Dressed in silhouette (girl!Bren/Jon, NC17)
Dressed in silhouette
part of the About a girl 'verse
girl!Bren/Jon
~1500 words
NC17
Fake. Listen to Mikey, okay?
Jon is a little bit distracted by Bren's new stage costume.
Beta'd by why_me_why_not - because I begged. And also because I explained that there would be no progress on the Spencer/Brendon fic we're co-writing (read: my part is unfinished, as yet) while this was stuck in my head.
*
Jesus fucking Christ, do they want this performance to suck?
Jon glances at Bren, lets his eyes wander from her bare arms and shoulders to her legs for a second before he forces himself to look at the studio audience. Luckily, the lights are bright, and he can hide any further reaction in a squint.
He should have known. Should have known. He knows that grin, the happy, sly one Bren was wearing all afternoon, and she spent most of the afternoon giggling with Dusty and Greta. Ryan's smirk as they took the stage should've been a clue, too, now that he thinks about it.
This High Volume performance and interview has been on the books forever, booked months in advance, back when their schedule hadn't been as hectic. Bren objected the most, saying she hadn't had a day off singing in weeks, and she thought it was noticeable in her voice. Then, a few days ago, all her objections dried up.
Definitely should've realized she had something planned.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when they arrived. They changed in the dressing room they'd been assigned. Bren waited until the last minute, as usual, to put on her costume. Jon assumed (yeah, yeah, he knows the old ass-you-me deal, shut up) she'd don the trousers and vest and jacket she'd been wearing for this tour, the get-up Ryan chose to make her into a girl playing a boy, playing up the group's androgyny, making it work with Ryan's lyrics. (Jon has no idea why anyone in the audience buys it - even with short hair, Bren's hips and ass and the way she moves are all woman, but maybe he's biased.)
She was still in the bathroom changing when the assistant producer knocked, calling them onto stage. When Jon would've waited for Bren, Ryan and Spencer ushered him out with a shouted, "C'mon, Bren."
Once on stage, Jon grabbed his bass from its stand and checked his monitor, waiting for the lights to go down.
Then the spotlight came on, highlighting Bren, and holy hell.
Jon takes back everything he's ever told his mom about Bren being a nice girl, because this? This is evil. This is use of unlawfully acquired knowledge.
A few weeks back, after Bren caught Jon eyeing some of the Lucent dancers' costumes, they'd gotten high and a little bit tipsy, and she'd conned Jon into confessing that he thought the stockings and garters were hot.
This? Is Bren wearing a tight lace corset, her legs covered in sheer white hose, the opaque edge of the stockings just peeking under the hem of her short, white skirt, which is a collection of layers of bunched fabric reminiscent of a ballerina's tutu. Jon holds his bass in a death-grip. He supposes he's thankful for it, else the entire viewing audience would see his hard-on, recorded on TiVo and for YouTube for posterity.
Spencer counts them into Sins, and Jon puts all his attention on keeping his bassline tight. They've only practiced this new medley a few times, and this is being broadcast live, so he doesn't want to mess up. He's aware of Bren moving around on stage with Dusty and Katie Kay, but they're not following the usual choreography, so he sticks to his side of the stage and stays out of their way.
They reach the transition into Lying, and Jon dares a glance over at Bren in time to see Katie tug on Bren's skirt; Bren whirls away, and the white fabric stretches and comes loose in Katie's hand, a long length of gauzy white, baring a scrap of red that's just barely long enough to keep Bren from being arrested for indecent exposure. As it is, Jon now can see the lacy top of her stockings and the little rosettes (red, of course) where the garters attach.
Evil.
Bren and Ryan do their normal approach/retreat thing, and okay, Jon's normally indifferent to it, because for all their fans' speculation, it's really just a staged act, and he's pretty sure the four of them know where their boundaries lie. But tonight? It's sort of ridiculously hot, watching Bren as the predator, only in really hot girl-clothes instead of the usual fitted jacket and trousers.
He falls off rhythm ever so slightly, and hears it when Spencer adjusts to compensate. Ryan looks over and smirks, the bastard.
Jon looks down at his fingers, forces himself to concentrate through to the end of the song.
When the last note is done echoing through the studio, they hustle off the stage. Jon practically shoves his bass at the waiting tech. Anyone watching probably would think he's solicitous of Bren; his palm is firm on her back as he muscles their way past Spencer and Ryan into the dressing room and then into the bathroom beyond.
Bren leans on the vanity, laughing. Her eyes dance with a combination of show adrenaline, humor, and heat. Jon crowds into her space and cups her shoulders, his palms cool on warm, damp skin. He rests his forehead on hers, lets his hands slide across her collarbones and down, fingertips brushing the swell of flesh where it disappears into the bodice. The fabric is only slightly silkier. Fingertips smooth down her torso to her hips, and Jon breathes against Bren's lips, "I want to see."
He kneels in front of her and pushes red silk up, tells Bren, "Hold this."
Jon starts at her ankles, his hands circling them, sliding up, following the seam that runs up the back of the stocking, tickling the space behind her knee before tracing the lace top of stocking. He plays with the clip of the garter, follows it up to where it... disappears under the lace of her lacy red boy-cut panties before emerging to attach to her garter belt. Jon inhales, a surprised gasp, as his brain melts just a little bit more.
He lets his head fall forward to rest on her hip, turns it just a little to watch as he traces a thumb up the garter to the elastic of the pants.
He pauses, takes a deep breath, and he can smell sweat and makeup and arousal.
His thumb slips under the fabric, petting the skin there before sliding down, pushing between her legs to find her wet and open.
Jon looks up: Bren is watching him, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Her chest is moving with deep, almost panting breaths - she'd been amped from the end of the show, and that's transitioned now into want. Her cheeks are flushed, the color spreading down her chest. One hand braces her against the sink, and with the other she's twisted her skirt's fabric in a knot.
Jon curls his fingers under the waistband and slides Bren's panties down her legs and off. He presses a kiss to Bren's belly below the garter belt at the same time his thumb dips back between her legs, then rubs forward and back.
With his other hand, he wrestles his trousers open.
"Can I?"
He's already moving, struggling to his feet, spreading her legs wider, his grip firm on her hips, before he hears her answer, but the hitch of her breath and the way she tilts her hips when he lines up and pushes in indicate acquiescence. In one steady motion, Jon's all the way inside.
Fuuuuuck.
He doesn't move. Can't, or it'll be done right now. Bren's tight and wet and feels amazing around him. And she looks fucking spectacular - because he allows himself to look at her, red-faced, sweat-damp, chest heaving, her eyes dark. Her legs are splayed, and the visual - lacy white fabric off-setting dark hair, framing smooth pink-red flesh that cradles him - is going to be image number one in his spank bank for awhile, Jon knows.
Bren whimpers, arching her back in an attempt to get pressure where she wants it. Jon leans over her so they're pressed together and runs his tongue across the edge the corset, where fabric meets skin, then turns his head and repeats the motion, leaving reddened skin in the wake of stubble.
"Jon, please." She pushes down on him, trying to get him to move.
He does, sharp, fast hitches of his hips that have her winding her legs around his thighs, her heels digging into his calves. Jon sets his mouth on the soft upper slope of breast and kisses gently. He really wants to reach her nipple, to lick and circle and suck it, but when he tries, there's no getting her out of that corset or getting the corset down. Instead he sets his teeth in the firm flesh. Bren gives a hiccupping moan and tilts her hips forward a little more, so Jon's pubic bone gives her friction she needs, and then she's coming, squeezing him tight, and it's okay to give in. With a handful of rough thrusts, he's coming too, and all he can see is Bren, all he can hear is the thump of his heart beating overtime.
Jon's legs are rubbery and his brain is fuzzy, and it takes him a minute to realize that the thudding he hears is actually someone - two someones - banging on bathroom door.
"Bren? Jon? We've only got three minutes before we've got to get back out there for the interview."
Oh, fuck.
part of the About a girl 'verse
girl!Bren/Jon
~1500 words
NC17
Fake. Listen to Mikey, okay?
Jon is a little bit distracted by Bren's new stage costume.
Beta'd by why_me_why_not - because I begged. And also because I explained that there would be no progress on the Spencer/Brendon fic we're co-writing (read: my part is unfinished, as yet) while this was stuck in my head.
*
Jesus fucking Christ, do they want this performance to suck?
Jon glances at Bren, lets his eyes wander from her bare arms and shoulders to her legs for a second before he forces himself to look at the studio audience. Luckily, the lights are bright, and he can hide any further reaction in a squint.
He should have known. Should have known. He knows that grin, the happy, sly one Bren was wearing all afternoon, and she spent most of the afternoon giggling with Dusty and Greta. Ryan's smirk as they took the stage should've been a clue, too, now that he thinks about it.
This High Volume performance and interview has been on the books forever, booked months in advance, back when their schedule hadn't been as hectic. Bren objected the most, saying she hadn't had a day off singing in weeks, and she thought it was noticeable in her voice. Then, a few days ago, all her objections dried up.
Definitely should've realized she had something planned.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when they arrived. They changed in the dressing room they'd been assigned. Bren waited until the last minute, as usual, to put on her costume. Jon assumed (yeah, yeah, he knows the old ass-you-me deal, shut up) she'd don the trousers and vest and jacket she'd been wearing for this tour, the get-up Ryan chose to make her into a girl playing a boy, playing up the group's androgyny, making it work with Ryan's lyrics. (Jon has no idea why anyone in the audience buys it - even with short hair, Bren's hips and ass and the way she moves are all woman, but maybe he's biased.)
She was still in the bathroom changing when the assistant producer knocked, calling them onto stage. When Jon would've waited for Bren, Ryan and Spencer ushered him out with a shouted, "C'mon, Bren."
Once on stage, Jon grabbed his bass from its stand and checked his monitor, waiting for the lights to go down.
Then the spotlight came on, highlighting Bren, and holy hell.
Jon takes back everything he's ever told his mom about Bren being a nice girl, because this? This is evil. This is use of unlawfully acquired knowledge.
A few weeks back, after Bren caught Jon eyeing some of the Lucent dancers' costumes, they'd gotten high and a little bit tipsy, and she'd conned Jon into confessing that he thought the stockings and garters were hot.
This? Is Bren wearing a tight lace corset, her legs covered in sheer white hose, the opaque edge of the stockings just peeking under the hem of her short, white skirt, which is a collection of layers of bunched fabric reminiscent of a ballerina's tutu. Jon holds his bass in a death-grip. He supposes he's thankful for it, else the entire viewing audience would see his hard-on, recorded on TiVo and for YouTube for posterity.
Spencer counts them into Sins, and Jon puts all his attention on keeping his bassline tight. They've only practiced this new medley a few times, and this is being broadcast live, so he doesn't want to mess up. He's aware of Bren moving around on stage with Dusty and Katie Kay, but they're not following the usual choreography, so he sticks to his side of the stage and stays out of their way.
They reach the transition into Lying, and Jon dares a glance over at Bren in time to see Katie tug on Bren's skirt; Bren whirls away, and the white fabric stretches and comes loose in Katie's hand, a long length of gauzy white, baring a scrap of red that's just barely long enough to keep Bren from being arrested for indecent exposure. As it is, Jon now can see the lacy top of her stockings and the little rosettes (red, of course) where the garters attach.
Evil.
Bren and Ryan do their normal approach/retreat thing, and okay, Jon's normally indifferent to it, because for all their fans' speculation, it's really just a staged act, and he's pretty sure the four of them know where their boundaries lie. But tonight? It's sort of ridiculously hot, watching Bren as the predator, only in really hot girl-clothes instead of the usual fitted jacket and trousers.
He falls off rhythm ever so slightly, and hears it when Spencer adjusts to compensate. Ryan looks over and smirks, the bastard.
Jon looks down at his fingers, forces himself to concentrate through to the end of the song.
When the last note is done echoing through the studio, they hustle off the stage. Jon practically shoves his bass at the waiting tech. Anyone watching probably would think he's solicitous of Bren; his palm is firm on her back as he muscles their way past Spencer and Ryan into the dressing room and then into the bathroom beyond.
Bren leans on the vanity, laughing. Her eyes dance with a combination of show adrenaline, humor, and heat. Jon crowds into her space and cups her shoulders, his palms cool on warm, damp skin. He rests his forehead on hers, lets his hands slide across her collarbones and down, fingertips brushing the swell of flesh where it disappears into the bodice. The fabric is only slightly silkier. Fingertips smooth down her torso to her hips, and Jon breathes against Bren's lips, "I want to see."
He kneels in front of her and pushes red silk up, tells Bren, "Hold this."
Jon starts at her ankles, his hands circling them, sliding up, following the seam that runs up the back of the stocking, tickling the space behind her knee before tracing the lace top of stocking. He plays with the clip of the garter, follows it up to where it... disappears under the lace of her lacy red boy-cut panties before emerging to attach to her garter belt. Jon inhales, a surprised gasp, as his brain melts just a little bit more.
He lets his head fall forward to rest on her hip, turns it just a little to watch as he traces a thumb up the garter to the elastic of the pants.
He pauses, takes a deep breath, and he can smell sweat and makeup and arousal.
His thumb slips under the fabric, petting the skin there before sliding down, pushing between her legs to find her wet and open.
Jon looks up: Bren is watching him, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Her chest is moving with deep, almost panting breaths - she'd been amped from the end of the show, and that's transitioned now into want. Her cheeks are flushed, the color spreading down her chest. One hand braces her against the sink, and with the other she's twisted her skirt's fabric in a knot.
Jon curls his fingers under the waistband and slides Bren's panties down her legs and off. He presses a kiss to Bren's belly below the garter belt at the same time his thumb dips back between her legs, then rubs forward and back.
With his other hand, he wrestles his trousers open.
"Can I?"
He's already moving, struggling to his feet, spreading her legs wider, his grip firm on her hips, before he hears her answer, but the hitch of her breath and the way she tilts her hips when he lines up and pushes in indicate acquiescence. In one steady motion, Jon's all the way inside.
Fuuuuuck.
He doesn't move. Can't, or it'll be done right now. Bren's tight and wet and feels amazing around him. And she looks fucking spectacular - because he allows himself to look at her, red-faced, sweat-damp, chest heaving, her eyes dark. Her legs are splayed, and the visual - lacy white fabric off-setting dark hair, framing smooth pink-red flesh that cradles him - is going to be image number one in his spank bank for awhile, Jon knows.
Bren whimpers, arching her back in an attempt to get pressure where she wants it. Jon leans over her so they're pressed together and runs his tongue across the edge the corset, where fabric meets skin, then turns his head and repeats the motion, leaving reddened skin in the wake of stubble.
"Jon, please." She pushes down on him, trying to get him to move.
He does, sharp, fast hitches of his hips that have her winding her legs around his thighs, her heels digging into his calves. Jon sets his mouth on the soft upper slope of breast and kisses gently. He really wants to reach her nipple, to lick and circle and suck it, but when he tries, there's no getting her out of that corset or getting the corset down. Instead he sets his teeth in the firm flesh. Bren gives a hiccupping moan and tilts her hips forward a little more, so Jon's pubic bone gives her friction she needs, and then she's coming, squeezing him tight, and it's okay to give in. With a handful of rough thrusts, he's coming too, and all he can see is Bren, all he can hear is the thump of his heart beating overtime.
Jon's legs are rubbery and his brain is fuzzy, and it takes him a minute to realize that the thudding he hears is actually someone - two someones - banging on bathroom door.
"Bren? Jon? We've only got three minutes before we've got to get back out there for the interview."
Oh, fuck.