That Teenage Feeling, Jon/Brendon, NC-17, 1/2
Title: That Teenage Feeling
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Summary: So, Brendon has this problem where he’s maybe a technical virgin.
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Just your normal gay sexy sexin’ things. Brendon is a giant failboat?
Author Notes: Title and cut text come from Neko Case’s “That Teenage Feeling,” and I really need to branch out for fic titles. Devendra Banhart’s “Now That I Know” is referenced vaguely within. A HUGE thanks to enhendi and paint_the_days for the awesome betas!
So, Brendon has this problem where he’s maybe a technical virgin. Well. Not really technical virgin. More like, he’s half of a virgin. Maybe ¾ if we’re getting specific. The thing is, he’s definitely still a technical teenager, which means it’s not a huge deal, right? There are lots of people who are still sorta virgins at his age; it’s not a big deal at all, except for oh my god, Jon Walker.
He’s not even overstating, okay, Jon Walker, and he’s totally theirs now; there’s an official contract stating that they own him now, or close enough, whatever, Jon Walker, and Brendon just wants to tell everyone, maybe start a fringe religion or something, but then he’d have to share, so maybe not. Maybe he’ll just stick to throwing himself between Jon and Spencer, wiggling between them, using his sharp elbows to his advantage to get Spencer out of the way, because whatever they were talking about couldn’t be that important.
“Hi!” He says from Jon’s side, smiling up at him, and Jon wraps his arm around Brendon’s shoulder and lets Brendon burrow into his side.
“Oh my god,” Spencer huffs, and Brendon can’t see, but he can almost hear Spencer rolling his eyes. Whatever, he’s totally within his rights, they have a contract now. “There’s a contract, Spencer,” he says, muffled against Jon’s shoulder.
“Brendon,” Spencer says slowly, evenly, using the voice he uses when he feels the need to explain things to Brendon like he’s a five year old. “The contract says that Jon is our bassist, not your pillow. I read the contract, and I’m pretty sure that there were no provisos about hugging, and cuddling, and moon eyes, and secret hair sniffing-”
“Oh my god, Spencer, shut up!” and seriously, what the hell; Brendon was being covert here, he was a ninja and Spencer was ruining things.
“It’s okay,” Jon says, and Brendon can feel the words rumble around in his chest, “You can sniff my hair if you want.”
Brendon sticks his tongue out at Spencer, who huffs off, mumbling to himself about glitter pens and puff paint and unicorns, which can either mean that Spencer is mocking him or planning out a homemade shirt design, but whatever; Jon smells really really good and he’s not pushing Brendon away when he noses at his collarbone, under his throat.
“Jon Walker, you smell like happy!”
*
Brendon is pretty sure he wants to have some sexy time with Jon, quality boy on boy action, total gay sexy sexing. He’s just not sure how one goes about making that happen. Whatever; he’s got moves, okay, moves, but most of them are designed to work on girls because he learned them from watching a lot of teen movies when he was 14, and he doesn’t know if he can manage to turn Jon into a prom queen and win his heart when they’re on tour. It just seems really complicated, and also Brendon feels kind of jealous at the thought of Jon in a tiara because they’re awfully sparkly and it goes way better with his aesthetic than Jon’s. Jon is all about wearing flip flops and having manly stubble and broad shoulders and these awesome rough hands.
“Ryan,” he says, flopping down across the breakfast table and snaking a bite of fruit loops, “would you say that a tiara would work better with my general aesthetic, or Jon’s?”
“Yours,” Ryan says, not looking up from his magazine, “Jon’s all about, like, boy stuff.”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, and, okay, maybe it comes out a little dreamy, “boy stuff.”
“Seriously?” Spencer asks, glaring at them from next to the coffee pot. “Seriously?”
Right, Operation JWalk Prom Queen is out then; he needs to move on to phase two. He has no phase two.
*
“Jon Walker,” Brendon says from Jon’s lap, “would you say that grand gestures or subtle maneuverings are a more effective seduction technique?” Jon makes this awesome little hmm noise, like he’s really considering, and also he is currently skritching his awesome hands through Brendon’s hair, letting his awesome callused fingers scratch at the back of Brendon’s ears, like he’s a kitty or something. Brendon is tired down to his bones, he feels a little fuzzy headed, and Jon‘s fingers feel so amazing, he can’t even. “I’m a kitty!” he thinks, and wonders if he could convincingly purr.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing!” Okay, talking out loud, that’s not good, that could have been embarrassing. Jon’s hands are still in his hair, though, and he really does feel like purring, arching up into Jon’s hands like a cat, and he’s a little preoccupied thinking about arching up into Jon in general when Brendon realizes that Jon is talking. “-depends on who you’re trying to seduce? I like just letting things happen.”
“That’s your seduction plan,” Spencer pipes up from the other couch. “Sitting around and letting things happen?”
“Yeah,” Jon shrugs, and it jostles his hands away from Brendon’s head. Brendon maybe whines until Jon is touching him again. He’s not proud.
“And what,” Spencer asks, voice a little strained like it gets when he argues logic with Ryan, “happens if both parties in said seduction are too totally dense to initiate these happenings?”
“It’ll happen,” Jon replies, lets his hand swipe down to Brendon’s nape, tapping out a beat. “All in good time, young Spencer.”
Brendon’s a little scared that Spencer’s going to snap and, like, impale them on something, but he just gets up and walks slowly into the bunk area. Brendon hears a muffled “Seriously?” before he gets distracted by the warm weight of Jon’s hand resting on the back of his neck, fingers curled just enough that one of them brushes against Brendon’s throat on every exhale.
*
Jon in the morning is his favorite kind of Jon, when he’s still warm and loose from sleep, with pillow creases on his face, and he smells a little like sweat and fading deodorant and stale toothpaste. It makes Brendon want to turn him around, force him back into his bunk, crawl in behind him, and wiggle until he’s wrapped up in Jon like a blanket. Brendon always gets cold in his sleep; it’s not fair that Jon has all that warmth and Brendon thinks it’s only logical that he should share.
“Jon Walker, let’s sleep together,” he says sleepily, nudging at Jon’s (soft, warm) belly with his head, because if Jon is going to stand there, right next to Brendon’s chair like that, he can’t be blamed. Ryan quirks an eyebrow over his spoon, and Spencer starts laughing so hard he spills the orange juice all over the counter. “Shit, fuck, Brendon,” he hisses, grabbing the entire roll of paper towels and dropping it down into the puddle of orange juice.
“Sure,” Jon says, petting the top of Brendon’s head, “I like to nap.”
*
Napping with Jon is like the best thing that’s ever happened to him, okay, ever, and he’s so excited that he can’t actually make himself take a nap; he keeps looking down at where Jon has a heavy arm thrown around his middle, where Jon’s face is pressed into his neck, and he wiggles his toes, raises his free arm in a fist bump with the bunk ceiling, whispers out a quiet little, “Score!” into the dark.
And this is totally okay. If this is all that Jon ever wants, he can do this, he can totally do this. Brendon Urie: Asexual Cuddling Master; he might even get some business cards made up. Who needs fun sexy times when they’ve got their very own Jon Walker breathing into their neck? Not Brendon Urie: Asexual Cuddling Master. He’s totally got this.
Jon shifts in his sleep a little, his arm slips a bit, and when his hand curls back into Brendon’s side his fingers are digging into the dip of Brendon’s hipbone and it’s maybe a good thing he didn’t order those business cards yet because he is suddenly, painfully, desperately hard.
“Dammit, penis, you are ruining everything,” he hisses to the bunk’s ceiling, and then nearly jumps out of his skin when Spencer pulls the very edge of the curtain back and snaps, “Brendon, stop talking to your dick.”
“Whose dick?” Jon mumbles against his neck, and he nuzzles a little, and his stubble scrapes over Brendon’s throat, and oh my god he is maybe going to die.
“No one. No one has a dick. Well. I mean. I have a dick?” That wasn’t supposed to be a question, Brendon is quite aware that he has a dick as it’s currently trying to rip through his sweatpants.
“Mmm, we both have dicks,” Jon says, pulls Brendon over closer, and that shouldn’t be hot, that Jon can pretty much position him with the strength of one arm, and yet here he is, and Jon’s pulling him back against his chest; he’s letting Brendon be the little spoon and Brendon loves being the little spoon. Jon’s hand slips under his shirt a little, rests heavy and warm against his belly, and Brendon is going to die. His dick is going to kill him.
“Stupid, stupid penis,” he thinks to himself, as Jon makes a sleepy noise against the back of his neck.
*
“Ryan, you’re kind of a slut, right?” Ryan glares at him, and, okay, maybe not the best opening line ever, but, like, Brendon needs to know. “I mean, you are a fully developed person who is comfortable in their own sexuality and thus free to express that sexuality with a lot of different people, right?”
“Ryan’s a slut, Brendon, get to the point,” Spencer says from behind him, and oh my god, Spencer has got to stop doing that, popping up like a scary ninja.
“I’m going to put a bell on you,” Brendon hisses in his general direction. “Anyway, Ryan, lots of sex, right? Lots of sex with girls. Lots of sex with girls who aren’t really all that girly, and are in fact guys and not girls at all?”
Ryan gives him this confused look, then shoots his eyes over to Spencer, and great, they’re gonna do that creepy brain twin thing where Spencer translates Ryan-talk for Brendon and Brendon-talk for Ryan. “He wants to know if you’ve had a dick up your ass, Ryan, because he’s a great big virgin who’s in love with Jon.”
“Hey!” Brendon shouts, because, hey, that is . . . kind of accurate.
“Oh yeah, sure,” Ryan shrugs, and goes back to the book sitting in his lap. Brendon flounders a little, opens his mouth, closes it, waves his hands around.
“Oh my god, come the fuck on,” Spencer says, tugging Brendon up by the neck of his t-shirt, “Is that Jon’s shirt?” he asks incredulously, and whatever; it just happened to fall out Jon’s bunk and into Brendon’s hand, and that wasn’t his fault. Spencer heaves a sigh, hustles him into his bunk, climbs up behind him, and oh my god, no! “Spencer, this is really nice, but I’m saving myself for Jon Walker, and I don’t like you that way.”
Spencer’s eyes narrow and he turns this really interesting (terrifying) shade of red and reaches behind him, and Brendon lets out a breath when Spencer pulls out his laptop instead of like, a sword, or throwing stars or something. “Brendon,” he says slowly, carefully. “You should shut up before I kill you.” Spencer opens his laptop up, types a few things that result in startup-y chime noises, passes it over to Brendon, and climbs out of his bunk. His head pops back in about half a second later. “On second thought, go to your own bunk, I don’t want to have to burn my bedding. And if you get come on my laptop I am going to end your life.”
*
Spencer sent him to, like, this porn youtube, and how did Brendon not think of this? He enters his birth date, his actual one, but then gets kind of paranoid about it and makes himself 38, but then he feels a little skeevy, so he goes back and makes himself 23 instead, which he feels is an acceptable age to be looking at online porn on a borrowed laptop on a moving bus. It makes sense. He searches for “gay sex” and gets something like a gazillion results. The first one he clicks features two massive guys covered in baby oil with giant, giant cocks growling while they fuck each other, and it’s a little scary, so he hits the back button, clicks on the next result. And okay, that’s a fist. In someone’s ass. Brendon isn’t positive, but he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to work up to that, so it’s not actually helping.
He opens a new tab, goes to Google, types in, “a beginner’s guide to gay sex ,” and gets so distracted taking the “How Gay Are You?” test on the first link that he doesn’t notice Jon Walker climbing into his bunk until he’s settling himself at Brendon’s side and Brendon wants to die. “Umm,” Brendon says, and his hands refuse to move, and he’s taking a quiz that asks him how often he fingers himself while jacking off, and there’s clearly labeled porn on the other tab and oh my god, oh my god. “Oh my god.”
Jon raises his eyebrows a little, and Brendon’s hands finally unfreeze, he snaps the top of the laptop down, considers throwing it out of the bunk before he remembers that its Spencer’s, and then buries his face in his hands. “Sencerult,” he says into his hands. Jon wedges his fingers under Brendon’s chin, makes him raise his head. “Try that again, buddy.”
“It’s all Spencer’s fault, he made me.”
“I didn’t know Spencer was the kind of guy who forced gay porn on people,” Jon says evenly, and he’s not making fun of Brendon or, like, running away, he is in fact running a very comforting and very distracting hand across Brendon’s back.
“I’m not,” Brendon hears from a few feet away and seriously, seriously, “Spencer, dammit, stop being a ninja who is intent on ruining my life and just GO AWAY with your gay porn because it didn’t even help,” Brendon yells.
Spencer flings the curtain of Brendon’s bunk back, snatches his laptop up, grins really wide (terrifying) at Brendon, and turns to say to Jon, “Brendon wants to have super gay sex with you, Jon, but he’s a great big gay virgin who doesn’t know how to make that happen.”
Brendon’s mouth is open, like really, really wide, and he snaps it shut a few times, tries to make words come out of it, but no dice. He tries to give Spencer a murderous gaze, but mostly he feels like he’s going to cry, and Spencer just smiles again, says, “Have fun, you two!” and Brendon hates him hates him hates him so much oh my god.
He doesn’t actually realize Jon is staring at him, because he’s kind of in the middle of a really elaborate fantasy about choking Spencer to death with his hands, but then Jon says, really quietly, “Brendon?”
“I’m sorry!” Brendon says, and his voice sounds really really loud in the dark bunk, and as counterintuitive as it is, he kind of wants to bury his head in Jon’s chest right now, and then, oh, hey, Jon is kissing him, just a soft brush of his lips, and when he pulls away, he says, “Does Spencer Smith speak the truth?” Brendon means to say no, but Jon just said a lot of S’s and Brendon wants to curl his tongue around Jon’s lisp, and that doesn’t even make sense so instead he just shakes his head yes, and presses himself as far into the corner as he can get.
Jon rolls his eyes a little, snatches at one of Brendon’s ankles and yanks him back over, and hey, the rugged manly strength, hot again. Still hot. Has not in fact stopped being hot. “Sex,” Jon says, and his lips are trailing across Brendon’s ear as he says it and oh my god, “Is not that scary. You just have to kind of let it happen. Besides, we don’t have to have it right away, because I, Brendon Urie, am a gentleman who says what he means.”
Jon’s lips are on his throat now, not pressing, just ghosting over his skin. Brendon doesn’t think his voice is going to work right now, but he tries anyway, “So what do you say, Jon Walker?” and that sounded so smooth, he’s totally got moves.
“I say that you should kiss me now, if you want,” Jon whispers against his lips, and Brendon is a pretty smart guy, all things considered, and boy, does he want. So he does as he’s told.
*
Making out with Jon is epic, totally epic, and Brendon loves Spencer Smith, he is the best friend in the world for making this happen. Jon kisses all slow and lazy, just like Brendon thought he would, and the tight ball of nerves in Brendon’s stomach relaxes as Jon strokes down his sides.
“Is that my shirt?” Jon asks as he glides a hand beneath it.
“Yep,” Brendon grins into his mouth. “I totally stole it. I don’t regret it.” And Jon giggles, like, he giggles, and who knew Jon Walker giggling like a little girl would be so hot?
Jon works his hand around to the small of Brendon’s back, gives a tug, and there he is on top of Jon. He’s a little breathless from that, so it’s not his fault that he says, “Jon, hey, Jon, you’re strong,” and then he buries his face in Jon’s neck and blushes, but Jon just huffs out a laugh, shifts a little, and, wow. So there’s Jon’s cock! Imagine that. Brendon’s throat is a dirty rotten betrayer, because it lets out this surprised little half gasp when he feels it, and Jon’s cock just rubbed against his cock, and gay sexy times are really neat, okay?
“Hey, Jon,” Brendon says, “We both have dicks, remember?” He’s not sure why he can’t stop talking, but Jon just says, “Indeed,” against his throat, and he’s holding his hips away from Brendon now, but he’s also nipping really lightly against the underside of Brendon’s jaw, and that’s, that’s nice. He can keep doing that. “You can keep doing that,” Brendon says, and seriously, why can’t he shut up? “You sure?” Jon asks, his voice low, different from usual, and then he pulls back, looks more closely at Brendon.
“You can tell me,” he says, brushing his hands over the back of Brendon’s head, skritching behind his ears in that way that Brendon loves, “if you want to, like, stop, at any point, okay?”
Brendon feels really hot and flushed, a weird combination of embarrassed and turned on, and he rolls off of Jon and onto his back, brings his arm up to cover his eyes, “Oh my god, you think I’m a blushing virgin bride, you are totally freaked out, how is this my life?”
How is this his life, and why can’t he shut up? “Blushing virgin bride?” Jon asks, pulling Brendon’s arm from over his eyes, leaning over him.
“Do not let Ryan Ross fool you,” Brendon says, “he totally has Harlequins stashed in his bunk.” He does too; Brendon’s favorite is the one about the pirate and the stowaway who is not really a boy but actually a girl in disguise. “I like the one about the pirate,” he says, and then, “I can’t stop talking.”
“Bren,” Jon says, and he leans down, kisses Brendon light, so light and sweet, and Brendon makes a little lonely noise high in his throat when Jon pulls back. “No, no, kissing, more kissing!” he says, and twists himself to chase Jon’s lips.
Jon Walker is amazing, so Jon Walker indulges him, and they make out slow and deep, and it’s enough that the ache in Brendon’s cock fades a little, lets him focus on Jon, the soft little noises he makes when Brendon kisses at his ear, the weight of his palm against Brendon’s back, and Brendon thinks he could fall asleep like this, heavy and boneless with Jon’s mouth sweet against his. He figures this is exactly what happens when he wakes up as the bus rolls to a stop, face pressed into Jon’s neck, Jon’s arms tight around him. He never wants to move.
“Convenience store,” Ryan yells from the front of the bus. “And I’m not going to buy your Red Bull because you’re too busy getting laid, get the fuck up.”
*
It’s not that Brendon is complaining, because hi, Jon Walker, he has his very own Jon Walker now, but his Jon Walker keeps giving him these gentle little kisses and pulling him down and spooning him into submission just when Brendon’s sure they’re about to get to the good part. It’s a little frustrating, and Brendon keeps having to jerk off in the venue showers because he’s spending every night pressed up against Jon in Jon’s bunk, and everything is warm and snuggly and Jon-smelling and every time Jon wakes up hard against Brendon’s ass, he manages to pull back right as Brendon has worked up the nerve to snake his hand back. It’s getting kind of ridiculous because Brendon is always hard, and he’s a little scared that Jon is maybe rethinking this, or is only gay above the waist or something. That would be a tragedy, okay, and a total tragedy because Brendon wants Jon to fuck him kind of a lot.
There’s an after party tonight, and then hotels, hotels, and Brendon, well, he has some pretty big plans. Pretty big plans involving his dick and it’s going to be so, so awesome, Jon will see. Jon will totally learn to love Brendon’s dick if Brendon can make his dick behave and be, like, polite and stuff. His plans are kind of complicated when Spencer shoots Ryan a grin and steals all the room keys from Zack and gives Ryan and Brendon matching ones because he is a little bitch, oh my god.
“Spencer, Spencer, Spence, no. No. Gimme the key. Gimme now.” He’s maybe a little manic here, but, plans. Spencer is trying to talk Brendon out of first shower for the next two weeks when Jon walks up, plucks Spencer’s key out of his hand, and hands it to Brendon. “Ha!” Brendon shouts, pointing his finger at Spencer. “You can’t even pick on me anymore because I have a Jon Walker to defend me! OWNED, Spencer, you just got owned.”
“Brendon,” Jon says from his spot halfway down the hall. “You coming?” Brendon spares a second to stick his tongue out at Spencer and toss his old room key to Ryan before he scurries after Jon, who has both of their bags, and the muscles in his arms are doing really, really great things.
“Jon,” Brendon says. “You have arms,” and because he wants to be sure Jon is aware of how much Brendon appreciates this fact, he leans down and nips at Jon’s bicep, rubs his nose over the slight wet spot he left on Jon’s t-shirt. Jon lets out a breath, kind of shaky, and says, “That I do, Brendon,” right as the elevator dings.
Part 2
Author: boweryd
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
Summary: So, Brendon has this problem where he’s maybe a technical virgin.
Disclaimer: I clearly don’t own any of these people and this clearly never happened.
Warnings: Just your normal gay sexy sexin’ things. Brendon is a giant failboat?
Author Notes: Title and cut text come from Neko Case’s “That Teenage Feeling,” and I really need to branch out for fic titles. Devendra Banhart’s “Now That I Know” is referenced vaguely within. A HUGE thanks to enhendi and paint_the_days for the awesome betas!
So, Brendon has this problem where he’s maybe a technical virgin. Well. Not really technical virgin. More like, he’s half of a virgin. Maybe ¾ if we’re getting specific. The thing is, he’s definitely still a technical teenager, which means it’s not a huge deal, right? There are lots of people who are still sorta virgins at his age; it’s not a big deal at all, except for oh my god, Jon Walker.
He’s not even overstating, okay, Jon Walker, and he’s totally theirs now; there’s an official contract stating that they own him now, or close enough, whatever, Jon Walker, and Brendon just wants to tell everyone, maybe start a fringe religion or something, but then he’d have to share, so maybe not. Maybe he’ll just stick to throwing himself between Jon and Spencer, wiggling between them, using his sharp elbows to his advantage to get Spencer out of the way, because whatever they were talking about couldn’t be that important.
“Hi!” He says from Jon’s side, smiling up at him, and Jon wraps his arm around Brendon’s shoulder and lets Brendon burrow into his side.
“Oh my god,” Spencer huffs, and Brendon can’t see, but he can almost hear Spencer rolling his eyes. Whatever, he’s totally within his rights, they have a contract now. “There’s a contract, Spencer,” he says, muffled against Jon’s shoulder.
“Brendon,” Spencer says slowly, evenly, using the voice he uses when he feels the need to explain things to Brendon like he’s a five year old. “The contract says that Jon is our bassist, not your pillow. I read the contract, and I’m pretty sure that there were no provisos about hugging, and cuddling, and moon eyes, and secret hair sniffing-”
“Oh my god, Spencer, shut up!” and seriously, what the hell; Brendon was being covert here, he was a ninja and Spencer was ruining things.
“It’s okay,” Jon says, and Brendon can feel the words rumble around in his chest, “You can sniff my hair if you want.”
Brendon sticks his tongue out at Spencer, who huffs off, mumbling to himself about glitter pens and puff paint and unicorns, which can either mean that Spencer is mocking him or planning out a homemade shirt design, but whatever; Jon smells really really good and he’s not pushing Brendon away when he noses at his collarbone, under his throat.
“Jon Walker, you smell like happy!”
*
Brendon is pretty sure he wants to have some sexy time with Jon, quality boy on boy action, total gay sexy sexing. He’s just not sure how one goes about making that happen. Whatever; he’s got moves, okay, moves, but most of them are designed to work on girls because he learned them from watching a lot of teen movies when he was 14, and he doesn’t know if he can manage to turn Jon into a prom queen and win his heart when they’re on tour. It just seems really complicated, and also Brendon feels kind of jealous at the thought of Jon in a tiara because they’re awfully sparkly and it goes way better with his aesthetic than Jon’s. Jon is all about wearing flip flops and having manly stubble and broad shoulders and these awesome rough hands.
“Ryan,” he says, flopping down across the breakfast table and snaking a bite of fruit loops, “would you say that a tiara would work better with my general aesthetic, or Jon’s?”
“Yours,” Ryan says, not looking up from his magazine, “Jon’s all about, like, boy stuff.”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, and, okay, maybe it comes out a little dreamy, “boy stuff.”
“Seriously?” Spencer asks, glaring at them from next to the coffee pot. “Seriously?”
Right, Operation JWalk Prom Queen is out then; he needs to move on to phase two. He has no phase two.
*
“Jon Walker,” Brendon says from Jon’s lap, “would you say that grand gestures or subtle maneuverings are a more effective seduction technique?” Jon makes this awesome little hmm noise, like he’s really considering, and also he is currently skritching his awesome hands through Brendon’s hair, letting his awesome callused fingers scratch at the back of Brendon’s ears, like he’s a kitty or something. Brendon is tired down to his bones, he feels a little fuzzy headed, and Jon‘s fingers feel so amazing, he can’t even. “I’m a kitty!” he thinks, and wonders if he could convincingly purr.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing!” Okay, talking out loud, that’s not good, that could have been embarrassing. Jon’s hands are still in his hair, though, and he really does feel like purring, arching up into Jon’s hands like a cat, and he’s a little preoccupied thinking about arching up into Jon in general when Brendon realizes that Jon is talking. “-depends on who you’re trying to seduce? I like just letting things happen.”
“That’s your seduction plan,” Spencer pipes up from the other couch. “Sitting around and letting things happen?”
“Yeah,” Jon shrugs, and it jostles his hands away from Brendon’s head. Brendon maybe whines until Jon is touching him again. He’s not proud.
“And what,” Spencer asks, voice a little strained like it gets when he argues logic with Ryan, “happens if both parties in said seduction are too totally dense to initiate these happenings?”
“It’ll happen,” Jon replies, lets his hand swipe down to Brendon’s nape, tapping out a beat. “All in good time, young Spencer.”
Brendon’s a little scared that Spencer’s going to snap and, like, impale them on something, but he just gets up and walks slowly into the bunk area. Brendon hears a muffled “Seriously?” before he gets distracted by the warm weight of Jon’s hand resting on the back of his neck, fingers curled just enough that one of them brushes against Brendon’s throat on every exhale.
*
Jon in the morning is his favorite kind of Jon, when he’s still warm and loose from sleep, with pillow creases on his face, and he smells a little like sweat and fading deodorant and stale toothpaste. It makes Brendon want to turn him around, force him back into his bunk, crawl in behind him, and wiggle until he’s wrapped up in Jon like a blanket. Brendon always gets cold in his sleep; it’s not fair that Jon has all that warmth and Brendon thinks it’s only logical that he should share.
“Jon Walker, let’s sleep together,” he says sleepily, nudging at Jon’s (soft, warm) belly with his head, because if Jon is going to stand there, right next to Brendon’s chair like that, he can’t be blamed. Ryan quirks an eyebrow over his spoon, and Spencer starts laughing so hard he spills the orange juice all over the counter. “Shit, fuck, Brendon,” he hisses, grabbing the entire roll of paper towels and dropping it down into the puddle of orange juice.
“Sure,” Jon says, petting the top of Brendon’s head, “I like to nap.”
*
Napping with Jon is like the best thing that’s ever happened to him, okay, ever, and he’s so excited that he can’t actually make himself take a nap; he keeps looking down at where Jon has a heavy arm thrown around his middle, where Jon’s face is pressed into his neck, and he wiggles his toes, raises his free arm in a fist bump with the bunk ceiling, whispers out a quiet little, “Score!” into the dark.
And this is totally okay. If this is all that Jon ever wants, he can do this, he can totally do this. Brendon Urie: Asexual Cuddling Master; he might even get some business cards made up. Who needs fun sexy times when they’ve got their very own Jon Walker breathing into their neck? Not Brendon Urie: Asexual Cuddling Master. He’s totally got this.
Jon shifts in his sleep a little, his arm slips a bit, and when his hand curls back into Brendon’s side his fingers are digging into the dip of Brendon’s hipbone and it’s maybe a good thing he didn’t order those business cards yet because he is suddenly, painfully, desperately hard.
“Dammit, penis, you are ruining everything,” he hisses to the bunk’s ceiling, and then nearly jumps out of his skin when Spencer pulls the very edge of the curtain back and snaps, “Brendon, stop talking to your dick.”
“Whose dick?” Jon mumbles against his neck, and he nuzzles a little, and his stubble scrapes over Brendon’s throat, and oh my god he is maybe going to die.
“No one. No one has a dick. Well. I mean. I have a dick?” That wasn’t supposed to be a question, Brendon is quite aware that he has a dick as it’s currently trying to rip through his sweatpants.
“Mmm, we both have dicks,” Jon says, pulls Brendon over closer, and that shouldn’t be hot, that Jon can pretty much position him with the strength of one arm, and yet here he is, and Jon’s pulling him back against his chest; he’s letting Brendon be the little spoon and Brendon loves being the little spoon. Jon’s hand slips under his shirt a little, rests heavy and warm against his belly, and Brendon is going to die. His dick is going to kill him.
“Stupid, stupid penis,” he thinks to himself, as Jon makes a sleepy noise against the back of his neck.
*
“Ryan, you’re kind of a slut, right?” Ryan glares at him, and, okay, maybe not the best opening line ever, but, like, Brendon needs to know. “I mean, you are a fully developed person who is comfortable in their own sexuality and thus free to express that sexuality with a lot of different people, right?”
“Ryan’s a slut, Brendon, get to the point,” Spencer says from behind him, and oh my god, Spencer has got to stop doing that, popping up like a scary ninja.
“I’m going to put a bell on you,” Brendon hisses in his general direction. “Anyway, Ryan, lots of sex, right? Lots of sex with girls. Lots of sex with girls who aren’t really all that girly, and are in fact guys and not girls at all?”
Ryan gives him this confused look, then shoots his eyes over to Spencer, and great, they’re gonna do that creepy brain twin thing where Spencer translates Ryan-talk for Brendon and Brendon-talk for Ryan. “He wants to know if you’ve had a dick up your ass, Ryan, because he’s a great big virgin who’s in love with Jon.”
“Hey!” Brendon shouts, because, hey, that is . . . kind of accurate.
“Oh yeah, sure,” Ryan shrugs, and goes back to the book sitting in his lap. Brendon flounders a little, opens his mouth, closes it, waves his hands around.
“Oh my god, come the fuck on,” Spencer says, tugging Brendon up by the neck of his t-shirt, “Is that Jon’s shirt?” he asks incredulously, and whatever; it just happened to fall out Jon’s bunk and into Brendon’s hand, and that wasn’t his fault. Spencer heaves a sigh, hustles him into his bunk, climbs up behind him, and oh my god, no! “Spencer, this is really nice, but I’m saving myself for Jon Walker, and I don’t like you that way.”
Spencer’s eyes narrow and he turns this really interesting (terrifying) shade of red and reaches behind him, and Brendon lets out a breath when Spencer pulls out his laptop instead of like, a sword, or throwing stars or something. “Brendon,” he says slowly, carefully. “You should shut up before I kill you.” Spencer opens his laptop up, types a few things that result in startup-y chime noises, passes it over to Brendon, and climbs out of his bunk. His head pops back in about half a second later. “On second thought, go to your own bunk, I don’t want to have to burn my bedding. And if you get come on my laptop I am going to end your life.”
*
Spencer sent him to, like, this porn youtube, and how did Brendon not think of this? He enters his birth date, his actual one, but then gets kind of paranoid about it and makes himself 38, but then he feels a little skeevy, so he goes back and makes himself 23 instead, which he feels is an acceptable age to be looking at online porn on a borrowed laptop on a moving bus. It makes sense. He searches for “gay sex” and gets something like a gazillion results. The first one he clicks features two massive guys covered in baby oil with giant, giant cocks growling while they fuck each other, and it’s a little scary, so he hits the back button, clicks on the next result. And okay, that’s a fist. In someone’s ass. Brendon isn’t positive, but he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to work up to that, so it’s not actually helping.
He opens a new tab, goes to Google, types in, “a beginner’s guide to gay sex ,” and gets so distracted taking the “How Gay Are You?” test on the first link that he doesn’t notice Jon Walker climbing into his bunk until he’s settling himself at Brendon’s side and Brendon wants to die. “Umm,” Brendon says, and his hands refuse to move, and he’s taking a quiz that asks him how often he fingers himself while jacking off, and there’s clearly labeled porn on the other tab and oh my god, oh my god. “Oh my god.”
Jon raises his eyebrows a little, and Brendon’s hands finally unfreeze, he snaps the top of the laptop down, considers throwing it out of the bunk before he remembers that its Spencer’s, and then buries his face in his hands. “Sencerult,” he says into his hands. Jon wedges his fingers under Brendon’s chin, makes him raise his head. “Try that again, buddy.”
“It’s all Spencer’s fault, he made me.”
“I didn’t know Spencer was the kind of guy who forced gay porn on people,” Jon says evenly, and he’s not making fun of Brendon or, like, running away, he is in fact running a very comforting and very distracting hand across Brendon’s back.
“I’m not,” Brendon hears from a few feet away and seriously, seriously, “Spencer, dammit, stop being a ninja who is intent on ruining my life and just GO AWAY with your gay porn because it didn’t even help,” Brendon yells.
Spencer flings the curtain of Brendon’s bunk back, snatches his laptop up, grins really wide (terrifying) at Brendon, and turns to say to Jon, “Brendon wants to have super gay sex with you, Jon, but he’s a great big gay virgin who doesn’t know how to make that happen.”
Brendon’s mouth is open, like really, really wide, and he snaps it shut a few times, tries to make words come out of it, but no dice. He tries to give Spencer a murderous gaze, but mostly he feels like he’s going to cry, and Spencer just smiles again, says, “Have fun, you two!” and Brendon hates him hates him hates him so much oh my god.
He doesn’t actually realize Jon is staring at him, because he’s kind of in the middle of a really elaborate fantasy about choking Spencer to death with his hands, but then Jon says, really quietly, “Brendon?”
“I’m sorry!” Brendon says, and his voice sounds really really loud in the dark bunk, and as counterintuitive as it is, he kind of wants to bury his head in Jon’s chest right now, and then, oh, hey, Jon is kissing him, just a soft brush of his lips, and when he pulls away, he says, “Does Spencer Smith speak the truth?” Brendon means to say no, but Jon just said a lot of S’s and Brendon wants to curl his tongue around Jon’s lisp, and that doesn’t even make sense so instead he just shakes his head yes, and presses himself as far into the corner as he can get.
Jon rolls his eyes a little, snatches at one of Brendon’s ankles and yanks him back over, and hey, the rugged manly strength, hot again. Still hot. Has not in fact stopped being hot. “Sex,” Jon says, and his lips are trailing across Brendon’s ear as he says it and oh my god, “Is not that scary. You just have to kind of let it happen. Besides, we don’t have to have it right away, because I, Brendon Urie, am a gentleman who says what he means.”
Jon’s lips are on his throat now, not pressing, just ghosting over his skin. Brendon doesn’t think his voice is going to work right now, but he tries anyway, “So what do you say, Jon Walker?” and that sounded so smooth, he’s totally got moves.
“I say that you should kiss me now, if you want,” Jon whispers against his lips, and Brendon is a pretty smart guy, all things considered, and boy, does he want. So he does as he’s told.
*
Making out with Jon is epic, totally epic, and Brendon loves Spencer Smith, he is the best friend in the world for making this happen. Jon kisses all slow and lazy, just like Brendon thought he would, and the tight ball of nerves in Brendon’s stomach relaxes as Jon strokes down his sides.
“Is that my shirt?” Jon asks as he glides a hand beneath it.
“Yep,” Brendon grins into his mouth. “I totally stole it. I don’t regret it.” And Jon giggles, like, he giggles, and who knew Jon Walker giggling like a little girl would be so hot?
Jon works his hand around to the small of Brendon’s back, gives a tug, and there he is on top of Jon. He’s a little breathless from that, so it’s not his fault that he says, “Jon, hey, Jon, you’re strong,” and then he buries his face in Jon’s neck and blushes, but Jon just huffs out a laugh, shifts a little, and, wow. So there’s Jon’s cock! Imagine that. Brendon’s throat is a dirty rotten betrayer, because it lets out this surprised little half gasp when he feels it, and Jon’s cock just rubbed against his cock, and gay sexy times are really neat, okay?
“Hey, Jon,” Brendon says, “We both have dicks, remember?” He’s not sure why he can’t stop talking, but Jon just says, “Indeed,” against his throat, and he’s holding his hips away from Brendon now, but he’s also nipping really lightly against the underside of Brendon’s jaw, and that’s, that’s nice. He can keep doing that. “You can keep doing that,” Brendon says, and seriously, why can’t he shut up? “You sure?” Jon asks, his voice low, different from usual, and then he pulls back, looks more closely at Brendon.
“You can tell me,” he says, brushing his hands over the back of Brendon’s head, skritching behind his ears in that way that Brendon loves, “if you want to, like, stop, at any point, okay?”
Brendon feels really hot and flushed, a weird combination of embarrassed and turned on, and he rolls off of Jon and onto his back, brings his arm up to cover his eyes, “Oh my god, you think I’m a blushing virgin bride, you are totally freaked out, how is this my life?”
How is this his life, and why can’t he shut up? “Blushing virgin bride?” Jon asks, pulling Brendon’s arm from over his eyes, leaning over him.
“Do not let Ryan Ross fool you,” Brendon says, “he totally has Harlequins stashed in his bunk.” He does too; Brendon’s favorite is the one about the pirate and the stowaway who is not really a boy but actually a girl in disguise. “I like the one about the pirate,” he says, and then, “I can’t stop talking.”
“Bren,” Jon says, and he leans down, kisses Brendon light, so light and sweet, and Brendon makes a little lonely noise high in his throat when Jon pulls back. “No, no, kissing, more kissing!” he says, and twists himself to chase Jon’s lips.
Jon Walker is amazing, so Jon Walker indulges him, and they make out slow and deep, and it’s enough that the ache in Brendon’s cock fades a little, lets him focus on Jon, the soft little noises he makes when Brendon kisses at his ear, the weight of his palm against Brendon’s back, and Brendon thinks he could fall asleep like this, heavy and boneless with Jon’s mouth sweet against his. He figures this is exactly what happens when he wakes up as the bus rolls to a stop, face pressed into Jon’s neck, Jon’s arms tight around him. He never wants to move.
“Convenience store,” Ryan yells from the front of the bus. “And I’m not going to buy your Red Bull because you’re too busy getting laid, get the fuck up.”
*
It’s not that Brendon is complaining, because hi, Jon Walker, he has his very own Jon Walker now, but his Jon Walker keeps giving him these gentle little kisses and pulling him down and spooning him into submission just when Brendon’s sure they’re about to get to the good part. It’s a little frustrating, and Brendon keeps having to jerk off in the venue showers because he’s spending every night pressed up against Jon in Jon’s bunk, and everything is warm and snuggly and Jon-smelling and every time Jon wakes up hard against Brendon’s ass, he manages to pull back right as Brendon has worked up the nerve to snake his hand back. It’s getting kind of ridiculous because Brendon is always hard, and he’s a little scared that Jon is maybe rethinking this, or is only gay above the waist or something. That would be a tragedy, okay, and a total tragedy because Brendon wants Jon to fuck him kind of a lot.
There’s an after party tonight, and then hotels, hotels, and Brendon, well, he has some pretty big plans. Pretty big plans involving his dick and it’s going to be so, so awesome, Jon will see. Jon will totally learn to love Brendon’s dick if Brendon can make his dick behave and be, like, polite and stuff. His plans are kind of complicated when Spencer shoots Ryan a grin and steals all the room keys from Zack and gives Ryan and Brendon matching ones because he is a little bitch, oh my god.
“Spencer, Spencer, Spence, no. No. Gimme the key. Gimme now.” He’s maybe a little manic here, but, plans. Spencer is trying to talk Brendon out of first shower for the next two weeks when Jon walks up, plucks Spencer’s key out of his hand, and hands it to Brendon. “Ha!” Brendon shouts, pointing his finger at Spencer. “You can’t even pick on me anymore because I have a Jon Walker to defend me! OWNED, Spencer, you just got owned.”
“Brendon,” Jon says from his spot halfway down the hall. “You coming?” Brendon spares a second to stick his tongue out at Spencer and toss his old room key to Ryan before he scurries after Jon, who has both of their bags, and the muscles in his arms are doing really, really great things.
“Jon,” Brendon says. “You have arms,” and because he wants to be sure Jon is aware of how much Brendon appreciates this fact, he leans down and nips at Jon’s bicep, rubs his nose over the slight wet spot he left on Jon’s t-shirt. Jon lets out a breath, kind of shaky, and says, “That I do, Brendon,” right as the elevator dings.
Part 2