FIC: Picture this from my lips (Brendon/Patrick, adult)
First, The Life of the (Slumber) Party part of The Epic Love Story 'verse is up.
Next. More Brendon/Patrick.
I entertained myself by writing this while I was at work yesterday, whiling away the hours before the FOB concert. My thoughts on the concert are over at my real-life LJ, but this is what kept me amused while I did lab work on what should normally be my day off.
Picture This From My Lips.
Notes: Follows He's Crushing But He's No Wave and I'm Not Going Home Alone. I started this before the Vegas show, so the song I have them singing is wrong. Whatever. It's fiction, yes? That means they don't really do this sort of thing. Together, that is. And I have no idea where or if there was an afterparty. Title from Blaqk Audio's Semiotic Love.
Adult, 1200 words. Brendon's POV. Completely unbeta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes.
*
Brendon wonders if he should pinch himself to see if he's dreaming, but he doesn't really want to wake up. Because Patrick on his knees in front of him is what Brendon's been wanking to for the last few weeks, and he wants to savor every second of it.
Then Patrick's hands are at his zipper, fumbling just a bit, and Brendon knows this is really happening: his dream-Patrick is usually way more practiced.
Brendon's been hard for what seems like hours. Hello, performance, and that's enough of a turn-on, even without the added attraction of Patrick fucking Stump singing with him. To him, if Brendon allows himself to think about it like that. He'd assumed that a quick trip to a restroom before heading to the afterparty would take care of it, but Pete had stopped him backstage and asked if he was ever going to make a move on Patrick.
And, okay, how weird was it for the guy who was technically his boss to be asking if he was going to sexually harass the guy who was his sometimes colleague, sometimes producer? Beyond that, it was maybe some residual modesty from his LDS upbringing, but Brendon couldn't just jump someone without an invitation. When he explained that to Pete, Pete pointed out that Patrick had gotten off on tonight's performance, which he never did, and blamed it on Brendon, telling him to take care of it. He escorted Brendon to a limo and shoved him in; Brendon could see him whisper something to the driver before waving and sauntering off.
If he'd had time to think about it, Brendon probably never would have slithered to the floor in front of Patrick. He would have stressed himself out, talked himself out of it. As it was, his excitement had been tempered by nerves, because a) this was Patrick Stump, b) he'd never thought he'd actually act on any of his fantasies, and c) he'd never even kissed a guy (not seriously; kissing Ryan on stage didn't count) before, let alone given a blowjob.
He thought he'd like it, given more practice. He really liked knowing that he was the reason for the sounds that had come from Patrick's throat. He thought maybe next time they'd have to try it on a night when neither of them had a performance or rehearsal the next day, because he was pretty sure that deep-throating fucked with his voice. He hadn't known until he felt Patrick's thighs tense beneath his hands that he was going to swallow; it had been messy and awkward, but Brendon's pretty sure he'll do it again, do it better next time. Then Patrick had tugged him back up to the seat and switched places.
When his jeans open, Brendon sighs in relief. His breath catches when Patrick bends his head down licks a stripe up from the base of his cock up to the head, then takes it into his mouth. Holy fuck, Patrick's mouth. Brendon wants, needs to see this, so he pushes Patrick's hat until the short brim is out of his way. It's the hottest thing Brendon's ever seen, Patrick's lips stretched wide open over him, and it's pretty much all he'll need to come, just the feel of hotwetslick and the sight of Patrick crouched between his legs. The scene could have been taken directly from one of his fantasies.
There's just one thing missing. They can fix that, though.
Brendon slides his hand into the hair at the nape of Patrick's neck and tugs lightly. Patrick's eyes roll up to meet Brendon's, and Brendon urges him up with a hand on his shoulder. He almost regrets it when Patrick's lips slide free from his cock with one hard suck, but then Patrick is in his lap, astride his thighs, and Brendon uses his grip to bring those swollen, pink lips to his own. This, this is what he's wanted. And now that he's got it, he's perfectly content to open to Patrick, to lock his fingers with Patrick's and wrap them around his cock, and jerk off to the sound of happy moans and incoherent humming noises they're making against each other's mouths.
God, Patrick's hands. They have calluses in the right places and they're broad and strong, and Brendon eventually lets him take control, lets Patrick squeeze and stroke, tighten his fist around his cock, and just wraps his fingers in Patrick's waistband and holds on tight for the ride.
"Tell me," Patrick mutters against Brendon's lips.
"Mwah?" Brendon can't speak coherently, it's just not possible right now.
"Tell me when you're close." Patrick's words are muttered against the side of Brendon's neck, and they are followed by a sharp nip and soothing lick on the spot below his ear.
"S-soon," he groans. "If you keep doing th-that."
He feels Patrick's smile against his skin.
Faster, lingering over the head, and Patrick's come back to his mouth, kissing him hard, using his tongue to draw Brendon's into his own mouth. There's the sting of a ungentle bite and a strong suck, and the idea that Patrick wants the act that he's pantomiming (god, Brendon cannot even imagine actually fucking, but he wants to; oh how he wants that) is a little too much.
"Fuck, Patrick. Gonna come." He's pushing his hips upward, fucking Patrick's hand, when his grip loosens and Patrick is back on his knees, his lips sliding across the head of Brendon's cock, sliding down, and the feel of himself brushing across the roof of Patrick's mouth and back toward his throat is more than he can take.
Brendon closes his eyes against the dizzying rush of orgasm. When he opens them again Patrick is still squatting in front of him.
"That can't be comfortable."
He pulls him up to the seat. Slowly, giving Patrick time to move away (although, really, why would he move away now, after what they've already done?) he closes the distance between them, brushing lips together, unhurried and deliberate.
They finally separate when the air conditioning makes goosebumps form on bare skin, and replace their disarranged clothes.
"Shouldn't we be there by now? We were only going down the strip to the party."
Patrick looked out the tinted windows and realized they weren't moving - they were idling in a parking lot.
One slightly embarrassing call to the driver via the intercom reveals that he had simply been following Pete's orders. Patrick's reply to his, "Are you ready to head to the Mirage?" is a half-laughing, half-choking "Yes!"
Their arrival is quiet - most of the guests are already inside, and a limo isn't a big deal in Vegas. So they stumble out of the car and into the hotel, and Brendon knows that he's rumpled and flushed, and he's probably got a blissfully stupid grin on his face that means everyone will know what they've been doing. But he's alright with that, because what they've been doing? Awesome, and he really wants to do it again. Soon.
Next. More Brendon/Patrick.
I entertained myself by writing this while I was at work yesterday, whiling away the hours before the FOB concert. My thoughts on the concert are over at my real-life LJ, but this is what kept me amused while I did lab work on what should normally be my day off.
Picture This From My Lips.
Notes: Follows He's Crushing But He's No Wave and I'm Not Going Home Alone. I started this before the Vegas show, so the song I have them singing is wrong. Whatever. It's fiction, yes? That means they don't really do this sort of thing. Together, that is. And I have no idea where or if there was an afterparty. Title from Blaqk Audio's Semiotic Love.
Adult, 1200 words. Brendon's POV. Completely unbeta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes.
*
Brendon wonders if he should pinch himself to see if he's dreaming, but he doesn't really want to wake up. Because Patrick on his knees in front of him is what Brendon's been wanking to for the last few weeks, and he wants to savor every second of it.
Then Patrick's hands are at his zipper, fumbling just a bit, and Brendon knows this is really happening: his dream-Patrick is usually way more practiced.
Brendon's been hard for what seems like hours. Hello, performance, and that's enough of a turn-on, even without the added attraction of Patrick fucking Stump singing with him. To him, if Brendon allows himself to think about it like that. He'd assumed that a quick trip to a restroom before heading to the afterparty would take care of it, but Pete had stopped him backstage and asked if he was ever going to make a move on Patrick.
And, okay, how weird was it for the guy who was technically his boss to be asking if he was going to sexually harass the guy who was his sometimes colleague, sometimes producer? Beyond that, it was maybe some residual modesty from his LDS upbringing, but Brendon couldn't just jump someone without an invitation. When he explained that to Pete, Pete pointed out that Patrick had gotten off on tonight's performance, which he never did, and blamed it on Brendon, telling him to take care of it. He escorted Brendon to a limo and shoved him in; Brendon could see him whisper something to the driver before waving and sauntering off.
If he'd had time to think about it, Brendon probably never would have slithered to the floor in front of Patrick. He would have stressed himself out, talked himself out of it. As it was, his excitement had been tempered by nerves, because a) this was Patrick Stump, b) he'd never thought he'd actually act on any of his fantasies, and c) he'd never even kissed a guy (not seriously; kissing Ryan on stage didn't count) before, let alone given a blowjob.
He thought he'd like it, given more practice. He really liked knowing that he was the reason for the sounds that had come from Patrick's throat. He thought maybe next time they'd have to try it on a night when neither of them had a performance or rehearsal the next day, because he was pretty sure that deep-throating fucked with his voice. He hadn't known until he felt Patrick's thighs tense beneath his hands that he was going to swallow; it had been messy and awkward, but Brendon's pretty sure he'll do it again, do it better next time. Then Patrick had tugged him back up to the seat and switched places.
When his jeans open, Brendon sighs in relief. His breath catches when Patrick bends his head down licks a stripe up from the base of his cock up to the head, then takes it into his mouth. Holy fuck, Patrick's mouth. Brendon wants, needs to see this, so he pushes Patrick's hat until the short brim is out of his way. It's the hottest thing Brendon's ever seen, Patrick's lips stretched wide open over him, and it's pretty much all he'll need to come, just the feel of hotwetslick and the sight of Patrick crouched between his legs. The scene could have been taken directly from one of his fantasies.
There's just one thing missing. They can fix that, though.
Brendon slides his hand into the hair at the nape of Patrick's neck and tugs lightly. Patrick's eyes roll up to meet Brendon's, and Brendon urges him up with a hand on his shoulder. He almost regrets it when Patrick's lips slide free from his cock with one hard suck, but then Patrick is in his lap, astride his thighs, and Brendon uses his grip to bring those swollen, pink lips to his own. This, this is what he's wanted. And now that he's got it, he's perfectly content to open to Patrick, to lock his fingers with Patrick's and wrap them around his cock, and jerk off to the sound of happy moans and incoherent humming noises they're making against each other's mouths.
God, Patrick's hands. They have calluses in the right places and they're broad and strong, and Brendon eventually lets him take control, lets Patrick squeeze and stroke, tighten his fist around his cock, and just wraps his fingers in Patrick's waistband and holds on tight for the ride.
"Tell me," Patrick mutters against Brendon's lips.
"Mwah?" Brendon can't speak coherently, it's just not possible right now.
"Tell me when you're close." Patrick's words are muttered against the side of Brendon's neck, and they are followed by a sharp nip and soothing lick on the spot below his ear.
"S-soon," he groans. "If you keep doing th-that."
He feels Patrick's smile against his skin.
Faster, lingering over the head, and Patrick's come back to his mouth, kissing him hard, using his tongue to draw Brendon's into his own mouth. There's the sting of a ungentle bite and a strong suck, and the idea that Patrick wants the act that he's pantomiming (god, Brendon cannot even imagine actually fucking, but he wants to; oh how he wants that) is a little too much.
"Fuck, Patrick. Gonna come." He's pushing his hips upward, fucking Patrick's hand, when his grip loosens and Patrick is back on his knees, his lips sliding across the head of Brendon's cock, sliding down, and the feel of himself brushing across the roof of Patrick's mouth and back toward his throat is more than he can take.
Brendon closes his eyes against the dizzying rush of orgasm. When he opens them again Patrick is still squatting in front of him.
"That can't be comfortable."
He pulls him up to the seat. Slowly, giving Patrick time to move away (although, really, why would he move away now, after what they've already done?) he closes the distance between them, brushing lips together, unhurried and deliberate.
They finally separate when the air conditioning makes goosebumps form on bare skin, and replace their disarranged clothes.
"Shouldn't we be there by now? We were only going down the strip to the party."
Patrick looked out the tinted windows and realized they weren't moving - they were idling in a parking lot.
One slightly embarrassing call to the driver via the intercom reveals that he had simply been following Pete's orders. Patrick's reply to his, "Are you ready to head to the Mirage?" is a half-laughing, half-choking "Yes!"
Their arrival is quiet - most of the guests are already inside, and a limo isn't a big deal in Vegas. So they stumble out of the car and into the hotel, and Brendon knows that he's rumpled and flushed, and he's probably got a blissfully stupid grin on his face that means everyone will know what they've been doing. But he's alright with that, because what they've been doing? Awesome, and he really wants to do it again. Soon.