Bandslash: Brendon/Ryan/Spencer/Jon
Title: Mission Accomplished
Fandom: Bandslash
Pairing: GSF. Kind of.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,867
Summary: Everyone reacts to Brendon's tattoo separately, but it really doesn't change them as a whole.
Notes: Beta'd by the lovely chopsticknoodle.
Sometimes Brendon was a genius. A fucking genius, man. Like the first time he thought maybe Ryan Ross was just a little gay for him - among others - and then randomly kissed him after practice. Only, it wasn’t so random, because it had been on his mind for weeks before that, and apparently Ryan really did taste like sugar and lip gloss.
So when Brendon called Pete up and told him his latest brilliant idea, he wasn’t surprised at all when Pete just laughed, “Go for it, man,” into the phone. Because Brendon Urie? He’s on top of things, he’s with it, he’s a motherfucking cool cat and all that jazz.
The actual getting a tattoo part was less than awesome, though. Because apparently his skin didn’t like being poked with needles and ink and whatever else happened during the space of time that Brendon claimed to have lost. His mind went all fuzzy with glee and awesomeness, and all he can remember is grinning like mad and trying to look cool in front of the cameras.
Mission accomplished.
But once the whole process was over, he couldn’t get enough of it; couldn’t stop staring at his left forearm and mentally rambling about how cool it is. Brendon could write sonnets about his forearm. It’s that awesome.
Especially when he had his left hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly in time to the music in his headphones. There weren’t any words, just the lucid tones of his songs being played on strings, and that was almost as cool as his tattoo. Almost.
Brendon bit down on his lip, hard enough to make it bleed, and struggled to keep his eyes open. He was close, knew it wasn’t going to last long when he was watching the muscles beneath his newly inked skin moving. They were mesmerizing in the way they stretched out the ink, little ripples of movement as his fingers worked up and down his dick.
Brendon rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock and bit back a whimper, his body stiffening as he came, coating his fingers and thighs. He fell back against his pillow, grinning as he came down from orgasm, still feeling the last tremors coursing through his veins.
Sometimes Brendon was a genius.
--
Brendon had a habit - more of an addiction - of making spur of the moment decisions. Most of the time, though, they worked in his (and Ryan’s) favor. The tattoo though? So very unwise. Ryan got that it was Brendon’s instrument of choice and he was making some huge statement about his life as a musician.
The thing is, it really fucked up with the ascetics of Brendon’s forearm.
Brendon could mess with makeup or clothing as much as he wanted, but now he had gone and changed himself. As much as Ryan tried to play it off as something miniscule and insignificant, he flat out did not like it. It got in the way of his fingers; blocked his skin from touching Brendon’s.
He knew it was illogical and just plain weird, but he couldn’t get over the way Brendon had just nonchalantly marred his body. Pete Wentz could think it was as cool as he wanted to, but it wasn’t Brendon. Ryan couldn’t help noticing the way the skin felt foreign beneath his palms.
Perhaps dirtying Brendon’s forearm even more wasn’t the best revenge, but it’s all Ryan had. So when Brendon was on his knees, bruised lips wrapped around Ryan’s cock, all he could think about - beyond the wetness of Brendon’s mouth - was marking him, remarking him to cover up any newfound imperfections.
At the last second, Ryan pulled out, ignoring Brendon’s confused look and taking his cock in his own hands. Brendon’s fingers were still digging into his hips, his nails leaving tiny half-moon marks on Ryan’s skin. He chewed on his lower lip and worked his hands faster, already feeling the orgasm building at the base of his spine.
Ryan shifted his hips, grunting as he exploded in thick bursts across the colorful skin of Brendon’s forearm. Brendon looked up at him, blinking slowly as he took in the mess on his arm.
“Fuck yeah,” he muttered in awe. Brendon smirked and held up his arm, licking tentatively at what he could reach. He looked so damn pleased with himself that Ryan could only sigh and roll his eyes.
Maybe he wasn’t cut out for the whole revenge thing after all.
--
“I’m not going to ask about it,” Spencer growled after the eight hundredth time - he was totally counting - Brendon waved his arm in front of Spencer’s face. He had eyes, damn it. He could see that Brendon had once again gotten wrapped up in some moment only he knew about and gone and done something stupid.
Ok, so maybe not stupid so much as surprisingly hot.
Not that Spencer would ever tell him that, because Brendon didn’t even have the courteously to tell him about the freaking tattoo. He just kept flailing his arm around and making puppy dog eyes in Spencer’s direction.
“I feel like a scorned woman,” Brendon started, cut off when Spencer started chuckling at him. “Hear me out,” Brendon said after he calmed down. “It’s like a haircut that nobody noticed. I’m the damaged party here.”
“You’re damaged alright,” Spencer told him without looking away from the tv.
“It’s hot,” Brendon said, and Spencer could hear the pout in his voice. As adorable the pouting was, he’d never tell Brendon.
“Fine,” Spencer finally conceded. “It’s outrageously hot and I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to you in my entire life. Oh, boy!”
“It doesn’t count if you’re mocking me,” Brendon complained. But he crawled across the couch and settled in Spencer’s lap. Spencer could feel the hard press of his erection against his thigh and leaned into the touch. “Now you have to make it up to me,” Brendon whispered before bending down and closing his mouth over Spencer’s.
They didn’t even get undressed, just quickly shoved their jeans down far enough so they could touch, really touch, no clothing in between. Brendon straddled Spencer’s lap, rocking his hips in time with Spencer’s. He bit down on Spencer’s lower lip, whimpering into his mouth as their cocks slid together.
Brendon was surprisingly quiet as he came, muffling his cries against Spencer’s shoulder. And when Spencer followed him seconds later, he shouted, a hoarse cry that filled the hotel room.
Their come coated his stomach, and he was pretty sure they could actually end up stuck like that, but it was kind of perfect. They sat there, Brendon still shivering in Spencer’s lap, until Spencer could move again. He chose not to, just picking up Brendon’s arm, his fingers gingerly wrapped around Brendon’s wrist. He studied the piano keys, pursing his lips as he took in the shading and the way Brendon’s muscles moved beneath the inked skin.
“It suits you,” he mumbled.
He could feel Brendon’s grin against the side of his neck.
--
Brendon had been weird lately. Jon may not be the most observant person in the world, but he could tell when Brendon bounced a little higher or rambled a bit louder. The thing was, he had no idea why he was doing it this time.
Ryan was a little bit on edge, and Spencer had taken to avoiding Brendon’s gaze (when they weren’t fucking), but Jon couldn’t pinpoint any precise reason why Brendon seemed to be out of sorts.
Brendon even fucked differently, which was weird. He usually moved a lot more, but when Jon was buried in his ass, Brendon just clung to him, digging his fingers into Jon’s forearms. Sure, he writhed on the bed, his head tossing back and forth as he mumbled the most obscene things Jon had ever heard, but he was much stiller than usual.
“More, Fuck Jon, more,” Brendon begged - he knew Jon loved it when he begged - and tightened his hold on Jon. Jon let out a moan and thrust harder, struggling to keep his eyes open as he moved in and out of Brendon’s body. He was tight, so god damn tight, and Jon was shaking as he fucked him.
Jon slid a hand between their bodies, fisting his fingers around Brendon’s dick. Brendon whimpered and bit down on his lip, chewing on it as he watched Jon with wide eyes. His pupils were dark and Jon couldn’t help groaning as how awesome it was that Brendon let him do this.
Then Brendon came, his back arching as he spilled himself over Jon’s fingers. Jon kept thrusting, his hips stuttering as he came, emptying himself inside the condom. He caught a flash of color on Brendon’s forearm as he collapsed on top of him and realized why Brendon had been so worked up for the past week or so.
As soon as he could move again, Jon rolled onto his side and spooned behind Brendon. He lifted Brendon’s arm, moving it closer to his face so he could see the design, could appreciate the shading and the utter ridiculousness of it.
“It’s pretty. Just like you,” he whispered against the nape of Brendon’s neck. Brendon let out a shaky moan in response, and Jon worked his hand over Brendon’s body, settling with his palm flat against Brendon’s hips.
--
After a few weeks, everyone was used to Brendon’s tattoo. It was another part of them, just like Ryan’s makeup or Jon’s beard. Sure, they all caught little flashes of color out of the corner of their eyes, but it wasn’t an issue. Brendon even stopped brining it up every five seconds, which everyone counted as a blessing.
And when Ryan was inside Brendon, thrusting hard from behind while Brendon went down on Spencer, it was just another part of Brendon for Jon to lick.
Ryan wouldn’t ever admit it, but he kinda liked the knowledge that he was one of only three people in the entire world who got to know what it felt like to come on Brendon’s tattoo. It even became this kink where he tried to do it as often as possible, and hey, that was something Brendon could go with. Really go with.
Spencer found solace in the fact that Brendon came to him in order to find out whether inked skin tasted different than clean skin. It had taken an entire afternoon - and involved lots of come and drool - but Spencer still claimed there was a slight distinction between the two parts of Brendon’s body. He still licked Brendon every day or so just to make sure, though.
Jon was pretty laid back, so he didn’t pay much attention to Brendon’s tattoo. He liked the way Brendon displayed it, though; the way he flexed his forearm in photos or rolled up the sleeves of his hoodies. As long as Brendon didn’t get tired of sleeping with him, Jon could pretty much accept anything.
And Brendon still thought it was the coolest fucking thing ever. Except maybe for the fact that he had three awesome bandmates who seemed to like fucking him.
Sometimes life just rocked.
Fandom: Bandslash
Pairing: GSF. Kind of.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,867
Summary: Everyone reacts to Brendon's tattoo separately, but it really doesn't change them as a whole.
Notes: Beta'd by the lovely chopsticknoodle.
Sometimes Brendon was a genius. A fucking genius, man. Like the first time he thought maybe Ryan Ross was just a little gay for him - among others - and then randomly kissed him after practice. Only, it wasn’t so random, because it had been on his mind for weeks before that, and apparently Ryan really did taste like sugar and lip gloss.
So when Brendon called Pete up and told him his latest brilliant idea, he wasn’t surprised at all when Pete just laughed, “Go for it, man,” into the phone. Because Brendon Urie? He’s on top of things, he’s with it, he’s a motherfucking cool cat and all that jazz.
The actual getting a tattoo part was less than awesome, though. Because apparently his skin didn’t like being poked with needles and ink and whatever else happened during the space of time that Brendon claimed to have lost. His mind went all fuzzy with glee and awesomeness, and all he can remember is grinning like mad and trying to look cool in front of the cameras.
Mission accomplished.
But once the whole process was over, he couldn’t get enough of it; couldn’t stop staring at his left forearm and mentally rambling about how cool it is. Brendon could write sonnets about his forearm. It’s that awesome.
Especially when he had his left hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly in time to the music in his headphones. There weren’t any words, just the lucid tones of his songs being played on strings, and that was almost as cool as his tattoo. Almost.
Brendon bit down on his lip, hard enough to make it bleed, and struggled to keep his eyes open. He was close, knew it wasn’t going to last long when he was watching the muscles beneath his newly inked skin moving. They were mesmerizing in the way they stretched out the ink, little ripples of movement as his fingers worked up and down his dick.
Brendon rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock and bit back a whimper, his body stiffening as he came, coating his fingers and thighs. He fell back against his pillow, grinning as he came down from orgasm, still feeling the last tremors coursing through his veins.
Sometimes Brendon was a genius.
--
Brendon had a habit - more of an addiction - of making spur of the moment decisions. Most of the time, though, they worked in his (and Ryan’s) favor. The tattoo though? So very unwise. Ryan got that it was Brendon’s instrument of choice and he was making some huge statement about his life as a musician.
The thing is, it really fucked up with the ascetics of Brendon’s forearm.
Brendon could mess with makeup or clothing as much as he wanted, but now he had gone and changed himself. As much as Ryan tried to play it off as something miniscule and insignificant, he flat out did not like it. It got in the way of his fingers; blocked his skin from touching Brendon’s.
He knew it was illogical and just plain weird, but he couldn’t get over the way Brendon had just nonchalantly marred his body. Pete Wentz could think it was as cool as he wanted to, but it wasn’t Brendon. Ryan couldn’t help noticing the way the skin felt foreign beneath his palms.
Perhaps dirtying Brendon’s forearm even more wasn’t the best revenge, but it’s all Ryan had. So when Brendon was on his knees, bruised lips wrapped around Ryan’s cock, all he could think about - beyond the wetness of Brendon’s mouth - was marking him, remarking him to cover up any newfound imperfections.
At the last second, Ryan pulled out, ignoring Brendon’s confused look and taking his cock in his own hands. Brendon’s fingers were still digging into his hips, his nails leaving tiny half-moon marks on Ryan’s skin. He chewed on his lower lip and worked his hands faster, already feeling the orgasm building at the base of his spine.
Ryan shifted his hips, grunting as he exploded in thick bursts across the colorful skin of Brendon’s forearm. Brendon looked up at him, blinking slowly as he took in the mess on his arm.
“Fuck yeah,” he muttered in awe. Brendon smirked and held up his arm, licking tentatively at what he could reach. He looked so damn pleased with himself that Ryan could only sigh and roll his eyes.
Maybe he wasn’t cut out for the whole revenge thing after all.
--
“I’m not going to ask about it,” Spencer growled after the eight hundredth time - he was totally counting - Brendon waved his arm in front of Spencer’s face. He had eyes, damn it. He could see that Brendon had once again gotten wrapped up in some moment only he knew about and gone and done something stupid.
Ok, so maybe not stupid so much as surprisingly hot.
Not that Spencer would ever tell him that, because Brendon didn’t even have the courteously to tell him about the freaking tattoo. He just kept flailing his arm around and making puppy dog eyes in Spencer’s direction.
“I feel like a scorned woman,” Brendon started, cut off when Spencer started chuckling at him. “Hear me out,” Brendon said after he calmed down. “It’s like a haircut that nobody noticed. I’m the damaged party here.”
“You’re damaged alright,” Spencer told him without looking away from the tv.
“It’s hot,” Brendon said, and Spencer could hear the pout in his voice. As adorable the pouting was, he’d never tell Brendon.
“Fine,” Spencer finally conceded. “It’s outrageously hot and I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to you in my entire life. Oh, boy!”
“It doesn’t count if you’re mocking me,” Brendon complained. But he crawled across the couch and settled in Spencer’s lap. Spencer could feel the hard press of his erection against his thigh and leaned into the touch. “Now you have to make it up to me,” Brendon whispered before bending down and closing his mouth over Spencer’s.
They didn’t even get undressed, just quickly shoved their jeans down far enough so they could touch, really touch, no clothing in between. Brendon straddled Spencer’s lap, rocking his hips in time with Spencer’s. He bit down on Spencer’s lower lip, whimpering into his mouth as their cocks slid together.
Brendon was surprisingly quiet as he came, muffling his cries against Spencer’s shoulder. And when Spencer followed him seconds later, he shouted, a hoarse cry that filled the hotel room.
Their come coated his stomach, and he was pretty sure they could actually end up stuck like that, but it was kind of perfect. They sat there, Brendon still shivering in Spencer’s lap, until Spencer could move again. He chose not to, just picking up Brendon’s arm, his fingers gingerly wrapped around Brendon’s wrist. He studied the piano keys, pursing his lips as he took in the shading and the way Brendon’s muscles moved beneath the inked skin.
“It suits you,” he mumbled.
He could feel Brendon’s grin against the side of his neck.
--
Brendon had been weird lately. Jon may not be the most observant person in the world, but he could tell when Brendon bounced a little higher or rambled a bit louder. The thing was, he had no idea why he was doing it this time.
Ryan was a little bit on edge, and Spencer had taken to avoiding Brendon’s gaze (when they weren’t fucking), but Jon couldn’t pinpoint any precise reason why Brendon seemed to be out of sorts.
Brendon even fucked differently, which was weird. He usually moved a lot more, but when Jon was buried in his ass, Brendon just clung to him, digging his fingers into Jon’s forearms. Sure, he writhed on the bed, his head tossing back and forth as he mumbled the most obscene things Jon had ever heard, but he was much stiller than usual.
“More, Fuck Jon, more,” Brendon begged - he knew Jon loved it when he begged - and tightened his hold on Jon. Jon let out a moan and thrust harder, struggling to keep his eyes open as he moved in and out of Brendon’s body. He was tight, so god damn tight, and Jon was shaking as he fucked him.
Jon slid a hand between their bodies, fisting his fingers around Brendon’s dick. Brendon whimpered and bit down on his lip, chewing on it as he watched Jon with wide eyes. His pupils were dark and Jon couldn’t help groaning as how awesome it was that Brendon let him do this.
Then Brendon came, his back arching as he spilled himself over Jon’s fingers. Jon kept thrusting, his hips stuttering as he came, emptying himself inside the condom. He caught a flash of color on Brendon’s forearm as he collapsed on top of him and realized why Brendon had been so worked up for the past week or so.
As soon as he could move again, Jon rolled onto his side and spooned behind Brendon. He lifted Brendon’s arm, moving it closer to his face so he could see the design, could appreciate the shading and the utter ridiculousness of it.
“It’s pretty. Just like you,” he whispered against the nape of Brendon’s neck. Brendon let out a shaky moan in response, and Jon worked his hand over Brendon’s body, settling with his palm flat against Brendon’s hips.
--
After a few weeks, everyone was used to Brendon’s tattoo. It was another part of them, just like Ryan’s makeup or Jon’s beard. Sure, they all caught little flashes of color out of the corner of their eyes, but it wasn’t an issue. Brendon even stopped brining it up every five seconds, which everyone counted as a blessing.
And when Ryan was inside Brendon, thrusting hard from behind while Brendon went down on Spencer, it was just another part of Brendon for Jon to lick.
Ryan wouldn’t ever admit it, but he kinda liked the knowledge that he was one of only three people in the entire world who got to know what it felt like to come on Brendon’s tattoo. It even became this kink where he tried to do it as often as possible, and hey, that was something Brendon could go with. Really go with.
Spencer found solace in the fact that Brendon came to him in order to find out whether inked skin tasted different than clean skin. It had taken an entire afternoon - and involved lots of come and drool - but Spencer still claimed there was a slight distinction between the two parts of Brendon’s body. He still licked Brendon every day or so just to make sure, though.
Jon was pretty laid back, so he didn’t pay much attention to Brendon’s tattoo. He liked the way Brendon displayed it, though; the way he flexed his forearm in photos or rolled up the sleeves of his hoodies. As long as Brendon didn’t get tired of sleeping with him, Jon could pretty much accept anything.
And Brendon still thought it was the coolest fucking thing ever. Except maybe for the fact that he had three awesome bandmates who seemed to like fucking him.
Sometimes life just rocked.