fic: fists up
The other day I was looking at pictures of Chris Faller, and I thought to myself, damn. How is it that Bden Urie hasn't hit that yet?
Set around the time when The Hush Sound was recording Like Vines (March 2006-ish). A few months before the Panic!/Dresden Dolls/Hush Sound tour of love. I like to think Patrick introduced them.
fists up by Beezus
Brendon/Chris Faller | NC-17 | 2,014 words
Chris giggles, pushing his face into the space where Brendon's shoulder meets his neck. Brendon whispers, "Shhh, shhh," but he can't remember why they need to be quiet. This part of the house is empty, deserted by people in favor of milling around downstairs where the alcohol is kept. The party hasn't yet reached the 'pairing off' stage. Brendon has a moment to wonder if he rushed it before Chris starts nibbling gently at his neck.
Alrighty then. Onward.
Brendon pushes Chris into the nearest available room, stumbling over the threshold, across the carpet to the bed. It smells like Pete Wentz, the unmistakable odor of dog and aftershave. Brendon worries that maybe it's impolite to have sex in Pete's guestroom (until recently, Brendon had never had sex anywhere except his own bed). It's almost ridiculous, him worrying about the immorality of fucking on someone else's bed when six months ago he'd have been more concerned about the gender of whom he was fucking. Oh, what six months will do to a person.
Chris's hands on his zipper drag him violently from his musings. Chris has his lower lip between his teeth, forehead creased in concentration while he tries to work his way around Brendon's button fly.
"You're very cute," Brendon says in mock seriousness.
"Back atcha partner," Chris grins. "You might need to open these yourself, though. It seems I've been bested by your pants."
"Skinny jeans: 1, Faller: 0. Props to the gentleman for putting up a good show."
Chris tips his hat to an imaginary audience, "Thank you, thank you."
Brendon rocks back on his knees and pops each button, one by one, shaking his hips and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Chris grins up at him, big beaming smile that Brendon feels in his toes. Fuck. He is so fucked. Chris grabs a handful of his t-shirt and drags him back down to meet his lips. Chris's kisses are soft and sloppy, just the way Brendon likes them. He wants so spend all night in this kid's mouth, licking his lips, sucking them 'til they're bruised. Brendon doesn't want to move an inch, so long as Chris keeps up with the fucking ridiculously sexy noises he's making, but Chris seems to have other plans. He flips them easily, tugging Brendon's jeans down until they're stuck at his shoes, both of them laughing at Chris's haste.
Chris collects himself, settling at the foot of the bed to untie Brendon's shoes, tossing them over and out of sight. Brendon is still giggling even after Chris has disposed of his jeans.
"You laughing at me?"
Brendon shakes his head, quieting. There's nothing funny about the way Chris's hands have wandered up his thighs, thumbs sliding under the legs of his briefs to rub the soft patch of skin where his thigh meets his pelvis. Brendon tries his best to keep it together since he's pretty sure Chris is older than him by at least a year. The last thing Brendon wants is to be remembered as the kid at Pete's party who came all over himself like a magnificent virgin loser before Chris even put a hand on him. Brendon would like to be remembered as a fabulous lay, if only Chris would stop. fucking. around. and actually touch him. Brendon grits his teeth in frustration.
Maybe Chris senses his mood, or maybe he's tired of behaving like a sadistic bastard. Either way, he grabs the waistband of Brendon's boxers and tugs, throwing them over the bed to join his shoes in the heap on the floor. Brendon still has his t-shirt on. He figures he must look silly like this, legs spread, cock hard and leaking against his belly, but Chris is leaning over him. The look on his face suggests that he doesn't find Brendon silly at all.
"You too," Brendon says, pulling at Chris's clothes. Chris undresses quickly. It seems like now his teasing mood has left entirely, because he finally, finally, reaches down to wrap his wide palm around Brendon's dick. Brendon cries out, fucking up into Chris's loose grip, but it's not enough, not nearly. Chris strokes him gently like he wants to take his time. Brendon wants to yell at him to hurry up, wants to scream, but he also wants to see what Chris is going to do next.
Chris's fingers tighten around his cock, pumping him a few times. Brendon can feel a muscle in his thigh tic in his effort to stay still. He gets himself under control, or at least he thinks he does, that is before--
"You can fuck me if you want," Brendon says, wild and nervous. Meaning it.
Chris is up off the bed in a flash, tripping over Brendon's forgotten shoes. Brendon starts laughing again, giggling to himself until Chris has settled back over him, lube in hand, pressing soft kisses to his mouth, whispering “Shhhh. shhh.”
Brendon reaches for the bottle so he can get himself ready, but Chris holds it up out of his reach.
"Let me," Chris says, voice low and serious. "I want to."
Brendon lays back and closes his eyes, overwhelmed. The only other guy he's ever done this with made Brendon do it himself. Brendon got the impression that maybe fingering was something that most guys didn't usually do, that they though it was dirty, but Chris's fingers are tracing his hole unhesitatingly, like this is maybe something Chris likes to do.
"Can I--" Chris trails off. His fingers linger like a question, rubbing slick over the entrance to Brendon's body, again and again, until Brendon is strung out and shaking. Wanting it.
"Please," Brendon begs, beyond caring. "Please,"
Chris complies, giving him one finger, just enough to feel it. Brendon's body clenches hard around Chris. His heart is going faster than normal and he can't catch his breath long enough to slow down, relax. Chris rubs the palm of his other hand against his belly, soothing. His muscles relax enough for Chris to slip another finger in beside the first, and. Oh god. Brendon's vision fades when Chris brings his fingers together and pushes firmly up into the curve of his body. It feels so good, Brendon can hardly believe it.
Chris sets a gentle rhythm that has Brendon arching up off the bed and onto his fingers. When Brendon has calmed down enough to take Chris's fingers more easily, Chris adds a third, pressing slowly. This one hurts, stings a little. That's mostly what Brendon remembers from last time he was in this position. He has a brief moment of panic--that it won't stop, that this is always going to hurt--before his body adjusts again, and it’s good. It’s really good.
Brendon gets it together enough to notice that Chris is starting to lose it. Chris's hair is sweaty and pushed up against his forehead, muscled arm straining where he's keeping himself propped up over Brendon.
"Okay," Brendon says, nodding his head. "Now."
Chris widens his eyes marginally, but he's removing his fingers gently, wiping his hand on the sheets so he can open the condom. He tears the package carefully and rolls it on. Brendon grabs the lube, gets enough of it on his palm to coat Chris's cock. Chris hisses, arching into it while Brendon slicks him.
Brendon drags his fingertips up and down Chris’s dick, exploring a little. He hadn't had the chance to do this earlier and it's nice to lay here with Chris, stroking him slowly while Chris looks down at him, face relaxed and happy. Brendon wonders how long they've been gone, if Spencer or Ryan have noticed his absence. He wonders if this is something Chris will want to do again, and-- shit. He stops himself from taking that thought any further.
"How do--" Chris takes his hand and laces their fingers together. "How do you want to do this?"
Brendon is anxious, because what he wants-- what he really wants--is to do this on his back so he can see Chris. But he doesn't know how to ask for it.
Brendon opens and shuts his mouth but nothing comes out. He shrugs his shoulders, knowing full well that he looks like a complete spazz. Chris seems to understand, though. He drops to his elbows and wraps Brendon's legs around his waist.
“Like this?” Chris asks, sounding nervous himself.
"Yeah," Brendon sighs.
Chris watches his face while he pushes in slowly, eyes dark and intense. Brendon concentrates on the shifting muscles of Chris's shoulders, the way his hair falls into his eyes. Does his best to breath and relax like earlier, because he knows Chris is going to wait for Brendon. He's gonna wait for it to get good.
Chris's eyes are still on his, gauging his reaction. Brendon nods and lets his legs fall open, allowing Chris more room for his next thrust. Chris shifts forward, stretching clinging muscle until he's snug in the circle of Brendon's thighs. Brendon can't help but moan and arch up into it. Chris goes deep. Brendon feels stretched and full, and awesome, and Chris doesn't stop. He snaps his hips into Brendon again, harder this time, like he can't help it.
They fall into steady rhythm, Chris's lips on his collarbone and Brendon's hands on Chris's shoulders, gripping and releasing with every sharp thrust. Brendon squeezes his muscles, and that has Chris moaning helplessly into his neck. Brendon starts experimenting with the angle, shifting slightly, and oh fuck there. Chris is sliding home with every snap of his hips, insane friction and heat that jolts Brendon to his core.
Brendon's mind is chanting Chris, Chris, Chris, but he's not being careful because he let that last one slip. Fuck. Brendon really sucks at this casual sex thing. He doesn't know if that’s something he's allowed to say, if maybe he's supposed to be pretending that Chris is someone else. He isn't. He hopes that Chris isn't either. Chris doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he does, because he lifts his head to kiss Brendon a little bit desperate, like maybe this is something Chris wants, too.
Brendon can't help the noises he's making, ah ah ah, fucked out and reflexive. Chris's hands have wandered down to his ass, gripping his cheeks, pulling Brendon harder against his body. Brendon's cock is hard and leaking between their stomachs, tapped in the slide of their bodies, and Brendon wants moremoremore, clenching hard around Chris's cock with every pump. Chris gives him the rhythm Brendon wants, fucking into him hard and deep, still squeezing the hell out of his ass so Brendon can feel himself stretched over Chris's thick cock
He doesn't think it could get any better until Chris starts sliding out fully, giving it to him all the way. Brendon doesn't want this to end, but he can't help dropping his hand to his cock. One pull of his wrist and he's losing it, coming all over himself with Chris still fucking him though it.
Chris's breath is coming in gasps, rough and thready. His face is tight, and Brendon reaches up to trace over his lips while Chris squeezes his eyes shut and moans like he's in pain. Brendon feels raw and oversensitized, but it's still good. He wraps his arms around Chris's shoulders and whispers into his ear "Yeah, shh, that's it," And Chris is shuddering against him. Letting go.
"Brendon, right?" Chris had asked, extending his hand.
Brendon tried his best not to get distracted by this kid's fucking ridiculously pretty smile and actually say something coherent.
"Uhh. Right. Er--" he managed.
Chris smiled at him. "Chris," he supplied helpfully. Brendon really needed to snap out of it.
"Right." he repeated. "Right. You're a Hushie. Chris. Hi Chris" Brendon wished it was somehow physically possible to punch himself in the throat.
Chris peered at him through his artful emo fringe that put Ryan's to shame. "Hi Brendon," he said amusedly. "Do you like Thundercats?"
Brendon might be in love.
andthentheywentontourandfellinlovetheend.
Set around the time when The Hush Sound was recording Like Vines (March 2006-ish). A few months before the Panic!/Dresden Dolls/Hush Sound tour of love. I like to think Patrick introduced them.
fists up by Beezus
Brendon/Chris Faller | NC-17 | 2,014 words
Chris giggles, pushing his face into the space where Brendon's shoulder meets his neck. Brendon whispers, "Shhh, shhh," but he can't remember why they need to be quiet. This part of the house is empty, deserted by people in favor of milling around downstairs where the alcohol is kept. The party hasn't yet reached the 'pairing off' stage. Brendon has a moment to wonder if he rushed it before Chris starts nibbling gently at his neck.
Alrighty then. Onward.
Brendon pushes Chris into the nearest available room, stumbling over the threshold, across the carpet to the bed. It smells like Pete Wentz, the unmistakable odor of dog and aftershave. Brendon worries that maybe it's impolite to have sex in Pete's guestroom (until recently, Brendon had never had sex anywhere except his own bed). It's almost ridiculous, him worrying about the immorality of fucking on someone else's bed when six months ago he'd have been more concerned about the gender of whom he was fucking. Oh, what six months will do to a person.
Chris's hands on his zipper drag him violently from his musings. Chris has his lower lip between his teeth, forehead creased in concentration while he tries to work his way around Brendon's button fly.
"You're very cute," Brendon says in mock seriousness.
"Back atcha partner," Chris grins. "You might need to open these yourself, though. It seems I've been bested by your pants."
"Skinny jeans: 1, Faller: 0. Props to the gentleman for putting up a good show."
Chris tips his hat to an imaginary audience, "Thank you, thank you."
Brendon rocks back on his knees and pops each button, one by one, shaking his hips and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Chris grins up at him, big beaming smile that Brendon feels in his toes. Fuck. He is so fucked. Chris grabs a handful of his t-shirt and drags him back down to meet his lips. Chris's kisses are soft and sloppy, just the way Brendon likes them. He wants so spend all night in this kid's mouth, licking his lips, sucking them 'til they're bruised. Brendon doesn't want to move an inch, so long as Chris keeps up with the fucking ridiculously sexy noises he's making, but Chris seems to have other plans. He flips them easily, tugging Brendon's jeans down until they're stuck at his shoes, both of them laughing at Chris's haste.
Chris collects himself, settling at the foot of the bed to untie Brendon's shoes, tossing them over and out of sight. Brendon is still giggling even after Chris has disposed of his jeans.
"You laughing at me?"
Brendon shakes his head, quieting. There's nothing funny about the way Chris's hands have wandered up his thighs, thumbs sliding under the legs of his briefs to rub the soft patch of skin where his thigh meets his pelvis. Brendon tries his best to keep it together since he's pretty sure Chris is older than him by at least a year. The last thing Brendon wants is to be remembered as the kid at Pete's party who came all over himself like a magnificent virgin loser before Chris even put a hand on him. Brendon would like to be remembered as a fabulous lay, if only Chris would stop. fucking. around. and actually touch him. Brendon grits his teeth in frustration.
Maybe Chris senses his mood, or maybe he's tired of behaving like a sadistic bastard. Either way, he grabs the waistband of Brendon's boxers and tugs, throwing them over the bed to join his shoes in the heap on the floor. Brendon still has his t-shirt on. He figures he must look silly like this, legs spread, cock hard and leaking against his belly, but Chris is leaning over him. The look on his face suggests that he doesn't find Brendon silly at all.
"You too," Brendon says, pulling at Chris's clothes. Chris undresses quickly. It seems like now his teasing mood has left entirely, because he finally, finally, reaches down to wrap his wide palm around Brendon's dick. Brendon cries out, fucking up into Chris's loose grip, but it's not enough, not nearly. Chris strokes him gently like he wants to take his time. Brendon wants to yell at him to hurry up, wants to scream, but he also wants to see what Chris is going to do next.
Chris's fingers tighten around his cock, pumping him a few times. Brendon can feel a muscle in his thigh tic in his effort to stay still. He gets himself under control, or at least he thinks he does, that is before--
"You can fuck me if you want," Brendon says, wild and nervous. Meaning it.
Chris is up off the bed in a flash, tripping over Brendon's forgotten shoes. Brendon starts laughing again, giggling to himself until Chris has settled back over him, lube in hand, pressing soft kisses to his mouth, whispering “Shhhh. shhh.”
Brendon reaches for the bottle so he can get himself ready, but Chris holds it up out of his reach.
"Let me," Chris says, voice low and serious. "I want to."
Brendon lays back and closes his eyes, overwhelmed. The only other guy he's ever done this with made Brendon do it himself. Brendon got the impression that maybe fingering was something that most guys didn't usually do, that they though it was dirty, but Chris's fingers are tracing his hole unhesitatingly, like this is maybe something Chris likes to do.
"Can I--" Chris trails off. His fingers linger like a question, rubbing slick over the entrance to Brendon's body, again and again, until Brendon is strung out and shaking. Wanting it.
"Please," Brendon begs, beyond caring. "Please,"
Chris complies, giving him one finger, just enough to feel it. Brendon's body clenches hard around Chris. His heart is going faster than normal and he can't catch his breath long enough to slow down, relax. Chris rubs the palm of his other hand against his belly, soothing. His muscles relax enough for Chris to slip another finger in beside the first, and. Oh god. Brendon's vision fades when Chris brings his fingers together and pushes firmly up into the curve of his body. It feels so good, Brendon can hardly believe it.
Chris sets a gentle rhythm that has Brendon arching up off the bed and onto his fingers. When Brendon has calmed down enough to take Chris's fingers more easily, Chris adds a third, pressing slowly. This one hurts, stings a little. That's mostly what Brendon remembers from last time he was in this position. He has a brief moment of panic--that it won't stop, that this is always going to hurt--before his body adjusts again, and it’s good. It’s really good.
Brendon gets it together enough to notice that Chris is starting to lose it. Chris's hair is sweaty and pushed up against his forehead, muscled arm straining where he's keeping himself propped up over Brendon.
"Okay," Brendon says, nodding his head. "Now."
Chris widens his eyes marginally, but he's removing his fingers gently, wiping his hand on the sheets so he can open the condom. He tears the package carefully and rolls it on. Brendon grabs the lube, gets enough of it on his palm to coat Chris's cock. Chris hisses, arching into it while Brendon slicks him.
Brendon drags his fingertips up and down Chris’s dick, exploring a little. He hadn't had the chance to do this earlier and it's nice to lay here with Chris, stroking him slowly while Chris looks down at him, face relaxed and happy. Brendon wonders how long they've been gone, if Spencer or Ryan have noticed his absence. He wonders if this is something Chris will want to do again, and-- shit. He stops himself from taking that thought any further.
"How do--" Chris takes his hand and laces their fingers together. "How do you want to do this?"
Brendon is anxious, because what he wants-- what he really wants--is to do this on his back so he can see Chris. But he doesn't know how to ask for it.
Brendon opens and shuts his mouth but nothing comes out. He shrugs his shoulders, knowing full well that he looks like a complete spazz. Chris seems to understand, though. He drops to his elbows and wraps Brendon's legs around his waist.
“Like this?” Chris asks, sounding nervous himself.
"Yeah," Brendon sighs.
Chris watches his face while he pushes in slowly, eyes dark and intense. Brendon concentrates on the shifting muscles of Chris's shoulders, the way his hair falls into his eyes. Does his best to breath and relax like earlier, because he knows Chris is going to wait for Brendon. He's gonna wait for it to get good.
Chris's eyes are still on his, gauging his reaction. Brendon nods and lets his legs fall open, allowing Chris more room for his next thrust. Chris shifts forward, stretching clinging muscle until he's snug in the circle of Brendon's thighs. Brendon can't help but moan and arch up into it. Chris goes deep. Brendon feels stretched and full, and awesome, and Chris doesn't stop. He snaps his hips into Brendon again, harder this time, like he can't help it.
They fall into steady rhythm, Chris's lips on his collarbone and Brendon's hands on Chris's shoulders, gripping and releasing with every sharp thrust. Brendon squeezes his muscles, and that has Chris moaning helplessly into his neck. Brendon starts experimenting with the angle, shifting slightly, and oh fuck there. Chris is sliding home with every snap of his hips, insane friction and heat that jolts Brendon to his core.
Brendon's mind is chanting Chris, Chris, Chris, but he's not being careful because he let that last one slip. Fuck. Brendon really sucks at this casual sex thing. He doesn't know if that’s something he's allowed to say, if maybe he's supposed to be pretending that Chris is someone else. He isn't. He hopes that Chris isn't either. Chris doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he does, because he lifts his head to kiss Brendon a little bit desperate, like maybe this is something Chris wants, too.
Brendon can't help the noises he's making, ah ah ah, fucked out and reflexive. Chris's hands have wandered down to his ass, gripping his cheeks, pulling Brendon harder against his body. Brendon's cock is hard and leaking between their stomachs, tapped in the slide of their bodies, and Brendon wants moremoremore, clenching hard around Chris's cock with every pump. Chris gives him the rhythm Brendon wants, fucking into him hard and deep, still squeezing the hell out of his ass so Brendon can feel himself stretched over Chris's thick cock
He doesn't think it could get any better until Chris starts sliding out fully, giving it to him all the way. Brendon doesn't want this to end, but he can't help dropping his hand to his cock. One pull of his wrist and he's losing it, coming all over himself with Chris still fucking him though it.
Chris's breath is coming in gasps, rough and thready. His face is tight, and Brendon reaches up to trace over his lips while Chris squeezes his eyes shut and moans like he's in pain. Brendon feels raw and oversensitized, but it's still good. He wraps his arms around Chris's shoulders and whispers into his ear "Yeah, shh, that's it," And Chris is shuddering against him. Letting go.
"Brendon, right?" Chris had asked, extending his hand.
Brendon tried his best not to get distracted by this kid's fucking ridiculously pretty smile and actually say something coherent.
"Uhh. Right. Er--" he managed.
Chris smiled at him. "Chris," he supplied helpfully. Brendon really needed to snap out of it.
"Right." he repeated. "Right. You're a Hushie. Chris. Hi Chris" Brendon wished it was somehow physically possible to punch himself in the throat.
Chris peered at him through his artful emo fringe that put Ryan's to shame. "Hi Brendon," he said amusedly. "Do you like Thundercats?"
Brendon might be in love.
andthentheywentontourandfellinlovetheend.