Panic fic | Temperature Rising | Jon/Brendon | NC-17 | ~ 1980 words
Temperature Rising
Jon/Brendon | NC-17 | ~ 1980 words
Kink Bingo: rough sex
Warnings for hate sex frottage set during the Panic! divorce.
Thanks to supergrover24 for looking this over for me! :D
"You're sweating all over the floor," Jon says, rolling a little further away from Brendon.
"Fuck you, it's hot," Brendon says, twisting his head around to glare at Jon. "And, fuck you, it's my fucking house."
"When you stand up, there's going to be a puddle of sweat. Someone is going to slip on it and die."
"Then watch your step." Brendon turns his head so that he's face down and mumbles, "Or don't."
Jon's sweating, too. The basement is the coolest part of Brendon's house, so they're both sprawled in the middle of the practice space. They're supposed to be in the practice space, all four of them, but just talking about writing new songs broke down into loud arguments in the first fifteen minutes. Spencer left in search of a Slurpie, and while Jon hopes that Spencer will bring something back for everyone, he doesn't think there's much chance of that happening.
Ryan's on his phone upstairs where it's too hot to even breathe. Ryan isn't affected by heat as much as the rest of them are, though. Jon's even considering joining him. Better than lying here and watching sweat drip off Brendon's forehead and onto the floor. Fucking disgusting. Brendon's floor smells like shit, too. Brendon's the kind of asshole who probably never mops his floors, and now Jon is lying in the filth.
"Fucking disgusting," Jon says. If this were the bus, Jon would be looking for cleaning supplies. He doesn't mind so much about cleaning up other people's messes when it's a common area where he has to live, but Brendon should be looking after his own house.
"You don't have to stay," Brendon says without bothering to lift his head. "It's not like the band is getting anything done."
"We've been working on--"
Brendon cuts Jon off with, "You and Ryan aren't the whole goddamn band. Jesus."
"That's not what I meant," Jon says, keeping his voice mild because he knows it will piss Brendon off more. "If you'd stop getting emotional and just listen--"
Brendon rolls over and sits up, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. He's so pathetically easy to rile. Jon knows that he should just leave, but he wants to work on the songs, and Brendon keeps yelling instead of just listening to what he and Ryan came up with. The songs are good, Jon knows they're good. Brendon would like them if he ever heard them. Instead, all the discussions end with Brendon screaming and Ryan screaming and Jon's head hurts. He came over wanting to jam, but his bass lies untouched in the corner of the room.
"I'm not emotional," Brendon says.
"You're not being rational," Jon says. "So I don't know what that leaves."
"Not going along with Ross's half-cooked ideas seems pretty fucking rational to me."
"Have you written anything?" Jon asks. "Do you have any songs for us to play? You just have an endless list of what you don't want to do. We've been writing for months now, but all you've got is, 'No, I don't want to do this. No, I don't think that will work.'"
"Well, it won't."
"Well, fuck you."
"Fuck you," Brendon says, and Jon knew that Brendon was angry, but he's still surprised when Brendon reaches out and shoves him.
Jon pushes off the floor and shoves Brendon back. "You're such a child."
Brendon's face twists up, and he looks almost comical in his anger. Jon has half a second to feel cold and smug in his satisfaction before he's flat on his back after Brendon launches himself forward.
They roll around on the ground, and at first Jon just pushes, trying to move Brendon's body, trying to gain control of the direction they're tipping. It doesn't work because they both end up on the ground, Jon on his back and Brendon landing on his elbow.
"Motherfucker," Brendon says, his face going even redder as he winces.
Jon thinks that maybe that'll be the end of it, they'll go back to sprawling on the floor, angrily waiting for the worst of the heat to pass. It's late afternoon, it should get better as the sun starts to set. Brendon's sweating and it's dripping down his face and collecting along the neckline of his t-shirt and it's fucking disgusting. Jon should just look away, but instead he flips around and tries to get his elbow into Brendon's gut. Fighting's better than having to look at his face.
Brendon's quick, even in the heat, and he rolls away before Jon makes contact. He doesn't go far. Jon grabs for his arm and manages to push him onto his back and climb on top. Brendon bucks and Jon almost falls off, but even though Brendon's strong, Jon's got him pinned.
"It is too fucking hot for this," Brendon says. He tries to punch Jon in the head, but Jon grabs his wrist, grabs both of his wrists and pins them to the ground.
Brendon's skin is slippery with sweat and it's hard for Jon to keep his grasp. Brendon manages to yank his hands back and Jon loses his hold and then Brendon's pushing at Jon's shoulders and Jon's going to fall over. He tightens his knees, trying to hold on with his legs, but Brendon manages to squirm away.
They both fight dirty, and the last time they were wrestling -- in the back of the bus, not over anything real -- Jon gave Brendon a bloody nose. It was an accident, but it's not like Jon was unaware of the possibility that shoving his forearm into Brendon's face might be painful. He had a bruise on his shoulder for two weeks from where Brendon bit him.
While Jon tries to knee Brendon in the balls, Brendon goes for Jon's face. His stupid fingers, and he's going to poke Jon in the fucking eye like a little bitch, and Jon shoves his knee down as hard as he can. He misses Brendon and hits the floor and it hurts like crazy because he got his funny bone or whatever the thing in his knee is called and he's getting Brendon's sweat all over him and he hates this band and how nothing ever works and it's fucking Brendon's fault. It's Brendon's fault that his knee hurts and if Brendon manages to poke him in the eye, he'll be blind and that will be Brendon's fault, too.
Jon's mad and his whole body is wired. It's not a surprise when he makes contact with Brendon's thigh and notices that he's hard, but it's not exactly welcome, either. Jon shoves his leg up and he finally makes contact, except that Brendon's hard, too, and the sound he makes isn't exactly one of pain.
Brendon curves his fingers into a claw and scrapes his nails down the side of Jon's neck and even though Brendon's fingernails are only stubs, it still hurts. Jon bends down as he hisses, knocking his knee against the floor again.
Brendon looks fucking pleased with himself, and without thinking about it, Jon tries to bite at his cheek. It's stupid and they are acting like idiots and if anyone were around to see, Jon would be embarrassed, but as it is there's just the two of them, and all Jon cares about is making Brendon feel as bad as he's feeling.
He bares his teeth but ends up catching Brendon's jaw, which isn't as satisfying to bite into. Brendon bats at the side of Jon's head uselessly before grabbing a handful of hair and pulling. Jon holds on for a long moment before finally letting go. There's an angry red mark in the shape of his teeth and it looks ridiculous. It's probably going to bruise and Jon feels glad. Brendon's still pulling Jon's hair and it's really starting to throb, but it's worth it to be able to look down and see the vivid circle on Brendon's skin.
They're rocking together, and it feels like fighting except that they're both hard. The friction is too much to be pleasurable, rough and sharp, and Jon just works his hips harder, using his body weight to push Brendon's body down. Brendon bucks up. Their thighs rub together and that feels more like sex than the movement of their hips grinding together, so Jon spreads his legs wider. The angle is awkward. Jon plants his elbow just under Brendon's collarbone and digs in.
Brendon huffs. He slides his fingers around from the back of Jon's hand to press against his throat and then he tightens his hand. Jon leans forward, leans into it and holds his breath. When he finally runs out of air he lifts his elbow and tangles his fingers in Brendon's hair and yanks. Brendon shudders, his eyes rolling back in his head while he comes. His hand falls away from Jon's throat.
"Fucker," Jon says, his voice more breathless than he would have liked.
Jon continues to grind down, and slowly the loose expression on Brendon's face tightens again. He makes a high noise, like a warning sound, and then another one, longer this time, when Jon rolls his hips hard. Brendon's mouth twists and Jon knows that he's feeling sensitive so soon after coming, but he doesn't fucking care. He keeps rubbing against Brendon, even when Brendon starts trying to squirm away, and it's not long before Jon cock jerks in his pants. He rides out the waves of orgasm before slumping on top of Brendon, landing heavily.
Brendon wheezes and immediately starts pushing Jon away.
"Fuck you," Brendon says. "I can't breathe."
Jon doesn't help, but he doesn't try to stop Brendon from getting away, and eventually they're back where they started, both lying on the floor. They're worse for the wear now, and Jon really needs to get out of here.
"This was a great use of the practice time," Jon says.
Brendon humphs. "It's not like I wouldn't rather have been practicing."
"Sure," says Jon.
"This wasn't my idea."
"Sure as fuck wasn't my idea."
"I guess not. I don't even look like Ryan," Brendon says. "It seems like that would matter, give how much time you spent bending over backwards for him."
"I love my girlfriend," Jon says. "Just like Shane loves his girlfriend."
Brendon doesn't say anything, and Jon knows he's gone too far. Brendon shouts and bitches and snaps, but only to a certain point. If things cut too close, he just shuts down. Jon considers apologizing, but he was mad and he is still mad and he doesn't want to make nice. He just wants to get out of here.
He pushes off the ground, and marches upstairs, ignoring the mess in his pants.
"Let's go," he says as he walks past Ryan.
"You two work anything out?" Ryan asks as they walk to the car.
"No."
"I guess we could just--wait a while," Ryan says. "Give it some time."
"Let the air clear."
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Jon echoes, and slides into the passenger seat of Ryan's car.
Jon/Brendon | NC-17 | ~ 1980 words
Kink Bingo: rough sex
Warnings for hate sex frottage set during the Panic! divorce.
Thanks to supergrover24 for looking this over for me! :D
"You're sweating all over the floor," Jon says, rolling a little further away from Brendon.
"Fuck you, it's hot," Brendon says, twisting his head around to glare at Jon. "And, fuck you, it's my fucking house."
"When you stand up, there's going to be a puddle of sweat. Someone is going to slip on it and die."
"Then watch your step." Brendon turns his head so that he's face down and mumbles, "Or don't."
Jon's sweating, too. The basement is the coolest part of Brendon's house, so they're both sprawled in the middle of the practice space. They're supposed to be in the practice space, all four of them, but just talking about writing new songs broke down into loud arguments in the first fifteen minutes. Spencer left in search of a Slurpie, and while Jon hopes that Spencer will bring something back for everyone, he doesn't think there's much chance of that happening.
Ryan's on his phone upstairs where it's too hot to even breathe. Ryan isn't affected by heat as much as the rest of them are, though. Jon's even considering joining him. Better than lying here and watching sweat drip off Brendon's forehead and onto the floor. Fucking disgusting. Brendon's floor smells like shit, too. Brendon's the kind of asshole who probably never mops his floors, and now Jon is lying in the filth.
"Fucking disgusting," Jon says. If this were the bus, Jon would be looking for cleaning supplies. He doesn't mind so much about cleaning up other people's messes when it's a common area where he has to live, but Brendon should be looking after his own house.
"You don't have to stay," Brendon says without bothering to lift his head. "It's not like the band is getting anything done."
"We've been working on--"
Brendon cuts Jon off with, "You and Ryan aren't the whole goddamn band. Jesus."
"That's not what I meant," Jon says, keeping his voice mild because he knows it will piss Brendon off more. "If you'd stop getting emotional and just listen--"
Brendon rolls over and sits up, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. He's so pathetically easy to rile. Jon knows that he should just leave, but he wants to work on the songs, and Brendon keeps yelling instead of just listening to what he and Ryan came up with. The songs are good, Jon knows they're good. Brendon would like them if he ever heard them. Instead, all the discussions end with Brendon screaming and Ryan screaming and Jon's head hurts. He came over wanting to jam, but his bass lies untouched in the corner of the room.
"I'm not emotional," Brendon says.
"You're not being rational," Jon says. "So I don't know what that leaves."
"Not going along with Ross's half-cooked ideas seems pretty fucking rational to me."
"Have you written anything?" Jon asks. "Do you have any songs for us to play? You just have an endless list of what you don't want to do. We've been writing for months now, but all you've got is, 'No, I don't want to do this. No, I don't think that will work.'"
"Well, it won't."
"Well, fuck you."
"Fuck you," Brendon says, and Jon knew that Brendon was angry, but he's still surprised when Brendon reaches out and shoves him.
Jon pushes off the floor and shoves Brendon back. "You're such a child."
Brendon's face twists up, and he looks almost comical in his anger. Jon has half a second to feel cold and smug in his satisfaction before he's flat on his back after Brendon launches himself forward.
They roll around on the ground, and at first Jon just pushes, trying to move Brendon's body, trying to gain control of the direction they're tipping. It doesn't work because they both end up on the ground, Jon on his back and Brendon landing on his elbow.
"Motherfucker," Brendon says, his face going even redder as he winces.
Jon thinks that maybe that'll be the end of it, they'll go back to sprawling on the floor, angrily waiting for the worst of the heat to pass. It's late afternoon, it should get better as the sun starts to set. Brendon's sweating and it's dripping down his face and collecting along the neckline of his t-shirt and it's fucking disgusting. Jon should just look away, but instead he flips around and tries to get his elbow into Brendon's gut. Fighting's better than having to look at his face.
Brendon's quick, even in the heat, and he rolls away before Jon makes contact. He doesn't go far. Jon grabs for his arm and manages to push him onto his back and climb on top. Brendon bucks and Jon almost falls off, but even though Brendon's strong, Jon's got him pinned.
"It is too fucking hot for this," Brendon says. He tries to punch Jon in the head, but Jon grabs his wrist, grabs both of his wrists and pins them to the ground.
Brendon's skin is slippery with sweat and it's hard for Jon to keep his grasp. Brendon manages to yank his hands back and Jon loses his hold and then Brendon's pushing at Jon's shoulders and Jon's going to fall over. He tightens his knees, trying to hold on with his legs, but Brendon manages to squirm away.
They both fight dirty, and the last time they were wrestling -- in the back of the bus, not over anything real -- Jon gave Brendon a bloody nose. It was an accident, but it's not like Jon was unaware of the possibility that shoving his forearm into Brendon's face might be painful. He had a bruise on his shoulder for two weeks from where Brendon bit him.
While Jon tries to knee Brendon in the balls, Brendon goes for Jon's face. His stupid fingers, and he's going to poke Jon in the fucking eye like a little bitch, and Jon shoves his knee down as hard as he can. He misses Brendon and hits the floor and it hurts like crazy because he got his funny bone or whatever the thing in his knee is called and he's getting Brendon's sweat all over him and he hates this band and how nothing ever works and it's fucking Brendon's fault. It's Brendon's fault that his knee hurts and if Brendon manages to poke him in the eye, he'll be blind and that will be Brendon's fault, too.
Jon's mad and his whole body is wired. It's not a surprise when he makes contact with Brendon's thigh and notices that he's hard, but it's not exactly welcome, either. Jon shoves his leg up and he finally makes contact, except that Brendon's hard, too, and the sound he makes isn't exactly one of pain.
Brendon curves his fingers into a claw and scrapes his nails down the side of Jon's neck and even though Brendon's fingernails are only stubs, it still hurts. Jon bends down as he hisses, knocking his knee against the floor again.
Brendon looks fucking pleased with himself, and without thinking about it, Jon tries to bite at his cheek. It's stupid and they are acting like idiots and if anyone were around to see, Jon would be embarrassed, but as it is there's just the two of them, and all Jon cares about is making Brendon feel as bad as he's feeling.
He bares his teeth but ends up catching Brendon's jaw, which isn't as satisfying to bite into. Brendon bats at the side of Jon's head uselessly before grabbing a handful of hair and pulling. Jon holds on for a long moment before finally letting go. There's an angry red mark in the shape of his teeth and it looks ridiculous. It's probably going to bruise and Jon feels glad. Brendon's still pulling Jon's hair and it's really starting to throb, but it's worth it to be able to look down and see the vivid circle on Brendon's skin.
They're rocking together, and it feels like fighting except that they're both hard. The friction is too much to be pleasurable, rough and sharp, and Jon just works his hips harder, using his body weight to push Brendon's body down. Brendon bucks up. Their thighs rub together and that feels more like sex than the movement of their hips grinding together, so Jon spreads his legs wider. The angle is awkward. Jon plants his elbow just under Brendon's collarbone and digs in.
Brendon huffs. He slides his fingers around from the back of Jon's hand to press against his throat and then he tightens his hand. Jon leans forward, leans into it and holds his breath. When he finally runs out of air he lifts his elbow and tangles his fingers in Brendon's hair and yanks. Brendon shudders, his eyes rolling back in his head while he comes. His hand falls away from Jon's throat.
"Fucker," Jon says, his voice more breathless than he would have liked.
Jon continues to grind down, and slowly the loose expression on Brendon's face tightens again. He makes a high noise, like a warning sound, and then another one, longer this time, when Jon rolls his hips hard. Brendon's mouth twists and Jon knows that he's feeling sensitive so soon after coming, but he doesn't fucking care. He keeps rubbing against Brendon, even when Brendon starts trying to squirm away, and it's not long before Jon cock jerks in his pants. He rides out the waves of orgasm before slumping on top of Brendon, landing heavily.
Brendon wheezes and immediately starts pushing Jon away.
"Fuck you," Brendon says. "I can't breathe."
Jon doesn't help, but he doesn't try to stop Brendon from getting away, and eventually they're back where they started, both lying on the floor. They're worse for the wear now, and Jon really needs to get out of here.
"This was a great use of the practice time," Jon says.
Brendon humphs. "It's not like I wouldn't rather have been practicing."
"Sure," says Jon.
"This wasn't my idea."
"Sure as fuck wasn't my idea."
"I guess not. I don't even look like Ryan," Brendon says. "It seems like that would matter, give how much time you spent bending over backwards for him."
"I love my girlfriend," Jon says. "Just like Shane loves his girlfriend."
Brendon doesn't say anything, and Jon knows he's gone too far. Brendon shouts and bitches and snaps, but only to a certain point. If things cut too close, he just shuts down. Jon considers apologizing, but he was mad and he is still mad and he doesn't want to make nice. He just wants to get out of here.
He pushes off the ground, and marches upstairs, ignoring the mess in his pants.
"Let's go," he says as he walks past Ryan.
"You two work anything out?" Ryan asks as they walk to the car.
"No."
"I guess we could just--wait a while," Ryan says. "Give it some time."
"Let the air clear."
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Jon echoes, and slides into the passenger seat of Ryan's car.