GET FAMILIAR
inspired by disarm_d's quest to find Brendon a boyfriend, me'n'Jasbah have. . .decided to find Brendon a boyfriend. One a day? This game could continue a while.
Ian comes home with new ink and he strips right in the living room to show his cousin. Brendon, in the kitchen, hears Shane exclaiming, and keeps quiet. He hears the magic words, "I'm going to the grocery store; I'll be back soon" and the magic sound of the door slamming. The house is still for a second, and then: "wait are you waiting for, Urie?"
"In case he forgot his keys," says Brendon, who knows Shane forgets his keys once every five weeks, and this is only week three. Really, he is savoring the calm in his bones and his muscles as he wipes his hands dry on a cloth.
Ian walks in and says, more insistent, "what are you waiting for, Urie?" He hops onto the counter. Brendon takes a deep breath and cocks his head. His body jumps to life and his fingers twitch.
"Arms up," he says, but Ian just crosses them, eyebrows raised. He comes closer. "Arms up, Crawford."
Ian lays his arms around Brendon's shoulders and Brendon sucks in a breath. Ian smirks. Brendon settles in between Ian's legs and quirks his mouth to the side. He leans in.
"Dammit, guys," says Shane. He has his hand over his eyes. "I said not in the public areas!"
Ian grins and flips him off. Brendon kisses him.
As far as Decaydance debauchery goes it really wasn't that bad, just your typical, boss hires a suite and everyone shows up plus one or two or their band, or The Cab with the alcohol, lord knows how that happened, those five, but they show up just after Panic does, and Patrick is really impressed with this year's VMA show not just because of Rihanna, no, but how quickly his friends and labelmates shook off the press and stress and ended up in Pete's suite. Usually it takes a while for everyone to drift in from parties and then the real fun starts but only took an hour, maybe two before Gabe Saporta swept and said, enough of this fucking bullshit! He ripped Pete's suit-jacket off, turned the music up, and everyone got down to the business fucking shit up. Or fucking up. Or just. . .fucking. Two wins felt like an excuse to be rockstars. Patrick followed, and fast.
No one had done any coke yet, he thought. At least not off a stripper's ass. Maybe Pete's. Maybe not. He's the boss.
He laughed out loud and Brendon, nine drinks, a quarter of a toke and one harmless kiss from Gabe's closed lips in, zero'd in on him like a missle and Patrick put his hands up because a suite was fun but not with a camera and the nation watching and now they were far, far away from any suite like that, Brendon was on him, because Brendon stays closest to the one with the most joy these days. It used to be the darkest. Now it's the lightest. Ryan in both ways. Patrick laughs again, and that just makes Brendon move a dancing couple aside and latch onto Patrick, backing him up and up and up and saying, what's so funny, huh, Patrick, what's so funny. Patrick just says, you, with a smile and Brendon says, aw, aha, aw, really, well, you know, um, you know. He looks around quick and kisses Patrick lightly or tries to, but Patrick's got years of muscles and reflexes from Pete on him, and he grabs Brendon's forearms and drags him in close, real close. Brendon gasps like this is any kind of shock, but it's a happy gasp that forces his mouth open and Patrick to lick closer, wetter, darker.
"Patrick," says Brendon, using some force to pull himself away, "why Patrick, I, well, I, um." He leans in again.
"No, what did you mean to say," says Patrick, tilting his head back.
"I don't know," says Brendon. "But you taste like expensive alcohol, so."
"And," says Patrick.
"And," says Brendon. "I'm a bit sweaty."
"And," says Patrick.
"Oh no," says Brendon.
"And," prompts Patrick.
"And to have a good time," says Brendon, he starts to unbutton his buttons, "we must take our clothes off."
Patrick starts laughing again when Brendon plasters himself closer, Patrick lets him.
Yeah I was not having a coherent day yesterday. aha. /o\
Ian comes home with new ink and he strips right in the living room to show his cousin. Brendon, in the kitchen, hears Shane exclaiming, and keeps quiet. He hears the magic words, "I'm going to the grocery store; I'll be back soon" and the magic sound of the door slamming. The house is still for a second, and then: "wait are you waiting for, Urie?"
"In case he forgot his keys," says Brendon, who knows Shane forgets his keys once every five weeks, and this is only week three. Really, he is savoring the calm in his bones and his muscles as he wipes his hands dry on a cloth.
Ian walks in and says, more insistent, "what are you waiting for, Urie?" He hops onto the counter. Brendon takes a deep breath and cocks his head. His body jumps to life and his fingers twitch.
"Arms up," he says, but Ian just crosses them, eyebrows raised. He comes closer. "Arms up, Crawford."
Ian lays his arms around Brendon's shoulders and Brendon sucks in a breath. Ian smirks. Brendon settles in between Ian's legs and quirks his mouth to the side. He leans in.
"Dammit, guys," says Shane. He has his hand over his eyes. "I said not in the public areas!"
Ian grins and flips him off. Brendon kisses him.
As far as Decaydance debauchery goes it really wasn't that bad, just your typical, boss hires a suite and everyone shows up plus one or two or their band, or The Cab with the alcohol, lord knows how that happened, those five, but they show up just after Panic does, and Patrick is really impressed with this year's VMA show not just because of Rihanna, no, but how quickly his friends and labelmates shook off the press and stress and ended up in Pete's suite. Usually it takes a while for everyone to drift in from parties and then the real fun starts but only took an hour, maybe two before Gabe Saporta swept and said, enough of this fucking bullshit! He ripped Pete's suit-jacket off, turned the music up, and everyone got down to the business fucking shit up. Or fucking up. Or just. . .fucking. Two wins felt like an excuse to be rockstars. Patrick followed, and fast.
No one had done any coke yet, he thought. At least not off a stripper's ass. Maybe Pete's. Maybe not. He's the boss.
He laughed out loud and Brendon, nine drinks, a quarter of a toke and one harmless kiss from Gabe's closed lips in, zero'd in on him like a missle and Patrick put his hands up because a suite was fun but not with a camera and the nation watching and now they were far, far away from any suite like that, Brendon was on him, because Brendon stays closest to the one with the most joy these days. It used to be the darkest. Now it's the lightest. Ryan in both ways. Patrick laughs again, and that just makes Brendon move a dancing couple aside and latch onto Patrick, backing him up and up and up and saying, what's so funny, huh, Patrick, what's so funny. Patrick just says, you, with a smile and Brendon says, aw, aha, aw, really, well, you know, um, you know. He looks around quick and kisses Patrick lightly or tries to, but Patrick's got years of muscles and reflexes from Pete on him, and he grabs Brendon's forearms and drags him in close, real close. Brendon gasps like this is any kind of shock, but it's a happy gasp that forces his mouth open and Patrick to lick closer, wetter, darker.
"Patrick," says Brendon, using some force to pull himself away, "why Patrick, I, well, I, um." He leans in again.
"No, what did you mean to say," says Patrick, tilting his head back.
"I don't know," says Brendon. "But you taste like expensive alcohol, so."
"And," says Patrick.
"And," says Brendon. "I'm a bit sweaty."
"And," says Patrick.
"Oh no," says Brendon.
"And," prompts Patrick.
"And to have a good time," says Brendon, he starts to unbutton his buttons, "we must take our clothes off."
Patrick starts laughing again when Brendon plasters himself closer, Patrick lets him.
Yeah I was not having a coherent day yesterday. aha. /o\