Beach Music, girl!Brendon/Gerard, NC-17, 8B/12
Eight A
Brendon’s trying to kill Gerard. Not on purpose or anything, but that's the thought he has as he watches her bouncing across the parking lot, swinging their joined hands and happily burbling away about some book or other Ryan Ross recommends. Not that Gerard has the slightest clue what it is she’s said, exactly. He’s too busy focusing all his energy on not throwing her to the ground and rutting against her. She wearing these things; these leg warmer-leggings-tights kind of things. They’re black, with little tiny pink hearts knit up the outside of each leg, and they go from over-top of her ballet flats to flirt an inch or so below the hem of her tiny pink skirt. And that’s the problem--that inch of pale, pale skin.
Gerard can’t look anywhere else. He’s trying his best, watching cars as they head towards the book store, looking at her face as she smiles and laughs, and making the mistake of looking at the top she’s wearing. It’s some kind of sheer black gauzy material. And it’s not sleazy or revealing or anything, at all. It’s kind of cute, really, with the ruffled straps and the little velvet bow between her breasts. But…the material that falls over her stomach is sheer, almost entirely see-through, and he can see her stomach, and Gerard has to keep flicking his eyes away from the flat, toned skin across her belly to avoid embarrassing himself in public. Unfortunately, his eyes go back to the thin strip of skin between her skirt and leg-warmers. So, he’s sweaty and thin lipped and walking very, very quickly.
Brendon, who finally realizes that Gerard hasn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention, gives him a quizzical raise of her eyebrow above her enormous Chanel sunglasses, and then bursts out laughing. “What, did you leave your brains back on the bed sheets or something?”
“Why the fuck are we even here? I only worked here for a few months.”
Brendon drops his hand to wrap her arm around his waist. “Memory lane, Geeway. This is where My Chemical Romance was born. I wanna know everything about you!”
Gerard rolls his eyes and holds the door to the bookstore open for Brendon. “So here we are at the Newark Barnes & Noble, and hey! It’s just like every other Barnes & Noble! Amazing!”
“Be nice!” Brendon pokes Gerard in the soft flesh below his ribs and is rewarded with a nasal, squeaky-toy laugh. “Let’s browse!”
Shaking his head and laughing, Gerard follows Brendon’s lead into the stacks. He’s content to trail her for a while, but gets bored and waves towards the Graphic Novels sections, “I’ll just be over there,” he kisses her when she nods and smiles, not looking up form the trade paperback in her hands.
Brendon browses for a while before finding Gerard, hooking her chin over his shoulder and laughing at the stack of comics and anthologies cradled in his arm. “Hey, let’s go sit down for a bit. I can’t really pay attention to figure out if I like this enough to buy it, what with the Mom and Screaming Brat Brigade standing behind me looking at the remainder bin.”
“Sure,” Gerard shifts the things in his arms so he can wrap one arm around Brendon’s waist. “Unless they’ve done some massive reorganization, I know this one table that’s pretty private…”
They walk as Gerard talks and he leads them to an alcove at the back of the store. “Oooh, perfect for those mid-shift naps, huh?” Brendon smiles at Gerard when she sees the small table and four chairs shoved into the corner.
“Also perfect for hiding from Mikes and annoying as fuck customers.” Gerard snorts and holds a chair out for her.
Flopping happily into the offered chair Brendon flips her paperback open and starts reading, smirking as Gerard dumps the pile of magazines and comics out of his arms and onto the table top. “So won’t your dealer be pissed?” She raises an eyebrow and gazes at him from behind her book.
“Dealer?” Gerard sits in the chair across from Brendon and scratches his nose.
Shoulders hitching in silent laughter, Brendon says, “C’mon, you telling me you don’t have some Android's Dungeon type dude somewhere doing a monthly pull for you?” She waves at the fanned out stack of comics. “Won’t he be mad that you’re buying stuff at some multinational conglomerate?”
Gerard snickers, “Oh yeah, yeah, I have a comic shop, yeah. But who says I’m gonna buy any of this shit anyway?”
Giving Gerard a mock stern look, Brendon says, “Oh, so you’re one of those customers.” She reaches across the table and playfully raps his knuckles, “The library’s thata way, son.” She hooks a thumb towards the front of the store and they both laugh.
Eventually they settle into a silence that is punctuated by the flicking of magazine pages or Brendon reading an amusing line from her book out loud to Gerard. Bored with his reading material, Gerard takes a notebook out of his pocket and is sketching out random thoughts and ideas when he suddenly jolts and makes a little, squeaky urk sound. He looks over at Brendon, who is placidly reading, the only sign of her being guilty of anything is the tiny, upward tick of the corners of her mouth. Gerard raises an eyebrow and circles Brendon’s ankle with his thumb and forefinger.
Brendon had been very slowly and carefully tracing her toes up Gerard’s inseam, stopping at his groin, pressing hard against his cock. Sighing, Gerard looks from Brendon’s bare foot to her face. She’s having a hard time fighting off her smirk, but still for all the world looks like she’s enjoying her book and not engaging in some really fucking unfair teasing. “Oops!” Gerard says, throwing his pen under the table. He carefully pries Brendon’s foot from his thigh and then slides off his chair, dropping to his knees, under the pretense of retrieving the pen.
Crawling on all fours under the table, Gerard crosses the short distance to Brendon. He picks up her bare foot, kisses the triangular jut of her ankle bone, and puts her ballet flat back on. He hears a stifled giggle as his hand trails across the top of her foot, and then up along her leg-warmer. He traces each tiny pink heart along the side, pressing a fingertip into the thick wool. Brendon’s smothered giggles turn to bitten off groans when Gerard hooks his finger into the elastic at the top and gives a slow yank. His fingers tease and ghost over the tiny flex and ripple of her muscles as he slips the material lower and lower on her leg until it sags around her ankle. He huffs out a hushed giggle against the softness of her skin when she jumps and yips at the feeling of his lips pressed to the inside of her knee.
He continues up her tensed leg, pausing to circle the slight, brown freckle at the top of her thigh with his tongue tip. Brendon twitches beneath Gerard’s touch, and from his crouch he watches the quick rise and fall of her belly. Using his chin to ruck up her skirt without interrupting his determined petting, Gerard rests his cheek against her thigh, taking a deep breath. God, he can smellher! He swallows hard and sits back on his haunches, taking deep breaths and squeezing at Brendon’s knee. “Gee,” her whisper is harsh and muffled by the table top. Biting his lip, Gerard leans forward, nosing at the damp cotton of Brendon’s panties. She whines again, higher and longer and her heels dig into the floor, her knees bracketing Gerard's shoulders.
With a wicked flash of teeth, hidden by the table and his position, Gerard whispers, “Shhh,” into the daisy covered fabric, licking his tongue over it. His hair tickles the insides of her thighs as he moves his head in a studied, back and forth motion slurring his wet mouth and her panties against sensitive skin. Still pressing his tongue against the material, Gerard sucks her between his lips and Brendon jumps and lets out a loud, Uhhh! making Gerard smirk and shush her again.
Hands gripping hard against the tendons of Brendon’s knees, Gerard mouths at the cheerful elastic trim of Brendon’s underpants, using his teeth to push it aside before plunging his arched tongue into her slit. She’s panting now--a fine tremble shocking down the taut length of her muscles--and he can hear her whining. He watches the uneven rise and fall of her stomach and continues to swipe and lick. Brendon lowers one hand beneath the table, dragging unsteady fingers along the flat plane of Gerard’s cheekbone and snaking into his hair.
Encouraged, Gerard grips her thighs, pulling her closer, and curls his tongue inside her, smearing wetness across his face. Drawing tiny circles up the goose-flesh bumps of her thighs, Gerard shifts his position-erection pressing uncomfortably into his underwear-stroking a finger inside her, echoing the quick precision of his tongue. He sucks at her clit and feels the flood of her against his lips and over his fingers when she huffs out a high pitched oh oh oh, tugging ruthlessly on the strands of Gerard’s hair she’s wrapped around her knuckles, and then goes limp.
Pressing the heel of his hand to the hard ridge of his cock, Gerard sits back on his creaking knees, steeling himself. With a slow tenderness he drags Brendon’s leg warmer back up her leg and tugs Brendon’s underwear and skirt back into place.
A few seconds pass, and Gerard listens to the sobbing whine of Brendon’s breath coupled with the unsteady hiccup of his own. Swallowing hard, he crawls out from under the table and gets unsteadily to his feet. Brendon looks up at him, glassy eyed and flushed. “You’re a dirty, bad man, Gerard Way,” she croaks, finally dropping her death grip on her book. She swipes at her face with a shaky hand, and the drops it into her lap, gifting him with a blinding smile.
Gerard manages a low grunt, and hooks a hand over Brendon’s shoulder, dragging her to her feet, abandoning their books on the table. He takes off at a quick march, Brendon stumbling behind him. Still fuzzy from the force of her orgasm, she manages to grab the strap of her purse, pulling it behind her like a small dog. He leads them both to another alcove and opens a heavy door, roughly shoving Brendon inside. Legs quivering, Brendon's shoulders slam back against the door and her eyes fall shut as Gerard covers her mouth with his, biting and licking in an almost frenzy. “Fuck Bren, want you so fucking bad,” his mouth crushes hers, hands hard across her ribcage.
Head still swimming, Brendon manages to draw a breath, her skin hot and tingling at the feeling of Gerard’s hands stroking beneath her shirt. She blinks and her dazed, blissed-out expression changes to something like hurt anger. “A restroom, Gerard? Seriously?” She wriggles like a fish on a hook and finally frees herself from the tangle of Gerard’s hold. Roughly pushing him backwards, she hauls the door open and bolts through it.
Huffing and blinking, and still painfully aroused, Gerard stands in the handicapped washroom, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. He runs a steadying hand over his face, and taking a bracing breath, opens the door to follow fleeting glimpses of Brendon’s pink skirt through the store. “Brendon! Wait!” he calls.
“Brendon!” Gerard yells again across the parking lot. Brendon is frantically pulling on the Saab’s door handle, even though Gerard has the keys and remote clutched in his hand. “Honey, what…” Gerard reaches the car and stops short, taking in Brendon’s arms across her chest and the way she’s chewing on her bottom lip. Even though he can’t read her expression behind her sunglasses, it’s clear that she’s upset.
Brendon shakes her head in a curt, negative motion and, running a hand through her hair, says in a small voice, “Can we just go, please?”
“Unh, sure.” Gerard clicks the doors unlocked and Brendon drops into the passenger seat. He darts a glance over to her side of the car and she is very much not looking at him. Slow and careful, Gerard extends a hand and runs a palm over her knee. “Brendon?”
Brendon’s laugh is high and tight, “So, it looks like I do have standards after all. Wanna fuck me in alleyways and elevators and parking lots? Sure! But I draw the line at public restrooms!” Her attempt at humor dies when it’s clear she’s fighting back tears. She scoots over in the seat until she’s pressed against the door, away from Gerard’s touch.
“Bren, don’t,” frowning, Gerard starts the car and heads out of the parking lot. He watches her, from of the corner of his eye. He sees how she fidgets and frowns and worries at her bottom lip. She doesn’t say any more, and her fingers are digging divots into her biceps where she’s crossed her arms. Wordlessly he reaches over and pries her fingers off her arm, holding her hand carefully in his. She doesn’t look at Gerard, just stares out the window, the unhappy silence filling the space between them.
She only turns back to look at Gerard, confusion knitting her brows as she flips her sunglasses to the top of her head, when he pulls off at an exit nowhere near his house. He parks the car outside a public storage low-rise and kills the ignition. Hands gripping the wheel harder than when he was actually driving, Gerard exhales and says, “You can tell me, if you want.”
Her usual fidgeting made worse by being upset, Brendon’s leg jiggles a mile a minute and she jabs at the seat belt’s button before she pulls her legs up, resting her feet on the edge of the seat and her chin on the steeple of her knees. “He never took me home. Tom, I mean. All the times we fucked, I don’t think we ever actually did it in a bed.”
Gerard’s mouth opens and closes and he grips the steering wheel even harder, letting Brendon continue, “The first time we…my first time, I mean…we were at a pub, in like Manchester, or something.” Brendon runs her finger along the seat’s stitching. “Have you seen Trainspotting?”
Startled when Brendon turns to look at him, cheek pillowed on her sloped legs, Gerard says, “Uh, yeah.” He jerks his hands away from the steering wheel and reaches for Brendon, before stopping short and curling his hands into fists.
“I was high, or drunk. Maybe both,” Brendon laughs and it’s a horrible, pained sound, “but like, he didn’t force me, didn’t make me, or anything like that. I was pretty in to it. We were in this pub and I guess, you know, going at it hot and heavy,” Brendon shrugs deprecatingly and twists a thick hank of her hair around and around her fingers. “The other guys started making a fuss so he-Tom-took me to the restroom.” Her nose wrinkles at the memory and she scratches at her scalp. “It was so gross, Gerard. So gross. With like, one of those light bulbs on a string and it smelled so bad.”
Gerard uncurls his clenched fist and does reach for Brendon’s hand then, and she squeezes her fingers across his knuckles. “Worst public toilet in Britain?”
“Yeah, and I remember mashing my face against the stall wall and there was all this graffiti so I just closed my eyes, and he pushed down my jeans and like, pushed my underwear out of the way and…it didn’t take very long.” She’s silent for long minutes, picking at the bow on her shoe. Not letting go of Gerard’s hand, she shifts again, putting her feet flat on the floor and leaning her head against the closed window.
“Oh, Brendon,” is all Gerard can think of to say.
She shrugs again and says, “I thought; okay, that sucked. But, first times, right?” She clicks the window button, flicking at it repeatedly with her index finger, studying it when she finally opens her eyes. “But, I dunno, it was like he thought that’s who I was-- thought that was what I wanted. And somehow maybe I thought that was who I needed to be, to keep him, or something. And that’s how everyone sees me, now. And I guess I just never really got how it’s okay for boys to fuck me, but wrong for me to like it.” Her voice cracks and she sniffles, loud in the car’s interior. “But now, with you, I thought maybe that things could be different. I thought that things are different. I thought maybe that I could be different now, too. I thought things could be different with us. I hoped I meant more to you than…” She waves a hand vaguely in front of her.
“You are! It is, Brendon. Bren, c’mere,” Gerard yanks on her hand, pulling Brendon awkwardly over the gearshift and into his lap. “Jesus Christ, Brendon, you are so much more than that. You deserve so much more than that.” He buries his face in her hair, inhaling slow and steady and closes his eyes against welling tears. “You deserve candles, and billion count Egyptian cotton sheets, and flowers and all that kinda shit. You deserve everything, Brendon.”
Brendon lifts her head from Gerard’s shoulder and smiles sadly, “Barry White, and champagne...er I mean, sparkling cider, and chocolate hearts?”
“Yeah,” Smiling back, Gerard runs his thumbs under Brendon’s eyes, dashing away her tears, fingers careful across the scar on her cheek and circling a freckle at the corner of her eye. He tilts her chin and kisses her, soft and slow. It’s just a gentle press of his lips to hers but Brendon thinks maybe it’s the most real kiss she’s ever had.
It’s been a week and Gerard thinks he finally knows what to say to Brendon. “You’re everything.”
***
Her arm linked through Gerard’s as they walk up the path to his townhouse, Brendon asks, “So, what was your first time like?”
Tilting his head back and barking out a small laugh, Gerard holds the front door open for Brendon and ushers her in with a guiding hand at the small of her back. “You know, pretty much average American.” He throws his keys onto a small table by the door and throws his jacket towards the closet.
Brendon arches an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? Do tell,” she squeezes his hip and continues down the long narrow hallway to the kitchen. “Fuck, man, I’m starving.” She hauls open the refrigerator door and begins rooting through it.
“Well, it was at prom, right?” Gerard takes the apple from Brendon’s hand and rinses it under the tap before cutting it into slices.
“Aww, that’s adorable! Did you make all your prom date’s dreams come true?” Brendon grins at Gerard, her eyes crinkling as she hops up onto the counter top. She dunks one of the slices of apple into a mostly new jar of peanut butter she’d found in the fridge, then shoves the whole thing into her mouth, chewing methodically.
Squeezing around Brendon, Gerard opens the fridge and takes out a carton of orange juice, and gives it a shake before putting the spout to his mouth. He wipes the back of his hand across his lips and smiling, says, “Oh yeah. I was like, totally geographically impaired. I mean I knew what I was supposed to do, but had no fucking clue exactly where the, um, parts were located…uh exactly.”
Eyes wide with amusement, Brendon laughs and grabs the carton from Gerard, taking a long swallow. Gerard makes a face and rips a paper towel off the roll to wipe at the peanut butter Brendon’s left behind, and sets it back into the fridge. He stands in front of Brendon, hands resting on either side of her, smiling as he watches her chew. “Well, you’ve gotten better!” she says brightly, kissing the tip of his nose, her lips still curved up in a smile.
Gerard rolls his eyes and says, “I sure fuckin’ hope so. You know things are not going well when after several long-very very long-minutes of retarded fumbling your date whacks you on the shoulder and says Just put it in me already!!”
Brendon’s laughter is muffled by her lips swiping across Gerard’s. “Mmm hmmm, much better,” she nods emphatically and leans back to look at him.
“Thank fucking God! Next day she dumped my ass and took off for like, Egypt or some shit, never to be seen again.”
“Aww, poor baby,” Brendon rests her head against Gerard's shoulder and looks up at him, eyes wide. “Gerard?” she asks softly.
“Yeah?”
Leaning up and forward to press her forehead to Gerard’s, Brendon grins and thumps him playfully on the shoulder. “Just put it in me already!” her shoulders shake with her snickering. Gerard groans and wraps his arms around Brendon’s waist, lifting her from her spot on the counter.
* * *
At the sound of Brendon clomping down the stairs, Gerard clicks off the TV and stands to face her, “Ready?” he asks and then almost swallows his tongue.
“Yep,” Brendon cocks a hip against the door frame and raises an eyebrow at the strangled sounds Gerard is making.
Coming to stand beside Brendon, Gerard runs a palm up the exposed length of Brendon’s thigh and teases beneath the hem of her very short dress. “You’re wearing that to dinner?”
Her frown deepening, Brendon holds her arms out at her sides and stares down at herself. Nice black strappy sandals, nice black dress, hair done, make up on…she looks at Gerard and shrugs, “Why, what’s wrong with what I have on? I want to look nice!”
Gerard hooks a arm around Brendon’s waist and pulls her close, nuzzling at her cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with what you have on. It’s just dinner Chez Way is more a jeans and t-shirts kinda thing…”
Cutting him off, Brendon snorts and says, “And how is it my fault someone came his brains out all over my last clean t-shirt and then didn’t let me out of bed in time to do laundry before we have to leave?” She attempts to give Gerard a stern look but her lips are tilted up at the corners.
Running his mouth across the sensitive skin of her neck Gerard murmurs, “And you look so fuckin’ hot right now, what if I can’t like, control myself, and bend you over the kitchen table or something?” Gerard’s hands roam as he speaks, and one reaches into the plunging neckline of Brendon’s dress to palm at her breast.
Brendon yips and pulls away from Gerard, “Shit, really? Since I made such a fantastic first impression,” Brendon stops to roll her eyes, “I was hoping to go for presentable young lady. Not hotass your son is boinking.” Brendon tugs at the very short hem of her dress. “Maybe I should change?” She sucks her bottom lip thoughtfully into her mouth.
“Your ass is pretty hot,” Gerard supplies unhelpfully, moving closer to Brendon and snaking a hand underneath her baby doll dress to pinch at the round curve of one cheek.
Brendon slaps his hand away, laughing. “Shit, you can’t control yourself now, what’re you gonna be like in a few hours?”
“Frustrated,” Gerard nods and kisses Brendon firmly, “Very very frustrated.”
“Okay, that is a definite sign that I need to make some wardrobe adjustments,” Brendon wriggles away from Gerard and heads back up to the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Better?” Brendon asks when she returns to the living room, turning in a slow circle for Gerard’s appraisal. Now wearing her glasses, she’s switched the sandals for knee high boots, and put jeans on underneath her tunic, and a pretty red tank top fills in the deep vee of the dress’ neckline.
“I dunno about better,” Gerard stubs out his cigarette in his empty diet coke can and stands when Brendon comes to stand beside the sofa. “But, I should be able to keep my filthy paws off you long enough for us to eat dinner,” Brendon laughs when Gerard again reaches under her dress to palm across the tight denim covering her ass. “More layers to unwrap, good way to prolong the inevitable,” he mutters as he traces his lips over her neck.
Her arms looped loosely over Gerard’s shoulder, Brendon cocks her head and says “You have some strange ideas about…self control and um, denial, there, Sailor,” She smiles and pets down the collar of Gerard’s shirt. “But, we should get going now, right?”
“Right!” Gerard smiles his wide, crooked grin, and with a hand to the small of Brendon’s back, they head out the door.
* * *
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Brendon frowns and looks at the paper bag clutched in her hands.
Gerard looks at her from his spot behind the steering wheel. “Bren, you’re in fuckin’ Jersey and you’re bringing my parents a fifty dollar bottle of French wine. They’re gonna love that shit, seriously."
Brendon plays with a rip at the top of the bag, “I dunno, maybe I should have gone with flowers instead.”
Reaching over and taking one of her fidgeting hands in his, Gerard smiles and says, “My Mom seriously loves the vino, this is great, Brendon. Mikes and me are the only people who don’t drink. It’s gonna be fine.”
“I just…I’ve never, you know, never been the kinda girl who gets taken home to Mom, before. “ Brendon huffs out a breath, fluttering her bangs, and gives Gerard a weak smile.
Gerard laughs outright at that, then stops when he sees the stricken look on Brendon’s face, “Honey, Donna Way, as you may have noticed earlier today, is not so much the kind of Mom you take girls hometo.” Wrapping his fingers around hers, Gerard stills Brendon's nervous paper shredding. “It's gonna be fine. They're gonna love you.”
Taking a deep breath, Brendon exhales and says, “Okay.” They pull into the driveway of a tiny bungalow and Brendon nods to herself, getting out of the car.
Somehow, in all her nervousness about what to wear and meeting Gerard's parents, Brendon forgot that it's a Way Family dinner. Which means Mikey will be there. It was one thing to climb onto a bus and know that she'd maybe run into Mikey if he could tear himself away from his bunk or his cell phone long enough, but quite another to trade small talk around the dinner table. Brendon sucks at small talk. She never actually knows what are acceptable and what're not (aside from the obvious religion and politics, yes Zack she'd paid attention to that speech, okay?) acceptable topics of conversation, and usually spent a lot of time talking, while everyone else sat around and either smiled indulgently at her or else boggled in silence. But, in forgetting that Mikey will be at dinner, Brendon's also forgotten that Mikey's wife will be at dinner, too.
Brendon heaves a giant sigh of relief when Alicia throws the front door wide and envelopes her in a huge hug. Brendon fucking loves Alicia. Lots of time out on tour they'd been the only girls and had stuck together because, in some ways, Alicia was just as socially inept as Brendon, and they could hang out together and do each other's hair and nails and watch monster movies and talk about dogs and music and laugh and laugh at the stupid things boys in bands do. “Brendon! It's been for fucking ever, lady! How are you?”
Alicia's smile is genuine and coupled with the gentle squeeze of Gerard's hand to the back of her neck, and Brendon is at ease when she steps into the Way living room. “I'm good, thanks!” Brendon directs her best and brightest smile at Mikey, who's sitting on the sofa, scratching at a small gray cat's ears. Taking the wine from its paper bag, Brendon offers it to Alicia and then steps out of the doorway.
“There they are!” Donna proclaims loudly, untying the apron from around her waist, she claps her hands and steps through the kitchen door way, smoothing her brightly patterned shirt over her short black skirt. High heels wobbling across the shag carpeting, she rushes over to where Brendon and Gerard are standing, grabbing the wine from Alicia's hold as she passes. She busses a kiss to Gerard and Brendon's cheeks and then, hooking her arm through Brendon's says, “Come on dear, let me introduce you to Donald, the boys' father, and then we'll open this up!”
Gerard stands slightly gobsmacked in the middle of the living room, Mikey raises an eyebrow and Alicia laughs outright as the two other women disappear into the kitchen, Gerard's mother babbling happily about vintages and vineyards. Brendon turns back, managing a small, pleading look before she disappears from sight.
“Donald, this is Gerard's new friend,” Donna announces brightly to an older man hunched over the kitchen table and industriously peeling carrots. Gerard's dad wipes his hands on his cords and stands, smiling at Brendon.
He has eyes like Gerard's and a nose like Mikey's, and he's smiling as he crosses the room to greet Brendon. She likes him already, when he ignores her outstretched hand and “Hello, Mr. Way, I'm Brendon,” to hug her and pet at her shoulder, insisting she call him Donald. As he releases Brendon from the embrace, he mutters, “Just cover everything in gravy and it'll be fine.” Which makes Brendon laugh and Donna smack him on the arm with a tea towel.
“Here, dear, we'll console ourselves with this lovely wine you brought while my husband gets back to work!” Donna hands Brendon a large goblet, filled with the red wine and picks up one for herself, clinking the rims together and saying, “Chin chin!” and the two women retreat to the living room.
Dinner is filled with comfortably familiar chatter as the Ways all talk over each other. Alicia is blessedly sitting beside Brendon regaling her with tales of the latest addition to their family-a new puppy. Brendon smiles and laughs in what she hopes are all the right places, and politely answers questions , and is painfully aware of when she thinks she's talking too much. She patiently answers Donna's questions about family and school, and her smile brightens when Gerard squeezes at her thigh and Don winks at her across the table. She's cut the chicken on her plate into tiny pieces and is attempting to bury it under mashed potatoes when Donna stands, announcing she is going to get her boys refills on the chicken.
Stopping with the roast plate resting against the tilt of her hip, Donna reaches out a hand and tangles the curve of her acrylic nails in the slippery strands of Brendon's hair. “This is a lovely haircut, dear. You don't see many girls your age with hair so short.”
Rolling her eyes and tilting her head up in a futile attempt to meet Donna's glance, Brendon's face contorts in a comical expression, “Thank you. Yeah, my hair was always long but the minute I moved out,” Brendon raises her hand and makes a snipping motion with her fingers, “Chopped it all off.”
“It really suits you. Who does your hair?” Donna continues to slide her fingers through Brendon's hair.
Brendon finishes chewing her mouthful and dabs at her lips with a folded piece of paper towel. “Um, actually I do it myself.” She shrugs her shoulders.
“Really?” Donna smiles, delighted. “Gee tells us you're from Las Vegas,” she dips her head towards her oldest son, who is scowling at her, “but if you ever consider relocating to the East coast I'm sure I could get you a chair in my shop.”
Gerard sets down his knife and fork and says, “Ma, Brendon has a job, she's in a band, like me and Mikes.”
“Oh that's right! Silly me!” Donna laughs and continues to card Brendon's hair over her nails.
Mikey swallows his mouthful of food and says, “Ma, jeez, you're not a friggin' baboon, would you get you hands out of her hair already?” Donna smiles extra wide and pats Brendon's shoulder before continuing on her way to the kitchen.
***
“Oh honey leave that,” Donna waves dismissively at the stack of dishes Brendon has collected and is about to take to the sink. “Us girls'll take our coffee and go into the living room and let the boys worry about cleaning up.” Alicia snorts but dutifully stands, hefting her coffee cup. Gerard, Mikey and Donald exchange long suffering, yet sufficiently horrified looks before they shrug, endearingly similarly, and start clearing the table.
Alicia claims a lay-z-boy chair by the window and Brendon smiles tightly when Donna sits down on the small sofa, patting the cushion beside her. Managing to hide her disease at the china dolls that cover most of the furniture, glass eyes unblinking and shiny hair curled into complicated Victorian styles, Brendon resigns herself to the creepiness of it all. She takes a seat and sips at her coffee, trying to smile and look interested as Donna fills her in on all the local neighborhood news. The house is warm in the late summer evening and Brendon fidgets with the hem of her top and interjects opinions and information occasionally.
A clattering crash comes from the kitchen as Alicia is in the midst of describing the latest in the renovations of the house she and Mikey have purchased upstate. Brendon turns to follow the sound and her eyes dart to the framed photographs on a narrow table behind the couch. They're mostly family photos, and Brendon can't help but smile at Gerard and Mikey's school shots, arranged so both boys age in tandem, from left to right across the table top. Her smile dies when she reaches the end of the school photos and can't tear her eyes away from a much more recent photo; Gerard and Bert, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders and smiling huge for the camera.
“Do you know Robert?” Donna notices what Brendon is staring at and reaches behind her, carefully clutching the framed photo and settling it into her lap.
Brendon scratches at the scar through her right eyebrow and pulls her legs up underneath her. “Um...no,” she answers, gaze shifting to silently implore Alicia for help.
Unaware and undeterred, Donna continues, talking over top of Alicia's weak attempt to change the subject. “Such a lovely person. So polite!” She sighs and pats Brendon's leg, “They were so happy together.”
Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, Brendon mutters something like, “I'm sure he is,” looking at her lap rather than the photograph and rubbing her hands across her thighs trying to swallow the bitter taste of jealousy that is snaking it's way from her stomach and up the back of her throat. She's literally saved by the bell when there's a knock on the front door and the ding-dong of the doorbell sounds through the house.
Gerard sticks his head out of the kitchen, gingham tea towel slung over one shoulder to shout at his mother, “Ma! That's Ray-let him in?” He flings an arm out to the front door and Brendon takes the opportunity to stand and cross to the entry way.
“Gerard said it would be okay if Ray came over so I could work on some charts with him, Mrs. Way, I hope it really is okay? We'll go downstairs to the rec room so we don't bug you.” Brendon fidgets a hand through her hair as she throws the front door wide.
Donna comes to stand beside Brendon, smiling wide and fluffing her extremely blond, extremely large hair. “Of course sweetheart, Ray's one of the family.” As if to illustrate her point, Donna hugs Ray enthusiastically as he enters the house.
Ducking his head in greeting, Ray smiles at Alicia and waves at Brendon and, dropping his laptop case to the tile says, “Thanks for your help, Bren, I honestly don't know what the fuck,” he winces and make an apologetic face at Donna, who has gone back to sit beside Alicia and just laughs at Ray's embarrassment, “what I'm doing on the bridge, so if you seriously could chart it all out, that would be awesome.”
“Of course!” Brendon rocks up on to her toes and back again, grin wide. “No prob at all. All those music theory and comp classes should come in handy for something, right?”
Gerard snorts and and unfolds himself from where he's leaning against the dining room wall, “Just so you know, you're probably going to end up guilted into watching The Little Mermaid or some shit as payment.” He kisses Brendon's cheek smackingly loud and winds his arm around her waist.
“That's okay, I like Disney movies.” Ray shrugs and bends to dig through his bag. He comes up with his laptop, a stack of papers, and a pair of headphones.
Brendon glares at Gerard witheringly and says, “Some people are not animation snobs, and can appreciate the beauty of computer generated images, and do not think that Uncle Walty peaked at Snow White okay?” She puts a hand on her hip and Gerard just laughs. “However, I might have accidentally dropped a copy of The Lion King into my bag before we left...” With that she grabs Ray's hand and drags him towards the basement door.
***
They hear heavy, urgent footfalls on the stairs and then along the hall carpeting before Ray enters the kitchen, eyes wide, voice urgent. "Gerard! Gerard! You have to come, now! She's freaking out!!" He shuffles Gerard out of his chair and Donna looks from Ray to her son, completely baffled.
Getting to his feet and following Ray to the doorway Gerard says, "Brendon? What's wrong with her? I thought you two were watching cartoons or something?”
"I don't know, man. You have to come!" Even Ray's hair is vibrating in panic as they head down to the basement family room. "We were just watching The Lion King," Ray says over his shoulder, "And all of a sudden she just went," he waves his arms around, "hysterical or something!"
Brendon is curled up into a tight ball at one end of the old velvet sofa, sobbing as if her heart is breaking and her world is ending. Gerard grabs the remote and clicks pause before he sits down beside her and hugs her to him, "Honey! Honey, it's okay! Calm down, alright? Why are you crying?"
Amidst broken, choked sobs Brendon manages to say, "I. Don't. Know! It's. Just. So. Sad!" and her speaking seems to bring on a new jag of bawling. She looks up at Gerard, dark eyes sad and pleading, and he just doesn't know what to do.
"Hey now. It's okay. It's okay," Gently removing her glasses from her face, he pulls the cuff of his long sleeved t-shirt over his hand and uses it to wipe away tears and snot, continuing to hold Brendon close as he rocks her in a soothing rhythm, whispering quiet, calming noises into her hair. ”C'mon, we'll go lie down, okay?" he gets a hand under her knees and hauls her up to him, the other hand firm around her back. He carries her to his old room, sliding her onto the bed and drawing the slippery blue fabric of the ancient sleeping bag still being used as a blanket up around both of them.
Her crying levels off, receding to jerky, hiccuping sniffles. "I'm so sorry Gerard," she whispers into his neck.
He again wipes at her tears--eyelashes sticking to her skin-with his cuff , "S'okay." He smiles, concerned and petting a pattern through her hair.
She takes a stuttering breath and sniffles again, "Will you stay with me?" Her voice sounds so small, he can't help but dwell on how really fucking young she is.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll stay with you. Of course."
"Kay," her hand fists in his shirt, and he kisses her forehead, her temples, the bridge of her nose, smoothing the crease between her brows.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” He whispers into her hair as he strokes comfort across her back.
Brendon sighs and shifts closer, not opening her eyes she says, “Sing to me.”
“Sing?” Gerard sits back on his elbows and looks down at Brendon in the darkness of the room.
“Uh huh,” Brendon heaves a great, shuddering sniffle and Gerard hugs her to him again, petting her hair, and mouthing kisses at her temple.
Pausing, Gerard swallows hard and then, softly sings against the top of Brendon’s head, “Little darlin’, it’s been a long, long lonely winter. Little darlin’ it seems like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right.”
Brendon breathes deeply and her lips turn up into a smile, “Mmm, s’my favorite song,” her voice is scratchy from crying and slurred with the onset of sleep.
Pausing in his quiet singing, Gerard says, “I know,” and smiles down at her.
“How’d you know that?” Brendon rests her cheek against Gerard’s shoulder, her hand slowly swiping up and down over his chest.
He takes her hand in his, linking their fingers together and brushes his nose over her ear, whispering, “Maybe because you sing it under your breath all the time, or play it on the guitar when you’re warming up, or the fact that you have, like, twenty different versions of it on your iPod.”
Brendon’s smile widens but she doesn’t open her eyes, just presses closer still into the warm petting of Gerard’s hand across her hair and skin, “George Harrison was a nice man.”
Gerard snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, Bee, he was.”
“You’re a nice man too, Gerard.” She pats Gerard’s cheek with a heavy hand, and her voice is barely audible.
“Go to sleep, Brendon.” Only when her breathing has evened out and her lashes twitch against her cheeks does Gerard untangle himself from the blankets and Brendon's hold to return to the kitchen.
He stands, hip canted against the door jam and Ray gets up to meet him, arms crossed over his chest, "Dude, what the fuck?"
Gerard shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. "I dunno man. She was pretty sick in Mexico. And she's been like, stressed lately, you know? Under a lot of pressure. And she doesn't really have a lot of people she can talk to about...stuff."
Ray lets out a long breath, "Freaked me the fuck out. I've never seen her not, you know, happy, bouncy or whatever."
Shrugging again, Gerard raises an eyebrow, "She's human. Can't be happy all the time."
Looking abashed and apologetic, Ray says, "But dude, she's Brendon."
Gerard smiles at that and pats Ray on the shoulder, "She'll be okay. Go watch your movie or whatever. And man, thanks."
***
“Hey, Queen Bee, you feelin’ any better?” Gerard’s voice is soft as he sits down on the edge of the bed.
Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, Brendon mumbles, ”What time is it?”
“Late. Gonna head out now, okay?” Gerard strokes his fingers through the rioted tufts of her hair.
“Mmmmkay.” Brendon yawns and holds out her hands hands for her glasses. “Mmmmawake.” She stands and stumbles, her foot catching on the sleeping bag where it’s flopped onto the floor. “You sure about that?” Gerard chuckles, steadying Brendon and wrapping his arms around her.
In the low light of the bedside lamps, Brendon glowers at him when he strokes his thumb across her cheek, circling a tiny freckle. “Yeah, I’m awake. I’m awake.” She yawns again and thumps a loosely curled fist against Gerard’s shoulder when he laughs again.
Gerard kisses Brendon’s forehead and takes her hand, leading her through the basement and up the back stairs. “So, you’re really okay?” He shoots her a glance over top of the car.
“Yeah. I’m…I don’t know, just tired or something,” Brendon shakes herself a little, and scratches at her nose. “Shit, your parents probably think I’m a crazy bitch. I didn’t even say good bye to them, Gerard!” She stops, turning back towards the house.
Waving a dismissive hand towards the bungalow, Gerard climbs into the driver’s seat, “Nah, honey, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Freaked Ray out though.”
“Oh my God! Ray!” Brendon raises her hands to her cheeks, and stands frozen in the middle of the driveway. “He must think I’m some kind of fuckin’ retard!”
Leaning across the front seat and opening the passenger side door, Gerard looks up at Brendon through the fall of hair across his eyes and says, “Bren, get in the car, okay? He was just worried about you.”
Brendon bites her lip and then flops into the seat. She gives Gerard a wan look and says, “I really was just tired. I’ll apologize to him tomorrow.”
“You don’t need to apologize. And my parents think you’re pretty fuckin’ rad.” He pecks a kiss to her cheek and then starts the car.
“I like your Dad, he’s kind of a big ol’ sweetie.” Brendon smiles and links her fingers with Gerard’s resting them on her thigh. “But I think your Mom wishes I was Bert.” She snorts and digs her toe into the floor mat. “She’s kinda scary,” she adds in a small voice, nodding to herself.
Gerard cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at Brendon, “Oh God, she really needs to put that stupid fuckin’ photo away. She has a good heart. It’s just…buried beneath the Miss Clairol blond and the insta-tan and the um…” Gerard takes his hand off the wheel long enough to make a circling, squeezing motion at his chest.
“Your mom’s boobs are scary.” Brendon sniffles in a sleepy voice and leans her head against the window.
Snorting and scratching at his nose, Gerard says with mock gravity, “The best that money can buy!”
Brendon's eyes go wide as she stares at Gerard for a beat, then thwacks him on the shoulder . “Oh my God! Gerard Way, did you use your platinum record money to buy you mother boobs?” She sits up straight, biting her lip so she doesn't laugh.
“Um, well,” Gerard shrugs and laughs, the headlights of passing cars illuminating the dull blush across his cheeks and nose, “Jersey, right?”
Brendon squeezes Gerard's hand in hers, “Oh man! Gerard Way-feminist!-buys Mother breast implants and worships Frank Miller!” Brendon is laughing now, her shoulders shaking and she actually snorts when she says, “I love you,” enthusiastically.
Gerard looks over at Brendon, smiling shyly when he kisses her cheek. Smile taking a turn towards smug, he turns his attention back to the road spooled out before them.
***
Brendon's feeling better by the time they get back to Gerard's townhouse. Much better, if the speed with which she removes her clothes on the way to the bedroom is any judge. She plants her hand firmly in the middle of Gerard's chest and shoves him backwards onto the big bed, giggling and scrambling on top of him. All Gerard can do is groan, stretching his arms over his head as Brendon unbuttons his jeans with one hand and shoves his shirt up with the other. “Mmm...so warm,” Brendon mumbles against the soft skin of Gerard's belly.
His stomach quivers when Brendon lowers her head to drag her tongue tip in playful darts around Gerard's navel. He groans again and his hips buck beneath Brendon's petting. With practiced ease, she flicks the waistband of his shorts out of the way and ghosts teasing touches to the head of Gerard's hard cock. “Mmmm,” she says, again, making Gerard hiss.
“Jesus Christ, Brendon. C'mon.” Gerard breathes heavily through his nose and looks down his body, doing his best to glare at Brendon where she's sprawled between his legs, teasing him.
Waggling her eyebrows, Brendon wiggles her curled tongue against the leaking slit at the head of Gerard's dick and says, giggling, “Why, we going some place?” Which makes Gerard huff out a wheezing noise of frustration as he flops back against the pillows. “Okay, okay,” Brendon says, exaggeratedly, then closes her eyes and seals her lush lips around the entire head of Gerard's erection. Her mouth tilts up with satisfaction at the sounds of relief and pleasure Gerard makes when she swirls her tongue around his shaft and then shifts to take more of him into her mouth, her fingers lightly circling the root of his cock, thumb swiping a rhythm against the fragile skin of his balls.
Gerard brings a leaden arm up, fingers resting at the back of Brendon's neck, as he angles his hips, encouraging her. Brendon hums happily as Gerard's thick length fills her mouth, licking enthusiastically at the whorl of sensitive nerve endings at the underside of his cock, before taking him more fully down her throat.
And then making the most horrific gagging noises Gerard has ever heard. He sits up, hair and eyes wild with confusion and concern when Brendon pulls off roughly, falling back onto her ass and staring at Gerard in horror, a hand clamped over her mouth. Scrambling to her feet, Brendon bolts for the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her.
Lying flat on his back, Gerard inhales and exhales and blinks, boring holes into the bathroom door. “Shit,” he mutters, flicking his hair out of his face and getting to his feet. The sound of vomiting is unmistakable and Gerard knocks lightly on the door, “Bren, honey? You okay?”
Yeah, so not exactly the best question to ask at the moment. Gerard rubs a hand across his eyes and tries the door, still locked. He leans against the door frame, and waits, feeling helpless and stupid.
He stands there dumbly for what seems like an eternity until finally the horrible noises of Brendon being sick subside and are replaced with running water. He hears the lock click free, and Gerard takes that as his cue to slowly open the door. Brendon's eyes-still shocked wide and shining in the glare of the overhead light- meet his in the mirror over the sink and she looks apologetic and embarrassed as she spits a minty green glob of toothpaste into the basin.
“Sorry,” she says in a husky, small voice. Brendon bends to fill her cupped hand with water and then then slurps it to her mouth, swishing it from cheek to cheek and then spits it under the stream of running water. She wipes her arm over her chin and her eyes dart around the small room, avoiding Gerard.
“You okay?” Gerard crosses his arms in front of him, wanting very much to cradle Brendon to him, and erase the horrified, embarrassed look on her face, but he's not sure that's what she wants.
Jamming her toothbrush back into the rack, Brendon turns around to face him, bracing herself on the edge of the counter. “Yeah, I mean, I think so.” She huffs out a breath and tries to smile, nailbeds gone white as she pushes her fingers into the marble. “So maybe your Mom's chicken dinner wasn't so great an idea after all.”
Gerard reaches out to cup her elbow, his voice and eyes soft with concern, “Brendon.”
“Shit man, I swear that's never happened to me-ever. I have, like zero gag reflex. Ask my doctor-he'd just, like jam that ol' tongue depressor in there and go for it, you know?” She mimes a quick jab and twist, and she's shivering so hard her voice is shaking.
Frowning, Gerard leans over and swipes one of his shirts off the top of the laundry basket and wraps the old blue Oxford around Brendon's shoulders. “Hey now,” he whispers in reply to nothing in particular, encouraging Brendon's arms into the shirt with gentle touches before pulling her into a hug.
Brendon bites her lip and stares at the light dusting of freckles on Gerard's shoulder and laughs again-a watery, self-conscious sound. “So hey, Sailor. I seem to be just fine, now. So, if you, you know, wanna give it another go...” It's obvious to both of them that Brendon's cheerful enthusiasm is forced.
“Brendon, honey, we don't have to...”
When she speaks again, Brendon's voice is high and tight and slipping towards hysteria, “Fuck, I mean of course you don't want me to...you know,” she flaps a hand vaguely at Gerard, “after I just...” and she hooks her thumb towards the toilet. She's babbling and she knows it but she can't seem to stop herself. “I don't usually lose my shit like this,” she finishes weakly, studying the floor.
“Bren, I didn't mean it like that. That's not the reason why,” Gerard tugs her closer and she thumps her head to the familiar curve between his neck and shoulder. Gerard's hands rub, comforting and warm, across Brendon's cotton covered back. “Honey, I'm just glad you're here, you know? That I get to hold you and just like, fuckin' get to be with you.” He tilts her chin up and brushes his thumb slowly across her bottom lip.
Sniffling loudly, Brendon says, “What you mean like, cuddling?”
“Yeah, exactly like cuddling.” Gerard's smile widens when he presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “Let's just go to bed, okay?”
Smile watery but genuine, Brendon takes Gerard's hand and they head back into the bedroom. “Just so you know, I'm an awesome cuddler.” She knuckles at her eyes and nods sagely, “and you're awesome to cuddle.”
His shoulders shift in amusement as Gerard laughs at Brendon's conviction, “Ya don't say. I had no idea, Queen Bee.” He stops and picks her nightgown up from atop her messy suitcase, then holds it out to her.
Brendon pauses as she climbs onto the king sized bed and shakes her head, “Un-uh,” pouting as she tugs Gerard's shirt tighter around her. She does up a few of the buttons and then flops onto the bed, batting the pillows into a more comfortable formation and pulling the sheet up over her bare legs. Settled, she holds her arms out to Gerard. “Bed time!” she announces firmly.
Gerard just shrugs and crawls in beside her. Brendon make nasal, pleased noises as she shuffles closer. She bends her leg at the knee and throws it across the soft skin of Gerard's hip, shifting closer still to wheedle his arms around her, and hums, “Night Gee,” and then closes her eyes, happy.
Continue to Eight C
Brendon’s trying to kill Gerard. Not on purpose or anything, but that's the thought he has as he watches her bouncing across the parking lot, swinging their joined hands and happily burbling away about some book or other Ryan Ross recommends. Not that Gerard has the slightest clue what it is she’s said, exactly. He’s too busy focusing all his energy on not throwing her to the ground and rutting against her. She wearing these things; these leg warmer-leggings-tights kind of things. They’re black, with little tiny pink hearts knit up the outside of each leg, and they go from over-top of her ballet flats to flirt an inch or so below the hem of her tiny pink skirt. And that’s the problem--that inch of pale, pale skin.
Gerard can’t look anywhere else. He’s trying his best, watching cars as they head towards the book store, looking at her face as she smiles and laughs, and making the mistake of looking at the top she’s wearing. It’s some kind of sheer black gauzy material. And it’s not sleazy or revealing or anything, at all. It’s kind of cute, really, with the ruffled straps and the little velvet bow between her breasts. But…the material that falls over her stomach is sheer, almost entirely see-through, and he can see her stomach, and Gerard has to keep flicking his eyes away from the flat, toned skin across her belly to avoid embarrassing himself in public. Unfortunately, his eyes go back to the thin strip of skin between her skirt and leg-warmers. So, he’s sweaty and thin lipped and walking very, very quickly.
Brendon, who finally realizes that Gerard hasn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention, gives him a quizzical raise of her eyebrow above her enormous Chanel sunglasses, and then bursts out laughing. “What, did you leave your brains back on the bed sheets or something?”
“Why the fuck are we even here? I only worked here for a few months.”
Brendon drops his hand to wrap her arm around his waist. “Memory lane, Geeway. This is where My Chemical Romance was born. I wanna know everything about you!”
Gerard rolls his eyes and holds the door to the bookstore open for Brendon. “So here we are at the Newark Barnes & Noble, and hey! It’s just like every other Barnes & Noble! Amazing!”
“Be nice!” Brendon pokes Gerard in the soft flesh below his ribs and is rewarded with a nasal, squeaky-toy laugh. “Let’s browse!”
Shaking his head and laughing, Gerard follows Brendon’s lead into the stacks. He’s content to trail her for a while, but gets bored and waves towards the Graphic Novels sections, “I’ll just be over there,” he kisses her when she nods and smiles, not looking up form the trade paperback in her hands.
Brendon browses for a while before finding Gerard, hooking her chin over his shoulder and laughing at the stack of comics and anthologies cradled in his arm. “Hey, let’s go sit down for a bit. I can’t really pay attention to figure out if I like this enough to buy it, what with the Mom and Screaming Brat Brigade standing behind me looking at the remainder bin.”
“Sure,” Gerard shifts the things in his arms so he can wrap one arm around Brendon’s waist. “Unless they’ve done some massive reorganization, I know this one table that’s pretty private…”
They walk as Gerard talks and he leads them to an alcove at the back of the store. “Oooh, perfect for those mid-shift naps, huh?” Brendon smiles at Gerard when she sees the small table and four chairs shoved into the corner.
“Also perfect for hiding from Mikes and annoying as fuck customers.” Gerard snorts and holds a chair out for her.
Flopping happily into the offered chair Brendon flips her paperback open and starts reading, smirking as Gerard dumps the pile of magazines and comics out of his arms and onto the table top. “So won’t your dealer be pissed?” She raises an eyebrow and gazes at him from behind her book.
“Dealer?” Gerard sits in the chair across from Brendon and scratches his nose.
Shoulders hitching in silent laughter, Brendon says, “C’mon, you telling me you don’t have some Android's Dungeon type dude somewhere doing a monthly pull for you?” She waves at the fanned out stack of comics. “Won’t he be mad that you’re buying stuff at some multinational conglomerate?”
Gerard snickers, “Oh yeah, yeah, I have a comic shop, yeah. But who says I’m gonna buy any of this shit anyway?”
Giving Gerard a mock stern look, Brendon says, “Oh, so you’re one of those customers.” She reaches across the table and playfully raps his knuckles, “The library’s thata way, son.” She hooks a thumb towards the front of the store and they both laugh.
Eventually they settle into a silence that is punctuated by the flicking of magazine pages or Brendon reading an amusing line from her book out loud to Gerard. Bored with his reading material, Gerard takes a notebook out of his pocket and is sketching out random thoughts and ideas when he suddenly jolts and makes a little, squeaky urk sound. He looks over at Brendon, who is placidly reading, the only sign of her being guilty of anything is the tiny, upward tick of the corners of her mouth. Gerard raises an eyebrow and circles Brendon’s ankle with his thumb and forefinger.
Brendon had been very slowly and carefully tracing her toes up Gerard’s inseam, stopping at his groin, pressing hard against his cock. Sighing, Gerard looks from Brendon’s bare foot to her face. She’s having a hard time fighting off her smirk, but still for all the world looks like she’s enjoying her book and not engaging in some really fucking unfair teasing. “Oops!” Gerard says, throwing his pen under the table. He carefully pries Brendon’s foot from his thigh and then slides off his chair, dropping to his knees, under the pretense of retrieving the pen.
Crawling on all fours under the table, Gerard crosses the short distance to Brendon. He picks up her bare foot, kisses the triangular jut of her ankle bone, and puts her ballet flat back on. He hears a stifled giggle as his hand trails across the top of her foot, and then up along her leg-warmer. He traces each tiny pink heart along the side, pressing a fingertip into the thick wool. Brendon’s smothered giggles turn to bitten off groans when Gerard hooks his finger into the elastic at the top and gives a slow yank. His fingers tease and ghost over the tiny flex and ripple of her muscles as he slips the material lower and lower on her leg until it sags around her ankle. He huffs out a hushed giggle against the softness of her skin when she jumps and yips at the feeling of his lips pressed to the inside of her knee.
He continues up her tensed leg, pausing to circle the slight, brown freckle at the top of her thigh with his tongue tip. Brendon twitches beneath Gerard’s touch, and from his crouch he watches the quick rise and fall of her belly. Using his chin to ruck up her skirt without interrupting his determined petting, Gerard rests his cheek against her thigh, taking a deep breath. God, he can smellher! He swallows hard and sits back on his haunches, taking deep breaths and squeezing at Brendon’s knee. “Gee,” her whisper is harsh and muffled by the table top. Biting his lip, Gerard leans forward, nosing at the damp cotton of Brendon’s panties. She whines again, higher and longer and her heels dig into the floor, her knees bracketing Gerard's shoulders.
With a wicked flash of teeth, hidden by the table and his position, Gerard whispers, “Shhh,” into the daisy covered fabric, licking his tongue over it. His hair tickles the insides of her thighs as he moves his head in a studied, back and forth motion slurring his wet mouth and her panties against sensitive skin. Still pressing his tongue against the material, Gerard sucks her between his lips and Brendon jumps and lets out a loud, Uhhh! making Gerard smirk and shush her again.
Hands gripping hard against the tendons of Brendon’s knees, Gerard mouths at the cheerful elastic trim of Brendon’s underpants, using his teeth to push it aside before plunging his arched tongue into her slit. She’s panting now--a fine tremble shocking down the taut length of her muscles--and he can hear her whining. He watches the uneven rise and fall of her stomach and continues to swipe and lick. Brendon lowers one hand beneath the table, dragging unsteady fingers along the flat plane of Gerard’s cheekbone and snaking into his hair.
Encouraged, Gerard grips her thighs, pulling her closer, and curls his tongue inside her, smearing wetness across his face. Drawing tiny circles up the goose-flesh bumps of her thighs, Gerard shifts his position-erection pressing uncomfortably into his underwear-stroking a finger inside her, echoing the quick precision of his tongue. He sucks at her clit and feels the flood of her against his lips and over his fingers when she huffs out a high pitched oh oh oh, tugging ruthlessly on the strands of Gerard’s hair she’s wrapped around her knuckles, and then goes limp.
Pressing the heel of his hand to the hard ridge of his cock, Gerard sits back on his creaking knees, steeling himself. With a slow tenderness he drags Brendon’s leg warmer back up her leg and tugs Brendon’s underwear and skirt back into place.
A few seconds pass, and Gerard listens to the sobbing whine of Brendon’s breath coupled with the unsteady hiccup of his own. Swallowing hard, he crawls out from under the table and gets unsteadily to his feet. Brendon looks up at him, glassy eyed and flushed. “You’re a dirty, bad man, Gerard Way,” she croaks, finally dropping her death grip on her book. She swipes at her face with a shaky hand, and the drops it into her lap, gifting him with a blinding smile.
Gerard manages a low grunt, and hooks a hand over Brendon’s shoulder, dragging her to her feet, abandoning their books on the table. He takes off at a quick march, Brendon stumbling behind him. Still fuzzy from the force of her orgasm, she manages to grab the strap of her purse, pulling it behind her like a small dog. He leads them both to another alcove and opens a heavy door, roughly shoving Brendon inside. Legs quivering, Brendon's shoulders slam back against the door and her eyes fall shut as Gerard covers her mouth with his, biting and licking in an almost frenzy. “Fuck Bren, want you so fucking bad,” his mouth crushes hers, hands hard across her ribcage.
Head still swimming, Brendon manages to draw a breath, her skin hot and tingling at the feeling of Gerard’s hands stroking beneath her shirt. She blinks and her dazed, blissed-out expression changes to something like hurt anger. “A restroom, Gerard? Seriously?” She wriggles like a fish on a hook and finally frees herself from the tangle of Gerard’s hold. Roughly pushing him backwards, she hauls the door open and bolts through it.
Huffing and blinking, and still painfully aroused, Gerard stands in the handicapped washroom, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. He runs a steadying hand over his face, and taking a bracing breath, opens the door to follow fleeting glimpses of Brendon’s pink skirt through the store. “Brendon! Wait!” he calls.
“Brendon!” Gerard yells again across the parking lot. Brendon is frantically pulling on the Saab’s door handle, even though Gerard has the keys and remote clutched in his hand. “Honey, what…” Gerard reaches the car and stops short, taking in Brendon’s arms across her chest and the way she’s chewing on her bottom lip. Even though he can’t read her expression behind her sunglasses, it’s clear that she’s upset.
Brendon shakes her head in a curt, negative motion and, running a hand through her hair, says in a small voice, “Can we just go, please?”
“Unh, sure.” Gerard clicks the doors unlocked and Brendon drops into the passenger seat. He darts a glance over to her side of the car and she is very much not looking at him. Slow and careful, Gerard extends a hand and runs a palm over her knee. “Brendon?”
Brendon’s laugh is high and tight, “So, it looks like I do have standards after all. Wanna fuck me in alleyways and elevators and parking lots? Sure! But I draw the line at public restrooms!” Her attempt at humor dies when it’s clear she’s fighting back tears. She scoots over in the seat until she’s pressed against the door, away from Gerard’s touch.
“Bren, don’t,” frowning, Gerard starts the car and heads out of the parking lot. He watches her, from of the corner of his eye. He sees how she fidgets and frowns and worries at her bottom lip. She doesn’t say any more, and her fingers are digging divots into her biceps where she’s crossed her arms. Wordlessly he reaches over and pries her fingers off her arm, holding her hand carefully in his. She doesn’t look at Gerard, just stares out the window, the unhappy silence filling the space between them.
She only turns back to look at Gerard, confusion knitting her brows as she flips her sunglasses to the top of her head, when he pulls off at an exit nowhere near his house. He parks the car outside a public storage low-rise and kills the ignition. Hands gripping the wheel harder than when he was actually driving, Gerard exhales and says, “You can tell me, if you want.”
Her usual fidgeting made worse by being upset, Brendon’s leg jiggles a mile a minute and she jabs at the seat belt’s button before she pulls her legs up, resting her feet on the edge of the seat and her chin on the steeple of her knees. “He never took me home. Tom, I mean. All the times we fucked, I don’t think we ever actually did it in a bed.”
Gerard’s mouth opens and closes and he grips the steering wheel even harder, letting Brendon continue, “The first time we…my first time, I mean…we were at a pub, in like Manchester, or something.” Brendon runs her finger along the seat’s stitching. “Have you seen Trainspotting?”
Startled when Brendon turns to look at him, cheek pillowed on her sloped legs, Gerard says, “Uh, yeah.” He jerks his hands away from the steering wheel and reaches for Brendon, before stopping short and curling his hands into fists.
“I was high, or drunk. Maybe both,” Brendon laughs and it’s a horrible, pained sound, “but like, he didn’t force me, didn’t make me, or anything like that. I was pretty in to it. We were in this pub and I guess, you know, going at it hot and heavy,” Brendon shrugs deprecatingly and twists a thick hank of her hair around and around her fingers. “The other guys started making a fuss so he-Tom-took me to the restroom.” Her nose wrinkles at the memory and she scratches at her scalp. “It was so gross, Gerard. So gross. With like, one of those light bulbs on a string and it smelled so bad.”
Gerard uncurls his clenched fist and does reach for Brendon’s hand then, and she squeezes her fingers across his knuckles. “Worst public toilet in Britain?”
“Yeah, and I remember mashing my face against the stall wall and there was all this graffiti so I just closed my eyes, and he pushed down my jeans and like, pushed my underwear out of the way and…it didn’t take very long.” She’s silent for long minutes, picking at the bow on her shoe. Not letting go of Gerard’s hand, she shifts again, putting her feet flat on the floor and leaning her head against the closed window.
“Oh, Brendon,” is all Gerard can think of to say.
She shrugs again and says, “I thought; okay, that sucked. But, first times, right?” She clicks the window button, flicking at it repeatedly with her index finger, studying it when she finally opens her eyes. “But, I dunno, it was like he thought that’s who I was-- thought that was what I wanted. And somehow maybe I thought that was who I needed to be, to keep him, or something. And that’s how everyone sees me, now. And I guess I just never really got how it’s okay for boys to fuck me, but wrong for me to like it.” Her voice cracks and she sniffles, loud in the car’s interior. “But now, with you, I thought maybe that things could be different. I thought that things are different. I thought maybe that I could be different now, too. I thought things could be different with us. I hoped I meant more to you than…” She waves a hand vaguely in front of her.
“You are! It is, Brendon. Bren, c’mere,” Gerard yanks on her hand, pulling Brendon awkwardly over the gearshift and into his lap. “Jesus Christ, Brendon, you are so much more than that. You deserve so much more than that.” He buries his face in her hair, inhaling slow and steady and closes his eyes against welling tears. “You deserve candles, and billion count Egyptian cotton sheets, and flowers and all that kinda shit. You deserve everything, Brendon.”
Brendon lifts her head from Gerard’s shoulder and smiles sadly, “Barry White, and champagne...er I mean, sparkling cider, and chocolate hearts?”
“Yeah,” Smiling back, Gerard runs his thumbs under Brendon’s eyes, dashing away her tears, fingers careful across the scar on her cheek and circling a freckle at the corner of her eye. He tilts her chin and kisses her, soft and slow. It’s just a gentle press of his lips to hers but Brendon thinks maybe it’s the most real kiss she’s ever had.
It’s been a week and Gerard thinks he finally knows what to say to Brendon. “You’re everything.”
***
Her arm linked through Gerard’s as they walk up the path to his townhouse, Brendon asks, “So, what was your first time like?”
Tilting his head back and barking out a small laugh, Gerard holds the front door open for Brendon and ushers her in with a guiding hand at the small of her back. “You know, pretty much average American.” He throws his keys onto a small table by the door and throws his jacket towards the closet.
Brendon arches an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? Do tell,” she squeezes his hip and continues down the long narrow hallway to the kitchen. “Fuck, man, I’m starving.” She hauls open the refrigerator door and begins rooting through it.
“Well, it was at prom, right?” Gerard takes the apple from Brendon’s hand and rinses it under the tap before cutting it into slices.
“Aww, that’s adorable! Did you make all your prom date’s dreams come true?” Brendon grins at Gerard, her eyes crinkling as she hops up onto the counter top. She dunks one of the slices of apple into a mostly new jar of peanut butter she’d found in the fridge, then shoves the whole thing into her mouth, chewing methodically.
Squeezing around Brendon, Gerard opens the fridge and takes out a carton of orange juice, and gives it a shake before putting the spout to his mouth. He wipes the back of his hand across his lips and smiling, says, “Oh yeah. I was like, totally geographically impaired. I mean I knew what I was supposed to do, but had no fucking clue exactly where the, um, parts were located…uh exactly.”
Eyes wide with amusement, Brendon laughs and grabs the carton from Gerard, taking a long swallow. Gerard makes a face and rips a paper towel off the roll to wipe at the peanut butter Brendon’s left behind, and sets it back into the fridge. He stands in front of Brendon, hands resting on either side of her, smiling as he watches her chew. “Well, you’ve gotten better!” she says brightly, kissing the tip of his nose, her lips still curved up in a smile.
Gerard rolls his eyes and says, “I sure fuckin’ hope so. You know things are not going well when after several long-very very long-minutes of retarded fumbling your date whacks you on the shoulder and says Just put it in me already!!”
Brendon’s laughter is muffled by her lips swiping across Gerard’s. “Mmm hmmm, much better,” she nods emphatically and leans back to look at him.
“Thank fucking God! Next day she dumped my ass and took off for like, Egypt or some shit, never to be seen again.”
“Aww, poor baby,” Brendon rests her head against Gerard's shoulder and looks up at him, eyes wide. “Gerard?” she asks softly.
“Yeah?”
Leaning up and forward to press her forehead to Gerard’s, Brendon grins and thumps him playfully on the shoulder. “Just put it in me already!” her shoulders shake with her snickering. Gerard groans and wraps his arms around Brendon’s waist, lifting her from her spot on the counter.
* * *
At the sound of Brendon clomping down the stairs, Gerard clicks off the TV and stands to face her, “Ready?” he asks and then almost swallows his tongue.
“Yep,” Brendon cocks a hip against the door frame and raises an eyebrow at the strangled sounds Gerard is making.
Coming to stand beside Brendon, Gerard runs a palm up the exposed length of Brendon’s thigh and teases beneath the hem of her very short dress. “You’re wearing that to dinner?”
Her frown deepening, Brendon holds her arms out at her sides and stares down at herself. Nice black strappy sandals, nice black dress, hair done, make up on…she looks at Gerard and shrugs, “Why, what’s wrong with what I have on? I want to look nice!”
Gerard hooks a arm around Brendon’s waist and pulls her close, nuzzling at her cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with what you have on. It’s just dinner Chez Way is more a jeans and t-shirts kinda thing…”
Cutting him off, Brendon snorts and says, “And how is it my fault someone came his brains out all over my last clean t-shirt and then didn’t let me out of bed in time to do laundry before we have to leave?” She attempts to give Gerard a stern look but her lips are tilted up at the corners.
Running his mouth across the sensitive skin of her neck Gerard murmurs, “And you look so fuckin’ hot right now, what if I can’t like, control myself, and bend you over the kitchen table or something?” Gerard’s hands roam as he speaks, and one reaches into the plunging neckline of Brendon’s dress to palm at her breast.
Brendon yips and pulls away from Gerard, “Shit, really? Since I made such a fantastic first impression,” Brendon stops to roll her eyes, “I was hoping to go for presentable young lady. Not hotass your son is boinking.” Brendon tugs at the very short hem of her dress. “Maybe I should change?” She sucks her bottom lip thoughtfully into her mouth.
“Your ass is pretty hot,” Gerard supplies unhelpfully, moving closer to Brendon and snaking a hand underneath her baby doll dress to pinch at the round curve of one cheek.
Brendon slaps his hand away, laughing. “Shit, you can’t control yourself now, what’re you gonna be like in a few hours?”
“Frustrated,” Gerard nods and kisses Brendon firmly, “Very very frustrated.”
“Okay, that is a definite sign that I need to make some wardrobe adjustments,” Brendon wriggles away from Gerard and heads back up to the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Better?” Brendon asks when she returns to the living room, turning in a slow circle for Gerard’s appraisal. Now wearing her glasses, she’s switched the sandals for knee high boots, and put jeans on underneath her tunic, and a pretty red tank top fills in the deep vee of the dress’ neckline.
“I dunno about better,” Gerard stubs out his cigarette in his empty diet coke can and stands when Brendon comes to stand beside the sofa. “But, I should be able to keep my filthy paws off you long enough for us to eat dinner,” Brendon laughs when Gerard again reaches under her dress to palm across the tight denim covering her ass. “More layers to unwrap, good way to prolong the inevitable,” he mutters as he traces his lips over her neck.
Her arms looped loosely over Gerard’s shoulder, Brendon cocks her head and says “You have some strange ideas about…self control and um, denial, there, Sailor,” She smiles and pets down the collar of Gerard’s shirt. “But, we should get going now, right?”
“Right!” Gerard smiles his wide, crooked grin, and with a hand to the small of Brendon’s back, they head out the door.
* * *
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Brendon frowns and looks at the paper bag clutched in her hands.
Gerard looks at her from his spot behind the steering wheel. “Bren, you’re in fuckin’ Jersey and you’re bringing my parents a fifty dollar bottle of French wine. They’re gonna love that shit, seriously."
Brendon plays with a rip at the top of the bag, “I dunno, maybe I should have gone with flowers instead.”
Reaching over and taking one of her fidgeting hands in his, Gerard smiles and says, “My Mom seriously loves the vino, this is great, Brendon. Mikes and me are the only people who don’t drink. It’s gonna be fine.”
“I just…I’ve never, you know, never been the kinda girl who gets taken home to Mom, before. “ Brendon huffs out a breath, fluttering her bangs, and gives Gerard a weak smile.
Gerard laughs outright at that, then stops when he sees the stricken look on Brendon’s face, “Honey, Donna Way, as you may have noticed earlier today, is not so much the kind of Mom you take girls hometo.” Wrapping his fingers around hers, Gerard stills Brendon's nervous paper shredding. “It's gonna be fine. They're gonna love you.”
Taking a deep breath, Brendon exhales and says, “Okay.” They pull into the driveway of a tiny bungalow and Brendon nods to herself, getting out of the car.
Somehow, in all her nervousness about what to wear and meeting Gerard's parents, Brendon forgot that it's a Way Family dinner. Which means Mikey will be there. It was one thing to climb onto a bus and know that she'd maybe run into Mikey if he could tear himself away from his bunk or his cell phone long enough, but quite another to trade small talk around the dinner table. Brendon sucks at small talk. She never actually knows what are acceptable and what're not (aside from the obvious religion and politics, yes Zack she'd paid attention to that speech, okay?) acceptable topics of conversation, and usually spent a lot of time talking, while everyone else sat around and either smiled indulgently at her or else boggled in silence. But, in forgetting that Mikey will be at dinner, Brendon's also forgotten that Mikey's wife will be at dinner, too.
Brendon heaves a giant sigh of relief when Alicia throws the front door wide and envelopes her in a huge hug. Brendon fucking loves Alicia. Lots of time out on tour they'd been the only girls and had stuck together because, in some ways, Alicia was just as socially inept as Brendon, and they could hang out together and do each other's hair and nails and watch monster movies and talk about dogs and music and laugh and laugh at the stupid things boys in bands do. “Brendon! It's been for fucking ever, lady! How are you?”
Alicia's smile is genuine and coupled with the gentle squeeze of Gerard's hand to the back of her neck, and Brendon is at ease when she steps into the Way living room. “I'm good, thanks!” Brendon directs her best and brightest smile at Mikey, who's sitting on the sofa, scratching at a small gray cat's ears. Taking the wine from its paper bag, Brendon offers it to Alicia and then steps out of the doorway.
“There they are!” Donna proclaims loudly, untying the apron from around her waist, she claps her hands and steps through the kitchen door way, smoothing her brightly patterned shirt over her short black skirt. High heels wobbling across the shag carpeting, she rushes over to where Brendon and Gerard are standing, grabbing the wine from Alicia's hold as she passes. She busses a kiss to Gerard and Brendon's cheeks and then, hooking her arm through Brendon's says, “Come on dear, let me introduce you to Donald, the boys' father, and then we'll open this up!”
Gerard stands slightly gobsmacked in the middle of the living room, Mikey raises an eyebrow and Alicia laughs outright as the two other women disappear into the kitchen, Gerard's mother babbling happily about vintages and vineyards. Brendon turns back, managing a small, pleading look before she disappears from sight.
“Donald, this is Gerard's new friend,” Donna announces brightly to an older man hunched over the kitchen table and industriously peeling carrots. Gerard's dad wipes his hands on his cords and stands, smiling at Brendon.
He has eyes like Gerard's and a nose like Mikey's, and he's smiling as he crosses the room to greet Brendon. She likes him already, when he ignores her outstretched hand and “Hello, Mr. Way, I'm Brendon,” to hug her and pet at her shoulder, insisting she call him Donald. As he releases Brendon from the embrace, he mutters, “Just cover everything in gravy and it'll be fine.” Which makes Brendon laugh and Donna smack him on the arm with a tea towel.
“Here, dear, we'll console ourselves with this lovely wine you brought while my husband gets back to work!” Donna hands Brendon a large goblet, filled with the red wine and picks up one for herself, clinking the rims together and saying, “Chin chin!” and the two women retreat to the living room.
Dinner is filled with comfortably familiar chatter as the Ways all talk over each other. Alicia is blessedly sitting beside Brendon regaling her with tales of the latest addition to their family-a new puppy. Brendon smiles and laughs in what she hopes are all the right places, and politely answers questions , and is painfully aware of when she thinks she's talking too much. She patiently answers Donna's questions about family and school, and her smile brightens when Gerard squeezes at her thigh and Don winks at her across the table. She's cut the chicken on her plate into tiny pieces and is attempting to bury it under mashed potatoes when Donna stands, announcing she is going to get her boys refills on the chicken.
Stopping with the roast plate resting against the tilt of her hip, Donna reaches out a hand and tangles the curve of her acrylic nails in the slippery strands of Brendon's hair. “This is a lovely haircut, dear. You don't see many girls your age with hair so short.”
Rolling her eyes and tilting her head up in a futile attempt to meet Donna's glance, Brendon's face contorts in a comical expression, “Thank you. Yeah, my hair was always long but the minute I moved out,” Brendon raises her hand and makes a snipping motion with her fingers, “Chopped it all off.”
“It really suits you. Who does your hair?” Donna continues to slide her fingers through Brendon's hair.
Brendon finishes chewing her mouthful and dabs at her lips with a folded piece of paper towel. “Um, actually I do it myself.” She shrugs her shoulders.
“Really?” Donna smiles, delighted. “Gee tells us you're from Las Vegas,” she dips her head towards her oldest son, who is scowling at her, “but if you ever consider relocating to the East coast I'm sure I could get you a chair in my shop.”
Gerard sets down his knife and fork and says, “Ma, Brendon has a job, she's in a band, like me and Mikes.”
“Oh that's right! Silly me!” Donna laughs and continues to card Brendon's hair over her nails.
Mikey swallows his mouthful of food and says, “Ma, jeez, you're not a friggin' baboon, would you get you hands out of her hair already?” Donna smiles extra wide and pats Brendon's shoulder before continuing on her way to the kitchen.
***
“Oh honey leave that,” Donna waves dismissively at the stack of dishes Brendon has collected and is about to take to the sink. “Us girls'll take our coffee and go into the living room and let the boys worry about cleaning up.” Alicia snorts but dutifully stands, hefting her coffee cup. Gerard, Mikey and Donald exchange long suffering, yet sufficiently horrified looks before they shrug, endearingly similarly, and start clearing the table.
Alicia claims a lay-z-boy chair by the window and Brendon smiles tightly when Donna sits down on the small sofa, patting the cushion beside her. Managing to hide her disease at the china dolls that cover most of the furniture, glass eyes unblinking and shiny hair curled into complicated Victorian styles, Brendon resigns herself to the creepiness of it all. She takes a seat and sips at her coffee, trying to smile and look interested as Donna fills her in on all the local neighborhood news. The house is warm in the late summer evening and Brendon fidgets with the hem of her top and interjects opinions and information occasionally.
A clattering crash comes from the kitchen as Alicia is in the midst of describing the latest in the renovations of the house she and Mikey have purchased upstate. Brendon turns to follow the sound and her eyes dart to the framed photographs on a narrow table behind the couch. They're mostly family photos, and Brendon can't help but smile at Gerard and Mikey's school shots, arranged so both boys age in tandem, from left to right across the table top. Her smile dies when she reaches the end of the school photos and can't tear her eyes away from a much more recent photo; Gerard and Bert, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders and smiling huge for the camera.
“Do you know Robert?” Donna notices what Brendon is staring at and reaches behind her, carefully clutching the framed photo and settling it into her lap.
Brendon scratches at the scar through her right eyebrow and pulls her legs up underneath her. “Um...no,” she answers, gaze shifting to silently implore Alicia for help.
Unaware and undeterred, Donna continues, talking over top of Alicia's weak attempt to change the subject. “Such a lovely person. So polite!” She sighs and pats Brendon's leg, “They were so happy together.”
Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, Brendon mutters something like, “I'm sure he is,” looking at her lap rather than the photograph and rubbing her hands across her thighs trying to swallow the bitter taste of jealousy that is snaking it's way from her stomach and up the back of her throat. She's literally saved by the bell when there's a knock on the front door and the ding-dong of the doorbell sounds through the house.
Gerard sticks his head out of the kitchen, gingham tea towel slung over one shoulder to shout at his mother, “Ma! That's Ray-let him in?” He flings an arm out to the front door and Brendon takes the opportunity to stand and cross to the entry way.
“Gerard said it would be okay if Ray came over so I could work on some charts with him, Mrs. Way, I hope it really is okay? We'll go downstairs to the rec room so we don't bug you.” Brendon fidgets a hand through her hair as she throws the front door wide.
Donna comes to stand beside Brendon, smiling wide and fluffing her extremely blond, extremely large hair. “Of course sweetheart, Ray's one of the family.” As if to illustrate her point, Donna hugs Ray enthusiastically as he enters the house.
Ducking his head in greeting, Ray smiles at Alicia and waves at Brendon and, dropping his laptop case to the tile says, “Thanks for your help, Bren, I honestly don't know what the fuck,” he winces and make an apologetic face at Donna, who has gone back to sit beside Alicia and just laughs at Ray's embarrassment, “what I'm doing on the bridge, so if you seriously could chart it all out, that would be awesome.”
“Of course!” Brendon rocks up on to her toes and back again, grin wide. “No prob at all. All those music theory and comp classes should come in handy for something, right?”
Gerard snorts and and unfolds himself from where he's leaning against the dining room wall, “Just so you know, you're probably going to end up guilted into watching The Little Mermaid or some shit as payment.” He kisses Brendon's cheek smackingly loud and winds his arm around her waist.
“That's okay, I like Disney movies.” Ray shrugs and bends to dig through his bag. He comes up with his laptop, a stack of papers, and a pair of headphones.
Brendon glares at Gerard witheringly and says, “Some people are not animation snobs, and can appreciate the beauty of computer generated images, and do not think that Uncle Walty peaked at Snow White okay?” She puts a hand on her hip and Gerard just laughs. “However, I might have accidentally dropped a copy of The Lion King into my bag before we left...” With that she grabs Ray's hand and drags him towards the basement door.
***
They hear heavy, urgent footfalls on the stairs and then along the hall carpeting before Ray enters the kitchen, eyes wide, voice urgent. "Gerard! Gerard! You have to come, now! She's freaking out!!" He shuffles Gerard out of his chair and Donna looks from Ray to her son, completely baffled.
Getting to his feet and following Ray to the doorway Gerard says, "Brendon? What's wrong with her? I thought you two were watching cartoons or something?”
"I don't know, man. You have to come!" Even Ray's hair is vibrating in panic as they head down to the basement family room. "We were just watching The Lion King," Ray says over his shoulder, "And all of a sudden she just went," he waves his arms around, "hysterical or something!"
Brendon is curled up into a tight ball at one end of the old velvet sofa, sobbing as if her heart is breaking and her world is ending. Gerard grabs the remote and clicks pause before he sits down beside her and hugs her to him, "Honey! Honey, it's okay! Calm down, alright? Why are you crying?"
Amidst broken, choked sobs Brendon manages to say, "I. Don't. Know! It's. Just. So. Sad!" and her speaking seems to bring on a new jag of bawling. She looks up at Gerard, dark eyes sad and pleading, and he just doesn't know what to do.
"Hey now. It's okay. It's okay," Gently removing her glasses from her face, he pulls the cuff of his long sleeved t-shirt over his hand and uses it to wipe away tears and snot, continuing to hold Brendon close as he rocks her in a soothing rhythm, whispering quiet, calming noises into her hair. ”C'mon, we'll go lie down, okay?" he gets a hand under her knees and hauls her up to him, the other hand firm around her back. He carries her to his old room, sliding her onto the bed and drawing the slippery blue fabric of the ancient sleeping bag still being used as a blanket up around both of them.
Her crying levels off, receding to jerky, hiccuping sniffles. "I'm so sorry Gerard," she whispers into his neck.
He again wipes at her tears--eyelashes sticking to her skin-with his cuff , "S'okay." He smiles, concerned and petting a pattern through her hair.
She takes a stuttering breath and sniffles again, "Will you stay with me?" Her voice sounds so small, he can't help but dwell on how really fucking young she is.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll stay with you. Of course."
"Kay," her hand fists in his shirt, and he kisses her forehead, her temples, the bridge of her nose, smoothing the crease between her brows.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” He whispers into her hair as he strokes comfort across her back.
Brendon sighs and shifts closer, not opening her eyes she says, “Sing to me.”
“Sing?” Gerard sits back on his elbows and looks down at Brendon in the darkness of the room.
“Uh huh,” Brendon heaves a great, shuddering sniffle and Gerard hugs her to him again, petting her hair, and mouthing kisses at her temple.
Pausing, Gerard swallows hard and then, softly sings against the top of Brendon’s head, “Little darlin’, it’s been a long, long lonely winter. Little darlin’ it seems like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right.”
Brendon breathes deeply and her lips turn up into a smile, “Mmm, s’my favorite song,” her voice is scratchy from crying and slurred with the onset of sleep.
Pausing in his quiet singing, Gerard says, “I know,” and smiles down at her.
“How’d you know that?” Brendon rests her cheek against Gerard’s shoulder, her hand slowly swiping up and down over his chest.
He takes her hand in his, linking their fingers together and brushes his nose over her ear, whispering, “Maybe because you sing it under your breath all the time, or play it on the guitar when you’re warming up, or the fact that you have, like, twenty different versions of it on your iPod.”
Brendon’s smile widens but she doesn’t open her eyes, just presses closer still into the warm petting of Gerard’s hand across her hair and skin, “George Harrison was a nice man.”
Gerard snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, Bee, he was.”
“You’re a nice man too, Gerard.” She pats Gerard’s cheek with a heavy hand, and her voice is barely audible.
“Go to sleep, Brendon.” Only when her breathing has evened out and her lashes twitch against her cheeks does Gerard untangle himself from the blankets and Brendon's hold to return to the kitchen.
He stands, hip canted against the door jam and Ray gets up to meet him, arms crossed over his chest, "Dude, what the fuck?"
Gerard shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. "I dunno man. She was pretty sick in Mexico. And she's been like, stressed lately, you know? Under a lot of pressure. And she doesn't really have a lot of people she can talk to about...stuff."
Ray lets out a long breath, "Freaked me the fuck out. I've never seen her not, you know, happy, bouncy or whatever."
Shrugging again, Gerard raises an eyebrow, "She's human. Can't be happy all the time."
Looking abashed and apologetic, Ray says, "But dude, she's Brendon."
Gerard smiles at that and pats Ray on the shoulder, "She'll be okay. Go watch your movie or whatever. And man, thanks."
***
“Hey, Queen Bee, you feelin’ any better?” Gerard’s voice is soft as he sits down on the edge of the bed.
Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, Brendon mumbles, ”What time is it?”
“Late. Gonna head out now, okay?” Gerard strokes his fingers through the rioted tufts of her hair.
“Mmmmkay.” Brendon yawns and holds out her hands hands for her glasses. “Mmmmawake.” She stands and stumbles, her foot catching on the sleeping bag where it’s flopped onto the floor. “You sure about that?” Gerard chuckles, steadying Brendon and wrapping his arms around her.
In the low light of the bedside lamps, Brendon glowers at him when he strokes his thumb across her cheek, circling a tiny freckle. “Yeah, I’m awake. I’m awake.” She yawns again and thumps a loosely curled fist against Gerard’s shoulder when he laughs again.
Gerard kisses Brendon’s forehead and takes her hand, leading her through the basement and up the back stairs. “So, you’re really okay?” He shoots her a glance over top of the car.
“Yeah. I’m…I don’t know, just tired or something,” Brendon shakes herself a little, and scratches at her nose. “Shit, your parents probably think I’m a crazy bitch. I didn’t even say good bye to them, Gerard!” She stops, turning back towards the house.
Waving a dismissive hand towards the bungalow, Gerard climbs into the driver’s seat, “Nah, honey, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Freaked Ray out though.”
“Oh my God! Ray!” Brendon raises her hands to her cheeks, and stands frozen in the middle of the driveway. “He must think I’m some kind of fuckin’ retard!”
Leaning across the front seat and opening the passenger side door, Gerard looks up at Brendon through the fall of hair across his eyes and says, “Bren, get in the car, okay? He was just worried about you.”
Brendon bites her lip and then flops into the seat. She gives Gerard a wan look and says, “I really was just tired. I’ll apologize to him tomorrow.”
“You don’t need to apologize. And my parents think you’re pretty fuckin’ rad.” He pecks a kiss to her cheek and then starts the car.
“I like your Dad, he’s kind of a big ol’ sweetie.” Brendon smiles and links her fingers with Gerard’s resting them on her thigh. “But I think your Mom wishes I was Bert.” She snorts and digs her toe into the floor mat. “She’s kinda scary,” she adds in a small voice, nodding to herself.
Gerard cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at Brendon, “Oh God, she really needs to put that stupid fuckin’ photo away. She has a good heart. It’s just…buried beneath the Miss Clairol blond and the insta-tan and the um…” Gerard takes his hand off the wheel long enough to make a circling, squeezing motion at his chest.
“Your mom’s boobs are scary.” Brendon sniffles in a sleepy voice and leans her head against the window.
Snorting and scratching at his nose, Gerard says with mock gravity, “The best that money can buy!”
Brendon's eyes go wide as she stares at Gerard for a beat, then thwacks him on the shoulder . “Oh my God! Gerard Way, did you use your platinum record money to buy you mother boobs?” She sits up straight, biting her lip so she doesn't laugh.
“Um, well,” Gerard shrugs and laughs, the headlights of passing cars illuminating the dull blush across his cheeks and nose, “Jersey, right?”
Brendon squeezes Gerard's hand in hers, “Oh man! Gerard Way-feminist!-buys Mother breast implants and worships Frank Miller!” Brendon is laughing now, her shoulders shaking and she actually snorts when she says, “I love you,” enthusiastically.
Gerard looks over at Brendon, smiling shyly when he kisses her cheek. Smile taking a turn towards smug, he turns his attention back to the road spooled out before them.
***
Brendon's feeling better by the time they get back to Gerard's townhouse. Much better, if the speed with which she removes her clothes on the way to the bedroom is any judge. She plants her hand firmly in the middle of Gerard's chest and shoves him backwards onto the big bed, giggling and scrambling on top of him. All Gerard can do is groan, stretching his arms over his head as Brendon unbuttons his jeans with one hand and shoves his shirt up with the other. “Mmm...so warm,” Brendon mumbles against the soft skin of Gerard's belly.
His stomach quivers when Brendon lowers her head to drag her tongue tip in playful darts around Gerard's navel. He groans again and his hips buck beneath Brendon's petting. With practiced ease, she flicks the waistband of his shorts out of the way and ghosts teasing touches to the head of Gerard's hard cock. “Mmmm,” she says, again, making Gerard hiss.
“Jesus Christ, Brendon. C'mon.” Gerard breathes heavily through his nose and looks down his body, doing his best to glare at Brendon where she's sprawled between his legs, teasing him.
Waggling her eyebrows, Brendon wiggles her curled tongue against the leaking slit at the head of Gerard's dick and says, giggling, “Why, we going some place?” Which makes Gerard huff out a wheezing noise of frustration as he flops back against the pillows. “Okay, okay,” Brendon says, exaggeratedly, then closes her eyes and seals her lush lips around the entire head of Gerard's erection. Her mouth tilts up with satisfaction at the sounds of relief and pleasure Gerard makes when she swirls her tongue around his shaft and then shifts to take more of him into her mouth, her fingers lightly circling the root of his cock, thumb swiping a rhythm against the fragile skin of his balls.
Gerard brings a leaden arm up, fingers resting at the back of Brendon's neck, as he angles his hips, encouraging her. Brendon hums happily as Gerard's thick length fills her mouth, licking enthusiastically at the whorl of sensitive nerve endings at the underside of his cock, before taking him more fully down her throat.
And then making the most horrific gagging noises Gerard has ever heard. He sits up, hair and eyes wild with confusion and concern when Brendon pulls off roughly, falling back onto her ass and staring at Gerard in horror, a hand clamped over her mouth. Scrambling to her feet, Brendon bolts for the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her.
Lying flat on his back, Gerard inhales and exhales and blinks, boring holes into the bathroom door. “Shit,” he mutters, flicking his hair out of his face and getting to his feet. The sound of vomiting is unmistakable and Gerard knocks lightly on the door, “Bren, honey? You okay?”
Yeah, so not exactly the best question to ask at the moment. Gerard rubs a hand across his eyes and tries the door, still locked. He leans against the door frame, and waits, feeling helpless and stupid.
He stands there dumbly for what seems like an eternity until finally the horrible noises of Brendon being sick subside and are replaced with running water. He hears the lock click free, and Gerard takes that as his cue to slowly open the door. Brendon's eyes-still shocked wide and shining in the glare of the overhead light- meet his in the mirror over the sink and she looks apologetic and embarrassed as she spits a minty green glob of toothpaste into the basin.
“Sorry,” she says in a husky, small voice. Brendon bends to fill her cupped hand with water and then then slurps it to her mouth, swishing it from cheek to cheek and then spits it under the stream of running water. She wipes her arm over her chin and her eyes dart around the small room, avoiding Gerard.
“You okay?” Gerard crosses his arms in front of him, wanting very much to cradle Brendon to him, and erase the horrified, embarrassed look on her face, but he's not sure that's what she wants.
Jamming her toothbrush back into the rack, Brendon turns around to face him, bracing herself on the edge of the counter. “Yeah, I mean, I think so.” She huffs out a breath and tries to smile, nailbeds gone white as she pushes her fingers into the marble. “So maybe your Mom's chicken dinner wasn't so great an idea after all.”
Gerard reaches out to cup her elbow, his voice and eyes soft with concern, “Brendon.”
“Shit man, I swear that's never happened to me-ever. I have, like zero gag reflex. Ask my doctor-he'd just, like jam that ol' tongue depressor in there and go for it, you know?” She mimes a quick jab and twist, and she's shivering so hard her voice is shaking.
Frowning, Gerard leans over and swipes one of his shirts off the top of the laundry basket and wraps the old blue Oxford around Brendon's shoulders. “Hey now,” he whispers in reply to nothing in particular, encouraging Brendon's arms into the shirt with gentle touches before pulling her into a hug.
Brendon bites her lip and stares at the light dusting of freckles on Gerard's shoulder and laughs again-a watery, self-conscious sound. “So hey, Sailor. I seem to be just fine, now. So, if you, you know, wanna give it another go...” It's obvious to both of them that Brendon's cheerful enthusiasm is forced.
“Brendon, honey, we don't have to...”
When she speaks again, Brendon's voice is high and tight and slipping towards hysteria, “Fuck, I mean of course you don't want me to...you know,” she flaps a hand vaguely at Gerard, “after I just...” and she hooks her thumb towards the toilet. She's babbling and she knows it but she can't seem to stop herself. “I don't usually lose my shit like this,” she finishes weakly, studying the floor.
“Bren, I didn't mean it like that. That's not the reason why,” Gerard tugs her closer and she thumps her head to the familiar curve between his neck and shoulder. Gerard's hands rub, comforting and warm, across Brendon's cotton covered back. “Honey, I'm just glad you're here, you know? That I get to hold you and just like, fuckin' get to be with you.” He tilts her chin up and brushes his thumb slowly across her bottom lip.
Sniffling loudly, Brendon says, “What you mean like, cuddling?”
“Yeah, exactly like cuddling.” Gerard's smile widens when he presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “Let's just go to bed, okay?”
Smile watery but genuine, Brendon takes Gerard's hand and they head back into the bedroom. “Just so you know, I'm an awesome cuddler.” She knuckles at her eyes and nods sagely, “and you're awesome to cuddle.”
His shoulders shift in amusement as Gerard laughs at Brendon's conviction, “Ya don't say. I had no idea, Queen Bee.” He stops and picks her nightgown up from atop her messy suitcase, then holds it out to her.
Brendon pauses as she climbs onto the king sized bed and shakes her head, “Un-uh,” pouting as she tugs Gerard's shirt tighter around her. She does up a few of the buttons and then flops onto the bed, batting the pillows into a more comfortable formation and pulling the sheet up over her bare legs. Settled, she holds her arms out to Gerard. “Bed time!” she announces firmly.
Gerard just shrugs and crawls in beside her. Brendon make nasal, pleased noises as she shuffles closer. She bends her leg at the knee and throws it across the soft skin of Gerard's hip, shifting closer still to wheedle his arms around her, and hums, “Night Gee,” and then closes her eyes, happy.
Continue to Eight C