Comes to Consciousness | Brendon/Cash | NC-17 | ~ 10 000 words
Comes to Consciousness
Brendon/Cash [implied past-Brendon/Ryan.] | NC-17 | ~ 10 300 words
Brendon's really good when he knows he can't have something, but he's not good at compartmentalizing when he can have a little bit of something that he wants to have all of.
Thank you thank you thank you to airgiodSLV for betaing. She's amazingly helpful, and a brave, brave toaster in the face of my atrocious typos. I love her lots and lots! ♥
Also! Shane is Brendon's real life roommate: the shower guy. Cash is in a band call The Cab. I'll bet you've heard of them! Cash and Brendon! They're really friggen adorable together. [Tremendously horrible screencaps from the video: one, two, three. UGG, BRENDON LOVES CASH A LOT.]
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
-- from Preludes by T.S. Eliot
Brendon buys pre-made cookie dough, but he doesn't think it has enough chocolate chips.
"Fuck, dude," Shane says, sitting at the kitchen table and peeling open a dimebag. "That's nasty."
Brendon has cookie dough smeared up his wrists and flaking off his forearms. It's pre-made and it's greasy and it makes his fingers slippery as he tries to work in the extra chocolate chips with his bare hands. He might have put too many in, because he couldn't stir it with a spoon, too thick. Maybe he could have just pressed the chips on top afterwards, after the cookies were already on the baking sheet. He hadn't thought of that.
Brendon makes huge cookies because chocolate doesn't stick to chocolate and the smaller ones fall apart.
Shane packs his bong for him and lights it so that Brendon doesn't have to touch anything with his slimy hands. They smoke half a bowl in the time it takes for the first batch to come out of the oven. The metal is hot still, especially where the chocolate has melted away from the dough and started to crust. Brendon uses a fork to pick the cookies away, eats them straight off of the tray. They've got cooling racks, but they eat the entire batch right off the tray. Brendon's mouth is dry and sticky from the smoke and it's hard to swallow.
--
To make up for all the smoke, Brendon tries to drink water constantly for his voice. There are 24-packs of bottled water in the closet, and Brendon tries to remember to put a couple into the fridge before going to bed so that they'll be cold for the morning. He carries them around the condo with him, to the studio, leaving half-empty bottles wherever he goes.
He leaves two bottles behind at Red Bull's studio when he goes to visit The Cab, and Cash calls after they're finished recording to inform him that Singer is planning on trying to sell the bottles on EBay.
--
Cash tells him about getting high in, fuck, he can't even remember which city it was. And there were these furry brown blobs on the sidewalk and in the gutters, and they were probably acorn shells, right? Like, before the smooth acorns actually hatch or whatever it is they do. The things that cover them while they're on trees. They were probably those things, but at the time they looked like little critters, sleeping on the sidewalk, and Cash had to be careful when he was walking, because if he touched them, they might wake up and get angry.
Cash hasn't been shaving, or he hasn't been shaving everywhere, and he's fuzzy around his chin, his neck, especially along his sideburns. It's pretty long, and when Brendon touches his finger to the skin by Cash's jaw, just under his ear, the hair's straggly, but soft.
Cash is trying to braid the tassels of the blanket covering his knees, and he doesn't look up. Doesn't move away, either.
--
Ryan brings in strings of Christmas lights and Brendon and Jon sit down on the floor with a piece of paper to try and decide how best to decorate the studio. When they finally look up, Ryan and Spencer have already hung up the lights.
"You're a stealthy bastard," Brendon says, coming up behind Ryan and resting his chin on his shoulder. He rubs his prickly cheek against Ryan's neck and holds on tightly when Ryan tries to squirm away. "They're pretty though."
--
The music is cranked up loud to make up for the number of bodies jammed into the room, and Brendon can't follow the conversation at all. Not that it matters; he wouldn't have anything to add. It's a group of people that Ryan knows through his friends through someone else and so on. Brendon was doing bodyshots for a while, which was fun while it lasted. The girls that Ryan's friends know are hot. Someone yelled out "Tequila!" and someone else managed to procure a saltshaker, and all of the sudden there was all this skin in front of Brendon. He did more shots than he meant too, but he's pretty sure that whoever was pouring wasn't filling up the shot glass all the way, anyway.
One of the girls had fuchsia hair and wore a slinky halter top. When Brendon started putting the salt to her collarbone and slowly worked his way lower down her chest, she just laughed.
She's gone now and Brendon puts some consideration into going to find her again. Brendon is normally pretty good in parties where he doesn't know anyone, but Ryan didn't get around to introducing him to anyone, and it's too loud to join into a conversation without having to lean right into some stranger's personal space, and Brendon's maybe not quite drunk enough for that yet.
He wanders through the kitchen, pausing to take a long drink from the open bottle on the counter. It turns out to be fucking Sour Pus or something nasty like that, so Brendon knocks aside the empties until he finds an unopened mickey of vodka and washes the taste away.
When he steps onto the deck, the air is cool and dry. Brendon pulls out his Sidekick and sends off a quick series of texts to Shane, without waiting for a reply in between.
What r u doing right now?
Want 2 come 2 a party?
Have u been drinkign? can u drive?
On the other end of the deck, a group of guys are passing around... What is that? An apple? Something like that. Passing it around and coughing between tokes.
Another group of people comes outside; Brendon only really notices because fuchsia hair catches his attention. Brendon creeps to the edges of their group. When he catches her eye, she smiles and opens up the circle so that he can stand beside her.
Back inside the house, and Brendon still doesn't know where Ryan's gone off to, but he's less concerned now. Shane texted back, U need a ride? and Brendon said, Nah.
The thing about the kind of girls that Ryan knows is that they usually seem spectacularly unimpressed with anything Brendon says. Ryan's good with them, good at keeping quiet for long enough that when he finally says something, it comes across as meaningful, or whatever.
Brendon always agrees with everything they say, which is a mistake. He knows he's not really listening and definitely not making actual conversation, but she says something about New York, and he just nods and repeats the last clause of her sentence. He's fucking playing at Times Square; he should have something to say about New York. Mostly though, he's just noticing the way that whatever shimmery concoction she smoothed over her shoulders has started to smear down between her breasts, and wondering if it would transfer onto his face. That lotion-y shit never tastes good, but Brendon thinks it would be randomly hot, anyway.
Brendon is probably gawking noticeably by this point. It's a tricky balance. Girls wear tops thin enough that their nipples show through, leave their shoulders bare, and rub fucking sparkles over their skin, and you're supposed to notice, but you're still supposed to listen when they talk. There's a fine art to looking, but looking in a way that comes across as a compliment. Jon's best at that, actually. Brendon's seen the way that he'll look at Cassie, this kind of slow ogle like he can't see anything else but her, that makes her dimples show and her cheeks flush.
Brendon's face is too expressive and this girl has definitely noticed him looking. She still looks unimpressed, but it's mixed with smug now, as well.
Brendon thinks, good enough, and leans in. He puts one open palm over her shoulder and her skin feels sticky, but soft underneath.
--
Shane is watching TV when Brendon gets home.
Brendon flops down on the couch beside him and kicks his legs up onto the coffee table.
"Dude," Shane says. "You've got sparkles all over your face."
Brendon grins.
--
Cash smokes. Cash smokes and he's one of those smokers who's going to quit, soon, seriously, this is his last pack. Like half of the joy he gets is from pretending that it's something he won't get to enjoy much longer, like it helps him savour it. Cash always has a pack on his person, regardless, and sometimes they peel open the cigarettes to mix the tobacco in with the weed, even though nicotine still gives Brendon head rushes.
They'd planned to go to a movie tonight, and Brendon wants to drive, so they're not high right now.
Ryan always needs some kind of specific plan. If Brendon asks if he wants to see a movie, Ryan always wants to know, "Which one?" Cash, though. Brendon can call Cash and say, "Wanna see a movie tonight?" and Cash just comes over once The Cab's through recording from the day, Brendon doesn't even have to give him a specific time or anything. Brendon isn't used to hanging out with people that are younger than him, he's got older siblings and older friends. But, when Cash laughs at his jokes, Brendon believes him.
Cash comes over pretty early in the evening, before Brendon's found anything to eat. He probably wouldn't have gotten around to it, probably would have just stocked up on candy at the theater, but Cash says, "Have you eaten?" and Brendon says, "No," and they go and get subs.
Brendon drives because, after his car exploded on the freeway, Cash doesn't have wheels. Brendon drives and they go inside to eat, and Cash grabs enough napkins for the both of them, and Cash never once asks about inviting more people along because he doesn't spend his life networking the same way that Ryan does.
Shane had already left, that afternoon, and Brendon doesn't know when he's getting home, otherwise he would have probably invited him along. It's a little simpler like this though, without the awkward balance of three.
Brendon doesn't much care what they end up seeing tonight, but they'd made noises about going to see a triple-feature of all the Bourne movies, which are showing at the single-screen theater beside the bright pink diner. Brendon's never eaten there, but Spencer swears it has amazing fish and chips. The Bourne Identity starts at 7:15; Brendon takes the last of his drink outside so that there's time for Cash to have a smoke before the show.
--
Brendon just had a coke, so he buys an iced tea at the theater. Cash buys an armful of candy and they pass the bags back and forth.
They trade off going to the washroom during the break after the first movie because neither of them remembered to bring coats to use to lay down and save their seats.
The second movies starts and Brendon wishes that he'd worn his glasses because his contacts are dry already.
"Do you think the concession is still open?" he asks.
Cash shrugs and says, "Don't know. I've still got all of the candy though, what do you want?"
"Eh, like. A Red Bull," Brendon says. "To make it through the rest of the night."
"We can go get coffee or something," Cash offers. "I've got our stubs, we can get back in."
"We might lose our seats," Brendon says, looking around.
"Then we'll find somewhere else," Cash says. "C'mon."
There's a Starbucks just down the block from the theater, but once they've got their drinks, they head in the opposite direction, back towards the car.
Brendon's cup holder is at an awkward angle (especially with the way he drives: one hand on the steering wheel, the other fiddling with the audio), so when he's ready for a sip, he holds out his hand and Cash passes his drink over.
Even though they left the movie early, it's getting pretty late. The streets have just started to quiet down, at least until they flood again once the bars close.
Brendon finds a cheesy pop music station, cranks it, and sings along gleefully. He knows he looks like a douche, whipping around the streets with the bass up loud enough to vibrate the pavement, but he doesn't care. Cash might be singing too, but the music is too loud for Brendon to be able to hear.
Brendon drives until he's out of the area of town that he knows well, drives until he gets far enough away that he's either going to have to turn back or admit that he has no idea where to go from here. He's awake now, at least, so he turns the music back down.
"The sun lights up the daytime, the moon lights up the night," Brendon sings, and this time, he can hear himself. "I light up--" and then he reaches out to flip to a new station.
Cash leans his head back and turns towards Brendon. "You're totally fucking lost," he says.
"Fuck you," Brendon says, and takes a hard right, and then another one, and then ends up on a one way street and has to take another right. "Shut up," he says, when Cash starts laughing. "Shut. Up."
Cash pushes his seat all the way back and stretches his legs out. Brendon drives in a straight line until he recognizes one of the cross-streets, and turns towards home.
--
They're mostly through recording for the day, so when Ryan's phone rings, he walks to the corner of the room to answer it. Brendon rocks on his piano stool and Jon and Spencer stand up and walk around.
Something in Brendon still prickles, even though it's been years now. "Oh, Keltie," Brendon mutters to himself, making his voice as low as it can go. Then, in falsetto, "Oh, Ryan."
Brendon doesn't think that anyone else can hear him, but, "How's it going, baby," Spencer says, in a deep voice. Brendon startles and looks up.
"Real good, hotstuff," Jon says, batting his eyelashes at Spencer. "But, I miss you."
Brendon bites his lip, hard, to keep from laughing.
"Not as much as I miss you," Spencer says, pursing his lips and making kissy-faces at Jon.
Jon lets out a high-pitched giggle, and Brendon loses it. He cracks up, holding one hand to his chest and clutching at his thigh with the other.
Meanwhile, Spencer rests one arm on the piano, boxing Jon in. Brendon can't really see from his angle, but he'd guess that Jon's twitching his head like that to mime flipping his hair.
Spencer stands up straight and kind of-- looms, and Jon giggles again. Somewhere in there, Ryan comes over, and Brendon thinks he says, "I don't even want to know," but Brendon's gasping too hard to hear for sure.
--
They leave the studio at about eight and Brendon drives around aimlessly for maybe twenty minutes. He calls Shane who answers with, "This is the Brendon Urie Museum. Do you want to be put through to used underwear or almost empty water bottles?"
"What are your plans for tonight, douche?" Brendon asks.
"Heading out. I think there's a party at Tod's. You want to come?"
"Is your girlfriend going to be there?"
"Yeah," Shane says.
"I think I'm busy."
"Dude, c'mon."
Brendon makes a face to himself. "She doesn't like me!"
"She likes you fine," Shane says. "She just thought that you were watching us have sex."
"Eh," Brendon says. He saw them having sex, which totally isn't the same thing as watching, and anyway, Shane was on top, so it's not like he could see her anyway.
"Kay, I'm going to peace out," Shane says. "Maybe I'll see you tonight."
Brendon clicks off his phone, and it immediately buzzes with a text from Cash: Movie tonight? and Brendon presses Call.
--
"I kind of wanted to see Night of the Living Dead, but then I also wanted Death Proof, so I brought them both," Cash says, when Brendon opens his door.
Brendon says, "There are like four bags of popcorn left. That's totally enough for two movies."
--
Brendon should not have made that last bag of popcorn.
"You shouldn't have made that last bag of popcorn," Cash says, wincing.
They're sprawled out on the couch. Brendon tries to sit up, but he ends up slumping back down, half leaning on Cash, but mostly resting on about five pillows. "It was your idea," Brendon says.
Cash reaches out and flicks at his earlobe.
"When I throw up, I'm going to aim for you," Brendon says.
Cash flicks him again, then flattens his palm and clumsily pats Brendon on the forehead. "Shane would totally kick your ass if you threw up on the couch," he says.
Brendon makes a noncommittal noise and closes his eyes, mostly because Cash's hand is totally still bopping around near-ish to his forehead area, and he doesn't want to be poked in the eye.
Brendon isn't high high anymore, probably, but he's moving towards sleepy. He asks, "What time is it?" and Cash says, "After three, I think."
Brendon squints one eye open. "I think I have to be at the studio by nine tomorrow."
"I'll let you sleep," Cash says, moving his hand away. He gives Brendon a moment to sit up before fighting his way out of the tangle of blankets, and standing up. Brendon grabs an armful of blankets, dumps them back onto the couch, then follows Cash to the entrance.
"Later," Cash says, and Brendon has this moment where he doesn't know what to do with his hands and ends up touching his fingers to the crook of Cash's elbow before he tucks his fingers back into his pockets and says, "Night."
Cash has a million buddies and they all actually act like dudes together (for now, Brendon's brain supplies, because he's on Decaydance now, so it's just a matter of time). Cash lifts his fist and Brendon raises his own, knocking them together because, right. That's the gesture that he was looking for. That's the right way to say goodnight.
Brendon gives Cash a minute to walk down the hallway before shutting the door and resting his forehead on the wood. He knocks his forehead twice, and tries to shake off the inexplicable embarrassment that creeps down his spine. Maybe he is still high, after all.
--
Wow, it had definitely seemed like it was going to be a lot easier to cook sausages. The water boiled over, covering the stove, and still the sausages managed to get completely burnt onto the bottom of the pan.
Brendon's hungry, so he picks away what he can and eats them anyway. Then, he runs water over the pot for a long time, because soaking is supposed to fix these things, right? As he waits for the crusty bits to-- get soft or whatever it is that the water is supposed to accomplish, he starts another pot boiling, because he's totally still hungry.
He doesn't fuck up the Kraft Dinner, and when Shane gets home, he eats what's left straight out of the pot.
"So," Brendon says, "I was thinking of buying some new pots."
--
It turns out that Ryan needs pots, too. Ryan hired a decorator to handle all of the shopping for his condo, and she bought this set of gorgeous chrome pots which hang over the island in the middle of Ryan's kitchen, and which, Ryan thinks, aren't designed to actually cook food.
"So, they're what? Decorative?" Brendon asks as they stand at the entrance to the store and look around with wide eyes. There are moms everywhere, but Brendon still isn't going to give into the temptation to throw himself onto the floor and beg someone to shop for him.
"I guess," Ryan says. He turns to Brendon. "Honestly, I don't even know what most of them are for. One has holes in the bottom. Holes. In the bottom of the pan. What the fuck are you supposed to do with that?"
"Fucked if I know," Brendon says.
They stand together for another moment of silence before someone knocks into Ryan with her cart, and they move away from the doors.
--
Brendon buys a wok. He knows it's called a wok because Ryan managed to find a really cute employee to explain to them what all of the pots were actually for. And now, Brendon has a wok, and also a new pot with an un-stickable bottom. Brendon can't remember what that thing is called, but he knows what his wok is called.
"Shut the fuck up about the wok," Shane says. "No more talking until you actually use it to cook something."
"I'm going to cook something tonight," Brendon informs him, haughtily. "Something delicious in my wok. And you're not invited."
"I'm crying on the inside," Shane says.
--
Brendon calls Ryan, but Ryan also can't remember if the helpful chick said that he was supposed to put oil in the bottom before cooking. Brendon doesn't have any idea where Ryan could possibly put all of the new kitchen shit he bought, so they're equally helpful.
The best thing about how Ryan's dating Keltie and how they're all happy and shit is that when Brendon's brain suggests something like, why don't you try and cook for Ryan? Brendon can tell himself, no, really easily. There was a slight indiscretion a whole bunch of years ago, when Ryan was still single, because Ryan wasn't much good at saying no to Brendon.
Brendon's really good when he knows he can't have something, but he's not good at compartmentalizing when he can have a little bit of something that he wants to have all of. So, Ryan makes out with Pete and chats online with him for hours and hours (and sometimes Ryan won't let Brendon read over his shoulder), and then they both fuck their pretty blonde girlfriends, like there's nothing in that that would confuse anyone.
And Brendon cuts up the vegetables for a stir fry and walks around the kitchen for twenty-three minutes, holding his phone, before calling Cash.
--
It's a pretty good stir fry, though probably only in the way that most things are decently edible if you put enough soy sauce on.
Cash munches away happily on snow peas, and Brendon says, "Now you won't get scurvy." He remembers what it was like when Panic was recording their first CD.
Cash swallows, then says, "Thank god. Too bad we ate it all, or I could have brought the leftovers for Ian. I hear that hits the littlest ones first."
--
The wok is too big to fit into the sink, so Brendon sets in on the counter and wipes at it with a cloth. Cash hunts through the fridge and manages to find a couple of beers, seemingly through sheer force of will, as Brendon would have sworn there were none in there.
They sit down on the couch and drink beer out of the bottle. Cash scoots over to the window and smokes a cigarette, leaving his half empty bottle on the end table. The entire house reeks of pot, and Brendon is almost entirely sure that they've deactivated the fire alarms (and that he should probably talk to Shane about that), but Brendon appreciates the sentiment anyway.
Brendon scoots a little closer, for ease of conversation. Cash holds out the smoke, resting between his first two fingers, and Brendon takes a drag.
It's cooler in the room when Cash finally closes the window, and Brendon pulls an afghan off of the floor and tucks his toes under one of the couch cushions.
It's only ten, which is normally the time that Brendon would start planning for the night, but they've both got recording in the morning, and anyway, Brendon's only just starting to get warm again.
Cash smells a little like smoke, but like new, clean smoke, not stale. Brendon finishes his beer sometime around when Cash finishes his. There's a water bottle on the table that's still three quarters full. Brendon is nearly positive that he opened that one while he was waiting for Cash to show up, which was only a couple of hours ago, so he starts drinking it.
It tastes fine, so he offers it to Cash, and they pass the bottle back and forth.
There's maybe a sip left in the bottle, and when Cash tries to pass it back, Brendon holds up his hand and says, "You can finish it."
Cash puts the lid back on the empty bottle, holds onto the neck and bops Brendon on the arm. Brendon tries to catch it, but it's a thin plastic and he can't grab on too hard without the plastic caving in. Instead, he tries to dig his fingers into Cash's belly, because Cash is pretty sturdy.
They end up rolling around on the floor in a half-assed wrestling match, leaving the bottle stuffed between two pillows on the couch. Brendon ends up on his back; Cash doesn't exactly pin him down, but he's on top and his elbow digs into Brendon's ribcage. Brendon's a little tired, and he's not even drunk but he can't stop laughing. He turns his head and laughs into Cash's shoulder, into Cash's t-shirt, keeps his face turned away from Cash like it's safer that way.
--
Brendon watches porn while he jerks off because that way he's not thinking about anything in particular, he's just watching. The girl is on all fours and the guy is up on his knees. Her breasts are fake, but they're big enough that they sway with the force of his thrusts anyway.
The guy pulls out and peels off the condom. She turns her head around and moans at him from over her shoulder, even though he's not touching her at all. He strokes quickly, the head of his cock just peeking through the ring of his fingers on the upstroke, nudging the foreskin forward before pulling it back down again, and Brendon arches his hips, pushing his cock into his fist.
--
Scrapping the first batch of songs they wrote was absolutely the best idea they'd ever had. Well, maybe best second to Ryan sending their songs over to Pete, but they didn't have a Jon back then, so the songs weren't really 'theirs', anyway. They are now though. The songs are theirs and they're actually almost through recording their second CD. Brendon writes a song on his own. He thinks of the songs that he was writing before Ryan and Spencer, the songs he wrote after meeting them (but never showed anyone). He used to sing songs to himself while he attempted to clean his shitty, shitty apartment. It was easier to stay awake when he was singing, even though most days he was already so tired that his voice was sore and raw. He's glad that it's the song he wrote now that's going to be on a CD for other people to hear, not something from back then.
--
They're all perfectionists, so it's Brendon that stays late on Thursday, but it could be any of them.
Brendon stumbles back to his car when the producer finally kicks him out.
"My old lady's going to lock the door," he says. And Brendon says, "I see how it is," and stops at a drive-thru on the way home for a cheeseburger. He doesn't know how he lived for years as a vegetarian. When he was still calling himself a vegetarian, he was never aware of missing meat. Now that he's eating it again, he doesn't know how he went without.
--
It's Saturday, and Shane is gone for the weekend.
The taxi dumped Brendon and Cash off at maybe five am and Cash had crashed on the couch, falling asleep while Brendon went to the kitchen to get them water bottles. Brendon left two by Cash's head, only managed a few sips of the one he brought to his own room, then slept fitfully through to the afternoon.
Cash had been watching TV when Brendon crawled out of bed. They took turns having a shower, so Cash smells like Brendon's shampoo, which mostly just smells like chemicals and maybe a little like herbs.
They both managed to drink an entire water bottle, and Brendon finally get to the point where he's still fucking exhausted, but nothing feels sharp in his head or queasy in his stomach. Brendon gets almost cheerful when he's nearly post-hangover, grateful that he's made it through the potential throw-up-danger-zone. Cash doesn't even really seem like he's hung over at all.
They sit on the couch and it's late enough in the afternoon that if they don't start thinking about supper soon, it'll be too late for anything but take out. Brendon realizes that he's been with Cash for almost twenty-four hours straight and that he wouldn't mind if Cash stayed another twenty-four.
It would have been smarter to do it the night before, to do it when he still had the copious amounts of alcohol in his system to take the blame, but instead, Brendon does it today, cold sober. He lifts his weight up and turns his body until he faces Cash, then leans in before he has the chance to talk himself out of it. He's careful not to touch him anywhere else; if Cash is going to push him alway , Brendon doesn't want him to also have to fight off Brendon's grabby hands. Brendon keeps his hands to himself, but leans forward and kisses Cash right on the lips. It's just a peck because Brendon makes himself pull away quickly; there's a little sound when their lips part.
Brendon doesn't pull all the way back though, because even though this is the stupidest fucking thing he's ever done in his life, if Cash doesn't push him away-- ? So Brendon waits, hovering a little, and gives Cash the space to take a breath. He sucks his own lower lip into his mouth and presses it to the top one to wet them. Cash hasn't moved, and Brendon knows he's flushed bright red. There are prickles running up his back, tickling along his scalp. Brendon leans in again, so close that he can feel it when Cash breathes out. Cash exhales through his mouth, which must mean that his lips are parted.
This time, Brendon just brushes their mouths together, so soft that it wouldn't make a noise if they parted, but he also doesn't pull away immediately. Brendon's body is an alien thing; his skin feels sharp and shaky and no part of him feels like anything he's used to. He holds his breath and increases the pressure of his mouth just enough that it counts as a kiss, not just a brush, and then does it again. Cash still hasn't pulled away, and Brendon has a painful surge of wanting, like now that he's this close it's all the worse that he can't have everything, can't have his hands on Cash's body, can't have Cash's weight on top of him, pushing him down into the couch. Cash changes the angle of his head, pushing his chin out, and Brendon doesn't know if it's to stop him from getting closer or if it's something like returning the kiss. Brendon eases back, just in case, which ends up bringing the kiss to a natural halt.
Brendon sits back onto the couch and looks down at his hands. He tries to take a breath, but blood is pounding in his head and he can feel his heart fluttering up in his throat. He stumbles off the couch and, with his back turned to Cash, says, "I'm going to get some sleep," voice cracking.
Brendon's really fucking cold all of the sudden, like it's just now that his body remembers the remains of the hangover and the lack of sleep. He looks at the doorway as he walks and thinks, get to the door, get to the door, because it's the door and then the hallway and then his bedroom, and he just needs to make it to his bedroom. Cash is going to tell people. Cash is going to tell his friends what Brendon did and some of Cash's friends are Brendon's friends and everyone is going to find out, but maybe he could say that Cash was lying. Maybe he could pretend that it was just a joke. Maybe he could say that, actually, he was still drunk.
Brendon's almost at the door, and he can hear Cash stand up from the couch. Cash stands, because he's going to leave now, and it will be better when he's gone, even though while he's here, Brendon knows that he isn't currently making fun of him. Cash starts walking, Brendon can hear the footsteps, and his one stride falters, and, not yet, Brendon tells himself, because he just needs to make it to the bedroom.
Cash touches his elbow and Brendon says, "I'm sorry," and then, "I didn't mean to," because wanting to and meaning to are different things, and Brendon definitely didn't mean for this to happen.
Cash keeps his hand on Brendon's arm, so Brendon can't really move, and can't turn away when Cash comes around and stands in front of him. Cash still hasn't said anything, but Brendon doesn't want to look at him because he doesn't want to have to see the look on his face. The less details Brendon has to replay later, the better.
The apartment is totally silent, and Brendon can hear the hum from the refrigerator in the other room. Cash leaves one hand curled around Brendon's arm, and wraps the other around Brendon's shoulders, and Brendon crumbles in, presses his face to Cash's t-shirt, holds his breath for a long time before finally inhaling slowly.
There's a lot of joking around in the circles that they both move in. A lot of teasing, a lot of innuendos, a lot of playing around on camera. It works because it's always with a group, always in front of someone else, and because it never actually means anything. Running his hand up Ryan's thigh on stage is safe and funny and looks good on film. Kissing Cash on his fucking couch, in the middle of the afternoon, with no one else around?
And Cash isn't even saying anything, he's just running his hand up and down Brendon's back. He moves really slowly, not with any real rhythm, just a slow slide. Brendon leaves his own hands dangling at his sides and leans his forehead against Cash's shoulder. Cash's hand moves from the middle of Brendon's back up to his neck, where he touches bare skin. Brendon shivers. He doesn't mean to, but he's more adrenalin than platelets right now, and every touch and movement and sound is amplified.
Cash shifts a little, and Brendon lifts his head immediately, ready to step back. He's still looking down when Cash leans in, so he's at a terrible angle, and he doesn't know what's happening until Cash moves his hand around to Brendon's jaw, the other still on his elbow, and when Brendon's head jerks up to a better angle, they're kissing and it's not careful like before. Brendon's shaky and shaking, and numb with relief, except that he's feeling things at three-times normal intensity. Cash kisses kind of rough and kind of sloppy and he pushes his tongue into Brendon's mouth and digs his fingers into Brendon's shoulders. Brendon's still cold and Cash is warm and when Brendon shuffles even closer, he doesn't pull back.
--
The thing about having a dick in his mouth is that Brendon can't stop thinking, I have a dick in my mouth. Sometimes it switched to, I have Cash's dick in my mouth, but there's always the 'dick' and there's always the 'mouth', and Brendon is actually doing this, actually sucking on Cash's dick. There was maybe the little bit of fuzzy grey area before, when they were still in their jeans and just rubbing together. Brendon's seen Will and Gabe wiggle together like that after a bottle of Jack's; wiggling is okay. Wiggling with Cash made sweat gather along Brendon's hairline. The pressure on his cock through his jeans was blunted and mostly just a slow spreading ache, nothing satisfying. Which is probably why wiggling is okay.
Cash kicked off his jeans happily when Brendon pried the buttons open, and then there was his dick, hard and purple and bouncing up to rest near his stomach, and his thick thighs and the way that the hair on them moved when Brendon stroked the skin with his palms.
Brendon leaned down and, when he started to open his mouth, he thought, it's not going to fit, thought, I can't actually do this. Thought, man, Cash totally deserves to punch me in the face. But Cash probably wouldn't, actually. He hadn't yet, and while Brendon panicked quietly, Cash just waited and let him take his time, and then Brendon thought, maybe I actually want to, which was different than the 'I wonder what it would be like' that he usually stuck to when he let himself think about it. Brendon thought, maybe I want to, and rubbed over the head of Cash's cock with his tongue and it tasted like something other than just skin, but not bad, and then Brendon closed his lips around Cash's cock and started working his way down.
Having a dick in his mouth is almost stupidly awkward: the pressure on his jaw, the way his tongue feels unusually large, now that there's not as much room in his mouth, the nagging worry that he's going to catch Cash with his teeth. Brendon has trouble figuring out when he's supposed to breathe, which actually seems to matter, because the only time he gags is when he can't get his breathing right. He's not going down very far, but he manages to drool enough to get the skin slick, and that help his lips slide easier. He wraps his lips around his teeth so that he doesn't have to be as careful, which helps ease the pressure in his jaw a little bit.
Brendon's mouth is on Cash's dick and Cash's hands are-- somewhere else. Brendon's eyes are closed, he's not sure what's happening anywhere that he can't feel. Cash's hands aren't touching him, anyway. Brendon feels kind of stupid to be hunched over Cash like this, holding himself up on the bed. It's hard to get any kind of angle where Cash's cock isn't bumping the roof of his mouth. Brendon lifts himself up higher and manages to straighten his neck a little, even though it's still mostly at a right angle, and that helps. It feels better for Brendon, and apparently it feels better for Cash because he lets out a little shuddering breath. Brendon's chest goes tight with wanting and he sucks harder. Maybe he could get Cash to make another noise. Maybe he could actually make Cash come.
Brendon pulls off and opens his eyes. His lips feel tight and they feel stretched, both at the same time, which is weird. He says, "What should I do?" and Cash reaches out and rubs his thumb over Brendon's cheek.
"It's good," he says. "You're doing good." He touches over Brendon's jaw and looks down at Brendon, and Brendon gets that, I want to, again. Cash doesn't try to push him back down, and Brendon thinks that if he crawled up the bed, Cash would probably let Brendon kiss him.
Brendon licks his lips, licks precome off the head of Cash's dick, licks a long strip up the thick vein running along the bottom, then takes his cock back into his mouth.
Cash says again, "You're doing good." His voice is kind of shaking, and Brendon thinks that maybe he's still watching him. Brendon's eyes are closed again, so he doesn't know for sure. Cash says, "Use your hand," and Brendon pulls his mouth away so that he can lick his palm before wrapping his hand around Cash's dick.
Everything's a little faster after that. Cash is still holding still, but he's breathing harder, and every time Brendon gets to the head, he tastes salt.
Cash says, "Okay," then, "okay," and Brendon doesn't know what he's saying, but then things taste a whole lot salty and bitter now, too, and Brendon thinks, oh gross, but it seems polite to swallow, so he tries to.
Brendon sits back on his heels. He touches his fingers to Cash's knee and watches as he rubs in light circles. Cash twitches, then grabs his wrist and pulls him down, saying, "That tickles."
Brendon lands mostly on the bed and a little on top of Cash, and he kisses Cash hard without thinking about it. He keeps his mouth closed and kisses him hard enough that his nose ends up all smushed into Cash's cheek, and when he exhales, it sounds loud and a little desperate.
Cash rolls them so that Brendon's all the way on the bed and Cash's a little on top of Brendon. Brendon's cock is definitely all the way hard again and still trapped in his jeans. Cash runs his fingers through Brendon's hair and kisses him back, just as hard. He undoes the button and eases the zipper down, then crawls to the end of the bed, pulling Brendon's jeans down by the hem at his ankles. He lies down on his stomach, in between Brendon's thighs, back arching as he holds himself up on his elbows. Brendon feels exposed, and also like he's already worried that he's not going to be able to hold his hips still.
Cash doesn't try to show off, and he's not taking his time, not exactly, but he's going steady. Steady, or something like that. Something like sucking instead of licking, a really strong suction so every movement of his mouth feels that much more intense, but not uncomfortably so, like it gets when girls spend too much time licking over the head.
Cash sucks hard and it's not eager enough to be sloppy, but there are little noises when he moves and the seal of his lips around Brendon's dick breaks, little burblings when air is pulled in. When he lets up to take a breath, saliva slides past his lips and slips down Brendon's cock. Cash's hand is wet when he palms Brendon's balls and Brendon feels hot and slippery all over, his back sweating and sliding against the mattress.
Brendon's shoulders tingle and he's hot up his neck, down his chest. His head is thick and loud like orgasm is slamming towards him faster than his body can get ready to catch it. He feels like he's going to come, going to come, going to come, and he doesn't and doesn't and Cash pulls his mouth away and works his hand, tight and quick, all the way down to the base of his dick and then up to rub over the head and then back down. Brendon feels his orgasm in his spine first, his rib cage, down through his balls. Cash keeps working his hand and Brendon comes onto his chest, down Cash's knuckles, and his cock keeps jerking, even afterwards, sharp and dry, raw tremors that make him twist his head on the pillow, side to side, as he whimpers through it. Cash keeps his hand strong the whole way through and it's more than Brendon would have thought he could take and then he's surprised when it's finally over.
Brendon mumbles nonsense and gropes blindly on the bed until he finds one of Cash's hands, to pull him back up.
Cash lies down on his back and Brendon turns to his side. His head is on the pillow, but he leans forward and rests his forehead against Cash's shoulder. It's still really early, and neither of them have had much of anything to eat that day, but they both fall asleep.
--
Brendon wakes sometime after two. He still feels fuzzy and sluggish with sleep, but he's closer to being rested. He rolls over, carefully so that he doesn't bump into Cash. Cash wakes up anyway though. He blinks his eyes open and licks his lips and stays still for a long time. Brendon rubs his forehead and stretches a little, arching his back and flexing his toes.
Cash's stomach growls, and then Brendon's does, too.
"Food?"
"Yeah," Brendon says. "Food."
--
Cash crowds Brendon once he's put on his boxers and says, "You gunna cook me something in your wok?"
Brendon uses his shoulder to push him away and tries to find a pair of pants in the dark. "I already got what I wanted," he says. "I'm not cooking for you."
Brendon finds a pair of jeans and hops around, wiggling them on. Cash finishes getting dressed in the time it takes Brendon to finish doing them up. He looks up, and Cash is watching him. Brendon grins and shrugs and Cash pulls him closer with a hand to Brendon's lower back, kissing him.
Kissing Cash isn't a playful exchange of affection, it's not the lingering warmth that follows shared orgasm. Cash kisses like he's making a point and Brendon thinks that maybe he's doing the same.
He's hard again pretty quickly, but even though Brendon's newly rested, he feels drained and a little hollow. Brittle, maybe. He still doesn't want Cash to go home, but round two seems like it might be too much.
Brendon pulls away. "Sorry," he says, running his fingers through his hair and tugging at the ends.
Cash leans over and picks up a hoodie, holding it out to Brendon. "I want pizza."
--
It's funny to be out this late for pizza, and not to be drunk. He and Cash could order a pitcher maybe, but Brendon hasn't quite finished recovering from the hangover.
Brendon gets a slice of Greek and ends up going back for a slice of Hawaiian as well. Cash doesn't like pineapples on pizza; he gets two slices of meat lovers.
It's weird to be sober. They're the only sober ones in the shop, Brendon had decided after quickly scanning the room. There is a group of five girls sitting at the counter. The red-head that's closest to Brendon is wearing a skirt so short that, as she sits, it flips out at the back instead of covering her ass. Brendon wonders what kind of underwear she's wearing, whether or not her bare skin is touching the stool. He chews on his pizza crust.
Normally, he and Cash would be commenting on the girls. Sort of like talking about which one was the hottest and sort of like making fun of them.
There are five girls to the two of them. Good odds, if they were to go over and say hi. He and Cash have picked up girls together before. Once, Cash fingered a blond right in the middle of the dance floor while Brendon dirty-danced with her friend.
Brendon starts ripping a paper napkin into strips. Cash lifts up his water glass to shake ice free from the bottom and into his mouth. He chew ice and watches something over Brendon's shoulder. Brendon pushes the shredded napkin into a pile.
While Cash goes to the bathroom, Brendon pays. He waits by the door, and then they walk back to the car.
Brendon doesn't turn the music on while he drives Cash home. His head is still a little sore from the night before and the couple of hours sleep that he had are starting to wear off. Brendon wonders if he'll have to change the sheets on his bed when he gets home.
When Brendon pulls over in front of Cash's place, Cash look like he's thinking about something. Brendon turn the car off, but leaves his seatbelt buckled. This, at least, is familiar. Brendon never knows how to say good night.
Cash quirks his mouth up on one side and shrugs. "I don't know, dude," he finally says. "I'll talk to you later or something."
"Cool," Brendon says, and then there's some awkward shuffling forward and a dry press of lips. Their noses bump, but the kiss is over before either one of them adjusts.
Cash waves once he gets to his front door, and Brendon drives away.
--
Brendon's groggy at the studio on Monday. Not anything that interferes with his performance, just enough that it's hard to make small talk with the guys in between takes.
"Big weekend?" Spencer asks when Brendon cracks open another Red Bull.
Brendon forces a laugh and drink two-thirds of the can in one breath.
"How's your ball-and-chain?" Ryan asks, and Brendon snorts Red Bull up his nose.
"What?" he asks, still coughing. Brendon's eyes are watering so he can't tell what kind of look Ryan is giving him.
"Shane," Ryan says, while Spencer pats Brendon on the back. "Didn't you say he was gone for the weekend?"
Brendon bats Spencer's hand away. "Right," he says. He needs to stop coughing soon, because it's going to fuck up his voice. "Shane's good. He had a good trip. I'm going to go find some water."
Brendon goes to the bathroom, drinks water out of his cupped palms, and splashes his face. He looks at himself in the mirror and thinks that maybe he does look a little different. Not as different as he feels, but there's something there. He hopes no one else can tell.
--
On Wednesday, Brendon realizes that it's been three days since he talked to Cash, which is probably the longest they've gone without at least a call in months. Maybe it's four days. Brendon dropped him off after midnight on Sunday, but did that even count as a day?
He honestly means to call Cash when he gets home from the studio, but they end up going out for dinner afterwards, and then Ryan ends up coming home with him and smoking a bowl. Brendon doesn't want to call Cash while he's this stoned, so he's just going to wait a couple of hours, but then he falls asleep on the couch.
Brendon wakes up at five in the morning when the sun starts to rise, because he didn't close the blinds before falling asleep.
He turns on his laptop and logs online. There are fifty-some people on his buddy list that are online, but not Cash. Brendon doesn't know why Cash would possibly be online at this time of the morning, but anyway. He isn't.
--
Spencer says, "I know it's the weekend, but me and Ryan were talking about maybe coming in for a couple of hours on Sunday. Just to play out with the arrangements for the song before it's time to record. Is that cool?"
"Yeah, that's fine," Brendon says. Then, "Today's Friday," because, man. This week has gone by so quickly. He still hasn't called Cash.
"I need food," Jon says. "Let's take fifteen."
--
Brendon calls Cash late Sunday afternoon, after he's back home from the studio. It's been a week, and Brendon's starting to feel like a douche. He calls, even though when he picks up his phone, his stomach does this weird twisty-churning thing. Cash picks up on the fourth ring.
"Yo," he says.
"How's it going?"
"Good," Cash says. There are noises in the background, other people's voices. "We're having an epic Mario Kart Battle. Good for band morale. Hey! Fuck off and die, Singer. Ugg, just a sec," he tell Brendon.
Brendon can hear him leave the room because the background noises quiet down.
"Hi," Cash finally says.
"Hey." Brendon stretches his legs out on the couch and leans his head against the arm rest. "Sorry I didn't call or whatever."
"Eh," Cash says. "I didn't call either."
"Yeah," Brendon says.
There's a long pause that should be awkward, but isn't really. It's not awkward until Brendon starts worrying that Cash thinks it's awkward, anyway, and then he feels compelled to say something else.
"You want to hang out sometime, or something?" Brendon asks. The thing is, while he was making himself lunch, earlier, he tried to come up with something that he and Cash could do that wouldn't sound like he was asking him out on a date. All of the things they usually do together sounded like dates; going to a movie, out of dinner, to Brendon's house for dinner. And, hanging out usually meant sprawling out on the couch under a pile of blankets, which maybe wasn't exactly like a date, but kind of felt like foreplay, anyway.
Brendon had a mild panic attack as he scraped mustard onto a piece of bread and was hit with the thought that maybe he would never actually end up seeing Cash again, just because there was nothing that they could still do together.
'Hanging out' sounds pretty safe though, so that's what Brendon goes with.
--
Three hours later, Brendon hears Cash knock. He walks to the door and pulls it open, and there's Cash.
"Hey," he says. Cash gives a little wave.
Brendon isn't blocking the doorway but he still has his hand on the handle. Cash takes a step forward, and Brendon shuffles back a little, but Cash's sleeve still brushes Brendon's arm when he walks into Brendon's house. They're right beside each other when Brendon looks up. Cash turns his head and his lips brush against Brendon's cheek. Brendon knows that it's on purpose because Cash looks at the ground, afterwards.
"Yeah?" Brendon asks.
Cash nods, still looking down.
Brendon touches his forearm and says, "I can take your jacket."
--
They're sitting on the couch watching The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly on TV when Shane pops his head in the door and says hey.
Brendon didn't hear him come home, so he feels himself freeze, even though they aren't doing anything other than sitting on the couch, watching TV. Their ankles are touching, but hidden under the blanket.
Shane says, "How's it going?" and Cash says, "Not bad," and Brendon says, "You wanna watch--" and gestures at the TV.
"Once was enough," Shane says, and waves goodnight.
--
Once was enough, and Brendon falls asleep about an hour before the movie ends. He curls up in a ball, head on the arm of the couch, and feet against Cash's thigh.
He wakes with a start when the end credits start playing, and rolls onto his back, stretching out his legs over Cash's lap.
"Mhh," he sighs.
From the way Cash is blinking slowly, Brendon thinks that maybe he fell asleep, too.
Cash stretches his arms in the air, and, once he's done, tips over to side, landing on top of Brendon. Brendon wiggles closer to the edge of the couch so that there's room for both of them, turning his neck so he can see Cash.
Cash is still blinking slowly. It takes him longer and longer to open his eyes each time. Brendon tucks his head under his arm, and watches as Cash falls asleep.
Brendon dozes off, too, but his leg does that twitchy-kick thing and he ends up waking them both up.
Cash yawns loudly, and Brendon can hear his jaw crack. Brendon yawns as well, which sets Cash off again. It's night, but light still comes in through the open window, moonlight or a street lamp maybe. Brendon can see Cash, can make out the shapes of his features. The light has a blue tint, so Cash looks paler than normal, looks softer.
When they're both back to breathing normally, Cash moves to hold himself up on his elbow, lying on his side. Brendon's still on his back, so Cash ends up higher than him, looking down. Their bodies are pressed together all the way down the length of the couch. Brendon's warm and sleepy and he knows that he's staring up at Cash and grinning, but he doesn't feel like he has to stop.
Cash reaches out his free hand and rubs his thumb over Brendon's jaw. Brendon hasn't shaved for a couple of days and his skin is rough and fuzzy. Cash doesn't seem to mind though. He replaces his thumb with the tips of his fingers and touches along the curve of Brendon's cheekbone. Brendon notices that he's still smiling when Cash's fingertips brush the corner of his mouth.
Brendon doesn't want to have to lift his head up, because that might move Cash's hand away, so he just tilts his chin and waits.
Cash kisses him, careful until he forgets himself. When he isn't holding back, Cash kisses hard. He opens his mouth, then waits until Brendon pushes his own tongue forward. Cash sucks on his tongue and Brendon's cock twitches, pressed up against Cash's thigh. Brendon's been hard, in varying extremes, since well before he fell asleep for the first time. Cash's cock digs into his hipbone and he starts rolling his hips forward when Brendon sets his teeth into Cash's lower lip.
Brendon is seriously considering shoving his hand into Cash's pants and worrying about the mess later, when Shane crashes into something, somewhere else in the house. They both freeze, even though Shane is probably still in his own bedroom.
Cash starts to pull away, untangling their legs, and Brendon steals another kiss before sitting up.
He kisses Cash again at the door, even though though he feels like a gigantic dork for it, then jerks off twice in the twenty minutes it takes him to fall asleep.
--
When they break for lunch, Brendon says, "I'm going to go call Cash." He looks around the room, but the guys are all doing their own thing.
"Hey," he says when Cash answers. "We're on lunch. Do you have time to talk?"
There's a ruckus in the background followed by a huge crash and Cash says, "What the fuck?" There's a pause and then he says, "I'm just going to go ahead and take lunch now, too."
"What happened?" Brendon asks.
"Um," Cash says, laughing. "Lets just say Red Bull isn't as sturdy as we first though."
Brendon shakes his head.
"So," Cash asks, "how long do you have? You want to meet?"
Brendon looks back through the doorway. Jon and Spencer and Ryan are all also on their phones now, probably all chatting with their girlfriends. "You know what," Brendon says, " I totally have time. Subs?"
--
When Brendon gets back, Ryan asks, "Where did you go?"
"For lunch. With Cash," Brendon says, settling at the piano.
Ryan gives him a look, like he's waiting for Brendon to say something else, but Brendon just smiles. Ryan wanders over to his guitar.
--
Cash brings over Chinese. There are enough spring rolls to feed seven, so Shane joins them. Brendon's the only one who actually knows how to eat with chopsticks, but when he says, "No forks! No forks!" they overrule him.
They carry the sweet-and-sour pork balls in and end up getting the wiimote all sticky. Cash schools at bowling and Shane beats them both at tennis. Brendon sits on the couch to stay out of the way of flying arms as they fight each other in boxing. It's a little weird, watching the two of them together, the fact that he keeps watching Cash's ass, but at least now it feels like a shared secret instead of something that's all just him.
Shane almost punches Cash in the face during a particularly vigorous sideswipe, and Brendon laughs himself silly.
"My arms," Cash moans.
Shane lies on the floor, panting.
Brendon rubs his thumb over Cash's wrist, just quickly because Shane is still in the room, even though he's not actually looking at them.
"Ugg," Cash says, tipping his head briefly against Brendon's shoulder. "I've got to get to sleep. We're meeting at eight tomorrow to record."
Brendon walks Cash to the door, and goes to collect the dishes from the other room.
Shane is in the kitchen. Brendon puts the bowl in the sink, but before he can put the mugs in the dishwasher, Shane says, "Cash doesn't have to go, you know. He can totally stay the night."
Brendon feels like someone is dripping ice water down his back, which also explains why his chest is too tight to get much air in. He swallows, asks, "Stay the night?"
"On the couch, or. Whatever, Brendon. I'm just saying."
"Okay," Brendon says, and tries not to drop his mug.
He closes the dishwasher and turns around. Shane is still right there, so Brendon studies the pattern of the linoleum under his feet.
"What?" Shane says, taking a step closer. "Dude, stop freaking out."
"Okay," Brendon says again. "Okay." He glances up. Shane is totally laughing at him. "You're such an asshole," he says, punching Shane in the arm as hard as he can.
"When you cook him breakfast, can I have some, too?" Shane asks.
Brendon hits him again and says, "Such a douche."
Shane shoves him back, and they have a brief, standing tussle around the kitchen.
"I'm not cooking anyone breakfast," Brendon says, shoving Shane into the fridge with his shoulder.
"We'll see," Shane says as he tries to pull Brendon into a headlock.
[... or, explicit past-Brendon/Ryan if you want to read the deleted scene.]
Brendon/Cash [implied past-Brendon/Ryan.] | NC-17 | ~ 10 300 words
Brendon's really good when he knows he can't have something, but he's not good at compartmentalizing when he can have a little bit of something that he wants to have all of.
Thank you thank you thank you to airgiodSLV for betaing. She's amazingly helpful, and a brave, brave toaster in the face of my atrocious typos. I love her lots and lots! ♥
Also! Shane is Brendon's real life roommate: the shower guy. Cash is in a band call The Cab. I'll bet you've heard of them! Cash and Brendon! They're really friggen adorable together. [Tremendously horrible screencaps from the video: one, two, three. UGG, BRENDON LOVES CASH A LOT.]
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
-- from Preludes by T.S. Eliot
Brendon buys pre-made cookie dough, but he doesn't think it has enough chocolate chips.
"Fuck, dude," Shane says, sitting at the kitchen table and peeling open a dimebag. "That's nasty."
Brendon has cookie dough smeared up his wrists and flaking off his forearms. It's pre-made and it's greasy and it makes his fingers slippery as he tries to work in the extra chocolate chips with his bare hands. He might have put too many in, because he couldn't stir it with a spoon, too thick. Maybe he could have just pressed the chips on top afterwards, after the cookies were already on the baking sheet. He hadn't thought of that.
Brendon makes huge cookies because chocolate doesn't stick to chocolate and the smaller ones fall apart.
Shane packs his bong for him and lights it so that Brendon doesn't have to touch anything with his slimy hands. They smoke half a bowl in the time it takes for the first batch to come out of the oven. The metal is hot still, especially where the chocolate has melted away from the dough and started to crust. Brendon uses a fork to pick the cookies away, eats them straight off of the tray. They've got cooling racks, but they eat the entire batch right off the tray. Brendon's mouth is dry and sticky from the smoke and it's hard to swallow.
--
To make up for all the smoke, Brendon tries to drink water constantly for his voice. There are 24-packs of bottled water in the closet, and Brendon tries to remember to put a couple into the fridge before going to bed so that they'll be cold for the morning. He carries them around the condo with him, to the studio, leaving half-empty bottles wherever he goes.
He leaves two bottles behind at Red Bull's studio when he goes to visit The Cab, and Cash calls after they're finished recording to inform him that Singer is planning on trying to sell the bottles on EBay.
--
Cash tells him about getting high in, fuck, he can't even remember which city it was. And there were these furry brown blobs on the sidewalk and in the gutters, and they were probably acorn shells, right? Like, before the smooth acorns actually hatch or whatever it is they do. The things that cover them while they're on trees. They were probably those things, but at the time they looked like little critters, sleeping on the sidewalk, and Cash had to be careful when he was walking, because if he touched them, they might wake up and get angry.
Cash hasn't been shaving, or he hasn't been shaving everywhere, and he's fuzzy around his chin, his neck, especially along his sideburns. It's pretty long, and when Brendon touches his finger to the skin by Cash's jaw, just under his ear, the hair's straggly, but soft.
Cash is trying to braid the tassels of the blanket covering his knees, and he doesn't look up. Doesn't move away, either.
--
Ryan brings in strings of Christmas lights and Brendon and Jon sit down on the floor with a piece of paper to try and decide how best to decorate the studio. When they finally look up, Ryan and Spencer have already hung up the lights.
"You're a stealthy bastard," Brendon says, coming up behind Ryan and resting his chin on his shoulder. He rubs his prickly cheek against Ryan's neck and holds on tightly when Ryan tries to squirm away. "They're pretty though."
--
The music is cranked up loud to make up for the number of bodies jammed into the room, and Brendon can't follow the conversation at all. Not that it matters; he wouldn't have anything to add. It's a group of people that Ryan knows through his friends through someone else and so on. Brendon was doing bodyshots for a while, which was fun while it lasted. The girls that Ryan's friends know are hot. Someone yelled out "Tequila!" and someone else managed to procure a saltshaker, and all of the sudden there was all this skin in front of Brendon. He did more shots than he meant too, but he's pretty sure that whoever was pouring wasn't filling up the shot glass all the way, anyway.
One of the girls had fuchsia hair and wore a slinky halter top. When Brendon started putting the salt to her collarbone and slowly worked his way lower down her chest, she just laughed.
She's gone now and Brendon puts some consideration into going to find her again. Brendon is normally pretty good in parties where he doesn't know anyone, but Ryan didn't get around to introducing him to anyone, and it's too loud to join into a conversation without having to lean right into some stranger's personal space, and Brendon's maybe not quite drunk enough for that yet.
He wanders through the kitchen, pausing to take a long drink from the open bottle on the counter. It turns out to be fucking Sour Pus or something nasty like that, so Brendon knocks aside the empties until he finds an unopened mickey of vodka and washes the taste away.
When he steps onto the deck, the air is cool and dry. Brendon pulls out his Sidekick and sends off a quick series of texts to Shane, without waiting for a reply in between.
What r u doing right now?
Want 2 come 2 a party?
Have u been drinkign? can u drive?
On the other end of the deck, a group of guys are passing around... What is that? An apple? Something like that. Passing it around and coughing between tokes.
Another group of people comes outside; Brendon only really notices because fuchsia hair catches his attention. Brendon creeps to the edges of their group. When he catches her eye, she smiles and opens up the circle so that he can stand beside her.
Back inside the house, and Brendon still doesn't know where Ryan's gone off to, but he's less concerned now. Shane texted back, U need a ride? and Brendon said, Nah.
The thing about the kind of girls that Ryan knows is that they usually seem spectacularly unimpressed with anything Brendon says. Ryan's good with them, good at keeping quiet for long enough that when he finally says something, it comes across as meaningful, or whatever.
Brendon always agrees with everything they say, which is a mistake. He knows he's not really listening and definitely not making actual conversation, but she says something about New York, and he just nods and repeats the last clause of her sentence. He's fucking playing at Times Square; he should have something to say about New York. Mostly though, he's just noticing the way that whatever shimmery concoction she smoothed over her shoulders has started to smear down between her breasts, and wondering if it would transfer onto his face. That lotion-y shit never tastes good, but Brendon thinks it would be randomly hot, anyway.
Brendon is probably gawking noticeably by this point. It's a tricky balance. Girls wear tops thin enough that their nipples show through, leave their shoulders bare, and rub fucking sparkles over their skin, and you're supposed to notice, but you're still supposed to listen when they talk. There's a fine art to looking, but looking in a way that comes across as a compliment. Jon's best at that, actually. Brendon's seen the way that he'll look at Cassie, this kind of slow ogle like he can't see anything else but her, that makes her dimples show and her cheeks flush.
Brendon's face is too expressive and this girl has definitely noticed him looking. She still looks unimpressed, but it's mixed with smug now, as well.
Brendon thinks, good enough, and leans in. He puts one open palm over her shoulder and her skin feels sticky, but soft underneath.
--
Shane is watching TV when Brendon gets home.
Brendon flops down on the couch beside him and kicks his legs up onto the coffee table.
"Dude," Shane says. "You've got sparkles all over your face."
Brendon grins.
--
Cash smokes. Cash smokes and he's one of those smokers who's going to quit, soon, seriously, this is his last pack. Like half of the joy he gets is from pretending that it's something he won't get to enjoy much longer, like it helps him savour it. Cash always has a pack on his person, regardless, and sometimes they peel open the cigarettes to mix the tobacco in with the weed, even though nicotine still gives Brendon head rushes.
They'd planned to go to a movie tonight, and Brendon wants to drive, so they're not high right now.
Ryan always needs some kind of specific plan. If Brendon asks if he wants to see a movie, Ryan always wants to know, "Which one?" Cash, though. Brendon can call Cash and say, "Wanna see a movie tonight?" and Cash just comes over once The Cab's through recording from the day, Brendon doesn't even have to give him a specific time or anything. Brendon isn't used to hanging out with people that are younger than him, he's got older siblings and older friends. But, when Cash laughs at his jokes, Brendon believes him.
Cash comes over pretty early in the evening, before Brendon's found anything to eat. He probably wouldn't have gotten around to it, probably would have just stocked up on candy at the theater, but Cash says, "Have you eaten?" and Brendon says, "No," and they go and get subs.
Brendon drives because, after his car exploded on the freeway, Cash doesn't have wheels. Brendon drives and they go inside to eat, and Cash grabs enough napkins for the both of them, and Cash never once asks about inviting more people along because he doesn't spend his life networking the same way that Ryan does.
Shane had already left, that afternoon, and Brendon doesn't know when he's getting home, otherwise he would have probably invited him along. It's a little simpler like this though, without the awkward balance of three.
Brendon doesn't much care what they end up seeing tonight, but they'd made noises about going to see a triple-feature of all the Bourne movies, which are showing at the single-screen theater beside the bright pink diner. Brendon's never eaten there, but Spencer swears it has amazing fish and chips. The Bourne Identity starts at 7:15; Brendon takes the last of his drink outside so that there's time for Cash to have a smoke before the show.
--
Brendon just had a coke, so he buys an iced tea at the theater. Cash buys an armful of candy and they pass the bags back and forth.
They trade off going to the washroom during the break after the first movie because neither of them remembered to bring coats to use to lay down and save their seats.
The second movies starts and Brendon wishes that he'd worn his glasses because his contacts are dry already.
"Do you think the concession is still open?" he asks.
Cash shrugs and says, "Don't know. I've still got all of the candy though, what do you want?"
"Eh, like. A Red Bull," Brendon says. "To make it through the rest of the night."
"We can go get coffee or something," Cash offers. "I've got our stubs, we can get back in."
"We might lose our seats," Brendon says, looking around.
"Then we'll find somewhere else," Cash says. "C'mon."
There's a Starbucks just down the block from the theater, but once they've got their drinks, they head in the opposite direction, back towards the car.
Brendon's cup holder is at an awkward angle (especially with the way he drives: one hand on the steering wheel, the other fiddling with the audio), so when he's ready for a sip, he holds out his hand and Cash passes his drink over.
Even though they left the movie early, it's getting pretty late. The streets have just started to quiet down, at least until they flood again once the bars close.
Brendon finds a cheesy pop music station, cranks it, and sings along gleefully. He knows he looks like a douche, whipping around the streets with the bass up loud enough to vibrate the pavement, but he doesn't care. Cash might be singing too, but the music is too loud for Brendon to be able to hear.
Brendon drives until he's out of the area of town that he knows well, drives until he gets far enough away that he's either going to have to turn back or admit that he has no idea where to go from here. He's awake now, at least, so he turns the music back down.
"The sun lights up the daytime, the moon lights up the night," Brendon sings, and this time, he can hear himself. "I light up--" and then he reaches out to flip to a new station.
Cash leans his head back and turns towards Brendon. "You're totally fucking lost," he says.
"Fuck you," Brendon says, and takes a hard right, and then another one, and then ends up on a one way street and has to take another right. "Shut up," he says, when Cash starts laughing. "Shut. Up."
Cash pushes his seat all the way back and stretches his legs out. Brendon drives in a straight line until he recognizes one of the cross-streets, and turns towards home.
--
They're mostly through recording for the day, so when Ryan's phone rings, he walks to the corner of the room to answer it. Brendon rocks on his piano stool and Jon and Spencer stand up and walk around.
Something in Brendon still prickles, even though it's been years now. "Oh, Keltie," Brendon mutters to himself, making his voice as low as it can go. Then, in falsetto, "Oh, Ryan."
Brendon doesn't think that anyone else can hear him, but, "How's it going, baby," Spencer says, in a deep voice. Brendon startles and looks up.
"Real good, hotstuff," Jon says, batting his eyelashes at Spencer. "But, I miss you."
Brendon bites his lip, hard, to keep from laughing.
"Not as much as I miss you," Spencer says, pursing his lips and making kissy-faces at Jon.
Jon lets out a high-pitched giggle, and Brendon loses it. He cracks up, holding one hand to his chest and clutching at his thigh with the other.
Meanwhile, Spencer rests one arm on the piano, boxing Jon in. Brendon can't really see from his angle, but he'd guess that Jon's twitching his head like that to mime flipping his hair.
Spencer stands up straight and kind of-- looms, and Jon giggles again. Somewhere in there, Ryan comes over, and Brendon thinks he says, "I don't even want to know," but Brendon's gasping too hard to hear for sure.
--
They leave the studio at about eight and Brendon drives around aimlessly for maybe twenty minutes. He calls Shane who answers with, "This is the Brendon Urie Museum. Do you want to be put through to used underwear or almost empty water bottles?"
"What are your plans for tonight, douche?" Brendon asks.
"Heading out. I think there's a party at Tod's. You want to come?"
"Is your girlfriend going to be there?"
"Yeah," Shane says.
"I think I'm busy."
"Dude, c'mon."
Brendon makes a face to himself. "She doesn't like me!"
"She likes you fine," Shane says. "She just thought that you were watching us have sex."
"Eh," Brendon says. He saw them having sex, which totally isn't the same thing as watching, and anyway, Shane was on top, so it's not like he could see her anyway.
"Kay, I'm going to peace out," Shane says. "Maybe I'll see you tonight."
Brendon clicks off his phone, and it immediately buzzes with a text from Cash: Movie tonight? and Brendon presses Call.
--
"I kind of wanted to see Night of the Living Dead, but then I also wanted Death Proof, so I brought them both," Cash says, when Brendon opens his door.
Brendon says, "There are like four bags of popcorn left. That's totally enough for two movies."
--
Brendon should not have made that last bag of popcorn.
"You shouldn't have made that last bag of popcorn," Cash says, wincing.
They're sprawled out on the couch. Brendon tries to sit up, but he ends up slumping back down, half leaning on Cash, but mostly resting on about five pillows. "It was your idea," Brendon says.
Cash reaches out and flicks at his earlobe.
"When I throw up, I'm going to aim for you," Brendon says.
Cash flicks him again, then flattens his palm and clumsily pats Brendon on the forehead. "Shane would totally kick your ass if you threw up on the couch," he says.
Brendon makes a noncommittal noise and closes his eyes, mostly because Cash's hand is totally still bopping around near-ish to his forehead area, and he doesn't want to be poked in the eye.
Brendon isn't high high anymore, probably, but he's moving towards sleepy. He asks, "What time is it?" and Cash says, "After three, I think."
Brendon squints one eye open. "I think I have to be at the studio by nine tomorrow."
"I'll let you sleep," Cash says, moving his hand away. He gives Brendon a moment to sit up before fighting his way out of the tangle of blankets, and standing up. Brendon grabs an armful of blankets, dumps them back onto the couch, then follows Cash to the entrance.
"Later," Cash says, and Brendon has this moment where he doesn't know what to do with his hands and ends up touching his fingers to the crook of Cash's elbow before he tucks his fingers back into his pockets and says, "Night."
Cash has a million buddies and they all actually act like dudes together (for now, Brendon's brain supplies, because he's on Decaydance now, so it's just a matter of time). Cash lifts his fist and Brendon raises his own, knocking them together because, right. That's the gesture that he was looking for. That's the right way to say goodnight.
Brendon gives Cash a minute to walk down the hallway before shutting the door and resting his forehead on the wood. He knocks his forehead twice, and tries to shake off the inexplicable embarrassment that creeps down his spine. Maybe he is still high, after all.
--
Wow, it had definitely seemed like it was going to be a lot easier to cook sausages. The water boiled over, covering the stove, and still the sausages managed to get completely burnt onto the bottom of the pan.
Brendon's hungry, so he picks away what he can and eats them anyway. Then, he runs water over the pot for a long time, because soaking is supposed to fix these things, right? As he waits for the crusty bits to-- get soft or whatever it is that the water is supposed to accomplish, he starts another pot boiling, because he's totally still hungry.
He doesn't fuck up the Kraft Dinner, and when Shane gets home, he eats what's left straight out of the pot.
"So," Brendon says, "I was thinking of buying some new pots."
--
It turns out that Ryan needs pots, too. Ryan hired a decorator to handle all of the shopping for his condo, and she bought this set of gorgeous chrome pots which hang over the island in the middle of Ryan's kitchen, and which, Ryan thinks, aren't designed to actually cook food.
"So, they're what? Decorative?" Brendon asks as they stand at the entrance to the store and look around with wide eyes. There are moms everywhere, but Brendon still isn't going to give into the temptation to throw himself onto the floor and beg someone to shop for him.
"I guess," Ryan says. He turns to Brendon. "Honestly, I don't even know what most of them are for. One has holes in the bottom. Holes. In the bottom of the pan. What the fuck are you supposed to do with that?"
"Fucked if I know," Brendon says.
They stand together for another moment of silence before someone knocks into Ryan with her cart, and they move away from the doors.
--
Brendon buys a wok. He knows it's called a wok because Ryan managed to find a really cute employee to explain to them what all of the pots were actually for. And now, Brendon has a wok, and also a new pot with an un-stickable bottom. Brendon can't remember what that thing is called, but he knows what his wok is called.
"Shut the fuck up about the wok," Shane says. "No more talking until you actually use it to cook something."
"I'm going to cook something tonight," Brendon informs him, haughtily. "Something delicious in my wok. And you're not invited."
"I'm crying on the inside," Shane says.
--
Brendon calls Ryan, but Ryan also can't remember if the helpful chick said that he was supposed to put oil in the bottom before cooking. Brendon doesn't have any idea where Ryan could possibly put all of the new kitchen shit he bought, so they're equally helpful.
The best thing about how Ryan's dating Keltie and how they're all happy and shit is that when Brendon's brain suggests something like, why don't you try and cook for Ryan? Brendon can tell himself, no, really easily. There was a slight indiscretion a whole bunch of years ago, when Ryan was still single, because Ryan wasn't much good at saying no to Brendon.
Brendon's really good when he knows he can't have something, but he's not good at compartmentalizing when he can have a little bit of something that he wants to have all of. So, Ryan makes out with Pete and chats online with him for hours and hours (and sometimes Ryan won't let Brendon read over his shoulder), and then they both fuck their pretty blonde girlfriends, like there's nothing in that that would confuse anyone.
And Brendon cuts up the vegetables for a stir fry and walks around the kitchen for twenty-three minutes, holding his phone, before calling Cash.
--
It's a pretty good stir fry, though probably only in the way that most things are decently edible if you put enough soy sauce on.
Cash munches away happily on snow peas, and Brendon says, "Now you won't get scurvy." He remembers what it was like when Panic was recording their first CD.
Cash swallows, then says, "Thank god. Too bad we ate it all, or I could have brought the leftovers for Ian. I hear that hits the littlest ones first."
--
The wok is too big to fit into the sink, so Brendon sets in on the counter and wipes at it with a cloth. Cash hunts through the fridge and manages to find a couple of beers, seemingly through sheer force of will, as Brendon would have sworn there were none in there.
They sit down on the couch and drink beer out of the bottle. Cash scoots over to the window and smokes a cigarette, leaving his half empty bottle on the end table. The entire house reeks of pot, and Brendon is almost entirely sure that they've deactivated the fire alarms (and that he should probably talk to Shane about that), but Brendon appreciates the sentiment anyway.
Brendon scoots a little closer, for ease of conversation. Cash holds out the smoke, resting between his first two fingers, and Brendon takes a drag.
It's cooler in the room when Cash finally closes the window, and Brendon pulls an afghan off of the floor and tucks his toes under one of the couch cushions.
It's only ten, which is normally the time that Brendon would start planning for the night, but they've both got recording in the morning, and anyway, Brendon's only just starting to get warm again.
Cash smells a little like smoke, but like new, clean smoke, not stale. Brendon finishes his beer sometime around when Cash finishes his. There's a water bottle on the table that's still three quarters full. Brendon is nearly positive that he opened that one while he was waiting for Cash to show up, which was only a couple of hours ago, so he starts drinking it.
It tastes fine, so he offers it to Cash, and they pass the bottle back and forth.
There's maybe a sip left in the bottle, and when Cash tries to pass it back, Brendon holds up his hand and says, "You can finish it."
Cash puts the lid back on the empty bottle, holds onto the neck and bops Brendon on the arm. Brendon tries to catch it, but it's a thin plastic and he can't grab on too hard without the plastic caving in. Instead, he tries to dig his fingers into Cash's belly, because Cash is pretty sturdy.
They end up rolling around on the floor in a half-assed wrestling match, leaving the bottle stuffed between two pillows on the couch. Brendon ends up on his back; Cash doesn't exactly pin him down, but he's on top and his elbow digs into Brendon's ribcage. Brendon's a little tired, and he's not even drunk but he can't stop laughing. He turns his head and laughs into Cash's shoulder, into Cash's t-shirt, keeps his face turned away from Cash like it's safer that way.
--
Brendon watches porn while he jerks off because that way he's not thinking about anything in particular, he's just watching. The girl is on all fours and the guy is up on his knees. Her breasts are fake, but they're big enough that they sway with the force of his thrusts anyway.
The guy pulls out and peels off the condom. She turns her head around and moans at him from over her shoulder, even though he's not touching her at all. He strokes quickly, the head of his cock just peeking through the ring of his fingers on the upstroke, nudging the foreskin forward before pulling it back down again, and Brendon arches his hips, pushing his cock into his fist.
--
Scrapping the first batch of songs they wrote was absolutely the best idea they'd ever had. Well, maybe best second to Ryan sending their songs over to Pete, but they didn't have a Jon back then, so the songs weren't really 'theirs', anyway. They are now though. The songs are theirs and they're actually almost through recording their second CD. Brendon writes a song on his own. He thinks of the songs that he was writing before Ryan and Spencer, the songs he wrote after meeting them (but never showed anyone). He used to sing songs to himself while he attempted to clean his shitty, shitty apartment. It was easier to stay awake when he was singing, even though most days he was already so tired that his voice was sore and raw. He's glad that it's the song he wrote now that's going to be on a CD for other people to hear, not something from back then.
--
They're all perfectionists, so it's Brendon that stays late on Thursday, but it could be any of them.
Brendon stumbles back to his car when the producer finally kicks him out.
"My old lady's going to lock the door," he says. And Brendon says, "I see how it is," and stops at a drive-thru on the way home for a cheeseburger. He doesn't know how he lived for years as a vegetarian. When he was still calling himself a vegetarian, he was never aware of missing meat. Now that he's eating it again, he doesn't know how he went without.
--
It's Saturday, and Shane is gone for the weekend.
The taxi dumped Brendon and Cash off at maybe five am and Cash had crashed on the couch, falling asleep while Brendon went to the kitchen to get them water bottles. Brendon left two by Cash's head, only managed a few sips of the one he brought to his own room, then slept fitfully through to the afternoon.
Cash had been watching TV when Brendon crawled out of bed. They took turns having a shower, so Cash smells like Brendon's shampoo, which mostly just smells like chemicals and maybe a little like herbs.
They both managed to drink an entire water bottle, and Brendon finally get to the point where he's still fucking exhausted, but nothing feels sharp in his head or queasy in his stomach. Brendon gets almost cheerful when he's nearly post-hangover, grateful that he's made it through the potential throw-up-danger-zone. Cash doesn't even really seem like he's hung over at all.
They sit on the couch and it's late enough in the afternoon that if they don't start thinking about supper soon, it'll be too late for anything but take out. Brendon realizes that he's been with Cash for almost twenty-four hours straight and that he wouldn't mind if Cash stayed another twenty-four.
It would have been smarter to do it the night before, to do it when he still had the copious amounts of alcohol in his system to take the blame, but instead, Brendon does it today, cold sober. He lifts his weight up and turns his body until he faces Cash, then leans in before he has the chance to talk himself out of it. He's careful not to touch him anywhere else; if Cash is going to push him alway , Brendon doesn't want him to also have to fight off Brendon's grabby hands. Brendon keeps his hands to himself, but leans forward and kisses Cash right on the lips. It's just a peck because Brendon makes himself pull away quickly; there's a little sound when their lips part.
Brendon doesn't pull all the way back though, because even though this is the stupidest fucking thing he's ever done in his life, if Cash doesn't push him away-- ? So Brendon waits, hovering a little, and gives Cash the space to take a breath. He sucks his own lower lip into his mouth and presses it to the top one to wet them. Cash hasn't moved, and Brendon knows he's flushed bright red. There are prickles running up his back, tickling along his scalp. Brendon leans in again, so close that he can feel it when Cash breathes out. Cash exhales through his mouth, which must mean that his lips are parted.
This time, Brendon just brushes their mouths together, so soft that it wouldn't make a noise if they parted, but he also doesn't pull away immediately. Brendon's body is an alien thing; his skin feels sharp and shaky and no part of him feels like anything he's used to. He holds his breath and increases the pressure of his mouth just enough that it counts as a kiss, not just a brush, and then does it again. Cash still hasn't pulled away, and Brendon has a painful surge of wanting, like now that he's this close it's all the worse that he can't have everything, can't have his hands on Cash's body, can't have Cash's weight on top of him, pushing him down into the couch. Cash changes the angle of his head, pushing his chin out, and Brendon doesn't know if it's to stop him from getting closer or if it's something like returning the kiss. Brendon eases back, just in case, which ends up bringing the kiss to a natural halt.
Brendon sits back onto the couch and looks down at his hands. He tries to take a breath, but blood is pounding in his head and he can feel his heart fluttering up in his throat. He stumbles off the couch and, with his back turned to Cash, says, "I'm going to get some sleep," voice cracking.
Brendon's really fucking cold all of the sudden, like it's just now that his body remembers the remains of the hangover and the lack of sleep. He looks at the doorway as he walks and thinks, get to the door, get to the door, because it's the door and then the hallway and then his bedroom, and he just needs to make it to his bedroom. Cash is going to tell people. Cash is going to tell his friends what Brendon did and some of Cash's friends are Brendon's friends and everyone is going to find out, but maybe he could say that Cash was lying. Maybe he could pretend that it was just a joke. Maybe he could say that, actually, he was still drunk.
Brendon's almost at the door, and he can hear Cash stand up from the couch. Cash stands, because he's going to leave now, and it will be better when he's gone, even though while he's here, Brendon knows that he isn't currently making fun of him. Cash starts walking, Brendon can hear the footsteps, and his one stride falters, and, not yet, Brendon tells himself, because he just needs to make it to the bedroom.
Cash touches his elbow and Brendon says, "I'm sorry," and then, "I didn't mean to," because wanting to and meaning to are different things, and Brendon definitely didn't mean for this to happen.
Cash keeps his hand on Brendon's arm, so Brendon can't really move, and can't turn away when Cash comes around and stands in front of him. Cash still hasn't said anything, but Brendon doesn't want to look at him because he doesn't want to have to see the look on his face. The less details Brendon has to replay later, the better.
The apartment is totally silent, and Brendon can hear the hum from the refrigerator in the other room. Cash leaves one hand curled around Brendon's arm, and wraps the other around Brendon's shoulders, and Brendon crumbles in, presses his face to Cash's t-shirt, holds his breath for a long time before finally inhaling slowly.
There's a lot of joking around in the circles that they both move in. A lot of teasing, a lot of innuendos, a lot of playing around on camera. It works because it's always with a group, always in front of someone else, and because it never actually means anything. Running his hand up Ryan's thigh on stage is safe and funny and looks good on film. Kissing Cash on his fucking couch, in the middle of the afternoon, with no one else around?
And Cash isn't even saying anything, he's just running his hand up and down Brendon's back. He moves really slowly, not with any real rhythm, just a slow slide. Brendon leaves his own hands dangling at his sides and leans his forehead against Cash's shoulder. Cash's hand moves from the middle of Brendon's back up to his neck, where he touches bare skin. Brendon shivers. He doesn't mean to, but he's more adrenalin than platelets right now, and every touch and movement and sound is amplified.
Cash shifts a little, and Brendon lifts his head immediately, ready to step back. He's still looking down when Cash leans in, so he's at a terrible angle, and he doesn't know what's happening until Cash moves his hand around to Brendon's jaw, the other still on his elbow, and when Brendon's head jerks up to a better angle, they're kissing and it's not careful like before. Brendon's shaky and shaking, and numb with relief, except that he's feeling things at three-times normal intensity. Cash kisses kind of rough and kind of sloppy and he pushes his tongue into Brendon's mouth and digs his fingers into Brendon's shoulders. Brendon's still cold and Cash is warm and when Brendon shuffles even closer, he doesn't pull back.
--
The thing about having a dick in his mouth is that Brendon can't stop thinking, I have a dick in my mouth. Sometimes it switched to, I have Cash's dick in my mouth, but there's always the 'dick' and there's always the 'mouth', and Brendon is actually doing this, actually sucking on Cash's dick. There was maybe the little bit of fuzzy grey area before, when they were still in their jeans and just rubbing together. Brendon's seen Will and Gabe wiggle together like that after a bottle of Jack's; wiggling is okay. Wiggling with Cash made sweat gather along Brendon's hairline. The pressure on his cock through his jeans was blunted and mostly just a slow spreading ache, nothing satisfying. Which is probably why wiggling is okay.
Cash kicked off his jeans happily when Brendon pried the buttons open, and then there was his dick, hard and purple and bouncing up to rest near his stomach, and his thick thighs and the way that the hair on them moved when Brendon stroked the skin with his palms.
Brendon leaned down and, when he started to open his mouth, he thought, it's not going to fit, thought, I can't actually do this. Thought, man, Cash totally deserves to punch me in the face. But Cash probably wouldn't, actually. He hadn't yet, and while Brendon panicked quietly, Cash just waited and let him take his time, and then Brendon thought, maybe I actually want to, which was different than the 'I wonder what it would be like' that he usually stuck to when he let himself think about it. Brendon thought, maybe I want to, and rubbed over the head of Cash's cock with his tongue and it tasted like something other than just skin, but not bad, and then Brendon closed his lips around Cash's cock and started working his way down.
Having a dick in his mouth is almost stupidly awkward: the pressure on his jaw, the way his tongue feels unusually large, now that there's not as much room in his mouth, the nagging worry that he's going to catch Cash with his teeth. Brendon has trouble figuring out when he's supposed to breathe, which actually seems to matter, because the only time he gags is when he can't get his breathing right. He's not going down very far, but he manages to drool enough to get the skin slick, and that help his lips slide easier. He wraps his lips around his teeth so that he doesn't have to be as careful, which helps ease the pressure in his jaw a little bit.
Brendon's mouth is on Cash's dick and Cash's hands are-- somewhere else. Brendon's eyes are closed, he's not sure what's happening anywhere that he can't feel. Cash's hands aren't touching him, anyway. Brendon feels kind of stupid to be hunched over Cash like this, holding himself up on the bed. It's hard to get any kind of angle where Cash's cock isn't bumping the roof of his mouth. Brendon lifts himself up higher and manages to straighten his neck a little, even though it's still mostly at a right angle, and that helps. It feels better for Brendon, and apparently it feels better for Cash because he lets out a little shuddering breath. Brendon's chest goes tight with wanting and he sucks harder. Maybe he could get Cash to make another noise. Maybe he could actually make Cash come.
Brendon pulls off and opens his eyes. His lips feel tight and they feel stretched, both at the same time, which is weird. He says, "What should I do?" and Cash reaches out and rubs his thumb over Brendon's cheek.
"It's good," he says. "You're doing good." He touches over Brendon's jaw and looks down at Brendon, and Brendon gets that, I want to, again. Cash doesn't try to push him back down, and Brendon thinks that if he crawled up the bed, Cash would probably let Brendon kiss him.
Brendon licks his lips, licks precome off the head of Cash's dick, licks a long strip up the thick vein running along the bottom, then takes his cock back into his mouth.
Cash says again, "You're doing good." His voice is kind of shaking, and Brendon thinks that maybe he's still watching him. Brendon's eyes are closed again, so he doesn't know for sure. Cash says, "Use your hand," and Brendon pulls his mouth away so that he can lick his palm before wrapping his hand around Cash's dick.
Everything's a little faster after that. Cash is still holding still, but he's breathing harder, and every time Brendon gets to the head, he tastes salt.
Cash says, "Okay," then, "okay," and Brendon doesn't know what he's saying, but then things taste a whole lot salty and bitter now, too, and Brendon thinks, oh gross, but it seems polite to swallow, so he tries to.
Brendon sits back on his heels. He touches his fingers to Cash's knee and watches as he rubs in light circles. Cash twitches, then grabs his wrist and pulls him down, saying, "That tickles."
Brendon lands mostly on the bed and a little on top of Cash, and he kisses Cash hard without thinking about it. He keeps his mouth closed and kisses him hard enough that his nose ends up all smushed into Cash's cheek, and when he exhales, it sounds loud and a little desperate.
Cash rolls them so that Brendon's all the way on the bed and Cash's a little on top of Brendon. Brendon's cock is definitely all the way hard again and still trapped in his jeans. Cash runs his fingers through Brendon's hair and kisses him back, just as hard. He undoes the button and eases the zipper down, then crawls to the end of the bed, pulling Brendon's jeans down by the hem at his ankles. He lies down on his stomach, in between Brendon's thighs, back arching as he holds himself up on his elbows. Brendon feels exposed, and also like he's already worried that he's not going to be able to hold his hips still.
Cash doesn't try to show off, and he's not taking his time, not exactly, but he's going steady. Steady, or something like that. Something like sucking instead of licking, a really strong suction so every movement of his mouth feels that much more intense, but not uncomfortably so, like it gets when girls spend too much time licking over the head.
Cash sucks hard and it's not eager enough to be sloppy, but there are little noises when he moves and the seal of his lips around Brendon's dick breaks, little burblings when air is pulled in. When he lets up to take a breath, saliva slides past his lips and slips down Brendon's cock. Cash's hand is wet when he palms Brendon's balls and Brendon feels hot and slippery all over, his back sweating and sliding against the mattress.
Brendon's shoulders tingle and he's hot up his neck, down his chest. His head is thick and loud like orgasm is slamming towards him faster than his body can get ready to catch it. He feels like he's going to come, going to come, going to come, and he doesn't and doesn't and Cash pulls his mouth away and works his hand, tight and quick, all the way down to the base of his dick and then up to rub over the head and then back down. Brendon feels his orgasm in his spine first, his rib cage, down through his balls. Cash keeps working his hand and Brendon comes onto his chest, down Cash's knuckles, and his cock keeps jerking, even afterwards, sharp and dry, raw tremors that make him twist his head on the pillow, side to side, as he whimpers through it. Cash keeps his hand strong the whole way through and it's more than Brendon would have thought he could take and then he's surprised when it's finally over.
Brendon mumbles nonsense and gropes blindly on the bed until he finds one of Cash's hands, to pull him back up.
Cash lies down on his back and Brendon turns to his side. His head is on the pillow, but he leans forward and rests his forehead against Cash's shoulder. It's still really early, and neither of them have had much of anything to eat that day, but they both fall asleep.
--
Brendon wakes sometime after two. He still feels fuzzy and sluggish with sleep, but he's closer to being rested. He rolls over, carefully so that he doesn't bump into Cash. Cash wakes up anyway though. He blinks his eyes open and licks his lips and stays still for a long time. Brendon rubs his forehead and stretches a little, arching his back and flexing his toes.
Cash's stomach growls, and then Brendon's does, too.
"Food?"
"Yeah," Brendon says. "Food."
--
Cash crowds Brendon once he's put on his boxers and says, "You gunna cook me something in your wok?"
Brendon uses his shoulder to push him away and tries to find a pair of pants in the dark. "I already got what I wanted," he says. "I'm not cooking for you."
Brendon finds a pair of jeans and hops around, wiggling them on. Cash finishes getting dressed in the time it takes Brendon to finish doing them up. He looks up, and Cash is watching him. Brendon grins and shrugs and Cash pulls him closer with a hand to Brendon's lower back, kissing him.
Kissing Cash isn't a playful exchange of affection, it's not the lingering warmth that follows shared orgasm. Cash kisses like he's making a point and Brendon thinks that maybe he's doing the same.
He's hard again pretty quickly, but even though Brendon's newly rested, he feels drained and a little hollow. Brittle, maybe. He still doesn't want Cash to go home, but round two seems like it might be too much.
Brendon pulls away. "Sorry," he says, running his fingers through his hair and tugging at the ends.
Cash leans over and picks up a hoodie, holding it out to Brendon. "I want pizza."
--
It's funny to be out this late for pizza, and not to be drunk. He and Cash could order a pitcher maybe, but Brendon hasn't quite finished recovering from the hangover.
Brendon gets a slice of Greek and ends up going back for a slice of Hawaiian as well. Cash doesn't like pineapples on pizza; he gets two slices of meat lovers.
It's weird to be sober. They're the only sober ones in the shop, Brendon had decided after quickly scanning the room. There is a group of five girls sitting at the counter. The red-head that's closest to Brendon is wearing a skirt so short that, as she sits, it flips out at the back instead of covering her ass. Brendon wonders what kind of underwear she's wearing, whether or not her bare skin is touching the stool. He chews on his pizza crust.
Normally, he and Cash would be commenting on the girls. Sort of like talking about which one was the hottest and sort of like making fun of them.
There are five girls to the two of them. Good odds, if they were to go over and say hi. He and Cash have picked up girls together before. Once, Cash fingered a blond right in the middle of the dance floor while Brendon dirty-danced with her friend.
Brendon starts ripping a paper napkin into strips. Cash lifts up his water glass to shake ice free from the bottom and into his mouth. He chew ice and watches something over Brendon's shoulder. Brendon pushes the shredded napkin into a pile.
While Cash goes to the bathroom, Brendon pays. He waits by the door, and then they walk back to the car.
Brendon doesn't turn the music on while he drives Cash home. His head is still a little sore from the night before and the couple of hours sleep that he had are starting to wear off. Brendon wonders if he'll have to change the sheets on his bed when he gets home.
When Brendon pulls over in front of Cash's place, Cash look like he's thinking about something. Brendon turn the car off, but leaves his seatbelt buckled. This, at least, is familiar. Brendon never knows how to say good night.
Cash quirks his mouth up on one side and shrugs. "I don't know, dude," he finally says. "I'll talk to you later or something."
"Cool," Brendon says, and then there's some awkward shuffling forward and a dry press of lips. Their noses bump, but the kiss is over before either one of them adjusts.
Cash waves once he gets to his front door, and Brendon drives away.
--
Brendon's groggy at the studio on Monday. Not anything that interferes with his performance, just enough that it's hard to make small talk with the guys in between takes.
"Big weekend?" Spencer asks when Brendon cracks open another Red Bull.
Brendon forces a laugh and drink two-thirds of the can in one breath.
"How's your ball-and-chain?" Ryan asks, and Brendon snorts Red Bull up his nose.
"What?" he asks, still coughing. Brendon's eyes are watering so he can't tell what kind of look Ryan is giving him.
"Shane," Ryan says, while Spencer pats Brendon on the back. "Didn't you say he was gone for the weekend?"
Brendon bats Spencer's hand away. "Right," he says. He needs to stop coughing soon, because it's going to fuck up his voice. "Shane's good. He had a good trip. I'm going to go find some water."
Brendon goes to the bathroom, drinks water out of his cupped palms, and splashes his face. He looks at himself in the mirror and thinks that maybe he does look a little different. Not as different as he feels, but there's something there. He hopes no one else can tell.
--
On Wednesday, Brendon realizes that it's been three days since he talked to Cash, which is probably the longest they've gone without at least a call in months. Maybe it's four days. Brendon dropped him off after midnight on Sunday, but did that even count as a day?
He honestly means to call Cash when he gets home from the studio, but they end up going out for dinner afterwards, and then Ryan ends up coming home with him and smoking a bowl. Brendon doesn't want to call Cash while he's this stoned, so he's just going to wait a couple of hours, but then he falls asleep on the couch.
Brendon wakes up at five in the morning when the sun starts to rise, because he didn't close the blinds before falling asleep.
He turns on his laptop and logs online. There are fifty-some people on his buddy list that are online, but not Cash. Brendon doesn't know why Cash would possibly be online at this time of the morning, but anyway. He isn't.
--
Spencer says, "I know it's the weekend, but me and Ryan were talking about maybe coming in for a couple of hours on Sunday. Just to play out with the arrangements for the song before it's time to record. Is that cool?"
"Yeah, that's fine," Brendon says. Then, "Today's Friday," because, man. This week has gone by so quickly. He still hasn't called Cash.
"I need food," Jon says. "Let's take fifteen."
--
Brendon calls Cash late Sunday afternoon, after he's back home from the studio. It's been a week, and Brendon's starting to feel like a douche. He calls, even though when he picks up his phone, his stomach does this weird twisty-churning thing. Cash picks up on the fourth ring.
"Yo," he says.
"How's it going?"
"Good," Cash says. There are noises in the background, other people's voices. "We're having an epic Mario Kart Battle. Good for band morale. Hey! Fuck off and die, Singer. Ugg, just a sec," he tell Brendon.
Brendon can hear him leave the room because the background noises quiet down.
"Hi," Cash finally says.
"Hey." Brendon stretches his legs out on the couch and leans his head against the arm rest. "Sorry I didn't call or whatever."
"Eh," Cash says. "I didn't call either."
"Yeah," Brendon says.
There's a long pause that should be awkward, but isn't really. It's not awkward until Brendon starts worrying that Cash thinks it's awkward, anyway, and then he feels compelled to say something else.
"You want to hang out sometime, or something?" Brendon asks. The thing is, while he was making himself lunch, earlier, he tried to come up with something that he and Cash could do that wouldn't sound like he was asking him out on a date. All of the things they usually do together sounded like dates; going to a movie, out of dinner, to Brendon's house for dinner. And, hanging out usually meant sprawling out on the couch under a pile of blankets, which maybe wasn't exactly like a date, but kind of felt like foreplay, anyway.
Brendon had a mild panic attack as he scraped mustard onto a piece of bread and was hit with the thought that maybe he would never actually end up seeing Cash again, just because there was nothing that they could still do together.
'Hanging out' sounds pretty safe though, so that's what Brendon goes with.
--
Three hours later, Brendon hears Cash knock. He walks to the door and pulls it open, and there's Cash.
"Hey," he says. Cash gives a little wave.
Brendon isn't blocking the doorway but he still has his hand on the handle. Cash takes a step forward, and Brendon shuffles back a little, but Cash's sleeve still brushes Brendon's arm when he walks into Brendon's house. They're right beside each other when Brendon looks up. Cash turns his head and his lips brush against Brendon's cheek. Brendon knows that it's on purpose because Cash looks at the ground, afterwards.
"Yeah?" Brendon asks.
Cash nods, still looking down.
Brendon touches his forearm and says, "I can take your jacket."
--
They're sitting on the couch watching The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly on TV when Shane pops his head in the door and says hey.
Brendon didn't hear him come home, so he feels himself freeze, even though they aren't doing anything other than sitting on the couch, watching TV. Their ankles are touching, but hidden under the blanket.
Shane says, "How's it going?" and Cash says, "Not bad," and Brendon says, "You wanna watch--" and gestures at the TV.
"Once was enough," Shane says, and waves goodnight.
--
Once was enough, and Brendon falls asleep about an hour before the movie ends. He curls up in a ball, head on the arm of the couch, and feet against Cash's thigh.
He wakes with a start when the end credits start playing, and rolls onto his back, stretching out his legs over Cash's lap.
"Mhh," he sighs.
From the way Cash is blinking slowly, Brendon thinks that maybe he fell asleep, too.
Cash stretches his arms in the air, and, once he's done, tips over to side, landing on top of Brendon. Brendon wiggles closer to the edge of the couch so that there's room for both of them, turning his neck so he can see Cash.
Cash is still blinking slowly. It takes him longer and longer to open his eyes each time. Brendon tucks his head under his arm, and watches as Cash falls asleep.
Brendon dozes off, too, but his leg does that twitchy-kick thing and he ends up waking them both up.
Cash yawns loudly, and Brendon can hear his jaw crack. Brendon yawns as well, which sets Cash off again. It's night, but light still comes in through the open window, moonlight or a street lamp maybe. Brendon can see Cash, can make out the shapes of his features. The light has a blue tint, so Cash looks paler than normal, looks softer.
When they're both back to breathing normally, Cash moves to hold himself up on his elbow, lying on his side. Brendon's still on his back, so Cash ends up higher than him, looking down. Their bodies are pressed together all the way down the length of the couch. Brendon's warm and sleepy and he knows that he's staring up at Cash and grinning, but he doesn't feel like he has to stop.
Cash reaches out his free hand and rubs his thumb over Brendon's jaw. Brendon hasn't shaved for a couple of days and his skin is rough and fuzzy. Cash doesn't seem to mind though. He replaces his thumb with the tips of his fingers and touches along the curve of Brendon's cheekbone. Brendon notices that he's still smiling when Cash's fingertips brush the corner of his mouth.
Brendon doesn't want to have to lift his head up, because that might move Cash's hand away, so he just tilts his chin and waits.
Cash kisses him, careful until he forgets himself. When he isn't holding back, Cash kisses hard. He opens his mouth, then waits until Brendon pushes his own tongue forward. Cash sucks on his tongue and Brendon's cock twitches, pressed up against Cash's thigh. Brendon's been hard, in varying extremes, since well before he fell asleep for the first time. Cash's cock digs into his hipbone and he starts rolling his hips forward when Brendon sets his teeth into Cash's lower lip.
Brendon is seriously considering shoving his hand into Cash's pants and worrying about the mess later, when Shane crashes into something, somewhere else in the house. They both freeze, even though Shane is probably still in his own bedroom.
Cash starts to pull away, untangling their legs, and Brendon steals another kiss before sitting up.
He kisses Cash again at the door, even though though he feels like a gigantic dork for it, then jerks off twice in the twenty minutes it takes him to fall asleep.
--
When they break for lunch, Brendon says, "I'm going to go call Cash." He looks around the room, but the guys are all doing their own thing.
"Hey," he says when Cash answers. "We're on lunch. Do you have time to talk?"
There's a ruckus in the background followed by a huge crash and Cash says, "What the fuck?" There's a pause and then he says, "I'm just going to go ahead and take lunch now, too."
"What happened?" Brendon asks.
"Um," Cash says, laughing. "Lets just say Red Bull isn't as sturdy as we first though."
Brendon shakes his head.
"So," Cash asks, "how long do you have? You want to meet?"
Brendon looks back through the doorway. Jon and Spencer and Ryan are all also on their phones now, probably all chatting with their girlfriends. "You know what," Brendon says, " I totally have time. Subs?"
--
When Brendon gets back, Ryan asks, "Where did you go?"
"For lunch. With Cash," Brendon says, settling at the piano.
Ryan gives him a look, like he's waiting for Brendon to say something else, but Brendon just smiles. Ryan wanders over to his guitar.
--
Cash brings over Chinese. There are enough spring rolls to feed seven, so Shane joins them. Brendon's the only one who actually knows how to eat with chopsticks, but when he says, "No forks! No forks!" they overrule him.
They carry the sweet-and-sour pork balls in and end up getting the wiimote all sticky. Cash schools at bowling and Shane beats them both at tennis. Brendon sits on the couch to stay out of the way of flying arms as they fight each other in boxing. It's a little weird, watching the two of them together, the fact that he keeps watching Cash's ass, but at least now it feels like a shared secret instead of something that's all just him.
Shane almost punches Cash in the face during a particularly vigorous sideswipe, and Brendon laughs himself silly.
"My arms," Cash moans.
Shane lies on the floor, panting.
Brendon rubs his thumb over Cash's wrist, just quickly because Shane is still in the room, even though he's not actually looking at them.
"Ugg," Cash says, tipping his head briefly against Brendon's shoulder. "I've got to get to sleep. We're meeting at eight tomorrow to record."
Brendon walks Cash to the door, and goes to collect the dishes from the other room.
Shane is in the kitchen. Brendon puts the bowl in the sink, but before he can put the mugs in the dishwasher, Shane says, "Cash doesn't have to go, you know. He can totally stay the night."
Brendon feels like someone is dripping ice water down his back, which also explains why his chest is too tight to get much air in. He swallows, asks, "Stay the night?"
"On the couch, or. Whatever, Brendon. I'm just saying."
"Okay," Brendon says, and tries not to drop his mug.
He closes the dishwasher and turns around. Shane is still right there, so Brendon studies the pattern of the linoleum under his feet.
"What?" Shane says, taking a step closer. "Dude, stop freaking out."
"Okay," Brendon says again. "Okay." He glances up. Shane is totally laughing at him. "You're such an asshole," he says, punching Shane in the arm as hard as he can.
"When you cook him breakfast, can I have some, too?" Shane asks.
Brendon hits him again and says, "Such a douche."
Shane shoves him back, and they have a brief, standing tussle around the kitchen.
"I'm not cooking anyone breakfast," Brendon says, shoving Shane into the fridge with his shoulder.
"We'll see," Shane says as he tries to pull Brendon into a headlock.
[... or, explicit past-Brendon/Ryan if you want to read the deleted scene.]