Maple Syrup (Part 1 of 2 or 3)
Title: Maple Syrup
Author: xojemmaxo
Rating: Heavy R? Yeah, that seems about right.
Pairing: Rydon and Joncer
POV: Third, bases around Brendon
Summary: Panic! are at the mysterious cabin. Are those ghosts Brendon hears in the night? Or something more scary? Will Brendon get lost in the woods? Does coffee make Ryan move faster than a three toed sloth on steroids? All these questions, and more, will be answered in this spontaneous, hopefully amusing fic!
Disclaimer: I don't own Panic! At The Disco. If I did, I would be... Ooh, can't tell you that...
Beta: AsYouWouldBe
Author Notes: So I wrote this in about a week, and my friend kept making me finish it, and now I have. I'm just... too lazy to type it up yet... But I will soon. And if I don't, I owe you all chocolate Brendon - chip cookies.
I really hope you find this funny, it was meant to be, but my kind of humour may just be really, well, not funny at all. Ah well, I chucked in some sexy times just to be on the safe side. But that's in upcoming chapters :P Comments will make me upload new chapters more quickly <3
It hadn’t been Brendon’s fault.
He just hadn’t been able to sleep that night, that’s all, and trust Jon to leave is bedroom door open while he was jacking off in there! Honestly, when Brendon had gone to the kitchen to get a glass of water and heard the loud groans echoing throughout the cabin, he had assumed that the place was haunted and the ghosts were pissed off at the way Spencer always left his towels on the floor after showers or something. Perhaps they were disgruntled about the band’s sudden appearance into their lives - - well, as much of a life as you can have when you’re, you know, dead.
Brendon had merely gone to investigate the noises (armed with a torch, of course, everyone knows that ghosts hate torches) and found the source was coming from somewhere around Jon’s room.
So Brendon had crept up the hall, noticing the groans getting closer with every step, until he was almost level with the open door. He had been preparing to leap into the room and save Jon’s life by banishing the ghosts with his torch when one of the groans turned into a name. Not just any name, either.
“Spencer…” say, wasn’t that Jon’s voice?
Ghosts forgotten, Brendon had stuck his head around the doorframe - - and what he had seen there was ten times scarier than any horror movie he had ever seen (if you count Scary movie 1 and 2 as horror movies).
The sight of Jon sprawled naked on his bed, one hand curled around his dick and the other shoved halfway up his ass made Brendon drop the torch and give a little scream.
Jon abruptly stopped moaning Spencer’s name as he glanced up and noticed Brendon standing frozen in his bedroom doorway with his mouth hanging open.
“Fuck!” Jon hissed, and jerkily pulled his doona over his naked bottom half.
“Brendon, get out!” he demanded, his face rapidly turning bright red.
“I’m - - Jon - - oh my God,” muttered Brendon, and took off back down the hall without waiting for an explanation. He knew very well what was going on, thankyou very much. Jon had been moaning Spencer’s name while masturbating. Either Jon was gay or very, very confused.
Brendon’s heart thumped wildly in his chest as he lay down and tried to sleep.
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Everything was completely normal the next morning. Spencer was the first out of bed, as usual, and had made everyone coffee and pancakes by the time Brendon stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He had managed to get to sleep last night after all, though not before hours of laying on his back, staring at the ceiling through the dark, and wondering. He estimated that he had slept for about two hours, and as a result he felt as though he had been run over by a truck. Repeatedly.
The Jon incident had been lurking at the back of his mind since Brendon had woken up, but he had hardly acknowledged it until he saw the man in question sitting calmly at the table, munching pancakes contentedly.
Brendon froze, one foot poised to touch the wooden floor. Strangely, the first thought that floated through his mind was ‘I bet he likes THOSE pancakes’ before the gravity of the situation hit him. The resulting shock made his foot complete its delayed journey to the floor.
Spencer was staring at Brendon from the stove with both eyebrows raised. Brendon did his best to cover up his lapse in - well, normal human actions - with a hasty, “Morning, guys.”
Jon glanced up at Brendon and mumbled a greeting. Spencer asked if he was ok, then offered him pancakes when Brendon assured him sleepily that he was fine.
Brendon glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. It was 10: 03. He assumed Ryan was still in his bedroom, as he usually slept until about 10:30 while staying at the cabin.
He sat at the table, unfortunately directly opposite Jon, and Spencer placed a plate stacked with pancakes on the placemat in front of him.
“Thanks,” said Brendon distractedly. He grabbed the maple syrup from its place in the centre of the table and poured a generous amount on his pancakes, such a generous amount, in fact, that the bottle nearly emptied and began to make farty noises.
“Hey, hey,” chastised Spencer sharply as he sat down in his chair, grabbing Brendon’s wrist to prevent him using all the maple syrup. “Leave some for Ryan, you know how he is if he doesn’t eat something sweet in the mornings.”
Brendon knew very well how Ryan was when he didn’t eat anything sweet in the mornings. Once, he had hidden the sugar Ryan used in his coffee to see what would happen. That was the only time Ryan had punched Brendon, and the last time Brendon attempted to mess with Ryan in the mornings.
Silently, he set the bottle back on the table. His eyes were trained unblinkingly on Jon now, who had watched Spencer’s authority over Brendon with wide eyes, his fork halfway to his mouth. Brendon wondered how he hadn’t noticed Jon’s crush before. He was kind of obvious.
When he realised he was being watched, Jon quickly shoved his forkful of food in his mouth before Spencer could realise anything was up.
Brendon narrowed his eyes at Jon before jerking his forkful of sugary goodness to his mouth. Unfortunately, since he was concentrated on giving subliminal messages to Jon saying that he knew exactly what was going on, he missed, and maple syrup and sticky crumbs got all over his chin. The fork dropped into his lap.
“Uh, fuck, napkin,” he said, and Jon handed him one. Brendon reached across the table to take it, but his hand reflexively snapped away when he realised, ‘God, ew, gross, that’s the hand he had shoved up his fucking ass!’
What a dilemma. He couldn’t very well refuse the napkin; he had asked for one, and Spencer would definitely know something was up if he declined Jon’s offer. Brendon did not give away secrets, and Spencer would wheedle the truth out of him sooner or later. But the only other option…
“You ok, buddy?” Spencer’s concerned voice broke Brendon out of his thoughts.
“You, um, I’m fine, just - I thought I… saw a bug! Yeah, on the table - it had wings and legs and shit - um. But it’s gone now,” he finished lamely.
“…Ok…” said Spencer cautiously. Jon looked like he was struggling not to laugh. He straightened his face when Spencer suddenly leaned towards him and snatched the napkin from his fingers.
“God, Brendon,” he said exasperatedly, wiping Brendon’s chin harshly. Brendon made a face; this was practically rubbing his face in Jon’s ass!
Ryan shuffled into the kitchen then, eyes heavy and arms outstretched like a zombie.
“Coffee,” he murmured, edging towards the half - full pot on the counter.
“Morning to you, too,” Spencer grunted. He took the napkin away from Brendon’s chin and inspected the skin. He was satisfied, apparently, because he then chucked the napkin down in front of Brendon and said, “You can do your crotch yourself, Bren.”
Jon chuckled across the table. Ryan looked up from his mug to see what was so funny and watched in amusement as Brendon tried fruitlessly to scrub his sweatpants clean.
“Don’t give yourself a boner, Bren,” Ryan laughed. Magically, the coffee had turned him from a zombie into a fucking comedian.
“Shut up,” muttered Brendon. He lifted the napkin from his pants. There. A dark patch on the material was all that remained of the mess.
He replaced the napkin on the table as Ryan sat down to his breakfast.
The rest of the meal was eaten in unusual silence, apart from a small burping contest between Ryan and Jon.
When his pancakes were gone and the maple syrup licked off his plate, Brendon stood to put his dishes in the sink. Ryan suddenly burst out laughing.
“What?” Brendon asked, irritated.
“Brendon - oh my god -“ choked Ryan, managing to point to Brendon’s crotch. The others eyed the dark patch on Brendon’s pants that looked suspicious and just wrong. Brendon scowled and Spencer and Jon cracked up.
“The maple syrup made Brendon jizz his pants!” howled Ryan. He didn’t notice as his mug of coffee tipped and spilt a little on the floor.
“Or was it the pancakes?” he mocked. “Were they that tasty?”
“Shut up,” said Brendon crossly, dumping his dishes in the sink. “You know it’s the maple syrup, dumbass.”
This, of course, inadvertedly answered Ryan’s question and only succeeded in making Brendon’s band members laugh harder. Jon fell out of his chair and onto the floor, cackling like an egg - bound hen with a shot of laughing gas.
This was getting ridiculous. Brendon stalked from the room amidst giggles.
The laughter followed him down the hall. Brendon was heading for his room but turned into the lounge room at the last minute. He strode quickly across the carpet and went outside, into the fresh air and sunshine.
He was so angry; it was as though the cabin multiplied every emotion by ten. That would probably explain the hilarity of the maple syrup situation. It would hopefully also explain the tears prickling at Brendon’s eyes.
“Jesus Christ, I must be turning into a fucking girl,” he muttered, striding past pine trees and into the green leafy forest so conveniently paced on the cabin’s doorstep.
What, was he PMSing or something? He lashed out angrily at a branch blocking his path and pain flashed up his arm as something spiky ripped into his skin. Brendon hopped around, swearing as he pressed his wounded hand to his chest.
When the pain subsided a little, he stopped hopping - though obscenities still slipped from his mouth occasionally - and examined the damage.
Oh.
So maybe it wasn’t that bad.
Well, didn’t he feel like an idiot. Brendon glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone (who had managed to stop fucking laughing, anyway) had seen his display, but trees now blocked his view of the cabin.
Fine. He didn’t need his stupid friends anyway.
He walked onwards into the woods, his irritation driving him forwards. Right now, he needed to be as far away from Jon, Spencer, and Ryan as possible.
After a lot of walking, he came to a lake. He couldn’t remember seeing it anywhere around the cabin, or on any of the hikes the others had forced him to go on. Brendon shrugged it off as not paying enough attention on looking at the scenery and spending too much time complaining to Spencer that he was tired when hiking.
Brendon decided to walk around the edge of the lake instead of just continuing straight into the woods. This way, it would be easier to find his way back again. Not that he was going to go back.
It became clear to him in about an hour, when he had sung every song he knew by the Beatles twice, however, that the lake looked a lot bigger than it actually was, and no humane amount of walking would get him all the way around and back to the cabin.
So now the logical thing to do would be to turn around and head back to the cabin. And he would have to walk all the way he had just come… and his legs hurt already…
Brendon looked at the sun, and hey, wasn’t it in front of him the last time he checked? What time was it anyhow?
He pulled his Sidekick out of his pocket to see.
Damn. No battery. Brendon started to panic a little; this meant he couldn’t call a helicopter or something to airlift him out of here… well, anything would be better than walking.
Five minutes later, when Brendon had stopped thinking of scenarios in his head to get him out of the forest without walking and dismissed them all as childish, he turned back towards the cabin’s general direction. Then he stopped.
Brendon couldn’t be bothered walking back. Not right now, anyway. Maybe after a nap… Yeah. He would replenish his energy, then walk back.
Brendon plopped onto the grass beside the lapping edge of the lake. He laid his head back on the soft - Ow, fuck, rock - moved the rock aside, put his head on the ground, and pretty soon was snoring. Pretty loudly.
Author: xojemmaxo
Rating: Heavy R? Yeah, that seems about right.
Pairing: Rydon and Joncer
POV: Third, bases around Brendon
Summary: Panic! are at the mysterious cabin. Are those ghosts Brendon hears in the night? Or something more scary? Will Brendon get lost in the woods? Does coffee make Ryan move faster than a three toed sloth on steroids? All these questions, and more, will be answered in this spontaneous, hopefully amusing fic!
Disclaimer: I don't own Panic! At The Disco. If I did, I would be... Ooh, can't tell you that...
Beta: AsYouWouldBe
Author Notes: So I wrote this in about a week, and my friend kept making me finish it, and now I have. I'm just... too lazy to type it up yet... But I will soon. And if I don't, I owe you all chocolate Brendon - chip cookies.
I really hope you find this funny, it was meant to be, but my kind of humour may just be really, well, not funny at all. Ah well, I chucked in some sexy times just to be on the safe side. But that's in upcoming chapters :P Comments will make me upload new chapters more quickly <3
It hadn’t been Brendon’s fault.
He just hadn’t been able to sleep that night, that’s all, and trust Jon to leave is bedroom door open while he was jacking off in there! Honestly, when Brendon had gone to the kitchen to get a glass of water and heard the loud groans echoing throughout the cabin, he had assumed that the place was haunted and the ghosts were pissed off at the way Spencer always left his towels on the floor after showers or something. Perhaps they were disgruntled about the band’s sudden appearance into their lives - - well, as much of a life as you can have when you’re, you know, dead.
Brendon had merely gone to investigate the noises (armed with a torch, of course, everyone knows that ghosts hate torches) and found the source was coming from somewhere around Jon’s room.
So Brendon had crept up the hall, noticing the groans getting closer with every step, until he was almost level with the open door. He had been preparing to leap into the room and save Jon’s life by banishing the ghosts with his torch when one of the groans turned into a name. Not just any name, either.
“Spencer…” say, wasn’t that Jon’s voice?
Ghosts forgotten, Brendon had stuck his head around the doorframe - - and what he had seen there was ten times scarier than any horror movie he had ever seen (if you count Scary movie 1 and 2 as horror movies).
The sight of Jon sprawled naked on his bed, one hand curled around his dick and the other shoved halfway up his ass made Brendon drop the torch and give a little scream.
Jon abruptly stopped moaning Spencer’s name as he glanced up and noticed Brendon standing frozen in his bedroom doorway with his mouth hanging open.
“Fuck!” Jon hissed, and jerkily pulled his doona over his naked bottom half.
“Brendon, get out!” he demanded, his face rapidly turning bright red.
“I’m - - Jon - - oh my God,” muttered Brendon, and took off back down the hall without waiting for an explanation. He knew very well what was going on, thankyou very much. Jon had been moaning Spencer’s name while masturbating. Either Jon was gay or very, very confused.
Brendon’s heart thumped wildly in his chest as he lay down and tried to sleep.
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Everything was completely normal the next morning. Spencer was the first out of bed, as usual, and had made everyone coffee and pancakes by the time Brendon stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He had managed to get to sleep last night after all, though not before hours of laying on his back, staring at the ceiling through the dark, and wondering. He estimated that he had slept for about two hours, and as a result he felt as though he had been run over by a truck. Repeatedly.
The Jon incident had been lurking at the back of his mind since Brendon had woken up, but he had hardly acknowledged it until he saw the man in question sitting calmly at the table, munching pancakes contentedly.
Brendon froze, one foot poised to touch the wooden floor. Strangely, the first thought that floated through his mind was ‘I bet he likes THOSE pancakes’ before the gravity of the situation hit him. The resulting shock made his foot complete its delayed journey to the floor.
Spencer was staring at Brendon from the stove with both eyebrows raised. Brendon did his best to cover up his lapse in - well, normal human actions - with a hasty, “Morning, guys.”
Jon glanced up at Brendon and mumbled a greeting. Spencer asked if he was ok, then offered him pancakes when Brendon assured him sleepily that he was fine.
Brendon glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. It was 10: 03. He assumed Ryan was still in his bedroom, as he usually slept until about 10:30 while staying at the cabin.
He sat at the table, unfortunately directly opposite Jon, and Spencer placed a plate stacked with pancakes on the placemat in front of him.
“Thanks,” said Brendon distractedly. He grabbed the maple syrup from its place in the centre of the table and poured a generous amount on his pancakes, such a generous amount, in fact, that the bottle nearly emptied and began to make farty noises.
“Hey, hey,” chastised Spencer sharply as he sat down in his chair, grabbing Brendon’s wrist to prevent him using all the maple syrup. “Leave some for Ryan, you know how he is if he doesn’t eat something sweet in the mornings.”
Brendon knew very well how Ryan was when he didn’t eat anything sweet in the mornings. Once, he had hidden the sugar Ryan used in his coffee to see what would happen. That was the only time Ryan had punched Brendon, and the last time Brendon attempted to mess with Ryan in the mornings.
Silently, he set the bottle back on the table. His eyes were trained unblinkingly on Jon now, who had watched Spencer’s authority over Brendon with wide eyes, his fork halfway to his mouth. Brendon wondered how he hadn’t noticed Jon’s crush before. He was kind of obvious.
When he realised he was being watched, Jon quickly shoved his forkful of food in his mouth before Spencer could realise anything was up.
Brendon narrowed his eyes at Jon before jerking his forkful of sugary goodness to his mouth. Unfortunately, since he was concentrated on giving subliminal messages to Jon saying that he knew exactly what was going on, he missed, and maple syrup and sticky crumbs got all over his chin. The fork dropped into his lap.
“Uh, fuck, napkin,” he said, and Jon handed him one. Brendon reached across the table to take it, but his hand reflexively snapped away when he realised, ‘God, ew, gross, that’s the hand he had shoved up his fucking ass!’
What a dilemma. He couldn’t very well refuse the napkin; he had asked for one, and Spencer would definitely know something was up if he declined Jon’s offer. Brendon did not give away secrets, and Spencer would wheedle the truth out of him sooner or later. But the only other option…
“You ok, buddy?” Spencer’s concerned voice broke Brendon out of his thoughts.
“You, um, I’m fine, just - I thought I… saw a bug! Yeah, on the table - it had wings and legs and shit - um. But it’s gone now,” he finished lamely.
“…Ok…” said Spencer cautiously. Jon looked like he was struggling not to laugh. He straightened his face when Spencer suddenly leaned towards him and snatched the napkin from his fingers.
“God, Brendon,” he said exasperatedly, wiping Brendon’s chin harshly. Brendon made a face; this was practically rubbing his face in Jon’s ass!
Ryan shuffled into the kitchen then, eyes heavy and arms outstretched like a zombie.
“Coffee,” he murmured, edging towards the half - full pot on the counter.
“Morning to you, too,” Spencer grunted. He took the napkin away from Brendon’s chin and inspected the skin. He was satisfied, apparently, because he then chucked the napkin down in front of Brendon and said, “You can do your crotch yourself, Bren.”
Jon chuckled across the table. Ryan looked up from his mug to see what was so funny and watched in amusement as Brendon tried fruitlessly to scrub his sweatpants clean.
“Don’t give yourself a boner, Bren,” Ryan laughed. Magically, the coffee had turned him from a zombie into a fucking comedian.
“Shut up,” muttered Brendon. He lifted the napkin from his pants. There. A dark patch on the material was all that remained of the mess.
He replaced the napkin on the table as Ryan sat down to his breakfast.
The rest of the meal was eaten in unusual silence, apart from a small burping contest between Ryan and Jon.
When his pancakes were gone and the maple syrup licked off his plate, Brendon stood to put his dishes in the sink. Ryan suddenly burst out laughing.
“What?” Brendon asked, irritated.
“Brendon - oh my god -“ choked Ryan, managing to point to Brendon’s crotch. The others eyed the dark patch on Brendon’s pants that looked suspicious and just wrong. Brendon scowled and Spencer and Jon cracked up.
“The maple syrup made Brendon jizz his pants!” howled Ryan. He didn’t notice as his mug of coffee tipped and spilt a little on the floor.
“Or was it the pancakes?” he mocked. “Were they that tasty?”
“Shut up,” said Brendon crossly, dumping his dishes in the sink. “You know it’s the maple syrup, dumbass.”
This, of course, inadvertedly answered Ryan’s question and only succeeded in making Brendon’s band members laugh harder. Jon fell out of his chair and onto the floor, cackling like an egg - bound hen with a shot of laughing gas.
This was getting ridiculous. Brendon stalked from the room amidst giggles.
The laughter followed him down the hall. Brendon was heading for his room but turned into the lounge room at the last minute. He strode quickly across the carpet and went outside, into the fresh air and sunshine.
He was so angry; it was as though the cabin multiplied every emotion by ten. That would probably explain the hilarity of the maple syrup situation. It would hopefully also explain the tears prickling at Brendon’s eyes.
“Jesus Christ, I must be turning into a fucking girl,” he muttered, striding past pine trees and into the green leafy forest so conveniently paced on the cabin’s doorstep.
What, was he PMSing or something? He lashed out angrily at a branch blocking his path and pain flashed up his arm as something spiky ripped into his skin. Brendon hopped around, swearing as he pressed his wounded hand to his chest.
When the pain subsided a little, he stopped hopping - though obscenities still slipped from his mouth occasionally - and examined the damage.
Oh.
So maybe it wasn’t that bad.
Well, didn’t he feel like an idiot. Brendon glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone (who had managed to stop fucking laughing, anyway) had seen his display, but trees now blocked his view of the cabin.
Fine. He didn’t need his stupid friends anyway.
He walked onwards into the woods, his irritation driving him forwards. Right now, he needed to be as far away from Jon, Spencer, and Ryan as possible.
After a lot of walking, he came to a lake. He couldn’t remember seeing it anywhere around the cabin, or on any of the hikes the others had forced him to go on. Brendon shrugged it off as not paying enough attention on looking at the scenery and spending too much time complaining to Spencer that he was tired when hiking.
Brendon decided to walk around the edge of the lake instead of just continuing straight into the woods. This way, it would be easier to find his way back again. Not that he was going to go back.
It became clear to him in about an hour, when he had sung every song he knew by the Beatles twice, however, that the lake looked a lot bigger than it actually was, and no humane amount of walking would get him all the way around and back to the cabin.
So now the logical thing to do would be to turn around and head back to the cabin. And he would have to walk all the way he had just come… and his legs hurt already…
Brendon looked at the sun, and hey, wasn’t it in front of him the last time he checked? What time was it anyhow?
He pulled his Sidekick out of his pocket to see.
Damn. No battery. Brendon started to panic a little; this meant he couldn’t call a helicopter or something to airlift him out of here… well, anything would be better than walking.
Five minutes later, when Brendon had stopped thinking of scenarios in his head to get him out of the forest without walking and dismissed them all as childish, he turned back towards the cabin’s general direction. Then he stopped.
Brendon couldn’t be bothered walking back. Not right now, anyway. Maybe after a nap… Yeah. He would replenish his energy, then walk back.
Brendon plopped onto the grass beside the lapping edge of the lake. He laid his head back on the soft - Ow, fuck, rock - moved the rock aside, put his head on the ground, and pretty soon was snoring. Pretty loudly.