Beach Music, Brendon/Gerard AU R
Title: Beach Music 3A/12
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: R
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing.
Notes: HET!!, what can be perceived as uninformed consent, underage drinking, drug use, romance, fluff, Tom Conrad and Jon Walker are not the nicest people ever, AU, liberal abuse of canon; this fic contains all of these things. If they're not your thing, don't read.
Title comes from a song of the same name by long defunct semi-obscure Canadian band The Watchmen. The odd and somewhat nonsensical lyrics can be found here
Written for gpbandom and x-posted there, at fueldbyunicorns, and in my own journal.
Thanks to the awesome queen_geek, tweedle_, fallingfortruth and lordgroovius for beta-ing, listening to me kvetch, holding my hand, and providing paperbags to breathe into, both virtual and actual.
1 2A 2B 3A 3B 4 5A 5B
“Do I have to book you a flight to Utah?”
Gerard is scared awake by the sudden appearance in his bedroom, of a very small, very angry man, bearing an unhappy frown and two venti coffees. “Brian? Jesus! What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me!” He sits up in bed, rubbing unhappily at his eyes and glaring at the large red digital numbers of his bedside clock; which are telling him it is seven a.m.
"Good.” Brian moves from the foot of Gerard’s bed to sit with purpose on the edge of the mattress, foisting the macchiato under Gerard’s nose.
Grateful, if still confused, Gerard takes the coffee and gulps, heedless of its molten lava temperature. “Utah? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Just wondering if you need an intervention. Get you in a program. Maybe you and me need to go see Bill W together. But, Utah worked for me.” Icy blue eyes pin Gerard like a moth to a board.
“Intervention. No. I’m not….Lookit it’s way fucking early and I’m not the smartest guy in the world. Could you please speak slowly and use small words?” He smothers a yawn with the lip of the cup and runs fingers through his sleep bedraggled hair.
Brian Schechter, manager and friend and sometimes babysitter to the boys in My Chemical Romance, is trying to swallow his anger at a sleepless night. “Gerard,” He says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest, “Did you know the W Hotel has security cameras in all public areas? All. Public. Areas.
Sighing and snuggling down into the covers with the warm, socially acceptable buzz of caffeine in his system, Gerard quirks a befuddled expression at his glowering friend and says, “Uh, how nice for them?”
“Yeah. How nice for them. I’m sure they get treated to soft core porn on a regular basis, but when their business manager calls me at oh god o’clock on a fucking Wednesday to ask me if I got his email…Jesus Gerard have you never heard of discretion?” Exhaustion and anger make Brian’s usual mid-west vowels even broader, and he huff as he gulps a mouthful of his coffee.
“Right, so, to be more direct about things, Dear Brian; what the fuck are you talking about?”
Shooting a look that clearly says he finds it hard to believe that Gerard could be so clueless, Brian spits out, “There’s a video tape. From the elevator at the W Hotel. The Midtown Manhattan W Hotel, video tape. Features you. And a dark haired woman. Apparently it’s pretty hot. Or so the kids on Buzznet say.”
Gerard halts the cup halfway to his mouth, frozen in shock as the penny drops. New York. Hotel. Brendon. Shit. He sets the paper cup on the bedside table and, putting his hands over his face, says, “Oh. Fuck.”
“Yeah. Oh fuck. You know, I always say any publicity is good publicity, but I swear to shit, Gee, if you’re using again, if you’re drinking again, if you’re rebounding so hard from all the Lyn-Z bullshit-“
Snapping his head up to glare-venomous and green--at Brian, Gerard hisses, “You swore you would never bring that up again.”
“What the fuck ever man. I just…” He throws his arms wide. “I understand she fucked you up, but in what world is getting blown by a hooker in the elevator of a five star hotel a good idea when you’re a mother fucking rock star? Were you drunk? You can tell me.” Brian’s expression softens and he squeezes reassuringly at Gerard’s blanket covered knee.
“Hooker? A hooker?” Gerard swallows the taste of anger that rises at the back of his throat, overriding the bittersweet flavor of his coffee. “She’s not a hooker, and it’s not a rebound. So mind your own fucking business, okay Brian.”
“Shit.” Brian tugs at the silver hoops in his ear and sighs heavily. “Gerard, whether you like it or not, your business is my business to mind. And the whole fucking internet is currently minding yours. I’ve gotten the hotel’s business manager to track down how the thing made it to Buzznet and he’s dealing with that. But…I need to understand…I need the truth. You gonna tell me what happened?”
“The truth?” Gerard leans over to grab at his pack of cigarettes, fumbling one out and then digging around in the drawer of the bedside table for his lighter. Brian rolls his eyes and takes his own out of his pocket, flicking it and holding it out so Gerard can light up. Exhaling a long plume of smoke Gerard answers, “What you saw is the truth. It’s what happened. I wasn’t drunk, or high. I was having sex. The end.”
“Do I get to know who the mystery person is?”
“Brendon.” Gerard picks up his coffee again, alternating sipping from it with drags on his Marlboro.
Brian’s eyes go wide, “Brendon? Shit Gee, a dude? A dude in drag? How the fuck am I supposed to spin that?”
Rolling his eyes and sputtering a cough as he inhales from his cigarette, Gerard says “Brendon Urie,” in a frustrated manner.
“Oh. Oh! Okay, she’s from that Panic whatever it’s called band, right? Wait. Is she legal? Isn’t she, like sixteen or something?” Brian grabs the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from the table top and lights up.
“Jesus Christ,” Gerard mutters, tugging at his hair in an exasperated manner, “Yeah, that Brendon Urie, and no she’s not sixteen. Fuck.”
Brian studies Gerard in fuming silence for a moment, lips pursed in a frown around his smoke. “Mikey told me you hooked up with a kid in Chicago. That her? She has a…reputation you know Gerard. Like, I realize you have something to prove but your choice in women, is…” He trails off and makes a broad shrugging motion.
“Yeah, well Mikey’s being an asshole and, man if I believed everything I heard about people your ass would have been on a bus back to Michigan years ago. Brendon’s…she’s…I dunno. I like her. She’s sweet y’know?”
“Clearly you and I have different ideas of what makes a girl sweet. None of the sweet girls I know would suck me off in an elevator, I’m pretty sure of that.” Brian tries to smile and punches affectionately at Gerard’s leg beside him.
Setting his coffee down and knuckling at his eyes Gerard says, “Well you don’t know her, so don’t judge man. Shit. I just thought, can you tell who she is? On the video, I mean. ‘Cause I can totally deal with shit like this but she’s young, you know? But if you can see her face or whatever… And we were both there and into it and if people are gonna talk shit about me, what the fuck ever, let ‘em. But Brendon, I just…”
“Dude, breathe. And no, the quality’s pretty shitty to begin with and I’m pretty sure her back is to the camera for the entire…uh, thing.” The tips of Brian’s ears are almost as red as his t-shirt.
“You watched it?” Gerard’s voice is loud in the room and he’s wide awake and as red as Brian.
Swiping his hands across the stiffly gelled tufts of his hair, Brian sets his cigarette in an ashtray and shrugs his shoulders, “I was trying to figure out what the fuck, and no I didn’t watch all of it. Shit man, I’ve seen more of your dick than I ever, ever needed to way before now. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Gerard swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. “I mean it’s the internet right? They’ll be on to whatever fucked up shit Pete Wentz does, sooner or later. Internet Famous lasts what, like a week at most?”
Brian laughs, a little bitter, and can’t argue with that, “Yeah, yeah I guess so. So, like, what do you want me to do about…this?”
“Nothing,” Gerard shrugs, and scrubs his hands through his hair in an agitated gesture. “Just, nothing, you know? Ignore it and it’ll go away? I think…I think this time, it will. Without fucking press releases or statements or bullshit.” He sighs and picks up his cup, swishing the liquid around and studying Brian pleadingly as he paces the bedroom.
“Gerard…” Brian’s tone is low and he studies his hands, spread palms flat and fingers wide over the curve of his knees. Sighing he says, “You’re the boss.” Standing, he reaches up to squeeze Gerard’s shoulder, and giving his friend one more frustrated glance, he turns to leave. “Oh,” he says, stopping short, “I’m pretty sure this won’t be an issue for you, but, stay away from the internet, yeah?”
“Don’t Google myself, I got it.” Gerard makes a shooing motion. Brian smiles ruefully, and Gerard listens as he clomps down the stairs and out the side door.
Gerard putters around the house, making coffee, pouring cereal, and wandering around trying to pretend intimate details of his life aren’t plastered where everyone and anyone can see. He wants to call Brendon. He really really wants to call her. He just doesn’t know if he should call her. Picking up his phone and lighting up another cigarette, Gerard jumps a little as the cell phone bleats in his hands.
“Mikey?” He asks, and that’s pretty much the last word he has in the conversation. Flopping down onto his worn sofa Gerard listens patiently as his little brother calls him every name he can think of and then sputters out some nonsensical profanity. Sighing heavily and laying flat on the couch, staring holes into the ceiling, Gerard says, “So, I take it you’ve heard. Don’t worry, okay? It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” Wincing and guilty, Gerard disconnects the call and continues to lay there, smoking and trying to think about nothing.
Midday shadows creep across the old grey carpeting and Gerard sits up, swiping a hand across his face, deciding that he’s going to call Brendon. He is. He really really is. And his phone rings.“Gerard?” It throws him for a minute, how young, and small, and far away Brendon always sounds on the phone. Her voice seems higher, more breathy than it’s ever been when he talks to her in person.
He smiles despite himself, “Yep, it’s me.” Tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, he walks to the kitchen, ferreting through the strange and half petrified contents of his fridge for something that might remotely resemble lunch. He gives up and opens a cupboard, pulling out a can of Chef Boyardee, popping the top. “How are you, Queen Bee?”
Brendon swallows and says, “I’m…I dunno. How are you? I mean I thought I should call you in case you heard or saw…um have you? Shit. I am making no sense!” Her low, self conscious giggle fills Gerard’s ear as he dumps the blob of pasta and sauce into a bowl and shoves it into the microwave.
“Yeah, yeah. Brian. He came by this morning. Fucking internet, right?”
There’s a pause before Brendon replies, voice breathless, almost hiccupping, “I’m so sorry, Gerard. I mean, I never thought… I didn’t think….I just never think, like, about the consequences of the shit I do. That was on my kindergarten report card, for real; Brendon needs to consider the consequences of her actions. But, I hope you know, I didn’t mean for you to…it wasn’t on purpose.”
Scratching his forehead and cocking his hip against the kitchen counter, Gerard smiles softly, “Brendon, you didn’t think. But I didn’t either. There were two of us there, you know? Of course you didn’t do it on purpose. It’ll be fine, don’t you think?”
She tries to laugh, and it comes out in a wobbly muffle. Gerard hopes to hell Brendon’s not crying because he has NO idea how to deal with tears. “Yeah, well tomorrow is another day on ONTD, I’m sure they’ll have moved on by then.”
“ONTD?” The microwave dings and Gerard takes the bowl into the living room, absently stirring it and blowing on the first forkful.
Brendon swallows and blows her nose, then says “Yeah, it’s…it’s this stupid gossip site. I’m sort of low-level addicted to it. Like a car crash; I am horrified yet I cannot look away.”
Wincing, equal parts from what she’s said and from the heat of the pasta, Gerard flops into an overstuffed club chair and says, “Bren, honey, you really shouldn’t…”
“I know, I know.” She interrupts, “Ryan tells me all the time that I am just giving those sites and magazines reasons to exist by continuing to check them out.” She sighs again, “But, at least no one believes it’s me.”
“Yeah, Brian said you can’t really tell. Who it is with me, I mean. And considering all the shit I pulled with Bert while I was using…I dunno, I just don’t think it’s that big a deal. And I’m sure as shit not sorry it happened.” Gerard gestures emphatically with his fork.
“Yeah, no. No, they can’t tell. And apparently I am too stupid and too slutty for you. Or so say all the girls on ONTD. They’re trying their damndest to guess, though. So far the most votes go to Frank in drag. Which is sort of dumb because you’d be able to see his tattoos, right?”
“Oh Brendon,” Gerard’s voice is soft, and he wants very badly to reach through the phone and hug her.
“Brendon Urie? Are you fucking kidding me? She’s a retarded skanky whore and Gerard Way has way more class than that. And she’s probably too busy getting gangbanged by her band to take the time to go down on anybody.” As she finishes reading, Brendon’s voice dissolves into semi-hysterical helpless laughter.
“Brendon!” Gerard is honestly shocked that anyone would say something like that, never mind put it on the internet. And that’s precisely why he maintains his disdain for celebrity and social networking and leaves the Gossip Girl-ing to Mikey. “Damn, honey. Listen, why don’t you turn that shit off and just talk to me? Like you said, they’ll have their claws into someone new tomorrow.”
There’s a pause before Brendon says, “Okay! So, like, what’s new? Internet sex scandal aside? Hope you’ll excuse me for making dumb jokes, it’s my go-to coping mechanism.”
A weary chuckle escapes as Gerard switches the phone to his other hand, “Well, in a couple weeks, I’m gonna be in Vegas. We’re doing shows at a hotel there.”
“Seriously?” Brendon’s voice rises in excitement.
Gerard laughs, warm and genuine, “Seriously.”
“Dude, that would be awesome. I could totally show you around, because, like, I live here!” If Gerard closes his eyes he can see Brendon bouncing in place.
“So I’ve heard. If you don’t mind, that would be awesome.”
“Totally. Of course. Just let me know when and where, okay?” There’s a slight pause and Brendon says, with a quiet, honest tone, “Gerard? I’m really glad you’re not mad at me.”
Gerard frowns into his phone, “Why would I be mad at you? If I’m gonna be mad at anyone it’d be the douche bag who put the fucking thing on the internet in the first place, right?” He lights up another cigarette.
“Yeah, I guess. But people, they get mad at me sometimes, and like, they don’t tell me, you know? “ Gerard hears her sigh heavily.
“Well, I’m definitely not mad at you.” He shovels a forkful of tomato covered mess into his mouth. “Hey! Did you get that book I sent you?”
The sound of fidgeting and the clanking of a spoon in a bowl can be heard as Brendon says, “Um…yes? I haven’t…haven’t really had the chance to read it yet. We’ve been, you know, pretty busy and stuff.”
“Brendon, if you didn’t like it you can just say so. Lovecraft isn’t for everyone.”
“Um, well…I tried! I really did!” She exclaims brightly, “It’s just..really really weird. And like all those names? How the fuck are you supposed to pronounce them? That dude was on serious amounts of crack.”
Gerard barks out a laugh and sets his empty bowl on the edge of the coffee table, “Yeah, I guess Cthulhu is a lot to wrap your mouth around. Fun role play game though. And now you know my favorite book.”
“Um I think I’ll stick to giant squid free things like D&D and WoW, thanks. But, I’ll keep that in mind. It’s a good thing you’re cuddly not creepy.” She answers matter of factly.
Snorting Gerard switches the phone to his other ear and says, “Yeah, that’s me: Cuddly Way. So…what’s your favorite book, then?”
“I’m not gonna tell you!” she says petulantly, “You’ll laugh at me.”
“Queen Bee, my fav book is about giant squids and the end of the world, I’m definitely in no position to throw stones. C’mon I wanna know! It’s not like, Sweet Valley High or some embarrassing shit like that is it?”
“No? Not really. I mean it’s a classic, right. Okay, mister. But you better not laugh. The Wind in the Willows.”
Sputtering around a sip of cold coffee, trying to contain his burst of laughter Gerard manages a rather high pitched and undignified, “No Way!” before he flops backwards, muffling his laugh with his hand.
Brendon’s voice is full of gently amused mock indignation, “Hey! Mole and Mouse and Frog and Toad are awesome. The have adventures and they’re best friends! See? You asshole, I knew you would laugh at me!”
“Am not, I’m laughing near you. Totally different.” Gerard coughs and lights up another cigarette. “Fuck, that’s adorable. You’re adorable. You know what? I don’t think I’ve never read it.”
Her giggles die down and Brendon says, “Maybe I’ll read it to you sometime. It’s an awesome bedtime story.” She pauses and Gerard listens to the even in and out of her breathing. “Um, I have to go to the studio now. I just…thanks for being cool about…about everything.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise.”
“If you promise, I’ll believe. So, I guess I’ll see you soon?” Gerard can hear the smile in Brendon’s voice.
* * *
Brendon glares at Ryan, and then gives him the finger in response to the scrunched up kissy face he's making in her direction. She's leaning against the door jam of the practice space, smiling big at her Sidekick's screen. “We’re done here, right?” She asks, looking back at the band.
“For now.” Spencer sets down his sticks and crosses his arms over his chest.
Tugging on her lip with her teeth, Brendon quells her grin and says, “Good. I have stuff to do. See you losers tonight!” She pockets her phone and heads down the hall to the elevator, eager to get to her car.
"Okay, Mr. Way, your chariot awaits. Just haul ass okay? I'm waiting definitely not parked by the Valets and they keep giving me dirty looks...and they could totally kick my ass." Brendon chews on her thumb cuticle as she talks into her phone.
Gerard laughs a little, and by his breathing she can tell he's walking as he answers, "Hello to you too, Ms. Urie. I'll be right there. Try to contain the smack down, okay?" And then he's there, tapping on the passenger side window and Brendon jumps, a little.
"Jeez, I thought you were one of the parking apes!" Brendon unlocks the door, and Gerard slides into the sleek, black car. He has to admit, he was expecting Brendon to have something more...sparkly. But, the Mercedes is nice. Patting his leg briefly in greeting, Brendon focuses her attention on getting out of the Palms' driveway, and onto The Strip.
Gerard brings a cigarette to his lips, one eyebrow cocked in a question. He's leaning against the door, facing Brendon, a small smile curving his mouth. Brendon hits the window control and rolls it down slightly, which Gerard takes as permission to light up. He flips his sunglasses to the top of his head and he's still looking at her, still smiling.
Scratching at her nose and pushing up her over-sized sunglasses Brendon asks, "What?" not taking her attention from the traffic on the Strip.
Taking a deep drag and exhaling through one side of his mouth, Gerard smiles wider and says, "You're driving."
Brendon gives him the best you are a strange, strange man look that she can, given that her glasses are obscuring a good third of her face. The only tell-tale signs of her expression are the quirk of her lips and the angle of her eyebrow, raised over one plastic lense, "Why, yes! I am! Observe as the little woman wrangles the power of the internal combustion engine!" She replies in a smart-ass tone.
Gerard's eyebrows knit for a moment, confused. Stretching across the seat he extends his arm, one finger hooking under Brendon's drooping bra strap to drag it up her bicep and back into place on her shoulder. He leaves his finger hooked there, beneath her baggy, A-line tank top-- light mint green and bearing the image of an angry fairy warning him to Don't even Tink about it! "No, wait. That's not what I meant. I just...it's so normal, you know? Such an every day thing to do." He speaks softly and stares at the slow movement of his finger.
Brendon snorts and fiddles with the stereo, "Yeah, screw the whole Girls Gone Wild!, market--Girls Driving! Fully Clothed! that’s the DVD niche of the future!" But she tilts her chin, cuddling her cheek to Gerard's hand as she drives, "We are not so normal and everyday, are we?" She sits up straight again, clearing her throat. "So, speaking of driving, where are we going?" Hotels and strip clubs, and off track betting places stream by in a blur of color outside the car's darkly tinted windows.
The fleece of his black hoodie flexing as he hunches his shoulders, Gerard says, "I defer to your vast local knowledge. But, since I haven't eaten since yesterday and it's like, lunch time, somewhere with food would be cool."
"Awesome, um...do you mind if we go out to Summerlin? I don't actually know The Strip all that well. And I'm not old enough to go into a casino." Gerard can sense her eye roll, obscured as it is behind the darkness of her glasses.
Gerard sniffles and rubs his fingers down Brendon's arm, squeezing slightly at her bare, smooth skin before he drops his hand to rest on the dark denim covering her thigh. "Um, given that the last time I actually, you know, gambled was when I'd been high and drunk for 4 days straight and had no clue how much fuckin' money I'd blown, or how I got to Atlantic City, I think it's fair to say that gambling is not a priority. And I thought you grew up here?"
Brendon winces, noting this is really the first time Gerard's made mention to her of his life before he got sober. "Well, yeah. But, I grew up in the 'burbs, right? I only came in once with my brother to hand out fliers. Even then I had to beg my parents to let him bring me."
"Fliers? What, was that like his part time job?" Gerard likes listening to her talk, likes the precision of her words, not a hint of his own lazy-syllabled, nasal, Jersey mumble.
Wrinkling up her nose and laughing Brendon shakes her head, causing the soft heather purple tam perched on the back of her head to bob slightly. Then she skims her hand over top of Gerard's, curling their fingers together to rest comfortably on her leg. "Um. No. The Word of God is not a part time job, mister! Us Latter Day Saints man-- our mission? Save the World!" She says it softly, but Gerard can't help notice the tinge of bitterness around the edges of her words. She sighs and then smiles warmly, turning her gaze on him, "So, we'll go to Port of Subs, it'll be awesome!"
"Port of Subs sounds infinitely awesome." Gerard smiles and fiddles with a hole in the knee of his jeans.
"Do not mock the Port, man. It sustained me during the hard times! My goal was to consume the entire menu. But I think that fucker Ross beat me to it." Brendon laughs at herself and resumes fiddling with the stereo's buttons and dials. She leans back in her seat, satisfied when Billy Corgan warbling about the greatness of Today fills the air.
Tapping a rhythm with his toe, Gerard says, "So, gimme the tour. Tell me everything I need to know about growing up in Vegas."
Brendon snorts and sits up straight in the driver's seat, then affecting a news broadcaster voice says, "Welcome to the world famous Las Vegas strip, about which this recovering Mormon knows not a lot. We just left the Palms hotel, home to Panic! at the Disco's second attempt to record a second album and Ryan Ross's millionth attempt to play black jack and not lose his shirt. On your right is the Bellagio Hotel, home to the casino where Ryan and Spencer did their damndest to convince the Hostess they were legal and were totally allowed to be at the craps tables." Brendon laughs and continues to drive. "And now we are entering Summerlin! Home to more malls and Wal-marts than you can shake a stick at. Up that street is Palo Verde High School where the girl formerly known as Brace Face spent four very formative years. Well, three and a half. The last part of Senior Year was kind of...spent elsewhere..."
Gerard laughs sympathetically and ignores the buzz of his cell phone, content to listen to Brendon talk. He can tell by the tone of her voice that high school was not so long ago that she's let go of the hurt. Brendon continues to comment, pointing out big box stores and strip malls, and recounts tales of teenage stupidity, mostly at Spencer and Ryan's expense. "Okay, we are now entering my hood!" Brendon gestures broadly at the neat subdivisions and industrial parks. "Home sweet home. Over there," Brendon gestures with her chin, "Is the Smoothie Hut that financed my shitty apartment and the band's practice space. Not to mention providing the majority of my sustenance après Mommy and Daddy deciding I was no longer any daughter of theirs."
Squeezing her hand in his, Gerard stops humming along with the song playing and says, "Brendon! Jesus."
"True story, man. My Father was not amused with game plan; Brendon Urie International Rock Star." She licks her lips and flicks the indicator light, turning the car into a Mini-Mall. "It was pretty sucktastic for a while. I mean just because I decided that what they believed isn't what I believe doesn't mean I don't love them." She shrugs, quick and casual, as she parks the big black car. "But, that didn't stop them cashing the checks I sent once we got signed." She sighs and kills the ignition.
Not knowing what to say, Gerard takes off his seat belt and unclasps their joined hands, reaching up to squeeze at Brendon's shoulder. "I'm sorry." He flips his sunglasses back over his eyes as they get out of the Mercedes.
Shrugging again Brendon says, "Well, it's better, now. My Mom talked my Dad down from being a raging asshole. And I guess the fact that we're successful, and have traveled the world, and I pay my bills and most of theirs makes it less of a Secret Shame Express Ticket to Hell." She gathers up her purse and steps out of the car, Gerard a beat behind her.
Laughing and shaking his head, Gerard steps around the front of the car and takes Brendon's hand in his before saying, "My family was always awesome. I guess they were just thrilled that I was developing social skills." His laugh is a strange, high giggle. "Hey," he says suddenly, jerking Brendon's hand so she falls back against him. Wrapping his arms around her waist her turns her to face him and leans his forehead against hers, "Hi."
Smiling wide and genuine Brendon whispers, “Hi," before kissing Gerard, short and sweet, her hands on his shoulders, then tracing her fingers around the small badges he’s pinned just above his heart. She snorts at the upside down ONTD button, appreciating the gesture.
Pulling back, Gerard's smile wobbles as his thumb comes up to trace the deep red of a fresh, mouth-shaped bruise on the underside of Brendon's jaw. Something like jealousy swims around in his stomach before he catches himself and takes her hand again. Brendon's eyebrows shoot up over her sunglasses, and she purses her lips in a look of challenge, daring him to say anything about the mark. The mark Gerard most definitely did not put there. He just clears his throat and wraps an arm around her waist, allowing himself to be lead across the parking lot and into the sandwich shop.
"Hi Alice," Brendon calls brightly to the small Asian girl behind the counter.
"Hey Brendon! The usual?" The girl moves to pull out bread and start making the sub.
Leaning her weight into the counter and standing on her tiptoes to peer over the glass, Brendon replies "Yup! And he'll have a Pilgrim, extra mayo with cranberry." She hip bumps Gerard when he makes a small noise at having his lunch ordered for him.
"So what is this Pilgrim thing I'm having?'' His hand slides across Brendon's jean clad lower back to rest lightly on her hip. They're watching the girl behind the counter-Alice--slap cheese and veggies on a whole wheat bun.
Licking her lips Brendon giggles a little and says, "The Pilgrim is awesome! Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, all that stuff. It's Ryan's fave. I'm having the Veggie. Mmm avocado! Come to Mama!!" Bouncing in her purple high tops Brendon continues to wax rhapsodic about the wonders of the sub sandwich as their lunch is prepared.
"Oh, you just missed Ryan!" The girl behind the cash register says as Alice passes her one wrapped sandwich.
Brendon smiles and shifts her gaze to Gerard, who is fidgeting at her side. Behind them, a group of giggling teen age girls has entered the shop and is huddled inside the door, whispering to each other and shooting glances in their direction. "Oh, yeah? I suspect I will see him soon. And you probably will too!" She leans against Gerard, kissing his cheek and quietly asking, "Do you want to get out of here, my condo's not too far."
Gerard blows out a breath, feeling stupid at being nervous of five young girls who continue to stare at him, but relieved he says, "That would be fantastic."
Hugging him reassuringly, Brendon turns back to the counter and takes out her wallet to pay. "Hey, what do you want to drink?" Gerard gets a Diet Coke and Brendon gets chocolate milk and picks up the bag, turning to the door.
A small blond girl, hair long and straight bites her lip and sets her shoulders as the couple passes, "Um, excuse me? Are you Brendon Urie?"
Brendon stops and pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head. Giving her best and brightest Greet the Fans smile she says, "Indeed I am!" and passes the sandwiches to Gerard.
"We think your band's really cool!" Another girl in the group volunteers, just as a third says, "Can we have your autograph?"
Still smiling warmly, Brendon says, "Thanks, sure. Let me just get a pen." She takes her giant bag off her shoulder and sets it on the trash bin, searching around inside with both hands. "A-ha!" She holds up a black Sharpie in triumph. Gerard smiles, leaning against the glass door, as he watches Brendon patiently listen to the girls spell their names and proffer sub shop menus and the arms of their jean jackets. She smiles for cell phone cameras and then steps back, putting her sunglasses back over her eyes and waving good-bye.
Pulling a face she turns to Gerard, "Sorry, it never occurred to me that stuff would...freak you out."
"Yeah, uh. It usually doesn't. I mean the kids are great, right? But, like, sometimes I just want to like, have a life." Gerard swings the bag off the tip of his fingers, watching it instead of Brendon, “A life that won’t end up on the internet.” They walk to the car and Brendon squeezes, gentle, at his waist before climbing into the driver's seat.
Brendon continues her tour commentary of mini-malls and teenage hang outs as they drive through Summerlin. She points out Spencer's mom's subdivision and the condo complex where Ryan lives and says, "It's okay if you, um, don't want the world at large to know that you're in Suburban Las Vegas, you know. With me." She reaches over and unclenches Gerard's hands from where he's twisted the handles of the plastic Port of Subs bag around his fingers. "You should spend less time feeling guilty about crap no one cares about." She pats the newly freed hand and does a sort of elbowing motion, encouraging Gerard to rest his hand on the seat behind her head.
Huffing out a small chuckle Gerard says, "You and Frank would get along really great, I think."
"Yeah? You and Ryan would want to kill each other inside of ten minutes, I'm willing to bet." She flips down the visor, clicks a button on the remote clipped there, and the wrought iron gates in front of them part. She turns left, pulling into a parking spot and they get out of the car, walking down a pathway between some young trees and around an obscenely large swimming pool. "Home sweet home!" She grins, goofy, as she puts a key into the lock, but there's a sense of pride in her expression too.
"Me and Ryan, huh? What about you and Ryan?" He tries to keep his voice casual as he pockets his sunglasses and steps across the threshold.
Grabbing the bag with their lunch in it and tossing it onto the kitchen table, Brendon sets her shoulder bag onto the counter and drops her keys and sunglasses down beside it. Motioning for Gerard to take a seat at a small, scarred card table, she snorts and answers, "Me and Ryan? Um...no. We're friends, you know? As much as the world at large seems to think we're in each other's pants that is not true. Not my type. At all. I joined the band because Brent--this cute guy from my guitar class and Panic's old bass player?-- he said that they needed another guitar player, and I didn't suck and could sing some. And I thought that Brent would make all my little Mormon girl dreams come true. He's way more my type. I like to ride in comfort, you know?" Her snort becomes a full blown laugh as she unpacks the subs.
Gerard smiles a little, at Brendon’s boldness, and rubs a little nervously at his forehead.
"Do you want a plate?" When Gerard shakes his head she passes him his soda can and continues, "But that didn't work out. And people like to pass around pictures of me and Ryan holding hands or hugging or whatever. But really, Ryan needs to have his hand held, you know? He fucking deserves all the hugging he can stand."
"You're a good person, Brendon Urie." Gerard kicks off his shoes under the table and smiles as he bites into his sandwich.
Laughing still, she answers, "Yeah, me and Charlie Brown." Making encouraging motions she raises an eyebrow, "So? Good?"
"Mmm, really good." Gerard nods and washes down his mouthful of Pilgrim sub with a sip of Diet Coke. He watches as Brendon takes apart her sandwich and reassembles it after stripping off all the provolone, rolling it up and stuffing it into her mouth.
Gerard looks around the small kitchen, with its white cabinets, and builder-beige walls, and stainless steel appliances. There's a pile of mail on the counter and clean dishes in the strainer. Drawings pinned to a cork board by the doorway catch Gerard's eye. "My niece did those." Brendon follows Gerard's glance. "My sister Kara has a kid. I have three brothers too, but none of them have kids. I'm the youngest." She chugs at her carton of milk.
"Ah, that explains a lot." Gerard chuckles and pops the last of his sub into his mouth.
"Hey!" Brendon thwacks affectionately at his arm. "You done? Want the five cent, two minute tour?"
Crumpling up the dregs of their lunch and dumping it into the trash, Gerard wipes his hands on his jeans and says, "Sure."
Brendon takes his hand and leads him out of the kitchen and into the living room. "Ryan and Spencer got designers to do their places. I haven’t got around to it.” She shrugs apologetically. “So, living room. I've only lived here, like six months," she scrunches up her face, mentally calculating the time. Everything is still beige and cream and there's a cheap plastic blind over the window. A Georgia O'Keefe print--Poppies--from the The Getty Museum leans in one corner. Across from a green floral print sofa, one entire wall is taken up by a TV and every game console known to humanity. "Um, yeah, the only reason Ryan and Spencer come to visit," Brendon flaps her hand at the entertainment center.
"You have a Wii?" Gerard can't help but veer towards the lure of electronic gadget-porn.
Hooking her finger in the waist band of Gerard's jeans and yanking him back beside her, Brendon nods sagely, "Yes, I have a Wii. Behave yourself for the rest of the tour and I might let you play with my Wii!"
"Promises!" Gerard throws his head back, rolling his eyes melodramatically, but follows where Brendon leads.
"Over there, under all that stuff, is, believe it or not, a dining room table. I'm not sure why it was so important to the real estate agent that this place had a dining room, but, it's a good place to store all my shit." Brendon leans her hip against the doorjamb and Gerard boggles at the sheer amount of...stuff. There are keyboards and packages of guitar strings and computer cables and chart-paper and scraps of paper strewn everywhere. Four guitars in their cases are propped under the window, which is covered in another cheap plastic blind. "I wanna buy a piano, eventually. Just haven't had time to shop...What?" Brendon cocks her head, smiling questioningly at Gerard.
A somewhat awed expression on his face, Gerard slowly raises a hand and points to the left of the guitars. "Is that an accordion?"
"Um, yes?" she bites her lip and shoves her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. Feeling her cheeks flush, Brendon says, "My music geekdom, let me show you!"
Moving slowly forward, Gerard snags the soft jersey fabric of Brendon's top in the bunch of his fist, pulling her to him. "Can you play it?"
"Yep," Brendon smiles against Gerard's mouth, her knit cap falling to the ground as Gerard's hands tangle in the short strands of her hair, drawing her in for a messy, slick kiss. Gasping out a laugh Brendon says playfully, "So, what would telling you I have a cello in my hall closet get me?"
Buzzing an indistinct groan against Brendon's skin, Gerard slips his hands under loose cotton, palms flat and warm at the small of her back. She laughs some more and kisses back enthusiastically, managing to wrestle her hands from her pockets to pet at Gerard's waist. "You ready for the rest of the tour?" Brendon's voice is soft as she rests her full weight against him. Taking his hand, and noting the lust drenched expression in his eyes, Brendon leads Gerard down the small hallway, babbling inanely about carpeting and closet space. "The bathroom's there, and it's pretty much...a bathroom. Has a whirlpool tub though, which is cool." Gerard's thumb strokes repeatedly over her knuckles as she talks and he's barely sparing a glance at the condo, instead staring rather intently at her.
At the end of the hallway, Brendon turns a door knob and gestures broadly inside the room, "And, in conclusion, the bedroom!" She gives a startled yip of surprise when Gerard picks her up at the waist, walking past piles of clothing and open suitcases to quickly deposit her onto the bed. "Swear I'm gonna buy a real bed some day," she manages around huffing laughter, as she bounces down to the bare mattress, set upon the floor, a duvet and pillows knotted at one end.
"Oh yeah?" Is all Gerard manages to say, in an absent tone as he lowers himself down, half on top of Brendon. Searching fingers stroke over her belly, rucking her tank top out of the way and his fingers slide with ease between her skin and the waist band of her jeans, flicking the buttons open with his thumb.
The cups of her fuchsia bra are visible and Gerard slides his mouth across Brendon's skin to nip teasingly beneath the underwire, tongue chasing along the slight indentations in the tender flesh there as his hand curls between her legs. "Gee..Gerard?" Brendon cradles Gerard's face between her palms as she squeezes, gentle, to get his attention. She blinks rapidly and slides her top lip between her teeth before she says, "Um, do you mind...is it okay if we don't...if we just..." She stops, frustrated and nervous, her eyebrows knitted. A a little shocked at the words that have come out of her own mouth.
Turning in her hands to meet her eyes, Gerard takes in her concerned expression and says, "Shit, honey. Yeah. Sorry. Of course." He hefts himself up onto his hands until he can resettle beside her, kissing the corner of her frown, watching it flit into a smile. "Whatever you want. I'm just...really fuckin' glad to see you, you know?" His hands slide around her waist to squeeze at her ass as he rains small kisses across the split of her lips.
Sighing and wriggling contentedly in his arms, Brendon brushes the hair off Gerard's face. "I'm glad you're glad." She says it softly as her hands slide up and down the curve of Gerard's back. She closes her eyes and opens her mouth to the warm firm pressure of Gerard's.
Moving his mouth across the strong cut of Brendon’s jaw, Gerard moves to suck at the purple-red mark there, scraping his teeth across the skin and making Brendon hiss. “Mmm, baby.” His voice is a gentle exhalation of breath on her over-heated skin.
Brendon stiffens, pushes Gerard away a little, frowning and tugging the hem of her top back down.
Gerard shifts his weight until he’s laying beside Brendon, not touching her, blank confusion clouding his eyes. “Brendon? Did I do something wrong?” He reaches out a broad-palmed hand to still the fingers plucking at the soft fabric of her tank top.
“No, no. I’m sorry.” She mutters, chin tucked to her chest, refusing to meet Gerard’s eyes. “It’s just…could you maybe not call me that? I sort of hate it.” She looks up then, eyebrows drawn together in worry.
“Not call you…huh? Oh! Baby? Don’t call you baby?” His hand strokes up her arm, squeezing at her shoulder, ducking his head to catch her eyes.
She shrugs and says, “Yeah. I mean, you call me honey. And, well, I dunno, maybe you call everyone honey. But…but I like that. It feels…special. Most guys, they call me baby. Because they can’t remember my name, mostly, or never bothered to learn it.” She’s still frowning and blinking rapidly.
Gathering her to him in a fierce hug, Gerard says, “Brendon,” as he exhales, stroking his thumb across her chin, just below her bottom lip. "Brendon,” he whispers again, kissing her and feeling her mouth curl into a smile beneath his. “Brendonbrendonbrendon,” his kisses are slow and easy, full of reassurance; to her lips, her cheeks, her temples, her forehead, and the straight lines of her brows.
She laughs, relieved and, patting Gerard’s hair, snuggles back into him. They kiss lazy and happy in the slanting mid-afternoon light that sneaks pale fingers in between the crooked slats of the window blinds, tongues tracing and tasting. Brendon purrs under Gerard’s careful petting across her ribs and over her hips. Their socked feet twitch and rub together, and Brendon trails her hand down from the soft curl of Gerard’s upper arm to his waist and lower, fingertips tracing the shape of him, easy across the warm denim of his thigh.
His eyes blinking open, sleepy, Gerard snags her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth, to kiss gently at each knuckle before laying Brendon’s restless hand against his cheek, “S’okay, Bren, just like this.” And maybe Gerard’s trying to make something up to Brendon, or prove a point to himself. He’s not an asshole who takes advantage of drunk girls, no matter how willing they are. He likes Brendon. He likes kissing her, and touching her, and just fucking being with her, and he needs her to know that. Of course, it would be much easier if he’d just tell her that, but when did Gerard Way ever take the easy route?
Tongue licking tastes of the skin around Gerard’s lips, Brendon’s smile wobbles a little, confused, before she shrugs and closes her eyes and tries not to feel…weird. The only boy who’s ever been in her bed is Ryan, and that was before. What seemed like ages ago; when her apartment was close to the hospital, and Ryan’s dad didn’t know where it was, and he could hide there and she would hold him until he fell into an exhausted sleep. But this, with Gerard, was new and different. Brendon was good at picking up cues, figuring out what people wanted, what she should do. But Gerard, he seems content to lie there, hands tracing nonsense patterns over her clothes and kissing her: content to follow her lead.
“So hey, did you seem my crab?” Brendon struggles to sit up, Gerard’s hand heavy at her hip.
Leaning back on his elbows Gerard’s eyes narrow and he tries to mentally rewind to see if he’s missed something somewhere, “What?”
A startled laugh fills the room as Brendon slaps at her forehead, “Oh god. Welcome to my brain, also known as non sequitur land!”
“Ah, okay,” Gerard’s long fingers trace the weave of the cotton sheets and he smiles his little crooked smile, “No, you have not shown me your crab.”
Crawling on her knees across the mattress and then reaching out to the low dresser underneath the window, Brendon pulls a small glass bowl into the circle of her arms and then flops back down onto the bed. “See?” She sits Yoga style, and holds the terrarium up to Gerard, “My hermit crab, George.”
“Hermit crab?” Gerard sits up, cross-legged as well--legs leaning into Brendon--peering into the terrarium. “Hey! That’s pretty cool!”
“Yeah, well I think so. Some people-Ryan Ross-think it’s a pretty lame pet. But, like it would be mean to have a cat or a dog---even if I carried it around in a Luis Vuitton backpack---‘cause I’m not home enough and don’t really have anyone to take care of them. But a hermit crab is perfect.” She reaches in and takes the small creature into the palm of her hand, holding it up for Gerard. “Pretty easy for Shane to take care of when I’m on the road.”
Carefully, Gerard takes the crab, running a finger across the shell, “Shane?” He tries his best to keep his tone interested and not too inquisitive.
“Yeah, she’s my best friend. She lived here, with me, for a while. But, after she came on the road things got a little weird and she moved back in with her parents.”
Gerard’s eyes flick up to meet Brendon’s “She?”
“Girls with boys’ names for the win! We gotta stick together. We met in elementary school.” Brendon reaches out and strokes at one of the crab’s claws. “Oh wait, you thought…?” And then she flops back onto the bed, laughing helplessly.
Feeling his face go hot as an embarrassed flush crosses his cheeks, Gerard decides to change the topic, “So, he’s not gonna, like, pinch me is he?”
Still laughing, Brendon shrugs, “Dunno. He might. He is a crab.” Raising a wary eyebrow, Gerard stretches over Brendon’s leg to place the crab back into his habitat.
“So, yeah, I’m good with the lame pets. I had a goldfish for, like five years. And I had a gerbil for four!” Brendon puts George back on the dresser and says to Gerard, “You should probably wash your hands. Not that he has any weird crab diseases or whatever, but…” And she walks into the adjoining bathroom and turns on the tap. Gerard pads quietly up beside her and they rinse their hands under the water and smile at each other in the mirror.
“A fan in Brazil gave me a hamster, once. I think she’d seen Life on the Murder Scene a time or two too many.”
Perching on the edge of the bath tub, Brendon’s eyebrow raises, “A hamster? Just a hamster? Really? That’s…kind of weird, right? Don’t they, like, eat hamsters in Brazil?”
Gerard shakes droplets of water from his hands and takes the towel Brendon offers. “Uh, I think that’s guinea pigs in Ecuador. But, yeah. A fucking hamster. Kids are weird sometimes. Gave it to one of the local loaders anyway, for his kid. Cause really, what the fuck am I gonna do with a hamster? The bus fuckin’ reeks without rodents being added to the mix.”
“Oh God! Bus stink!” Brendon wrinkles up her nose and contorts her face into an over-exaggerated look of horror at the memory. “Even with a band full of neat freaks, after, like a month I wanted to set fire to the stupid bus. So gross. So so gross.”
Laughing, Gerard sets the hand towel down on the side of the sink and turns to look at Brendon, “For someone with like, no hair, you sure have a shit load of products.” He skims his fingers over the soft upswept tufts of Brendon’s hair.
Standing, Brendon smacks Gerard soundly on the ass, “Dude, this look?” She points at the carefully styled, fanned out, tips of her pixie cut, “Takes work. I need all this shit to look this awesome. Not all of us can rock the just rolled my ass outta bed look. So, bite my ass, fucker!”
Gerard clasps her hand in his, playfully yanking Brendon close to him, “Oh yeah?” he mouths at the hinge of her jaw. His other hand snakes around her waist to squeeze affectionately at her ass.
“Mmm,” Brendon snuggles into the touch, closing her eyes and smiling. “Mmm mmm. Bite, squeeze, lick, whatever you want. All sounds good to me.”
“Jesus, Brendon.” Gerard’s eyes go comically wide, and he stutters a laugh against her mouth. She hooks her arms around his neck and Gerard shuffle-walks them back into her bedroom. His hands slide up to circle her waist and his finger tips dip below the waistband of Brendon’s jeans, lying prone on the mattress and dragging her down on top of him. With a practiced flick of his thumb, Gerard once again undoes the fastener of Brendon’s jeans and his other hand slides down to palm at the smooth curve of one cheek. Kissing her, Gerard mirrors her blithe grin. Out of the corner of his eye, beyond the Disney movie posters tacked up on the walls, he catches a glimpse of the clock on the front of Brendon’s DVD player and sits up with a yelp, causing Brendon to flop, undignified, to the floor.
“Huh?” She sits up dazed.
“Shit,” Gerard runs an agitated hand through his greasy hair, “Is that the time?” He stands, hauling Brendon to her feet.
“Um, yeah. Gotta get back?”
“Fuck yeah. Sound check right?” Gerard grabs his shucked hoodie from the foot of the bed and wads it up in his fist.
“Sound check, right.” Brendon does up her jeans and smoothes down her top, walking through the condo, Gerard in tow, to the kitchen. She hands Gerard his sneakers and then slips on her own. “I’ll get you back in a flash. My driving skills are awesome.”
Gerard smiles up at her as he ties his laces, “Of that I have no doubt. So, you coming to the show?”
She stops in the open door way, having scooped up her keys and sunglasses. “I wish I could. But it’s back to practice space purgatory for me. Woes!” She raises a silent screen star hand to her forehead and smiles wickedly.
“Shit, sure. Of course. The guys won’t give you grief for skipping out this afternoon, will they?” Gerard opens the driver’s door after Brendon unlocks it, holding it wide for her to sit down, then shutting it securely behind her.
The corners of Brendon’s eyes tilt up in a pleased, small smile behind the round frames of her glasses, “Oh probably, but I can just start talking about PMS and tampons and they’ll leave me alone. Also, I have to go to this dumb industry thing our manager booked for us, you know, kiss hands, shake babies. I can threaten to make Ross go, all by himself. That should shut them all up.” She backs carefully out of the parking space and clicks the security gates open. “Oh, speaking of!” Brendon’s hand curls familiarly around Gerard’s on her thigh. “Pete’s in town, having some kind of party thing for the Gym Class kids. You should drop by after the show!”
“Sounds good.” Gerard puts his own sunglasses on and smiles somewhat goofily at Brendon.
“Sweet. I’ll send you a text and let you know where it is. It’s probably going to be at the Palms. So that should be good, won’t have too far to stumble!”
Gerard chews at a hangnail on his index finger and watches out the window as Las Vegas unfolds in reverse. They chat quietly and Brendon spends a lot of time punching buttons on the CD player and before he knows it she’s pulled up in front of the Palms and they’re being glared at by the hotel valets. “See ya later?” Gerard asks as he leans over and brushes his lips to Brendon’s cheek.
“Yep!”
continue to 3B
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: R
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing.
Notes: HET!!, what can be perceived as uninformed consent, underage drinking, drug use, romance, fluff, Tom Conrad and Jon Walker are not the nicest people ever, AU, liberal abuse of canon; this fic contains all of these things. If they're not your thing, don't read.
Title comes from a song of the same name by long defunct semi-obscure Canadian band The Watchmen. The odd and somewhat nonsensical lyrics can be found here
Written for gpbandom and x-posted there, at fueldbyunicorns, and in my own journal.
Thanks to the awesome queen_geek, tweedle_, fallingfortruth and lordgroovius for beta-ing, listening to me kvetch, holding my hand, and providing paperbags to breathe into, both virtual and actual.
1 2A 2B 3A 3B 4 5A 5B
“Do I have to book you a flight to Utah?”
Gerard is scared awake by the sudden appearance in his bedroom, of a very small, very angry man, bearing an unhappy frown and two venti coffees. “Brian? Jesus! What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me!” He sits up in bed, rubbing unhappily at his eyes and glaring at the large red digital numbers of his bedside clock; which are telling him it is seven a.m.
"Good.” Brian moves from the foot of Gerard’s bed to sit with purpose on the edge of the mattress, foisting the macchiato under Gerard’s nose.
Grateful, if still confused, Gerard takes the coffee and gulps, heedless of its molten lava temperature. “Utah? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Just wondering if you need an intervention. Get you in a program. Maybe you and me need to go see Bill W together. But, Utah worked for me.” Icy blue eyes pin Gerard like a moth to a board.
“Intervention. No. I’m not….Lookit it’s way fucking early and I’m not the smartest guy in the world. Could you please speak slowly and use small words?” He smothers a yawn with the lip of the cup and runs fingers through his sleep bedraggled hair.
Brian Schechter, manager and friend and sometimes babysitter to the boys in My Chemical Romance, is trying to swallow his anger at a sleepless night. “Gerard,” He says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest, “Did you know the W Hotel has security cameras in all public areas? All. Public. Areas.
Sighing and snuggling down into the covers with the warm, socially acceptable buzz of caffeine in his system, Gerard quirks a befuddled expression at his glowering friend and says, “Uh, how nice for them?”
“Yeah. How nice for them. I’m sure they get treated to soft core porn on a regular basis, but when their business manager calls me at oh god o’clock on a fucking Wednesday to ask me if I got his email…Jesus Gerard have you never heard of discretion?” Exhaustion and anger make Brian’s usual mid-west vowels even broader, and he huff as he gulps a mouthful of his coffee.
“Right, so, to be more direct about things, Dear Brian; what the fuck are you talking about?”
Shooting a look that clearly says he finds it hard to believe that Gerard could be so clueless, Brian spits out, “There’s a video tape. From the elevator at the W Hotel. The Midtown Manhattan W Hotel, video tape. Features you. And a dark haired woman. Apparently it’s pretty hot. Or so the kids on Buzznet say.”
Gerard halts the cup halfway to his mouth, frozen in shock as the penny drops. New York. Hotel. Brendon. Shit. He sets the paper cup on the bedside table and, putting his hands over his face, says, “Oh. Fuck.”
“Yeah. Oh fuck. You know, I always say any publicity is good publicity, but I swear to shit, Gee, if you’re using again, if you’re drinking again, if you’re rebounding so hard from all the Lyn-Z bullshit-“
Snapping his head up to glare-venomous and green--at Brian, Gerard hisses, “You swore you would never bring that up again.”
“What the fuck ever man. I just…” He throws his arms wide. “I understand she fucked you up, but in what world is getting blown by a hooker in the elevator of a five star hotel a good idea when you’re a mother fucking rock star? Were you drunk? You can tell me.” Brian’s expression softens and he squeezes reassuringly at Gerard’s blanket covered knee.
“Hooker? A hooker?” Gerard swallows the taste of anger that rises at the back of his throat, overriding the bittersweet flavor of his coffee. “She’s not a hooker, and it’s not a rebound. So mind your own fucking business, okay Brian.”
“Shit.” Brian tugs at the silver hoops in his ear and sighs heavily. “Gerard, whether you like it or not, your business is my business to mind. And the whole fucking internet is currently minding yours. I’ve gotten the hotel’s business manager to track down how the thing made it to Buzznet and he’s dealing with that. But…I need to understand…I need the truth. You gonna tell me what happened?”
“The truth?” Gerard leans over to grab at his pack of cigarettes, fumbling one out and then digging around in the drawer of the bedside table for his lighter. Brian rolls his eyes and takes his own out of his pocket, flicking it and holding it out so Gerard can light up. Exhaling a long plume of smoke Gerard answers, “What you saw is the truth. It’s what happened. I wasn’t drunk, or high. I was having sex. The end.”
“Do I get to know who the mystery person is?”
“Brendon.” Gerard picks up his coffee again, alternating sipping from it with drags on his Marlboro.
Brian’s eyes go wide, “Brendon? Shit Gee, a dude? A dude in drag? How the fuck am I supposed to spin that?”
Rolling his eyes and sputtering a cough as he inhales from his cigarette, Gerard says “Brendon Urie,” in a frustrated manner.
“Oh. Oh! Okay, she’s from that Panic whatever it’s called band, right? Wait. Is she legal? Isn’t she, like sixteen or something?” Brian grabs the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from the table top and lights up.
“Jesus Christ,” Gerard mutters, tugging at his hair in an exasperated manner, “Yeah, that Brendon Urie, and no she’s not sixteen. Fuck.”
Brian studies Gerard in fuming silence for a moment, lips pursed in a frown around his smoke. “Mikey told me you hooked up with a kid in Chicago. That her? She has a…reputation you know Gerard. Like, I realize you have something to prove but your choice in women, is…” He trails off and makes a broad shrugging motion.
“Yeah, well Mikey’s being an asshole and, man if I believed everything I heard about people your ass would have been on a bus back to Michigan years ago. Brendon’s…she’s…I dunno. I like her. She’s sweet y’know?”
“Clearly you and I have different ideas of what makes a girl sweet. None of the sweet girls I know would suck me off in an elevator, I’m pretty sure of that.” Brian tries to smile and punches affectionately at Gerard’s leg beside him.
Setting his coffee down and knuckling at his eyes Gerard says, “Well you don’t know her, so don’t judge man. Shit. I just thought, can you tell who she is? On the video, I mean. ‘Cause I can totally deal with shit like this but she’s young, you know? But if you can see her face or whatever… And we were both there and into it and if people are gonna talk shit about me, what the fuck ever, let ‘em. But Brendon, I just…”
“Dude, breathe. And no, the quality’s pretty shitty to begin with and I’m pretty sure her back is to the camera for the entire…uh, thing.” The tips of Brian’s ears are almost as red as his t-shirt.
“You watched it?” Gerard’s voice is loud in the room and he’s wide awake and as red as Brian.
Swiping his hands across the stiffly gelled tufts of his hair, Brian sets his cigarette in an ashtray and shrugs his shoulders, “I was trying to figure out what the fuck, and no I didn’t watch all of it. Shit man, I’ve seen more of your dick than I ever, ever needed to way before now. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Gerard swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. “I mean it’s the internet right? They’ll be on to whatever fucked up shit Pete Wentz does, sooner or later. Internet Famous lasts what, like a week at most?”
Brian laughs, a little bitter, and can’t argue with that, “Yeah, yeah I guess so. So, like, what do you want me to do about…this?”
“Nothing,” Gerard shrugs, and scrubs his hands through his hair in an agitated gesture. “Just, nothing, you know? Ignore it and it’ll go away? I think…I think this time, it will. Without fucking press releases or statements or bullshit.” He sighs and picks up his cup, swishing the liquid around and studying Brian pleadingly as he paces the bedroom.
“Gerard…” Brian’s tone is low and he studies his hands, spread palms flat and fingers wide over the curve of his knees. Sighing he says, “You’re the boss.” Standing, he reaches up to squeeze Gerard’s shoulder, and giving his friend one more frustrated glance, he turns to leave. “Oh,” he says, stopping short, “I’m pretty sure this won’t be an issue for you, but, stay away from the internet, yeah?”
“Don’t Google myself, I got it.” Gerard makes a shooing motion. Brian smiles ruefully, and Gerard listens as he clomps down the stairs and out the side door.
Gerard putters around the house, making coffee, pouring cereal, and wandering around trying to pretend intimate details of his life aren’t plastered where everyone and anyone can see. He wants to call Brendon. He really really wants to call her. He just doesn’t know if he should call her. Picking up his phone and lighting up another cigarette, Gerard jumps a little as the cell phone bleats in his hands.
“Mikey?” He asks, and that’s pretty much the last word he has in the conversation. Flopping down onto his worn sofa Gerard listens patiently as his little brother calls him every name he can think of and then sputters out some nonsensical profanity. Sighing heavily and laying flat on the couch, staring holes into the ceiling, Gerard says, “So, I take it you’ve heard. Don’t worry, okay? It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” Wincing and guilty, Gerard disconnects the call and continues to lay there, smoking and trying to think about nothing.
Midday shadows creep across the old grey carpeting and Gerard sits up, swiping a hand across his face, deciding that he’s going to call Brendon. He is. He really really is. And his phone rings.“Gerard?” It throws him for a minute, how young, and small, and far away Brendon always sounds on the phone. Her voice seems higher, more breathy than it’s ever been when he talks to her in person.
He smiles despite himself, “Yep, it’s me.” Tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, he walks to the kitchen, ferreting through the strange and half petrified contents of his fridge for something that might remotely resemble lunch. He gives up and opens a cupboard, pulling out a can of Chef Boyardee, popping the top. “How are you, Queen Bee?”
Brendon swallows and says, “I’m…I dunno. How are you? I mean I thought I should call you in case you heard or saw…um have you? Shit. I am making no sense!” Her low, self conscious giggle fills Gerard’s ear as he dumps the blob of pasta and sauce into a bowl and shoves it into the microwave.
“Yeah, yeah. Brian. He came by this morning. Fucking internet, right?”
There’s a pause before Brendon replies, voice breathless, almost hiccupping, “I’m so sorry, Gerard. I mean, I never thought… I didn’t think….I just never think, like, about the consequences of the shit I do. That was on my kindergarten report card, for real; Brendon needs to consider the consequences of her actions. But, I hope you know, I didn’t mean for you to…it wasn’t on purpose.”
Scratching his forehead and cocking his hip against the kitchen counter, Gerard smiles softly, “Brendon, you didn’t think. But I didn’t either. There were two of us there, you know? Of course you didn’t do it on purpose. It’ll be fine, don’t you think?”
She tries to laugh, and it comes out in a wobbly muffle. Gerard hopes to hell Brendon’s not crying because he has NO idea how to deal with tears. “Yeah, well tomorrow is another day on ONTD, I’m sure they’ll have moved on by then.”
“ONTD?” The microwave dings and Gerard takes the bowl into the living room, absently stirring it and blowing on the first forkful.
Brendon swallows and blows her nose, then says “Yeah, it’s…it’s this stupid gossip site. I’m sort of low-level addicted to it. Like a car crash; I am horrified yet I cannot look away.”
Wincing, equal parts from what she’s said and from the heat of the pasta, Gerard flops into an overstuffed club chair and says, “Bren, honey, you really shouldn’t…”
“I know, I know.” She interrupts, “Ryan tells me all the time that I am just giving those sites and magazines reasons to exist by continuing to check them out.” She sighs again, “But, at least no one believes it’s me.”
“Yeah, Brian said you can’t really tell. Who it is with me, I mean. And considering all the shit I pulled with Bert while I was using…I dunno, I just don’t think it’s that big a deal. And I’m sure as shit not sorry it happened.” Gerard gestures emphatically with his fork.
“Yeah, no. No, they can’t tell. And apparently I am too stupid and too slutty for you. Or so say all the girls on ONTD. They’re trying their damndest to guess, though. So far the most votes go to Frank in drag. Which is sort of dumb because you’d be able to see his tattoos, right?”
“Oh Brendon,” Gerard’s voice is soft, and he wants very badly to reach through the phone and hug her.
“Brendon Urie? Are you fucking kidding me? She’s a retarded skanky whore and Gerard Way has way more class than that. And she’s probably too busy getting gangbanged by her band to take the time to go down on anybody.” As she finishes reading, Brendon’s voice dissolves into semi-hysterical helpless laughter.
“Brendon!” Gerard is honestly shocked that anyone would say something like that, never mind put it on the internet. And that’s precisely why he maintains his disdain for celebrity and social networking and leaves the Gossip Girl-ing to Mikey. “Damn, honey. Listen, why don’t you turn that shit off and just talk to me? Like you said, they’ll have their claws into someone new tomorrow.”
There’s a pause before Brendon says, “Okay! So, like, what’s new? Internet sex scandal aside? Hope you’ll excuse me for making dumb jokes, it’s my go-to coping mechanism.”
A weary chuckle escapes as Gerard switches the phone to his other hand, “Well, in a couple weeks, I’m gonna be in Vegas. We’re doing shows at a hotel there.”
“Seriously?” Brendon’s voice rises in excitement.
Gerard laughs, warm and genuine, “Seriously.”
“Dude, that would be awesome. I could totally show you around, because, like, I live here!” If Gerard closes his eyes he can see Brendon bouncing in place.
“So I’ve heard. If you don’t mind, that would be awesome.”
“Totally. Of course. Just let me know when and where, okay?” There’s a slight pause and Brendon says, with a quiet, honest tone, “Gerard? I’m really glad you’re not mad at me.”
Gerard frowns into his phone, “Why would I be mad at you? If I’m gonna be mad at anyone it’d be the douche bag who put the fucking thing on the internet in the first place, right?” He lights up another cigarette.
“Yeah, I guess. But people, they get mad at me sometimes, and like, they don’t tell me, you know? “ Gerard hears her sigh heavily.
“Well, I’m definitely not mad at you.” He shovels a forkful of tomato covered mess into his mouth. “Hey! Did you get that book I sent you?”
The sound of fidgeting and the clanking of a spoon in a bowl can be heard as Brendon says, “Um…yes? I haven’t…haven’t really had the chance to read it yet. We’ve been, you know, pretty busy and stuff.”
“Brendon, if you didn’t like it you can just say so. Lovecraft isn’t for everyone.”
“Um, well…I tried! I really did!” She exclaims brightly, “It’s just..really really weird. And like all those names? How the fuck are you supposed to pronounce them? That dude was on serious amounts of crack.”
Gerard barks out a laugh and sets his empty bowl on the edge of the coffee table, “Yeah, I guess Cthulhu is a lot to wrap your mouth around. Fun role play game though. And now you know my favorite book.”
“Um I think I’ll stick to giant squid free things like D&D and WoW, thanks. But, I’ll keep that in mind. It’s a good thing you’re cuddly not creepy.” She answers matter of factly.
Snorting Gerard switches the phone to his other ear and says, “Yeah, that’s me: Cuddly Way. So…what’s your favorite book, then?”
“I’m not gonna tell you!” she says petulantly, “You’ll laugh at me.”
“Queen Bee, my fav book is about giant squids and the end of the world, I’m definitely in no position to throw stones. C’mon I wanna know! It’s not like, Sweet Valley High or some embarrassing shit like that is it?”
“No? Not really. I mean it’s a classic, right. Okay, mister. But you better not laugh. The Wind in the Willows.”
Sputtering around a sip of cold coffee, trying to contain his burst of laughter Gerard manages a rather high pitched and undignified, “No Way!” before he flops backwards, muffling his laugh with his hand.
Brendon’s voice is full of gently amused mock indignation, “Hey! Mole and Mouse and Frog and Toad are awesome. The have adventures and they’re best friends! See? You asshole, I knew you would laugh at me!”
“Am not, I’m laughing near you. Totally different.” Gerard coughs and lights up another cigarette. “Fuck, that’s adorable. You’re adorable. You know what? I don’t think I’ve never read it.”
Her giggles die down and Brendon says, “Maybe I’ll read it to you sometime. It’s an awesome bedtime story.” She pauses and Gerard listens to the even in and out of her breathing. “Um, I have to go to the studio now. I just…thanks for being cool about…about everything.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise.”
“If you promise, I’ll believe. So, I guess I’ll see you soon?” Gerard can hear the smile in Brendon’s voice.
* * *
Brendon glares at Ryan, and then gives him the finger in response to the scrunched up kissy face he's making in her direction. She's leaning against the door jam of the practice space, smiling big at her Sidekick's screen. “We’re done here, right?” She asks, looking back at the band.
“For now.” Spencer sets down his sticks and crosses his arms over his chest.
Tugging on her lip with her teeth, Brendon quells her grin and says, “Good. I have stuff to do. See you losers tonight!” She pockets her phone and heads down the hall to the elevator, eager to get to her car.
"Okay, Mr. Way, your chariot awaits. Just haul ass okay? I'm waiting definitely not parked by the Valets and they keep giving me dirty looks...and they could totally kick my ass." Brendon chews on her thumb cuticle as she talks into her phone.
Gerard laughs a little, and by his breathing she can tell he's walking as he answers, "Hello to you too, Ms. Urie. I'll be right there. Try to contain the smack down, okay?" And then he's there, tapping on the passenger side window and Brendon jumps, a little.
"Jeez, I thought you were one of the parking apes!" Brendon unlocks the door, and Gerard slides into the sleek, black car. He has to admit, he was expecting Brendon to have something more...sparkly. But, the Mercedes is nice. Patting his leg briefly in greeting, Brendon focuses her attention on getting out of the Palms' driveway, and onto The Strip.
Gerard brings a cigarette to his lips, one eyebrow cocked in a question. He's leaning against the door, facing Brendon, a small smile curving his mouth. Brendon hits the window control and rolls it down slightly, which Gerard takes as permission to light up. He flips his sunglasses to the top of his head and he's still looking at her, still smiling.
Scratching at her nose and pushing up her over-sized sunglasses Brendon asks, "What?" not taking her attention from the traffic on the Strip.
Taking a deep drag and exhaling through one side of his mouth, Gerard smiles wider and says, "You're driving."
Brendon gives him the best you are a strange, strange man look that she can, given that her glasses are obscuring a good third of her face. The only tell-tale signs of her expression are the quirk of her lips and the angle of her eyebrow, raised over one plastic lense, "Why, yes! I am! Observe as the little woman wrangles the power of the internal combustion engine!" She replies in a smart-ass tone.
Gerard's eyebrows knit for a moment, confused. Stretching across the seat he extends his arm, one finger hooking under Brendon's drooping bra strap to drag it up her bicep and back into place on her shoulder. He leaves his finger hooked there, beneath her baggy, A-line tank top-- light mint green and bearing the image of an angry fairy warning him to Don't even Tink about it! "No, wait. That's not what I meant. I just...it's so normal, you know? Such an every day thing to do." He speaks softly and stares at the slow movement of his finger.
Brendon snorts and fiddles with the stereo, "Yeah, screw the whole Girls Gone Wild!, market--Girls Driving! Fully Clothed! that’s the DVD niche of the future!" But she tilts her chin, cuddling her cheek to Gerard's hand as she drives, "We are not so normal and everyday, are we?" She sits up straight again, clearing her throat. "So, speaking of driving, where are we going?" Hotels and strip clubs, and off track betting places stream by in a blur of color outside the car's darkly tinted windows.
The fleece of his black hoodie flexing as he hunches his shoulders, Gerard says, "I defer to your vast local knowledge. But, since I haven't eaten since yesterday and it's like, lunch time, somewhere with food would be cool."
"Awesome, um...do you mind if we go out to Summerlin? I don't actually know The Strip all that well. And I'm not old enough to go into a casino." Gerard can sense her eye roll, obscured as it is behind the darkness of her glasses.
Gerard sniffles and rubs his fingers down Brendon's arm, squeezing slightly at her bare, smooth skin before he drops his hand to rest on the dark denim covering her thigh. "Um, given that the last time I actually, you know, gambled was when I'd been high and drunk for 4 days straight and had no clue how much fuckin' money I'd blown, or how I got to Atlantic City, I think it's fair to say that gambling is not a priority. And I thought you grew up here?"
Brendon winces, noting this is really the first time Gerard's made mention to her of his life before he got sober. "Well, yeah. But, I grew up in the 'burbs, right? I only came in once with my brother to hand out fliers. Even then I had to beg my parents to let him bring me."
"Fliers? What, was that like his part time job?" Gerard likes listening to her talk, likes the precision of her words, not a hint of his own lazy-syllabled, nasal, Jersey mumble.
Wrinkling up her nose and laughing Brendon shakes her head, causing the soft heather purple tam perched on the back of her head to bob slightly. Then she skims her hand over top of Gerard's, curling their fingers together to rest comfortably on her leg. "Um. No. The Word of God is not a part time job, mister! Us Latter Day Saints man-- our mission? Save the World!" She says it softly, but Gerard can't help notice the tinge of bitterness around the edges of her words. She sighs and then smiles warmly, turning her gaze on him, "So, we'll go to Port of Subs, it'll be awesome!"
"Port of Subs sounds infinitely awesome." Gerard smiles and fiddles with a hole in the knee of his jeans.
"Do not mock the Port, man. It sustained me during the hard times! My goal was to consume the entire menu. But I think that fucker Ross beat me to it." Brendon laughs at herself and resumes fiddling with the stereo's buttons and dials. She leans back in her seat, satisfied when Billy Corgan warbling about the greatness of Today fills the air.
Tapping a rhythm with his toe, Gerard says, "So, gimme the tour. Tell me everything I need to know about growing up in Vegas."
Brendon snorts and sits up straight in the driver's seat, then affecting a news broadcaster voice says, "Welcome to the world famous Las Vegas strip, about which this recovering Mormon knows not a lot. We just left the Palms hotel, home to Panic! at the Disco's second attempt to record a second album and Ryan Ross's millionth attempt to play black jack and not lose his shirt. On your right is the Bellagio Hotel, home to the casino where Ryan and Spencer did their damndest to convince the Hostess they were legal and were totally allowed to be at the craps tables." Brendon laughs and continues to drive. "And now we are entering Summerlin! Home to more malls and Wal-marts than you can shake a stick at. Up that street is Palo Verde High School where the girl formerly known as Brace Face spent four very formative years. Well, three and a half. The last part of Senior Year was kind of...spent elsewhere..."
Gerard laughs sympathetically and ignores the buzz of his cell phone, content to listen to Brendon talk. He can tell by the tone of her voice that high school was not so long ago that she's let go of the hurt. Brendon continues to comment, pointing out big box stores and strip malls, and recounts tales of teenage stupidity, mostly at Spencer and Ryan's expense. "Okay, we are now entering my hood!" Brendon gestures broadly at the neat subdivisions and industrial parks. "Home sweet home. Over there," Brendon gestures with her chin, "Is the Smoothie Hut that financed my shitty apartment and the band's practice space. Not to mention providing the majority of my sustenance après Mommy and Daddy deciding I was no longer any daughter of theirs."
Squeezing her hand in his, Gerard stops humming along with the song playing and says, "Brendon! Jesus."
"True story, man. My Father was not amused with game plan; Brendon Urie International Rock Star." She licks her lips and flicks the indicator light, turning the car into a Mini-Mall. "It was pretty sucktastic for a while. I mean just because I decided that what they believed isn't what I believe doesn't mean I don't love them." She shrugs, quick and casual, as she parks the big black car. "But, that didn't stop them cashing the checks I sent once we got signed." She sighs and kills the ignition.
Not knowing what to say, Gerard takes off his seat belt and unclasps their joined hands, reaching up to squeeze at Brendon's shoulder. "I'm sorry." He flips his sunglasses back over his eyes as they get out of the Mercedes.
Shrugging again Brendon says, "Well, it's better, now. My Mom talked my Dad down from being a raging asshole. And I guess the fact that we're successful, and have traveled the world, and I pay my bills and most of theirs makes it less of a Secret Shame Express Ticket to Hell." She gathers up her purse and steps out of the car, Gerard a beat behind her.
Laughing and shaking his head, Gerard steps around the front of the car and takes Brendon's hand in his before saying, "My family was always awesome. I guess they were just thrilled that I was developing social skills." His laugh is a strange, high giggle. "Hey," he says suddenly, jerking Brendon's hand so she falls back against him. Wrapping his arms around her waist her turns her to face him and leans his forehead against hers, "Hi."
Smiling wide and genuine Brendon whispers, “Hi," before kissing Gerard, short and sweet, her hands on his shoulders, then tracing her fingers around the small badges he’s pinned just above his heart. She snorts at the upside down ONTD button, appreciating the gesture.
Pulling back, Gerard's smile wobbles as his thumb comes up to trace the deep red of a fresh, mouth-shaped bruise on the underside of Brendon's jaw. Something like jealousy swims around in his stomach before he catches himself and takes her hand again. Brendon's eyebrows shoot up over her sunglasses, and she purses her lips in a look of challenge, daring him to say anything about the mark. The mark Gerard most definitely did not put there. He just clears his throat and wraps an arm around her waist, allowing himself to be lead across the parking lot and into the sandwich shop.
"Hi Alice," Brendon calls brightly to the small Asian girl behind the counter.
"Hey Brendon! The usual?" The girl moves to pull out bread and start making the sub.
Leaning her weight into the counter and standing on her tiptoes to peer over the glass, Brendon replies "Yup! And he'll have a Pilgrim, extra mayo with cranberry." She hip bumps Gerard when he makes a small noise at having his lunch ordered for him.
"So what is this Pilgrim thing I'm having?'' His hand slides across Brendon's jean clad lower back to rest lightly on her hip. They're watching the girl behind the counter-Alice--slap cheese and veggies on a whole wheat bun.
Licking her lips Brendon giggles a little and says, "The Pilgrim is awesome! Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, all that stuff. It's Ryan's fave. I'm having the Veggie. Mmm avocado! Come to Mama!!" Bouncing in her purple high tops Brendon continues to wax rhapsodic about the wonders of the sub sandwich as their lunch is prepared.
"Oh, you just missed Ryan!" The girl behind the cash register says as Alice passes her one wrapped sandwich.
Brendon smiles and shifts her gaze to Gerard, who is fidgeting at her side. Behind them, a group of giggling teen age girls has entered the shop and is huddled inside the door, whispering to each other and shooting glances in their direction. "Oh, yeah? I suspect I will see him soon. And you probably will too!" She leans against Gerard, kissing his cheek and quietly asking, "Do you want to get out of here, my condo's not too far."
Gerard blows out a breath, feeling stupid at being nervous of five young girls who continue to stare at him, but relieved he says, "That would be fantastic."
Hugging him reassuringly, Brendon turns back to the counter and takes out her wallet to pay. "Hey, what do you want to drink?" Gerard gets a Diet Coke and Brendon gets chocolate milk and picks up the bag, turning to the door.
A small blond girl, hair long and straight bites her lip and sets her shoulders as the couple passes, "Um, excuse me? Are you Brendon Urie?"
Brendon stops and pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head. Giving her best and brightest Greet the Fans smile she says, "Indeed I am!" and passes the sandwiches to Gerard.
"We think your band's really cool!" Another girl in the group volunteers, just as a third says, "Can we have your autograph?"
Still smiling warmly, Brendon says, "Thanks, sure. Let me just get a pen." She takes her giant bag off her shoulder and sets it on the trash bin, searching around inside with both hands. "A-ha!" She holds up a black Sharpie in triumph. Gerard smiles, leaning against the glass door, as he watches Brendon patiently listen to the girls spell their names and proffer sub shop menus and the arms of their jean jackets. She smiles for cell phone cameras and then steps back, putting her sunglasses back over her eyes and waving good-bye.
Pulling a face she turns to Gerard, "Sorry, it never occurred to me that stuff would...freak you out."
"Yeah, uh. It usually doesn't. I mean the kids are great, right? But, like, sometimes I just want to like, have a life." Gerard swings the bag off the tip of his fingers, watching it instead of Brendon, “A life that won’t end up on the internet.” They walk to the car and Brendon squeezes, gentle, at his waist before climbing into the driver's seat.
Brendon continues her tour commentary of mini-malls and teenage hang outs as they drive through Summerlin. She points out Spencer's mom's subdivision and the condo complex where Ryan lives and says, "It's okay if you, um, don't want the world at large to know that you're in Suburban Las Vegas, you know. With me." She reaches over and unclenches Gerard's hands from where he's twisted the handles of the plastic Port of Subs bag around his fingers. "You should spend less time feeling guilty about crap no one cares about." She pats the newly freed hand and does a sort of elbowing motion, encouraging Gerard to rest his hand on the seat behind her head.
Huffing out a small chuckle Gerard says, "You and Frank would get along really great, I think."
"Yeah? You and Ryan would want to kill each other inside of ten minutes, I'm willing to bet." She flips down the visor, clicks a button on the remote clipped there, and the wrought iron gates in front of them part. She turns left, pulling into a parking spot and they get out of the car, walking down a pathway between some young trees and around an obscenely large swimming pool. "Home sweet home!" She grins, goofy, as she puts a key into the lock, but there's a sense of pride in her expression too.
"Me and Ryan, huh? What about you and Ryan?" He tries to keep his voice casual as he pockets his sunglasses and steps across the threshold.
Grabbing the bag with their lunch in it and tossing it onto the kitchen table, Brendon sets her shoulder bag onto the counter and drops her keys and sunglasses down beside it. Motioning for Gerard to take a seat at a small, scarred card table, she snorts and answers, "Me and Ryan? Um...no. We're friends, you know? As much as the world at large seems to think we're in each other's pants that is not true. Not my type. At all. I joined the band because Brent--this cute guy from my guitar class and Panic's old bass player?-- he said that they needed another guitar player, and I didn't suck and could sing some. And I thought that Brent would make all my little Mormon girl dreams come true. He's way more my type. I like to ride in comfort, you know?" Her snort becomes a full blown laugh as she unpacks the subs.
Gerard smiles a little, at Brendon’s boldness, and rubs a little nervously at his forehead.
"Do you want a plate?" When Gerard shakes his head she passes him his soda can and continues, "But that didn't work out. And people like to pass around pictures of me and Ryan holding hands or hugging or whatever. But really, Ryan needs to have his hand held, you know? He fucking deserves all the hugging he can stand."
"You're a good person, Brendon Urie." Gerard kicks off his shoes under the table and smiles as he bites into his sandwich.
Laughing still, she answers, "Yeah, me and Charlie Brown." Making encouraging motions she raises an eyebrow, "So? Good?"
"Mmm, really good." Gerard nods and washes down his mouthful of Pilgrim sub with a sip of Diet Coke. He watches as Brendon takes apart her sandwich and reassembles it after stripping off all the provolone, rolling it up and stuffing it into her mouth.
Gerard looks around the small kitchen, with its white cabinets, and builder-beige walls, and stainless steel appliances. There's a pile of mail on the counter and clean dishes in the strainer. Drawings pinned to a cork board by the doorway catch Gerard's eye. "My niece did those." Brendon follows Gerard's glance. "My sister Kara has a kid. I have three brothers too, but none of them have kids. I'm the youngest." She chugs at her carton of milk.
"Ah, that explains a lot." Gerard chuckles and pops the last of his sub into his mouth.
"Hey!" Brendon thwacks affectionately at his arm. "You done? Want the five cent, two minute tour?"
Crumpling up the dregs of their lunch and dumping it into the trash, Gerard wipes his hands on his jeans and says, "Sure."
Brendon takes his hand and leads him out of the kitchen and into the living room. "Ryan and Spencer got designers to do their places. I haven’t got around to it.” She shrugs apologetically. “So, living room. I've only lived here, like six months," she scrunches up her face, mentally calculating the time. Everything is still beige and cream and there's a cheap plastic blind over the window. A Georgia O'Keefe print--Poppies--from the The Getty Museum leans in one corner. Across from a green floral print sofa, one entire wall is taken up by a TV and every game console known to humanity. "Um, yeah, the only reason Ryan and Spencer come to visit," Brendon flaps her hand at the entertainment center.
"You have a Wii?" Gerard can't help but veer towards the lure of electronic gadget-porn.
Hooking her finger in the waist band of Gerard's jeans and yanking him back beside her, Brendon nods sagely, "Yes, I have a Wii. Behave yourself for the rest of the tour and I might let you play with my Wii!"
"Promises!" Gerard throws his head back, rolling his eyes melodramatically, but follows where Brendon leads.
"Over there, under all that stuff, is, believe it or not, a dining room table. I'm not sure why it was so important to the real estate agent that this place had a dining room, but, it's a good place to store all my shit." Brendon leans her hip against the doorjamb and Gerard boggles at the sheer amount of...stuff. There are keyboards and packages of guitar strings and computer cables and chart-paper and scraps of paper strewn everywhere. Four guitars in their cases are propped under the window, which is covered in another cheap plastic blind. "I wanna buy a piano, eventually. Just haven't had time to shop...What?" Brendon cocks her head, smiling questioningly at Gerard.
A somewhat awed expression on his face, Gerard slowly raises a hand and points to the left of the guitars. "Is that an accordion?"
"Um, yes?" she bites her lip and shoves her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. Feeling her cheeks flush, Brendon says, "My music geekdom, let me show you!"
Moving slowly forward, Gerard snags the soft jersey fabric of Brendon's top in the bunch of his fist, pulling her to him. "Can you play it?"
"Yep," Brendon smiles against Gerard's mouth, her knit cap falling to the ground as Gerard's hands tangle in the short strands of her hair, drawing her in for a messy, slick kiss. Gasping out a laugh Brendon says playfully, "So, what would telling you I have a cello in my hall closet get me?"
Buzzing an indistinct groan against Brendon's skin, Gerard slips his hands under loose cotton, palms flat and warm at the small of her back. She laughs some more and kisses back enthusiastically, managing to wrestle her hands from her pockets to pet at Gerard's waist. "You ready for the rest of the tour?" Brendon's voice is soft as she rests her full weight against him. Taking his hand, and noting the lust drenched expression in his eyes, Brendon leads Gerard down the small hallway, babbling inanely about carpeting and closet space. "The bathroom's there, and it's pretty much...a bathroom. Has a whirlpool tub though, which is cool." Gerard's thumb strokes repeatedly over her knuckles as she talks and he's barely sparing a glance at the condo, instead staring rather intently at her.
At the end of the hallway, Brendon turns a door knob and gestures broadly inside the room, "And, in conclusion, the bedroom!" She gives a startled yip of surprise when Gerard picks her up at the waist, walking past piles of clothing and open suitcases to quickly deposit her onto the bed. "Swear I'm gonna buy a real bed some day," she manages around huffing laughter, as she bounces down to the bare mattress, set upon the floor, a duvet and pillows knotted at one end.
"Oh yeah?" Is all Gerard manages to say, in an absent tone as he lowers himself down, half on top of Brendon. Searching fingers stroke over her belly, rucking her tank top out of the way and his fingers slide with ease between her skin and the waist band of her jeans, flicking the buttons open with his thumb.
The cups of her fuchsia bra are visible and Gerard slides his mouth across Brendon's skin to nip teasingly beneath the underwire, tongue chasing along the slight indentations in the tender flesh there as his hand curls between her legs. "Gee..Gerard?" Brendon cradles Gerard's face between her palms as she squeezes, gentle, to get his attention. She blinks rapidly and slides her top lip between her teeth before she says, "Um, do you mind...is it okay if we don't...if we just..." She stops, frustrated and nervous, her eyebrows knitted. A a little shocked at the words that have come out of her own mouth.
Turning in her hands to meet her eyes, Gerard takes in her concerned expression and says, "Shit, honey. Yeah. Sorry. Of course." He hefts himself up onto his hands until he can resettle beside her, kissing the corner of her frown, watching it flit into a smile. "Whatever you want. I'm just...really fuckin' glad to see you, you know?" His hands slide around her waist to squeeze at her ass as he rains small kisses across the split of her lips.
Sighing and wriggling contentedly in his arms, Brendon brushes the hair off Gerard's face. "I'm glad you're glad." She says it softly as her hands slide up and down the curve of Gerard's back. She closes her eyes and opens her mouth to the warm firm pressure of Gerard's.
Moving his mouth across the strong cut of Brendon’s jaw, Gerard moves to suck at the purple-red mark there, scraping his teeth across the skin and making Brendon hiss. “Mmm, baby.” His voice is a gentle exhalation of breath on her over-heated skin.
Brendon stiffens, pushes Gerard away a little, frowning and tugging the hem of her top back down.
Gerard shifts his weight until he’s laying beside Brendon, not touching her, blank confusion clouding his eyes. “Brendon? Did I do something wrong?” He reaches out a broad-palmed hand to still the fingers plucking at the soft fabric of her tank top.
“No, no. I’m sorry.” She mutters, chin tucked to her chest, refusing to meet Gerard’s eyes. “It’s just…could you maybe not call me that? I sort of hate it.” She looks up then, eyebrows drawn together in worry.
“Not call you…huh? Oh! Baby? Don’t call you baby?” His hand strokes up her arm, squeezing at her shoulder, ducking his head to catch her eyes.
She shrugs and says, “Yeah. I mean, you call me honey. And, well, I dunno, maybe you call everyone honey. But…but I like that. It feels…special. Most guys, they call me baby. Because they can’t remember my name, mostly, or never bothered to learn it.” She’s still frowning and blinking rapidly.
Gathering her to him in a fierce hug, Gerard says, “Brendon,” as he exhales, stroking his thumb across her chin, just below her bottom lip. "Brendon,” he whispers again, kissing her and feeling her mouth curl into a smile beneath his. “Brendonbrendonbrendon,” his kisses are slow and easy, full of reassurance; to her lips, her cheeks, her temples, her forehead, and the straight lines of her brows.
She laughs, relieved and, patting Gerard’s hair, snuggles back into him. They kiss lazy and happy in the slanting mid-afternoon light that sneaks pale fingers in between the crooked slats of the window blinds, tongues tracing and tasting. Brendon purrs under Gerard’s careful petting across her ribs and over her hips. Their socked feet twitch and rub together, and Brendon trails her hand down from the soft curl of Gerard’s upper arm to his waist and lower, fingertips tracing the shape of him, easy across the warm denim of his thigh.
His eyes blinking open, sleepy, Gerard snags her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth, to kiss gently at each knuckle before laying Brendon’s restless hand against his cheek, “S’okay, Bren, just like this.” And maybe Gerard’s trying to make something up to Brendon, or prove a point to himself. He’s not an asshole who takes advantage of drunk girls, no matter how willing they are. He likes Brendon. He likes kissing her, and touching her, and just fucking being with her, and he needs her to know that. Of course, it would be much easier if he’d just tell her that, but when did Gerard Way ever take the easy route?
Tongue licking tastes of the skin around Gerard’s lips, Brendon’s smile wobbles a little, confused, before she shrugs and closes her eyes and tries not to feel…weird. The only boy who’s ever been in her bed is Ryan, and that was before. What seemed like ages ago; when her apartment was close to the hospital, and Ryan’s dad didn’t know where it was, and he could hide there and she would hold him until he fell into an exhausted sleep. But this, with Gerard, was new and different. Brendon was good at picking up cues, figuring out what people wanted, what she should do. But Gerard, he seems content to lie there, hands tracing nonsense patterns over her clothes and kissing her: content to follow her lead.
“So hey, did you seem my crab?” Brendon struggles to sit up, Gerard’s hand heavy at her hip.
Leaning back on his elbows Gerard’s eyes narrow and he tries to mentally rewind to see if he’s missed something somewhere, “What?”
A startled laugh fills the room as Brendon slaps at her forehead, “Oh god. Welcome to my brain, also known as non sequitur land!”
“Ah, okay,” Gerard’s long fingers trace the weave of the cotton sheets and he smiles his little crooked smile, “No, you have not shown me your crab.”
Crawling on her knees across the mattress and then reaching out to the low dresser underneath the window, Brendon pulls a small glass bowl into the circle of her arms and then flops back down onto the bed. “See?” She sits Yoga style, and holds the terrarium up to Gerard, “My hermit crab, George.”
“Hermit crab?” Gerard sits up, cross-legged as well--legs leaning into Brendon--peering into the terrarium. “Hey! That’s pretty cool!”
“Yeah, well I think so. Some people-Ryan Ross-think it’s a pretty lame pet. But, like it would be mean to have a cat or a dog---even if I carried it around in a Luis Vuitton backpack---‘cause I’m not home enough and don’t really have anyone to take care of them. But a hermit crab is perfect.” She reaches in and takes the small creature into the palm of her hand, holding it up for Gerard. “Pretty easy for Shane to take care of when I’m on the road.”
Carefully, Gerard takes the crab, running a finger across the shell, “Shane?” He tries his best to keep his tone interested and not too inquisitive.
“Yeah, she’s my best friend. She lived here, with me, for a while. But, after she came on the road things got a little weird and she moved back in with her parents.”
Gerard’s eyes flick up to meet Brendon’s “She?”
“Girls with boys’ names for the win! We gotta stick together. We met in elementary school.” Brendon reaches out and strokes at one of the crab’s claws. “Oh wait, you thought…?” And then she flops back onto the bed, laughing helplessly.
Feeling his face go hot as an embarrassed flush crosses his cheeks, Gerard decides to change the topic, “So, he’s not gonna, like, pinch me is he?”
Still laughing, Brendon shrugs, “Dunno. He might. He is a crab.” Raising a wary eyebrow, Gerard stretches over Brendon’s leg to place the crab back into his habitat.
“So, yeah, I’m good with the lame pets. I had a goldfish for, like five years. And I had a gerbil for four!” Brendon puts George back on the dresser and says to Gerard, “You should probably wash your hands. Not that he has any weird crab diseases or whatever, but…” And she walks into the adjoining bathroom and turns on the tap. Gerard pads quietly up beside her and they rinse their hands under the water and smile at each other in the mirror.
“A fan in Brazil gave me a hamster, once. I think she’d seen Life on the Murder Scene a time or two too many.”
Perching on the edge of the bath tub, Brendon’s eyebrow raises, “A hamster? Just a hamster? Really? That’s…kind of weird, right? Don’t they, like, eat hamsters in Brazil?”
Gerard shakes droplets of water from his hands and takes the towel Brendon offers. “Uh, I think that’s guinea pigs in Ecuador. But, yeah. A fucking hamster. Kids are weird sometimes. Gave it to one of the local loaders anyway, for his kid. Cause really, what the fuck am I gonna do with a hamster? The bus fuckin’ reeks without rodents being added to the mix.”
“Oh God! Bus stink!” Brendon wrinkles up her nose and contorts her face into an over-exaggerated look of horror at the memory. “Even with a band full of neat freaks, after, like a month I wanted to set fire to the stupid bus. So gross. So so gross.”
Laughing, Gerard sets the hand towel down on the side of the sink and turns to look at Brendon, “For someone with like, no hair, you sure have a shit load of products.” He skims his fingers over the soft upswept tufts of Brendon’s hair.
Standing, Brendon smacks Gerard soundly on the ass, “Dude, this look?” She points at the carefully styled, fanned out, tips of her pixie cut, “Takes work. I need all this shit to look this awesome. Not all of us can rock the just rolled my ass outta bed look. So, bite my ass, fucker!”
Gerard clasps her hand in his, playfully yanking Brendon close to him, “Oh yeah?” he mouths at the hinge of her jaw. His other hand snakes around her waist to squeeze affectionately at her ass.
“Mmm,” Brendon snuggles into the touch, closing her eyes and smiling. “Mmm mmm. Bite, squeeze, lick, whatever you want. All sounds good to me.”
“Jesus, Brendon.” Gerard’s eyes go comically wide, and he stutters a laugh against her mouth. She hooks her arms around his neck and Gerard shuffle-walks them back into her bedroom. His hands slide up to circle her waist and his finger tips dip below the waistband of Brendon’s jeans, lying prone on the mattress and dragging her down on top of him. With a practiced flick of his thumb, Gerard once again undoes the fastener of Brendon’s jeans and his other hand slides down to palm at the smooth curve of one cheek. Kissing her, Gerard mirrors her blithe grin. Out of the corner of his eye, beyond the Disney movie posters tacked up on the walls, he catches a glimpse of the clock on the front of Brendon’s DVD player and sits up with a yelp, causing Brendon to flop, undignified, to the floor.
“Huh?” She sits up dazed.
“Shit,” Gerard runs an agitated hand through his greasy hair, “Is that the time?” He stands, hauling Brendon to her feet.
“Um, yeah. Gotta get back?”
“Fuck yeah. Sound check right?” Gerard grabs his shucked hoodie from the foot of the bed and wads it up in his fist.
“Sound check, right.” Brendon does up her jeans and smoothes down her top, walking through the condo, Gerard in tow, to the kitchen. She hands Gerard his sneakers and then slips on her own. “I’ll get you back in a flash. My driving skills are awesome.”
Gerard smiles up at her as he ties his laces, “Of that I have no doubt. So, you coming to the show?”
She stops in the open door way, having scooped up her keys and sunglasses. “I wish I could. But it’s back to practice space purgatory for me. Woes!” She raises a silent screen star hand to her forehead and smiles wickedly.
“Shit, sure. Of course. The guys won’t give you grief for skipping out this afternoon, will they?” Gerard opens the driver’s door after Brendon unlocks it, holding it wide for her to sit down, then shutting it securely behind her.
The corners of Brendon’s eyes tilt up in a pleased, small smile behind the round frames of her glasses, “Oh probably, but I can just start talking about PMS and tampons and they’ll leave me alone. Also, I have to go to this dumb industry thing our manager booked for us, you know, kiss hands, shake babies. I can threaten to make Ross go, all by himself. That should shut them all up.” She backs carefully out of the parking space and clicks the security gates open. “Oh, speaking of!” Brendon’s hand curls familiarly around Gerard’s on her thigh. “Pete’s in town, having some kind of party thing for the Gym Class kids. You should drop by after the show!”
“Sounds good.” Gerard puts his own sunglasses on and smiles somewhat goofily at Brendon.
“Sweet. I’ll send you a text and let you know where it is. It’s probably going to be at the Palms. So that should be good, won’t have too far to stumble!”
Gerard chews at a hangnail on his index finger and watches out the window as Las Vegas unfolds in reverse. They chat quietly and Brendon spends a lot of time punching buttons on the CD player and before he knows it she’s pulled up in front of the Palms and they’re being glared at by the hotel valets. “See ya later?” Gerard asks as he leans over and brushes his lips to Brendon’s cheek.
“Yep!”
continue to 3B