Fic for Bananas :: Brendon/Alex DeLeon :: R-ish
Battie_hattie said, "Dude, why isn't there any fic about Brendon fucking 16 year old Singer after the first Panic show? It's canon that he was there and was, like, their most rabid fan!" So I wrote that story in about half an hour because she deserves something shiny.
Brendon's disgustingly sweaty and he's been up since six and he couldn't really sleep the night before and it's almost midnight, but it doesn't matter. He's fucking amped.
"That was so fucking awesome!" he cries as he wipes his face off with a brown paper towel. "Our first fucking show and it was packed. Did you see the crowd?"
Ryan's trying to pretend he's not excited, but he is. He's smiling and he can't stop, and he dips his head down and smiles his secretly pleased smile. Spencer rolls his eyes and Ryan rolls his eyes back and Brendon knows they've just had, like, hours worth of conversation in those two gestures.
"It was nerve wracking," says Brent. "Were you guys nervous the whole time? Because I was nervous the whole time."
"At first," Spencer says diplomatically. Brendon doesn't say anything because he wasn't nervous, he was psyched and he's still psyched and there are people, like, waiting around to talk to them and wanting his fucking autograph and it's amazing.
They actually go out and talk to people who loved their show and who tell them they're amazing and Brendon signs ticket stubs and flyers and t-shirts and even a girl's breast. People wait around to talk to them for, like, over half an hour. It's so fucking amazing he can't believe it.
There's a kid who stole their set list, actually ripped it off the stage where it was duct taped next to Brendon's mic stand, and he's holding it so carefully and he asks them to sign it and when he gets to Brendon, he says, "You're my favorite singer in the whole world. Like. You're better than Brian Littrell, even."
"Thanks," Brendon says honestly, because it's not his style, but Brian Littrell's got a good voice.
"You're, like, so amazing," says the kid. "Can I get a picture with you? Here, wait, hey, can you take a picture of us?" he asks some random girl.
She takes their picture together and the kid grins and says, "I love your music. Like, I've listened to everything on PureVolume a hundred times."
"We've only got two songs up," Brendon says.
"And they're amazing! They're so amazing. You're, like, going to be the biggest band in the entire world, I can feel it."
"Thanks, man," says Brendon, and he turns to sign some girl's t-shirt.
"I'm in a band, too," the kid says, and Brendon realizes the kid's following him. "It's called Too Epic. Or maybe The Cab. Or Cash Money, though I don't like that one. We haven't really decided, yet. My best friend, Cash? He and I are in a band and we're writing our own songs and he's teaching me how to play guitar. I can't really play and sing at the same time, yet, but I'll get there. Did it take you a long time to learn how to sing and play guitar at the same time? Or, um, do you play guitar?"
Brendon can't help but smile. The kid's kind of ridiculous. "I play guitar," he says, then strikes up a conversation with a guy in a Fall Out Boy t-shirt. He's hoping the kid will get the hint and go, but he doesn't. He just waits just behind Brendon's left shoulder, and every time Brendon turns to talk to someone else, the kid pipes in with what songs he's learning on guitar and who his other favorite singers are and questions about what kind of conditioner Brendon uses.
Even when the crowd's thinned down to a quarter of its original size, the kid is still there, chattering away like he and Brendon have known each other for years.
"I, um, forgot something in the green room," Brendon says in order to make his escape. The "green room" is really just the Guitar Center's employee bathroom.
"Okay," the kid says, following him. "I just, you really inspired me tonight, you know? Did you feel like you inspired people because, like, I'm totally inspired and that's a gift, the ability to do that. I hope that one day I can inspire people because I--"
Brendon grabs the kid by the front of his shirt and yanks him into the employee bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, locks it, and presses the kid up against the wall.
The kid takes a deep breath, then another. He looks up at Brendon and his eyes flutter shut as Brendon leans down to kiss him.
Brendon's already running on adrenaline, already amped up and turned on from performing, so it doesn't take much to get him going. He takes the kid's hand and presses it between his legs, and the kid moans against his mouth.
"You should jerk me off," Brendon says, because he loves hand jobs. He loves blowjobs more, but he's not sure he wants to risk putting his dick in the kid's mouth, what with the braces and all the nonstop talking.
The kid shudders and fumbles with Brendon's fly, pulls his dick out and starts jerking it clumsily. Brendon doesn't even care if the kid has no technique, a hand on his dick always feels good. He kisses the kid over and over again, until he can feel his lips starting to swell. He fucks up into the kid's fist and it doesn't take long, only a few minutes, until he's coming all over the kid's hand.
He bites his lower lips as he comes to keep himself quiet and then he shudders and lets his head fall back. His legs feel shaky and he laughs softly to himself.
"I just came in my pants," the kid says weakly. "Is that, um, is that bad? Should I be embarrassed?"
"Nope," says Brendon. At least it saves him the trouble of having to return the favor. After another minute of rest, he goes over to the sink to clean up, wipes down his dick and stomach with a damp paper towel, then tosses it in the general direction of the trash. "So, um, I should probably head out," he says. "It was good to meet you. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."
"Don't you want my number?" the kid asks weakly as Brendon reaches for the doorknob.
Brendon shrugs and flashes his shiniest grin. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll run into each other eventually." He doubts it, but the smile and the line let him breeze out of the bathroom while the kid's still mopping up the mess in his pants.
"Tell me you didn't," Spencer says, frowning, as Brendon makes his way out of the Guitar Center.
"What?" Brendon asks.
"Brendon just fucked some kid in the bathroom," Spencer says. He's trying to look fierce, but Brendon can tell he's amused.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "I kind of don't want to end up on the cover of Out before we even have a chance to make Kerrang, okay?"
Brendon grins and him and stuffs his hands in his pockets and whistles a jaunty tune. He's so fucking psyched. He's going to be a star.
Brendon's disgustingly sweaty and he's been up since six and he couldn't really sleep the night before and it's almost midnight, but it doesn't matter. He's fucking amped.
"That was so fucking awesome!" he cries as he wipes his face off with a brown paper towel. "Our first fucking show and it was packed. Did you see the crowd?"
Ryan's trying to pretend he's not excited, but he is. He's smiling and he can't stop, and he dips his head down and smiles his secretly pleased smile. Spencer rolls his eyes and Ryan rolls his eyes back and Brendon knows they've just had, like, hours worth of conversation in those two gestures.
"It was nerve wracking," says Brent. "Were you guys nervous the whole time? Because I was nervous the whole time."
"At first," Spencer says diplomatically. Brendon doesn't say anything because he wasn't nervous, he was psyched and he's still psyched and there are people, like, waiting around to talk to them and wanting his fucking autograph and it's amazing.
They actually go out and talk to people who loved their show and who tell them they're amazing and Brendon signs ticket stubs and flyers and t-shirts and even a girl's breast. People wait around to talk to them for, like, over half an hour. It's so fucking amazing he can't believe it.
There's a kid who stole their set list, actually ripped it off the stage where it was duct taped next to Brendon's mic stand, and he's holding it so carefully and he asks them to sign it and when he gets to Brendon, he says, "You're my favorite singer in the whole world. Like. You're better than Brian Littrell, even."
"Thanks," Brendon says honestly, because it's not his style, but Brian Littrell's got a good voice.
"You're, like, so amazing," says the kid. "Can I get a picture with you? Here, wait, hey, can you take a picture of us?" he asks some random girl.
She takes their picture together and the kid grins and says, "I love your music. Like, I've listened to everything on PureVolume a hundred times."
"We've only got two songs up," Brendon says.
"And they're amazing! They're so amazing. You're, like, going to be the biggest band in the entire world, I can feel it."
"Thanks, man," says Brendon, and he turns to sign some girl's t-shirt.
"I'm in a band, too," the kid says, and Brendon realizes the kid's following him. "It's called Too Epic. Or maybe The Cab. Or Cash Money, though I don't like that one. We haven't really decided, yet. My best friend, Cash? He and I are in a band and we're writing our own songs and he's teaching me how to play guitar. I can't really play and sing at the same time, yet, but I'll get there. Did it take you a long time to learn how to sing and play guitar at the same time? Or, um, do you play guitar?"
Brendon can't help but smile. The kid's kind of ridiculous. "I play guitar," he says, then strikes up a conversation with a guy in a Fall Out Boy t-shirt. He's hoping the kid will get the hint and go, but he doesn't. He just waits just behind Brendon's left shoulder, and every time Brendon turns to talk to someone else, the kid pipes in with what songs he's learning on guitar and who his other favorite singers are and questions about what kind of conditioner Brendon uses.
Even when the crowd's thinned down to a quarter of its original size, the kid is still there, chattering away like he and Brendon have known each other for years.
"I, um, forgot something in the green room," Brendon says in order to make his escape. The "green room" is really just the Guitar Center's employee bathroom.
"Okay," the kid says, following him. "I just, you really inspired me tonight, you know? Did you feel like you inspired people because, like, I'm totally inspired and that's a gift, the ability to do that. I hope that one day I can inspire people because I--"
Brendon grabs the kid by the front of his shirt and yanks him into the employee bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, locks it, and presses the kid up against the wall.
The kid takes a deep breath, then another. He looks up at Brendon and his eyes flutter shut as Brendon leans down to kiss him.
Brendon's already running on adrenaline, already amped up and turned on from performing, so it doesn't take much to get him going. He takes the kid's hand and presses it between his legs, and the kid moans against his mouth.
"You should jerk me off," Brendon says, because he loves hand jobs. He loves blowjobs more, but he's not sure he wants to risk putting his dick in the kid's mouth, what with the braces and all the nonstop talking.
The kid shudders and fumbles with Brendon's fly, pulls his dick out and starts jerking it clumsily. Brendon doesn't even care if the kid has no technique, a hand on his dick always feels good. He kisses the kid over and over again, until he can feel his lips starting to swell. He fucks up into the kid's fist and it doesn't take long, only a few minutes, until he's coming all over the kid's hand.
He bites his lower lips as he comes to keep himself quiet and then he shudders and lets his head fall back. His legs feel shaky and he laughs softly to himself.
"I just came in my pants," the kid says weakly. "Is that, um, is that bad? Should I be embarrassed?"
"Nope," says Brendon. At least it saves him the trouble of having to return the favor. After another minute of rest, he goes over to the sink to clean up, wipes down his dick and stomach with a damp paper towel, then tosses it in the general direction of the trash. "So, um, I should probably head out," he says. "It was good to meet you. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."
"Don't you want my number?" the kid asks weakly as Brendon reaches for the doorknob.
Brendon shrugs and flashes his shiniest grin. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll run into each other eventually." He doubts it, but the smile and the line let him breeze out of the bathroom while the kid's still mopping up the mess in his pants.
"Tell me you didn't," Spencer says, frowning, as Brendon makes his way out of the Guitar Center.
"What?" Brendon asks.
"Brendon just fucked some kid in the bathroom," Spencer says. He's trying to look fierce, but Brendon can tell he's amused.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "I kind of don't want to end up on the cover of Out before we even have a chance to make Kerrang, okay?"
Brendon grins and him and stuffs his hands in his pockets and whistles a jaunty tune. He's so fucking psyched. He's going to be a star.