon's shoulder with his own. "I'm still a little too tipsy to freak out."
Jon sighed.
Brendon let his eyes slip closed. His eyelids were feeling pretty heavy, and he'd already taken his contacts out, so it wasn't like he had to worry about that. "Jon?"
"Yeah?"
"You're warm," Brendon said, because it was true. He could feel the heat from Jon's body, right next to his own, which shouldn't be happening, because Jon was a vampire and vampires were apparently cold.
"I just drank your blood," Jon said carefully. He sounded far away. Quiet.
"Only a little," Brendon yawned. He curled onto his side, closer to Jon.
"Yeah," Jon murmured, unmoving.
"Is that how much you need to, like, you know?"
"No, that was -- that's not. I need more than that."
"Okay," Brendon sighed, settling.
Brendon stayed silent, stayed still, and after a few minutes Jon's hand came up to rest on the back of his neck, fingertips teasing at his hairline. Warm, Brendon thought, he's keeping me warm with my blood and that should maybe seem weirder.
"You know you can't tell anyone, right?" Jon asked, when Brendon flopped in the green room next to him. There was the usual crowd of bands, techs, and friends swirling around, getting ready for soundcheck and the show, but none were paying any attention to Brendon Jon; he spoke softly enough that only Brendon could hear.
"I know," Brendon said with a smile.
"Okay," Jon said.
"Why can't you go on tour with us?" Brendon asked, still speaking quietly.
"I told you," Jon said after a pause.
"It doesn't make sense," Brendon argued. "You're on tour with us now."
"As a tech," Jon said patiently.
"You play with us," Brendon pointed out.
Jon sighed. "Brendon just -- stop, okay?"
"Fancy meeting you here," Brendon said. "I have no idea how we manage it, man, we're always alone."
Jon shrugged. Brendon closed the door to the back lounge behind him, sprawled on the couch next to Jon.
"What can I say to make you come on tour with us?" Brendon asked. Jon didn't say anything. "Jon?"
"There's nothing, okay, now would you shut the hell up?" Jon snapped. Brendon flinched. "Fuck. Brendon. I'm sorry, I don't -- I'm sorry, all right?"
"Yeah," Brendon said. He shifted upright, away from Jon.
"I'm sorry," Jon said again, sounding frantic.
"It's not a big deal," Brendon said, glancing at at him. "Dude, calm down."
"I'm sorry," Jon repeated.
"Dude," Brendon said, moving closer to him again. "You're, like, freaking out. What -- what's wrong?"
"I just," Jon said, and then he stopped, licked his lips and stared at Brendon.
"...Jon?"
"I can't, okay," Jon said, voice low and desperate. "I can't go on tour with you guys, Brendon, I can't."
"Why?"
"Because it's not fucking fair to you," Jon said angrily, grabbing for Brendon's shoulders. "Because if we're on tour, then I have to feed, and it's been hard enough, okay? I can't do it if -- I just can't. I can't do that to you."
"What if I don't mind?" Brendon asked stubbornly, not wincing away from the pressure. Super-strength for sure, he thought, but resolutely didn't squirm.
Jon barked out a brief laugh. "You don't even know what you're getting yourself into."
"Tell me," Brendon said, and that was about the time Jon realized he was pressing bruises into Brendon's skin. He let go, lurching away as though he'd been burnt.
Jon took a deep breath. "It's just. Intense."
"Jesus Christ, asshole, when are you going to understand that you're not going to freak me out?"
"Probably never," Jon admitted.
"Just, let's try," Brendon said, moving closer, tilting his forehead close to Jon's. "For real. I swear I'll, like, kick you if I hate it. Swear."
"I don't --" Jon said weakly, staring fixedly at Brendon's throat. Brendon tipped his head down and kissed Jon softly. Jon's reaction was immediate; his hands came up, one wrapped round Brendon's neck, gentle pressure, the other at the back of his head, keeping him close. Jon pulled away, then, moving deliberately to trail kisses down Brendon's jaw, to his throat, where he paused to lick his lips before sealing them against Brendon's skin. He sucked lightly at the skin, not using teeth at first, and Brendon sighed, clenching his hands in Jon's shirt.
"Come on," he breathed.
Jon hesitated, then slowly, slowly, sank his teeth into Brendon's skin.
Brendon let his eyes slip closed, let his fingers loosen around the fabric of Jon's shirt, started breathing more deeply. Jon's hands cupping him were -- they were getting warmer, surrounding him with heat, his whole body was heating up, they both were, and Jon just kept suckling at Brendon's throat, soft rhythmic pulls on his veins; Brendon could feel that he wasn't biting deeply, but he could feel the draw of blood in his belly, in his fingertips, all the way in his toes.
"Oh, okay," Brendon gasped. Jon paused, breath coming hot and slow against the wounds. "Yeah, you can -- do you -- ?"
"Okay?" Jon asked quietly, voice thick.
"Uh-huh," Brendon sighed, and closed his eyes again, let Jon go back to sucking, let the world keep spinning.
---
William/Brendon | R | for airgiodslv
(continuation of Vampirepants.)
"You're so awesome," Brendon slurred. "I am so not drunk, okay. But if I was so drunk I was really drunk I would still be all, YOU KNOW WILLIAM!? He's awesome."
"Yeah," William said, laughing. Babysitting Brendon when he'd had too much to drink meant either vomit duty or free entertainment. Tonight, it seemed to be strictly entertainment.
"Youuu need to be happier," Brendon told him. "Ryan is the moody one. There can only be one."
"Your whole band is moody."
"I'm not," Brendon said proudly. He flopped sideways, closer to William.
"Anyway, I was moody first," William said.
"Your reign of terror has ended," Brendon said, closing his eyes. "This stupid floor is not comfy." He wriggled his way up, resting his cheek on William's thigh. "Skinny fucker."
Wiliam chuckled, then reached down to card fingers loosely through Brendon's hair. He made a low purring noise, and William's fingers clenched. Brendon nuzzled at his hip, breath hot through the denim.
"I'm 'unna sit up now, don't stop touching my hair," Brendon announced. William nodded, didn't stop combing. "I am going to kiss you now."
"Are you?" William asked, half-serious.
"Don't be so serious," Brendon said. "I am really very drunk, and drunk people kiss other people. Other drunk people. You're a drunk people."
"I thought you weren't drunk at all."
"No, no, very drunk," Brendon said, leaning in and pressing his mouth to William's, sloppily. He climbed into William's lap, an inelegant tangle of limbs.
"You're going to be so embarrassed when you wake up," Wiliam said.
"No," Brendon said firmly, tossing his head back. William froze. "I am not going to remember anything, which is so awesome. I like Jack."
"Mmm," William murmured, leaning in to nose at Brendon's throat, tongue flicking out. Brendon hummed appreciatively. Carefully, William started kissing the soft skin, fingers tugging lightly at Brendon's hair.
"S'good," Brendon sighed, tilting his head to give William better access.
"Just a taste," William whispered.
"Yeah, yeah," Brendon mumbled, going still and pliant as William's hands slid down to cup his shoulders. William took a deep, unnecessary breath and gently sank his teeth into Brendon's skin, wet from kisses already. Brendon moaned, loud and unbroken, and William's grip tightened.
He pulled back, licking his lips, trying to gently push Brendon off.
"No, no, no," Brendon said, wriggling. William pushed a bit harder, and Brendon went sprawling. "Ow," he said pitifully. He reached his hand up to rub at the bite mark on his throat.
William sighed, crawled over, intending to just -- bite his tongue and seal up the wound. But Brendon was lying there, neck arched at the perfect angle, eyes closed, and really William had hardly taken enough to even taste. A little more wouldn't hurt, couldn't hurt.
His mouth sealed over the marks, sucking harder this time, teeth sliding through flesh easily. Brendon whimpered, reaching up to clutch at William.
"Fuck," William breathed, pulling his teeth from Brendon's skin. He swallowed hard, licking around his mouth, trying to get every drop. The cuts on Brendon's neck were oozing, still, sluggish dark blood. William tilted inwards, just enough to lap at the pooled blood, just enough to clean Brendon up, but Brendon was so still, so acquiescent.
"Feels nice," he said, voice coming low and drugged-sounding.
"That's enough," William said thickly, steeling himself.
"More," Brendon whispered. "Please?"
"Just a little more, then," William murmured, suckling gently. Brendon rolled his hips, brought his hands up to grip at William's hips. William pinned his wrists to the floor, keeping Brendon still. He whimpered but didn't try to fight William off.
His heartbeat wasn't even speeding up, not really, beating sluggish and pumping blood into William's mouth; blood, rich and thick and warm. Brendon was bright, Brendon was so full of life, and his blood was just like that, intoxicating.
"Bill," Brendon slurred. His fingers flexed; William felt the tendons arching. "Hurts. Don't -- don't stop, just -- "
William didn't hear him.
---
Brendon/Ryan | NC-17 | for auberryroad
Brendon tipped his head back, waiting for Ryan.
"I'm sure," he murmured. Ryan bit his lip, tasted his own blood. He started at the sharp pin-prick of sluggish cold blood in his mouth -- he hadn't noticed the lengthening of his canines into fangs, just from being so close to Brendon.
He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and pressed his lips to the curve of Brendon's neck before letting his teeth sink cleanly into flesh; hot, throbbing flesh.
It was the same as every time, suckling slowly, hands drifting with one cupping Brendon's cheek, the other lacing their fingers together, hands swinging loose beside their bodies. Ryan bit deeper, sucked harder, suddenly grateful for the wall Brendon leant against. He squeezed Brendon's hand, feeling his fingers warm as he drank.
It was the same, and every time it was harder to pull away, harder to sense the urgency in leaving Brendon enough blood for himself.
"Okay?" Brendon asked, keeping his eyes closed. His free hand crept up to smear the last few droplets of blood. Ryan couldn't look away from that smudge of dark crimson, vivid against Brendon's pale skin. "You -- you got enough?"
"Yeah," Ryan said throatily. He glanced down, saw the hard line of Brendon's cock straining against his jeans. He took another deep breath, willed his fangs to recede, and dropped to his knees. "Trust me?"
"Y -- yeah, 'course," Brendon murmured. He was still holding Ryan's hand. His other hand drifted to comb tentatively through Ryan's hair. Ryan shivered and fumbled Brendon's jeans open one-handed, got his free hand around the base of Brendon's cock before guiding it to his mouth.
It made it easier to pretend to be human, doing this very human thing, focusing on this very normal human act. It was hard to think of himself as an actual person while he was watching real people eat food he couldn't digest; while he watched people do manual labour that he could accomplish so much more easily; while he watched people sleep, watched their chests rise and fall with the natural rhythm of breath. But like this, he could be human again. With Brendon in his mouth, giving instead of taking, he could be human.
He sucked slowly, savouring the act, the charade. Brendon wasn't going to last long, anyway, and his hips were already rocking, pushing his cock between Ryan's lips, far enough to almost make him gag a little. Ryan let him. Ryan owed him this much, at least. This much and more, really, for everything he took from Brendon.
It was easier, but still a temptation, being on his knees with Brendon's pulse speeding up, right there, feeling the throb of blood, knowing how easy it would be to --
"Brendon," he gasped as he pulled off, stroking him, still clutching at Brendon's hand, feeling his fangs lengthen again.
He kept his eyes open when Brendon came across his cheeks, grunting.
He didn't let go of Brendon's hand when he stood.
---
Spencer/Brendon | PG-13 | for disarm_d
Something about the phrase "cabin fever" tended to make Brendon laugh because he'd always kind of figured that only boring people (like people who think reading is boring, or people who think daylong Guitar Hero marathons are boring) had the ability to be driven crazy by the idea of a little isolation.
And then Brendon spent two weeks in The Cabin.
It really shouldn't have been a problem, because he was used to living with these people. He loved these people. Apparently he didn't love them as much after two weeks in The Cabin.
"You're tense," Spencer said mildly.
"Yep," Brendon said. He flicked his Sidekick open. Still no service. He flipped it shut. Flicked it open. Flipped shut. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Open.
Spencer's hand covered his, firmly. "Hey."
Brendon shook him off, brow furrowed. "Not now," he said, sounding distracted.
"You sure?" Spencer asked.
Brendon blew out a breath, explosive.
"Come here," Spencer said gently.
Brendon glanced up at him before slowly getting to his feet and walking around the table. He sat in the chair next to Spencer, looked straight at him.
"On your knees," Spencer told him. Brendon hesitated before slipping to his knees, palms flat against his thighs. Spencer reached forward and combed his fingers gently through Brendon's hair, tugging slightly when he reached the ends. Brendon sighed and tipped his head, let it rest against Spencer's knee.
Spencer waited a moment, let Brendon's breathing deepen and slow.
"Talk to me," he said quietly, still stroking Brendon's hair.
Deep breath.
---
Ian/Greta | NC-17 | for thousandjulys
"Hey, hi," Ian said, rubbing his face against Greta's cheek.
"You look so much better clean-shaven," she said affectionately.
"Thanks," Ian said. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She wiggled hers right back. He smiled again before dipping down to kiss her, licking into her mouth. She shifted beneath him, and Ian slid deftly down her body, pausing to nose at her belly.
He pushed her skirt up and nuzzled her through her underwear. Greta snorted and tossed the floaty fabric of her skirt over him.
"Okay, okay," he said, voice muffled slightly. He tugged her underwear down, parted her lips and licked along her clit, light and quick. Greta squirmed a little, and Ian lapped more slowly, careful little flickers as he slipped one finger inside, curling. Greta rolled her hips, pressing up against Ian's mouth, trying for more pressure, and he obliged, licking harder, right over her clit, pushing two more fingers in at once. His free hand smoothed over her stomach where her shirt rode up above her skirt.
He started sucking gently at her clit, working his wrist harder, and Greta's breath came faster, hips grinding up into Ian's mouth before she gasped and came, clenching hard around his fingers. He stroked her through it, pulling back to admire the arch of her back with his fingers still curling.
She tugged him down for a kiss, breathing heavily and licking her taste out of his mouth.
"Happy start of tour," he said brightly.
---
Ashlee/Pete | NC-17 | for queenofhell
warning: cultverse
It should feel like being saved, but mostly it just feels like being used.
Typically, that's what most things that are supposed to be big and important end up feeling like. Dedicate yourself to God: feel used by the church. Dedicate yourself to dancing: feel used by the school. Dedicate yourself to being a Star: feel used by your father. Dedicate yourself to a Message, feel used by Pete.
She's lying on her back, feeling Pete fucking her, braced on his elbows to take most of his weight off her body. His forehead is knocking against hers, his mouth hot against hers, her legs wrapped up high around his waist. His words are bleeding into her as he hisses them, his sweat is slick against her skin. His fingernails, when he grips at her wrists dig into her flesh, deep enough to leave marks.
And she feels nothing.