Happy Holidays, lady_of_sadness!

[slashy_claus]

To: lady_of_sadness
From: foxxcub

Title: Paralyzed
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Jon/Panic!, hints of Gabe/Bill
Word Count: 4,500
Warnings: possibly slight dub-con in some areas
Disclaimer: never met 'em
Summary: He's cozy-drunk when Gabe leans over and says, lazily, "Dude, have I ever had you try some of that shit I got in Arizona?"
Notes: Um, my take on the sex pollen fandom troupe. *hands*

prologue

Jon really should've known better.

But he likes to make the most of his days off, and it's during a break in touring (a week off, which means Chicago time and, more importantly, Dylan time) when he's hanging out at Bill's with some of the other guys from TAI and Gabe.

He's cozy-drunk when Gabe leans over and says, lazily, "Dude, have I ever had you try some of that shit I got in Arizona?"

Jon blinks, then laughs. "Depends on what you mean by 'shit.'"

Suddenly Bill's butting into their conversation. "Nonono, you're not even letting him have some of that. What the fuck, you want him to die of a heart attack?"

Gabe smirks. "Yeah, but I thought we said it'd be hilarious."

"I've reconsidered. I want to keep little Jonny's virtue intact."

From across the living room, Mike snorts.

Jon is thoroughly confused. It's not like he's never smoked pot, Jesus. "Guys, I think I can handle it."

"See?" Gabe flails his hand in Jon's direction. "He's a consenting adult and he says he can handle it."

Bill rolls his eyes and pouts prettily. "Fine, whatever. I'm not being held responsible for your actions, though, Walker," he adds, pointing a finger in Jon's face. "Gabe, however, you can blame all you want."

"Uh, okay," Jon replies as Gabe starts digging around in some ancient-looking knapsack, finally withdrawing a small red velvet bag and a wooden pipe. He taps out what looks like pipe tobacco into the bowl, then hands the pipe to Jon.

"Don't inhale too hard," Gabe says, holding his lighter out. "And the smell of strawberries is normal, trust me."

Jon is slightly freaked out, although he has no idea why. But he still lights the tobacco, inhaling slowly through his lungs.

Like Gabe said, he's instantly surrounded by the scent of strawberries.

"The hell?" He pulls the pipe out of his mouth and stares into the glowing bowl. "What the fuck is this stuff?"

Bill sighs. "It's your undoing," he says.

"Please." Gabe's tapping more of the tobacco-ish substance into another pipe. He's leering at Bill a little. "Like he wasn't on the road to undoing the second Ryan Rossy stole him from you guys."

Bill eyes the pipe in Gabe's hand, and his eyes go dark, which confuses Jon even more. More so than the overwhelming smell of fucking strawberries in his nose every time he takes a drag.

"Touche'," Bill finally replies. He raises an eyebrow at Jon as his gaze flicks back to Gabe blowing smoke at him. "This way you can say you weren't completely debauched by your new band."

"What?"

Gabe blows another puff smoke at Jon out of the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry about it right now. You've got a couple of days before it gets fun."

part one: brendon

Jon meets back up with the guys a few days later when they pick him up in Chicago, and it's like they were never apart. Brendon still clings to him and begs him to play the fifty gazillionth round of Guitar Hero, Ryan rests his weight against Jon's arm during a midnight watching of 300, and Spencer leaves him the tackiest keychain on his pillow; it's clear plastic with a cartoon Elvis saying Vvvvvegas, baby. Jon hangs it from a thumb tack on the wall of his bunk.

He's ridiculously happy to be back on the road.

Except he's felt this odd restlessness since the night at Bill's, like he's laid in the sun too long and his skin is burnt, hot to the touch. He feels tense, strung tight...and he's jerked off over eleven times in the last forty-eight hours, which he's never done, not even when he was fifteen.

Jon figures he's just excited and maybe a little sex-deprived. The sudden frequency in masturbation sessions is just a side effect.

Their first show back is the following night, in Santa Fe. The air is dry to the point of stifling, and they're all drenched in sweat by the time they run off stage and peel out of their makeup and costumes. Jon's skin has been vibrating all day, like he's pumped full of too much caffeine, and while he's tried to ignore it, he's been hard most of that time as well.

It's not normal, and yet Jon's got too much to focus on. But when Brendon throws his arms around Jon's neck from behind and presses a sweaty, open-mouth kiss to Jon's neck, Jon's entire body jerks so hard, he moans.

"You alright, Walker?" Brendon mumbles against his skin, and Jon is. Jon is most definitely not alright.

"I - I can't - " And then, like the night at Bill's, Jon smells the intense aroma of strawberries. The smell assaults his senses, enveloping him in some kind of heated pink haze, and the next time he opens his eyes, he's got Brendon shoved into a tiny storage closet, his tongue shoved down Brendon's throat.

"Jon, Jon, what are you - " Brendon's gasping and pawing at him, and whether it's to pull Jon closer or shove him away, Jon doesn't know. Jon doesn't care, and that should really fucking freak him out, but. He's just so, so hard, he can't even think.

"Sorry, sorry, I just need this," he breathes, sucking sharply at Brendon's bottom lip, making him groan and shove his hips up against Jon.

He doesn't bother with clothes or belts or semantics. It's straight-up grinding Brendon into the wall while Brendon whimpers and digs his nails into Jon's biceps. Jon sinks his teeth into the soft curve of Brendon's neck and bites him hard enough to taste a hint of blood, and a split-second after that Brendon yells fuck and comes. The friction is enough to send Jon off the edge as well, and he sags against Brendon's chest when the harsh throbbing of his orgasm passes.

"I'm gonna have to wear turtlenecks tomorrow," Brendon whispers, smiling as he rubs at the round, mouth-shaped spot at his neck where the skin is turning dark and angry.

Jon licks his lips, feeling a touch dizzy. "Sorry," he says again. "I didn't mean - "

"No, hey, it was awesome, don't apologize." He shifts up a little, hips still mashed up flat to Jon's, and Jon winces.

His dick twitches.

Brendon kisses him softly on the mouth. "We should really shower, though. We kind of smell like ass."

Jon's dick twitches again as he thinks of showers and naked skin. "Uh, yeah."

He ends up taking the last shower, lukewarm and just bordering on uncomfortable. He also comes again in his hand, eyes closed and imagining the ring of his mouth branded on Brendon's skin.

part two: ryan

Jon tells himself he's not hiding from Brendon later that night when he curls up in his bunk and fakes sleep when he hears him pull back the curtain. He also tells himself his body doesn't shudder just a bit when he feels a hand skim over his arm.

The haze has cleared enough for Jon to realize that things are not okay, and that, somehow, Gabe is to blame for this. He replays Bill's warnings in his head and thinks maybe he had a point, and that smoking some sort of sex tobacco when you're forced into close quarters with the rest of your band isn't the best of ideas.

Not that it matters now. It's...it's in his bloodstream (he still feels the throb of arousal just under his skin, pounding in time with his heartbeat), and god knows how long it'll take to leave.

Jon considers calling Gabe and asking. But it's three a.m., and he's exhausted from the concert. And, you know, from coming half a dozen times in as many hours.

But he can't fall into any sort of sleep due to his body's constant humming, and the erection he's had on simmer for the past - well, day. He's tired of jerking off, tired of palming his orgasms and biting his lip to keep from moaning. And yet it's not as if he's about to molest Brendon into submission again; Jon's cheeks flush hot, and he thinks about apologizing to Brendon in the morning.

Eventually he gets up and pads quietly to the lounge. The bus is dark and quiet, except the television is on, and Ryan is curled into a tight ball on the couch, bathed in bright light from whatever movie he's watching.

Jon's senses instantly go into overdrive, but he holds his breath, flexes his palms against his thighs. He makes a lame attempt to ignore the rush of heat, especially when Ryan looks up and yawns, saying, "Hey, Walker. Can't sleep, either?"

"Uh. No. Not really."

"I think it's the adrenaline. You take a week off and it's like your body's got to adjust all over again." Ryan yawns again, stretches his arms high over his head as he unfolds his legs. There's a bare strip of skin over the edge of his pajama pants, but it definitely doesn't make Jon drool. Not at all.

"Want to watch the rest of Planet of the Apes with me? It's the original, not the shitty one with Mark Wahlberg." Ryan scoots to the other end of the couch, making room for Jon, and Jon knows before he even sits down that he shouldn't. He's already formulating ways to swing Ryan's legs off the couch and spread his knees wide enough to give Jon room. His pants have a drawstring waist, it wouldn't take much -

"Jon?"

He blinks. "Uh, yeah. Charlton Heston's better, anyway."

To his credit, Jon holds out for a remarkable period of time. He watches the clock on the DVD player and counts the minutes as they pass; slowly, his palms begin to sweat, and he swears he can smell Ryan, even with a good two feet of space between them on the couch. He can smell shampoo and vanilla deodorant, and something else that's completely different, something uncategorized, something that just makes Jon want to turn and bury his face in Ryan's skin and breathe deep. He's almost painfully hard; he tucks his legs up and tries to be discreet, but it just makes it worse.

Then, like it's no big deal (because, really, it isn't, because they touch each other all the time, and this time shouldn't be any different, and it's not like Ryan knows), Ryan reaches over and absently threads his fingers through Jon's hair. It's an idle touch; he's not even looking away from the screen, and his fingertips are gentle, soft. Normally Jon would simply smile and lean into Ryan's hand, let himself be petted like a cat.

Instead, Jon sucks in his bottom lip and growls, deep in his throat.

Ryan's hand stills. "Am I hurting you?" he asks hesitantly, right as the smell of strawberries explodes in Jon's nose.

"No," Jon whispers tightly, eyes closed. He's suddenly panting. "Just - just don't stop touching me, please."

But Ryan's already pulling his hand back. "I, um, I didn't mean to - "

"God, don't, just - " And then the pink haze takes over again, blurring Jon's senses, and he's vaguely aware of pushing into Ryan, shoving him back against the arm of the couch as he kisses him roughly. Ryan gasps into his mouth, hands flying back up into his hair, and all Jon can think is yes yes yes, he wants this.

A part of his brain falters for a second - the kissing is really, really good, and he wants to keep doing it - but then Ryan's twisting up, lining their hips up just right, just enough to get the right friction, and Jon's mouth is suddenly very, very wet.

"Bren - Brendon said something about - about you - " Ryan can't quite form words, is too busy licking every square inch inside Jon's mouth while he arches his back.

"I know, I know, I'll explain later, swear - "

Ryan nods, eyes closed as his head drops back, but he gasps, "oh fuck," when Jon slides down his body and grabs Ryan's calves, planting his feet flat on the floor. His eyes are wide open when he looks down his stomach at Jon kneeling on the carpet between his knees.

Jon doesn't wait. He can't. "Don't go too deep, okay, I can't - I don't know how much I can take," he mumbles as he tugs down Ryan's pajamas and boxers. He hears Ryan make a faint whimper of agreement just as Jon licks a long stripe up the underside of Ryan's cock before swallowing him down, all the way down, until he can feel the head bump against the back of his throat. Jon thinks he should be gagging, but it feels amazing, and as he pulls up slowly and swirls his tongue over the slit, he tastes a burst of precome.

Ryan swears. Jon groans. It all kind of goes downhill from there.

He never thought he'd love swallowing, but he practically licks every drop clean once Ryan's come (and Jon's come in his shorts for the second time that night). He just loves the taste, wants in his mouth all the time, and it's all he can think about until the pinkish haze starts to fade and his heart rate slows.

Ryan's petting his cheek. "Explanation?" he asks with a weak smirk.

Jon rubs his eyes. He's dizzy again, and he can feel a dull throb of a headache beginning. "I don't even think you'd believe me," he replies, sitting back on his heels and wincing at the cooling, sticky mess in his boxers.

"Unless Brendon's right and you've suddenly come to the realization that we're all sex gods, then I'm pretty sure I will."

So Jon tells him. Ryan is way more amused than Jon's comfortable with, but at least someone knows.

part three: spencer

It works in Jon's favor to have Ryan in on the whole thing; he keeps a careful eye on Jon, and whenever he sees Jon start to fidget (and Brendon start to close in on him), Ryan shoves Jon into the nearest empty room or bathroom. Jon thinks they're lucky that Zack hasn't picked up on anything.

But the hardest part is keeping it from Spencer. It's virtually impossible to keep anything from Spencer, especially when it has to do with a) Jon performing sexual acts on his bandmates and b) Jon performing sexual acts on his best friend.

Jon knows Ryan hasn't told him, though. Brendon tries to snuggle up with Jon on the couch a few days later, and Ryan immediately tugs Brendon away when Jon starts to breathe a little heavier and lick his lips. (Jon's not completely sure Ryan hasn't told Brendon, however; Brendon gets sneakier and tries pressing up against Jon whenever Ryan's not looking, and it's all Jon can do to keep from shoving Brendon up against the closest flat surface until Ryan rescues them both. Or at least Jon - Brendon doesn't want rescuing.) Spencer gives Jon an odd look, but doesn't say anything, and Jon breathes a sigh of relief.

Then comes the evening when their hotel screws up and gives them two single rooms instead of two doubles. The place is booked up, so there's no switching, and Jon maybe starts to hyperventilate a little before Ryan says, "Alright, fine, I'm rooming with Jon."

"No, I'm with Jon, who said you get first dibs?" Brendon says, smirking at Jon, who bites his lip and is far too conscious of the fact that he's semi-hard and hasn't jerked off since earlier that afternoon, right after Spencer leaned over his shoulder as they rummaged through the fridge and said, breath hot against his cheek, "Grab me a Red Bull?"

It's seriously the littlest things that set him off now.

And it's Spencer who's now standing there in the hotel lobby, looking pissy. "But I - I thought you said - " He looks at Jon, crosses his arms over his chest. "We always room together. You said Brendon snores and Ryan's too finicky with the bathroom."

All of this is true, and Jon hates the hurt look in Spencer's eyes, the same look no one would really notice if they didn't know him well. But the idea of not only sharing a room, but a bed with Spencer, especially in Jon's "condition", is completely out of the question.

"I...I really just want to room with Ryan tonight, okay?" Jon says softly, and Spencer's glare is sharp, painful.

Then, suddenly, Ryan's dragging Spencer off, saying, "Fine, fine, but you can't tell anyone..."

They come back five minutes later with Spencer's cheeks a little pinker than they were before.

"Everything's cool," Ryan says matter-of-factly. "Brendon, you're with me."

Brendon proceeds to pout and glare at Spencer.

Jon doesn't look at Spencer as they take the elevator up, doesn't bring up what's obviously the abrupt, sex-tinged elephant that's now in the room with them. Spencer is equally quiet, but Jon can see him glancing over out of the corner of his eye.

The bed is supposed to be a queen, but Jon swears it looks like a twin.

"You want the wall?" he asks Spencer.

"No, that's - you can have the wall, I'm not picky." Spencer busies himself with unpacking, his back to Jon. He unzips his hoodie and shrugs out of it slowly; every shift and roll of his shoulders is on display through the thin material of his shirt, every line of muscle.

Jon swallows, and just like that, he smells strawberries.

He locks himself in the bathroom and spends the next ten minutes trying to breathe and not come in his hand. He's so tired of this, of feeling like he's fourteen and just accidentally saw the entire girls' basketball team naked in the locker room. He digs the heel of his palm into his crotch until it's painful; his eyes water, but gradually the overwhelming rush (along with the scent of strawberries) subsides.

There's a tap at the bathroom door. "Jon? Are you, uh...okay?" Jon can almost hear Spencer wincing at his own words.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He can breathe again. "I'll be out in a sec."

When he comes out, he finds Spencer curled up in the desk chair in his t-shirt and boxers, watching Cops. It doesn't escape Jon's notice that the desk chair is as far away from the bed as possible.

Jon would smile if the whole situation weren't ridiculously sad.

"I'm gonna go ahead and go to bed," he says. "You can keep the TV on, I don't care."

"Yeah, okay," Spencer mumbles in reply without looking over. His chin is tucked over his knees, his toes hanging over the edge of the chair. So much of him is bare, pale skin, and Jon just can't stop looking -

"Just get in the bed." Spencer doesn't look up, but the words are rushed, and maybe a little desperate-sounding.

"I - "

"Get in the bed and go to sleep. I'll - I'll just wait here."

But Jon's skin is already buzzing again as the rush creeps back, his pulse picking up its pace; there's no way he's sleeping, no without beating off again, and there's no way he's doing that with Spencer sitting several feet away. He just needs to be touched, and not by his own hands.

He climbs into bed and tries facing the wall as he presses his hand flat against his erection. He hisses at the sudden pain/pleasure, and god, how he wants Spencer lined up against his back, hand sliding over Jon's hip to circle his cock. Jon wants so badly, he's nearly shaking.

Jon doesn't want to ask, but he's past the point of dignity. "Spence," he whispers.

He doesn't get a response; there's only the sound of the television set on low volume.

"Spencer, please, just - " Jon bites his lip, digs his palm a little harder into his crotch. "I don't care what Ryan told you, just get over here, please."

Finally, he hears a faint, sharp intake of breath, and then, seconds later, the bed dips and Spencer's leaning over him, mouth against his ear.

"It's not real," Spencer whispers, voice deeper, strained. "This isn't what you want, I don't want to take advantage - "

Spencer's so, so wrong. Jon's never wanted anything more. "No, I want it, I do, just - " He rolls over, too quickly for Spencer to pull away, until they're chest to chest and the smell of strawberries is everywhere, and Jon could seriously come from nothing but this: Spencer staring down at him with dark eyes and flushed cheeks, his lips wet and parted as his breathing goes uneven.

"I don't - " Spencer looks so painfully conflicted, Jon would laugh, except he's too turned on to care.

"Stop thinking and fucking touch me," he growls right before he leans up and sinks his teeth into Spencer's impossibly shiny bottom lip. Spencer gasps as his hands grab Jon's shoulders, and just as the pink haze starts to spread through his brain, Jon's completely aware of Spencer shoving him onto his back, his head nearly colliding with the headboard as Spencer straddles Jon's hips.

"God, oh god, yes," Jon yells - he doesn't even care that Brendon and Ryan are next door, through the wall, and can probably hear everything, or that he and Spencer aren't even naked yet and he's already seconds from an orgasm that'll more than likely leave him blind. He curls his hands around Spencer's hips and thrusts up, hard, and Spencer swears, his knees digging into Jon's sides, trying to hold him back.

"No, no, wait - " he pants. "Wait, lemme take off - "

"Yeah, clothes are bad," Jon says breathlessly, hands pawing at Spencer's shirt, while Spencer skims off Jon's shirt and makes short work of his boxers, until they're both naked, skin on hot skin, and Jon's nearly mindless with the feel of it.

Their cocks slide together, making Spencer shudder before they've even laid a hand on each other. He starts to reach down, but Jon says, "No, I - " Spencer looks up at him through his bangs, runs his tongue over his lips, and Jon honestly cannot think.

"Can you ride me? That's - that's all I want. I wanna be inside you."

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed for a second as the air rushed out of his thighs, and then he nods.

"Do you, um, have - is there any - ?" He looks around frantically, probably for lotion (since Jon's fairly certain neither one of them has lube). But the only lotion Jon can think of is all the way in the bathroom, and he's not about to let Spencer go for that long.

So he grabs Spencer's hand and says, "Here," as he sucks each of his fingers into his mouth before licking Spencer's palm, wetting the skin as best he can. Then he wraps Spencer's hand around his cock.

"This'll have to do," he gasps, and bucks up into Spencer's slick fist.

They both groan, and it feels so good, Jon nearly loses it right there. But Spencer manages to pull his hand away at the last second, and the next thing Jon knows, Spencer's lifting up and sinking slowly back down, wincing at little as Jon slides fully inside him.

He's unbelievably fucking tight, and since Jon now has the stamina of a fifteen-year-old, he can only moan, "Oh fuck, Spence, you're - fuck I'm sorry, can't - " before he's thrusting up, his movements jerky and devoid of any rhythm. It's fast, hard, and dirty; Spencer tries to meet his thrusts, grinding his hips down, and he's fisting his own cock in his right hand while his left is splayed against the headboard over Jon's right shoulder.

Jon can't watch him, it only makes it worse, and he's going to be embarrassed enough as it is when this is all over. The rush is building inside him, barreling toward some bright light that's about to explode behind his closed eyes. He's apologizing to Spencer in his head, silently, until he hears Spencer's gasp, "God, you're so fucking hot like this - " and then he's not even thinking words anymore, it's all sounds and sensations and heat spiraling out every pore in his body. He comes and comes until he swears he could die from it, and it's only later, when his lungs are raw and his eyelids are still imprinted with the glare of stars, that he's aware of the cooling wetness on his stomach and Spencer's weight sprawled over his chest.

"You still with me?" Spencer mumbles into Jon's neck.

Jon slowly turns his face until their mouths meet in a not-quite-kiss. "Yeah," he finally says, his hand reaching over to push Spencer's sweaty hair off his forehead. "Sorry."

Spencer smirks lazily, pressing his face closer. "If anything, you should send Gabe a fucking thank you card."

"Pretty sure Brendon's already done that, or plans to."

"Then he should let us all sign it."

"Good plan." He can feel the dizziness start to set in, along with the dull throb of a headache, but he shakes it off. For once, he's going to cuddle, dammit.

epilogue

Jon's Sidekick rings a couple weeks later after a show. They're barely back on the bus, piled on the couch while Spencer flips through channels and Ryan fights with Brendon over the last Capri Sun. Jon's in the middle, tucked under Brendon's legs with Spencer's cheek pressed against his shoulder. Ryan's left hand is permanently threaded into Jon's hair, his thumb sweeping over his temple.

Jon isn't the least bit aroused, but he's never been happier.

He answers his phone on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Dude, the fuck, I am not your dealer," Gabe says.

"Um." Jon looks over at Ryan, points to the phone and mouths Gabe. Ryan holds his hands up, doing a very shitty job of faking innocence. "Come again?"

"Yeah, you wish, Walker. That shit's expensive, and I'm kind of attached to it. Ask Bill."

"Um." Brendon's quivering his lip at Jon, which makes him smile. "I'm sure we could make it up to you."

"Whatever, you can make out with your band just fine without chemical assistance. Like - like Dumbo and the magic feather, man. You don't need the fucking feather."

Spencer is nuzzling at his neck. "Did you just call me Dumbo?" Jon asks, rubbing his cheek over Spencer's hair.

Gabe sighs. "No more sex drugs for you. And tell Ross to stop texting me." He hangs up just as Ryan starts to wrestle the phone away from him.

"What about Dumbo?" Spencer asks, although it's faintly mumbled from where he's mouthing the curve of Jon's shoulder.

"Nothing, but I'm kind of in mourning over my feather," Jon says before he settles back onto the couch. He points a finger at Ryan. "Gabe says stop texting him."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Spoil sport."