Breathe In
Breathe In
Set in the About A Girl 'verse; this out-take occurs early in Panic's career, after Nintendo Fusion but before Truckstops and Statelines.
Teen-rated, I suppose.
950 words of girl!Bren and Travis McCoy
Drug and alcohol use found herein.
Lies, damned lies all of it.
Beta'd by angela_snape and why_me_why_not; remaining mistakes are my own. Mainly this was written as backstory for something else girl!Bren-related that's brewing in my brain. And also because once upon a time I mentioned in a text that I wanted fic where Travie got Brendon high at a Decaydance/FBR get-together.
*
Ice cubes rattle when Bren shakes her glass. She finished her vodka cranberries a while ago, but she's trying to be sensible about this - she doesn't want to get drunk and ridiculous at her first Decaydance party ever, so she's limiting herself to one drink an hour. She guesses, by the state of everyone else in the room, that no one else has a similar self-imposed rule, except maybe Ryan. Brent's already sloppy drunk, stumbling over his words as he talks to Mike Carden. Spencer's smiling, a wide, loose smile that suggests that his tolerance for beer is even lower than Brent's. Andy doesn't seem to mind, though; he just nods when Spencer gestures.
The club is crowded with people, some Bren knows, a few she's sure she's met but whose names she can't recall, and a bunch she doesn't recognize at all.
Pete's over at the DJ booth, picking through CDs and albums. The beat changes; she listens, and laughs aloud when she realizes it's a mashup of The Beatles and Nine Inch Nails. Whoever came up with that is brilliant, she decides, and heads over, nodding politely when she leaves Patrick and Joe mid-sentence to find out who was the creative genius.
"Closer and Come Together? Was that your idea, Pete? Because if it is, I'd like to live in your brain."
Pete laughs and gestures at the man next to him. "I can't claim it. This is all Travie." He waves at the man next to him.
Bren knows who Travie is, of course, but they haven't actually met before. She waits until Travie's done playing with the board and extends a hand in his direction. "Brendon Urie."
Instead of shaking it, Travie just holds her hand in his for a moment. "Travis McCoy. It's good to finally meet you; I've been hearing a lot about you."
Bren blushes, and she's glad that the club's not brightly lit. Seriously, sometimes she hates her fair skin. This is a reaction she's going to have to get over.
"I swear, nothing Pete says about the tour shenanigans on Nintendo Fusion is true!"
"I'll take it with a grain of salt, then," Travie laughs. "Hey, man, you want to take over?" He offers the earphones, which were hanging around his neck, to Pete, and then with a, "You look like you need a refill," his hand is at the small of Bren's back and he's leading her to an unoccupied table in the corner.
Their conversation moves from remixes and mashups - Travie thinks Bren's kidding when she tells him she'd love to hear some Aerosmith cut with Cristina Aguilera, and maybe some Nirvana and Jay-Z, but she's totally not - to the best and worst movie soundtracks ever, and before Bren knows it, she's down to ice cubes again. She pops one into her mouth.
"You need another?"
"Nah, I'm good."
Travie nods lazily and takes a pull from his own glass.
"No, seriously, what was Spike Lee thinking? Way too much India.Aria for one soundtrack. I mean, come on!"
"But the update of Burn Hollywood Burn is fuckin' genius."
Bren lets the ice melt against the back of her teeth. "I'll give you that. Plus, Stevie Wonder."
Travie pulls out a blunt. "You mind?"
Bren doesn't. Even six months ago, she probably would have; it took some getting used to, the smell of smoke and the scent of alcohol, being surrounded by so many people around who weren't strict about what they put into their bodies, but she's adjusted. Hell, she's one of them, now. Travie lights it, takes a couple of puffs to get it going, then a longer hit. The familiar smell of the smoke wafts over her, stronger when Travie exhales and offers her a drag. She's tried pot before: at one of the first parties that Ryan took her to when she moved out of her parents' house. She didn't really get why everyone loved it - the smoke she'd inhaled had left her vaguely nauseated. Possibly that was because she'd had her first beers earlier that night, and because she'd never smoked before. She'd barely kept from hacking up a lung.
She accepts, puts her hand around his and guides the roll to her mouth, and yeah. She watches Travie's eyes fall from hers to her lips as she closes them around it and breathes in.
The smoke is sweet, acrid, better than she remembers, not the same as the cheap cigarettes she bums off Ryan. She closes her eyes, holds the smoke in her lungs for a long moment, then exhales, releasing Travie's hand as she does. He stays in her space, leaning forward, and Bren's fine with that.
Travie's talking again, and Bren listens, responds automatically. Half of her brain focuses on him, watching the way Travie's hands accentuate his words, the way the light catches and flashes on his Monroe when his lips move, the flick of his gaze from her eyes to her hands to her lips; the other half is cataloguing the way everything is somehow both intensified and distanced at the same time.
She has no idea how much time passes before Travie takes another toke. He cocks his head toward her, and she nods, but instead of offering her the pot, he leans closer and opens his mouth over parted lips. Bren sucks in air, smoke, a hint of the bitter flavor of whatever Travie was drinking. He pulls back just far enough for her to exhale, no further.
Bren reaches up to run a finger over his lips, over the stud there, and then closes the minute distance between them.
"Let's try that again."
Set in the About A Girl 'verse; this out-take occurs early in Panic's career, after Nintendo Fusion but before Truckstops and Statelines.
Teen-rated, I suppose.
950 words of girl!Bren and Travis McCoy
Drug and alcohol use found herein.
Lies, damned lies all of it.
Beta'd by angela_snape and why_me_why_not; remaining mistakes are my own. Mainly this was written as backstory for something else girl!Bren-related that's brewing in my brain. And also because once upon a time I mentioned in a text that I wanted fic where Travie got Brendon high at a Decaydance/FBR get-together.
*
Ice cubes rattle when Bren shakes her glass. She finished her vodka cranberries a while ago, but she's trying to be sensible about this - she doesn't want to get drunk and ridiculous at her first Decaydance party ever, so she's limiting herself to one drink an hour. She guesses, by the state of everyone else in the room, that no one else has a similar self-imposed rule, except maybe Ryan. Brent's already sloppy drunk, stumbling over his words as he talks to Mike Carden. Spencer's smiling, a wide, loose smile that suggests that his tolerance for beer is even lower than Brent's. Andy doesn't seem to mind, though; he just nods when Spencer gestures.
The club is crowded with people, some Bren knows, a few she's sure she's met but whose names she can't recall, and a bunch she doesn't recognize at all.
Pete's over at the DJ booth, picking through CDs and albums. The beat changes; she listens, and laughs aloud when she realizes it's a mashup of The Beatles and Nine Inch Nails. Whoever came up with that is brilliant, she decides, and heads over, nodding politely when she leaves Patrick and Joe mid-sentence to find out who was the creative genius.
"Closer and Come Together? Was that your idea, Pete? Because if it is, I'd like to live in your brain."
Pete laughs and gestures at the man next to him. "I can't claim it. This is all Travie." He waves at the man next to him.
Bren knows who Travie is, of course, but they haven't actually met before. She waits until Travie's done playing with the board and extends a hand in his direction. "Brendon Urie."
Instead of shaking it, Travie just holds her hand in his for a moment. "Travis McCoy. It's good to finally meet you; I've been hearing a lot about you."
Bren blushes, and she's glad that the club's not brightly lit. Seriously, sometimes she hates her fair skin. This is a reaction she's going to have to get over.
"I swear, nothing Pete says about the tour shenanigans on Nintendo Fusion is true!"
"I'll take it with a grain of salt, then," Travie laughs. "Hey, man, you want to take over?" He offers the earphones, which were hanging around his neck, to Pete, and then with a, "You look like you need a refill," his hand is at the small of Bren's back and he's leading her to an unoccupied table in the corner.
Their conversation moves from remixes and mashups - Travie thinks Bren's kidding when she tells him she'd love to hear some Aerosmith cut with Cristina Aguilera, and maybe some Nirvana and Jay-Z, but she's totally not - to the best and worst movie soundtracks ever, and before Bren knows it, she's down to ice cubes again. She pops one into her mouth.
"You need another?"
"Nah, I'm good."
Travie nods lazily and takes a pull from his own glass.
"No, seriously, what was Spike Lee thinking? Way too much India.Aria for one soundtrack. I mean, come on!"
"But the update of Burn Hollywood Burn is fuckin' genius."
Bren lets the ice melt against the back of her teeth. "I'll give you that. Plus, Stevie Wonder."
Travie pulls out a blunt. "You mind?"
Bren doesn't. Even six months ago, she probably would have; it took some getting used to, the smell of smoke and the scent of alcohol, being surrounded by so many people around who weren't strict about what they put into their bodies, but she's adjusted. Hell, she's one of them, now. Travie lights it, takes a couple of puffs to get it going, then a longer hit. The familiar smell of the smoke wafts over her, stronger when Travie exhales and offers her a drag. She's tried pot before: at one of the first parties that Ryan took her to when she moved out of her parents' house. She didn't really get why everyone loved it - the smoke she'd inhaled had left her vaguely nauseated. Possibly that was because she'd had her first beers earlier that night, and because she'd never smoked before. She'd barely kept from hacking up a lung.
She accepts, puts her hand around his and guides the roll to her mouth, and yeah. She watches Travie's eyes fall from hers to her lips as she closes them around it and breathes in.
The smoke is sweet, acrid, better than she remembers, not the same as the cheap cigarettes she bums off Ryan. She closes her eyes, holds the smoke in her lungs for a long moment, then exhales, releasing Travie's hand as she does. He stays in her space, leaning forward, and Bren's fine with that.
Travie's talking again, and Bren listens, responds automatically. Half of her brain focuses on him, watching the way Travie's hands accentuate his words, the way the light catches and flashes on his Monroe when his lips move, the flick of his gaze from her eyes to her hands to her lips; the other half is cataloguing the way everything is somehow both intensified and distanced at the same time.
She has no idea how much time passes before Travie takes another toke. He cocks his head toward her, and she nods, but instead of offering her the pot, he leans closer and opens his mouth over parted lips. Bren sucks in air, smoke, a hint of the bitter flavor of whatever Travie was drinking. He pulls back just far enough for her to exhale, no further.
Bren reaches up to run a finger over his lips, over the stud there, and then closes the minute distance between them.
"Let's try that again."