Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap) | Brendon Urie/Jon Walker | Part 3/6

[repulsive_x]

MP | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Extras

*

It’s late, and Brendon’s tucked into the extra bunk in Panic’s bus, not sleeping. All that’s going through his mind, over and over again, is fuck the rules, fucktherulesfucktherulesfucktherules, and he’s finding it hard to do much else, let alone close his eyes and actually go to sleep.

It’s not like Brendon was waiting for Katy’s permission or anything because he is a big boy, he has his own mind. Just now it seems a little more real, a little more okay now that someone has told him so.

His phone vibrates next to his ear, and Brendon doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

It says, "we must reinvent love."

Brendon manages to reply back, even over the racing of his brain. “Who’s that?”

He hears someone shuffle a bunk over and under.

It takes a moment before a new message pops up on his screen. “Me,” is all it says.

Brendon closes his eyes, counts to five and then counts backwards, heart thumping uncontrollably. “I want to kiss you again.” He almost can’t believe it when he hits send and not even two seconds pass before he’s quickly typing out another message, “I won’t run away this time, I promise.” He closes his eyes again, and forces the bile from rising up his throat. He hears Jon’s phone vibrate, once, twice.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes, four minutes, nothing.

Brendon’s so, so stupid. He shouldn’t have said that. He obviously ruined anything that was possible that night when he freaked out and ran away. But then - why is he sending him all these texts? Why is he always fucking with his mind? Maybe Katy was right in the beginning, there’s a reason there’s rules, there’s a reason -

The curtain to his bunk slides open, and there’s Jon, right there, looking back at him through the darkness.

Brendon stops breathing.

“Are you going to let me in?” Jon smirks, breaking the silence with a whisper.

Brendon nods dumbly, and slides over so his back is pressed flush against the bus wall. It’s a tight fit, real tight, but Jon manages to slide in next to him.

Jon reaches forward and cups Brendon’s cheek, calloused fingers rough against his skin, and Brendon, he still can’t breathe, not at all, not even a little. “So,” he whispers, “you’re not going to run away this time, huh?”

Brendon shakes his head, not trusting his own voice enough to speak.

Jon licks his lips, and god, he is so close, so, so close that it’s not even fair. Why is he not kissing him already? “Okay,” he smiles, “and I promise I won’t be a dick.”

Brendon would tell him he wasn’t being a dick, that he was just being honest, but Jon's already leaning forward, closing the space between them to press their lips firmly together. Brendon responds instantly, kisses him back, but doesn’t push it. He doesn’t open his mouth, doesn’t press closer into Jon, he lets Jon do it all, considering what had happened the last time. Brendon can safely say he’s learned his lesson.

Jon continues to lay kisses on him, soft and innocent, as the minutes go on, hands cupping his face, and it’s something Brendon’s never really had before. Compared to this, all of Brendon’s kisses have been rushed, wet, sloppy - cheap?

Jon takes his bottom lip in between his, and nips gently. “I don’t want to be like them,” he says, voice hoarse against his mouth, and Brendon has to force himself not to go diving back into his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I don’t want to be like all those other guys.”

Brendon smiles, stomach fluttering. He kisses him, and whispers back, “you’re not.”

And Brendon, he doesn’t think he’s ever been more honest about anything before.

*

When Brendon wakes up in the morning, Jon’s pressed against his side, legs intertwined with his. He can hear Spencer and Ryan up already, talking with Keltie in the main area.

Brendon closes his eyes, and snuggles further into Jon.

*

Three days later, Katy shows up unannounced with two large duffel bags in hand. Brendon finds this odd because when they talked the other day she never mentioned anything about it, but by the looks of her swollen, red eyes, he doesn’t think he needs to ask.

The only person who isn’t surprised to see her is Spencer, and Brendon doesn’t know if he should feel hurt over that or not.

However, when she looks over to see him and Jon cuddled together on the couch, eyebrow raised, he figures they’re even because he kind of forgot to fill her in on that little detail also (well, okay, not so much as forgot as completely fucking avoided).

Later on, she pulls him aside, and says, “So, he doesn’t know, does he?”

“Doesn’t know what?” he asks innocently, even though he’s sure he already knows what she’s talking about.

She gives him a look, the raised eyebrow and says, “That you’re not going to stop.”

Brendon looks away, eyes focusing on the floor. “Yeah, he does.” It’s not a full lie, not really. They’ve never actually discussed it, that Brendon’s not going to stop what he does, fucking around with other band boys, but he’s sure that Jon’s aware. He must be. He has to be.

She looks him over, unsure, and says, “B, you have to tell him. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” Brendon replies with a clearing of his throat. He pauses, and says, quick to change to the subject, “so, Ian…”

She looks away, eyes glazed over. “Yeah,” she mumbles, and that’s that.

*

Brendon’s lying on his bunk, listening to is iPod and doodling - overall just minding his own business when all of a sudden Jon’s yanking back the curtain, pulling the earphone out of his ear, and says, simple as ever, “come on, lets go.”

Brendon looks up, confused, and blinks, once, twice, “Where?”

Jon cocks his head to the side, and gives him this look like, why would you even bother asking something like that?

He shrugs, pulls himself from his bunk and follows Jon off of the bus, noticing the camera dangling from around his neck. Brendon eyes it suspiciously, but doesn’t say anything about it as he continues to follow Jon past the random gas station they stopped at for a half an hour break, situated in the middle of nowhere, and out into the forest behind.

“Just to let you know, Jon Walker,” he calls out from where he lags behind, carefully watching his path for any sticks or rocks that will leave him falling flat on his face, “if you’re taking me out here to kill me, I can scream really loud.”

Jon doesn’t turn around, but Brendon can practically hear the smirk on his lips.

They reach a clearing, and it vaguely reminds Brendon of that time back in London when Jon and he had gone for a walk and discussed Wilde for the first time. Brendon finds himself grinning at the memory.

Jon stops, allowing Brendon to catch up, and he’s just about to ask what they’re doing again when Jon leans forward and attacks Brendon’s mouth with his lips. It’s been a week now and Brendon still feels a little weak in the knees whenever Jon kisses him.

The corners of his mouth twitch up, just slightly, as he presses closer into Jon, and slips an arm loosely around his neck. Jon’s kisses are slow, and languid, but they still have the right amount of intensity to them that Brendon yearns for. They’re meaningful, and somehow when Jon kisses him, Brendon almost feels - beautiful. He can honestly say he’s never, not once, been kissed like that before, not even close. Brendon, he’s sure, could spend hours, upon hours, doing absolutely nothing but this.

Jon tightens his grip on his hips, camera hanging from between his fingers and brushing up against his right thigh. He gives Brendon a small push backwards until his back hit’s the trunk of a large tree behind them, and Brendon opens his mouth willingly, allowing Jon’s warm tongue to meet his.

Over the past week Brendon’s developed quite a severe case of beard burn, the skin around his lips red and irritated from all the kissing they’ve done. He gets annoyed of it, until he kisses Jon again and remembers that it is so, so worth it.

Jon’s hand slides from his hip, and fiddles with something while still managing to kiss Brendon with the same ferocity.

Brendon hears a faint click, sees a quick flash from behind his eyelids before he’s sliding them open and giving Jon a quick shove backwards, laughing. “You so did not take a picture of us making out, Jon Walker. How old are you? Fourteen?”

Jon flashes a guilty smile, and pulls him back against him until their chest to chest, pressing a feathery kiss to the sensitive part of his neck. His beard tickles, and Brendon lets out an airy laugh. “Now, why would I go and do something like that?” he asks, feigning innocent as he nips at Brendon’s chin with his teeth. He pulls away, giving him a sheepish grin while Brendon gives him a disbelieving look back. “Fine,” he sighs, defeated, giving a dramatic eye roll, “you caught me. You’re just so pretty, I couldn’t help it.”

Brendon blushes, and ducks his head.

Click. Flash.

“Jon!” Brendon whines, arms crossed over his chest as he stomps his foot like a child.

“Oh come on,” Jon prods, watching him through the camera lens.

Brendon shakes his head, and sticks out his lower lip just as Jon snaps another picture. “Oh my god,” he whines some more, pressing his hands into his face.

Jon laughs warmly, and snaps another.

*

Jon disappears for an hour at the next town they stop at without a word to anyone.

Brendon didn’t admit it to anyone, but he spent the entire seventy-three minutes freaking the fuck out. Spencer and Ryan must have noticed his anguish because they kept reminding him that it wasn’t unlike Jon to disappear for hours at a time, he was always off taking pictures and loosing track of time, but still. They’re famous rock stars; the crazy, fourteen year-old fans that Brendon has witnessed on many different occasions could have very easily kidnapped him.

When Jon finally does come stumbling back onto the bus, he’s carrying a stuffed, colorful envelope in one hand and a bouquet of sad-looking wildflowers in the other. He hands them to Brendon, a little sheepishly, and all of the stuff he was going to say about Jon being inconsiderate and making him worry kind of just disintegrates inside his mind.

Brendon wraps his arms around Jon’s neck, and presses a slow, deep kiss to his lips while beaming, choosing to ignore the faint gagging sounds Spencer and Ryan are making behind them.

Later that night, while Jon is asleep next to him, Brendon takes the time to peak into the envelope Jon had brought back. He smiles, big and wide, when he sees that mostly all the pictures inside are of him.

July 2007

Brendon’s not sure what city he’s in, what time it is or really even what day it is, all he knows for sure is that he’s drunk and really fucking horny.

“Jon,” he purrs, voice muffled into the underside of Jon’s chin as he fumbles with the keycard, attempting to get their hotel room door open. He slips a hand under Jon’s shirt, and presses his fingertips against his warm belly. “Hey, Jonny Walker, I have a question,” he murmurs, pressing his moist lips to Jon’s ear, darting his tongue along his earlobe while Jon nods and swallows. “Do you think that maybe,” he starts, voice husky through his slurs as he walks his fingertips up his stomach, “that maybe you could fuck me?”

Jon chokes just as the keycard finally decides to work, causing them to go stumbling into the dark room, Brendon still attached to Jon’s waist.

Brendon giggles, shutting the door behind them with a click before falling back on it. Jon flicks on the light, and turns to him, his own eyes glazed over. Brendon tilts his head to the side, tries to look as sexy as possible, but he can’t help it as a lopsided, childish grin spreads across his lips instead. “So… whaddya think?”

Brendon already knows the answer, even through all the drunken haziness in his mind, but he figures it’s worth a shot anyway.

Jon’s lips quirk into an amused smile, and he places his palms flat on either side of Brendon’s head as he leans forward, shaking his head, once, twice, three times. “No, I don’t think so.”

“But Jon,” he whines as he slips his fingers into his belt loops, pulling Jon’s hips into his with a jolt.

“But Brendon,” he mimics, pressing his nose against Brendon’s smooth cheek, eyelashes brushing against his temple.

“But -” he starts with a protruding bottom lip, “but I’m horny.”

Jon laughs, and pulls himself from Brendon’s grip, heading into the adjoining room where the one kind-sized bed lays (the one that Brendon is positive is calling out for some sex to happen on it). “Sorry,” he calls, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and tossing it carelessly onto the nearest chair in a heap.

“But Jon,” he whines again, following grudgingly into the room where Jon stands, “why can’t you just give me some sex?”

Jon turns to face him, loosening his tie around his neck, and sighs. “Brendon, please, how many times have we talked about this in the past week or so? Plus, explaining it now, for the hundredth time, by the way, would be completely pointless considering how drunk you are right now.” He jabs a finger at him triumphantly. “Which there! There’s your reason, it’s because you’re drunk and we are not having sex for the first time while you’re drunk! A-ha!

Brendon places his hands on his hips, and gives him his best attempt at a sad, angry face. “You suck.”

Jon beams, slowly beginning to pop the buttons off his shirt.

It’s not that Brendon is completely against Jon’s decision to withhold sex, because in all honesty, Brendon finds it refreshing that for once in his life, he’s not just wanted for sex. Brendon’s never had that; he’s never slept with someone he had truly, honestly cared about in that way - or with them feeling that way back. Brendon can safely say that he doesn’t know the meaning behind making love.

But, it’s just - it’s been three freaking weeks, and Brendon, he likes sex, okay? He does. A lot. Obviously, or else he wouldn’t be in the ‘lifestyle’ that he’s in, and it just really makes the situation that much worse being around Jon all the time, kissing, touching, and not being able to have him completely. If Jon can make him feel the way he does just by kissing him, he’s dying to find out how he makes him feel during sex itself.

Jon’s on the last button of his shirt when he returns his gaze back up to Brendon, who’s still standing there with a sad puppy-dog look on his face that he takes pride in pulling off so well. Jon chuckles softly as he makes his way over to Brendon, looping his arms around his waist and pulling him into him. “Stop it,” he murmurs. “It’s not like I don’t want to, okay? Because I do, a lot, trust me, but I just - I don’t want you to feel like I’m just another guy - another guy in a band. I want it to actually mean something.” He presses a few, feathery kisses in a row to Brendon’s lips before ending with, “I just want you to experience it with someone you really, truly care about.”

“But I care about you now,” he points out.

Jon gives him a pointed look, and Brendon sighs, but keeps his mouth shut.

Jon leans forward, pressing their lips together again, and it’s a little sloppier than usual, due to the alcohol, but Brendon thinks that he can probably survive.

Brendon can’t help it, but sometimes, when Jon tells him things like he just did, or does something like bring him hand-picked flowers, besides the warm, butterfly feeling, he feels a little - uneasy. And it’s not so much Jon’s actions, as it is how unworthy he feels to get such things. Brendon felt it the first time Jon kissed him, and he still feels it now. It’s hard to wrap his mind around why someone like Jon would want someone like him for more than just meaningless sex.

Jon tugs him forward by the waistband of his jeans, towards the bed, while he takes his bottom lip between his teeth. Brendon’s drunk, and horny, and he can’t help as a tiny moan slips from his mouth, which Jon smiles smugly for.

Of course Jon won’t have sex with him, but he’ll torture him by giving him a taste then yanking it away right when Brendon needs it so bad that he might burst. Brendon knows all of this, even before it begins, but it’s not like he would refuse what Jon does want to give him.

Jon shimmies them around until the back of Brendon’s knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Jon gives him a little push backwards by his shoulders until his butt hit’s the mattress with a bit of a bounce. Brendon grips onto his elbows, expecting Jon to join him on the bed, maybe straddle his hips, but instead, Jon gives him one last long, dirty kiss before slowly sinking down to his knees.

Brendon may or may not, choke on his own breath for a second or two there. “J-Jon,” he trembles, watching as Jon pops open the button of his jeans while looking up at him with lust-filled eyes.

When Brendon said that thing about them not having sex, he really did mean all kinds of sex. One time, they dry-humped until they came, but that was about the extent of it, so the whole down-on-his-knees thing is kind of throwing him off a bit (and really, really turning him on).

Brendon almost asks, “Doesn’t this count as sex to you?” but then stops himself because he really doesn’t want to take any chances of Jon stopping. Who knows when he could get a chance like this again.

Jon gets his fly down, and begins to tug on his jeans until Brendon gets the hint and lifts his hips, allowing Jon to tug them down to the middle of his thighs. Since Brendon rarely wears any form of underwear (“easy access,” some say), his already eager cock is right there, wanting.

Jon smirks over what Brendon can only hope is his lack of underwear (because as far as Brendon’s concerned, he’s not anything spectacular, but he’s definitely not tiny either) before wrapping his fist attentively around the base of his cock.

Brendon all but purrs, seeing as how most of the time when Brendon has sex, it’s solely for the pleasure of the other person. So, it goes without saying, Brendon hasn’t received many blowjobs in his life. In fact, he can count all two.

Jon fists his cock a few times, running his thumb over his tip until he’s completely hard and leaking, and just when Brendon thinks he’s going to lean down and take him into his mouth, Jon leans back on his haunches, digging into his back pocket.

Brendon frowns, confused and painfully hard, until Jon pulls his wallet out and then a small, white packet from inside of that. It takes him a moment in his lust-ridden state to realize it’s a condom. A vanilla flavored condom.

Brendon’s only used a condom once while giving head and that was only because the guy he was giving it to was some insane germaphobe. He doesn’t say this to Jon though, he just watches as he rolls the condom on from his tip all the way to the base, and thinks how he can’t really blame him for wanting to use one. Brendon’s a groupie, and Jon knows for damn sure that there’s been many, many other guys before him - who knows what kind of unknown diseases he could have.

For a moment, Brendon feels sick to his stomach. He contemplates telling Jon to stop because he really doesn’t deserve this, but before he can open his mouth, Jon’s tongue meets his head and all the words just kind of melt away.

Jon takes him in inch by inch, and while the latex is thin, Brendon is still perfectly aware it’s there, separating Jon’s hot mouth from his cock. He threads his fingers through Jon’s hair, and attempts to breathe out evenly through his nose, which, after a second or two, goes completely unsuccessful.

Jon takes him in a little too far causing him to gag, making Brendon wonder if it’s because he doesn’t do this very often or if it’s just because he’s drunk. Brendon tightens his grip on his hair, just barely, and fights the urge to buck his hips into his warm mouth; Jon is not him, he doesn’t deserve the hair-pulling or mouth-fucking.

Jon hollows his cheeks, and sucks him in deeper, digging the tips of his fingers into Brendon’s hipbones. Brendon has many experiences worth of built stamina, but he’s quickly learning that when it comes to a mouth on his dick, especially Jon’s; he’s pretty much a goner from the get-go.

When Brendon comes, it’s a flurry of colors, stars and fucking shapes. He can’t remember the last time he had an orgasm even half as amazing as that, and he tries not to think about how it was just a blow job, with a condom as a barrier at that.

Jon rolls the condom off Brendon for him, and ties it in a knot before standing up and walking over to the trashcan to dispose of it. When he returns, he gives Brendon one long, hungry kiss, and Brendon can taste the faint, artificial vanilla flavoring on his tongue. “There,” he says, smiling cheekily into his lips, “are you happy now?”

Brendon mirrors his smile, tugging him down by the elbows, his jeans still pulled down to his knees. “I am,” he murmurs.

Jon finishes with a quick peck to his lips before he’s standing up and stretching his arms above his head, causing his thin t-shirt to ride up his stomach and reveal a pale strip of smooth skin. Brendon resists the urge to reach out and run his tongue along the grooves of his hipbones.

Jon rids himself of his clothing, leaving only his boxers before sliding under the covers of the bed as Brendon quickly follows. When he slides in next to him, he instantly snakes his arms around Jon’s waist, running the pad of his thumb against Jon’s hip, which he reciprocates with a light kiss to the top of his head. Brendon can feel his eyes begin to droop, the burning pull of his eyelids shutting, and he lets out a loud yawn, muffled into the warm skin of Jon’s shoulder.

And maybe it’s just the alcohol coursing through Brendon’s veins, or maybe just the post-orgasm haze, but before he can realize what exactly it is he’s saying, he mumbles, “I think that I just might love you, Jon Walker,” before passing out cold.

*

The next day, Jon doesn’t say a word about Brendon’s confession and he couldn’t be more relieved. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, obviously he doesn’t love Jon. Brendon doesn’t even know the meaning of love, so how could he possibly feel it for him? And it’s not like he knows him all that well either, at least not enough to say that he loves him. That’s just. No. It’s not possible. Because -

Because, well, if Brendon knows one thing, it’s to never, ever, under any circumstances, fall in love with a boy in a band.

*

Two nights later, Brendon’s lying in the back lounge of Panic’s bus, Jon’s arm slung loosely around his waist, and chest curved along his back. It’s late and they’re the only ones up, watching an old, black and white movie on mute.

Jon’s drawing lazy patterns on his bare hip - in what Brendon is beginning to realize are awfully close to the shape of tiny hearts - when he presses his mouth close to his ear, and whispers, “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ignoring what you said to me.”

Brendon closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of Jon’s chest behind him.

“I just needed time to think.” He continues, then pauses, waiting a second, two, before saying, “and I think that I just might love you too, Brendon Urie.”

Brendon feels his chest flare up, his breath falter for a beat or five. He’s not sure what’s worse, falling in love with a boy in a band or allowing them to fall in love with you.

Either way, Brendon’s afraid that he’s accomplished both.

*

Brendon starts to notice the other groupies, the ones that just magically begin to appear.

“It’s not so much as magically appearing as them being here for almost a month now,” Katy says dryly, forking a piece of lettuce into her mouth. “You just haven’t had the time to notice with your face permanently attached to Jon’s.”

Brendon blushes and ducks his head, bashful, moving his spoon around in lazy circles in his untouched soup. They’re at a restaurant for lunch, and he and Katy are sitting at their own table, requested for the sole purpose of ‘catching up’ while everyone else, almost twenty, sit a few tables away laughing and chatting animatedly. There’s three girls and one boy, all placed sporadically around the table, giggling and hanging off the guy next to them. The sight alone makes Brendon want to upchuck the half sandwich he just ate.

“God, look at them,” he sneers venomously, “they’re disgusting. The blonde one has a double-chin, and oh my god, don’t even get me started on the short ones bad dye job. I doubt they even like their music.”

Katy shakes her head and laughs, but Brendon catches the sad ring to it. “Let them have their fun, Bren.”

Brendon snorts doubtfully. “Yeah, right.”

One of the girls turns and catches Brendon’s gaze, and he instinctively, all but hisses back. She quickly diverts her attention back to Singer, whispering something furiously into his ear before he’s looking over at Brendon himself, and smirks.

Before Brendon has the chance to send them a scowl back, or maybe even possibly run across the restaurant to smack the bitch in the face, Jon catches his eye a few seats away and gives him a soft, calming smile that instantly melts away any last inch of irritation. Brendon smiles back, heart-warming.

“Do you ever start to feel like you’re getting sick of all of this?”

“All of what?” Brendon asks distractedly, eyes still locked with Jon’s. He feels like such a pathetic, little puppy-dog with him sometimes.

“This,” she says, waving her hand in the air like it’s actually supposed to mean something. Brendon raises a confused eyebrow, and she huffs, “The touring, the partying, the sleeping around. I’m starting to hate waking up in the morning, Bren.”

Brendon tears his eyes from Jon’s to look over at her, startled. Truth be told, in the past month, with him being in this monogamous relationship thing with Jon, he’s actually starting to miss it a little (okay, maybe a lot). Especially after last week, when Jon had told him that he’s possibly in love with him and Brendon realized that he just might be in love with him too, well - he’s starting to freak out a little. Brendon just doesn’t know how to handle this kind of thing, he’s not the regular, loving, monogamous relationship kind of guy.

Then, to make matters worse, with this whole new groupie thing all of a sudden popping up out of nowhere, all Brendon really wants to do is go and show those little skanks who really wins around here. But -

But, then, at the same time, a part of Brendon - a fairly large part - wants to be with no one but Jon for a very, very long time.

“Jon told me he loved me last week,” Brendon says. It may not be the answer Katy was looking for but Brendon thinks that it might be close.

Katy looks expectantly at him, waiting for him to continue, and if she’s surprised, she doesn’t let on.

“And I might have told him that I loved him too,” he mutters, his soup now cold below him. “I actually might have told him before he told me.” He avoids Katy’s eyes, and stares downwards, cheeks a violent red. “I didn’t mean to, it just kind of slipped out. I was drunk and it was post-orgasm.”

“And do you?”

“What?” He jerks his eyes up, meeting her gaze.

“Do you love him?” she repeats, her eyes dull and empty, and it kind of scares Brendon because he hasn’t not been able to tell what she was thinking since the day he met her.

“I -” he starts before taking a quick swig of his water, quenching his dry throat, “I don’t know. Maybe,” he stops, presses his forehead into his hands, and sighs. “Yeah, I think that I do, but. All I can think about doing lately is - you know. I guess cheating on him.” He gives a quick motion with his hand to the table behind them, and says quietly, “I miss it. I just feel so - not needed. I don’t like it.”

Brendon closes his mouth, and attempts to swallow all the unsaid things crawling up the back of his throat. And maybe - maybe he’s freaking out a little. Maybe he feels like he doesn’t deserve Jon’s love. Doesn’t deserve his kind words, or gentle touches. He doesn’t deserve a relationship at all. Maybe he knows he doesn’t.

He bites onto his bottom lip, ashamed, and says, voice hoarse, “the last thing I want to do is hurt Jon though,” and he means it.

Katy reaches across the table, taking his hand in hers. She says nothing and Brendon doesn’t blame her, because what is there to say anyway? Brendon, he knows that he’s made his bed, and that now he has to sleep in it.

Brendon groans, pressing his fingers into his temple, and god, what a shitty sleep it’s going to be.

*

Brendon winds up on his hands and knees in The Cab’s dressing room, Singer draped over him, slick and sweaty, while Ryan’s booming voice sweeps in under the doors as he sings to the crowd of screaming fans. Brendon should be there right now, watching from the sidelines, instead of getting fucked by some guy he’s barely spoken three words to.

Brendon wasn’t planning on doing this, he really wasn’t. He was planning on remaining faithful to Jon until he figured out what he was going to do, but. But then after seeing one of the new girls disappear with Cash into the dressing room, and then seeing the new guy make out with Shaant in the corner, he just - he snapped. He was not just going to stand around and watch these stupid, little, amateur skanks replace him. So, he kind of just marched right on up to Singer, and dragged him away before he had a chance to second guess himself.

Brendon had sunk to his knees almost immediately, and asked, “I’m better than them, right?” He tried real hard not to let the desperation show in his voice, and he has a feeling he failed terribly.

“Oh yeah,” Singer replied, placing his palm flat on the back of Brendon’s head, pushing his lips into his cock, “nothing can compare.”

Brendon felt relieved -

Until he felt guilt.

*

Brendon was only planning on that one time with Singer. It was a momentary lapse of judgment with him; he blames it on the lack of sex, and tells himself that now that he’s got it, there should no longer be a problem - at least for awhile anyway.

However, word gets around quick among the bands, just like it always does, like Monday morning gossip in high school, and all of a sudden, everyone who had been leaving him be for the past couple of weeks is suddenly there, pushing up real close, whispering dirty things in his ear while Jon is out of earshot. And you see, the thing is, Brendon’s never been good at saying no. If he was, he probably wouldn’t be where he is right now, he’d probably be off at University, studying to become a lawyer or a doctor, or some other fulfilling job he was meant to do. He wouldn’t have been living the past year and a half getting fucked by barely-famous boys in bands.

So, that’s why when Jon’s on stage, at practice, interviews, Brendon’s usually off in some abandoned room, pinned between the wall and some guy that’s not him, mouth full of cock.

It’s some unspoken thing between Brendon, between the guys he fools around with, that Jon is never to know; that it’s a secret. Brendon’s not stupid, he knows it’s not because they’re looking out for him, they never have, it’s because they’re looking out for themselves, for Jon, because hurting someone like him just isn’t something that you do.

Part of Brendon knows that sooner or later, Jon will find out; that it’s not something that everyone on tour can know but him and his two band mates. It’s not possible. Some person is bound to let it slip at some point or another. There’s always the loyal one, the one that’s not fucking Brendon behind his back. Every day, he wakes up and expects it.

However, to his surprise, the tour goes on, for weeks, and Jon never says a word, never even questions it. He kisses him with the same intensity, looks at him with the same adoring glow in his eye, and holds him like he’s the world’s most precious gem. Sometimes, Brendon really does consider ending it, he knows that it’s not fair to Jon, but then, as selfish as it may be, Jon will do something like that, something that will leave his heart beating faster than regular, and Brendon just can’t.

*

Brendon knows for sure that Jon has no idea when the last date of the tour looms just a week ahead, and Jon takes his hand in his, looks him straight in the eye and asks if he’d like to spend two weeks with him in Chicago before starting on the next tour.

Brendon doesn’t even miss a beat before he’s wrapping his arms around Jon’s neck, pressing a long kiss to his lips, and murmuring, “I’d love to.”

August 2007

It’s the last night of the tour, an hour before the show is supposed to start when Katy appears, and takes his hand, dragging him through the back corridors and outside behind the venue.

They walk for a minute, maybe five, in complete silence, past all the frantic fans lined up and waiting, tickets clutched firmly in their hands. They reach a park, and she sits them down on an empty bench, and simply says, “I’m not going to be coming back after this tour.”

Brendon waits, letting the information wash over him. “Never?”

Katy shakes her head sadly, lips tucked between her teeth.

Brendon looks over her expression, searching for any signs to show that she’s just kidding, but he sees nothing. Slowly, he feels all the color drain from his face. “What? Why?”

She sighs, running her hands through her sandy, blonde hair. “I’ve just grown out of it, B. Plus, I can’t have a relationship if I’m fucking around with other guys.”

Brendon frowns, curious.

“Ian,” she elaborates. “I’ve been talking to him a lot lately.” She pauses, running the palms of her hands over her skinny thighs, nervous almost. “I love him.”

“But -” Brendon stops, and places his face into his hands, taking a deep, controlled breath. “You can’t - you can’t just leave me.”

“Bren,” she says with a small, airy laugh, “I think you’ll be just fine.” She looks over him, his eyes, his expression, and adds, “Plus, you have Jon, don’t you?”

Brendon’s stomach drops, and he stares at her, deadpanned. “That is so entirely different and you know it. I’m fucking cheating on him, and it’s really only a matter of time before he finds out.”

She wait’s a moment, and finally, she says, “Then stop,” as if it’s the simplest solution ever, and maybe - maybe it is.

“I can’t just -” he starts, and then bites onto his tongue, shaking his head sadly. “It’s not that fucking easy, K. I’ve tried so hard, and I - God, what is even wrong with me? I lo - like him, I like him so much but I just can’t stop. And sometimes, I just get so overwhelmed, you know, with all these things he tells me. How he treats me. I’ve never had that, not even close, and I just - sometimes I don’t know what to do. It freaks the fuck out of me. And I - I don’t know.”

Katy laughs, just barely, and Brendon catches a sad undertone to it. “Trust me; I know exactly what it’s like. What do you think happened with me and Ian before? I freaked out. I wasn’t used to it. I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I felt like the only thing I deserved is this. Fucking around with guys who don’t give a shit about what happens to me as long as I’m still around to give them what they need.”

“Then what made you change your mind?” Brendon asks, hope flaring inside him, because if Katy can do it, so can he - right?

“I talked to him a lot. I talked to Spencer.”

“Spencer?” Brendon repeats, heart clenching in hurt. “You talked to Spencer but not me?”

“Brendon,” she says softly, looking him straight in the eye. She takes his hand into hers and says, “I didn’t talk to you about it because I know you’re in the exact same boat as me. You know no more on this subject than I do.”

“Well what does Spencer know about being a groupie?”

“Brendon,” she repeats, stern, “stop. You know you mean more to me than anyone, but there’s just some things that you can’t help me with.”

Brendon lets out a small, stubborn huff, but says nothing more. She’s right, and he knows it.

They say nothing for a minute, maybe two, before Katy’s saying, almost bashfully, “maybe you should try it, Bren. You know, just being with Jon.” Brendon opens his mouth to go and defend himself, but Katy cuts him off with, “I mean really try it. And I mean, it’s the end of the tour, you’re staying with him for two weeks… it’s the perfect time, you know? Chances are you’ll have sex sometime then, and then you really won’t have a valid excuse.”

“It’d be good for you,” she continues. “Good forboth of us. We’ve been in this scene for too long. We need to get out.” She squeezes his hand, and looks up at him with a hopeful flicker in her eyes, “and you could come back to Vegas. You could get a job and stay with me and Ian until you save up enough money to get your own place. Get away from it all. We could finally do something for ourselves for once.”

Brendon doesn’t really understand how all of this is happening; how just a few, short months ago Katy was telling him that falling for Jon was a bad, bad idea. That it was against the rules, and now she’s telling him to be faithful to Jon? To go off tour and live a normal life for once?

Maybe it would be a good idea if it wasn’t for the fact that it left Brendon panicking for air. “I-I don’t know, Katy…”

“You don’t have to decide now,” she says softly, running her thumb along Brendon’s. “I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be coming back.”

Brendon sniffs, but he is not - not - crying, and he leans forward, wrapping his arms snug around Katy’s tiny waist. It was different before, when Brendon had left her with Ian to go on this tour in the first place, because a part of him knew that she would be back, but now, after seeing the look in her eyes, he’s not so sure. The thought of Katy not being there with him, leaves him with an empty, gaping hole in the pit of his stomach, and he hates it.

Katy hugs him back, playing with the thin hairs on the nape of his neck. They sit in silence time ticking by, before she’s quietly whispering into his ear, “Don’t lose Jon, okay? You deserve this for once."

Brendon closes his eyes, and there’s still that voice at the back of his head, that one that’s saying, no, you don’t.

*

Jon lives on the top floor of a five story apartment - with no elevator.

By the time they’ve reached his door, Brendon’s surprised he hasn’t fallen into cardiac arrest from having to carry two duffel bags that weigh more than him put together up five flights of stairs. Jon, on the other hand, is barely winded.

“Shouldn’t smoke so much weed,” he teases turning a small, brass key in the lock.

Brendon rolls his eyes, pants coming out far too heavy and close together to shoot back any short of a comeback - because god knows, if anyone smokes a lot of pot, it’s Jon, not him.

“Sorry if it’s messy,” Jon says before pushing his apartment door open, sliding his bag in by his feet.

Brendon follows him inside, and now that he’s caught his breath enough to form a sentence he says, “For being such a rock star, you can’t afford an apartment where you don’t have to walk up five, very long flights of stairs?”

Jon laughs, and shrugs. “I’m on the road so much that I never really have the time to look for any places. Plus,” he says with a smirk, “I could use the exercise. Get rid of some of this flab,” he explains with a pat of his belly.

Brendon laughs, shutting the door behind them before walking over to Jon and sliding his hands up the front of shirt, splaying his hands across his stomach. “But I like your belly,” he protests, pouting.

Jon smiles, and bends down, pressing a slow, but hungry kiss to his lips. Screw the tour of the apartment, Brendon thinks, all he really cares about is the location of Jon’s bedroom. Even if there is no sex involved, Brendon really wouldn’t be opposed to doing a lot of kissing and dry-humping until they got off. Maybe Jon could give him a blowjob again, that was nice.

Jon, apparently thinking the same thing, grabs onto Brendon’s hips and pulls him into him while murmuring, “bedroom?” into his lips.

Brendon certainly does not protest as he follows Jon’s lead, allowing him to back down the hallway to where he can only assume is his bedroom, Jon eagerly sucking on his bottom lip in the process. Jon comes to an abrupt stop, back hitting the closed door, causing Brendon’s hips among other things to go colliding into Jon’s. He lets out a sharp gasp, muffled by Jon’s mouth, cock already growing hard against his jeans.

Jon manages to maneuver the door open, and they both go tumbling inside, nearly falling onto their asses in the process. Jon grips harder onto Brendon’s hips as they giggle sloppily into each other’s mouths, backing even further until the back of Brendon’s knees come into contact with the mattress, and they both fall down on top of it, teeth clanking together.

They slide up the bed, tongues still attached and Brendon’s hand slipping up the front of Jon’s shirt. Once his head meets the pillows, he pulls away, smiling sweetly. “Can we have sex now?”

Jon laughs, and drops his head down beside Brendon’s, panting heavily into the comforter. He whines, voice muffled by the mattress, making what Brendon assumes is his name come out something like, “Brrndmphn.”

“I want to have sex with you now, Jon,” he points out to the ceiling. “I think we’ve waited long enough.” He pauses, and then says, “I just don’t get it. I wasn’t aware a man with a fully functioning sex drive was capable of having so much control.”

Jon’s reply comes in the form of him biting into his skin just below his ear, and nothing else.

“Jooooon,” he whines, hitting his fist to his shoulder in agony. “I want sex! I mean it!” He kicks his heels against the bed, much like a child, but this gets him nothing but a laugh and an eye roll from Jon - and then a few kisses up his neck, across his cheek and to his lips.

He rubs his nose against his, once, twice, three times before murmuring into the softness of his lips, “you need to be more patient, my friend.”

“I’m sorry that I have an overactive sex drive,” he grumbles. “And you’re just really hot,” he adds, as if an afterthought. He wait’s a moment, waits for a reply from Jon, and after he gets none he says, “Am I not hot enough for you, Jonny? Is that why you won’t have sex with me?”

Jon laughs some more, low and warm from the center of his chest. “Yes, Brendon, you caught me,” he drawls sarcastically. “I won’t have sex with you because you’re hideous. I don’t know how I stand to kiss you everyday.”

Brendon stares at him, the corners of his mouth twitched downward. It’s stupid, but even though Brendon knows he’s kidding, the one small part of him still thinks that maybe he’s not.

“I’m obviously kidding, B,” he says almost instantly, pressing a big, wet kiss to the corner of his mouth. He nudges his nose against his cheek, and says, “You’re gorgeous, and you know it.” Brendon sticks out his lower lip in yet another pout, and Jon continues, “I told you why, a million times, and I meant it. I promise though, soon.”

“You are such a chick,” Brendon huffs. “You better not go all out and try to make it all magical or something - whenever it is that you finally decide it’s time. If you light candles I’m walking out.”

“No you wouldn’t.” Jon points out, giving him an impish grin.

Brendon stares back at him, deadpanned.

“Fine, okay.” Jon laughs as he sits up, putting his hands up in the air, palms out. “Scouts honor.”

Brendon giggles - fucking giggles, like a girl - before reaching up to grab onto Jon’s collar, pulling him back down against him. “Now c’mon,” he murmurs into his mouth, “we did come in here for a reason, didn’t we?”

He nods, and smiles, running the tip of his tongue along the outline of Brendon’s lip.

Sex or no sex, something’s telling Brendon that these will be some pretty fantastic two weeks either way.

*

The next day, Brendon meets Jon’s mom.

Brendon’s nervous, to say the very least, shaking the whole car ride there, Jon’s hand fit snugly in his. Considering Jon’s his first real relationship, Brendon’s never had to go through anything like this before, he’s never had to freak out thinking, oh my god, what if they don’t like me? The closest thing he’s ever had to experiencing something like this was with Mr. and Mrs. Roy, but even that doesn’t compare.

When they got to Mrs. Walkers doorstep, Brendon’s shaking even more. Jon wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him close, and presses a soft kiss to his earlobe before whispering, “It’ll be okay. Calm down. She’ll love you.”

"But how do you -”

Jon cuts him off with a kiss, and a reassuring smile. “Because, she loves everyone,” he says. “And plus, why wouldn’t she?”

Brendon blushes and pulls Jon’s lips back into his, kissing him tentatively.

By the time Jon’s mom appears at the door, they’re still kissing, Jon’s hands strong on his hips and Brendon’s bottom lip between his teeth. Brendon goes all but five shades of red before jumping back, arms covering in his chest in embarrassment. Great, he thinks, now her first impression of him will always be the image of him having his tongue shoved down her son’s throat.

However, much to his relief, she doesn’t seem bothered by it, she doesn’t even really seem to notice, because she just throws her arms out towards Jon and gushes, “Jon, my baby!”

Jon smiles, easy, and returns the huge, securing his arms around her thick waist. “Hi, mom,” he greets fondly, with not even the slightest hint of his own shame to it.

Brendon feels his heart melt at the sight. Sometimes, when Brendon sees things like this, he can’t help but wish he could still do the same with his own mother.

Jon pulls back, but keep his arm around her waist as he says, “Mom, this is Brendon. Brendon, this is my mom.”

Mrs. Walker’s a plump lady with rosy cheeks and curly, brown hair. She smells like lilacs and freshly baked cookies, and she’s everything Brendon wishes his own mother was. When he sees her, he understands why Jon’s the way he is.

“Come here, sweetheart,” she coos with extended arms, and Brendon gladly accepts, allowing her to pull him in for a warming hug. “Oh, honey,” she pulls away, but keeps her hands firmly planted on Brendon’s biceps, and when she smiles, Brendon is instantly aware of how strikingly alike it is to her sons, “it’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Brendon sneaks a quick glance at Jon, cheeks growing hotter. “You too,” he replies, smiling shyly.

Mrs. Walker lives alone, ever since Jon’s dad passed away from a stroke two years ago, and the first thing he sees when she ushers them inside is a large portrait of her and an older man that looks almost identical to Jon, along with three younger boys. Brendon locates Jon instantly, the tiny, six year-old with the two front teeth missing, and the image warms something inside his chest.

Mrs. Walker chats animatedly about his two cats, Dylan and Clover, and how they’ve been doing since he’s been away before Jon even has the chance to ask. She heads into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder that dinner should be ready any moment.

Brendon watches with a content smile as two cats, both a mixture of whites and grays, come rushing into the room, straight towards Jon as if they can sense his mere presence in the house. Brendon watches the grin that rapidly grows larger across his face, watches the way his eyes light up and the glow as he scratches behind their ears, their belly, and it fills Brendon with something he’s never quite felt before.

“They’ve missed you,” Brendon observes as the smaller cat rubs up against his leg and purrs.

“Yeah, and I’ve missed them,” Jon replies, babying his voice. He scoops one of them into his arm, and presses his face into his soft fur.

Brendon laughs, and gets down on his knees beside Jon. He feels a little shaky, but it’s different than before. That unfamiliar feeling is still there, pooling in his stomach, in his toes, his elbows and his chest. It’s like the feeling he got the first time Jon kissed him, or when he told him that he might love him to, it’s like that but more; so much more, and it’s wonderful in a completely terrifying way. He wants to embrace it, and cry. He wants to stand on top of a roof and scream until his throat is raw. It’s like every single emotion he’s ever felt bottled up into one; it’s overwhelming in a completely rejuvenating kind of way.

Brendon leans forward, capturing Jon’s lips with his while his mom sings ‘What a Wonderful World’ from the kitchen. Jon’s taken back at first, but after a second he kisses back. It’s a little desperate as he clings to his shoulder, not fully understanding why all of a sudden he feels like he never wants to let Jon go, that he could spend the rest of his life with no one but Jon kissing him, holding him, but he cuts his short, knowing his mother is in the next room. He figures her witnessing the one heated kiss on the doorstep is enough for one day.

Jon pulls back, and looks at him, a silly grin on his lips and pink on his cheeks. “What was that for?” he asks.

Brendon shrugs, mirroring his expression. He feels giddy, like he wants to go dance out on the streets. Brendon told him he might have loved him once, but never again, and now, all of a sudden, he has this overwhelming urge to say it again; that this time, it’ll be different. This time, he won’t add the ‘might’ before it.

“Boys, wash up!” Mrs. Walker calls from the next room. “Dinner’s ready!”

Brendon smiles, and closes his eyes, feeling like a child again. He feels like he could sit here forever, with Jon, his cats, his mom, the smell of lasagna and freshly baked apple pie filling the air around them.

When he opens his eyes, Jon is standing up with an outstretched hand reaching towards him, and Brendon takes it, allowing himself to pulled up to his feet next to him. Jon presses a kiss to his temple, before heading into the kitchen, calling out affectionately to his mother.

Brendon’s forgotten what it’s like to feel at home, and now, here with Jon close to a decade later, he thinks that maybe - just maybe - he’s starting to be reminded.

*

“So,” Mrs. Walker says as she takes a sip from her tea, “tell me, how did you two meet?”

Brendon suddenly feels the whoosh of his stomach dropping into his butt, the hammering of his ribcage, and he can’t say he hasn’t been waiting for this. Jon and he had never talked about this, what they were going to say if someone asked, and now he kind of wishes that they had. The last he wants Jon’s mom to know is that he’s the closest thing to being a prostitute without actually being one.

Jon clears his throat, and scratches at his beard, an awkward twitch to it. Brendon can feel the tension thicken in the air, and he hopes to god that Mrs. Walker can’t feel it too. Jon keeps his eyes away from Brendon as he says, “he’s, um, he’s friends with one of the guys from another band and came on tour for a little while, and yeah.” He shrugs,
running his thumb along the smooth handle of the mug.

Brendon feels relief, but at the same time, he’s never felt more ashamed to be him. Before he had felt that he didn’t deserve Jon, but now, after having to watch him lie to his mom about how they met, makes it an all time low.

Mrs. Walker says nothing for a long time, and maybe in all reality it was actually only a couple seconds but to Brendon, it feels like a lifetime. “That’s lovely,” she says, and maybe it’s also just Brendon, his paranoia, but he can hear some suspicion to it, doubt. “I knew you were going to find someone worth your time on tour.”

Brendon finally forces his gaze up to see that Mrs. Walker is smiling at him, bright and genuine. He breathes a tiny sigh of relief when he feels Jon’s fingers intertwine with his underneath the table.

“So,” Mrs. Walker says, suddenly pulling herself from her seat, “who’s up for a round of Cranium?”

Brendon laughs, and nods, feeling his stomach slowly rise back to where it belongs.

*

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