Everything Else | Brendon/Shane | NC-17 | 25 000 words | Part Two
Notes | Part One | Part Two | Part Three
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*
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Ryan was supposed to be meeting them at the club, but Brendon got a text fifteen minutes ago: Which movie did u wnat to see agian?? keltie says she dosn't want to see teh new jms bond. Brendon rolled his eyes, and didn't bother texting back.
He's sitting in a booth when Shane comes to find him. It takes him a minute to notice that Shane's there because he's also very busy making out with a blonde - named Crystal? Maybe? - who has her tongue pierced.
Shane says something that Brendon misses under the throbbing beat of the music.
"What?" he yells.
"When do you think you're going to head home?" Shane shouts.
"Oh, I dunno," Brendon says, looking stealthily over to the side. "Not yet."
"Okay, well, gimme a call when you're going to head home, okay?" Shane asks.
"What?" Brendon yells. "Why?" But Shane has already turned away, glancing over his shoulder and lifting up his hand to wave goodbye.
He looks at the girl, shrugs, then leans in again.
--
Brendon actually manages to catch a cab within minutes of walking outside, and it's only maybe half an hour after saying goodbye to Shane that Brendon's unlocking the front door to their place.
"Hello?" Brendon calls out. He can hear music coming from Shane's bedroom, so he toes off his shoes and walks down the hall.
"Hey, I'm home," Brendon yells, reaching for the handle on Shane's door. "I wasn't really feeling it tonight, so I thought maybe we could-" he trails off, standing frozen in the doorway.
He forces himself to blink and, yeah, Shane's still naked on the bed, scrambling for the blankets, his naked body partially covering the other naked body of a dude. It's a dude, because Brendon can totally see his dick. Shane's naked on the bed and there are two dicks and Brendon flushes so red it feels like all the blood vessels in his face are going to burst.
"Umm, that we could hang out," Brendon finishes, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "But, you're busy right now, so, um, I'm going to-"
Shane says, "Brendon," but Brendon has already backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly. He stares for a minute at the shut door, then gives himself a little shake.
He feels hysterical giggles bubbling up in his throat and he pinches his lips tightly together, worried about what would happen if he let his mouth open and they started to spill out.
There is the sound of movement in the house. Someone walks down the hall and then after a pause the front door opens and closes. More footsteps.
Shane knocks on the door but doesn't wait for Brendon to answer before letting himself in.
Brendon has been shuffling back and forth across the open space between his bed and his dresser. He stops somewhere in between the two and looks at Shane.
Shane's cheeks are red and his hair is sticking to his forehead. He's wearing a zipped up hoodie and a pair of jeans. Brendon can see this triangle of skin at Shane's neck, where the hoodie isn't zipped up quite all the way. Shane's neck is kind of red and raw looking, and Brendon squints for a minute before he thinks, beard burn, and then he starts to laugh and he can't stop.
Shane shakes his head, grinning sheepishly and scratching the back of his head.
"I thought that you were going to be busy with that girl. I did say to call before coming home," Shane says, when Brendon finally manages to pull himself together.
Brendon's chest is tight, like there's still some laughter trapped inside, but he swallows against it and says, "Obviously you weren't very clear about the consequences!"
Shane scratches harder at the back of his head.
That guy left awfully quickly, and Brendon's pretty sure that he caught them in the middle of the act, not in the aftermath. He sweeps his gaze downwards, but Shane's hoodie is long enough that Brendon can't see much of anything. He doesn't even know why he's looking.
"So, this is awkward," he says. Sometimes it's best just to face these things head on.
Shane pulls his hand down. He opens his mouth, pauses for a minute, then closes it. He opens it again, and finally just presses his lips together and lifts his hands up as he shrugs.
"Kay, so. Goodnight," Shane finally says.
"Yup, night," Brendon says.
Shane stays still for a moment, and there's something in his face that Brendon can't read, which is weird because Brendon would have said that he's already seen every possible expression that Shane's face can make. Whatever the expression is, it goes away quickly, and then Shane looks blank and a little tired.
He turns away, and shuts Brendon's door again.
Brendon can hear him walk back to his bedroom. Shane's sheets will probably smell like that other dude. Shane didn't have time to put a t-shirt on when he hurried to dress again, and he probably didn't put on underwear either. Brendon wonders if Shane is going to jerk off now.
There's a weird kind of intimacy that comes from catching someone having sex. Like Brendon crossed some line and accidentally became a participant.
That's a stupid thing to think though. There have been lots of times that Brendon knew Shane was having sex. There have been countless times that he knew Shane was jerking off; sometimes they'd buy pay-per-view porn on hotel nights and jerk off at the same time. There's no reason that Brendon would still be standing in the center of his bedroom, having to remind himself to blink.
How much did he have to drink anyway? There was some predrinking before the club: a couple shots of rum at least. Shane poured, and he might have been using the double shot glass. And then when they were at the booth, they definitely had at least three pitchers, so between two people that's, like, maybe, how many beers are in a pitcher, anyway? Two glasses each? Or is it more than that?
So maybe Brendon's drunk right now. He's definitely feeling something, regardless of how many drinks he actually had. Is Shane drunk, too? Was he drunk when he picked up the guy at the club? And who is the guy, anyway? Some stranger? He didn't look familiar, but then again Brendon isn't in the practice of identifying people by bare asses only.
The weird giggles are frothing up in his chest around, so he stops thinking about that and concentrates on getting ready for bed. He really is kind of tired tonight; there was a reason he came home so early.
He strips off his clothes then remembers that he hasn't brushed his teeth, so he heads to the bathroom. As he walking naked down the hall, he realizes that maybe he should put some clothes on; he doesn't know what Shane is actually doing right now. Whatever, though. Brendon had to put up with seeing Shane's naked body already tonight. Fair's fair. And anyway, Brendon spends lots of time walking around the apartment naked, even when he knows that Shane's home. Why should it be any different now?
Still, once Brendon finishes brushing his teeth, he lingers by the bathroom door for a moment, listening for Shane. When he doesn't hear any sounds, he makes the dash back to his bedroom.
Back in his bedroom, Brendon's all aware of being naked now. It's funny how that switches on and off. He's naked and sleeping, and he often gets up and forgets to put clothes back on when he wakes back up. After a concert, he showers and walks around wearing only a towel for as long as he can get away with it. When it's hot, when he's bored, when he doesn't think anyone will be around: Brendon likes not having to wear clothes. But then something will happen and he'll get this weird feeling and suddenly it doesn't feel as natural anymore, or - Something.
Brendon is in the weirdly-naked stage right now, and his skin feels all prickly and aware. Shane's down the hall in his bedroom, and Brendon's standing naked, and maybe Shane is naked, too. The house is warm and Brendon is sweating a little, was already sweating from the heat of the club. He thought that he was going to have sex tonight, but then he thought that he didn't actually feel like it, but maybe he was wrong. It would have been better to stay at the club, to stay with the girl. Shane probably wishes that he could have stayed with the dude. The dude that he was trying to sleep with.
Brendon climbs into his bed, pushes the covers down, decides that it's not that warm after all, and pulls the sheet up to his chest. Then he decides that he's going to jerk off, and pushes it back down again. He's hard because he was going to have sex tonight, but then his brain got all weird or something, because that girl obviously knew who Panic at the Disco is, but that didn't really matter. She had a tongue piercing. Which, okay, he can never really feel the actual piercing, but it's definitely a signal that a girl will go down, so whatever. He should have stayed at the club.
Brendon comes onto his chest and then wipes himself off. Some guys try to aim for a pile of tissues, but Brendon doesn't like having to fuss with that while he's busy having an orgasm. It's not like his jizz is that hard to clean up, and anyway, he washes his sheets at least once a month.
Brendon thinks about how sometimes he leaves dirty tissues in places that Shane might find them, and how it had always seemed funny at the time, but maybe that was actually a weird thing to do. Maybe it's weird that he knows that Shane comes into a fistful of tissues when he jerks off. It seemed like - whatever, at the time. At the time, it seemed like whatever, but now Brendon thinks that maybe it was weird, and he thinks that he definitely should have stayed at the club. He wishes that he stayed at the club.
He rolls over and falls asleep. His brain is tired and his body is drunk and it takes less time to fall asleep than he would have guessed.
--
*
--
It takes until halfway through his shower for Brendon to realize that he's not feeling especially hung over. Sometimes it's tricky right when he first wakes up. He can feel nauseous just from being hungry, or feel like he's going to be okay because he's still half-asleep.
Brendon showers with the water just warm enough that it won't fog up the mirror. That's the best temperature to help him wake up, and halfway through the shower he realizes that he's not feeling all that hung over and also he realizes that he saw Shane totally fucking a dude last night, and then he turns up the shower to really hot.
The hot water stings a little bit, but it's a good feeling, like something itching his back. He shampoos his hair, then rubs the bar of soap under his arms and down his chest. Rubs his soap hand over his dick and then remembers that he didn't have sex last night, so he doesn't need to worry about trying to clean up. He jerks off anyway, just because his hand is there.
--
Brendon watches TV halfheartedly, waiting for Shane to get up so that they can eat breakfast. Shane's sleeping in really late this morning though, and eventually Brendon wanders into the kitchen alone. He eats two bowls of cereal, considers a third, but decides that he'll wait and just eat something else when Shane finally gets up.
--
Mid afternoon, and Brendon's been up for a couple of hours. He wants lunch, so he walks down the hall to Shane's room.
He knocks on the door, loudly, before pushing it open.
Shane's sitting at his desk, his huge headphones around his neck and his laptop open in front of him. He turns his head around to look at Brendon when Brendon walks in.
"What's up?" he asks.
"You're awake," Brendon says.
"Yup," Shane says.
"I thought you were sleeping," Brendon says.
"Nope," Shane says.
"Yeah, so, I wanted to make lunch now," Brendon says. "I'm hungry."
"So make lunch," Shane says.
"I was waiting for you," says Brendon.
Shane turns his head toward his computer, and says, "I was just-" He looks back at Brendon, glances at his computer again, and says, "Yeah, okay. I'm not really that hungry, but whatever."
"Kay, well c'mon," Brendon says, leaving Shane's room and walking back to the kitchen.
He doesn't know what he wants for lunch, so when Shane gets to the kitchen, he asks, "What should we have?"
"I dunno," Shane says. "I'm not really that hungry."
"I don't know what to make," Brendon says.
"Just have cereal or something."
"I had cereal," Brendon says. "I'm ready for lunch."
"I dunno," Shane says again. "We need groceries. Let's just make a sandwich or something."
Brendon doesn't really feel like a sandwich, but there really isn't any food in the house, so he just walks to the counter and grabs the loaf of bread. The loaf is hard, and when he starts sawing at it with a knife, the bread crumbles, leaving huge chunks on the counter. He tries to put the piece back together using mayonnaise, and it sort of works. He cuts a few more pieces, smearing another one with mayo and piling on all the rest of the ham. Brendon likes mustard, but Shane doesn't, so he puts extra pepper on Shane's.
He passes Shane one plate, and carries his own over to the table. The sandwiches are just bread and meat, since there's nothing green in their refrigerated.
Brendon says, "We should have just gone out for subs."
Shane grunts, and doesn't point out that there was really no point for Brendon to come and bug him. Whatever. Shane gets all caught up with his projects, anyway. It's not good to spend that much time hunched over the computer, and when Shane's editing, he doesn't even remember to blink. Brendon doesn't actually know what Shane's working on right now. He doesn't think that Shane's got anything official going right now. Maybe it's just something he's playing with for himself. Brendon does that sometimes: writes songs that he knows would never be Panic at the Disco songs. It's a relief to be able to work on things just for fun occasionally.
Shane eats some of his sandwich, then sits at the table, waiting for Brendon to finish. Brendon really was hungry, so he eats the whole thing even though the bread was nasty and the ham was probably starting to go bad.
After he finishes eating, there's a moment where neither of them move. Brendon gets the feeling that Shane is waiting for him to say something, but what does Brendon have to say? Brendon doesn't have anything do say. He said that he was sorry for not knocking, and that's all there was, from him. If Shane wants to talk about something, then he should talk about it. It's not fair for him to just sit there and stare at Brendon and make Brendon feel like he's doing something wrong. Brendon's not even doing anything. Brendon isn't the one who did something.
Brendon pushes away from the table, almost knocking his chair over.
"I'm going to walk Dylan," he snaps.
What the hell is Shane's problem, anyway?
"O-kay," Shane says in a weird voice. He's still sitting at the table.
Whatever. He can just sit there and finish his fucking sandwich. The sandwich that Brendon made for him. Shane's such a lazy bastard.
--
It takes for-fucking-ever to walk to the park, so usually they drive. By the time Brendon has walked over, he's feeling much calmer, and Dylan is looking tired.
"I'm not carrying you back home," he informs the dog, then unsnaps her leash to let her run free. All she does is trot over to the shade and lie down.
Brendon sighs, then walks over to sit down beside her.
"We'll just take a little break," he says when she wiggles closer and rests her chin on his thigh. He pats her head.
--
The sun starts to set as Brendon makes his way back home, and by the time he walks through the front door, it's almost all the way dark outside.
Dylan, who Brendon had been carrying for the last twenty minutes, waits until Brendon unsnaps her leash and then blots off.
"Drama queen," Brendon mutters, just to himself since the dog is long gone.
Shane isn't in the kitchen when Brendon gets himself a glass of water. Brendon stares at the fridge and wonders if Shane has eaten yet, or if he was waiting for Brendon. If Shane is working on a project, chances are good that he doesn't even realize it's time for dinner.
Brendon walks to Shane's room and knocks loudly on the door, yelling, "What are we going to do for supper," before Shane answers.
"What?" Shane says. He walks to the door, and says again, "What?"
"Dinner," Brendon says. "Food."
Shane blinks, lifts up his arm to look at his wrist, realizes that he isn't wearing a watch, and then blinks again.
"Oh, yeah," he says.
"You wanna order something or go out somewhere?" Brendon asks.
"Maybe ordering pizza," Shane says. "Then we can eat the leftovers for breakfast tomorrow. We've gotta get to the grocery store."
"What do you want? Hawaiian?"
"Yeah, sure," Shane says. "Or maybe get one Hawaiian and one meat lovers or something."
"'kay," Brendon says. He walks down the hall to get the phone, listening to see if Shane follows him, or if he closes his door again. Brendon doesn't hear the sound of the door shutting, but he can't hear footsteps either.
He makes the call, then stands in the center of the kitchen. It feels weird being at home right now. He's been home for long enough that it can't just be the getting-used-to-being-off-the-road thing.
He walks back to Shane's room and says, "You wanna smoke up before the pizza gets here?"
"Okay," Shane says. He's sitting at his desk, but his arms are crossed and no windows seem to be in use on his computer screen. He's just got a couple of file directories open.
"What are you working on?" Brendon asks.
"Nothing, really," Shane says. "I was just experimenting with some old clips I've got. Seeing about some color adjustment shit."
"Cool," Brendon says. "You wanna roll, or what?"
"You roll," Shane says.
"Yeah, okay," Brendon says. He lingers in Shane's doorway for a minute longer, even though he doesn't actually have anything to say.
Finally, Shane says, "Dude, what?"
"What?" Brendon echoes.
"You're being really fucking weird today," Shane says.
"I'm not being weird," Brendon says. "I'm not doing anything. I didn't do anything."
"What," Shane says again, but it's not really a question this time.
Brendon shrugs, raising his eyebrows and turning the corners of his mouth down. It's kind of a, fine, be that way, and a, fuck you, asshole, all in one.
Shane stands up, and walks over the couple of steps it takes for them to be facing each other. He crosses his arms and says, "Is there something you want to say?"
"What?" Brendon says, honestly surprised. "Me? What would I have to say?"
"I dunno," Shane says. "But you should either say something, or stop acting like a fruitcake."
Brendon snorts, and mutters, "Nice."
"Brendon," Shane says warningly.
"I didn't say it," Brendon says.
"Are you seriously freaking out about this?" Shane asks. "I wouldn't have thought you'd care."
"Of course I don't care," Brendon says, holding both of his hands up. Why is he holding his hands up? It's such a defensive gesture. He should lower his hands. Why are his arms frozen like this? "I was just surprised," he says.
"You don't get to be a douche about this," Shane says. He doesn't look embarrassed or worried or anything. He looks the same way he did when he told Brendon that there had to be a schedule for cleaning the kitchen and that it was going to be Brendon's turn first because the last time Brendon made mac & cheese, he left the last little bit in the pot and didn't soak it or anything, and now, somewhere behind all the other dirty dishes, there is a pot with fossilized orange sauce, Brendon, and Shane isn't going to be the one to clean that shit up.
"I'm not going to be a douche," Brendon says. He tries to put a suitable amount of scorn into his voice, like it's totally out of the question for Shane to even consider that. Brendon? A douche? What is Shane even talking about?
"You're already being a douche," Shane says. "Now stop it. You don't get to turn this into a big deal."
"I'm not going to," Brendon says. He finally manages to pull his hands down, crossing his arms cross his chest. He looks down at the floor. "Just, I mean. What? I'm not going to turn what into a big deal? Because, I guess, I mean, I didn't really think, or, I mean." Brendon trails off. "I was surprised," he says again.
"It's not a thing," Shane says. "Just, like, I dunno, a thing sometimes. But it's not a thing and you don't get to turn it into one."
"Is that why, um, you and Regan-?"
"Dude, no. What the fuck?" Shane asks, crossing his own arms. "That's just- No. No, what the fuck?"
"What?" Brendon says. "It's not a weird question."
"I just told you it's not a thing," Shane says. "Of course it's a weird question."
"It's just a thing, but it's not a thing?" Brendon repeats, tilting his head and looking at Shane. "Uh huh."
Shane's shoulders are all tight, and his mouth looks small.
Brendon takes a breath and as he exhales slowly he can feel the weird tension that's been all over the house since last night loosen and fade. He uncrosses his arms and asks, "Is it some kind of art school thing?"
Shane's head snaps up and his eyebrows raise.
Brendon says, "'Cause, you know, I think I've heard something about that..."
Shane's eyes start to crinkle at the corners.
"Yeah, I think there was this video I saw one time. Oh, what was it called? Something or another about art school sluts, hey, ouch!"
Brendon rubs his arm, and tries to bat Shane's hands away.
"Stop hitting! I'm being supportive. I think it was a documentary - oof."
Brendon turns around, hunching in on himself and trying to protect his stomach from Shane's jabby fists. Shane starts going for the kidney shots, so it doesn't end up helping much. Fortunately, Shane doesn't know where Brendon's kidneys actually are, but unfortunately, it's also painful to get punched in the spine.
Brendon sprints off down the hall, nearly tripping over Dylan and yelling over his shoulder, "If you hurt me you'll have to roll your own doobie." Shane always twists the end too tight and then it's impossible to inhale.
--
They're sitting side-by-side on the couch, the pizza box on the coffee table in front of them. It's empty, save two dinky slices that are missing most of the cheese, and one half-eaten slice that's covered in dog slobber. They started feeding it to Dylan, but then Brendon remembered about how gross her shit got after the last time they fed her pizza, so he had to wrestle it away from her. Probably it wasn't the best idea to put it back in the box after that.
Shane shifts on the couch. He doesn't actually move at all, but he rolls his body or something, so Brendon can feel the couch move. The pizza they got had a really thick crust and it's probably the best thing Brendon's tasted in his entire life.
Shane's holding a nearly eaten slice in his hand, but he doesn't seem to be working on eating it. Mostly all that's left is the crust, so Brendon reaches over and takes it from him. Shane's slow in reacting; he turns his head toward Brendon and blinks, his mouth falling slowly open.
Brendon eats half the crust in one bite, and while he's swallowing, Shane finally says, "Hey!"
"Want the rest?" Brendon offers, holding the crust out.
Shane frowns, then leans forward to take a little bite, pulling back afterwards and saying, "You can finish it."
Brendon pops the rest into his mouth.
--
*
--
"No, that's not how it's supposed to sound," Ryan says.
"You going to sing this one yourself, too?" Brendon asks, exasperated.
"No," Ryan snaps. He pauses for a moment, then says, "Maybe." He thinks for a minute. "No, definitely the no. That song needs to be more, like upper in the- you know, the higher sounds. It needs to be like how I've been telling you to sing it. Just sing it like that."
Brendon groans, leaning forward so that his head bangs onto the piano.
"You could try switching off with the verses," Jon suggests.
"You wanna try singing it?" Brendon offers.
"Nah. No, no more songs," Jon says. "I'm still not, not convinced with the very most certainty, that I should be singing for the one I'm singing on. Obviously I'm pretty certain about not singing the ones I'm already not singing."
"What?" Ryan says. "But we've already recorded that!"
"If you're going to switch off the verses again, if should be for a song that's actually written to go like that. There has to be a reason for us to do things," Spencer says.
"Do you want-" Brendon starts.
Spencer cuts him off, "No."
--
"So, I killed the rest of my band today," Brendon says, walking in to the kitchen and peeking over Shane's shoulder to see what's in the pan on the stove. "Ooh, is that pasta sauce?"
Shane elbows him away. "Don't lick that spoon. I'm using it still."
"The sauce is simmering," Brendon says. "That's like boiling and boiling sterilizes things."
"Pretty sure that's not how it works," Shane says.
Brendon humphs. He walks to the fridge to help himself to a beer.
"Anyway, you need help hiding bodies or something?" Shane asks.
"Nah, I left Hobo in the room with the corpses," Brendon says. "I figure I'll head back to the studio in a couple of weeks, and all of the evidence will be eaten. The trick will be to keep all the staff out in the meantime..."
Shane laughs and says, "You think Hobo's going to eat three grown dudes in just a couple of weeks? I've had hamburgers that were bigger than that dog."
"Well, one of the dudes is Ryan," Brendon says.
"Yeah, point."
Brendon finishes his beer. "You need me to put the pasta on?"
Shane gestures with his wooden spoon. "I've got it already."
Brendon comes up behind Shane, and leans his head against the center of Shane's back. He sighs loudly, then lifts up his head. "I'm starving," he says, making nom nom noises that are muffled by Shane's t-shirt.
"Go set the table," Shane says, laughing and trying to fend Brendon off with the wooden spoon. "What's up with all the cannibalism talk today?"
"Is it really cannibalism if a dog eats humans?" Brendon asks. "No, it wouldn't be. It's got to be people eating people."
"Well, people are getting eaten, and it's another person who causes it to happen," Shane says.
"Hmm, yeah," Brendon says. "But there's no ingestion of human flesh by another human. I think maybe it's half-points."
"If you'd brought the bodies back home, we should have made sausages," Shane says.
"I dunno," Brendon says. "I think you need one of those really huge meat grinders."
"We've got a food processor," Shane says.
--
"So why did you have to kill your band?" Shane asks, sitting across the table from Brendon.
Brendon has finished his third helping, and he's eyeing the dish. Shane hasn't had as much yet, so maybe Brendon should give him the chance to have some more before he finished it off.
"The same reason I want to kill them every time, Pinky," Brendon says.
"To take over the world?" Shane asks.
"It's too bad I couldn't fit that in with the ultimate plan," Brendon says, sighing.
"More fighting over lyrics?" Shane asks.
"No," Brendon moans. "We didn't even try that song today. It's that one that we were trying to record. Apparently I'm not able to convey emotion correctly."
"You guys need to write more angry songs," Shane says. "Then you'd have it down."
"You're a problem solver," Brendon says. He uses his finger to wipe up the extra sauce on his plate, and then licks his finger clean.
Shane looks down at his plate and says, "I know."
--
"So what do you want to do with your day off?" Shane asks.
Brendon tilts his head from side to side, considering.
"Maybe sleep in, but chances are good that I'll wake up early even if I don't mean to. I'm totally on daytime hours, ever since we started recording. I dunno. What are you doing?" Brendon asks.
"Eh, nothing much," Shane says. "Me and Brian are getting together to talk about this script sometime, but that should be more than a couple of hours."
"We should- We should, I dunno. Something," says Brendon.
"No movies," Shane says.
"No movies," Brendon agrees.
Dylan walks up and drops her rubber football on the couch in between Brendon and Shane. It's one of those gag toys that's supposed to make sex noises when squeezed, but the clip-thing wore out the first night they got it, and now it just makes this weird squeaking noise.
Brendon starts to reach for it just as Shane says, "Not in the house, dog," and scratches Dylan's head.
Brendon pulls his hand back, quickly.
Shane looks over at him, and Brendon raises his eyebrows, blinking quickly.
"You're terrible," Shane says, smiling. "You're the one who said that we shouldn't play fetch inside the house anymore."
"What?" Brendon says, blinking some more.
Shane snorts, then shoves at Brendon, sending Brendon sprawling sideways on the couch. "How come she had such an easy time getting you to do what she wants, and I have to threaten to call your mom just to get you to clean the hair out of the sink?"
Brendon pushes himself upright. "You don't know that that was my hair," he says.
"Your hair was shorter afterwards! You had clearly given yourself a haircut," Shane protests.
"Can't prove anything," Brendon says, trying to catch himself as Shane elbows him sideways again. He shoves back and Shane grabs his arm and somewhere in there they both tumble off of the couch. Brendon lands on top of Shane and gets an elbow to his ribs for his trouble.
"Ow, ow, okay," Brendon says, rolling off Shane. They lie side by side on the floor.
Brendon lifts himself up with one elbow and looks down at Shane. Shane's hair is all tangled up around his head, and kind of greasy. His cheeks are rough, and Brendon thinks that Shane probably didn't shower today. Brendon had a shower in the morning, but only because sometimes the hot water helps him get going.
"What?" Shane asks.
Brendon blinks, and hopes that it was clear that he was zoned out.
"I'm tired," says Brendon.
"Go to bed," Shane says.
"Nah," Brendon says. "I'm going to try and sleep in tomorrow anyway."
Shane nods, then winces a little, reaching on hand up to rub at his neck.
"Sore?" Brendon asks.
"Yeah," Shane says. "I've been on the computer too much."
"I thought the whole point of being a director was that you could tell other people to do the editing for you?" Brendon asks.
"This isn't for the thing we're actually filming," Shane says. "I was just trying to see if it's possible to change the colors by setting a wash, or if we need to worry about getting the lighting right to begin with. And anyway, I'm pretty sure that no one who's making a movie under ten minutes long gets to have their own editing staff, but maybe one day..."
Shane sighs, then sits up, folding his legs so that he's cross legged on the floor. He reaches his arms out to the sides, fingers just brushing the floor, then tilts his head to one side, then the other.
"Is it that bad?" Brendon asks.
Shane shakes his head, then winces at the movement. Brendon rolls his eyes. He stands and walks over to the couch, sitting down and motioning to the spot on the floor between his legs.
"C'mon," he says, when Shane takes too long.
Shane crawls over, sitting on the floor in front of Brendon. Brendon grabs his shoulders and tugs him backwards.
"I've got to be able to reach you," he says. Shane scoots back.
Brendon squeezes Shane's shoulders, digging his thumbs into the muscle. He rubs small circles across the span of Shane's shoulders, then as far down Shane's spine as he can reach. The angle is difficult like this; Brendon's wrists bend awkwardly. Shane's t-shirt moves under Brendon's hands. Even though Brendon's not able to do a whole lot, already Shane is slumping forward, breathing deeply and making soft, low noises when Brendon rubs hard.
"You want a real back rub?" Brendon offers, running his fingers up Shane's neck, then trailing back down, stopping at the neck of his t-shirt.
He mostly expects that Shane will say no, but instead Shane says, "You don't have to," which is pretty much the same thing as asking for it.
He leaves his fingers on Shane's neck and asks, "Do you want to lie down on the floor?" It's been a long while since they vacuumed. The crumbs and dog hair don't bother Brendon when they're rolling around or rough housing, but he doesn't know if he'd want to lie face down on the carpet for very long.
Shane makes a noncommittal noise, so Brendon stands, offers Shane a hand, then leads them down the hall, and into Shane's room.
Shane seems more tired now, pulling off his t-shirt and crawling onto the bed, than Brendon thought. Maybe Shane's just relaxing; sometimes relaxed and tired can look similar. Maybe Shane's sad, still. Brendon doesn't actually know how sad Shane has been, because ever since the breakup, Brendon has been working hard to keep Shane happy. Happy, or at least drunk.
Brendon probably has actual massage oil somewhere in the house, because people think it's funny to give him sex shit as a present, but he just grabs the bottle of cream off of the floor, then climbs onto Shane's bed.
Shane lies face down, his arms cradling his head, and Brendon walks on his knees until he's right beside Shane. He hesitates for a moment, then straddles Shane's thighs, holding most of his weight off of Shane's body. He pumps cream into his hand, and it's cold and doesn't smell great. It's probably a really old bottle. It slides around when he rubs his hands together, though, so it'll do what he wants it to.
Shane freezes when Brendon first touches his back, but he takes a breath and relaxes after that. Brendon's hands slide over his back, and there's this smooth give to Shane's skin when Brendon digs his thumbs in. He rubs Shane's shoulders and his back and then his shoulders again. He looks at the mole, low on the right side. At the clusters of freckles high on his shoulders. At the way his spine digs at the base, and then juts out at the nape of his neck.
He can feel Shane relax, feel the way his muscles loosen. Brendon rubs over all of the tense spots that he can think of, and then moves his hands just for the sake of movement. Shane's skin is soft from the lotion, warm from being touched. There's something comforting in getting to touch, something in this that soothes Brendon.
It's more intimate than he meant it to be: crouching over top of Shane, the two of them on Shane's bed. Brendon keeps waiting for it to get weird, but as time passes, it just seems more and more like Shane has fallen asleep. Brendon doesn't know if he could sleep right now, but he wants to stretch out, to cover Shane's body with his own, to rest his head in between Shane's shoulder blades.
All of the cream gets rubbed in, and Shane's skin gets warmer and warmer, until Brendon wonders if the friction will be uncomfortable. Does this mean that Brendon should move away?
He stops rubbing, and trails his hands up and down Shane's back, touching only with his fingers; ten tiny points of contact.
Shane turns his head, his hair covering most of his face. Brendon wonders if he's woken up, or if he was never asleep at all.
"Thanks," Shane says in a rough voice.
"No problem."
Shane lies still beneath him, and now that the moment has been acknowledged, Brendon stops wondering if he should pull away. Shane will say something once he's had enough. Shane will move away if he wants to.
Brendon moves his hands over Shane's back, up the slope of his shoulders. He pushes hair away with careful fingers, and strokes the sides of Shane's neck. Shane has long hair, but there are little bits that are just soft fuzz at the bottom of his hair line. Brendon traces along Shane's hair line until he comes to the patches of soft, smooth skin, just behind Shane's ears, touching with careful fingers.
Shane breathes deeply, his skin warm and soft. Brendon presses his hand flat to Shane's back, just to feel the way his ribs expand each time he inhales.
Brendon feels like he's relaxed now, too, even though there's no reason why giving someone a back rub would be relaxing for Brendon. Maybe something in having this kind of slow contact with another body. Shane breathes deeply and Brendon can feel his back moving each time.
Brendon pulls his hands away and moves carefully off of Shane's body, stretching out on the bed, close beside Shane.
Shane's hair is in his face when he slowly opens his eyes, and Brendon reaches out to push it away. He feels weird, and he doesn't want to stop touching Shane. When Shane lifts up his arm, draping it over Brendon's waist, it's a relief.
Shane has to roll onto his side to get his arm over Brendon's body, and then they're both on their sides, facing each other, and Brendon pushes Shane's hair away again, and he doesn't pull his hand back afterwards. There's this pressure in his chest, like his ribs are crumbling, and his throat feels raw. He moves in a little closer, and he would probably stop there, would have stopped at that, except that Shane's lying in this way that their bodies fit together just right, and instead of pulling away, Brendon presses as close as he can get and tilts his head up to press his mouth to Shane's.
Shane kisses slowly, but he does kiss back. Brendon doesn't know if Shane was sleeping; maybe Shane's still kind of out of it right now. Brendon doesn't feel sleepy. He feels warm and hypersensitive in his skin, and like there's this swelling wave inside of his belly, so he keeps kissing Shane.
It's not so different, kissing a guy. Shane's cheeks are rough, but his tongue is slick just like a girl's. The act of kissing is pretty much the same. It's just another mouth, another body. It's just Shane.
Brendon lifts his knee, resting it on Shane's hip, and using the momentum to roll them both over, and then Brendon's on top of Shane again, but this time they're face to face. He holds his weight up with his hands and knees, holding himself over Shane and leaning down so that they can keep on kissing. Each time he pulls back to change the angle, he licks his lips, and their mouth slide together easily. When Brendon slides his tongue into Shane's mouth, Shane meets him with equal pressure, and it feels like a victory and it feels like a relief, and Brendon spreads his legs wider, resting more of his weight onto Shane's thighs so that he can move one hand away from the bed and onto Shane's cheek.
Shane's hands come up, fingers spread over Brendon's hips, and Brendon gasps sharply. Shane's thumbs are kind of digging into his hip bones, but it's good, it's good to be touched like this. Shane slides one hand up the back of Brendon's t-shirt, his finger pressing into the bare skin of Brendon's lower back, and Brendon drops his head into Shane's shoulder and breathes. Brendon's skin feels weirdly sensitive, and he hopes that he doesn't seem as responsive as he feels.
They kiss, and Brendon slowly moves his body so that he isn't sitting on Shane's thighs, stretches out his legs, slides a thigh in between Shane's legs and presses their bodies flush together. He can't hold up much of his weight like this, with just one elbow braced on the bed, and it's different after that: their bodies flush together. Shane bends his knee, lifting his leg to bracket Brendon's hip, and Brendon gasps and grinds down and fucks his tongue into Shane's mouth, and Shane moves his hand from Brendon's lower back, curls his fingers about Brendon's shoulders and pushes him away.
Brendon swallows, then asks, "What?" his voice soft and raw.
Shane leaves his hands on Brendon's shoulders, holding him back. He doesn't say anything, just stares up at Brendon, his forehead wrinkling up.
"Okay," Brendon says, and rolls off. "Okay. Sorry."
He lies down on the bed again, stretched out along side Shane. Shane's shirtless, the flush of his cheeks spreading down along his neck, his chest. The first button of his jeans is undone, from when he first flopped down onto the bed, and his pants are riding low. Brendon can see the line of his cock in his jeans, see the band of his underwear, and the trail of hair leading down.
Brendon closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then opens them again. He wonders why Shane stopped him, and he wonders what would have happened if Shane hadn't, and he wonders what the fuck he's doing, why he doesn't just go back to his own room already.
Mostly he wonders why Shane made them stop, but he wants to keep lying here beside Shane more than he wants to know the answer, so he doesn't say anything.
He lies still for a few long minutes, giving them both the chance to catch their breaths, and then he scoots in a little closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of Shane's body. Shane freezes, but he doesn't move away, so Brendon shifts over a little more until he's close enough to lean his forehead against Shane's shoulder.
Shane moves, but just to lace his fingers together, his hands resting on top of his belly. He doesn't dislodge Brendon's head, so Brendon stays where he is, curling himself around Shane's body. Brendon can smell the cream from the back rub, and he can smell Shane's shampoo and he can smell Shane, his skin and his sheets and his pillow. Brendon closes his eyes and breathes.
Brendon's hard-on never goes away, but eventually he starts feeling sleepy. He takes another breath, then rolls away, climbing carefully off of Shane's bed.
"Want the lights off?" he asks, when he's at the entrance to Shane's room.
"It's okay," Shane says, and Brendon nods, leaving the lights alone, and closes the door to Shane's room behind himself.
He walks to the bathroom first, brushes his teeth. He's lost track of time, but it feels late, so he walks back to his bedroom, strips off all of his clothes, and crawls into bed. His sheets feel cool and smooth, and they don't smell like anything.
Brendon's skin still kind of tastes like lotion when he licks his palm, wrapping his hand around his erection.
--
*
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Part Three