Birthdays etc, Beach Music, girl!Brendon/Gerard 4
Holy cow, does everyone have a birthday in April? Happy Birthday clex_monkey89 and stillwaters11 and anniebean!!! I hope you had wonderful days.
And anniebean I know you've been waiting for some more Beach Music and life is sort of kicking my ass. and okay I might have momentarily gone a little nuts and deleted huge chunks of what I'd written and am now trying to piece it all back together. So, I hope this little totally unbeta'd bit will get you by :D
One Two-A Two-B Three-A Three-B Four Five-A Five-B Six-A Six-B
But it's through you and I know
What I'll do
Just to get back in your arms'>
Exhaling a sleepy breath, eyes closed, Brendon bats at her bedside table until she locates her Sidekick, and brings it to her ear. “’loh?” She mumbles, running a hand through her hair.
“You’re answering the phone, so I’ll take that as a positive sign.” Gerard laughs, raspy.
Swiping at her nose with the back of her wrist and not bothering to stifle her yawn, Brendon replies, “Mmm, s’way fuckin’ early. Preconditioned response. You can’t see right now, but I’m totally drooling.” She sits up a little and smiles.
Gerard’s rusty hinge giggle is loud in her ear before he stops himself, “Shit, you’d think I’d get the fuckin’ time zone thing figured out by now. Sorry.” He pauses with a noisy exhale and Brendon pictures the cigarette smoke circling around him. “But, you’re talking to me, so I’ll take that as a sign you’re not mad at me any more.”
Resting her phone against the pillow, Brendon turns onto her side. “I’m not mad at you Gerard. I wasn’t. I’m…I’m glad to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad you’re glad.” His breath is a woosh, “Actually I’m really fucking relieved. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Brendon.”
Voice still soft and sleepy, Brendon says, “Yeah, so maybe I over reacted to your over reaction.”
“I’ve been thinking, a lot actually. About what you said. About trusting you. And I do; trust you. Maybe it’s me that I’m...” Gerard’s voice trails off in a stifled cough.
Knuckling at her eyes and rubbing her cheek across the worn cotton of the pillow case, Brendon sighs, sleepy, “So, is this where I’m supposed to like, sing a chorus or two of Wonderwall? Gerard, I’m not gonna, like, pour vodka down your throat or shove coke up your nose, and I think that you know yourself well enough to, well, to not be tempted or whatever.”
“Most days, maybe. But that’s not, that’s not what I meant. I mean, about you and me. Us. Maybe trying to have that… you know? Getting to know each other. I think that could be…good.”
Brendon bites her lip to contain any gleeful squeaking that may escape, “I’d like that. I really would.” She presses her cheek harder into the hand set and wraps her arms around her stomach, hugging a little. “And you can, you know. Trust me. I wouldn’t hurt you, for anything. I’m not, I’m not her, you know?”
“Her?”
“Um, yeah.” She scrunches up her face, “You know, the girl who dumped you, or cheated on you, or lied to you, or whatever. I’m just me. And I wish that was enough.”
“Hey!” Gerard’s voice is loud in her ear. “It is! You are. Shit. I just, I think that we should try, don’t you?”
“I’m…yeah. I just…I fuck up, you know? But I’m not fucked up. And I maybe don’t do so well being compared to…to the exes, or whatever.” Brendon’s eyebrows crease into her frown as she watches the numbers on her clock slide from 3:59 to 4:00.
Gerard exhales another drag on his cigarette. “We all fuck up, Queen Bee. Jesus, I definitely know that from first hand experience. So yeah, in future I’ll just…focus my mad over reaction skills on Mikey fucking up a Horde Raid.
Brendon’s chuckle is low and throaty. “Mmm…Gerard Way, taking advantage of my sleepy state and talking RPG to me. Are you trying to turn me on?”
“Depends.” Gerard’s voice drops to an over-exaggerated stage whisper and Brendon can picture his cartoonish leer. “It working?”
Scratching her nose, Brendon grins wide, “Well you know, I am easy…”
“Bren…”
“So is this where you ask me what I’m wearing?” Brendon giggles, warm and open and shoves the strap of her camisole back up to her shoulder.
“Um, maybe? Yeah, it definitely would be, if you know, I wasn’t sitting in a lounge waiting for some DJ to ask me the same ten questions every other radio interviewer has asked me so far.
Voice dropping as sleepiness takes hold of her again, Brendon slowly drags her palm across the warm skin of her belly and purrs, “Hmmm…sounds like the perfect opportunity for me to fill you in on what I’m wearing…or not wearing.” She can’t help the snort that escapes her.
She can hear Gerard’s pout as he says, “Hey! No fair! Just for that I will tell you what I’m wearing.”
“Lemme guess,” Brendon interrupts, “Jeans, a t-shirt that hasn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in longer than is polite to mention in mixed company, a black hoodie, black Chucks and a shit eating grin ‘cause you are damn special and get to talk to me!” She laughs into her pillow.
“Ding ding ding! Pass go, collect two hundred dollars, what the fuck ever.”
“Mmmn, sounds pretty fucking hot to me.” She’s mumbling now, syllables blurry with sleep.
“Okay Queen Bee, I gotta go. I’m sorry I woke you up, but I’m glad we talked about this shit, right?”
“Me too,” her voice is soft and content. “I really am. I’ll talk to you soon?”
“Definitely. Sweet dreams.”
* * *
It’s Thursday afternoon and the band’s taking a break from going over the same verse of the same song that Ryan’s changed the lyrics to approximately sixteen times since they started recording it, on Tuesday. And, if Brendon was the kind of girl who kept track of these things, it’s also four days, twelve hours, and seven minutes since Gerard woke her up to talk about maybe kind of sort of trying to be a Them, or an Us, or something like that, in his uniquely muddled Gerard Way way. But she’s not that kind of girl. She’s the kind of girl who sneaks furtive glances at her Sidekick and bites her cheek when she sees a new voice mail (seven so far) or text (thirty three) or email (ten, mostly just one line). But, because she is Brendon she’s very good at covering all this up with a boggling barrage of nonstop commentary on anything and everything, so she’s pretty certain that her band mates are oblivious to the Smitten Kitten neon sign above her head.
So she’s created folders in gmail. So what? And so what if those folders are called “Gee” and “<3” and contain, respectively, all the funny little emails he’s sent her since the night/morning of the phone call, and the little doodles Gerard has scanned and sent to her--robots, and zombies, and vampires, and anthropomorphic road kill and craft services items? They’re basically adorable. Her favorite so far is one with a dancing Route 66 road sign, a dark haired, high top sneaker wearing vampire at one end of the road and a short haired very Bratz doll-esque angel at the other. Brendon stands by her assertion that Gerard Way, despite his protests otherwise, is adorable.
Teeth tugging at the scraggily cuticle around her thumbnail, Brendon winces as Spencer brings the sticks down hard on a cymbal behind her. She files the drawing away as Gerard's voice mail message ends, and after the beep Brendon says, "Um, hey. It’s me, Brendon. We're, my band, I mean, is doing this um, this thing, like a festival, I guess. It's in Milwaukee, on Saturday. And like, you could come, if you want." Brendon pauses and gently bashes her head off the doorframe, keenly aware of how pathetically pre-teen girl she's sounding. "Like, I guess Wisconsin and New Jersey are pretty much no where near each other, but I thought if you were around it might be fun. I could, like put you on the guest list. Ryan's making me sing some new stuff; thought it would be good to try it out. So, um, yeah. If you're interested you can totally come. That's it I guess. Uh, bye." She groans at the new and baffling level of pathetic she's reached and pockets her Sidekick so she can go break up Jon and Ryan's argument about syncopation.
* * *
Gerard has no doubt about the effects of Global Warming as he leans against a precariously angled snow fence, sweating in the mid-afternoon June heat. Thousands are packed tight in front of the Milwaukee stage, sweating and screaming and Gerard gives silent thanks that he’s off to the side in the Artists Area and can actually breathe. That is, if he was actually breathing. He’d arrived just as Panic were launching into their first song. My Chem had been on the same festival circuit as Panic at the Disco, but Gerard had never seen their show; never had a reason to. But he’d heard about the make up and the dancers and the costumes. There’s none of that now, under a brutal Wisconsin summer sun. Just the reason he’s here; Brendon dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a plaid cowboy shirt, holding the audience in the palm of her hand, and Gerard’s breath caught somewhere behind his ribs.
Brendon is, well, she’s amazing. She’s her usual frantic, fast-forward self amped up tenfold and set free to work the audience into a frenzy. She’s bouncing and dancing and singing her ass off. Alternating easily between piano and guitar, Brendon wails and thrashes and snarls and sweetly bats her eyelashes. She wraps herself around Ryan, and bounces off of Jon. And then, flicking sweat off her forehead and huffing for breath into the microphone says, “Okay, we’re gonna slow things down for a bit, and give the rest of the band a bit of a break for five minutes or so.” Her band mates file off stage, to the side opposite where Gerard stands watching. Brendon grins as she perches on the end of the piano bench and a tech brings her a twelve string acoustic guitar, angling the mike stand down for her. She nods her thanks and slips the strap over her head, lightly running her fingers across the brass strings, checking the tuning.
“So, I thought I’d do a song by one of Ryan’s and my favorite songwriters, Tom Waits. You probably have no idea who he is and don’t know this song, but go home and ask your parents, they’ll tell you he’s awesome.” Brendon scrunches up her nose and giggles. “This song is about drunken unrequited love! The best kind! It’s called I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love With You.” She laughs again, then takes a deep breath, and launches into the song. Her eyes are closed, her expression lost in the words coming from her mouth. At first the audience is rowdy, whooping and cheering. As Brendon continues, long fingers carefully picking at the guitar’s strings and her Converse clad foot keeping time with her voice, quiet begins to spread through the crowd. By the time the last note dies on the sticky summer air, Brendon smiles awkwardly into the silence. She bites her lip and shrugs her shoulders, and then the crowd releases its collectively held breath in a hail of screams and clapping. “Thanks!” Brendon says simply into the microphone and Ryan, Jon, and Spencer file back onto the stage, awash in the crowd’s appreciation.
Gerard is clapping and cheering along with them. He listens to songs of bitter disappointment give way to lyrics about love and happiness and he smokes and crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t do a damn thing about quelling the besotted grin that is pasted across his face. He bounces on his toes and sings under his breath for the rest of the show, only retreating to the back stage marquee tents when Ryan announces their last song. He has the good grace to smile sheepishly at Zack, shrugging his shoulders and tipping ash into the yellow-brown grass just outside the open-flapped doorway, and the two men, who know each other in the tenuous ways that separate anyone in the scene long enough, trade pleasantries until the muffled music dies and the screams increase and Brendon comes bounding into the tent.
Shocked surprise mingles with post show glee, looking the most like joy Gerard can ever recall seeing on anyone’s face, as Brendon hurtles towards him. “Gerard!” she shouts, flinging herself into his arms. Wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck she says, “Did you see me? Motherfucking Tom Waits! I killed that shit!”
Gerard quickly grabs hold of her, staggering a little under the momentum, so they don’t fall over. Laughing, powerless in the face of Brendon’s happiness, Gerard manages to say, “Yeah I saw! You did!” before Brendon kisses him, bruising hard in her enthusiasm, sucking his tongue wickedly. His hands are firm on her ass, securing her in his hold and he kisses her back, eyes closed, overwhelmed and surrounded by Brendon. It’s only when the absolute still and quiet of the room--still full of people--filters through the sensations of Brendon in his arms and on his mouth that Gerard breaks the kiss, cheeks red with embarrassment.
Quirking her head at the loss of contact, Brendon slowly opens her eyes, irises like black glass. Her tongue swipes over her lips and she leans her forehead against Gerard’s shoulder. Inhaling a shuddering breath, she says, “Hey, guys! This is Gerard!”
Ryan, arms crossed says, “No shit,” at the same time Spencer says, “Ya don’t say,” and Jon raises his hand to wave, while Zack snorts bemusedly.
Brendon giggles and nuzzles her cheek against the heated blush of Gerard’s. He clears his throat, and through a high pitched giggle of his own manages to free one of his hands to return the wave and say, “Uh, hi.”
Flapping her hand absently towards the others, Brendon murmurs, “Now that we’re all friends…” and cups Gerard’s jaw in her hands to continue to kiss him, sucking and licking at his mouth until his lips part again and she can suck his tongue into her mouth. “Missed you,” she whispers against him and she can feel the crooked smile her words provoke.
There’s a soft squeeze to her ankle and Zack says, “Thirty minutes, Bee.” Before he and the others walk out of the tent.
“Thirty minutes?” Gerard mumbles his question against Brendon’s mouth. His hand wriggles under her shirt, working its way up the sweat soaked t-shirt beneath.
Twisting her mouth away from Gerard’s in a somewhat perturbed expression she says, “Yeah, we have to do a meet and greet thing. I should shower, I’m all sweaty.” Her fingers play with the long strands of hair at Gerard’s collar.
Ducking forward, Gerard’s tongue pokes out between his lips to lap at the beads of sweat slicking the tendons of Brendon’s neck. “Mmm, yep. You are.” He bites playfully and Brendon laughs, wriggling her feet against his lower back.
“Can’t meet the masses when I’m all stinky!” She wrinkles her nose in distaste.
Running the flat of his tongue to soothe where he’s bitten, Gerard inhales deeply, “Fuck that. You smell amazing.”
Attempting to extract herself from Gerard’s squeezing hold on her ass and one thigh, Brendon tips her head back and laughs, as much from the tickling of her neck as from what Gerard said. “Yeah, if by amazing you mean like arm pit.” She wriggles to the ground and hauls her shirt back into place.
Gerard hugs her in close and grins against the skin of her jaw. “Whatever.” His lips slide over her face and he brushes soft, tickling kisses along Brendon’s hairline.
“I gotta…” She waves outside the tent. “You know shower and all that shit. You could…come keep me company?” She bats her eyelashes, full of mischief. Wrapping her arms around Gerard’s waist and grinding minutely against his thigh, Brendon says, “Save a horse, ride a cowgirl?”
Gerard’s laugh is loud and surprised, his fingers skimming along the pearlised snaps of Brendon’s shirt. “Shit Queen Bee, that was bad, even for you.”
“You just stick around for my comedy genius, I know. It brings all the boys to the yard.” She links their fingers together, and bussing a kiss to his cheek, heads towards the tent’s doorway. “Being the only girl has its advantages. Dude, my own dressing room. It’s so awesome.”
The room is small and smells of bleach and mud. The shower stall is no larger than the one on the tour bus, and Brendon drags them both towards it. A wicked smile flits across her face as she toes off her sneakers and socks, and shimmies out of her sweat soaked jeans. Gerard groans and reaches for her, his hands curving to the slope of her hips as Brendon kisses him, messy and slick. She giggles as he yanks on her shirt, freeing the snaps one after the other with a single pull. His tongue tastes further into her mouth and over her tongue as his hands come up under the black t-shirt plastered to her skin with perspiration. Eager fingers trace the swell of her breasts through the soft cotton cups of her sports bra.
Brendon grins into the kiss, moving incrementally closer in Gerard’s hold as his hands move deliberately downwards to flirt with the red elastic waistband of her Rainbow Bright boyshorts. Mouth still pressed to Gerard’s, Brendon peels off his hoodie, fingers dancing along the soft, pale skin of his arms. Breaking the kiss, she steps back, chewing on her bottom lip. Coyly affecting a fey expression she bats her eyelashes and says, “Time to get wet!” then turns to the shower. Shucking off her t-shirt and bra, and rolling her underpants down her long legs, Brendon turns the tap and steps under the spray, leaving the curtain open.
Gerard watches, a little slack jawed and dry throated, as Brendon manages to affectedly soak her hair and apply shampoo, the suds slipping down her neck and over her breasts. Slowly, almost involuntarily, he inches closer to the shower stall until he’s leaning a shoulder against its side, fine spray misting his shirt and face. Brendon’s eyes are heavy lidded and her smile is dangerously close to a knowing smirk as her fingers wrap around the loofa hanging from the taps. She squeezes a generous amount of sugary-vanilla scented body wash onto the sponge, and bends, still not looking at Gerard, but rubbing slowly and deliberately in circles over her pale skin, from toes to breasts. Then, she raises her arms over her head and steps back under the stream of water, sluicing off the soap.
Gerard makes what some might call a small undignified whining noise when Brendon turns her almost-leer on him, stretching out a languid arm and curling wet fingers in the hem of his t-shirt. She tilts her head and leans against the shower stall, breathing distance away from Gerard, “Time’s tickin’. You gonna join me?” She says, low and throaty, swiping her tongue tip across her full bottom lip.
Okay, so maybe he makes a full blown, right out loud undignified whining noise at that. And Brendon’s hand is snaking up his chest, bringing his t-shirt with it. And maybe if there was anyone else there to see it would look totally ridiculous but there isn’t, so Gerard leans in and follows the swipe of Brendon’s tongue across her lips with his own tongue. “I dunno, Bee.” He manages to mumble, after swallowing hard and focusing on forming coherent speech.
Her hand still knotted in Gerard’s increasingly damp shirt, Brendon draws back from the kiss. “Why not? She’s scowling and pouting at the same time, and wow, Gerard never would have guessed that was actually possible.
Gerard exhales heavily through his nose, “It’s just…I don’t think I can…”
His muttered explanation is interrupted by Brendon stamping her foot on the hard plastic of the shower stall floor, crossing her arms over her chest and scowl-pouting even more outrageously. “Yes you can!” She stomps her foot again, for effect and if Gerard wasn’t with it enough to know that it’s a very very bad idea, he’d be laughing his ass off at her temper tantrum. “I am so fucking horny right now, Gerard, and it’s all you fault! And…”
Gerard stops her tirade with his mouth, tongue brushing teasingly over her teeth and the roof of her mouth. He brings his hands up to cup her ass, fingers slipping over wet skin to pet her into calm. “I just meant, that I don’t think we’ll both fit in there.” His lips trail small sucking bites across her jaw as he whispers in her ear.
“Oh!” Her eyes get a mischievous glint as she wriggles away from Gerard’s touch. “Yes we can!” Brendon says brightly. She presses herself against the shower wall, arching her back and spreading her legs in blatant invitation. “Giddyup!”
Gerard snorts at her bad joke, but the sight of Brendon waiting, wanting is enough for Gerard to overcome his long held belief that shower sex, while awesome in theory, suffers rather badly in the execution. It should be hot-all water slicked skin and touching close everywhere-but it usually just ends up being awkward; either too bright light or not enough, in too small spaces, with limbs in unfortunate places. That’s if you can actually manage to maintain any kind of balance and stay upright, with the water hitting you in the face and soap in your mouth.
But now, here, maybe things can be different. Gerard figures Brendon is ready and eager, so he can at least try. He tugs his shirt over his head, stoops to untie his shoes, and roughly shoves off his jeans, underwear and socks all at the same time, with little trouble. His mouth tilts into a crooked, concerned line before he blows out a breath and steps into the stall.
Brendon tilts her head, trying to look behind her, as she feels Gerard’s hands tracing her spine, from the wet fall of hair at the nape of her neck, to the dimpled dip at her waist, just above the more than generous swell of her ass. “Hey,” she husks, tipping back until she feels him all along the length of her. She shakes her bangs from her eyes and shifts her weight back and forth from foot to foot as Gerard’s hands continue their reverent exploration of her skin. Gerard winds one arm around her, hand finding her breast, then pinching teasingly at her nipple before leaning forward, pressing messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin behind her ear, “Hi there,” he mutters, using both the hand at her breast and his other hand--fingers spread starfish wide-- on the flat of her stomach to shift her against him. Brendon mashes her cheek against the vinyl of the shower surround, grunting when Gerard’s cock slicks between her legs, entering her with a studied slowness.
Brendon whines in frustration at the shallow, tentative stroking of Gerard’s thrusts, wriggling against him to find a better position. Every time she moves and clenches around him, Gerard’s fingers grip her more tightly, and his mouth falls open at the heated sensation of her around him. He pants and moves both of his hands to her hips, scraping his teeth across her shoulder blade. “Bren,” he huffs when she braces herself on the wall and shoves back against him.
“S’not enough,” she pants. “Deeper, c’mon. I want…” the water from the shower head beads on her face and over her broad mouth as she sashays her hips in stop-start circles. Gerard’s hands are insistent, fingers bruising into the pearly flare of her hipbones as he shifts again, bringing Brendon to the tips of her toes. “Okay, okay,” She tilts her weight further forward, turning her face until her forehead makes contact with the water slicked wall. Pushing palms flat, fingers digging in, she raises one leg, winding her ankle around Gerard’s calf. He stumbles under her slight but unexpected weight in this new position, and his shoulder glances painfully off the door frame.
“Shit,” he mumbles, but not from pain. He realizes what Brendon’s thinking, what she’s trying to do, and is so turned on he’s actually afraid he’s going to come just from the thought of it. Instead he focuses on balancing, on supporting her small waist at the round curve of her hips, and pants heavily as Brendon jumps a little, winding her other ankle around Gerard’s left calf, her face still pressed into the wall above her hands.
“Move, more, come on,” Brendon’s voice is quiet beneath the noise of the shower and Gerard can feel the quaking in her muscles from the effort to keep them both balanced. He shifts his hips forward, and angles up into her. It’s so deep and so good that they groan in tandem and Brendon shifts her hands from the wall to Gerard’s forearms, pressing down on to him as he thrusts, the sound of skin on skin loud beneath the steady stream of water.
Gerard has a brief semi-coherent thought; he should pull out. He really, really should. Brendon’s thighs are bunched tight against his, her ankles still wound around his calves. She’s tight and slick around him, making open mouthed moans with every thrust. He’s really close and as her hiccupping ohohoh reach his ears, Gerard can tell that Brendon’s close too. But then she does this…thing. She bends at the waist and her palms trail down the water slicked wall of the shower and she’s pressed even more tightly against and around Gerard than he would have previously thought possible. His hands grip tight at her hips, thumbs digging divots into the round swell of her ass cheeks. He barks out a low noise and flicks his water soaked hair out of his eyes. Brendon’s long slender back is all he can see, as she rests her palms against the stall floor.
Her whining gasps are now easy to hear above the steady flow of water and she’s twitching with effort and restraint, water sliding into her open mouth. “Uhhhh,” is all she manages. Gerard is maybe a little amazed that he can feel her orgasm rushing through her body and around him, and is distracted enough by it that he shifts his weight and causes the both of them to slam rather forcefully into the side of the shower stall. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, and then comes, almost painfully, with a hacking, startled noise as Brendon laughs.
She unwinds her feet from Gerard’s legs and stands upright again, but whines when she feels him pulling out. She reaches behind her and grabs his hip, holding him in place. “Mmm, s’nice,” she mumbles through her soft smile.
“Bren,” Gerard drops dazed kisses to the round join of her shoulder and arm. “Fuck, that was…what the fuck was that?” He holds her close, then pulls away, turning her around in his arms to kiss her.
“Mmm…I can’t believe we did that! That it actually, you know, worked. Fuck Ross and his Brendon Urie trips on air bullshit.” She’s laughing full out and bright. She kisses Gerard enthusiastically, licking water from his lips.
“Uhn, do you think maybe we could not discus Ryan Ross right now?” Gerard slides his cheek along hers, his voice a panting, slurred mumble.
Hugging him tight to her in the steady stream of water, Brendon chuckles and pets at Gerard’s wet skin. “Sorry, I just…wow, you know?”
“Yoga, right?” Gerard’s fingers roam restlessly across Brendon’s back and stomach.
Brendon is laughing, shaky and breathless. She carefully lifts up her hand and catches a droplet of water on the end of Gerard’s nose, “Downward facing doggie-style!” And she leans back against the wall, grinning and panting.
Gerard chuckles weakly, then slaps at the swell of her hip, and rolls his eyes. “Jesus. you’re fucking hilarious. And amazing.”
Her smile softens and she wraps her arms around Gerard’s neck, rubbing full length against him for too brief a few seconds before ducking around him and out of the shower. She picks up a towel from a small table and swipes at her hair a few times before rubbing the water from her skin, then wraps it around her.
Gerard twists off the taps, leaning back into the space Brendon recently vacated. He watches her, strugglign to keep his eyes open, waiting for his breathing to steady. She roots around in her bag for clothes and yips when Gerard comes up behind her, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. “Hey!” she swats at him, and he just hauls her in close, kissing her neck and shoulders.
“So, I was thinking,” he says in a low voice, resting his chin on her shoulder, “After you’ve met and greeted the adoring masses, you wanna come back to my hotel? Grab some dinner?”
Brendon stops fidgeting against him and unwraps her towel, using it to rub at Gerard’s wet skin. She’s focused on wiping away droplets from his chest and belly when she says, “I can’t.” She looks up at him, a rueful, sheepish expression on her face. “Um, right after? We have to fly to L.A. for some promo thing.” She sighs and bites her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Oh,” Gerard tries hard to keep the disappointment from his voice as Brendon gently drapes the towel around his waist and secures it over his hip.
One long slim finger circling around his navel, she says, “Yeah. I’m so sorry. If I’d known you were coming…”
“Um, surprise?” Gerard supplies weakly, quirking an eyebrow.
“It was an awesome surprise! Really, really amazing!” Brendon pecks tiny kisses to his mouth. “The best!” she nuzzles against his nose. “But if I’d known? I would have totally changed my plans but now I…”
Gerard shrugs, “Can’t.” Brendon wheedles away from Gerard to put on the underwear, t-shirt, and shorts she had pulled from her bag.
Sighing, Brendon gives him a regretful look, “Yeah. But, you could come and hang out at the Meet and Greet? Wait. No. That’s a dumb idea.” She hugs him, her fingers playing with the damp hanks of his hair. They stand there, quiet and relaxed, touching and kissing softly when there’s a loud thump on the dressing room door.
“Brendon, hurry the fuck up! People are waiting for you and they’re gonna fuckin’ start melting soon!” Zack’s voice is loud through the thin paneling.
“Okay, okay!” She calls. She slips into a pair of plastic flip-flops and then runs a hand through her still wet hair, making a little moue of frustration into a long mirror. She shrugs, giving up on having time to do her hair properly, and tugs on a baseball cap. She turns back to Gerard, kissing his cheek and giving his hip a small squeeze. “Gimme a call, okay? We’ll compare impossible schedules!” Gerard just nods dumbly as Brendon slips on her sunglasses and flits out the door.
He stands there for a minute, dripping onto the filthy carpet, still clutching the scratchy nubs of the cheap towel at his hip. And he can’t help thinking that for the first time in his life he quite possibly flew across the country to get laid. A long distance booty call at 30. Jesus.
***
“Hey Queen Bee. How’s things?” Gerard’s voice is rough from singing, but happy.
Ignoring the eye rolls from the rest of the band, Brendon walks into the hallway outside the recording studio, carrot stick in hand. “Mmm you know, recording right?”
“Oh yeah. Fun times.” Gerard gives a rusty hinge chuckle and then says, “So, quick question; what’re you doin’ on Sunday night?”
Brendon shrugs and replies, “Not much, probably sleeping.”
“Wanna come to L.A.? We got this industry thing to go to and I thought maybe you’d like a chance to dress up all fancy.”
“Why, your mom busy?” Brendon crunches down on the carrot stick at the same time she bursts into laughter.
Gerard returns the laugh and says, “Actually, she is. Bob needs a date, right?” They both laugh.
“I’d love to come, it sounds fun.” Brendon smiles into the phone.
“Cool, I gotta go but I’ll send you all the details, like in an email or something. Okay?” Gerard sounds rushed and distracted.
“Cool. Talk to you tomorrow?” Brendon tries to keep the hope out of her voice, aiming instead for her usual gently amused tone.
“Definitely. You take care and kick ass, Brendon.”
***
“So, you know the Industry Thing Gerard Way is talking about is the American Music Awards, right?” Spencer smirks at Brendon before folding a pizza slice in half and taking an enormous bite. They’re done recording for the day, exhausted but happy.
“What?” Brendon stops in the midst of taking the strips of green pepper off her vegetarian slice and piling them on a greasy napkin. She sets the entire mess down on top of her piano and licks her fingers, then stares at Spencer blankly. “You’re shitting me," she whispers, eyes wide.
“I shit you not, Bear. The American Music Awards are Sunday night in Los Angeles. My Chem is nominated for …something.” Spencer shrugs like it’s no big deal and chugs from his can of Dr. Pepper.
“Fuck! Spencer! Oh my God, Spencer. You so totally have to come shopping with me. I have nothing to wear to a fucking awards show! You have to help me!” She leans over the piano to clutch at Spencer’s arm, a look of dismay spread wide over her features.
Spencer shakes his arm to dislodge her and then says, “Me? Why me? What about Ross?” He wrinkles up his nose, clearly less than thrilled with the idea.
“Ryan dresses like an extra from Little House on the Prairie why the hell would I want him to help me pick out a dress? Shit. I have no time to get anything couture. Sunday’s what, three days away? “Brendon springs up from the piano bench and is pacing the room. She flips Ryan off when he shouts a disgruntled “Hey!” at her assessment of his fashion sense, then continues pacing, tugging at the hem of her baseball tee. “Please help me? Please? We can go to Dior!” She winds her arms around Spencer’s neck, smacking a kiss to his scruff covered cheek.
“Oh, okay, if you just want to go to the Bellagio, or like the Fashion Show, or whatever. I thought you wanted to go out to like, Henderson or some shit.” Spencer grabs Brendon’s abandoned slice, sprinkles the green pepper back on, and shoves that into his mouth.
“Henderson? Why the fuck would I want to go out to the Galleria? They have designers at JC Penny I don’t know about?” Brendon crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow.
“Good point. Jon you wanna come?” Spencer cranes his neck around to ask.
Jon puts both hands up and starts backing away slowly. “Dude, I’m like allergic to shopping malls and shit.” Ryan laughs and Brendon and Spencer shrug.
“Okay? Spence you are a golden god! You are totally saving my life here!” Brendon jumps up and down, clapping. Reaching under the piano she grabs her messenger bag and slips it across her shoulders. Turning back to where Spencer is tidying up she hops onto his back, wrapping her legs and arms around him. “Ha mule!” she shouts and Spencer makes a comic hee-haw donkey noise before trotting to the door.
“Okay. But we’re totally taking your car and you can drive me the fuck home. And you’re so calling Haley and explaining why I have to help you out with this mission of mercy.” He slips his phone out of his pocket and hands it over his head to Brendon. Quickly finding Haley’s number on speed dial, Brendon burbles away to Spencer’s girlfriend en route to the car.
Once at the Bellagio, Brendon expertly navigates the parking lot and leads a quietly amused Spencer through the mall to the Dior store. Hands in pockets, Spencer finds a support column to lean against, and watches Brendon flitting around the shop, much to the raised eyebrow concern of the employees. “Spencer! Help me find a dress! Don’t just stand there!” She makes a shooing motion towards him, so Spencer sighs and heads to a well lit section of the shop. Brendon, in the mean time, is explaining to the shop girls what she’s looking for.
“How bout this?” Spencer asks when Brendon skips over to him.
Brendon’s lips are pursed like she’s tasted something bad. “Really?”
“What?” Spencer rubs the lacy material between his fingers. “You like pink. You need a fancy dress, it’s kinda both.”
“I like pink,” Brendon rolls her eyes. “Not Band-Aid flesh tone. And lookit! All that lace?” She waves a disdainful hand at the frock. “With my ass? I don’t think so. ‘Sides, it looks like one of those dolls my Gramma makes at the Senior’s centre. You know, the ones that hide the toilet paper?”
A loud cough behind them, and a stern look from the blonde employee has Spencer barking out a laugh, and an embarrassed blush welling at Brendon’s cheeks. “Um, thank you for your time!” Brendon smiles wide and plastic at the woman, and taking Spencer’s hand, they flee the boutique.
Trips in and out of several more designer shops leave Brendon still dress-less and Spencer increasingly short tempered. They sit by the fountains, watching the tourists watch the show. “Okay, so, there’s this dress,” Brendon digs in her bag and pulls out her laptop. Firing it up she poaches a wifi signal and flicks through her bookmarks to a page she’s saved. “This one,” she turns the screen so Spencer can see.
Making a grumpy, harrumphing noise, Spencer checks out the photos, taking in the black satin and lace, the boned corset top, and the full skirt and says, “Yeah, it’s pretty much you. Why don’t you just order that one instead of dragging me to every fucking dress store on the Strip?”
“Three days, Spencer! I dunno,” Brendon bites her lip and fidgets with her sunglasses. “You think they could get it to me in time?”
Spencer shrugs and repeatedly flicks the lighter he’s extracted from his pocket. “Doesn’t hurt to try. Use your feminine wiles, or your American Express black, or your I’m a motherfucking rock star you should be paying me to wear your shit. What the fuck ever.”
“I’m gonna call and whine at them. If they can get it to me overnight, that would be sweet!” Brendon takes out her Sidekick and, squinting at the screen of her laptop, which Spencer is now holding, keys in the 800 number on the customer service page.
While Brendon is talking to the people at Betsey Johnson’s web site, Spencer powers off the Macbook and puts it back into Brendon’s messenger bag, zipping it up securely. Totally uninterested in the spectacle of lights and water and music that’s happening behind them, he takes Brendon by the elbow and ushers her back into the mall.
Brendon raises an eyebrow but keeps walking. She disconnects the call and doing a bouncing dance she beams at Spencer and says, “Expedited shipping, motherfucker!” She smacks a kiss to his cheek.
“Wonderful, fantastic, super duper.” Spencer shoves his hands in his pockets but keeps walking.
“Where are we going now?” Brendon trots to keep up with his longer stride.
I was here with Hayley last week and there are these shoes that would look sick with that dress.” His eyes are narrowed and he has his mall face on. Brendon would never dream of getting between Spencer Smith and his shopping goal.
“You’re too good to me, Spence!” Brendon loops her arm through his and they walk past the shops, her bag thwacking Spencer in the thigh with every step.
Holding out one arm to indicate the shoe store in question, he presses the long fingers of his other hand to the small of Brendon’s back, guiding her in. “These,” Spencer’s chin tilts towards the pair in front of him.
“Holy shit! Those are so fucking choice.” Brendon takes the high heeled mary janes off the shelf, fingers petting gently at the butter soft leather. “Oh Mr. Laboutain I am so totally your bitch. But, you don’t think I should wear, like ballet flats or something?”
Spencer scowls and says, “Bear, speaking totally objectively here, you’re pretty much all eyes and lips and boobs and legs, and you should probably work with what you’ve got, yeah?”
A salesman comes over and Brendon asks for the shoes in a size eight. “They’re so pretty!” She bounces on the balls of her feet and claps her fingers together. The clerk returns, with a box and Brendon sits down. Shucking her sneakers and socks and slips on the footies and then the shoes, rolling up her jeans to mid calf, then walking from the chairs to the mirror and back again. “Well?” She says to Spencer.
He just gives her a thumbs up and leans against the wall beside the exit. Brendon hands over her credit card and waits for her purchase to be rung up and wrapped. “I think that was the fastest I’ve ever bought anything in my life.” She says, awed.
Squeezing the nape of her neck, Spencer says, “Stick with me kid.” And they both laugh. “Now can I please go the fuck home?”
“Oh!” Brendon stops short, hand comically poised over her mouth. “Underwear, Spencer!”
Flinging his arms wide in exasperation Spencer says, “Jesus Christ, I am not going,” he waves his hands, distressed, “Fucking underwear shopping with you, Bee.”
“C’mon, Spence. Spencey. Spencer. I need a boy’s opinion on levels of hotness.” Brendon tugs on his arm and heads towards La Perla.
“And I’m supposed to know what Gerard Way finds hot? I thought he was gay Brendon. And like, underwear?” He shifts his shoulders, uncomfortable. “I don’t actually give a shit about underwear. It’s just one more layer in the way!” His protests come to nothing and he flops down into a chair, eyebrows furrowed in a scowl.
“Would you stop calling him Gerard Way? It’s creepy. Like how Ross keeps calling him The Gerard Way. “
“What ever. Would you just hurry up?” Spencer doesn’t even fake smile at the sales girl who walks over to them.
“Is there something special I can help you find?” She asks Brendon.
“Yeah, yes, I mean. Um, I need something to go underneath a formal dress. The top is corseted, but…” Brendon’s eyes dance with mischief and the girl laughs.
“Sir, would you like to come have a look at what we have to offer your ladyfriend?”
“LADYfriend?” Spencer’s brows disappear under the fringe of his bangs and he makes a high pitched strangled noise through his nose.
Brendon laughs so hard she has to bend over to catch her breath. “OH MY GOD! He’s not my boyfriend! He’s like my brother!” Brendon tugs on Spencer’s hand, getting him to his feet and following the store employee across the room.
“Oh my God. Now she thinks you’re fancy panty shopping with your brother! Do you know how fucking wrong that sounds?” Spencer whines quietly.
“I said you’re like my brother, not actually my brother.” Brendon hip bumps him, still trying to stifle her laughter. “Fine. Go sit over there and stop trying to ruin my good time!” She shoos him towards red velvet chairs and then turns her attention to black lace and satin, eyes gleaming.
“That’s not better, you know.” Spencer mumbles, head down and scowling.
Sticking her tongue out and waggling it in Spencer’s direction she says, “Oh calm down!” before flitting off after the salesgirl.
Leaving the shop with another bag to dangle from her fingers, Brendon takes Spencer’s hand and concedes that they’re done shopping, for now. “Good, you’re taking me to fucking Del Taco and buying me what ever the fuck I want.” He sulks as they find Brendon’s Mercedes and head out of the lot.
“Aww, poor Spencey,” She giggles and pats his leg, trying not to laugh at his sulking expression. “Anything you want, man. You totally saved my life. And those shoes! Oh my god if they don’t get me laid nothing will!”
Spencer’s sulk shifts quickly into a look of horror, “Dude! I SO do not want to think about you fucking, okay?”
“Yes, because you are as pure as the driven slush and would never dream of discussing such things with your buddies.” Her shoulders shaking with amusement, Brendon just bites her lip and slips her sunglasses on as they head out onto the Strip. “Del Taco it is, my brave little shopper.”
Spencer grouses under his breath but doesn’t say any more, instead directing his attention to the car’s stereo until they get to the restaurant. Once inside he proceeds to order what seems to be at least one of everything on the menu, while Brendon sticks to chips and salsa and a bean burrito, “He’s just a growing boy!” She smiles brightly at the teenager at the cash register, patting Spencer’s belly for emphasis.
Dumping everything onto the table, Spencer slides into the booth and digs in. Brendon sips at her soda and chews thoughtfully on her chips, watching Spencer. “Seriously, Spencer, thank you.”
Spencer cocks his eyebrow at her and continues to chew methodically on his soft taco. “S’no prob, Bear.” He shrugs and wipes at the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin.
“I just. It might sound stupid, but this is important to me, you know? Gerard’s important to me. And I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Sitting up and looking into her eyes in a way that usually makes Brendon squirm, Spencer says, “Brendon, if you want it, you’ll get it. Eventually.” He nods his head slightly and then, smile curving his lips as he drinks his Coke, says, “So, Gerard Way? Seriously? He’s not your usual, um, type. Isn’t he old?”
Brendon’s smile is soft and self-conscious as she directs her attention to tearing her straw wrapper to shreds, “Yeah. Gerard. He’s not old, Spence, he’s perfect.”
“Just so you know; he fucks with you, he fucks with me. And this time there is no Jon Walker in the world that could stop me from messing him up. And I can’t believe I’m gonna paraphrase a John Hughes movie, but: He breaks your heart? I break his face.” Spencer growls and shoves a quesadilla into his mouth.
Aware that he’s perfectly serious and wondering how she got so fucking lucky, Brendon bites off her laughter with a mouth full of burrito and curves her hand over top of Spencer’s, saying nothing further.
They pile the leftovers into a take out bag and head for the car. Brendon burbles about driving out to L.A. (her hatred of airports, airplanes and the entire airline industry is legendary amongst her band mates) and her excitement about a song she’s working on. Spencer laughs and smiles-he knows about beats and tempo and not a fuck of a lot about transposition and counter harmonies so he just adds wry commentary that earns him multiple pointed glances and the occasional middle finger from Brendon. They turn into his driveway and Brendon kisses him softly on the cheek. “You wanna come in? Say hi to Haley, play with the puppy?” Spencer’s ducked down in the door of the car, talking across the seat.
“Nah, I’m pretty wiped. Gonna go home and have a nice bath and get some sleep I think. See you tomorrow, Spencemonster.” She flits a wiggly fingered wave and then backs onto the cul de sac.
As she’s heading back to her condo, Brendon notices a sign in a strip mall and smiles, suddenly seized with an idea that could be awesome. She flicks on her directional indicator and pulls into the parking lot.
And anniebean I know you've been waiting for some more Beach Music and life is sort of kicking my ass. and okay I might have momentarily gone a little nuts and deleted huge chunks of what I'd written and am now trying to piece it all back together. So, I hope this little totally unbeta'd bit will get you by :D
One Two-A Two-B Three-A Three-B Four Five-A Five-B Six-A Six-B
But it's through you and I know
What I'll do
Just to get back in your arms'>
Exhaling a sleepy breath, eyes closed, Brendon bats at her bedside table until she locates her Sidekick, and brings it to her ear. “’loh?” She mumbles, running a hand through her hair.
“You’re answering the phone, so I’ll take that as a positive sign.” Gerard laughs, raspy.
Swiping at her nose with the back of her wrist and not bothering to stifle her yawn, Brendon replies, “Mmm, s’way fuckin’ early. Preconditioned response. You can’t see right now, but I’m totally drooling.” She sits up a little and smiles.
Gerard’s rusty hinge giggle is loud in her ear before he stops himself, “Shit, you’d think I’d get the fuckin’ time zone thing figured out by now. Sorry.” He pauses with a noisy exhale and Brendon pictures the cigarette smoke circling around him. “But, you’re talking to me, so I’ll take that as a sign you’re not mad at me any more.”
Resting her phone against the pillow, Brendon turns onto her side. “I’m not mad at you Gerard. I wasn’t. I’m…I’m glad to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad you’re glad.” His breath is a woosh, “Actually I’m really fucking relieved. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Brendon.”
Voice still soft and sleepy, Brendon says, “Yeah, so maybe I over reacted to your over reaction.”
“I’ve been thinking, a lot actually. About what you said. About trusting you. And I do; trust you. Maybe it’s me that I’m...” Gerard’s voice trails off in a stifled cough.
Knuckling at her eyes and rubbing her cheek across the worn cotton of the pillow case, Brendon sighs, sleepy, “So, is this where I’m supposed to like, sing a chorus or two of Wonderwall? Gerard, I’m not gonna, like, pour vodka down your throat or shove coke up your nose, and I think that you know yourself well enough to, well, to not be tempted or whatever.”
“Most days, maybe. But that’s not, that’s not what I meant. I mean, about you and me. Us. Maybe trying to have that… you know? Getting to know each other. I think that could be…good.”
Brendon bites her lip to contain any gleeful squeaking that may escape, “I’d like that. I really would.” She presses her cheek harder into the hand set and wraps her arms around her stomach, hugging a little. “And you can, you know. Trust me. I wouldn’t hurt you, for anything. I’m not, I’m not her, you know?”
“Her?”
“Um, yeah.” She scrunches up her face, “You know, the girl who dumped you, or cheated on you, or lied to you, or whatever. I’m just me. And I wish that was enough.”
“Hey!” Gerard’s voice is loud in her ear. “It is! You are. Shit. I just, I think that we should try, don’t you?”
“I’m…yeah. I just…I fuck up, you know? But I’m not fucked up. And I maybe don’t do so well being compared to…to the exes, or whatever.” Brendon’s eyebrows crease into her frown as she watches the numbers on her clock slide from 3:59 to 4:00.
Gerard exhales another drag on his cigarette. “We all fuck up, Queen Bee. Jesus, I definitely know that from first hand experience. So yeah, in future I’ll just…focus my mad over reaction skills on Mikey fucking up a Horde Raid.
Brendon’s chuckle is low and throaty. “Mmm…Gerard Way, taking advantage of my sleepy state and talking RPG to me. Are you trying to turn me on?”
“Depends.” Gerard’s voice drops to an over-exaggerated stage whisper and Brendon can picture his cartoonish leer. “It working?”
Scratching her nose, Brendon grins wide, “Well you know, I am easy…”
“Bren…”
“So is this where you ask me what I’m wearing?” Brendon giggles, warm and open and shoves the strap of her camisole back up to her shoulder.
“Um, maybe? Yeah, it definitely would be, if you know, I wasn’t sitting in a lounge waiting for some DJ to ask me the same ten questions every other radio interviewer has asked me so far.
Voice dropping as sleepiness takes hold of her again, Brendon slowly drags her palm across the warm skin of her belly and purrs, “Hmmm…sounds like the perfect opportunity for me to fill you in on what I’m wearing…or not wearing.” She can’t help the snort that escapes her.
She can hear Gerard’s pout as he says, “Hey! No fair! Just for that I will tell you what I’m wearing.”
“Lemme guess,” Brendon interrupts, “Jeans, a t-shirt that hasn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in longer than is polite to mention in mixed company, a black hoodie, black Chucks and a shit eating grin ‘cause you are damn special and get to talk to me!” She laughs into her pillow.
“Ding ding ding! Pass go, collect two hundred dollars, what the fuck ever.”
“Mmmn, sounds pretty fucking hot to me.” She’s mumbling now, syllables blurry with sleep.
“Okay Queen Bee, I gotta go. I’m sorry I woke you up, but I’m glad we talked about this shit, right?”
“Me too,” her voice is soft and content. “I really am. I’ll talk to you soon?”
“Definitely. Sweet dreams.”
* * *
It’s Thursday afternoon and the band’s taking a break from going over the same verse of the same song that Ryan’s changed the lyrics to approximately sixteen times since they started recording it, on Tuesday. And, if Brendon was the kind of girl who kept track of these things, it’s also four days, twelve hours, and seven minutes since Gerard woke her up to talk about maybe kind of sort of trying to be a Them, or an Us, or something like that, in his uniquely muddled Gerard Way way. But she’s not that kind of girl. She’s the kind of girl who sneaks furtive glances at her Sidekick and bites her cheek when she sees a new voice mail (seven so far) or text (thirty three) or email (ten, mostly just one line). But, because she is Brendon she’s very good at covering all this up with a boggling barrage of nonstop commentary on anything and everything, so she’s pretty certain that her band mates are oblivious to the Smitten Kitten neon sign above her head.
So she’s created folders in gmail. So what? And so what if those folders are called “Gee” and “<3” and contain, respectively, all the funny little emails he’s sent her since the night/morning of the phone call, and the little doodles Gerard has scanned and sent to her--robots, and zombies, and vampires, and anthropomorphic road kill and craft services items? They’re basically adorable. Her favorite so far is one with a dancing Route 66 road sign, a dark haired, high top sneaker wearing vampire at one end of the road and a short haired very Bratz doll-esque angel at the other. Brendon stands by her assertion that Gerard Way, despite his protests otherwise, is adorable.
Teeth tugging at the scraggily cuticle around her thumbnail, Brendon winces as Spencer brings the sticks down hard on a cymbal behind her. She files the drawing away as Gerard's voice mail message ends, and after the beep Brendon says, "Um, hey. It’s me, Brendon. We're, my band, I mean, is doing this um, this thing, like a festival, I guess. It's in Milwaukee, on Saturday. And like, you could come, if you want." Brendon pauses and gently bashes her head off the doorframe, keenly aware of how pathetically pre-teen girl she's sounding. "Like, I guess Wisconsin and New Jersey are pretty much no where near each other, but I thought if you were around it might be fun. I could, like put you on the guest list. Ryan's making me sing some new stuff; thought it would be good to try it out. So, um, yeah. If you're interested you can totally come. That's it I guess. Uh, bye." She groans at the new and baffling level of pathetic she's reached and pockets her Sidekick so she can go break up Jon and Ryan's argument about syncopation.
* * *
Gerard has no doubt about the effects of Global Warming as he leans against a precariously angled snow fence, sweating in the mid-afternoon June heat. Thousands are packed tight in front of the Milwaukee stage, sweating and screaming and Gerard gives silent thanks that he’s off to the side in the Artists Area and can actually breathe. That is, if he was actually breathing. He’d arrived just as Panic were launching into their first song. My Chem had been on the same festival circuit as Panic at the Disco, but Gerard had never seen their show; never had a reason to. But he’d heard about the make up and the dancers and the costumes. There’s none of that now, under a brutal Wisconsin summer sun. Just the reason he’s here; Brendon dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a plaid cowboy shirt, holding the audience in the palm of her hand, and Gerard’s breath caught somewhere behind his ribs.
Brendon is, well, she’s amazing. She’s her usual frantic, fast-forward self amped up tenfold and set free to work the audience into a frenzy. She’s bouncing and dancing and singing her ass off. Alternating easily between piano and guitar, Brendon wails and thrashes and snarls and sweetly bats her eyelashes. She wraps herself around Ryan, and bounces off of Jon. And then, flicking sweat off her forehead and huffing for breath into the microphone says, “Okay, we’re gonna slow things down for a bit, and give the rest of the band a bit of a break for five minutes or so.” Her band mates file off stage, to the side opposite where Gerard stands watching. Brendon grins as she perches on the end of the piano bench and a tech brings her a twelve string acoustic guitar, angling the mike stand down for her. She nods her thanks and slips the strap over her head, lightly running her fingers across the brass strings, checking the tuning.
“So, I thought I’d do a song by one of Ryan’s and my favorite songwriters, Tom Waits. You probably have no idea who he is and don’t know this song, but go home and ask your parents, they’ll tell you he’s awesome.” Brendon scrunches up her nose and giggles. “This song is about drunken unrequited love! The best kind! It’s called I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love With You.” She laughs again, then takes a deep breath, and launches into the song. Her eyes are closed, her expression lost in the words coming from her mouth. At first the audience is rowdy, whooping and cheering. As Brendon continues, long fingers carefully picking at the guitar’s strings and her Converse clad foot keeping time with her voice, quiet begins to spread through the crowd. By the time the last note dies on the sticky summer air, Brendon smiles awkwardly into the silence. She bites her lip and shrugs her shoulders, and then the crowd releases its collectively held breath in a hail of screams and clapping. “Thanks!” Brendon says simply into the microphone and Ryan, Jon, and Spencer file back onto the stage, awash in the crowd’s appreciation.
Gerard is clapping and cheering along with them. He listens to songs of bitter disappointment give way to lyrics about love and happiness and he smokes and crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t do a damn thing about quelling the besotted grin that is pasted across his face. He bounces on his toes and sings under his breath for the rest of the show, only retreating to the back stage marquee tents when Ryan announces their last song. He has the good grace to smile sheepishly at Zack, shrugging his shoulders and tipping ash into the yellow-brown grass just outside the open-flapped doorway, and the two men, who know each other in the tenuous ways that separate anyone in the scene long enough, trade pleasantries until the muffled music dies and the screams increase and Brendon comes bounding into the tent.
Shocked surprise mingles with post show glee, looking the most like joy Gerard can ever recall seeing on anyone’s face, as Brendon hurtles towards him. “Gerard!” she shouts, flinging herself into his arms. Wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck she says, “Did you see me? Motherfucking Tom Waits! I killed that shit!”
Gerard quickly grabs hold of her, staggering a little under the momentum, so they don’t fall over. Laughing, powerless in the face of Brendon’s happiness, Gerard manages to say, “Yeah I saw! You did!” before Brendon kisses him, bruising hard in her enthusiasm, sucking his tongue wickedly. His hands are firm on her ass, securing her in his hold and he kisses her back, eyes closed, overwhelmed and surrounded by Brendon. It’s only when the absolute still and quiet of the room--still full of people--filters through the sensations of Brendon in his arms and on his mouth that Gerard breaks the kiss, cheeks red with embarrassment.
Quirking her head at the loss of contact, Brendon slowly opens her eyes, irises like black glass. Her tongue swipes over her lips and she leans her forehead against Gerard’s shoulder. Inhaling a shuddering breath, she says, “Hey, guys! This is Gerard!”
Ryan, arms crossed says, “No shit,” at the same time Spencer says, “Ya don’t say,” and Jon raises his hand to wave, while Zack snorts bemusedly.
Brendon giggles and nuzzles her cheek against the heated blush of Gerard’s. He clears his throat, and through a high pitched giggle of his own manages to free one of his hands to return the wave and say, “Uh, hi.”
Flapping her hand absently towards the others, Brendon murmurs, “Now that we’re all friends…” and cups Gerard’s jaw in her hands to continue to kiss him, sucking and licking at his mouth until his lips part again and she can suck his tongue into her mouth. “Missed you,” she whispers against him and she can feel the crooked smile her words provoke.
There’s a soft squeeze to her ankle and Zack says, “Thirty minutes, Bee.” Before he and the others walk out of the tent.
“Thirty minutes?” Gerard mumbles his question against Brendon’s mouth. His hand wriggles under her shirt, working its way up the sweat soaked t-shirt beneath.
Twisting her mouth away from Gerard’s in a somewhat perturbed expression she says, “Yeah, we have to do a meet and greet thing. I should shower, I’m all sweaty.” Her fingers play with the long strands of hair at Gerard’s collar.
Ducking forward, Gerard’s tongue pokes out between his lips to lap at the beads of sweat slicking the tendons of Brendon’s neck. “Mmm, yep. You are.” He bites playfully and Brendon laughs, wriggling her feet against his lower back.
“Can’t meet the masses when I’m all stinky!” She wrinkles her nose in distaste.
Running the flat of his tongue to soothe where he’s bitten, Gerard inhales deeply, “Fuck that. You smell amazing.”
Attempting to extract herself from Gerard’s squeezing hold on her ass and one thigh, Brendon tips her head back and laughs, as much from the tickling of her neck as from what Gerard said. “Yeah, if by amazing you mean like arm pit.” She wriggles to the ground and hauls her shirt back into place.
Gerard hugs her in close and grins against the skin of her jaw. “Whatever.” His lips slide over her face and he brushes soft, tickling kisses along Brendon’s hairline.
“I gotta…” She waves outside the tent. “You know shower and all that shit. You could…come keep me company?” She bats her eyelashes, full of mischief. Wrapping her arms around Gerard’s waist and grinding minutely against his thigh, Brendon says, “Save a horse, ride a cowgirl?”
Gerard’s laugh is loud and surprised, his fingers skimming along the pearlised snaps of Brendon’s shirt. “Shit Queen Bee, that was bad, even for you.”
“You just stick around for my comedy genius, I know. It brings all the boys to the yard.” She links their fingers together, and bussing a kiss to his cheek, heads towards the tent’s doorway. “Being the only girl has its advantages. Dude, my own dressing room. It’s so awesome.”
The room is small and smells of bleach and mud. The shower stall is no larger than the one on the tour bus, and Brendon drags them both towards it. A wicked smile flits across her face as she toes off her sneakers and socks, and shimmies out of her sweat soaked jeans. Gerard groans and reaches for her, his hands curving to the slope of her hips as Brendon kisses him, messy and slick. She giggles as he yanks on her shirt, freeing the snaps one after the other with a single pull. His tongue tastes further into her mouth and over her tongue as his hands come up under the black t-shirt plastered to her skin with perspiration. Eager fingers trace the swell of her breasts through the soft cotton cups of her sports bra.
Brendon grins into the kiss, moving incrementally closer in Gerard’s hold as his hands move deliberately downwards to flirt with the red elastic waistband of her Rainbow Bright boyshorts. Mouth still pressed to Gerard’s, Brendon peels off his hoodie, fingers dancing along the soft, pale skin of his arms. Breaking the kiss, she steps back, chewing on her bottom lip. Coyly affecting a fey expression she bats her eyelashes and says, “Time to get wet!” then turns to the shower. Shucking off her t-shirt and bra, and rolling her underpants down her long legs, Brendon turns the tap and steps under the spray, leaving the curtain open.
Gerard watches, a little slack jawed and dry throated, as Brendon manages to affectedly soak her hair and apply shampoo, the suds slipping down her neck and over her breasts. Slowly, almost involuntarily, he inches closer to the shower stall until he’s leaning a shoulder against its side, fine spray misting his shirt and face. Brendon’s eyes are heavy lidded and her smile is dangerously close to a knowing smirk as her fingers wrap around the loofa hanging from the taps. She squeezes a generous amount of sugary-vanilla scented body wash onto the sponge, and bends, still not looking at Gerard, but rubbing slowly and deliberately in circles over her pale skin, from toes to breasts. Then, she raises her arms over her head and steps back under the stream of water, sluicing off the soap.
Gerard makes what some might call a small undignified whining noise when Brendon turns her almost-leer on him, stretching out a languid arm and curling wet fingers in the hem of his t-shirt. She tilts her head and leans against the shower stall, breathing distance away from Gerard, “Time’s tickin’. You gonna join me?” She says, low and throaty, swiping her tongue tip across her full bottom lip.
Okay, so maybe he makes a full blown, right out loud undignified whining noise at that. And Brendon’s hand is snaking up his chest, bringing his t-shirt with it. And maybe if there was anyone else there to see it would look totally ridiculous but there isn’t, so Gerard leans in and follows the swipe of Brendon’s tongue across her lips with his own tongue. “I dunno, Bee.” He manages to mumble, after swallowing hard and focusing on forming coherent speech.
Her hand still knotted in Gerard’s increasingly damp shirt, Brendon draws back from the kiss. “Why not? She’s scowling and pouting at the same time, and wow, Gerard never would have guessed that was actually possible.
Gerard exhales heavily through his nose, “It’s just…I don’t think I can…”
His muttered explanation is interrupted by Brendon stamping her foot on the hard plastic of the shower stall floor, crossing her arms over her chest and scowl-pouting even more outrageously. “Yes you can!” She stomps her foot again, for effect and if Gerard wasn’t with it enough to know that it’s a very very bad idea, he’d be laughing his ass off at her temper tantrum. “I am so fucking horny right now, Gerard, and it’s all you fault! And…”
Gerard stops her tirade with his mouth, tongue brushing teasingly over her teeth and the roof of her mouth. He brings his hands up to cup her ass, fingers slipping over wet skin to pet her into calm. “I just meant, that I don’t think we’ll both fit in there.” His lips trail small sucking bites across her jaw as he whispers in her ear.
“Oh!” Her eyes get a mischievous glint as she wriggles away from Gerard’s touch. “Yes we can!” Brendon says brightly. She presses herself against the shower wall, arching her back and spreading her legs in blatant invitation. “Giddyup!”
Gerard snorts at her bad joke, but the sight of Brendon waiting, wanting is enough for Gerard to overcome his long held belief that shower sex, while awesome in theory, suffers rather badly in the execution. It should be hot-all water slicked skin and touching close everywhere-but it usually just ends up being awkward; either too bright light or not enough, in too small spaces, with limbs in unfortunate places. That’s if you can actually manage to maintain any kind of balance and stay upright, with the water hitting you in the face and soap in your mouth.
But now, here, maybe things can be different. Gerard figures Brendon is ready and eager, so he can at least try. He tugs his shirt over his head, stoops to untie his shoes, and roughly shoves off his jeans, underwear and socks all at the same time, with little trouble. His mouth tilts into a crooked, concerned line before he blows out a breath and steps into the stall.
Brendon tilts her head, trying to look behind her, as she feels Gerard’s hands tracing her spine, from the wet fall of hair at the nape of her neck, to the dimpled dip at her waist, just above the more than generous swell of her ass. “Hey,” she husks, tipping back until she feels him all along the length of her. She shakes her bangs from her eyes and shifts her weight back and forth from foot to foot as Gerard’s hands continue their reverent exploration of her skin. Gerard winds one arm around her, hand finding her breast, then pinching teasingly at her nipple before leaning forward, pressing messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin behind her ear, “Hi there,” he mutters, using both the hand at her breast and his other hand--fingers spread starfish wide-- on the flat of her stomach to shift her against him. Brendon mashes her cheek against the vinyl of the shower surround, grunting when Gerard’s cock slicks between her legs, entering her with a studied slowness.
Brendon whines in frustration at the shallow, tentative stroking of Gerard’s thrusts, wriggling against him to find a better position. Every time she moves and clenches around him, Gerard’s fingers grip her more tightly, and his mouth falls open at the heated sensation of her around him. He pants and moves both of his hands to her hips, scraping his teeth across her shoulder blade. “Bren,” he huffs when she braces herself on the wall and shoves back against him.
“S’not enough,” she pants. “Deeper, c’mon. I want…” the water from the shower head beads on her face and over her broad mouth as she sashays her hips in stop-start circles. Gerard’s hands are insistent, fingers bruising into the pearly flare of her hipbones as he shifts again, bringing Brendon to the tips of her toes. “Okay, okay,” She tilts her weight further forward, turning her face until her forehead makes contact with the water slicked wall. Pushing palms flat, fingers digging in, she raises one leg, winding her ankle around Gerard’s calf. He stumbles under her slight but unexpected weight in this new position, and his shoulder glances painfully off the door frame.
“Shit,” he mumbles, but not from pain. He realizes what Brendon’s thinking, what she’s trying to do, and is so turned on he’s actually afraid he’s going to come just from the thought of it. Instead he focuses on balancing, on supporting her small waist at the round curve of her hips, and pants heavily as Brendon jumps a little, winding her other ankle around Gerard’s left calf, her face still pressed into the wall above her hands.
“Move, more, come on,” Brendon’s voice is quiet beneath the noise of the shower and Gerard can feel the quaking in her muscles from the effort to keep them both balanced. He shifts his hips forward, and angles up into her. It’s so deep and so good that they groan in tandem and Brendon shifts her hands from the wall to Gerard’s forearms, pressing down on to him as he thrusts, the sound of skin on skin loud beneath the steady stream of water.
Gerard has a brief semi-coherent thought; he should pull out. He really, really should. Brendon’s thighs are bunched tight against his, her ankles still wound around his calves. She’s tight and slick around him, making open mouthed moans with every thrust. He’s really close and as her hiccupping ohohoh reach his ears, Gerard can tell that Brendon’s close too. But then she does this…thing. She bends at the waist and her palms trail down the water slicked wall of the shower and she’s pressed even more tightly against and around Gerard than he would have previously thought possible. His hands grip tight at her hips, thumbs digging divots into the round swell of her ass cheeks. He barks out a low noise and flicks his water soaked hair out of his eyes. Brendon’s long slender back is all he can see, as she rests her palms against the stall floor.
Her whining gasps are now easy to hear above the steady flow of water and she’s twitching with effort and restraint, water sliding into her open mouth. “Uhhhh,” is all she manages. Gerard is maybe a little amazed that he can feel her orgasm rushing through her body and around him, and is distracted enough by it that he shifts his weight and causes the both of them to slam rather forcefully into the side of the shower stall. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, and then comes, almost painfully, with a hacking, startled noise as Brendon laughs.
She unwinds her feet from Gerard’s legs and stands upright again, but whines when she feels him pulling out. She reaches behind her and grabs his hip, holding him in place. “Mmm, s’nice,” she mumbles through her soft smile.
“Bren,” Gerard drops dazed kisses to the round join of her shoulder and arm. “Fuck, that was…what the fuck was that?” He holds her close, then pulls away, turning her around in his arms to kiss her.
“Mmm…I can’t believe we did that! That it actually, you know, worked. Fuck Ross and his Brendon Urie trips on air bullshit.” She’s laughing full out and bright. She kisses Gerard enthusiastically, licking water from his lips.
“Uhn, do you think maybe we could not discus Ryan Ross right now?” Gerard slides his cheek along hers, his voice a panting, slurred mumble.
Hugging him tight to her in the steady stream of water, Brendon chuckles and pets at Gerard’s wet skin. “Sorry, I just…wow, you know?”
“Yoga, right?” Gerard’s fingers roam restlessly across Brendon’s back and stomach.
Brendon is laughing, shaky and breathless. She carefully lifts up her hand and catches a droplet of water on the end of Gerard’s nose, “Downward facing doggie-style!” And she leans back against the wall, grinning and panting.
Gerard chuckles weakly, then slaps at the swell of her hip, and rolls his eyes. “Jesus. you’re fucking hilarious. And amazing.”
Her smile softens and she wraps her arms around Gerard’s neck, rubbing full length against him for too brief a few seconds before ducking around him and out of the shower. She picks up a towel from a small table and swipes at her hair a few times before rubbing the water from her skin, then wraps it around her.
Gerard twists off the taps, leaning back into the space Brendon recently vacated. He watches her, strugglign to keep his eyes open, waiting for his breathing to steady. She roots around in her bag for clothes and yips when Gerard comes up behind her, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. “Hey!” she swats at him, and he just hauls her in close, kissing her neck and shoulders.
“So, I was thinking,” he says in a low voice, resting his chin on her shoulder, “After you’ve met and greeted the adoring masses, you wanna come back to my hotel? Grab some dinner?”
Brendon stops fidgeting against him and unwraps her towel, using it to rub at Gerard’s wet skin. She’s focused on wiping away droplets from his chest and belly when she says, “I can’t.” She looks up at him, a rueful, sheepish expression on her face. “Um, right after? We have to fly to L.A. for some promo thing.” She sighs and bites her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Oh,” Gerard tries hard to keep the disappointment from his voice as Brendon gently drapes the towel around his waist and secures it over his hip.
One long slim finger circling around his navel, she says, “Yeah. I’m so sorry. If I’d known you were coming…”
“Um, surprise?” Gerard supplies weakly, quirking an eyebrow.
“It was an awesome surprise! Really, really amazing!” Brendon pecks tiny kisses to his mouth. “The best!” she nuzzles against his nose. “But if I’d known? I would have totally changed my plans but now I…”
Gerard shrugs, “Can’t.” Brendon wheedles away from Gerard to put on the underwear, t-shirt, and shorts she had pulled from her bag.
Sighing, Brendon gives him a regretful look, “Yeah. But, you could come and hang out at the Meet and Greet? Wait. No. That’s a dumb idea.” She hugs him, her fingers playing with the damp hanks of his hair. They stand there, quiet and relaxed, touching and kissing softly when there’s a loud thump on the dressing room door.
“Brendon, hurry the fuck up! People are waiting for you and they’re gonna fuckin’ start melting soon!” Zack’s voice is loud through the thin paneling.
“Okay, okay!” She calls. She slips into a pair of plastic flip-flops and then runs a hand through her still wet hair, making a little moue of frustration into a long mirror. She shrugs, giving up on having time to do her hair properly, and tugs on a baseball cap. She turns back to Gerard, kissing his cheek and giving his hip a small squeeze. “Gimme a call, okay? We’ll compare impossible schedules!” Gerard just nods dumbly as Brendon slips on her sunglasses and flits out the door.
He stands there for a minute, dripping onto the filthy carpet, still clutching the scratchy nubs of the cheap towel at his hip. And he can’t help thinking that for the first time in his life he quite possibly flew across the country to get laid. A long distance booty call at 30. Jesus.
***
“Hey Queen Bee. How’s things?” Gerard’s voice is rough from singing, but happy.
Ignoring the eye rolls from the rest of the band, Brendon walks into the hallway outside the recording studio, carrot stick in hand. “Mmm you know, recording right?”
“Oh yeah. Fun times.” Gerard gives a rusty hinge chuckle and then says, “So, quick question; what’re you doin’ on Sunday night?”
Brendon shrugs and replies, “Not much, probably sleeping.”
“Wanna come to L.A.? We got this industry thing to go to and I thought maybe you’d like a chance to dress up all fancy.”
“Why, your mom busy?” Brendon crunches down on the carrot stick at the same time she bursts into laughter.
Gerard returns the laugh and says, “Actually, she is. Bob needs a date, right?” They both laugh.
“I’d love to come, it sounds fun.” Brendon smiles into the phone.
“Cool, I gotta go but I’ll send you all the details, like in an email or something. Okay?” Gerard sounds rushed and distracted.
“Cool. Talk to you tomorrow?” Brendon tries to keep the hope out of her voice, aiming instead for her usual gently amused tone.
“Definitely. You take care and kick ass, Brendon.”
***
“So, you know the Industry Thing Gerard Way is talking about is the American Music Awards, right?” Spencer smirks at Brendon before folding a pizza slice in half and taking an enormous bite. They’re done recording for the day, exhausted but happy.
“What?” Brendon stops in the midst of taking the strips of green pepper off her vegetarian slice and piling them on a greasy napkin. She sets the entire mess down on top of her piano and licks her fingers, then stares at Spencer blankly. “You’re shitting me," she whispers, eyes wide.
“I shit you not, Bear. The American Music Awards are Sunday night in Los Angeles. My Chem is nominated for …something.” Spencer shrugs like it’s no big deal and chugs from his can of Dr. Pepper.
“Fuck! Spencer! Oh my God, Spencer. You so totally have to come shopping with me. I have nothing to wear to a fucking awards show! You have to help me!” She leans over the piano to clutch at Spencer’s arm, a look of dismay spread wide over her features.
Spencer shakes his arm to dislodge her and then says, “Me? Why me? What about Ross?” He wrinkles up his nose, clearly less than thrilled with the idea.
“Ryan dresses like an extra from Little House on the Prairie why the hell would I want him to help me pick out a dress? Shit. I have no time to get anything couture. Sunday’s what, three days away? “Brendon springs up from the piano bench and is pacing the room. She flips Ryan off when he shouts a disgruntled “Hey!” at her assessment of his fashion sense, then continues pacing, tugging at the hem of her baseball tee. “Please help me? Please? We can go to Dior!” She winds her arms around Spencer’s neck, smacking a kiss to his scruff covered cheek.
“Oh, okay, if you just want to go to the Bellagio, or like the Fashion Show, or whatever. I thought you wanted to go out to like, Henderson or some shit.” Spencer grabs Brendon’s abandoned slice, sprinkles the green pepper back on, and shoves that into his mouth.
“Henderson? Why the fuck would I want to go out to the Galleria? They have designers at JC Penny I don’t know about?” Brendon crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow.
“Good point. Jon you wanna come?” Spencer cranes his neck around to ask.
Jon puts both hands up and starts backing away slowly. “Dude, I’m like allergic to shopping malls and shit.” Ryan laughs and Brendon and Spencer shrug.
“Okay? Spence you are a golden god! You are totally saving my life here!” Brendon jumps up and down, clapping. Reaching under the piano she grabs her messenger bag and slips it across her shoulders. Turning back to where Spencer is tidying up she hops onto his back, wrapping her legs and arms around him. “Ha mule!” she shouts and Spencer makes a comic hee-haw donkey noise before trotting to the door.
“Okay. But we’re totally taking your car and you can drive me the fuck home. And you’re so calling Haley and explaining why I have to help you out with this mission of mercy.” He slips his phone out of his pocket and hands it over his head to Brendon. Quickly finding Haley’s number on speed dial, Brendon burbles away to Spencer’s girlfriend en route to the car.
Once at the Bellagio, Brendon expertly navigates the parking lot and leads a quietly amused Spencer through the mall to the Dior store. Hands in pockets, Spencer finds a support column to lean against, and watches Brendon flitting around the shop, much to the raised eyebrow concern of the employees. “Spencer! Help me find a dress! Don’t just stand there!” She makes a shooing motion towards him, so Spencer sighs and heads to a well lit section of the shop. Brendon, in the mean time, is explaining to the shop girls what she’s looking for.
“How bout this?” Spencer asks when Brendon skips over to him.
Brendon’s lips are pursed like she’s tasted something bad. “Really?”
“What?” Spencer rubs the lacy material between his fingers. “You like pink. You need a fancy dress, it’s kinda both.”
“I like pink,” Brendon rolls her eyes. “Not Band-Aid flesh tone. And lookit! All that lace?” She waves a disdainful hand at the frock. “With my ass? I don’t think so. ‘Sides, it looks like one of those dolls my Gramma makes at the Senior’s centre. You know, the ones that hide the toilet paper?”
A loud cough behind them, and a stern look from the blonde employee has Spencer barking out a laugh, and an embarrassed blush welling at Brendon’s cheeks. “Um, thank you for your time!” Brendon smiles wide and plastic at the woman, and taking Spencer’s hand, they flee the boutique.
Trips in and out of several more designer shops leave Brendon still dress-less and Spencer increasingly short tempered. They sit by the fountains, watching the tourists watch the show. “Okay, so, there’s this dress,” Brendon digs in her bag and pulls out her laptop. Firing it up she poaches a wifi signal and flicks through her bookmarks to a page she’s saved. “This one,” she turns the screen so Spencer can see.
Making a grumpy, harrumphing noise, Spencer checks out the photos, taking in the black satin and lace, the boned corset top, and the full skirt and says, “Yeah, it’s pretty much you. Why don’t you just order that one instead of dragging me to every fucking dress store on the Strip?”
“Three days, Spencer! I dunno,” Brendon bites her lip and fidgets with her sunglasses. “You think they could get it to me in time?”
Spencer shrugs and repeatedly flicks the lighter he’s extracted from his pocket. “Doesn’t hurt to try. Use your feminine wiles, or your American Express black, or your I’m a motherfucking rock star you should be paying me to wear your shit. What the fuck ever.”
“I’m gonna call and whine at them. If they can get it to me overnight, that would be sweet!” Brendon takes out her Sidekick and, squinting at the screen of her laptop, which Spencer is now holding, keys in the 800 number on the customer service page.
While Brendon is talking to the people at Betsey Johnson’s web site, Spencer powers off the Macbook and puts it back into Brendon’s messenger bag, zipping it up securely. Totally uninterested in the spectacle of lights and water and music that’s happening behind them, he takes Brendon by the elbow and ushers her back into the mall.
Brendon raises an eyebrow but keeps walking. She disconnects the call and doing a bouncing dance she beams at Spencer and says, “Expedited shipping, motherfucker!” She smacks a kiss to his cheek.
“Wonderful, fantastic, super duper.” Spencer shoves his hands in his pockets but keeps walking.
“Where are we going now?” Brendon trots to keep up with his longer stride.
I was here with Hayley last week and there are these shoes that would look sick with that dress.” His eyes are narrowed and he has his mall face on. Brendon would never dream of getting between Spencer Smith and his shopping goal.
“You’re too good to me, Spence!” Brendon loops her arm through his and they walk past the shops, her bag thwacking Spencer in the thigh with every step.
Holding out one arm to indicate the shoe store in question, he presses the long fingers of his other hand to the small of Brendon’s back, guiding her in. “These,” Spencer’s chin tilts towards the pair in front of him.
“Holy shit! Those are so fucking choice.” Brendon takes the high heeled mary janes off the shelf, fingers petting gently at the butter soft leather. “Oh Mr. Laboutain I am so totally your bitch. But, you don’t think I should wear, like ballet flats or something?”
Spencer scowls and says, “Bear, speaking totally objectively here, you’re pretty much all eyes and lips and boobs and legs, and you should probably work with what you’ve got, yeah?”
A salesman comes over and Brendon asks for the shoes in a size eight. “They’re so pretty!” She bounces on the balls of her feet and claps her fingers together. The clerk returns, with a box and Brendon sits down. Shucking her sneakers and socks and slips on the footies and then the shoes, rolling up her jeans to mid calf, then walking from the chairs to the mirror and back again. “Well?” She says to Spencer.
He just gives her a thumbs up and leans against the wall beside the exit. Brendon hands over her credit card and waits for her purchase to be rung up and wrapped. “I think that was the fastest I’ve ever bought anything in my life.” She says, awed.
Squeezing the nape of her neck, Spencer says, “Stick with me kid.” And they both laugh. “Now can I please go the fuck home?”
“Oh!” Brendon stops short, hand comically poised over her mouth. “Underwear, Spencer!”
Flinging his arms wide in exasperation Spencer says, “Jesus Christ, I am not going,” he waves his hands, distressed, “Fucking underwear shopping with you, Bee.”
“C’mon, Spence. Spencey. Spencer. I need a boy’s opinion on levels of hotness.” Brendon tugs on his arm and heads towards La Perla.
“And I’m supposed to know what Gerard Way finds hot? I thought he was gay Brendon. And like, underwear?” He shifts his shoulders, uncomfortable. “I don’t actually give a shit about underwear. It’s just one more layer in the way!” His protests come to nothing and he flops down into a chair, eyebrows furrowed in a scowl.
“Would you stop calling him Gerard Way? It’s creepy. Like how Ross keeps calling him The Gerard Way. “
“What ever. Would you just hurry up?” Spencer doesn’t even fake smile at the sales girl who walks over to them.
“Is there something special I can help you find?” She asks Brendon.
“Yeah, yes, I mean. Um, I need something to go underneath a formal dress. The top is corseted, but…” Brendon’s eyes dance with mischief and the girl laughs.
“Sir, would you like to come have a look at what we have to offer your ladyfriend?”
“LADYfriend?” Spencer’s brows disappear under the fringe of his bangs and he makes a high pitched strangled noise through his nose.
Brendon laughs so hard she has to bend over to catch her breath. “OH MY GOD! He’s not my boyfriend! He’s like my brother!” Brendon tugs on Spencer’s hand, getting him to his feet and following the store employee across the room.
“Oh my God. Now she thinks you’re fancy panty shopping with your brother! Do you know how fucking wrong that sounds?” Spencer whines quietly.
“I said you’re like my brother, not actually my brother.” Brendon hip bumps him, still trying to stifle her laughter. “Fine. Go sit over there and stop trying to ruin my good time!” She shoos him towards red velvet chairs and then turns her attention to black lace and satin, eyes gleaming.
“That’s not better, you know.” Spencer mumbles, head down and scowling.
Sticking her tongue out and waggling it in Spencer’s direction she says, “Oh calm down!” before flitting off after the salesgirl.
Leaving the shop with another bag to dangle from her fingers, Brendon takes Spencer’s hand and concedes that they’re done shopping, for now. “Good, you’re taking me to fucking Del Taco and buying me what ever the fuck I want.” He sulks as they find Brendon’s Mercedes and head out of the lot.
“Aww, poor Spencey,” She giggles and pats his leg, trying not to laugh at his sulking expression. “Anything you want, man. You totally saved my life. And those shoes! Oh my god if they don’t get me laid nothing will!”
Spencer’s sulk shifts quickly into a look of horror, “Dude! I SO do not want to think about you fucking, okay?”
“Yes, because you are as pure as the driven slush and would never dream of discussing such things with your buddies.” Her shoulders shaking with amusement, Brendon just bites her lip and slips her sunglasses on as they head out onto the Strip. “Del Taco it is, my brave little shopper.”
Spencer grouses under his breath but doesn’t say any more, instead directing his attention to the car’s stereo until they get to the restaurant. Once inside he proceeds to order what seems to be at least one of everything on the menu, while Brendon sticks to chips and salsa and a bean burrito, “He’s just a growing boy!” She smiles brightly at the teenager at the cash register, patting Spencer’s belly for emphasis.
Dumping everything onto the table, Spencer slides into the booth and digs in. Brendon sips at her soda and chews thoughtfully on her chips, watching Spencer. “Seriously, Spencer, thank you.”
Spencer cocks his eyebrow at her and continues to chew methodically on his soft taco. “S’no prob, Bear.” He shrugs and wipes at the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin.
“I just. It might sound stupid, but this is important to me, you know? Gerard’s important to me. And I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Sitting up and looking into her eyes in a way that usually makes Brendon squirm, Spencer says, “Brendon, if you want it, you’ll get it. Eventually.” He nods his head slightly and then, smile curving his lips as he drinks his Coke, says, “So, Gerard Way? Seriously? He’s not your usual, um, type. Isn’t he old?”
Brendon’s smile is soft and self-conscious as she directs her attention to tearing her straw wrapper to shreds, “Yeah. Gerard. He’s not old, Spence, he’s perfect.”
“Just so you know; he fucks with you, he fucks with me. And this time there is no Jon Walker in the world that could stop me from messing him up. And I can’t believe I’m gonna paraphrase a John Hughes movie, but: He breaks your heart? I break his face.” Spencer growls and shoves a quesadilla into his mouth.
Aware that he’s perfectly serious and wondering how she got so fucking lucky, Brendon bites off her laughter with a mouth full of burrito and curves her hand over top of Spencer’s, saying nothing further.
They pile the leftovers into a take out bag and head for the car. Brendon burbles about driving out to L.A. (her hatred of airports, airplanes and the entire airline industry is legendary amongst her band mates) and her excitement about a song she’s working on. Spencer laughs and smiles-he knows about beats and tempo and not a fuck of a lot about transposition and counter harmonies so he just adds wry commentary that earns him multiple pointed glances and the occasional middle finger from Brendon. They turn into his driveway and Brendon kisses him softly on the cheek. “You wanna come in? Say hi to Haley, play with the puppy?” Spencer’s ducked down in the door of the car, talking across the seat.
“Nah, I’m pretty wiped. Gonna go home and have a nice bath and get some sleep I think. See you tomorrow, Spencemonster.” She flits a wiggly fingered wave and then backs onto the cul de sac.
As she’s heading back to her condo, Brendon notices a sign in a strip mall and smiles, suddenly seized with an idea that could be awesome. She flicks on her directional indicator and pulls into the parking lot.