Beach Music 2A, Brendon/Gerard NC-17
Title: Beach Music 2A/12
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: NC-17
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing.
Notes: HET!!, what can be perceived as uninformed consent, underage drinking, romance, fluff, Tom Conrad and Jon Walker are not the nicest people ever, AU, liberal abuse of canon; this fic contains all of these things. If they're not your things, don't read.
Title comes from a song of the same name by long defunct semi-obscure Canadian band The Watchmen. The odd and somewhat nonsensical lyrics can be found here
Thanks to the awesome queen_geek, tweedle_, fallingfortruth and lordgroovius for beta-ing, listening to me kvetch, holding my hand, and providing paperbags to breathe into, both virtual and actual.
1 2A 2B 3A 3B 4 5A 5B
Brendon weaves her way through the packed bar, champagne flute held high. "Oops! Sorry!" her musical giggle carries in the air as someone bumps her bent elbow. She lowers her mouth to her skin and licks at the splashed droplets of her cocktail. "Oh, Mikey! Hi!" She moves to hug him and her sunny smile slides into an embarrassed half-frown as Mikey's hands come out to grip her forearms and push them back to her sides. She sucks her plump lower lip into her mouth as she watches him scowl and slip past her. She shrugs, toying with the beaded fringe of her skirt, then gulps down her drink. One of the wait staff smiles at her and takes her empty glass.
Rubbing her bare arms, Brendon thinks that maybe if she was a little less bored, she'd have had a little less champagne and would probably be able to walk without bumping into people--and by people she means Mikey Way. But she is bored. She's not really sure why she thought it would be fun to get all glammed up and hit a nice place. Victoria and Hayley had bailed and there was no one she found remotely interesting in the entire bar. Unless...Mikey was here, so maybe? Maybe Gerard's here too? They sometimes seem like a package deal. She should try and figure out where Mikey went, see who he's with.
First though, she makes a trip to the ladies room. Brendon realizes she’s being stupid, they'd hooked up that one time in Chicago when she'd been totally trashed. He'd texted her a few times, probably felt obligated--Gerard's a decent guy. But, still, she can't help the butterflies in her stomach as she leans forward against the counter top, checking her makeup in the wall length mirror. Shit, she thinks; she looks pretty wrecked. She's been there for three or so hours, ever since the photo shoot had ended, and she actually couldn't remember how much champagne she'd convinced the bartenders to give her. Who needs ID when you're rockin' a cameo choker, a red, boned, lace and velvet bodice top, and a beaded skirt that barely skims the tops of your thighs? God bless Betsey Johnson. But she thinks it was the couple of mojitos that cute Cuban guy had bought her to pass the time until his wife showed up that maybe put her over the edge.
Brendon's eyes look even wider than usual under her smokey shadow and liner, and her pupils are huge, unfocused. She fusses with her hair, wipes her fingers under her eyes to get at any unsightly smudges, and finally pulls out a tube of gloss and brushes the wand over her lips. Deciding that's about as good as it's gonna get, she heads back out into the bar.
She keeps her expression casual, relaxed, all the while her eyes scan the crowd, looking for Mikey, hoping to find Gerard. It doesn't take much effort. Mikey Way is leaning against the low dividing wall near the bar's front entrance, swirling the contents of the pint glass in his hand and laughing at something a dark haired woman sitting at his side is saying. Brendon's eyes skim over the other people sitting at the table, and her lips slant up in a smile when she recognizes Gerard's semi-miserable slouch. Taking a deep breath, Brendon sets her shoulders, tilts her hips and heads towards the table.
Gerard sees her coming and his smile widens in surprised welcome. "Hey! Brendon! I didn't know you were in town!" He stands and kisses her cheek.
"Hiya! Yep, I'm here. Last minute thing. Sometimes being a woman in the Fueled by Ramen world is more work than in should be. Hayley, Victoria and I had to do some ridiculous grrrls rock photo shoot." She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and returns Gerard's smile, before ducking her head under the uncomfortable weight of Mikey's stare.
"Well, you seem to have escaped unscathed," His arm wraps around her shoulders to give her a small hug, and she unconsciously curls into his warmth. Gerard's eyes dart from Brendon to his brother and he can feel her become tense and awkward beneath his hand. "You should have emailed me or something."
She shrugs, her fingers working at the clasp of her pocketbook, "Didn't want to bug you. Well, I just thought I'd say hi. Um...I'm just kinda over there," she waves towards the bar with her free hand. "Can I buy you a drink?" Brendon decides that getting away from the strange looks and the non-introductions of the people at the Ways' table is preferable to standing there feeling stupid.
"I don't drink." He says it almost apologetically
Taking a step to the right to free herself from Gerard's touch, Brendon answers, "Oh, um, right, okay. Not alcohol, but maybe I can buy you a Coke, or a Red Bull or something?" She raises her eyebrows in a question and Gerard studies her face.
"Yeah, a Red Bull sounds good. I'll come with you." His eyes finally drop from hers, and they turn to head towards the bar. "Everything okay, Brendon?" his fingers are a gentle pressure at her elbow before his hand slides to the small of her back, guiding her.
"Just a little bored, maybe a little lonely," she shoots him a sideways glance under a sweep of her thick lashes, before turning her focus ahead of her once more. Brendon takes a twenty out of her wallet as they wait at the bar. It's so fucking awkward. And she feels stupidly embarrassed to be drunk, again, with Gerard here beside her.
"Hey angel-face, more champagne?" The bartender asks.
"No, um, a Red Bull, please. Actually make it two," A nervous habit, her fingers brush over the beading of her hem before tapping on the edge of the bar. She hands over the money, and smiles when Gerard picks up the glasses after the bartender pops the tabs on two cans and pours their contents over the ice. "So, did you come here with Hayley and Victoria?" His hand brushes against hers, stilling it before he catches her fingers in his palm, then handing over her glass.
"Cheers!" She says, over-brightly tipping her drink to his. "And uh, no. Vicky T had to go home for something, and Hayley's probably not allowed to be seen in public with the likes of me. I got bored. My hotel is across the road and I guess I kinda thought it would be nice to dress up and go," Brendon pauses, shrugging, "y’know, somewhere nice."
Gerard smiles, small and crooked, "Yeah, this is a nice place," he leans in then to whisper in her ear, "And you look beautiful."
She scrunches up her nose when she smiles, swaying slightly as she attempts to gracefully step up to sit on the bar stool behind her. The tight material of her skirt and the height of her sandals don't really allow for much grace under Brendon's champagne clouded command. She succeeds in sliding the bar stool further away from her, hooking her heel over the foot rest, and slumping back on her elbows onto the actual padded seat itself. She laughs full out and embarrassed.
Swallowing a mouthful of his drink, Gerard's eyes flick to the swell of Brendon's breasts above the dark blood red of her bustier. "Need some help?" Gerard leans in, wincing as he realises he's echoing his words to her when they first met. With gentle pressure at her waist, he lifts her to sit on the stool.
"Thanks!" she chuckles in the back of her throat, "So, what brings you to this den of...niceness?" and she laughs again at her own lame attempts at humor.
"Oh yeah," Gerard brushes his long hair out of his face, his hand moving in an odd, stiff motion; pinkie finger extended straight out and slightly apart from the rest. "Um, I'm doing this comic book thing. Like, writing it and doing the concept and whatever. The suits brought me out to celebrate, and like seal the deal. I brought Mikes and Alicia along so I didn't die of total boredom."
"Gerard, that's fantastic!" Her expression shifts from nervous to genuinely pleased and Brendon flings her arms out to bring Gerard into an embrace. "I'll have to keep my eye out!"
"Maybe I'll send you a copy. I have connections." Gerard murmurs dryly into hair, not backing out of the hug. She's soft and warm and smells really fucking good. "Brendon? Can I kiss you?"
Her tongue tip slips across the pointed arches of her upper lip and she only has time to nod before Gerard is fitting her mouth over hers and all she can think is Thank God. It's like last time. It's just like last time. His hands slide over her bare shoulders and down the boning of her top, fingers resting to bunch at the fabric covering the swell of her hips. His tongue teases at the part of her lips and she opens her mouth to him with a satisfied sigh. They kiss for a while; slow and gentle press of lips and slide of tongue. Gerard's hands move in lazy circles over the material of her skirt and Brendon cards the long strands of Gerard's hair between her fingers, her arms crossed around his neck.
"That's better," she whispers as she pulls back slightly, eyes glittering in the low light.
Gerard licks at his lips and presses a kiss to the corner of Brendon's unbelievably plush mouth, "Champagne?"
Brendon snorts out a little breath of air, amused, as she raises her thumb to swipe at the smear of her gloss on Gerard's chin, "Yeah. It's my new thing. I like how it tastes and you know, the bubbles, and the pretty glass it comes in." Gerard's hands are still on her hips and she feels relaxed, warmer, more herself.
Fuck! Because, really, that's cute. Really fucking cute. And maybe just a little dangerous, Gerard thinks to himself. "Champagne hangovers are killer, though." He says it easily, a throw away thought, but Brendon's back stiffens. She's a little offended at Gerard's sideways dig at her drinking.
Brendon's eyes narrow defensively, "Never had one," she shrugs. "So, I was gonna head out..."
"Oh, yeah. Okay, you probably have shit you need to do, and I should, you know, get back." He lifts his chin in the direction of the table across the room. He's so close to her, his hands on her hips, the brush of her thighs against his. He can't think. Except maybe he thinks this was not a very smart idea and he'll catch hell from Mikey. Hopefully the kind of hell that doesn't end in a fist fight.
"My friend Gabe? Is DJing at this club in the Village tonight..." Brendon squints at the clock behind the bar, "He should be starting soon. I thought I'd go by and say hi." She hops down from her perch and takes a hold of Gerard's wrist. "You could come with? It'll be fun, guaranteed!"
Gerard looks at her long fingers around his wrist and then up to glance at the table of people he came with. He licks his lips, considering. "Guaranteed fun? How can I resist? Just, like, gimme a sec to..." he shrugs one shoulder in the direction of his table, and starts to walk towards his brother.
Brendon has a playful smile on her face, not letting go of his wrist. She tugs for a second and then laughs as she lets go and Gerard staggers, laughing too. "I'll be here. Don't be too long." Then, crooking her finger at the bartender, she pouts and bats her eyelashes, holding up some cash. "Champagne?" The bartender laughs and places the cocktail in front of her, telling her to keep her money. Smiling her thanks, Brendon picks up the glass and drains its contents in one long swallow. She licks her lips, and grabs her purse before leaning casually against the bar, feeling the loosening of her limbs and the warming of her skin.
Gerard returns and holds his arm out to her, "Okay, shall we?" Brendon takes his offered arm and they set out, winding their way through the crowd of people. She stumbles a little against Gerard and his hand comes up to her waist to steady her. Wow. She's wearing really high heels and Gerard is...intrigued as he watches her weave through the crowd; the sinuous movement of her hips, the way her calf muscles bunch and extend, and her legs look a thousand miles long. The shoes make Brendon taller than Gerard, and he is slightly abashed at how fucking hot he finds that.
"You have to get your jacket?" He asks as they pass the coat check.
Brendon snuggles close to Gerard, "Nope! I am hot enough all on my own!" She cracks up laughing at her own dumb joke and Gerard can't help but join in.
Out on the street they quickly hail a cab. Brendon crawls in and addresses the cabbie with a quick "Um, hi! We need to go...here." Having rooted around in her clutch, she produces a flyer and hands it over. If asked later Gerard would steadfastly deny ogling the tight pull of her skirt over her ass--her spectacularly fucking fantastic ass--as she crawls on hands and knees across the back seat of the taxi. She twists around, flinging her back against the door and smiles up at Gerard, knees bent under her, "You're very far away," she says in a low voice.
Really? Who gets into a car like that?
"Oh. Yeah." Gerard's brain kicks into gear and he lowers himself into the cab. The driver shoots them a look in the rear view mirror, from his side of the Plexiglas partition, and they head off though busy Midtown traffic and down to the West Village.
"Mmm...you're still too far away," Brendon murmurs, watching him through heavy lidded eyes. She unfolds her legs to stretch, and prods at Gerard's knee with the pointed toe of her sandal.
Cupping her heel in his palm, Gerard strokes his fingers over the bump of her ankle, "Wow, these are some shoes."
"These are not just shoes," She extends her other foot across Gerard's lap, rotating her ankle in slow circles, the street light gleaming off the jewels decorating the thin black straps "These bad boys are Manolo Blahniks. They're fucking works of art! For real. His original sketches are in the Museum of Modern Art."
"Point taken." Gerard grins at her passionate explanation, while his hands find their own enthusiastic pursuit. He's slowly sliding them up and down her bare leg, enjoying the feel of her soft, smooth skin, and the stretch of it over lean muscle. "They don't look very comfortable, though."
Brendon shifts her hips and purrs, "You're a tease, Gerard Way. And they don't have to be comfortable. They look fucking awesome when I'm lying on my back!" And without another word she sits up and slides across the seat into his lap, legs bracketing his thighs. "There. That's better. Now you're not so far away," she husks before capturing Gerard's lower lip between hers, nipping playfully.
"I'm not a tease." Gerard says between biting and licking at Brendon's lips. "I'm...appreciative." He punctuates his words with wet, sucking kisses. His hands continue their enthusiastic exploration along Brendon's legs, under the hem of her skirt to cup and squeeze at the generous swell of her ass. His eyes flit open in surprise as his fingertips trace over bare skin, until they touch the gossamer slip of lace between the cleft of her cheeks. He covers his whimper with a harsh exhale, and slicking his tongue deeper into Brendon's mouth.
She laughs around his tongue and then shifts to nip at his chin, "You like that?" Breathing hot and quick against Gerard's jaw, she curls her hips in towards his lap, and slowly laying her hand over his, slides it across her thigh and in between her legs. She gives a satisfied grunt as she feels long fingers slip beneath the scrap of material there, warm and stroking against sensitive skin, "You ever fuck in a cab?" Her hands reach out to grip the padding of the seat back, bracketing Gerard as her hips twitch and buck. "Yeah, that's...yeah." She huffs out, her eyes squeezed shut and, mouth panting open.
Gerard's hand slips across the warm wetness of her, his knuckles teasing her clit before he grazes it with his thumb nail. He can feel the trembling of her thighs against his own as he spreads her legs further apart with his knees, and Brendon sinks down on to his touch. He suckles at the thin skin over her collarbones, leaving purple-red welts, before sliding his mouth up in a wet skate, lapping at the dark satin ribbon around her neck and then teasing at her carotid artery with a scrape of his teeth. Brendon whines out a series of small noises and rocks her forehead across Gerard's. "God, you're so beautiful," he pants into her hair, and even in the half light of the cab, the flush of her heated skin is visible. Gerard snakes his free hand up and over the bodice of her dress and feathers light touches at the swell of her cleavage. His index finger slips past the stiffly ruched lace to pluck at a pebbled nipple.
"M'not beautiful." She breathes out, choppy and unsteady. Her hands grip the upholstery, sweaty and tight, and she whines and huffs as she feels two of Gerard's fingers slip inside her. "Uh-uhn...I'm...oh god..." she's bucking her hips, rocking up on to her knees and back down onto Gerard's hand, where his thumb continues to play a discordant rhythm across her sensitive skin. "I'm, difficult to photograph," her whisper is peppered with frustrated, eager, whines. She manages to snag a hand in the thick fall of hair at the back of Gerard's head, bringing his mouth forward again and into contact with the smooth skin of her breasts. "With my...my...fuck! Jesus...awkward bone, nuhn... bone structure, n'my big lips, n' weird nose...uh." She lets her head loll back, face contorted with pleasure at the things Gerard is doing to her. "M'not beautiful. M'fuckable. Fuck. Please! Please!"
Gerard presses incrementally harder against her with his thumb, the fingers trapped between her legs moving steady and sure. Tilting his head up, he captures her mouth, pressing firm, almost rough, wanting to convince her, to show Brendon exactly how beautiful she is. "That photographer's a fucking idiot," he pants into her mouth, tongue soothing after the sting of his teeth. "Also, an asshole." Gerard entertains notions of finding the fucker who would say such horrible things to Brendon and maybe beating the shit out of him, just a little.
Brendon pulls her mouth away to rest her face at Gerard's neck. Her hand has fallen from his hair to rest limp against his shoulder, and she's shivering all over, hips thrusting urgently against the hand at her thighs, and making small breathy sounds of need. "Says the man with his fingers inside me."
It's said softly but Gerard hears it, and doesn't know what to tell her in reply. His hand slows its urgent stroking and he presses a panting kiss to her dark hair, closing his eyes and focusing on the measured in and out of his own breathing. Brendon mewls and seats herself on Gerard's hand. "Don't stop! I'm so close. I need..." She nuzzles her cheek into the fabric of Gerard's dress shirt, her mouth pinched in a dissatisfied frown. Her hips are still stuttering and a fine sheen of sweat clings to her shoulders and arms. She bats a hand weakly at Gerard's forearm, "C'mon. S'okay. I want it."
He kisses her again and then slides his slim fingers back into her, his thumb once again splaying her folds to stroke her. She's rough and urgent over his knees and makes desperate pleading sounds through her teeth and nose. Gerard shifts his hand slightly, two fingers curl against the smooth bare skin of her pubic bone, spreading the slick of her with a gentle pressure that mirrors the quicker strokes of his thumb and the two fingers inside Brendon. Her breath is against his cheek in short pained huffs, and he can feel it when her muscles contract with a rippling squeeze. She muzzles her high pitched cry against Gerard's neck, her thighs quivering as she topples to rest full against him.
Soothing a hand up and down Brendon's back, Gerard murmurs against the sharp ridge of her cheekbone as he comforts her through the shaking intensity of her orgasm. She sits back, schooling her breathing, and raises her hands--palms flat--to her burning cheeks. "Holy shit!"
Gerard smirks, carefully withdrawing his right hand from her thong. He drops his left hand down from her back, pulling her skirt back into place from where it's wrinkled around her waist. "Something like that." Unthinking he raises his arm, and brings fingers shiny and slick with Brendon to his mouth, licking at them with tongue-tipped, cat-like swipes.
"Holy shit!" Brendon's voice is barely above a whisper, her eyes wide, and her heart beating a startled-bird cadence against her ribs. She swallows thickly, lacing her fingers in Gerard's and smearing herself into his skin as her other hand reaches up to touch his face. She kisses him then, unsteady fingers at the jut of his jaw. The cabbie coughs into his hand and with embarrassed looks, they both realise they have no idea how long ago their taxi had slowed to a stop. Brendon manages to untangle herself from her sprawl across Gerard and, flopping back onto the seat says, still sounding somewhat dazed, "I don't think I can walk, right now."
Fumbling out his wallet and shoving some bills through the partition at the cabbie, Gerard flings open the car door and says, "Guess I can carry you--again." He rolls his eyes, smokey olive green and filled with good humor.
Pouting, Brendon says, "You will not!" and she manages to hurl herself from the taxi in a less than ladylike manner. "S'not my fault you like, melted my brain. My thighs are numb!" She whines and, the high heels of her sandals wobbling slightly on the sidewalk, leans into Gerard.
Tilting his head back and laughing, full out with his tiny-toothed, somewhat psychotic grin, Gerard holds her close. They stand on the sidewalk, Gerard stroking and petting along Brendon's skin and dress. "I think you'll recover."
"You think so, mmm?" Brendon smiles, soft and happy and places a chaste kiss on the red mark just under Gerard's right eye. "Hey," she rasps, "Have I ever told you how pretty you are?"
A rather undignified snort escapes Gerard, "Um, not that I remember. And I'm kinda sure I'd remember that."
"Well, you are! And you look really nice tonight. You should wear dress shirts more often. S'really fuckin' hot. Like an accountant or something."
Gerard continues to laugh as he digs through his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. "Right. Note to self: accountants are hot. Thanks for the style tips!" He grins lopsidedly around his cigarette as he lights up, placing the pack and lighter in the back pocket of his trousers.
"Yup, so hot. Rock stars? Bah! Dime a dozen. It's the quiet, nerdy ones you gotta look out for. They're like, stealth hot.” Brendon's still pressed against Gerard and her smile is full of mischief as she raises a hand to pluck the cigarette from Gerard's lips and sets it to her own mouth.
Startled, Gerard blinks quickly, "You smoke?"
"Sometimes." Brendon takes a few quick drags and then returns the smoke to perch on Gerard's lips, "under, you know, extenuating circumstances. And, I did spend the entire day with Victoria Asher."
Nodding and smiling, Gerard exhales smoke and pretends he knows what Brendon is talking about. His hand slides down to take hers and he notices that she's shivering in a way that has more to do with being out in the damp spring night than the after effects of what they did in the car. Hugging her to him again, and turning his head to blow out another drag he asks, "Cold?"
"A little, yeah." Brendon answers honestly, huddling into Gerard's arms.
"Here," he flicks ash into the street, then purses his mouth around the cigarette. Using both hands Gerard takes off his jacket and settles it over Brendon's shoulders.
She gathers the blazer around her by the lapels, glad of its warmth. She kisses his chin and rubs at his back in gratitude and wow, cliche much? Standing on the sidewalk watching Gerard smoke and wearing her boyf--Brendon stops herself right there, doesn't even allow the word to fully form in her brain--wearing a guy's jacket because she was too busy worrying about being pretty to bring her own. She tramps down that thought and, seeing Gerard toss the butt into the gutter, starts to head around the block, her hand still tangled with his. "C'mon! Time to dance!"
They round the corner and Gerard steps to the right, joining the queue that extends the length of the brick building. Brendon pauses with a cocked eyebrow. "Follow me," she says and continues to walk down the sidewalk, past all the club goers and to the bouncers at the door, "Brendon Urie plus one." She smiles at the mountainous man with a clip board. He eyes her up and down, barely wasting a glance on Gerard, and then nods to another large man, who opens the door.
Feeling vaguely uncomfortable Gerard says, "I've never done that before."
Brendon just shrugs as they walk through the narrow entry way, "I don't wait in line. Why would you if you don't have to? You're telling me you've never been put on a guest list?"
"Well, at my friends' shows and stuff, sure." Gerard takes his jacket from around Brendon and hands it to the girl at the coat check booth, pocketing his claim ticket. He rubs at her shoulders before slipping an arm around her waist. "But not at a club. We just walked by all those people."
Winding her arm around Gerard's back, Brendon casts a skeptical look and says, "Yeah, because I'm sensing a lot of clubbing in your past."
"Hey now!" Gerard elbows good naturedly at her side, and Brendon giggles in response. He takes her hand again, saying "Okay, after you, Queen Bee."
"C'mon, this way!" she wends their way through the packed club, people everywhere dancing and talking and doing...other things.
Gerard squints into the darkened room, trailing slightly behind Brendon. He puts the hand not holding hers on her hip and stays close as she makes her way across the crowded dance floor to the DJ booth. Her sandals clack up the metal stair case, and she glances back at Gerard, smiling, before she waves at a tall man in a garish purple hoodie.
"Bren Bren!!!" The man enthusiastically grabs Brendon around the waist and out of Gerard's hold. He twirls her around between turntables and monitors and Brendon's laugh is audible even above the thumping techno. He puts he down and his face is split in a wolfish, leering grin, "Shit girl, you look good enough to fuck. Oh wait! I already have!" and then he chuckles, low and dirty at the back of his throat.
Brendon smacks playfully at the guy's shoulder and says, "Gabe, you are such an asshole!" before she leans up to kiss his cheek.
"Seriously baby, you look fucking fierce! This dress? Is just," he stops to whistle appreciativly, "Been too long, you know?"
Unconsciously touching the bodice of her dress Brendon smiles wide and says, "Thanks. And yeah, I bet you're just doing your best celibate a la Morrissey these days, you fuckhead." Brendon jumps a little when she feels Gerard's warm hand at her waist, pulling her tighter to him. "Oh, Gabe. This is my friend Gerard. Gerard, this is Gabe."
"Hey," both men say in unison. Gerard nods and Gabe waves. "Uh, song's ending." Gerard motions towards the console.
"Shit!" Gabe turns, picks up his headphones and starts cueing up the next song, Brendon and Gerard forgotten in the swell of dance music.
Brendon just shrugs and turns to pull Gerard down the stairs after her. He leans forward to speak directly into the curved shell of her ear, "Why do you let people talk to you like that?" His lips are pressed together in a thin line and he looks, well, pissed off.
Stopping half way down the staircase Brendon's eyebrows arch, then crease in confusion. She turns to face Gerard and raises a hand to trace the angry line of his mouth. "He's not people, he's Gabe" She shakes her head as she runs a finger down the long line of Gerard's throat, her eyes following her finger. "He's sort of...difficult to define. Please do not take anything he says as a springboard for discussions about Third Wave Feminism. You'll just hurt your head." She kisses him quick, just the slightest peck of her lips to his. "Now c'mon motherfucker, I wanna dance!" She turns and raises their joined hands over her head and continues to trot down the stairs and into the crush of bodies.
His hands come up to rest at the curve of Brendon's hips, swaying and moving with the crowd more than any kind of actual dancing. "So, did I pass the test?" Depeche Mode is deafening, so Gerard leans his chin on her shoulder to talk.
"Test?" Brendon has her arms wound round around Gerard's neck, her hips shifting and bouncing to the beat of the music.
"Yeah. The take Gerard to a gay club and see if he a) freaks out or b)tries to hit on everyone in the place test. With a side of hey! meet my asshole friend." He cuddles her cheek to his.
Brendon stops dancing and moves away from Gerard. "That's not...I didn't..." hurt confusion ripples briefly across her face. "I wouldn't do that." She rubs her arms and stares at the floor. "I just thought you'd have fun...with me." Her voice is small, swallowed by noise.
Everything about her tells Gerard he's made a mistake, even if he can't hear what she's saying. He was just trying to be funny. He gnaws on the tender skin inside his lower lip and reaches out, drawing Brendon to him again, his breath hot on her skin as he speaks loudly in her ear, "Hey! Hey, I was just joking. Okay?" He kisses her temple, nose brushing against the tiny, jewelled barrettes she's clipped into the wisps of hair. "Now, I remember you saying something about a guaranteed good time?"
"Okay," Brendon huffs out a breath and gives herself a little shake, linking her arms once more around Gerard's neck, and playing with the haphazard hanks of his hair. She moves to the music and her quirky smile slides back into place. "Sides, I've done the fuck 'im straight thing. Which does not work, FYI! Do not want! Ooh!! I love this song!" Brendon begins jumping around enthusiastically to the electronic bleating of VHS or Beta.
If, even a month ago, someone had suggested that Gerard would be shakin' his ass on the dance floor at a club--gay, straight, or otherwise--never mind that he'd be having what he's pretty sure is the time of his life outside of being on stage with his band, Gerard would have asked that someone if he looked like he was still using. But his ass? Definitely moving. He and Brendon are doing an improvised almost-pogo to what to Gerard's ear sounds like a typewriter and a computerized synth beat. And laughing their asses off.
For all she's a successful band's front woman, Brendon seems to have embraced the dance like no one is watching philosophy. She alternates between pogo-ing, grinding against Gerard's thigh, a jazzed up funky chicken, and a running man/on the spot electric slide that has Gerard laughing so hard all he's doing is holding on while she moves, abandoning his sad attempts at the white boy shuffle. "Shit," he wheezes, "I gotta go for a smoke."
"I'll come with you!" Brendon doesn't stop twitching and head bobbing as they find the exit. There's a large group of smokers and Gerard makes his way to the fringes of the gathering, lighting up as they walk.
"Fuckin' New York." Gerard grouses around his Marlboro, taking a deep, satisfied drag. "In Moscow, you can smoke fuckin' everywhere, man. Even the airports. It's awesome" He exhales around the smoke he's blowing into the night sky, then, glancing at Brendon, sees her running her hands up and down her arms. "Shit, here, c'mere." Cigarette perched firmly at the corner of his mouth, Gerard holds his arms out, wiggling his fingers encouragingly.
Snuggling into the circle of Gerard's arms, Brendon says, "I bet Moscow's nice. I've never really traveled anywhere, you know, without the band." She sighs, kissing lightly at his neck.
"Yeah, God. I don't even remember the last time I had a vacation. I think I was like, 17 or something and my parents took me and Mikes to the Shore." Gerard continues to draw on his smoke, a thumb stroking lightly at the back of Brendon's waist. "Can't really imagine just, you know, doing nothing."
"Me either." Brendon nods in agreement. "I mean I had to work like, two jobs and go to school, and do the band. Then we got signed and there was all that stuff, then touring." She shrugs and grins. "Wouldn't trade it though. It's good."
Gently rocking Brendon back and forth, Gerard hums under his breath as he smokes. "You cut quite a mean rug there, Mr. Way." Brendon chuckles into his collar.
"Oh yeah, my years of harboring dreams of being a Solid Gold dancer are being realized tonight."
"The what with the who?" Brendon flexes an eyebrow. "That some kind of secret code for like, being a stripper or something?"
Gerard laughs loudly and a few of the other smokers turn to glare at the couple. "Um. No. Fuck. That would be my age showing. It was a TV show when I was a kid..." He shakes his head, hair flopping over one eye. Gerard exhales heavily, smoke curling from his nose, and he tries again, "Um, I was the lead in my school musical, you know. I have formidable dance skills."
Brendon brushes the hair back from Gerard's face, "You want me to ask don't you?" They're smiling into each other's eyes as she continues, "Okay, so what was your school play?" Hand shifting to Gerard's mouth, Brendon plucks the almost spent cigarette from between his lips and brings it to her own.
"Peter Pan."
Her drag on the cigarette turns into a cough as Brendon dissolves into helpless laughter. "Oh. Oh God. You're trying to kill me!" She's bent forward, gasping and laughing, forehead resting against Gerard's sternum. Gerard takes the cigarette from her flapping hand and flicks it into the street.
"Seriously. Peter fucking Pan. I thought it would make me popular." He's gently patting Brendon on the back, trying to help her breathe through the nicotine and laughter. "I was a genius, man. I had moves like you've never seen."
Laughter sputtering to a hitching rasp, Brendon manages, "I bet you did! And the green fucking tights to match. Oh God. Gerard, you are the coolest person I know, for real." Still laughing she presses her lips to his.
"You know it." He stops her laughter with the insistent pressure of his own mouth, his tongue licking at the taste of tobacco as he pulls her close.
A small sigh escapes as she fists her hands in Gerard's hair and scrapes her even teeth over the fleshy divot above his top lip. "So,…formidable moves?" Brendon's pressed flush to Gerard from hips to shoulder and she's moving against him in a slow sway.
"Jesus," Gerard's mouth traces a path over her night chilled skin, stopping to lick at the red marks still visible on her clavicle as his thumb strokes over the choker ribbon tight around her neck. His breath burns in his chest when she gives him this look. And fuck, he's been half hard since they got into the cab. When Brendon wriggles out from his arms and turns to walk away, he's a little dazed. But then she's swinging her hips and looking at him over her shoulder and raising an eyebrow, encouraging Gerard to follow her. Shifting sideways through the tightly knotted group of smokers, Gerard reaches Brendon and rests his hand low on her hip.
The mischievous glint in her eyes belies her beatific grin as Brendon leads him down a narrow alley, separating the low brick club from the glass and metal office tower next door. She leans against a dull grey fire door, pulling Gerard close. "There," her smile widens, "Wouldn't want to you to share those moves with just anyone, now would we?" She sucks his bottom lip between her teeth, running her tongue along it.
Gerard groans low in his throat and can't help but tip his own hips in to meet Brendon's in an ever increasing, urgent sway. "Jesus. You're really serious, aren't you?" His eyes flutter closed as he nuzzles at Brendon's temple. He shifts his leg against her spread thighs, his erection rigid and easily discernible in the confines of his wool trousers. Blinking, Gerard darts a nervous glance down the alley to the sidewalk, allowing himself to be kissed, and moving his mouth absently in return.
"Mmm-hmm. There are some things I never joke about," Brendon's nimble fingers trail down the front of Gerard's shirt coming to rest at his belt. "So," she huffs a breathy whisper into his ear, running her tongue along the lobe, "You can show me your moves now," she stops, punctuating her words with a flick of her thumb, freeing the buckle, "Or, we can go back inside and you can fuck me on the dance floor." She pulls him in close, hips swaying to the music thumping through the heavy door behind her. Her breath hitches with laughter, as she recognizes the pizzicato strings and the beat of the tune, "How obnoxious would I be if I asked you to fuck me while my own band's song is playing?"
Gerard doesn't answer, can't even speak, any words are lost in the warm and soft of her against him. All he can do is lean into her, hands skimming her arms and shoulders as he mouths sloppily along her neck. "Nnngh," Gerard whines into the fragile bones behind her ear. Her fingers find his cock, stroking him inside his underwear and he mouths , "Yeah...don't have..."
"Here!" Brendon uses her free hand to flick open her hand bag, swinging from its chain and thumping against the wall. Not stopping the movement of her hips or her hand, and tilting her head to lengthen her neck and give more for Gerard to run his mouth and tongue over, Brendon jams her hand into her bag. "Problem solved!" With a stifled crow of triumph, she extracts a condom package and slips it into the hand Gerard had been using to trace finger-tipped patterns against her cleavage.
Swallowing heavily and standing back from Brendon, just a little, Gerard takes the condom and as quickly as possible skins it onto himself. Brendon leans heavily back into the wall, a smirk still playing at the corners of her lips as she reaches her hand under the hem of her skirt and with a few sharp movements of her hips, manages to shimmy the delicate lace of her thong down her leg where it gets tangled in the straps of her sandal. Eyes overbright and greedy, she fists Gerard's hardened cock and guides him close to her, with a smug nasal grunt, revelling in the feeling of being stretched and filled.
Gerard brings his hands up to knead at the plump swell of Brendon's ass, sinking his cock deep inside her wet warmth as she brings one leg up, encouraging him closer with whiny stammering breaths, one hand clutched desperately in his hair, the other clawing at the fire door. He covers her mouth with his to quell the loud croons she makes with his every thrust. Her other leg comes up and she locks her ankles at the small of his back, the tiny spikes of her stilettos digging divots into his ass as he changes the angle and rhythm of his fucking, making him gasp at the feeling of her, tight and hot, around his blood-swollen cock.
For long minutes the only sounds are the slapping of skin on skin and huffing grunts of arousal and encouragement. "Harder, harder, fuck me harder," Brendon pants and bites at Gerard's ear and shoulder, and he does; can't stop himself. Gerard hurtles headlong towards his orgasm and can tell by the increasing pitch of Brendon's nonsensical muttering, her forehead pressing hard into Gerard's shoulder as her hips buck and twitch to meet him, that she's close too. He puts his hand over her mouth to stifle her long, low moan as she comes in sea-tide ripples around him. She bites down hard on the fleshy side of his hand and brings her arms around his neck, hands scrabbling over the smooth cotton of his shirt.
The sting of her nails across his skin and the warm friction around him is all Gerard needs and he comes, rocking up into her with a wordless cry. The frantic tandem movement of their hips slows, then stills completely. Gerard's breath is a wet huff against the skin of Brendon's collarbone, and she untangles her shaky legs from around his waist, lowering them to the dirty alleyway with a clack of her heels. She's wobbly and too warm but doesn't want to move. "So, are we going back to your hotel?" Brendon kisses her way between Gerard's mouth and ear, her hands tracing lines across his back.
Gerard is still leaning his weight heavily against Brendon, panting into her hair. "I live across the river," he says, his mouth turned down in a look of discomfort and distaste as he shucks the used condom and flicks it off into the darkness of the laneway, then adjusts himself and zips up his pants. He kisses her, soft and lazy, fingertips following the lines of her shoulders.
Her eyes not leaving his, Brendon smirks, and crouches to untangle the knot of her panties, quickly dragging them up her leg and back into place, then tugging down her skirt. "Oh yeah," Brendon chuckles, squeezing at Gerard's waist and standing up more fully, easing his slumped form away from where her shoulder blades are digging uncomfortably into the brickwork beside the fire door. "Good thing I have a hotel room near by! But now? More dancing!" Brendon laughs, her full out geeky guffaw, at Gerard's stricken expression as she laces her fingers with his, ducking out of the circle of his arms and tugging Gerard out of the alley and back into the club with a wave at the bouncers.
They dance, and kiss, and Brendon enthusiastically flips off Gabe when he calls her out for missing his awesome mix of her own band's fucking hit song. Gerard's not sure if an hour or two or even three tick by. He should be shocked that he doesn't care. He likes the way Brendon's hips fit his hands. He likes the way she sways close to him and touches him almost constantly; likes the way her skin feels and how she smiles into his eyes. The club is even more packed then when they first arrived, and he gratefully takes the bottle of water Brendon waves in front of his face, smiling his thanks and silently acknowledging that her trip from the bar includes only water for herself. Gerard watches the long column of Brendon's throat, attention rapt as she tips back her head and swallows the entire bottle. Licking her lips she hooks her arm through Gerard's and says, "C'mon I'm starving. You're gonna buy me a pretzel!"
Gerard laughs too, picking his way between writhing knots of people until the couple reaches the doors to the club, "So you think I'm gonna buy you a pretzel, huh?" But he's smiling, tiny, pointed teeth digging into his bottom lip.
"No," Brendon wrinkles her nose and brings her face within an inch of Gerard's. "I know you're gonna buy me a pretzel, asshole!" She sticks her tongue out and waggles it, before affecting a seriously hip shaking saunter over to the street vendor on the corner of the block. Gerard lights up a cigarette and follows behind, just in time to hear Brendon proclaim, "And this pretty man is gonna pay!" Gerard playfully rolls his eyes, but opens his wallet and takes out a dollar bill, handing it to the man standing behind the wagon.
Brendon rips off small pieces of the warm dough and pops them into her mouth. "Mmmm, so good!" She closes her eyes and makes enthusiastic food appreciating noises. "You want some?" She mumbles around the food in her mouth, waggling the pretzel enticingly in front of Gerard.
Tilting his head to the sky and exhaling a long stream of grey-white smoke, he grins, wrinkling his nose, "And deprive you of pleasure? Never!"
Brendon giggles and loops her fingers through Gerard's belt, drawing him close. She continues to methodically tear apart and consume the salty street food as Gerard returns her embrace, enjoying the feeling of the night around them.
"Gerard?"
"Mmm?"
"I think I'm ready to go..."
"Right," he takes one last drag and flicks the half smoked cigarette into the street. Taking Brendon's hand, he leads them down the block to Hudson Street where it will be easier to get a taxi.
He stops her on the sidewalk, kissing her hard, "M'jacket." He says around her tongue. Giving her ass an enthusiastic squeeze, her turns back towards the club doors, taking out his Marlboros and lighting up, taking the advantage of the opportunity to feed his nicotine demon. He takes out his wallet and hands over his coat check ticket, and one large man disappears into the club's dark interior before almost immediately returning with his suit jacket.
Gerard comes up behind Brendon where she has one arm extended, hailing a cab, and wraps his arms around her waist, leaning his chin into the join of her shoulder and neck. If he stops to think about it he would probably be horrified to realise how very much he needs to touch her, every time she's near. It's like all rational thought eventually evaporates and all he can think about is miles of pale, soft olive skin and the sound of her breathing when she's wrapped around him. It crawls up his spine as real as any craving: the curse of an addictive personality.
She leans back into him, soft and pliant, and Gerard is quiet save for the draw of his breath around his cigarette. A Yellow Cab pulls up to the curb in front of them and Gerard opens the door for Brendon, guiding her into the back seat, before stepping around the car to slide in the street-side door. He flicks his half smoked Marlboro into the road, having seen the taxi driver's reproachful glare. Brendon's sleepy and cuddly, and after she gives the driver the address of the Midtown W Hotel, she almost shyly reaches for Gerard's hand, pulling him close.
Gerard thinks he likes this Brendon; alcohol, having made its way through her blood stream, has all but burned away the brash party girl. They ride though the city night in companionable silence, with gentle strokes of hands and soft kisses. Gerard nuzzles his nose into the side of Brendon's face, taking in the spicy, feminine scent of her, and letting the warmth from the swell of her hips buzz through the skin of his palms, eyes happily closed as he wonders at never noticing how starved for touch he'd become these past few months.
Continue to 2B
Author: cloudlessclimes
Rated: NC-17
Pairing:Brendon Urie/Gerard Way
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one.
Summary: Brendon Urie is and has always been a girl. She meets Gerard Way. Things happen.
Feedback: Is a wonderful thing.
Notes: HET!!, what can be perceived as uninformed consent, underage drinking, romance, fluff, Tom Conrad and Jon Walker are not the nicest people ever, AU, liberal abuse of canon; this fic contains all of these things. If they're not your things, don't read.
Title comes from a song of the same name by long defunct semi-obscure Canadian band The Watchmen. The odd and somewhat nonsensical lyrics can be found here
Thanks to the awesome queen_geek, tweedle_, fallingfortruth and lordgroovius for beta-ing, listening to me kvetch, holding my hand, and providing paperbags to breathe into, both virtual and actual.
1 2A 2B 3A 3B 4 5A 5B
Brendon weaves her way through the packed bar, champagne flute held high. "Oops! Sorry!" her musical giggle carries in the air as someone bumps her bent elbow. She lowers her mouth to her skin and licks at the splashed droplets of her cocktail. "Oh, Mikey! Hi!" She moves to hug him and her sunny smile slides into an embarrassed half-frown as Mikey's hands come out to grip her forearms and push them back to her sides. She sucks her plump lower lip into her mouth as she watches him scowl and slip past her. She shrugs, toying with the beaded fringe of her skirt, then gulps down her drink. One of the wait staff smiles at her and takes her empty glass.
Rubbing her bare arms, Brendon thinks that maybe if she was a little less bored, she'd have had a little less champagne and would probably be able to walk without bumping into people--and by people she means Mikey Way. But she is bored. She's not really sure why she thought it would be fun to get all glammed up and hit a nice place. Victoria and Hayley had bailed and there was no one she found remotely interesting in the entire bar. Unless...Mikey was here, so maybe? Maybe Gerard's here too? They sometimes seem like a package deal. She should try and figure out where Mikey went, see who he's with.
First though, she makes a trip to the ladies room. Brendon realizes she’s being stupid, they'd hooked up that one time in Chicago when she'd been totally trashed. He'd texted her a few times, probably felt obligated--Gerard's a decent guy. But, still, she can't help the butterflies in her stomach as she leans forward against the counter top, checking her makeup in the wall length mirror. Shit, she thinks; she looks pretty wrecked. She's been there for three or so hours, ever since the photo shoot had ended, and she actually couldn't remember how much champagne she'd convinced the bartenders to give her. Who needs ID when you're rockin' a cameo choker, a red, boned, lace and velvet bodice top, and a beaded skirt that barely skims the tops of your thighs? God bless Betsey Johnson. But she thinks it was the couple of mojitos that cute Cuban guy had bought her to pass the time until his wife showed up that maybe put her over the edge.
Brendon's eyes look even wider than usual under her smokey shadow and liner, and her pupils are huge, unfocused. She fusses with her hair, wipes her fingers under her eyes to get at any unsightly smudges, and finally pulls out a tube of gloss and brushes the wand over her lips. Deciding that's about as good as it's gonna get, she heads back out into the bar.
She keeps her expression casual, relaxed, all the while her eyes scan the crowd, looking for Mikey, hoping to find Gerard. It doesn't take much effort. Mikey Way is leaning against the low dividing wall near the bar's front entrance, swirling the contents of the pint glass in his hand and laughing at something a dark haired woman sitting at his side is saying. Brendon's eyes skim over the other people sitting at the table, and her lips slant up in a smile when she recognizes Gerard's semi-miserable slouch. Taking a deep breath, Brendon sets her shoulders, tilts her hips and heads towards the table.
Gerard sees her coming and his smile widens in surprised welcome. "Hey! Brendon! I didn't know you were in town!" He stands and kisses her cheek.
"Hiya! Yep, I'm here. Last minute thing. Sometimes being a woman in the Fueled by Ramen world is more work than in should be. Hayley, Victoria and I had to do some ridiculous grrrls rock photo shoot." She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and returns Gerard's smile, before ducking her head under the uncomfortable weight of Mikey's stare.
"Well, you seem to have escaped unscathed," His arm wraps around her shoulders to give her a small hug, and she unconsciously curls into his warmth. Gerard's eyes dart from Brendon to his brother and he can feel her become tense and awkward beneath his hand. "You should have emailed me or something."
She shrugs, her fingers working at the clasp of her pocketbook, "Didn't want to bug you. Well, I just thought I'd say hi. Um...I'm just kinda over there," she waves towards the bar with her free hand. "Can I buy you a drink?" Brendon decides that getting away from the strange looks and the non-introductions of the people at the Ways' table is preferable to standing there feeling stupid.
"I don't drink." He says it almost apologetically
Taking a step to the right to free herself from Gerard's touch, Brendon answers, "Oh, um, right, okay. Not alcohol, but maybe I can buy you a Coke, or a Red Bull or something?" She raises her eyebrows in a question and Gerard studies her face.
"Yeah, a Red Bull sounds good. I'll come with you." His eyes finally drop from hers, and they turn to head towards the bar. "Everything okay, Brendon?" his fingers are a gentle pressure at her elbow before his hand slides to the small of her back, guiding her.
"Just a little bored, maybe a little lonely," she shoots him a sideways glance under a sweep of her thick lashes, before turning her focus ahead of her once more. Brendon takes a twenty out of her wallet as they wait at the bar. It's so fucking awkward. And she feels stupidly embarrassed to be drunk, again, with Gerard here beside her.
"Hey angel-face, more champagne?" The bartender asks.
"No, um, a Red Bull, please. Actually make it two," A nervous habit, her fingers brush over the beading of her hem before tapping on the edge of the bar. She hands over the money, and smiles when Gerard picks up the glasses after the bartender pops the tabs on two cans and pours their contents over the ice. "So, did you come here with Hayley and Victoria?" His hand brushes against hers, stilling it before he catches her fingers in his palm, then handing over her glass.
"Cheers!" She says, over-brightly tipping her drink to his. "And uh, no. Vicky T had to go home for something, and Hayley's probably not allowed to be seen in public with the likes of me. I got bored. My hotel is across the road and I guess I kinda thought it would be nice to dress up and go," Brendon pauses, shrugging, "y’know, somewhere nice."
Gerard smiles, small and crooked, "Yeah, this is a nice place," he leans in then to whisper in her ear, "And you look beautiful."
She scrunches up her nose when she smiles, swaying slightly as she attempts to gracefully step up to sit on the bar stool behind her. The tight material of her skirt and the height of her sandals don't really allow for much grace under Brendon's champagne clouded command. She succeeds in sliding the bar stool further away from her, hooking her heel over the foot rest, and slumping back on her elbows onto the actual padded seat itself. She laughs full out and embarrassed.
Swallowing a mouthful of his drink, Gerard's eyes flick to the swell of Brendon's breasts above the dark blood red of her bustier. "Need some help?" Gerard leans in, wincing as he realises he's echoing his words to her when they first met. With gentle pressure at her waist, he lifts her to sit on the stool.
"Thanks!" she chuckles in the back of her throat, "So, what brings you to this den of...niceness?" and she laughs again at her own lame attempts at humor.
"Oh yeah," Gerard brushes his long hair out of his face, his hand moving in an odd, stiff motion; pinkie finger extended straight out and slightly apart from the rest. "Um, I'm doing this comic book thing. Like, writing it and doing the concept and whatever. The suits brought me out to celebrate, and like seal the deal. I brought Mikes and Alicia along so I didn't die of total boredom."
"Gerard, that's fantastic!" Her expression shifts from nervous to genuinely pleased and Brendon flings her arms out to bring Gerard into an embrace. "I'll have to keep my eye out!"
"Maybe I'll send you a copy. I have connections." Gerard murmurs dryly into hair, not backing out of the hug. She's soft and warm and smells really fucking good. "Brendon? Can I kiss you?"
Her tongue tip slips across the pointed arches of her upper lip and she only has time to nod before Gerard is fitting her mouth over hers and all she can think is Thank God. It's like last time. It's just like last time. His hands slide over her bare shoulders and down the boning of her top, fingers resting to bunch at the fabric covering the swell of her hips. His tongue teases at the part of her lips and she opens her mouth to him with a satisfied sigh. They kiss for a while; slow and gentle press of lips and slide of tongue. Gerard's hands move in lazy circles over the material of her skirt and Brendon cards the long strands of Gerard's hair between her fingers, her arms crossed around his neck.
"That's better," she whispers as she pulls back slightly, eyes glittering in the low light.
Gerard licks at his lips and presses a kiss to the corner of Brendon's unbelievably plush mouth, "Champagne?"
Brendon snorts out a little breath of air, amused, as she raises her thumb to swipe at the smear of her gloss on Gerard's chin, "Yeah. It's my new thing. I like how it tastes and you know, the bubbles, and the pretty glass it comes in." Gerard's hands are still on her hips and she feels relaxed, warmer, more herself.
Fuck! Because, really, that's cute. Really fucking cute. And maybe just a little dangerous, Gerard thinks to himself. "Champagne hangovers are killer, though." He says it easily, a throw away thought, but Brendon's back stiffens. She's a little offended at Gerard's sideways dig at her drinking.
Brendon's eyes narrow defensively, "Never had one," she shrugs. "So, I was gonna head out..."
"Oh, yeah. Okay, you probably have shit you need to do, and I should, you know, get back." He lifts his chin in the direction of the table across the room. He's so close to her, his hands on her hips, the brush of her thighs against his. He can't think. Except maybe he thinks this was not a very smart idea and he'll catch hell from Mikey. Hopefully the kind of hell that doesn't end in a fist fight.
"My friend Gabe? Is DJing at this club in the Village tonight..." Brendon squints at the clock behind the bar, "He should be starting soon. I thought I'd go by and say hi." She hops down from her perch and takes a hold of Gerard's wrist. "You could come with? It'll be fun, guaranteed!"
Gerard looks at her long fingers around his wrist and then up to glance at the table of people he came with. He licks his lips, considering. "Guaranteed fun? How can I resist? Just, like, gimme a sec to..." he shrugs one shoulder in the direction of his table, and starts to walk towards his brother.
Brendon has a playful smile on her face, not letting go of his wrist. She tugs for a second and then laughs as she lets go and Gerard staggers, laughing too. "I'll be here. Don't be too long." Then, crooking her finger at the bartender, she pouts and bats her eyelashes, holding up some cash. "Champagne?" The bartender laughs and places the cocktail in front of her, telling her to keep her money. Smiling her thanks, Brendon picks up the glass and drains its contents in one long swallow. She licks her lips, and grabs her purse before leaning casually against the bar, feeling the loosening of her limbs and the warming of her skin.
Gerard returns and holds his arm out to her, "Okay, shall we?" Brendon takes his offered arm and they set out, winding their way through the crowd of people. She stumbles a little against Gerard and his hand comes up to her waist to steady her. Wow. She's wearing really high heels and Gerard is...intrigued as he watches her weave through the crowd; the sinuous movement of her hips, the way her calf muscles bunch and extend, and her legs look a thousand miles long. The shoes make Brendon taller than Gerard, and he is slightly abashed at how fucking hot he finds that.
"You have to get your jacket?" He asks as they pass the coat check.
Brendon snuggles close to Gerard, "Nope! I am hot enough all on my own!" She cracks up laughing at her own dumb joke and Gerard can't help but join in.
Out on the street they quickly hail a cab. Brendon crawls in and addresses the cabbie with a quick "Um, hi! We need to go...here." Having rooted around in her clutch, she produces a flyer and hands it over. If asked later Gerard would steadfastly deny ogling the tight pull of her skirt over her ass--her spectacularly fucking fantastic ass--as she crawls on hands and knees across the back seat of the taxi. She twists around, flinging her back against the door and smiles up at Gerard, knees bent under her, "You're very far away," she says in a low voice.
Really? Who gets into a car like that?
"Oh. Yeah." Gerard's brain kicks into gear and he lowers himself into the cab. The driver shoots them a look in the rear view mirror, from his side of the Plexiglas partition, and they head off though busy Midtown traffic and down to the West Village.
"Mmm...you're still too far away," Brendon murmurs, watching him through heavy lidded eyes. She unfolds her legs to stretch, and prods at Gerard's knee with the pointed toe of her sandal.
Cupping her heel in his palm, Gerard strokes his fingers over the bump of her ankle, "Wow, these are some shoes."
"These are not just shoes," She extends her other foot across Gerard's lap, rotating her ankle in slow circles, the street light gleaming off the jewels decorating the thin black straps "These bad boys are Manolo Blahniks. They're fucking works of art! For real. His original sketches are in the Museum of Modern Art."
"Point taken." Gerard grins at her passionate explanation, while his hands find their own enthusiastic pursuit. He's slowly sliding them up and down her bare leg, enjoying the feel of her soft, smooth skin, and the stretch of it over lean muscle. "They don't look very comfortable, though."
Brendon shifts her hips and purrs, "You're a tease, Gerard Way. And they don't have to be comfortable. They look fucking awesome when I'm lying on my back!" And without another word she sits up and slides across the seat into his lap, legs bracketing his thighs. "There. That's better. Now you're not so far away," she husks before capturing Gerard's lower lip between hers, nipping playfully.
"I'm not a tease." Gerard says between biting and licking at Brendon's lips. "I'm...appreciative." He punctuates his words with wet, sucking kisses. His hands continue their enthusiastic exploration along Brendon's legs, under the hem of her skirt to cup and squeeze at the generous swell of her ass. His eyes flit open in surprise as his fingertips trace over bare skin, until they touch the gossamer slip of lace between the cleft of her cheeks. He covers his whimper with a harsh exhale, and slicking his tongue deeper into Brendon's mouth.
She laughs around his tongue and then shifts to nip at his chin, "You like that?" Breathing hot and quick against Gerard's jaw, she curls her hips in towards his lap, and slowly laying her hand over his, slides it across her thigh and in between her legs. She gives a satisfied grunt as she feels long fingers slip beneath the scrap of material there, warm and stroking against sensitive skin, "You ever fuck in a cab?" Her hands reach out to grip the padding of the seat back, bracketing Gerard as her hips twitch and buck. "Yeah, that's...yeah." She huffs out, her eyes squeezed shut and, mouth panting open.
Gerard's hand slips across the warm wetness of her, his knuckles teasing her clit before he grazes it with his thumb nail. He can feel the trembling of her thighs against his own as he spreads her legs further apart with his knees, and Brendon sinks down on to his touch. He suckles at the thin skin over her collarbones, leaving purple-red welts, before sliding his mouth up in a wet skate, lapping at the dark satin ribbon around her neck and then teasing at her carotid artery with a scrape of his teeth. Brendon whines out a series of small noises and rocks her forehead across Gerard's. "God, you're so beautiful," he pants into her hair, and even in the half light of the cab, the flush of her heated skin is visible. Gerard snakes his free hand up and over the bodice of her dress and feathers light touches at the swell of her cleavage. His index finger slips past the stiffly ruched lace to pluck at a pebbled nipple.
"M'not beautiful." She breathes out, choppy and unsteady. Her hands grip the upholstery, sweaty and tight, and she whines and huffs as she feels two of Gerard's fingers slip inside her. "Uh-uhn...I'm...oh god..." she's bucking her hips, rocking up on to her knees and back down onto Gerard's hand, where his thumb continues to play a discordant rhythm across her sensitive skin. "I'm, difficult to photograph," her whisper is peppered with frustrated, eager, whines. She manages to snag a hand in the thick fall of hair at the back of Gerard's head, bringing his mouth forward again and into contact with the smooth skin of her breasts. "With my...my...fuck! Jesus...awkward bone, nuhn... bone structure, n'my big lips, n' weird nose...uh." She lets her head loll back, face contorted with pleasure at the things Gerard is doing to her. "M'not beautiful. M'fuckable. Fuck. Please! Please!"
Gerard presses incrementally harder against her with his thumb, the fingers trapped between her legs moving steady and sure. Tilting his head up, he captures her mouth, pressing firm, almost rough, wanting to convince her, to show Brendon exactly how beautiful she is. "That photographer's a fucking idiot," he pants into her mouth, tongue soothing after the sting of his teeth. "Also, an asshole." Gerard entertains notions of finding the fucker who would say such horrible things to Brendon and maybe beating the shit out of him, just a little.
Brendon pulls her mouth away to rest her face at Gerard's neck. Her hand has fallen from his hair to rest limp against his shoulder, and she's shivering all over, hips thrusting urgently against the hand at her thighs, and making small breathy sounds of need. "Says the man with his fingers inside me."
It's said softly but Gerard hears it, and doesn't know what to tell her in reply. His hand slows its urgent stroking and he presses a panting kiss to her dark hair, closing his eyes and focusing on the measured in and out of his own breathing. Brendon mewls and seats herself on Gerard's hand. "Don't stop! I'm so close. I need..." She nuzzles her cheek into the fabric of Gerard's dress shirt, her mouth pinched in a dissatisfied frown. Her hips are still stuttering and a fine sheen of sweat clings to her shoulders and arms. She bats a hand weakly at Gerard's forearm, "C'mon. S'okay. I want it."
He kisses her again and then slides his slim fingers back into her, his thumb once again splaying her folds to stroke her. She's rough and urgent over his knees and makes desperate pleading sounds through her teeth and nose. Gerard shifts his hand slightly, two fingers curl against the smooth bare skin of her pubic bone, spreading the slick of her with a gentle pressure that mirrors the quicker strokes of his thumb and the two fingers inside Brendon. Her breath is against his cheek in short pained huffs, and he can feel it when her muscles contract with a rippling squeeze. She muzzles her high pitched cry against Gerard's neck, her thighs quivering as she topples to rest full against him.
Soothing a hand up and down Brendon's back, Gerard murmurs against the sharp ridge of her cheekbone as he comforts her through the shaking intensity of her orgasm. She sits back, schooling her breathing, and raises her hands--palms flat--to her burning cheeks. "Holy shit!"
Gerard smirks, carefully withdrawing his right hand from her thong. He drops his left hand down from her back, pulling her skirt back into place from where it's wrinkled around her waist. "Something like that." Unthinking he raises his arm, and brings fingers shiny and slick with Brendon to his mouth, licking at them with tongue-tipped, cat-like swipes.
"Holy shit!" Brendon's voice is barely above a whisper, her eyes wide, and her heart beating a startled-bird cadence against her ribs. She swallows thickly, lacing her fingers in Gerard's and smearing herself into his skin as her other hand reaches up to touch his face. She kisses him then, unsteady fingers at the jut of his jaw. The cabbie coughs into his hand and with embarrassed looks, they both realise they have no idea how long ago their taxi had slowed to a stop. Brendon manages to untangle herself from her sprawl across Gerard and, flopping back onto the seat says, still sounding somewhat dazed, "I don't think I can walk, right now."
Fumbling out his wallet and shoving some bills through the partition at the cabbie, Gerard flings open the car door and says, "Guess I can carry you--again." He rolls his eyes, smokey olive green and filled with good humor.
Pouting, Brendon says, "You will not!" and she manages to hurl herself from the taxi in a less than ladylike manner. "S'not my fault you like, melted my brain. My thighs are numb!" She whines and, the high heels of her sandals wobbling slightly on the sidewalk, leans into Gerard.
Tilting his head back and laughing, full out with his tiny-toothed, somewhat psychotic grin, Gerard holds her close. They stand on the sidewalk, Gerard stroking and petting along Brendon's skin and dress. "I think you'll recover."
"You think so, mmm?" Brendon smiles, soft and happy and places a chaste kiss on the red mark just under Gerard's right eye. "Hey," she rasps, "Have I ever told you how pretty you are?"
A rather undignified snort escapes Gerard, "Um, not that I remember. And I'm kinda sure I'd remember that."
"Well, you are! And you look really nice tonight. You should wear dress shirts more often. S'really fuckin' hot. Like an accountant or something."
Gerard continues to laugh as he digs through his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. "Right. Note to self: accountants are hot. Thanks for the style tips!" He grins lopsidedly around his cigarette as he lights up, placing the pack and lighter in the back pocket of his trousers.
"Yup, so hot. Rock stars? Bah! Dime a dozen. It's the quiet, nerdy ones you gotta look out for. They're like, stealth hot.” Brendon's still pressed against Gerard and her smile is full of mischief as she raises a hand to pluck the cigarette from Gerard's lips and sets it to her own mouth.
Startled, Gerard blinks quickly, "You smoke?"
"Sometimes." Brendon takes a few quick drags and then returns the smoke to perch on Gerard's lips, "under, you know, extenuating circumstances. And, I did spend the entire day with Victoria Asher."
Nodding and smiling, Gerard exhales smoke and pretends he knows what Brendon is talking about. His hand slides down to take hers and he notices that she's shivering in a way that has more to do with being out in the damp spring night than the after effects of what they did in the car. Hugging her to him again, and turning his head to blow out another drag he asks, "Cold?"
"A little, yeah." Brendon answers honestly, huddling into Gerard's arms.
"Here," he flicks ash into the street, then purses his mouth around the cigarette. Using both hands Gerard takes off his jacket and settles it over Brendon's shoulders.
She gathers the blazer around her by the lapels, glad of its warmth. She kisses his chin and rubs at his back in gratitude and wow, cliche much? Standing on the sidewalk watching Gerard smoke and wearing her boyf--Brendon stops herself right there, doesn't even allow the word to fully form in her brain--wearing a guy's jacket because she was too busy worrying about being pretty to bring her own. She tramps down that thought and, seeing Gerard toss the butt into the gutter, starts to head around the block, her hand still tangled with his. "C'mon! Time to dance!"
They round the corner and Gerard steps to the right, joining the queue that extends the length of the brick building. Brendon pauses with a cocked eyebrow. "Follow me," she says and continues to walk down the sidewalk, past all the club goers and to the bouncers at the door, "Brendon Urie plus one." She smiles at the mountainous man with a clip board. He eyes her up and down, barely wasting a glance on Gerard, and then nods to another large man, who opens the door.
Feeling vaguely uncomfortable Gerard says, "I've never done that before."
Brendon just shrugs as they walk through the narrow entry way, "I don't wait in line. Why would you if you don't have to? You're telling me you've never been put on a guest list?"
"Well, at my friends' shows and stuff, sure." Gerard takes his jacket from around Brendon and hands it to the girl at the coat check booth, pocketing his claim ticket. He rubs at her shoulders before slipping an arm around her waist. "But not at a club. We just walked by all those people."
Winding her arm around Gerard's back, Brendon casts a skeptical look and says, "Yeah, because I'm sensing a lot of clubbing in your past."
"Hey now!" Gerard elbows good naturedly at her side, and Brendon giggles in response. He takes her hand again, saying "Okay, after you, Queen Bee."
"C'mon, this way!" she wends their way through the packed club, people everywhere dancing and talking and doing...other things.
Gerard squints into the darkened room, trailing slightly behind Brendon. He puts the hand not holding hers on her hip and stays close as she makes her way across the crowded dance floor to the DJ booth. Her sandals clack up the metal stair case, and she glances back at Gerard, smiling, before she waves at a tall man in a garish purple hoodie.
"Bren Bren!!!" The man enthusiastically grabs Brendon around the waist and out of Gerard's hold. He twirls her around between turntables and monitors and Brendon's laugh is audible even above the thumping techno. He puts he down and his face is split in a wolfish, leering grin, "Shit girl, you look good enough to fuck. Oh wait! I already have!" and then he chuckles, low and dirty at the back of his throat.
Brendon smacks playfully at the guy's shoulder and says, "Gabe, you are such an asshole!" before she leans up to kiss his cheek.
"Seriously baby, you look fucking fierce! This dress? Is just," he stops to whistle appreciativly, "Been too long, you know?"
Unconsciously touching the bodice of her dress Brendon smiles wide and says, "Thanks. And yeah, I bet you're just doing your best celibate a la Morrissey these days, you fuckhead." Brendon jumps a little when she feels Gerard's warm hand at her waist, pulling her tighter to him. "Oh, Gabe. This is my friend Gerard. Gerard, this is Gabe."
"Hey," both men say in unison. Gerard nods and Gabe waves. "Uh, song's ending." Gerard motions towards the console.
"Shit!" Gabe turns, picks up his headphones and starts cueing up the next song, Brendon and Gerard forgotten in the swell of dance music.
Brendon just shrugs and turns to pull Gerard down the stairs after her. He leans forward to speak directly into the curved shell of her ear, "Why do you let people talk to you like that?" His lips are pressed together in a thin line and he looks, well, pissed off.
Stopping half way down the staircase Brendon's eyebrows arch, then crease in confusion. She turns to face Gerard and raises a hand to trace the angry line of his mouth. "He's not people, he's Gabe" She shakes her head as she runs a finger down the long line of Gerard's throat, her eyes following her finger. "He's sort of...difficult to define. Please do not take anything he says as a springboard for discussions about Third Wave Feminism. You'll just hurt your head." She kisses him quick, just the slightest peck of her lips to his. "Now c'mon motherfucker, I wanna dance!" She turns and raises their joined hands over her head and continues to trot down the stairs and into the crush of bodies.
His hands come up to rest at the curve of Brendon's hips, swaying and moving with the crowd more than any kind of actual dancing. "So, did I pass the test?" Depeche Mode is deafening, so Gerard leans his chin on her shoulder to talk.
"Test?" Brendon has her arms wound round around Gerard's neck, her hips shifting and bouncing to the beat of the music.
"Yeah. The take Gerard to a gay club and see if he a) freaks out or b)tries to hit on everyone in the place test. With a side of hey! meet my asshole friend." He cuddles her cheek to his.
Brendon stops dancing and moves away from Gerard. "That's not...I didn't..." hurt confusion ripples briefly across her face. "I wouldn't do that." She rubs her arms and stares at the floor. "I just thought you'd have fun...with me." Her voice is small, swallowed by noise.
Everything about her tells Gerard he's made a mistake, even if he can't hear what she's saying. He was just trying to be funny. He gnaws on the tender skin inside his lower lip and reaches out, drawing Brendon to him again, his breath hot on her skin as he speaks loudly in her ear, "Hey! Hey, I was just joking. Okay?" He kisses her temple, nose brushing against the tiny, jewelled barrettes she's clipped into the wisps of hair. "Now, I remember you saying something about a guaranteed good time?"
"Okay," Brendon huffs out a breath and gives herself a little shake, linking her arms once more around Gerard's neck, and playing with the haphazard hanks of his hair. She moves to the music and her quirky smile slides back into place. "Sides, I've done the fuck 'im straight thing. Which does not work, FYI! Do not want! Ooh!! I love this song!" Brendon begins jumping around enthusiastically to the electronic bleating of VHS or Beta.
If, even a month ago, someone had suggested that Gerard would be shakin' his ass on the dance floor at a club--gay, straight, or otherwise--never mind that he'd be having what he's pretty sure is the time of his life outside of being on stage with his band, Gerard would have asked that someone if he looked like he was still using. But his ass? Definitely moving. He and Brendon are doing an improvised almost-pogo to what to Gerard's ear sounds like a typewriter and a computerized synth beat. And laughing their asses off.
For all she's a successful band's front woman, Brendon seems to have embraced the dance like no one is watching philosophy. She alternates between pogo-ing, grinding against Gerard's thigh, a jazzed up funky chicken, and a running man/on the spot electric slide that has Gerard laughing so hard all he's doing is holding on while she moves, abandoning his sad attempts at the white boy shuffle. "Shit," he wheezes, "I gotta go for a smoke."
"I'll come with you!" Brendon doesn't stop twitching and head bobbing as they find the exit. There's a large group of smokers and Gerard makes his way to the fringes of the gathering, lighting up as they walk.
"Fuckin' New York." Gerard grouses around his Marlboro, taking a deep, satisfied drag. "In Moscow, you can smoke fuckin' everywhere, man. Even the airports. It's awesome" He exhales around the smoke he's blowing into the night sky, then, glancing at Brendon, sees her running her hands up and down her arms. "Shit, here, c'mere." Cigarette perched firmly at the corner of his mouth, Gerard holds his arms out, wiggling his fingers encouragingly.
Snuggling into the circle of Gerard's arms, Brendon says, "I bet Moscow's nice. I've never really traveled anywhere, you know, without the band." She sighs, kissing lightly at his neck.
"Yeah, God. I don't even remember the last time I had a vacation. I think I was like, 17 or something and my parents took me and Mikes to the Shore." Gerard continues to draw on his smoke, a thumb stroking lightly at the back of Brendon's waist. "Can't really imagine just, you know, doing nothing."
"Me either." Brendon nods in agreement. "I mean I had to work like, two jobs and go to school, and do the band. Then we got signed and there was all that stuff, then touring." She shrugs and grins. "Wouldn't trade it though. It's good."
Gently rocking Brendon back and forth, Gerard hums under his breath as he smokes. "You cut quite a mean rug there, Mr. Way." Brendon chuckles into his collar.
"Oh yeah, my years of harboring dreams of being a Solid Gold dancer are being realized tonight."
"The what with the who?" Brendon flexes an eyebrow. "That some kind of secret code for like, being a stripper or something?"
Gerard laughs loudly and a few of the other smokers turn to glare at the couple. "Um. No. Fuck. That would be my age showing. It was a TV show when I was a kid..." He shakes his head, hair flopping over one eye. Gerard exhales heavily, smoke curling from his nose, and he tries again, "Um, I was the lead in my school musical, you know. I have formidable dance skills."
Brendon brushes the hair back from Gerard's face, "You want me to ask don't you?" They're smiling into each other's eyes as she continues, "Okay, so what was your school play?" Hand shifting to Gerard's mouth, Brendon plucks the almost spent cigarette from between his lips and brings it to her own.
"Peter Pan."
Her drag on the cigarette turns into a cough as Brendon dissolves into helpless laughter. "Oh. Oh God. You're trying to kill me!" She's bent forward, gasping and laughing, forehead resting against Gerard's sternum. Gerard takes the cigarette from her flapping hand and flicks it into the street.
"Seriously. Peter fucking Pan. I thought it would make me popular." He's gently patting Brendon on the back, trying to help her breathe through the nicotine and laughter. "I was a genius, man. I had moves like you've never seen."
Laughter sputtering to a hitching rasp, Brendon manages, "I bet you did! And the green fucking tights to match. Oh God. Gerard, you are the coolest person I know, for real." Still laughing she presses her lips to his.
"You know it." He stops her laughter with the insistent pressure of his own mouth, his tongue licking at the taste of tobacco as he pulls her close.
A small sigh escapes as she fists her hands in Gerard's hair and scrapes her even teeth over the fleshy divot above his top lip. "So,…formidable moves?" Brendon's pressed flush to Gerard from hips to shoulder and she's moving against him in a slow sway.
"Jesus," Gerard's mouth traces a path over her night chilled skin, stopping to lick at the red marks still visible on her clavicle as his thumb strokes over the choker ribbon tight around her neck. His breath burns in his chest when she gives him this look. And fuck, he's been half hard since they got into the cab. When Brendon wriggles out from his arms and turns to walk away, he's a little dazed. But then she's swinging her hips and looking at him over her shoulder and raising an eyebrow, encouraging Gerard to follow her. Shifting sideways through the tightly knotted group of smokers, Gerard reaches Brendon and rests his hand low on her hip.
The mischievous glint in her eyes belies her beatific grin as Brendon leads him down a narrow alley, separating the low brick club from the glass and metal office tower next door. She leans against a dull grey fire door, pulling Gerard close. "There," her smile widens, "Wouldn't want to you to share those moves with just anyone, now would we?" She sucks his bottom lip between her teeth, running her tongue along it.
Gerard groans low in his throat and can't help but tip his own hips in to meet Brendon's in an ever increasing, urgent sway. "Jesus. You're really serious, aren't you?" His eyes flutter closed as he nuzzles at Brendon's temple. He shifts his leg against her spread thighs, his erection rigid and easily discernible in the confines of his wool trousers. Blinking, Gerard darts a nervous glance down the alley to the sidewalk, allowing himself to be kissed, and moving his mouth absently in return.
"Mmm-hmm. There are some things I never joke about," Brendon's nimble fingers trail down the front of Gerard's shirt coming to rest at his belt. "So," she huffs a breathy whisper into his ear, running her tongue along the lobe, "You can show me your moves now," she stops, punctuating her words with a flick of her thumb, freeing the buckle, "Or, we can go back inside and you can fuck me on the dance floor." She pulls him in close, hips swaying to the music thumping through the heavy door behind her. Her breath hitches with laughter, as she recognizes the pizzicato strings and the beat of the tune, "How obnoxious would I be if I asked you to fuck me while my own band's song is playing?"
Gerard doesn't answer, can't even speak, any words are lost in the warm and soft of her against him. All he can do is lean into her, hands skimming her arms and shoulders as he mouths sloppily along her neck. "Nnngh," Gerard whines into the fragile bones behind her ear. Her fingers find his cock, stroking him inside his underwear and he mouths , "Yeah...don't have..."
"Here!" Brendon uses her free hand to flick open her hand bag, swinging from its chain and thumping against the wall. Not stopping the movement of her hips or her hand, and tilting her head to lengthen her neck and give more for Gerard to run his mouth and tongue over, Brendon jams her hand into her bag. "Problem solved!" With a stifled crow of triumph, she extracts a condom package and slips it into the hand Gerard had been using to trace finger-tipped patterns against her cleavage.
Swallowing heavily and standing back from Brendon, just a little, Gerard takes the condom and as quickly as possible skins it onto himself. Brendon leans heavily back into the wall, a smirk still playing at the corners of her lips as she reaches her hand under the hem of her skirt and with a few sharp movements of her hips, manages to shimmy the delicate lace of her thong down her leg where it gets tangled in the straps of her sandal. Eyes overbright and greedy, she fists Gerard's hardened cock and guides him close to her, with a smug nasal grunt, revelling in the feeling of being stretched and filled.
Gerard brings his hands up to knead at the plump swell of Brendon's ass, sinking his cock deep inside her wet warmth as she brings one leg up, encouraging him closer with whiny stammering breaths, one hand clutched desperately in his hair, the other clawing at the fire door. He covers her mouth with his to quell the loud croons she makes with his every thrust. Her other leg comes up and she locks her ankles at the small of his back, the tiny spikes of her stilettos digging divots into his ass as he changes the angle and rhythm of his fucking, making him gasp at the feeling of her, tight and hot, around his blood-swollen cock.
For long minutes the only sounds are the slapping of skin on skin and huffing grunts of arousal and encouragement. "Harder, harder, fuck me harder," Brendon pants and bites at Gerard's ear and shoulder, and he does; can't stop himself. Gerard hurtles headlong towards his orgasm and can tell by the increasing pitch of Brendon's nonsensical muttering, her forehead pressing hard into Gerard's shoulder as her hips buck and twitch to meet him, that she's close too. He puts his hand over her mouth to stifle her long, low moan as she comes in sea-tide ripples around him. She bites down hard on the fleshy side of his hand and brings her arms around his neck, hands scrabbling over the smooth cotton of his shirt.
The sting of her nails across his skin and the warm friction around him is all Gerard needs and he comes, rocking up into her with a wordless cry. The frantic tandem movement of their hips slows, then stills completely. Gerard's breath is a wet huff against the skin of Brendon's collarbone, and she untangles her shaky legs from around his waist, lowering them to the dirty alleyway with a clack of her heels. She's wobbly and too warm but doesn't want to move. "So, are we going back to your hotel?" Brendon kisses her way between Gerard's mouth and ear, her hands tracing lines across his back.
Gerard is still leaning his weight heavily against Brendon, panting into her hair. "I live across the river," he says, his mouth turned down in a look of discomfort and distaste as he shucks the used condom and flicks it off into the darkness of the laneway, then adjusts himself and zips up his pants. He kisses her, soft and lazy, fingertips following the lines of her shoulders.
Her eyes not leaving his, Brendon smirks, and crouches to untangle the knot of her panties, quickly dragging them up her leg and back into place, then tugging down her skirt. "Oh yeah," Brendon chuckles, squeezing at Gerard's waist and standing up more fully, easing his slumped form away from where her shoulder blades are digging uncomfortably into the brickwork beside the fire door. "Good thing I have a hotel room near by! But now? More dancing!" Brendon laughs, her full out geeky guffaw, at Gerard's stricken expression as she laces her fingers with his, ducking out of the circle of his arms and tugging Gerard out of the alley and back into the club with a wave at the bouncers.
They dance, and kiss, and Brendon enthusiastically flips off Gabe when he calls her out for missing his awesome mix of her own band's fucking hit song. Gerard's not sure if an hour or two or even three tick by. He should be shocked that he doesn't care. He likes the way Brendon's hips fit his hands. He likes the way she sways close to him and touches him almost constantly; likes the way her skin feels and how she smiles into his eyes. The club is even more packed then when they first arrived, and he gratefully takes the bottle of water Brendon waves in front of his face, smiling his thanks and silently acknowledging that her trip from the bar includes only water for herself. Gerard watches the long column of Brendon's throat, attention rapt as she tips back her head and swallows the entire bottle. Licking her lips she hooks her arm through Gerard's and says, "C'mon I'm starving. You're gonna buy me a pretzel!"
Gerard laughs too, picking his way between writhing knots of people until the couple reaches the doors to the club, "So you think I'm gonna buy you a pretzel, huh?" But he's smiling, tiny, pointed teeth digging into his bottom lip.
"No," Brendon wrinkles her nose and brings her face within an inch of Gerard's. "I know you're gonna buy me a pretzel, asshole!" She sticks her tongue out and waggles it, before affecting a seriously hip shaking saunter over to the street vendor on the corner of the block. Gerard lights up a cigarette and follows behind, just in time to hear Brendon proclaim, "And this pretty man is gonna pay!" Gerard playfully rolls his eyes, but opens his wallet and takes out a dollar bill, handing it to the man standing behind the wagon.
Brendon rips off small pieces of the warm dough and pops them into her mouth. "Mmmm, so good!" She closes her eyes and makes enthusiastic food appreciating noises. "You want some?" She mumbles around the food in her mouth, waggling the pretzel enticingly in front of Gerard.
Tilting his head to the sky and exhaling a long stream of grey-white smoke, he grins, wrinkling his nose, "And deprive you of pleasure? Never!"
Brendon giggles and loops her fingers through Gerard's belt, drawing him close. She continues to methodically tear apart and consume the salty street food as Gerard returns her embrace, enjoying the feeling of the night around them.
"Gerard?"
"Mmm?"
"I think I'm ready to go..."
"Right," he takes one last drag and flicks the half smoked cigarette into the street. Taking Brendon's hand, he leads them down the block to Hudson Street where it will be easier to get a taxi.
He stops her on the sidewalk, kissing her hard, "M'jacket." He says around her tongue. Giving her ass an enthusiastic squeeze, her turns back towards the club doors, taking out his Marlboros and lighting up, taking the advantage of the opportunity to feed his nicotine demon. He takes out his wallet and hands over his coat check ticket, and one large man disappears into the club's dark interior before almost immediately returning with his suit jacket.
Gerard comes up behind Brendon where she has one arm extended, hailing a cab, and wraps his arms around her waist, leaning his chin into the join of her shoulder and neck. If he stops to think about it he would probably be horrified to realise how very much he needs to touch her, every time she's near. It's like all rational thought eventually evaporates and all he can think about is miles of pale, soft olive skin and the sound of her breathing when she's wrapped around him. It crawls up his spine as real as any craving: the curse of an addictive personality.
She leans back into him, soft and pliant, and Gerard is quiet save for the draw of his breath around his cigarette. A Yellow Cab pulls up to the curb in front of them and Gerard opens the door for Brendon, guiding her into the back seat, before stepping around the car to slide in the street-side door. He flicks his half smoked Marlboro into the road, having seen the taxi driver's reproachful glare. Brendon's sleepy and cuddly, and after she gives the driver the address of the Midtown W Hotel, she almost shyly reaches for Gerard's hand, pulling him close.
Gerard thinks he likes this Brendon; alcohol, having made its way through her blood stream, has all but burned away the brash party girl. They ride though the city night in companionable silence, with gentle strokes of hands and soft kisses. Gerard nuzzles his nose into the side of Brendon's face, taking in the spicy, feminine scent of her, and letting the warmth from the swell of her hips buzz through the skin of his palms, eyes happily closed as he wonders at never noticing how starved for touch he'd become these past few months.
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