Ex Post | Brendon/Shane | NC-17 | ~ 12 100 words | Part 1/2
Ex Post
Brendon/Shane | NC-17 (for sex, some D/s & other kink) | ~ 12 100 words
In models where there is uncertainty that is resolved during the course of events, the ex post values (e.g. of expected gain) are those that are calculated after the uncertainty has been resolved. From: here.
Warnings for kink.
This is for octette. It took me a million years too long to write this, and I'm sorry! Hopefully you don't hate the finished product. ♥
Many thanks to airgiodslv for all the encouragement (especially for helping me get my brain sorted out when I got stalled in the middle of this), and then for looking it over. Thanks to sociofemme for looking this over so speedily! ♥
"Where're my fucking jeans?" Brendon asks. He flings the comforter off the bed and shakes the sheets.
Zack pounds on the door and shouts, "Guys, now! This is the last call."
Shane grabs a pair of jeans off the floor and chucks them over to Brendon. "Just put these on," he says.
"These aren't mine," Brendon says.
"Put them on, shut the fuck up, and find your own clothes on the bus," Shane says. Shane moves around the room quickly, but carefully. Brendon's surprised he's moving as much briskly as he is, given that he was puking in the bathroom fifteen minutes ago.
Brendon slides on the pants. He zips up a hoodie without putting a shirt on underneath. He grabs what he sees on the floor, shoving it into his suitcase, and Shane does the same. They can figure out who's got whose stuff later.
"Okay?" Brendon asks, looking around the room quickly. He's probably forgetting something; he can't find the underwear he was wearing last night, but whatever.
Shane opens the door, looking back as he waits for Brendon to catch up. His hair is a greasy tangled mess around his head.
He snaps, "Brendon," giving a little gesture with his hand.
Brendon looks down, then pulls the zipper of his hoodie up all the way, covering the bruise at the base of his throat, the marks from Shane's teeth.
"Right," Brendon says.
Shane looks away quickly.
--
Brendon chews on his knuckle. How much longer can this interview last? Interviews with journalists are always the worst. At least with interviews for radio or TV the interviewer has to pretend to like them. For as long as the tape is rolling, anyway.
"No, dropping the exclamation point wasn't a publicity stunt," Ryan says. He's speaking in short sentences, and pretty soon Spencer is going to jump in with something blunt, or Jon's going to cut in with something random. Brendon bites at his cuticle.
So, whatever, he hooked up with Shane. Brendon doesn't usually -- Brendon doesn't have that kind of hook up with people he actually knows. Not with someone he has to work with the next day. He definitely has to see Shane again. Like tonight, for example. And also the part where they're roommates. They're roommates and Brendon is definitely going to see Shane again, and now he has to face him knowing that Shane has heard the way he sounds when he's asking to come.
Brendon was pretty fucking drunk last night. Shane was pretty fucking drunk last night. Maybe he won't remember.
Spencer says, "Probably because that's what we fucking wanted to do."
Brendon tugs at his bangs.
--
Shane finds him backstage before the show.
"Okay, so, okay. It was just--" Shane breaks off and makes a face. He looks like he's still feeling green around the gills. Brendon's probably still hungover, but they're going to be going on stage within the hour, so the adrenalin is helping with that. "It was just a little unexpected and we went further than we meant to and now it's kind of, right, so, we'll just-- Right."
"Um, sure?" Brendon says. There are people milling around them, but no one's close enough to hear what they're saying. Brendon feels stupidly embarrassed right now. Standing in front of Shane in the middle of the day and talking about what they did last night.
Shane sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around the hallway. Brendon watches his face and waits for Shane to look at him again, but when Shane does, Brendon wishes he hadn't. Shane looks at him and asks, "You okay?" in this voice, this stupid calm voice, like it would be all right if Brendon said that he wasn't okay.
"I'm good," Brendon says. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asks, pointedly.
Shane frowns. "You're freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out," Brendon snaps. "I'm just tired and hungover and, whatever." He makes a fast chopping motion with his hand. "It's not going to happen again, so we can just leave this behind us."
Shane is slouching, his shoulders pulled in. He seems like he's about the same height as Brendon right now, but last night when he was holding Brendon's wrists to the mattress, he felt a lot bigger.
"I'm gonna go warm up now," Brendon says, and then wanders away.
He stands in the middle off the dressing room and starts singing long tones, just to get the air moving. Spencer's standing at the other side of the room, flinging his arms around in circles.
Brendon lifts his hands up, arching his back as he reaches for the ceiling, then he drops down to grab his toes. He can't sing like this, and all the blood is rushing to his head, so he lets the note die.
He feels a little dehydrated, a little agitated, a little horny. Feels kind of like he's still strung out. Shane didn't even fuck him last night, just held Brendon's wrists above his head with one hand and used the other to rub circles around the head of Brendon's cock until Brendon thought he couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand not having Shane's hand around him for real, couldn't stand having to hold his hips still, because every time he bucked up, Shane slowed the motions of his hand even more.
He did, though. He did, and when Shane told him to come he came and he licked Shane's fingers clean afterwards and he asked to suck Shane's cock, asked Shane to fuck him but Shane didn't. He just straddled Brendon's hips and jerked off onto Brendon's chest, and it was so fucking hot that Brendon wanted to go again afterwards, but they were both drunk and instead they just fell asleep, the blankets still in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed.
Brendon feels jittery and he keeps watching the door out of the corner of his eye, as if it makes any difference whether or not Shane's in the same room with him.
He stands, clears his throat and starts to sing again. He'll have a couple bottles of water before going on stage and it'll be fine.
"Fifteen minutes, guys," Zack calls out.
--
Back in the dressing room after the show, Brendon undoes the towel that was wrapped around his waist and uses it to rub his wet hair. At least now his hair is wet with water instead of with sweat.
He throws the towel over his shoulder and hunts around the room for his bag, trying to find some clothes to put on.
It's a little cold in the room, and Brendon's skin is bare and soft from the shower he just took. He appreciates the chill though, the sharp feeling of the air. He's still thrumming with adrenalin, a little twitchy, a little shivery.
He can see the strap of his bag sticking out from under the couch. The couch that Shane is sitting on. Whatever.
Brendon bends to pull out his bag and his bare chest is close to Shane's knee. Brendon glances up. Shane isn't looking at him. Shane's head is turned and he's staring off somewhere else, but his cheeks are flushed pink.
Shane doesn't look at him, even when Brendon stands up straight and pauses for a moment. Brendon likes being naked because he likes to let his skin breathe, but with the way that Shane is pointedly looking the other way, Brendon's reminded that his body is more than just skin.
He looks down, and realizes that his chest is still spotted with bruises. No one's looking twice at him; they all just go about their own business backstage, but still Brendon feels like he needs to cover up.
Brendon holds his bag in front of his hips and walks to the corner of the room to get dressed.
--
*
--
They all go out. Jon buys the first round and then Brendon separates himself from the group, sitting at the bar instead. He knocks back four shots in quick succession and then starts to buy drinks for the girl sitting beside him. She has long hair and shiny lips and when Brendon kisses her, pushes her up against the wall outside the club while they wait for a cab, she makes soft noises and touches the side of his neck gently.
She lies on her back and gasps quietly when he pushes inside, leaves her hands resting softly on his shoulders.
He cabs back to where the buses are parked, shows up later than everyone else, but not by much. They're not leaving until a few hours later anyway; the crew needs time to finish packing up the stage before they can roll on to another city.
He's tired, and he crawls into his bunk expecting to fall asleep immediately, but ends up staring at the ceiling instead.
--
*
--
They roll into the venue an hour early, and get through sound check without any difficulties. Brendon plays a few rounds of hacky sack with the rest of the guys, but he's a little enthusiastic and he keeps kicking it way out of the circle, so he excuses himself before too long.
He goes to the bathroom and washes his face with cold water, then wanders back to the main area.
It's only late afternoon, but he grabs himself a drink and sits down on an uncomfortable sofa, tucking his feet up under him. He sips the beer slowly. There's a funny line between settling in for a wait while still getting pumped up for a show.
He scratches at his neck, pushing the collar of his t-shirt down as he itches across his collarbone. When he presses his fingers down over a half-healed bruise there's a low aching feeling, a pulse and a throb, and Brendon moves his hand away, picking up his beer instead.
Someone kicks the hacky sack his way and Shane comes running after it.
Brendon bends forward, picking it up off the floor. Shane comes close, but stops a few feet away from Brendon, holding his hands out. Brendon tosses him the hacky sack, and Shane says, "Thanks."
Brendon takes another sip of beer.
--
*
--
Brendon hates having to wake up early to do press. He yawns, squirming in his seat. It's still a half an hour drive to the radio station.
He fiddles with his coffee cup -- at least he has coffee -- running his thumb over the plastic edge of the lid. He wonders if he could convince Zack to get him a Shot in the Dark next time. Jon explained to him about those the other day, and, wow. Espresso in a cup of coffee sounds amazing right about now. Or, it would feel amazing, probably. It would feel like being awake.
Brendon can hear someone's heavy breathing take on a rough edge; Ryan's probably about three minutes away from snoring.
Brendon turns his head, watching out the window. He has just zoned out when he feels cool fingers curl around his wrist.
He freezes, his whole body going tense and still.
He looks over, finally, and sees Shane's hand, Shane's fingers on his wrist. He doesn't move, and Shane takes his cup of coffee away, pulling it gently from his hand.
Brendon lets go, waiting until Shane has released his wrist before he looks up at Shane's face, his arm still raised in the air like it was when Shane first grabbing him.
Shane says, "Oh, dude, sorry. I thought you'd fallen asleep." He hands Brendon's cup back quickly.
Brendon takes his cup of coffee. He moves his other hand from where it's resting on the side of the van and holds his coffee cup in both hands, resting it carefully on his thighs. He's tired. He's not quite-- because he's tired.
He hopes that no one was watching him act like a spazz.
Shane says again, "Sorry," and shuffles sideways, giving Brendon extra space.
--
*
--
Panic gets a couple of days off touring and Shane and Brendon fly back to Vegas. They walk in the front door and Dylan isn't there to greet them -- they haven't gotten her from the kennel yet -- but everything else is the same. It still feels amazing to kick off his shoes and line them up on his shoe rack, to hang his jacket in his closet.
Brendon gets a drink of water, then goes to get Dylan from the kennel. He feels badly keeping her there, but since Shane and Regan broke up, they haven't been able to come up with a better option.
Shane greets them both at the door, and Dylan jumps around, darting back and forth between them, her tail flapping around frantically. She finds her toy under the couch and holds it still with one paw as she tilts her head to gnaw on it.
Brendon grabs Dylan's squeaky toy and rolls away. The dog jumps on him, trying to steal it back, and they tussle on the floor as Brendon tries to keep it away from her. When he looks up, Shane's standing in the doorway, watching them.
--
Brendon thinks that maybe it'll be awkward, just him and Shane in the house, but they don't actually spend that much time alone together. The first day back, Shane takes off to buy supplies for the rest of the tour.
Brendon's lying on the floor, trying to smother Cash with a pillow without actually having to get up. It's not working out too well. A key element in smothering involves being able to bear weight down. Also, Brendon's never been successful in smothering someone with a pillow, and he's beginning to suspect that it's an urban myth propagated by mass media. Like how in movies, the hot girls always have daddy issues, so they'll fuck some ugly, dumb guy, when in real life, if a girl didn't know Brendon's the lead singer in Panic, she totally was not going to fuck him.
Brendon pulls the pillow off of Cash's face and tucks it under his head. It's one of those little square pillows for couches. All the pillows for his couch are different colors, but somehow they still match. That's the kind of magic that happens when he hires an interior designer.
"So, anyway, I think you've learned your lesson," Brendon says.
Cash looks over at him, just moving his eyes. His hair is hardly even mussed, but Cash has hardly any hair, so whatever.
"Dude, whatever. I can fucking wipe your ass up and down a gravel road at Halo; that's the only lesson here."
"I had to go feed Dylan," Brendon grits out. His face is getting a little red from lying down.
"Suck it, playa." Cash starts flailing his arms around, making some kind of gesture with his hands. Brendon rolls out of the way, because he ended up with a bloody nose the last time. He also ended up with a bloody noise the last time that he tried to help Dylan chase her tail, but he's pretty sure that Dylan didn't headbutt him intentionally, so he'll probably still do that again sometime.
The front door opens, and then the sound of banging and rustling, and then Shane walks past the room Cash and Brendon are in, carrying five shopping bags, the ring of his key chain pinched between his teeth.
Cash and Brendon watch him from where they're lying on the floor.
"Hey," Cash says.
"Did you get those cheddar and black pepper chips?" Brendon asks. "Also, I think we needed granola bars, but I forgot to put it on the list."
Shane stands there, and narrows his eyes, slowly.
Brendon huffs, then pushing himself off the ground. He grabs the bags out of one of Shane's hands, then takes the key chain from Shane's mouth.
"You got them all slobbery," Brendon says, after he feels his fingers slide over wet metal.
Shane looks at Brendon. It's the kind of look that says that now that Shane has a hand free, Brendon is in danger of getting a wet willy. Brendon starts walking toward the kitchen, quickly.
--
Cash peaces out, leaving them to unload the groceries. They're only home for a couple of days, but there's nothing at all to eat in the fridge, so Shane picked up a few things when he went shopping. Brendon gets distracted after unloading one bag because Shane bought those frozen pizza bites, and, wow, there is just nothing that Brendon would rather eat right now.
The oven takes way too long, so Brendon tries to put them in the microwave, but they come out all soggy and it's just not everything he had hoped it would be. It's just not.
"Shane," Brendon says, sadly, presenting his plate to Shane. "It didn't work."
"You're so fucking stoned right now," Shane says.
"Yes," Brendon agrees. "But I will totally toke up again if you want to partake."
"Is Cash okay to get home?" Shane asks.
"Yeah, I think someone was picking him up," Brendon says. "He said that, right? I think he was going to be waiting for them outside."
"Dunno," Shane says.
"Is that a yes or a no on me packing a new bong?" Brendon asks.
"Sure," Shane says. "I guess."
Brendon starts walking out of the kitchen when Shane says, "Sorry if I interrupted."
"What?" Brendon asks, doubling back.
"Earlier," says Shane. "With Cash."
"What would you possibly have interrupted?" Brendon asks.
Shane shrugs.
"Okay, wait," Brendon says. "First of all, Cash is straight."
Shane snorts.
"What?" Brendon asks. "Cash is totally straight. Also, though, he has thirtizzle tattooed onto his boob, so."
"Okay," Shane says, kind of neutrally. "Whatever." He grabs a plastic bag off of the floor and balls it up, clutching it in one hand.
"You weren't interrupting," Brendon says. "I've only hooked up with Cash, like, twice, maybe. Me and Cash are buddies; it's not big deal."
The bag makes a rustling sound as Shane flexes his fingers.
"I've got a bunch of shit to put away," Shane says, and walks out of the kitchen.
Brendon walks to the fridge and tries to decide what he wants to eat, staring blankly at the shelves for a long while before he's able to get himself to concentrate.
--
Shane goes to his room and he doesn't come back out. Brendon bums around. His buzz wears off, and he's bored and a little antsy. In the past, he would have just let himself into Shane's room. Shane's probably just on his computer. In the past, Brendon would have hopped onto Shane's bed and made himself comfortable, and Shane would have carried his laptop over so that the two of them could see the screen, or he would have shut it off and turned his attention to Brendon or whatever.
Brendon feels weird barging into Shane's room now, though.
He heads out, instead.
--
"Yo," Brendon says, raising his hand in greeting after he lets himself into Ryan's house.
Ryan and Spencer mumble something like hello, not looking away from the TV.
Brendon walks over to Ryan's fridge and helps himself to a beer. He sits down on the couch with them and they watch a movie together, and it's pretty much just like what they do every night on the bus, but the ground isn't rolling beneath them, so somehow it still feels like a luxury.
--
*
--
They're back on tour, and Brendon's stoned, amusing himself by walking in slow circles as he waits for the other guys to get out of the show.
He's moving his feet purposefully, and hardly moving at all, but somehow he gets himself totally fucking dizzy, anyway.
He lifts his head, swaying unsteadily on his feet. Shane's standing nearby and Brendon wants to grab for him, just to catch his balance, but also he wants Shane's hands on his hips and he wants to get on his knees, and he's not even horny, just kind of -- Maybe he's a little horny.
He keeps his hands to himself, waits for the ground to stop moving, then dashes across the room, throwing himself at Jon and sending them both tumbling down to the ground. He and Jon roll around on the floor, and Ryan kicks at them halfheartedly. It's a good distraction.
--
*
--
Brendon doesn't usually do this. He definitely doesn't usually do this when he's at a club with the rest of the guys, but whatever.
There's a guy watching him from a few tables over. There are always guys watching them. Jon and Ryan think it's funny and Spencer doesn't usually notice and Brendon mostly pretends that he doesn't notice but tonight he's looking back.
He's not exactly sure where everyone else is. The club is packed and noisy, and if Brendon can't see them, maybe they can't see him. Brendon stands and walks away from the main dance floor and the guy follows him. Brendon probably wouldn't have kept walking, making his way down the hallway toward the bathrooms, but he feels fucking irritated, annoyed with the music and the damp heat of the room and the way he keeps thinking about things that he doesn't want to be thinking about.
The guy is a lot taller than Brendon and he comes and stands beside Brendon, leaning against the wall. He doesn't say anything, just waits and grins when Brendon finally looks sideways at him. Brendon smiles back, turns his head to the side and lets the moment stretch on.
Brendon pushes away from the wall, opens the door to the single person bathroom and holds it open, gives the guy the chance to follow him in.
Brendon locks the door once they're both inside of the room. It's small and dirty and Brendon has to strain to reach the guy's mouth.
The guy pushes him up against the wall, shoving Brendon roughly, and Brendon has a flash of relief, like maybe this will be enough, maybe this is what he's been looking for.
The guy kisses hard, thrusts his tongue into Brendon's mouth. Brendon opens wide and lets the guy control the kiss. He keeps waiting for the moment when his body starts getting into it. He's hard but he's not-- it's not quite right. The guy pushes his thigh in between Brendon's legs and Brendon has to scramble up on his toes, the difference in their height making it awkward, and that should be good. There should be something gratifying in the way Brendon has to struggle to keep his balance, in the distraction that it provides, but instead Brendon just feels annoyed. The guy isn't doing it on purpose and it's not quite right.
Brendon wants to fuck, but he ends up pushing on the guy's shoulders instead, squirming out from his spot in between the guy and the wall.
The guy doesn't make a fuss; he lets Brendon leave and Brendon walks quickly down the hall, away from the bathroom, without waiting to see if anyone caught the guy coming out of the room after him.
Brendon walks over to the bar and orders a double shot. He sips instead of slamming it, leaning back against the bar and surveying the room. It takes some looking, but he finally makes eye contact with Shane. Shane smiles, then frowns a little in confusion when Brendon just keeps staring at him.
Brendon tosses back the rest of his drink, then walks over to Shane, weaving his way through the crowd, but managing to not lose sight of Shane even with all the bodies.
Shane's standing at the edge of the dance floor, and it's easy to get right up into his space, people crowded around them from all sides.
Shane gives him a puzzled look, but he doesn't step back, just tilts his head to the side, slouching so that he's most at the same height as Brendon.
Brendon shuffles in a little closer, says, "Let's go somewhere."
Shane starts to nod; he almost always comes with Brendon if Brendon wants to go somewhere, leaves early if Brendon asks him to.
"Let's go somewhere," Brendon says, again. Someone knocks into him from behind and he uses to the motion to press his hips up against Shane, his erection rubbing against Shane's thigh.
Shane looks startled and he opens his mouth, but Brendon cuts him off, says, "Like before, okay? I want it like before."
Shane closes his mouth and frowns, shaking his head. "That didn't work out so well," he says.
"It did," Brendon says, rolling his hips. They're close enough that it's difficult to look Shane in the eye, so he directs the comment to the hollow of Shane's neck. They still have their hands at their sides; they're close, but it probably doesn't look too compromising.
"Yeah, it's fine when you're drunk," Shane says pointedly.
"'m not drunk," Brendon says. He lets his hips press forward a little more. It's kind of dirty to press his hard cock against Shane's hip like this, right here on the dance floor, other people surrounding them. It just makes Brendon want to rub harder. It makes Brendon want Shane to grab his hips and --
Shane takes a small step backward, breaking the contact.
"Don't do that," Shane says. He's looking down though, not looking Brendon in the eye, and if Shane's going to say no, Brendon wants him to say no for real. Brendon takes another step closer.
"C'mon," Brendon says. His tone is low but he has to project his voice to be heard over the pounding beat of the music. "We can do whatever you want."
"That's not how it works and you fucking know it," Shane says. He doesn't take another step backward, but he curls his shoulders in and tilts his body to the side, making his posture seem unavailable.
Brendon turns his body, too. He reaches out, his hand low and hopefully unseen amidst the crowd. He reaches out and brushes the back of his hand against Shane's jeans, moving sideways, turning his wrist so that it's his open palm that finally brushes over Shane's crotch. Brendon just touches fabric, and he's starting to press harder, trying to touch Shane for real, when Shane's fingers close around Brendon's wrist.
Brendon thinks, finally, waits for the pressure, but Shane just guides him away with gentle fingers. He moves Brendon's hand away carefully and then lets go.
Shane shakes his head and says, "No dice, B."
Brendon opens his mouth but he doesn't know what else to say. He snaps his jaw shut and spins around, pushing his way through the crowd.
He bumps into Zack as he's pushing his way to the door.
"I want to go back to the bus now," Brendon says.
"Sure thing," says Zack.
--
*
--
Part Two.
Brendon/Shane | NC-17 (for sex, some D/s & other kink) | ~ 12 100 words
In models where there is uncertainty that is resolved during the course of events, the ex post values (e.g. of expected gain) are those that are calculated after the uncertainty has been resolved. From: here.
Warnings for kink.
This is for octette. It took me a million years too long to write this, and I'm sorry! Hopefully you don't hate the finished product. ♥
Many thanks to airgiodslv for all the encouragement (especially for helping me get my brain sorted out when I got stalled in the middle of this), and then for looking it over. Thanks to sociofemme for looking this over so speedily! ♥
"Where're my fucking jeans?" Brendon asks. He flings the comforter off the bed and shakes the sheets.
Zack pounds on the door and shouts, "Guys, now! This is the last call."
Shane grabs a pair of jeans off the floor and chucks them over to Brendon. "Just put these on," he says.
"These aren't mine," Brendon says.
"Put them on, shut the fuck up, and find your own clothes on the bus," Shane says. Shane moves around the room quickly, but carefully. Brendon's surprised he's moving as much briskly as he is, given that he was puking in the bathroom fifteen minutes ago.
Brendon slides on the pants. He zips up a hoodie without putting a shirt on underneath. He grabs what he sees on the floor, shoving it into his suitcase, and Shane does the same. They can figure out who's got whose stuff later.
"Okay?" Brendon asks, looking around the room quickly. He's probably forgetting something; he can't find the underwear he was wearing last night, but whatever.
Shane opens the door, looking back as he waits for Brendon to catch up. His hair is a greasy tangled mess around his head.
He snaps, "Brendon," giving a little gesture with his hand.
Brendon looks down, then pulls the zipper of his hoodie up all the way, covering the bruise at the base of his throat, the marks from Shane's teeth.
"Right," Brendon says.
Shane looks away quickly.
--
Brendon chews on his knuckle. How much longer can this interview last? Interviews with journalists are always the worst. At least with interviews for radio or TV the interviewer has to pretend to like them. For as long as the tape is rolling, anyway.
"No, dropping the exclamation point wasn't a publicity stunt," Ryan says. He's speaking in short sentences, and pretty soon Spencer is going to jump in with something blunt, or Jon's going to cut in with something random. Brendon bites at his cuticle.
So, whatever, he hooked up with Shane. Brendon doesn't usually -- Brendon doesn't have that kind of hook up with people he actually knows. Not with someone he has to work with the next day. He definitely has to see Shane again. Like tonight, for example. And also the part where they're roommates. They're roommates and Brendon is definitely going to see Shane again, and now he has to face him knowing that Shane has heard the way he sounds when he's asking to come.
Brendon was pretty fucking drunk last night. Shane was pretty fucking drunk last night. Maybe he won't remember.
Spencer says, "Probably because that's what we fucking wanted to do."
Brendon tugs at his bangs.
--
Shane finds him backstage before the show.
"Okay, so, okay. It was just--" Shane breaks off and makes a face. He looks like he's still feeling green around the gills. Brendon's probably still hungover, but they're going to be going on stage within the hour, so the adrenalin is helping with that. "It was just a little unexpected and we went further than we meant to and now it's kind of, right, so, we'll just-- Right."
"Um, sure?" Brendon says. There are people milling around them, but no one's close enough to hear what they're saying. Brendon feels stupidly embarrassed right now. Standing in front of Shane in the middle of the day and talking about what they did last night.
Shane sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around the hallway. Brendon watches his face and waits for Shane to look at him again, but when Shane does, Brendon wishes he hadn't. Shane looks at him and asks, "You okay?" in this voice, this stupid calm voice, like it would be all right if Brendon said that he wasn't okay.
"I'm good," Brendon says. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asks, pointedly.
Shane frowns. "You're freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out," Brendon snaps. "I'm just tired and hungover and, whatever." He makes a fast chopping motion with his hand. "It's not going to happen again, so we can just leave this behind us."
Shane is slouching, his shoulders pulled in. He seems like he's about the same height as Brendon right now, but last night when he was holding Brendon's wrists to the mattress, he felt a lot bigger.
"I'm gonna go warm up now," Brendon says, and then wanders away.
He stands in the middle off the dressing room and starts singing long tones, just to get the air moving. Spencer's standing at the other side of the room, flinging his arms around in circles.
Brendon lifts his hands up, arching his back as he reaches for the ceiling, then he drops down to grab his toes. He can't sing like this, and all the blood is rushing to his head, so he lets the note die.
He feels a little dehydrated, a little agitated, a little horny. Feels kind of like he's still strung out. Shane didn't even fuck him last night, just held Brendon's wrists above his head with one hand and used the other to rub circles around the head of Brendon's cock until Brendon thought he couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand not having Shane's hand around him for real, couldn't stand having to hold his hips still, because every time he bucked up, Shane slowed the motions of his hand even more.
He did, though. He did, and when Shane told him to come he came and he licked Shane's fingers clean afterwards and he asked to suck Shane's cock, asked Shane to fuck him but Shane didn't. He just straddled Brendon's hips and jerked off onto Brendon's chest, and it was so fucking hot that Brendon wanted to go again afterwards, but they were both drunk and instead they just fell asleep, the blankets still in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed.
Brendon feels jittery and he keeps watching the door out of the corner of his eye, as if it makes any difference whether or not Shane's in the same room with him.
He stands, clears his throat and starts to sing again. He'll have a couple bottles of water before going on stage and it'll be fine.
"Fifteen minutes, guys," Zack calls out.
--
Back in the dressing room after the show, Brendon undoes the towel that was wrapped around his waist and uses it to rub his wet hair. At least now his hair is wet with water instead of with sweat.
He throws the towel over his shoulder and hunts around the room for his bag, trying to find some clothes to put on.
It's a little cold in the room, and Brendon's skin is bare and soft from the shower he just took. He appreciates the chill though, the sharp feeling of the air. He's still thrumming with adrenalin, a little twitchy, a little shivery.
He can see the strap of his bag sticking out from under the couch. The couch that Shane is sitting on. Whatever.
Brendon bends to pull out his bag and his bare chest is close to Shane's knee. Brendon glances up. Shane isn't looking at him. Shane's head is turned and he's staring off somewhere else, but his cheeks are flushed pink.
Shane doesn't look at him, even when Brendon stands up straight and pauses for a moment. Brendon likes being naked because he likes to let his skin breathe, but with the way that Shane is pointedly looking the other way, Brendon's reminded that his body is more than just skin.
He looks down, and realizes that his chest is still spotted with bruises. No one's looking twice at him; they all just go about their own business backstage, but still Brendon feels like he needs to cover up.
Brendon holds his bag in front of his hips and walks to the corner of the room to get dressed.
--
*
--
They all go out. Jon buys the first round and then Brendon separates himself from the group, sitting at the bar instead. He knocks back four shots in quick succession and then starts to buy drinks for the girl sitting beside him. She has long hair and shiny lips and when Brendon kisses her, pushes her up against the wall outside the club while they wait for a cab, she makes soft noises and touches the side of his neck gently.
She lies on her back and gasps quietly when he pushes inside, leaves her hands resting softly on his shoulders.
He cabs back to where the buses are parked, shows up later than everyone else, but not by much. They're not leaving until a few hours later anyway; the crew needs time to finish packing up the stage before they can roll on to another city.
He's tired, and he crawls into his bunk expecting to fall asleep immediately, but ends up staring at the ceiling instead.
--
*
--
They roll into the venue an hour early, and get through sound check without any difficulties. Brendon plays a few rounds of hacky sack with the rest of the guys, but he's a little enthusiastic and he keeps kicking it way out of the circle, so he excuses himself before too long.
He goes to the bathroom and washes his face with cold water, then wanders back to the main area.
It's only late afternoon, but he grabs himself a drink and sits down on an uncomfortable sofa, tucking his feet up under him. He sips the beer slowly. There's a funny line between settling in for a wait while still getting pumped up for a show.
He scratches at his neck, pushing the collar of his t-shirt down as he itches across his collarbone. When he presses his fingers down over a half-healed bruise there's a low aching feeling, a pulse and a throb, and Brendon moves his hand away, picking up his beer instead.
Someone kicks the hacky sack his way and Shane comes running after it.
Brendon bends forward, picking it up off the floor. Shane comes close, but stops a few feet away from Brendon, holding his hands out. Brendon tosses him the hacky sack, and Shane says, "Thanks."
Brendon takes another sip of beer.
--
*
--
Brendon hates having to wake up early to do press. He yawns, squirming in his seat. It's still a half an hour drive to the radio station.
He fiddles with his coffee cup -- at least he has coffee -- running his thumb over the plastic edge of the lid. He wonders if he could convince Zack to get him a Shot in the Dark next time. Jon explained to him about those the other day, and, wow. Espresso in a cup of coffee sounds amazing right about now. Or, it would feel amazing, probably. It would feel like being awake.
Brendon can hear someone's heavy breathing take on a rough edge; Ryan's probably about three minutes away from snoring.
Brendon turns his head, watching out the window. He has just zoned out when he feels cool fingers curl around his wrist.
He freezes, his whole body going tense and still.
He looks over, finally, and sees Shane's hand, Shane's fingers on his wrist. He doesn't move, and Shane takes his cup of coffee away, pulling it gently from his hand.
Brendon lets go, waiting until Shane has released his wrist before he looks up at Shane's face, his arm still raised in the air like it was when Shane first grabbing him.
Shane says, "Oh, dude, sorry. I thought you'd fallen asleep." He hands Brendon's cup back quickly.
Brendon takes his cup of coffee. He moves his other hand from where it's resting on the side of the van and holds his coffee cup in both hands, resting it carefully on his thighs. He's tired. He's not quite-- because he's tired.
He hopes that no one was watching him act like a spazz.
Shane says again, "Sorry," and shuffles sideways, giving Brendon extra space.
--
*
--
Panic gets a couple of days off touring and Shane and Brendon fly back to Vegas. They walk in the front door and Dylan isn't there to greet them -- they haven't gotten her from the kennel yet -- but everything else is the same. It still feels amazing to kick off his shoes and line them up on his shoe rack, to hang his jacket in his closet.
Brendon gets a drink of water, then goes to get Dylan from the kennel. He feels badly keeping her there, but since Shane and Regan broke up, they haven't been able to come up with a better option.
Shane greets them both at the door, and Dylan jumps around, darting back and forth between them, her tail flapping around frantically. She finds her toy under the couch and holds it still with one paw as she tilts her head to gnaw on it.
Brendon grabs Dylan's squeaky toy and rolls away. The dog jumps on him, trying to steal it back, and they tussle on the floor as Brendon tries to keep it away from her. When he looks up, Shane's standing in the doorway, watching them.
--
Brendon thinks that maybe it'll be awkward, just him and Shane in the house, but they don't actually spend that much time alone together. The first day back, Shane takes off to buy supplies for the rest of the tour.
Brendon's lying on the floor, trying to smother Cash with a pillow without actually having to get up. It's not working out too well. A key element in smothering involves being able to bear weight down. Also, Brendon's never been successful in smothering someone with a pillow, and he's beginning to suspect that it's an urban myth propagated by mass media. Like how in movies, the hot girls always have daddy issues, so they'll fuck some ugly, dumb guy, when in real life, if a girl didn't know Brendon's the lead singer in Panic, she totally was not going to fuck him.
Brendon pulls the pillow off of Cash's face and tucks it under his head. It's one of those little square pillows for couches. All the pillows for his couch are different colors, but somehow they still match. That's the kind of magic that happens when he hires an interior designer.
"So, anyway, I think you've learned your lesson," Brendon says.
Cash looks over at him, just moving his eyes. His hair is hardly even mussed, but Cash has hardly any hair, so whatever.
"Dude, whatever. I can fucking wipe your ass up and down a gravel road at Halo; that's the only lesson here."
"I had to go feed Dylan," Brendon grits out. His face is getting a little red from lying down.
"Suck it, playa." Cash starts flailing his arms around, making some kind of gesture with his hands. Brendon rolls out of the way, because he ended up with a bloody nose the last time. He also ended up with a bloody noise the last time that he tried to help Dylan chase her tail, but he's pretty sure that Dylan didn't headbutt him intentionally, so he'll probably still do that again sometime.
The front door opens, and then the sound of banging and rustling, and then Shane walks past the room Cash and Brendon are in, carrying five shopping bags, the ring of his key chain pinched between his teeth.
Cash and Brendon watch him from where they're lying on the floor.
"Hey," Cash says.
"Did you get those cheddar and black pepper chips?" Brendon asks. "Also, I think we needed granola bars, but I forgot to put it on the list."
Shane stands there, and narrows his eyes, slowly.
Brendon huffs, then pushing himself off the ground. He grabs the bags out of one of Shane's hands, then takes the key chain from Shane's mouth.
"You got them all slobbery," Brendon says, after he feels his fingers slide over wet metal.
Shane looks at Brendon. It's the kind of look that says that now that Shane has a hand free, Brendon is in danger of getting a wet willy. Brendon starts walking toward the kitchen, quickly.
--
Cash peaces out, leaving them to unload the groceries. They're only home for a couple of days, but there's nothing at all to eat in the fridge, so Shane picked up a few things when he went shopping. Brendon gets distracted after unloading one bag because Shane bought those frozen pizza bites, and, wow, there is just nothing that Brendon would rather eat right now.
The oven takes way too long, so Brendon tries to put them in the microwave, but they come out all soggy and it's just not everything he had hoped it would be. It's just not.
"Shane," Brendon says, sadly, presenting his plate to Shane. "It didn't work."
"You're so fucking stoned right now," Shane says.
"Yes," Brendon agrees. "But I will totally toke up again if you want to partake."
"Is Cash okay to get home?" Shane asks.
"Yeah, I think someone was picking him up," Brendon says. "He said that, right? I think he was going to be waiting for them outside."
"Dunno," Shane says.
"Is that a yes or a no on me packing a new bong?" Brendon asks.
"Sure," Shane says. "I guess."
Brendon starts walking out of the kitchen when Shane says, "Sorry if I interrupted."
"What?" Brendon asks, doubling back.
"Earlier," says Shane. "With Cash."
"What would you possibly have interrupted?" Brendon asks.
Shane shrugs.
"Okay, wait," Brendon says. "First of all, Cash is straight."
Shane snorts.
"What?" Brendon asks. "Cash is totally straight. Also, though, he has thirtizzle tattooed onto his boob, so."
"Okay," Shane says, kind of neutrally. "Whatever." He grabs a plastic bag off of the floor and balls it up, clutching it in one hand.
"You weren't interrupting," Brendon says. "I've only hooked up with Cash, like, twice, maybe. Me and Cash are buddies; it's not big deal."
The bag makes a rustling sound as Shane flexes his fingers.
"I've got a bunch of shit to put away," Shane says, and walks out of the kitchen.
Brendon walks to the fridge and tries to decide what he wants to eat, staring blankly at the shelves for a long while before he's able to get himself to concentrate.
--
Shane goes to his room and he doesn't come back out. Brendon bums around. His buzz wears off, and he's bored and a little antsy. In the past, he would have just let himself into Shane's room. Shane's probably just on his computer. In the past, Brendon would have hopped onto Shane's bed and made himself comfortable, and Shane would have carried his laptop over so that the two of them could see the screen, or he would have shut it off and turned his attention to Brendon or whatever.
Brendon feels weird barging into Shane's room now, though.
He heads out, instead.
--
"Yo," Brendon says, raising his hand in greeting after he lets himself into Ryan's house.
Ryan and Spencer mumble something like hello, not looking away from the TV.
Brendon walks over to Ryan's fridge and helps himself to a beer. He sits down on the couch with them and they watch a movie together, and it's pretty much just like what they do every night on the bus, but the ground isn't rolling beneath them, so somehow it still feels like a luxury.
--
*
--
They're back on tour, and Brendon's stoned, amusing himself by walking in slow circles as he waits for the other guys to get out of the show.
He's moving his feet purposefully, and hardly moving at all, but somehow he gets himself totally fucking dizzy, anyway.
He lifts his head, swaying unsteadily on his feet. Shane's standing nearby and Brendon wants to grab for him, just to catch his balance, but also he wants Shane's hands on his hips and he wants to get on his knees, and he's not even horny, just kind of -- Maybe he's a little horny.
He keeps his hands to himself, waits for the ground to stop moving, then dashes across the room, throwing himself at Jon and sending them both tumbling down to the ground. He and Jon roll around on the floor, and Ryan kicks at them halfheartedly. It's a good distraction.
--
*
--
Brendon doesn't usually do this. He definitely doesn't usually do this when he's at a club with the rest of the guys, but whatever.
There's a guy watching him from a few tables over. There are always guys watching them. Jon and Ryan think it's funny and Spencer doesn't usually notice and Brendon mostly pretends that he doesn't notice but tonight he's looking back.
He's not exactly sure where everyone else is. The club is packed and noisy, and if Brendon can't see them, maybe they can't see him. Brendon stands and walks away from the main dance floor and the guy follows him. Brendon probably wouldn't have kept walking, making his way down the hallway toward the bathrooms, but he feels fucking irritated, annoyed with the music and the damp heat of the room and the way he keeps thinking about things that he doesn't want to be thinking about.
The guy is a lot taller than Brendon and he comes and stands beside Brendon, leaning against the wall. He doesn't say anything, just waits and grins when Brendon finally looks sideways at him. Brendon smiles back, turns his head to the side and lets the moment stretch on.
Brendon pushes away from the wall, opens the door to the single person bathroom and holds it open, gives the guy the chance to follow him in.
Brendon locks the door once they're both inside of the room. It's small and dirty and Brendon has to strain to reach the guy's mouth.
The guy pushes him up against the wall, shoving Brendon roughly, and Brendon has a flash of relief, like maybe this will be enough, maybe this is what he's been looking for.
The guy kisses hard, thrusts his tongue into Brendon's mouth. Brendon opens wide and lets the guy control the kiss. He keeps waiting for the moment when his body starts getting into it. He's hard but he's not-- it's not quite right. The guy pushes his thigh in between Brendon's legs and Brendon has to scramble up on his toes, the difference in their height making it awkward, and that should be good. There should be something gratifying in the way Brendon has to struggle to keep his balance, in the distraction that it provides, but instead Brendon just feels annoyed. The guy isn't doing it on purpose and it's not quite right.
Brendon wants to fuck, but he ends up pushing on the guy's shoulders instead, squirming out from his spot in between the guy and the wall.
The guy doesn't make a fuss; he lets Brendon leave and Brendon walks quickly down the hall, away from the bathroom, without waiting to see if anyone caught the guy coming out of the room after him.
Brendon walks over to the bar and orders a double shot. He sips instead of slamming it, leaning back against the bar and surveying the room. It takes some looking, but he finally makes eye contact with Shane. Shane smiles, then frowns a little in confusion when Brendon just keeps staring at him.
Brendon tosses back the rest of his drink, then walks over to Shane, weaving his way through the crowd, but managing to not lose sight of Shane even with all the bodies.
Shane's standing at the edge of the dance floor, and it's easy to get right up into his space, people crowded around them from all sides.
Shane gives him a puzzled look, but he doesn't step back, just tilts his head to the side, slouching so that he's most at the same height as Brendon.
Brendon shuffles in a little closer, says, "Let's go somewhere."
Shane starts to nod; he almost always comes with Brendon if Brendon wants to go somewhere, leaves early if Brendon asks him to.
"Let's go somewhere," Brendon says, again. Someone knocks into him from behind and he uses to the motion to press his hips up against Shane, his erection rubbing against Shane's thigh.
Shane looks startled and he opens his mouth, but Brendon cuts him off, says, "Like before, okay? I want it like before."
Shane closes his mouth and frowns, shaking his head. "That didn't work out so well," he says.
"It did," Brendon says, rolling his hips. They're close enough that it's difficult to look Shane in the eye, so he directs the comment to the hollow of Shane's neck. They still have their hands at their sides; they're close, but it probably doesn't look too compromising.
"Yeah, it's fine when you're drunk," Shane says pointedly.
"'m not drunk," Brendon says. He lets his hips press forward a little more. It's kind of dirty to press his hard cock against Shane's hip like this, right here on the dance floor, other people surrounding them. It just makes Brendon want to rub harder. It makes Brendon want Shane to grab his hips and --
Shane takes a small step backward, breaking the contact.
"Don't do that," Shane says. He's looking down though, not looking Brendon in the eye, and if Shane's going to say no, Brendon wants him to say no for real. Brendon takes another step closer.
"C'mon," Brendon says. His tone is low but he has to project his voice to be heard over the pounding beat of the music. "We can do whatever you want."
"That's not how it works and you fucking know it," Shane says. He doesn't take another step backward, but he curls his shoulders in and tilts his body to the side, making his posture seem unavailable.
Brendon turns his body, too. He reaches out, his hand low and hopefully unseen amidst the crowd. He reaches out and brushes the back of his hand against Shane's jeans, moving sideways, turning his wrist so that it's his open palm that finally brushes over Shane's crotch. Brendon just touches fabric, and he's starting to press harder, trying to touch Shane for real, when Shane's fingers close around Brendon's wrist.
Brendon thinks, finally, waits for the pressure, but Shane just guides him away with gentle fingers. He moves Brendon's hand away carefully and then lets go.
Shane shakes his head and says, "No dice, B."
Brendon opens his mouth but he doesn't know what else to say. He snaps his jaw shut and spins around, pushing his way through the crowd.
He bumps into Zack as he's pushing his way to the door.
"I want to go back to the bus now," Brendon says.
"Sure thing," says Zack.
--
*
--
Part Two.