Bedazzled (blinded by the light)
Title: Bedazzled (blinded by the light)
Author: Melissa (theaerosolkid)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, implied GSF-type stuff.
Summary: Brendon is Ryan's canvas.
Word Count: 1329
Disclaimer: It's all fake; standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: kosher_pareve and I got to talking and it was determined that I needed to write a fic! Whee!! So I blurbbled a bit, and came up with this, well, okays. But dammit, the Beta Queen (castoffstarter) told me that it needed to be better, so, this was scrapped, but I posted it in my journal, because I FELT LIKE IT, DAMMIT. Considering my current WIPs list, I don't know that I'll ever finish the longer version. So, here, to all who didn't read it originally, have a fic! \o/
"Brendon?" Jon squinted at him. Brendon was kneeling in the kitchenette, rummaging through the mini-fridge for Red Bull.
"Fucking assholes, where the shit - huh?"
"What's that under your shirt?"
"Rhinestones."
A pause.
A longer pause.
"O-on your skin?" Jon choked out.
"Yeah," Brendon said casually, standing up and pulling his thin t-shirt off, tossing it to the floor. He turned around and displayed a truly impressive design of angel wings across his scapulae. Jon stood up; trancelike, almost, and walked closer to Brendon, running one broad hand over the display, looking closer. It appeared to be made of about a thousand tiny arrow-shapes, painstakingly arranged across pale skin, slow varying patterns of white and soft blue, leading down to darker colours, following the gentle curve of his spine, glittering and reflecting the light as the flesh beneath rippled.
"Shit," Jon breathed, feeling them under his palms.
"Ryan does it," Brendon said nonchalantly. "Since I won't let him do that Tim Burton crap on my face."
"Ohh," Jon managed. Brendon shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head, spinning and quirking his eyebrow up.
"They're fun to play with, see?" and gestured down to his belly, where a playful swirl clearly pointed down below his belt.
"That's nice," Jon said faintly. The door to the kitchenette banged open and Ryan stumbled through, bleary with sleep.
"Coffee's not ready yet," Brendon said, cheerful. Ryan grunted something in response and walked right back to his bunk.
Jon blinked and sat back down, staring at the little bumps across Brendon's back for the rest of the day.
Well. The rest of the week, really.
--
When Jon woke up, he could already hear Brendon and Ryan squabbling. He sighed and rolled out of his bunk, shuffling to the lounge and flopping on the couch.
"Seriously, what the fuck is the matter with you?" Brendon said incredulously. "Dude, they look awesome."
"What's going on?" Jon asked tentatively.
"Nothing," Ryan snapped. Brendon rolled his eyes.
"I wanted to show you what he did on my back last night," he said earnestly. "Because, you know, you liked the angel wings so much."
Ryan slumped down on the couch, and Brendon pinched his thigh. "Fucker."
"Just show me," Jon said, impatient, anticipating. Brendon grinned wide and shifted on the couch, tugging his shirt up over his head.
Jon's breath caught in his throat. Somehow, Ryan had managed to take those stupid little sticky-tattoos of individual rhinestones and form a delicate design of a tall, sweeping tree, curving up the right side of Brendon's back, roots stretching down beneath the ragged waistband of his sweatpants, the branches curling up around his shoulders, intricate leaves glistening across his shoulders and the backs of his biceps. There was a twinkling of - something; stars, maybe? - patterned beside the trunk of the tree.
"Wow," he murmured. "Shit, Ryan, that's-"
"Shut up," Ryan mumbed, dropping his chin to his chest. "Okay, I know it's lame."
"It's really, really not, idiot," Brendon said.
"No, no, not lame," Jon said emphatically. "God, look at that - how fucking long did that take?"
"Not sure," Ryan said, cheeks burning. "Brendon, do you-?"
"I fell asleep," Brendon said brightly. "I was all tired and shit last night, dude, Jon, bunk sex should be a fucking Olympic event."
Ryan threw a rolled-up magazine at his head, and Brendon scowled but didn't respond.
"How the hell did you even manage to see what you were doing, if you were in a bunk?" Jon asked, confused, reaching out again to caress the design.
"We came out here, stretched out on the floor," Ryan admitted. "I don't know, I just kind of. Wanted to see if I could do it."
Jon bent at the waist, drawing closer to Brendon, breathing in the smell of him, soft skin and the barest hint of sexsweatRyan mingled in among the slightly tangy scent of the adhesive.
"You did this one-by-one?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. "They have these things, you know, pre-made designs, but those are kind of. Boring. Like, it's just a peel-and-stick. But you can get individuals, so. That's what I use. It's not, like. It's just, us, you know?"
"Yeah," Jon said, and nuzzled against Brendon's back - Brendon who was uncharacteristically still, letting Jon admire the markings. "How do you get him to sit still long enough?"
"Hey," Brendon said. "I can sit still. I like it when he does it, too. It looks pretty."
"Dumbass," Ryan said, flushing with pleasure. "You can't even see them."
"Can too," Brendon shot back. "Spencer takes pictures for me."
Ryan sat up straighter. "Really?"
"Yeah," Brendon mumbled, looking down at his hands. "I printed them. Keep 'em in my journal."
"Oh," Ryan said softly, and Jon chose that moment to back away, leaving them.
--
"I like them," Brendon said defensively. "You put a lot of work into them. And, they're-they're mine, okay, it's my skin, I can keep the pictures if I want."
"Yeah," Ryan said throatily. "I just thought you were - I don't know, putting up with me, or something."
"No," Brendon breathed, and slid closer, kissing his jaw softly. "No, no, I like being your canvas."
"Okay," Ryan whispered and caught his mouth in a kiss, slow and deliberate, crawling into his lap. Brendon brought his hands up the back of Ryan's shirt, gripping at his skin and scratching lightly, teasingly, with his fingernails. Ryan's arms looped around Brendon's shoulders, running his fingertips over the raised bumps of the design. Brendon sighed into his mouth and tipped them forward onto the floor.
Ryan arched up into Brendon, wrapping long slim legs around his waist, not pushing for anything yet, just feeling Brendon's weight on him, slipping his tongue past Brendon's mouth, drawing his lower lip between his teeth and biting gently. Brendon rested his weight against his forearms and let the nimble fingers of his right hand card through Ryan's hair, kissing him deeply, hungry.
He pulled away slightly, smiled at Ryan, and leaned in again, kissing down the line of his neck, biting at the dip of his collarbone. Ryan whimpered a little, wriggling at his pajama pants, and Brendon slid down his body, deftly slipping them over his slender hips, licking along the underside of Ryan's cock, hard already. He stood and stripped off his sweatpants, then knelt between Ryan's spread legs.
"So," he said roughly. "Follow the arrows, Ross." Ryan glanced down, and saw a large bright arrow below Brendon's belly button, pointing down. He smirked and wriggled down, resting his head back against the carpet, opening his mouth. Brendon's breath hitched, but he pushed into Ryan's mouth, steadily, all the way, letting out a low groan. "Fuck. That's- yeah."
Ryan hummed a little around the shaft, sucking as best he could, swallowing around Brendon's cock until Brendon jerked back, fumbling at the pockets of his sweatpants for a single-use packet of KY, squirting it onto his fingers before leaning in and pushing two into Ryan at once. Ryan flinched and bit down on his lip, hard, trying to keep from crying out.
"Sorry," Brendon whispered, bending down and kissing Ryan's knee. "Just-"
"Yeah-" Ryan gasped. "Come on, I'm ready, I want it."
"Okay," Brendon breathed, and slid into him, slow, steady burn; hot pressure on his insides. Ryan dropped his head back against the carpet again, moaning low and harsh, slipping a hand between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around his cock, twisting and pulling in time to the rocking movement of Brendon's hips.
They didn't last long, either of them; a bare handful of thrusts before Ryan stopped bucking beneath him, stilled and he came over his belly. Brendon let out a rasping chuckle before rolling his hips; experimentally, almost, and went very still as Ryan clenched down around him, tightening.
He collapsed onto Ryan, nosing at the crook of his neck, biting gently.
--
In the kitchenette, Spencer smiled at Jon and pushed a stack of vividly coloured photographs across the table, grin widening as Jon's breath caught in his throat, captivated.
Author: Melissa (theaerosolkid)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, implied GSF-type stuff.
Summary: Brendon is Ryan's canvas.
Word Count: 1329
Disclaimer: It's all fake; standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: kosher_pareve and I got to talking and it was determined that I needed to write a fic! Whee!! So I blurbbled a bit, and came up with this, well, okays. But dammit, the Beta Queen (castoffstarter) told me that it needed to be better, so, this was scrapped, but I posted it in my journal, because I FELT LIKE IT, DAMMIT. Considering my current WIPs list, I don't know that I'll ever finish the longer version. So, here, to all who didn't read it originally, have a fic! \o/
"Brendon?" Jon squinted at him. Brendon was kneeling in the kitchenette, rummaging through the mini-fridge for Red Bull.
"Fucking assholes, where the shit - huh?"
"What's that under your shirt?"
"Rhinestones."
A pause.
A longer pause.
"O-on your skin?" Jon choked out.
"Yeah," Brendon said casually, standing up and pulling his thin t-shirt off, tossing it to the floor. He turned around and displayed a truly impressive design of angel wings across his scapulae. Jon stood up; trancelike, almost, and walked closer to Brendon, running one broad hand over the display, looking closer. It appeared to be made of about a thousand tiny arrow-shapes, painstakingly arranged across pale skin, slow varying patterns of white and soft blue, leading down to darker colours, following the gentle curve of his spine, glittering and reflecting the light as the flesh beneath rippled.
"Shit," Jon breathed, feeling them under his palms.
"Ryan does it," Brendon said nonchalantly. "Since I won't let him do that Tim Burton crap on my face."
"Ohh," Jon managed. Brendon shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head, spinning and quirking his eyebrow up.
"They're fun to play with, see?" and gestured down to his belly, where a playful swirl clearly pointed down below his belt.
"That's nice," Jon said faintly. The door to the kitchenette banged open and Ryan stumbled through, bleary with sleep.
"Coffee's not ready yet," Brendon said, cheerful. Ryan grunted something in response and walked right back to his bunk.
Jon blinked and sat back down, staring at the little bumps across Brendon's back for the rest of the day.
Well. The rest of the week, really.
--
When Jon woke up, he could already hear Brendon and Ryan squabbling. He sighed and rolled out of his bunk, shuffling to the lounge and flopping on the couch.
"Seriously, what the fuck is the matter with you?" Brendon said incredulously. "Dude, they look awesome."
"What's going on?" Jon asked tentatively.
"Nothing," Ryan snapped. Brendon rolled his eyes.
"I wanted to show you what he did on my back last night," he said earnestly. "Because, you know, you liked the angel wings so much."
Ryan slumped down on the couch, and Brendon pinched his thigh. "Fucker."
"Just show me," Jon said, impatient, anticipating. Brendon grinned wide and shifted on the couch, tugging his shirt up over his head.
Jon's breath caught in his throat. Somehow, Ryan had managed to take those stupid little sticky-tattoos of individual rhinestones and form a delicate design of a tall, sweeping tree, curving up the right side of Brendon's back, roots stretching down beneath the ragged waistband of his sweatpants, the branches curling up around his shoulders, intricate leaves glistening across his shoulders and the backs of his biceps. There was a twinkling of - something; stars, maybe? - patterned beside the trunk of the tree.
"Wow," he murmured. "Shit, Ryan, that's-"
"Shut up," Ryan mumbed, dropping his chin to his chest. "Okay, I know it's lame."
"It's really, really not, idiot," Brendon said.
"No, no, not lame," Jon said emphatically. "God, look at that - how fucking long did that take?"
"Not sure," Ryan said, cheeks burning. "Brendon, do you-?"
"I fell asleep," Brendon said brightly. "I was all tired and shit last night, dude, Jon, bunk sex should be a fucking Olympic event."
Ryan threw a rolled-up magazine at his head, and Brendon scowled but didn't respond.
"How the hell did you even manage to see what you were doing, if you were in a bunk?" Jon asked, confused, reaching out again to caress the design.
"We came out here, stretched out on the floor," Ryan admitted. "I don't know, I just kind of. Wanted to see if I could do it."
Jon bent at the waist, drawing closer to Brendon, breathing in the smell of him, soft skin and the barest hint of sexsweatRyan mingled in among the slightly tangy scent of the adhesive.
"You did this one-by-one?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. "They have these things, you know, pre-made designs, but those are kind of. Boring. Like, it's just a peel-and-stick. But you can get individuals, so. That's what I use. It's not, like. It's just, us, you know?"
"Yeah," Jon said, and nuzzled against Brendon's back - Brendon who was uncharacteristically still, letting Jon admire the markings. "How do you get him to sit still long enough?"
"Hey," Brendon said. "I can sit still. I like it when he does it, too. It looks pretty."
"Dumbass," Ryan said, flushing with pleasure. "You can't even see them."
"Can too," Brendon shot back. "Spencer takes pictures for me."
Ryan sat up straighter. "Really?"
"Yeah," Brendon mumbled, looking down at his hands. "I printed them. Keep 'em in my journal."
"Oh," Ryan said softly, and Jon chose that moment to back away, leaving them.
--
"I like them," Brendon said defensively. "You put a lot of work into them. And, they're-they're mine, okay, it's my skin, I can keep the pictures if I want."
"Yeah," Ryan said throatily. "I just thought you were - I don't know, putting up with me, or something."
"No," Brendon breathed, and slid closer, kissing his jaw softly. "No, no, I like being your canvas."
"Okay," Ryan whispered and caught his mouth in a kiss, slow and deliberate, crawling into his lap. Brendon brought his hands up the back of Ryan's shirt, gripping at his skin and scratching lightly, teasingly, with his fingernails. Ryan's arms looped around Brendon's shoulders, running his fingertips over the raised bumps of the design. Brendon sighed into his mouth and tipped them forward onto the floor.
Ryan arched up into Brendon, wrapping long slim legs around his waist, not pushing for anything yet, just feeling Brendon's weight on him, slipping his tongue past Brendon's mouth, drawing his lower lip between his teeth and biting gently. Brendon rested his weight against his forearms and let the nimble fingers of his right hand card through Ryan's hair, kissing him deeply, hungry.
He pulled away slightly, smiled at Ryan, and leaned in again, kissing down the line of his neck, biting at the dip of his collarbone. Ryan whimpered a little, wriggling at his pajama pants, and Brendon slid down his body, deftly slipping them over his slender hips, licking along the underside of Ryan's cock, hard already. He stood and stripped off his sweatpants, then knelt between Ryan's spread legs.
"So," he said roughly. "Follow the arrows, Ross." Ryan glanced down, and saw a large bright arrow below Brendon's belly button, pointing down. He smirked and wriggled down, resting his head back against the carpet, opening his mouth. Brendon's breath hitched, but he pushed into Ryan's mouth, steadily, all the way, letting out a low groan. "Fuck. That's- yeah."
Ryan hummed a little around the shaft, sucking as best he could, swallowing around Brendon's cock until Brendon jerked back, fumbling at the pockets of his sweatpants for a single-use packet of KY, squirting it onto his fingers before leaning in and pushing two into Ryan at once. Ryan flinched and bit down on his lip, hard, trying to keep from crying out.
"Sorry," Brendon whispered, bending down and kissing Ryan's knee. "Just-"
"Yeah-" Ryan gasped. "Come on, I'm ready, I want it."
"Okay," Brendon breathed, and slid into him, slow, steady burn; hot pressure on his insides. Ryan dropped his head back against the carpet again, moaning low and harsh, slipping a hand between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around his cock, twisting and pulling in time to the rocking movement of Brendon's hips.
They didn't last long, either of them; a bare handful of thrusts before Ryan stopped bucking beneath him, stilled and he came over his belly. Brendon let out a rasping chuckle before rolling his hips; experimentally, almost, and went very still as Ryan clenched down around him, tightening.
He collapsed onto Ryan, nosing at the crook of his neck, biting gently.
--
In the kitchenette, Spencer smiled at Jon and pushed a stack of vividly coloured photographs across the table, grin widening as Jon's breath caught in his throat, captivated.