Fic: About A Girl (2/2)
Part the first
They planned to have a couple of rehearsals before heading to LA for the KROQ gig, and meet at the practice space as scheduled. Ryan, Spencer, and Bren do, at least. Brent is late. When a half-hour has passed with no word, Bren calls his parents' place; she knows he was going with them for the big family vacation, but they should have been back from that last week. When Mrs. Wilson picks up, she tells Bren that Brent just left for a camping trip with Missy.
"Camping?"
"Yes, sweetie. They're driving up to Sun Valley. He said he wanted some private time. Some quiet. He took his cell phone, just in case, but you know what reception's like in the mountains."
"Um, thanks. I'll give him a call."
She hangs up and looks at Ryan and Spencer. "She. I can't. He's..."
Spencer turns away, dialing Brent.
"Hey, man. Where are--No, seriously, we've got that LA thing--You've had four weeks off, why are you--fine, fine, FINE. Fuck us all, then. You couldn't have told us before now? Fuck you! Don't come back, then."
Spencer snaps his phone closed, and Bren can see his fingers tightening on it, the aborted move to throw it.
"He's not coming."
"What?" That's Ryan, his voice for once not a monotone.
"You heard me. He's not coming. We need to find another bassist."
Bren wants to suggest Jon as their temporary bassist, every fiber of her being screams for it, but she feels like she can't be the one to make that suggestion. Really, "Hey guys, why don't we get the guy I was sleeping with to take Brent's place," just seems like a poor conversation starter.
She doesn't have to, though. When they call Pete in a panic, he says, "Jon Walker." It's quite clear; there's nothing wrong with the speakerphone.
Spencer, who had been pacing, goes utterly still. He and Ryan have one of their brain-twin silent conversations, which usually makes Bren crazy but today seems like a welcome sign of normalcy, and then Ryan says, "Okay. Okay, can you get the paperwork started?"
Then it's Spencer and Pete talking about Brent's obligations and contracts and suggestions for the rest of the summer's plans, and Bren lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
In the end, they use Bren's cell on speakerphone. Bren has a moment to wish she'd insisted on speaking to Jon first when he answers, "You can't go more than twelve hours without a fix now? You are addicted to me, Urie."
Spencer chokes on a laugh, but Ryan's mouth tightens.
"Jonathan Jacob Walker, I'll thank you not share my dirty secrets with my band members. Spencer is not going to let me live this down."
"Sorry, sorry. What's up? I wasn't expecting to hear from you until tomorrow for the after-prom report."
Bren grins. "I want pictures, JWalk. Pictures of you in a tux, pictures of you pinning a corsage to Cassie's bosom."
"To her dress. Pinning flowers to her boob might hurt."
Spencer laughs out loud at that.
"You know what I meant."
"Yeah. Anyway. I hear the guys in the background. What's up?"
So Jon flies to Vegas the next morning, and instead of cooing over the photos (What? Bren likes Cassie, and she's pretty sure they're gorgeous in their formal finery) Bren and Jon and Ryan spend the next day under Spencer's watchful eye, going over their songs, shifting things to Bren when Jon isn't sure he'll get it in time, taking his word when he says he's got other parts. Jon stays at the Smiths', and they're so busy practicing and packing up and getting to L.A. that she and Jon don't have time to do so much as talk alone until after the KROQ gig is over. He's sprawled on the sofa in the green room when she finds him.
"We were awesome out there." She allows herself to collapse half on the sofa, half on him.
"You think?"
"Mm-hm." It's not that she thinks they were perfect. There's plenty of room for improvement. But for learning the set in less than two days, Jon had done a pretty solid job, and there was something about the way they'd all played together that made her think that he could maybe adapt to the changes she and Ryan have been wanting to make, changes that Brent had been reluctant to attempt. She hasn't talked to Ryan or Spencer about it yet, but she has a feeling they'll agree. She doesn't want to audition other bassists; Jon fits.
She says as much, putting her thoughts out for him before she's really had a chance to organize them. "It was right with you out there. You could be our bassist."
Jon sits up. "Bren..."
"Do you want to be in a band again? I know the contract Pete gave you was short-term, and you were thinking you'd go back to school in the fall. But... would you stay, if we asked?"
"If it's for the right reasons. Not just because you need a bassist and I'm convenient. If it works." Bren waits, because she knows he's got more to say. "If Ryan and Spencer agree, and it's not just because you want me here."
Bren sorta expected that. She takes a deep breath.
"Um, about that." She fidgets a little, pushes herself upright. Another deep breath, then she forces herself to speak. "I do want you here, and I don't know if it's an issue for you or not, if you're back with Cassie or what, and it's not that I don't want you, I do. But I was thinking that if we do this, if you want to become part of the band, maybe we should put that side of things on hold. Not forever. Just for now. So that Ryan and Spencer can see that it's not clouding the issue. So they can see that you're here for real, and nothing that happens or doesn't happen off stage makes a difference."
Bren is out of breath, and doesn't know whether she wishes she'd strangled on the words or kept talking. She doesn't want to look at Jon now that she's blurted everything out; she's not sure if she's afraid he's annoyed with her presumption or amused by the idea that she expected him to keep wanting her.
Jon tugs her back down into his lap.
"Breathe, Bren." He waits until she settles with her back against his chest before he continues. "I won't lie: I like having sex with you, and I want to be part of your band. I'm willing to hold off on one to gain the other. I like hanging out and playing with you, all of you guys, in any case. So I want you tell me if you're sure that's what you want."
"Absolutely." She bites her lip, then, "I'd understand if you wanted to see other people while we work this out."
"We'll worry about that later if we need to. I can wait. I just want to be sure you know what you're doing."
"I've waited longer, wished harder for things I'll never have. I can handle waiting for you if it means we get you full-time."
Jon tilts her head and presses his thumb to her lip. Bren isn't sure what he sees in her expression, but whatever it is convinces him.
"Okay. We'll show Ryan and Spencer how awesome we can be."
They're still there, curled against each other, kicking around ideas about changing the bassline in Camisado when Ryan and Spencer come looking to tell them the bus is ready to pull out.
They move forward. Bob and Scott set up a string of summer festivals before Panic start their very first headlining tour (small venues, but whatever; they'll be the main act), and Panic-with-JWalk-at-bass goes over pretty smoothly with the crowd. There are a few awkward moments at merch tables and signings, but it could have gone worse. Way worse.
If she compares it to the strain that Brent's distance had put on them, things are better, way better than they were before. And musically it's awesome, because having Jon there allows Bren the freedom to do some things she hadn't been able to do before, tied to a keyboard.
The tour moves smoothly enough, but Bren feels like she's in a curious limbo between hope and reality, all of it centered on the bassist situation. Ryan and Spencer are friendly enough with Jon, with no obvious barriers, and Bren proceeds with her normal no-personal-space attitude, but she makes an effort not to get too comfortable with Jon, especially when Ry and Spencer are around. The few times one or both find Bren curled in Jon's lap, usually talking quietly, although Bren's been known to use him as a cushion when she's playing Halo - they go abnormally still. They don't say anything, which drives Bren slightly crazy. Fucking passive-aggressive bullshit. Jon, for his part, doesn't initiate anything, but he never pushes Bren away, onstage or off. Bren, for her part, tries not to be deliberately provocative. There are moments, moments she can't control, inadvertent things, like the afternoon of the Phoenix show. She just wants to cool off; the slide of ice and cool water on her skin feels heavenly. It's only when she feels the weight of three pairs of eyes on her that she realizes what she must look like. For one endless moment tension thrums between them, then Jon clears his throat and the spell is broken.
She'd forget about it, really she would, but Jon avoids her for the rest of the afternoon and that night. When she's half-asleep, she hears him climb into his bunk, and she debates slipping over to him, apologizing. She's reaching out to her curtain when the rustle of fabric and muffled sound reach her, and okay, Bren knows that swallowed moan. Jon, god. Jon's jerking off. Maybe she should ignore it; maybe she should be sort of appalled; she's not. It's... kind of hot. She wants to climb into his bunk even more now, but that's a really bad idea.
She bites her lip, debating. She listens, and above Jon's soft sounds, there's the tinny hum of Spencer's iPod and slow, even breathing from Ryan's bunk. Fuck it. She brushes a hand down her chest, pausing to pinch a nipple, which peaks and throbs accordingly, before sliding down between her legs. Just... there. She times her motion with the rhythm of Jon's, tries to control her breathing, rocks up into her hand, and when a heavy exhalation and whispered, "Br-fuck" drift out, Bren comes too.
Touring is pretty routine. Show. Travel. Show. In-store acoustic set. Show. Travel. The next few weeks are monotonous, with only the landscape outside the bus-windows changing.
One of things they haven't worked out is publicity. Most of that has been put on hold, or has been radio interviews that can be done individually or in pairs, so it's not a big deal, but they've got this photoshoot planned, it's been on the schedule for months. Jon is technically still just their temporary bassist -- and Bren's bitched at Spencer and Ryan about it, too; she wants them to offer Jon the contract that Pete faxed them when they first mentioned asking Jon to join permanently -- and as such he could probably beg off, but he goes too when Ryan asks.
Jon's pretty easy-going and affable, but Bren and Spencer have had a few good laughs watching the immoveable object of his disinterest in what he thinks is unnecessary window-dressing meet the irresistible force of Ryan's fascination with stage makeup and costumes. It's been hard enough getting Jon to wear something other than flipflops and a Wrigley t-shirt on stage, but Bren managed it. She counts herself lucky that they've mostly been playing festivals and outdoor venues that mean heavy costumes and too much makeup are impractical; when Jon agreed to wear a button-down and to allow Ryan to put eyeliner on him, she figured it was a win, and didn't push any further.
The stylist at this photoshoot has definite Ideas, though, and when Jon acquiesces, Bren can tell from the spark in Ryan's eye that it's the beginning of the end of the bare-essentials look for them. The theme is sort of faux-Victorian, with lots of ruffles and heavy fabrics. Bren takes a few minutes to curse Ryan - because she knows there's no way the photographer just happened to come up with a theme that so identically matches the shit Ross has been kicking around for their stage show - and his creative genius when an assistant holds up a corset, but she struggles into it obediently. Actually, she decides, it doesn't look too bad. Tightened, her waist smaller, the puff of the skirt at her hip makes her ass look natural, not like the bubble-butt it appears in jeans, and it gives her honest-to-god cleavage. She ponders the purchase of similar lingerie but discards it: too hot when they're not in an air-conditioned studio or set, and too restrictive to do anything more than move sedately.
The three of them have done enough of these, and Jon's practiced enough with his own camera, that the shoot itself goes easily enough. They're arranged on a couple of settees, and then rolls of film worth of pictures are taken: pictures of them individually, then all together, standing, sitting, draped over each other in various different poses. At some point, Jon edges back to the edge of the set and starts talking with one of the PAs and watches as the Bren poses, seated, with Ryan and Spencer standing behind her, reaching into each other's space to rest a (possessive) hand on her shoulders. Bren leans back into their touch, because she enjoys it, because she can, because she knows that whatever the photographer and stylist are going for with this, the pose is real: Ryan and Spencer always have her back. They twist and stand and smile and pout as directed, until eventually the photographer tells Jon to rejoin them for one final set of group photos. Later, looking at the proofs, Bren decides her favorite picture is the one with her sitting between Jon and Spencer, Ryan looming behind her. Her arm is around Spencer, Ryan’s hand on it and his shoulder, Jon’s hand in hers. It feels right, the four of them connected that way.
There's an impromptu afterparty with fans that stayed late that night. Bren chats with Amanda for a while, but she feels slightly intimidated by her still, and when she escapes to refill her drink (it really feels like that) she looks around for her guys. She's not clear where Ryan and Spencer are; Ryan still avoids alcohol more often than not, but he and Spence had been in the midst of what appeared to be serious conversation before the liquor appeared. Jon, when she finally spies him, is leaning against the wall, sipping at a beer, nodding affably at whatever the blonde talking at him is saying. The woman leans closer, her body language clear, and Bren decides she really doesn't need to watch.
She's still awake, flipping channels aimlessly, when Jon comes back to the bus. He's not mussed any more than usual, and he definitely isn't giving off the subtle but unmistakable got-laid vibe he usually does after sex.
"Hey."
"Hey. You left early."
"Not really feeling it tonight. You didn't have to leave early." You didn't have to come back; I can't ask you not to pick up right now. It wouldn't be fair.
"I know."
Bren finally settles on a re-broadcast of The Colbert Report, but somehow the quiet between them is not quite as easy as usual. Bren doesn't actually look over, but she can feel Jon watching her, and she wonders what's on his mind, can only hope that it's not that he's tired of waiting for Ryan and Spencer to come to a decision, or that he wants to leave them. He remains silent until the applause for Colbert's guest wanes and the commercial break starts, when he asks, "Ryan and Spencer come back?"
"No. I'm not sure where they went."
Jon nods, and she can see him hesitate. He clearly has something to say.
"You could have what you want."
"Jon..."
"Just, you don't see it. But you could."
Bren closes her eyes and presses herself back into the cushions.
"Please just let it go, Jon."
"Okay." He kisses her forehead and pushes off the sofa and heads for his bunk.
They're in the green room, killing time before the doors open, when Ryan brings it up. He starts out serious and professional, rambling through a speech about missing pieces and things fitting together when Spencer finally takes pity on him.
"We want you to join the band. You in?"
It's just that easy.
There isn't a press conference or anything. They all sign the paperwork and fax copies to Pete and Bob, and then they do their show. Bren's cheeks hurt, she smiles so wide when she introduces Jon as part of her band. There's some champagne and a lot of ringing of phones and congratulations and back-slapping afterward. Bren sleeps soundly that night, for what is maybe the first time in a month.
They add Jon's name to their myspace page, and that post earns over a thousand hits, but nothing changes, not really, not on a practical level.
Jon is however, required to attend their next interview, and he is the focus of the conversation and questions. Bren welcomes the distraction from the standard interview agenda, and she's amused by the equanimity -- aided by a joint she saw him sharing with Ryan -- when it comes to answering questions that are really a bit invasive and rude.
No, he hadn't felt like a fifth wheel while he was temporary; he was just glad it had worked out for all of them.
He liked Brent just fine; he wished him well.
Yes, Tom had encouraged him, even though he had broken with the FBR family.
All in all, she should have been expecting it when the conversation shifted.
"Rumor has it that you were at your girlfriend's senior prom when Panic called you. How did that go, and how does she feel about you being on the road?" Bren practically vibrates in her spot next to Spencer, she's so curious to hear Jon's response.
"I was getting ready to go to prom when these guys called, and I agreed to fly out to Vegas the next day. Cassie was fine with it. She's going away to college, and I'd been away, either teching for The Academy or at school, so we agreed it was better to step back before our relationship got uncomfortable and ended badly."
And that... is remarkably mature. Bren takes a moment to ponder whether she could be so smart. She thinks not, not when it comes to Jon.
"So you're single?"
"Ah, sort of. There's somebody I'm interested in, but we've been trying to see how it would work within the frame of being with the band and touring, if it'd be feasible."
Ryan shifts abruptly, jostling Bren and Jon both.
"So, I know you guys don't want to talk about Brent, but I have to ask you, Bren, is it weird, having Jon there in his place, since he was the one who introduced you to Ryan and Spencer?"
"Yes and no. I mean, I miss him, because we were pretty good friends before the band got started. But Jon's awesome." She grins as she says it.
"Since Jon was gracious enough to answer my question, I'll try it on you. Are you dating anyone, or are you single?"
Bren has no idea what makes her say it, but, yes, that's her voice, "Um, I'm not seeing anyone. I don't know, it's weird when you're in a band and you're touring, it's not like you can make advanced plans for a "date", you know? And my family was so strict, and then I was so busy working and with school and the band before we got signed and started touring, that I just haven't really dated. But you know, sometimes that's fine. Women in bands can get a reputation pretty easily, so..."
The journalist, a youngish woman who is clearly more interested in gossip than a frank discussion of gender politics, steers the interrogation to Ryan, who starts talking about relationship metaphors and ends up discussing the new stage set-up and the Lucent Dossier dancers.
It's not a big deal, the no-dating thing. Not to Bren. There have always been more important things to worry about. But apparently it is to Jon, because that night after the show, after waving goodbye to Ryan and Spence, who are off to a club to see a band Ryan's been myspace stalking, Bren gets back to the bus to find Jon sitting in the kitchenette, a candle in the middle of the table and take-away containers spread out in front of him.
"What's this?"
"Dinner. And a movie." Jon waves at the lounge.
"Is this... What is this?"
"We sorta did it backwards. Pretend this is our first date."
It is, really, unless you count parties on buses or group breakfasts at diners, but Bren's not going to point that out. She settles herself at the table, opens a carton and forks vegetable pakora out onto their plates.
It turns out that Jon picked Lady and the Tramp for the movie-viewing portion of their date; Bren appreciates the gesture, even though it's not one of her favorite Disney movies. When the credits start rolling, she tells him she wouldn't mind sharing a single spaghetti strand with him, and she's expecting him to make a similarly light-hearted promise, but all he says is, "I won't break your heart."
And Bren, she expects Jon to make a move, to kiss her, to do something other than hold her companionably where she's sprawled across his lap, but he doesn't. When the credits are through and it's silent, she stays where she is, enjoying the weight of his hand on her side and the knowledge that no matter what, he'll be there tomorrow. She's comfortable and drowsy, listening to hum of DVD player, and she's nearly asleep when Jon urges her up to her feet and steers her to her out of the lounge. He presses a kiss to her chin and watches her slide bonelessly into her bunk, waiting until she's settled to brace his foot on the edge of her bunk to climb into his own. Bren blinks in surprise, shaking off her exhaustion. Yeah, it's been a long day, but she expected more than that. A goodnight kiss that was a real kiss, at the very least. When she says as much, Jon laughs, "It's a first date! What kind of guy would I be if I expected you to put out?"
"Maybe I expected to, Jon Walker." She smiles sleepily. "But it's too late now. I'd just fall asleep on you."
"I'm okay with that." Jon hops down and crowds her into the corner. They wriggle around and readjust, removing jeans and putting glasses where they won't be broken. Jon's arm is a heavy weight over her side, his nose pressed to her neck as he whispers, "So, does this count as third base, since your pants are off?"
Bren hiccups a laugh. "It might, Jon Walker. We'll consult expert dating consultants in the morning to be sure."
"If it does, then I fully expect you to testify that it was your idea." Jon's voice is slow and low, like he's just barely keeping himself from sliding into slumber.
"Dork. Sleep. We'll talk about base-running tomorrow."
The hum of the engine and the bus's tires on pavement wake Bren. Jon's pressed to her back still, half hard against her ass, his breath heavy and warm against her skin. She settles back firmly against him, and Jon hums against her neck. "Mm, missed this. Missed you." Bren runs her hand down his arm where it's slung over her waist, threads her fingers with his and tightens them before turning and facing him.
"I tried not to think about it when I was back in Chicago, because it wasn't supposed to be a thing. I didn't think you wanted it to be."
"Yeah?" She combs her fingers through his hair. When Jon tugs her closer, his hand resting on the small of her back, she leans into him, props a knee over his hip.
"Nothing was the same. I missed singing Jasmine's part in A Whole New World." Bren smiles, and Jon kisses it. "Hey, no laughing, you know you love my falsetto." His lips land on her cheek. "I missed acoustic guitar battles." On her chin. "Having a Bren-sized object in my personal space." Now they're on her lips, and Bren's opening up for the smooth slide of Jon's tongue against hers.
"Yeah?" She's pretty much incapable of anymore speech than that, but she makes up for it by curling her other hand into the front of Jon's boxers and stroking him with the same rhythm he's using on her mouth.
"Mm-huh, yeah." There's no more talking for a while, just the slide of lips and tongue, and hands under shirts and shorts, pushing fabric out of the way.
Eventually Bren decides that as much as she's enjoying this, she wants more, and she rolls over, groping for a condom before she remembers she doesn't have any, didn't buy any. She whimpers pitifully. This is what she gets for trying to be good, to avoid temptation.
"Fuck. Jon. I don't..."
He moved with her, and he's aligned to her back now, his cock sliding between her legs; Bren's breath catches even as her hips push back. Every nerve is strung tight at the knowledge that it'll just take one little motion to have him inside.
She knows it's not the smartest thing she's ever done, but Bren's impulses have generally worked for her, so. She turns her head, catches Jon's lips.
"Have you--Did you--? While you were in Chicago?"
"With Cassie, before we decided we were done. Otherwise, no. And with her, and before even, I mean, never without a condom."
"We could. I mean, if we're both clean, and I take birth control. Just--"
Jon's already there, tipping her over the rest of the way, onto her belly, tilting her hips and pushing in in a smooth motion, not stopping until he's all the way in.
"Fu-uck, Bren," Jon's groan is muffled against her shoulder.
Arms braced against her pillow, Bren props her torso up. Once she's balanced, she drags Jon's hand to her lips, kisses the palm, then sucks his fingers into her mouth and pushes back into him.
Jon moves slow and deliberate, whispering, "Yeah, like that. Missed you, missed this. Love having you like this." She's only half paying attention when she hears him ask, "Did you?" and she's not sure if he's asking if she missed him or something else. He continues, phrases puffed out with heavy breaths against her cheek, her neck, her ear, "I know you did something to make Spencer and Ryan notice, something to make them jealous. If you could see the way they look at you." She sucks harder at his fingers. He pulls them from her mouth and slips them down her body, not changing the steady motion of his hips, even when his fingers press where she's stretched around him, then up to feather against her clit and back down. She drops her forehead to his forearm and stifles a moan. She's getting direct stimulation of every spot that needs it, and she wants to come, wants that mindless release, but Jon's whispering in her ear still.
"You should see it. I'm gonna take a photo. Sometimes, when you're not looking at them, they look like they could eat you alive." His words are accompanied by a shorter, harder thrust, and she bites her lip to stifle the sounds that are bubbling up in her throat. "I'd like to see that: both of them kissing you, fucking you." That earns a full-body shudder. "I want to see Spencer's hands holding you while Ryan's inside you."
Bren can't stop it, not with the picture he's painting with his words to go along with what Jon's doing to her body. She sets her teeth in Jon's arm to muffle the scream she can feel building and comes, her ass pushing back against Jon while she clenches around him. His arms tense around her and his hips jerk into her, but he holds himself still until she's limp beneath him.
"You like that, don't you?" Jon starts moving at the same time he speaks again. "And when Ryan's done, Spencer would just manhandle you into whatever position he wanted and take you while I watched, while Ryan recovered." And Bren's never thought of it like that, all of them together, but fuck, yes. Her entire body jolts at the thought. Jon feels it; she can tell by the shape of his lips at her neck that he's smiling, and his teeth are sharp when bites her ear lightly and finishes, "You'd like that. You like the idea of all three of us. Of being watched, of putting on a performance, don't you?"
She pushes back against him in answer.
"When Spencer's done - and I know he wouldn't let you go if you hadn't come yet, he's just that polite, that thorough - and you're wet from them, tired, and you think you're fucked out? That's when it'd be my turn." Jon thrusts faster, deeper, and Bren arches back into it. "And because nothing can possibly feel as good as it does like this, I wouldn't wear a condom. I want to feel it, how soft and tight and hot they made you. Want you ride me, come around me until you can't anymore, can't take anymore, and when you think you've reached your limit, push you past it." His voice is nothing but a rasping mutter now, and Bren can feel from the tremor in his arms and the way Jon's grinding his cock into her that he's close.
Bren pushes up onto her elbows, and Jon lets her take all of his weight, holds her hips. His movement now is rough, short, sharp thrusts. Bren turns her head to reach his mouth, and it's not comfortable to kiss him. It's not even a kiss, really, just open mouths touching, exchanging stuttering breath.
Jon's stream of talk degenerates to little more than "yeah" and "like that" and her name. Bren manages to wedge one hand down between her legs, and then, "Jon, please."
With a groan that somehow twists into a whine, Jon jerks into her. Bren feels the wet pulse of him coming inside her, the way his grip on her hips tightens. She hopes it'll bruise, even as she's coming.
They're still lying there, half wrecked, breathing only beginning to even, when Jon says, "We could, you know."
Bren isn't sure what to say. It's not that she doesn't want that, but...
"Think about it." Jon kisses her again, then he's pulling out and lift-turning her so they can find a comfortable position to fall back asleep.
Bren thinks about it. It's pretty much all she can think about, especially after she stumbles out to the kitchenette the next morning clad in a pair of boxers and Jon's t-shirt. Spencer eyes her, lingering on the "Wrigley Field" stretched across her chest. Normally she wouldn't think anything of it, but now that Jon said something, she can feel herself tense, feels her stomach tighten, and she knows without looking that her nipples have, too. She mumbles a good-morning at him before reaching for a mug and the coffee pot. Ryan's already got it, though.
He frowns at her. "Fuckers who wake bandmembers with their antics don't deserve coffee." And normally Bren might attribute the sharpness in his voice to his insomnia -- Ryan doesn't sleep well most nights, and she really is sorry if they woke him -- but with Jon's words still rattling around her brain, she thinks it's possible that there's more than exhaustion underlying his temper.
"Ryan."
Whatever Ryan hears in Spencer's tone is enough, because he relinquishes the coffee. Bren fills her mug and heads back to her bunk to think.
"You really think...?"
"Absolutely."
"And you don't, you know, mind?"
Jon's fingers dig into day-old bruises.
"No."
It can't be on the bus; if she and Jon are going to do this, going to seduce Ryan and Spencer, it's going to be on a hotel night. Bren pretty much decides that right away. For logistical reasons, and also because if this ends badly, they still have to be able to live on the bus together, and she doesn't think she'll be able to stay in the place where her life implodes.
The four of them are playing PS3 in Spencer and Ryan's hotel room when she plops herself down into Jon's lap. He keeps playing at first, despite his complaints of a handicap. Then she kisses him, and his controller ends up on the mattress next to them.
When Bren finally lifts her head and looks over, Ryan's already shutting the game down, withdrawing, but Spencer snipes, "Jesus, you two. Get a room. Preferably not mine."
He reaches out and gives Bren what he probably means to be a playful shove, but when his hand lands on her shoulder, she anchors it there.
Jon focuses on it, and his hands flex at her waist. She lets her weight settle more heavily against him before looking up at Spencer. One of Jon's hands moves to cover Spencer's, and there's a tense moment while Spencer searches Jon's expression. Ryan's already made it to the door when Spencer speaks.
"Ryan? Wait."
Bren knows how interviews go. There's always the fake-polite greeting, and a couple of questions about the current tour, and then the journalist always - always - asks about being the only girl in the band, about dating, if she's ever dated one of the guys. Bets are still made, but no matter who guesses right, they all win.
Bren's got an honest answer, one that nips the interviewers' interest in the bud every time. They're all squashed together on a sofa -- did the journalist not get the memo that there were four of them? -- and she wriggles closer to Spencer, feels his hands brace her hips, feels his fingertips fall into place where Jon's left marks, feels him squeeze them. She lets her hand flutter over her collarbone, where her t-shirt hides the bruise Ryan's teeth left, and she smiles.
"I love all three of them. How could I choose?"
Fin.
Master post
They planned to have a couple of rehearsals before heading to LA for the KROQ gig, and meet at the practice space as scheduled. Ryan, Spencer, and Bren do, at least. Brent is late. When a half-hour has passed with no word, Bren calls his parents' place; she knows he was going with them for the big family vacation, but they should have been back from that last week. When Mrs. Wilson picks up, she tells Bren that Brent just left for a camping trip with Missy.
"Camping?"
"Yes, sweetie. They're driving up to Sun Valley. He said he wanted some private time. Some quiet. He took his cell phone, just in case, but you know what reception's like in the mountains."
"Um, thanks. I'll give him a call."
She hangs up and looks at Ryan and Spencer. "She. I can't. He's..."
Spencer turns away, dialing Brent.
"Hey, man. Where are--No, seriously, we've got that LA thing--You've had four weeks off, why are you--fine, fine, FINE. Fuck us all, then. You couldn't have told us before now? Fuck you! Don't come back, then."
Spencer snaps his phone closed, and Bren can see his fingers tightening on it, the aborted move to throw it.
"He's not coming."
"What?" That's Ryan, his voice for once not a monotone.
"You heard me. He's not coming. We need to find another bassist."
Bren wants to suggest Jon as their temporary bassist, every fiber of her being screams for it, but she feels like she can't be the one to make that suggestion. Really, "Hey guys, why don't we get the guy I was sleeping with to take Brent's place," just seems like a poor conversation starter.
She doesn't have to, though. When they call Pete in a panic, he says, "Jon Walker." It's quite clear; there's nothing wrong with the speakerphone.
Spencer, who had been pacing, goes utterly still. He and Ryan have one of their brain-twin silent conversations, which usually makes Bren crazy but today seems like a welcome sign of normalcy, and then Ryan says, "Okay. Okay, can you get the paperwork started?"
Then it's Spencer and Pete talking about Brent's obligations and contracts and suggestions for the rest of the summer's plans, and Bren lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
In the end, they use Bren's cell on speakerphone. Bren has a moment to wish she'd insisted on speaking to Jon first when he answers, "You can't go more than twelve hours without a fix now? You are addicted to me, Urie."
Spencer chokes on a laugh, but Ryan's mouth tightens.
"Jonathan Jacob Walker, I'll thank you not share my dirty secrets with my band members. Spencer is not going to let me live this down."
"Sorry, sorry. What's up? I wasn't expecting to hear from you until tomorrow for the after-prom report."
Bren grins. "I want pictures, JWalk. Pictures of you in a tux, pictures of you pinning a corsage to Cassie's bosom."
"To her dress. Pinning flowers to her boob might hurt."
Spencer laughs out loud at that.
"You know what I meant."
"Yeah. Anyway. I hear the guys in the background. What's up?"
So Jon flies to Vegas the next morning, and instead of cooing over the photos (What? Bren likes Cassie, and she's pretty sure they're gorgeous in their formal finery) Bren and Jon and Ryan spend the next day under Spencer's watchful eye, going over their songs, shifting things to Bren when Jon isn't sure he'll get it in time, taking his word when he says he's got other parts. Jon stays at the Smiths', and they're so busy practicing and packing up and getting to L.A. that she and Jon don't have time to do so much as talk alone until after the KROQ gig is over. He's sprawled on the sofa in the green room when she finds him.
"We were awesome out there." She allows herself to collapse half on the sofa, half on him.
"You think?"
"Mm-hm." It's not that she thinks they were perfect. There's plenty of room for improvement. But for learning the set in less than two days, Jon had done a pretty solid job, and there was something about the way they'd all played together that made her think that he could maybe adapt to the changes she and Ryan have been wanting to make, changes that Brent had been reluctant to attempt. She hasn't talked to Ryan or Spencer about it yet, but she has a feeling they'll agree. She doesn't want to audition other bassists; Jon fits.
She says as much, putting her thoughts out for him before she's really had a chance to organize them. "It was right with you out there. You could be our bassist."
Jon sits up. "Bren..."
"Do you want to be in a band again? I know the contract Pete gave you was short-term, and you were thinking you'd go back to school in the fall. But... would you stay, if we asked?"
"If it's for the right reasons. Not just because you need a bassist and I'm convenient. If it works." Bren waits, because she knows he's got more to say. "If Ryan and Spencer agree, and it's not just because you want me here."
Bren sorta expected that. She takes a deep breath.
"Um, about that." She fidgets a little, pushes herself upright. Another deep breath, then she forces herself to speak. "I do want you here, and I don't know if it's an issue for you or not, if you're back with Cassie or what, and it's not that I don't want you, I do. But I was thinking that if we do this, if you want to become part of the band, maybe we should put that side of things on hold. Not forever. Just for now. So that Ryan and Spencer can see that it's not clouding the issue. So they can see that you're here for real, and nothing that happens or doesn't happen off stage makes a difference."
Bren is out of breath, and doesn't know whether she wishes she'd strangled on the words or kept talking. She doesn't want to look at Jon now that she's blurted everything out; she's not sure if she's afraid he's annoyed with her presumption or amused by the idea that she expected him to keep wanting her.
Jon tugs her back down into his lap.
"Breathe, Bren." He waits until she settles with her back against his chest before he continues. "I won't lie: I like having sex with you, and I want to be part of your band. I'm willing to hold off on one to gain the other. I like hanging out and playing with you, all of you guys, in any case. So I want you tell me if you're sure that's what you want."
"Absolutely." She bites her lip, then, "I'd understand if you wanted to see other people while we work this out."
"We'll worry about that later if we need to. I can wait. I just want to be sure you know what you're doing."
"I've waited longer, wished harder for things I'll never have. I can handle waiting for you if it means we get you full-time."
Jon tilts her head and presses his thumb to her lip. Bren isn't sure what he sees in her expression, but whatever it is convinces him.
"Okay. We'll show Ryan and Spencer how awesome we can be."
They're still there, curled against each other, kicking around ideas about changing the bassline in Camisado when Ryan and Spencer come looking to tell them the bus is ready to pull out.
They move forward. Bob and Scott set up a string of summer festivals before Panic start their very first headlining tour (small venues, but whatever; they'll be the main act), and Panic-with-JWalk-at-bass goes over pretty smoothly with the crowd. There are a few awkward moments at merch tables and signings, but it could have gone worse. Way worse.
If she compares it to the strain that Brent's distance had put on them, things are better, way better than they were before. And musically it's awesome, because having Jon there allows Bren the freedom to do some things she hadn't been able to do before, tied to a keyboard.
The tour moves smoothly enough, but Bren feels like she's in a curious limbo between hope and reality, all of it centered on the bassist situation. Ryan and Spencer are friendly enough with Jon, with no obvious barriers, and Bren proceeds with her normal no-personal-space attitude, but she makes an effort not to get too comfortable with Jon, especially when Ry and Spencer are around. The few times one or both find Bren curled in Jon's lap, usually talking quietly, although Bren's been known to use him as a cushion when she's playing Halo - they go abnormally still. They don't say anything, which drives Bren slightly crazy. Fucking passive-aggressive bullshit. Jon, for his part, doesn't initiate anything, but he never pushes Bren away, onstage or off. Bren, for her part, tries not to be deliberately provocative. There are moments, moments she can't control, inadvertent things, like the afternoon of the Phoenix show. She just wants to cool off; the slide of ice and cool water on her skin feels heavenly. It's only when she feels the weight of three pairs of eyes on her that she realizes what she must look like. For one endless moment tension thrums between them, then Jon clears his throat and the spell is broken.
She'd forget about it, really she would, but Jon avoids her for the rest of the afternoon and that night. When she's half-asleep, she hears him climb into his bunk, and she debates slipping over to him, apologizing. She's reaching out to her curtain when the rustle of fabric and muffled sound reach her, and okay, Bren knows that swallowed moan. Jon, god. Jon's jerking off. Maybe she should ignore it; maybe she should be sort of appalled; she's not. It's... kind of hot. She wants to climb into his bunk even more now, but that's a really bad idea.
She bites her lip, debating. She listens, and above Jon's soft sounds, there's the tinny hum of Spencer's iPod and slow, even breathing from Ryan's bunk. Fuck it. She brushes a hand down her chest, pausing to pinch a nipple, which peaks and throbs accordingly, before sliding down between her legs. Just... there. She times her motion with the rhythm of Jon's, tries to control her breathing, rocks up into her hand, and when a heavy exhalation and whispered, "Br-fuck" drift out, Bren comes too.
Touring is pretty routine. Show. Travel. Show. In-store acoustic set. Show. Travel. The next few weeks are monotonous, with only the landscape outside the bus-windows changing.
One of things they haven't worked out is publicity. Most of that has been put on hold, or has been radio interviews that can be done individually or in pairs, so it's not a big deal, but they've got this photoshoot planned, it's been on the schedule for months. Jon is technically still just their temporary bassist -- and Bren's bitched at Spencer and Ryan about it, too; she wants them to offer Jon the contract that Pete faxed them when they first mentioned asking Jon to join permanently -- and as such he could probably beg off, but he goes too when Ryan asks.
Jon's pretty easy-going and affable, but Bren and Spencer have had a few good laughs watching the immoveable object of his disinterest in what he thinks is unnecessary window-dressing meet the irresistible force of Ryan's fascination with stage makeup and costumes. It's been hard enough getting Jon to wear something other than flipflops and a Wrigley t-shirt on stage, but Bren managed it. She counts herself lucky that they've mostly been playing festivals and outdoor venues that mean heavy costumes and too much makeup are impractical; when Jon agreed to wear a button-down and to allow Ryan to put eyeliner on him, she figured it was a win, and didn't push any further.
The stylist at this photoshoot has definite Ideas, though, and when Jon acquiesces, Bren can tell from the spark in Ryan's eye that it's the beginning of the end of the bare-essentials look for them. The theme is sort of faux-Victorian, with lots of ruffles and heavy fabrics. Bren takes a few minutes to curse Ryan - because she knows there's no way the photographer just happened to come up with a theme that so identically matches the shit Ross has been kicking around for their stage show - and his creative genius when an assistant holds up a corset, but she struggles into it obediently. Actually, she decides, it doesn't look too bad. Tightened, her waist smaller, the puff of the skirt at her hip makes her ass look natural, not like the bubble-butt it appears in jeans, and it gives her honest-to-god cleavage. She ponders the purchase of similar lingerie but discards it: too hot when they're not in an air-conditioned studio or set, and too restrictive to do anything more than move sedately.
The three of them have done enough of these, and Jon's practiced enough with his own camera, that the shoot itself goes easily enough. They're arranged on a couple of settees, and then rolls of film worth of pictures are taken: pictures of them individually, then all together, standing, sitting, draped over each other in various different poses. At some point, Jon edges back to the edge of the set and starts talking with one of the PAs and watches as the Bren poses, seated, with Ryan and Spencer standing behind her, reaching into each other's space to rest a (possessive) hand on her shoulders. Bren leans back into their touch, because she enjoys it, because she can, because she knows that whatever the photographer and stylist are going for with this, the pose is real: Ryan and Spencer always have her back. They twist and stand and smile and pout as directed, until eventually the photographer tells Jon to rejoin them for one final set of group photos. Later, looking at the proofs, Bren decides her favorite picture is the one with her sitting between Jon and Spencer, Ryan looming behind her. Her arm is around Spencer, Ryan’s hand on it and his shoulder, Jon’s hand in hers. It feels right, the four of them connected that way.
There's an impromptu afterparty with fans that stayed late that night. Bren chats with Amanda for a while, but she feels slightly intimidated by her still, and when she escapes to refill her drink (it really feels like that) she looks around for her guys. She's not clear where Ryan and Spencer are; Ryan still avoids alcohol more often than not, but he and Spence had been in the midst of what appeared to be serious conversation before the liquor appeared. Jon, when she finally spies him, is leaning against the wall, sipping at a beer, nodding affably at whatever the blonde talking at him is saying. The woman leans closer, her body language clear, and Bren decides she really doesn't need to watch.
She's still awake, flipping channels aimlessly, when Jon comes back to the bus. He's not mussed any more than usual, and he definitely isn't giving off the subtle but unmistakable got-laid vibe he usually does after sex.
"Hey."
"Hey. You left early."
"Not really feeling it tonight. You didn't have to leave early." You didn't have to come back; I can't ask you not to pick up right now. It wouldn't be fair.
"I know."
Bren finally settles on a re-broadcast of The Colbert Report, but somehow the quiet between them is not quite as easy as usual. Bren doesn't actually look over, but she can feel Jon watching her, and she wonders what's on his mind, can only hope that it's not that he's tired of waiting for Ryan and Spencer to come to a decision, or that he wants to leave them. He remains silent until the applause for Colbert's guest wanes and the commercial break starts, when he asks, "Ryan and Spencer come back?"
"No. I'm not sure where they went."
Jon nods, and she can see him hesitate. He clearly has something to say.
"You could have what you want."
"Jon..."
"Just, you don't see it. But you could."
Bren closes her eyes and presses herself back into the cushions.
"Please just let it go, Jon."
"Okay." He kisses her forehead and pushes off the sofa and heads for his bunk.
They're in the green room, killing time before the doors open, when Ryan brings it up. He starts out serious and professional, rambling through a speech about missing pieces and things fitting together when Spencer finally takes pity on him.
"We want you to join the band. You in?"
It's just that easy.
There isn't a press conference or anything. They all sign the paperwork and fax copies to Pete and Bob, and then they do their show. Bren's cheeks hurt, she smiles so wide when she introduces Jon as part of her band. There's some champagne and a lot of ringing of phones and congratulations and back-slapping afterward. Bren sleeps soundly that night, for what is maybe the first time in a month.
They add Jon's name to their myspace page, and that post earns over a thousand hits, but nothing changes, not really, not on a practical level.
Jon is however, required to attend their next interview, and he is the focus of the conversation and questions. Bren welcomes the distraction from the standard interview agenda, and she's amused by the equanimity -- aided by a joint she saw him sharing with Ryan -- when it comes to answering questions that are really a bit invasive and rude.
No, he hadn't felt like a fifth wheel while he was temporary; he was just glad it had worked out for all of them.
He liked Brent just fine; he wished him well.
Yes, Tom had encouraged him, even though he had broken with the FBR family.
All in all, she should have been expecting it when the conversation shifted.
"Rumor has it that you were at your girlfriend's senior prom when Panic called you. How did that go, and how does she feel about you being on the road?" Bren practically vibrates in her spot next to Spencer, she's so curious to hear Jon's response.
"I was getting ready to go to prom when these guys called, and I agreed to fly out to Vegas the next day. Cassie was fine with it. She's going away to college, and I'd been away, either teching for The Academy or at school, so we agreed it was better to step back before our relationship got uncomfortable and ended badly."
And that... is remarkably mature. Bren takes a moment to ponder whether she could be so smart. She thinks not, not when it comes to Jon.
"So you're single?"
"Ah, sort of. There's somebody I'm interested in, but we've been trying to see how it would work within the frame of being with the band and touring, if it'd be feasible."
Ryan shifts abruptly, jostling Bren and Jon both.
"So, I know you guys don't want to talk about Brent, but I have to ask you, Bren, is it weird, having Jon there in his place, since he was the one who introduced you to Ryan and Spencer?"
"Yes and no. I mean, I miss him, because we were pretty good friends before the band got started. But Jon's awesome." She grins as she says it.
"Since Jon was gracious enough to answer my question, I'll try it on you. Are you dating anyone, or are you single?"
Bren has no idea what makes her say it, but, yes, that's her voice, "Um, I'm not seeing anyone. I don't know, it's weird when you're in a band and you're touring, it's not like you can make advanced plans for a "date", you know? And my family was so strict, and then I was so busy working and with school and the band before we got signed and started touring, that I just haven't really dated. But you know, sometimes that's fine. Women in bands can get a reputation pretty easily, so..."
The journalist, a youngish woman who is clearly more interested in gossip than a frank discussion of gender politics, steers the interrogation to Ryan, who starts talking about relationship metaphors and ends up discussing the new stage set-up and the Lucent Dossier dancers.
It's not a big deal, the no-dating thing. Not to Bren. There have always been more important things to worry about. But apparently it is to Jon, because that night after the show, after waving goodbye to Ryan and Spence, who are off to a club to see a band Ryan's been myspace stalking, Bren gets back to the bus to find Jon sitting in the kitchenette, a candle in the middle of the table and take-away containers spread out in front of him.
"What's this?"
"Dinner. And a movie." Jon waves at the lounge.
"Is this... What is this?"
"We sorta did it backwards. Pretend this is our first date."
It is, really, unless you count parties on buses or group breakfasts at diners, but Bren's not going to point that out. She settles herself at the table, opens a carton and forks vegetable pakora out onto their plates.
It turns out that Jon picked Lady and the Tramp for the movie-viewing portion of their date; Bren appreciates the gesture, even though it's not one of her favorite Disney movies. When the credits start rolling, she tells him she wouldn't mind sharing a single spaghetti strand with him, and she's expecting him to make a similarly light-hearted promise, but all he says is, "I won't break your heart."
And Bren, she expects Jon to make a move, to kiss her, to do something other than hold her companionably where she's sprawled across his lap, but he doesn't. When the credits are through and it's silent, she stays where she is, enjoying the weight of his hand on her side and the knowledge that no matter what, he'll be there tomorrow. She's comfortable and drowsy, listening to hum of DVD player, and she's nearly asleep when Jon urges her up to her feet and steers her to her out of the lounge. He presses a kiss to her chin and watches her slide bonelessly into her bunk, waiting until she's settled to brace his foot on the edge of her bunk to climb into his own. Bren blinks in surprise, shaking off her exhaustion. Yeah, it's been a long day, but she expected more than that. A goodnight kiss that was a real kiss, at the very least. When she says as much, Jon laughs, "It's a first date! What kind of guy would I be if I expected you to put out?"
"Maybe I expected to, Jon Walker." She smiles sleepily. "But it's too late now. I'd just fall asleep on you."
"I'm okay with that." Jon hops down and crowds her into the corner. They wriggle around and readjust, removing jeans and putting glasses where they won't be broken. Jon's arm is a heavy weight over her side, his nose pressed to her neck as he whispers, "So, does this count as third base, since your pants are off?"
Bren hiccups a laugh. "It might, Jon Walker. We'll consult expert dating consultants in the morning to be sure."
"If it does, then I fully expect you to testify that it was your idea." Jon's voice is slow and low, like he's just barely keeping himself from sliding into slumber.
"Dork. Sleep. We'll talk about base-running tomorrow."
The hum of the engine and the bus's tires on pavement wake Bren. Jon's pressed to her back still, half hard against her ass, his breath heavy and warm against her skin. She settles back firmly against him, and Jon hums against her neck. "Mm, missed this. Missed you." Bren runs her hand down his arm where it's slung over her waist, threads her fingers with his and tightens them before turning and facing him.
"I tried not to think about it when I was back in Chicago, because it wasn't supposed to be a thing. I didn't think you wanted it to be."
"Yeah?" She combs her fingers through his hair. When Jon tugs her closer, his hand resting on the small of her back, she leans into him, props a knee over his hip.
"Nothing was the same. I missed singing Jasmine's part in A Whole New World." Bren smiles, and Jon kisses it. "Hey, no laughing, you know you love my falsetto." His lips land on her cheek. "I missed acoustic guitar battles." On her chin. "Having a Bren-sized object in my personal space." Now they're on her lips, and Bren's opening up for the smooth slide of Jon's tongue against hers.
"Yeah?" She's pretty much incapable of anymore speech than that, but she makes up for it by curling her other hand into the front of Jon's boxers and stroking him with the same rhythm he's using on her mouth.
"Mm-huh, yeah." There's no more talking for a while, just the slide of lips and tongue, and hands under shirts and shorts, pushing fabric out of the way.
Eventually Bren decides that as much as she's enjoying this, she wants more, and she rolls over, groping for a condom before she remembers she doesn't have any, didn't buy any. She whimpers pitifully. This is what she gets for trying to be good, to avoid temptation.
"Fuck. Jon. I don't..."
He moved with her, and he's aligned to her back now, his cock sliding between her legs; Bren's breath catches even as her hips push back. Every nerve is strung tight at the knowledge that it'll just take one little motion to have him inside.
She knows it's not the smartest thing she's ever done, but Bren's impulses have generally worked for her, so. She turns her head, catches Jon's lips.
"Have you--Did you--? While you were in Chicago?"
"With Cassie, before we decided we were done. Otherwise, no. And with her, and before even, I mean, never without a condom."
"We could. I mean, if we're both clean, and I take birth control. Just--"
Jon's already there, tipping her over the rest of the way, onto her belly, tilting her hips and pushing in in a smooth motion, not stopping until he's all the way in.
"Fu-uck, Bren," Jon's groan is muffled against her shoulder.
Arms braced against her pillow, Bren props her torso up. Once she's balanced, she drags Jon's hand to her lips, kisses the palm, then sucks his fingers into her mouth and pushes back into him.
Jon moves slow and deliberate, whispering, "Yeah, like that. Missed you, missed this. Love having you like this." She's only half paying attention when she hears him ask, "Did you?" and she's not sure if he's asking if she missed him or something else. He continues, phrases puffed out with heavy breaths against her cheek, her neck, her ear, "I know you did something to make Spencer and Ryan notice, something to make them jealous. If you could see the way they look at you." She sucks harder at his fingers. He pulls them from her mouth and slips them down her body, not changing the steady motion of his hips, even when his fingers press where she's stretched around him, then up to feather against her clit and back down. She drops her forehead to his forearm and stifles a moan. She's getting direct stimulation of every spot that needs it, and she wants to come, wants that mindless release, but Jon's whispering in her ear still.
"You should see it. I'm gonna take a photo. Sometimes, when you're not looking at them, they look like they could eat you alive." His words are accompanied by a shorter, harder thrust, and she bites her lip to stifle the sounds that are bubbling up in her throat. "I'd like to see that: both of them kissing you, fucking you." That earns a full-body shudder. "I want to see Spencer's hands holding you while Ryan's inside you."
Bren can't stop it, not with the picture he's painting with his words to go along with what Jon's doing to her body. She sets her teeth in Jon's arm to muffle the scream she can feel building and comes, her ass pushing back against Jon while she clenches around him. His arms tense around her and his hips jerk into her, but he holds himself still until she's limp beneath him.
"You like that, don't you?" Jon starts moving at the same time he speaks again. "And when Ryan's done, Spencer would just manhandle you into whatever position he wanted and take you while I watched, while Ryan recovered." And Bren's never thought of it like that, all of them together, but fuck, yes. Her entire body jolts at the thought. Jon feels it; she can tell by the shape of his lips at her neck that he's smiling, and his teeth are sharp when bites her ear lightly and finishes, "You'd like that. You like the idea of all three of us. Of being watched, of putting on a performance, don't you?"
She pushes back against him in answer.
"When Spencer's done - and I know he wouldn't let you go if you hadn't come yet, he's just that polite, that thorough - and you're wet from them, tired, and you think you're fucked out? That's when it'd be my turn." Jon thrusts faster, deeper, and Bren arches back into it. "And because nothing can possibly feel as good as it does like this, I wouldn't wear a condom. I want to feel it, how soft and tight and hot they made you. Want you ride me, come around me until you can't anymore, can't take anymore, and when you think you've reached your limit, push you past it." His voice is nothing but a rasping mutter now, and Bren can feel from the tremor in his arms and the way Jon's grinding his cock into her that he's close.
Bren pushes up onto her elbows, and Jon lets her take all of his weight, holds her hips. His movement now is rough, short, sharp thrusts. Bren turns her head to reach his mouth, and it's not comfortable to kiss him. It's not even a kiss, really, just open mouths touching, exchanging stuttering breath.
Jon's stream of talk degenerates to little more than "yeah" and "like that" and her name. Bren manages to wedge one hand down between her legs, and then, "Jon, please."
With a groan that somehow twists into a whine, Jon jerks into her. Bren feels the wet pulse of him coming inside her, the way his grip on her hips tightens. She hopes it'll bruise, even as she's coming.
They're still lying there, half wrecked, breathing only beginning to even, when Jon says, "We could, you know."
Bren isn't sure what to say. It's not that she doesn't want that, but...
"Think about it." Jon kisses her again, then he's pulling out and lift-turning her so they can find a comfortable position to fall back asleep.
Bren thinks about it. It's pretty much all she can think about, especially after she stumbles out to the kitchenette the next morning clad in a pair of boxers and Jon's t-shirt. Spencer eyes her, lingering on the "Wrigley Field" stretched across her chest. Normally she wouldn't think anything of it, but now that Jon said something, she can feel herself tense, feels her stomach tighten, and she knows without looking that her nipples have, too. She mumbles a good-morning at him before reaching for a mug and the coffee pot. Ryan's already got it, though.
He frowns at her. "Fuckers who wake bandmembers with their antics don't deserve coffee." And normally Bren might attribute the sharpness in his voice to his insomnia -- Ryan doesn't sleep well most nights, and she really is sorry if they woke him -- but with Jon's words still rattling around her brain, she thinks it's possible that there's more than exhaustion underlying his temper.
"Ryan."
Whatever Ryan hears in Spencer's tone is enough, because he relinquishes the coffee. Bren fills her mug and heads back to her bunk to think.
"You really think...?"
"Absolutely."
"And you don't, you know, mind?"
Jon's fingers dig into day-old bruises.
"No."
It can't be on the bus; if she and Jon are going to do this, going to seduce Ryan and Spencer, it's going to be on a hotel night. Bren pretty much decides that right away. For logistical reasons, and also because if this ends badly, they still have to be able to live on the bus together, and she doesn't think she'll be able to stay in the place where her life implodes.
The four of them are playing PS3 in Spencer and Ryan's hotel room when she plops herself down into Jon's lap. He keeps playing at first, despite his complaints of a handicap. Then she kisses him, and his controller ends up on the mattress next to them.
When Bren finally lifts her head and looks over, Ryan's already shutting the game down, withdrawing, but Spencer snipes, "Jesus, you two. Get a room. Preferably not mine."
He reaches out and gives Bren what he probably means to be a playful shove, but when his hand lands on her shoulder, she anchors it there.
Jon focuses on it, and his hands flex at her waist. She lets her weight settle more heavily against him before looking up at Spencer. One of Jon's hands moves to cover Spencer's, and there's a tense moment while Spencer searches Jon's expression. Ryan's already made it to the door when Spencer speaks.
"Ryan? Wait."
Bren knows how interviews go. There's always the fake-polite greeting, and a couple of questions about the current tour, and then the journalist always - always - asks about being the only girl in the band, about dating, if she's ever dated one of the guys. Bets are still made, but no matter who guesses right, they all win.
Bren's got an honest answer, one that nips the interviewers' interest in the bud every time. They're all squashed together on a sofa -- did the journalist not get the memo that there were four of them? -- and she wriggles closer to Spencer, feels his hands brace her hips, feels his fingertips fall into place where Jon's left marks, feels him squeeze them. She lets her hand flutter over her collarbone, where her t-shirt hides the bruise Ryan's teeth left, and she smiles.
"I love all three of them. How could I choose?"
Fin.
Master post