someone who is not me wrote this and then posted it in my journal.
This totally doesn't count as a story, I'm not not even titling it. Or: Brendon/Jon & Pets.
Jon/Brendon | NC-ANYONE IN THE WORLD FOR RIDICULOUSNESS, PG-13 for content | ~ 1800 words
airgiodSLV is sick and her dying with was for Jon/Brendon. She claims that she's not actually dying, but after reading this, she'll probably wish she was. ILY, Jen, even though you use your awesome powers for evil.
disarm_d (10:03:33 PM): something has gone so horribly wrong in the Jon/Brendon story.
disarm_d (10:03:36 PM): So horribly wrong.
airgiodSLV (10:03:51 PM): Oh noes!
disarm_d (10:03:55 PM): hooooooooooorrible.
airgiodSLV (10:04:06 PM): What went wrong?
disarm_d (10:04:19 PM): I DON'T EVEN KNOW.
airgiodSLV (10:04:27 PM): *hugs*
disarm_d (10:04:35 PM): THE FLUFF WENT BAD AND JUST. I SHOULDN'T HAVE GOT PETS INVOLVED.
disarm_d (10:04:41 PM): IT WAS A MISTAKE.
airgiodSLV (10:05:47 PM): OH NOES. BESTIALITY? CROSS-SPECIES SHENANIGANS?
disarm_d (10:06:13 PM): OH WOW... I'M NOW THINKING OF MAYBE USING THAT TO TRY AND FIX THINGS.
disarm_d (10:06:15 PM): *PONDERS*
airgiodSLV (10:06:58 PM): Ahahahahaha what went wroooooong tell me!
disarm_d (10:07:23 PM): I WROTE FANDOM!BRENDON.
disarm_d (10:07:26 PM): *CRIES FOREVER*
It was probably better when they had the No-Pet's rule.
Brendon's got his curtain pulled shut, so he can't see, but from the sounds of it, Hobo and Dylan are-- They're doing something below his bunk. It kind of sounds like-- There are little whimpers and an almost rhythmic scritch scritch scritch and just. Brendon doesn't want to know. He really wants to pee, but he doesn't want to know, so he's waiting in his bunk and hoping that they just go away on their own.
It's been at least seven minutes. Brendon doesn't have his Sidekick (or he could have texted for help already), so he's not sure of the time exactly, but it's been ages. He crosses his legs, but that doesn't really help.
"Jon," Brendon calls out, trying again. "Jon, you motherfucking son of a cuntbag. Jo-on."
"Fucking, what, Brendon?" Jon says, and, it's a miracle! Jon shuffles down the space between the bunks, comes to a stop, does something which quiets the animals, and Brendon inches his curtain back and peeks outside.
Jon holds something kind of greyish. It maybe looks like it was once a bone for Hobo, but that it's been hidden under the couch since the start of tour.
"They were fighting over this," Jon says, with a look of disgust. Jon scoops up Dylan and rubs their cheeks together. "You're such a weird fucking cat," Jon coos.
Brendon takes a flying leap out of his bunch and sprints to the bathroom, light and quick with relief that he didn't hear-- What he thought he was hearing.
--
No one had trouble telling Ryan that he wasn't allowed to bring Shotgun on the bus, but, this tour, no one managed to say no to Jon.
"They're not staying with Cassie," Jon says. Staying with Cassie would have made more sense for everyone involved, but Jon post-breakup was even more of a vindictive bitch than Ryan and, "I'm not letting her take anything else from me," Jon had slurred, maybe halfway into a bottle of gin. He had gestured a little too wildly and ended up slumped over Brendon. Brendon didn't think that he actually passed out or fell asleep, but he got quiet, went kind of soft, and Brendon had wrapped an arm around Jon's middle.
Yeah, so, no one managed to say no to Jon, and theirs turned into a bus'o'pets.
--
"Plaaaydates," Pete sang when he heard the news, trying to nudge Hemingway closer to Hobo. The dogs weren't exactly thrilled with each other, but Ryan and Pete were working on it and Ryan had gotten Jon to stand by with a camera, just in case they managed to trick the dogs into doing something cute.
Jon ended up taking like three million pictures of Brendon, because Brendon, at least, was willing to be charming on demand.
--
"I'm the singer!" Brendon declares. "I deserve respect!"
Ryan makes a little snorfling noise, the blankets rustle, then he starts snoring again in earnest. Brendon pushes his glasses up his nose, glares at Zack, then walks away from the bunks.
Fucking six am wake up call for fucking radio interviews for fucking radio stations that only need one person and fucking everyone else for voting unanimously that it should be Brendon.
"I'm going on strike," Brendon informs Zack. "Me and the writers. I'm going on strike with the writers. How early do you think you have to get up for a picket line?"
Zack steers him into the kitchen with one huge palm to Brendon's shoulder and Brendon scratches his belly and tries to remember if he put on underwear, and, if not, if his jeans are low enough for it to matter.
There's a lump slumped over the table in the kitchen.
Zack says, "We'll be there in two minutes," and goes up to check in with the driver.
Brendon shuffles over to the table. There are two cups of coffee, one just within finger reach of the lump.
Brendon drinks his coffee, brewed strongly but with lots of sugar stirred in, then leans his head against Jon's shoulder. Jon lets out a little huffy breath but doesn't wake up. Brendon rests his head against Jon's arm, then drinks Jon's coffee, too.
He has to gulp down the last third because Zack yells, "We're here," and Brendon has to pull Jon up from the table and send him back in the direction of the bunks.
"Have fun at school, junior," Jon says, one eye squinted half-open, but the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
Brendon swats his ass then takes a running leap onto Zack's back.
--
Clover sits on Jon's lap and gives Brendon the eye from across the room. It's a cat, so Brendon doesn't respond and certainly doesn't feel threatened. Jon strokes his stubby fingers over the cat's fuzzy forehead and frowns at the TV because-- something sports-related. Brendon thought that they were watching football, but right now there's basketball and maybe Brendon hasn't been paying attention.
Jon lounges on the couch and Brendon sits, folded up over his legs. The couches are in a rectangle, with the TV where the fourth side would be, and Brendon's angled so that he has a better view of Jon than of the plasma screen, which is why it's not a gigantic surprise that he missed whatever happened.
Jon scratches over Clover's fuzzy forehead and Brendon runs his fingers through his own hair.
--
Clover is sitting in Brendon's bunk when he comes back to the bus after the concert. Brendon looks slowly to one side, then to the other, and tries to remember because he's sure, sure, that he'd left the curtains closed that afternoon. And also, he can't see Dylan anywhere and his brain is yelling, Ambush! Beware!
"Hi," Brendon says to the cat, keeping his eyes open very wide. "How are you?"
Clover blinks, and flick flick flick goes the little tail. Brendon's never had pets before; is that code? Is it like with dogs? Is kitty tail-wagging friendly?
"I'm good, too," Brendon says, and his voice cracks over the first syllable.
Clover yawns, jaw dropping all the way open. All the way! Like a python or something.
Brendon takes a quick, subtle step backwards. "We could have a truce," he says, before stopping himself. "Or-- Not a truce I guess, since you've already won. We could have a thing where I admit defeat and then you get out of my bunk, if that would-- If that would work for you."
Brendon bites his tongue and tries to stand quietly, waiting.
Clover's mouth opens again (Brendon expects another yawn), then she coughs up a hairball, right onto Brendon's pillow.
--
Jon's pillow smells like bus, like how everything on the bus smells like bus, except for the things that now smell like pets. It smells like bus, but, when Brendon presses his nose right into the fluff, it almost smells like Jon, too. Like bus and pets and Jon, but since that's how Jon spends most of his time-- on the bus, around pets, being Jon-- it's probably an accurate description.
Jon's pillow does not smell like hairballs. Brendon doesn't know what hairballs smell like, but he's still sure of this, and also grateful. Brendon's going to have to stop calling it 'Jon's pillow', too. It's Brendon's pillow now, since this is Brendon's new bunk as he's never leaving again.
Brendon stretches his legs out and kicks the ceiling and wishes that he'd remembered to bring his Sidekick with him because his new bunk is full of Jon's stuff and all of Jon's stuff is either boring or breakable.
The curtain pulls back slowly, and Brendon turns his neck to see a small kitty head and Oh my god, what the fucking--? before Brendon realizes that Jon's holding the cat in his arms.
Brendon rolls away onto his other side.
"Brendon," Jon says in a low, soft voice. "Bren-don. Clover is sor-ry."
Brendon presses even closer to the wall.
There's some shuffling as Jon sets the cat onto the ground, then climbs into the bunk behind Brendon, and holy tight fit, batman. Jon almost falls right back out, but he grabs onto Brendon and clings, and maybe Brendon catches his arm and pulls a little because it's not like he wants Jon to get hurt.
Jon makes an, oof, sound into Brendon's ear as he settles but he doesn't move his arm and Brendon doesn't move his hand.
"So," Jon says. "Not so much a cat person?"
Brendon gives a half-shrug; Jon's pressed so close, he knows that he'll feel it. "I think your cats are not Brendon-people," Brendon says.
Jon is pressed all the way along his back, knees tucked up behind Brendon's. Their fingers are maybe a little entwined, but Brendon's admitting no responsibility.
"You're kind of neurotic," Jon says, wiggling one finger free to poke at Brendon's belly.
Brendon jerks and Jon moves back against him and maybe Jon's beard is a little rough on the back of Brendon's neck, but it feels pretty soft on Brendon's cheeks, and also, Jon doesn't mush their faces together then they kiss, which is nice.
The best part about doing this in a bunk-which-is-maybe-Jon's is that Brendon doesn't even feel guilty about coming all over the sheets even though they're a million miles away from a laundromat.
"And you bitched about a little hairball?" Jon grumbles when he rolls into the wet spot.
"Nrgphlufle," Brendon says. And then, "Jon? Jon? I think your cats are watching me. Jon?"
Jon/Brendon | NC-ANYONE IN THE WORLD FOR RIDICULOUSNESS, PG-13 for content | ~ 1800 words
airgiodSLV is sick and her dying with was for Jon/Brendon. She claims that she's not actually dying, but after reading this, she'll probably wish she was. ILY, Jen, even though you use your awesome powers for evil.
disarm_d (10:03:33 PM): something has gone so horribly wrong in the Jon/Brendon story.
disarm_d (10:03:36 PM): So horribly wrong.
airgiodSLV (10:03:51 PM): Oh noes!
disarm_d (10:03:55 PM): hooooooooooorrible.
airgiodSLV (10:04:06 PM): What went wrong?
disarm_d (10:04:19 PM): I DON'T EVEN KNOW.
airgiodSLV (10:04:27 PM): *hugs*
disarm_d (10:04:35 PM): THE FLUFF WENT BAD AND JUST. I SHOULDN'T HAVE GOT PETS INVOLVED.
disarm_d (10:04:41 PM): IT WAS A MISTAKE.
airgiodSLV (10:05:47 PM): OH NOES. BESTIALITY? CROSS-SPECIES SHENANIGANS?
disarm_d (10:06:13 PM): OH WOW... I'M NOW THINKING OF MAYBE USING THAT TO TRY AND FIX THINGS.
disarm_d (10:06:15 PM): *PONDERS*
airgiodSLV (10:06:58 PM): Ahahahahaha what went wroooooong tell me!
disarm_d (10:07:23 PM): I WROTE FANDOM!BRENDON.
disarm_d (10:07:26 PM): *CRIES FOREVER*
It was probably better when they had the No-Pet's rule.
Brendon's got his curtain pulled shut, so he can't see, but from the sounds of it, Hobo and Dylan are-- They're doing something below his bunk. It kind of sounds like-- There are little whimpers and an almost rhythmic scritch scritch scritch and just. Brendon doesn't want to know. He really wants to pee, but he doesn't want to know, so he's waiting in his bunk and hoping that they just go away on their own.
It's been at least seven minutes. Brendon doesn't have his Sidekick (or he could have texted for help already), so he's not sure of the time exactly, but it's been ages. He crosses his legs, but that doesn't really help.
"Jon," Brendon calls out, trying again. "Jon, you motherfucking son of a cuntbag. Jo-on."
"Fucking, what, Brendon?" Jon says, and, it's a miracle! Jon shuffles down the space between the bunks, comes to a stop, does something which quiets the animals, and Brendon inches his curtain back and peeks outside.
Jon holds something kind of greyish. It maybe looks like it was once a bone for Hobo, but that it's been hidden under the couch since the start of tour.
"They were fighting over this," Jon says, with a look of disgust. Jon scoops up Dylan and rubs their cheeks together. "You're such a weird fucking cat," Jon coos.
Brendon takes a flying leap out of his bunch and sprints to the bathroom, light and quick with relief that he didn't hear-- What he thought he was hearing.
--
No one had trouble telling Ryan that he wasn't allowed to bring Shotgun on the bus, but, this tour, no one managed to say no to Jon.
"They're not staying with Cassie," Jon says. Staying with Cassie would have made more sense for everyone involved, but Jon post-breakup was even more of a vindictive bitch than Ryan and, "I'm not letting her take anything else from me," Jon had slurred, maybe halfway into a bottle of gin. He had gestured a little too wildly and ended up slumped over Brendon. Brendon didn't think that he actually passed out or fell asleep, but he got quiet, went kind of soft, and Brendon had wrapped an arm around Jon's middle.
Yeah, so, no one managed to say no to Jon, and theirs turned into a bus'o'pets.
--
"Plaaaydates," Pete sang when he heard the news, trying to nudge Hemingway closer to Hobo. The dogs weren't exactly thrilled with each other, but Ryan and Pete were working on it and Ryan had gotten Jon to stand by with a camera, just in case they managed to trick the dogs into doing something cute.
Jon ended up taking like three million pictures of Brendon, because Brendon, at least, was willing to be charming on demand.
--
"I'm the singer!" Brendon declares. "I deserve respect!"
Ryan makes a little snorfling noise, the blankets rustle, then he starts snoring again in earnest. Brendon pushes his glasses up his nose, glares at Zack, then walks away from the bunks.
Fucking six am wake up call for fucking radio interviews for fucking radio stations that only need one person and fucking everyone else for voting unanimously that it should be Brendon.
"I'm going on strike," Brendon informs Zack. "Me and the writers. I'm going on strike with the writers. How early do you think you have to get up for a picket line?"
Zack steers him into the kitchen with one huge palm to Brendon's shoulder and Brendon scratches his belly and tries to remember if he put on underwear, and, if not, if his jeans are low enough for it to matter.
There's a lump slumped over the table in the kitchen.
Zack says, "We'll be there in two minutes," and goes up to check in with the driver.
Brendon shuffles over to the table. There are two cups of coffee, one just within finger reach of the lump.
Brendon drinks his coffee, brewed strongly but with lots of sugar stirred in, then leans his head against Jon's shoulder. Jon lets out a little huffy breath but doesn't wake up. Brendon rests his head against Jon's arm, then drinks Jon's coffee, too.
He has to gulp down the last third because Zack yells, "We're here," and Brendon has to pull Jon up from the table and send him back in the direction of the bunks.
"Have fun at school, junior," Jon says, one eye squinted half-open, but the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
Brendon swats his ass then takes a running leap onto Zack's back.
--
Clover sits on Jon's lap and gives Brendon the eye from across the room. It's a cat, so Brendon doesn't respond and certainly doesn't feel threatened. Jon strokes his stubby fingers over the cat's fuzzy forehead and frowns at the TV because-- something sports-related. Brendon thought that they were watching football, but right now there's basketball and maybe Brendon hasn't been paying attention.
Jon lounges on the couch and Brendon sits, folded up over his legs. The couches are in a rectangle, with the TV where the fourth side would be, and Brendon's angled so that he has a better view of Jon than of the plasma screen, which is why it's not a gigantic surprise that he missed whatever happened.
Jon scratches over Clover's fuzzy forehead and Brendon runs his fingers through his own hair.
--
Clover is sitting in Brendon's bunk when he comes back to the bus after the concert. Brendon looks slowly to one side, then to the other, and tries to remember because he's sure, sure, that he'd left the curtains closed that afternoon. And also, he can't see Dylan anywhere and his brain is yelling, Ambush! Beware!
"Hi," Brendon says to the cat, keeping his eyes open very wide. "How are you?"
Clover blinks, and flick flick flick goes the little tail. Brendon's never had pets before; is that code? Is it like with dogs? Is kitty tail-wagging friendly?
"I'm good, too," Brendon says, and his voice cracks over the first syllable.
Clover yawns, jaw dropping all the way open. All the way! Like a python or something.
Brendon takes a quick, subtle step backwards. "We could have a truce," he says, before stopping himself. "Or-- Not a truce I guess, since you've already won. We could have a thing where I admit defeat and then you get out of my bunk, if that would-- If that would work for you."
Brendon bites his tongue and tries to stand quietly, waiting.
Clover's mouth opens again (Brendon expects another yawn), then she coughs up a hairball, right onto Brendon's pillow.
--
Jon's pillow smells like bus, like how everything on the bus smells like bus, except for the things that now smell like pets. It smells like bus, but, when Brendon presses his nose right into the fluff, it almost smells like Jon, too. Like bus and pets and Jon, but since that's how Jon spends most of his time-- on the bus, around pets, being Jon-- it's probably an accurate description.
Jon's pillow does not smell like hairballs. Brendon doesn't know what hairballs smell like, but he's still sure of this, and also grateful. Brendon's going to have to stop calling it 'Jon's pillow', too. It's Brendon's pillow now, since this is Brendon's new bunk as he's never leaving again.
Brendon stretches his legs out and kicks the ceiling and wishes that he'd remembered to bring his Sidekick with him because his new bunk is full of Jon's stuff and all of Jon's stuff is either boring or breakable.
The curtain pulls back slowly, and Brendon turns his neck to see a small kitty head and Oh my god, what the fucking--? before Brendon realizes that Jon's holding the cat in his arms.
Brendon rolls away onto his other side.
"Brendon," Jon says in a low, soft voice. "Bren-don. Clover is sor-ry."
Brendon presses even closer to the wall.
There's some shuffling as Jon sets the cat onto the ground, then climbs into the bunk behind Brendon, and holy tight fit, batman. Jon almost falls right back out, but he grabs onto Brendon and clings, and maybe Brendon catches his arm and pulls a little because it's not like he wants Jon to get hurt.
Jon makes an, oof, sound into Brendon's ear as he settles but he doesn't move his arm and Brendon doesn't move his hand.
"So," Jon says. "Not so much a cat person?"
Brendon gives a half-shrug; Jon's pressed so close, he knows that he'll feel it. "I think your cats are not Brendon-people," Brendon says.
Jon is pressed all the way along his back, knees tucked up behind Brendon's. Their fingers are maybe a little entwined, but Brendon's admitting no responsibility.
"You're kind of neurotic," Jon says, wiggling one finger free to poke at Brendon's belly.
Brendon jerks and Jon moves back against him and maybe Jon's beard is a little rough on the back of Brendon's neck, but it feels pretty soft on Brendon's cheeks, and also, Jon doesn't mush their faces together then they kiss, which is nice.
The best part about doing this in a bunk-which-is-maybe-Jon's is that Brendon doesn't even feel guilty about coming all over the sheets even though they're a million miles away from a laundromat.
"And you bitched about a little hairball?" Jon grumbles when he rolls into the wet spot.
"Nrgphlufle," Brendon says. And then, "Jon? Jon? I think your cats are watching me. Jon?"