The Simplest Terms, The Most Convenient Definitions (3/3)
Dear Bert, I'm so sorry I freaked you out last night, I just didn't know where else to go. Susan says I can't come back, and I don't want to. These people won't ever understand me, or how I feel about you, but I hope you do. I'm on the 7:00 bus to LA, and hopefully things will be better there. I'll understand if you don't come to say goodbye, but I'll write you as soon as I have a place to stay. Miss you already, tell Jepha and Dan and Brand thanks for everything. Love, Quinn
It's a short letter, and Bert reads most of it while stuck at red lights. It's already close to five, so he hasn't missed Quinn, and he just hopes that he can think of something, anything, that will get Quinn to stay off that bus. Bert parks the car in the lot across the street and dodges two city buses as he runs for the depot. There's a bus waiting, blue and silver with 'DENVER' across the top in bold letters, and Bert forces himself to take a deep breath. It's not a big building, and it doesn't take him long to spot Quinn, slumped in a chair in the corner, his dark hair falling in his eyes. He has a worn green duffel under his feet, and the man in the ticket booth keeps eyeing him suspiciously.
Bert thinks maybe he should have gone home first, packed a bag just in case, but there's no time now. He jogs toward Quinn's seat. If he can't convince Quinn to stay, well. "I'm not above hitting you in the head with something," he says, and Quinn startles and looks up.
"Bert! What--"
"Sorry, I just. You can't go," Bert says and Quinn looks out the window guiltily.
"Already bought a ticket," he mumbles.
"So give it back." Bert kicks Quinn's duffel to the side and drops to his knees, his hands on Quinn's thighs. The older couple a row away make a shocked noise, but Bert doesn't even glance over his shoulder. "Come back with me, okay? Jepha and Brand want you to stay there."
"I don't want charity," Quinn says firmly, "I just want to get the fuck out of here." Bert leans in to rest his forehead on Quinn's chest. "Jesus, someone'll see," Quinn whispers.
"Fuck 'em," Bert croaks, and he's not going to cry, but he's hot all over. When he looks up, Quinn is watching him, eyes dark and unsure. "I understand, okay?" he whispers. "I get it, I get that you don't want to just do what they say. I don't either. I wish I could stand on the top of the fucking school and kiss you in front of everybody. But I can't--" Quinn opens his mouth but Bert steamrolls over him. "I can't, and you can't either. And you don't expect me to, and I don't expect you to, and it's okay, it's enough that we know how we feel."
"Aren't you sick of it, though?" Quinn asks, "It's all just one big fucking lie."
Bert nods. "Yeah, of course. But no one's asking you to be anything other than who you are," he says, and Quinn snorts. "Look, Jepha doesn't care, Dan doesn't. I happen to think you're kind of amazing just like this." Bert slides one hand up Quinn's chest and holds it over his heart and Quinn closes his eyes. "Don't go, okay? Just. Hang on two months, and we'll go together, and it'll be perfect."
Quinn takes a few short, shallow breaths and Bert presses his hand down into Quinn's skin, feels his heart beating. He'll get on the damn bus if Quinn does, he knows he will, and it scares him half to death. "Please, Quinn? It's not charity if it's people who love you." His voice shakes, and Quinn crumples forward and wraps his arms around Bert's neck. Bert hugs him tight.
"Okay," Quinn says tightly. "Okay." The couple in the next row get up and move, and Bert laughs into Quinn's neck.
"I love you," Bert says, loud enough that they can hear, because he means it. Fuck them all, they're not going to chase him out of his town. Quinn hugs him tighter.
"Love you too," he murmurs into Bert's neck.
Bert pulls back and grabs for Quinn's bag. "Let's go home."
*
Brendon tries not to feel too out of place in Jepha's house. It's not even dinner time, and there's not a flood of people this time-- just Jepha and Branden, and Dan and Brendon. Waiting. Brendon's not even really sure how he got here; he waved down Branden coming out of the train station and told him about Bert and Quinn and the bus depot, and somehow ended up in the back of Branden's car. Now he's spent the last hour with Dan Whitesides glancing at him speculatively, watching the evening news with a noticeably nervous Branden, who keeps glancing at the front door. Jepha is "stress cooking" (as Dan calls it, before he's promptly pelted with a handful off green beans), and he almost gets why Bert likes it here. They cuss a lot more than any family he's ever seen, but that's what they are. Family.
"So," Dan says when Branden gets up to help set the table -- Jepha insists on six places -- "you and Bert."
"It's complicated," Brendon says, flushing. And it is. He's not sure Bert's really going to forgive him for the letter thing, but he wants to be here. Wants to be supportive somehow. Besides, Bert's mom always wants the car back by nine, even when he's staying over at Brendon's. If nothing else, Brendon can be a decent enough friend to drive the car back, if Bert wants to stay here.
"Yeah, I get that," Dan says, his eyes cutting to where Branden and Jepha circle the table together, always close, but never quite in each other's way. Practiced, Brendon thinks. Comfortable.
"What about you and Jeph?" he asks, even though he thinks he already knows the answer.
Dan gives him a shrug and a half smile. "It is what it is," he says cryptically.
When they hear Bert's car in the driveway, Jepha's out the door like a shot, and Quinn's barely out of the car before Jepha's crushing him in a hug. "You are such a fucking idiot," he says and Quinn just hugs him back tighter. Bert's smile is happy but exhausted. He doesn't even notice Brendon until he's at his side, his arms wrapped around his body like a shield.
"Hey," Brendon says quietly, and Bert opens his mouth, then closes it quickly and leans on the closed car door. "You found him."
"Yeah," Bert says, and the unspoken no thanks to you just hangs between them. Branden gets Quinn's bag and they all trail inside, letting Bert and Brendon have the driveway to themselves. Dan is watching them from the doorway and Brendon feels exposed, raw. He clears his throat.
"Your mom'll want the car back," he says. "I can just drop it off for you, if you want."
"Yeah, okay," Bert still isn't looking at him.
"I'm sorry," he says, and hugs himself tighter. "I just. I guess I just couldn't deal with you not needing me anymore," he says miserably, and it sounds even worse outside his head. Bert looks up sharply.
"It's been a while since I got the idea you needed me at all," he says, and the words aren't angry, but Brendon can see the hurt in Bert's eyes.
"I'm sorry for that too," Brendon manages, the words pushing past the knot in his throat. "Bert, please--"
Bert winds his arms around Brendon's shoulders and Brendon falls into him, arms unfolding to wrap tightly around Bert's waist, tears seeping through to Bert's skin. "We're gonna be okay, right?" Bert whispers roughly against his temple and Brendon nods. They are. They have to be.
Brendon pulls back to see Quinn watching them too, his eyes sharp and wary. The tightness in his chest isn't going away, but Bert is pushing Brendon's hair back and slipping the car keys into his hand. "Stay for dinner," Jepha calls from the doorway, and Brendon almost laughs-- this is more of an audience than he had for the school play last year.
"Thanks, but I should get back," he says, happy that his voice sounds steady and clear. "Maybe next time," he adds, and Bert smiles.
*
The Orem High Prom is the first Saturday in June. Greta wears a green dress with matching ribbons in her hair, her skin milky white and her lips blush pink, and Brendon tells her she looks beautiful as he pins on her corsage. Bert isn't going after all; he and Quinn are going camping in the mountains, and as Brendon pulls his dad's Ford into the parking lot of the high school, he wishes he was with them. Things are still a little weird between Brendon and Quinn, but Brendon's been careful to give them space, to not criticize too much, and Bert chirps at him at lunch again, happy to put things behind them. Quinn puts up with him-- moreso once Bert drags Brendon into the music room at Jepha's one weekend and hands Brendon a guitar. He's only played a few times, but it's easy to make his fingers remember, and Quinn nods as they play, Bert and Brendon harmonizing on old folk tunes they learned at summer camp. Quinn's talented, and Brendon says so. After that, things are a little easier.
"Three weeks until graduation," Greta sighs as they stand in front of the doors to the gym. It's decorated with silvery stars and flowing blue fabrics, an "Under the Stars" theme having won out in the end. Brendon knows Greta's wistfulness is code for 'only three more weeks for Patrick to wake up and notice me', and when he gets inside, Brendon makes a beeline for Patrick and Mikey's table and sits them down. Greta looks flustered, Patrick looks stunned, and Patrick's date Vicky looks relieved. "I'm going to go find Gabe," she announces to the table. (Vicky and Gabe have been dating in secret for over a year, Brendon recently discovered, and Vicky had badgered Patrick into taking her so that her parents would let her out of the house. Vicky also happened to be Greta's best friend. "I don't know what happened!" Patrick had told him the week before, his hands flapping in confusion. Brendon had just smiled at Vicky at lunch and she'd winked back.)
Patrick and Greta start chatting, their chairs turned in to one another, and Patrick can't stop staring at the pale arch of her neck. Brendon smiles down at his plate, feels like he's been a good friend to someone, and it's nice. After dinner, he has to talk to Mr. Murtry for a while about the music conservatory, and dances with a few girls from the drama club. He chats about politics with Spencer, smiles as he tries his best to brush off Audrey. It's exhausting. Brendon retreats after a while to the half-shadows behind the bandstand, leaning against the wall with a cup of watery punch in his hand, watching his class dance awkwardly and laugh and reminisce. It's like watching a movie in a foreign language, and he wonders when he lost the desire to smile like that, to make small talk, to fit in. He'd spent a long time learning how, and now he just... doesn't really want to. "You know what you need," says a voice low and smiling from his side and Brendon looks up to see Dan slouched against the wall next to him. He pulls a silver flask from his pocket after a quick glance around, and pours into Brendon's cup. The first sip makes him wince, but it's an improvement. Dan just bumps his shoulder and nods, disappears to dance with one of the cheerleaders.
Dan finds him a handful more times throughout the night, topping up his drink with a wink. Brendon tries to see if he's sharing with anyone else, but he never catches Dan doing anything but dancing, laughing, getting reprimanded by a teacher for throwing grapes down girls dresses. He watches Dan a lot, thinks about that night in Jepha's kitchen and wonders at how Dan can be so different here, and yet entirely himself. Brendon's almost a little jealous.
Dan doesn't get homecoming king, but he does get Court, and he dances with his pretty blond date, plastic crown perched on top of his head. He looks up once and catches Brendon watching, and Brendon's cheeks flush and he looks away, winding his way through the crowd to the hallway. He's warm everywhere and his limbs feel awkward, clumsy. He stumbles a little getting the doors open, and there's a strong arm around his waist, pulling him upright. "Whoa, there," Dan laughs, his chin propped on Brendon's shoulder.
"Hi," Brendon says stupidly, and all he can feel are Dan's fingers splayed out across his stomach. Dan steadies him on his feet and turns him around.
"Hmm," he says, and Brendon just blinks up at him. Dan's eyes are amber brown, tiny crinkles in the corners from where's he's almost smiling. He's still wearing his crown, falling low over his forehead.
"Sweet prince," he intones in his best Shakespearian tone and Dan bites his lip to keep from laughing.
"Okay, Urie, let's walk this off." He shakes his head and swings an arm around Brendon's shoulders, steadying him as they stroll down the hallway.
"Why're you being so nice to me?" Brendon asks and Dan shrugs down at him.
"Because you're letting me?"
Brendon laughs and rolls his head to rest against Dan's arm. His head feels heavy, but Dan's warm, solid next to him and he bites back a sigh. They're heading down toward the auto shop and Brendon wrinkles his nose. "'S locked down here," he says, and Dan wags his eyebrows, puts one finger to his lips.
"Shh, don't tell," he smiles and pulls his keys from his pocket, opening the door and slipping them both inside before closing shut behind them. Dan doesn't turn on all the lights, just a small desk lamp. He grabs a mug from Mr. Donovan's desk and rinses it out in the sink before filling it up and handing it to Brendon. "Drink up," he says and Brendon takes a cautious sip. Dan pulls himself up on one of the work tables and tugs his crown off, working his fingers back through his hair. "Bert and Quinn off in the woods?" he asks.
Brendon rolls his eyes. "Doing things nature never intended, yes," he says, but he's grinning and Dan grins back. The water is waking him up from his haze a little, and he can feel Dan's eyes on him as he raises the mug with both hands, tips his head back to finish it. When he puts the mug down, he sees polished cylinder and picks it up, turning it over in his hands. Dan moves fast, jumping down from his perch and catching a second cylinder that had been nestled inside before it can hit the ground. "Fuck, sorry," Brendon says with wide eyes and Dan takes the parts from him and puts them back on the desk.
"It's fine," Dan says, a little breathless. "Just. Don't touch that. Or, anything, actually." Brendon looks around. He's never actually been in the shop before. It's spacious, but cluttered-- a hundred different things Brendon couldn't name sticking out of boxes and hanging from the walls. Some of them look pretty dangerous.
"Okay," he says, and when he looks back, Dan is still standing close enough that he has to tip his head back to see his face. Dan's looking at him strangely, lips parted a little, and Brendon sways forward a little. Dan catches his hip with one big hand and holds him still. "Okay," Brendon says again, barely a whisper, and Dan leans down to press their lips together.
Dan's lips are soft and he tastes like whiskey and ice cream. His hand is still warm on Brendon's side, and when he slips it around a little to rest on Brendon's lower back, Brendon reaches up on his toes and winds an arm around Dan's neck. Dan groans and Brendon can feel it in his fingers, down into the bottom of his stomach. He moves Brendon back a step, then another, until Brendon's back hits the edge of the worktable, and suddenly Dan's arms are tight around his waist and Brendon's feet are off the floor. He gasps and Dan slides him back until he's sitting on the top of the bench, Dan standing between his legs, finally at eye level. "You're really fucking short," he grins and Brendon laughs, leans in to kiss him again.
"Yeah, well, you're gigantic," he murmurs against Dan's lips and slips his hands under Dan's jacket, pulling him closer. Dan doesn't answer; he breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down Brendon's jaw, tongue pressing against his pulse. Brendon shudders and arches his head back, giving him more room. Dan tugs at Brendon's jacket until it's off his shoulders and Brendon does the rest, tossing it haphazardly into a corner. He lets Dan pull back for a moment to shed his own jacket and loosen his tie, and then tucks his leg around Dan's thigh and pulls him back. Brendon feels giddy, breathless, his lips tender and buzzing. He's already half-hard and all he wants is Dan's hands back on him, anywhere, everywhere. "This is crazy," he says, but he's already pulling Dan in for another kiss, fingers wound in his tie.
"Absolutely," Dan manages with a laugh, and this time the kiss is more frantic, Brendon's body screaming for more. Dan manages to get Brendon's tie undone along with the first three buttons on his shirt, and Brendon's hips jerk forward when Dan sucks hard at his clavicle.
"Oh, God," he whimpers, his fingers threaded tight in Dan's hair. Dan's hands are restless on Brendon's thighs, sliding over them in wide arcs. When his knuckles bump over the hard ridge of Brendon's dick, they both moan. Dan's hand lingers, a barely-there pressure on the outside of his slacks, and Brendon's whole body feels tight and hot, tiny earthquakes settling at the base of his spine.
"Can I...," Dan starts, his eyes unfocused, pupils blown. He leans in, presses his nose to Brendon's throat. "Wanna suck you off," he says into Brendon's skin, and Brendon shivers.
"Have you--" Brendon asks, and his voice is shot, rough and needy all at once. Dan nods, his hair slipping into his eyes, and Brendon swallows hard. "Yeah, if you want," he says and Dan doesn't take his eyes off Brendon's face as he pulls at his belt, tugs open his pants.
"Here, like this," Dan says and pulls Brendon off the counter and onto his feet. Brendon reaches back to hold on to the table top with both hands-- his knees already feel like jello, even before Dan drops gracelessly to his knees and pulls his slacks down, inch by inch, his mouth hot on Brendon's pelvis. Brendon's eyes are wide, unblinking, as his dick pulls free, the tip already glistening. Brendon's not huge, he knows that from years of gym showers, and Dan's hand is big enough to wrap fully around him, one dry tug making Brendon's fingers curl around the edge of the counter. "Okay?" Dan asks and all Brendon can do is nod, biting his lip hard to keep from screaming as Dan runs the plane of tongue over the head of Brendon's cock.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Brendon mutters, eyes closing for a second as Dan's mouth closes around him and sucks hard. He's suddenly completely sober and totally out of his head all at once, his knuckles white from the effort of holding himself up. Everything is strange-- the room, Dan's wide mouth stretched around him, the tiny grunts and whimpers he's pulling from Brendon's mouth-- but it feels so amazingly right that Brendon can't stop a tiny laugh. Dan glances up at him, eyes dancing, when he rolls his tongue around the head of Brendon's cock, thumb pressing into that perfect sweet spot right underneath, Brendon comes so hard he can't breathe for a second, every nerve ending in his body suddenly on fire. His knees give out entirely, but Dan is there to break his fall, propping him up on his knees before leaning away and spitting into the trash can under the table. Brendon groans and tucks his face into Dan's neck.
Dan's hand is warm and solid on his back and Brendon takes a minute to get his bearings. When he opens his eyes, he can see Dan's cock pushing hard against his fly. His fingers feel clumsy and out of place as he reaches down, but Dan's stomach tightens as his palm folds around it. "Bren," he says, and it sounds a little lost. Brendon looks up at his face, smiling and sated, and gives enough of a squeeze that Dan gasps. "Brendon, what--"
"I want to--" Brendon starts, thinks do that, taste you, make you come, but he's not sure how to ask.
"Anything, whatever," Dan says, eyes closing as his hips jerk up against Brendon's hand. Brendon unbuckles his belt slowly, and Dan is panting, short, shallow breaths against Brendon's temple. Dan stays still but Brendon can feel his muscles quivering under his hands, strong and solid, and Brendon rucks his shirt up, leans down to kiss along Dan's ribs, mouth trailing up to one small nipple. Dan's hand curls around the back of Brendon's neck and he hisses at the touch of Brendon's tongue. Dan tastes clean, like soap and salt, and Brendon hums into his skin, slips his fingers past the button on Dan's jeans and revels in the small choked sounds Dan makes when Brendon's fingers find hot skin. I could make him come, just like this, Brendon thinks suddenly, and it's a powerful thought, awesome and huge.
But it's not enough. He tips up to kiss Dan once, deep and slow, his fingers barely trailing over Dan's cock. "I've never--" he starts and Dan is shaking his head.
"'s okay, this is--"
"Want to," Brendon interrupts. "Just don't want to mess up," he grins and Dan's eyes roll up in amusement.
"Just like sucking on a p-popsicle," Dan grits out as Brendon tugs his slacks open.
Brendon snorts. The frantic edge is gone, and he has most of his brain cells working again, and he really just wants to do this right. "I somehow doubt that," he says with a wry grin and Dan bites his lip and raises one hand to Brendon's face, his thumb rubbing against Brendon's bottom lip.
"Stop thinking so much," he says, mostly serious, and Brendon's tongue traces the pad of his finger, feather-light over rough skin. Dan pushes just a fraction, until his thumb slips past Brendon's lips. He sucks gently, then a little more, and Dan says "just like that, fuck". It's almost more intimate than before, the way their eyes lock as Dan pushes in slowly, and Brendon's flutter as his cheeks hollow. It isn't like a popsicle at all-- it's all texture and heat-- but it's not hard to make Dan gasp a little and bite his lip and Brendon thinks... he really does need to stop thinking so much. He pulls back until Dan's thumb slips free with a wet pop, and his hands are back on Dan's slacks, pushing them down around his knees.
"How do you--" he starts, but Dan is already tipping back, hissing as his bare ass hits the cold concrete floor. He stretches his legs out and Brendon straddles his thighs, and pauses. Dan's cock is hard and heavy against his stomach, and way the hell bigger than his thumb. Dan just reaches out and tugs Brendon's hand up until Brendon wraps his fist snuggly around the base. "Ungh," Dan grunts, his back arching a little off the floor as Brendon tugs. He grabs Brendon's wrist to stop him, says "Lick your hand" and Brendon does, surprised at the bitter tang on his palm. The next stroke is easier, though, and Dan sighs and let's Brendon set his own pace, each stroke getting slicker as Dan's cock leaks precome into Brendon's fingers.
Brendon's own cock is already half-hard again, just from the sounds Dan is making, breathy moans and half-formed curses. He leans down finally and just tastes, the salt-bitter not a shock, but definitely something he's not used to. His tongue slips over the head, dipping between the web of his fingers. "Move your hand down like..." Dan says quietly and Brendon gets it, lets his fingers slide into the coarse hair at the base and wraps his lips around Dan's cock, sliding down as much as he can before pulling back with a wet pop. His eyes sting a little at the corners. "Not too fast," Dan warns.
It's instinctual, Brendon learns pretty fast. He finds the things he can do with his tongue, his hands, that make Dan's hips jerk, make him say "yes, oh" and does them again and again. His jaw muscles burn a little, but that keeps Brendon's mind off his own dick, keeps him from reaching a hand between his legs. "Can you," Dan pants, almost pleading, "just." He reaches his own hand down but Brendon understands a second before it gets there and moans a little around Dan's cock, using his free hand to stroke his balls lightly, roll them over his palm once, twice. "Oh, fuck, Bren," Dan grits out, and Brendon can feel hot ropes of come against his tongue, the smell of it filling his nose and he swallows without thinking and pulls back with a gasp, pressing his forehead to Dan's stomach and just breathing deep and slow.
Dan doesn't move other than to slip his fingers into Brendon's hair, clumsy petting that makes Brendon smile against his skin. "See," he finally says, and Brendon can hear the grin in his voice. "Just like a popsicle."
Brendon rolls his eyes and sits up, wiping his hand on the back of his shirt. "Yeah, not at all," he says. Dan tucks himself back into his pants and props himself up on his elbows.
"Did you swallow?" he asks, and Brendon shrugs.
"Spitting is disgusting," he says, and when Dan starts to laugh Brendon whacks him in the side lightly. "Shut up, it is!" he says defensively, but Dan is flat on his back, his stomach shaking with laughter and Brendon can't help the giddy laugh that bubbles out of his chest.
"You... holy shit, I can't even," Dan gasps, eyes shining.
Brendon says "You suck," and Dan says "You suck" and then they're both in hysterics, laying side by side on the floor of the auto shop, prom clothes rumpled all over the floor.
"Well," Brendon says a few minutes later when he can finally breathe, "this wasn't exactly how I pictured tonight."
Dan turns to look at him, one arm propped under his head. "Good though, right?"
"Yeah," Brendon says, and it really was.
They manage to find all their clothes and get them on correctly, even if Dan's tie is uneven and Brendon's jacket is a wrinkled mess. Brendon grabs the crown off the desk and places it on Dan's head, slightly askew. "Can't forget your cunning disguise," he says and Dan kisses him fast, just a warm press of his lips, before he's cracking the door open and pulling Brendon back into the hallway.
*
Bert and Quinn don't make it back in time for Temple the Sunday after prom-Bert will blame it on muddy roads but really it's that neither one of them wanted to untangle themselves from the warmth of the tent, and each other. He drops Quinn off at Jepha's just as Branden is shuffling outside to mow the lawn. He's in cutoffs and not much else, and Quinn points out Jepha watching from the window. "Brand's never going to get a clue," Quinn says with a fond sigh and Bert leans in to kiss him before he gets out of the car. Quinn's grin turns into a grimace as he pulls back, and he tugs at Bert's shirt, pulling it closed at the neck. "Sorry, hickey."
"You're an ass," Bert says and rests his head on the steering wheel. It's too hot to wear collared shirts anymore, and Quinn knows it. Quinn just laughs.
Bert doesn't stay for lunch, and he's surprised to see Brendon sitting on his front stoop as he pulls into the driveway. "Everyone's at my brother's game," he says as he gets out of the car and Brendon nods.
"Yeah, I figured."
"What's up?" Bert asks, because it's been a while since Brendon's come to see him like this. They're doing good, good enough that Brendon made the call to UoP last week to make sure they get to room together in the fall, but Bert senses that something big is happening from the way Brendon's knee vibrates when Bert sits down on the step next to him.
"Can we… inside?" he says quietly, and Bert's heart starts to beat faster, but Brendon stands almost too close as he unlocks the door so Bert thinks this isn't about them. This is about Brendon.
They settle side by side on Bert's bed, backs against the wall, and Brendon rests his head on Bert's shoulder, but he doesn't talk. Bert takes his hand and Brendon squeezes hard. "Come on," he prods quietly. "The walls don't have ears."
"I'm sorry, about all the Quinn stuff," he says, and Bert presses his cheek against the top of Brendon's head.
"I know."
Brendon takes a deep breath, then another one. "I think. I mean, I think it was because I was scared."
"Okay," Bert says. "Scared of me leaving you?"
"Sort of," Brendon shrugs. He threads their fingers together, then apart, then together again. "Sort of that I worried people would think I was like you. Like that. If anyone found out."
"Oh," Bert says, and he aches a little in the center of his chest, but Brendon squeezes his hand again, won't let him let go.
"I am, you know," he says, almost a whisper. Bert closes his eyes. He knew, of course he did, if he thinks about it. He and Brendon weren't the same, but they were always different in the same ways, always working just a little too hard, always just a fraction behind the curve when it came to girls and crushes, dirty talk in the locker room. The ache in Bert's chest blooms into this warm glow, and he thinks he can finally pay Brendon back for teaching him how to belong. He can teach Brendon how to belong to a whole other world. "Bert?" Brendon says, worried, and Bert shifts down to he can see Brendon's face.
"Okay," he says, grinning, and Brendon's eyes are watery, but his smile is real. Bert hugs him tight, and he can feel the tension seeping out of Brendon's shoulders.
"I sort of-" Brendon says in to Bert's neck, his voice wavering but amused. "I mean, I kind of kissed a boy. Last night."
Bert goes stock still, and Brendon's shoulders tense again. It's fine, Bert thinks, but Brendon can't just let anyone… "Who?" he asks and Brendon pulls back, winds his fingers in the hem of his shirt. It's a nervous tick that he's had forever, and Bert puts a hand over his to stop it. "You don't have to tell me, that's not-"
"Dan," Brendon says, and when he cuts his eyes up to Bert's face, he lets out a surprised giggle. The look on Bert's face must be priceless, but he can't help it.
"You hate Dan," Bert reminds him, and Brendon shrugs.
"Not really," he says, smiling, and Bert can see the blush high on his cheeks.
"Holy shit," Bert says, laughing, and Brendon shoves lightly at his shoulder. Bert likes Dan a lot; Bert actually kind of adores Dan-- the way he sometimes just picks Bert up and tosses him over his shoulder, the way he smiles whenever Quinn sits across Bert's lap at Jepha's. If Brendon is going to start kissing boys, Dan is kind of an excellent choice. "So you don't think he's the devil anymore?" he kids and Brendon pulls his knees to his chest and hides his face in them. "Tell meeee," Bert goads and pokes Brendon in the side until he squirms. Brendon wants to talk about it, Bert knows he wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't, and it only takes a minute of tickling to get Brendon to says "okay, fine, stop!"
"He snuck us into the auto shop," Brendon says, still not looking right at Bert, but grinning a little to himself.
"He snuck you in to make out?"
"He snuck us in because he got me a little drunk," Brendon says, cutting his eyes to Bert. Bert shakes his head, eyes wide.
"Man, I so should have gone to prom," he says, because Brendon drunk is something Bert would pay actual money to see. He turns and sits indian-style, facing Brendon, and leans his elbows on his knees. "So, was there sexy car talk, or did he just plant one on you?"
"Mostly the second," Brendon shrugs and shifts his gaze back to his knees. His blush is deeper now, and his grin isn't as wide, and Bert wraps a hand around Brendon's ankle and shakes.
"Come on, share," he says softly, because something happened, something else, and Brendon needs to talk it out. Brendon can't ever fully process anything until he's talked about it, and Bert is used to being his sounding board.
"It was more than kissing," he says quietly. "I mean, the kissing was kind of amazing," he adds quickly, looking up to make sure Bert believes him. Bert nods. Brendon looks back at his knees. "It was really amazing," he repeats, grin slowly returning. He pauses for a second. "So, have you, um. Did Quinn ever give you a blowjob?" he asks with forced nonchalance.
Bert blinks, and when Brendon looks up at him, face bright pink, Bert can't help it. He laughs hard enough that Brendon falls over face first into Bert's pillow, embarrassed. Bert crawls up the bed to snuggle close to him.
"Blowjobs are awesome," Bert whispers, still giggling, and Brendon peeks out at him.
"Totally awesome."
*
Patrick had offered to drive Greta home since Vicky went without him to the afterparty at Cash's, so Brendon drove himself home the night of prom. All he could think about was Dan, and he was so hard that he had to pull over and jerk off in the car around the block from his house. He felt dirty when his mom hugged him at the door, and his father smirked at him knowingly, taking in his rumpled clothes and flushed cheeks. He took a long, hot shower and made it almost all the way through before he imagined Dan's mouth on the back of his neck, strong arms slipping around his waist and down, down. Brendon didn't even know his body could do that three times in one night, and he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow.
After his talk with Bert, about boys and blowjobs and "oh, yeah, Quinn shot twice in ten minutes once," he feels like less of a freak, but now his fantasies about Dan are technicolor, full of details Brendon almost didn't want to know but Bert told him anyway, about positions and safety measures and what to do with his hands.
Brendon's got butterflies on Monday morning as he walks into school. He doesn't have a single class with Dan, which is probably good, since he has finals in two of his classes this week, and Brendon finds he's distracted just knowing Dan's in the same building. He doesn't see him until after lunch, just a pass in the hallway, and Brendon feels his cheeks heat up. "Hey," he nods, using every ounce of courage he can muster.
Dan barely looks at him.
Brendon spends half the next period in the boy's bathroom, just trying to remember how to breathe. "Hey, what--" Bert whispers as he slips into his seat in history. Brendon just shakes his head, stares straight ahead, and tries to remember why he hated Dan Whitesides. Hating him would be really convenient right now.
They have rehearsal after school, since the quartet will be performing at graduation. Brendon just wants to go home, but he can't miss this. He can't fuck up his GPA, his social standing, his extracurriculars. He can't fuck up his life, not even if all of it seems wrong now, ill-fitting and chafing. He's almost to the music hall when Dan corners him, eyes scanning to make sure the hall is clear. Brendon tries to step around him but Dan wraps a hand around his arm. Brendon's heart speeds up; it's like he's twelve again on the playground, and Dan is about to swing at his stomach. "Brendon--"
"What?" Brendon grits out, tight and angry, and Dan's jaw clenches and he's pulling Brendon into an empty art room. "Let me go," Brendon hisses and Dan just presses him against the inside of the door.
"'m sorry," Dan says when Brendon's hands press on his shoulders, trying and failing to push him back. "Stop, hey, come on." He takes Brendon's hands and pins his wrists to the door above his head. "Listen to me," he says and Brendon stills. He's breathing hard and fast and Dan leans in to press their foreheads together. "We can't let them see," he starts and stops, frowns at the floor. "We've got three weeks," he says quietly. "Three weeks, then the summer, and all we have to do keep our heads down until then, all right?" Dan runs his thumb over Brendon's wrist. "In this building--"
"--we're not friends," Brendon finishes, because he finally gets it. Dan Whitesides palling around with Brendon Urie would raise a lot more questions than Brendon wants to think about. Dan gives him a wry half-smile.
"At least not where people can see," he says and leans in to kiss Brendon's jaw. "'m sorry," he says again, and Brendon tips his head to catch Dan's mouth. Dan groans and lets go of Brendon's wrists to slip his fingers into his hair, pull him closer. Brendon's arms wind around his neck.
"'S'okay," he murmurs and Dan smiles. "Three weeks."
They kiss until Brendon is half-hard, until Dan's hand is snaked up the back of his shirt, rough against his skin. Brendon whimpers, tilts his hips up, and Dan takes a step back. His eyes are inky black and Brendon wonders if his mouth looks as wet and bruised as Dan's. He bites his lip. "Okay, I'm going to get out of here before we get in some serious trouble," Dan says, voice a little shaky. He kisses him one more time and slips out the door.
Brendon is nearly fifteen minutes late to rehearsal. Patrick is talking to Greta, and Mikey is reading a book, and no one notices but Bert who just says "your shirt's untucked" with a knowing wink. Brendon can make three weeks, no problem. He tucks his shirt in and clears his throat.
*
Jepha throws them a graduation barbecue the weekend before they graduate. "Your damn parents will kidnap you for that whole week," he grouses by way of explanation, and Bert hugs him tight around the middle. It's a small party; just the six of them, plus Bob and his boyfriend Frank, who came down from Sandy. Bob never mentioned Frank to Bert-- Bert only found out when he asked Jepha why Bob hung out there sometimes and not others. Jepha says they met the year before at an away game for the baseball team. Frank's a year younger, and he's the Sandy High baseball team's equipment manager ("ask Bob-- I am great at managing other guys' equipment"). He's short-- almost as short as Bert-- and makes Bob blush more than Jepha, crawls in his lap and says "Bob ever tell you about that time we went skinny dipping and someone stole our clothes?" Bert likes Frank a lot.
It's a massive spread-- burgers and hot dogs, coleslaw and potato salad, three bean salad and baked beans. They all want a turn at the grill but Branden glares if they get too close. Jepha takes rolls of pictures, only half of which would be fit for company, and Jepha complains that he'll have to drive a hundred miles to be able to get them developed without scandal. He does manage to get one of all of them, minus Frank who volunteers to take the picture. "Family portraits are the shit," Frank says as he snaps it, and Bert is sure he'll be laughing in that one, Quinn's hand stuffed discreetly in his back pocket.
Brendon and Dan are weirdly quiet around each other, but they disappear after an hour or so and Bert laughs to himself. He elbows Quinn in the side when he comes stumbling around to the patio from the side yard, eyes wide. He says, "Did you know Brendon and Dan--"
"Leave it alone," Jepha says, handing the tongs to Branden, but Bert thinks he looks oddly happy.
"Leave what alone?" Branden asks, and Jepha's smile slips just a little.
"You knew," Quinn says to Bert, and Bert just shrugs. Quinn glares at him for a second before leaning in to whisper "Wanna go watch them make out?"
Bert kind of really does, but he also thinks that would be wrong on a number of fronts, so he tries his best to look shocked and appalled. Quinn just laughs at him. Bert leans in to kiss Quinn quickly, just a peck on the corner of his mouth, and when he looks up Branden is looking pointedly away, cheeks pink. Jepha leans in and hooks his chin over Branden's shoulder, whispering something that makes him grin and shake his head. Branden looks relaxed when Jepha pulls away, but Jepha's shoulders slump a little as he walks inside to get more lemonade.
They all eat squashed around Branden and Jeph's picnic table, eight boys all talking over each other. It reminds Bert of dinners at home, comfortable in it's loudness. They talk about baseball and graduation plans, how hard Mr. Miller's final exams are, and how long it will be before Cash bangs up the new car his dad got him as a graduation gift. They talk about future plans too. Bob is going to BYU.
"Just for a year," he says pointedly and Frank laughs.
"Yeah, big man, then we're blowing this pop stand," Frank says, and sticks a hot dog lewdly in his mouth. Bert likes Frank a lot.
When Quinn brings up the fact that he's still looking for a job near San Francisco, Dan pipes up with "I think my Uncle might have a lead on something near Berkeley. Could be work enough for two." Bert's pretty sure Quinn's blinding grin is only matched by the blush across Brendon's cheeks.
"I-I mean, it might not work out," Dan says, when he notices, and Bert kicks at Brendon's foot under the table.
"I hope it does," Brendon says not quite meeting Dan's eyes. Dan grins and Brendon tries not to grin back and fails, and Jepha shakes his head.
"Okay, all of you, more eating, less talking," Branden cuts in. He puts his hand over Jepha's and points his knife around the table. "Jepha and I didn't slave over hot stoves for you to not--"
But no one hears him over the roar of laughter and the calls of "dibs on the burned hot dog" and "if you eat the rest of that I will stab you with this fork."
They all pile back in the house after they eat, most of the group sprawled out in front of the television to watch a Dodgers game. Brendon escapes to the dining table and Bert rolls his eyes when he takes out a notebook and opens it up. "You know this is a party," Bert says, peeking over his shoulder. Brendon covers the page with his hand.
"Just, I had a bit of inspiration at dinner," he says. He's been working on his valedictorian speech for nearly a week, and he won't let anyone look at it, not even Bert. Bert just ruffles his hair and follows Jepha to the kitchen with more dirty dishes in hand.
Bert thinks he's the only one who notices how quiet Jeph's been most of the day, but Quinn catches him on the way out, hand on his hip, and says "Is he okay?"
"Dunno," Bert answers. He'd chalked it up to Jepha being sentimental about graduation, but Quinn's eyes cut to Branden across the room. Branden looks totally comfortable with Bob and Dan on either side of him on the couch, Frank curled up half in Bob's lap.
Jepha sweeps past Bert and Quinn to hand Branden a cold bottle of pop. "You are the greatest, seriously," Branden says and Jepha smiles.
"Eh, I'm okay." He takes a step and Branden's hand folds around his wrist.
"Stay for some of the game," he says and Jepha nods toward the kitchen where the dishes are piled up. "Fuck 'em, they'll still be there." Branden gives a hard tug on Jepha's wrist until he's stumbling down into Branden's lap.
"Oh, I'm sure this is comfortable," Jepha says with an eye roll, and Branden just hooks his arm around Jepha's waist and grins at the television as the game starts up again. Jepha closes his eyes and swallows, barely letting himself lean back into Branden's chest. Bert hears Quinn huff in frustration behind him.
"They're just so...," he whispers when Bert looks at him, and Bert nods. He's not sure what they were like before this house became the hot bed of boys who are secretly dating, not sure how this all even happened, beyond Jepha being pretty much the best person Bert's ever met, and he wonders guiltily if having all of them around makes it harder for Jepha. Branden is great, but he's blind and possibly stupid if he can't see how Jepha feels about him, and he still does stuff like this, holding Jepha a little too close, acting like an old married couple when that's as far from the truth as you can get.
He watches the rest of the night, and for every comfortable touch that passes between himself and Quinn, Bob and Frank, even Brendon and Dan, there's one between Jepha and Branden that seems both natural and not enough, and Bert can read the frustration in the tired lines around Jepha's eyes.
Bert doesn't ask anyone before he does it, but when he's hugging Jepha goodbye, he says, quietly, "You could come, you know. To California."
Jepha hooks an arm around his neck. "You bet your ass we'll come visit," he says with an easy smile and Bert shakes his head, looks over to where Quinn and Dan are standing, Dan's hand light and low on Brendon's back.
"No, I mean. For good. You should come with us. Meet some new people," he says lamely, and hopes his meaning comes through. He knows Jepha would defend Branden to the death, and Bert loves Branden too, but. "It's gonna be boring without us," he says, trying for levity, and Jepha shakes his head. He's smiling, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Nah, I think I'm pretty settled in here," he replies and Bert sighs.
"You could, though. Just. Think about it." He doesn't want to push, but it's an open invite. He'll tell Quinn later, but he's sure Quinn and Dan won't mind a third roommate.
"I'm fine," Jepha says with feeling, and Bert can see where he's looking over at Branden. "Sometimes it's just... I'm fine. Everything's good. I'm not in a hurry to run off anywhere," he says firmly and Bert shakes his head.
"Home is where the heart is, I guess," he says with a smile and Jepha grins ruefully at him.
"Something like that."
*
Graduation day is surreal. Brendon barely registers anything until he's sitting on the podium, fingers folded around the notecards in his hands. It's all a blur of caps and gowns, his dad complaining about the lack of decent parking at the high school, his mom dabbing her eyes with a tissue, Bert giggling manically in his ear as they hug. The Class of '60 sits in folding chairs on the football field, and Brendon can see their faces behind the tassles, excited and teary. The quartet sings first, a rendition of the school song followed by Patrick's fabulous arrangement of "Moments to Remember". Half the girls in class are sniffling at the end of it, and Bert catches Brendon's eye with a smile as he walks back down to his seat.
Waiting through speeches by the principal and the school superintendent, Brendon scans the crowd. Orem's a small town, so nearly everyone is here, including Jepha and Branden sitting with a woman who looks like she might be Quinn's mom. Brendon hopes so. He catches Dan's eye once, and Dan winks at him. Brendon is so flustered he almost misses his introduction by Dr. Anspaugh.
"Our graduation speech this year is given by our most outstanding pupil, Brendon Boyd Urie. Brendon has brought the gifts of intelligence, good humor, musical excellence, grace, and upstanding morality to Orem High over the last four years, and I am glad to congratulate him as this years valedictorian."
Brendon can't risk looking at Dan after the morality comment, and he can't risk looking at his parents either. He finds Bert in the sea of blue and gold, and Bert gives him a thumbs up. Brendon's heart is racing as he tips the microphone down enough to speak into it, shuffling his cards into order.
He gets through the first part of the speech on automatic, thanking the right people, mentioning the football team and the math team and the many honors the school's had during Brendon's tenure. When he gets to the last part, the part he wrote at Jepha's dining table, he pauses and looks up. Bert is still watching him, head tilted, and Dan is too. Quinn is in the front row, slumped low in his chair, and he's not looking at Brendon, but he hopes he's listening. Brendon takes a deep breath.
I know we've spent the last day, week, year, four years, eighteen years, excited about this day. This is the day your whole life changes. This is the day you finally come into your own. You've worked hard to get here, all of you, and I know what you're thinking. Some of you are thinking "Thank God I've survived." Some of you are thinking "This is the best day of my life." Some of you are thinking "When will this guy shut up so I can get out of this robe."
All of us are thinking we've made it. All of us are thinking we know who we are, now.
All of us are wrong.
We've spent the last four years being the people we were told to be. We've spend the last four years only sort of getting to know the people around us. I'm telling you now, we've only scratched the surface. Look at the person next to you. Really look at them. In a year, in ten, in thirty, is that person going to be the same person they are now? Do you know their dreams, the ones they think about late at night, the ones they wish for on every birthday candle?
Do they even know?
If there is one thing I have learned recently, it's that I don't know much at all. It's been a pretty hard lesson for a guy like me, a scary one, and it didn't have anything to do with grades, or school dances, or sports scores. I don't know very much about any of you. I don't know very much about myself. And today, leaving this place, I'm finding myself adrift with these big question marks hovering over my life. Who do I want to be? What do I want to become?
I'm guessing a lot of you have those same question marks, that sea-sick feeling of "what now" when you wake up in the morning.
The answer to those question marks is going to be different for everyone.
When Brendon looks up, Quinn is staring right at him, and Brendon exhales, cuts his eyes over to Bob, to Patrick and Greta, to Vicky, to Dan, to Jepha and Branden in the stands. He blinks away the hotness behind his eyes and stares right at Bert, not even glancing back down at his cards.
But the best thing you can do is find an anchor. Find two or four, or a dozen. Find things that make you happy, people who can help you see new things about yourself. Don't be afraid to look in strange places for your anchors-- new places, new friends, new jobs, new schools. I've found a few in the strangest places... Don't be afraid to see new things about yourself, about your best friend, about the people you thought you knew. Don't be afraid of being afraid. Don't be afraid to ask questions. Don't be afraid of the answers once you figure them out. Don't be afraid of your own face in the mirror, even when it looks like someone else.
What I'm really trying to say is this: Don't cling to who you are now. Who you are now isn't who you are. You aren't the jock, you aren't the brain, you aren't the weird kid, or the prom king. As of today, you aren't anything at all. Accept it. Embrace it. This isn't the end of anything; this is just the beginning.
***********
EPILOGUE:
Branden wasn't supposed to overhear, he's pretty sure. But the kitchen windows are open and he is washing his hands after helping Dan tighten the hitch connecting their small trailer to Dan's car, and he doesn't mean to listen, but...
"You're sure?" Bert asks, and Jepha's laugh is a little sad.
"You know I'm not built for that much sun."
"It's an open invitation, you can move in any time," Quinn says seriously, and Branden turns the water off, frowning.
"Thank you," Jepha says sincerely, and his next words are muffled, like he's hugging one of them tight. "I'm. It's getting better," he says, and Branden can hear the tension in his voice, the forced cheerfulness that means he's lying. Bert can apparently hear it too, since he snorts.
"At least come out and get laid once in a while," Quinn says and Jepha laughs, surprised.
"I'll do that," he replies and Branden loses the conversation as they walk back to the car. The four of them-- Quinn and Bert, Dan and Brendon-- take off just after breakfast for the long drive to Berkeley. Branden and Jepha wave from the driveway until they can't see the car anymore.
Jepha leans into his side, sniffling melodramatically. "Our boys are all grown up," he sobs, and Branden squeezes his arm and laughs. Jepha's eyes are shining, though, so Branden's pretty sure it's not all an act.
Branden's not sure why, but he can't get the conversation he overheard out of his head. He spends most of the day in the music room, bashing on his kit, wondering if they really asked Jepha to move out to California with them, wondering why they hadn't asked him. Jepha said it was "getting better", and Branden doesn't want to think about when things got worse, and how he missed it. He and Jepha have been best friends for four years, ever since they kicked a pair of roughnecks out of Jepha's bar his first week on the job. They've been living together for almost as long in this tiny house Branden bought from his grandmother as soon as he had the money to take over the mortgage, and things were... good. Great. They're a terrible twosome, and Jepha makes sure they eat real food, and Branden makes sure the front steps get fixed every spring, and they're happy. Or Branden's happy.
Jepha's always been unhappy on and off, in his quiet Jepha way, but Branden doesn't press it when he is. He just gives Jeph some space, goes for a long weekend in the mountains, or up to visit his sister in Salt Lake, and when he comes back Jepha smiles and says "Missed you" and things are okay for a while again.
But now he thinks there is more to it, more than he's seeing if Bert and Quinn are worried enough about him to take him away from Orem... to take him away from Branden. He's noticed that Jepha's been acting oddly these last few months, glowing and happy when the boys were around, brooding and quiet when they weren't. Branden tried to cheer him up once, suggesting a camping trip, just the two of them, but Jepha had looked almost stricken at the idea and Branden hastily let it go.
He doesn't say anything all through dinner, just watches as Jepha manages to pass him the mashed potatoes without touching him, to talk to him about work without ever really meeting Branden's eyes. He's sick to his stomach by the end, his pot roast barely touched, and Jepha frowns at him. "You okay?"
"They asked you to go to California," he blurts out without thinking and Jepha's eyes widen and then narrow.
"Yeah, they're saps who said they'd miss me too much," he obviously lies, and Branden swallows hard.
"They didn't ask me," he says quietly, and Jepha forces a smile.
"Maybe they'll miss me more." He gets up and starts clearing the table, loud clanks of silverware on dishes cutting off any conversation.
Branden takes two, three, four deep breaths at the empty table. Something is wrong, and Branden isn't going to fool himself into thinking he doesn't know what it is. There's something in Jepha's eyes whenever he really looks at Branden, something dark and sad. It used to be hot, glinting off Branden's arms, his shoulders, his mouth, and it had scared the shit out of him when they first met, this current of something between them that Branden couldn't put a name to. He'd never connected with anyone like he did with Jepha, like he was an extra limb that Branden hadn't known he was living without, but that heat in Jepha's eyes always made Branden look away quickly.
Nothing ever came of it, though. Jepha never pushed Branden for more than he could give, never pushed him for anything, and the heat dulled down over the years until Branden thought he must have been imagining it. But this past year, he started seeing it again-- not in Jepha but in Quinn, every time he looked at Bert, in Brendon's eyes when Dan wasn't watching, even once as Dan's gaze followed Jepha around the room. (The next night, Branden had started a fight at a bar, nearly broke a kid's nose when he pinched a waitress's ass.) Now, Jepha's eyes just look sad, resigned, and Branden feels like the biggest tool on the planet.
He pushes away from the table and walks into the kitchen, head down like he's heading for a fight. Jepha is putting the plates away on a high shelf and Branden traps him against the counter, hands on either side of his hips.
"Why aren't you going to California?" he says, and he's not sure why he's angry. He doesn't want Jepha to go, the thought of Jepha leaving makes his jaw clench, but he can't be staying for...
"I live here," Jepha says, surprised, and Branden growls.
"Jeph," he says. "Come on."
"Don't be an ass," Jepha says, annoyed. Branden takes another step closer. "Don't, just. What do you want me to say?"
"I just--" Branden says, because he doesn't know. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. But at least Jepha is looking at him. "Are you even happy here?" Jepha blinks at him, then cuts his eyes across the room. It's not like Branden didn't know, but Jepha's silence is like a punch to the gut. "Jeph--" he says, pained, and Jepha sighs.
"I'm happier here than I would be anywhere else," he says quietly.
"Why?" Branden asks, because he has to. Jepha looks up, and his smile is anything but kind.
"Don't try to pull your 'big and dumb' routine with me, Brand. I've known you a long time. You know exactly why."
It's as close to talking about this as they've ever gotten, and Branden wishes Jepha weren't so closed right now, weren't so angry. Well, if you hadn't waited four fucking years, a little voice in his head sneers at him, and Branden swallows hard.
"Jepha, I don't. I'm not...," he's got no idea what to say.
"Don't worry about it," Jepha says with a forced smile, and Branden want to smack it off his face. He curls his fingers around the edge of the countertop.
"God damn it, Jepha, I'm trying--" he bites out, but Jepha talks right over him.
"I'm serious, we'll just forget about it, okay? I'm not leaving town. And I'm not asking... I'm not going to push, okay?" Jepha sounds angry, a little desperate, and Branden presses in closer. "Why are you--"
"Why not?" Branden asks, and his throat hurts a little, his voice low and strained.
"Why not what?" Jepha asks, his body still, but his breaths coming shorter and shallow.
"I don't know how to be what you need me to be," Branden whispers tightly. He closes his eyes tight and tries to keep from hitting the cabinets in frustration. "I don't... Why won't you push?"
"Brand," Jepha's voice breaks on his name and Branden exhales shakily, presses his forehead to Jepha's.
"Push," he says again, more a plea than a command, and he shivers when Jepha's hand rests tentatively on his hip.
"Branden," Jepha says again, quiet and scared, but he kisses the hot skin under Branden's eye, the corner of his mouth, and Branden goes so still he can feel the tickle of Jepha's eyelashes. His eyes are still closed and he jumps when Jepha's thumb swipes over his lower lip. "You don't--"
"Push," Branden says again, tilting his head down, and Jepha meets him halfway, his lips warm and gentle. Branden freezes for a second and Jepha makes a small sound, pulls away a fraction before Branden hooks a hand around the back of Jepha's neck, holding him in place, pulling him closer. Branden's never kissed a boy before, never wanted to put a name to the itch he would get under his skin when Jepha would fall in his lap, boneless and a little drunk, and snuggle up close. He likes girls, women, big breasts and warm thighs, soft hair under his fingers. And Jepha. Branden likes Jepha, loves Jepha, and Jepha's hair is soft and his mouth his hot and he's whimpering against Branden's mouth, and oh. Oh, fuck.
Branden's totally out of his depth here, and when he leans back Jepha gasps, his eyes still closed. Branden strokes the skin under his ear with this thumb until Jepha's eyes flutter open. Branden's shaking a little, his knees and his fingers, and his heart is beating a thousand miles an hour, but he can see it there, the spark that Branden couldn't bear to look at four years ago, and he thinks he must be the biggest idiot in the whole world. The worst best friend, the most insensitive kind of torturer. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, because how could Jepha ever forgive him for four years of pretending this wasn't there? Four years of willful ignorance, because Branden was scared of Jepha?
Jepha's face falls and Branden wants to say it again, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, but Jepha just squeezes his hip and smiles sadly, the spark in his eyes falling away. "It's okay, it's not. I didn't expect you to feel... I don't need that, okay? I'll get over it, or I won't, but it's not your fault," he says quietly, kindly, and Branden blinks, shakes his head.
"What... no. No, that's." Branden cups Jepha's face in both hands, forces his eyes up to his face. "Four years, and I'm such a fucking idiot," he says vehemently, and he pulls Jepha into another kiss, deeper, almost frantic, and Jepha's whole body is bowstring taut, shivering as Branden presses his tongue into Jepha's mouth, tries to get him to understand that this is what he wants,this is what... but then Jepha's hands fist in his shirt and pull him impossibly closer, until Jepha's arms are around his neck and Branden is sliding his hands down to Jepha's ass, holding him up as Jepha's legs wrap around his waist, his mouth slipping down to bite at Branden's neck.
"Oh, f-fuck," Branden grits out and Jepha laughs low in his ear, sexy and awed all at once. "Don't go to California," Branden says, in case he hasn't been totally clear about that, and Jepha's legs tighten around him, his nails scraping lightly over Branden's scalp.
"I'm not going to let you forget you're a fucking idiot," Jepha says fondly, breathless, and Branden figures he can get used to that, as long as he's also getting used to Jepha kissing him deep and slow and always.