[fic] unstoppable [lil wayne/brendon; r]
IT IS LIL WAYNE'S BIRTHDAY. I realized this very late so I threw together some internet fanfiction to commemorate the occasion.
...
Unstoppable
Lil Wayne/Brendon. 2,516 words. R.
Sequel to Dear Gravity. Wherein Lil Wayne is unaware what day it is, though everyone else seems to know. Thrown together in maybe an hour of unfocused work, so.
Weezy gets up early - not for any good reason, though. He just can’t sleep. It means he gets the time to eat breakfast at home, instead of grabbing some pop-tarts and eating them on the drive over to Brendon’s place, though.
His mom’s surprised to see him sitting at the kitchen table when she gets up. “Well, good morning.”
“Hey, ma,” Weezy says, mostly ignoring her. He’s trying to spread cold butter over his waffles. It isn’t working too well.
“You’re supposed to let the butter sit out for a bit first,” his mom says. “It spreads easier.”
“Fuck,” Weezy says.
“Language.”
“Sorry.” Weezy ducks his head sheepishly, still shoving the butter around with the knife in the hopes that it will actually sink in at some point.
“I’ve still got to wrap your presents,” she says.
“What?”
“Did you forget what day it is?”
“It isn’t Christmas, I know that,” Weezy says. His mom starts laughing, and won’t stop even when he glares at her. “What is it?”
“I don’t think I’m gonna tell you. I’m going to let you figure it out yourself.” She beams at him, patting him on the back as she passes from the counter to the refrigerator to get herself a glass of milk. “You’ll see.”
“You’re trying to keep me ignorant. What day is it? Is it one of those bullshit president days?”
“Nope,” she says. “You’ll find out later.”
Weezy sits down to eat his waffles and mostly ignores his mom after that, except for the most cursory answers when she asks him about his schoolwork. He’s about done with his waffles when Brendon texts saying that he doesn’t need a ride that morning.
Weezy’s been giving Brendon rides in the morning every day for the past two months. He frowns at the news, and then doesn’t tell his mom what’s wrong when she aks, just tells her it’s some stupid bullshit.
He drives to school extra-slow, with the windows rolled down and his speakers up as high as they’ll go. Today isn’t starting off too well, but the music is a good distraction.
There’s someone else parked in his usual parking spot, and driving slowly means most of the other spots are full too so he has to drive around in circles until he finally finds a spot about a million miles from the front doors.
Nothing would make Weezy run to try to get to school on time, so he’s sauntering towards the doors and feels a rush of annoyance when the bell rings. Time’s being obnoxious, not waiting for him like that.
The late bell has rung well before he gets to class, so he takes the time out to go to the bathroom first, and skips going to his locker in favor of strutting into class and collapsing indolently into his seat.
The teacher finishes her sentence before bothering. “Alright, Mr. Carter, everyone knows what day it is, but that doesn’t mean you can come in late.”
“I got caught in traffic,” Weezy says, hoping the excuse will keep him from detention. Contrary to popular belief, he has a perfect record so far, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. He really wants to know what day it is.
“Fine, fine,” she says. “I’m not writing you up this time, but today’s the exception.”
Weezy grins at her, straightening a little in his chair. “Thank you, ma’am.”
-
There’s no one interesting in his first class, but second period, he has Lit with Kanye, which is always pretty great.
“Yo,” Kanye says in greeting, before the late bells rings. “How’s it feel to be old as shit?”
“The fuck kind of greeting is that?”
“Not my fault you’re old,” Kanye says.
“You’re older than I am.”
“So?”
“The fuck is wrong with you, man, seriously.”
“I’m just playing,” Kanye says. “Happy birthday.”
Weezy stares at him. The bell rings. “Shit,” Weezy says, finally. “You serious?”
“Did you forget or something?” Weezy keeps staring, and Kanye starts laughing. “This is why you gotta keep me the fuck around, man, apparently you need somebody to remember your own damn birthday for you. Shit.”
-
Now that he knows what day it is, Weezy is a lot less surprised when he finally goes to his locker. Of course there’s a hand-drawn banner on it. Glitter and macaroni got involved in the decoration process, and the whole embarrassment-inducing affair is topped off by the text on the banner, which says, “Happy Bday Weezy Baby! Bden <3s You” in silver on a black background.
There’s a lot of glitter. It's all over the floor, too. The prospect of opening - or even getting too close to - the locker is a little daunting, with that much glitter.
Weezy has to put his hands on his hips and stare at it for a minute. There’s no other choice. “Damn,” he says, finally.
“It’s just as crazy the second time,” Lupe says. “Where were you this morning? Brendon got all bummed out when you didn’t show.”
“I was late,” Weezy says, vaguely. “Shit. I didn’t even know it was my birthday.”
Lupe just shakes his head.
-
So, eventually lunchtime rolls around, and Weezy is still trying to brush the glitter off his shirt. That just gets it on his hands, which gets it everywhere, but he’s trying. There are trails of glitter following him everywhere he goes. He feels kind of bad for whoever has to sit in his desk after him in each of his classes, because glitter is contagious and they’re going to get infected too.
Brendon’s sitting at his table in the corner, talking to Brent and Patrick and looking kind of morose, so Weezy skips the lunch line and goes over to drape his arms around Brendon’s shoulders, dropping a kiss against the curve of his ear. “Hey, B. Long time no see.”
“Weezy!” Brendon says, leaning back into the touch a little. “Hey, dude. Hey. Where were you this morning?”
“I was busy being a fucking dumbass, is where I was,” Weezy says, letting go just long enough to scoot around and sit down next to Brendon, almost instantly putting an arm around his waist. “I figured you not wanting a ride meant, like, you were gonna try and break up with me.”
“I made us t-shirts,” Brendon says, horrified. “No, man, no.”
“Nah, I got that, I got that, it’s just what I was thinking,” Weezy says. “And it was fucked up, right? Nah. We’re cool. I’m sharing.”
“It’s great you’re so open with your emotions,” Brent says, dryly.
Weezy grins, showing his teeth. “Fuck you.” There’s no venom in his tone.
“Whatever, man. Happy birthday.” Brent gives him a thumbs up. “Hope you have plenty more or whatever, each one better than the last, I don’t know.”
Weezy nods with a certain solemnity. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You have any plans tonight?” Brendon asks, grinning.
“I forgot it was my birthday, so no,” Weezy says. “Which kind of fucking sucks, actually.”
“I’ve got this covered,” Brendon says. “Don’t you worry.”
-
Brendon’s grand plans involve Weezy driving him to the mall. Weezy doesn’t want to question it, because Brendon seems really excited, and it’s pretty adorable. His excitement is infectious, too, and they nearly get run over in the parking lot because after Brendon grabs onto his hand, Weezy just has to pull him in for a kiss in the middle of the aisle.
A car honks at them, though, and they both laugh and run the rest of the way to the doors.
Weezy ends up with another pair of Nikes before Brendon says, “Okay, okay, come on, check this out. Come on.”
So he lets himself be dragged by the hand downstairs to the food court. He still can’t get over that - it took Brendon a while to get over a certain antsiness about holding hands and stuff in public, and here they are. Brendon’s gotten a lot more confident lately, and it’s a good look on him. The self-confidence just makes Weezy like him more.
The ridiculous grand gestures don’t hurt, either: something possessed Brendon not only to decorate his locker, but to have someone do a big sign at Smoothie Hut wishing him a happy birthday as well. Brendon hasn’t even been working there that long, but his coworkers seem to have taken a shine to him instantly, so Weezy is - with a little thought - not actually that surprised Brendon talked them into it.
“Hey, Wayne,” one of the girls says. “Happy birthday, man. Having a good one?”
“I am now,” Weezy says, waggling his eyebrows at her, then tugs Brendon closer to wrap an arm around his waist. “Yeah. Hey, how are you?”
“I’m alright,” she says. “Bden says we have to give you free shit today, in honor of how awesome you are.”
“I am pretty incredible,” Weezy acknowledges gracefully. “Can I have a strawberry-banana smoothie? I mean, if it’s free and all.”
“Sure thing,” she says, turning around to tell another girl to get started on it. She lowers her voice conspiratorially, as if Brendon isn’t right there laughing. “You know Brendon gets one free smoothie a day anyway, right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t have to make this one,” Brendon says. “That’s totally different.”
“Plus he got me a sign,” Weezy says. “He gets extra credit for that shit.”
“What do I get with my extra credit?”
“I dunno,” Weezy says. “See me after class. We can figure something out.”
The girl’s ignoring them in favor of helping other customers, which is probably all for the best. It doesn’t take too long for Weezy’s smoothie to get finished, and once that’s in hand they meander off back towards the rest of the mall.
“So what else are we doing? Anything exciting?”
“I was thinking dinner,” Brendon says. “But we could always just go back to my place and order pizza.”
“Make it Chinese, and it’s a deal,” Weezy says.
“Done.” Brendon holds his other hand out, and they shake on it - albeit awkwardly, given that their other hands are still clasped together.
Brendon’s apartment is a lot closer to Weezy’s place than his parents house was. The place is tiny - a rudimentary kitchen, a bed, and then all the musical instruments Brendon’s amassed over the years mean that the only table Brendon has is a little folding card table that goes up against the wall when it’s not in use. A mismatched pair of folding chairs go along with it, as well as a wheeled office chair Weezy bought him cheap from a yard sale.
The place is pretty cozy, and Weezy actually enjoys going over. It means he doesn’t have to bother his mom, who really is pretty great, even if she can be frustrating as hell.
There’s some sheets of paper with chords and musical notation scribbled down all over them. “Working on some new shit?” Weezy asks.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “Like, we should probably be practicing the old stuff, but I had some ideas, you know?”
“Yeah,” Weezy says. “Yeah, I know about ideas.”
Brendon laughs, shaking his head a little. “You’re you. Of course you’ve got ideas. Goddamn. Pretend I was being witty.”
“I will, don’t worry,” Weezy grins.
“But no, like - some guy is going to come listen to us play, apparently? I don’t know, Ryan says he’s a pretty big deal, so we’re getting ready for that. But I just wanted to work on, I don’t know.”
“Nah, I’ve got you,” Weezy says. “What songs are you gonna play?”
“Probably Sins,” Brendon says. “And maybe Lying. You can - you don’t mind if we use the electronic stuff you did for us, right?”
“That’s why I made it, dude, yeah,” Weezy says. “More power to you.”
“Sweet.” Brendon smiles, leaning his head against Weezy’s shoulder. “We need to do a new track soon.”
“We need to order that damn Chinese soon,” Weezy says, and when Brendon’s face instantly starts to fall, adds, “then we can do a track.”
“I was thinking this big, epic thing about, like, living in Vegas. But as a metaphor.”
“Is Vegas the metaphor, or is something a metaphor for Vegas?”
“I don’t know yet,” Brendon says. “But it’d be all unts-y and shit. Kind of glitchy. Lots of strings. And I mean, I’d do the hook, right, maybe throw in some piano, and you could have the verses.”
“Alright,” Weezy says, ideas already starting to percolate. “Yeah, okay, let’s do something.”
“After we get Chinese,” Brendon reminds him, laughing, as he pulls out his phone to call the Chinese place.
Brendon’s got his dick down Weezy’s throat by the time the buzzer finally rings, and Weezy accidentally scrapes his teeth against the shaft as he’s pulling off.
Which - he didn’t know Brendon was that close, but apparently that’s all it takes to get Brendon off. “Fuck,” Brendon says, laughing.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I wasn’t watching the time,” Brendon says.
“Well, good. I’d be wondering what the fuck your priorities were if you had been.”
“Yeah, right?”
The buzzer rings again. Weezy wipes off his face. “C’mon.”
They pad downstairs barefoot, and Brendon gives the guy a huge tip - “Sorry to keep you waiting, dude, seriously, we, uh, had the volume up too loud. On the TV. So we didn’t hear the first time. Sorry.”
“Thanks for the food, man,” Weezy tells the delivery guy, and then it’s back upstairs to eat.
“So,” Brendon says. “I was thinking for your birthday, I’d, you know.”
“I actually don’t,” Weezy says. “You remembered my birthday in the first place, so whatever it is, don’t feel obligated or whatever, you know?”
“Uhm,” Brendon says, looking down.
“What?”
“I was thinking,” Brendon says, suddenly very quiet and shy. “You could, you know, if you wanted or whatever, you could fuck me. If it’s what you’re into. We don’t have to.”
“No, no, that’d be cool,” Weezy says. “I mean - you want to, right? You’re not just offering because it’s my birthday or whatever.”
Brendon’s quiet.
“Because I don’t wanna if you don’t wanna,” Weezy says.
“No, no,” Brendon says. “I want to. Yeah. You can - yeah.”
Weezy smiles, shifting on the edge of the bed - where they’re sitting now, since there is no couch - to kiss and bite at Brendon’s neck. Brendon reaches to tip Weezy’s chin up, pulling him into a kiss before lying back and pulling Weezy down on top of him.
Weezy rocks his hips a little, their bodies pressed together, feeling Brendon’s body heat through their clothes. It occurs to Weezy that he may want to get rid of those clothes, at some point, but for now he’s content with lazy, indulgent kisses and slow groping, feeling up under Brendon’s shirt.
Mouth pressed right to Brendon’s ear, Weezy asks, “What did you want again, B?”
“I, uh - I want you to fuck me,” Brendon manages, eventually.
“I think I can work with that.”
...
Unstoppable
Lil Wayne/Brendon. 2,516 words. R.
Sequel to Dear Gravity. Wherein Lil Wayne is unaware what day it is, though everyone else seems to know. Thrown together in maybe an hour of unfocused work, so.
Weezy gets up early - not for any good reason, though. He just can’t sleep. It means he gets the time to eat breakfast at home, instead of grabbing some pop-tarts and eating them on the drive over to Brendon’s place, though.
His mom’s surprised to see him sitting at the kitchen table when she gets up. “Well, good morning.”
“Hey, ma,” Weezy says, mostly ignoring her. He’s trying to spread cold butter over his waffles. It isn’t working too well.
“You’re supposed to let the butter sit out for a bit first,” his mom says. “It spreads easier.”
“Fuck,” Weezy says.
“Language.”
“Sorry.” Weezy ducks his head sheepishly, still shoving the butter around with the knife in the hopes that it will actually sink in at some point.
“I’ve still got to wrap your presents,” she says.
“What?”
“Did you forget what day it is?”
“It isn’t Christmas, I know that,” Weezy says. His mom starts laughing, and won’t stop even when he glares at her. “What is it?”
“I don’t think I’m gonna tell you. I’m going to let you figure it out yourself.” She beams at him, patting him on the back as she passes from the counter to the refrigerator to get herself a glass of milk. “You’ll see.”
“You’re trying to keep me ignorant. What day is it? Is it one of those bullshit president days?”
“Nope,” she says. “You’ll find out later.”
Weezy sits down to eat his waffles and mostly ignores his mom after that, except for the most cursory answers when she asks him about his schoolwork. He’s about done with his waffles when Brendon texts saying that he doesn’t need a ride that morning.
Weezy’s been giving Brendon rides in the morning every day for the past two months. He frowns at the news, and then doesn’t tell his mom what’s wrong when she aks, just tells her it’s some stupid bullshit.
He drives to school extra-slow, with the windows rolled down and his speakers up as high as they’ll go. Today isn’t starting off too well, but the music is a good distraction.
There’s someone else parked in his usual parking spot, and driving slowly means most of the other spots are full too so he has to drive around in circles until he finally finds a spot about a million miles from the front doors.
Nothing would make Weezy run to try to get to school on time, so he’s sauntering towards the doors and feels a rush of annoyance when the bell rings. Time’s being obnoxious, not waiting for him like that.
The late bell has rung well before he gets to class, so he takes the time out to go to the bathroom first, and skips going to his locker in favor of strutting into class and collapsing indolently into his seat.
The teacher finishes her sentence before bothering. “Alright, Mr. Carter, everyone knows what day it is, but that doesn’t mean you can come in late.”
“I got caught in traffic,” Weezy says, hoping the excuse will keep him from detention. Contrary to popular belief, he has a perfect record so far, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. He really wants to know what day it is.
“Fine, fine,” she says. “I’m not writing you up this time, but today’s the exception.”
Weezy grins at her, straightening a little in his chair. “Thank you, ma’am.”
-
There’s no one interesting in his first class, but second period, he has Lit with Kanye, which is always pretty great.
“Yo,” Kanye says in greeting, before the late bells rings. “How’s it feel to be old as shit?”
“The fuck kind of greeting is that?”
“Not my fault you’re old,” Kanye says.
“You’re older than I am.”
“So?”
“The fuck is wrong with you, man, seriously.”
“I’m just playing,” Kanye says. “Happy birthday.”
Weezy stares at him. The bell rings. “Shit,” Weezy says, finally. “You serious?”
“Did you forget or something?” Weezy keeps staring, and Kanye starts laughing. “This is why you gotta keep me the fuck around, man, apparently you need somebody to remember your own damn birthday for you. Shit.”
-
Now that he knows what day it is, Weezy is a lot less surprised when he finally goes to his locker. Of course there’s a hand-drawn banner on it. Glitter and macaroni got involved in the decoration process, and the whole embarrassment-inducing affair is topped off by the text on the banner, which says, “Happy Bday Weezy Baby! Bden <3s You” in silver on a black background.
There’s a lot of glitter. It's all over the floor, too. The prospect of opening - or even getting too close to - the locker is a little daunting, with that much glitter.
Weezy has to put his hands on his hips and stare at it for a minute. There’s no other choice. “Damn,” he says, finally.
“It’s just as crazy the second time,” Lupe says. “Where were you this morning? Brendon got all bummed out when you didn’t show.”
“I was late,” Weezy says, vaguely. “Shit. I didn’t even know it was my birthday.”
Lupe just shakes his head.
-
So, eventually lunchtime rolls around, and Weezy is still trying to brush the glitter off his shirt. That just gets it on his hands, which gets it everywhere, but he’s trying. There are trails of glitter following him everywhere he goes. He feels kind of bad for whoever has to sit in his desk after him in each of his classes, because glitter is contagious and they’re going to get infected too.
Brendon’s sitting at his table in the corner, talking to Brent and Patrick and looking kind of morose, so Weezy skips the lunch line and goes over to drape his arms around Brendon’s shoulders, dropping a kiss against the curve of his ear. “Hey, B. Long time no see.”
“Weezy!” Brendon says, leaning back into the touch a little. “Hey, dude. Hey. Where were you this morning?”
“I was busy being a fucking dumbass, is where I was,” Weezy says, letting go just long enough to scoot around and sit down next to Brendon, almost instantly putting an arm around his waist. “I figured you not wanting a ride meant, like, you were gonna try and break up with me.”
“I made us t-shirts,” Brendon says, horrified. “No, man, no.”
“Nah, I got that, I got that, it’s just what I was thinking,” Weezy says. “And it was fucked up, right? Nah. We’re cool. I’m sharing.”
“It’s great you’re so open with your emotions,” Brent says, dryly.
Weezy grins, showing his teeth. “Fuck you.” There’s no venom in his tone.
“Whatever, man. Happy birthday.” Brent gives him a thumbs up. “Hope you have plenty more or whatever, each one better than the last, I don’t know.”
Weezy nods with a certain solemnity. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You have any plans tonight?” Brendon asks, grinning.
“I forgot it was my birthday, so no,” Weezy says. “Which kind of fucking sucks, actually.”
“I’ve got this covered,” Brendon says. “Don’t you worry.”
-
Brendon’s grand plans involve Weezy driving him to the mall. Weezy doesn’t want to question it, because Brendon seems really excited, and it’s pretty adorable. His excitement is infectious, too, and they nearly get run over in the parking lot because after Brendon grabs onto his hand, Weezy just has to pull him in for a kiss in the middle of the aisle.
A car honks at them, though, and they both laugh and run the rest of the way to the doors.
Weezy ends up with another pair of Nikes before Brendon says, “Okay, okay, come on, check this out. Come on.”
So he lets himself be dragged by the hand downstairs to the food court. He still can’t get over that - it took Brendon a while to get over a certain antsiness about holding hands and stuff in public, and here they are. Brendon’s gotten a lot more confident lately, and it’s a good look on him. The self-confidence just makes Weezy like him more.
The ridiculous grand gestures don’t hurt, either: something possessed Brendon not only to decorate his locker, but to have someone do a big sign at Smoothie Hut wishing him a happy birthday as well. Brendon hasn’t even been working there that long, but his coworkers seem to have taken a shine to him instantly, so Weezy is - with a little thought - not actually that surprised Brendon talked them into it.
“Hey, Wayne,” one of the girls says. “Happy birthday, man. Having a good one?”
“I am now,” Weezy says, waggling his eyebrows at her, then tugs Brendon closer to wrap an arm around his waist. “Yeah. Hey, how are you?”
“I’m alright,” she says. “Bden says we have to give you free shit today, in honor of how awesome you are.”
“I am pretty incredible,” Weezy acknowledges gracefully. “Can I have a strawberry-banana smoothie? I mean, if it’s free and all.”
“Sure thing,” she says, turning around to tell another girl to get started on it. She lowers her voice conspiratorially, as if Brendon isn’t right there laughing. “You know Brendon gets one free smoothie a day anyway, right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t have to make this one,” Brendon says. “That’s totally different.”
“Plus he got me a sign,” Weezy says. “He gets extra credit for that shit.”
“What do I get with my extra credit?”
“I dunno,” Weezy says. “See me after class. We can figure something out.”
The girl’s ignoring them in favor of helping other customers, which is probably all for the best. It doesn’t take too long for Weezy’s smoothie to get finished, and once that’s in hand they meander off back towards the rest of the mall.
“So what else are we doing? Anything exciting?”
“I was thinking dinner,” Brendon says. “But we could always just go back to my place and order pizza.”
“Make it Chinese, and it’s a deal,” Weezy says.
“Done.” Brendon holds his other hand out, and they shake on it - albeit awkwardly, given that their other hands are still clasped together.
Brendon’s apartment is a lot closer to Weezy’s place than his parents house was. The place is tiny - a rudimentary kitchen, a bed, and then all the musical instruments Brendon’s amassed over the years mean that the only table Brendon has is a little folding card table that goes up against the wall when it’s not in use. A mismatched pair of folding chairs go along with it, as well as a wheeled office chair Weezy bought him cheap from a yard sale.
The place is pretty cozy, and Weezy actually enjoys going over. It means he doesn’t have to bother his mom, who really is pretty great, even if she can be frustrating as hell.
There’s some sheets of paper with chords and musical notation scribbled down all over them. “Working on some new shit?” Weezy asks.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “Like, we should probably be practicing the old stuff, but I had some ideas, you know?”
“Yeah,” Weezy says. “Yeah, I know about ideas.”
Brendon laughs, shaking his head a little. “You’re you. Of course you’ve got ideas. Goddamn. Pretend I was being witty.”
“I will, don’t worry,” Weezy grins.
“But no, like - some guy is going to come listen to us play, apparently? I don’t know, Ryan says he’s a pretty big deal, so we’re getting ready for that. But I just wanted to work on, I don’t know.”
“Nah, I’ve got you,” Weezy says. “What songs are you gonna play?”
“Probably Sins,” Brendon says. “And maybe Lying. You can - you don’t mind if we use the electronic stuff you did for us, right?”
“That’s why I made it, dude, yeah,” Weezy says. “More power to you.”
“Sweet.” Brendon smiles, leaning his head against Weezy’s shoulder. “We need to do a new track soon.”
“We need to order that damn Chinese soon,” Weezy says, and when Brendon’s face instantly starts to fall, adds, “then we can do a track.”
“I was thinking this big, epic thing about, like, living in Vegas. But as a metaphor.”
“Is Vegas the metaphor, or is something a metaphor for Vegas?”
“I don’t know yet,” Brendon says. “But it’d be all unts-y and shit. Kind of glitchy. Lots of strings. And I mean, I’d do the hook, right, maybe throw in some piano, and you could have the verses.”
“Alright,” Weezy says, ideas already starting to percolate. “Yeah, okay, let’s do something.”
“After we get Chinese,” Brendon reminds him, laughing, as he pulls out his phone to call the Chinese place.
Brendon’s got his dick down Weezy’s throat by the time the buzzer finally rings, and Weezy accidentally scrapes his teeth against the shaft as he’s pulling off.
Which - he didn’t know Brendon was that close, but apparently that’s all it takes to get Brendon off. “Fuck,” Brendon says, laughing.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I wasn’t watching the time,” Brendon says.
“Well, good. I’d be wondering what the fuck your priorities were if you had been.”
“Yeah, right?”
The buzzer rings again. Weezy wipes off his face. “C’mon.”
They pad downstairs barefoot, and Brendon gives the guy a huge tip - “Sorry to keep you waiting, dude, seriously, we, uh, had the volume up too loud. On the TV. So we didn’t hear the first time. Sorry.”
“Thanks for the food, man,” Weezy tells the delivery guy, and then it’s back upstairs to eat.
“So,” Brendon says. “I was thinking for your birthday, I’d, you know.”
“I actually don’t,” Weezy says. “You remembered my birthday in the first place, so whatever it is, don’t feel obligated or whatever, you know?”
“Uhm,” Brendon says, looking down.
“What?”
“I was thinking,” Brendon says, suddenly very quiet and shy. “You could, you know, if you wanted or whatever, you could fuck me. If it’s what you’re into. We don’t have to.”
“No, no, that’d be cool,” Weezy says. “I mean - you want to, right? You’re not just offering because it’s my birthday or whatever.”
Brendon’s quiet.
“Because I don’t wanna if you don’t wanna,” Weezy says.
“No, no,” Brendon says. “I want to. Yeah. You can - yeah.”
Weezy smiles, shifting on the edge of the bed - where they’re sitting now, since there is no couch - to kiss and bite at Brendon’s neck. Brendon reaches to tip Weezy’s chin up, pulling him into a kiss before lying back and pulling Weezy down on top of him.
Weezy rocks his hips a little, their bodies pressed together, feeling Brendon’s body heat through their clothes. It occurs to Weezy that he may want to get rid of those clothes, at some point, but for now he’s content with lazy, indulgent kisses and slow groping, feeling up under Brendon’s shirt.
Mouth pressed right to Brendon’s ear, Weezy asks, “What did you want again, B?”
“I, uh - I want you to fuck me,” Brendon manages, eventually.
“I think I can work with that.”