Fic: That's hot
That's hot
adult
Jon POV ficlet, companion to About A Girl, that moment in Phoenix
master post
Jon knows hot, okay? He spent his summers in high school as a camp counselor down in Marion. Six weeks of heat, humidity, and tents, with a limited supply of running water and absolutely no air-conditioning.
That was hot.
Phoenix in June? Is fucking incendiary. How do people LIVE here? Seriously, people can talk about dry heat all they want: hot is fucking HOT, you still get sweaty.
Jon lifts his bass away from his body and tugs his damp t-shirt away from his chest with one hand. Thank fuck sound-check is done; he wants to go find a bucket of water and duck his head into it. He hopes that it'll cool down a bit before they go on tonight, but he isn't optimistic about it.
He staggers over to the side of the stage and collapses, wondering if heat-exhaustion is covered by worker's compensation. Then he wonders if his contract with FBR includes worker's comp while he's in the in-between limbo of not-just-temporary-but-let's-see-how-you-fit-before-we-sign-you-permanently bassist.
He glances over at Ryan, who is his usual calm, collected, cool-looking self. Jon has no idea what gives Ryan his ability to never sweat, but he really really wishes Ryan would share the secret.
Spencer climbs out from behind his drum kit and leans against the wall next to Jon, wiping a towel over his face.
"Where'd Bren go?"
"Dunno. She ran off as soon as Zack gave the okay."
Just then she comes bouncing back - and seriously, Jon has no idea how she's so perky and happy, because she's just as hot and sticky as the rest of them - with... a bucket? She reaches into it and pulls out a Diet Coke for Ryan, then a Sprite for Spencer, and finally a Corona for Jon.
"Brendon Urie, you are my absolute favorite." Jon takes the bottle and opens it, gulps down a quarter of its contents without pausing, then closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the riser as he savors the temporary relief. He rolls the bottle between his hands for a second, then lifts it and runs it over his forehead, shuddering at the first touch of cold condensation against his skin.
Ryan says... something, and Bren says... something else in response, Jon doesn't know what. He's too busy wondering where Bren got the beer and if she could be persuaded to get him another. He takes another long pull, then opens his eyes, already framing the request.
Bren's rooting around in the bucket, but instead of pulling out a Red Bull or a bottle of water, she comes up with an ice cube.
And Jon, Jon knows what is going to happen here. If he could move, if he weren't in a sweat- and beer-induced puddle, he'd drag himself up and away, because he knows he isn't going to handle this well. He's been treading carefully, not doing anything that might prevent Ryan and Spencer from asking him to join them permanently, and that includes picking back up where he and Bren left things at the end of Truckstops.
He can't look away, though. So he watches as the ice cube is lifted to Bren's lips, is licked and then popped into her mouth. He thinks maybe that's it, but then her cheeks hollow as she sucks on it, and she reaches into the bucket for another one. This one, instead of aiming for her mouth, she rubs lightly from one collarbone to the other, then up her neck. Her eyes close and her head tips back, and she looks utterly serene, completely relieved by the slide of coldness against her skin. Jon watches as the meltwater trickles down the side of her neck and over her chest to darken the edge of the tank top she's wearing. And that's all she's wearing. No bra, he can tell, because while he's ogling - there's no other word for it; he can't look away, his eyes are glued to her now - he can see her nipples bead against the fabric in reaction to the chill.
"Mmm." Bren's head lolls on her neck as she groans. The motion and the sound are identical to the way she reacted when they had sex, right at the moment when he pushed in or she slid down onto him, and Jon can't stop his body's automatic response.
He stifles an answering moan.
Jon knows hot, okay? And that? That's hot.
adult
Jon POV ficlet, companion to About A Girl, that moment in Phoenix
master post
Jon knows hot, okay? He spent his summers in high school as a camp counselor down in Marion. Six weeks of heat, humidity, and tents, with a limited supply of running water and absolutely no air-conditioning.
That was hot.
Phoenix in June? Is fucking incendiary. How do people LIVE here? Seriously, people can talk about dry heat all they want: hot is fucking HOT, you still get sweaty.
Jon lifts his bass away from his body and tugs his damp t-shirt away from his chest with one hand. Thank fuck sound-check is done; he wants to go find a bucket of water and duck his head into it. He hopes that it'll cool down a bit before they go on tonight, but he isn't optimistic about it.
He staggers over to the side of the stage and collapses, wondering if heat-exhaustion is covered by worker's compensation. Then he wonders if his contract with FBR includes worker's comp while he's in the in-between limbo of not-just-temporary-but-let's-see-how-you-fit-before-we-sign-you-permanently bassist.
He glances over at Ryan, who is his usual calm, collected, cool-looking self. Jon has no idea what gives Ryan his ability to never sweat, but he really really wishes Ryan would share the secret.
Spencer climbs out from behind his drum kit and leans against the wall next to Jon, wiping a towel over his face.
"Where'd Bren go?"
"Dunno. She ran off as soon as Zack gave the okay."
Just then she comes bouncing back - and seriously, Jon has no idea how she's so perky and happy, because she's just as hot and sticky as the rest of them - with... a bucket? She reaches into it and pulls out a Diet Coke for Ryan, then a Sprite for Spencer, and finally a Corona for Jon.
"Brendon Urie, you are my absolute favorite." Jon takes the bottle and opens it, gulps down a quarter of its contents without pausing, then closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the riser as he savors the temporary relief. He rolls the bottle between his hands for a second, then lifts it and runs it over his forehead, shuddering at the first touch of cold condensation against his skin.
Ryan says... something, and Bren says... something else in response, Jon doesn't know what. He's too busy wondering where Bren got the beer and if she could be persuaded to get him another. He takes another long pull, then opens his eyes, already framing the request.
Bren's rooting around in the bucket, but instead of pulling out a Red Bull or a bottle of water, she comes up with an ice cube.
And Jon, Jon knows what is going to happen here. If he could move, if he weren't in a sweat- and beer-induced puddle, he'd drag himself up and away, because he knows he isn't going to handle this well. He's been treading carefully, not doing anything that might prevent Ryan and Spencer from asking him to join them permanently, and that includes picking back up where he and Bren left things at the end of Truckstops.
He can't look away, though. So he watches as the ice cube is lifted to Bren's lips, is licked and then popped into her mouth. He thinks maybe that's it, but then her cheeks hollow as she sucks on it, and she reaches into the bucket for another one. This one, instead of aiming for her mouth, she rubs lightly from one collarbone to the other, then up her neck. Her eyes close and her head tips back, and she looks utterly serene, completely relieved by the slide of coldness against her skin. Jon watches as the meltwater trickles down the side of her neck and over her chest to darken the edge of the tank top she's wearing. And that's all she's wearing. No bra, he can tell, because while he's ogling - there's no other word for it; he can't look away, his eyes are glued to her now - he can see her nipples bead against the fabric in reaction to the chill.
"Mmm." Bren's head lolls on her neck as she groans. The motion and the sound are identical to the way she reacted when they had sex, right at the moment when he pushed in or she slid down onto him, and Jon can't stop his body's automatic response.
He stifles an answering moan.
Jon knows hot, okay? And that? That's hot.