Ending Five
Except the man standing in the doorway wasn’t Patrick Stump.
He was a lot taller, for one thing, and looked more muscular, and he had blonde hair falling into his eyes. He stared at Brendon and reached for his light switch, and Brendon was suddenly really glad he’d unscrewed the bulbs. Maybe he could just sort of rush him and run out past him. Only, it was really difficult to run in these heels.
The guy cleared his throat and stepped further into the room. The light from the hall hit his features just right and Brendon smacked a hand over his mouth. Of course. How stupid could he be? He remembered Pete saying something now, about Patrick sharing his place. That meant he’d just accidentally fucked with the stuff of…
“Bob? Bob Bryar?”
Bob tossed his jean jacket over the back of a chair and turned to face Brendon. He looked really good in the half-light, hair glinting golden; eyes still bright blue despite the gloom. Brendon felt the little clench in his stomach that he sometimes got looking at pictures of Bob, and seeing him play.
“Is this some sort of weird, fan, stalker thing?” Bob asked mildly. “Do I need to call the police?”
Brendon laughed nervously. “Um. Just a small misunderstanding, really. I thought this was Patrick’s room.”
Bob arched a brow. “So you’re stalking Patrick?”
“Yes!” Brendon exclaimed in relief. “No! No. I’m not stalking anyone.” Brendon scrambled off the bed, fighting with the skirt not to flash Bob, or anything. “I was. Um.” He pushed at the strands of wig that had got caught in his lipgloss. “I can explain this.”
“The wig? Or the breaking and entering?” Bob looked, mostly, amused, which was a good sign, right?
“Both,” Brendon said quickly. He smoothed his skirt. Bob crossed his arms expectantly. “Well…alright.” Except he couldn’t think of any explanation that sounded remotely okay. They stood in silence for a long time.
“Okay,” Bob said at last. “Maybe you should go, and then I don’t have to call the cops, okay?”
“No, no, no,” Brendon said. “No, you don’t have to call the cops at all. But William said I had to fuck shit up, and he’s going to know if I didn’t.”
Bob’s brow furrowed. “What kind of fans are you guys?”
Brendon whipped his wig off and crossed his arms. “I’m not a fan. Well. Okay, I am. But I’m not just a fan.” Bob stared at him blankly. Brendon’s shoulders fell. “Don’t you…Don’t you know me?”
“Uh…Sorry, no,” Bob said. He was very polite about it.
“Whatever, Bill can go fuck himself,” Brendon muttered, more to himself than to Bob. “Look, I totally wouldn’t have fucked with your shit if I’d known it was yours. If you want I can fold your clothes again?” Bob’s heavy stare was enough of an answer. Brendon’s shoulders fell another notch. “Well, do you have a pen I could use? Paper?”
Bemused, Bob fished around inside his bedside table and produced the items. Brendon scribbled out a brief message.
Trick, If Bill asks, plz to be telling him I fucked shit up good. Also, don’t kill me. It would make Pete sad. And potentially be a breach on contract, or something. IDK. <3, Bden.
He stuck the note to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a cartoon cactus. Bob just watched him as he went through the motions, then was even nice enough to let him use the front door instead of clambering down the fire escape. “I, uh, just want you to know, it isn’t anything personal, that I was coming here to fuck with Patrick’s shit. That was just what the dare was. I totally forgot you were even staying here.”
“How do fans even find this shit out?” Bob wondered in vague amazement.
“Anyway,” Brendon said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He decided he was so over Bob not recognising him. Panic! probably wasn’t the sort of music that a member of My Chemical Romance listened to. “I’m totally a fan of yours, too. And. Um. Your lip ring is hot.”
And, since it couldn’t possibly make things worse, Brendon got up on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of Bob’s mouth, the curve of metal digging into his lip. “Thanks for not calling the cops.” He clutched the wig to his chest and hurried down the hall. Then Brendon went straight back to Pete’s place and hid out in his room.
When Brendon ran into Bill the next day Bill gave him a look of surprised respect and a high five. “Dude, Patrick called earlier.”
The Butcher nodded solemnly. “Fucking with Bob Bryar’s shit? That’s hardcore, yo.”
“Oh, yeah, hardcore,” Brendon echoed dully. “Did Patrick mention any, uh, death in my future?”
The Butcher and William shared this really creepy, knowing smirk. “Nope. No death.”
All was quiet for the next couple of days, which only put Brendon more on edge about what could possibly be coming. Patrick had even been over for a little while to pick up Pete and Pete hadn’t been ready. But he hadn’t said anything to Brendon, or given him any threatening looks. So maybe it was okay. Maybe Patrick had been on the receiving end of a Bill!Dare, and he just understood. Or something.
Except that Brendon didn’t really believe that. He more believed that Patrick was part of the scary, intimidating school of payback that made you think everything was okay, and let you get back to normal, just to get you when you least expected it. So he was going to keep on suspecting it. And maybe apologise again as a pre-emptive strike.
He took Ryan shopping with him, because Ryan had the best taste of anyone in the group. Of course, it meant he had to stand around in Forever XXI while Ryan tried on jeans, but then Ryan modelled for him, and Ryan had a really nice ass. Plus whatever he bought, Brendon could usually borrow.
Brendon took a cab to Patrick’s place with a sack full of shiny new hats. He’d got the key from Pete, but only used that to get into the building. This was going to be a totally legitimate trip to Patrick’s. No breaking and entering. He clenched the straps of the bag tight enough to leave lines in his palm and knocked on the door.
Bob answered the door. He took Brendon in from head to toe then stepped aside to let him enter. “No dress today?” he asked.
Brendon felt himself blush bright red. “Is Patrick here?” he asked. Pete had said Patrick would be, but Pete didn’t know where he was half the time. It might be expecting too much that he would be able to keep track of people other than himself.
“At the studio,” Bob said, shaking his head. “Come to glue his shoes together this time?”
“Was he super pissed?” Brendon asked, biting his lip.
“Well, since it was my shit you fucked with, he was mostly only amused.” Bob’s voice was surprisingly soft for a man who was as big and scary looking as he was. Not weirdly pitched like Ray’s, but definitely not booming.
Brendon cringed. “Were you super pissed?” Bob’s fists were really big, and he had lots of arm muscles from playing drums. He could probably hit pretty hard.
“I don’t think anything you did on purpose was worse than the shit Gee and Frank do by accident,” Bob said easily.
“Gee and Frank…You guys actually call him Gee?” The little fangirl in Brendon’s head needed to shut the hell up, for real. “I mean. Still. I’m sorry about that. I, uh, brought something.” He lifted the bag. “For Patrick. But, I mean, if I had known…”
He had ended up fucking around with more of Bob’s stuff. He should have brought him a gift, too. Pete would have probably been able to figure out what he would like. He wasn’t all the way in the apartment yet. He could still make a break for it.
“Brendon, right?” Bob said.
“You…you recognise me?” Brendon asked hopefully.
Bob chuckled. “Patrick told me. Look, Brendon, you seem kind of nervous, but I’m not going to kick your ass, okay?”
Brendon let out a shaky little breath. “So, I’m just going to leave this…” He sidled toward the door he’d thought was a closet before and set the bag in front of it.
The television was paused on a familiar scene. “I love this movie!” he exclaimed. John Cusack was bent in half over a filing cabinet, just before the film’s big reveal.
“Mikey keeps telling me I need to see it,” Bob said.
“You mean, you haven’t seen it before?” That was criminal. Being John Malkovich should be required viewing for, like, the world. Brendon scrambled onto the couch, settling in before he realised that even though this was Patrick’s place, he wasn’t necessarily welcome.
But Bob just took a seat at the opposite end of the couch and passed Brendon a bowl of popcorn and pushed play. Brendon didn’t usually watch movies in silence and he was bad at sitting still. But Bob fucking Bryar was watching a movie with him in the apartment he shared with Patrick Stump, and he’d never seen the movie, so Brendon just bit his lip. Sometimes it was freaky how incredible his life had become in the past year or so.
So they watched the movie in silence and Brendon kept sneaking glances out the corner of his eye at Bob. He had this really incredible hair that Brendon hadn’t even, like, considered before. It was styled a little bit like Jon’s, with the long, side-swept bangs in the front, and wispy short strands in the back. On Jon it looked sweet. On Bob it looked badass.
And, okay, so Brendon didn’t usually dig facial hair, but Bob rocked it. He looked like a lion, or something. But with the most amazing blue eyes ever. Maybe even more amazing than Spencer’s. He’d have to see Bob smile before he could make a call, because when Spencer smiled, his eyes sparkled.
It was getting dark by the time the movie ended, and as the credits started to roll, Brendon fidgeted, wondering if he should say something. He looked uneasily at Bob and Bob arched a brow. He looked like he was assessing Brendon. Finally, Bob said, “I’m supposed to meet the guys for dinner. You hungry?”
“Are…are you inviting me?” Brendon asked, heart in his throat.
Dinner. With the guys. Of My Chem. That would pretty much make his life complete.
Bob chuckled, ducking his head when he did, but Brendon still caught a glimpse of the expression. Maybe tied with Spencer’s sparkle, then. “Yes. I’m inviting you. Do you want to come?”
“Yes! Ohmygod, yes.”
They met the others at a restaurant downtown where Bob said they often ate when in town. An area in the back had been sectioned off for them. Brendon realised there were benefits of fame, but he’d been so busy since becoming famous that he’d spent most of his time in busses or eating in diners in the middle of nowhere. This was a lot cooler. Especially since when he went into the back, Gerard Way and Frank Iero were already there, having a fork duel.
“Bob!” Frank greeted enthusiastically. “And…kid. Who’s the kid?” He frowned at Brendon.
“It’s Brendon,” Bob waved toward him and Gerard promptly shook hands with Brendon.
Before they could get any further in the introductions, Ray, Mikey, Pete and Joe came ambling in. And, so, maybe it was really cool to meet My Chemical Romance, but it was nice also to be around people who knew and accepted him for the spaz he was. Mikey very magnanimously accepted the full body hug Brendon gave him, and Joe didn’t push him away when Brendon kissed the side of his mouth.
“Brendon?” Frank said. “Brendon the kid from that band you signed?” He pointed at Pete accusingly.
“We have a name,” Brendon protested from his place in Pete’s lap.
“Yeah, yeah, Panic! on the Dance Floor.” Frank waved a dismissive hand at him.
Gerard tried to stand up for Brendon by saying the right name for their band, but ruined it by bursting into laughter halfway through, he and Frank pressing their shoulders together.
No one except Mikey managed to stay in a seat for very long. The rest of them played musical chairs, keeping up multiple conversations. Brendon had to admit, it worked better than the way the various Decaydance bands just shouted over top of each other to talk to people at opposite ends of the room.
Brendon felt a bit at sea in it all, but he did have a fun conversation with Ray about Supernatural and Harry Potter. Then he made the mistake of mentioning he liked comics, which led to a heated debate between Frank, Pete and Gerard, with Brendon caught in the middle and lots of hand-waving.
Bob caught up with him after they’d ordered dessert and over half the table had gone outside for a smoke break. “They’re kind of…intense,” Bob said, with a gesture towards their departing backs.
“Are you apologising for them?” Brendon asked. That was sort of terrifically awesome.
“I listened to your CD the other day. Ryan’s pretty impressive,” Bob said.
“Oh! Oh, yes, Ryan is really impressive,” Brendon agreed, bobbing his head enthusiastically. Inside he was dying a little.
“And Spencer; I watched a few videos of your guys playing. He’s fucking hardcore. I may have underestimated you guys.”
“Yeah…Spence is super cool,” Brendon agreed. He swallowed hard, dying a little inside.
“Brendon.” Bob leaned into his personal space. He was smiling just a little, this expression that made his mouth seem fuller on the side with the lip ring.
“Uh huh?”
“I am, for no rational reason I can discern, into you.”
Quite without his permission, Brendon’s jaw dropped. He shut it with a click of his teeth. Bob’s finger caught him under the chin, tilted his head up. They were kissing before Brendon even had time to fully process that Bob’s declaration might lead to kissing.
Bob’s facial hair wasn’t scratchy, but soft and tickly. When Bob parted his mouth, Brendon followed his lead. He was wearing a different lip ring from the night before. It had rounded ends instead of the pointed ones from when Brendon kissed him. It was like Bob had planned on kissing.
A throat being cleared made Brendon pull back, but Bob kept him close with a hand at the back of his neck. Pete was grinning madly at him and Gerard looked frighteningly like a proud father.
Later when everyone started to leave, Brendon asked, “So, do you really like our music, or were you just saying that?”
“Are you suggesting that I’d need to lie to you to get you into bed?” Bob countered.
“Wow.” Brendon stared at him, wide-eyed. This was going really quickly. “Wow. You’re trying to get me into bed with you?”
Bob ran a hand down Brendon’s side. “I was pretty much ready to get you into bed with me when you were the crazy stalker fan in drag.”
“Are you serious?” Brendon was actually pretty sure that he had fallen off the fire escape when breaking into Patrick’s place, and everything since then had been some coma-induced hallucination, because this was remarkably strange. “I was fucking up your shit.”
“You were sort of charming about it,” Bob said.
“No. No I wasn’t,” Brendon protested. Mostly he didn’t want to fight this because Bob was, well, hot. And Bob Bryar. But he was ninety-eight percent certain that this Truth or Dare was still going on, or he was on Punk’d or something, and any minute Bill or Ashton were going to jump out and use this story to embarrass him forever and all eternity.
“No. But your voice is sort of amazing.” Bob’s tone of voice sent shivers of excitement up Brendon’s spine. He stepped closer to Brendon, wrapping his arm around Brendon’s waist.
“I was a huge spaz,” Brendon said, pressing a hand against Bob’s chest.
“I have a soft spot for spazzes,” Bob said. “I blame it on my band.” Brendon wasn’t pushing him away very hard. In fact, he was mostly clenching his hand into Bob’s shirt and pulling him closer. Bob ducked his head to brush a kiss over Brendon’s lips. A little kiss turned into them making out against the side of Bob’s car.
They parted, Brendon breathing heavily, and Bob nuzzled down his throat. “Also, you looked really hot in that skirt.” Brendon whimpered and thrust his hips into Bob’s, but he couldn’t say if that was down to what Bob said, or the way he was sucking a hickey onto his neck.
“Do you want to go to bed with me?” Bob asked.
It might have been too forward, or maybe a little creepy, if it was someone else. But somehow with Bob, it was sexy and charming. Brendon nodded his head fervently. “Yes. Yes I want to go to bed with you.”
The entire drive back to Bob’s place, Brendon couldn’t keep his hands to himself, which was okay, because Bob couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself, either. He kept tracing the inseam of Brendon’s jeans, just high enough that the tip of his pinkie finger nudged Brendon’s hard-on every time.
Brendon writhed in the seat, twisting his fingers in Bob’s hair and kissing up his neck, the only place he could really get at without the risk of making Bob wreck the car. Whenever they hit a red light, they were kissing, all tongue and teeth, and Brendon’s lips were sore in less than three miles. His mouth was numb in five, and he never wanted to stop.
They ran up the stairs to the apartment. Brendon bit a purple mark onto the back of Bob’s neck while he unlocked the door and they fell in together, Brendon pushed into the door by the force of Bob’s kiss with their hips grinding together. Patrick was good enough to ignore them entirely from his place on the couch. Laughing breathlessly, they stumbled into Bob’s bedroom.
Bob kicked the door shut behind them, already tugging his shirt off. Brendon got off his shoes, socks and jeans in record time and climbed onto the bed. He hoped he looked inviting, and not like a ridiculously inexperienced, desperate fanboy.
He didn’t know if he should take off the rest of his clothes yet, or not. It was a little intimidating with Bob stripping off all his clothing, like he had nothing in the world to be embarrassed about. And he totally didn’t, because he was like some Scandinavian god, with all his golden skin and golden hair and the muscles. Compared to him, Brendon probably looked like a twelve year old.
Then Bob dropped his underwear and, maybe it was slightly scary, but Brendon had been shoving fingers up his ass since he was seventeen, and four had stopped being enough a long time ago.
“This will go more smoothly if you take off your clothes,” Bob said, with a gentle smile. He climbed onto the bed and though Brendon wasn’t super excited about Bob seeing him naked, he didn’t stop Bob from lifting the shirt over his head. They were kissing as soon as it was off, and when Bob started on Brendon’s briefs, he barely even noticed.
In fact, Bob was really smooth about everything, so that every time Brendon started to get nervous about what would happen next-where to put his hands or his mouth, what sort of noises were okay-Bob guided him along with soft touches and hard kisses that left Brendon feeling disoriented and needy. And he’d wanted to lose his virginity before, really really, but in an impersonal sort of way. Like, it had to happen soon, because it was stupid to still be a virgin, and also, he’d heard a rumour or a million that sex was awesome.
Only this was not an impersonal thought. He wanted to lose his virginity, and he wanted to lose it to Bob Bryar. And not just because of this sense of hero worship, but also because it just felt right.
Bob was amazingly good at the gay sex thing, which was surprising to Brendon. If he’d been asked to separate My Chemical Romance band members into groups of gay and straight, it would have been Bob: straight, Everyone Else: gay. Later, when they were lying together, sweaty and sticky, Bob revealed that it was more like Bob: gay, Ray: very straight, Mikey: pretty straight, and Frank and Gerard: Everything Else.
When Brendon had thought about it, he’d always figured he’d be the sort of guy who liked it both ways, top and bottom. He was into chicks and guys both, so it would have to make sense that he’d be into being a top, and he really wanted a guy to fuck him, so. He’d also always assumed it would hurt like hell.
Turned out he was wrong on both counts. Well, not entirely. It did hurt, a little, at first, but it was more just a slight twinge of discomfort than anything else. When he’d gasped in pain, Bob had changed his method, and after that it had just been a slow burn that was actually nice. Really, really fucking nice. Nice enough that he was totally ruling out topping. Ever. Because that would mean he would have a dick in his ass, and that would be criminal.
Patrick turned up the television higher, which was when Brendon realised how loud he was getting. He blushed and bit his lip, but that made Bob grin wickedly at him and fuck him harder.
“Fuck,” Brendon whined. It came out a little garbled around his bitten lip. Bob knew how to fold Brendon’s legs against his chest and spread them just right, and how to tilt his hips at the perfect angle.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t know how anyone could hold out for very long under non-virgin circumstances, let alone as a first time experience. When he came, it was probably the most intense thing he’d ever felt. It went all through his body and his vision went a little blurry. He suddenly didn’t care how much noise he was making.
Bob kept driving into him and Brendon just clung a little helplessly to him; it was almost too much. But he made sure to keep his eyes open to see Bob’s expression when he came-eyes shut softly, mouth hung open on an almost voiceless groan in the shape of Brendon’s name. The sight of it made Brendon feel full in his chest, like he suddenly knew what it meant to be an adult, and it had nothing to do with losing his virginity.
It took Brendon a minute to catch his breath and regain his ability to think. He felt heavy and weak all over, but in a good way. He was pretty tired, but something told him he couldn’t just fall asleep. In fact, the longer they went without speaking, the more awkward Brendon felt.
Just when Brendon was wondering if he should get up and start getting dressed, Bob rolled over and threw an arm over his stomach. Now, the sense of right from before was completely gone, leaving him feeling cold and a little sick to his stomach.
There’d been this little voice in the back of Brendon’s head since their second kiss saying that Bob would only be interested in one thing. After all, he’d made no effort to hide the fact that he’d been after sex. And yeah, he might have said he was into Brendon’s band, but that was a classic line on the scene. Brendon was mostly sure that someone like Bob would not dig their music.
“You okay?” Bob muttered. He pressed damp little kisses over Brendon’s shoulder, up his neck.
“Should I…” Brendon forced his breathing to slow down. “Should I go?”
Bob sat up enough to look down at Brendon with a frown. “Do you want to go?”
“Don’t you want me to go?” Brendon asked quickly.
“Are you freaking out on me?” Bob’s frown turned into a slow smile. “Brendon…”
“You’re a very cool, very famous guy-” Brendon began.
“So are you. Well, famous, anyway,” Bob amended, biting his lip slyly. “Look, if you’re trying to suggest that I was using you for sex, I might have to get offended.”
“Wh…why?” Brendon stuttered. “You’re a rock star.”
Bob laughed. “You use that excuse very often?” There was something teasing in his tone, like he was mocking Brendon’s lack of experience, which meant he must have been obvious about it.
“God, was I horrible?” He covered his face with his arms and rolled away onto his side. Bob kissed his shoulder blade. “So you…if you weren’t just using me for sex…”
“Well, I am. But I like listening to you babble, too,” Bob said.
Brendon rolled over and dropped his arms. He meant to make a noise of indignant disbelief, but was cut off by Bob’s lips. Brendon tensed at first, but Bob’s kiss was insistent, and Brendon felt himself melting into it, body going loose, letting the kiss become slow and lazy. Bob wrapped him in his arms.
Usually Brendon was attracted to guys similar in build to him-slight, skinny, wiry, not much taller. But it was nice being held by somebody who was so much bigger, like Bob could fold his arms tight and crush Brendon to him, and Brendon wouldn’t mind it.
He especially liked Bob rolling Brendon under him. He opened his legs in welcome. It still burned when Bob pushed into him for the second time-worse, since he was still tender from the first. But it wasn’t enough to make him want to stop. Later, though, when they were both hard again, Bob refused to fuck him again, telling him he’d regret it in the morning. Instead, Brendon both gave and received his first blowjob. When Bob said they should wait a day or two before fucking again, Brendon was mostly okay with that, because as much as he had enjoyed it, blowjobs were a fair compensation.
“So, you’ll want to do this again, in a day or two. With me?” Brendon asked around a mouthful of food. Bob had made pancakes and Patrick had taken one look at the two of them before taking his back into his bedroom.
Bob rolled his eyes and pushed Brendon’s milk closer to him. “Seriously, I’m going to have to talk to Pete and Patrick about teaching you to not talk with your mouth full.” Brendon smiled, showing a mouthful of food. “And chew with your mouth closed. Jesus. Where were you raised?”
Brendon swallowed quickly and gulped down his drink. “Seriously. Do you want to do this again, in a day or two?”
“Brendon.” Bob took Brendon’s hand in his cheek, stroking his thumb over the curve. He looked fond of him. It was weird, not having that expression tempered with annoyance or exasperation. Brendon swallowed again, more slowly.
“Yeah,” Brendon said. He felt himself nodding, met Bob’s kiss halfway. His little voice was back, telling him that he was only visiting for a little while before he went back on tour, and Bob was only here while My Chem was recording and then they’d be back on tour, and long distance relationships never worked and, and, and…then Bob deepened the kiss and the little voice shut up.
End story five
Go back to the last choice.
Go back to the beginning.
He was a lot taller, for one thing, and looked more muscular, and he had blonde hair falling into his eyes. He stared at Brendon and reached for his light switch, and Brendon was suddenly really glad he’d unscrewed the bulbs. Maybe he could just sort of rush him and run out past him. Only, it was really difficult to run in these heels.
The guy cleared his throat and stepped further into the room. The light from the hall hit his features just right and Brendon smacked a hand over his mouth. Of course. How stupid could he be? He remembered Pete saying something now, about Patrick sharing his place. That meant he’d just accidentally fucked with the stuff of…
“Bob? Bob Bryar?”
Bob tossed his jean jacket over the back of a chair and turned to face Brendon. He looked really good in the half-light, hair glinting golden; eyes still bright blue despite the gloom. Brendon felt the little clench in his stomach that he sometimes got looking at pictures of Bob, and seeing him play.
“Is this some sort of weird, fan, stalker thing?” Bob asked mildly. “Do I need to call the police?”
Brendon laughed nervously. “Um. Just a small misunderstanding, really. I thought this was Patrick’s room.”
Bob arched a brow. “So you’re stalking Patrick?”
“Yes!” Brendon exclaimed in relief. “No! No. I’m not stalking anyone.” Brendon scrambled off the bed, fighting with the skirt not to flash Bob, or anything. “I was. Um.” He pushed at the strands of wig that had got caught in his lipgloss. “I can explain this.”
“The wig? Or the breaking and entering?” Bob looked, mostly, amused, which was a good sign, right?
“Both,” Brendon said quickly. He smoothed his skirt. Bob crossed his arms expectantly. “Well…alright.” Except he couldn’t think of any explanation that sounded remotely okay. They stood in silence for a long time.
“Okay,” Bob said at last. “Maybe you should go, and then I don’t have to call the cops, okay?”
“No, no, no,” Brendon said. “No, you don’t have to call the cops at all. But William said I had to fuck shit up, and he’s going to know if I didn’t.”
Bob’s brow furrowed. “What kind of fans are you guys?”
Brendon whipped his wig off and crossed his arms. “I’m not a fan. Well. Okay, I am. But I’m not just a fan.” Bob stared at him blankly. Brendon’s shoulders fell. “Don’t you…Don’t you know me?”
“Uh…Sorry, no,” Bob said. He was very polite about it.
“Whatever, Bill can go fuck himself,” Brendon muttered, more to himself than to Bob. “Look, I totally wouldn’t have fucked with your shit if I’d known it was yours. If you want I can fold your clothes again?” Bob’s heavy stare was enough of an answer. Brendon’s shoulders fell another notch. “Well, do you have a pen I could use? Paper?”
Bemused, Bob fished around inside his bedside table and produced the items. Brendon scribbled out a brief message.
Trick, If Bill asks, plz to be telling him I fucked shit up good. Also, don’t kill me. It would make Pete sad. And potentially be a breach on contract, or something. IDK. <3, Bden.
He stuck the note to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a cartoon cactus. Bob just watched him as he went through the motions, then was even nice enough to let him use the front door instead of clambering down the fire escape. “I, uh, just want you to know, it isn’t anything personal, that I was coming here to fuck with Patrick’s shit. That was just what the dare was. I totally forgot you were even staying here.”
“How do fans even find this shit out?” Bob wondered in vague amazement.
“Anyway,” Brendon said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He decided he was so over Bob not recognising him. Panic! probably wasn’t the sort of music that a member of My Chemical Romance listened to. “I’m totally a fan of yours, too. And. Um. Your lip ring is hot.”
And, since it couldn’t possibly make things worse, Brendon got up on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of Bob’s mouth, the curve of metal digging into his lip. “Thanks for not calling the cops.” He clutched the wig to his chest and hurried down the hall. Then Brendon went straight back to Pete’s place and hid out in his room.
When Brendon ran into Bill the next day Bill gave him a look of surprised respect and a high five. “Dude, Patrick called earlier.”
The Butcher nodded solemnly. “Fucking with Bob Bryar’s shit? That’s hardcore, yo.”
“Oh, yeah, hardcore,” Brendon echoed dully. “Did Patrick mention any, uh, death in my future?”
The Butcher and William shared this really creepy, knowing smirk. “Nope. No death.”
All was quiet for the next couple of days, which only put Brendon more on edge about what could possibly be coming. Patrick had even been over for a little while to pick up Pete and Pete hadn’t been ready. But he hadn’t said anything to Brendon, or given him any threatening looks. So maybe it was okay. Maybe Patrick had been on the receiving end of a Bill!Dare, and he just understood. Or something.
Except that Brendon didn’t really believe that. He more believed that Patrick was part of the scary, intimidating school of payback that made you think everything was okay, and let you get back to normal, just to get you when you least expected it. So he was going to keep on suspecting it. And maybe apologise again as a pre-emptive strike.
He took Ryan shopping with him, because Ryan had the best taste of anyone in the group. Of course, it meant he had to stand around in Forever XXI while Ryan tried on jeans, but then Ryan modelled for him, and Ryan had a really nice ass. Plus whatever he bought, Brendon could usually borrow.
Brendon took a cab to Patrick’s place with a sack full of shiny new hats. He’d got the key from Pete, but only used that to get into the building. This was going to be a totally legitimate trip to Patrick’s. No breaking and entering. He clenched the straps of the bag tight enough to leave lines in his palm and knocked on the door.
Bob answered the door. He took Brendon in from head to toe then stepped aside to let him enter. “No dress today?” he asked.
Brendon felt himself blush bright red. “Is Patrick here?” he asked. Pete had said Patrick would be, but Pete didn’t know where he was half the time. It might be expecting too much that he would be able to keep track of people other than himself.
“At the studio,” Bob said, shaking his head. “Come to glue his shoes together this time?”
“Was he super pissed?” Brendon asked, biting his lip.
“Well, since it was my shit you fucked with, he was mostly only amused.” Bob’s voice was surprisingly soft for a man who was as big and scary looking as he was. Not weirdly pitched like Ray’s, but definitely not booming.
Brendon cringed. “Were you super pissed?” Bob’s fists were really big, and he had lots of arm muscles from playing drums. He could probably hit pretty hard.
“I don’t think anything you did on purpose was worse than the shit Gee and Frank do by accident,” Bob said easily.
“Gee and Frank…You guys actually call him Gee?” The little fangirl in Brendon’s head needed to shut the hell up, for real. “I mean. Still. I’m sorry about that. I, uh, brought something.” He lifted the bag. “For Patrick. But, I mean, if I had known…”
He had ended up fucking around with more of Bob’s stuff. He should have brought him a gift, too. Pete would have probably been able to figure out what he would like. He wasn’t all the way in the apartment yet. He could still make a break for it.
“Brendon, right?” Bob said.
“You…you recognise me?” Brendon asked hopefully.
Bob chuckled. “Patrick told me. Look, Brendon, you seem kind of nervous, but I’m not going to kick your ass, okay?”
Brendon let out a shaky little breath. “So, I’m just going to leave this…” He sidled toward the door he’d thought was a closet before and set the bag in front of it.
The television was paused on a familiar scene. “I love this movie!” he exclaimed. John Cusack was bent in half over a filing cabinet, just before the film’s big reveal.
“Mikey keeps telling me I need to see it,” Bob said.
“You mean, you haven’t seen it before?” That was criminal. Being John Malkovich should be required viewing for, like, the world. Brendon scrambled onto the couch, settling in before he realised that even though this was Patrick’s place, he wasn’t necessarily welcome.
But Bob just took a seat at the opposite end of the couch and passed Brendon a bowl of popcorn and pushed play. Brendon didn’t usually watch movies in silence and he was bad at sitting still. But Bob fucking Bryar was watching a movie with him in the apartment he shared with Patrick Stump, and he’d never seen the movie, so Brendon just bit his lip. Sometimes it was freaky how incredible his life had become in the past year or so.
So they watched the movie in silence and Brendon kept sneaking glances out the corner of his eye at Bob. He had this really incredible hair that Brendon hadn’t even, like, considered before. It was styled a little bit like Jon’s, with the long, side-swept bangs in the front, and wispy short strands in the back. On Jon it looked sweet. On Bob it looked badass.
And, okay, so Brendon didn’t usually dig facial hair, but Bob rocked it. He looked like a lion, or something. But with the most amazing blue eyes ever. Maybe even more amazing than Spencer’s. He’d have to see Bob smile before he could make a call, because when Spencer smiled, his eyes sparkled.
It was getting dark by the time the movie ended, and as the credits started to roll, Brendon fidgeted, wondering if he should say something. He looked uneasily at Bob and Bob arched a brow. He looked like he was assessing Brendon. Finally, Bob said, “I’m supposed to meet the guys for dinner. You hungry?”
“Are…are you inviting me?” Brendon asked, heart in his throat.
Dinner. With the guys. Of My Chem. That would pretty much make his life complete.
Bob chuckled, ducking his head when he did, but Brendon still caught a glimpse of the expression. Maybe tied with Spencer’s sparkle, then. “Yes. I’m inviting you. Do you want to come?”
“Yes! Ohmygod, yes.”
They met the others at a restaurant downtown where Bob said they often ate when in town. An area in the back had been sectioned off for them. Brendon realised there were benefits of fame, but he’d been so busy since becoming famous that he’d spent most of his time in busses or eating in diners in the middle of nowhere. This was a lot cooler. Especially since when he went into the back, Gerard Way and Frank Iero were already there, having a fork duel.
“Bob!” Frank greeted enthusiastically. “And…kid. Who’s the kid?” He frowned at Brendon.
“It’s Brendon,” Bob waved toward him and Gerard promptly shook hands with Brendon.
Before they could get any further in the introductions, Ray, Mikey, Pete and Joe came ambling in. And, so, maybe it was really cool to meet My Chemical Romance, but it was nice also to be around people who knew and accepted him for the spaz he was. Mikey very magnanimously accepted the full body hug Brendon gave him, and Joe didn’t push him away when Brendon kissed the side of his mouth.
“Brendon?” Frank said. “Brendon the kid from that band you signed?” He pointed at Pete accusingly.
“We have a name,” Brendon protested from his place in Pete’s lap.
“Yeah, yeah, Panic! on the Dance Floor.” Frank waved a dismissive hand at him.
Gerard tried to stand up for Brendon by saying the right name for their band, but ruined it by bursting into laughter halfway through, he and Frank pressing their shoulders together.
No one except Mikey managed to stay in a seat for very long. The rest of them played musical chairs, keeping up multiple conversations. Brendon had to admit, it worked better than the way the various Decaydance bands just shouted over top of each other to talk to people at opposite ends of the room.
Brendon felt a bit at sea in it all, but he did have a fun conversation with Ray about Supernatural and Harry Potter. Then he made the mistake of mentioning he liked comics, which led to a heated debate between Frank, Pete and Gerard, with Brendon caught in the middle and lots of hand-waving.
Bob caught up with him after they’d ordered dessert and over half the table had gone outside for a smoke break. “They’re kind of…intense,” Bob said, with a gesture towards their departing backs.
“Are you apologising for them?” Brendon asked. That was sort of terrifically awesome.
“I listened to your CD the other day. Ryan’s pretty impressive,” Bob said.
“Oh! Oh, yes, Ryan is really impressive,” Brendon agreed, bobbing his head enthusiastically. Inside he was dying a little.
“And Spencer; I watched a few videos of your guys playing. He’s fucking hardcore. I may have underestimated you guys.”
“Yeah…Spence is super cool,” Brendon agreed. He swallowed hard, dying a little inside.
“Brendon.” Bob leaned into his personal space. He was smiling just a little, this expression that made his mouth seem fuller on the side with the lip ring.
“Uh huh?”
“I am, for no rational reason I can discern, into you.”
Quite without his permission, Brendon’s jaw dropped. He shut it with a click of his teeth. Bob’s finger caught him under the chin, tilted his head up. They were kissing before Brendon even had time to fully process that Bob’s declaration might lead to kissing.
Bob’s facial hair wasn’t scratchy, but soft and tickly. When Bob parted his mouth, Brendon followed his lead. He was wearing a different lip ring from the night before. It had rounded ends instead of the pointed ones from when Brendon kissed him. It was like Bob had planned on kissing.
A throat being cleared made Brendon pull back, but Bob kept him close with a hand at the back of his neck. Pete was grinning madly at him and Gerard looked frighteningly like a proud father.
Later when everyone started to leave, Brendon asked, “So, do you really like our music, or were you just saying that?”
“Are you suggesting that I’d need to lie to you to get you into bed?” Bob countered.
“Wow.” Brendon stared at him, wide-eyed. This was going really quickly. “Wow. You’re trying to get me into bed with you?”
Bob ran a hand down Brendon’s side. “I was pretty much ready to get you into bed with me when you were the crazy stalker fan in drag.”
“Are you serious?” Brendon was actually pretty sure that he had fallen off the fire escape when breaking into Patrick’s place, and everything since then had been some coma-induced hallucination, because this was remarkably strange. “I was fucking up your shit.”
“You were sort of charming about it,” Bob said.
“No. No I wasn’t,” Brendon protested. Mostly he didn’t want to fight this because Bob was, well, hot. And Bob Bryar. But he was ninety-eight percent certain that this Truth or Dare was still going on, or he was on Punk’d or something, and any minute Bill or Ashton were going to jump out and use this story to embarrass him forever and all eternity.
“No. But your voice is sort of amazing.” Bob’s tone of voice sent shivers of excitement up Brendon’s spine. He stepped closer to Brendon, wrapping his arm around Brendon’s waist.
“I was a huge spaz,” Brendon said, pressing a hand against Bob’s chest.
“I have a soft spot for spazzes,” Bob said. “I blame it on my band.” Brendon wasn’t pushing him away very hard. In fact, he was mostly clenching his hand into Bob’s shirt and pulling him closer. Bob ducked his head to brush a kiss over Brendon’s lips. A little kiss turned into them making out against the side of Bob’s car.
They parted, Brendon breathing heavily, and Bob nuzzled down his throat. “Also, you looked really hot in that skirt.” Brendon whimpered and thrust his hips into Bob’s, but he couldn’t say if that was down to what Bob said, or the way he was sucking a hickey onto his neck.
“Do you want to go to bed with me?” Bob asked.
It might have been too forward, or maybe a little creepy, if it was someone else. But somehow with Bob, it was sexy and charming. Brendon nodded his head fervently. “Yes. Yes I want to go to bed with you.”
The entire drive back to Bob’s place, Brendon couldn’t keep his hands to himself, which was okay, because Bob couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself, either. He kept tracing the inseam of Brendon’s jeans, just high enough that the tip of his pinkie finger nudged Brendon’s hard-on every time.
Brendon writhed in the seat, twisting his fingers in Bob’s hair and kissing up his neck, the only place he could really get at without the risk of making Bob wreck the car. Whenever they hit a red light, they were kissing, all tongue and teeth, and Brendon’s lips were sore in less than three miles. His mouth was numb in five, and he never wanted to stop.
They ran up the stairs to the apartment. Brendon bit a purple mark onto the back of Bob’s neck while he unlocked the door and they fell in together, Brendon pushed into the door by the force of Bob’s kiss with their hips grinding together. Patrick was good enough to ignore them entirely from his place on the couch. Laughing breathlessly, they stumbled into Bob’s bedroom.
Bob kicked the door shut behind them, already tugging his shirt off. Brendon got off his shoes, socks and jeans in record time and climbed onto the bed. He hoped he looked inviting, and not like a ridiculously inexperienced, desperate fanboy.
He didn’t know if he should take off the rest of his clothes yet, or not. It was a little intimidating with Bob stripping off all his clothing, like he had nothing in the world to be embarrassed about. And he totally didn’t, because he was like some Scandinavian god, with all his golden skin and golden hair and the muscles. Compared to him, Brendon probably looked like a twelve year old.
Then Bob dropped his underwear and, maybe it was slightly scary, but Brendon had been shoving fingers up his ass since he was seventeen, and four had stopped being enough a long time ago.
“This will go more smoothly if you take off your clothes,” Bob said, with a gentle smile. He climbed onto the bed and though Brendon wasn’t super excited about Bob seeing him naked, he didn’t stop Bob from lifting the shirt over his head. They were kissing as soon as it was off, and when Bob started on Brendon’s briefs, he barely even noticed.
In fact, Bob was really smooth about everything, so that every time Brendon started to get nervous about what would happen next-where to put his hands or his mouth, what sort of noises were okay-Bob guided him along with soft touches and hard kisses that left Brendon feeling disoriented and needy. And he’d wanted to lose his virginity before, really really, but in an impersonal sort of way. Like, it had to happen soon, because it was stupid to still be a virgin, and also, he’d heard a rumour or a million that sex was awesome.
Only this was not an impersonal thought. He wanted to lose his virginity, and he wanted to lose it to Bob Bryar. And not just because of this sense of hero worship, but also because it just felt right.
Bob was amazingly good at the gay sex thing, which was surprising to Brendon. If he’d been asked to separate My Chemical Romance band members into groups of gay and straight, it would have been Bob: straight, Everyone Else: gay. Later, when they were lying together, sweaty and sticky, Bob revealed that it was more like Bob: gay, Ray: very straight, Mikey: pretty straight, and Frank and Gerard: Everything Else.
When Brendon had thought about it, he’d always figured he’d be the sort of guy who liked it both ways, top and bottom. He was into chicks and guys both, so it would have to make sense that he’d be into being a top, and he really wanted a guy to fuck him, so. He’d also always assumed it would hurt like hell.
Turned out he was wrong on both counts. Well, not entirely. It did hurt, a little, at first, but it was more just a slight twinge of discomfort than anything else. When he’d gasped in pain, Bob had changed his method, and after that it had just been a slow burn that was actually nice. Really, really fucking nice. Nice enough that he was totally ruling out topping. Ever. Because that would mean he would have a dick in his ass, and that would be criminal.
Patrick turned up the television higher, which was when Brendon realised how loud he was getting. He blushed and bit his lip, but that made Bob grin wickedly at him and fuck him harder.
“Fuck,” Brendon whined. It came out a little garbled around his bitten lip. Bob knew how to fold Brendon’s legs against his chest and spread them just right, and how to tilt his hips at the perfect angle.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t know how anyone could hold out for very long under non-virgin circumstances, let alone as a first time experience. When he came, it was probably the most intense thing he’d ever felt. It went all through his body and his vision went a little blurry. He suddenly didn’t care how much noise he was making.
Bob kept driving into him and Brendon just clung a little helplessly to him; it was almost too much. But he made sure to keep his eyes open to see Bob’s expression when he came-eyes shut softly, mouth hung open on an almost voiceless groan in the shape of Brendon’s name. The sight of it made Brendon feel full in his chest, like he suddenly knew what it meant to be an adult, and it had nothing to do with losing his virginity.
It took Brendon a minute to catch his breath and regain his ability to think. He felt heavy and weak all over, but in a good way. He was pretty tired, but something told him he couldn’t just fall asleep. In fact, the longer they went without speaking, the more awkward Brendon felt.
Just when Brendon was wondering if he should get up and start getting dressed, Bob rolled over and threw an arm over his stomach. Now, the sense of right from before was completely gone, leaving him feeling cold and a little sick to his stomach.
There’d been this little voice in the back of Brendon’s head since their second kiss saying that Bob would only be interested in one thing. After all, he’d made no effort to hide the fact that he’d been after sex. And yeah, he might have said he was into Brendon’s band, but that was a classic line on the scene. Brendon was mostly sure that someone like Bob would not dig their music.
“You okay?” Bob muttered. He pressed damp little kisses over Brendon’s shoulder, up his neck.
“Should I…” Brendon forced his breathing to slow down. “Should I go?”
Bob sat up enough to look down at Brendon with a frown. “Do you want to go?”
“Don’t you want me to go?” Brendon asked quickly.
“Are you freaking out on me?” Bob’s frown turned into a slow smile. “Brendon…”
“You’re a very cool, very famous guy-” Brendon began.
“So are you. Well, famous, anyway,” Bob amended, biting his lip slyly. “Look, if you’re trying to suggest that I was using you for sex, I might have to get offended.”
“Wh…why?” Brendon stuttered. “You’re a rock star.”
Bob laughed. “You use that excuse very often?” There was something teasing in his tone, like he was mocking Brendon’s lack of experience, which meant he must have been obvious about it.
“God, was I horrible?” He covered his face with his arms and rolled away onto his side. Bob kissed his shoulder blade. “So you…if you weren’t just using me for sex…”
“Well, I am. But I like listening to you babble, too,” Bob said.
Brendon rolled over and dropped his arms. He meant to make a noise of indignant disbelief, but was cut off by Bob’s lips. Brendon tensed at first, but Bob’s kiss was insistent, and Brendon felt himself melting into it, body going loose, letting the kiss become slow and lazy. Bob wrapped him in his arms.
Usually Brendon was attracted to guys similar in build to him-slight, skinny, wiry, not much taller. But it was nice being held by somebody who was so much bigger, like Bob could fold his arms tight and crush Brendon to him, and Brendon wouldn’t mind it.
He especially liked Bob rolling Brendon under him. He opened his legs in welcome. It still burned when Bob pushed into him for the second time-worse, since he was still tender from the first. But it wasn’t enough to make him want to stop. Later, though, when they were both hard again, Bob refused to fuck him again, telling him he’d regret it in the morning. Instead, Brendon both gave and received his first blowjob. When Bob said they should wait a day or two before fucking again, Brendon was mostly okay with that, because as much as he had enjoyed it, blowjobs were a fair compensation.
“So, you’ll want to do this again, in a day or two. With me?” Brendon asked around a mouthful of food. Bob had made pancakes and Patrick had taken one look at the two of them before taking his back into his bedroom.
Bob rolled his eyes and pushed Brendon’s milk closer to him. “Seriously, I’m going to have to talk to Pete and Patrick about teaching you to not talk with your mouth full.” Brendon smiled, showing a mouthful of food. “And chew with your mouth closed. Jesus. Where were you raised?”
Brendon swallowed quickly and gulped down his drink. “Seriously. Do you want to do this again, in a day or two?”
“Brendon.” Bob took Brendon’s hand in his cheek, stroking his thumb over the curve. He looked fond of him. It was weird, not having that expression tempered with annoyance or exasperation. Brendon swallowed again, more slowly.
“Yeah,” Brendon said. He felt himself nodding, met Bob’s kiss halfway. His little voice was back, telling him that he was only visiting for a little while before he went back on tour, and Bob was only here while My Chem was recording and then they’d be back on tour, and long distance relationships never worked and, and, and…then Bob deepened the kiss and the little voice shut up.
End story five
Go back to the last choice.
Go back to the beginning.