Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap) | Brendon Urie/Jon Walker | Part 1/6
MP | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Extras
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both.
-- Robert Frost
When Brendon was younger, he had heard that if you planted seeds from the core of an apple, a tree would grow. Brendon, delighted by the idea of growing his very own tree, saved up every last seed from the apple his mother had packed for his first grade lunch, tucking them safely into the pocket of his overalls.
Once he had gotten home, Brendon had went straight for the backyard, planting the seeds in a small patch of dirt behind the garage, his brothers playing soccer in the background. Everyday following, Brendon would come home to check on them, watering the soil until it was nearly overflowing. Everyday, for weeks, he’d come home to see that nothing had changed, that still, all it was an empty patch of dirt. Crushed, Brendon had given up.
*
Mr. and Mrs. Urie wanted three things for their children; for them to marry someone within the church, have kids, and a well-paid, respectable career - ideally as a doctor for the boys, and as a homemaker for the girls. Anything outside of this was, more or less, frowned upon in their eyes.
Brendon was planning on following all of this; he attended church on Sundays for three hours and Wednesdays for one, he was a part of the student ministry, participated in all the church events and had been planning, for quite some years, to go on a Mission’s trip when he turned eighteen. For awhile there, Brendon was everything his parents wanted him to be. But then -
Then he met Katy.
Katy came into his life like storm; a storm of torn skirts, cigarette smoke, and endless blue eyes. She had shown him that there was a life outside of his parents rules and expectations; a life outside of schoolbooks, bible scriptures and Sunday morning sacrament. With Katy he was no longer that loser, Mormon kid, he was Brendon Urie, the unstoppable; the one people stopped and stared at when he walked down the halls.
Brendon never looked back, not after he smoked his very first joint, or lost his virginity, drunk at a party, not even after his parents kicked him out. For once, he was free, living the life he had wanted to.
October 2006
“Augh, yeah, Bren,” William moans, head pressed against the wall, his brown hair hanging in messy tangles in front of his eyes. “Fuck, yes. Come on. So, so close.”
Brendon smirks, mouth full of cock, and he doesn’t want to sound too cocky or anything (no pun intended), but Brendon, he’s been known from time to time to be quite talented with his mouth. It goes to show, practice (and lots of it) really does make perfect.
William tugs at Brendon’s hair, jerking his hips until Brendon can feel the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat. He can tell William’s close, by the way he’s fucking hard into Brendon’s mouth, blunt fingernails digging into his skull, and it’s really nothing that Brendon can’t handle.
Brendon runs his teeth lightly along his underside, tongue lapping sloppily over his head. He’s sucked William off enough times to know how he likes it; boy, does he ever.
When William comes, Brendon swallows every last bit, savoring it, licking his lips when he pulls off; just the way William likes. He pulls himself up off the grimy washroom floor, smoothing out his shirt and jeans while William stays with his back pressed against the wall, attempting to regain his breath. He pulls off a wad of toilet paper, wiping any off any come Brendon might have missed (even though, he’s fairly positive he didn’t; he’s good with these kind of things) and tosses it into the toilet beside him.
William doesn’t kiss him, he never does, not unless he’s drunk or high and there’s no girls around. Instead, he ruffles Brendon’s hair, almost in a brotherly matter, which is kind of funny and a little awkward if you think about it. “Shit, you’re definitely a keeper.” William says this every time, ever since Brendon first went down on him after a show in Baltimore last year. Either way, it still leaves Brendon smiling.
William doesn’t stick around to chat, not when he takes his sidekick from his pocket and realizes his set starts in three minutes. Brendon smirks because this has happened way too many times to count, with William tending to think about his dick far more than anything else.
When they finally reach the rest of his band, thirty seconds before he’s supposed to go on, William gets a good smack over the head from Sisky, and a knowing headshake from everyone else. They all pretend they’re mad now, but Brendon can count ten different instances when they’ve all done the same thing.
Just for the record, Brendon’s not a whore, a prostitute, a hooker, whatever. He’s not.
He’s not a groupie either, even though some people (okay, most people) would beg to differ. Him and Katy, as they like to refer themselves, are band-aids. You know, almost like Penny Lane in Almost Famous; that’s what they are. They’re fans of the bands - the biggest even - and they just happen to friends with them, tour with them, and you know, sleep with them on occasion (okay, most days) when they get lonely. And Brendon, age nineteen, can’t really think of anything else he’d rather be doing.
As far as Brendon’s concerned, the groupies are the ones that wait outside the backstage doors, the teenage girls and sometimes, teenage boys dressed in slutty clothes that flash the guards to get backstage, and stick around for one night, maybe two, but never more. Brendon and Katy, they’re not like that, not at all. They worked for where they hard, they worked really fucking hard, and Brendon thinks that over all, it’s paid off quite a bit.
*
Panic! at the Disco is the newest addition to the Fueled By Ramen label; the babies.
Their first tour they’re scheduled to open up for The Academy Is…, meaning that Brendon gets to witness them walk around backstage with wide eyes and open mouths, like Jesus Christ himself just fell from the sky. One night, after the show, Brendon overhears Spencer whisper to Michael in awe, “Groupies actually exist?”
He smirks.
Katy gets to him first however, so Brendon decides to go for the next awe-stricken one, Ryan, and blows him in one of the many storage closets backstage, fifteen minutes before Panic’s scheduled to go on. Afterwards, Brendon watches from the sidelines, just like he usually does, noticing that Ryan has some difficulty in hitting the chords he normally finds so effortlessly.
Brendon prides himself in this.
November 2006
The tour ends, and Katy and him go back to her parents for five days before heading back off on the road to join Fall Out Boy.
Katy’s parents have always loved him, ever since they first became friends, years ago. They took him in when his parents kicked him out, treat him like he’s their own son, and Brendon couldn’t love them more.
Mr. and Mrs. Roy are nice, laid-back and about the polar opposites to Brendon’s own parents. Brendon hates to say it, but they also happen to be a little on the dense side, not realizing what exactly it is that they do on the road - instead, they believe they do some kind of teching, which is just really not the case at all. Then again, Brendon can’t complain, because the last thing he wants is for them to think of him like that.
Then, that brings him to the other end of the spectrum - Brendon’s parents, who can’t find it in themselves to even talk to him. In fact, Brendon hasn’t spoken a word to them since he was seventeen, back when they finally had gotten fed up enough and kicked him out of the house. Well, excluding that one time last Christmas, when he talked to his mother for no longer than three minutes, and then that was that. He tries not to let himself care too much about it, and most of the time, he thinks he does fairly well considering.
“So, I see you two have been doing well?” Mrs. Roy asks, fork hovering over her deep-fried chicken.
Oh right, and for the record, Mr. and Mrs. Roy also tend to think Katy and Brendon are together - as in an item. They, more or less, have since he was fifteen years-old, and Brendon and her have just never had the heart to tell them the truth.
Katy looks over at Brendon, a smirk hidden in the gleam of her eyes, and grabs onto his hand from across the table, squeezing tight. “Better than ever!” she replies, high and chipper, throwing in a sickeningly sweet smile for effect.
They had fucked once, back when he was seventeen. It was fun sure, because sex is sex after-all, but it was never something Brendon wanted to pursue, and from the looks of it, not something Katy would either.
“Oh yes,” Brendon agrees with a sharp nod of his head. “We’ve found being on the road really helped bring us together more than ever before. Meeting all these new people, traveling to all these different places, and just everything we experience together on a day-to-day basis. It’s great, really.” It takes a lot of effort, but Brendon, he manages to swallow down the pit of laughter clawing its way up his throat.
“That is just wonderful!” Mrs. Roy beams, splaying her hands over her cheeks in delight. “Isn’t that wonderful, Fred?”
Mr. Roy grunts in recognition through a mouthful of peas. Sometimes, Brendon thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might have caught onto their little, white lies.
Mrs. Roy leans forward, ignoring her husband’s lack of enthusiasm and asks, in a hushed voice as if it’s a secret, “so, when should I be expecting my first grandchild? Have you two thought about marriage yet?”
“Mom,” Katy shushes with a flick of her wrist, “we’re happy the way we are right now. No need to go rushing into anything. I’m only twenty.”
“Yeah,” Brendon chimes in. “We’ve got lots of time; our whole life ahead of us.” He sends Katy a loving smile, and a noticeable squeeze of her hand, just for effect.
Yeah, sure, Brendon, he feels bad. Sometimes.
“Oh, I know, but you two have just been together for so long…” She chuckles as she adds, “And you know, I’m just so impatient.”
Katy sighs, smiles, and grips harder onto Brendon’s hand. “Yes, ma, I know.”
Thankfully, Mrs. Roy drops it; for tonight, anyway, but Brendon can count on her bringing it up again tomorrow night, and Brendon and Katy will put on their fake smiles and go through the whole routine again. And so it will continue every single night until they leave.
Katy catches his eye, a devious smirk on her face. Brendon laughs, and Katy’s parents chew on their chicken, oblivious.
*
Fall Out Boy had always been their favorite band to tour with. They started with them, and they sure as hell plan on ending with them too. Sure, they might be older than the rest of the bands in FBR, older than them by a few good, solid years, but they, without a doubt, sure know how to have the most fun. Brendon has learned that wherever Pete is, a fucking awesome party is sure to follow.
It’s around three in the morning, maybe four, and everyone is filtering out of Pete’s hotel room for the night when Pete himself grabs onto Brendon’s wrist, and says into his ear, soft enough for no one to overhear, “How about you stay in my room for tonight.” It’s a statement, not a question, and even if it was, Brendon highly doubts he’d decline.
Pete’s got a girlfriend back home, much like they all do, and it’s nothing really. It’s not like their girlfriends don’t expect it, not with them out on the road for months at a time, girls and guys constantly being thrown at them. They have to know; they have to accept that they’re going to need it from someone when they’re not around. It’s just common facts, when you’re dating someone in a band, you just have to live with it, and Brendon, he’s just there to fill what their girlfriends (or boyfriends) cant.
Brendon’s always enjoyed being with Pete, and that thing about him not being gay above the waist? Not true; not true at all. At least, that’s what he leads Brendon to think when he fucks him into next week.
Pete’s always been known to be fairly touchy with Brendon afterwards; he’ll always kiss him, touch him, wrap a protective arm around him while they sleep. But the one thing that he loves most of all about Pete, is that he will always, no matter what, always make sure he comes too.
Part of Brendon thinks that maybe he should care, at least a little. He should care that he’s being used as someone’s stand-in lover, but Brendon, he doesn’t really mind it at all. In fact, he thinks that maybe, he might even prefer it.
December 2006
There’s a short break in the tour for Christmas, and Brendon goes back with Katy, as always, to her parent’s house.
There are not many presents under the tree, but Brendon’s happy to find just one for him.
He calls his mother on Christmas Eve, just like he had done the previous year, but he hangs up before he gets the answering machine. He doesn’t call again.
*
Panic joins the tour after Christmas, and this time, they look a little less amazed, a little less fame-struck.
The first night, after their set, he lets Ryan fuck him in the bathroom backstage.
*
On New Year’s Eve, Brendon and Katy fly to New York with Fall Out Boy for their performance on MTV.
They ring in the New Year by drinking champagne from the bottle, and Katy, just like every year before, is his first kiss to begin many more to come. And Brendon, he couldn’t think of it any other way.
January 2007
Brendon starts to notice the bassist of Panic, Jon, stare at him, a lot, and Brendon has the feeling it’s not so much in the way that Spencer and Ryan stared at him when they first came on tour back in October. It’s different, and Brendon can feel it all the way to his bones. He’s not sure that anyone’s ever really looked at him in that way, and he’s not exactly sure what to think about it either - so he doesn’t.
Jon’s good-looking; God is he ever, and Brendon really, really wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of letting Jon have his way with him. However, since Brendon’s never been the type to throw himself against anyone (groupies do that, and he’s not a groupie, remember?) he usually just resorts to the basics; flirting, returning gazes, licking his lips, flaunting himself, wearing extra tight jeans to accentuate his ass. Except, this time, Brendon’s not sure why, but he just can’t bring himself to do this with Jon.
Every single time Jon’s even in a twenty meter radius to Brendon, he seems to just. Freeze up. It’s weird, and it’s sort of even really freaking out Brendon out because he can’t remember ever feeling like this, not since he was in high school at least, and he really wants it to stop - and fast.
When he tells Katy this, face burning and head bowed down in shame, she gives him a real serious look, shakes her head and tells him exactly what he was expecting, “Brendon, the number one rule, above all, is to never, ever fall for them. Nothing will ruin you quicker.”
“I’m not falling for him,” Brendon shoots back quickly, and it’s true, because that’d just be stupid considering he’s barely even spoken three words to the guy before.
Katy gives him a look - the look - but says, “okay…” and that’s all.
“I’m not,” he repeats, more firm this time, and he’s not.
Really.
*
Jon comes up to him one night while Brendon’s standing on the side of the stage with Katy, covered from the crowd by the long, black curtains, watching as Fall Out Boy performs. Brendon has seen them play countless, upon countless times and still, never once, has he gotten sick of it.
“They’re pretty good, huh?” Jon notes, casual, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his navy, American Apparel sweater.
Brendon tries to keep his blood pressure down, the color of his face; he tries to be calm, and cool, and collected, just like always and it shouldn’t be hard because he absolutely does not, in anyway, like this guy. He tilts his head towards Jon, just a little, enough so he doesn’t have to look at him (he can’t, it’s for his own good) and quirks a single eyebrow. “Yeah, pretty good.” Brendon knows every single word to every single song they have ever sung. He owns all their CD’s, and has seen over a hundred shows, at the very least. He considers them all, Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe to be some of his closest friends, and he’s given at least head to all of them before. Yeah, Brendon would say they’re pretty good.
Brendon can feel Katy’s eyes on him, dark and calculating, warning, and yeah, Brendon gets it, alright? “I’m gonna go get some food…” she says slowly, enunciating every word. She gives Brendon one last look before she heads off backstage.
He shivers, just a little.
Jon shifts, and his elbow brushes up against Brendon’s. He digs his fingernails into his arm, takes a deep breath, and yeah. Yeah, he’s okay. He’s good.
“One day,” Jon says after a minute or two, “we’ll kick their asses. You’ll see our names everywhere.”
Brendon looks up at him, without really meaning to, and gives him a look like, yeah, okay. Right. You wish. Once he realizes what he did, he quickly brings his gaze back to the stage, cursing himself.
“Fine, doubt me,” he says, and shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “But you’ll see.”
"Uh-huh."
“Okay, well,” he shrugs again, and says, “Your loss.”
Brendon laughs. “I’m sure.” He looks up at Jon, just for a quick second, just a quick glance, and Jon is smiling, nice and warm, and Brendon, he just kind of just wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go.
He looks away at the thought, face throbbing with heat.
They remain in silence for the rest of the set, standing there, elbow to elbow, and when it’s over, Jon gives him no more than a short nod of his head and a ‘see ya’ before he disappears into the crowd of people backstage.
Brendon, he tries really hard not to feel too disappointed.
*
Later on that night, Ryan invites him back to their bus and Brendon should say no because that means Jon will be there too, on the same bus, a bunk away.
But, of course, he doesn’t.
*
Brendon’s had plenty of sex in bunks before, but it never gets less difficult or more comfortable.
It proves to be especially hard with boys like Ryan, or William; the tall, lanky ones, but it is possible, Brendon knows that much. Then, there’s always the fact that you have to keep extra quiet, not wanting to wake up the band members beside you and above you (then again, Brendon has a small inkling that half of them don’t mind it. There’s been a few instances when he’s heard a moan other than their own). So, in conclusion, bunk sex, it really sucks.
The easiest way, and probably one of the only ways - at least with people with frames like Ryan’s - is with both of them lying down, Brendon’s back pressed flush against Ryan’s stomach. Now, on any normal occasion, this is definitely not on Brendon’s list of top three positions, but he’d rather do this than nothing. From being so nervous and wide-eyed when he first got on tour, Brendon would not have, in any way, pinned Ryan to actually being good in bed, but surprisingly he is; really good, in fact.
Ryan presses his hand over Brendon’s mouth, fingers slipping in between his lips to keep him quiet; which Brendon finds highly unnecessary, considering that over the years he’s learned how to control his voice in bed if need be. He thinks to himself as Ryan jerks a shallow thrust into him, that he should be the own covering his own mouth. “Fuck,” he curses, breath hot and sticky on the back of his neck.
Brendon’s eyes slip shut, digging his nails into Ryan’s arm slinked around his waist, and breathes out evenly through his nose. He pushes back into Ryan’s hips, feeling him sink into the hilt, tip pressing against his prostate, and Brendon swallows back the moan, breath hard and labored.
Ryan switches to rocking his hips inside Brendon, fast and deep, easier in their position, and snakes his hand down to grab a hold of Brendon’s cock.
Brendon comes first, and he has to bite down onto Ryan’s hand to keep himself from crying out. A moment later, Ryan follows, swearing at the back of his neck, and when he pulls out Brendon tries not to whimper at the sudden dull, empty feeling that overtakes him.
Ryan places a soft kiss on his jaw before he’s crawling out of bed, tied condom in his hand. He returns a moment later, a damp cloth in his hand and condom disposed. He slides back into the bunk next to Brendon, and begins to clean him off with the cloth, wiping at his stomach and cock; he does it in a calm, nurturing manner, and the action itself makes Brendon smile.
He falls asleep with Ryan’s arms wrapped snuggly around his waist.
*
In the morning, Brendon is reminded of another reason why he hates bunk sex: trying to locate your underwear in said tiny bunk, while the other is still asleep in it.
After a few minutes, careful not to wake Ryan, Brendon finds them tangled between the sheets that were kicked to the end of the bed throughout the night. At least, he’s hoping they’re his and not Ryan’s as he slides them over his skinny legs, and steps out of the bunk and onto the solid floor.
Brendon heads to the front of the bus, over to the kitchenette, looking to see if he can snag some coffee. However, Jon’s already up, and sitting at the table, flipping idly through the newspaper. He looks up when Brendon enters, and tips his coffee cup towards him in a greeting. “G’morning.” If he’s embarrassed, or maybe, maybe, even slightly turned on by Brendon’s lack of clothes, he doesn’t show it.
“Hey.” Brendon himself should probably feel embarrassed right now, not only because he’s in nothing but extremely tight boxers that don’t leave much to the imagination, but because he really, really wouldn’t doubt if Jon caught the audio version to Ryan’s and his little show last night. Brendon’s kind of really starting to regret agreeing to come on the bus last night - even if the sex was amazing.
Brendon instantly curses himself, because why does it even matter if Jon heard him and Ryan fuck? Plenty of people have heard or seen Brendon fucking (or, well, being fucked, whatever) whoever it may have been at the time and it is really no big deal. It happens all the time, so why should he care with Jon? That’s right, he doesn’t, because he doesn’t like this guy, not in that way at least, remember?
Brendon, he’s just really, super attracted to him, and he’s getting a bit sick of Jon just sitting there and staring at him, but not being a man enough to do anything about it. Jon just needs to fuck him, and then he’ll be alright. It’s just sexual tension, that’s all.
Brendon shakes the thought out of his head, remembering the whole point of him coming out here in his super tight underwear in the first place. He’ll just get his coffee and go straight back to Ryan’s bunk and hide until they stop so he won’t have to face Jon anymore (or well, until later that night, at the venue, but still).
“There’s some fresh coffee in the pot if you want,” Jon says, casually, as if he can read Brendon’s mind, and flips another page in his newspaper.
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Brendon mumbles dumbly, and heads to the counter across from Jon which is considered to be ‘the kitchen’. Coming from Brendon this may sound a little stupid, but being on the road is not as glamorous as it may seem.
Brendon finds a mug in the cupboard overhead, and pours himself a cup, and he’s pretty positive its Jon eyes he can feel on him, watching him, but that’s okay. Really. He’s used to it. It just takes all that’s in him not to turn around and go, “just fuck me already!” because God knows how much he really wants to.
Brendon’s not really a black coffee type of guy, but this morning, right now, he thinks he could go for one. Brendon turns, just a little, just enough to sneak a quick glance at Jon from the corner of his eye, and yeah, sure enough, there’s Jon with hunger in his eyes as he runs them down Brendon’s naked back, stopping on his barely-covered ass. Yes, definitely blackblackblack coffee.
When Brendon was sixteen, there had been a guy in the grade above him, who was always really nice to him; he was always complimenting him, striking up conversation with him at his locker. Jesse Pinkston was good-looking, funny and Brendon doubts you could find a single person that knew him and could honestly say they didn’t like him. Brendon hadn’t told anyone at the time, not even Katy, but he may or may not have had a teeny, tiny crush on him since he was fourteen years old, so it would be an understatement to say he was anything less than thrilled when Jesse started showing interest in him - that is, until he asked him out. While Brendon should have been ecstatic, kicking his heels up in joy, squealing like a little girl, he felt sick instead. Brendon had turned Jesse down without an excuse - he didn’t even have one himself - and everyday after that, every time he saw Jesse walking down the hallway, Brendon would turn in the opposite direction, avoiding him without really knowing why.
Two weeks later, Jesse was walking around the halls, hand in hand with some girl that had been in a few of Brendon’s classes. Even to this day, Brendon still wonders how different his life would be if he had just said yes.
Brendon clears his throat, and turns to face Jon, whose eyes instantly snap back to the paper in front of him. “Well, um,” he starts awkwardly as he heads back towards the bunk area, only realizing now that he’s actually planning on going to crouch in a two foot high bunk and attempt to drink his scalding hot coffee. Maybe he could sneak into the back lounge without Jon knowing. “I guess I’ll just -”
“You really want to get away from me that badly, huh?” Jon asks, voice stopping Brendon dead in his tracks.
His face immediately turns a dark shade of red, and he turns, slowly. “What? No!” he denies a bit too quickly, a bit too loud, and way, way too squeakily.
Jon tilts his head to the side, a doubtful expression on his face.
“I’m just in, well, you know,” he blushes, and motions towards his lower half, “really tight boxers that I’m not even sure are mine, and well. Yeah.” It’s awkward, and I’m really scared you might cause me to get a boner from being so hot, he adds on silently.
“I don’t mind,” he says, then smiles that nice, warm, marvelous smile of his, and much to Brendon’s dismay, there’s not a hint of suggestion in there; not at all. Jon, he’s decided, is a really fucking confusing guy. “Why don’t you come join me?” he asks. “You can help me with my crossword.”
Brendon laughs wholeheartedly, and he stands there, for a second or two, torn. Part of him is telling him to just go back to the bunk with Ryan and probably burn himself in the process, or he could sit here, with Jon, beautiful Jon, and drink his black coffee peacefully while helping him with the Sunday morning crossword.
In the end, he goes with the latter.
He takes a seat across from Jon, cautiously, and takes a big, long gulp of his coffee, the liquid burning his throat all the way down. He watches as Jon scribbles an answer on 22-across, and says, “I have to tell you now, I suck at these things, like majorly. I’m not very smart.” He laughs. “I think I’ve lost one too many brain cells, so, I don’t know how much help I’ll be to you.”
Jon looks up, looks Brendon right in the eye, and says, “You’ll be plenty of help.”
Brendon instantly snaps his gaze back down to the table, heart beating, and wonders what is wrong with him. He’s never, ever felt this way before, and it’s more or less, freaking the hell out of him.
“Okay,” Jon says after a second or two, “so, 22-down, a deadly African snake. It starts with an M and is… one, two, three, four, five, six. Six letters long.”
“I, uh…” Brendon pretends to think, just to humor Jon (and maybe so he doesn’t think he’s so dumb that he can’t even think) but he really has no idea at all.
“Mambas!” Jon exclaims a second later, and scribbles it in. “Cultured dish, it’s six letters. It starts with a y and its third letter is g.”
Brendon makes another ‘hmm’ing sound as he takes a sip of his coffee, staring up at the ceiling as if in thought. Again, he doesn’t have the faintest clue.
“Yogurt!” Jon scribbles it in. “Lowest female voice. Hm…”
"Um, hmm..."
One, two, three...
"Alto!"
It goes on like this for another solid ten minutes, with Brendon sipping at his bitter coffee, pretending to think before Jon gets it not even five seconds within asking. Brendon, however, does get one though, number 61-across, “‘American Idol’ judge Paula,” and he’s pretty proud of himself to say the least.
Jon scribbles in two more, slams his pencil down on the paper, and exclaims, “Done!”
Brendon raises an eyebrow, and snorts. “Like you really needed my help.”
“Oh, but you did help,” Jon replies sincerely, “without you I would have never gotten number sixty-one across.”
Brendon rolls his eyes, but can’t help as a small smile spreads across his lips. “Yeah, okay.”
Jon returns his smile, catching Brendon’s eye, and this time, Brendon forgets to tell himself to look down. Jon takes a moment, sips at his own coffee then asks, “so… how long have you, um, you know, been, like… on the road for?”
Brendon gnaws down on his bottom lip, and stares down into the black liquid inside his cup before replying with a small shrug and, “a little over a year, I guess.”
“So, what made you decide to be a - uh, you know,” Jon stammers, stops, and then takes a deep breath before finishing in a tiny mumble, “a groupie?”
"I am not a groupie,” Brendon retorts automatically.
He looks up, surprised. Brendon usually gets laughter. “Oh, you’re - you’re not?” He wrinkles his forehead in confusion.
Brendon would usually be feeling pretty angry right about now, but this is Jon, and he just looks too innocent, too sweet, and too hot for Brendon to get mad at. “Have you ever seen the movie Almost Famous?”
Jon nods.
"Well, that's what I am. Me and Katy, we're band-aids," he replies.
“Oh, okay,” he says, easily as that, and no one has ever let him or Katy get off that easily, no more questions asked. Jon doodles a cat on the corner of his newspaper, and wait’s a few moments before asking, casually, “So, do you like it?”
Brendon, he’s pretty sure he’s never felt this uncomfortable in his life. He’s never had a problem talking about this before; never been ashamed, but right now, right here with Jon, Brendon wants no more than to fall into a black hole and for all of this just to end. “Hey, can we like, you know, not talk about this? Please? It’s weird.”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah,” Jon says, real quick, nodding feverously, “No problem. Sorry. I was just - curious.”
“No, it’s fine. I just - yeah. It’s weird.”
“Oh, yeah, no. I completely understand.” Jon clears his throat, and adds, “I - understand.”
Brendon may sleep with boys in bands for a living, may be a bit of a slut, but he is not stupid. He knows by the way the word ‘understand’ rolls of the contours of Jon’s tongue, that he doesn’t, at all, not even in the slightest. Usually, Brendon wouldn’t care either. He wouldn’t care what some guy thinks about him, that he thinks he’s just some stupid slut with no self-worth because it happens all the time. But, of course, for some reason - that stupid reason that’s been haunting him for weeks now - he finds that he really does care when it comes to Jon.
“Look,” Brendon sighs, running his hand through his messy brown locks, “it was nothing me and Katy planned. We were just at a Fall Out Boy concert, I don’t know, last October or something, back where we’re from, in Vegas. And somehow, we managed to get backstage, I think Katy had hooked up with one of the security guards at some point, or maybe it was the brother or the dad or the uncle or something of some guy, I don’t know. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, the point is, we got in.” Brendon takes a deep breath, sweeps his eyes over Jon’s, peeked with interest, and continues, “and, you know, Pete being the charmer that he is… and well, okay, I mean, just the fact that I had been obsessed with him for years, and well, you know, it just happened. Then Pete invited us on the road for a few days, and then that turned into weeks, then the whole tour, and then he just - invited us back. And well, that was pretty much that, I guess.”
Jon opens his mouth to say something, looking a little bit dumbstruck, but Brendon cuts him off before he has a chance to speak, saying, “Oh, and about liking it? I do. It’s not like anyone forces us to do what we do. It’s our choice.”
Jon takes a moment, lets it all sink in, and goes, “but - and everyone else?”
Brendon shrugs and sighs. “Just happened.” He smirks, and lets out a soft, tiny laugh. “Word gets around.”
Jon, apparently, doesn’t find any humor in this, because he just looks at Brendon, something bouncing around in his eyes. Pity? Disgust? Either way, Brendon doesn’t know, and he doesn’t think he wants to.
"It’s just kind of weird, I guess,” Jon says after a few moments of silence. Brendon cocks a questioning eyebrow. “Well, you just seem so - shy.”
“I’m not -” Brendon says, quick, fast, and defensive, because he’s not, like, at all. Shy is not an adjective most people would use when describing Brendon, except - well, except maybe he is, a little, when it comes to Jon. “Shy,” he finishes, voice soft and a little bit unbelieving.
Jon raises his own eyebrow, goes to open his mouth, but thankfully that’s when Ryan decides to come stumbling out of the bunk area, also in nothing but tighttightight boxers. He rubs his eyes, smearing his black makeup even more across his eye and cheek, and says to Brendon while stifling a yawn, “you’re wearing my underwear.”
Brendon looks down at his lower half and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I noticed.”
Ryan shrugs, and walks over to the coffee pot. Brendon watches him, his lean, naked back while he reaches for a cup, and from the corner of his eye, he can see Jon is watching him with that exact same expression as before, and Brendon, he really, really wishes he wouldn’t.
Once Ryan has his coffee, also black, he squeezes in next to Brendon, so close he’s practically sitting on his lap. He yawns again, and rests a delicate hand on Brendon’s hip as he leans in to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Brendon has noticed over the past couple of weeks that Ryan’s touchy too - like Pete - however, it’s not really unexpected - unlike Pete - considering Brendon’s one of the first, if not only form of ‘groupie’ Ryan’s ever been with. He’s not exactly sure how these things work yet, but eventually, he will, and grow to act just like every single one of the others.
Brendon forces a smile, and when he looks up, Jon’s still sitting there, staring.
February 2007
Ryan, Brendon notices, starts to follow him around a lot. Wherever Brendon is, Ryan is sure to be there too. He’s always giving him these looks, always finding a reason to touch him. He compliments him over little things, kisses him before he goes on stage, and expects that Brendon will always, no matter what, come back with him to his bus or hotel room.
One time, Brendon makes one little move on Spencer, just a little brush of his arm, and Spencer goes five shades of pink, mumbling something about Ryan before scurrying off.
Another time, Brendon came back from sucking off a guy from some band that wasn’t in FBR (he needed something new, and well, this guy was just really fucking hot) with swollen lips and tousled hair, to get a dead, cold glare from Ryan. He ignored him for four days after that, until he finally came up to him, fiddled with the strings on Brendon’s sweater while mumbling something along the lines of, “I forgive you.”
If Brendon knows any better, he’d say that Ryan is starting to act like they’re… boyfriends, and not just a fill-in boyfriend, not like everyone else. No, a real, genuine boyfriend.
And Brendon, he’s screwed.
*
Brendon wants to talk to Ryan; he’s going to talk to him and tell him, as nice as he possibly can that they are not together. Brendon’s just not like that, he’s not ‘boyfriend’ material, never has been; not even in high school and he doesn’t think he ever will be.
He just. Brendon’s never had this happen to him before, not even close. Everyone else understands this type of thing, they all know Brendon isn’t there to be their take-on-dates, compliment-and-tell-them-you-love-them boyfriend. So, Brendon, he’s not exactly sure how to deal with this whole situation. He doesn’t know how to tell Ryan, “oh hey, sorry to have to say this, but I’m not actually your boyfriend.” Brendon doesn’t want to, you know, hurt the kid’s feelings or anything.
That’s when it hits him that maybe Katy can do it. She’ll know how to let him down easy, and in the end, Brendon won’t feel guilty, he won’t have to see the hurt look on Ryan’s face.
Yeah. Katy.
*
Katy laughs at him, and says, “You wish. Sorry, but you’re on your own.”
Brendon makes a mental note to never do anything for her again.
*
Brendon’s got this whole speech planned out, he knows exactly what he’s going to say; how to let him down easy. So when Ryan pulls him outside onto the balcony of Pete’s hotel suite to make-out, Brendon’s got it all ready in his head, every last word. He pries himself from Ryan’s mouth, takes a deep breath, and begins, “Look, Ry -”
Ryan’s eyes light up as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out, what Brendon can see as a beaded, hemp bracelet. “Here,” he interrupts, thrusting the bracelet into Brendon’s open hand. He blushes, and says, “I wanted to give this to you.”
Brendon stares down at it, reads the R-Y-A-N spelled out in beads. He looks up at Ryan, who is staring back at him with wide, anxious eyes and a hopeful smile on his lips. Brendon looks back down, and gulps. “Thanks… I love it…”
Ryan beams, and throws his arms around Brendon’s neck, squeezing tight.
Yeah, he thinks, definitely screwed alright.
*
With the tour ending in a week, and Fall Out Boy taking a break for a few months to record their new album, him and Katy have a few weeks free before joining The Academy. So when Ryan comes up to him, and asks him if he’d like to come with him to Europe for a week while they play a couple festivals, he jumps at the chance.
He asks if Katy can come too, and Ryan looks hesitant at first, but Brendon quickly explains to him that Katy and him are a packaged deal, that he doesn’t go anywhere without her. “Plus,” he says casually, “Spencer always seems to enjoy her company, doesn’t he?”
In the end, Ryan agrees because Brendon’s learned, he’s never been one to say no to him.
*
A week later, he's on a fifteen hour flight to London, Ryan sleeping soundly beside him.
*
Brendon doesn’t get a lot of time on his own, not as much as he’d like anyway, and it’s a rare moment when he finally does find time alone with somewhere quiet and empty to read. It’s surprising, and something most people don’t know, that someone like Brendon - some kid who barely got out of high school - enjoys reading, let alone authors like Wilde, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Burroughs, Salinger.
It goes without saying that when Jon comes barging into the abandoned dressing room he so nicely snuck into, not even ten minutes after opening The Picture of Dorian Gray (for the twelfth time, mind you) he’s not the most pleased person around. Jon goes, “A-ha! There you are!” and okay, so maybe Brendon’s not so mad.
He looks up, startled and a little bit confused. He tries really, really hard not to let his cheeks flush bright red, or not get too excited over the fact that Jon’s been looking for him.
He flops down on the couch next to him, and says, eyes lighting up like a child, “let’s go for a walk!”
“A walk?” Brendon repeats, eyebrow quirked.
“Yes. Get some fresh air, explore the beautiful scenery. It’s not everyday you’re in Ireland,” he explains, and flashes a casual smile like it’s no big deal he’s asking Brendon, of all people, to come along for his spur of the moment walk; Brendon tries not to look into it. “We’re all done sound check,” he explains, “so I have like, at least an hour.”
Brendon pretends to think this over, pretends to be skeptical and hesitant for a total of thirty seconds before he’s jumping off the couch, rolling his tattered paperback into his hand. “Sure, okay,” he says, “why not?”
A part of him is thinking, hoping, that Jon is taking him somewhere more private, somewhere where they can finally, finally fuck - at the very least make-out. He pushes the thought out of his mind that the room they're in now is subtle and private enough, allowing himself to believe otherwise.
They sneak out through the backdoor, away from the fans already lining up around the building. Panic’s not the headlining band, not even close, so Brendon really doubts many of them would recognize Jon enough to chase after him, but it makes them feel daring and adventurous as they duck and tear through the bushes, anyway.
It’s chilly outside, and Brendon watches his breath puff through the air as he asks, “do you even know where we’re going?” He pulls his thin sweater tight around him, and keeps his arms pressed against his chest, attempting to keep some warm air trapped against his body.
“One of the road guys mentioned something about a river back here,” Jon replies, ducking under a branch.
A part of Brendon hopes they don’t find it because there’s something about a hidden river in the middle of the forest in Europe that strikes him as ridiculously romantic, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle that; not when it comes to Jon.
"Did he say how far away it is?"
He shakes his head, turns right as the path winds. "He said it's about five minutes in, and to just follow the path."
Brendon nods, gripping harder onto his book that's still rolled tightly in his hand, pressed against his flat chest.
Eventually, they get to a clearing, and sure enough, there’s a small river running calming, winding in and out through the trees. Jon looks back, smiles, and Brendon tries not to vomit up the butterflies forming in the pit of his stomach. “I found it,” he says happily.
“Yeah,” Brendon replies, forcing out a small laugh, “I see that.”
Jon keeps smiling, plopping down onto the grass. Brendon takes a careful, hesitant seat beside him, leaving a few inches between them; he figures that if Jon wants something to happen, he can move over and make the move himself.
“God,” Jon says, leaning back, and folding his arms behind his head, “it’s so beautiful here. I’d love to live here someday.”
“Yeah,” Brendon replies, stupidly, bringing his knees up to his chest.
They’re quiet for a minute, two, with Jon staring up at the sky through the bare branches and Brendon trying not to stare at him. Eventually, Jon turns his head, catching Brendon fiddling nervously with his book, and says, “So, you read Wilde?”
Brendon nods slowly, running his finger over the spine of the book. “Ever since I was thirteen.”
“Impressive,” Jon notes.
“Thanks,” Brendon laughs, it’s high and nervous and squeaky, and there’s no way Jon didn’t notice.
He just smiles though, and looks back up to the sky, jiggling his leg in the air that’s crossed over his other knee. “I could lie here forever,” he says with a content sigh. He outstretches his arm, reaches for Brendon’s elbow and tugs. “Lie down. Relax.”
Brendon looks down, cheeks hot against the cool breeze, and yeah, puking, that sounds good about now.
Jon continues to look at him, and cocks his head to the right, motioning to the clear ground beside him.
Brendon sighs, and obeys, realizing he’s a little closer than intended as his hand brushes against Jon’s. He pulls it away as soon as it makes contact, and presses it against his stomach. He feels so stupid, so ridiculous around Jon; he acts like a complete and utter moron all the time, and he doesn’t understand why Jon still wants to hang around him.
They lie there in silence, both staring up at the branches of the trees, the fluffy white clouds in the late winter sky. It’s beautiful, and Brendon would freeze this moment if he could, and stay here forever, just lying on his back, Jon at his side.
He can’t though, and eventually it has to come to an end because Jon pulls his phone from his pocket, groans, and says, “We’d better get back.” He sits up, and hoists himself to his feet, looking at Brendon, his pale face and chattering teeth. He says, “Shit. You look cold, why didn’t you say anything?”
Brendon shrugs. “I’m fine,” he lies, and sits up, shaking the dead grass and dirt from his hair.
Jon sticks out his hand towards Brendon, and he cautiously accepts it, allowing Jon to pull him up to his feet. His hand is warm around his, freakishly for how cold it is outside, and it makes the tips of his fingers tingle. Jon doesn’t let go, not right away, and Brendon’s throat tightens, closes. He’s really close, face, mouth, lips, teeth, tongue, right there. He could do it right now, kiss Jon; he could end all this wondering, lusting, and he could just do it.
Jon’s eyes flicker to his mouth, and for a second there, Brendon thinks it’s actually going to happen, that Jon’s going to lean forward and kiss him. However, a second passes, and then Jon’s quickly looking away as he drops his hand, and starts back up the path without a word.
Brendon stands there, catching his breath, and eyes running over Jon’s back through his tight shirt, his ass. He kind of wants to curl up and cry, because that was so, so close and he just had to be a wimp and not do it.
Jon turns around, just before he disappears into the bush, and says, “You coming?”
Brendon nods, and scurries behind.
*
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