It's Oh So Quiet brendon/gerard
Title: It's Oh So Quiet
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: PG
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Oh God. Ages ago I started writing Beach Music, the summary of which is: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen. And, well, I haven't abandoned it, exactly. Life, it gets in the way sometimes, you know? So, anyway, enter the Sex is Not the Enemy fic-a-thon and the prompt pic I got seemed like a good way to get back into writing (ie finishing) that AU.
There’s no thunder clap, or lightning strike. But it’s not like she’s ever been one of those girls who sat around waiting for fireworks, anyway. Which is to say this is not at all what Brendon ever imagined the exact moment she falls in love would be like. She and Gerard have been doing whatever it is they’re doing for a while now.
And all she knows is she wants more of it, and more often.
It’s not even about fucking anymore. Well, okay, so it’s not just about fucking, at least for her, anymore. And from the amount of time Gerard spends calling her to talk about the view from the bus window, or emailing her photos of some weird bird he saw on the roof of a venue, she’s pretty sure it’s not just about sex for him, either.
Not that the sex isn’t awesome, because Brendon would be lying if she said otherwise. But, sometimes, after she’s come too often to count, when they’re languid and boneless, and their breathless laughter at nothing has shifted into something calm and content and warm and safe, she realizes there’s nowhere else she’d rather be, and no one else she’d rather be there with.
And that? Has never happened before.
She hasn’t asked a lot, but it has come up now and again, and no one she knows can ever explain to her how you can tell if you’re in love. They usually shrug and get a far away look in their eyes and say: “you just know”.
She watches Gerard from where she’s propped up at one end of his bunk. He’s reading At the Mountains of Madness aloud to her from the other end of the bed. Brendon can’t find much meaning in any of the Lovcraftian babble, but she admires Gerard’s commitment to convincing her that it’s the best book, ever. She likes the sound of the words in his mouth; the rise and fall and shape of them as they float across the small space. And finds herself wanting to like the things he likes, and she’s not sure when that has ever mattered to her before.
Periodically Gerard stops reading to look up at her and smile, his eyes tilted up at the corners and peeking though the messy dark veil of his hair. Brendon just nods a little and smiles in return, her fingers continuing to pick out random notes and bits of melody on Frank’s old battered acoustic. She wonders at the startling warmth singing through her veins at something so simple as a look. Leaning back into the peeling panel board wall she wriggles her toes against Gerard’s thigh, a distraction from her thoughts.
As the blanket slips lower, and Brendon’s toes tickle against Gerard’s bare skin, he giggles; a small indignant noise in the quiet of the bunks. Without even looking away from his book, he circles Brendon’s ankle with his thumb and forefinger, dragging her foot until it’s resting low on his stomach. She arches an eyebrow at him, and she can tell by the quirk of his mouth that he’s seen her, but Gerard still doesn’t break in his reading. He releases his gentle hold on her ankle, and splays his fingers over her calf, stilling her. His voice is a little louder, a little more desperate and Brendon can’t tell if that’s because of her closeness, or if things in Lovecraft Land are coming to a head.
Brendon puts both hands over her face, hiding her wide, ridiculous grin. The guitar slides from her hold, a discordant clang sounding through the bus as it hits the carpeted floor. Gerard flicks his hair out of his eyes and talk of Cthulu dies with the fading notes from the brass strings.
They lay there, staring at each other across the small distance, blinking until Gerard smiles and says, “Hey.”
Slowly pulling her hands away from her face, Brendon returns Gerard’s grin and wriggles her toes against his belly. In that moment--in that tiny perfect moment, she knows.
“Hey,” she says.
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: PG
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Oh God. Ages ago I started writing Beach Music, the summary of which is: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen. And, well, I haven't abandoned it, exactly. Life, it gets in the way sometimes, you know? So, anyway, enter the Sex is Not the Enemy fic-a-thon and the prompt pic I got seemed like a good way to get back into writing (ie finishing) that AU.
There’s no thunder clap, or lightning strike. But it’s not like she’s ever been one of those girls who sat around waiting for fireworks, anyway. Which is to say this is not at all what Brendon ever imagined the exact moment she falls in love would be like. She and Gerard have been doing whatever it is they’re doing for a while now.
And all she knows is she wants more of it, and more often.
It’s not even about fucking anymore. Well, okay, so it’s not just about fucking, at least for her, anymore. And from the amount of time Gerard spends calling her to talk about the view from the bus window, or emailing her photos of some weird bird he saw on the roof of a venue, she’s pretty sure it’s not just about sex for him, either.
Not that the sex isn’t awesome, because Brendon would be lying if she said otherwise. But, sometimes, after she’s come too often to count, when they’re languid and boneless, and their breathless laughter at nothing has shifted into something calm and content and warm and safe, she realizes there’s nowhere else she’d rather be, and no one else she’d rather be there with.
And that? Has never happened before.
She hasn’t asked a lot, but it has come up now and again, and no one she knows can ever explain to her how you can tell if you’re in love. They usually shrug and get a far away look in their eyes and say: “you just know”.
She watches Gerard from where she’s propped up at one end of his bunk. He’s reading At the Mountains of Madness aloud to her from the other end of the bed. Brendon can’t find much meaning in any of the Lovcraftian babble, but she admires Gerard’s commitment to convincing her that it’s the best book, ever. She likes the sound of the words in his mouth; the rise and fall and shape of them as they float across the small space. And finds herself wanting to like the things he likes, and she’s not sure when that has ever mattered to her before.
Periodically Gerard stops reading to look up at her and smile, his eyes tilted up at the corners and peeking though the messy dark veil of his hair. Brendon just nods a little and smiles in return, her fingers continuing to pick out random notes and bits of melody on Frank’s old battered acoustic. She wonders at the startling warmth singing through her veins at something so simple as a look. Leaning back into the peeling panel board wall she wriggles her toes against Gerard’s thigh, a distraction from her thoughts.
As the blanket slips lower, and Brendon’s toes tickle against Gerard’s bare skin, he giggles; a small indignant noise in the quiet of the bunks. Without even looking away from his book, he circles Brendon’s ankle with his thumb and forefinger, dragging her foot until it’s resting low on his stomach. She arches an eyebrow at him, and she can tell by the quirk of his mouth that he’s seen her, but Gerard still doesn’t break in his reading. He releases his gentle hold on her ankle, and splays his fingers over her calf, stilling her. His voice is a little louder, a little more desperate and Brendon can’t tell if that’s because of her closeness, or if things in Lovecraft Land are coming to a head.
Brendon puts both hands over her face, hiding her wide, ridiculous grin. The guitar slides from her hold, a discordant clang sounding through the bus as it hits the carpeted floor. Gerard flicks his hair out of his eyes and talk of Cthulu dies with the fading notes from the brass strings.
They lay there, staring at each other across the small distance, blinking until Gerard smiles and says, “Hey.”
Slowly pulling her hands away from her face, Brendon returns Gerard’s grin and wriggles her toes against his belly. In that moment--in that tiny perfect moment, she knows.
“Hey,” she says.